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noritoshiikamo · 1 year

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a part of touch starved osamu mess i just want to get out of my head

cw touch starved soft osamu, talk of boners, penetrative sex, dirty talk

osamu miya has few simple but sure set of obsession.

food, his restaurant, his family and every single fucking time he sees you play volleyball. you, a perfectionist, who likes to try and think you are able to hide your ‘workouts’ at home masking as self care didn’t realise that it was just feeding his kink.

if he could ever call it that.

it started monday morning, so simple and innocent as you stretching off your sleep by the bed side. his lazy eyes shot opened as it fell on your back. the defined muscles barely hidden by his old high school sleeveless jersey as you tried to shake off last night’s sleep. nuzzling into the pillow that smelled just like you, he watched as you tied your hair, yawned and leaned forward to stretch further. the bed hadn’t been the kindest on your back and that muffled crack of your joints had you moaning in relief. you turned around, half smile with a flush on your cheeks, “mornin’ baby,” your raspy sleepy voice greeted him like a cup of coffee on a rush hour. his heartbeat were a mess. you leaned to kiss his nose and left for the bathroom. it was baffling how oblivious his wife was to the nuisance she had imposed on him. he knew you were saying something but nothing registered in his head. it has to be a dud because boys’ scout could’ve camp in his short.

on wednesday, osame got the privilege to drop off some food for lunch. he didn’t planned to sponsor the entire’s team lunch, but you’ll always come home with a pout saying one of your teammates had gobbled half of it. happy wife is a happy life, so on this rare occasion, he had hauled his ass, drove an hour away with a trunk full of onigiri and some special bento for you. which also means, he got to see you train. he missed volleyball, maybe for the memories or the people he had play with, but an entire career of it was too handful. his face flushed, feet glued to the floor.

had the uniform always been this short?

the short hugged your ass so well that every time you lowered down to receive a serve, he wondered how the fuck is the material holding up. women’s volleyball had always had the sleeveless jersey but every time you jumped, it turned into a crop top. his mouth dried up as beads of sweat roll off your toned belly. he didn’t realised how long he had been standing there, trays of food in hand until somebody blew a whistle. your eyes finally met. it was pretty how easy you shook off all the ache in your muscle, glowing in happiness as your eyes set on him. you didn’t realised that he knew you too well like the back of his hand, the overwhelmed eyes you made was the same fucking look he craved every time he trapped you with his body down on the bed. samu, t’much, it echoed in his head. you licked your lips, a small smile on your face. osamu blushed. he knew it was for the food, but boy, the walk of shame he had to do down the hall with the food tray low to his waist down the cafeteria was hellish to bear.

saturday came like a breeze. it was your rest day because sunday is game day. osamu, like a perfect partner he is would always took the day off. what’s the point of paying his competent working extra on his day off if he is unable to spend some time with you. “y’kno, they call it a rest day because yer supposed ta rest,” he muttered, watching in annoyance as you unrolled the yoga mat in the living room. with the coffee table pushed aside and some old 90s sitcom rolling on the tv that you both had watched on repeat for the umpteenth time, you stick your tongue out, ignoring your whiny husband’s stare as he nursed his morning coffee.

“i’m just restless. so yoga helps.”

if it was years ago, he would’ve blamed it on atsumu for introducing it to you. but as he brought the cup up to his lips, his body tensed and the coffee started to taste a little bitter than it was supposed to be. because now atsumu is an annoyance for instigating the growing feeling he had as his wife pulled an upward dog. was it upward dog, whatever the fuck the position called but all he knew was his view was no longer the clean house he slaved his years to buy but his wife’s fleshy ass up in the air. his eyes followed like a hawk, from one position to another position. every time your eyes met, you flashed a smile, talking about something that he was sure wasn’t that significant. he promised, when he isn’t throbbing hard behind the kitchen counter, staining his boxer with his pre cum, osamu is a great listener.

he didn’t realise he had moved until you called his name. he was standing behind you, his hands were on your waist as he sort of pinned you down from moving. you were stuck in the position, bending forward palms flat on the floor, unable to lift your legs to complete the downward facing dog split.

“samu?”

his mouth dried up again. “y-your back wasn’t straight enough when you lift your leg. i’ll help.” you shrugged at his words, pleased that your husband wasn’t annoyed but keen to help. you raised your leg and it went up until you were able to support it by his shoulder. it was perfect until something clicked. you cursed.

“samu, you’re an asshole.”

his fingers reached for the elastic of your shorts. “straighten up, ya not holding yer posture correctly,” he muttered nonchalantly, a small spark of naughtiness glinted in his eyes as he pushed your back side lower until it was brushing against his growing bulge. “i would, if you’ll stop brushing your cock against me,” you hissed, watching as his short pooled along his ankles.

he hushed you, spitting lightly along his shaft, tugging lightly before running gently against your slit. you cursed again, bracing your palm against the floor as your arms trembled. the sound he was making wasn’t helping you as it went straight down to your aching cunt. osamu took his sweet time, with you trapped in the position, his other hand kneaded your ass, slowly rutting against your cunt. the friction from the thong and pooling wetness were driving him insane.

“tsumu said that the pose can build yer core strength,” he watched excitedly as your legs trembled every time his tip brushed against your clit, “just focus on ya hands and i’ll take care of the rest, ‘kay?”

the weak sigh and soft okay out of your lips were reassuring that osamu alone wasn’t the one having fun here. he loves it when you submit to his needs, even when it was ridiculous to bear. you always thought you married the sane one. the tv were now on the black screen, prompt of ‘are you still watching?’ appeared as his cock finally slipped in. he could see your twisted face on the reflective screen.

osamu is a sick person in mind.

he was sick for you and the way your cunt kept sucking him in drove him wild. this was his kind of yoga. his thrusts were erratic, your back flushed against his back. abandoned was whatever pose you had earlier, your back were straighter against his chest anyway. he held one of your legs up, spreading it enough to see the reflection of his cock jackhammering into your dripping cunt. another kept your head aside as his teeth marked your neck as his. “match t’morrow, hngh samu,” you gasped, hand up tugging on the hair on the back of his nape but it did nothing but tightened his lips against your skin that were bound to bruise. he released it with a pop, happy as he eyed the stained skin.

“so?”

“fuck you, samu.”

“right,” thrust, “back,” thrust, “at,” thrust, “ya.”

the sound of your skin slapping echoed the space, you could only whimper weakly as you surrendered to the pleasure, his pleasure. he couldn’t care less if you were trembling from high, gushing all over his cock as he powered through your orgasm. your tightened wall massaging his aching cock meant that he just had to fuck you faster and harder.

you cried in pleasure were louder, the neighbour should know his name by now.

he kissed you feverishly, lapping the marks and sweat agains your skin. nibbling on your lobe, licking beads of sweat and tears down your flushed cheeks. he knocking air out of your lung, you swore you could feel his thrusts up to your throat.

