#the angst hello the heartache

[risarchives]

imperium!david brainrot

[ja3yun]

please be real | p.js

ex!jay x fem!reader warnings: angst, heartache, smut (mdni), fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, teasing, pet names (princess, baby), crying, mentions of alcohol, drunk jay, pure heartbreak in the beginning, not proofread, anything else lmk synopsis: after a six-year relationship, you and jongseong part ways due to different needs for the future. when jongseong's first birthday post-breakup arrives, his struggle with your absence reaches a breaking point, prompting a late-night call from his friend that consequently reignites emotions and unresolved feelings. wc: 9.4k a/n: hi! it's me and it's jay's birthday so i wrote him a little something something. i didn't initially intend to rip my heart out as i wrote this yet here i am. this was oddly a healing one to write but i must warn you it does mention the reader not wanting to have children so if that doesn't appeal to you then this probs isn't the fic for you! as always, like, comments, feedback, etc. is all appreciated! ilysm and happy bday jay <3

A sharp, jarring noise pierces your ears, the peaceful sleep you were in rudely disrupted. You groan out loud, covering your face with your covers but it does nothing to stop the ringing from your phone, it doesn’t even dull it a little, the little black device only echoing around the room louder.

Disoriented and groggy, you fumble for your phone on the bedside table, clumsily searching for it in the darkness. It isn’t your alarm, the usual peaceful tones of the birds chirping would be a welcomed sound, one that eases you into the day; no this was a phone call.

Finally grasping your phone, your eyes fight themselves open as you blink away any remnants of sleep, trying to find any sort of centre from your dizzy awakening. You look at the name on your phone but your vision is so blurred you can’t make it out but answer it anyway, knowing that whoever is phoning at this ungodly hour is clearly in need of your help.

“Hello?” you ask quietly, as if you don’t want to disturb the quiet of the night, unlike the person on the other end of the call.

“Uh, Y/N? It’s Jake.” His soft Australian accent drifts from your phone speaker into your ears. He sounds unsure whether he is supposed to be making the call, which to be fair, you understand because you haven’t heard from him in months, not after…

Letting out a sigh, you rub your forehead with the base of your palm tiredly, “Jake, why the fuck are you calling me at…” you pull the phone away, inspecting the time now that you’re more alert, “3.36am?” you ask with a hint of disdain. Normally, you would welcome the boy’s surprise call, after all, you did miss him. But considering he woke you up from a good dream involving you, Jeongin from Stray Kids, and a happily ever after; he wasn’t exactly your favourite person right now.

You can faintly hear some music in the background as he stays silent and you swear to yourself if this is to give him a ride home from a concert turned party, you’ll have his head.

“Listen, I hate to ask you this but can you come to Haven?”

“The nightclub? Why?” Your earlier suspicions are proving to be right, he does want a lift home. That would be an acceptable request if you guys were actively talking every day and the best of buddies but he isn’t even your friend, not really. 

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the line, his voice can be heard trying to calm someone down but his words are obscured as if the phone is wrested away from his mouth, leaving only disjointed fragments of speech drifting through the receiver. 

This sounds like more than just a simple ride home and it causes you to snap to attention, your senses heightened with concern. 

Jake finally brings his attention back to you, letting out a sigh of discontentment, “It’s Jay, he’s a mess and he’s calling out for you.”

Jay. Park Jongseong.

It’s been so long since anyone has dared to mention his name to you that it almost sounds like a foreign word.

Seven months ago, you and Jongseong had decided to call off your 6-year relationship, both of you reaching the understanding that it was for the best considering your battling differences and needs within the relationship.

It wasn’t easy, the furthest thing from it actually. You and him had been inseparable since high school and once you both got together in year 12, it was always you and him against the world. He was the love of your life, that once in a lifetime kind of love that only happens in fairytales. Your souls were both painted from the same brush stroke.

But he wanted a peaceful, routine life - a classic white picket fence dream. Evenings would be spent with friends, savouring white wine and casual conversations over dinner. His heart was set on imagining the echoes of your future children's laughter filling your home, family trips to the seaside, and comforting them with kisses and band-aids when they got hurt.

And you craved spontaneity, to embrace life with vigour, travelling the world together was your dream, free from the responsibilities of parenting, cherishing moments just for yourselves. You longed for random midnight trips to Tesco for birthday cake simply because you could. All you wished for was to be with him, just the two of you.

Suddenly, your brain clicks into an important detail and you hurriedly check the calendar on your phone and the date makes you slump in your bed.

Today is Jongseong’s birthday, well technically not anymore given the time, but that means he has lived his first birthday without you by his side in so long. You would always celebrate his big day by doing something from his handwritten bucket list he has had since he was a child. Over the years he has added more to the list, each birthday scoring one out to add another.

The list wasn't extravagant; it was filled with simple yet heartfelt desires. You bought him a bundle of guitar lessons and a Taylor 114e electric guitar to fulfil his wish of learning to play. When you noticed the Download Festival marked with gold stars on his list, you surprised him with tickets for the year Metallica was headlining. And when he expressed a desire to cook a meal from scratch for his mum, you gifted him a kitchen knife engraved with his name and took the time to teach him how to prepare her favourite dish.

His birthdays were the most precious when you were in them, and you weren’t there with him.

“Y/N?” Jake’s sweet voice draws you back to his attention and out of the memory lane swirl your brain has put you in. He knows this is a tough call for you to take considering you and Jongseong said to cut ties completely; it’s better to act like you both didn’t exist than keep a thread tethered to one another that would only hurt you more.

As Jake and Sunghoon whisked Jay away for his birthday celebration, their intention was simple: to help him let loose and have a good time. Jay had been buried in overtime work lately, leaving little room for socialising. Since the breakup, the idea of going out without you - dancing together, stealing kisses in the taxi ride home - seemed unappealing.

Waking up that morning, Jay realised it marked the first birthday in six years without ticking something off his bucket list. The familiar, worn paper lay dormant on his desk, a stark reminder of your absence. He had no desire to celebrate today without you by his side. If he could fast-forward through the day to escape the weight of his birthday, he would eagerly do so.

Yet, with two very persuading friends and a whole lot of whiskey later, here he was, curled up outside Haven, yearning out for you.

“Y/N please, at least come and convince him to get up and come home with us,” Jake pleads. You can hear the cries of your ex-lover more clearly now as Jake kneels beside his friend, checking in on him.

With a resigned sigh, you nod, “Okay. Keep him warm, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Hanging up the phone, you quickly put a brush through your hair and change into a baggy top, one you bought for Jongseong before breaking up, and a pair of grey sweatpants. This is a bad idea, you know it is, but you also can’t leave him to wallow in the middle of the street. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you didn’t help and Jake wouldn’t call unless it was something he couldn’t handle. 

You don’t want to see the state Jongseong is in, his wailing cries that you could slightly hear over the phone already made your heart clench in hurt.

As you drive to Haven, your heart races in anticipation with each mile that passes. Is your heart ready to face him after all these months? Staring into the love of your life’s eyes once again might break you even more. You’ve done a good job in keeping yourself together, at putting on a facade that everything is okay, when deep down you know that if one person asked you about Jongseong you would crumble and fall apart. 

He wasn’t the only one throwing himself into work to forget. You’ve worked hours and hours trying to keep your mind off the heartbreak, you thought that if you just focused and kept your head down, the phrase time heals all wounds would kick in and you’d be free of the torment of losing your first love. But it hasn’t worked out that way, you know that now as you speed down the empty roads to console the one person you are trying to forget.

As you reach Haven, you can vaguely see three boys under the illuminating sign, almost as if shining a spotlight on them to add to the spectacle that Jongseong is making. Onlookers are watching as your ex-boyfriend cries on the pavement, wishing you would come home.

With a quick exhale, you step out of the car before doubts can creep in, determined to be there for him. Jake and Sunghoon's voices float to you, attempting to soothe him and inject some sense into the moment. Bracing yourself, you approach, ready to offer whatever comfort you can, despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

Sinking onto the balls of your feet, you lower yourself to Jongseong's level, meeting his strained figure. Instantly, the sight of his distress instantly shatters your heart into a million pieces.

An abundance of tears cascades down Jongseong's reddened face, obscuring his features like a relentless waterfall. His clenched jaw and the prominent vein on his forehead portray the intensity of his distress as he struggles to draw each laboured breath. Curled into himself, his body seems to contort with the weight of physical agony, mirroring the emotional pain that ripples through his trembling form. He’s been keeping this in for so long that his body doesn’t know how to cope with it.

Reaching out to grab his clenched fist, you shuffle forward, “Jjongie? It’s me, baby, look at me,” you say calmly, trying to reassure him with your soft voice.

As your fingers gently encircle his clenched fist, Jongseong's body tenses at the touch. Slowly, he turns his gaze towards you, his eyes bloodshot and filled with an overwhelming mixture of sorrow and longing. For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes before they cloud over again with anguish.

He doesn’t believe you’re actually here, considering the long nights where he has conjured up the idea of you, clinging to his imagination on the lonely nights he wishes for your touch. But as you squeeze his hand, he realises this isn’t a dream-induced sighting, you’re really here in front of him.

"Y/N..." he murmurs, his voice choked with emotion. Tears stream down his face in torrents, some landing on your hand that holds his. His cries reverberate through the air, each wail a sharp stab to your chest.

Cupping his cheek, you settle yourself between his legs, ignoring the discomfort of the rocks beneath your knees, your focus solely on him. With a sad smile, you attempt to mask your own anguish, your touch a gentle reassurance amidst his storm of emotions.

"Hey, hey, enough of that now," you hush him softly, your voice a soothing melody in the tumultuous night. Using your thumb, you tenderly wipe away his tears, though they continue to flow unabated.

He leans into your touch, “I miss you so much, Y/N, please. Please,” he pleads as you feel his warm breath against your skin as he nuzzles into your palm, seeking solace in the familiar sensation he's been yearning for.

It’s hurting you just seeing him like this, the man you once knew to be strong-willed and resilient, keeping his emotions under control unless he’s sharing sweet vulnerable moments with you under the covers, is now a shell of himself, stripped bare by the weight of grief.

Turning your face to look at Jake, you offer him a small smile, “I’ll take him home.”

“You sure?” Jake asks, knowing that it’s a dangerous game for you both if you do.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to move unless I do,” you chuckle sympathetically but there’s a bubble in your throat as Jongseong’s whimpers flow into your ear from beside you.

Nodding, Jake gestures to Sunghoon, silently enlisting his help in the task of ferrying the drunk man to your car. The weight of Jongseong's limp form proves cumbersome as you all struggle to navigate his dead weight, his limbs hanging heavily without offering any assistance.

"Let's get you home," you murmur softly, your hands pressing gently against Jongseong's chest to steady him, aided by his friends who lift him onto their shoulders.

His eyes lock onto yours, an intensity burning within them. "Please be real," he whispers, his voice trembling with desperation. Despite feeling your touch and catching hints of your scent, doubt gnaws at him. If this is merely a figment of his imagination, he knows he'll never forgive himself. You're so close, so tangible - it has to be you.

With much struggle, the three of you get him to your car, putting him gently in the backseat so he can lie down, but he wraps his arms around your waist as his legs stay situated outside of the vehicle, holding you close to him.

"Come on, Jjongie, lie down for a minute," you coax gently, guiding him to stretch out along the seats. But he remains unmoving, clutching onto you as if fearing you'll slip away if he lets go. With a soft sigh, you stroke the back of his head, your hands moving in a soothing rhythm. "I promise, I am not going anywhere," you whisper, your words a tender vow to him.

Yet, your attempts to reassure him seem to go unheard. His face burrows deeper into your stomach, his words muffled by the fabric of your t-shirt and the weight of his tears.

You exchange a worried glance with Jake and Sunghoon, “How much did he have to drink?” you ask, scared of the answer they will give. Your ex-boyfriend has always been so good at holding his liquor that it must have been a hefty amount he consumed.

“Like two weeks' wage worth,” Sunghoon winces, his neck tightening as he looks at his best friend.

"Oh, baby..." you sigh softly, feeling a wave of empathy wash over you. Returning your attention to Jongseong, you press a tender kiss to the crown of his head, hoping to offer some comfort amidst his distress. His response is to cling to you even tighter, his sobs echoing against your chest as he seeks solace in your embrace.

You need to get him home, he’s a mess and the longer he stays like this, the more his body is going to wear out. 

With a gentle hand, you stroke his hair, your touch a soothing caress against his trembling form. Despite the chaos swirling around you, you find a semblance of peace in this intimate moment, anchored by the bond that still lingers between you.

"I've got you, Jjongie," you whisper softly, drawing back as he eases up his grip on you. His friends go to help you but you halt them with a firm gesture, "You guys can go, I've got it from here."

Sunghoon shakes his head, concern etched on his face. "He's too heavy, Y/N. You won't be able to manage him into the flat without us," he protests.

But you stand your ground. This is your and Jongseong's mess, and you can’t let others help you clean it up, "It's okay. You guys have done your shift for tonight. Go home," you insist, your voice resolute.

Reluctantly, Sunghoon and Jake nod and bid you goodnight before going their separate ways home, leaving you alone with Jongseong and the weight of your shared history.

Taking a deep breath, you hoist him in, his body listening to you a little more now that you’ve reassured him you aren’t leaving him. He sprawls over the backseats and lays still, the alcohol consuming him into some form of comatose now that he has relaxed slightly.

You slide into the driver's seat, the engine humming to life beneath you. Glancing at Jongseong's slumbering form in the rearview mirror, you steel yourself for the journey ahead.

_____

Arriving at his house makes you more nervous than before. This wasn’t just his flat, it used to be your shared home, the place you lived for 2 and half years and made countless memories in.

You were the one to move out and find your own place, thinking it was best since your work was further away and you could find an apartment closer to it. But the truth is, you just couldn’t face being reminded of him in each room and in the pieces of furnishings.

It was selfish of you to leave him with the remnants of your relationship surrounding him, all you thought about was you and your needs, neglecting to think about how he might feel being surrounded by nothing but memories.

Lugging him into the flat, his legs are working in tandem with you now unlike before but he still isn’t proving to be the easiest person to carry. The last time you had to hold his weight like this was when he got drunk at your prom after taking sneaky shots in the hotel garden with his friends. It was funny but you blame him for some of your back pain that you’ve endured in your early twenties.

As you push open the door and step into the living room, a wave of nostalgia washes over you like a tsunami. Though only seven months have passed, it feels like a lifetime since you last stood in this space with him by your side. Everything remains unchanged, frozen in time since the day you left. The same couch sits in its familiar spot, adorned with throw pillows and blankets you bought for last season. Photographs of you both, captured during Christmases and holidays, adorn the walls, each one a snapshot of happier times. Even the vase that his mum had gotten you both for your housewarming gift, one that you loved and he hated, remains in its pride of place on the mantlepiece.

You push your thoughts down and make your way to your once-shared bedroom, walking through the memories and heaving your ex-boyfriend along slowly. His nose nudges into your hair, sweeping in your scent as he loses himself in the feeling of you.

As you reach the familiar threshold, you can't help but feel a pang of bittersweet longing. This room, once a sanctuary where you both shared your laughter and bodies, now serves as a poignant reminder of the love you've lost.

Gently, you ease Jongseong onto the bed, sitting him up, “I’m going to get you some clean boxers okay?” you ask him but he’s not here, not really, so you make your way to the drawers on the other side of the room.

Walking over, you spot a familiar t-shirt lying crumpled on your old side of the bed. You make a b-line to investigate it and as you pick up the crumpled t-shirt, a flood of memories washes over you, transporting you back to simpler times. Your fingers trace the familiar fabric, still faintly carrying the scent of you, now mingled with his cologne. You piece it all together pretty quickly, the way it still smells faintly of you but is not starting to be overpowered by his cologne. He hugs it at night to find peace of mind.

“Oh, Jjongie,” you sigh, heart reaching out to him. You’re no better, you have one of his hoodies that you snuck into your luggage as you packed and wear it when you’re at home. Just like your t-shirt, his hoodie is starting to lose its scent from the amount of times you’ve hugged yourself to sleep in it.

Jongseong has always been reserved, his emotions carefully guarded behind a facade of reason and rationale. To see him like this, vulnerable and raw, strikes a chord deep within you. If he had always worn his heart on his sleeve, perhaps it would be easier to understand. But the complexity of his emotions only serves to deepen the ache in your chest.

You place the t-shirt back on the pillow before opening the dresser drawer and retrieve a clean pair of boxers, his favourite ones with the faded Hellow Kitty print that you've always teased him about.

Gently, you begin to undress him while he rambles incoherent nonsense that you can’t understand between the mix of tears and drunk slurring. The top half is easy but the bottom half proves difficult as he only looks up at you, whispering pleas as he stares at you, keeping his bum firmly sat on the edge of the bed.

As you finally manage to remove Jongseong's jeans and boxers, leaving him naked, a new layer of vulnerability settles over the room. He sits before you bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light, his silhouette outlined in the darkness.

His beauty, illuminated by the faint light, is both captivating and heartbreaking. The familiarity of his form, once etched in your memory, now lays before you in the flesh, a tangible reminder of the love you still harbour for him. How could you not still love him? He was perfect in every way possible.

"Stay with me," he whispers, his voice a gentle plea as his hands begin to roam your sides, tracing the contours of your body beneath your shirt. Each touch ignites a flurry of sensations within you, sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

He pulls you onto his lap, your sweatpants becoming the barrier between his cock and your pussy. Yet, none of you are really thinking about that right now, all you both want is to hold one another again.

“Jongseong, we broke up, and for good reason,” you rationalise with not only him but yourself as you find yourself sinking into his touch as his hands roam your back.

Nuzzling his nose against yours, he begins to cry softly again, his face rubbing itself against yours as his tears transfer from his cheeks to yours, “Please, baby, don’t leave me,” he mumbles as his lips ghost over yours. 

He doesn’t just mean tonight, he means forever. A tear from your eye cascades down your face, getting lost in the mixture of his, your empathy for him overwhelming you because you feel the same way he does. You need him in every way, you need to be close to him, to feel his heart beating in synch with yours once again.

But you know better than this. You’re both just prolonging heartache if you succumb to being with him again. You can’t give each other what you need.

“Baby, don’t do this,” you beg him, knowing that he has the power to pull you back into his life with the click of his fingers, that resolve you have worked so hard to build up now hangs in the balance, “Let me get you changed and then into bed, yeah?”

Reasoning with him is a lost cause, his arms now hugging you tightly like before as he ignores your suggestion. The last thing he wants is to put on those boxers because he knows when he does that you’ll leave. 

"Please, Princess," his voice is raw with emotion, his desperation palpable in the air between you. And as you look into his eyes, you see the depth of his longing mirrored in your own. 

His plea hangs in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on your already burdened heart. You feel torn between the overwhelming desire to give in to his request and the harsh reality of the situation.

With a deep breath, you summon the strength to gently extricate yourself from his embrace, feeling the weight of his disappointment lingering in the air. His hurt expression tugs at your heartstrings, but you shake your head firmly, "Just tonight, okay?" you assure him, your voice soft but resolute.

Curse you and your heart that caves into his pleas so easily.

You disregard getting him dressed and instead, remove your sweatpants and replace them with those very boxers you planned to adorn him with and swap out your t-shirt for the one on your old pillow. Jongseong clumsily climbs into his covers, getting comfortable and finding some happiness in the fact that you’ll be in his arms at least for a little while. 

Once you climb into your side of the bed, he instinctively hugs you from behind, the comfort of your body pressed against his. He spoons you, tucking his face in your neck as he exhales in contentment. This is all he has been craving since that night you left and he couldn’t be happier. All the turmoil and anguish from earlier slowly depletes as he finds himself sinking into a much-needed sleep.

You can’t deny you feel the same, his arms wrapped around you feel like home, like you’ve been on a seven-month business trip and you’re now finally back where you belong. You sink into him further, relishing his skin against yours.

“Happy birthday, Jjongie,” you whisper, bringing his hand up to kiss it before intertwining your fingers with his.

_____

Waking up, Jongseong feels like his whole body has crashed into a brick wall. His bones ache and his head feels tight, but there is a weight that feels so familiar yet foreign, his legs tangled around something and his arms holding it close. This feels different from the t-shirt of yours he clings to every night, this has more substance.

Please don’t be some random girl he thinks to himself, scared to open his eyes. 

Even if he did want to open them he couldn’t because they are being held together so tight by something. Was he crying last night? Actually, what even happened last night?

He replays the fragments of the evening in his mind, a few scattered images begin to surface - Jake and Sunghoon dragging him to Haven, the raucous atmosphere of the bar, and the ill-advised decision to ride the mechanical bull. And then nothing.

As he tries to recounter the night, you see him attempt to pry his eyes open and decide to help him out. Swiping your thumb over his eyes, you wipe away the mix of his dried-in tears and sleep. He looks so confused when you touch him and his body tenses.

Either he is having a severe case of hallucinations to the point where he is starting to physically feel you or the girl that he took home last night resembles your touch. God, how he hoped it was the first one. 

Opening his eyes with your help, he blinks away the blur and sets his eyes on your face, his expression reading one of relief that quickly turns into astonishment.

“Y/N? Baby?” he whispers, his hands instinctively reaching for your cheek, “Please be real.” The same words he pleaded out last night leave his lips again. Jongseong has spent so many nights dreaming of you, wishing in an alternative universe that he can hold you again, so much so that this doesn’t feel real.

You don’t know what to say but obviously, you have to say something. It was one thing to confront drunk Jongseong who didn’t have a wit about him but now it feels like there’s a boulder on your chest as you try to conjure up the courage to speak to a sober, semi-alert Jongseong. 

All you can do is nod, no words escaping your dried lips. You look down to see you and his limbs mangled together just like they used to be, the feeling of his body pressed so tightly against yours almost feels like heaven.

He takes in the sight of you, the lines of disbelief on his features soften, replaced by a glimmer of hope. Slowly, almost tentatively, he reaches out to you, his fingers brushing against your cheek as if to confirm your presence.

The touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, he’s caressing your cheek so tenderly it reminds you of the time you had the shift from hell and Jongseong held you the whole night, whispering sweet words into your ear and stroking your tears away, just like this.

Except there are no tears this time, you’re all cried out - months of mourning the loss of your relationship will do that to you.

As Jongseong's eyes meet yours, a flicker of recognition passes through them, followed by a wave of embarrassment. His voice is soft as he speaks, a hint of uncertainty lacing his words, "What are you doing here?" he asks, his tone laden with confusion.

"You got pretty drunk last night," understatement "And Jake asked me to come pick you up."

You can feel the tension in the air as Jongseong processes your words, his expression a mixture of shame and regret, "Sorry, I don't usually drink that much," he murmurs, his voice tinged with remorse.

The explanation stings, not because Jongseong has been drinking more, but because of the distance it creates between you. It's as if he's explaining himself to a stranger, rather than to the person who once knew him better than anyone else. The past six years you’ve known how he knows his limit and that he doesn’t tend to breach it, not subconsciously. 

All you do is nod, accepting his explanation as you slowly start to detangle yourself from him, “I better get going.”

“Y/N, please let's talk,” he pleads as his voice wavers, his grip tightening around your waist, and his desperation palpable as he pleads for your attention. But you've made up your mind, and no amount of persuasion can sway you from the path you've chosen.

"Jongseong, please, let's not do this," you implore, your voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and resolve, "We're only going to hurt ourselves again."

You both know the reasons behind your breakup are deeply rooted, immutable truths that cannot be changed. It's not a matter of cheating or petty disagreements—this is about fundamental differences in desires and aspirations for the future.

But Jongseong refuses to accept defeat, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he breathes his love out, "Princess, we can work it out, I know we can," he insists, his words heavy with sincerity.

You steel yourself against the onslaught of his love, knowing that to give in would only prolong the inevitable pain, "We want different things, Jjongie," you remind him gently, your voice tinged with regret.

“I can do without them. It’s you I can’t live without…I can’t breathe without you here by my side.” His words are sincere and you know it, but you can’t accept it. When you both discussed your future, he looked so excited at the prospect of kids that your heart broke instantly. You knew right away that you couldn’t give him what he wanted most.

Closing your eyes and sucking in the bottom of your cheeks, you steady yourself to have this conversation yet again, “You can’t give up the idea of having kids. Having the life you want is much more important than me. You can find someone who can give you that.”

It hurts to say but you need to rip the bandaid off quickly. 

“You think I want that life with anyone but you?” His voice raises lightly, hinting at the anger rising into his chest. He needs you to listen to him, to understand him, “Y/N, if it’s not with you then I don’t want that life.”

