#and simple but. is anything easy. NO.!!!!

[tojisteddy]

Shiu who has dealt with all kinds of brats in his life, up until he met you.

cw: 18+ mdni, smut, hair pulling, cockwarming, age gap (reader 20s, Shiu 30s), (kinda) rough sex.

It’s not that you’re bad per se, you just don’t ask for anything. Little to nothing.

“Can you reach that for me?” Or “could you pick up the food I ordered for dinner? It’s paid for.”

He’s used to having to break the bank for the people hes been with, used the tantrums and correcting attitudes (hates to admit part of him likes it), high energy, needy and spoiled spouses. But with you, oh his sweet darling you, you have a probelm with telling him what you want. You were so laid back, so independent, the man thought you were so adorable he had to have you.

Won’t tell him what you want to eat for dinner or if you actually wanted to go to the movies. Will stand around like a lost puppy till Shiu comes home at the crack of Dawn, he’ll ask you what you’re doing up and you just shrug, “I wanted some water” but you’re wide awake. Patiently waiting for him to finish showering and eating dinner, just to cuddle up on the couch with him while the tv plays.

Needless to say, the older man is dying to spoil you rotten. Buy out the mall for you, buy out a pan of your favorite pastries, buy all the books or stuffed animals you’d ever want— even made an excuse for you to “save your money” just so you could move in with him so he could buy whatever you needed.

You’d learned not to object when he went to pay anymore, good girl, but we’re still timid about asking for his help. You didn’t want to bother him, even though not asking for help or using your words bothered him.

What better way to teach you how to ask for help than to keep you full all night without fucking you properly?

You were sat in his lap, cunt fluttering around his leaking cock, withering and hiccuping from how long Shiu had dragged this out, cigarette smoke swirling in the air from the lit tobacco, his hand ever so lightly rubbing up and down your back, attempt to soothe you. But he knew, if anything, this was just riling you up.

You whine his name, looking back at the older man with such a heart shattering pout, he almost lets up. Almost. Getting drunk on your whisky brown eyes.

“What’d’you need darling, hm? What do you want? Need your words.”he grunts, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close so your back meats his chest.

The small shift makes you moan, his tip reaching higher, stiring your guts. His big, thick dick stretching out your walls out till you took each inch of him.

“Shiuuuu please, I- hnngh- haven’t done anything wrong!” Hot tears roll down your brown skin, you hiccup. Your syrupy walls clench around him making him hiss.

He puts the tobacco back to his lips, resting his chin in the crook of your shoulder. His eyes trail you, and God damn it, you’re the most beautiful person hes ever seen. His rough hand rubs at your abdomen, right where he can feel himself with a simple press of his fingers. You whimper, crying out again, gripping at his hands.

He coo’s, “Awww baby,” he brushes your curls out of your face, leaving a lingering kiss on your cheek, “you’re still not usin your words, how can I treat you right if you don’t tell me what you need, hm?”

You don’t even have the strength to fight anymore, your panting, shaking from the older man not fucking you, you whine, “Please Shiu, please make me cum, I want you to make me cum-“

You didn’t have to tell him twice, he immediately stands the two of you up, one arm wrapping around your waist, his hand wrapping around your hair and using it as leverage to plummet deep inside you.

“There you go fuckin go baby, see how easy it is- fuck- haaah- how easy it is for your old man to give you want?” He teases, groaning at the warm your snug cunt is around him, snapping his hips faster than before, arching your back further, his tip kissing your cervix with every thrust.

All you could do is moan, the pain and pleasure of it all consuming you. Your breasts bouncing with every movement, nipples getting hard. He yanks your head back, smashing his lips into yours. Giving you the sloppiest French kiss as he hits your gooy special spot inside you, making your legs tremble. The sweet sound of your skin clapping together every time he bottoms out.

His husky voice dances against your lips, “Gonna let me spoil you all I want?”

You choke on a broken sob, nodding profusely, “Uh-huh- oh fuck! Oh my god!”

“Gonna give you everything Angel, every-fucking thing.” And ruts into you with every word, harder, shattering so wonderfully around him.

Your soaking cunt pulls his cock in, clamping down and aching for it— and Shiu does gives you everything. Thick ropes of cum entering your cervix. He works it into you, making sure you get every drop you asked for.

“That’s a good girl baby.”

a/n: I love him. Reversal brat taming lol.

[oztri]

Sigh, Oscar who doesnt choke you in public but will slide a hand to grip the nape of your neck to keep you close or as a silent sign for you to stop being a little shit UHGHHH

him leaning down with a simple

"Behave."

THE WAY I KUST JHFBWICHOWNXOC I NUST GASPED OUT LOUD HEA DIN MY HANDS. IM ELABORATING ON THIS WHEN I GET HOMEEEE FUCK U!!!!!!!! GOD PLEASE!!

okay i hope u like this. i need him so badly.

oh god. okay. oh god okay… im gonna say smth probably controversial (depending on who u are) but to ME. to ME!!!! oscar i dont think is much of a brat tamer. he doesn’t really get into that side of D/s often. keyword being often. you’ve dabbled in it, definitely. a little orgasm denial here, a little overstimulation there. you’ve switched a hundred times, played with titles in bed. oscar’s down for anything at least once, if i’m honest. but he doesn’t really have a thing for taming. stay with me here.

oscar is a patient man. it takes a lot to get him riled up. to get him to the point of snapping, putting his hands on you in public. but, when he does, it lands like slap. like thunder and lightning crackling around you everywhere. his hand is heavy, like a weight to remind you of who you are. more importantly, what you are.

he’s shy, for the most part. in public, the most you’ll get is a hand on the knee under dinner tables or gently intertwined fingers while you walk somewhere. he’s not a huge pda person, preferring to keep it to a minimum and save all of his love for when the two of you are alone.

but today, you’ve tested everything you knew oscar to be.

it’s some sort of dinner event. sponsors, alcohol, fancy outfits. the whole 9-yards. you both would rather be anywhere but there, but y’know. oscar does kinda have to show face if he wants to be employed. it’s literally in the job description.

oscar was busy talking with a few people, offering polite smiles and hearty laughter when the joke skewed just the right side of comical. and boy, did he look good. fitted suit, dress shirt done up all the way with a cute little bowtie. his pants were tailored perfectly around his thighs and his watch glittered under the lights. you had no idea what he was talking about. stocks, shareholdings. who gives a shit, you thought, eyes stuck on oscar. how could you care about anything except for how good he looks?

your mouth waters as he reaches up to ruffle his hair a bit, grown long and soft, just how you like it, lithe fingers flicking a long strand from his eyes. his hands. all thin fingers and knobby knuckles. they’re always so soft, despite the calluses on his palms. he’d just trimmed his nails that morning, too. you’d been begging him to let you do it.

suddenly, the open bar is a little more appealing than before…

you saunter over, passing oscar. he glances at you, a short, subtle check-in as if to ask, “you good?” you nod back, smiling and making the motion of taking a sip with your hand. he lets you go. on your way, you’re not at all subtle about how your hand grazes his ass, giggling when he jumps. who could blame you? it was just… there!

your drink is cool in your hand. some specialty cocktail the bartenders were making for the event. it was a shade of blue you couldn’t pronounce, but it went down easy as you sat back down at your table. oscar had made his way back, too, smiling fondly at you when you pressed to side once more.

“try this,” you coo, holding the drink out. he raises an eyebrow, but takes the drink at your insistence. his face screws up, nose wrinkling.

“that is so tart,” he grouches, making you giggle. the drink is set on the fancy, white table cloth, oscar’s hand find your knee under the table. he gives it a soft squeeze, loving. fond. you reach down to hold his hand, offering the same squeeze.

the event drones on as marketing executive after social media manager after shareholder sits next to oscar, talking his ear off. you grow bored.

thinking nothing of it, you lift your hand, catching a stray curl that’s fallen into oscar’s face. he startles, eyes glancing at you. you just smile, shrugging as you pull your hand away. “sorry. looked soft,” you tell him. the wife of the man he’d been talking to just laughs.

their conversation carries on, oscar doing his best to pay attention when you’ve now got your hand on his knee. it’s innocent at first. tentative, a grounding pressure. he smiles when you first rest your hand there, covering it with his own. it’s beneath the table cloth, he’s relaxed. there’s no harm done.

his shoulders hunch immediately when your hand slides up, just the slightest. your fingers dig into the meat of his thigh, gently. his eyes go just the slightest bit wide, imperceptible to everyone but, well, you. you knew him best. better than anyone in the room. the muscle under your fingertips tenses, a slow breath leaving through oscar’s nose.

giving him a few more teasing squeezes, you release his leg, sitting up a bit. a sip of your drink, a polite smile at the couple across from you. you’re as innocent as ever. no one would be none the wiser.

oscar’s eyes dart toward you when you shift. “all good?” he mumbles, voice a bit stiff. he cracks a bit on “all”, making you grin.

“‘m fine,” you breathe out, reaching for his hand, resting under the table on his leg. he was rubbing his palms against the material of his pants. you tsked, taking his hand and bringing it to kiss his knuckles. the couple cooed at the two of you, but you saw the flicker in oscar’s eyes.

as the couple dismissed themselves, smiling and offering soft, parting pleasantries, oscar turns to look at you.

“what are you up to?” his eyebrow raises, lips parted as he waits for an answer.

“nothing, osc. just enjoying the event,” you sigh, letting your eyes trail over the room. the gaudy curtains hanging from the ceiling, the obnoxiously orange inflatable in the corner, meant for taking photos with #ad in the caption.

he opens his mouth to say something when lando comes over, clapping his hand down on oscar’s shoulder. “oscar, boy!” he cheers, squeezing through the suit jacket. “alright, mate?”

oscar nearly jumped out of his skin, hand clutched to his chest. your eyes trail over it, tongue darting out to wet your lips.

“jesus christ, lan!” oscar laughs, shaking his head. “was good til you almost gave me a heart attack.”

their conversation fades in your ears, too busy tracing the lines of vein on the back of your boyfriend’s hand. imagining the way those deft fingers wrap around the neck of a trophy. how they look when he’s lifting weights. when he’s got them shoved in your—

“honey?”

you blink. once, then twice. you swallow, jaw clicking with it as your brain practically reboots itself. “sorry, did you say something?”

lando looks at you, amused, while oscar’s eyes widen, then narrow with faint recognition. he knows that look. the way your pupils are a little bit bigger, the way your lip is tucked away between your teeth. the way your eyebrows relax into this expression of want.

oscar’s voice is a little bit lower, words slowed down. “lando asked if you could check the name card next to you.”

you process the question, before you’re reaching for the small card. it’s a pretty cream color, with black calligraphy and golden embellishments. in thick ink, sure enough—“it’s got lando’s name on it,” you mutter, glancing up at the two. he smiles, easy as he sits next to you, letting go of a heavy breath.

“i tell ya, osc. these things never get any easier,” lando grumbles, leaning back in the chair. it creaks under the weight. “seven years and you’d think you’d be used to this shit by now, but no.” he waves his hands around, flapping them as he speaks.

and, of course, you take notice.

lando’s hands are like baseball gloves. he could probably palm a basketball, easy, you think. his palms are wide, fingers thick and long. completely different to oscar’s. oscar didn’t have small hands, not necessarily, but they certainly weren’t whatever bear paws lando norris was working with.

and oscar, your oscar, who knew you just as well as you knew him, caught the way your breath stuttered in your chest. he caught the way your mouth parted, just barely. your eyes followed his hands as they moved, explaining something that he’d had to cancel to be here tonight.

oscar’s hand lands on your thigh, heavy and grounding. at first, you don’t really think anything of it. really. it’s just oscar being affectionate. then, he squeezes. it isn’t hard. there’s no harshness to the way his fingers dig in, but it certainly does catch your attention.

and, oh. oh.

“lando,” you say, snapped out of whatever reverie you’d fallen into.

he quiets immediately, turning to glance at you. “mhm?”

“do you have to have custom gloves made?” his eyebrows furrow, visibly confused. he opens his mouth, trying to speak, but you cut him off. “it’s just—your hands. they’re huge. there’s no way the fit in a standard racing glove.”

you watch the flush that tinges his ears with some unbridled glee. he pinches the tip of his ear between his fingers, a clearly nervous tic. he’s flustered. oscar’s hand tightens around your thigh. you spread your legs just a bit, feeling a low, warm curl through your gut.

“i mean, they’re not that big?” lando’s voice pitches up, soft giggle leaving him. “are they? i don’t think my gloves are any different from oscar’s. are they?” he looks past you and at oscar. and, oh, the look on oscar’s face is more gratifying than flustering lando could ever be.

his jaw is set tight, biting down on his molars like it’ll keep him from doing anything crazy. his nails dig into your skin, despite how you’d clipped them earlier.

lando makes a motion with his hand, asking for oscar’s. “here. l-let’s see,” lando stutters, taking oscar’s hand. not the one that had been firmly pressed to your thigh, but his left one. they line their palms up, and there’s a very clear winner. lando’s fingers span nearly an entire knuckle past oscar’s, and his palm is wide and boxy, where oscar’s is thin and rectangular. that low curl in your gut twists.

“me next!” you say, sitting up. lando, confused, looks between the two of you before he does the same, lining your palms up. his hand practically dwarfs yours. your head spins, mouth dry. opening your mouth to say something else, you’re startled by that warm, heavy again. this time, it sits on your shoulder.

it starts there, fiddling with the strap of your dress, before it slides up, up, up, fingers tangling into your hair. he plays it off like he’s just being a loving, doting boyfriend, massaging your head a little.

for a moment, you think you’re in the clear, hand falling to your lap as lando, flustered and flushed turns to talk to someone else that has taken a seat at the table. he’s sipping his water, ears pink. pride would claw at you if not for the way oscar’s hand weighs down on the nape of your neck. it’s solid and hot. you squirm in your seat, able to feel his thumb against your heartbeat, pressing in just slightly. it makes you gasp.

“oscar—“ you start, but it’s cut off by a honeyed voice, thick and low, kissing your ear.

“behave.”

you’d crossed a line. pushed too far. you could feel it in the curl of his fingers on your tense muscle.

oscar was a patient man, a benevolent man. someone who didn’t get into jealousy and insecure feelings. he wasn’t possessive nor boastful. but that… seeing the way your eyes locked onto lando’s had been enough. seeing the way your fingers practically trembled against tan skin and ocean-wide palms? well… oscar couldn’t have that. he needed to remind you exactly who you were there with, bring you back from whatever little cloud you were on.

your breath hitches, eyelids fluttering closed, submissive under the weight of that palm.

and oscar? he knows he’ll have you exactly where he wants you when you get back to the apartment.

[confessionsandcreampies]

happy birthday izuku, 18+

it started with a simple “happy birthday” and a cake. or at least, that’s what izuku thought it would be.

he was sitting on the edge of the bed, soft candlelight flickering over his freckled skin, wearing nothing but his birthday boxers and that shy smile that always made your stomach flutter. his curls were still damp from the shower, and his hands sat awkwardly on his lap. nervous, excited, a little flustered from how you’d been teasing him all evening.

“i-i thought we were gonna eat it t-together,” he mumbled when you walked in carrying the chocolate cake with thick vanilla frosting and wearing nothing but lace panties and a sheer little robe that barely covered anything. his throat bobbed when he saw you. eyes wide. voice cracking.

you set the cake down on the dresser and walked up to him slow, hips swaying just a little more than necessary. “oh, we are,” you said with a smile that made his breath catch. “but not with forks.”

he blinked up at you. “h-huh?”

you dropped to your knees. the way his whole face burned in that perfect shade of midoriya scarlet spreading all the way to the tips of his ears, made your pussy throb. he was so good, so polite, so fucking easy to ruin. you tugged his boxers down, and his cock sprung up flushed, twitching, already dripping with anticipation. that thick vein running along the underside made your mouth water. you swirled your finger into the frosting on the cake, scooped up a decadent glob, and met his wide eyes as you reached out and smeared it right along the base of his cock.

izuku gasped, his whole body jerking. “b-babe—! wh-what are you—w-we can’t, it’s gonna be m-m-messy—”

you giggled. “exactly.”

you added another stripe up the shaft. another swirl across the flushed, sensitive head. his cock was fully coated in sticky-sweet frosting by the time you leaned in and licked him from root to tip slowly, moaning as the sugary taste melted across your tongue.

“f-fuck, i—” izuku let out the most wrecked whimper.

he looked down at you like you were a goddamn goddess. a dirty, sinful, birthday-blowjob-delivering goddess sent from the heavens to absolutely demolish him. you started with slow, gentle kitten licks. soft kisses around the base. he squirmed so beautifully. hips twitching, thighs trembling beneath your hands, already gripping the sheets in white-knuckled fists. and then you sucked him into your mouth like he was your last meal.

“ohhh—!” he cried, back arching off the bed, cracking like he was about to sob. “b-baby, i—nghh—please, t-that feels too good, i can’t—!”

you bobbed your head, deeper and faster, frosting smearing across your lips and cheeks. his cock pulsed against your tongue, so thick, so hot, his hips stuttering like he was trying not to thrust but failing. you let your fingers cup his balls, massage them gently as you moaned around his cock. soft vibrations that made him choke on a sob.

“p-please—wait, i-i’m gonna—! i c-can’t—!”

his voice cracked as his hands flew to your head, not to push you away but to hold on, to ground himself, to anchor against the onslaught of overstimulation. and then he came hard. hot spurts of cum hitting the back of your throat as he screamed, thighs clamping around your head, every muscle in his body pulled taut like a snapped wire. his face contorted into the most beautiful, broken expression. lips parted, eyes rolled back, tears pricking the corners of his lashes. you swallowed every drop. licked him clean then and even the stray drips of frosting left on his twitching length.

and when you finally pulled back, licking your lips and smiling up at him with a sweet little “happy birthday, baby,” he looked ruined.

chest heaving. face red. hair a mess. brain officially blown out. he just blinked down at you, dazed, like he had no clue where he was anymore. “i… i think i just saw god.”

you crawled up his body, straddling his hips, and whispered in his ear, “that was just the beginning.”

[patheticpoems]

𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

enough wanting

hasn't it been long enough? enough dreaming, enough trying, enough of everything. It has been exhausting and draining. you've tried all the things that should make this right, you have tried every and each method that appears on your feed, you've damn began inventing your own. you kept a routine, you continously kept going and yet, nothing. why? the answer is simple; perception.

no, this isn't me saying you need to be positive 24/7 or that you need a good self concept or whatever you may be thinking. I'm talking about changing how you view your manifestations.

if you read the intro and internally nodded along, that's your problem. why do you agree that you're trying, why are you confirming to yourself that you were attempting to get something? this isn't me saying you can't manifest by having that assumption, you can, but it sure as hell isn't make things easy for your ego. this is me saying you're assuming for one thing then backtracking by falling onto the assumption of knowing you're trying to get instead of having. Cancel that out, ignore it, flip it, whichever you want, just treat it as an other because you DON'T have to try, it is YOURS. How do you know it is yours? You choose it.

Now, am I saying you can't manifest whilst contradicting, no but im saying that you're setting yourself up, you're misunderstanding the core of the law of assumption. The law is instant. Yes, instant. That means regardless of anything and everything it has happened.

YOU are not shifting into the person who has it, you already are. Recognise that, that you are not waiting on change to appear or for it to happen to you, you have already experienced it and continously do so. You are living as you say you are without contradiction.

There is no wait to be had. No 'right time', no special moon, technique or feeling you have to be in or doing. It is done. Creation is finished.

Wait is a subjective experience you put yourself through. You assume that you must wait and therefore you do. You need to change how you think. Stop allowing yourself to be a servant to your procrastination, laziness, circumstances, etc. With each word you read you are in a new 'now', the past doesn't exist, it only functions because you choose to perceive it. Everything functions because you choose to perceive it. Choose to stop waiting, choose to stop wanting. Realise you have it and decide that.

[hard-core-super-star]

starlight in your eyes [W.Maximoff]

pairing: baker!wanda x college student!reader

summary: it takes some coaxing but after countless stolen glances and brief makeout sessions, you and wanda take the next step in your blossoming relationship.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! -> porn with lots of feelings and a bit of plot; legal age gap; soft sex; bottom!wanda; makeout sessions; the mommy kink is implied this time; nipple play [wanda has sensitive boobs and i will die on this hill]; do wanda's boobs need their own warning?; oral; so much teasing; brief mentions of insecurities; worldbuilding aka me throwing in agatha because i could; not proofread so there's probably more but i forgot

wordcount: 3.4k

a/n: HI! this is officially the last part of my baker!wanda series FOR NOW. i'll probably come back to it at some point because i love this AU but for now, this will be the end. i had a lot of fun with this so thank you guys for supporting the series and my random fic ideas. hope you enjoy <3

part one | part two | part three |

* * * * * * *

If someone had tried to tell you months ago that you'd be spending more time in Westview, New Jersey than New York, you would have called them an idiot and went on with your day.