“s’good baby, fuck i could stay in yer cunt forever. why ya gotta be so fuckin’ perfect all the time. ya cunt is driving me crazy. fuck fuck, baby i wanna cum so badly. i wanna cum in you. baby ya think i can fuck ya t’morrow and ya do ya thing with cunny full of my cum. fuck baby, i wanna see my cum dripping down your legs.”

his lewd remarks kept on coming and all you could do is nod and beg because who doesn’t want a cunt full of osamu miya. every body does and here you are being the chosen one. osamu miya has few simple but sure set of obsession.

food, his restaurant, his family and every single fucking time he sees you play volleyball and your aching cunt begging for his release.

you heard the fabric of your bra ripped as he yanked it down, releasing the aching breast for his hand to grab a handful. his warm breath echoed against your cold skin, you listened to his pants, deep throaty moan as he chased his release. it was getting rougher, tip brushing against your cervix, beads of his own sweat rolling off onto your shoulder.

he whined, drool dripped over the corner of his lips, “baby.”

“fuck samu, inside please please,” you gasped, head thrown back. there were no reasoning when your husband had set his mind on one thing. he was close. his grip were tighter as if you were about to slip away, his whines were louder and his thrust weren’t easing. you couldn’t help the scream your throat let out as he cum, he was pressed down and tight against your cervix. his thrust were slower, yet sheathed deep longer. he wanted all of him in you. you were going to keep his cum inside.

his praises didn’t fall short. he showered you with kisses, telling you how much a good girl you were and how well you were taking him in. you could feel him in the shape of the bulge against your stomach. once he was down from the high, he set you down slowly on the floor, you rested your chest against his as you both tried to catch a breather.

he finally kiss you on the mouth, gently this time, caressing your cheeks and hair away from your face. in the heat of moment, saturday morning became your favourite day of the week as his lips moved to tell you how much he loved you between the kiss. you reciprocated happily, watching his soft eyes glistened in excitement and content.

the sun’s now up, warming the room, bouncing against his skin so majestically. somehow the tv had resume the show and the miya household were buzzing again. time always stop when you’re with him. you brushed his hair off his sweaty forehead. his eyes were full of love yet he always like to ruin the moment with being an ass.

“fuck, we should do yoga more,” he grinned, planting a kiss on your own forehead as you struggled to catch your breath. your mat were a soaking mess, sticking down against your bare skin as you watched the happy man wobbled happily to the kitchen with his dick swinging, staring into the fridge for some snacks.

in sickness and health, you vowed, smile on your lips grew as you laid down.

that’s your beloved husband.

sunday came like a breeze. it took a lot of running around the house and screaming as osamu chased you down bare naked, threatening to keep his promise. but you countered his threat, holding his phone with finger on speed dial he knew were gonna bring a bigger wrath down to the mankind; mama miya.

you got him out of the house, unscathed with your lover boy pouting all the way to your match.

“ya promise,” he huffed, locking the door every time you tried to escape.

your giggles echoed the car as you nodded. you leaned against him, planting a small innocent kiss against his lobe. the boy froze. “yes, samu. i’ll promise if you keep it,” your hand went down to grab the surprisingly half hard cock through his jeans, “in ya pants, i promise you, i’m all yours this week.”

his brows shot up, “anywhere?”

“anywhere, everywhere.”

“even if in at the shop?”

you tugged his ears playfully, “geez samu, as if we haven’t violated the health code of conduct the first month we got the shop set up.” you walked out together, your bag slung over his shoulder as you laced your fingers together. “on my defense, ya just started the pills and i was popping my raw dogging virginity and ya kept wearing that stupid legging that was so sheer i could see ya panties. no, half of the time ya weren’t even wearing one. you seduced me. case closed.”

you stopped right by the entrance for players only. echoes of shoes and balls bouncing, crowd cheering were getting louder and louder. this is where you had to part ways. osamu looked down on you longingly. “i’m not complaining by the way,” he pulled you closer, “don’t stop seducing me, ‘kay?” he whispered, brushing your nose against his own. you pushed his cap off, nodding happily as you shared a kiss. his onigiri miya cap sat against your head backward. the bag exchanged hands. he fixed your collar, your body ached every time his fingers brushed the bruise he left between the neck and your shoulder.

that’s the setter he fallen head over heels for.

“okay, samu. don’t let omi knows that we fucked on his favourite chair at the shop, i don’t think tsumu could hold him down. i’m too pretty to be a widow.” he mouthed a silent okay before leaning down for one more kiss, for good luck, he would said but no more words needed to be said. he flicked your forehead playfully before pulling away, heading to the entrance to meet up with your family and his brother.

“fuck them up, y/n.”

“i always do.”

#writing: thirsts #writing: hq #osamu miya drabbles #osamu miya x y/n smut #osamu miya smut #osamu miya x y/n #osamu miya x you #osamu miya x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x y/n smut #haikyuu drabble #haikyu smut #haikyu x y/n smut #hq imagines #hq x reader #hq x y/n

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mingus-archives · 2 years

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One More Nope (2022) Thought

The almost fist bump between Ricky and Gordy as subversion of ET, as inverse of an act of healing. Gordy reaches under the table, eyes obscured from Ricky, hand sticky with blood from the person he’s brutally beaten. Ricky, confused and terrified, reaches out to meet Gordy as if to perform a fist bump, an act the two had likely done many times during production of the sitcom. It’s an act of connection, Ricky desperately reaching out in hopes to calm the well-behaved chimp with whom he’d thought he’d bonded.

The scene horrifyingly echoes the iconic moment of connection in ET where ET touches Elliot and heals him. In Nope, this moment of touch is the opposite, leading to Gordy freezing long enough to be shot and killed and leading to the lifelong trauma or Ricky being witness to this violence. More than that, it shows how naive Ricky’s hope for connection is, the idea that this bloodied chimpanzee can be mollified with a gesture. How naive Ricky is for even thinking he understands Gordy at all. This is made even clearer by the fact that Gordy was not Gordy; he was a nameless chimpanzee, one of many used to play the role. Ricky is bonded with the idea of Gordy, but in reality he is just mimicking at friendship with a whole slew of chimpanzees it’s unclear if he can even tell apart.