Shaking your head determinedly, you sit up, “But I can’t give you that life, it’s not what I want.” You feel like you’re reliving the argument that ended it all those months ago.

“That’s okay.”

“No, It’s not,” It’s your turn to get angry, your eyebrows lacing together as you try to read him. How can he say all of this so easily? Like he wasn’t trying to promise you that he would change his entire life plan just to be with you. Is it romantic? Sure, but it’s also fucking stupid. No one should change just to keep someone they love because if they were meant to be, then their values would align…right?

"It's not that simple, Jongseong," you argue through the silence, your voice tinged with frustration, "You can't just sweep aside your dreams for the sake of our relationship. What about what you want? What about your own happiness?"

Jongseong sits up, the covers hiding his naked lower half; he hadn’t realised he was naked and it only adds a new layer to his vulnerability. He is laying himself bare to you.

But Jongseong's gaze remains unwavering, his determination evident in the set of his jaw, "Since we broke up, I've realised that you are the life I want," he declares, his words carrying the weight of his conviction, "Whatever that looks like for you, I want it."

You feel his words like a pickaxe, slowly breaking away at the wall you’ve spent months building around your heart and reason. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions sweeps over you. On one hand, his declaration of love sparks a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of your fractured relationship. Yet, on the other hand, doubt claws at your insides, gnawing away at any semblance of certainty, the pure love that you have for him only wishes to make sure he’s happy and gets everything he wants in life.

"Jongseong, I..." you start, your voice wavering as you grapple with the turmoil inside. How do you express the depth of your feelings?

Grabbing your face with his large hands, he kisses you, his soft lips now coating yours. You’ve missed him so much that you become overwhelmed by his actions, a soft tear leaking from your ducts.

So much for being all cried out, you think to yourself.

"It's you, Y/N, I only need you," Jongseong whispers against your lips, his urgency evident as he seeks solace in the warmth of your embrace, stealing kisses with a hunger born from longing.

In spite of yourself, you find your lips responding to his touch, drawn in by the familiar sensation of his mouth against yours. Your arms instinctively wrap around him, fingers grazing lightly over the muscles of his back as you hold him close; your brain is telling you to push him away but your heart is pulling him tighter to you. 

"It's not fair to you, Jjongie," you murmur, the words weighted with a sense of guilt and remorse.

"I'd rather be with you happily than with kids and someone else miserably," Jongseong confesses, his words carrying the weight of his heart's deepest desires.

Jongseong wishes you could see it from his point of view; of course, he has wanted kids and a comfortable life for so long but the idea of achieving that when you are not his wife seems fucking ridiculous. There is no one in this world he wants to be with other than you and if that means he has to be an uncle rather than a dad, so be it.

You are all he has ever wanted. To grow old with you, to experience each of your accomplishments together and have you close to him. He wants to protect you and look after you the way he knows he should and that is his new life goal. This isn’t a decision he has made lightly but a decision he wanted to make.

His hands glide down your sides, trailing over your thighs as his kisses continue, each touch a manifestation of the craving that has consumed him. His need for you is overwhelming, every fibre of his being yearning for you in every possible way. Another moment without you feels unbearable, as if he might die.

You surrender to his touch, sinking back onto the bed as he hovers above you, his grip on your thighs firm yet tender. The intensity of his desire leaves marks, but in this moment, you welcome anything he offers.

It's astonishing how the feel of his lips on yours dismantles your resolve, scattering your apprehensions like leaves in the wind.

Slowly, he removes from you the t-shirt that has absorbed his tears on countless nights and the boxers you borrowed from him, leaving you exposed beneath him. As he looks upon your naked figure, his eyes drink in every curve and contour, offering silent gratitude to the heavens for letting him have you like this. You are everything he wants and more.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N,” he whispers into your mouth as he presses his body hard against yours, his member rubbing itself against your folds. 

The feeling of him rubbing against you is enough to elicit a moan. No amount of toys was enough to satisfy you, not the way Jongseong could. Over the years you learned about one another’s bodies so intimately that no one could ever know you the way he does, not even yourself. 

You couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with someone else, even if you and Jongseong had broken up, your heart couldn’t do it. You never even considered a one night stand because deep down you knew that your body belonged to Jongseong and no one else.

He moves his hips, slowly rubbing himself against you, the bell of his cock grazing your clit teasingly. It feels like a dream for him to touch you this way again, and the fact that you were coating his cock with your wetness was enough to tell him that you need this too.

Kissing you desperately, his tongue darts into your mouth and swirls with yours as he seeks to taste you, his buds dancing along with yours. He moans into your mouth and acts as an echo of his love for you.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers as his hips continue to move slowly, teasing your hole with his tip each time he draws back. It’s becoming increasingly obvious how much it’s starting to irritate you, your need to have him inside you is evident in your whines of frustration.

"I missed you too, baby. More than anything," you confess, your hand finding his cock as you press against him, seeking to create greater friction between you. With each movement, the pressure builds, sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you.

With each synchronised movement, the tension between you mounts, the desire for one another lingering in the warm air. His hips continue their slow, teasing rhythm, each brush against your core sending sparks of want up your heat and into your chest.

Feeling the urgency building within you, you guide his cock with precision, pressing it against your eager entrance. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the head of his length dip into you only slightly, the anticipation of being filled with him heightening your senses.

"Please," you whisper, your voice laden with need and longing, a plea for him to take you.

With a teasing grin, Jongseong relents to your plea, but not in the way you expected. Instead of thrusting into you the way you want him to, he trails his fingertips along the curves of your body, igniting a trail of fire in his wake. His touch is light and tantalising, tracing patterns across your skin as he savours every moment. He wants to take his time with you, no matter how much his dick longs to be surrounded by your walls.

You like to be teased even for a little bit, the payoff at the end always hits the right spot.

You squirm beneath his touch, aching for more, but he continues with deliberate slowness. His fingers dance over your heated flesh, exploring every inch of your body with an intimacy that leaves you breathless. Each caress sends shivers down your spine, building the anticipation to unbearable heights. God, you missed his hands all over you.

As his right hand dips lower, he begins tracing circles around your sensitive clit and you can't help but arch your back in pleasure, a soft moan escaping your lips. The sensation is electrifying, sending waves coursing through your body as he expertly teases you.

Feeling your body tremble with anticipation, his touch becomes more urgent as he presses his fingers against your throbbing clit h and with practised skill, he begins to move faster, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you writhing beneath him.

“You look so fucking perfect, all desperate and whiney like this, Princess,” he says as he leans down to kiss you, breathing in deeply through his nose as he tries to fill each of his senses with you. It wasn’t just enough to feel you, he wanted to taste you, to inhale your scent, to hear you cry out for him, to see you unravel beneath him.

Your breath catches in your throat as the intensity of his touch sends you spiralling towards the edge of bliss. Each stroke of his fingers drives you closer to the brink, your body humming with the need to let go.

But just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, Jongseong suddenly slows his movements, drawing out the pleasure with agonising slowness. It's a torturous tease, the brief moments of intensity followed by long, drawn-out strokes that leave you gasping for more.

“Please, please, please, Jjongie,” you whimper in frustration, your body aching for release as Jongseong continues to play you like a symphony, alternating between fast and slow, building the tension to unbearable levels. Just when you think you can't take it anymore, he finally gives in, his fingers dipping into your heat and thrusting into you at a rough pace, your pussy soaking his digits as he coaxes out your orgasm.

“You’re clamping down on my fingers so hard, Baby, you gonna cum?” he asks arrogantly, knowing that with each curl of his finger, he is watching your body lose control and surrender to him.

Nodding quickly, you pull him down for a long, searing kiss as his thumb joins the party and flicks your clit rapidly, “Oh my god,” you moan out into his mouth through bated breaths, “I’m gonna cum, Jongseong, please can I cum?”

“You never have to ask baby,” he moves his mouth to your ear and lightly nibbles your lobe, “Cum for me, Princess,” he gently commands.

Jongseong continues to work his magic, his fingers moving with expert precision as he guides you through the throes of ecstasy. Your vision blurs and every nerve in your body hums with pleasure as you reach the pinnacle of bliss.

With a final, desperate cry, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You arch your back and cry out his name as pleasure consumes you, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

His fingers remain still inside you, but his thumb maintains its relentless pace, each swipe sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. Your hips instinctively twitch in response, your nub throbbing with sensitivity and yearning for a respite. Yet, Jongseong shows no signs of letting up, his determined flicking only intensifying.

"You like that, baby?" Jongseong's voice is hoarse with desire as he intently watches your reactions. His eyes are dark with need as he continues to work you with wild desire. 

Your senses are overwhelmed by sensations pouring through you, so you can only respond with a gasping nod. Every single nerve in your body is buzzing with ecstasy, and all you can think of is the delicious agony of his thumb against your delicate clit.

"Tell me what you want, Princess," he asks, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear, "Do you want more?"

You can only make a frantic plea, your words barely comprehensible in the middle of intense pleasure. "Yes, please, Jongseong... More..."

Jongseong's lips curl into a wicked grin as he hears your plea, his confidence growing with each breathless gasp that escapes your lips. With a teasing twinkle in his eye, he moves his fingers again, pressing them against your contracting walls, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he speaks.

"What do you want, Y/N?" he whispers, his voice dripping with anticipation, "Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

Your mind is a haze of desire, but amidst the fog, one thought stands out clear and demanding. You need him inside you, filling you completely with his presence. With trembling hands, you reach for him, your fingers curling around his cock, guiding him to where you need him most, pushing his hand out of the way.

"I want you," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "I want all of you, Jongseong." When you utter the words, there’s a deeper meaning to them, a meaning that Jongseong is clinging to.

The way your fingers wrap around his rock-hard member elicits a hiss from him, your touch mixed with your words only fuels him to give you everything you need. 

Jongseong lets out a guttural groan, entirely surrendering to your touch and words. His eyes darken with want as he watches you take control, and his breath quickens with anticipation as you guide him inside you. His breath coming in ragged gasps, he looks into your eyes with a mixture of desire and adoration, "God, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice rough with need, “You feel so fucking incredible. I’ve missed how you just suck me in like this.”

You look down and watch as his entire length gets lost in your heat, his cock’s head hitting deep within you. You’ve missed how he fills you up so much but you hadn’t realised just how badly until right now as he shallowly thrusts into you.

You respond with a low moan of pleasure, your nails digging into his skin as you pull him closer, urging him to go deeper. "Yes, Jongseong," you whisper, your voice laced with longing, "just like that. I need this so much, I need you."

With each thrust, he grunts in response, his movements becoming more desperate as he seeks to satisfy your every desire, "I'm yours, Y/N," he declares, his voice filled with raw emotion, "completely and utterly yours."

As he lifts your legs and closes them, gently draping them over his left shoulder, your warmth envelops his shaft, drawing him in closer. Jongseong relishes the sensation of your tightness, revelling in the snug embrace of your canal around him. And you too find delight in the pressure of his girth, relishing the way he stretches you further with every powerful thrust.

Each movement of his hips is deliberate, each one designed to bring you both closer to the edge of ecstasy. As his hands stroke your legs tenderly, contrasting with the intensity of his thrusts, you find yourself lost in the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

His jerks grow more intense, the pace quickening as he drives deeper into you, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge, "You feel so good," he groans, his voice filled with unrestrained passion, "so fucking perfect for me, Princess."

In response, you curve your back and meet his thrusts with equal conviction, the heat between you building to an almost euphoric level. "Jongseong," you exclaim, your voice a symphony of fulfilment, "don't stop, please don't stop."

Jongseong intensifies his efforts with a wild growl, each movement driven by a burning need to push you to the edge of satisfaction and beyond. At this moment, there is only you and him, burned by the fires of passion.

With a swift motion, your lover bends you in half, positioning your legs by your head as he quickens his already rapid pace. Lost in a whirlwind of desire, your eyes roll back and your hands instinctively grip his shoulders, your chest heaving with each forceful thrust of his cock. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving marks on his shoulder blades as you cling to him, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Feeling the sting of your nails, he grits his teeth and strains his neck, the veins in his temples pulsating as he fights the overwhelming urge to release inside you right then and there.

“Fuck, claw my back, Baby,” he growls, his voice thick with desire, “make me yours again.” With determination, he continues to pound into you, each movement bringing you closer to your shared orgasm.

After hearing Jongseong’s go-ahead, you dig into his back, dragging your nails across his skin, leaving fiery red lines in their wake, just like he wants. It burns him in the most delectable way, making his cock throb inside of you.

Your breaths combine in the air, creating an ensemble of desire as you both reach the edge. The tension between you grows with each thrust, a crescendo of want reaching its peak.

As he slams into you furiously, his voice fills the room with urgency, "You gonna cum again, Princess? You want it?" His words are a mixture of want and domination, starting a fire inside you that threatens to consume everything in its path.

With a firm nod, you meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with want. "Yes, Jongseong, please," you beg, your voice a frantic appeal for release once again.

In response, he increases his efforts, his motions growing more frenzied as he propels you both to your orgasms. And then, with a final, strong thrust, you shatter, your body convulsing from the ferocity of your release. Jongseong follows closely behind, his own climax mirroring yours as he finds release within you, “Fuck!” 

His body stills as he shoots his seed into you, the tremble of both your bodies vibrates the bed beneath you. Finding it hard to keep himself up, he falls onto you, moving his cock into you further, only drawing out a final moan from your lips.

After a couple of minutes, Jongseong rolls over, his chest heaving up and down rapidly. God, he missed the way you feel under him, he could go another ten rounds if you asked. 

But that would mean you would stay, and is that even something you want? He doesn’t want to ask, your answer being the deciding factor of whether he goes on his life with misery or happiness.

He knows he can’t force you into this relationship but he hopes he has done enough to convince you that you are all he wants.

“Please be with me again, Y/N. I can’t live without you,” he whispers into the air, not daring to look at you.

You on the other hand only want to look at him, to see if you can really try this again, “Even if it means no kids? No playdates with other parents? No family trips to Jeju?”

“Even without all that.” He does look sincere, his eyes now burning into yours with a new lease of determination.

The truth is, you’ve missed him so much that it hurts. Behind the strong facade is just a girl who misses her lover. Being without him is like being in a fire with no escape, constantly fighting your way out of a blaze while your lungs collapse. He’s the clear path to fresh air you desperately need, there is no denying it. And clearly, he thinks the same about you. 

Seeing him last night so fragile and broken engulfed you in the flames, burning you alive because you know that you feel every ounce of hurt that he is. It was a mirror to how you were feeling and you don’t think you knew how badly you needed him until that moment. You were trying to be so strong about it all, giving yourself only a short amount of time to grieve that as you looked at Jongseong last night, you know he has done the same.

You need one another to extinguish the fire.

“Jongseong, truly think about this, this isn’t me saying no to letting you go on a lads holiday, I’m denying you the opportunity to be a father,” you plead with him one last time, giving him an out to all of this as you lay it all on the table.

“Princess, I have had seven months to think about it. I am not compromising or altering my needs for you, this is a decision that I have made on my own. If I truly wanted the life I thought I did, I wouldn’t be begging you to be with me right now. I know this isn’t an easy choice but I have never been more sure about anything in my life.” 

Jongseong kisses all over your face, each one a receipt of his sincerity.

His words strike straight into your heart. He’s serious. A part of you wants to still feel guilty like you’re forcing him into this but on the other hand, he’s right. You’ve given him a multitude of opportunities to leave and find a girl who will cater to him, but he hasn’t. 

He doesn’t need to because all he needs is you and your love, to Jongseong, that is all he needs in his life.

“Okay, but if you ever change your min-”

He interjects with a kiss, one filled with so much happiness and love that it’s almost intoxicating; either that or all the booze in his system has transferred its way into your bloodstream. 

You giggle as he rolls over on top of you again, peppering loud and wet kisses all over your face and neck akin to a dog licking you from utter joy. Your hands try to fight him off playfully, your laugh growing louder as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Oh, wait!” Your lover's sudden pause catches your attention, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he swiftly rolls off the bed and rushes over to the messy pile on the chair by his dresser.

Curious, you crane your neck to see what he's up to, watching as he retrieves something from the floor.

“What is it?” you inquire, intrigued by his enthusiasm.

Turning back to you, Jongseong holds up the familiar torn sheet of paper that you recognise instantly, his smile lighting up his face. He grabs a pen from the desk and returns to your side, handing you both items.

“Tick it off,” he urges, pointing to the bottom of the page where a new addition was made yesterday morning. Despite his internal conflict about the list, he couldn't bring himself to tear it up. If he never saw you again, this would be a precious memory to hold onto.

So he added a new aspiration at the bottom.

Taking the pen from his hand, you read it slowly, “Make Y/N mine again..”

You gaze up at him in awe, understanding the significance of this gesture and how much the list means to him, “You wished for this?” you ask, to which he simply nods at your question, “Then you need to tick it off.” You push the pen and paper back to him but he stops you.

“No, you made the wish come true, so you need to tick it off,” he replies, the corners of his lips upturning slightly.

So with the pen, you draw a line over the words, scoring it off once and for all as you beam proudly, happy that both of your souls are now joined together again. You pull him in for a long, deep kiss, the bucket list discarded as you lose yourselves in the moment once again.

[sohyxn]

UNSPOKEN LONGING⠀───⠀minatozaki sana.

TAGS : fluff, angst, friends to lovers, oblivious sana, pining, reader can't take it anymore 💔, college au

SYPNOSIS : constant rejection makes you decide to avoid sana at any cost. what will happen if sana realizes your absence and confronts you for it?

NOTES : happy belated birthday to our sana, i was supposed to post this yesterday but something comes up. anyway this is really shitty but pls enjoy <3

it was another ordinary day at college, but for yn, it felt anything but ordinary. the weight of unrequited love had become a burden she could no longer bear. countless times, she had confessed her feelings to her friend — sana, only to be met with rejection. but today, yet again yn determine to confess her feelings towards the latter.

yn's heart pounded in her chest as she stood in front of sana's class, waiting for the beauty to finish her class, her hands trembling with anticipation. she had gathered all her courage to confess her feelings once again, hoping that maybe — just maybe this time sana would finally reciprocate it.

after what feels like years, sana's figure finally appeared and yn approached her. "hey sana, there's something i need to tell you," yn began, her voice filled with nervousness. "oh, hey yn, what is it?"

"i've been carrying these feelings for you for a long time, and i can't keep them to myself any longer. i... i like you, sana."

sana's eyes widened slightly, her brows furrowing as she processed yn's words. she let out a soft chuckle, assuming it was another lighthearted moment between friends. "oh, yn, you're always so sweet. i really like you too! you're an amazing friend."

yn's heart sank, the weight of sana's continuous obliviousness hitting her hard. she tried to hide her disappointment, forcing a smile to mask her true feelings. "haha... yeah. anyway, i've got to go, see you sana."

with mixed emotions, yn turned and walked away, her heart aching from the unrequited feelings. yn was exhausted, tired of pouring her heart out and yet again receiving nothing in return. so she had made a difficult decision to finally move on from sana, which is by — distancing herself from sana. and so the process of moving on started.

in the days that followed, yn focused on avoiding minatozaki sana at all cost. from ignoring sana's hellos to avoiding eyes contact with sana.

as yn walked through the bustling hallways, her eyes caught a glimpse of sana chatting and laughing with their mutual friends — myoui mina and hirai momo. the ache in her chest grew stronger. she missed the warmth of sana's presence, the way her smile could brighten even the darkest of days. but yn remind herself that she couldn't continue living in a cycle of heartache anymore.

days turned into weeks, and yn's absence did not go unnoticed by sana. her heart felt heavy and her mind felt confused with yn's sudden distance.

"did i do something wrong?" sana huffed. "quit complaining and just confront her about it sana" mina said. "yeah, you should do that instead of whining about it to us every damn time." momo complained.

the trio are currently in mina's apartment — having a study session that quickly turned into sana pouring her life problem session.

"you don't get it, its just so sudden you know? did she find out about my feelings towards her?. is that why she started avoiding me? she won't even look at me anymore. guys please help me." sana continued rambling. "like i said sana, confront her about it. you won't know what happens to her if you keep complaining and do nothing about it." mina said frustrated with sana's whining.

"fine ugh, i guess i will." sana rolled her eyes as her mind kept wandering about yn.

the next day, sana mustered her courage to confront yn. she found the latter sitting alone in the campus library, her gaze fixed on a book but her mind clearly elsewhere.

"sana?" yn looked up, surprise evident in her eyes.

sana took a deep breath, her voice laced with vulnerability. "yn, why do you keep avoiding me? did i do something wrong to you? please tell me if i did something wrong to you. i miss you yn."

yn couldn't ignore the longing in sana's voice, but her heart was guarded. "sana, you did nothing wrong. i've been busy with assignments and projects, that's all. "

sana's brows furrowed, her eyes searching yn's face for any signs of deception. "yn, i know you well enough to sense when something is bothering you. it feels like there's a wall between us, and i don't know why so please, be honest with me."

yn's gaze faltered, her heart feeling heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. she took a deep breath, gathering her courage to share her true feelings.

"sana, i can't bear this distance between us any longer," yn confessed, her voice filled with a mix of nervousness and determination. "the truth is, i have feelings for you. more than just friendship. every time we're apart, i feel a void in my heart, and i miss you more than words can express."

"and i've been avoiding you because i thought we couldn't be more than friend, with your constant rejection, moving on is the only thing i could do."

sana's eyes widened in surprise, her heart skipping a beat. she hadn't expected yn to have the same feelings. a sense of relief filled her chest.

"y-yn, i didn't know... i didn't think you'd felt the same way," sana stammered, her voice filled with a mix of astonishment and joy. " and i'm so sorry, i've been rejecting you because i never thought you would like me back, its just too good to be true."

sana took a step closer, her eyes shining with sincerity. "yn if you're willing, please let me take you out on a date."

yn's guarded heart melted, her voice filled with a newfound happiness. "sana, i'd be crazy if i said I don't want to."

a smile spread across sana's face, her hand reaching out to gently touch yn's cheek. "i'm glad we're on the same page, yn. i promise i will take you on the best ever date you've ever had in your life."

and so, in the quiet corners of the college library, yn and sana embarked on a new chapter of their relationship. and in each other's presence, yn and sana found solace, blissfully content in the knowledge that their unspoken longing had finally found its voice — a love that would flourish and endure for a lifetime.

[tinytennisskirt]

Never

Summary: Art breaking up with you over something you never had a say in to begin with. His future. Reminiscing over exactly what it is he’s leaving behind and the bittersweet of it all.

Warnings: angst, mentions of sex, mentions of drinking and smoking, not edited from my notes app

Your stomach flipped at the sight of the text from Art.

You free? We need to talk.

It was this odd sinking feeling, your feet suddenly the heaviest things to lift, your stomach instantly in a knot, twisting, making you sick. It’s not like you didn’t know it was coming. His distance drastically increased the past three days, plans you made had fizzled out to nothing by the means of odd-seeming and strategically-placed obstacles in his path. And you were fine, you’d thought.

And it wasn’t a lie. It was good. And happy. And healthy- both you and Art were communicative and understanding and allowed each other space and peace of mind when needed. Nothing was better than your time together, not felt better than his arms around you after a long day, nothing could come close to the way it felt when he would plant a simple kiss on the centre of your forehead.

And you felt things slowly unravel, like pulling on one string and having the whole sweater come undone. But it was quick. And it was unexpected. And he wanted to talk, asked you to meet him in his dorm room when you were done with your lecture and you just had that intuitive, gut feeling that this was it. You hoped to god you weren’t right. You were 89% sure but there was a 20% that was a pale ghost of optimism that laid overtop all of your doubt, co-existing within the one hundred.

If someone had asked you five days ago what the chances of him leaving felt like to you, you would have said it was a 4% chance he would go. Why would you have any reason to doubt him? He was your best friend and the man you were absolutely head over heels for. And him, he would hold you close all night if you let him, he would go out at four in the morning if you said you craved iced tea then and there, if you cried he would wipe your tears away and not let you go until you wanted and that would sometimes mean hours, and if you were sick he was there with soup and hands to hold back your hair.

But you felt the 89% in his sudden change of character as you knocked on his door and he opened it without pulling you into a hug or a kiss or anything of the sort. The same sort of hello just minus everything you knew and the cold of it was uncomfortable as you walked in and sat on his bed, pulling your feet up. He sat in the computer chair across from you, not on the bed with you, and you slowly felt the nausea creep up on you. Worse. His greeting was so empty of who he was. It was like even his room had lost colour.

“I wanted to talk to you about…”

“Us,” you finished. He met your eyes and then looked to the ground, nodding slowly. You knew it. You were confident enough to finish his sentence.