Unfortunately, the universe has quite a wicked sense of humor. Not that you're complaining since that sense of humor earned you a relationship with the hottest café owner in town.

As strange as it was, you found yourself settling into a nice routine with Wanda. Sure, she still tried to keep you as far away as possible from all the neighborhood gossip, but you found yourself caring less and less every day. Especially when at night, you were wrapped up in her arms, blissfully unaware of the rest of the world.

Despite the rumors and the constant eyes watching your every move, being with the older woman is easy. Comforting in a way you hadn't expected.

She's as sweet as the pastries that litter the stands at the bakery and far more patient with people than she should be. Then again, no one in Westview has ever been accused of understanding social cues too well. Agatha seems to be the only exception and you can't say you don't enjoy when she comes in to talk shit about her neighbors and the people who love flirting with her wife.

You wouldn't call it normal, not by most people's standards, but it's home.

The only thing close to a problem is Wanda's sweetness stopping her from being truly intimate with you. It's not like you want her to tie you up in her basement or anything (at least not yet), but you do want something more than simple makeout sessions after closing hours.

The last thing you want to do is complain, though. Especially when the older woman's sweetness is one of your favorite things about her. She's always so quick to praise you for the simplest things, to reassure you that she wants each and every part of you, to kiss away any insecurity that might arise after a long day of overthinking.

It feels unfair to ask her to reign in her sweetness long enough for her to push you against a wall and have her way with you.

That doesn't stop you from finding other ways to look for what you want, though.

Of course, the cafe doesn't really offer the best spaces for the kind of convincing you needed to do but that doesn't stop you from trying. And from enjoying it.

It's not like you can help it, Wanda looks far too good behind that counter, her signature flannel poking out from beneath the red apron she keeps surprisingly clean. It doesn't help that she's started curling her hair again, the waves bouncing every time she laughs while making conversation with a customer.

Even though you're trying to keep things between the two of you as low-key and private as possible, you can't really control your eyes or the way they give you away so easily. It should worry you on some level, you know that, but the only thing that matters to you is the smirk that curls on the older woman's lips.

It's almost predictable.

The way she pretends to check what pastries to restock while throwing glances your way, the weird little hand motion she does to let the cashiers know she'll be going into the back, that last look she throws your way as she disappears. You're not too sure when it became a routine, probably at some point before your first date, but you're not complaining.

You're pretty sure Billy (affectionally called Teen by Agatha to keep him separate from Wanda's son Billy) knows exactly why you always offer to help Wanda when she's back there, considering the little smile he sends your way. He hasn't said anything to anyone, though, so you figure he must be on your side.

Usually, he even throws excuses your way, telling everyone you're running errands for him in the back so he doesn't have to leave the register during rush hour. You're not sure anyone actually believes the two of you, but you are sure you've heard Agatha shutting down anyone who dares question it.

It's strange how easily you've gotten used to the routine. How at home you feel around people you spent so long avoiding. How happy you are to stay for once.

Without a second thought, you get up from your claimed booth and make your way to the back of the café where you know Wanda is waiting for you. You ignore the look Billy throws your way, but don't miss the way he makes small talk with the baristas so they don't pay attention to you.

It's impossible to hide your grin as you go and seeing Wanda at her cute little baking station only makes it widen. "How're things going in here?"

"Same old," she replies with a grin of her own.

As silly as her response is, it brings a giggle out of you and you easily cross the space between you. "Anything for me to sample?"

"You know, as much as I like having you around, I would like to have products to sell." Her teasing tone is paired with a playful glare that makes you roll your eyes.

"Oh but that's so boring," you say, jumping onto the counter next to her.

Wanda doesn't reply, but she does hand you a freshly baked croissant while she continues decorating a batch of cookies. While it was technically a joke, you're not about to pass up free pastries and a beautiful view.

You sit there for a while, simply watching her work and enjoying being close to her. It helps that every few minutes, she leans over to give you a brief kiss.

It feels like an eternity, but eventually, she finishes her work and her attention goes back to you. She slides in between your legs with a smile, her hands gripping your thighs as she moves closer. You don't even give her a chance to tease you, instead leaning in to kiss her.

Her chuckle is muffled by your lips and your arms slip around her neck to pull her body in toward you. It's not like there's much space left and yet here you are, trying to wrap yourself around her completely.

She doesn't seem to mind, though, considering her grip on you.

Her fingers roam up and down your thighs, leaving trails of electricity everywhere they go. It's almost subconscious, the way she can't seem to stop touching you, wandering, finding every spot that makes you tremble against her. You can't say she doesn't know what she's doing, but you assume she's not doing it on purpose. At least not completely.

That doesn't stop you from taking advantage of the moment, though.

Your hands move to cup her face, thumbs drawing circles on her jawline as you chase her lips every time she moves away. You're cheating, of course, because if she can't stop kissing you, then she can't think about what her hands are doing, which only benefits you.

Wanda catches on far too quickly for your taste, though. Her hands move to tangle in your hair and before you know it, she's pulling you back, a pitiful sound escaping you at the sting it creates. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

Even though you've been caught, you still try to deflect. "I'm not doing anything."

She shakes her head at you, dark green eyes staring you down. "Right, because you haven't been trying to do this exact same thing all week."

"Is making out with my gorgeous girlfriend such a crime?"

"I guess not…" She trails off with a grin. "You just don't know what you're getting into, darling."

That makes you giggle. "Me? I think you're underestimating me, Wands."

All she does is roll her eyes, but you don't miss the way her cheeks flush at your suggestive tone. "Right, well, either way, we can't do that here."

"I know, I know." You pout at her until she relents and kisses you again.

Even though you want to press, ask questions that you know will get you in trouble, you decide against pushing her. As desperate as you might be, you don't want to rush her. She's always working so hard, running around doing everything she can to help the people in her life, always taking care of everyone except herself. Is it really so bad that you want to flip the script on her just once?

Despite how difficult it is to control yourself, you manage to behave for the rest of the day, choosing to actually help her with decorating the pastries instead of simply begging her for kisses every few minutes. The next days are too busy for you to bring up the subject again so you assume that will be the end of it.

At least until the weekend comes around and Vision takes the twins, leaving Wanda with a lot of time to waste. Almost as if you planned it (which you technically did if manifestation counts), your parents leave on a short vacation. With no expectation or lingering guilt, the two of you are able to actually relax for once.

There's no need to be constantly looking over your shoulder, no tangled web of lies to cover your tracks. Nothing but each other and an empty house all to yourselves.

You even manage to convince her to close the bakery early and take the night off to relax. And okay, maybe your version of convincing involved pinning her against a counter and kissing her until she couldn't think straight but that's neither here nor there.

What matters now is that the of you are in her living room, sharing a bottle of wine and the biggest pot of pasta you've ever seen the older woman make. She can be a bit of a compulsive cooker sometimes, you've learned. Not that you mind, that just means more leftovers for you.

Wanda's arm wraps around your shoulders as she leans against you, her lips finding your temple. It's a sweet gesture, you can't ignore the way her free hand caresses your thigh. "This is nice."

You giggle, fingers tracing the back of her hand. "The food or the wine?"

"The company," she corrects with a soft tut. "I've missed having you to myself like this."

"You always have me to yourself," you point out as you turn your head to look at her. "I'm all yours."

"That's true, but it's not quite the same, is it?"

Before you can reply, she's leaning in to kiss you. You don't mind, of course, because her lips taste far sweeter than any petty victory over her. And between the privacy and the wine lingering on your tongues, you're able to get as carried away as you want.

So, it's really no surprise that your hands start reaching out for her, pulling her closer and closer until she ends up on your lap. You're not too sure how that happens, all you know is your hands are on her hips, guiding her against you and you're fighting the burning in your lungs to keep your lips pressed together.

Wanda's hands tangle in your hair before you know it, she's pulling you away from her and drawing a whine from your chest. "Someone's getting greedy."

"Can't help it," you reply, breathless and desperate for more. "I want to make you feel good."

Your words make her pause. Her eyes widen the slightest bit and the smirk on her face fades just as quickly as it came. For a moment, she's actually…shy. Nervous in that way that makes you want to pick her up and spin her around until she smiles again and forgets about her insecurities.

"Is that right?" She tries to bring the confidence back to her voice, but she falls a little flat. Not that you mind. Every version of her is one you can't help but admire. "You want to touch me?"

You nod instantly, balancing between trying be assertive and wanting to let her do whatever she wants with you. "Yes, please. Let me take care of you."

"You're far too sweet," she says with a shake of her head. "I like caring for you, I don't need anything in return."

Her words only make you more desperate to give her the care she deserves. The kind she probably hasn't been given in…a long time. Sure, you don't know the details of what her relationship with her ex-husband was like but you also don't think you'd be wrong for guessing he didn't worship her like she deserves.

"It's not like that," you assure her, your hands on her hips moving up to caress her sides. "I'm not doing it because I think I have to. I want to do it. Please."

While her face softens, she still doesn't let up. Thankfully, she allows the truth to slip out, letting you in. "I…I don't want you to regret it."

Her words slowly click into place in your brain. Sometimes, you hate always being right.

"Wanda, I could never regret anything about being with you." Your hands move to cup her face. While you hate the thought of her ever feeling insecure about herself, you can't say you dislike the vulnerability she shows. And the trust it represents. "You're who I want to be with, no matter what."

This time, you finally get through. You see it in the way she sighs, her shoulders slumping forward as she leans into you. "You're so stubborn."

"Only when it comes to you," you say with a grin.

She rolls her eyes, but still leans in to kiss you. Despite your usual impatience, you don't rush. You let her lead, let her go at her own pace until the atmosphere you'd built earlier comes back. Until you're panting into each other's mouths and chasing whatever little friction you can get.

It's hard to stay so patient when she moans into the kiss, her hips rolling until she's practically grinding against your lap. You're still determined to take your time despite the fire that starts in your lower belly.

"Wanda," you whisper as you force yourself to pull away from her lips. "Do you trust me?"

When she mumbles her response, a breathless "yes" that sends shivers down your spine, you grab hold of her hips again and maneuver her onto the couch. You're pretty sure you knock over the forgotten wine bottle, but you don't give a shit. All you care about is finally giving her the pleasure she deserves.

"Someone's eager."

"Shut up," you respond as you move to hover over her, loving the sharp little gasp she lets out. "You're letting me take over, right?"

"Right," she agrees.

"Then don't tease me."

She tries to chuckle, but your hands move beneath her shirt and the noise dies in her throat. Your mind zeros in on her, completely set on doing everything you can to make her let out more of those sounds. To make her let go completely until she can't even remember her name.

Your fingers trace her sides, mapping out the curve of her waist and the softness of her stomach. Her back arches into you and you lean down to pepper kisses along her jaw. "You're gorgeous."

Wanda doesn't reply but her hands move to the hem of her shirt. You see the move for what it is: an invitation you don't dare refuse.

Your hands join hers and you help her remove her shirt. The red lacy bra she's wearing makes your mouth water and you fight against the urge to simply rip it off.

Instead, you move your kisses down her neck and to her chest. Your hands continue roaming her body, caressing her skin and committing every detail to memory.

They slide behind her back as your lips move across the top of her breasts and before you can stop yourself, your fingers undo her bra. You don't move to take it off just yet, though, allowing the anticipation to build in the air…and between your legs.

"y/n," she whispers. "Don't be a tease."

You know she's just throwing your words back at you, but you still smirk to yourself, lips pressed against her warm skin. "I'm not, I'm just taking my time."

The sound she lets out borders so close to a whine that it makes your heart stop for a second. You never thought one person could be so beautiful and yet here she is.

Your head lifts long enough to take in the blush on her cheeks…and to slide the rest of her bra off. Even though you want to be respectful, your eyes instantly move down to her newly exposed skin. No amount of words could explain how ethereal you find her so you don't even try to find them.

You simply go back to worshipping her with your mouth.

Quickly, you learn how sensitive her chest it. One of her hands tangles in your hair as she trembles beneath you, her voice strained from the sudden pleasure. You're sure you'll never get tired of hearing how she moans for you.

"Fuck," she groans, hips shifting every which way. "You're driving me crazy."

"Is that why you're acting so desperate?" You ask, hands finding the zipper of her jeans.

Whatever her response might have been fades into nothing when your lips wrap firmly around one of her nipples. You simply enjoy her reactions for a few moments before going back to undoing her jeans.

It's a bit of a struggle since you're so focused on her chest, but you manage to get rid of the rest of her clothes. Once she's finally naked, you don't waste any time and allow your lips to trail a path down to her core.

Your fingers replace your tongue on her nipples and you tease and pinch them just to keep her guessing. Nothing could distract you from your mission, though, and you use your free hand to guide her legs over your shoulders. Your eyes flicker up just to take in the flushed look on her face and the little noises that leave her parted lips.

The anticipation builds for a few seconds before your mouth goes back to the task at hand. Your tongue darts out to taste her and you moan into her heat. If your mouth wasn't so busy, you might have teased her about wet she already is.

You don't dare move away just yet so you let your fingers tease her by tugging on her nipples.

You're rewarded with a whine and you instantly wrap your lips around her swollen clit in hopes of hearing it again. And you do.

Because despite her earlier hesitation, Wanda is incredibly loud. And you love every second of drawing out her whines and whimpers.

"y/n," she says, thighs tensing on each side of your head. "Wait, wait, I can't-"

You're about to ask what she means, but your tongue is circling her clit and before you can even think to move away, you feel it.

Wanda cums.

Suddenly and harshly and with the most breathless moan you've ever heard.

Even the shock isn't enough to get through to you. She feels incredible against you and despite how soaked your chin is, you can't bring yourself to stop. You need her more than you need to breathe.

You don't stop until Wanda tugs on your hair hard enough for you to come back to reality. A reality where she's shaking and spent underneath you.

"Sorry," you mumble with a grin. "I got carried away."

"I noticed," she replies. "It's just…been a while and I need a break."

You nod and shift until you're lying on top of her, your head tucked into the crook of her neck. "Take your time, I'm right here."

Her arms wrap around your waist and a kiss falls onto the top of your head. "I know, darling."

In that moment, in the comfortable silence that lingers, you realize just how true your words are. Just how willing you are to stay. To stop running from Westview and all its ghosts.

Somehow, despite how badly you'd wanted to leave your hometown all your life, you found love in the sunlit corner booth of Wanda's bakery.

And you'd be a fool to let her go.

[noblebynura]

So That I'll Remember Tomorrow

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Synopsis: In loving someone, you need patience.

Genre & warnings: Fluff, comfort (I'm going through it right now), you like pancakes and Bob is not chronically online. Bless him.

Word count: 1.6k

“Oh my god! Have you heard that the Sentry and Y/N are dating?”

“You actually just knew this now? I heard it like a month ago. Old news, babe.” A lack of interest in the tone.

A scoff of disbelief.

“Why didn't you tell me?!” A slap on the table. Steel utensils rattling.

“You know I'm not big on the whole celebrity gossip. I don't care who's dating who.”

“Hm, fair enough. If it's true, I think they look so cute together. I ship it!” A dreamy sigh.

Suppressing your laugh, you pulled down the cap closer to your eyes. The other hand, picking up more pancakes that you've cut up with a fork. Breakfast for dinner? Sure, why not. You brought it to your mouth.

Bob was sitting opposite you in a similar attire that you both called “disguise”— dark coloured caps, a hoodie in similar colour for him and an oversized sweater for you — was enough for you both to be under the noses of the public eye.

Thanks to Val, it was good media look first, privacy was second. Anything to give a plotline for the press to write about. At first you didn't mind.

The silly questions you had to answer after every mission such as: “Are any of the Thunderbolts dating?” “What would you say your type is?” “Is there something going on between you and the Sentry after work hours?”

Silly.

But it has gotten to a point where they would take unsolicited pictures of you even meters up high in the WatchTower building, to you just casually walking to your favourite cafe. Scandalous pictures you never consented to be posted online. Much less on a gossip page.

That's what made going out on dates hard. It's one thing to avoid the barrels of guns in missions, out of missions you had to avoid the barrels of camera lenses pointed at you. It felt like getting sniped.

So here you are, in a diner you've been wanting to try, with a sweet boyfriend that you've been dating for three months now, to correct the girl.

“They ship us?” Bob asked in a low voice, leaning over the table to you with a concerned expression, “Ship us to where?”

You almost choked on your half chewed pancakes.

“No-no, Bob,” You looked down at your plate, thinking of an easy explanation to him, “Ship as in they like the pair of us together.”

“Oh…” He answered, shaking his head as the confused look still lingered.

You let out a breath of laughter, “You'll get the hang of it.”

A comfortable silence settled again as you both continued to eat your dinner.

“You ordered pancakes.” Bob commented as you both walked out of the diner. Your arm was looped on his elbow, you both walked closely but at one point it bothered you how hot the air tonight was.

Humming in question, you looked up at him, “Yeah, why?”

He looked down at you, an amused smirk on his lips, “If I had known that's what you liked I would've just made it for you at the tower.”

“Yeah, well I judge a place by ordering my favourite first. If it tastes good, then I’ll come back and order other stuff.” You stated your logic proudly.

He scoffed, “Doubt it. You'll just order more pancakes.”

You pinched his biceps earning an ‘Ow!’ from him.

“It's true isn't it! What did you call it? Your… comfort food!” Snapping his finger as he got the term right. He smiled at you as if to say that is the cutest thing you do.

“I am nothing but a simple human.” You responded.

“Plus, isn't it nice to get out of the Tower? Stretch our legs. Breathe fresh air. Look at the city we keep safe.” You continued. It was almost sarcastic.

The streets were still full of people going out on a Friday night. You thought you'd blend in well with the many couples tonight. Just two souls in love wandering.

“Yeah, it is nice.” His voice soft as he pulled you close and kissed the top of your head.

A warm feeling spreads in your chest.

“Oh look!” Your attention was stolen by an empty swing set. You've walked far from the diner to a park near the tower. You unhooked your arm from his to sprint towards it.

“Come on!” You waved for Bob to join you on the swing. He chuckled at your antics before reaching you.

“Oh I missed getting on one of these,” you said happily with little ‘wees’ as you pushed yourself higher and higher. Your cap was almost blown by the motion. It was night anyway, nobody could see well in the dimly lit park.

Bob sat on the seat, only swinging by the heels of his feet. He was looking at you with a smile on his face. You, who he had considered one of the bravest and strongest people he had ever met, could still feel child-like joy even on a swing. Your giggles made him feel butterflies in his stomach.

It was nice seeing you happy and carefree. If it was in his power to turn the Void from giving people shame rooms with their darkest memories to one where it only showed you your most fond ones, he would capture this one to be one of his.

If he could, he wondered if this would be one of yours too.

Just the two of you. Together. Another day lived and loved.

“Bob?” Your smile was still there, that was good. But your swinging stopped.

Why did you stop if it made you happy?

He questioned as he pulled himself out of his thoughts. Did something happen?

“Hm?”

“You, okay? You were staring a little too long there,” You leaned your face on the cool chains, it pricked your skin but it felt nice.

“I-I’m fine. I just… I just like seeing you happy like this.”

You held his stare. Your boyfriend is so pure it makes your heart full. You couldn't count how many flowers had bloomed in you already, a garden full of your feelings for him.

You only let out a long sigh. It was content. Honestly, you didn't know how to answer. Living mostly in your head, god knows how dark it gets in there sometimes, oftentimes it's clouded with unwanted thoughts. Things so stupid you didn't even need to worry about, but you do.

You knew you had the support system to help you. You could talk to Yelena and Ava, you could confide in Bucky for advice. John, to your surprise can be very rational too and Alexei is for when you choose destruction but needs a distraction. It was fifty-fifty with him. One way or another it always ended up in a rage room with him cheering you on. However, you didn't know how to use it to your advantage. It was all kept inside.

And Bob…

You knew Bob, and every one went through shit in their lives. But with him you just couldn't let yourself be anything but happy around him. You loved him too much to let him worry about you. Never wanting to show how you were actually carrying the weight of your world on your shoulders.