In ET, the touch between ET and Elliot is a moment of humanity. Nope shows us how foolish that idea is in practice, and how dangerous it can be to superimpose human behaviors onto creatures we can never fully understand. Is Gordy actually connecting with Ricky? Is he reaching under to try to grab and beat him? Is there any motive to Gordy’s movement? There is no answer, and there will never be. Just like Ricky, we can’t see into the chimpanzee who played Gordy’s mind.

Relating Gordy to Jean Jacket, we are also left with a statement on the pseudo-divine. Consider the moment of Adam reaching to God in the Creation of Adam. The idea that Adam could ever connect with or understand the will of God, or the universe, in its absurdity. Ricky reaches for JJ, thinks perhaps that this was fate, that he is special for having trained JJ. Perhaps he even believes this is what his life has been building towards. But like Gordy, a creature almost human, Jean Jacket, a creature almost a God, is beyond comprehension. Ricky has misinterpreted every single moment of interaction between him and JJ, seen humanity and reason where there is none. Divinity where there is chaos and comprehension where there is instinct. He does not even know the other forms JJ can take, he has not seen him fully. It is no coincidence he doesn’t even know JJ is not a ship but a creature, that he believes JJ contains humanoid aliens in the form of a camera-shaped head and chimpanzee body. He is reaching for an illusion as false as his former. And once again the outstretched hand will lead to ruin.

#cant stop wont stop #can you tell i was a lit major #sorry mutuals for finally making original posts and theyre all about nope #nope #nope movie #nope spoilers #nope 2022 #jordan peele #daniel kaluuya #keke palmer #jean jacket #emerald haywood #oj haywood #oj #angel torres #horror #sci fi #et #steven spielberg

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levithestripper · 9 months

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Wanna Bet?

summary:

“Jesse’s hands meet your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into your clothing. ‘That’s a lotta big talk there, baby. Want to put money where your mouth is?’ You smirk, putting on a show of pretending to think it over. ‘I’m game. I bet you’ll go to every single class and love it.’”

or, Jesse wants to take a woodworking class, and you propose a bet.

warnings: gender-neutral reader

length: 2.1k || read on ao3

notes: this has been sitting in my drafts for god knows how long, i hope you enjoy it!

Sharing his rented condo with you is everything Jesse could ask for and more. Having moved in a handful of months ago, the two of you were settling in nicely, making a good home for yourselves. With you around, Jesse regained something he lost when he began cooking with Mr. White: a sense of normalcy. Never having been in a committed, long-term relationship before you came along, this newfound feeling of stability in his chaotic life was a godsend. Gaining a new safe place allowed Jesse to discover new things about himself. He finds himself doing things he never used to enjoy, like watching sitcoms and cheesy made-for-television movies.

But if Jesse was forced to pick one thing he likes most about living with you, he’d pick watching you do the things you love. He doesn’t know what it is about watching you put together a puzzle or draw in your sketchbook; it just fills him with insane amounts of joy. It lit a fire under him, inspiring Jesse to rekindle the old hobbies of his childhood, specifically woodworking. The thought of returning to woodworking excited him yet filled him with anxiety at the same time. After a week of keeping his worries to himself, Jesse asks for your advice over dinner one night.

“Yo, so I was thinking—”

You snort, interrupting him, “No wonder I smelled smoke earlier.”

Jesse makes a face at you, rolling his eyes. “Oh, shut up. Anyways, as I was saying, I was thinking about taking up woodworking again.” He broke your gaze, looking down as he picked at the food on his plate. “What do you think?”

You hum with a mouthful of food, finishing your dinner. “I think that’s a great idea, love. You said you were good at it in high school, right?”

He nods, still picking at his food. “You think I’ll uh… you think I’ll still like it?”

“What? Of course, you’ll still like it! Why wouldn’t you?”

Jesse sighs, slowly finishing his dinner, stalling for time. He mumbles something unintelligible, regretting bringing it up.

Being practically fluent in Jesse-ese, you sensed something was up, not like it was hard to notice. You knew there was no use in trying to pry whatever was wrong out of him, so you didn’t waste time trying. Instead, you take a different approach. “Jess, I can’t blame you for being worried. You’re stepping out of your comfort zone; that’s hard for anyone to do.” You reach across the breakfast bar and grab his hand, giving it a squeeze of reassurance. “If anyone can do it, it’s you; I believe in you.”

“Thank you, baby.” Jesse offers you a small but sweet smile, which you happily mirror. “You’re sure ‘bout this?”

You kiss each of his knuckles, making him chuckle like always. “One hundred percent sure. When am I ever wrong?”

He raises an eyebrow, teasing you. “You really wanna go there, sweetheart?” Jesse’s confidence returns quickly, his anxiety curbed by your words.

You get up from your chair and walk to his side of the counter, sitting on his lap, arms draped over his shoulders. “Mmm, I don’t know, maybe I do. After all, I am always right.”

Jesse’s hands meet your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into your clothing. “That’s a lotta big talk there, baby. Want to put money where your mouth is?”

You smirk, putting on a show of pretending to think it over. “I’m game. I bet you’ll go to every single class and love it.”

“And what do you want if you win?” he asks, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. His hands migrated from your hips to your back, sliding under your shirt.

The unexpected sensation of cold hands touching your skin made you shiver, only fueling the fire you had lit within Jesse. “When I win, you mean.”

“Yeah, whatever, babe, just tell me what you want if you win,” he replies, a smug look on his face.

“When I win, I want you to make me something with the skills you learned from the classes.” Your fingers twist the short hair on the back of his neck into points. The tingly feeling ran up the base of Jesse’s skull, pulling a shiver from him; revenge for touching you with freezing hands.

Jesse grumbles at you in a half-hearted attempt to appear apathetic, but you see right through it with practiced ease. “If I win, which I will, you have to do whatever I say for twenty-four hours straight.”

“Deal, but your demands must be within reason.”

“Deal.” Jesse tugs you down for a kiss, sealing the bet with a smug grin.

———

Once he found a co-op offering free beginner’s lessons, Jesse signed up for two months of classes. Every Friday night after dinner, Jesse kissed you goodbye before leaving for the co-op, never hinting that you were winning the bet. And he hated it, hated how you were right—like always. Jesse had forgotten how rewarding it is to create things. It took nearly all his self-control to keep himself from living at the woodworking studio. He revels in every moment he gets to spend there, questioning why he ever quit in the first place.

As weeks pass, your excitement grows as you wonder what Jesse could be working on. You’re hopeful he’ll bring a project home with him, but it never happens. Every Friday night, a routine forms between you, beginning with dinner in front of the television. As he’s getting ready to leave, Jesse kisses you on the forehead and says, “See you in a couple hours; love you.”