Art rested his elbow on his knee and allowed his chin to rest on his palm, fidgeting with his own lower lip. He paused for a moment, “I-um…” he started. Your stomach ached and you found yourself fidgeting with the ring on your finger. “I don’t know what I’m thinking, I’m struggling a bit.” He confessed, nervous smile on his face which you knew he had no control over.

“That’s okay,” you answered, smiling just a bit in response, though it was forced. Too forced, it almost hurt to make your muscles move this way when they resisted so hard. “Take your time.” You said. Gentle.

His hand rubbed over his mouth and then his eye, rubbing his left eye and coming to rest his hand along the side of his face, air blowing out through slightly parted lips. “I’ve been thinking about tennis.” He said.

You stayed quiet, listening patiently though the impulse to be impatient was such a threatening force. You hated the way you could feel the heartache already manifesting in your fingertips. What an odd place to feel it, you thought. Maybe it was the ghost of your optimism, trying to guide your heart to your fingertips so maybe you could reach out and keep him. What an odd thought.

“I think I’m leaving in the spring.” He said. You knew that he would be going on tour, pro, when the spring came. It was something you talked about often, his head in your lap and your hand in his hair. “And I was really wondering for some time what it would look like. Place to place and I-uh- I was talking to Patrick and he told me how tour is and I got to thinking…” he trailed off, meeting your eyes for just a moment. You pressed your lips together, trying to just sit still and listen quietly.

You nodded just slightly for him to continue, okaying the fact that you had listened so far. “Ive been losing sleep over it, how demanding it is and weighing that with how badly I want it and- I guess I don’t know how to do it all… with you.” He said. You saw it coming, you saw it coming as you walked over, you saw it coming from his text. “Badly phrased, I know, I’m sorry. I’m not good at this, I’ve never… done this.” He said, fidgeting more with his hands, trying to crack knuckles he’d already cracked as you just sat there absorbing it.

It was always obvious that Art loved tennis in a way that most people wouldn’t get. He wasn’t overly passionate about it, it didn’t consume his every thought, he wasn’t obsessed but it was a dream of his to go pro. Play big games with big names and it was a wonderful future he saw for himself but right now, feeling selfish, you wondered why he couldn’t see that future with you at the sidelines. You’d been to almost every one of his games at Stanford, you had been around for practices, you even tried to play a few times and you were awful but that didn’t matter, right? You loved what he loved because he loved it, even if you weren’t good at it. And you loved him for his aspirations and drive for success in something he loved and that was an amazing thing to observe. It’s not often you find a man who is so sure of what he wants, avoiding playing games with your heart, never hurting you intentionally and if he did, it was an accident and fixed, truly fixed. It never dawned on you that his idea of security didn’t involve you. Not the way your idea of security involved him.

No matter the variable of the future your idea of it was always with him. And the boys you’d known before him, you had avoided thinking about the future at all costs. You didn’t want kids with them, you didn’t want anything with them and you sometimes wondered why it didn’t come naturally and then Art came along and you found yourself thinking fondly over name ideas. And you were young- it was a bit far off from the time when you could truly have that future but you knew you wanted it. And you knew you wanted him and no one else to fill that role. He would be perfect, you thought, playing tennis with some little boy, some little version of yourselves and it was stupid, yes! Stupid because it was so far away but it wasn’t stupid to want. And you wanted a career and success, but not more than you wanted him.

Now when you looked at him where he sat you felt everything you’d ever seen for your future, every vision of your future home whether it be an apartment or a big White House, every vision of him coming home to you, every vision of him coming home to future children, it was fading. And your optimism with it. Why would he stay?

He just waited for your reply, his mouth twisted a bit to the side. “Why not?” You asked. Why couldn’t he do it all with you?

He looked at his hands, “It’s going to be a lot.” He said. “And it’s going to be hard for both of us and I just don’t think we’d survive it.” So he was giving up.

“Survive it?”

“Make it through.” He stated, fidgeting away. It was some peace of mind to know he struggled to say it. You felt the hot flush of impending tears wash over your body. “I think… the best course of action for us is if we go separate ways.” You bit your lip as the hot tears began to spring up in your eyes. You hardened your stare as to know show them, which you knew didn’t work but you still tried. “And I’m sorry.” He added.

“You think it’s best?” You asked. “For you or for me?” You immediately backpedaled, a single tear falling down your face but no real crying being allowed. “I’m sorry, that sounded really rude, I didn’t mean it that way.”

He chuckled, rubbing his eyes again, “No, I know. I get it. But I think for us, or I like thinking for us. I just… I know myself and I know that when things get tough and we would be apart so often… I would distance myself.” He nodded, continued, “I would hate for you to torment yourself over it because I know you’d worry. And I think it would be better to not have to deal with the heartache of it all then.”

“So you’ll deal it out now?” You asked. And you understood. He wanted to leave before it got messy, got hard to comprehend and live with. You didn’t see that coming in the slightest but when a man gets their mind set on something of the sort it’s hard to remove the notion from their stubborn mind. “Art, I don’t want that.” You told him. “I don’t want that future for us either. Distance wouldn’t matter to me, I could deal with the time apart.”

He buried his face in his hands, “I know and I’m sorry.” He said, muffled, rubbing his jaw as he lifted his head up. “I don’t want it either but I’m not ready to hurt you and I know the idea of it is going to keep me up at night just the fact that it feels like it’s going to happen at some point…” He sighed deeply. More of your tears streamed down your cheeks but you wiped them away and fought the urge to sniffle. “I don’t want to hurt you down the line.”

“So don’t,” you said, trying reason on the stubborn mind. “Don’t hurt me and don’t leave. Unless it truly doesn’t work.” You said. You wouldn’t beg, but you could try and get him to see reason. Your heart beat slow in your chest but with heavy, violent thuds. You wouldn’t never understand his mind, his true thought process. Just a week ago he was kissing your stomach on his way down, telling you that you were beautiful, just a week ago, you’d gone with his mom to lunch, just a week ago, you fell asleep in his arms and woke up still held just as tightly. And his reason was that he was afraid of something that was entirely up to him. But you’d take it. There wasn’t much else he could say.

“It’s the balance of things. I don’t know how I’d be able to keep up with us and tennis at the same time. And I hate that I don’t think I can do it, I’m so sorry.” Words of someone with their mind made up.

He didn’t even try yet. He was giving up before he even tried. Or even tried to try. And that was what you were worth, apparently. But you loved him, so of course you’d be happy to step aside if you were in the way of his dream.

“What did I do wrong?” You asked. “To not be worth that try?”

“No, no, you did everything right,” he said, leaning forward just a bit and you swore he almost reached for your hand. “It’s not that I’m not trying, I’m just trying to prevent more pain.” He said. “This is fucking killing me, I don’t want it but I don’t want you to hate me if I get too busy and ruin everything.”

“Art, it’s as simple as not hurting me.” You stated. “I want you and you… wanted me and I thought that was something.”

“No, it is something I just… don’t want to remember it as anything else. I don’t want this to ruin us.”

“You’re going to do exactly that. What am I supposed to say to that? Where’s the closure in that? You’re saying you want me but won’t keep me, that’s insane.” You tried again to reason and he put his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes again. “I thought I was worth more than tha-“

“You are. You’re worth so much and I hate that I’m doing this, but I don’t know how to go forward while maintaining us in the way that I know you want.” He tried to reason back, but it just didn’t work. It didn’t feel okay… or right. How could it? He promised forever, he was only saying it, he didn’t mean it. Every act that had led up to this point, the pre-relationship pining, the anticipation of a first kiss, first handhold, first time… Every act that had led up to him leaving what was it really worth if not some lead up to a perfect future. Or even an imperfect one, you would have loved an imperfect future with him. Another year, even. Or a good few months of him at least trying to keep your relationship intact, but he sat here saying he wouldn’t even try because he knew how it would end.

You hated knowing that if this was your situation, you would have found a way to make it work. You’d be trying harder than he was to keep him because you adored him and what other answer was there? When you want someone, you want someone and you would do all you could to keep them even if in the end it ended up being absolutely fucking pointless. You’d rather the fight than the abrupt ending on what was supposed to be ‘good terms’. He wanted to preserve the perfect people you were before the fight made you cold and mean but who was to say the fight wouldn’t have been worth it? It could even work out nicely, ending in peace. The peace you currently had… the peace you were losing.

You couldn’t stop him, that was evident. You knew what he wanted and it was his own peace of mind that he wouldn’t become a bad person, but you secretly hoped that this was a decision he would regret. And you did cry, just not loudly, you let yourself cry and he himself didn’t look so okay but there was good in that. It meant this was hard to do, it meant that you weren’t easy to leave. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I feel awful but I’d rather this over tearing us apart.” He said.

“It’s okay.” You said. And it was, it wasn’t a lie. His intentions were good and that was the worst part. He didn’t want to hurt you. He just had to give something up in order to achieve his goals and it happened to be you. As unfortunate as that was, you loved him enough to see his reason and still stay understanding even though it brought an end to the thing you wanted more than anything.

You pressed your lips together, then let another breath slip through them as they parted again, looking up at the ceiling. Than the wall. Then the window. The door. This would most likely be the last time you were in his dorm room and you found yourself trying already to convince yourself to let things go but it was just reflex. You were trying to protect yourself from the impending pain that would hit hard once that door shut behind you again. You were already trying to self-soothe, self-comfort as you felt the cracks spread throughout your body, getting ready to completely shatter.

You remembered the first time you were in his room. His walls were mostly bare, but now they were covered in posters you’d bought him. Pictures. Pictures of you, even. The pain in your fingertips flared through your body as you imagined him having to take them down. And what would he do with them? Where would they go? The same with the posters, though they were much less personal, would they remind him of you?

How much pain would he feel when you left? You wondered if it would be anywhere near the level of yours. It all depended on things you didn’t and couldn’t know- how long had he been wanting to do this? Had he been thinking about it for weeks trying to find the right time or was it cut and dry, a quick impulse? How long did he know he had to leave and what did he allow as he had the thought of leaving you in the back of his mind. Last week you’d fucked twice and it was slow and it was perfect and now you wondered if he knew that was the last time. The pain in your fingertips began to become a crushing force on your ribs, clenching your heart and you sobbed once into your hands.

You sat in the silence that was once so comfortable and he was right there and he wasn’t immediately a comfort. He wasn’t immediately your safety from your emotion, he couldn’t be anymore. You weren’t so lucky

It was the very bed you sat on then that had been the setting for most of your easy evenings. Talking, kissing, touching, asleep. And you wouldn’t be able to escape it going back to your own dorm. Your dorm room bed carried the same type of memories. And it was all pain, it wasn’t much else other than bittersweet. You wanted him, he wanted you but he wouldn’t do much to keep you other than end things. Here, now, after all of this.

He first kissed you outside of the tennis change rooms and around the side of the building where you waited for him after a successful game. His hair was still wet from the shower and sure he still had gum in his mouth but it was everything, the way you’d never kissed before but somehow fit so perfectly together. No clash of teeth, no bumping heads. A perfect, clean, movie kiss. And you thought about that now as you were looking at his lips. You didn’t think that there would ever come a time when you had to try and remember when you last kissed. The reality of the last kiss was something you were glad was lovely, you remembered exactly when he last kissed you and it was a long one. Last night you’d questioned it just slightly for its length and its passion but you guessed that he knew today would be the day. You wiped your eyes. Who would have thought you’d ever have a last kiss? Not you. And you were sure if this was a few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have thought it up either. So you told him it was okay.

It didn’t feel much like it was but it would have to be. It wouldn’t feel okay for a long time but at its base, it was okay. Because you loved him and only wanted him to be happy and leaving you was what would give him the peace of mind to go and be successful. Tennis was everything to him the way he was everything to you. And just as he was worth everything and anything, so was tennis to him. That wasn’t to say he chose tennis over you- that’s not what he was doing and you knew that, even if it felt that way- but it was him prioritizing your peace. You could appreciate the sentiment even as the cracks it was leaving were beginning to open and ache.

“I just… I can’t believe this.” You said, smiling just the smallest bit. “I really thought this was it.” You sighed, crying quietly, trying not to. Begging yourself not to. …Things you said that you didn’t think through. You’d have time to regret it later but it just made Art look away from you. He couldn’t handle it. And you could see he had tears in his eyes, he couldn’t hide that. As much as you hated seeing him upset, it was good to know that this upset him and he wasn’t doing this emotionlessly. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you- don’t be sorry.” He said, sniffing, looking at you through his eyelashes, still fidgeting with his lower lip. “I promise it’s nothing you did. I promise you, you were perfect. You were everything.” The past tense killed you and you found it evoked a large breath from you. A sharp intake of air. You were perfect, everything, but not perfect or everything enough to stay and try. “Don’t be sorry, please.” He said.

But you couldn’t help it. Maybe there was some version of you that had done more that got to keep him. If you’d had been born into his world, money and tennis, maybe he wouldn’t have to sacrifice. “I’ll try.”

“You shouldn’t have to-“ he stopped himself just to wipe his eyes. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” You hated seeing him cry. All you wanted was to reach forward and pull him in. All of the crying he’d witnessed from you, all of the emotions he’d been patient and kind with and now he was in tears and you couldn’t hold him the way he held you. It felt cruel and mean to not, but you knew it was wrong to, now that he’d stated what he wanted and it was no longer you. The ache in your chest felt magnetic to the feeling of comforting his matching aches and ills. It was all you wanted to do, wipe away his tears with your own. All you wanted was to make up as if this was some sort of weird fight and have him promise you the same thing he promised you a week ago. That he wasn’t going anywhere and that he wanted you. It could be so simple only if he tried. And none of this was fair- you didn’t get a say. You didn’t get to decide what happened with his future and you never did, but you should have had a say in the future of your relationship. You should have been allowed to fight to stay, even if everything burned down to the ground in the process. “I’m so sorry. I really am. Fuck.” He shook his head, still trying to hide how upset he was but it filled the room, both your feelings and his. Usually the words ‘I’m sorry’ were given a paved path by an ‘I love you’ and the silence beforehand was so empty. Too empty.

“This is it?”

“I know… I know it’s fast, I should have more to say but all I know is that you were perfect. And amazing, and I’m glad we got the time we did.”

Before he ended it. Right. You wanted to be upset, you really did. You wanted to talk the sense back into him, remind him of every time he said he loved you, remind him what it felt like to be loved by you. Remind him that what he is leaving behind are hot summer nights kissing in his car, the comfort of knowing someone inside and out completely and entirely. To remind him of your hands in his hair and his head in your lap and telling him secrets you’d never told anyone. Remind him what it felt like to be with you in every way. How he was your best friend, the one person in the world you could truly say knew everything about you just the same as you knew the most about him. All of him, every side of him. You wanted to kiss him and make him remember all of it.

Christmas, meeting his grandma, the sweetest and most gentle woman you’ve ever met. Art holding your hand under the table at Christmas dinner and sitting with your legs overtop his. Sleeping in his childhood bedroom in his arms. New years with him and Patrick and too much drinking and the taste of a cigar when he kissed you as the clock struck twelve, how that kiss didn’t end until you were breathing heavily, sweaty on your dorm room floor. You couldn’t even make it to the bed and you just laughed. As well as the night that you fell off your bed and you and Art laughed for way too long over something so simple because it was just you both. Best friends and in love and there was nothing greater in the world.

Birthdays when his gifts were beyond thoughtful. Diving into things you wanted as a child, finding them, giving you them. And he hardly ever let you thank him, batting your gratitude away like it was nothing to do all of that for you. And you did the same, hunting down the signed racket of a resigned tennis player he loved as a kid. That tennis racket was on his wall above his bed.

When he would kiss you when you talked too much (he would still wait until you were finished talking) and sometimes not when the only thing you were saying was judgemental of yourself. He loved to shut you up and tell you the exact opposite of any flaw you swore you had. He’d hold your face when he said it but it was mostly kissing. And you did the same when he needed it.

There was also the day he said he loved you for the first time and it was just an accident. He hung up the five hour long phone call with ‘goodnight, I love you’ and you say processing it for a minute before leaving your dorm room in your pajamas, running across campus and saying that you loved him too and he kissed you at the doorway as you stumbled into his room. And after that you talked for five more hours. You’d do that often, too- talk for hours. As friends it was all you would do and it didn’t end when you were together, you loved to talk to him about nothing and everything.

And the fucked up thing about wanting him to remember it all was that he probably already had. And decided that in all of it, it just wasn’t something he wanted more of for himself.

So you would have to go without. Everything. You wouldn’t see his grandma again, you wouldn’t visit his childhood home, touching photos of him as a wide-eyed, big-eared little boy with tennis dreams. You wouldn’t spend another night in his childhood bed let alone any bed with him, in his arms. You had to say goodbye to the version of you who knew comfort in his reassurance of everything he loved about you no matter how much you hated them. He’d never kiss your eyelids again. No more holidays, no more birthdays. No more hearing those three words. It was a blow big enough to knock the wind out of you, but you’d feel it later. For now you had to pretend you weren’t feeling your heart physically ache, the heartstrings pull and your heart as a whole clench.

He weighed the scales and he would rather go without.

You looked at the boy you loved and knowing this, you couldn’t help but cry, really cry. And when you truly broke, so did he. You could hear him cry quietly as you tried so hard to stop. No more crying, you urged yourself. These were your last moments here and you were crying. It was over, everything was over and this emptiness would be what you carried with you on your way back to your dorm. Then you’d carry it day to day while he went pro in the spring. You wondered how empty this would feel for him. But you would never truly know.

There were so many ‘never’s at your feet. And they pulled tears from your eyes and they streamed down your cheeks and you were desperately trying to stop them. He cried into his hands. “I was lucky,” you managed to say. “I’m proud…” you spoke through tears, “of you. For doing this. For us.” You hated how it sounded. It sounded fake, it sounded weird. He just cried and you stood up from his bed. There wasn’t much else to say, though you’d think about it all night. Things like this would happen- you had no more words for him that weren’t desperate pleads for him to remember why he stayed so that he wouldn’t leave. But you respected him too much. You wanted him to have the best shot at his future. No distractions, no you. You just stood next to his bed, tears falling consistently but without sound. “If you ever… want to come back. Don’t hesitate.” You said and you watched him tense up more under the weight of his own tears falling. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” he said, voice breaking. You sobbed, turning to look at anything other than him, your perfect, lovely, sweet Art who you wanted more than anything. He looked at you and he stood up and you weren’t ready to say goodbye but you felt no other way to exist here anymore. You didn’t want to sob you didn’t want to have this be the end, you could say more, but you couldn’t think of anything that would change his mind and sure, you’d say it anyways but respect… you had to respect his decision, the decision he made without you, for you. There would never be true closure here. Ever. He would miss you, you knew that, how could he not? But life would go on. “You’re going?”

“I think so,” you replied. “But I’m not going anywhere, I-“ you couldn’t even finish what you were saying but he had to know it. All of everything came to this. “I couldn’t.”

He looked at you with those beautiful sad eyes and you couldn’t do much about them. You could have asked for a kiss goodbye but it would have been inappropriate. You couldn’t even bring yourself to ask for a hug or anything, not even a touch just to feel his skin with intention one last time. Not even his hand… you fought yourself.

He had more to say and you knew it but maybe it was best with things unsaid. They might hurt to hear. And you knew you wouldn’t need more pain.

Despite your better judgement, despite everything you were scared of- despite not even being sure if he wanted it, you put your hand on the side of his face. He leaned into it like he always did and that was the true breaking point. The cracks in you split themselves open and you felt like you were suffocating. It was the last time your hand would hold him in any way. “Goodbye, Art.” You said it first, though it was really him who made the first move. You felt his tear as it rolled from his eyes and onto the side of your hand just before you pulled it away, puppy dog eyes holding so much pain.

“I’m sorry.” He said again. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

[amberlynnmurdock]

Neighbor Pt. 4 - Christmas Edition

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt Murdock dreaded Christmas until she gave him a new meaning to it.

Words: about 2.3k

Genres: FLUFF, light angst

A/N: Merry Christmas Eve!!! <3

Part 3

The holidays were finally here, and Matt Murdock was dreading them.

He used to love Christmas. Before his accident, he remembered waking up at three in the morning to the sound of his father wrapping gifts under the tree on Christmas Eve. Yeah, his father had a match on Christmas Eve one year, and Matt was disappointed when he told him he had to stay home. He watched the match on their old TV, lights on the Christmas tree twinkling behind him, blood splattering on the camera as Battlin’ Jack Murdock knocked out his foe. Matt sauntered off to bed after that, passing the tree with missing presents, not giving a damn because the greatest gift he could have was watching his father win on TV. But Matt remembers that crinkling noise of tape on wrapping paper and the growing excitement in his chest that his father did get him a present. 

After the accident, and after his father was murdered, Christmas started to feel less warm and more of a thing to get by. The only time he ever felt anything close to how he did before was going to mass. Even mass started to lose its lure as he got older and understood the heartache that came with Christmas, mostly from prayers—prayers only he could hear because of his senses. Parents prayed to God for a Christmas miracle to afford gifts, and orphaned children prayed for someone to adopt them in time for the holiday. 

Christmas hasn’t been the same for Matt for a long time. He still attended mass at his old church, said hello to Father Lantom and the sisters who practically raised him, and continued to carry that heaviness in his heart that’d been growing since he was a kid. It will never go away. 

It was worse living in Hell’s Kitchen alone. But at least in recent years, he had Karen and Foggy to celebrate Christmas with. Except, this year was different. After years and years of space her father needed, Karen’s dad was finally ready to reconcile with his daughter. She left work early Friday to drive up to Vermont. Foggy was spending Christmas with Marci’s family this year, all the way in South Jersey. This left Matt on his own for Christmas for the first time in years. He didn’t know what he would do. 

Come Christmas, the entire apartment was nearly empty. Everyone had left to go to the country to visit family. Everyone but her. She was alone today as well…soft classical music played from her apartment—she never played music too loud, unlike other tenants. The movie How the Grinch Stole Christmas played in the background, too. And Matt’s mouth started to water and his stomach growled when he smelt gingerbread cookies from her oven. 

To feel closer to her, Matt reached for the latest book in braille she brought him. She said it was one of her favorites: The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway. Matt was never a big fan of literature, but for her, he could be. While he couldn’t make sense of some metaphors (he blames law school for teaching him to take things very literally) he still appreciated the way authors could write beautifully. And he loved reading what she loved. 

When she tried to explain the allegories and metaphors in the book, Matt joked to her about a book his father used to read to him all the time: The Giving Tree. That was the last book he ever read for pleasure, juvenile and silly as it was. His father read it to him before bed every night. And there it was again, that familiar ache and break in his soul whenever he thought of his father. 

He closed the book and closed his eyes as he let the sounds of the smell of her apartment fill his senses. He longed to be there with her. He longed to say hello. Eventually, he would work up the courage. Eventually, he fell asleep instead.

***

Matt woke up to a gentle knocking on his door. He shot up on the couch, disoriented, and clicked his phone for the time. It is 6 PM, the automated voice read. Matt felt his heart drop as panic set in. He fell asleep for that long?!

When he listened for the knocks again, he realized it was her at his door. Matt panicked again and ran his hand through his chocolate brown hair, hoping he wouldn’t look like a mess when he answered his door. He cracked his neck and adjusted his shirt as he walked over to answer. He didn’t bother to hone in on his senses to get a feel for what she had with her if there was anything at all. Matt opened the door. 

“Hi Matt,” she said, her voice an octave higher out of nervousness. “Is now a bad time?”

“Oh no,” Matt answered quickly, running a hand through his hair again. “I just—was… I accidentally fell asleep,” he ended up admitting sheepishly. There was no use in lying. 

“No plans either today, huh?” She asked a hint of irony in her tone. Matt huffed out a laugh, ignoring that tugging feeling in his heart. 

“Well, I might attend mass later, since I at least didn’t sleep through that,” Matt answered. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

“Merry Christmas!” She exclaimed, and it was then that Matt finally noticed she was holding a plate of gingerbread cookies in her hands. “I baked some cookies and thought you’d like some. Some have frosting and some don’t. I wasn’t sure what you preferred.”

“Are you kidding? I don’t discriminate cookies,” Matt smiled, taking the plate from her hands graciously. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” He suddenly felt guilty—he didn’t have anything to offer her. 

“I wanted to,” she shrugged. “You’re the only person here I can share this day with, so why not?” 

Matt smiled softly, wondering why she was celebrating Christmas alone. No family, like him? 

He wasn’t sure what to say now. Well, he knew what he wanted to say… he knew what he wanted to ask. But he wasn’t sure if he had the courage to. 

“Well,” she said, “I’ll leave you to it. I hope you like them,” there was a hint of urgency in her voice like she too was holding something back. Uncertainty. He wasn’t a stranger to it. 