So you smile at everyone, laugh and joke around during down time, never once your walls break down in front of any of them.

You were a good listener though. You listened when any of them stumbled upon you alone in the kitchen, the lounge, the gym, the hanger. They would talk to you about anything and everything. Though you are never the best at giving advice, they still appreciated you for being there for them.

You can be there for them but you wouldn't let them be there for you. Why?

“Aw… That's very cute.” With your foot, you nudged his sneaker. The too wide smile still on your lips.

“I mean it, you know.”

And suddenly you forgot how to breathe.

The lack of oxygen cuts the blood flow to your brain to produce a single response. So you only stared at him, the smile slowly fading as you saw how serious he was. You blinked once.

“I’m always happy, Bob,” The lie somehow slipped through after a moment.

“I know when you're not,” He answered without missing a beat.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He reached across for your hand. His large hand engulfed yours in your lap.

He means well, and you know it. But there was still reluctance on your part.

“I know,” He barely heard you, but he saw your lips move, “I just need time.” To open up, to be comfortable in being a team after years living alone, to be comfortable in your relationship, to trust him fully with your emotions. And most of all, to not feel like a burden.

If only he could project to you how his love is a safety for you, where he would always catch you in his arms no matter the circumstances. You didn't even need to look back to know that he was there for you.

He stood up from the swing to stand in front of you. “C’mere,” He extended both of his arms down to you.

Wordlessly, you took them in yours. He pulled you up to your feet before hugging you. With his warm body pressed against yours, you closed your eyes and inhaled his cologne. He rocked you slowly.

You've never felt safer. Grounded. Comforted.

You told him to wait, and so he will, patiently.

Because love to him doesn't need to be loud, but a quiet place to return to, even if the door stays closed a little longer.

[crappymixtape]

plus one

your roommate, steve, has a wedding to go to, but he doesn't have anyone to go with him, so you go as his date – he asks you to dance and that's when it hits you...could you be more than just a plus one? | (  2.7k, banter, fluff, grumpy x sunshine, friends to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

P L U S O N E 🎵 sophisticated lady, taft jordan

It was supposed to be easy. A simple solution to an annoying problem: Steve needed a plus one to his best friend’s wedding, and his roommate, you, were definitely, 100% available. The only thing was that you were a total skeptic who didn’t believe in true love, and liked dancing even less than you liked forced small talk.

“C’mon, what d’you have to lose?”

Leaning against the doorframe of your bathroom, Steve absentmindedly picked at a loose thread along the bottom hem of his shirt. His chestnut locks tumbling over his forehead, still mussed from sleep, the tank top stretching across his chest showing off his bare shoulders and all the new moles and freckles that summer had gifted him.

You pushed a sigh through your nose, trying your best to ignore him as you swiped mascara across your lashes.

“I have my dignity,” you said flatly to his reflection in the mirror, his brown eyes turned amber in the early morning sun.

“Please,” he whined, “Listen, I’ll set you up. You know? So you can do your thing. Be your wingman–er–whatever.”

“My wingman?” you asked, brow quirked, your skepticism pushing Steve off the doorframe.

“Fine. Anti-wingman?” His eyes flickered playfully, teasing, and you turned away from the mirror to look at him in real life.

“You know I hate weddings,” you protested, lips firmed in a line.

“But there’s free food, and booze, and–” Steve’s brow furrowed in thought, “–and I’ll do your laundry and the dishes for a week.”

“You seriously don’t have anyone else to ask?”

The silence that followed told you he didn’t.

You sighed. “Two weeks.”

“Two?”

“Alright, you have fun,” you replied dismissively, turning around to lean over the bathroom sink again.

“Okay, okay–two weeks.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his in the mirror again, his expression edging on desperate.

“Two weeks,” you echoed. “Also, you’re the worst.”

“And you’re a menace.”

“Get out of my bathroom, Steve,” you quipped, pinning your hair back. “I’m gonna be late for work.”

“You’re never late.”

Nudging his knee into the crook of yours, he made you buckle, grabbing at the lip of the counter so you wouldn’t fall.

“Shit–Steve!” you swatted at him, and he dodged it with a laugh.

“See you at five!”

Summer weddings were all the same: big, bright peonies, light, gauzy fabrics, and wood circles under everything. The ceremony was always under a flower arch, the groomsman always wore brown chelseas and grey suits, and the bride always cried halfway through her ‘handwritten’ vows.

“So sweet,” Steve whispered, elbow gently bumping into yours, and you shook your head.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that speech on Pinterest.”

“Hey.”

“What? I could’ve done better than that, and I don’t even have anyone to write them about.”

Fixing you with a look, Steve clicked his tongue just as the officiant announced the newlyweds.

“Let’s go, Robs and Nance!” he cheered, pushing a whistle between his fingers while you clapped begrudgingly next to him.

The last time you’d been to a wedding was four years ago when your brother married his now ex-wife, and everyone saw how that turned out. Still, you had the bridesmaids’ dress, but when you tried to squeeze into it, it didn’t fit anymore. Grumbling, you’d dug around in your closet for something, anything, that wouldn’t have you sweating before the ceremony had even started, until something bright caught your eye.

Shoved at the very back of your closet was a light, floor-length, skinny-strapped, peachy colored sundress that dipped down to the small of your back. It still had the tags on it, but when you tugged it over your head, the reflection looking back at you in the mirror was pleasantly unfamiliar. Someone softer, not so sharp around the edges, and with an easy confidence. Even though you didn’t recognize her, you wondered for a minute if maybe this version of you could exist.

When you’d walked out into the living room to show Steve, you couldn’t help noticing how his sunkissed cheeks had gone warm and rosy.

“Wow–er–I mean–you look really nice.”

He stumbled over his words, the lack of teasing catching you off guard, and you left the house in Steve’s BMW with a foreign kind of tension between you. Air pulled taut like it was before a thunderstorm, thick with words unsaid until you pulled up to the venue and picked up your usual charade of banter.

Just friends.

“While we let the brides have a minute to themselves, please make your way over to the reception!” the officiant announced through squealing feedback on the mic, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’ll see name cards have been placed at each table – find your name and a drink, and we’ll see you soon!”

Piano notes picked up, joined by a brassy trumpet, and smooth bass guitar thrums that wove through the late-afternoon heat. A haze had settled over the wide expanse of lawn dotted with tables and chairs, dappled in the rays of sun that crept between a stretching canopy of ash and oak branches. A very classy affair in a ‘rustic’ setting that you were sure had been orchestrated by an overpaid coordinator determined to avoid a bridezilla moment.

“This is nice,” Steve hummed at your side as you queued for a drink at the bar.

“Nicer after I get a drink,” you joked back at him, and it earned you a long side-eye.

“C’mon. It’s not that bad.”

Dropping your gaze to her feet, you pushed a sigh from your lungs, picking at the new manicure on your fingers.

“Let’s have fun,” Steve murmured, bumping the toe of his boot into your espadrille. “When do we ever get to let loose for a minute? You’re always working, and I’m always being obnoxious.”

You snorted a laugh and looked up at him, “I don’t know if you’re always obnoxious.”

He grinned, “Well, then I’ll have to double my efforts. Let me get you a drink.” Sticking his arm out, you looped yours into the crook of his elbow.

When he tugged you into his side for a brief second, you found herself wrapped up in the tart scent of neroli, fresh laundry, his woodsy aftershave, and the coconut sunscreen you’d made him put on right before you got out of the car. Your gaze drifted down, noticing how he absentmindedly smoothed his fingers over the bump of your knuckles, and your cheeks warmed at the sensation, your body hyperaware of every single touch point between you. The loop of your arms, his fingers on your hand, the crisp fabric of his button-down on your bare skin, the hem of his sleeve as it stretched across his bicep.

“You in there?”

You sucked in a gasp and blinked up at Steve.

“What?”

“What would you like to drink?” he asked through a chuckle.

“Oh–uh–rosé would be great, thank you.”

Steve’s mouth tugged up at the corner as he gave you that boyish, lopsided grin. “Great,” he said, turning back to the bartender. “One rosé and one whiskey, neat, please.”

“Actually, I’m gonna go find the bathroom. Meet you back at the table?” you said through an uncharacteristically weak smile.

His brows pinched together, You okay? But nodded at you anyway. “Sounds good.”

As soon as you turned away from him, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, hands gathering up fistfuls of the long fabric of your dress. “He’s your roommate. Your super fucking annoying roommate who leaves trash all over the apartment. God–” you shook her head at yourself, “–get it together, you idiot.”

When you came out of the tiny, but ‘bougie’ bathroom trailer, the reception was fully underway. Guests milled around the lush, green lawn, drinks in hand, laughter growing by the minute as they imbibed in the waning, late-afternoon heat. An ocean breeze had decided to pick up as the sun crept further down the horizon, its rays splaying out and washing everything in gold.

Weaving your way through the crowd, you looked for Steve in the buzz of conversation and occasional exclamation of recognition – Haven’t seen you in forever! – But it was harder to see now as the strings of bistro lights looped around the property, casting shadows to dance across the lawn.

“I love your dress!” A hand reached out to touch the soft fabric of your outfit.

“Oh,” you stuttered, startled, "Yeah–thanks. Thank you.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Uh–I can’t remember. Maybe somewhere down off Melrose?”

“Well, it’s perfect. Bet your boyfriend loves it too,” the woman grinned, nodding just to her left where you finally spotted Steve talking to a man with navy suspenders and horn-rimmed glasses.

An awkward laugh caught in your throat, “He’s actually not my–”

“Vicki?? Sorry, hon. One sec–Vicki, oh my god! You look amazing!”

The woman pushed past you, completely abandoning your conversation to gather up what was apparently a long-lost friend in a giant hug.

“Nice to meet you, too,” you mumbled to yourself, walking over to Steve until you were within earshot of his conversation.

“Isn’t that your roommate, Harrington?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, yeah it is.”

You stopped at the mention of your name, watching as Steve talked with this friend of his. Now that you could see them better, you recognized him. You couldn’t remember his name, but knew he tried to get lunch or coffee with Steve every couple of weeks.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with her hair down. Doesn’t she work in design?” the friend asked, and your cheeks flushed pink. Your hair was thick and a lot of work, of course, you never wore it down.

“She’s a producer for Valley Film, they just finished up a short for some director out of San Diego.”

“Oh shit, that’s cool.”

Unsure of how much longer you could linger that close to them without looking weird, you shifted on her feet, uncomfortable at your eavesdropping, but what Steve said next froze you in place.

“They’re starting to get some awards buzz, so she’s been super busy; everyone wants to work with her.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s one of the most talented producers on the West Coast. I’m really proud of her.”

I’m really proud of her.

Your eyes flicked away from the band to look at Steve to see he was looking back, the smile on his face one you hadn’t seen before. Fond, sweet, and something else.

Something warmer.

“Hey, I’m gonna grab a bite. Catch you in a bit,” Steve excused himself and moved around his friend, heading straight for the charcuterie board table – and you.

The tension that had stretched between you before reappeared; had it ever left? And as Steve walked across the lawn, you became acutely aware of him.

Steve.

Your roommate.

Your best friend.

All of his little idiosyncrasies.

The way his fingers twisted at the silver band on his thumb when he was bored, the little crinkles that appeared at the corners of his eyes when he was really smiling, the low rumble in his chest when he knew he shouldn’t be laughing, but did anyway.

His voice and the way it sounded wrapped around her name.

“Hey, you.”

Your stomach flipped over, caught, “Hi.”

His smile softened, tinged at the edges with what was maybe the same anticipation that had reached up and grabbed hold of you.

Lifting a hand to your face, Steve tucked a flyaway behind your ear, dashing what little confidence you had left with a single touch.

“Who’s that?” you asked, anything to scramble back to ‘normal’ as he shot a glance over his shoulder.

“Eddie? Oh, we roomed together in college.”

“Right.” Eddie. “Just catching up?”

“Yeah. Talking about you, actually.”

Your pulse fluttered against your neck; so much for back to normal.

“Me?” you huffed an awkward laugh, grabbing a couple of grapes from the appetizer table and shoving them into your mouth. “You tell him you’re on the hook to do my laundry for two weeks? Sucker.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “That’d blow my cover,” he shot you a lopsided grin. “No, Eds, I definitely didn’t bribe my plus one.”

Soft drums picked up on the other side of the room as the band started playing opening notes for a new song, and Steve glanced down at you, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Hey, would you want to dance with me–”

“–is this a date?”

Your questions blurred together, asked simultaneously, cutting both of you short, and Steve’s face flushed up to his ears.

“Steve…” you said, quieter than usual, hesitant.

You watched as he swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, a look on his face you’d never seen before. A muddled mixture of guilt, curiosity, and something else. Something that swam through your bloodstream, slow and warm.

“I mean, you’re my date to the wedding?” he joked weakly, but the way you were looking at him had his half-facade cracking and falling away. Loosing a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, tongue jammed into his cheek like he did when he was thinking through things. “We’ve been roommates for…”

“Two years,” you said, filling in the gap he’d left behind.

Glancing up, Steve’s eyes met yours, all brown sugar and burnt caramel in the low light.

“And friends since…?”

“Fourth grade,” you finished, lips tugging up at the corners in a small smile.

“You’re my best friend,” he confessed, voice low like a secret, his words planting themselves between your ribs like wildflowers; bright little things that brushed at your insides, hummingbird wings against your chest, pushing you to be brave.

“Mine too,” you realized, then gently teased, “Except when you leave your half-empty ramen cups on the coffee table.”

Steve huffed a guilty laugh, pulling his lower lip between his teeth, then sobered, “I was hoping maybe if you came with me it’d–I dunno–show you that we’re good together. You know. Like…more than just friends.”

More than just friends.

More than just your obnoxious roommate.

Your friend.

Your best friend.

The one who picked you up from work when your car broke down. The one who remembered how much you hated celebrating your birthday and stayed home to binge-watch old horror movies with you instead. The one who told his friends how proud he was of you. Told you you were beautiful with your hair up, and humored your jaded attitude, and pushed you to try new things. Things you learned to love, not because they were new, but because he was there.

“Good together,” you echoed softly, lifting your gaze to meet his brown eyes, warm and hazy like whiskey, long lashes fanning out across his cheeks.

“What d’you think?” he asked tentatively.

“I think I’m grumpy and you’re…you’re like sunshine,” you said through a small grin, “How’s that work?”

Steve laughed, a low, warm thing that turned your insides to goo.

“You keep my feet on the ground, and I remind you it’s okay to have a little fun sometimes,” he assessed, solving the last piece of the equation for you.

“I like fun,” you pushed, grin growing, and he gave it right back.

“You do,” he mused, tangling his fingers up with yours. “Is dancing considered fun?”

“Only at weddings.”

“Well, I don’t know if you know,” he teased, “But we’re at a wedding.”

“We are?” you played along.

“Mmhm, and there’s a dance floor right over there,” he pointed with his free hand.

“What a coincidence.”

He lifted his brows at you, Come with me? And it made you put your hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him backwards, the heels of his shoes clicking against the wooden platform as he stepped up to the dancefloor.

You took one of his hands and pressed it to your waist, warm and wide at the plush of your hip, and started moving you both in time with the smooth notes coming from the band.

“Not my fault if I step on your toes, by the way. I’m shit at dancing,” you confessed, voice small, a little playful, and a lot vulnerable, and it made him smile.

“Worth it.”

The soft sounds coming from the piano wrapped around you, and Steve pulled you a little closer, your head gently resting against his chest. His heartbeat thudded in your ear, warm and steady, and you smiled into his shirt, content to stay just like this.

His more-than-friend.

The grumpy to his sunshine.

His plus one.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

Here’s another personal ramble but this time a happy one: I legally changed my name and gender marker today! 

I want to tell you a bit about my journey here. But before we get into that, you may need some context! In case you’re not from Germany, here’s a quick explanation of how the legal stuff works here: 

Until recently, changing your name and gender marker was a complicated, expensive and stressful process. You had to go to court, get evaluated by two psychologists, and jump through a lot of bureaucratic hoops. But as of November 2024, Germany finally has a new law called the Self-Determination Act (Selbstbestimmungsgesetz). 

Under this law, you simply make a declaration at your local registry office (Standesamt), then there’s a mandatory waiting period of three months and then you get the official name change appointment where you just have to confirm by signature that you really want to do it and then you get a new birth certificate! There’s no need for expert reports, medical „proof“ or a court decision anymore.

As someone who has a lot of pre-existing mental health history and not a lot of money, the old system made a legal name change fully inaccessible to me. So this new law is not only a huge step for the trans community in general but also for me personally! 

When it came into effect in November 2024, I wanted to apply right away - but I was in the middle of applying for disability benefits and was advised that a name change in the middle of that process would complicate it, so I had to wait. I’ll admit that it was very hard, emotionally. As happy as I was to see other trans people change their name, I also struggled with some ugly feelings of jealousy. I also kept worrying that, somehow, the law would be rolled back before I get to actually use it (with the lengthy process of fighting for disability benefits and the mandatory waiting period on top of that…) and I’d be stuck with my dead name forever just because I didn’t want to risk complications for my disability benefits application by doing it right away! 

I finally got to apply for a name change in April 2025 (a nice birthday gift to myself!). The process itself was super easy (fill out a simple form and send it via mail to the Standesamt), albeit there were some small confusions that I unnecessarily worried about (I heard from other people that they just downloaded the form on their towns website but couldn’t find any form on my towns website and was torn between just printing out some other towns form and hoping my town will accept it (since the actual content would be the same) or writing them a letter requesting their form, and then ended up doing both just to be safe, and then worried that doing both may lead to confusion and accidentally slow down the process! That was just a lot of overthinking on my part, which wasn’t helped by it taking weeks until I heard anything back - but when I did, it was a letter confirming my application and telling me the earliest appointment date I could get after the waiting period. I confirmed I want that date. 

Having an actual date for it came with a rollercoaster of emotions. It made it so real. When I first came out to myself as transgender, years ago - when I found the words to describe the gender dysphoria I felt since childhood and realized that I’m not a broken, weird woman who is really bad at being a woman, I am simply a man - I still told myself it’d only be my „fun little secret“. I tried to convince myself that I could treat it like some dirty fantasy I only live out in my head and never tell anyone about. Obviously, that wasn’t very healthy or sustainable and only made the gender dysphoria feel unbearable. Looking back at these memories and those feelings, and comparing it to me now having a date where I’ll actually legally change my gender marker, that brought on an overwhelming sense of happiness and relief. 

I felt like I could finally (metaphorically) hug child me who decided he’d rather starve to death than ever eat enough to start puberty and develop boobs and teenage me who decided he’d rather die than ever turn into an adult woman - and tell them that we made it. We stayed alive to grow into a man.  We stayed alive to see a world that acknowledges you, that sees you and knows you need this. You need to be seen as who you truly are, and now our paperwork will reflect that. We made it. We can breathe now. 

I said „rollercoaster of emotions“, so you can already guess that some less happy feelings also sneaked in - but, unlike transphobes would probably love to read here, there were never any feelings of regret. I never worried that I was making the wrong choice in the sense of „What if I change my name and then realize I’m a woman after all“. Never even crossed my mind. 

What I did worry about, however, was encountering transphobia. Either directly at the Standesamt or at the bank, health insurance company, disability benefits office…. all the places I’d have to notify of the name change later. And on a broader scale also by political parties and society as a whole, especially with the Afd (German Nazi Party comparable to Trump in the US) growing rapidly in popularity. I worry about putting a target on my back by leaving a papertrail of me being trans - but I do not worry about being wrong. I never worried that I might be wrong. Only that the world might not let me be right.

I can’t speak for the latter parts yet - but at least at the Standesamt, all these worries were baseless. I came in, equally buzzing with excitement and shaking with nervous anticipation, he said „You’re here for the name change appointment, right?“, I said yes, he smiled and went „It’s so cool you’re doing this!“. I immediately relaxed. 

The actual appointment took exactly 13 minutes. I confirmed that they got my personal information right, I confirmed that I want to do this and am aware of the laws around it, I paid 70 euro, I showed him my old birth certificate and got handed my new one, we had some pleasant smalltalk (he asked if the name Oliver has any special meaning, things like that). He even apologized for also legally having to inform me of the laws around changing back to my birth name if I should ever decide to. I think he was as worried about him (accidentally) being transphobic as I had been! 

