#lowkey angst

When he visited his flat for the first time in a year, he saw that the place was filled with spider webs and... were those rats?

So against his better judgement. And more-so everyone's advice, he decided to rent out his spare bedroom, to get someone looking over the place while he wasn't there.

You were Johnny's friend, so you heard about it that way. You were more then happy to move in. You were searching for an apartment anyways. But sharing an flat (and also the rent) with someone, without them ever being there sounded like a dream come true.

Sure, it took Simon a little getting used to when he came home and saw someone in his apartment, but he didn't exactly find it uncomfortable.

Without his own realisation, he started coming back to the flat more. The view of someone in his livingspace that wasn't a roughed up solider made him feel quite calm, maybe even a little attached.

You were quite good at cooking, and didn't mind sharing with him at all.

Simon loved it.

Homecooked meals...

It’s not too surprising, his parents were very fond of their higher class and all things traditional. They themselves loved music so long as it was classical and sued real instruments, both of them despising electrical music as if it had personally wronged them.

Tim used to use this as his way of sneaking in popular songs by doing covers on his beloved violin.

His parents had gotten him lessons in a few instruments with piano and the flute being the other two but he had taken to the violin with far more enthusiasm than them.

It became a grounding motion for him.

When he was stressed, nervous, afraid or even just too excitable, he would go to his room in his childhood home and perform.

He wasn’t just a good player, he was damn near perfect. He rarely messed up and when he did he knew how to recover quickly, so much so that if you didn’t know the pieces he was doing you wouldn’t notice unless it was too horrid of a sound

He took to it so much he insisted on learning as many of Paganini’s works as he could. He worked hard until he could match the speed and quality and then would show his parents who would always been proud.

When Jason died he started to go to the graveyard and play songs he knew the other liked.

He didn’t know Jason super well, but he knew he loved Lord of The Rings and Pride and Prejudice so he learnt to do songs form soundtracks and he would stand by his grave and play.

He didn’t just play for Jason, sometimes he also played for the other people in the graveyard.

He liked to think of there was any ghost there that the music would help them feel safe and less alone.

He stopped going when Red Hood revealed who he was.

Tim eventually got too busy to play, having as many roles as he did meant there was little time for anything unproductive. If he had time off it was to sleep or eat, nothing else.

Sometime after Bruce got back from the tiem stream and things had settled down he found himself with time again and so he went to the ballroom of the manner and carefully prepared his favourite violin to perform.

He chose to do a song he had played for Jason a lot.

Tim had only meant to play one but time always tended to escape him when his heard the sounds of the strings singing.

Later he would be worried about how low his guard had dropped, but for the time being he didn’t notice the audience he had gained.

After his finished one of his favourites pieces, which was of course Paganini, he finally lowered his instrument and let out a pleased sigh.

Clapping came from behind him and he turned to see three faces he knew well.

Alfred, Dick and surprisingly Jason were all standing there staring at him.

Alfred with approving pride, Dick with beaming joy and Jason with a scowl.

“How long were you guys listening?” Tim asked, hoping the blush high on his cheeks weren’t too noticeable.

Dick stepped forward to give him a hug as Tim locked eyes with Jason.

Dick was saying something, most likely praise, but Tim wasn’t able to properly pay attention when he saw the look Jason was giving him.

It only took a families shiver from Jason, one that he always did when he thought too hard about his death, that Tim understood.

Jason had heard him playing at the graveyard, whether from down in his grave or from beyond.

Jason turned and left, a hurt rage in his eyes, and Tim felt for the first time that he didn’t want to play again.

As Jason clambered onto his bike he felt hot tears running down his face as he forced himself to ignore what he had realised.

There was no way he could accept that it was Tim who played the music that Jason had been hearing ever since he woke up, that it was his so called ‘successor’ that had given him the thing that had kept him calm and grounded against his rage and The Pit.

He refused to owe Tim anymore than he already had and this…

You weren’t supposed to stay this long.

It was always an unspoken thing—show up late, leave before the morning hits too hard. But somehow you’re still in his bed, wrapped in his sheets, eyes locked on the curve of his bare shoulder glowing in the dim lamplight.

Yuta breathes slow, steady. He’s awake. You know he is.

“Why are you staring?” he mumbles, still facing the wall.

You roll your eyes and lie back. “I’m not.”

He turns over lazily, his skin brushing against yours, arm slung across your waist like he forgot it wasn’t allowed. “You always stare after,” he murmurs, lips dangerously close to your jaw. “What are you looking for?”

You swallow thickly. God, why did he always do this? Act like he could read your thoughts and then pretend it didn’t mean anything?

“I’m not looking for anything,” you lie.

He hums. “Liar.”

Then it happens—his hand slides beneath the sheets, over your bare hip, pulling you in like gravity. Your breath catches. He kisses you slow, like he’s trying to memorize your mouth, like you’re something he’s not ready to lose.

And that’s the problem.

He likes you.

He really, really does.

But he never says it. And neither do you.

Because you told yourself a long time ago that if he wanted you—really wanted you—he wouldn’t have started whatever this is with no rules, no labels, just hot nights and colder mornings.

You were never going to be the girl who begged to be chosen.

Even if every time he touched you, it felt like he already had.

Yuta presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in. “Why don’t you ever stay?” he asks suddenly.

You blink. “I’m here right now.”

“Yeah, but you always leave before I wake up.”

You freeze. It’s not like you never wanted to stay. You just didn’t know if he wanted you to.

“You’re the one who never asks me to,” you say quietly.

His hand stills on your waist. “That’s not true.”

You look away, already retreating into your shell. “It’s fine. I get it, Yuta. You don’t have to say anything.”