“Hey,” Matt suddenly said, swallowing his pride, his lonesome, his fear. “Would you—if you’re up to it, would you want to join me for Christmas mass? It’s at my old Catholic Church a few blocks down. I could—use some company.”

“Really?” She jumped at the opportunity. Matt’s heart skipped a beat. “Even though I’m not that religious, I could go?”

“Of course,” Matt answered, “they always welcome strangers. It starts at 7:30.”

“Well, okay,” she answered happily, “I'd love to join you.”

“Alright then,” Matt said. “I’ll come by your door at 7. Until then, I might finish this plate of cookies.”

She laughed. He wanted to tell another joke just to hear it again. 

***

The walk home from Mass was quieter than the way there if that were possible. Perhaps, neither of them was used to being with the other outside the apartment—or maybe, both of them had a lot to say but no idea how to say it. What did Matt want to say?

It’s been a while since he went to mass with anyone. For her to accompany him to something important to him meant the world. She didn’t know how much it meant to him for her to join. Most people groaned at the idea of going to church—but her? She nearly leaped at it. It made him even more curious as to why she was alone on this day, but he would save that question for another time. Right now, he was just grateful. 

She reached in her pocket for the keys to the building. Matt listened closely to her. Her heart was beating slightly faster than normal from walking. She was taking shaky breaths from the cold. When the door finally opened, Matt held it for her to walk in first. He was thankful they didn’t run into any trouble on the way home. 

“I’m not used to the building being this quiet,” she said on the way up the stairs, in an attempt to make conversation. 

“Me either,” Matt said. “I could get used to it, though.”

“I hope I’m not too loud,” she laughed lightly.

“You?” Matt scoffed. “You’re a dream of a neighbor. You drop me off books and now cookies.”

She laughed again, “You save me from bad dates. I guess you’re not bad of a neighbor either.”

When they finally reached their floor, Matt walked her to her door and listened from the outside, just in case. It was quiet, and still. Safe. Safe for her to walk in. She paused at the door, that familiar uncertainty filling her voice again as she spoke. 

“That was beautiful,” she said softly, “the service. It’s been a while since I’ve been to something like that. I forgot how fulfilling it was.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Matt said. “Most people find it boring—which I suppose it can be, but on days like today, I could really use it. It…gets lonely during the holidays.”

“I understand,” she whispered, leaning against her door. She didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want this to be the end of their night. “I feel the same.” 

“Yeah,” Matt spoke gently. “Thank you for joining me. It means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome,” she sighed. “Before you go, I do have one last thing for you. Do you want to come inside real quick, before we say goodnight?”

Matt was stunned by her question—it was at that moment he realized he’d been waiting for her to ask it.

“Sure,” Matt tried to sound as calm as possible. She smiled and unlocked her door. 

Matt tapped his cane in front of him to walk inside. If her apartment wasn’t intoxicating enough, being inside was downright exhilarating. A soft vanilla scent wafted through her apartment. There was a suede couch in the living room and a velvet carpet. Matt took a seat on her couch as she sauntered off to her bedroom. Her bedroom…

“Okay,” she softly announced, reappearing in the living room. “Hold out your hands.”

Matt rested his cane on the floor and held out his hands smiling. She sat down next to him, her knee touching his. She placed what felt like a thin rectangle, wrapped in paper, in his hands. 

“You can open it,” she giggled.

Matt began to slowly rip at the present, careful to not completely rip it apart. Whatever he held, it was upside down. Matt flipped it in his hands. It was a book, of course. When he ran his fingers over the cover, his heart nearly dropped in his stomach. 

⠞⠓⠑ ⠛⠊⠧⠊⠝⠛ ⠞⠗⠑⠑

The Giving Tree

Translated in Braille 

The Giving Tree. His childhood book. The last book his father ever read to him. A book he hasn’t picked up in years. 

“I know it’s juvenile,” she began to explain as she saw the utter surprise on Matt’s face, even behind his dark glasses. “But there’s something special about revisiting childhood books. They shaped us. I remember you told me your dad used to read this to you all the time. I thought maybe you’d like to have a new copy in braille.”

Matt was overcome by so many emotions—the thoughtfulness behind her gift, the memories it brought him, the feelings he hadn’t felt since he was a kid—it was all too much, too much for him to pretend like this didn’t impact him. It did. So many things made sense for him at this moment. From being the only two left in this apartment on Christmas, to the book she’s gifted him.

He whispered her name, placing the book in his lap. He didn’t care if his next actions were too forward, it was the only way he could convey what he felt. He took both her hands in his and rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles, feeling each bone slowly and the way her fingers melted in his palms. 

“Thank you,” he uttered, choked on emotion. His heart felt too big in his chest. “This means a lot to me. I wish… I wish I could explain it better,” Matt whispered. “I love it. Thank you.”

“Of course,” she whispered in return, surprised at his sudden vulnerability. “I’m happy you like it.”

Suddenly, Matt pulls his hands away from hers, placing them on the cover of the book. A dark expression fell over his face. “I didn’t get you anything. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Matt,” she laughed, “it’s not about that for me. Your reaction alone was more than I could ever want. And spending this dreadful day not alone for once was the best gift of all.”

She walked Matt to the door. It was getting late and she felt ready to go to sleep. It was an emotionally exhausting day but fulfilling. She only wished it didn’t have to end with her alone. Spending Christmas with Matt was a treat. She didn’t know how badly she needed it. 

Before he was completely outside her door, he turned around and offered a small smile. 

“If you ever get lonely,” Matt began in a voice above a whisper, “Christmas or not… I’m only across the hall.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she smiled, “the same sentiment applies to you, too.”

When she shut her door, Matt waited to hear the click of the lock. He stood for a moment, book in hand, cane in the other, heart on his sleeve. He left a part of himself with her. He wanted her to keep it forever. 

For once, Christmas didn’t feel lonely and it didn’t feel like something he once longed for. There he was, holding a part of his childhood in his hands carefully, while perhaps a glimmer of a future waited on the other side of the door. 

TAGS: @mattmurdocksstarlight @yentroucnagol @danzer8705 @allllium @i-marvel-bitch @mattsgirlsworld @babygrlmurdock @writtenbyred @uncle-eggy

[kyracooneyx23]

can you please do an r x kcc where r and kyra are like best friends but then r does her acl and then they don't see each other for ages and in the time they don't spend together kyra starts to realise that she feels somethinf for r and then when r comes back to camp kyra starts acting differently and then r finds out or something along the lines of that sorry if thats too confusing

Missed You More - Kyra Cooney-Cross

kyra cooney-cross x matildas!reader

summary: Your back in camp after a long ACL recovery but your best friend kyra's acting strange. warnings: injury, kind of angst ig? not really anything else except terrible writing, its just a lot of yapping

'Chelsea winger Y/N L/N has just collapsed and is holding her knee, she looks to be in a lot of pain. A stretcher is being brought on to the pitch for her now showing that this isn't a minor injury. Could she have done her ACL? If so that would not be good for her hopes of playing in the upcoming world cup on home soil for the Australian.'

Scans confirm the worse for Matildas and Chelsea star, Y/N L/N, as it has been revealed the young forward has ruptured her anterior cruciate ligament in recent game against Leicester City. Her hopes to play in the world cup next year very slight as she begins her long road to recovery.

The image of her best friend falling to the ground still haunts Kyra even now 5 months later as she sat on the bus heading to their camp in England after their disappointing loss to Scotland two days ago ending their 7 match winning streak. It was the final camp before they headed home to Australia to prep for the upcoming world cup on home soil. The words of the commentator still replay in her head constantly reminding her of the heartache she felt for her best friend. In every news article she read their was always something about how the matildas star forward, chances of making the squad for the world cup were getting slimmer as time passed, it had consumed all her social media. Her constantly reminding her of the moment you had called her after your scans tears streaming down your face as you broke the news to your best friend about the results.

Of anyone in the world, Kyra knew better than anyone just how much it meant to you to be representing your country in a world cup on home soil, you had left home and travelled halfway across the globe to play for Chelsea at only 16, giving up most of your teenage years to be the best player you could. It broke her heart to just imagine how you would be feeling during this time.

In the thousands of facetimes they'd had together you had always tried to stay positive, always laughing at something and sharing stories about your time in England. But Kyra could see through the facade, nothing would get past her, you'd been best friends since you were fifteen when you both played for Melbourne Victory together. She knew how hard it was for you, you didn't have any family with you and Kyra hadn't been able to visit you as her season with Hammarby had been to busy to have enough time of to sneak in a trip to London.

Since you had been out injured, Kyra's mood had been very down. All her matildas teammates had noticed almost immediately when she had not pulled a single prank throughout the entire cup of nations tournament. The public noticed soon after when photos of the teams celebrations were posted and Kyra was hardly smiling in any of the pictures, preferring to keep to herself in the locker rooms after wins.

Kyra is pulled out of her trance when she feels her phone vibrating from the seat next to her she grabs it and sees an incoming call from you, she answered being greeted by your grinning face.

'Hello Ky.' You called happily at her whilst you walked back from Cobham, after your first full training session back with the team. You had a coffee in your hand and had a scarf wrapped around your shoulders, dressed in a large Chelsea puffer jacket with your hair pulled up into a messy bun strands blowing around your face from the strong wind. 'Sorry, I'm a mess I have a photoshoot in just over an hour so I'm in a rush.' You tell her, but Kyra didn't think you looked a mess she thought you looked beautiful, but she thought you were always stunning she never told anyone about how she felt, she thought it would be weird to go around saying how good you looked.

Kyra hadn't told anyone, but in the time the two of you had been apart Kyra had begun to feel differently towards you but she tried to hide it not wanting it to be awkward. She couldn't stop thinking about you her thoughts often wondering back to your cute smile or your laugh which you hated but she loved. Recently she'd been prioritizing your facetime calls over important stuff she was meant to be doing and whenever you did something Kyra felt like a millions butterflies were flying around in her stomach.

At first Kyra was scared of these feelings but she'd accepted them just thinking it was because she missed you a lot and when you came back from injury everything would go back to normal. It couldn't just be her that thought you were the prettiest person alive, surely anyone in their right mind could see that right?

'Kyra Lilee Cooney-Cross? Are you still there? Helloooo earth to Kyra...' you loudly spoke into the phone, pulling Kyra out of her trance and she blushed after realising she had been staring at you all this time.

'Sorry 'bout that.' Kyra says embarrassed. 'How are you? Did the scans go alright?'

'I'm good, the scans went well. My physio said that my rehab is going really well and I'm actually ahead of the schedule and...' A huge grin spreads out on your face, 'I could even be back for the game against Leicester on the 11th which means I'm allowed to play in the world cup. But that's only if Tony choses me.'

'Are you kidding Y/N/N? That's amazing, I'm so proud of you, and of course Tony's going to choose you for the world cup if your back in time, he'd be stupid not to.' Kyra matches your energy a grin spreading over her face. 'We better start planning more pranks on the girls for when you come back. I think Steph should be our first target.' You laugh, and Kyra can't help but feel that familiar giddy sensation in her stomach as your laughter fills her ears.

You plan pranks you can pull together before you notice the time. 'I got to go now Kyra. But I just want to thank you so much for your support, I seriously couldn't have been where I am today without everything you've done for me.' Kyra grins, rolling her eyes.

'Don't be silly, I did nothing, you did all the hard work. I just did whatever any best friend would do.' She tells you brushing it off as if the hours she spent on the phone with you even if it was just you talking to her while you were doing your rehab were nothing.

'Well thanks regardless. I owe you big time' You tell her, knowing that she spent so much of her time helping you. 'But I really got to go now. I love you bye.' You tell her blowing a kiss she tells you goodbye as you hang up the phone leaving Kyra on her own again.

time skip to after the england game

'Yes Cha Cha.' Kyra says leaping on her best friends back followed by Mini who was had Harper on her back. She wrapped her close friend in a tight hug placing a joking kiss on her cheek swinging her around to celebrate the girls first ever goal for the Matildas. The trio and Harper stay a while celebrating the win against England.

Despite the adrenaline pumping through Kyra's body, she still felt like something was missing. You and Kyra had always talked about how one day the two of you would play in Wembley together and all the things you'd do once you won and it made Kyra sad that you weren't here to celebrate the win. 'You alright kiddo?' Mini asks Kyra placing a soft hand on her back watching as Mackenzie Arnold and Charli Grant chased harper around on the grass.

'I dunno, it's complicated.' Kyra says not wanting to talk about it right now, knowing it sounded stupid.

'Is it about y/n?' Katrina asked the younger girl and Kyra looks at her in shock of how she knew so quickly about what it was about.

'How'd you know?' Kyra asked slightly embarrassed.

'I'm basically your mum Kyra. I know you better than you'd think.' She says teasingly 'Plus ever since y/n's been out, you've been acting differently, everyones noticed. And we're all worried about you Kyra. I know you miss your best friend but everyone's going to get injured from time to time, you can't let that affect your game.'

'It's more than me missing her. I can't stop thinking about her, she's actually taking over my mind. And I've been getting all these weird feelings, like whenever she calls me I get butterflies in my stomach, and she's so pretty, and sometimes I'd rather be on a call with her than do anything else. I don't know why I'm feeling this way mini, it's scaring me. I don't want to ruin our friendship because I have these weird and stupid feelings.' Kyra huffs tears threatening to spill.

'Kyra, have you ever maybe considered you might like y/n?' Katrina asks the younger Aussie.

'Of course I like her Kat, she's my best friend are you stupid?' Kyra says to her mother like figure confused at her logic.

'I mean, have you ever considered you might like her more than just a friend.'

'But she's my friend, I can't like her like that. I'll ruin everything.' she speaks fast worried about if what Mini is saying could be true.

'It's not the end of the world to have a crush Kyra.' Mini says soothingly, patting Kyra on the back. 'Everyone has a crush on someone, and you don't even have to tell her how you feel if it worries you too much, but from what I've noticed I'm pretty sure she likes you too.' Mini whispers the last part before noticing harper faceplanting on the floor, running off to check on her daughter. Leaving Kyra to take in everything Katrina said. It made sense now, everything she was feeling.

time skip to pre world cup

The Matildas had started arriving to prepare for the upcoming world cup. Much to much of the publics surprise you had made a record return being welcomed back into the squad for the world cup, grateful that Tony still chose you even though you weren't even close to the form you were in before your injury. You were arriving to camp a few hours later than everyone else with Sam, meaning that when you arrived late that evening everyone was always eating dinner, you hopped out of the car, feeling gross from the long flight and jetlag kicking in.

'wait her y/n/n. I'm gonna get everyone excited for their favourite player to be back.' You only half comprehended what Sam told you but waited outside until you heard Sam shouting your name. You slowly walked into the room dragging your suitcase behind you, your mood brightening when you walked into the room filled with all your teammates clapping.

'Hey guys.' Is all you say unable to say much more from tiredness and shock that you were back so much sooner than you expected. People laugh before starting to make their way towards you. Steph's the first person to pull you into a hug, whispering how proud she is of you into your ear, everyone else shortly follows saying similar stuff to Steph. Macca is one of the last people to embrace you.

'I would like to say I'm the most excited for you to be back but I'm afraid Kyra probably wins that competition.' You laugh at her before comprehending the fact that you hadn't gotten a hug yet from your best friend. 'Where is Kyra anyways?' You ask Mackenzie, she smiled at you and it was almost like a scene from a movie the way she stepped aside to reveal a tired looking Kyra standing behind her.

No words are spoken between the two of you until her arms are wrapped around you. 'I've missed you so much.' You tell her

'Missed you more.' She responds making you laugh slightly.

'Are you ready to do the plan for steph.' You ask her a cheeky grin spreading on the two of your faces as you pull away to face each other.

'never been readier.' You both laugh before alanna pulls you away from each other.

'You've only been back together for less than a minute and your already planning something.' she says sternly ruffling your hair and you both give her an innocent smile, something you always used to do when people suspected you of something. 'well go eat something, then go to sleep. you look awful y/n.' You roll your eyes scoffing.

'Wow Lani, you're kinder than I remembered.' You laugh as she shoves you away.

'Just eat kid.' In the small time you speak with Alanna you don't notice Kyra head back to the table and go back to eating without another word.

'You ok Kyra?' Mini whispers to the midfielder.

'Yeah Ky, I thought you would want to be spending every second with y/n/n, you've been waiting for her to get back for like ever. She's all you ever talk about.' Charli basically interrogates her friend who looks visibly uncomfortable causing Mini to kick the number 22, sending her a stern glare that gets her to shut up. Kyra didn't expect it to feel so awkward to be back with her best friend, but she couldn't stop thinking about her and Mini's conversation after the England game. She didn't want to ruin their friendship because of her silly emotions so for now she planned to keep quieter around y/n and try distance herself.

i will be doing a part 2 soon

[natsgrave]

WHISPERS OF HEARTACHE | angstober

╰┈➤ synopsis: one day whether you are, 14, 28, or 65, you will stumble upon someone who will start a fire in you that cannot die. however, the saddest, most awful truth you will ever come to find is they are not always with whom we spend our lives.

╰┈➤ welcome and short message: hello, my sweet gravels! i am thrilled to welcome you to "whispers of heartache," a collection of angst-filled one shots centered around the compelling characters of natasha romanoff / scarlett johansson, wanda maximoff / elizabeth olsen, and a female reader. this book is a labor of love, crafted from my deep admiration for these characters and my passion for storytelling. in this book, you will find a series of emotionally charged stories that delve into the complexities of love, loss, and heartache. each one shot will be written in the third person point of view, offering a broad perspective on the intense and often tumultuous emotions experienced by the characters. i must share that english is not my first language. therefore, you may encounter some grammatical errors or awkward phrasing throughout the stories. i appreciate your understanding and patience as i strive to improve my writing skills. my goal is to convey the depth of emotions and the intricate dynamics between the characters, even if my language skills are still a work in progress. angst has a unique power to connect with readers on a deep, emotional level. it explores the raw, often painful aspects of human relationships and personal struggles. through these stories, i hope to capture the essence of what it means to love and to lose, to fight and to surrender. each tale is crafted to evoke empathy and reflection, inviting you to experience the characters' journeys as if they were your own. your reblogs and feedback is incredibly valuable to me. as i embark on this storytelling journey, i welcome your thoughts, suggestions, and constructive criticism. please feel free to leave comments and reviews. your input will not only help me grow as a writer but also ensure that the stories resonate with you, the readers. thank you for joining me in this exploration of the whispers of heartache. i hope that these one shots will touch your heart and leave a lasting impression. happy reading! warm regards, G.J ps: i will be adding the first few angst that i already wrote in this masterlist even though it's technically not part of this masterlist. but, it's angst, so...

╰┈➤ tolerate it

while you were out building other worlds, where was i? you assume i'm fine, but what would you do if i break free and leave us in ruins? ── .✦ pairing: elizabeth olsen x gf!reader

╰┈➤ new year's day

i want your midnights, but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on new year's day. please, don't ever become a stranger whose laugh i could recognize anywhere. ── .✦ pairing: sister's bsf!elizabeth x fem!reader

╰┈➤ midnight rain

she was sunshine, i was midnight rain. she wanted a bride, i was making my own name, chasing that fame. ── .✦ pairing: actress!elizabeth x fem!reader

╰┈➤ you're losing me

how can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'? do i throw out everything we built or keep it? and you know what they all say, you don't know what you got until it's gone. ── .✦ pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

╰┈➤ in the next lifetime

but in those photos, i saw us instead and, somehow, i know that you and i would've found each other in another life. you still would've turned my head even if we'd met. you're always gonna be mine, we're gonna be timeless. ── .✦ pairing: general's son!steve x general's daughter!reader, maid!natasha x general's daughter!reader, scarlett johansson x fem!reader

╰┈➤ the manuscript

the only thing that's left is the manuscript. one last souvenir from my trip to your shores. now and then i reread the manuscript but the story isn't mine anymore. ── .✦ pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

╰┈➤ the smallest woman who ever lived

and i don't miss what we had, but could someone give a message to the smallest man who ever lived? ── .✦ pairing: avenger!natasha x ex hydra!reader

╰┈➤ favorite crime

i hope i was your favorite crime, 'cause baby, you were mine. ── .✦ pairing: bsf!wanda x fem!reader

╰┈➤ mean it

on your lips just leave it, if you don't mean it. ── .✦ pairing: scarlett johansson x gf!reader

╰┈➤ love me nicely

i know you love me, but could you love me nicely? ── .✦ pairing: toxic!elizabeth x gf!reader

╰┈➤ if the world was ending

i know, you know, we know, you weren't down for forever and it's fine. i know, you know, we know, we weren't meant for each other and it's fine. but if the world was ending you'd come over, right? ── .✦ pairing: avenger!wanda x fem!reader

╰┈➤ soulmate

what a shame, didn't want to be the one that got away. taking down the pictures and the plans we made. big mistake, you broke the sweetest promise that you never should have made. ── .✦ pairing: fiance!elizabeth x fem!reader

╰┈➤ greatest what if

someday when you leave me, i bet these memories follow you around. ── .✦ pairing: actress!elizabeth x fem!reader

╰┈➤ heart

i knew it from the first old fashioned, we were cursed. should've known i'd be the first to leave think about the place where you first met me. ── .✦ pairing: elizabeth olsen x crush!reader

╰┈➤ too late

words— how little they mean when you're a little too late. ── .✦ pairing: avenger!natasha x avenger!steve, husband!bucky x avenger!reader

╰┈➤ i miss you

now, i fear i have fallen from grace and i feel like my castle's crumbling down. ── .✦ pairing: actress!scarlett x actress!reader

╰┈➤ wedding

sometimes giving up is the strong thing, sometimes to run is the brave thing, sometimes walking out is the one thing, that will find you the right thing. the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul, you know when it's time to go. ── .✦ pairing: elizabeth olsen x event planner!reader

╰┈➤ last memory

if i didn't know better, i'd think you were talking to me now. if i didn't know better, i'd think you were still around. what died didn't stay dead, you're alive, so alive, in my head. ── .✦ pairing: agent!elizabeth x agent!reader

╰┈➤ thank you

why'd you have to lead me on? why'd you have to twist the knife? walk away and leave me bleedin'. ── .✦ pairing: scarlett johansson x fem!reader

╰┈➤ we both had our chance

i persist and resist the temptation to ask you if one thing had been different, would everything be different today? ── .✦ pairing: avenger!natasha x avenger!reader

╰┈➤ i hate you

remembering her comes in flashbacks and echoes, tell myself it's time now gotta let go. but moving on from her is impossible, when i still see it all in my head, in burning red. ── .✦ pairing: shitty!scarlett x annoying!reader

╰┈➤ on bended knee

can we go back to the days our love was strong? can you tell me how a perfect love goes wrong? can somebody tell me how to get things back the way they use to be? oh god give me a reason, i'm down on bended knee. ── .✦ pairing: actress!elizabeth x actress!reader

╰┈➤ the cut that always bleeds

oh, i could be anything you need, as long as you don't leave. the cut that always bleeds. ── .✦ pairing: scarlett x gf!reader

╰┈➤ backburner

i'll always be in your corner, 'cause i don't feel alive 'til i'm burnin' on your backburner. ── .✦ pairing: agent!natasha x agent!reader

╰┈➤ the great war

we can plant a memory garden, say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair. there's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair and we will never go back. ── .✦ pairing: actress!elizabeth x gf!reader

╰┈➤ enough for you

and maybe i'm just not as interesting as the girls you had before but god, you couldn't have cared less about someone who loved you more. 'cause all i ever wanted was to be enough for you and all i ever wanted was to be enough for you. ── .✦ pairing: agent!natasha x insecure!reader

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ to be written:

╰┈➤ 1 step forward, 3 steps back

do you love me, want me, hate me? boy, i don't understand. no, i don't understand.

╰┈➤ better woman

i know the bravest thing i ever did was run.

╰┈➤ strange

isn't it strange how people can change. from strangers to friends, friends into lovers, and strangers again?

╰┈➤ lose you to love me

we'd always go into it blindly, i needed to lose you to find me. this dancing was killing me softly, i needed to hate you to love me.

╰┈➤ almost is never enough

almost is never enough, so close to being in love. if i would have known that you wanted me, the way i wanted you then maybe we wouldn't be two worlds apart, but right here in each other's arms.

╰┈➤ wish you were sober

kiss me in the seat of your rover, real sweet, but i wish you were sober.

╰┈➤ same ground

because i have learned that love is beyond what human can imagine, the more it clears, the more i have to let you go.

╰┈➤ the way i loved you

but i miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain and it's 2 a.m. and i'm cursing your name. so in love that you act insane and that's the way i loved you.