Before the appointment, I felt a bit down about the fact that nobody would come along with me and hug me right after. I don’t know if that’s a strange or relatable thing, but it’s something I felt. I saw all these posts on social media by trans people who had their appointments in the months before mine and they all seemed to go with their partner, friends or family, with someone who would congratulate them and hug them after. Of course this is something you do for yourself and your happiness and your future, and I can already hear the transphobes say „see, he’s proof they only do it for attention!“ - but it is a big milestone and I think it deserves some attention. I think it’s human to want some attention for positive news in your life. And so I worried I’d come out of the Standesamt, still on cloud nine with excitement.. and then land pretty hard on the cold ground when I stand there alone. This worry flared up painfully this morning when I talked to my mom about the appointment before leaving and she went „Oh, that’s why it has been raining so heavily, God is crying“ - it was a stupid comment that I should’ve easily brushed off but it hit me harder than I’d like to admit. 

The worry didn’t come true, though. I came out of the Standesamt and I texted my partner (who was at work) and then I got myself a piece of cake - and I felt very calm and content. 

My mom did in fact congratulate me after, and so did my siblings. But it turned out I didn’t need that emotional hug right after to celebrate it. I walked out of the Standesamt not just with a new birth certificate, but with a feeling of peace - the peace younger me had been waiting for.

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[organic-bloodbath]

Fishing trip

Recruiter x Wife!Reader

Summary: Your husband takes you to a fishing trip with his friends for the first time. It doesn't go as well as he had planned.

A/N: Sorry but the idea of the three of them going fishing together made me laugh so hard LMAO. The pic of In-ho holding a fish? I'm deceased, it look like a dad's facebook profile pic.

Probably unrealistic cos nobody ever took me fishing so idk what's going on when guys go fishing. Also this is very short.

♡♡

You had never gone fishing in your life, barely even held a fishing rod in your hands.

When your husband suggested you to join their fishing trip one day, you were hesitant. As far as you knew, they never invited anyone else to go with them – it was just the three of them.

Would In-ho's wife come as well? Not leaving you all alone to hang out with three guys, one of them you had met only once or twice before.

"Honey," your husband had said while you were folding the laundry. "I know i've been busy lately and we haven't spent much time with each other... Why don't you join us for the fishing trip tonight?"

"You're asking me to go fishing with you and your friends?" you scoffed, raising your eyebrows, feeling like it was a joke.

"Well, why not? My friends have been dying to meet you anyway. They haven't seen you since the wedding," he said, walking towards you. Standing right in front of you, he rubbed your shoulders and looked at you with the expression on his face you could never say 'no' to. "Besides, i planned to take you out for dinner afterwards. I'll reserve a table in some nice restaurant. What do you say?"

You thought about it for a moment. Fishing. Seriously? You had never imagined that you'd be into fishing.

So, here you were. On a boat in the middle of a sea, wearing an orange life vest like the three men around you. They were joking around together, having their own inside jokes which you couldn't relate to.

In-ho asked how you were doing and if you'd like to visit them next week for lunch – his wife was inviting a few friends over. You liked In-ho, he was a sweet man and had even been the bestman at your wedding.

You watched the guys fish and compete with each other who would catch the biggest fish.

You had brought a camera with you as well, loving photographing a lot. You took a few pics of the guys and the beautiful surroundings around you.

Suddenly, something almost ripped the fishing rod out of In-ho's hands, pulling it hard under the water. God, the fish must be enormous. It took a lot of effort, but In-ho managed to get whatever had caught the hook to himself. As you had guessed, it was a massive fish, the biggest you'd seen anyone you knew ever catch.

In-ho was now holding the fish, looking directly into the camera with a smile on his face. You snapped the photo.

After that, you sat back down, prepared to just spend your time sitting there for the rest of your time there. However, your husband thought a little differently.

"Okay, your turn," he said, motioning you to get up.

"What?" you asked while he already took your hand and pulled you up.

"Your turn to catch a fish," he specified.

"Oh, no, i'm fine just watching here," you chuckled nervously, not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of three people who actually knew how to fish.

"Don't be silly," he sighed, rolling his eyes. A smile played on his lips as he looked at you. "I don't want you to be bored."

"I'm not bored, alright?" you insisted, but he could see right through you; you were definitely bored as hell.

"Come on, one fish and then i'll take you home," he suggested, pushing it until you reluctantly gave in and took the fishing rod into your hands.

He taught you how to use the rod and what you needed to do – it was rather simple, you didn't know what you were so stressed about. All of it sounded easy enough.

"I can't catch anything, nothing's happening," you groaned, getting frustrated as several minutes had passed.

"You must have some patience," he said, knowing how impatient you were in everything you did; it only amused him.

"This isn't –"

Then, something pulled the rod under the water, a little harder than you were at first prepared for. Quite a lot harder, actually. For a second you became excited, about to catch something big on your first try, but the sudden pull caused you to trip over the edge of the boat, diving straight into the water face first.

"Y/N!" your husband shouted in panic when you ended up under the surface. However, you floated back up quite fast due to the life vest, the salt water stinging your eyes. He stretched his arm towards you, leaning over the edge. "Come on, i'll help you up."

You took his hand, but then a mischievous smile spread on your face. Instead of letting him help you back to the boat, you pulled him towards you, kicking yourself away from the boat. He wasn't prepared for you doing such an act, falling into the water as well.

"You'll regret doing that," he said, trying to sound all threatening but had a playful smirk on his face.

You backed away from him, pushing his chest with your foot, but he managed to grab your leg and pull you back to him before you managed to escape too far.

You let out a little unintentional scream out of your mouth as you crashed against his chest, getting salt water into your mouth on the way.

As he held you still by your elbows and kept an eye contact with you, you tried to hold your laugh for a moment but soon both of you burst out laughing.

You rested your hands on his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his waist. His hands found their way to support you by your butt, even though the vest was already keeping you up enough.

"Just so you know," you said with a serious tone in your voice, raising your eyebrows. "I'm never coming to fish with you and your friends again."

He let out a laugh. "I suppose we have to figure out another hobby for the two of us, hm?"

"Deal," you laughed.

He cupped your cheek with his hand, bringing your face closer to press a soft kiss on your lips.

You eventually got back to the boat, and your husband went to fetch a towel for you. What you didn't realize, that choosing a white t-shirt for this trip wasn't the best idea, your red bra extremely visible through the fabric.

At first you were confused why Yeong-gil's gaze was suddenly on your chest, and when you realized it, you were quick to wrap your arms around to hide yourself the best you could.

When your husband came back, he gave a hard smack on the back of Yeong-gil's neck, making him wince that it had actually hurt. He shot an angry glare at him which made the captain turn away and return to In-ho.

Your husband took the life vest off you, wrapping a towel around you instead.

"So, where did you plan to take me for dinner? You promised something nice."

"It's a surprise," he stated. "I think we'll need to go home to take a shower and change our clothes before i'll take you anywhere around other people.

"We'll take a shower, huh?" you smirked. "Wanna play in the water a little more?"

"I'd prefer to do it when those two aren't looking," he whispered, nodding towards his two friends.

He better take you out to eat something else than fish tonight.

♡♡

A/N: This is so dumb lmao.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

thoughts on Nikolai, a man with the longest fuse known to man, notorious for being difficult to rile up, losing his shit. doesn't raise his voice. doesn't cuss the offending party out. just... gives them a glimpse of the person he could have been if circumstances were shifted slightly to the left.

their crime? insulting one captain jonathan price of course

They said Nikolai never snapped. Not in the way most men do. No slammed doors. No red-faced screaming matches, or the righteous fury of John Price. You could spit on his shoes and call his mother a saint in the wrong tone; he’d still just blink, maybe smile faintly or raise an eyebrow, like he was watching a child throw a tantrum in Asda's sweet aisle.

So when he finally did lose it, it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t violent. It was something worse.

He was standing under the pale buzz of the office fluorescents, his hands tucked behind his back, as he listened to Graves rattle on. It was a joint operation between Chimera and the Shadows. A simple snatch and grab of sensitive personnel. He would fly them in and collect from an exfil point some three miles out. Easy.

"Without Price holding your leash, you might actually make profit out of this one," Graves said as he rolled up the map.

"Come again?"

"He holds you back. Man like you would be more effective without his greater good schtick weighing you down." Graves sniffed. "Shit's as fucking tired as he is. He's way past his sellby date, and so are his methods."

The air shifted. It wasn't dramatic. There was no shattering of glass or slamming of fists. It was more like a build up of static just before a storm; the sense that something destructive sat unseen just beyond the horizon.

Nikolai turned his head. Slowly. Not even all the way. Just enough to let Graves see it; his expression stripped of all the usual tired patience, the laid-back countenance he cultivated so he faded into the background. What looked back at Graves wasn’t angry. It was clinical. Measured. Something that had been chiselled, violent and roughshod, in the snow and ice of Russian tundra, into a fine point. Efficient. Lethal.

"You should be more careful about how you talk of old war dogs, Graves. They have had many years to build a loyal pack."

Graves swallowed hard, but never one to yield the upper hand, smirked. "If I wasn't so sure we were friends, I'd say that sounded like a threat."

"Not a threat," Nik replied. "A friendly warning. Between friends."

Nik walked away and left his words hanging in the air like smoke from a slow, controlled burn. Graves didn't bother going for the last word because anything would come out feeble in the wake of Nik's looming back.

Nik and Price were opposites in many ways. Where Price was fire and indignant rage, Nikolai was ice and silent fury. No less deadly and perhaps, at times, more so, because with Nik, you could forget until the very moment the knife twisted between your ribs.

[noirtcnes]

anything john walker x reader as long as its gender neutral PLEASE i am BEGGING because its ALL F READER

gotcha <3

no second chances. john walker.

summary: it was supposed to be a simple, easy mission. until you step on a landmine and john walker loses his shit. things go awry from there.

pairing: john walker x gn!reader

warnings: heavy angst, fluff, swearing, explosion, description of burns, kissing, walker being a nice asshole

word count: 5.1k

notes: it's been SO LONG since i've written shit, and thank you to anon for requesting this because i swear i wish we had more gn!fics. this is pretty angsty but i think it's alright. more to come! have fun reading <3

also on ao3

The mission was already half-insane, and you hadn’t even gotten there yet.

You were stuck in the back of a jeep thundering toward some dusty estate in the woods — next to John Walker, of all people.

John Walker was someone you... tolerated, to say the least. You could say far more, but that would probably summon your fifth grade English teacher who would proceed to smack you on the head for speaking such filth.

No, that was a lie, you swore plenty already. You just did not want to bother yourself further with more thoughts about that abomination of a man. 

Mostly because it often led somewhere else you truly wished to avoid at all costs.

Proximity wasn't quite helping in this case, because with the way the vehicle was moving over the rocks and bumps on the way, you were colliding into the big guy like there was no tomorrow. 

It would've been fine if it was anyone else, honestly, maybe Yelena, or Bob, or even Alexei (or not, on second thought), but when it was Walker, the constant knocking of knees and your arm rubbing up against his with every jerk of the jeep was deeply irritating and mildly—

No, you weren't going to use actual words to describe the weird tug in your stomach at every contact. Nope.

Why? Because you hated him, for fuck's sake, and how infuriatingly tall he was, and that big mouth he was running, even now.

"—simple recon, nothing wild. Just in, eyes on the target, out. Val says we plant three nano-cams—one facing the south gate, one above the garage, and one in the courtyard if we can reach it. Gotta log the angles and anything that looks… off."

"You're telling me all this as if I didn't fucking read the file, Walker," you said flatly, looking at him with a look of severe judgment. 

Walker responded with an offended expression, and scoffed.

“Just trying to make sure you keep up," he said, feigning casualness.

“With what? Your ego?”

That wiped the smirk off his face for a bit, but it was back in seconds —the cocky tilt of his mouth.

“Cute. I forget you think you’re funny," he said, and you shrugged.

“I forget you think you’re useful.”

"Could do better with that one," he said, and you wanted nothing more than to smash one of the hard nano-cam pouches into his head. You didn’t, obviously. 

Mostly because your fingers were currently gripping the cam pouch like a stress ball. But also because—God help you—this wasn’t the time.

The gravel under the jeep’s tires shifted, and the darkness outside deepened. You exhaled slowly, pressing your thumb to your temple.

"Walker, listen," you said, this time quieter. More serious.

He spared a glance in your direction, and you took that as permission.

"I don't want you walking in there like this is a solo mission." You rubbed the side of your forehead, the words firm. "Don't do that again. Not this time."

Walker lifted his eyes to just stare at you, his jaw clenching. 

"Don't trust me?" It sounded oddly empty, the question. You sighed, shaking your head.

"Sometimes you get reckless—"

"Yet it gets the job done."

"What if it doesn't this time?"

He stayed silent. Then uttered something under his breath you couldn't quite catch.

"We need to work together," you emphasised, "as a team."

But it seemed that was the end of his responses. Of course it was. He still believed, probably, with all his heart that he was the leader of this mission, and had to take full responsibility, despite having a very capable teammate. 

There was nothing more you could do. Not until you reached the location, anyway. 

"Whatever," you muttered, as your shoulder crashed once again into his during a particularly tricky turn. 

Yelena's voice crackled through the talkie holstered at your hip. You felt a wave of relief wash over you. Thank god, it was getting awkward.

"Hello? Am I coming through?"

"Loud and clear," you said, grabbing it and raising it to your face. "I assume we’re close?"

"Yes. Another 700 meters and you’ll hit the estate’s south fence. Visuals show no guards outside, but the man has got layers. Heat sensors, drones, maybe mines. All kind of paranoid war veteran tech."

You grimaced. “Right. Creepy ex-general with a trigger finger and a god complex. Totally normal recon mission.”

“Tell me about it. Drop the cams, tag the perimeter, don’t get blown up.“

"Unless Sir Hyper-independent here decides to switch things up," you muttered, jerking your head toward Walker without looking. A little smirk tugged at your mouth.

You weren’t looking, but you could feel Walker resisting the urge to say something back. Sweet, sweet victory.

"I heard that," he grumbled.

"Good."

"Anyway," Yelena continued, dryly, "keep each other alive. I’m not flying in to collect limbs. Buzz control if shit goes sideways. Over.”

"...Copy that."

The line went static.

Walker still looked mildly constipated, but you ignored him, closing your eyes and leaning your head back on the tough back cushion, going over the exact plan as accurately as you could. 

All you could hear was his shuffling, and impatient breaths, his fiddly taps on the taco shield on his arm, and an occasional clearing of his throat every time your head accidentally lolled towards his side.

Minutes later, the jeep came to a rash stop. You had reached the old cottagehouse and the sprawling acres surrounding it. 

“Jesus, this took a minute,” Walker grunted as he stood up, stretched as best as he could (that’s what being 6’2’’ got you, hah) and put his stupid beret on. You just watched, snorting. 

“You gettin’ ready for a model shoot?”

Walker scowled, which only made him look more stupid. You had to hold back a giggle. 

“Get your ass up,” he spat, and you hated that those words created a reaction in you and had you obeying with minimal delay, shooting straight up. Embarrassing.

“Jeez, don’t get your thongs in a bunch,” you grumbled, and he flashed you a questioning look. 

“You mean panties.”

You smirked, looking at him from the corner of your eye as you gathered up the two pouches and twisted your gun into the holster. “Yeah, but I bet you’d wear thongs.”

The man looked visibly rattled as he blushed, trying to cover up any signs of weakness with a scoff and a glare.

Opening the jeep’s back, the both of you stepped out, when Walker snatched the pouches out of your hand.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, attempting to get it back from him but he simply swatted you away, dodging your extended arms and tossing the pouches hand to hand.

"What the fuck, Walker?!"

"I'm gonna need you to stay back and keep a watch on the perimeter," he instructed, still keeping the pouches far from you. "Not letting you walk into an absolute maniac's backyard."

Oh, he was fucking doing it again, the bastard.

You slapped his back, hard, managing to catch up when he flinched and stumbled, before grabbing one of the bags from him.

"Didn’t think you'd feel that one," you said, grinning. Walker shot you a look, but it was one of the rarer types. The ones that made you feel a little sick.

Always looked like he cared, when his brows slanted and his extra blue eyes gained clarity. In your dreams. Wait, no.

"This isn't a joke," he hissed, and his gaze was frighteningly steady. 

"I just want you to work with me," you replied, not breaking eye contact. 

"We will be. Just listen to me. I just–"

"Just need me to stand in the sidelines while you do the heavy duty shit?" you interrupted, clicking your tongue, feeling a little less jolly now. 

"Walker, we were paired for a reason. We both know I can handle those cams better and not accidentally snap them 'cause I wasn't careful."

Walker's eyes flashed, fixed on you, teeth grit. He looked like he was on the edge of the kind of anger you usually knew better than to poke.

"...Please, Walker," you said, softer this time, hoping he’d budge even a little, and to your surprise, he did. Something in his demeanor changed, his shoulders relaxing, his grip on the pouch turning loose. 

The walkie sputtered once more and Yelena's voice came through.

"Guys, is everything okay?"

"It's been 4 minutes since you reached the location, you dunces, what the hell's going on?"

Ah, looks like Val was there too.

Walker yanked the walkie from your hip and clicked in. “We’re getting to it,” he said, tone already edged with annoyance.

Val’s voice came through sharp, shrill, and relentless, like a crow on espresso.

Walker didn’t let her finish. “Just give us time,” he snapped, then tossed the device at you without a glance. You caught it, barely.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead straight at the side wall of the house a considerable number of feet away, but you could tell he was still uncertain, tense– still wrestling with your words, your plea.

You were about to say something more, when he looked over his shoulder at you, and you could hear him mumble something like ‘stubborn’ in this weird tone, not quite annoyed, not quite fond either, but something in between, before he began to walk. 

“I’m still keeping one though,” he said, voice taut, waving the pouch in his hand around as he did, and you couldn’t help the relieved chuckle that escaped your mouth, glad he decided to listen to you for once as you followed in his wake. 

As much as it was the bare minimum, it was still oddly satisfying in the way your cheeks flushed just a little.

You began to walk forward, not fully in time with him considering his long-ass legs, but fast enough to be just a foot or two behind him at all times. 

You maintained a straight line, when you stepped on what felt like a particularly hard rock.

At that exact moment there was a click, a beep and when you looked down, heart sinking, there was a faint red glow emitting from the side of your boot sole.

Oh, fuck, no. No. Shit.

There was only about another fifteen metres to the house’s fence. So close.

Walker, despite looking very focused on the task at hand, noticed that your presence was lacking. He turned just slightly, a little bewildered at why you were just... standing there.

You could see him wave his hands in confusion and mouth 'What's the holdup?!' and all you could do was take a big, shaky breath and point at your foot.

He frowned, looking exasperated as he redirected his gaze. Then he saw the light, and the way your leg was stiff and unmoving, and you could see grim realisation dawn on his face.

Slowly, he walked back to where you were. He looked pale, paler than he usually did in the moonlight. His eyes remained on your foot.

"...Landmine," he whispered, and the finality in his voice dropped like a rock into your stomach. Your fears had been confirmed.

"Walker," you started, but then your throat went dry and you couldn't finish the rest of the sentence. What would you even say? 

You could see the cogs turn in his head as he removed the shield from his arm and dropped it aside along with the cam pouch. He tugged the one in your hand too, and threw it away.

Then he scanned around the spot on the ground, his knees locked, as if he was scared even kneeling down might cause the mine to completely detonate. His eyes glazed over in thought, but both of you knew.

You couldn’t really disarm a mine. Not after activating it. 

You lost your voice to the thought of it— dying. Like this.

Because of a goddamn landmine.

Because of that idiot ex-general.

Because luck decided you’d used up all your chances.

Not when you’d just redeemed yourself. And as much as you joked about dying early, it couldn’t happen this way. 

“Walker,” you called again, hesitating as your hand softly patted on his arm. It took you three tries to fully get his attention, but his eyes still wouldn’t meet yours, and it was getting frustrating.

“Walker, listen to me.”

“I’d rather figure out how to get you out of here.”

You could only stay silent in response to this. There was no getting you out. Not unless this was a dud, which was mostly just wishful thinking. 

“Look, just– what kind of mine is it?” you asked, the least that could be figured out, and Walker nodded. 

“Hold on.”

You marvelled at how he managed to keep his voice steady. You joked internally that he didn’t care enough to get emotional. 

But you saw the way his jaw clenched, how his breath stalled in his chest. The way his hands didn’t quite know where to go.

This wasn’t detachment. It was control, or the likes of it. And he was losing it, slowly. Steadily.