Every week, you ask how it went, and Jesse replies eagerly, happily talking about what he learned. But when you inquire about what he was working on, all you get is a variation of, “Nah, it’s nothing special. Don’t wanna bore you by talking about it. It’s coming along nicely, though.” Jesse’s uncharacteristic defensiveness plants a seed of worry within you. You hope that his reasoning for brushing off your inquiries was that he was nervous to show you his work, nothing else.

———

Moonlight filtered in through the living room curtains, illuminating the room in a soft glow. You sat at the breakfast bar, working on something unimportant, the TV playing in the background. The front door opened, quickly drawing your attention away from your laptop. You stand to greet Jesse at the door, but he beats you to it, rushing over to the counter to give you a kiss. Fumbling with the TV remote, you turn it off, far more interested in your boyfriend. “How was your last day? Finish everything you were working on?” you ask, sitting back down.

Jesse sat down across from you, nodding as he did. “Yeah. Place had a real great vibe to it, you know?” He gnaws on his bottom lip, eyes flitting between you and his lap. “Might sign up for a higher level class. Haven’t done this since high school; I forgot how much I enjoyed it.”

A loving smile spreads across your features. “I’m proud of you, baby. Wish I could’ve seen the pieces you made.” You don’t miss the subtle blush that dusts itself over Jesse’s face, the sight making your heart flutter. There’s a pause between you two, and you’re quick to fill the heavy silence. “You know I’d never make fun of you or your work, regardless of how good or bad it is, right?” You take his hand to reassure him, worried he didn’t bring anything home for fear of criticism.

Giving your hand a squeeze, Jesse fixes his posture, leaning against the counter instead of slouching. “I’m sorry I’ve been so secretive about,” he motions with his free hand, “all this.” He scratches his head through the black and yellow beanie covering his hair. “I know you never would—” Jesse stammers, “—would be scared to show you anything.” You sigh with relief, Jesse’s words lifting a weight off your chest.

“Then why did you hide your enjoyment from me?” you ask, sadness laced throughout your words.

Your question pulls on Jesse’s heartstrings, only now realizing how his actions had affected you. He squeezes your hand again, kissing your knuckles apologetically. “Close your eyes, and I’ll explain?” he offers, pulling out the big guns: his patent pending puppy dog eyes.

You look him once over before complying, wondering what he has up his sleeve this time. Whatever Jesse was doing, he was quick about it as you were opening your eyes after what felt like mere seconds of having them closed. The first thing you see is your boyfriend nervously fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie and chewing on his bottom lip. The second thing you see is a small trinket box. It’s stained a deep, rich color and sanded to such perfection that you could almost see your reflection. You look at the box, then at Jesse, silently asking permission to touch it, which he gave. Gently opening the lid, you saw the inside was patterned with a different style of wood, something striped to contrast the solid color on the exterior. “Oh, Jesse,” you whisper with awe, “This is beautiful, a work of art.” Your fingers trace the edges as you take in his stunning craftsmanship. “Is this what you’ve been working on the whole time?”

Jesse nods, still playing with his hoodie’s drawstrings. “Took forever to get it just right. The inside is zebra wood; I had to wait a week for it to get restocked. Made one like this back in high school. Loved it more than anything; even my parents liked it. Everyone said I should gift it to my mom,” he pauses, needing a moment. “I almost did, too. But I traded it. Barely got twenty bucks of pot for it.” Jesse shook his head as if he were dismissing the bad memories from view. “But that’s not why I remade it.”

Engrossed in his story, you do your best to reign over your emotions, rubbing your eyes free of tears. “Why did you remake it then?”

Jesse motions for you to turn the box upside down, which you do. “Your answer is on the bottom.”

Looking at the underside of the box, you find words—along with the year—carved into the woodwork.

Thank you for believing in me ♡

—J

Once he’s sure you’ve read it, Jesse continues talking. “Remade it so I could finally have the chance to gift it to someone I love.” He meets your gaze for the first time since he revealed your present.

You got up from your chair without saying a word, rushing around the breakfast bar to pull your boyfriend into a near-bone-crushing hug. “What did I do to deserve someone as perfect as you?” you ask rhetorically, face buried in his neck. “I don’t even know where to begin; I love it so much.” Jesse wraps his arms around your midsection, hugging you impossibly tighter. He peppers soft kisses over your cheek and jawline, holding you close to his chest.

“I should be the one asking that, little bird. You have no clue how nervous I was, worried you wouldn’t like it or it wouldn’t turn out how I wanted it to,” Jesse sighed against your skin, and you could feel all that anxiety he spoke of leaving his body. “Not mad at me?”

You can’t help but giggle as you lift your head from his shoulder. “Not mad. Although, I’m not used to you being so lovey-dovey and mushy like this. Kinda like it, if I’m being honest.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jesse rolls his eyes with a smirk. No matter how badly he tried to hide his amusement, you could tell he liked it, too. He moves a hand to your cheek, pulling you in for a kiss. One kiss turned into two, three, four, all soft and full of stupid amounts of love. Jesse squeezes you tightly once more before releasing you. “Just wait; you’ll like what I make next even more.”

“Oh yeah? You sound pretty confident about that,” you smirk, tugging teasingly on the ends of his hoodie.

Jesse bit his lip, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes. “Oh yeah, you wanna put your money where your mouth is?” he snarks back, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your neck. He uses his newfound leverage to drag you back in for another kiss, only this one has the heat of a promise behind it the previous ones did not.

A promise of a long, sleepless night for both of you.

#jesse pinkman #jesse pinkman x reader #jesse x reader #jesse pinkman breaking bad #jesse breaking bad #jesse brba #breaking bad fandom #breaking bad fanfiction #breaking bad fic #breaking bad x reader #breaking bad x you #brba x reader #brba x you #brba fandom #brba fanfiction #x reader #x you #gender neutral reader

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libra-kirishima · 11 months

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Oh my goodness I just read your Iida family HC and my heart erupted!!! I'd love to see what you come up with for Kirishima or Bakugou!

I literally got this request two years ago I am so sorry.

But bestie I am so glad you asked because I have so many thoughts. I think about them a lot.

Family Headcanons for Kirishima + Bakugou

! implied fem reader !

Kirishima Eijirou

Kirishima definitely has at least one older sister. Probably a very close relationship with his mom as well. The women in his life played such a huge role in making him the person that he is today.

Having said that, I can only see Kirishima as a girl dad.

He radiates huge "girl dad" energy. And he's so proud about it too. Having girls is his favorite thing ever.

I can see you and him with three girls, each of them are 2 or 3 years apart, and they all have red eyes and black hair.