╰┈➤ champagne problems

your mom's ring in your pocket, her picture in your wallet, you won't remember all my champagne problems.

╰┈➤ last kiss

you told me you loved me, so why did you go away?

╰┈➤ maroon

the burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me and how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was. the mark you saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones, the lips i used to call home, so scarlet, it was maroon.

╰┈➤ loml

you said i'm the love of your life about a million times.

╰┈➤ consequences

loving you was sunshine, safe and sound, a steady place to let down my defenses but loving you had consequences.

╰┈➤ casual

i thought you thought of me better, someone you couldn't lose.

╰┈➤ illicit affairs

they show their truth one single time but they lie, and they lie, and they lie a million little times.

╰┈➤ forever and always

oh back up, baby, back up, did you forget everything? back up, baby, back up, did you forget everything?

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Glutton for Punishment | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello, hello! I am back back back again. My life has been busy, y'all. School is kicking my ass. But this fic has been like 94% complete for like a month, and I finally got to finish it! yay!

wordcount: 8939

Warnings: angst, self harm, Bucky's trauma

Bucky collapsed onto the bed with a defeated huff. The mattress rippled under his weight and jostled the computer resting on your thighs. His chest rose and fell with another dejected sigh. His meetings with Fury never went well- but they weren’t always bad. Sometimes, things between them were cordial. Neutral. This was not one of those times. Bucky wanted to sink into the bed and never come out. He wanted to dissolve into the earth and disappear. The only thing anchoring him to reality was, as always, you. 

“Hey, how’d it go, babe?” The comforting lilt of your voice floated through the air. Maybe drenching your words in overt positivity was too much, but it seemed necessary. Maybe if you could coat your voice in optimism, it would fix whatever plagued Bucky. But you knew it was useless to hope. 

He didn’t answer. He just stared up at the ceiling, a blank expression on his face. Coming home to you after a bad day or a shitty meeting was always his saving grace; being near you brought him peace. But he hated bringing the shame home with him. 

“That bad, huh?” you ditched your laptop and laid next to him, propped up on one elbow. “What happened?”

Silence. He didn’t tear his eyes from the ceiling. Didn’t even blink. He just gazed upward- hopeless. 

In the quiet, your fingers traced up and down his arm. You pressed kisses to his shoulder. He always had a way of shutting you out before allowing you in. It wasn’t personal; it was just his process. He opted to suffer without your help until the pain ate away at him. And when there was almost nothing left, he tore down the walls and welcomed the onslaught of comfort. 

“He said it was my fault.” Bucky tried not to sound too pathetic. He knew you worried about him- a lot. Knew that his misery always hurt you. Seeing him in pain brought you nothing but heartache. But his efforts did nothing to hide the anguish in his voice. 

You didn’t want to make him repeat the whole ordeal, to relive whatever messed up shit Fury said to him- but you needed context. Your words were soft, your voice gentle. “He said what was your fault, baby?” Bucky didn’t deserve more blame, more guilt. Though none of what he did was his fault, a lifetime of remorse rested heavy on his shoulders after his Winter Soldier days. You wondered how much unjust blame he could carry before it crushed him. 

Bucky sighed, “All of it. Everything that went wrong on that last mission- the explosion, all those agents getting hurt-”

“What? You weren’t even the lead on that job- how is any of it your fault?” Heat rose in your chest. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Defending Bucky was your first instinct, your first priority. And while he accepted the shame with which Fury saddled him, you immediately turned to protection. To rage. 

Bucky shrugged, “he said I’m the most experienced, so I should’ve known better than to let the lead take our team into the lab.”

 “Wait- he said you should’ve argued with the mission lead?”

Bucky nodded. 

“But didn’t he reprimand you last month for that exact reason?”

Again, he nodded. 

“What the fuck?” Wrath sizzled beneath your skin. No one was allowed to treat Bucky this way- not even Fury. He contradicted himself and put his hypocrisy on full display, knowing Bucky hated himself too much to argue. 

“I can-” Bucky’s voice came out hollow. Empty. Guilt had him in a chokehold. “I can see where he’s coming from…”

“No, don’t do that.” It wasn’t a reprimand- but a reminder. You laced your fingers with his, “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

He refused to make eye contact. “I mean, I could’ve spoken up-”

“You weren’t even with them, were you? Didn’t Fury tell you to hit the warehouse on your own?”

He nodded.

“So how is any of it your fault, Buck?” Fury sent Bucky into a tailspin with almost no effort. He knew exactly which buttons to push, which wires to pull. Fury made him his puppet, his scapegoat. He made Bucky work harder than anyone else and never delivered the praise he deserved. Instead, he met Bucky’s efforts with tongue-lashings and bitter insults. With blame. 

“I don’t…” he shrugged. “I don’t know- but it feels like it’s on me. A lot of people got hurt and I am the most experienced. I should’ve said something-”

“But if you did, Fury would’ve called you into his office to tell you that you’re arrogant- like he did last time.” A deep breath filled your lungs and calmed your system; anger wouldn’t help Bucky. You needed to channel that energy into comforting him, easing his mind. 

You softened your tone, “You know you can’t win with him, Buck.”

“Maybe because I tried to kill him… twice.” Finally, he looked at you, “And I can handle being called arrogant- those agents got hurt, doll. That’s different.”

“I know it’s different. I’m just saying… you weren’t involved. You did what you were told- what Fury told you to do.” Your hand cupped his cheek, he leaned into your touch. “And if he wants to get mad at you for that, he’s a piece of shit. He knows he fucked up, and he’s pinning it on you.”

Bucky pulled you close. He curled in on himself with you at his center, his head resting against your chest. The logical part of his brain believed everything you said. It disregarded Fury’s false accusations and willed the blame to dissipate. But the rest of him took Fury’s every word as gospel. It rejected your assurances, categorizing them as obligatory kindness from a significant other. Shame feasted on his soul. He didn’t want to feel this way, but it came easily. By now, it was second nature. 

“Thanks, doll…” He lifted his head and brought his face to yours, “I appreciate you.” He meant it; no one ever supported him like this. But you always listened. You were always there for him, even when he was too ashamed to look you in the eye. You showed him patience and kindness and led him out of the dark more times than he could count. 

He dotted a few soft kisses to your lips, “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

“Wait-” Your hand caught his as he tried to get up, “I love you.”

A shy smile pulled at Bucky’s lips. He once again met your lips with his, needier this time. “And I love you.”

He stripped off his shirt and, immediately, your eyes landed on it. By now, you knew better than to stare. But sometimes, you couldn’t stop yourself.  

The first time it caught your eye, you couldn’t avert your gaze. You noticed it right away- how could you not? It drew your focus the first moment Bucky removed his shirt in front of you. You didn’t think anything could ever distract you from his perfect body- but you were wrong. 

A massive bruise splashed across Bucky’s skin. The cluster of broken blood vessels was dark at the center- nearly black. It exploded into by purples and blues that stained his right shoulder and eclipsed his chest. Sometimes, an angry, red haze leaked from the edges like a wine stain. Greens and yellows- signs of healing- colored the border every now and then. But no matter how many times you bore witness, they never seemed to overtake the tones of violet and navy. 

For whatever reason, this thing refused to heal.

On more occasions than you could count, you asked Bucky about this large indigo mark. And he always had an answer:

“Ran through a wall”

“Jumped out of a plane”

“That John Walker asshole hit me with Steve’s shield”

He did, indeed, have a dangerous job and a penchant for peril. For taking risks. But no one else on the team ever seemed to have a bruise like that. Even you received your fair share of stitches and broken ribs, but never anything as persistent as Bucky’s bruise. 

Wasn’t he a super soldier? Wasn’t he supposed to heal fast- really fast? His other injuries disappeared like they’d never happened; why did this bruise stick around? 

“I think you need to get that looked at,” you told him once, “it can’t be good that it never heals...”

Bucky shrugged it off with a smile. He kissed you on the forehead and thanked you for your concern. But he didn’t get it checked out. He downplayed the massive bruise eclipsing his body and moved on, just like he always did. 

“What are you lookin’ at?” Bucky quirked a brow at you, his shy smile making another appearance.

You shrugged, “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It’s not- it’s not that bad,” Bucky did his best to hide his bruise with his vibranium hand, but the colors extended far past what he could cover. “I’m used to it.”

Something had to be wrong with him, right? Something inside his body had to be out of order. The first time you saw it- the first time you saw him without his shirt- was six months ago. How long could a bruise last? And how long did he have it before he showed it to you? 

Why hadn’t the serum fixed it by now?

Bucky was well past his expiration date. He lived more years than the universe intended, and his body suffered enough trauma for a hundred lifetimes. He was strong, he was a survivor. But every time you stole a glance at the inky spot on his skin, anxiety blocked your airway. Part of you wondered if this mark signaled his end. There was a chance that his body already started breaking down, that all those years of abuse caught up with him. Maybe his bruise was a harbinger. Maybe his days were numbered. Maybe he was dying. 

Maybe you were about to lose him.

Those kinds of thoughts pushed bile into your throat. You shoved them into the darkest corners of your mind and did your best to lock them away, but they reappeared from time to time just to hurt you. Taunt you. Bring you to tears. And while Bucky made his way into the bathroom and turned on the hot water, you remained fixated on the inky spot. On his demise. 

Bucky did his best to let the shower cleanse his mind. He told himself he’d let it all go- all the guilt and the blame. He knew he didn’t deserve it. But his shame didn’t run down the drain. It didn’t wash away with the warm spray of the shower. No, he remained coated in it, dripping with it, no matter how hard he scrubbed. And though it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, he never welcomed its reemergence.

A sliver of levity wriggled into his chest as he emerged from the bathroom. He found you reading in bed, your brows knit together in that cute way he loved. But your focus shattered when he stepped into the bedroom. He watched you dogear your page and shut your book as he climbed into bed. 

“You don’t have to stop reading because of me, doll-” 

“I was only reading while I waited for you,” you extended a hand in his direction and tugged him closer. He didn’t need to know that you only opened your book to distract from your crippling anxiety about his condition. He didn’t need to know that you read the same paragraph over and over and over without retaining a word. “Now that you’re here, I don’t need any other form of entertainment.”

“Is that so?” He narrowed his eyes at you and gestured to the book resting on your chest, “I’m better than Dracula?”

“Way better. So, the guy drinks blood and sleeps in a coffin-” You shot him a wink and knocked your book to the floor, “big whoop.” A dramatic eye roll and a quick laugh accompanied your comments about Bram Stoker’s masterpiece. But a sudden seriousness banished your playful tone as you gave Bucky a once over. He didn’t look any better- not that he ever looked bad. But the hot shower did nothing to help him relax. All his muscles remained taught. His brow still furrowed. The tension in his jaw seemed to turn to concrete. He was hurting. 

“How you doin’, Buck?” A gentle hand smoothed over his shoulder and slid down his arm. “You okay?”

A manufactured smile spread across his face. His shoulders rose and fell in an all too casual shrug. “I’m fine- I’m good.” He couldn’t seem to maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.

Another tug of his hand brought him closer. “You don’t seem fine…”

“No, really. I’m okay,” he brought your hand to his lips and pressed kisses to your palm. He was the farthest thing from okay; it was written all over his face. And though he did his best to put on a façade for you, you saw through the cracks. A heaviness lurked behind the grin he wore. A deep sadness darkened his gaze. You knew he probably spent the entirety of his shower replaying Fury’s words and berating himself within an inch of his life. 

An extra helping of guilt dropped upon Bucky’s shoulders as he studied you. One of your nails dug into the cuticle of another. Your smile remained tight and tense. He could practically see the anxiety surging through your nervous system. And it was all his fault. You were worried about him, upset about him. How could he do this to you when you brough him nothing but peace?

He found it in him to take a deep breath, to let his shoulders fall a fraction of an inch. “It’s just gonna take a little time for me to get out of the shitty headspace Fury put me in. I’ll be alright-” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, “I promise.”

Fucking Fury. He seemed to allow everyone else chance after chance; he granted grace to every other member of the team. Everyone but Bucky. “You wanna get some sleep, then?” you cupped Bucky’s cheek, “hopefully, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Bucky nodded. He reached over and flipped off his bedside lamp before giving his pillow a few adjustments. He got settled under the covers and waited for you to do the same- but you didn’t. You laid there, watching him. 

“You gonna turn your lamp off, doll?”

“Not until you’re all situated.”

Bucky looked down at his perfectly arranged covers and then back at you, “I’m um, I think I’m settled, baby.”

You quirked a brow at him, “Are you though? Come on-” you found his hand under the covers and pulled him closer. “Assume the position, Barnes.”

He let out a labored, tired laugh. “Baby, thank you, but I can’t. My hair’s still wet, you’re gonna be cold-”

“I don’t care- you had a rough day.”  You could practically see the war raging within Bucky’s psyche. He was dying to crawl into your embrace a disappear into your warmth. But he couldn’t- not tonight. 

“It’s okay, doll. You don’t have to, it’s-” 

“Come onnn, Buck. You knowwww you waaaant toooooo.” You gave your chest a few light pats, beckoning him to you. “I know it always makes you feel better.”

Of course, he wanted to. Something about resting his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, and feeling your hands in his hair eased his soul. Even on his darkest, most soul-crushing days, he found solace with you. But guilt still gnawed at him; Fury’s rant played on a constant loop inside his head. And after what he’d supposedly done, he didn’t feel as though he deserved your love. 

“Baby, I know you feel bad; And I know you’re trying to deprive yourself. But guilty or not- which you are not-” you gave his hand a squeeze, “you deserve comfort.”

A touch of heartbreak colored your voice. You were desperate to help Bucky, nearly begging him to grant himself some grace. Some care. In his attempts to hurt himself by staying far from your embrace, he’d hurt you instead. He’d made you sad, filled you with worry. He wondered if he’d ever be able to do anything right. 

In an instant, he did as you asked; he’d do anything to make you feel better. His head rested against your chest, his wet hair dampening your shirt. It sent a rush of goosebumps over your skin- but you didn’t care. A deep sigh left Bucky’s chest as he melted against you. He often swore his body was made to fit yours, that he only existed to touch and be touched by you. 

“See? Isn’t that better?”

“Mhmm…” he sighed, “much.”

You ran a hand through his wet hair, “Good. Now, let’s get some sleep. Okay?” You flicked off your lamp and wrapped your arms around Bucky, willing every ounce of your love into his body. He’d feel better in the morning- you knew he would. He just needed time and rest and a little love. And you gave him more than he ever dreamed of. 

But around two in the morning, a strange sound vibrated on the edges of your consciousness. The dense ‘thud’repeated endlessly, like an eternal metronome. It resounded inside your head, mixing itself in with your dream until it finally woke you. 

With your face still smushed into your pillow, you muttered Bucky’s name. The sound stopped- maybe you imagined it. Maybe it really was just part of your dream. Silence settled over your room once again and lulled you back to sleep. 

But only a few minutes later, that sound woke you once again.

Your words came out sloppy, heavy with sleep. “Whass tha noise?” 

No answer. 

“Baby,” you said, more alert this time, “You hear that?”

Bucky didn’t respond. 

With a groan, you forced your eyes open. There was no sign of disturbance or struggle; nothing out of the ordinary caught your eye. Everything was in its place- except Bucky. And when you pressed your palm against his side of the bed, the sheets lacked any remnants of his warmth. 

This wasn’t like him- not anymore, anyway. Back when you first got together, Bucky left the room when he woke from a night terror. He’d slip out of bed and escape to the living room, forcing himself to withstand his panic attack all alone. But one night, you found him on the living room floor- desperate for breath. He clutched the corner of the rug and gritted his teeth, willing the anxiety to receded. 

He flinched when you touched him; he didn’t hear you approach over the pounding in his ears. But the second he saw you, he reached for you. His sickly white knuckles regained their color as he released his fists and collapsed against you. He dropped his head into your lap, falling forward with the weight of his trauma. And he allowed your voice to soothe his racing mind. He let you guide him out of the agony. 

Of course, he apologized for waking you. For inconveniencing you. Of course, you wouldn’t hear it. And when the panic finally subsided, he let you walk him back to bed. He buried his face in your chest and thanked you a million times over. After that night, you made him promise to wake you when these things happened- no matter what time it was. You made him promise not to suffer in silence. And he agreed. 

You didn’t know he had his fingers crossed. 

“Buck?” the anxious pounding of your heart boomed in your chest. “Baby?” You kicked the blankets from your body and abandoned your bed. Slivers of light made their way through the blinds and splashed across the floor, allowing you to search through the darkness. He wasn’t sitting on the floor or in the armchair near the window. Nor did you find him in the en suite bathroom.  

“Bucky?” The hall was empty and the office void of Bucky’s presence. And while you searched for him, the sound refused to cease. It echoed through seemingly every fiber of the apartment. It haunted every space. Unfounded worries threw themselves at you, fighting to topple you to the ground. What if Bucky was hurt? What if he was gone? 

No- he was fine. Of course, he was. Right? He had to be. The home you shared was safe. Nothing here could hurt or harm him in any way. 

Well, maybe not nothing.

The thudding of your heart grew loud in your ears, nearly eclipsing the mystery sound all together. Part of you even doubted the existence of the noise- maybe it was just your anxiety getting to you. Maybe Bucky was in the kitchen grabbing a late-night snack, perfectly safe and happy. 

But when you rounded the corner into the living room, all doubt fell away. Shards of your heart did the same as you stood in shock, watching the source of the sound reveal itself. 

Bucky sat on the floor near the window, his back resting against the couch. 

His metal fist hammered against his right shoulder again and again, beating the flesh a sickly blue. 

The utter shock stole your breath, forcing it violently from your lungs. A burning erupted from your chest and spread through your every cell like wildfire. The floor seemed to tilt and ripple as a wave of dizziness sent you nearly collapsing into the closest wall. And through all of it, the sound persisted. The sickly thud of metal striking skin, striking bone.

But there was no time for your shock or sadness or heartbreak. Bucky needed you.

“Buck? Hey-” In only a few strides, you made your way to his side. But he didn’t look at you. He didn’t meet your eyes when you sat down in front of him, nor did he stop his assault. “Bucky, baby, can you look at me?” 

He didn’t. He simply forced his hand against his chest over and over, no matter the pain. 

“Bucky,” you didn’t recognize your own voice. It came out more strained, more desperate than you’d ever heard it. The sight of Bucky doing this to himself almost made you sick, the sound covered you in goosebumps. A flood of saliva rushed into your mouth, warning you of the impending threat of vomit- but you forced it down.

Every time you asked about it, every time you wondered what caused that bruise- you never imagined it was self-inflicted. 

“I need you to stop, okay?” Your words came out frantic, “Can you- can you just look at me for a second?”

His hollow gaze remained fixed on the floor. Anguish twisted his features, pulling his face into a pained mask. But his eyes held no life. 

“Please-” your palm landed on his bruised shoulder mere seconds before the next strike. The force of his vibranium fist was sure to shatter your hand, but you didn’t care. You’d do anything to stop him from hurting himself. Anything to ease his pain. And if you couldn’t make him stop, maybe you could soften the blow. 

But just as his fist once again neared his shoulder, he stopped. “Move,” his voice was low, almost timid.

“No.”

“Doll,” his eyes remained downcast, “I need you to move your hand.”

You refused. “I’m not gonna move, Buck. I’m not gonna let you hurt yourself.”

Finally, he dragged his shame-filled gaze upward. His despondent look sliced through you, cutting right to the bone. This was worse than the vacant stare he wore moments ago; this was utter misery. “Please…” his voice caught in his throat, barely pushing its way past the tension. “Move.”

But your hand remained; you’d keep it there until the end of time if you had to. 

Warm, salty tears breached your lips as you spoke, and only then did you realize you were crying. “Buck, why are you doing this?”

“Because I know you won’t.” He clenched and unclenched his metal fist in a never-ending cycle, itching to resume his efforts. “None of you will. Not Sam. Not Hill. Not ever Fury. So, I have to.”

“Of course, we won’t. Why- Why would we?” It was an unfathomable thought. 

“I need- I deserve to be punished. I deserve to face consequences for my actions.” The words fell from his lips in what resembled a recitation, like he had a script to follow. Like he’d said this before. “There are always consequences…” Again, he pulled his hand into a fist; the vibranium whined under his strength. “There have to be consequences.”

“There were consequences- your meeting with Fury? That was the consequence.”

He shook his head, “It’s not enough- people got hurt.”

“It’s more than enough…” With your free hand, you reached for Bucky’s cold fist. He resisted at first, almost scared to be without his method of punishment. But he never could resist your touch. One at a time, you uncurled his fingers from his tight fist. You pressed his cold palm against your chest and held it there, allowing the beat of your heart to vibrate through the metal. “Especially because you didn’t do anything wrong. People got hurt- but it’s not your fault.”

Bucky ached to maim himself. He needed to feel pain. Needed to get what he thought he deserved. But he couldn’t bring himself to tear his hand from your chest. And though you blocked his bruise and made punishment impossible, he liked the way your palm felt against his black and blue skin. It was the one part of him you always shied away from for fear of hurting the already tender flesh. But your touch soothed the deep ache.

“Baby, how…” you swallowed the lump forming in your throat, “how often do you do this?” You weren’t sure you wanted the answer; just the thought of Bucky doing this to himself day in and day out filled your chest with storm clouds. But you needed to know.

His words held a deep shame, “Whenever I deserve it.”

“Buck, you’ve had that bruise for at least six months...”

He shrugged, “I deserve it a lot.”

Everything inside you burst into flames. You wanted to tear Hydra apart, to destroy them for what they did to Bucky. They altered his sense of self so violently, so irreparably, that they changed who he saw in the mirror. He viewed himself only as a vehicle for destruction, a receptacle for other peoples’ wrongs. They drilled into him an acceptance of abuse, of pain, of torture. And now, he didn’t know how to operate without it. 

“No, you don’t- you don’t deserve this.” A small quiver forced its way into your voice, “even if this whole thing was your fault- which it wasn’t- you wouldn’t deserve to be hurt.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Sometimes, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend the sentiment that he didn’t deserve pain and suffering; that he wasn’t always to blame. It was almost like you spoke different languages. Shuri may have eliminated the Winter Soldier programming and rendered his trigger words useless, but she couldn’t remove his shame. His guilt. His instinct to assume blame.  

“I can’t do anything right-” His right hand gripped the edge of the rug. He needed some way to release his tension, his anxiety. The fabric bunched inside his fist and twisted with his every move. 

“It seems like no matter what I do- or don’t do- someone ends up hurt. That says something about me, doesn’t it?” 

“No. It doesn’t.” You slowly removed your hand from his metal wrist and found his right fist. He eased the tension in his grip with your help and released the corner of the rug. It fell crumpled against the hardwood, struggling to regain its shape. “Buck, you always say that you blame yourself because you think you’re a bad person. But I actually think you blame yourself because you’re a good person.”

He gave a small shake of his head. 

“You’re willing to shoulder whatever guilt or blame other people put on you- regardless of whether you deserve it- because you’re not selfish.” He was, in fact, the least selfish person in the world. He’d set himself on fire to keep you warm. Would move heaven and earth to make you smile. He was loyal, devoted. He cared about you, about his friends, without ever putting himself first. 

“And you haven’t buried yourself in ego or pride like some of the other guys we work with.” 

Bucky let out a soft laugh. 

No, he didn’t bury himself in ego; he had no ego. His self-image wasn’t inflated or overexaggerated. He just wanted to do his best. To help. To offset with light some of the darkness he caused. 

“And maybe it’s your way of seeking redemption- not that you need to be redeemed,” you gave his hand a squeeze. “But maybe part of you feels like if you accept enough responsibility, it’ll make up for the things you were forced to do as the Winter Soldier.” 

He let out a sigh from somewhere deep within him, somewhere he didn’t know he had. It seemed to him like he’d been holding on to this truth, this breath, since the day he escaped. And here, in the darkness, he released it. “I just… I don’t want to be the bad guy anymore.”

“That’s the thing Buck,” you gently stroked a few fingertips across his massive bruise, “You never were.”

His forehead fell against yours. The two of you sat there, motionless, for what felt like forever. Cars moved on the streets below. Thunder rolled through the sky. Rain drops tapped against the large windows. But neither of you noticed. 

“If I move this hand-” you tapped your once again fingers against his bruised shoulder, “are you gonna do it again?”

He shook his head. 

With great hesitancy, you removed your palm from the evidence of his self-inflicted punishment. It looked worse in the eerie 2am lighting, like a black hole formed on his skin; you feared it might envelope him completely if you let it. Your lips replaced your hand, leaving the softest of kisses across his skin. Bucky let loose a small sound- something like a whimper- as you traced the bruise with your mouth. He let a few tears slip down his cheeks. 