You breathed like the oxygen around you was loaned, chest hurting from the way you held it tight. 

You watched, transfixed as he finally knelt down, movements as slow as a hawk watching its prey, and all you could think of was keeping that foot planted like there was no tomorrow. 

He came back up a minute later, swallowing hard as he mumbled, “Soviet-style. Steel jacket. Fragmentation type. Might not be reliable anymore.”

“Oh,” you said, nodding blankly. “Might not?”

“Which means you either survive, or… it kills you outright.”

Oh. Right.

Didn’t even make sense for you to be so surprised. What else were you expecting?

“Jesus,” you muttered, your voice barely at bay. Your fingers were beginning to tremor just slightly, and you could hear your own heartbeat. Hell, you could feel it. 

You needed to hold onto something, anything – something to ground you. Your feet were already going numb.

“I told you to stay behind,” Walker said, suddenly. There was no anger. Just… hurt. 

“I– I know, but we’re a team, and I–”

“If you’d listened, we wouldn’t be here. WIth you, standing on a fucking…” 

He didn’t complete the sentence. Instead, he practically ripped his beret off his head, harshly shoving it into his belt, before running his fingers through his dirty golden hair. 

For the first time in a long time, he looked confused. 

For some reason, that hurt far more than the realization that you were most probably going to die.

The sky remained dark, but time was slipping by. Neither of you knew how much had passed.

Suddenly, the mission wasn’t the ex-general anymore. 

It was you.

The realization was really fucking with Walker's head, it was painfully obvious. You wanted to reach out, comfort him, but right now it looked like he might just do something violent if you tried.

Your forgotten walkie crackled to life, this time with Bucky's voice.

"Team. Status?"

Neither of you replied. Walker swallowed, hands on his hips as his head stayed low.

You took the walkie in hand albeit with extreme caution.

"We're... there's a situation."

"Seriously? What is it?"

"I– I stepped on an active land– landmine."

Saying it out loud only made you want to laugh, simply because of how absurd it sounded.

But the laugh didn't quite bubble out as one- it was a little more of a sob.

Walker looked up at the sound instantly, his eyebrows perking as his eyes tethered to your face.

Looks like the fear was finally leaking out of you.

There was silence on the other end for a good 30 seconds, until Bucky finally spoke again.

"We're sending backup. Can.. is it possible to disarm it?"

Taking the walkie from your hand, Walker replied, "Not really, Bucky. It… It's more of a 'try or die' situation."

You were feeling a little tired now. The churning in your stomach was making you feel exceedingly sick, and your fingers felt unlike yours. Like they belonged to another body.

"I'll take care of it. Of..." He didn't complete. He just cleared his throat, let out a heavy breath, then said, "Just send the backup. Medic, most importantly."

The tenor in Bucky's voice matched Walker's. It was the gravest you'd heard it.

"...Be safe. Both of you."

You sniffled—just a little—and Walker immediately tossed the walkie aside, all his focus shifting back to you.

"Okay, I need you to listen to me very carefully now," he said, in a tone that caught you by such surprise you forgot you were even standing on a fucking mine.

"Look at me."

Oh.

You did as he asked, and part of the immediate compliance stemmed from you just wanting to hear him speak in that voice again. And he did.

"We're gonna get through this."

"Are we?"

"Yes, we are."

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes tight momentarily, bracing your heart for whatever the hell was going to happen next.

As long as it kept beating.

"We need to shift the weight from you to something-- something else, alright?"

You nodded, your brain already resetting to plan mode. "Like-"

"My shield," he said, taking a glance at the taco-shaped hunk of metal on the ground.

"Would.. Would that work?"

"It should. In theory."

"Bob would be proud," you said, the joke slipping past your lips despite the situation, and Walker just glared at you.

"Not now."

"Sorry."

"...it's okay. Let's just focus on getting you out of this alive to make dumb jokes after today."

"Yeah. Right." You felt a little embarrassed. Oh, how silly these things felt right now.

Then Walker looked at you with eyes you wished he gave you the times you weren't in life threatening danger, and stepped as close as he could without disturbing the mine.

He rested a hand over your arm, and said "Look at me," again, and it took you everything to not start crying on the spot.

"We can do this." He looked like he believed every word of that sentence. 

You didn't. 

"I'm scared, John."

The name—his name—felt strange in your mouth. It made your voice shake. Your hands too. You cringed the second it came out, but then he squeezed your arm tighter.

“You’re gonna be okay.” 

You hung onto every word of that sentence, chanting those words in the back of your head, over and over. Anything to keep you from losing consciousness.

Then he nodded once, as if he was reassuring himself.

"Okay," he said, softly. "Ready?"

You had no choice but to nod. It was now or never.

Walker crouched, grabbing the shield and sliding his arm into the leather straps, before placing his hand on the side of your knee.

“When I tell you, just slide your leg off the mine, okay? Slowly. No sudden movements.”

“John–”

“Trust me.”

“...Okay,” you eventually breathed out.

“Hold on.”

The shield scraped against the grassy dirt as he moved it, slow and steady, his hands working like those of a surgeon as the metal clicked against the edge of the mine.

“Shit,” he said lowly, and you saw his jaw flex. “Okay, here goes.”

Oh, shit, it was getting real. Oh, fuck.

You refrained from saying any of that out loud. 

“Now,” Walker said, voice as anchored as his grip on the shield, “Slide your foot off in par with me.”

So you did exactly as he said, your foot inching off with extreme caution, while the curve of his shield followed, until it was entirely off, and now it was just Walker, bent over, shield braced in one hand as it pressed tight against the active mine.

You were too overwhelmed to find solid footing—you stumbled back, legs failing to hold you, and dropped nearly three feet away, ass hitting the grass with a loud thud.

Oh, god, you were alive and breathing.

But before you could even register this fully, light flickered behind your heads, and there was a distinct sound of shuffling coming from inside the cottage-house.

Panic seemed to rise as quickly as it had fallen.

"John, we need to leave, like... right now." You looked over your shoulder, and it was clear the old, dangerous man was awake.

"Stay back," he replied curtly. Actually, he wasn't even replying. It was a very out of the blue statement. It sounded ominous.

"John, what the hell are you--"

"Just stay back, please."

Then you saw it. His shoulders squared, toes digging into the sand as if preparing to sprint.

His knees raised, and you were already running towards him.

Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot-

Just as the shield lifted, you lunged– arms locking around his waist, twisting with all your might in the air.

And then–

BOOM.

The entire world was swallowed by fire, and white hot light, and the pungent smell of singed leather.

Then.. skin.

You could feel the heat lick at your back, through the layers, and it hurt like a bitch. Everything burned, searing. You felt so lost, so unconscious, yet every nerve seemed to flare with pain. But you could still feel him under you, your arms still tight around him, head falling over his neck, so close you could feel his breathing on your face.

He was alive. He was alive. 

You were too, mostly, but you wished you weren't, because the pain of blistering skin was truly agony. You took in two, three stifled breaths, just to make sure.

You let go, collapsing to his side, his face swimming into your blurred vision. The mud touched your back and you yelped, yanking yourself onto your side again by holding onto Walker's arm. 

He was looking at you with dazed eyes, but you could see his disapproval, and his surprise somewhere behind those eyelids.

"You're a fucking idiot," he rasped.

"You too," you choked out.

Then the world went dark.

.

.

“Second degree burns, both of you. We’ve removed the shrapnel and patched you up, and it’ll take a while to heal, but give it a few weeks and you’ll be alright.”

The doctor nodded to the both of you, wearing a little bit of a judgmental expression. 

“You’re lucky that mine was faulty. Only reason you’re even awake right now.”

She waved her pen in the air, then turned to discuss something with the secondary.

“We’re gonna be back in a few. Don’t do anything stupid,” she said dryly, and the docs stepped out, the door sliding close behind them.

You were seated upright in your bed, a med gown wound loosely over you. The covered and treated burns still stung, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been when you were first carried in here.

According to Yelena (who was thoroughly pissed that you managed to fail every objective), before the old man could get to actually killing you, backup had arrived, he’d been dealt with momentarily, and you’d reached the Watchtowers safely– relatively speaking. 

Walker was sitting opposite you, both legs bandaged. He’d experienced burns mostly there, but a few minor burns on the stomach as well.

Both of you weren’t looking at each other, although you were itching to scream at him.

But then he did it first. Sort of.

“What were you thinking?”

You rolled your eyes as you continued to look at your own feet.

“I should be the one asking you that.’

“I was making the only decision that could have been made at that point in time.”

You just scoffed. “You can’t be serious.” You looked up at him now, and he still had that small frown, even in rest.

“I did what I had to,” he said strongly.

“Just because you’re a super soldier doesn’t mean you just go ahead and take all the brunt of it, for fuck’s sake. You’re not invincible!”

“And neither are you,” he shot back, finger jabbing in the air at your gown. 

“No, seriously, what the fuck was your plan?”

“My plan was to get you off the mine safe, protect myself before letting the mine blow, and then getting the fuck out of there.”

“You couldn’t have waited for back up?!”

“That asshole was already up and he definitely heard us,” Walker replied, vexed. “If he’d seen us out waiting on the mine he would’ve put a bullet in it then and there and neither of us would be breathing right now.”

“How do you know for sure? They were almost there!”

“I had to, alright?” He vaguely gestured at you, then him. “At least our situation was under our control!”

You let out a bitter laugh. “You mean our deaths?”

“Well, yeah!”

“Because that’s just so much better.”

“Oh, get out of here.”

You could just ‘tch’ in response, hanging your head down again. Silence filled the room once more. 

Out of curiosity, your gaze perked as you glanced at him, his tired stature, long, bandaged legs, the gauze just peeking out of his gown round his stomach, the scars on this neck, the scruffy beard you’d thought of a god-awful amount of times…

Fucking hell.

You slipped down from the bed, finding a wheeled stool and sitting on it before awkwardly sliding your way to his bed.

His head turned and an eyebrow raised as he saw you coming in, holding onto the edge of the mattress as you steadied yourself.

“Crazy ride, huh?”

You gave him an unimpressed look, before keeping an elbow on the bed by his thigh, resting your head loosely on it.

“You know, I really wanna keep yelling at you,” you said plainly. Walker sighed, and you raised a hand in mock defeat.

“But I won’t, okay?” 

“Great, yeah. Stay like that.”

“Can you shut up for a second?”

He glowered, then shrugged.

“Good boy.”

He was back to glowering at you again.

“I just… I need you to stop trying to kill yourself,” you said, and you did not expect so much emotion to flow through those words as you said them.

Him neither, it seemed, because his eyes softened, brows relaxing just a little. Then he let out a huff, a half-laugh, and you tsked for the 100th time.

“I’m being serious, Walker.”

“Oh, we’re back to Walker now?” he said suddenly, eyes flashing something. Something weird.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “John.”

He smirked. It was maddening, but you let him have his victory. Mostly because it was hot.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be brave,” you continued, eyes still on the bedframe. “I’m just saying… if you keep throwing yourself in the fire every time things go to shit, you’re gonna burn out before anyone can pull you back.”

Walker’s fingers twitched over his sheets, before turning into a fist. 

“That was… eloquent.”

“I don’t know if it got through your skull, though.”

“It did.”

He was quick to respond, and it sounded as though his voice had slackened, considerably so.

Good.

You couldn’t help but look at his fist, and it was taking everything in you to not slip your own fingers in between the crevices.

Then you heard the soft whisper of ‘I’m sorry’ leave his mouth, and you had to look away, because it did things to you.

“Don’t do that, that’s very out of character for you,” you said, and he chuckled that low, rumbly chuckle of his.

“I mean it, though.”

You nodded. “I.. I know. It’s fine.”

Slowly, you looked back at his face, and had a little bit of a miniature heart attack when you saw that he was already looking at you, blue eyes uncharacteristically vulnerable.

Inevitably, your eyes dropped to his lips, and you laughed a little.

“Jesus, those lips are dry,” you mumbled, still grinning. “Didn’t know mines sucked the moisture out from there too.”

Walker squinted his eyes, huffing in amusement. “Why, do you wanna do something about it?”

It took a second for the sentence to make proper sense to you, and when it did you wrinkled your nose instantly, shooting him a look of utter shock.

“That is disgusting, John, who taught you to speak like that?”

He shrugged. “Oops.”

You didn’t stop staring, though. Now there were weird, very wrong, and extremely dangerous thoughts swirling in your head. 

He actually said that.

The words slipped your mouth before you knew it.

“Do you mean that?”

Walker looked mildly perplexed.

“Mean what?”

You couldn’t tell if he was acting dense or actually just that.

“What– what you just said.”

He gave you a long, incomprehensible look. Then he swallowed, jaw flexing.

“Yeah.”

It felt a little bit like when you saved him from the mine, but less rushed, with more intent. 

You stood up, hand cupping his face, palms brushing against his beard as you kissed him, lips melding with his, leaning almost entirely into him.

Your teeth clacked once, then your mouths fell into a rhythm as he started kissing back, and it destroyed you, inside out.

Your cheeks felt like you were back on that field, fiery and warm, while your free hand climbed up his chest, fingers splaying against the covered flesh. 

His own hands snaked around your waist, careful not to touch your burns, before one of them came up to grip your chin, and he pulled you deeper, further into the kiss with a strength that sent chills down your spine.

The feeling of his mouth, his calloused hands, the roughness of his ragged beard grazing against your skin, the golden locks in between your fingers, it was all far too much, and it felt just right.

It was hot, messy, but slow, and most importantly heavy, with all the words unsaid, the thanks, the apologies, the times you’d wanted to kiss him just like this, as if no one else existed in this world, and only him, and his gaze and his warm hands, and even warmer mouth–

He pulled away, heaving a breath, but his hand remained on your chin, then slid over your cheek to hold onto your face as if you might float away otherwise.

He looked at you with wide eyes, almost completely disarmed.

You swallowed, his taste still distinct in your mouth.

“Was that okay?” you murmured.

He looked like he’d forgotten how to speak.

“Yeah,” he finally managed.

There was a sudden beep outside and you scrambled to sit your ass back down on the seat, but the wheels got naughty and–

“Fucking– ow,” you whined, as your back slammed against the wall with a dull thud.

The doctor stared with a rather lukewarm look at you.

Walker winced on your behalf as well, clearing his throat.

“You good?” The doc asked. 

Ohohoho, she thought she was so funny.

You heard Walker chortle and you shot him the coldest look, mouthing, “I’ll deal with you later.”

His lips curled into a smile, and you knew you were going to be a wreck in the next few hours.

pls let me know in dms or reblog if you guys wanna be tagged in my future fics <3

[likea-silhouette]

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

rating: mature | heavy making out, angst, mentions of addiction and past relationship.

word count: 7.5k

summary: Harry was once the boy you loved and wanted to spend your life with. The funny thing is that addiction is something that is never predicted. What happens when you run into your ex-boyfriend years after your breakup that was due to his vices? a/n: Sorry this took AGES for me to put together and send out into the world. Life was insane the past couple of months--but! this is the second to last chapter in this series - you've been warned lol. Seriously, thanks everyone for reading. This part is verrryyy angsty, but also very soft - enjoy

*based on the song Complex by Katie Gregson-MacLeod* Taglist: @maudie-duan @kiwitsayedsugar @imaginexxharry @wheredidmyeyesgo @georgiarose94 @secretisme @drewrry @fratzayn @spinninc

Read from the beginning - Series Masterlist

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday all passed by in a blur. Work kept you busy, alongside the mundane tasks that come with adulthood, like cooking and cleaning. When you weren’t working or doing any of those dreadful errands and chores, you were talking to Harry - something you thought you’d never be saying in the present day. Between waking up to good morning texts, to sending little tidbits about either of your day, it felt normal for both of you to slip into this..whatever this was.

It all felt eerily similar. In a way, it even felt like riding a bike. Both of you talking in between your daily lives felt like a skill that was once mastered. So mastered, now it was effortless to recall and perform, even after the long period spent apart from one another.

This past week made you realize how emaciated you were of his attention. How desperate you were to drink from his words as if you’d spent a decade in a desert in search of the one thing that could quench your thirst. This feeling was comfort.

This feeling was safety, belonging even. On the other hand, in the back of your mind, you had massive doubts and rudely worded anxieties that made you question-what if this was all one-sided? Why on earth would Harry entertain anything with you again when he was busy traveling the world, attending events, making movies-why the fuck would he care about you as much as you had found yourself caring about him lately? 

As you stood in the entryway of your closet, you couldn’t help but let your thoughts take over and enter your task of picking out an outfit for dinner tonight with Harry. You felt like a hypocrite. Years later-after you broke everything off with him, now you were the one tittering on a line of begging on your hands and knees to just get something as simple as a hug and hello from him. Here, your thoughts really began to spiral.

What if you were wrong? What if you overreacted all of those years in the past?

You even found yourself wondering if Harry’s addiction really was all that bad, or if, in the heat of the moment, it just felt really, very bad. On the contrary, that other little voice in your head-the angel that sat on your shoulder across from the devil-was there to reassure your decisions regarding yours and Harry’s relationship. Back then, Harry was your absolute everything. In order for you to pack up your shit, leave, and never speak to him again-that wasn’t easy for you. It was one of the most painful and difficult conclusions you’d had to come to. You remembered that discomfort as if it were yesterday. 

You breathed a sigh of relief as your hand graced the fabric of a shirt, the texture bringing you back into your body as you relished in the senses the silk left on your finger tips. You nodded your head, reassuring yourself with some gentle self-parenting. Two things can be true. You can desire Harry more than anything in the world and crave that affection again and again until the end of time. However, it doesn’t erase that what Harry did in the past was wrong. You reminded yourself how this current Harry was a slightly altered one of the version you broke things off with. In fact, he quite reminded you of the Harry you knew when you two first met. If it was easy to fall for him back then, why should now be any different? A medium-volume tone rang from your phone, which was sitting on top of a nearby table. You cursed under your breath as the familiar alarm you’d set for yourself to ensure you wouldn’t be late sounded throughout your apartment.

“God damn it”, you huffed as you glanced at your empty hands. You hadn’t even picked a single piece of clothing to wear yet, and that alarm signified you needed to leave in five minutes. By some grace from some god-you were able to throw something halfway decent together and smooth the fabric over your body. Quickly, you walked towards your front door as your eyes examined your form one last time before giving a nod in semi-approval. Your keys twirled around your finger as you briskly walked to your car. 

The moment you sat in the driver's side with the door closed and the key turned in the ignition, that’s when the anxiety began to race in your mind ten times as much as before. __________________________________

As if today couldn’t have been more stressful, you had to fucking parallel park in one of the most nightlife of all nightlife neighborhoods in the city. Sweat trickled from your forehead to your done-up eyebrows. You dabbed a napkin ever so slightly to soak up some of the liquid that fell on your brow amid your nervousness.

Like clockwork, your phone buzzed in the middle compartment of your car. You already knew who it would be. “I’m here. When you get to the host, just tell them your name and they’ll know where to take you. Can’t wait to see you. H x” You wore a smitten look as you typed in a quick response from the driver's side of your parked car.

“I just parallel parked for you. I hope you know that.” As Harry sat in the back of the restaurant, he felt the vibration in his pants pocket. An amused chuckle quietly vibrated in his chest. His fingers soon were tapping in a reply. “How do you still not know how to parallel park when you live in the city?” Harry smirked to himself at his clever reply as he moved to tuck his phone back in his pocket. That is until he was interrupted by the sound of someone's throat clearing. His mind found a moment of fear at the thought that it was a fan or someone else who dared to ruin this night he so intricately had planned with you. However, the person who brought him a moment of panic was actually the very person he had curated this night for. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as his green eyes met yours. He tried his hardest, but ultimately failed as he succumbed to his desires, as his eyes took you in and froze on the parts of your body that he found to be especially pleasing to the eye. You were beautiful, not that he ever doubted you wouldn’t be. “Hey,” you timidly responded as you moved locks of your hair further away from your face. In the most gentlemanly of all manners, Harry stood to his feet and took a step towards you. A boyish grin perforated his facial features as his hands settled inside of the deep pockets in the front of his pants. “I see you made it even after having to parallel park.” You rolled your eyes as a single laugh exited your mouth, “Barely. Be happy I didn’t give up after my first attempt and just drive back home.” “First attempt? Were there other attempts?” Harry asked, already knowing the answer to your truly tragic parking skills, or lack thereof. “Shut up”, you playfully smacked Harry’s shoulder with the back of your hand as neither of you held eye contact in shared amusement. After moments of silence and looks of admiration, both of you took your seats. However, you couldn’t help but sneak in a once-over as your eyes descended from the top of Harry’s head to the bottom of his feet.