Not a single one of your daughters looks like you, I'm sorry. He insists that they all have your smile, though.

He's super involved from the minute you tell him you're pregnant. Taking you to every doctor's appointment, helping you with whatever you need, designing the nursery.

Once he found out he was having a girl, he made you sit down with him every night while he learned how to do your hair. It was so important to him for him to know how to comb and style hair so he could help get them ready for school in the future.

One aspect of fatherhood he's surprisingly hands-off about is picking a name. He wants you to do it and he's completely happy with whatever you pick.

A name is just not that important to him. Whatever you want your girl's names to be will be special to him. Not because he carefully chose a name with a special meaning, but because it's his daughter's name and she is special to him.

Although his disinterest in helping you pick a name definitely started a fight between the two of you when you were pregnant with your first, because it felt like he didn't care enough to help you pick.

He's super involved after the kids are born too.

Strongly encourages them to get into something physical. Ballet, soccer, gymnastics, baseball, volleyball. He doesn't care. He'll let them do anything that they want so long as it gets them moving.

And he goes to every performance and every game. He's in the front row of every school play with a bouquet of roses in his hands. He's your girls' biggest cheerleader.

Your girls would tell him everything too. He's surprisingly good at keeping up with stories of teenage girl drama and gives them his full attention any time there's an update.

I can see Kirishima with a TV Sitcom ass family that other kids in the neighborhood would come to for advice or a safe space to hang out.

Kirishima cries at everything. Cried when he learned you were pregnant. Cried when each one of your daughters was born. He cries at birthdays, at graduations, at holidays, at performances, at major milestones.

Definitely calls his daughters "manly" as a compliment.

It's really important to him that his kids get along with each other and always have each other's backs. Your kids aren't allowed to fight in your house. If they do start fighting he takes them aside and makes them work it out.

Bakugou Katsuki

When he was a teenager he had a complicated relationship with his parents, specifically with his mom. But as he gets older he starts to understand them more and they get along better.

His parents never really told him they were proud of him or praised him because Mitsuki was worried it would go to his head.

He also felt like his parents were embarrassed by him because of the way he acted. (They were)

When you met him, he insisted that he never wanted kids.

It took him a long time but he eventually changed his mind. He had a lot of growing and changing to do before thinking about starting a family.

A huge part of his hesitation came from the difficult task of contending with his past. He was cruel and abusive as a kid and became so worried about his kid turning out like him at that age. And if they did, he wouldn't know what to do to stop it, just like his parents didn't with him.

A lot of his parenting is modeled after his parents. Not only what they did right, but what he thinks they did wrong as well. He wants to learn from his parents' mistakes and do better than they did.

Bakugou may not be the best dad but he'll always stand by his kid and support them them regardless of the circumstance.

He's never been very articulate or very in-touch with his emotions. He struggles to tell his loved ones that he loves them, your kid included. Because of this, he makes sure to show them that he loves them.

When you tell him you're pregnant, he doesn't really react. He doesn't even stop watching the news to look you in the eye. You're worried that he doesn't care but internally he's so happy. He doesn't say so. Doesn't even smile. His way of reassuring you that he wants this is by asking you what you want the nursery to look like, and getting to work moving all the furniture out of the guest room to turn it into the baby's room as soon as he wakes up the next day.

He doesn't care about the sex of the baby. He just wants it to be happy and healthy.

Very involved in the process of picking a name, though.

He suggests a bunch of names that he thinks sound strong and powerful but are actually really stupid.

I also see Bakugou with a little girl. Just one, though.

He feels bad that he can't be more involved in his kid's life because of his job, so he only wants one child. He thinks he'll do his best as a parent when all of his free time can be devoted to her.

He also spoils her rotten and justifies it because she's his only kid.

Any fear that he has about his kid being mean like he was completely disappears when he holds her in his arms for the first time and sees that she has kind eyes just like yours.

Having a kid forces him to become a lot more level-headed. He refuses to argue with his baby girl like he used to argue with his mom, no matter how much she tries to provoke him. As much as he loves his mom, the constant push and pull between them is not an aspect of her parenting he wants to carry over.

I feel like he's great when your kid is still a kid, but really struggles with the teenage years. No matter how many times you tell him it's normal, he doesn't understand why she doesn't tell him everything anymore or why she thinks she's too cool to spend time with him.

The type of parent to yell at your daughter to get out of her room and go outside.

Your daughter wants to be a hero just like her daddy. I think a lot of the strain that was put in the relationship when she was a teenager is repaired when she becomes an adult and they start working together.

Bakugou is her favorite parent and neither of you understand why.

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steventhusiast · 11 months

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more autistic steve with ARFID (avoidant restrictive food intake disorder) because i’m having the worst time i think i’ve ever had in my life and can only cope by projecting :] CW: disordered eating

part 1

—

steve’s pretty sure he’s never hated himself more than he does in this moment.

he’s perched on the edge of the couch, one knee bouncing with anxiety, and in front of him on the coffee table sits a homecooked meal. eddie’s gone through the process of making him a plate of mac and cheese from a box, which is a big deal because eddie is not a great cook. but he still made this for steve.

so there’s this lovely, warm meal sitting in front of steve that he used to love, and all he can do is stare at it. in the background, sounding somewhat fuzzy and muted to his ears as he continues his staring, he can hear eddie singing to himself as he cleans up the kitchen, and the sound of a sitcom laugh track as family ties plays on the tv.

after a minute, eddie comes to sit next to him, and gently puts a hand on his knee to help slow down the bouncing.

“hey, no pressure, okay? you eat what you can.” eddie says as he rubs his thumb back and forth over steve’s knee. the words should feel comforting, but they sit like guilt in steve’s gut.

he desperately wants to eat the food, knows it will make him feel less tired and sustain him more than the junk food he’s been managing recently, but it’s hard. it’s like he can hear boss music in his mind as he picks up a fork and stabs a single piece of macaroni.

he manages to put it in his mouth, counts to 20 as he chews and works himself up to be able to swallow it, and then has to jump up from his seat and pace as he feels it go down his throat. eddie startles a little as he does so, and he shakes his hands out at his sides as he walks back and forth, back and forth in front of the tv.

it feels like cement in his throat, doesn’t feel like it goes all the way down as the sensation of food being in his throat and chest lingers uncomfortably.