“Thank you…”

You took a moment to drink him in. He was stronger than humanly possible. Hugely muscular. Nearly indestructible. But in the middle of the night on the floor of your living room, he looked so small. So fragile. His shoulders caved forward, and his read remained bowed. His voice wavered. His right hand shook ever so slightly. He was a man haunted, possessed by his past. Fearing the future. He was hurt. Broken. Lost in others’ perceptions of himself. He lay trapped under his need for validation from those around him. He sought approval from people who never dreamed of granting it. 

You wondered if he’d ever be free from his ghosts, or if they’d follow him until he became one himself. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” you pressed a kiss to his forehead. “All I ever want is to be there for you when you need me.” The tremor in your voice matched Bucky’s. Pure hurt rendered the air around you thick and heavy. You ached for Bucky, and he, in return, ached to be anyone but himself. 

“What do you wanna do? We can go back to bed. Or if you don’t feel like sleeping, we can hang out in here and watch some tv.” You ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, “Up to you.” 

Bucky’s mind still raced. His brain sat stewing in a deep pit of sorrow and anguish. But he was tired- exhausted. And while his mind wanted to stay up for a while, he let his body decide. His chest and shoulder screamed with pain. His skin stung. Each breath forced a sharp agony into his consciousness; he knew he must’ve cracked a rib. “Let’s-” he grimaced as an inhale filled his lungs, “let’s go back to bed.”

As gently as you could, you helped Bucky from the floor. He smiled when your hand found his as you led him in the direction of the bedroom. The two of you shuffled down the dark hall in silence with no clue what to say. Bucky wanted to apologize; you wanted to drown him in promises of your love. 

Bucky stopped short when you paused, almost running into you. You turned to him suddenly, eying his bruise in the dim light. “You go ahead, okay? I’m gonna grab you an ice pack.”

“Doll, thank you, but I’m fine-”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “does it hurt?”

He shrugged; the motion made him wince. “I mean, yeah. But it’s-”

“Exactly.” You pushed up on your tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek, “I’m gonna get you an ice pack. You get your ass to bed- I’ll be there in a second.”

Bucky whispered a ‘thank you’ and headed in the direction of the bedroom, leaving you alone. But just as he turned the corner down the hall, guilt wrapped around his ankles like a ball and chain. He was stuck; his need to apologize rendering him frozen. He watched you turn in the direction of the kitchen and wondered what he did to deserve you. “Hey, doll…” he called after you. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I promise.”

“But I-”

 “You’re doing your best. You’re coping in the only way you know how. That’s not something to be sorry for.”

Bucky shrugged, winced, and disappeared into the bedroom, eager to escape your line of sight. Everything you did, you did for him. And though that knowledge should’ve eased Bucky’s soul, it only added to his guilt. He marked yet another tally to the long, long list of ways in which he didn’t deserve you. 

The walk to the kitchen wasn’t long- but it provided a sliver of extra time for you to cope in private. If Bucky knew just how much this upset you, how heartbroken you were, he’d never forgive himself. He, instead, would add that knowledge to his ever-growing mountain of shame. He’d adopt a new method of self-punishment, something more subtle, easier to hide. And he’d never express his guilt or shame to you ever again, all to save your feelings. You couldn’t do that to him; he deserved an outlet, a sounding board, a space to vent. You’d never dream of robbing him of that. 

“Alright, here we go,” you pushed open the bedroom door. “I got you one of the big ones, cause that thing is massive, and-” If you didn’t look up at the right moment, you would’ve crashed right into Bucky. 

He stood near the foot of the bed, just inside the door, almost vibrating with anxiety. It rolled through him in waves and placed tremors in his hands. He didn’t stand a fighting chance. 

His massive frame looming in the darkness almost blocked your path completely- and scared the hell out of you. “Shit-” You tripped over your own feet and stumbled backward, but Bucky wouldn’t let you fall.

He caught you in the nick of time, snatching you from the air and righting you on your feet. “Oh, hey- I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Without a word, you pressed the towel-wrapped ice pack to his skin. Though he detested the cold, the sensation awarded him much needed relief. A deep sigh left his chest as his pain receptors deadened and the constant, months-long throbbing subsided. This was the first thing to put his pain on pause in- he couldn’t remember how long.

You searched his face for any indicators of discomfort, “How does that feel?”

All he could do was nod. The two of you stood there a while as Bucky drank in the relief. The muscles in his shoulders released their tension, his breaths came a bit easier. But something dark lurked beneath his quiet surface. 

“Such a gentleman, waiting for me to come back before getting in bed,” you threw him a wink.  

Bucky’s attempted laugh came out broken, disjointed. To his credit, he tried to laugh for real. He wanted to put this whole night behind him and slide into bed with you. Under the covers, surrounded by your body heat, nothing could hurt him. The skeletons of his past couldn’t claw out of the ground and wreak havoc on his psyche. But a nagging dread yanked at his heart. 

He couldn’t pretend things were resolved. He couldn’t forget his troubles and intertwine his body with yours like the knit of a well-loved sweater. The crushing weight of Fury’s blame sat atop his shoulders, growing heavier by the second. But he couldn’t find it in him to tell you, to ask you for help. 

“Come on, let’s go back to sleep. Okay?” You tucked the ice pack into Bucky’s hand and started toward your side of the bed, “I know you’ve gotta be exhausted.”

But Bucky didn’t follow. He didn’t join you, didn’t even nod. He stood there, stuck, his feet anchored to the floor. The cold pack ate through his nerve endings until his hand went numb. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fill his lungs. They felt shallower, somehow- like they lost all capacity. 

His deadened fingers fell open, allowing the ice pack to fall against the floor. The sound pulled your focus, halting your efforts to right the sheets and blankets. 

“Buck?”

He didn’t answer. 

“Hey…” Quick steps brought you face to face with his empty stare. “Is everything-”

His knees met the hardwood as the weight of his anxiety forced him into submission. He fell against the cold floor with a sickening thud, his body shaking with the force. His head bowed; his spine curved forward. Ragged inhales forced their way into his ever-constricting lungs.

“Please-” he begged through choppy breaths, “if you won’t let me do it myself, I need- I need you to.”

“Buck, I’m-”

“I need you to hurt me.”

His words gutted you. 

“Baby, no.”

He begged over and over for punishment. For pain. 

Bucky fell against you the moment you joined him on the floor. His head lay buried in your neck, his sharp breaths fanning your skin. He begged through the tears, through the torment, for pain. And you refused. Instead, you gave him the lightest, softest affections you could manage. 

Under different circumstances, your gentle touch would’ve saved him. It would’ve brought him comfort in his moment of distress, grounded him during a bout of panic. But he didn’t want kind hands. For the first time, your soft touches prolonged the agony. The light circles you rubbed against his back filled him with impending doom. With misery. He wanted torture. Agony. 

And even if he were dying, he’d willingly sacrifice his last breath to ask for punishment. 

As carefully as you could, you helped Bucky lay down on the floor. How his body continued to run remained a mystery to you. He was drained, physically and emotionally. He was hurt. Panic ravaged his nervous system and pumped him full of cortisol. He was running on empty. 

“Let’s try to relax a bit, okay? Let’s try to breathe-”

He shook his head against the rug, “No, I need- I need it. I need you to- can you…” His words came out weak- but desperate.

Your hands raked through his hair and massaged his knotted muscles. Over and over again, you swore your love to him. You showered him in assurances and words of kindness. And though he was grateful when sleep won him over, it didn’t stop his efforts. Even as he finally dozed off, he begged. 

“P- please…” he sighed, his eyelids fluttering. “Need you… need you to.” His hand twitched, his brow furrowed. “Hurt- hurt me.” Hearing it didn’t get any easier. 

For what must’ve been the millionth time, you refused. 

And while Bucky slept in your arms, you remained wired. Every cell in your body swam in a cocktail adrenaline and cortisol. You wondered if you’d ever sleep again.  Just when you thought Bucky’s story couldn’t get any darker, it seemed to do just that. His life was all shadows and wormholes wrapped in an inky abyss. No stars, no moon. Just shapeless, unsettling, endless night. 

He deserved better. 

The sun rose as you fell asleep. Your mind shut off; your body gave out. Thinking yourself in circles while Bucky slept in the safety of your arms depleted your every ounce of energy. Worrying this much didn’t seem healthy; you didn’t think it was even possible to feel such deep concern. You never knew how taxing crying could be. But Bucky was worth it- hands down. 

No part of you wanted to fall asleep; Bucky couldn’t be left unsupervised. But a biological need for rest demanded you get some shut eye. And while you slept off the gut-wrenching night you’d spent with Bucky, anxiety seeped into your dreams. Images of Bucky maiming himself flashed behind your eyes. You saw him bloodying his body, abusing himself. His bruise haunted you. 

Waking in bed threw you for a loop. Only a few hours ago, you’d dozed off on the throw rug covering your bedroom floor. But when you opened your eyes, you found yourself snuggled under the duvet with Bucky’s body under yours. His arms held you tight, your face nuzzled into his neck. This was how things were supposed to be. 

It was then you realized- your head lay against his bruise. Even in your sleep, you did your best to protect him from himself. He wouldn’t dare strike his shoulder and risk hurting you. But the weight of your skull had to hurt him, didn’t it? He was sore, miserably so. Just the pressure of your palm resting against his bruise the night before made him wince- surely, your head was too much. With the utmost caution, you pulled your head from his chest.

“It’s okay- doesn’t hurt,” his voice was weak, full of exhaustion. You didn’t know he was awake. 

“Oh. Okay, good. I, um,” you looked around for a few seconds. “I don’t remember getting in bed.”

“We didn’t- well, you didn’t.” He couldn’t believe that after everything he put you through the previous night- all the pain, the heartache, the worry- he let you fall asleep on the floor. It was selfish of him, inconsiderate. He should’ve insisted that you get in bed. He should’ve done what you asked and crawled under the covers with you. He failed you- again. “I didn’t want you to sleep on the floor…” 

Your lips met his skin in a chain of soft kisses, “You know I don’t mind.”

“But I do,” he returned every kiss you granted him.

He woke nearly half an hour after you finally dozed off and found you curled up against him. Your head rested against the cold hard wood; the itchy rug left marks against your skin. A small shiver rattled up your spine and pushed you closer to Bucky’s warm embrace; it was too cold for you to sleep without a blanket. His body begged him to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t- not yet. He lifted you from the floor, his shoulder aching with the effort, and tucked you into bed with all the care in the world. Only then could he fall asleep once again. 

“I’m sorry about- about all of it,” he said. “Last night was-”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you pulled your face from his chest, “I just wanna know what that was about.”

Bucky hoped that acting innocent would save him. “What?” Maybe if he pretended like he didn’t know what you were talking about, you’d move on. Maybe you’d tell him to forget it and save him the explanation. You didn’t.

“When you asked me to…” you gave a small shake of your head, “to hurt you.” The pain in your voice sliced through Bucky. He wondered if words could make him bleed. 

“Oh. Yeah. That was… I was out of line,” his jaw tensed. “That wasn’t okay. I know I made you uncomfortable- I’m sorry. I never wanna upset you. I was being stupid. And selfish. It wasn’t fair of me-”

The shame practically dripped from Bucky’s lips. You could almost see in running down his chin, staining his skin. He expressed his remorse for things that weren’t his fault, for things he couldn’t control. He told you how sorry he was for his trauma responses and the anxiety that held him hostage. Maybe one day, he’d believe you when you told him he didn’t have to apologize. Today was not that day. 

“I’m just worried about you, Buck. And I wanna help in any way I can-” you took a deep breath, “I just can’t help in that way.”

“I know.”

“Can you maybe tell me- can you help me understand?”

He remained silent for a long while. If he stayed quiet long enough, he could avoid any further distress on your part. With his silence, he could provide solace. But no. You had a penchant for knowing what made Bucky tick, no matter the pain it caused you. 

Your unflinching stare drilled through him until he couldn’t take it any longer. “I needed you to hurt me because that’s what I’m used to. I’m used to punishment,” he finally said. “Because when I fucked up at Hydra, there were consequences. They’d beat me within an inch of my life to get the message across.”

Of course, this was a sad truth you already knew. But hearing it aloud- from his lips- gutted you. The image of a cowering, broken Bucky sent bile rushing up your throat. You could see him lying in a cell somewhere, his blood staining the concrete as Rumlow tore him apart. And of course, he’d never fight back- he couldn’t. Not unless ordered to. 

“And now, that’s what I’m accustomed to,” he rested a hand against his bruise, almost on instinct. “I don’t know how to operate without it. I thought I’d be happy to never experience it again but… I feel like I need it.”

Showing Bucky kindness and understanding sat atop your priority list- but you couldn’t grasp his perspective. It didn’t make sense. He lived a life so foreign to you, so utterly other, that the things he said often left you confused. While the two of you had many similarities and things in common, some experiences would simply never be relatable. Some stories could never be shared. 

And similar to how Bucky couldn’t understand your flagrant disregard for locking the front door, you couldn’t fathom why he’d beat himself blue.  

“Why, Buck?” It wasn’t that you wanted to know. No, the truth could only serve to hurt you. But you needed to understand. You needed to untangle every knot within Bucky’s psyche and help mend his frayed edges. In order to help him, you had to first grasp his perspective. “Why do you ‘need’ it?”

“Because I know I deserve it.” The words came out course, almost aggressive. Bucky shot you a sheepish look, his method of a wordless apology. The next time he spoke, his voice was softer, his tone more even. “I’ve been conditioned to expect it. And waiting for that pain is- it’s torture. It’s almost worse than the punishment itself.” 

He thought back on all the beatings he received as result of fucking up missions. On one occasion, they broke all twelve of his ribs in one sitting. Another time, they turned almost his entire body blue with bruises. But the times they made him wait it out were far worse than any bloodshed. He jumped at every sound, lost the ability to think. To sleep. To breathe. Every moment fell prey to the anticipation of agony. Bucky shuddered. 

“I keep expecting pain. I feel like I have to look over my shoulder.” The urge to tear himself apart scratched at the inside of Bucky’s skull. If he could just deliver his punishment- if he could just get what he knew was coming- he’d be okay. By destroying his body, he could soothe his mind. But with you so close, staring at him with your blood shot, heartbroken eyes, he was stuck. “It’s like this sense of impending doom that doesn’t end unless I get what I know is coming.”

Things fell quiet as you thought over his words. Anxiety was an old friend you knew well. It accompanied you through everything, never leaving your side for more than a few days. But what Bucky described- that was the stuff of nightmares. That was misery. 

“Hang on,” you tripped over a detail in his story, “then what happened last night?” You didn’t mean to sound skeptical- it wasn’t like that at all. You believed every word Bucky said. One part, however, didn’t quite make sense. “Last night, you got your punishment. You got the pain. Why did you ask me to-”

He sighed, “Last night was different. You caught me. I had to stop- I’ve never done that before. I’ve never stopped right in the middle. I was only out there a little while before you found me.” His vibranium hand pulled into a fist and slowly released. He did this time and time again as the urge hurt himself gnawed at him. “I didn’t do enough. It felt like holding in a sneeze or something. And when we came in here to go to sleep, I still had this sense of looming pain, an impending punishment. And I knew you wouldn’t let me give it to myself. So, I asked you to do it.” 

The far-away look in his eye dissolved as he came screeching back to the present. Guilt dragged his features downward into a near scowl. “But I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry.” The remorse weighed more than he could shoulder. If he thought he knew what guilt felt like before, he was wrong. 

“It’s okay, Buck.” You knew the memory of Bucky begging you for punishment would haunt you forever. It took up prime real estate in your mind and cut you deeper each time you paid it attention. But he couldn’t help it; this was part of his journey. When you started dating Bucky, you knew he wasn’t a ‘regular’ person. Darkness and demons followed him wherever he went, filling his mind with horrors most people could never imagine. Of course, there were going to be speed bumps and rough patches on the road of your relationship. But he never did anything with malice in his heart. He was simply trying to survive. “I know you’re just doing your best-”

“My best is pretty shitty.”

He was always so callous with himself, so unforgiving. It wasn’t fair. “Baby, you’ve made a lot of progress.” He was a completely different person than he was a few months ago. He’d worked hard every day to wade through his trauma and find himself on the other side- all while saving the world. “But it doesn’t all have to happen at once. You can’t heal from everything in one fell swoop. It’s not linear. It’s a slow process-”

“Really slow.” He let out a huff and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Part of him wanted to run; he couldn’t believe he’d subjected you- the kindest, most loving person on earth- to this corner of his awful reality. But he knew being without you was a fate worse than death. Worse than Hydra. 

“I don’t want to do this-” he motioned toward his bruise. “I don’t want to hurt myself. But I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to heal the part of me that’s always looking over my shoulder for a punishment.”

You smoothed his hair back and let your hand drift down his cheek, “You don’t have to do it on your own, Buck. Maybe you should talk to someone-”

He shot you a pointed look.

“Not Dr. Raynor. Someone else. Someone with empathy.” 

Bucky gave a firm nod and a quiet laugh. “Okay, yeah. That works. 

“And in the meantime, whenever you feel that impulse, I want you to tell me, okay? I want to help you through in whatever way I can.”

He tried to protest, but you silenced him. “I’m in this with you- full stop. I’m with you for all the hard stuff and the things you hate about yourself. I’m always in your corner.”

He snaked his arms around you and pulled you as close as possible, relishing in the feeling of your heart beating against his skin. 

“This is a pain-free household, okay? We don’t do punishments here. We don’t hurt ourselves, and we don’t hurt each other.” You wiggled a hand free and offered Bucky your pinky, “promise?”

Not hurting you was a given; Bucky would never dream of causing you pain. But refraining from hurting himself was another story. The need sometimes possessed him, drove him to harm himself when the guilt grew too heavy. The look in your eyes, though, pushed him to promise you. You held such love for him, such adoration. And he knew you meant every word you said. You were going to help him through, to support him, no matter what. 

He linked his pinky with yours, “Promise.”

“Good.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away, “hey, do you have Fury’s address?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, “Uh, yeah. I think it’s in my notebook in the office. Why?”

In one swift motion, you slithered from Bucky’s arms and slid out of bed. “Oh, no reason,” you sighed as you headed for the door, “I’m just gonna egg his house.”

———————

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[xxspringmelodyxx]

Why Her and Not Me?

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader x Geto Suguru (Angst) part V

Hello my lovely readers! Here is part V! I also want to let you all know that I will be making multiple endings for this story because all of you deserve to be happy, so I will do just that🫶🏽 As for this part, I hope you all enjoy it! <333

If you want the other parts, they are in my masterlist :))))

As Toru wandered aimlessly down the quiet streets, his footsteps echoed hollowly against the pavement. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the burden of his own heartache. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, his thoughts consumed by memories of you and the pain of your absence.

With each passing moment, the weight of your absence pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket, suffusing his every breath with a sense of longing and despair. He had tried to distract himself, to bury his feelings beneath a facade of indifference, but the truth was, he couldn’t escape the emptiness that gnawed at him from within. It was as if a part of him was missing, lost in the void that had opened up between you.

Toru barely slept, barely ate, barely did anything other than wander the streets in a daze, lost in a fog of sadness and regret. He knew he should take better care of himself, that he owed it to himself to try and move on, but the thought of you lingered in his mind like a ghost, haunting him at every turn.

Every corner he turned, every street he walked, seemed to taunt him with memories of happier times, of moments shared and laughter shared. But now, those memories felt like nothing more than cruel illusions, mocking him with their fleeting sweetness.

His heart felt heavy in his chest, a leaden weight that threatened to drag him down into the depths of despair. He had never felt so lost, so adrift, as he did in that moment, with the realization of just how much he missed you crashing over him like a tidal wave.

He wanted nothing more than to see you, to hear your voice, to feel your touch, but he knew that was impossible. You were out there somewhere, living your life without him, and the thought filled him with a profound sense of loneliness and regret.

And as he trudged on through the empty streets, his aura radiated a palpable aura of sadness and longing, a silent plea for the universe to bring you back to him.

——

Toru loved you, the truth was undeniable: his heart belonged to you, and you alone. He couldn’t continue to deceive himself, couldn’t continue to pretend that everything was okay when it clearly wasn’t. And so, with a heavy heart and a sense of resignation, Toru made the final decision to end things with Osaka.

Their relationship had once been filled with laughter and joy, but now it felt like nothing more than a charade, a hollow imitation of the love and passion he felt for you. He couldn’t bear the thought of leading Osaka on any longer, couldn’t bear the guilt of knowing that he was betraying her with every passing day.

And so, one fateful afternoon, Toru found himself sitting across from Osaka, his heart heavy with sorrow as he tried to find the words to explain why he couldn’t be with her anymore. She looked at him with confusion and hurt in her eyes, her brow furrowed in disbelief as she struggled to comprehend what he was saying.

—flashback—

As Toru sat across from Osaka in the bustling cafe, his heart weighed down by the heavy burden of the truth he was about to reveal, he couldn't help but notice the sadness in her eyes. It was as if she already knew what he was going to say, as if she had seen the signs and understood the depths of his feelings long before he had even admitted them to himself.

"I'm sorry, Osaka," Toru began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I can't do this anymore. I can't continue to pretend that everything is okay when it clearly isn't. I... I have feelings for someone else, and I can't ignore them any longer."

Osaka's eyes widened in understanding, her lips trembling slightly as she fought to hold back her emotions. "Is it... is it because of her?" she asked softly, her voice barely audible over the din of the crowded cafe.

Toru nodded, his heart aching with regret. "Yes," he admitted, his voice barely more than a choked whisper. "I've tried to deny it, tried to push aside my feelings, but... but I can't. I love her, Osaka. I've finally come to realize that everything that made me happy…everything that made me love life…it was all because of her… and I can't keep pretending that I don’t want her."

Tears welled up in Osaka's eyes, but she managed to nod, a small, sad smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I know," she whispered. "I've seen the way you look at her, the way your eyes light up whenever she's around. And as much as it hurts, I... I understand."

Toru's heart clenched with guilt at the pain he saw in Osaka's eyes, the knowledge that he was causing her so much hurt and heartache nearly overwhelming him. But amidst the sorrow and regret, there was a sense of relief, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he finally spoke the truth he had been hiding for so long.

"I'm so sorry, Osaka," he murmured, reaching out to take her hand in his. "I never meant to hurt you, but I... I can't keep pretending that my feelings for you are enough. You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart, and I... I can't do that."

Osaka squeezed his hand gently, her gaze soft and understanding. "I know," she whispered. "And all I want is for you to be happy, Toru. Even if it's not with me."

And in that moment, Toru felt a sense of gratitude wash over him, a deep appreciation for the kindness and understanding that Osaka had shown him. He knew that he would never forget her, never forget the love and support she had given him during their time together.

As Osaka got up to leave, her shoulders hunched with grief but her head held high with dignity, Toru couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the strength and resilience she possessed. And as he watched her walk away, he knew that he would always be grateful for her understanding and kindness, even though his heart belonged elsewhere.

—end of flashback—

That happened almost three weeks ago, and here he was, still down as ever because he still hasn’t gotten a chance to speak with you. As he rounded a corner, his gaze fell upon a familiar figure sitting alone on a bench in the park. It was you, your silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights, and for a moment, Toru’s heart leaped in his chest.

Without a second thought, he changed direction and made his way towards you, his steps quickening with a sense of urgency. He needed to see you, to talk to you, to finally get some answers to the questions that had been plaguing him for months now.

Relief washed over him at the sight of you, but it quickly turned to dismay as he couldn’t help but notice the way your shoulders tensed, as if bracing for impact. His heart clenched at the sight, the realization that you were actively avoiding him hitting him like a ton of bricks. He had hoped that seeing you again would ease the ache in his chest, but instead, it only seemed to exacerbate it.

His footsteps faltered for a moment before he mustered back the courage to approach you. Each step felt like a heavy weight dragging him closer to the inevitable confrontation he had been dreading. He cleared his throat nervously, his heart pounding in his chest as he finally reached your side.

“Y/n,” he called out softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “It’s… it’s been so long since we’ve talked. I’ve missed you.”

You glanced up briefly, your eyes flitting over him before quickly returning to the ground. You instantly began to feel your heart race. You cursed yourself mentally, hoping that all of those feelings you had for him were gone once and for all, but to your surprise, they weren’t.

“Has it? I didn’t even notice.” You spoke plainly, going on your phone. Even you knew that was a low blow.

Your reaction was almost imperceptible, a slight shift in posture that spoke volumes. Toru’s heart sank at your words, his mind racing with a million different questions and doubts. What had he done wrong? Why were you treating him like this? Had he somehow pushed you away without realizing it?