He was wearing a mix of fashion and comfortability. A plain colored shirt adorned his chest as a pair of slacks and a black belt hit him midwaist, clinging to his lower half in all of the preferred places. The hem of his pants just barely kissed the marble floor that was underneath a pair of addidas sneakers that looked nearly fresh from the box. God-he looked expensive and handsome. “I take it you like my outfit?” Startled out of your trance, your eyes looked as if they were going to bulge out of your head as they landed on Harry’s humored expression.

You were quick to put on the bravest face of them all and drop a witty reply.

“Could use some work”, you spoke with a fake wince and tilt of your head that Harry nearly believed. If it weren’t for your straight-lined lips upturning to an amused smile, Harry would’ve started asking you for fashion advice right then and there. “I’m joking.” “No shit”, Harry spoke as his mouth hovered over the top of his glass of water. Humored, you shook your head as your fingers squeezed the lemon that once sat on the edge of your glass, and allowed its juices to drip into your water.

“Someone's in a mood today”, you joked as Harry wore a smug grin and gulped down his sip of water

Suddenly, a mischievous phrase struck his thoughts and dared him to speak it. Who was he to deny himself a little banter? “Like the mood you were in last Sunday night?” Your eyes watched Harry in confusion as he flipped through the menu with eyes that spoke of a secret little joke that only he was in on. Silently, you sat, trying to analyze his words and what he was getting at. 

Ever so often, Harry’s eyes would leave the menu to look at your squinted ones; he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a small chuckle at your puzzled expression.

Last Sunday night-at the party? You thought you had been acting pretty normal and, if you were being honest, much more reserved than norm- Mid-sentence, it hit you. The text messages. He was talking about the suggestive texts you and him had shared the night of your reunion. The ones that spread heat along your inner thighs and sent a small, yet powerful symphony of pleasure. Your thighs instinctively pressed together under the table-you were thankful Harry couldn't see your attempt at easing some pressure in the most discreet way possible. Both of your eyes met-Harry’s mixed with the perfect balance of mischievous and something deeper, much more passionate and starved. Thankfully, a waiter spared you having to conjure up some sort of reply to Harry’s teasing. Or at least, deliver him a response right away. You knew Harry well enough to know he wouldn’t let you get away without discussing the nature of your messages that occurred nearly a week ago.

He always did enjoy getting a rise out of you. Harry delivered his order first to the waiter, buying you just enough time to scan through the folded brochure-like object that you hadn’t even looked through yet. After deciding on the first thing you saw that sounded appetizing, your order was spoken to the waiter and once each of your orders were sorted, with a friendly smile, the waiter set off for the next table of customers. Leaving you and Harry alone yet again. His eyes returned to boring back into yours. Harry still wore a facial expression that was dripping with playful arrogance. “What?”, you shyly questioned as you busied your nervous hands by laying the fabric napkin on your lap. “Oh, nothing”, Harry said as he rested his elbows on the top of the table, his chin now resting on the top of his hands that were folded together. “Elbows on the table? At a restaurant of this price range?”, you teased in an attempt to draw the conversation in a different direction. It worked, but only partially. Harry shrugged silently as his eyes watched you-much more amused and mesmerized by you than his fucking elbows and this overpriced restaurant. He couldn’t help but have lingering eyes that he couldn’t pry away even if he tried his hardest. It made a heat wave spread to your face.

“I missed you.” You scoffed playfully, “It’s been less than a week Harry.” “But before that, it was years. Too many years.” A surge of energy wreaked havoc on your body as it began to tremble with a small pulse, yet you could still feel it was there, just barely. “Is that why you asked me to dinner tonight?” Harry leant back to slouch in his chair. His arms crossed in front of his chest as he simply watched and pondered your question. “I asked you for a lot of reasons.” “Like what?” “Too many to list.” You pressed further, “Then give me a couple.” Harry sighed, this time being the one to feel the nervous energy through him as he was tasked with telling the barest of truths. “Alright, number one”, Harry held up a single finger in the air as you watched in amusement. “I missed you-” “You already said that one!” “So what?” Harry protested with a grin on his face. “So it doesn’t count if I already know.” “Hmmm, I don’t remember you giving me rules.” “Harry!” you spoke loudly, too loud for a place of this caliber. Nervously, you looked around as you brought your glass up to your lips and took a sip of the clear liquid. “You always did love screaming my name.” “Ohmyfuckinggod”, you mumbled quickly under hushed breath. “You can’t say shit like that in public!”

“Where can I say it then? My place after dinner?” This man, I swear to God. “Is this one of your reasons for asking me to dinner?” Harry quirked his eyebrow in amusement, “It is nice to have dinner with someone who gets my sarcasm. So…maybe it is.” You took the compliment as you raised the glass up to your lips again, draining it of all of the remaining beverage. “I’m surprised you didn’t get wine.” Years apart and he still knew your drink of choice when eating at a sit down restaurant. “I didn’t want to drink in front of you because…you know”, you paused. “I just didn’t want to trigger you or anything-” Before you could finish your sentence, Harry gave a single nod that featured a knowing glance and a small, weak smile.

He could feel his insides melt at the thoughtfulness on your part. A smile dared to spread along his lips as he spoke, “You don’t have to do that, really. I don’t miss drinking at all anymore. So happy I don’t have to deal with another hangover ever again.”

You nodded, fully believing his words, yet still not completely convinced that drinking in front of him was the wisest idea. “I bet, but really-i’m fine. Alcohol isn’t a necessity for me to enjoy dinner with a friend.” Harry felt a ping of joy hit him in the center of his heart. “So we’re friends?”. His voice was as soft as cashmere.

“I mean, yeah. Only if that’s okay.” “I would really like to be friends”, Harry answered quickly with bright pupils.

His hand fidgeted like it wanted to reach out towards you and rest the palm of your hand on top of his. He could picture it perfectly in his head-how your soft skin would feel on his and how you’d smile and rub your thumb along his palm. Harry sighed to himself out of foolish thinking and moved his eyes back up to yours.

Thankfully, the waiter arrived with food in hand. The perfect opportunity for a much-needed change of subject.

The energy was bright and cozy despite the low-lit lighting in the restaurant. Steam rose up from either of your plates as you eyed them with mouths agape.

“What did you order again?”

“Eggplant Parmigiana.” 

Harry hummed in approval as you moved your eyes over to his plate, which was full of noodles and a light colored sauce, garnished with variously colored vegetables.

“How do you feel about-” “Going half and half?” Harry finished for you. You smiled and nodded.

“Just like old times.” “Just like old times,” Harry reiterated as he shoveled a helping of pasta onto your plate as you dug your fork and knife into the perfectly crisped and breaded eggplant.

Both of you dived into your entrees that were now complemented by half of the other person's dinner plate. 

Harry watched with curious eyes as you took the first bite, holding his breath as if this was the food he cooked with his bare hands and was facing life or death based on your outcome. 

Really, he just wanted tonight to be perfect for you.

You moaned as the sauce mixed with the fried vegetables and noodles hit your tongue, sending a flurry of spices and seasonings that mixed in the best way possible.

“Good?” Harry chuckled, though your reaction made it pretty clear how you felt about your choice.

You nodded with a mouth still chewing. “Sooo fucking good”, you spoke the swear softly once the food had gone down your throat.

The rest of the meal went by as you might have guessed. Both of you commenting on the other's food, even giving star ratings and discussing what would’ve done it better, or how it was a perfect piece of culinary art. As much as your taste buds would’ve loved for you to devour the entire plate in one sitting, your aching stomach just wouldn’t allow it.

You peered over the middle of the table at Harry’s plate, which looked nearly identical to yours-clearly eaten through, yet paused because his stomach was saying enough is enough.

“Do we need to-go boxes?” the waiter said, slyly maneuvering the covered check onto the table in the middle of both of you.

“Yes, two please. Thank you”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Harry’s ringed hand clutch the black checkbook in his hand, not even bothering to look at the receipt that he knew he would afford. He simply slid his card in the slot provided on the inside of the check booklet. It all happened so fast. Before you could even protest about the check, the waiter had dropped off two to-go boxes and picked up the checkbook. “Can I pay for half of it, please?” “No, but thanks for asking”, Harry replied sarcastically, making you roll your eyes with a small smile as he nonchalantly tucked his card back inside his wallet.

“You’re insufferable.” “Yet here you are having dinner with me. I can’t be all that bad.” You could tell Harry felt comfortable tonight. More comfortable than he had been at Nadia’s, but it would be pretty damn hard to be comfortable when an ex was attending the same party as you.

“I guess you’re fine.” “Fine in what way?” Harry teased, the tip of his tongue barely peeking from between his closed teeth.

“Dear god Harry”, you murmured with a tone of annoyance, when really, you felt happier than you had been in…you couldn’t even remember when.

Suddenly, a feeling of dread came over you as you delved deep in thought. The plans for the night were over, making your time with Harry coming closer to a close for the night-or so you thought.

”Do you happen to have time to get ice cream with an insufferable person?” Harry muttered, keeping his eyes fixated on his hand that was pinching the fabric tablecloth. He seemed nervous. It was cute.

Harry’s eyes moved as he saw you in his peripheral vision. Nonchalantly, you glanced at the imaginary watch fitted around your wrist. You winced, making Harry shake his head at your antics. The beloved antics he missed so fucking much.

“You’re in luck, I...”, your eyes met his as you trailed off. Harry could feel his heart start beating twice as fast. “-just barely can fit in ice cream with an insufferable person.”

You finished off the conversation with a teasing grin as you and Harry stood to your feet, gathered your personal belongings, and headed for the main entrance. 

The city was quiet tonight, minus the ever-present traffic that seemed to always be in surplus regardless of what hour of the day it was. But you didn’t mind, especially when you were in the company of the person who made you feel like a high schooler with the most massive crush.

“This way”, Harry mumbled as his body turned slightly in the direction of the ice cream parlor. 

The walk was decently quiet, yet comfortable. Harry took the lead on the route, seeing as you had no idea where this place was. His jacket was zipped up to the center of his chest-you admired how it fit his upper body perfectly as he slipped his hands-that were once tucked away in his pockets-down to his sides.

Unfortunately, this peaceful moment would hit a roadblock. All because of a single flash bulb lighting up the dark sky.

Harry’s eyes flickered around his surroundings in search of the utter piece of garbage that was most likely hiding in a bush with a camera strap around his neck and a lens that was nearly a foot long.

That very rubbish wasn’t hard to spot as he stood leaning against a light post, very obviously zooming his camera in on both of you.

”I’m sure everyone will love those”, you tried to lighten the mood, sensing Harry was feeling a light breeze of anger towards the pap.

At the sound of your voice, his attention drifted from the man with the camera and back to you as he slipped you a soft smile. His chest visibly sighed as he looked in your direction.

“I can see the headline now. Harry Styles back with his ex-girlfriend”, Harry voiced jokingly with dramatic hands that smoothed an invisible horizontal line out in front of him.

“Kinda’ has a nice ring to it, don't ‘cha think?” you said with an emboldened feeling in your chest, yet your eyes didn’t dare to look him in the eyes as you said it. A blanket of silence fell over both of you for a moment as Harry stood, mouth agape and eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. “Yeah, I guess it does”, he nibbled his lower lip the moment the words got out. Harry mimicked your eyes that stared straight ahead. Ever so often, both of your hands would brush along the other. Neither of you pulled your hands away; instead, either of your limbs remained at your side as both of you allowed your hands to continue brushing across the others with every stride your legs made.

The rest of the nighttime stroll was a quiet one. The only noise being cars honking at one another in the distance and the crunch of your and Harry’s shoes as they traveled on the sidewalk. Eventually, you and Harry ended up in the brightly painted parlor as you recited your favorite orders to the cheery employee who had to hide the starstruck gasp from falling out of her mouth at the sight of Harry. Soon, both of you were walking out of the front door that rang with a soft bell with two waffle cones in hand. Again, silence started at first, but this time, ice cream was a great and very valid excuse for the quiet between the two of you. The moan that slipped ever so faintly from your lips at the first lick of the ice cream went unnoticed by you. For Harry, his ears immediately perked up at the soft, breathy noise as it released from between your open mouth. In his peripheral vision, he watched the way your soft pink tongue licked a stripe of the creamy desert - a drip of your favorite flavor falling on your bottom lip as you practically made out with the thing. Harry was embarrassed at how much it got a rise out of him; he could already feel a bulge begin to grow in his pants as his mind sifted through memories where your lips and tongue had been doing similar actions, except not on a frozen food item.

“How’s yours? You’ve barely touched it.” Your voice forced Harry to gather himself as he turned his face towards and glanced at the cone in his hand that was beginning to melt and seep into the palm of his hand. Quickly, he brought the desert to his lips and nodded in pleasure, but really, he was just saving face. Not that the ice cream wasn’t good - in fact, it was Harry’s favorite - more so, he had to shove away the reason he hadn’t touched his ice cream. It wouldn’t be very gentleman-like for him to admit he was picturing your lips around his-

“This is so fucking good. Holy shit.” Again, Harry did damage control that he hoped you weren’t aware he had to do in the first place. “Always is”, he said with a playful arrogance as the two of you continued walking until eventually ending up at a nearby park. The street lamps were warm, soft bulbs that cast the perfect hue that wrapped around the trees and park benches. You stood silent and took it all in, all the while Harry was taking you in with eyes that begged to know more. More about the time both of you were a part. More about the fact that he missed you every god damn day, despite everyone telling him in time he’d get over it. He never, ever got over you. 

“Can I ask you something that’s a little bit vain?” Your eyes focused on Harry as you noted he stopped walking and was now standing in front of you with his feet firmly planted on the ground.

“Sure?” you phrased as a question; Harry noted your suspicion right away as his mouth created a low, hummed chuckle.

”Did you ever think about me? You know- after you left, did you ever wonder what I was up to?” You snickered, “You’re right, that is very vain.” Harry tilted his head to the side and bit down on his bottom lip to hide his embarrassed smile. Though his expression was innocent in nature, you felt it go straight to the place between your thighs. “So is that a yes?” he reiterated, this time his eyes moved to his shoes as they kicked at an invisible object. Anything to make it look as if he was pursuing something else entirely, instead of anxiously waiting for your answer. Your mind traveled in time, re-living how long it took for you to even allow your fingers to tap out his name on a keyboard, let alone see his face on a screen. But it was difficult to shut him out of your life completely - he was everywhere, and not just as in “everywhere” in the media, though that part was also very true.

Harry lingered on your comforter that he swore was the ugliest shade of mauve he’d ever seen, yet always managed to steal out of your grip when you both shared a bed in your apartment that you once cohabited in. His smell still clung to your favorite sweatshirt… that was technically his sweatshirt, but you practically adopted it with how often you reached for the fabric and draped it over your frame. You washed the thing countless times, dosing it in various scent boosters and laundry detergents, yet he never disappeared - no matter how much you desperately wanted him to. ”It took me a while-”, you started honestly, “-but eventually…yeah..I looked into what you were up to and who you were up to.”

“Ah, is this the part where you roast my taste in romantic partners?” You shrugged. “I’ll keep my thoughts to myself on that one”, you spoke with a tease dripping from your tongue. Harry’s shoulders bounced up and down as he chuckled softly. “So what did you find during your mild stalking?”

“Oh, you wish, don’t you?” you rolled your eyes, yet didn’t completely give him a yes or no answer.

After a moment of pause, you continued.

”It was mild most of the time…unless I was drunk, or if it was Valentine's Day. That’s when I said fuck it.” Your tone was casual and humored - you could’ve sworn it would do the trick in masking the real emotions you felt on those nights where you missed him and that type of love that both of you shared. Harry saw right through the cover as he nodded solemnly with a soft expression. “That’s understandable.” You felt a shift in tone - now something sad-something painful-wrapped itself around both of you as you continued strolling along the night-lit street. You did your best to alleviate the mood and shift it back into the gear of friendly conversation you were both in early tonight. ”I think the thing that made me the happiest is when I saw you being happy.” Harry couldn’t hide his rose colored cheeks even if he tried. A smile wore itself well on his pink lips as he watched you out of the corner of his eye. “The photos of you on tours and stages - you looked so happy and content. I could tell you were doing really well, and that made me happy to see you like that.”

Harry knew you meant nothing but good nature, but what you didn’t know is the people he buried himself into just to cover up how much his heart hurt from the absence of you. How he wrote song after song about you, hoping and fucking praying that he would finally get you out of his system, only for his once nearly empty cup to again feel as if it were on the edge of overflowing with thoughts of you. Yes, some of those smiles were real. It wasn’t as if he never had anything good happen to him since or that he hadn’t felt an ounce of joy since the night you left. But what the photos could never convey is the regret he lived with daily. Suddenly, Harry felt sadness take over his once smitten ego. A sense of frustration and anger all swirled into a blizzard that begged to snow him in and have him buried underneath it for years and years to come.

What was he doing? Why was he entertaining this and you-as if you were something he could simply just have back after a night of sorry’s spoken. You deserved more than that. You deserved the fucking world. “Everything okay?” you asked with worry on your face as you watched Harry rake his nails through the hair on top of his head absentmindedly. He sighed audibly as his feet suddenly stopped their subconscious pacing. He turned his back on you and dug his heels into the ground, hoping it would somehow provide him with some feeling of stability again. “Harry?” you questioned again, only to be met with his gritted voice. “I can’t believe I could be this stupid.” Your brow crinkled in confusion, “What? Why are you-You’re not stupid.” you stuttered, watching the way Harry was clearly beginning to spiral inside of these thoughts-a look you had come to know well. “Why are you here with me?” he said suddenly with a tone filled with sorrow, as opposed to anger. “Why did you agree to this when... after everything I’ve-”, Harry couldn’t even get the words out as his breath began to come out in pants. “Hey, hey. Look at me”, you pleaded as your hands reached out to hold either side of his face.. He almost gave in. He wanted to succumb to the warmth and comfort of you, but he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve you. As Harry pulled away, your mouth fell along with gravity, in shock. You took a step back and examined your ex-boyfriend as he stood, clearly in a battle with whatever storm was forming in his thoughts. This felt personal-something so personal, you felt bad bearing witness to such a deeply intimate feeling of grief and frustration. “Do you want me to leave?” Your words made Harry’s panic suddenly stop, and his head turn in your direction. His eyes spoke volumes to you - they were reddened with tears that threatened to leak from his eyes, yet he didn’t quite dare to in front of you. Somehow, the green hue of his pupils still looked beautiful, even amongst the pain that was evident on his face. Harry’s eyes peered up towards the star-filled sky as he took a large breath in and out, before moving his sight back to you again. Cautiously, he walked closer until the tips of his shoes nearly kissed the tips of your own. He spoke with shakiness in his voice, “I don’t want you to leave.” His voice much softer and calmer than moments ago. “I just-I just want you to stop making me want you again when I can’t have you.” You could’ve sworn you heard Harry’s voice break towards the end, but he was quick to clear his throat and lower his head, making his expression hidden from your eyes. Over and over, you turned his last statement around and around in your brain-trying to see if you misheard or misread anything. “What did you say?” you said in disbelief. Surely you had to have heard him wrong. Yes, both of you had been, what some could possibly call “flirty” with one another. Yes, tonight you were on something that appeared to be a date with him. It wouldn’t be completely incorrect to say both of you were using tonight as a test run into the  ‘what if’, yet everything felt too good to be true. Things like this weren’t that easy to fix–were they? Your ex-boyfriend and you have a reunion, magically fall in love again, and live happily-ever-fucking-after. That’s how the fairytales say it always goes, but this wasn’t folklore. This was real, and it felt foolish to even imagine that something like that could happen. Yet, your mind couldn’t stop grasping onto the concept of all of this somehow going your way-just as the storybooks said it would. “Can you just-”, Harry began, but fought an inner battle within himself on whether he should say the question he desperately sought the answer to. At the same time, he feared the answer that you would give more than anything. That alone threatened him to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the evening, but he couldn’t keep it in any longer. 