“stevie, can you take a breath for me?” eddie tries, but steve shakes his head vehemently and continues his walking. as the seconds go by, his steps get slower and less frantic, and eventually he picks up the fork again, repeats the process.

this is the first time eddie’s really seen him struggle with food properly. steve knows he knew, because they’ve talked about it a lot, but this is the first time eddie’s seeing it. steve’s filled with embarrassment, but he can’t cope with the task of eating without his pacing, without his hands flapping, without fighting back tears and feeling like he’s choking each bite down.

it doesn’t go like this every time. there are safe foods that are easier to get down, and some days where eating feels more like a normal part of his every day. but today? today it feels like he’s been tasked with eating rocks.

“can’t do it.” he whispers out after five pieces of macaroni.

he falls back onto the couch, and eddie’s hand is immediately pulling him into him by the waist so he can try to comfort him. steve’s a little shocked to feel tears on his face as he smushes it against eddie’s shoulder.

“can’t, can’t, can’t…” he whimpers, and eddie’s hand settles on his hip, rubbing gentle circles into him.

“shh, it’s okay. i’m proud of you for trying.”

steve shakes his head against eddie’s shoulder. how pathetic is he, that his boyfriend has to be proud of him for managing to eat five pieces of food from a kids meal?

eventually, he stops hiding his face in eddie’s shoulder, and vacantly watches the tv. tears are still dripping down his face, slow and steady, but now that he’s stopped eating, he feels like he’ll be okay. he just has to give his body an hour and he won’t be able to feel the measly amount he ate sitting like rocks in his stomach.

hopefully, anyway.

part 3

#genuinely not doing v well atm hahaha woo #autistic steve harrington #he means so much to me #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie au #steddie drabble #stranger things #mywriting #cw disordered eating

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animentality · 5 months

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Is there such thing as wrong Durgetash for you? :) This question is half-joking, but honestly, are there flavors you personally can’t accept?

no.

all durgetash is correct.

durgetash where they fuck, CORRECT.

durgetash where they don't fuck and it's just a psychosexual obsession, CORRECT.

durgetash where they have a beautiful bloody romcom, CORRECT.

durgetash where they have a disgusting tragedy, CORRECT.

durgetash where they despise one another, but can't help but be attracted to one another, CORRECT.

durgetash work sitcom, CORRECT.

I have never ever seen a durgetash opinion that made me say ew, no.

every single one I have seen, has been correct in some fashion.

I have seen on or two where I thought hm...well. I suppose.

But I have never outright said, no, that's wrong.

There's no wrong durgetash.

It's simply correct.

As long as you think it was abundantly clear that the dark urge and enver gortash had SOMETHING sickening going on between the two of them...you are correct.

The sliding scale of more correct vs. less correct is not terribly long, not here.

#durgetash #baldurs gate #bg3 #dark urge #enver gortash

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octoberobserver · 5 months

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We're a Documentary, Not a Fucking Sitcom - WWDITS Fic

(Read on ao3 here)

I read ' 'The power dynamics seem so problematic. I mean, that’s his boss,' and this possessed me. Enjoy! 😉

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

Guillermo blinked his eyes open, the ghost of Nandor’s cold, smooth lips still lingering on his own.

He had just kissed him. Right on the mouth, mid-sentence, on a random Tuesday night, three months after Guillermo became human again.

“I…Mas–Nan…”

The words died in his throat as his brain whirred like a computer with too many tabs open.

“I am your boss,” Nandor continued as if he had not heard him, beginning to pace the length of the Fancy Room. “You are my employee. It is frowned upon…problematic.”

That snapped Guillermo out of his stupor, frowning as he tried to make sense of his rambling.

“Okay, first of all, employees get paid. If anything, I was an unpaid labourer,” he held up his hand to stop himself from tracing his lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Second of all, you’re not my boss anymore anyway. I’m just your human roommate now, remember? I have a new job teaching self-defense down at the YMCA. I’m not your familiar. We’re equals. We made the deal that I would stay in this house once none of you treated me like shit anymore and you got a new familiar. You’re just too stubborn to let me help you pick a replacement.”

That stopped the vampire in his tracks, a petulant pout on his handsome face.

“That’s because they are all terrible, Guillermo! Francine didn’t know how I like my hair combed, and Jason did not do my buttons up correctly!”

“You didn’t give them a chance to learn!”

“You picked it up right away!”

“Well, not everyone can be me!”

“I know! That’s the problem!”

Somehow they had closed the distance between them and were right back where they started moments ago, mere inches from each other. Naturally, Guillermo’s eyes fell on those pale, alluring lips, but he dragged them back up to a safe spot, focussing on the crinkle between Nandor’s eyebrows from where his head was bent downwards.

“Third of all,” he forced out, his breath no doubt bouncing off his chin. “‘Problematic?’ Seriously? You brutally killed innocent people that I lured here every single week for the last thirteen years. And you’re worried about us having a…a ‘workplace kiss’ being problematic?”

Look. It wasn’t like it had never crossed his mind. Both kissing Nandor and the very morally bankrupt decision to feed random humans to a group of bloodthirsty vampires every week for his entire adult life. But ever since he was faced with directly killing an innocent person so he could live and being unable to do it, he was questioning himself and his choices more and more lately.

(The whole wanting to kiss his former Master thing was a constant, ongoing thing. And definitely not a recent development. But that was his business.)

“Well,” Nandor waved a hand, undeterred. “Darla said it is frowned upon.”

Guillermo squinted up at him.

“And who is Darla?”

“My spotter at the gym. She’s a grandma looking to strengthen her pelvic floor.”

“Ew, what—? No. Doesn’t matter,” he winced. “So, what would Darla think about you kissing someone ten seconds after they tell you they’re going on a date? Is that not ‘problematic?’”

Nandor scrunched up his nose.

“Well, it just happened, so how would I have time to tell—”

“Mierda,” he muttered under his breath, staring up at the ceiling for a God he couldn’t believe in anymore.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you, Guillermo. I am sorry,” Nandor said in the ‘I’m trying to be diplomatic but am being a giant baby about it’ voice that he found hard to truly hate. “I just…thought that you had sworn off dating?”

A disbelieving laugh escaped his chest.

“So, what, you thought you’d kiss me in…protest?”

Something warm was fluttering around his abdomen as his heart beat what felt like a million times a second, his brain very unhelpfully replaying the kiss over and over in his head.

Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it, stop—

“I’m just confused,” Nandor was shrugging when he forced himself to focus. “You seemed uninterested in dating, and now you come in here and tell me not to wait up because you’re going out with some fucking gu—”

“And why is it you think I’d be uninterested in dating, Nandor? Would it be ‘cause the last boyfriend I had, you fucking cloned for yourself, and then sent him away so he could meet up with Freddie and have him cheat on me with himself?!”

The words echoed throughout the large room.

Nandor looked just like he did when he'd been slapped.