“Y/n,” he repeated, his voice pleading, “please, I need to know what’s been going on with you. I miss you so much, and it’s killing me not knowing why you’ve been avoiding me.”

But you remained stubbornly silent, refusing to meet his gaze or acknowledge his presence. Toru’s frustration boiled beneath the surface, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to contain his emotions.

“Y/n, come on,” he begged, his voice cracking with emotion. “I can’t take this anymore. I need to know why you’ve been ignoring me. What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve this?”

You flinched at his words, the guilt gnawing at your conscience as you struggled to find the right words. But before you could respond, Toru pressed on, his voice growing more desperate with each passing moment.

“I thought we were friends, Y/n,” he continued, his voice trembling with emotion. “I thought we meant something to each other. Maybe…even more than that… But if I was wrong, if I’ve just been fooling myself this whole time, then please, just tell me. Tell me the truth, even if it hurts. Because obviously, you’ve been ignoring me for the last several months and I’m getting tired of it!”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you met Toru’s gaze, the pain and confusion written plainly across his face. You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him everything, but the words caught in your throat, choked back by the weight of your own fears.

Toru’s eyes searched yours, pleading for some semblance of an answer, but you turned away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze any longer. And in that moment of vulnerability, you felt a surge of anger rise up within you, a resentment born from years of unrequited love and silent suffering. After all this time, he still doesn’t know about how you felt. How much you loved him. How much he hurt you that day. And how much it continued to hurt every time you saw him with Osaka.

“I’m sorry, Toru,” you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t do this right now. I need some time alone.”

But Toru refused to let you off that easily, his frustration boiling over as he grabbed your arm, forcing you to face him. “No, Y/n,” he insisted, his voice tinged with desperation. “We need to talk about this. I can’t just let you walk away like this, not when it’s tearing me apart inside.”

You tried to pull away, to free yourself from his grasp, but Toru held on tight, his grip unyielding as he searched your eyes for some sign of understanding.

”Let me go, Satoru. Now.” You spoke to him, your voice completely monotone and full of venom.

Toru’s heart cracked at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue with such detachment. It was as if you were a stranger, a cold wind blowing through the warm familiarity you two once shared.

“Y/n, please,” Toru pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t shut me out like this. I can’t bear it.”

But you remained resolute, your gaze fixed on the ground as if the earth held the answers to all your troubles. Toru’s heart ached at the sight, the pain of your rejection like a physical blow to his chest.

“Please, just talk to me,” Toru implored, his voice trembling with emotion. “Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”

Your silence was deafening, a wall of ice erected between you and Toru that seemed impossible to breach. But before he could do anything further, you spoke again, your voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “Let me go, or else.”

Toru recoiled as if struck, the pain in your words lancing through him like a blade. He had never heard you address him so formally, so coldly, and it sent a shiver down his spine. He let go of your hand, seeing you begin to walk away. That is when he snapped.

“I…I don’t understand,” Toru stammered, his voice rising as his frustration began to take hold of his emotions. “What did I do to deserve this? What did I do to make you hate me so much?” He yelled, tears beginning to fall down his face.

Suddenly, you stopped in your tracks, your heart beginning to break as well. The tears welled up in your eyes as you met Toru’s gaze, the pain and anguish written plainly across your face.

Toru’s heart clenched at the sight of your tears, each drop a dagger in his already wounded heart. He watched helplessly as you approached him, your finger trembling as you pointed it accusingly at him.

“Y-you wanna know why I’ve been acting this way? Why I’ve been ignoring you this whole fucking time?!” you yelled, your voice raw with emotion.

Toru’s breath caught in his throat as he waited for your answer, his heart pounding with anticipation and dread.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as the weight of your words hung heavy in the air between you. “It’s because of you, Toru and well…me and my stupid feelings,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because of what you said to me that day…about loving Osaka.”

Toru’s eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of understanding dawning in their depths. He opened his mouth to speak, but you held up a trembling hand, silencing him before he could interrupt.

“I know you probably didn’t mean to hurt me when you told me you loved Osaka,” you continued, your words tumbling out in a rush. “But it… it broke my heart, Toru. It shattered me into a million pieces, and I didn’t know how to put myself back together again.”

Toru listened in stunned silence as you poured out your heart, each word a dagger to his own soul. He had never realized the depth of your feelings for him, the pain you had been silently carrying all this time.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke off your words. How could you possibly explain the depth of your feelings for Toru, the longing and heartache that had consumed you for so long? How could you make him understand the pain of watching him love someone else, knowing that he would never return your affections?

“But It’s about more than just what happened with Osaka,” you finally admitted, your voice trembling with emotion. “It’s about how much I loved you, Toru. For so long, I’ve loved you with every fiber of my being. There wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t think of you, where I didn’t want to be with you.”

You continued.

“That’s why I would always make you your favorite desserts. I knew you loved them and so I made them to make you feel loved…to make you feel happy…to hopefully help you understand just how much I cared for and loved you…but you never got the idea.” Your heart was breaking more and more with each word you spoke. “You never once sat back and wondered why I did all of that for you. Of course I did it because I enjoy it…but it made it even more enjoyable knowing that it was all for you. You were the reason I looked forward to each new day. The reason as to what made everything better. And it… it hurts so much to know that you don’t feel the same way about me. And what’s worse is that…I still love you…even though I’ve tried to force those feelings away…after months of telling myself I don’t love you anymore, convincing myself of those words…I knew it was nothing but a lie.” You finished, still looking at him, seeing his widened eyes.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked up at him, the floodgates of your emotions bursting open with a force you couldn’t contain. You felt exposed and vulnerable, laid bare before Toru.

”Y/n…I-“

Gently, he squeezed your hand, silently conveying his remorse and his determination to make things right. He knew he had a long road ahead of him, but he was willing to do whatever it took to earn back your trust and your love.

“I-I never knew,” Toru choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “I never realized…” he stammered, his voice choking with emotion. “I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I never wanted to cause you pain.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks unchecked. “I know, Toru. I know you didn’t mean to,” you said softly. “But the truth is, you did. And I’ve spent so long trying to come to terms with that, trying to move on and forget about you, but I just… I can’t.”

But you shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “But It doesn’t matter now, Toru,” you said, your voice tinged with sadness and resignation. “What’s done is done. You are with Osaka…and there is nothing I can do about it.”

“I-I broke up with Osaka,” Toru interrupted, his voice loud and clear.

You felt your heart skip a beat as Toru’s words hung in the air, the weight of his confession hitting you on the head. You blinked, trying to process the sudden shift in the conversation, the unexpected turn of events leaving you feeling disoriented and confused.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart racing in your chest. “Why would you break up with Osaka?”

As Toru’s voice wavered with emotion, you could sense the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air, each syllable laden with meaning and significance. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to articulate the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings that had consumed him in recent months.

“It was after you stopped talking to me,” Toru confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, I couldn’t do anything…I was a mess, Y/n. And I couldn’t figure out why until I realized…it was because of you. I realized that I needed you.”

You felt a pang of guilt twist in your chest at his words, the realization that your actions had caused him so much pain weighing heavily on your conscience. But even as you grappled with your own emotions, you couldn’t help but hang on to his every word, desperate to understand the depth of his feelings.

“I kept replaying everything in my mind, every moment we’ve shared together,” Toru continued, his voice growing stronger with each passing word. “And it hit me like a bus. I’m in love with you, Y/n. I’m so in love with you that it hurts. Everywhere I turn, it always brings up a memory of us together.”

The raw honesty in Toru’s confession washed over you, leaving you reeling in its wake. You had never imagined that he could feel that way about you, never dared to entertain the possibility that your feelings for him might be reciprocated.

“I tried to hide my feelings for you while I was with Osaka…to pretend that everything was fine….but I can’t keep pretending anymore, Y/n. I can’t keep hiding how I feel.”

As Toru poured his heart out to you, baring his soul in a way you had never seen before, you felt a surge of conflicting emotions wash over you. Part of you wanted to throw yourself into his arms, to finally acknowledge the love that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. But another part of you hesitated, still grappling with the scars of past heartbreaks, unsure if you were ready to take that leap of faith again.

You felt a lump form in your throat as Toru’s words washed over you, the enormity of what he was saying sinking in.

“I love you so much,Y/n… and I am so sorry that it took me this long to figure it out” He started, his hands becoming clammy.

Toru reached out tentatively, his hand hovering in the air between you as if unsure whether to touch you or not. “Please, Y/n,” he pleaded, his voice breaking with emotion. “Give me a chance to make things right. I’ll do anything, I swear.”

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of pain and longing. “I don’t know if I can, Toru. You really hurt me, even if you didn’t mean to.” you admitted, your voice barely audible above the soft hum of the evening breeze.

“Plus…Suguru and I have been getting close…and I…I think I’m falling for him as well. I can’t explain it, but there’s something about him that draws me to him, something I can’t ignore. So not only do I still have feelings for you…but I also have feelings for him…and I’m just so lost and confused. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

The weight of your confession hung heavy in the air, the silence stretching between you like a chasm.

When you finally mentioned Suguru, Toru’s heart clenched with a mixture of jealousy and resignation. He had suspected as much, had seen the way you looked at Suguru when you thought no one was watching, the subtle shifts in your demeanor whenever he was around. But hearing you say the words out loud, admitting to falling for another, felt like a blow to his chest.

But he pushed back those feelings as he heard and saw your current state. He felt a surge of guilt wash over him as he saw you. This wasn’t about him right now; it was about you and the pain he had caused you. He couldn’t bear the thought of being the source of your hurt, and the realization weighed heavily on his heart.

He refused to give up hope. He knew that he had to earn your forgiveness, that it wouldn’t come easily or quickly. But he was willing to do whatever it took to make things right between you, to prove to you that he was worthy of your love.

“However,” you started, still looking into his eyes.

“I know that I can’t keep ignoring you like this. And…I have been missing you for some time as well. So…how about we just start back at square one and see where that takes us?”

Toru listened intently, his heart pounding with anticipation as you spoke. He understood the gravity of your words, the weight of the pain he had caused you. But as you suggested starting anew, a spark of hope ignited within him, lighting up the darkness that had clouded his heart.

He nodded, a sense of determination coursing through him. "I would like that…a lot actually," he replied, his voice soft yet resolute. "Let's start fresh, take it one step at a time."

As the words left his lips, a sense of relief washed over you. Despite the hurt and the uncertainty, you couldn't ignore the flicker of hope that blossomed within you. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for the two of you to find your way back to each other. To love and cherish one another and be one.

With a tentative smile, you reached out and squeezed Toru's hand, feeling the warmth and strength it offered, missing how good it felt. As you two walked side by side, the weight of the past lifting from your shoulders, you felt a renewed sense of optimism fill your heart. Maybe this wasn't the end of your story with Toru, but rather the beginning of a new chapter, one filled with hope, forgiveness, and the promise of a brighter and happier future.

_____________

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[piningforstan]

Talking in Your Sleep

Part One | Part Two

Summary: You start to suspect that there’s more to Stan than what he tells you, at least while he’s awake. Asleep is a different story

Pairings: Stanley Pines x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: None, just angst

A/N: Don’t ask me why I put characters I love so much through so much heartache. There might be something wrong with me

“You dated him, didn’t you?”

“Hm?” You pretended not to be paying attention, wiping down the bar. No matter how many times you cleaned it, it stayed perpetually grimy to the touch. You doing the rag over your shoulder. “Who?”

“Weird guy. Lives in the woods.”

“Pines,” the other guy at the bar supplied. The foam of the cheap beer left a rim around his mouth. The former nodded.

“Oh, yeah,” you said casually, though it was anything but. Dated as in committed every dip and plane of his body to memory, told him about your childhood, envisioned a life unfolding before you with this man you considered your best friend. Until his lies ripped it away.

The two men continued their conversation then as if they only needed you to confirm something they already knew.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t partially want the job at Skull Fracture because you knew it was a notorious house of gossip and rumors, a way to check on Stan without actually having to speak to him. You picked up bits and pieces of what he was up to, how he was, all without actually inserting yourself.

In a small town like Gravity Falls there wasn’t much to talk about, and Stan posed a compelling story every time. You supposed it was a good thing that they never tired of him, speculating about his life and his job and everything else. You were of minor interest, too, since everyone knew you had lived and worked with him. But you never revealed much. It disgusted you, this unwavering loyalty to Stan. What did you owe him?

It became well known, anyway, that you refused to offer much in terms of fodder for gossip. You were intriguing in a vague, less interesting sense, a lens through which they hoped to grasp a better understanding of Stan.

The roar of the bar usually muted those thoughts of him. Music blared at all times of the day, men smoked and fought and cursed, greasy-smelling food wafted from the kitchen, and you facilitated all of it with a plastered smile. You needed money after leaving Stan. Gravity Falls wasn’t exactly a hotbed of employment opportunities, and unless you wanted to be stuck in the lumber business you had no other option than barkeep.

Your name floated over the din of drunk bikers, your manager appearing out of the back. “There’s a call. For you.”

You wiped your hands on your thighs and followed him to the phone. “Hello?”

“Doll, you gotta help me out.”

Stan’s voice, deep and rasping, struck you like a slap. Your stomach dropped. It took you a few moments to eke out a response. “Stan?”

“They, uh, got me down at the station. Some bogus arrest.”

“What?” You shook your head. “Stan, you got arrested?”

“Just say you’ll come down, eh?”

“Why are you calling me? I’m at work.”

A pause on his end, the sound of a door being slammed shut. “I ain’t got no one else.”

You inhaled sharply and exhaled out your mouth, fingers digging into the phone. You could examine your decision making abilities later. “Fine. Fine, Stan. How much is bail?”

“S’not much.”

It s’was much, you came to find out, nearly all of your savings. But for some godawful reason, you still loved Stan, and you knew since his voice rang out on the line that you would do anything he asked. You loathed yourself for this, loathed him for putting you in this position.

Stan was grinning sheepishly and rubbing his wrists as he walked out of the station. Everything you had to say, all of the reprimands and lectures, vanished upon seeing him.

“You cut your hair,” you blurted stupidly.

Gone was the mullet, the unruly curls. You quickly admired the shape of his jaw leading into his neck, his slightly too big ears that endeared you to him even more. He looked younger this way.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “Yeah. If bad haircuts were a crime, I would’ve been arrested a lot sooner.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that you had loved his mullet, but promptly closed it again. It hurt to look at him, properly, since that night in the basement; the ache you carried in your heart increased tenfold now, throbbing so painfully that you thought you might now understand how people could die from broken hearts. You tore your gaze from him. Suddenly the bushes outside the station held your rapt attention.

“Listen, uh, thanks. For bailing me out. How much do I owe ya?”

“Stan, you’ve forgotten I’ve balanced your books. You couldn’t pay me back even if you wanted.”

“That’s not true,” Stan protested, “the Shack’s been breakin’ even most days. She’s doin’ alright. Not the same without you, though.”

He rushed this last part, an afterthought that he wanted to retract but had already brought to life.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” you said. Perhaps if you pretended you didn’t hear him entirely, it wouldn’t take roost in your mind.

“I’ve been meanin’ to tell ya —”

“I have to get back to work, Stan,” you said, sharper than you meant to. You couldn’t think with the amount of hurt being in his company afforded you. “Do you need a ride?”

He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The drive back transpired in silence. Your headlights sliced through the darkened woods like two sabers, finally falling onto the Mystery Shack as you pulled into the gravel lot. You still considered it more home than your place now, a room you rented from one of the locals. You didn’t realize just how much you missed it.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Have a good night, Stan.”

“You should come in. Please. I won’t keep ya long.”

Your resolve, well, dissolved. Not that it was heavily fortified to begin with. You found yourself crossing the lot to the porch and in through the front door, the process a lot like slipping into a familiar piece of clothing. It smelled distinctly Stan-ish, you noticed, though not unkindly. He had kept the place neat since you left. The reminder of that afternoon, dragging your meager belongings out, glared in your memory. Stan watching out the window as you drove away.

“Jus’ one cup. I swear.” He placed a mug of coffee in front of you. Your mug. The one you forgot.

“Thanks,” you mumbled. You were grateful for the excuse to do something with your hands, even though the coffee tasted like mornings with your feet in his lap and his lips on your shoulder.

“I hear yer workin’ at the bar now.”

You smiled grimly. “Regrettably.”

“Ya know you always have a job here,” Stan said.

“What’re you doing?” You set down the mug on the table. The anger boiled in you, words escaping like trapped steam with no where else to go. “You can’t just act like nothing happened. Like this is normal.”

“I jus’ wanted to talk,” Stan told you. His throat bobbed uncertainly. “To apologize.”

You stayed quiet.

When he realized you wouldn’t be responding, he forged ahead. “I should’ve been honest with you. From the beginning. But ya don’t understand where I was when I met you — I finally reconnected with my brother after ten years and then I lost him. Again. Because I fucked up.”

His hands formed into fists. Stan took a breath, seemingly to steady himself. “I was lost. I was angry. It was easier to lie. And what was I s’ppose to do? Spill the whole truth? When I first met you, you were a stranger. I had no idea that you would stick around w’me as long as you did.”

“That’s…fair.” Stan looked relieved at this, though it wasn’t long lasting. “But why not tell me the truth when I asked?”

“I didn’t know how. Every time I tried, I…I couldn’t. Would you have had a different reaction, though? I knew you would leave.”

“At least I would’ve heard it from you straight, Stan. I had to find out while you were asleep that you were keeping these huge secrets from me.”

“I know. I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t want things to end the way they did.”

You bit down on your lip to keep the tears at bay. “Neither did I.”

“We could try it again, ya know.”

The way he looked at you was so earnest, so genuine, that you had to close your eyes to ward off the image of him as a skinned-knee child, the one who solved problems with his fists and resided just below the surface of this man now.

“Stan —”

“Please?”

You swallowed, your throat thick with emotion. “I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

“The truth is out now. You know everything.”

“But I will never be able to ignore the feeling that you’re hiding something from me,” you said. “So much is still unclear to me.”

“Ask me anythin’. I’ll tell ya.”

You couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes as you said, “Stop building the portal or whatever you’re doing. Focus on the people — here — in your life.”

Focus on me, you inwardly pleaded.

Stan’s jaw feathered. “I can’t stop working to get him back.”

The swift finality of his words washed over you, a decisive blow to the traitorous hope you still clung to. Coffee not even halfway drank, you stood and rounded the table. Stan’s cheeks were wet with tears as you put your hands to them, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, Stanley.”

The bar shined. It was never dirty for long, you ensured that when you bought it, ensured that you wiped away every mess. You could even see the door opening in the reflection of the bar, two small bodies stepping through. You looked up.

It wasn’t rare for new faces to visit. It was summer, the height of tourism season, and your bar was preferable to Skull Fracture. Gentle music drifted from the speakers. Bar wasn’t even the right word — you served small meals and drinks of all kinds, not just alcohol. You smiled at the two children as they approached. “Thirsty?”

“Yes!” The girl, buried in a sweater despite the heat, smiled brightly at you. Her braces winked in the low lighting.

“And,” the boy said, her brother, glancing at her purposefully, “we need to ask some questions.”

You nodded. “Ask away. Lemonade okay?”

The juxtaposition of the two, the girl, looking around eagerly, and the boy, doing his best to present himself as mature and composed, brought a smile to your face. He laid a notebook on the bar counter, brows furrowed.

“Where were you the night of June twenty-first?”

“Hm. At home, I suppose.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

You peered at him. Amusement ignited inside you, a flicker of affection. You loved kids, always have. “I live alone, so, no.”

“Did you see anything…peculiar that night?”

“Not that I can recall.” You set down two glasses of lemonade in front of them. “Why?”

“There was a reported sighting of an unidentifiable object in the sky,” the boy said. “We were just gathering information about it.”

The girl wiggled her fingers, whispering conspiratorially, “Aaaaaliens.”

“We don’t know that,” the boy countered.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Strange things always happen in this town,” you said.

“You see them too?”

You smiled softly at the two of them. “I do.”

“I’m Dipper. This is my sister, Mabel,” the boy introduced, jerking a thumb at her. “Would you mind telling me stories about what you’ve seen?”

You entertained their questions, recalling the unexplainable things you’d seen over the last thirty years. You refilled their drinks twice. They listened intently to your stories, interrupting only to clarify something specific.

There was something familiar in their shape of their mouths, the keen way that they interacted with their world. Had they been in town before? You knew some families returned to Gravity Falls every summer to enjoy the wilderness and disconnect.

“What did it look like?” Dipper asked, leaning forward in interest.

You had been telling them about the time you swear you saw glowing lights in the trees, floating blue spheres leading you away from the path. “Well, they —”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dipper said. “I should be putting this in the journal.”

“Dipper,” Mabel warned him.

Dipper ignored her. “Would you mind following us home? I’d love to write everything down and-and draw a picture, if you don’t mind.”

His cheeks flushed at this.

You gazed around the empty bar, then shrugged. What point was there to owning your own business if you couldn’t close down when you wanted?

“Sure, give me one moment.”

The twins appealed to you. And you were curious to find out more about them. Not to mention, it had been a long time since someone wanted to talk to you. Really talk. You weren’t lonely, per se, but you sometimes missed the comfort of another person. As you closed the cash register and locked up, you couldn’t ignore the fact that you had wanted kids, long ago, but the years slipped away and now the dream was gone.

You liked these kids. Even though you’d only known them for an afternoon, you’d taken a shine to them — smart and witty, perceptive, the right amount of childish enthusiasm. You told them to put their bikes in the trunk of your car and followed their direction back home.

“You live…here?” Your stomach dropped as the Mystery Shack emerged from the dense forest, the S lying precariously on the roof.

“Kinda,” Mabel said, “we’re staying with our Grunkle Stan for the summer.”

Dipper, insisting that he got the front seat, turned to you. “Do you know him?”

“Kinda,” you muttered. “If it’s all the same to you, I might just stay in the car.”

The twins exchanged a look. A pointed, knowing look, like they suspected their uncle had done something to lose your favor. They weren’t wrong, exactly. Dipper and Mabel ran inside with the promise to return shortly. All you could do was stare at the Shack numbly, imagine the man within and the memories you held with him. You should’ve known that he would make an appearance, stomp out onto the porch after his niece and nephew to investigate.

Stan’s expression crumbled.

You couldn’t hear, but he uttered something to them. They gesticulated frantically back. Your heart had leapt into your throat by the time the three of them walked back to the car, Stan lingering a few steps behind.

“Grunkle Stan says we shouldn’t bother you,” Mabel said, pouting.

You finally forced your gaze to him. Stan had aged well, you reluctantly noticed, still unbearably handsome. The same broad shoulders. The features that you knew so well, lined with the years you spent apart.

“They aren’t bothering me,” you choked out.

“You shouldn’t fill their heads w’stories,” Stan replied, refusing to meet your eyes.

“They aren’t stories,” you and Dipper both protested at the same time. You shared a secretive smile with him.

“Jus’ tell the nice person sorry and let them get on with her day.”

Mabel tugged on his suit jacket. “They told us that you knew each other.”

“We-We did,” Stan said.

You supplied, “A long time ago.”

“Then come inside and catch up!” Mabel beamed at the idea. “You gave us lemonade so it’s only fair. I can make you Mabel-cakes!”

“If it’s fine with your uncle.”

Stan studied you closely. You could only imagine what he saw, your greying hair and swollen knuckles. “Uh, yeah…’course.”

You were both pleased and devastated to see how the inside of the Shack had changed. Judging by the “exhibits” and amount of items in the gift shop, business was prosperous. A redheaded girl at the register waved at you as you passed. Dipper disappeared upstairs to fetch his journal, and Mabel busied herself preparing the pancake mix, leaving you alone with Stan.

“It’s, uh, been awhile,” Stan said, effectively breaking the silence.

You feigned an interest in the water stains on the ceilings. “It has.”

The last time you were together had been almost— what, two years ago? You had knocked. Stan had answered. He touched you with expert precision, years of exploring one another resulting in experiences both familiar and new, somehow each brief encounter over the years never dulling your attraction. You weren’t proud, necessarily, of your weakness in the form of Stan Pines. You had almost overcome it until today; you should’ve known that the twins were Pines.

“How’s the bar?” Stan asked.

“Fine.”

“I’m sorry if they were botherin’ ya. Kids.”

“They weren’t,” you said, and you meant it. “They seem really great. They’re your niece and nephew?”

“Great niece and nephew. My brother’s grandkids.” When you arched a brow in confusion, Stan grimaced. “Other brother.”