“Tell me you don’t feel it too--just please--please tell me we’re never going to happen again so I can get the thought out of my head.” The seal had finally been punctured with a stab wound. The elephant in the room that you and Harry had both been conscious of, yet afraid to bring up until now, was free roaming. All you could do was stare at him and try to get a hold of the upward and downward movement of your chest that was quickening by the millisecond. “Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.” Harry’s nostrils flared as his eyes looked at nothing in particular, as they blurred the world behind you together. “No”, your voice was coarse-so rough, it made Harry’s eyes widen as he re-focused on your stern face. “You don’t get to say how much you want me and then say this meeting up and getting dinner thing was a bad idea Harry. That’s not how this is going to go.” Harry was quick to jump in. “We’re over, so why does it matter to you any-” “If we’re really over, then why do you still look at me like that?” you interrupted, knocking the wind out of Harry’s chest, making his previous thoughts fall off the cliff's edge. With tears now streaming down your face, you continued. “Do you know how hard it is to keep my composure when you look at me like I’m the seventh wonder of the world? Do you, Harry? Because-let me tell you-it’s the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever had to do. This restraining myself from someone who clearly still loves me as much as I love them is so fucking hard, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”

As if on cue-triggered by a switch, the moment a wave of raw emotion and honesty swept over the night-a single rain drop tapped on your forehead as the last word lolled off your tongue. Then another, and another, until a steady stream of rain began growing until it reached pour down status. If this were any ordinary night, you would’ve cared about the rain touching your locks and creating a halo of frizz around the shape of your head, or your outfit getting dampened to the point where you knew you’d have to throw it in the wash as soon as you got home and found solace in a freshly clean pair of pajamas. But tonight wasn’t ordinary. It was anything but. And you weren’t sure how you felt about it. On one hand, there was some sort of closure happening here. Both of you now knew what the other was thinking and feeling during your time apart. You were no longer left to wonder if he gave you a speck of thought after you’d left, and Harry now knew you had been craving him just as much as he was craving your love that entire time. The hardest part was, what do you do after all of that is out in the open? There wasn’t a guide to this sort of thing. No college course or easy resolution. Probably a self-help book or two--but even then, yours and Harry’s situation was so uniquely both of yours, it was hard to know what the right move was from here. Or, if there even was a right move to begin with. You weren’t sure how long you’d both stood in front of each other in that dimly lit park that was now misted with rain, but one thing you were sure of was that you loved this man with all of your heart. Everything that happened in the past-it didn’t matter to you when you could so clearly see that he was a changed person who felt real remorse and recognized his wrongdoings. When you both first gave love a real shot, you were still fresh into adulthood with a far greater amount of childhood in either of you than the maturity that real-life, adult experiences naturally came with age. Harry knew he fucked up beyond belief. He recognised that he had a problem, and he worked to fix everything that he could when it came to his addiction. So why was it so hard to allow himself to fix what once bloomed between the two of you? And you. Why couldn’t you rationalize that he actually wanted you despite having an unlimited amount of resources when it came to wealth, material items, sex--basically anything he could ever want in life? Yet, here he was on a weekend evening with you, baring himself completely and feeling that shame that he couldn’t shed even with a lifetime worth of therapy. His biggest mistake was becoming the reason for your unhappiness. But how could he right that big of a wrong? Something he’d found himself repeating in his mind over and over as he got ready for tonight. The only true way to know was to give it his best shot. “Can I kiss you?” Harry’s words were sudden and whispered, like he was afraid the moment might shatter if he spoke them too loudly. Everything felt so vulnerable and sensitive, like a ticking time bomb that was teetering on the edge of explosion and annihilation. That’s what the potential of losing you felt like.  You stared at him, unreadable to Harry, yet you knew exactly what you felt. You were staring at someone who wasn’t just your person, but your favorite story that held a plot that you’ve been rereading since forever and still kept finding parts to fall in love with, even amongst the trauma and heartbreak.

He was a sacred book that you were daring to read through for the billionth time, except this time, you never wanted to put it down. Not now that you knew what life was like without him.

Your feet moved quickly–you weren’t sure if you walked, ran, or jogged– until your arms were wrapped around Harry’s neck and your lips were urgently pressed against his.

You know those moments that people talk about when it comes to a first kiss with someone? How does it feel like the world is stopping and your mind is completely empty except for the feelings of the present, and how this person is making you feel?

That’s what this felt like.

It wasn’t yours and Harry’s first kiss, of course, but, in a sense, it was. This kiss was coming from the same people, yet these two very people were different than who they were when they first kissed, fell in love, crashed, and ended.

Harry’s hands moved desperately as they clutched the fabric of the clothes that clung to your waist. He gripped you as if you were his life-saving measure–in some ways, that's exactly what you were for him.

Your lips parted briefly to take in air, and Harry instantly pulled your body closer to his and reconnected his mouth to yours. Your lips, still firmly locked with Harry’s, turned upwards into a smile.

The kiss naturally moved from its slow pace to something much less innocent, yet still held all of the real, raw emotions either of you felt over the years.

Harry deepened the kiss by parting his lips, instantly making you repeat his gesture and rub your tongue along his lower lip. He was quick to allow you access as his hand slid up into your hair.

This kiss was hungry with neither of you coming up for air, even when it meant you were gasping between moving your mouths together.

The one thing that got both of you to pull apart was a stranger yelling “Get a room!”, making you and Harry finally pull apart with panting breath and smiles on your faces.

You looked out into the darkness of the park with a brief moment of startle that quickly faded the moment your eyes returned to Harry, who was already staring down at you. You both stared at the other with chests heaving sporadically and smiles that spread wide along either of your faces.

“Well…that was nice.”

You giggled and nodded as your fingers began to run along the texture of Harry’s hair that lived at the back of his neck.

“It was. It definitely was.” You agreed with a nod and a shy smile. Only now had you come to the realization that it was still raining and you and Harry were properly drenched in the water from the sky, head to toe.

Harry took notice of the weather at the same time as you, his hands flattening his stomach as he felt the damp material that was beginning to contour against his muscles.

“I guess we should get out of the rain.”

You nodded in agreement as you let your hands fall from around Harry’s neck, instantly making him feel the coldness in your loss of contact. He missed you already.

“Yeah, I guess so”, you said quietly, already hating the thought of having to leave Harry after everything that had occurred tonight.

“Is it out of line to ask if you want to come back to mine? Only because I live walking distance, and you can throw your clothes in my dryer.”

Your eyes narrowed as a smile graced your lips.

“Oh yeah, of course. Just for the dryer and close proximity. Nothing else”, you humored him.

“Yeah yeah–exactly! Nothing more.” Harry played along with a cheeky smirk.

The walk to Harry’s place felt blissful.

You and he, hands intertwined, clothes soaked with the earth's tears, and a comfortable silence lingering between you both–everything felt as if it were, indeed, a fairy tale.

The moment Harry shut his front door behind him, after you walked through the threshold, you couldn’t help yourself. Your body crashed into his as your arms wrapped around his neck, just as they had nearly an hour ago when revelations became reality. With a thud, Harry’s back hit the door as your lips obsessively moved against his. And at this very moment, he felt totally and utterly consumed by you–every little piece. His touch was featherlight as his hands moved to your waist and pulled you closer until both of your hips gently collided.

Your hands moved to cup both sides of his face, deepening the kiss that was quickly turning from what was once sweet and innocent into something more erotic and sloppy.

To Be Continued

[kii-nami]

SUNBURNT SOJOURNER, CRY OF TREASON | PHAINON

CHAPTER TWO: GOLD SPILLS OVER THE MEADOW

Only one day a month passed, and you came back, so close yet so strangely distant, stating you shall return to Castrum Kremnos come inevitable Month of Weaving. Cyrene giggled when Khaslana asked what was wrong and gleefully stated that you were finally in love. Bitter and somewhat shameful, Khaslana nodded silently. Or alternatively, love is the one true perfect fuel for the world-devouring kind of fury.

cw: 2.6k words; fem!mc with she/her pronouns; masterlist for this series can be found here; main masterlist; another @sewersaga ad as always; fujos please dni; phainon is referred to as khaslana in this one; mydei is mentioned here; character death; i am not a hsr lore scholar, i am simply evil; have a nice day and please interact

Ever since Khaslana could remember, the door of your house had screeching hinges. He offered to fix it more times than he could count, yet you always refused, claiming that even such an ear-piercing noise had some beauty to it. Khaslana never truly understood what was so enchanting about something so annoying, yet Cyrene relentlessly backed you up. All smiling and draped with a thin veil of mystery, she always agreed with you even if it was simply to spite him.

At some point Khaslana gave up arguing, grew used to the way the wood hissed when he would tiredly tug it open after a tough day of field work. He never even noticed when those troublesome screeches became a sign of safety. A comforting reminder that he was truly at peace in a home which the three of you – orphaned at a young age and left to your own devices – built together so carefully. It was always hard to make ends meet – Khaslana’s health far too frail and Cyrene’s history lessons in a local school far too cheap in price – everyone still did their part, contributing as much as they could.

You always took the burden of breadmaking on your shoulders, be it stealing his share of fieldwork or teaching the handful of little kids the art of music for a coin or two. Cyrene scolded you for it, yet you stood your ground until you got up and left for Okhema, returning a week later with a pouch full of coins and a basket full of fruit they had never seen before. Since then, you began leaving, missing for weeks on end, yet you would always return, exhausted yet relieved to finally be home.

Despite food never missing from the table any longer, Khaslana hated those trips of yours. A month of your stay at home felt far too short and you would always inevitably leave Aedes Elysiae with a goodbye kiss on a cheek for both him and Cyrene. Only a harp you and Cyrene put your souls into making, and a basket he spent nights weaving in your hands, you made yourself a name around Amphoreus as a wandering bard with a voice far too honeyed and a pen far too blessed for it to belong to a simple mortal.

Only one day a month passed, and you came back, so close yet so strangely distant, stating that you shall return to Castrum Kremnos come inevitable Month of Weaving. Cyrene giggled when Khaslana asked what was wrong and gleefully stated that you were finally in love. Bitter and somewhat shameful, Khaslana nodded silently.

He never asked you to stay, had no right to. Far too complacent in the idea of his silent feelings being heard, Khaslana simply forgot you were not obliged to wait for him forever. he forgot that there would inevitably come someone better, stronger, someone who could love you more and provide you with an easy life you deserve. Khaslana of Aedes Elysiae could not give you anything but the love he was so afraid to admit, lest it forever chained you to him with the hot white flame. And lightning was never meant to be tamed.

Now, years into your absence, the bitterness remained on his tongue even over a sour thought of what could have been. Overflowing with regret and riches that meant nothing without you by his side, Khaslana continued writing you letters, restrained and precisely worded as to not evoke the wrath of the man whom you gave up your whole life for yet the one who could never do the same to you until now. Cyrene rejected an invitation to your wedding, too much field work and Khaslana’s health far too frail to travel such a drastic distance on foot. You never insisted – always the knowing one – and simply promised to come for a visit with that Prince of yours as soon as the chance would fall into your hands.

Despite it all, Khaslana awaited your return with his weak heart thumping harder than ever.

The stained-glass windows reflected the merciless sunlight, flickers of pinks and purples dropped colorful shadows on the tall grass near the porch. The door hinges still creaked when he opened it, heavy steps echoing in the stillness of the house. A singing thud closely resembling a broken plate, Khaslana dropped his boots on the shoe rack, hastily peeking into the kitchen. Cyrene was standing, surrounded by broken glass pieces scattered all around her feet. Despite the smile still lingering on her face, the woman looked just as shattered as the glass she was carefully trying to gather with her bare hands.

“Cyrene?” Khaslana hated the labored raspiness that would never leave his voice, even when he tried leveling his breathing. It gave away his sickness and caught people of guard, and even now, Cyrene whipped her head towards him clearly spooked, if not absolutely terrified. “You're back already?” She opened her mouth, then closed it again, throwing a quick glance at the small dining table that could only ever fit three people. Cyrene must have realized her mistake, as she quickly tried to divert his attention elsewhere, yet Khaslana followed her line of sight, anyway. There sat a man, clad in armor and red robes, head hung low and eyes never leaving the worn cracks of the well-loved wooden table. It was so painfully obvious who this man was, yet Khaslana still hoped for a chance to be mistaken. “Who's this, Cyrene?”

Tongue running over her teeth, Cyrene bit her bottom lip. Her fingers were stained red, the glass by her feet was glowing crimson. Whatever she had to say, would change everything for the worst, Khaslana knew for sure. “Please sit.”

“I think I will stand, thank you,” it came out way harsher than he intended it to, yet Cyrene stood her ground, bleeding yet resilient as she always was.

“Please, Khaslana,” on the brink of desperation, Cyrene tugged on his sleeve. Stained in her blood, destined to forever carry it on his skin like a mark of a foreign god, Khaslana surrendered.  

Measured steps and heavy shoulders, there was something so utterly infuriating about sitting at the same table with the man who got you only because he was brave enough to voice his feelings without waiting for the right time. If anger was truly a sin, and then Khaslana hoped you would still lament him even if he fell.

“Happy?” A rhetorical question with a hint of accusation. Khaslana would regret it come the new dawn, yet now he could only wish that Cyrene understood. She did, as always. Washing the slowly drying blood off her hands and joining them at the table, a barricade between a slowly simmering rage and a scalding grief, threatening to burn everything in its wake.

“This is Mydeimos, the Prince of Castrum Kremnos,” Cyrene began, her little pause for a better choice of words was never left unnoticed, “And that’s Khaslana, I’m sure [Name] told you a lot about him.”

Without even lifting his head, motionless as a statue, the man all but gave away that no, you didn’t. Even those with no eyes could see that the prince knew nothing about your life here. Neither Khaslana nor Cyrene were familiar to him in any way, and what your tight lips meant could be two drastically different things. Only Khaslana could never think so lowly of you as to accuse you of keeping them like some shameful secret and not an oath of silence, forever guarding this safe haven amongst the golden wheatfields.

“So where’s [Name], then?” He asked, finally addressing the source of the looming tension.

No answer followed. Not that Khaslana truly needed one, anyway. All evident in Cyrene’s restless night and your unexpected letter addressed to her name only. You sent him a crystal a few moons ago. Deep blue, stuck with gold cracks like lightning flashes, it held the memory of your first meeting with him. You fell off the Courtyard rooftop, be it an accident or something that you wouldn’t dare to voice aloud for the rest of your life, but he caught you. Khaslana, you confided in Cyrene one night when you thought he was too far into sleep to hear you, changed your destiny for the better the second your hands touched on that rooftop. So surely, the most treasured moment of your life, entrusted to him for eternal safekeeping, was meant to be so much more than a simple reminder of his place in your life.

It was a goodbye. Cradled in clouds and written in golden blood, sealed with a gentle kiss to his sore cheek, but a goodbye, nonetheless.

While watching the broken glass, dusted in crimson droplets, this silence felt violent, it threatened to tear his ribcage open. So what else was he supposed to do, if not to destroy it, “She's dead, isn’t she?”

“I’m sorry,” Mydeimos’ voice was just like Khaslana imagined. Exhausted, hoarse, almost lost in between the winds of Cyrene’s flower garden. Khaslana despised fate and wished to tear the time apart just so Oronyx too, could mourn a loss of love.

“Where is she now?” Too cruel to be just a body, too real to call out your name. Khaslana hoped, even if he was underserving of it, Cyrene would continue being merciful to him at least at that moment. Whatever happened next, he would pay his price with no hesitation.

“I brought her to the Membrance Maze,” she whispered, examining the wounds on her fingertips. “It felt appropriate.”

Khaslana nodded. Yet whether it was in agreement with Cyrene’s statement or as a sign that he was still in a sane enough state to comprehend her words was unclear even for Khaslana himself. Cyrene watched Khaslana hesitantly, as his feet carried him out of the kitchen. Some of her words rang a lot like something resembling a warming, but the erratic beating of his heart overpowered reason. She caught up to him at the threshold, troubled with something far more than just your death. Maybe it was the cause of your untimely passing. Maybe it was the state of the body the prince brought home from the scorched battlegrounds of Castrum Kremnos. Maybe it was what little remained of it. There was no time for speculation when tomorrow was not promised.

The hinges screeched, Khaslana swatted Cyrene’s hand away before she could touch him.

“Don't.” Anger was scorching. Wide eyed, Cyrene took a step back. The hurt in her eyes brought Khaslana to his senses just enough for his blood to not evaporate. “I’m sorry…” An apology like this would never be enough, but there was simply no time for anything else. Cyrene understood. “Please don't follow me.”

The shattered glass was irreparable; red and gold never made for a good combination. Cyrene was left to clean up the mess of blood and glass. The flame could not be reaved soon enough.

A blur of passing time, Khaslana never truly remembered how he got to the Wondrous Woods, nor how he found the hidden passage that led him to the Membrance Maze. The fairies never bothered him, just watched him pass by with something that looked a lot like pity on their faces. And those who knew you best and stayed beside you in mourning, gave him the much-needed space.

Entombed in crystal-clear ice, you seemed almost alive. Gold and ruby soaked into the white of your wedding dress, it was so easy to let the anger feed the flame. To feel superior in all the dreams in which he was brave enough to ask you to stay. Poor and barely breathing, yet Khaslana knew he might not have been able to provide you with everything you deserved but he surely could have given you everything you wished for. A stable life and a family. The now spent with his name surrendered to you alone and the future in which you would never have to spend a moment in doubt of his devotion.

The prince, despite being chosen, was weak. Not in health but in spirit. He lacked the drive; he had no rage to fan the pyre of his love; he moved through life like he was sure that dawn would break, and night would fall. He was undying, and you were a mortal bleeding the brightest gold in times which hunted those that dared touching the heat of the sun.

It was so easy to blame Mydeimos. Yet Khaslana could not allow himself to, because he knew the truth. He could feel wronged by the man possessing the courage he lacked all he wanted, yet it would never change the fact that you were dead because Khaslana was a coward.

“You loved him enough to die there…” How hot his yearning burned, sizzling and suffocating, it almost made him feel like he was on fire. Khaslana leaned over your tomb, palm pressed against the ice, right where your heart would have surely still fluttered were he a better man deserving of you. “He loved you enough to bring you home to us and I couldn’t even ask you to stay…” Against his better judgment, Khaslana allowed himself to weep for the first time since his mother’s departure. The tears stung, Fog floating all over the dark woods, the ice was rapidly evaporating. “How dare I call my lukewarm efforts love yet still allow myself to feel so jealous over it?”

Calloused fingers grazing the softness of your cold skin, Khaslana held your body even when the burns taking the shape of his fingertips bloomed on your flesh. They vanished as soon as they appeared, bleeding gold only for it to freeze into ingots he would carefully gather for safekeeping. It seemed that Oronyx wept for you as well, for what other reason would They bless you with enough time for him to mourn you properly.

Come the sunrise, Cyrene found him still clinging to you. Not longer ablaze but simply burnt out like a faulty candle, Khaslana gave her a moment to grieve in lonesome. She seemed brighter after that, just a little bit more content with your choices than she had been yesterday yet still troubled by something he would never have the strength to comprehend. Maybe it was for the better that he never asked what exactly was bothering her.

They buried you amidst the wheat fields, close to the windmills and the house with those stained-glass windows that you would never return to. Only a patch of freshly dug soil covered by heaps of wheat as your eternal resting place, this never truly felt like the end. No sense of finality and no birth of new origin, Khaslana felt utterly lost in time.

“Cyrene,” his own voice seemed nothing more than a faraway echo, yet Khaslana heard Cyrene’s hum so clearly it almost ruptured his eardrums. “If I were to die. Be it this illness or old age, bury me next to her.”

Cyrene laughed, a humorless little chuckle that sounded like she too, was fighting tears, “Only if you do the same to me.”

“Of course,” it was a given, something she didn’t even have to ask for; not for as long as he had a say it forging his own lifepath. And yet, her question brought Khaslana some sense of reassurance that he didn’t even know he was hoping to find amidst this rustling halcyon sea.

“Then it's settled,” she smiled, a nod of her head serving as a seal to this vow. An unwilling witness, as silent as the rivers or parting, Mydeimos almost seemed like a ghost standing next to her.  “Our romantic story will end where it began.”

“With the three of us.”

Khaslana was never fair in the way he still held into anger. But just like his love, he too, bled gold.

[stlllle]

Seong Gi-hun Fluff Headcanon — Introducing You to His Daughter

Requested by: @cutecat2005

Pairing: Seong Gi-hun x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Comfort

Warnings: None, just pure sweetness

Word Count: ~3k

Note: Thank you so much for this lovely request! I absolutely adored writing this soft scenario for our sweet, chaotic Gi-hun. Hope it warms your heart 💖

[main list]

Masterlist squid game

How you met:

You met Gi-hun at a small, quiet coffee shop near his workplace.