“Guiller—”

“No. Let’s talk about it,” he cut him off, shooting a glance at the nearest camera before glaring up at him. “I’m so sick, of never talking about things in this house. Just letting them revert back to the status quo. We’re a documentary, not a fucking sitcom,” he huffed, pointing a finger in his face, still standing so close he almost poked him.

“You turned your wife into my boyfriend, and that was really fucked up. You know, something actually ‘problematic.’”

He added extra sarcasm and generous bunny ears around the word, scorn and hurt rising within him from where it had laid dormant for over a year.

“You destroyed Marwa, and then my relationship, and you’ve never once taken responsibility for it. Or anything else you’ve ever done. So if you wanna talk about what’s ‘problematic,’ let’s start—”

“I changed her back.”

Guillermo froze.

“What?”

Nandor was busy staring at the red couch, murmuring so quietly that he almost didn’t hear him.

“I said I changed her back. I used my remaining wishes to…undo it all. Give her the life she deserves…without me. She’s in Washington now. Has gone back to school, last I heard.”

His heart skipped a beat as he digested that.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well,” Nandor scoffed, stepping even closer, gaze locked back on him. “I might have if you hadn’t been so busy conspiring with Laszlo because you went behind my back and got Derek to turn you INTO A VAMPIRE. DEREK! FUCKING GUY.”

Guillermo’s blood began to boil, spilling like molten lava in his veins.

“Because YOU WERE NEVER GOING TO!” he exploded. “After YEARS of putting up with all of your shit, I had enough of waiting!”

Nandor’s jaw clenched.

“I was going to turn you, even though I wasn’t sure if it was right for you, but you abandoned me for London!”

“Laszlo locked me in a coffin and shipped me to London like a giant FedEx package! I had literally zero control over that!” Guillermo shot back.

“Well,” Nandor cast his eyes around the room for an answer and grinned humorlessly when he found one. “You didn’t look for me.”

Oh, hell no.

“Yes, I did! But I had no way of contacting you,” Guillermo spat. “I had Nadja reach out through the ether and said she couldn’t find you, that you were blocking her somehow. So, yeah. It wasn’t like you were looking for me, either!”

His chest was heaving like an overwhelmed Victorian maiden whilst Nandor was as still as a statue, but he didn’t care.

Finally. Finally he was airing his grievances. After all this time. Years and years of pent-up anger and hurt and resentment, they were finally talking about it all. And God, it felt amaz—

“I was mad at you when you didn’t meet me on that platform…you broke my heart.”

Those words turned his molten blood to ice.

But that didn’t stop his own words from tumbling out of his mouth anyway.

“Yeah, well. You broke mine first.”

Their eyes met.

Silence engulfed the room.

“That’s a lot of information to get in thirty seconds.”

His head whirled around to find Colin Robinson staring at them from the doorway.

“This is a private conversation, Colin Robinson,” Nandor replied, his gaze still burning a hole into Guillermo. “Leave. Now.”

“Right. Private,” Colin retorted with his usual deadpan tone, gesturing to the cameras. “Whatever. Just fuck already. It’s faster. Especially the way Nandor does it.”

They listened to his retreating steps for a beat, Nandor cursing him under his breath.

“Did he quote Friends?” Guillermo gaped after him, realising it was in vain when he remembered who he was asking, though he could swear he saw one of the camera crew quietly nodding.

“Do not change the subject, Guillermo,” Nandor drew him back in, his dark gaze unwavering. “What did you mean when you said I broke your heart first?”

They don’t call him ‘The Relentless’ for nothin’.

“Come on,” he cleared his throat, his heart firmly lodged there as he tried to step around him. “We don’t have to do this. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Yes, it does, and yes, we do,” his hand shot out inhumanly fast and held him in place by the wrist, firmly but not something he couldn’t break from. “You wanted to talk, so talk. Please.”

What were you saying about pent-up feelings, again?

“You,” he took a shaky breath, forcing himself to stand his ground. “You…have to know how I…how I’ve felt all these years. I know you’re not that dumb.”

Nandor’s lips parted, but Guillermo kept going, words flowing from him like a burst dam.

“Every cruel word, every dismissal, every time you rebuffed my hugs or compliments or belittled me or my accomplishments…it was death by a thousand cuts. Because I fuckin’ loved you anyway.”

A bitter laugh escaped him as tears stung his eyes.

“Huh. Now that’s problematic.”

The silence was deafening.

Nandor had yet to move an inch, not even to blink.

Well, you’ve done in now, de la Cruz. And even managed to reference a Taylor Swift song. Bravo.

Seconds ticked into nearly a minute, and Guillermo was really starting to get freaked ou—

“‘Loved…’” came a raspy voice, barely above a whisper. “...as in past tense?”

He stared at the hand that was still clasping his wrist, right over his hummingbird pulse point and thought, fuck it.

“Love. I love you, Nandor. I always have. And I meant it when I said I was gonna be right here by your side. Even…even if it’s just as your friend and roommate. Because that’s what love means.”

He had done a lot of brave things in his life. Had taken on and killed dozens of vampires, faced witches, zombies and werewolves without batting an eye, and had emo bangs way past 2012, but Guillermo de la Cruz had never felt true bravery until this exact moment.

He watched as Nandor’s face crumpled like creepy paper, his eyes squeezing shut as he took in a deep breath he didn’t need and mumbled to himself.

“Floating through the cold, dark universe like a little grain of furry sand.”

“...what?”

Those large, dark eyes that he loved so much popped open, and he almost gasped at their intensity.

“I…I once thought I was completely alone in this world, Guillermo. Without someone to love or love me. But I’m realising now that that hasn’t been true for a long time, has it?”

Guillermo swallowed the lump in his throat.

He shook his head.

Slowly, a small smile spread on Nandor’s face, his thumb brushing against the thin skin of his wrist.

“And it hasn’t for you either, you know.”

Guillermo felt his brow furrow.

“Wha—”

Cold, soft lips covered his for the second time that night. Heart hammering against his ribcage, he hurried to kiss back this time, leaning up on his tip-toes and gently trailing his tongue along Nandor’s bottom lip.

The kiss deepened as he opened his mouth, the corner of one of his fangs brushing against Guillermo’s tongue and sending a thrill through his entire body. They gripped each other, on the edge of frantic.

“That is why I kissed you, Guillermo,” Nandor murmured, leaning back to press his face into his jaw, peppering little pecks there. “I love you too. But I was too dumb to acknowledge it. Until I thought I was losing you again.”

Shock flowed through Guillermo at both confessions, gripping the back of his neck to pull him further down into him, arousal sparking in his gut as a large hand clutched his hip and pulled them flush together, covering his mouth with his carefully but passionately.