He sits up, brows furrowed. “What if I want to say something?”

“Don’t.”

Your voice cracks just a little. Because if he says the wrong thing, if he looks at you with pity, if he says this was never supposed to go there, you won’t recover. You’ve been through enough rejection to know better than to hope.

But then Yuta leans in, eyes soft but intense.

“What if I’ve been trying to tell you for months?” he says. “And I just didn’t want to scare you off?”

You blink. “You’re not serious.”

He laughs under his breath and cups your jaw. “I’m dead serious. I thought… maybe this was all you wanted. And I didn’t wanna lose even that.”

Your heart stutters. “You thought I didn’t want more?”

“I thought I’d ruin everything if I said it out loud.”

You stare at each other for a long beat—like something heavy just cracked open between you, but instead of it being messy, it feels relieving.

So you kiss him. This time not like you’re burning. But like you’re healing.

The next morning, Yuta wakes up to sunlight pouring into the room, your leg tangled with his, your face buried in his chest.

You didn’t leave.

He smiles against your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Stay again tonight?” he whispers.

You nod, eyes still closed.

And just like that, everything shifts.

teaser alexei vronsky x reader warning, this is not proof-read so there might be minor mistakes

“Milaya moya, what is it that you think so deeply about?” He asked, breaking the silence and tension in the room. You jumped slightly, startled, putting a hand on your sternum as a reaction to the shock. 

“Ah, Alexei, you startled me, I did not notice you” You laughed slightly, looking at him. 

‘I had not noticed you’

But you always notice when he walks in the room. Your eyes always light up, your smile always deepens, and your shoulders relax knowing that he was there to take care of you. 

Your words upset him, he knew something was clogging your mind, he just did not know what exactly it was. He was determined to find out and rid you of those thoughts to make you happy, to see you happy. 

“I was rather silent, I suppose” Alexei said, pushing his thoughts of sadness away, trying to figure you out. 

.

Tim didn't feel anything when looking at his baby. That had to be wrong, right?

Postpartum depression, as Leslie had called it, was quite frequent in omegas, such that the number of omegas who suffered it was somehow higher than the beta's.

But Tim's feelings had started way before giving birth to his pup. It had started the exact moment Leslie told him he was pregnant (which alpha of the Wayne pack was the father didn't matter). Tim had felt nothing but anger and sickness during his pregnancy.

In biological terms, Tim had gone feral.

They had needed to keep the baby away from Tim for weeks, Tim gone into a primitive instinct that was dangerous to the baby. Even nowadays there were still so many cases of feral omegas who -

The baby had been taken away. It had been for everyone's own good. Now...

Tim is taking five different types of meds, reading motherhood books, and trying to smile at the baby. It doesn't work, and Tim knows it won't work. Janet had suffered the same, perhaps a curse of their bloodline intended to end them.

It's not surprising that Ra's visits.

It's an early night, all bats outside in patrol (a privilege Tim lost ever since his pack decided he was to be a mother), Alfred busy in the kitchen. Of course Ra's would appear, that arrogant smile of his being the closest thing to bring a feeling to Tim's body.

It's - nothing.

As always, Ra's has been waiting in the shadows, perhaps even amused at the bats' game. Tim can tell that Ra's is satisfied, probably even overjoyed at his past words becoming true.

Fourteen months ago, Ra's and Tim had seen each other for the last time. And Ra's had laughed cruelly and coldly, saying that Tim wouldn't find happiness in that ridiculous pack of his nor in playing mother for them. But Tim was a bat, and he couldn't just run away with a villain. So, he had pretended not to listen.

Now they are here, with Ra's chuckling at the view of Tim's failed motherhood.

"I could fix this," Ra's proposes, a familiar warm hand cupping Tim's face, managing to make the omega feel, "If you come with me."

Tim looks at the baby he-feels-nothing-for sleeping peacefully. They don't even know their mother hates them.

"... Okay," Tim gives up. After all, he hasn't been a real mother. At least as an orphan the baby will hate Tim less.

"Good," Ra's purrs, carrying Tim off the floor, walking to the balcony & jumping away from the manor.

Bradley Bradshaw grows up hearing story after story about his great father and when he starts speaking he asks questions about why his dad isn’t there and why they visit that stone all the time (it took Mav and Carole a whole minute to realise he meant Nick’s tombstone), so Mav sits him down one day and tells him with a surprisingly steady voice that his dad flew high enough to reach heaven and now he spends his time there, looking down them and whenever Bradley sees a jet in the sky, it’s his dad telling him how much he loves him. Bradley is barely four years old and that’s the only child-friendly version thing Pete can think of. He even draws a tiny F-14 on a sticky note and hands it to Bradley, telling him to look out for these. Bradley is delighted and starts drawing his own F-14s and with every year passing, he gets better and better. His first attempt finds its place on Nick’s grave, the second goes to Carole, then Pete gets one and by the end of the month the whole class of 86’ possesses Bradshaw-Artworks.

Bradley stops drawing after his fight with Pete and swears to never to touch a pencil again for that purpose but then Tom dies and Bradley deeply mourns his loss. He thinks back to the days when Pete had taken him in after his mother’s death and how Uncle Ice had been with them so often, he basically lived with them. His chest hurts with the thought of Pete having lost, what Bradley always had secretly been convinced was the love of his life and he thinks maybe he can make an exception for Tom. Because even if he despises Pete for pulling his papers, no one deserves to suffer this much alone.

So when Pete comes home from Tom’s funeral, he finds a folded piece of paper taped to his door and when he opens it, he is greeted with the sight of two quite good drawn F-14s, one coloured in silver and the other in red and blue. He frames the paper and hangs it on the wall across his bed, where it’s been hanging ever since.