He was having the worst day of his life: missed his bus, spilled coffee on his shirt, and forgot his wallet at home.

You, being the absolute angel you are, noticed him fumbling and offered to pay for his drink without a second thought.

That single moment led to casual conversations every time you both showed up at the same place.

He fell for you slowly, through the easy way you laughed, the way you’d scold him when he gambled away his last coins on the claw machine outside the shop, and how you genuinely cared about his well-being.

Gi-hun couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him like you did — like he mattered.

Dating Gi-hun:

Dating him was chaotic but heartwarming.

He was a little clumsy with affection at first — awkward, shy, but incredibly sweet.

He’d bring you random little things he found that reminded him of you: a pretty stone, a keychain shaped like a bunny, cheap hair clips from a claw machine.

Gi-hun was protective in a soft, nervous kind of way. He worried about you constantly, always checking if you’d eaten or if you got home safe.

He adored physical touch but was bashful about initiating it. You usually had to grab his hand or cuddle up to him first.

The man absolutely loved it when you played with his hair or kissed the tip of his nose, though he’d get all flustered and pretend to hate it.

About his daughter:

Gi-hun’s relationship with his daughter, Ga-yeong, was precious but complicated.

He loved her with his whole heart, but his life circumstances made it hard for them to spend quality time together.

Every time he saw her, it felt like a miracle — he’d cherish every second, trying to make her laugh, buying her favorite snacks, and listening to her stories like she was the most important person in the world.

You knew about Ga-yeong early into the relationship. He spoke of her often, with a soft ache in his voice and a gentle smile on his lips.

You could tell she was the anchor in his stormy life.

The day he told her about you:

It took Gi-hun a while to bring it up.

He was terrified she might not like the idea, afraid of complicating her world or disappointing her in some way.

But one sunny afternoon at the park, while sharing ice cream and sitting on a bench, she asked if he was lonely when she wasn’t around.

The question hit him like a brick wall. He hesitated before smiling softly and saying,

“There’s someone… someone really kind. I think you’d like them.”

Ga-yeong’s face lit up immediately.

“Really? Are they nice to you, Dad?”

“The nicest.”

From that moment, she was curious about you, asking questions like:

Do they like ice cream? What color is their favorite? Can they ride a bike? Do they like cartoons?

Planning the meeting:

Gi-hun was a nervous wreck leading up to the day.

He wanted everything to be perfect — cleaned his tiny apartment twice, bought extra snacks, even tried (and failed) to cook something special.

You, on the other hand, were excited but equally anxious. You knew how important this was to him.

He kept sending you nervous texts like:

“What if she doesn’t like me being with someone else?”

“What if she thinks you’re boring?”

“Do kids these days like stuffed animals or comics?”

You calmed him down with a simple reply:

“She’s your daughter, Gi-hun. If she’s anything like you, we’ll be just fine.”

The actual meeting:

It was at a quiet park with a playground and a little picnic area.

Gi-hun arrived first with Ga-yeong, who was clinging to his arm, wearing a cute sunhat and carrying a tiny backpack full of toys.

You showed up a few minutes later, holding a small bag of sweets you knew she liked.

Gi-hun’s face lit up the moment he saw you, a rare, soft look of relief washing over him.

He knelt down beside his daughter and whispered,

“That’s them. Wanna say hi?”

Ga-yeong peeked at you from behind his arm, then took a brave step forward.

“Hi… are you really nice to my dad?”

You crouched down to her level, smiling.

“I try my best. But you can let me know if I need to do better, okay?”

She grinned, already warming up to you.

The rest of the afternoon:

You three sat together, sharing snacks and stories.

Ga-yeong was surprisingly chatty, telling you about her favorite cartoons and how her dad couldn’t cook ramen without burning it.

Gi-hun blushed hard at that, trying to defend himself.

You brought along a small plush toy you’d picked out for her — a tiny bunny in a dress — and the little girl adored it.

She named it after you within five minutes.

The three of you played on the swings, took turns chasing each other around, and even built a tiny rock tower near the sandbox.

At one point, you caught Gi-hun watching you two with this tender, almost teary-eyed smile.

After the day ended:

Ga-yeong hugged you tightly before leaving, whispering,

“You can stay with my dad if you want. He needs someone nice.”

Gi-hun nearly cried on the spot.

When you two were finally alone, he pulled you into a long, warm embrace, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Thank you… for today, for her, for… everything.”

You told him you loved him for the first time right then.

And he didn’t hesitate for a second before whispering it back.

Final thoughts:

Gi-hun’s love for you deepened tenfold after that day.

He kept photos from that afternoon in his wallet and on his fridge.

Ga-yeong would ask about you every time she saw him, demanding to know when she could visit again.

It became a tradition: little family outings at parks, cheap street food, shared laughter.

You never pushed to replace anyone in her life — you simply became someone she trusted and adored in your own way.

And Gi-hun?

He finally felt like maybe… just maybe… he was worth loving after all.

[cod-dump]

Do you think Ghost accidentally water boards himself when he wears his mask underwater? Or is he like.. drinking the water as he moves? That’s why he’s not drowning.

I can imagine Soap trying it and immediately inhaling so much damn water, the mission fails because he’s just flailing around. The enemies were concerned they offered to help him out from guilt.

It's a skill by this point. Ghost has mastered how to not kill himself involving his mask and water. Soap doesn't realize this man has had years to practice, and he makes it look so easy and simple, so Soap definitely almost drowned himself. It was embarrassing and he's keeping it between him and the people he put six feet under.

Ghost definitely knows he tried, though. He doesn't say anything about it, just gives Soap these looks that make him nervous and embarrassed all over again.

[kemptyrian]

I’m Not The Enemy

Lucy Bronze X Ona Batlle X USWNT Reader

Summary: USWNT goalie reader has found herself entangled with two of the best defenders she has laid her eyes on, but what happens when readers past trauma get the best of her. Will the three be able to overcome the hardships that seem to find them at every turn? Will reader and Ona be able to coexist at club level?

Warnings: Suggestive themes, Angst, Foul Language, Bad Mental Health and Self Deprecation. If I missed one please let me know!

This is Part 1 of a series me and my co-writer have been working on. If you have suggestions or anything let us know. Also thanks @daphwritesworld for being amazing!

Anything in Italics is Catalan or Spanish

Many people told you loving two people at the same time wouldn't be easy, but no one told you it would feel this lonely.

I met Lucy and Ona many times on the pitch. It was never a dull moment being a keeper and watching the defense players work their magic. I always noticed just how well they played, probably in a bit of a creepy way, but how can you not stare at beautiful women who seem to be effortlessly talented.

Ona and I got close playing at Manchester United, but never did we cross the line of friendship until after Lucy Staniforth’s wedding in Dec. 2022. That’s where things get blurry. I don’t truly know how it happened. One minute we are dancing the next Ona is whispering in my ear about just how amazing I looked. The passion I saw in her eyes made my stomach flutter because how could this perfect woman be looking at me like that. I also knew from watching her the whole night that she had eyes for a certain someone else. I wasn’t planning on being the fall back plan. One too many drinks and a dare together ended up with three of us in bed that night.

To say I was a coward for a bit after that was an understatement. The moment I woke up with Ona and The Lucy Bronze in my bed I bolted. I can’t explain why, but I never felt I deserved them both. How could these two women who hit it off instantly also want me.

I never saw the way Ona looked at me when I walked the other direction at trainings and avoided her as much as I could. She sure didn’t make it easy and neither did Staniforth. Lucy S. confronted me about how bad Ona was hurting after a particularly grueling training session. All I wanted was to do was be alone. The coaches were already on my back about my performances recently during training and in matches and were having talks of loaning me out if I couldn’t get myself together. Little did they know it was one of our players that kept me distracted.

The day of training was really like any other. Grueling keeper drills with the coaching staff kept me busy away from the rest of the girls for the majority of the day. When it came to scrimmaging at the end to see if we could incorporate everything we worked on throughout the day things really fell apart. Why did they have to put her on my team? I wouldn’t have lost my cool with all my defenders if it wasn’t for the fact I was on edge myself.

It was already 1-1 and my defenders weren’t talking to each other causing another ball to get past me. That was the final straw that broke the camels back as we say back home.

“What the hell was that! Sprint next time!” I shouted the second I got up from my unsuccessful dive to stop the ball. The sheepish looks they give me started to make my blood boil even more.

“How dull can you be to not have seen that run coming?” My voice only seems to strain the more I thought about how simple it should have been for them to halt the offense in their tracks, but also more than that I’m angry at myself for not saving the ball when I know I could have. I had been saving balls like that all day with the coaches. So why couldn’t I do it just now?

I feel my feet start to take me towards them but I’m stopped in my tracks by a firm grip on my shoulder. I quickly look at who has decided to put their hands on me when I come face to face with Lucy. How did she get to me so quickly and without me noticing her coming, but the look on her face makes my brain stop for a second.

“What the hell are you shouting at them like that for? We are all trying to make this work and if I’m being honest that was Lessi pulling off an amazing run and you know it so get your head out your ass!” Lucy says in a more exasperated tone than what I’m used to hearing from her.

The coaches whistle blast through the air and pulls my attention away for a second only for them to tell us that it was enough training for the day. I go to take a step away but her grip has not let up. I turn my attention towards her again only to see her watching the others leave the pitch.

Only when it's just the two of us does she look at me again. Her eyes soften just a tad bit but still are showing just how disappointed she is with me. I see her take a big breath and I know I’m in for it now.

“What has gotten into you lately? Ever since my wedding you have been shutting everyone out, and you are so angry all the time. Talk to me or if not me please talk to Ona. You guys used to be inseparable. She is always asking me how you're doing and I can't even give her an answer because you aren’t talking to anyone.” The desperation in her voice only grows as she speaks to me. I feel my body deflate at her words.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” I almost whisper as I look down to my cleats. I feel the walls that I have been building slowly falling apart.

“Don’t you dare push me away too. Just tell me what I can do to help.” She continues to plead with me.

“I fucked up okay! I slept with my best friend and The Lucy Bronze at your wedding! I ruined everything! I have no one left! You should be mad at me as well! I slept with your bridesmaid! Your friends! Our teammate.” I’m shouting now and have finally gotten loose of her grip. I don’t even realize I was crying until she is slowly bringing her hands to my face as if I’m a scared animal. Her thumbs wipe away my tears and she brings my eyeline down to meet hers.

“You haven’t messed up. If Ona is as worried about you as she seems then you just need to talk to her. I need you to take some deep breaths though before you pass out on me.” She is looking at me with such tenderness but the joking way she tells me to breathe makes me chuckle the slightest bit and makes my body relax more than I have since that night.

“Thank you. I know I’ve been a dick and I’m sorry.” I try to go about explaining myself more, but I feel myself being pulled into an unexpected hug.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” She mumbles out. “But you stink and are sweaty so let's hit the locker room.” She adds with a chuckle as she lets me go and gives me a small shove. We walk towards the locker room and I feel my body finally release the tension that I had bottled up. Maybe I can fix things.

————

The derby’s were the hardest games yet. Watching the two women play on the same field was awe inspiring, but left me so distracted that it got me benched. To say I was not the same was an understatement. They were always on my mind, but I felt I couldn’t have them even after my talk with Staniforth. They seemed so happy talking after the match that I had to depart the field to the locker room before I made a fool of myself anymore than I thought I already had.

The disappointment of my performance was getting harder and harder to overcome. My thoughts had started to spiral as I made my way to my locker. I knew if I took an ice bath I could pull myself together a bit after that performance. The ice bath was my favorite choice of post match after care. No one seemed to like it much so I always found myself alone being able to reflect on the game.

I let my shorts fall to the floor exposing my favorite pair of compression shorts. I pull out my extra hair tie from my bag and throw my discarded shorts into it. I pull my jersey up closer to the band of my bra and tie it in front of me and tuck the back of my jersey into the bottom of my sports bra band. Nothing irritates me more than dealing with the extra soggy clothing after the ice bath.

The overthinking only comes to a halt when my body sinks into the tub, the icy waters clawing at my skin and ridding me of my worries. A sigh escapes my lips, frustration taking hold as my body relaxes.

I think back on the match, going over every play that could’ve gone differently. The crisp sting of the bath helps keep my nerves at bay, gnawing away at the aches and pains riddling my body. I let myself lean back, sinking further as my mind clears. My hands come up to run across my face, taking a second to rub the sleep from my eyes. I hadn’t even realized how tired I was till now– too caught up in the match, my feelings, and everything else swirling around in my mind.

I don’t just crave sleep, but real rest. For my mind, body, and soul. To truly be at peace with my career, myself and the two women who haven’t stopped plaguing my mind. It’s like they’re haunting me. I see them around every corner, in my dreams, and constantly popping up into my thoughts unprovoked. I must’ve been zoned out, too lost in the peace and quiet taking hold in my mind to notice the knock at the door, or it creaking open followed by a set of footsteps echoing through the room.

“Hey, you alright?” It’s a slightly accented voice I know far too well. A voice that’s tormented me recently…or at least one of them. I don’t raise my eyes from the ice bath in front of me. How can I look at her when I’m slowly falling apart?

Ona startles me even more by lightly grasping my chin between her fingers and making me look at her eyes for the first time since the wedding. Her eyes are deep pools of coco and are slightly squinted in worry. I can’t help but try to pull away but her grip gets more firm and my only option is to avert my eyes.

“Look at me… please let me in” she whispers into the room with such desperation. It brings fresh tears to my waterline. I did this to her. I made her feel this way.

I take a sharp intake of breath, grit my teeth and steel myself as I let my eyes drift back to hers. I don’t feel I deserve to be having this moment let alone with her looking at me with such softness after the pain I put her and Lucy through.

“You deserve better.” The words slipped out before I even planned on speaking. I watch as her eyebrows draw even closer together. Shit I shouldn’t be looking at her like this when she’s not mine.

“I don’t understand.” I barely hear the words. It’s like they weren’t meant for me to hear. “You left without a word and we woke up alone.” She speaks louder this time but I can hear her voice wobble. God how I missed the way she spoke. She was never confident with her English, but now it seems like she knows she has to get her point across.

I have to choke back the lump that has formed in my throat from those words. Maybe I was wrong and they did want me. No damn it get your shit together! I clear my throat to make sure my voice comes out strong.

“You know my past, Ona. I’m not worth the trouble for you or Lucy. Let’s just go back to how things were.” As I say this I shake my head a bit to emphasize my point which finally makes her let go of my chin.

“I can’t do that, and no can Lucy. You are lying to yourself if you think you can too, not after everything we’ve all been through.” She gets out after she has to compose herself a little. I know speaking in English right now is a struggle for her. I can see the hesitation in her eyes as she speaks.

“Then just forget about me! You have each other, why do you even bother with me?” I’m almost shouting because she is not listening. My past is the only thing running through my mind. I always get left behind or forgotten so I leave before they can.

“You know I can’t!” She grits out. I never expected anger to be the emotion that took hold of her. “You are digne!” This comes out in a louder tone than I've ever heard from her. (worthy)

“I don’t need pity…” I choke back on a sob that wants to bubble out of my throat. “Especially not from you.” I start to feel the beginnings of a panic attack and I know I have to get away before she has to help me through another one.

Hurt flashes across her face before she whispers the next words, soft enough to wrap around my heart and squeeze it till it stops beating. “It’s not pity, tu idiota. It’s love,” her voice cracks as tears start to well up into her eyes. “But I can’t force you to feel it back.” (you idiot)

It feels like my throat’s closing, battling away the tears that sting to come up and mirror her own. “It’s not about what I feel,” the Spaniard scoffs at that. “It’d never work out okay. So for all of our sakes just…let it go. Please.”

“You can’t even admit it to yourself, can you?” There’s a pain lingering under the rage in her eyes. I let out a frustrated sigh, “Admit what, Ona?”

“Que ens estimes,” my simple understanding of spanish can still pick up on what she says. “Just say it and I'll leave.” (That you love us.)

I can’t take it anymore and go to get out of the bath, but to my surprise as soon as I have stood up Ona’s eyes drop. Fuck! I’m half naked having an argument and about to drop into one of the most inconvenient panic attacks of my life.

Ona’s eyes widen, dropping to my exposed form before her. It has a blush rushing to coat her skin. Blossoming across her cheeks, nose, and tips of her ears. She looks pretty like this, just like when she’s laid out underneath me. All flushed and out of breath, heart beat blocking out any and all other sounds. I find myself smirking at just how affected my body makes her and find the panic easing. How can this woman make me feel this way?

I feel myself calming at the thought that I still have this effect on her. Maybe I was overthinking everything after all. Ona still has her eyes firmly planted on the water drops rolling down my toned stomach and I know exactly where her mind has wandered off to.

“Ona.” I try to catch her attention, but have no such luck.

“Oni!” I say a bit louder and still nothing. That’s it. I place my hooked pointer finger under her chin and force her to look up at me.

“My eyes are up here pretty girl.” My smirk deepens along with my voice as I end up purring out the last bit. I knew how to keep her attention on me, and somehow she has helped me come back from the brink of panic without doing much.

Her sight flickers up to meet my own, that familiar hazy glaze cast over her eyes. She’s so soft spoken as she breathes out her next words, a smirk every so slightly pulling at her lips. “I know. M’agrada la vista.” (I like the view)

“I know you do Oni, but you can’t get lost like that when we are talking.” It takes everything in me to not bring her lips to mine. I keep my eyes firmly on hers as I watch her slowly come back from the memories. I know how she’s feeling. I can still picture those special moments from that night. They never leave me but to see they are still affecting her the same way they do me tells me so much.

She huffs out at that, a pout gracing her lips. “But we weren’t talking,” her eyebrows knit together. “We were arguing.”

I can’t take it anymore and smooth the creased skin between her brows with my thumb. Her hands find my arm, caressing it so lightly– like she’s scared I’ll disappear again. I lean in towards her, resting our foreheads together as my hands move to cup her face. I feel her relax against me, content to just exist in this moment for as long as permitted. “Okay,” my voice is so soft I barely recognize it. “You’re right.”

“Sempre tinc raó,” she scolds me. But there’s no real bite to her tone. (I’m always right) I can’t argue with that, when it comes to Ona…she’s very rarely wrong. As infuriating as it may be at times…I wouldn’t change it for the world. That mouth of hers, so quick to tear into you when provoked enough. She’s sweet and sharp all in one, layers I’ve seen peeled back and laid bare. I didn’t even realize how close we are, at least not until I feel her breath brushing along my cheeks and dusting my eyelashes. It tickles a little, a small chuckle escaping my lips. That has Ona sending a small slap to my arm, a playful look overtaking her features as she pulls back enough to study my face. “And what’s so funny, huh?”

She’s so close now, an inch of space separating us. I can feel where her breath’s shifted to blow against my lips, so close yet so far. I can still feel her— taste her on my tongue. Her gaze floats between my eyes and my mouth, and I can see the gears turning in her head. I can see the hesitation, the uncertainty. She’s scared…and she has every right to be. But that doesn’t stop me from slowly leaning in, testing the waters as our lips brush against each other. We stay like that for a while. Breathing each other in, finding comfort in the intimate ambiance we’re building.

But then it all comes crashing down. The serenity surrounding us shatters with the screech of a ringtone echoing out. It pierces through the room, bouncing off the tiled walls that hold the secrets we’re both too scared to speak. We jump away from the embrace, the crisp air smacking me like a ton of bricks when the warm weight of her body leaves mine. It pulls and tugs at my insides, strangling my heart as I wrestle my emotions down into my stomach. They claw and scratch like bile burning up my throat, trying to find a way out as I swallow them back down. I’m only pulled away from my thoughts by the sound of her voice, “It’s Lucy.” And I know exactly which one she means just from the way she says it— like a whisper of a prayer.

“Go ahead. I’m finishing up anyways, I’ll get out of your hair.” I don’t even give her time to respond, legs moving to climb out of the tub and rushing off before her mind can catch up with my departure. The air in my lungs burns, my body begging for me to stay despite my head telling me something different.

And my heart? I’ve learned to tune it out at this point. Never letting it hope, dream, or want. At least I tried, you know what they say. The heart wants what it wants, but I’ll keep ignoring it. I’m quick to throw on some new clothes, chucking my wet ones into my duffel bag before zipping it up and fleeing the training grounds. My skin feels like it’s on fire as I think back on my interaction with Ona. How close she was, how we shared the same air. It has my head spinning in circles, searching for the right answer in a swarm of wrong ones.