“Oh.” You hugged your arms around yourself. Should you ask him how his search was? You wanted to care, but found it hard when it only brought back painful memories. Clearly it hadn’t been well, not if his brother was still absent.

You bit your lip. “Do they know?”

“No, they don’t.” Stan’s face shuttered closed.

Indignation swelled inside you, pressed against your rib cage. “You haven’t told them?”

“Everyone thinks that —” he lowered his voice, “—that Stanley Pines is dead. Including their parents and my brother.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“What I do with my life isn’t your problem,” Stan snapped. “You made that clear.”

“They’re good kids, Stan.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“Don’t push them away, too,” you told him softly. “I-I need to go. Can you tell them I’m sorry? Say that I had to go back to work or something.”

Stan’s words chased you out the door: “Whose the liar now?”

Tags:

@gimmemorecherries @tellybearryyyy

[almostfoxglove]

thought it was about time I start makin some fic rec posts, so hello! let's get into it! prep your tbr list for some magic!

💖 - fluff | 🔥 - smut | 😭 - angst | ⭐ - one shot | ✨ - series

craving something sweet?

late night texts by @jolapeno - javier peña x f!reader ✨💖🔥

poolside by @whocaresstillthelouvre - joel miller x f!reader ⭐💖

long to yearn?

in pain and heartache in comfort and love by @whxtedreams - joel miller x f!reader ⭐😭

swept away by @punkshort - joel miller x f!reader ✨💖🔥😭

need to release some *ahem* tension?

grown by @juletheghoul - joel miller x f!reader ⭐🔥

the late shift by @magpiepills - tim rockford x f!reader ⭐🔥

ready to fall in love?

on call by @luxurychristmaspudding - frankie morales x f!reader ✨💖🔥

eros & psyche by @schnarfer - dieter bravo x f!reader ✨😭🔥

dividers by @thecutestgrotto

[waynewifey]

dear mr. wayne — b.w

part one: dear mr. wayne

part two: aftermath

part three: aporia

epilogue

summary: it’s not easy being a politician’s wife. it’s even harder to love a vigilante. months of negligence make you an easy target to his enemies.

pairing: bruce wayne/battinson x reader

genre: angst romance & dark action

warnings: swearing; smoking; kidnapping; violence; a bit of gore; “you” is she/her; bruce is the worst husband ever btw

word count: 2.8k

A/N: i wrote this back in january 2022 when the batman movie had just premiered, so kinda off the hype here. i hope you enjoy it anyway. already working on part 2, let me know if you guys would like it! also, this has taken a path way darker than i had in mind so i’m sorry if it’s too much. comments are appreciated!

gotham city, USA.

it's late.

you have no clock nearby, but you feel it in your bones. in your muscles too. it's too late and bruce should be home already. laying in the sofa, only half conscious, you regret telling alfred to go to bed. at least you wouldn't be alone. of course, being married to the batman you knew he would patrol at night often. you were okay with it. but lately bruce had been too focused on his other, and recent, goal: running for mayor. at first it seemed out of character, he was never good with the public or the press. but he stared at thomas wayne's painting in the hall in such painful façade, it made sense all off sudden. you were supportive of it. you showed up to every event just to stay by his side, to show the people the lovable man he was. the man you loved. the man who couldn't even be home for dinner.

the penthouse's elevator dings, opening its doors at the end of the hallway you see perfectly from your seat. your head doesn't lift instantly, like in the first week. instead, a long sigh escapes from your lips as bruce reaches the living room.

"hello, darling." he says, still in motion as he walks the stairway up to the room you shared. not a single kiss, or a hug. you follow him, because what else is there to do? you need to go to bed anyway. by the time you get there, slowly, his suit is already on the floor and he's taking a shower.

"how was the meeting?" you ask, knowing he usually did his Wayne Enterprising meetings — which consisted of hanging out long hours in bars with business men — at night. recently, he started a complicated relationship with a real estate company he wanted to invest in.

"the usual." he stopped fully answering these questions three weeks ago, making the only time you ever talked even shorter. the city has gotten more violent than ever since his batman duties were put on standby.

"any closer to sealing the deal?" you sit on the bed, watching the open bathroom door.

"probably." it's not like he's being rude. well, maybe a little bit. he just doesn't want to talk any more, it's clear on his tone. but it's 2am and you brain isn't working too well.

"when is this gonna end, bruce?" you finally say, as he puts his boxers on. "when are we ever having dinner again? or going on a date? when are you gonna stop treating me like i'm some sort of home decor?" you almost vomit out the words that have been stuck on your throat for days. surprisingly, the heartache doesn't softens. instead, it gets worse. it's like admitting your abandonment.

six months ago, you started trying to get pregnant. it hadn't always been a dream of yours, but the idea of having an heir to all you've spent your life building is charming. you realised you were in the right time to do so, you had just turned 28, bruce was 32, and both had stable careers. a month later, bruce announced his candidacy. and so soon you gave up. you told yourself once he won the election everything would be fine. you would try again. but, realistically, being a mayor was already a lot of work on itself. he wouldn't want a pregnant wife or a child to take care of. after the four years, who knows? he might as well have a new life project. and your family would always stand on the side.

"i don't know what you're talking about..." he doesn't look into your eyes. hell, he barely looks at you. that feeling, the negligence, is enough to trigger the tears. you take a deep breath, making an effort to look composed.

"don't you, though?" your voice is shaken. look at me. look at me. look at me. look at me. he doesn't. "bruce." you call, finally getting his attention. however, the boredom on his face knocks you off your feet, legs trembling in pain and anger. "i just want you to make an effort on us..."

"really? cause that's all i ever done." he's leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed in a way you would find attractive in other circumstances. but now he's yelling and you fight back the urge to shrink into the mattress. "do you think i wanna have a kid on this fucked up town? i'm tryna fix this. fix everything!" his faces turns red-ish. something inside of you makes you want to leave the room. you've always been an avoider, that is one of the reasons you hadn't really had couple fights. so, basically, this is very new. "i've got the weight of the fucking world on my back."

"let's leave then" you manage to say, replacing the you chose this. it was true, however, that he was the one to put himself in this position. bruce wayne could've gotten his entire life without working if he wanted to. but he always needed to save everyone, to suffer for other's happiness. he was a giver. sometimes you wondered if he needed to be saved instead.

"you know i can't do that." he mumbles, in a defeated tone. a sigh escapes from his lips, suddenly the tiredness takes over his face. it's almost enough to make you let it go, to internalise your distress again. he really can't, you know that. he feels that the city is his liability, because it was the only thing he had since he became an orphan. but he had you, too. he just didn't acknowledge that.

"and i can't stay like this." it sounds like an whisper, but it's a plead. choose me. please. he seems to read it in your eyes, face contorting in agony when he realises what you're asking for. me or gotham? it's stupid to think he would ever choose you. but you hoped, so desperately, because you would choose him. always.

"let's not do this tonight, okay? i have to be in the office by the morning." tears instantly fall as he turns off the lights and lays on the bed, turning his back to where you slept. for a moment, you're static. his words were final. were you ever in control of something in your life? why were all of these decisions being made for you? mechanically, you stand on both feet and walk to the door. you don't even notice your movement until you're on the elevator. your husband didn't intervene either. this neighbourhood is one of the safest in town, which honestly isn't much but you had to get out. anyway, nowhere is totally safe at 3am.

you walk two blocks, clinging to the fluffy sweater you wore. the depressing air of gotham slows your pace, to a point you start wondering if it was really necessary to be aware. you could feel the city devouring you, starting with your hope. the blue 24h sign lights up the street, in a way that isn't welcoming, but you know the place well enough to not be scared to get in. a bell sounds over the door and wakes up the male behind the counter. he's got long black hair and seems to haven't seen a good night of sleep in weeks. same,you think.

"hi. can i get the blue one?" you point at the camel's behind the man. he nods, quickly putting a pack on the wooden board. the prices pops up on the cashier's display. you pay and go outside. smoking was an bad habit from your college days, when pressure got too excruciating. every now and then you would treat yourself to some cigarettes, for the confidence it gave you. the sense of control to be the one, for once, ruining yourself. the smoke burns your throat on the first inhale and you hold back a cough. you're too entertained by the cigar to notice the black van approaching. it stops right in front of you, and everything happens too quickly for your brain to process. it's all dark.

he's in a meeting, the boring kind.

the kind that has him seated in silence while a representative talks to his employees, who never get to listen to their actual boss. there's a chart being shown on a large tv on the other side of the room. he's not listening, though. he's writing down ideas for a thanksgiving speech. a head pops into the conference room.

"mr. wayne." it's one of the new assistants, hired especially for the election season. he didn't care to memorise her name, because temps usually don't last long. if she hadn't called him, he might've not even looked up. but the room is silent, expecting eyes on him. the girl at the door looks terrified. "you're urgently required outside, please."

he sighs as he gets up from his leather chair. the second the door closed behind him, chatter is heard again. in the corridor, the woman conducts him to his office and they get in. there's a bit of a commotion, four men lounge around his table, all their faces tense.

"mr. wayne, i'm afraid we don't have good news." the head of the marketing team speaks, a man called robert vance. he's probably said the same phrase to bruce about seven times this month, so that doesn't do much. the assistant approaches with an ipad, unpausing a video. "we received this from an anonymous email about forty minutes ago. we weren't able to get the ip address just yet."

the video starts with a black screen, zooming out to show a woman with a bag over her head. she has her hands on her back and is kneeling on the ground. bruce's heart skips a beat noticing the hair falling down her shoulders.

"bruce wayne..." an eerie voice whispers from behind the camera, breathing heavily. "i've robbed an egg from your basket, and you haven't even noticed!" there's a disturbing chuckle and the video shakes a bit. bruce doesn't move, eyes stuck on the screen. no one in the room has done anything other than breathing. someone gulps. "it's been long hours, but we're having fun, aren't we, darling?" a gloved hand reaches for the bag, pulling it out. her face - your face - is dripping blood. you're biting on a fabric, still in your home clothes. bruce's jaw clenches. you're crying, face beaten, in this degrading situation. your eyes pierce the screen right into his. suddenly, a gun is tapped on your forehead and you close your eyes into a sob. your lips mouth please. "i'm running out of patience here, you're running out of time. let's do business, shall we?" he laughs, knocking the pistol on the side of your head, making you fall laying on the floor, unconscious. the spot bleeds. "here's my proposal: you come clean about your father's deal with carmine falcone and maybe i don't shoot little mrs. wayne... or i do both. it's your choice, really. the clock is ticking. tick tock, wayne."

the video stops, the sight of a gun pointed at your unresponsive body burns into his mind. bruce is panting, the adrenaline rushes into his brain. there's a million of plans being built, but none of them seem viable.

"don't let media get this." he managed to say. one of the men in suits says it's too late. the tv flicks on showing a news report on the video. he kicks the side of his table, the contents being thrown across the room. "FUCK! you bastards wait forty fucking minutes to show me this?" he screams, no one can look him in the eyes. a hand runs through his black hair. "meanwhile my wife is out there with a gun on her head! and what have you done? i swear to god, if i don't find her alive and well i'm killing everyone in this goddamned room with my bare hands."

he storms out of there, reaching to his phone to call alfred and noticing the multiple missed calls. fucking silent mode. the sun is setting.

"i got the address." the butler says, instead of hello. a 'ding' sounds in his ear.

there has been pain for so long. you try to remember before the pain. but all is pain. he has to make it stop.

the floor is cold cement and you feel so small in this huge warehouse. the man in the mask knows you can't run. not only you're tied up, but the will had left you long before getting dragged into that van. he sees it in your eyes. so he strolls around, always in that ridiculous dark green overall. then he beats you up for fun. no cameras. just you and the devil himself. you find yourself praying, after all these years. you don't pray to get out, no. you pray so that it ends soon. you pray that the stab wound in your abdomen will get you an infection. you pray that when you close your eyes, you never have to open them again. but the divine has left you in the cold cement.

there's an explosion. your eyes open. there's smoke and dust taking over one of the walls. you're seeing everything horizontally, cheek on the floor. the man in green is just as scared as you were.

bruce wayne busted that fucking wall down. he expected a full team of psychopaths and maybe some more security. there was just one coward in the warehouse. the thing stares at him coming out of the smoke, fingers fidgeting. the batman steps forward. the freak steps back. then turns around, runs to a half broken wardrobe and grabs a gun from it. bruce walks slowly. there's a struggle loading the gun. he takes the opportunity to run and throw the thing on the floor. he bangs his head on it. the vermin screams. he takes one punch. two. tries to reach for the fallen gun. bruce steps on his hand and the loud crack echoes in the room. he screams again. three punches. the mask is taken off. his nose is bleeding. more punches. he holds the neck. the head is turning purple. oh how he wants to kill this little shit. bruce wayne will kill him. it will just take a few more seconds...

"baby, no" at first he thinks he's imagining it. it's so soft, so weak. but he looks up and there she is. his hands loose. right on the corner, chains on her legs. her face is ruined from blood and dirt. her wrists bleed too. the motherfucker chained her. hell is too good for this thing.

bang. on his shoulder. he looks down and the blood is dripping on the freak's face. he’s pushed to the side, holding the wound. tiny white dots obstruct his vision. he grunts through the pain. the man gets up and runs towards you. bruce can’t move. he arches his back, trying to roll and lay on his chest. it feels like he can’t move his arm anymore, like his bones had detached. when he finally does so, the man is escaping through a window. his hand searches for the adrenaline-boost in his belt, grabs it and quickly injects on his leg. it takes a second to get his blood rushing again. he crawls up and jumps through the window, which leads him to a metal balcony.

you’re almost standing, but he holds your chains and a gun to your face. the shooting sound had scared you awake. you can’t believe how close to bruce you finally are, but the conditions couldn’t be worse. you can hear water running below your feet, you don’t need daylight to show you the violent river you’re standing above. this is not good.

bruce has his hands up in the air and is holding himself back to not do anything stupid. the man’s face is contorting into the creepiest smile. no.

everything happens so slowly, yet he’s not quick enough to grab you in time. you’re falling in the air and he jumped after you. for a moment, the world is air. you can’t hold out your hand. your hair is flying in your face, he does not want to die without seeing you one last time. his cape holds him back and the distance between you only increases. you’re gone. the impact comes.

part two

[fandomnerd9602]

Belong with Me

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warning: a couple idiots in love angst

Y/N’s POV

You walked past Wanda’s room one night to hear the sounds of her acoustic guitar. Wanda’s not professional by any stretch of the imagination but she loves doing it every now and then.

And if you could see that I’m the one who understands you. Been here all the time.

You can tell by looking at her reflection in the nearby mirror, the hurt that was in her eyes. The longing that she had for someone with someone in the compound? Was it Vision? Was it you? 

Why can’t you see? You belong with me. You belong with me.

Wanda practically collapsed against her guitar. She caught your eye in the mirror and gasped.

“I’m sorry.” You manage to say trying to apologize for intruding on her privacy. “ I just heard your singing honestly it’s some of the best I’ve heard”

The young witch blushed a bright red as her namesake

Wanda’s POV

Oh why did Y/N have to see me perform?

The very source of her heartache. Her longing for you had driven here to perform on her guitar and somehow you just happen to walk by and hear her? Wanda could practically crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.

“So was there some reason you were singing?” You asked her.

Wanda’s brain into full on panic mode. You couldn’t know. You were her best friend. It would be awkward. It would be too embarrassing. What if you rejected her?!

A name popped into her head. “V-Vision. Yeah that’s who”

Y/N’s POV

Your heart kind of sank in that moment. Your best friend was in love with your other pal.

“Oh” you tried to cover your heartbreak. “He’s a good guy. He’d be a fool to reject you”

You gave her a smile and left her alone in her room.

As you walked the hallways you found Vision studying some old cookbooks.

“Hello there Y/N” the robot smiled at you.

“Hey Vis” you managed to say, “promise me you’ll treat her right”

“Who?”

“You’ll figure it out” you give him a pat on the shoulder and went to the lab.

Wanda’s POV

“Really? You said Vision?!” Natasha asked a little agitated with her student.

Once again Wanda get that she could crawl into a hole and die. Not only had she presumably broken the heart of the one she loved, she did it making you think that she loved Vision.

“I know. I know. I panicked!” Wand buried her head in her pillow and screamed.

“You need to let Y/N know how you feel.”

“What if they reject me?! I can’t live knowing that!” Wanda practically threw the pillow at Natasha.

“You deserve to know. And so do they.” Natasha threw the pillow back to the young witch.

“How?!” Her answer came a second later as Natasha handed her her acoustic guitar.

“80s romance movie this!” Natasha gave an approving wink.

Wanda begrudgingly grabbed the guitar and walked out of her self imposed exile. Even if you didn’t feel the same way back, she deserved to tell her feelings.

She walked down the hallway towards your room to find Vision looking confused at her.

“Wanda,” he said with a little frown, “I was asked by Y/N to ‘treat her right’ who were they referring to?”

Wanda couldn’t help but smile a little. If you cared enough to tell Vision to treat her right, she knew you cared.

Wanda’s heart beat at a million times a minute as she strolled up to your door. It was a now or never kind of situation. Her strumming hand hovered over the guitar’s strings.

She wears high heels

I wear sneakers

She's Cheer Captain, and I'm on the bleachers

Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find

That what you're looking for has been here the whole time

If you could see that I'm the one

Who understands you

Been here all along

So, why can't you see?

You belong with me

Standing by and waiting at your backdoor

All this time how could you not know, baby?

You belong with me

You belong with me

She drew the song to a close and yet you didn’t come out of your room. Her heart sank.

“I don’t know why I said Vision.” She admitted aloud, “I was singing about you. It was always you”

“You belong with me” you answered back. Wanda gasped and turned around to see you smiling at her.

She practically ran into your arms. You wrapped an arm around her and with the other, you caressed her cheek.

“You belong with me, detka” she whispers in your ear.

[merbear25]

Doflamingo x son!reader who looks very much like Rosinante 🥺🙏

Hello! This was just slightly sad to think about, but I still thoroughly enjoyed doing so! I hope it wasn’t too angsty for your taste, and that you like what I’ve written for you.💜💜

CW: SFW, m!reader, headcanons/scenarios, complicated family dynamic, some fluff, slight angst

A constant reminder (Doflamingo)

Family was one of the few things he kept close to his heart. Though most of them were ones he’d chosen, you were an extension of himself. You had a clean slate, one which he wished to mold. He had so many things he wanted to do with you, ways he hoped to shape your mind.

Deep down he had a fear that gnawed away at him the older you got. As your features became more your own, the unsettling reminder of the brother who betrayed him seemed to be staring back at him.

Infancy would be the time you’d receive the majority of his affection. Laying down next to you and tickling your little feet to hear you giggle was one of his favorite ways to bond with you.

When you became a toddler, you had a striking resemblance to Rosinante. Even with keeping your hair short, your face still held those same features of his brother’s. There was a twinge of heartache because he felt as if the gods were playing some sick joke on him, like he was being punished for his wrong doings.

He was in a constant state of hot and cold towards you: wanting to avoid the past from repeating itself and the ghost of it haunting him.

During your childhood, he lost hope that you would eventually look more like him or even someone from your mother’s side. Anyone would have been better than him.

That didn’t completely stop him from raising you how he wanted, though. You were still his son, not some ghost from the past; you had your own personality, one which was neither like his nor Rosinante’s.

He may have sorrowfully restrained himself from being more affectionate towards you, but he was there to guide you. There were times he kept a close eye on you, observing your reactions and dissecting the opinions you had, all of which coming from his own paranoia.

It took a long time to separate those undeserved suspicions he had of you from himself, yet there was still a fragment of him that thought, “What if I’m wrong?”

[enha-doodles]

https://genius.com/5-seconds-of-summer-bad-omens-lyrics

this is the link to the song lyrics!

BAD OMENS | ✧⁺。

Pairing: Mattheo riddle x reader

Note : holy shit I'm so sorry to disappoint but this was all I could do . I've never heard the song before and writing angst is not my cup of tea 😭😭 tho tysm for requesting i really appreciate it <33

Warning : angst .

The moon cast its silvery glow over the Hogwarts grounds as you stood beneath the towering walls of the castle, your heart heavy with uncertainty. Mattheo Riddle stood beside you, his dark eyes searching yours for any sign of reassurance.

"So this is where we are," you whispered, the words hanging heavy in the night air. "I should've seen it coming."

Mattheo's gaze softened, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes. "Every time we say goodbye, I say hello again," he replied, his voice tinged with regret.

You felt a lump form in your throat as you gazed into his eyes, the pain of knowing that your love was destined to end in heartbreak weighing heavily on your shoulders.

"I cried in your dark brown eyes for the thousandth time," you confessed, tears welling up in your own eyes. "Because you love somebody else."

Mattheo's hand reached out to brush away a tear from your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "I died when you left that night for the thousandth time," he whispered, his voice filled with sorrow. "Because you love somebody else."

You tried to stop the door as it was closing, but it was too late. The distance between you grew with each passing moment, the chasm widening until it felt impossible to bridge.

"Can't help the way I keep ignoring every omen," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "Every omen."

Mattheo's hand tightened around yours, his grip firm and reassuring. "Heaven knows I should let go," he said softly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope. "It's nothing that I don't already know."

But even as you spoke the words, you knew that letting go was easier said than done. The love you shared with Mattheo was a bond that transcended time and space, a connection that couldn't be broken by mere words or actions.

"We go 'round again, we jump back in bed," Mattheo murmured, his voice barely audible above the sound of your beating hearts. "That's what you do when you love somebody."

You nodded in agreement, knowing that despite the pain and heartache, you would always find your way back to each other. For in the depths of your soul, you knew that your love for Mattheo was worth fighting for, worth holding onto, no matter the cost.

"These bad omens, I look right through them," you whispered, a glimmer of hope shining in your eyes. "That's what you do when you love somebody."

And as you melted into Mattheo's embrace, the darkness that had clouded your mind lifted, replaced by a warmth and light that could only be found in the arms of the one you loved.

For in the shadows of your love, you found your sanctuary, your salvation, your reason to believe that even in the darkest of times, love would always prevail.

。　　　　✧　　　　⁺　 　 　。

Taglist : @sugarcandydoll @helendeath @navia3000

[just-zy]

Zy's Masterlist

Hello, welcome to my blog or whatever this is.. Just wanted to try this out! I write for Jenna Ortega and her characters (some that I feel comfortable writing for, and for the characters that I know how to write, or if not, then I haven't really seen the other movies/series)! This is just a time burner for me, time would tell if I'd post some more tho, probably won't be taking requests (yet?), considering I haven't been writing for quite sometime now, and no, I'm not new to writing (but I'm still pretty shitty at it considering english isn't my first language), but I definitely am new on Tumblr, I'm still learning how to operate these, so that's that! My cup of tea is definitely the third povs, I despise having to be detailed about ones surroundings, I'm shit at those.

And I quite have a knack for angst..

note: I don't condone plagiarism!

: I only write for Fem!Readers! so if you're uncomfortable with that, you can kindly leave my blog! Thank you!

: Things that I strictly do not write; smut, Male Readers.. I'm just not really comfortable with it.

: Imagines that are marked ✭ is fluff!

and ☾ for angst!

One shots:

Jenna Ortega:

So close yet so far - ☾

More than friends, less than lovers.

My Miss President (I) ||

My Miss President (II) - ✭

Jenna was never the type to fall for someone like Y/N, someone who'd always end up in fights, someone you'd often see doing stupid things outside the school premises, someone who always look so arrogant but is an absolute sweetheart. Jenna wasn't into those, considering she's what the school calls 'Ms. President' aka, Miss Perfect. She'd never, right?

Stay a little longer - ☾

Two broken hearts in one night.

You said you'd wait - ☾

A failed courtingship leads to heartache, days, weeks, months.. I hope you waited like you said you would.

Wednesday Addams:

Mi Pesadilla - ✭ ☾

Wednesday's regretting pushing you away.

Lost a letter (I) || Lost a letter (II) - ✭

You have a hard time trying to swoon Wednesday, but having her roommate be your friend? It doesn't always end well.. Maybe..

Cursed Bloodsucker - ✭

A day of the week, you'd think curses and hexes was all on the same day, but surely it wasn't that bad.. You had a girlfriend, didn't you?

Gone soft - ✭ ☾

You thought getting Wednesday a stuffed bear was cute, but as she is, she doesn't quite like anything that imaged her that she was turning soft.

Possessive - ✭

If being unattractive and boring were a choice, Wednesday would've taken those choices for the both of you when you started dating. But, can she really blame your admirers?

Vada Cavell:

A stupid girl with a bloody nose - ✭

Being arrogant gets Vada absolutely nowhere, well sometimes..