Over six feet of solid muscle draped over him like an awning, and he had never felt more in tune with his own body before, letting himself get lost in the sensation.

Dios mio.

After a few seconds, minutes, or several years, his heart squeezed on the bridge of pain, his head spinning a little, his lips growing numb.

Breaking for air, he gasped, reminding both Nandor and himself, “B-Breathe, I-I need to breathe.”

Smiling apologetically, Nandor’s giant hand cupped his cheek, gaze boring into him.

“I know I’m not your boss anymore, Guillermo. But I would still like it very much if…if you kept your post as my heartguard.”

Now he was breathless for a whole different reason.

Beaming, his eyes stinging again, he brought his hand up and linked their fingers.

“Okay. Only if you’re mine too, though.”

“Deal.”

Somewhere in the depths of the house, they heard Nadja let out a loud gag, followed quickly by, “Give it to him, good, Gizmo, and shut up already!”

Face on fire, he turned to him, leaning back in.

They still had a million and one things to talk about and work through. Obviously. Issues like theirs—problematic or otherwise—didn’t disappear with one, two, or even three admittedly fantastic kisses. But for now, their roommates had a point.

“Fucking vampires,” Guillermo chuckled.

“No,” Nandor replied with a sharp grin. “There’s just one vampire to fuck. Me."

Groaning at the dumb pun, Guillermo allowed himself to be kissed deeply and thoroughly, winding his hand into the silky, dark hair he adored and tugging.

It was as Nandor let out a quiet mewl (that he was definitely filing away for later) that he remembered the cameras. And the other people in the room. And his date.

“Wait, sorry,” he broke the kiss, his mouth already raw from beard burn and loving it before he turned to the crew.

“Can we have some privacy, guys? Please? And here, take my phone and text my date that I’m sorry I won’t make it, but he seems like a good guy, and I hope he meets someone else.”

He watched as the crewmember closest to him just barely caught his phone while the rest of the team just gaped at them, frozen in place, until a dark shadow cast over the room.

“He asked nicely,” Nandor said, his voice an octave lower than usual. “Do not make me ask not nicely.”

Not needing to be told twice, the crew scrambled to vacate the room, lugging their cameras and equipment behind them as Nandor reeled Guillermo back in, pushing him gently against the wall and cradling his head.

“Out, out!” he shooed over his shoulder, kissing along his jugular, his sharp fangs lightly scraping his skin and making him shiver. “We are a documentary, not a fucking porno!”

“No, save that for the honeymoon, old chap,” Laszlo’s muffled voice wafted from above. “And, if you need any pointers, let me know!”

#wwdits #what we do in the shadows #nandermo #wwdits fx #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #nandor x guillermo #my fanfiction

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infamousbrad · 8 days

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Alex Garland's Civil War is my perfect movie. I'm not sure who else's, though.

There's a thing I've said about lots of art: if you have to read the artist's statement to get the point, the artist's statement is the art. I read multiple interviews with Garland, went in prepared for the movie he was trying to make, and I loved it, a lot. I don't know if I can say that I enjoyed it, because it's super-emotional, especially super-tense. But I'm very very glad I saw it, and if somebody invited me to go with them, I'd probably watch it again, and I may well buy the blu-ray when it comes out. That being said? I'm not sure who else, other than a few weirdos like me and a few academic cinephiles this movie is for.

Remember the movie Pleasantville, if you even saw it? The trailer mislead a lot of people into expecting a jokey comedy about how dumb "Return to Normalcy" era sitcoms were, and nearly everybody who went in with those expectations hated Pleasantville, because what they got was a deep philosophical meditation on how you can't actually solve a social problem without losing your innocence, and loss of innocence, no matter how necessary, hurts. So almost nobody loved Pleasantville but a few people like me, who wanted it injected straight into our veins.

So let me lay this straight out before you buy your ticket to Civil War:

First of all, at no point in Garland's Civil War do they tell you the politics of any of the three sides in the near-future second American Civil War. Nor are you expected to figure them out. The war started four or five years before the first scene of the movie, and none of the people in this movie are still interested in debating why the war. There are three sides, and while there are people who say that the Western Forces are Democrats and the Florida Alliance are Republicans and the Federal Army are Trumpist, they are reading their own prejudices into way too few background clues and ignoring the other background clues that contradict that theory.

I know that every American who sees this movie is watching to find out which army is "on my side," which one they're supposed to be rooting for, and that is not a movie that Alex Garland wanted to make. You are supposed to be rooting for the war to just be over and elections to resume. Because that's what every civilian and every soldier wants, and nearly all the unlawful combatants. And also ...

This is not a war movie. If you want the (somehow, to you anyway) relaxing catharsis of cheering while lots of military hardware gets used? You are going to hate Civil War because this movie is, to borrow an older metaphor, Tomorrowland to your Mad Max: Glory Road. Garland made this movie to shame you particularly if you like war movies. The total amount of combat footage in this movie probably doesn't reach 20 minutes, and our main viewpoint character for the final battle sequence is a traumatized civilian.

One last thing I can say before diving behind a spoiler warning, though: it is an amazing technical movie, this thing should win all the technical Oscars next year. In particular, the principal photography is the best I've ever seen and the way it mixes (and sometimes un-mixes!) the separate audio tracks perfectly manipulates the tension level. And all four lead actors put their whole selves into these parts and held nothing back.

So what is this movie if it's not a political movie or a war movie? I can't tell you that without diving at least partway into spoiler territory, so ...

Alex Garland wants to prove two things in this movie:

Life in a failed state sucks ass. Yes, even if you're nowhere near the combat zone. And ...

War correspondents and combat photographers themselves wonder if what they're doing is making any difference, but they're heroes for trying.

The journalists themselves can't point to a single time what they do prevented or stopped a war, and they very much wonder if they're just adrenaline-addicted glory-hogs. But even not even knowing if what they're doing will ever save a single life, they are absolute fucking heroes. They put themselves at insane risk because this is the only thing that they know how to do and if it has any chance of saving lives, of preventing or stopping war, it has to be tried.

Our main cast are four journalists: an elderly war correspondent, a middle aged war correspondent, a middle aged combat photographer, and a (too) young combat photographer on a mission:

They start in Federally occupied NYC, reporting on anti-regime protests and terrorist attacks. They've heard rumors about the actual war. Right now the front line is a three-way battle for control of Charleston, South Carolina. They've heard that the Westerners and the Floridians are going to fight each other to the death as soon as they push the Federals out of the Carolinas, and then on July 4th, just a week away or so, the likely winners, the Westerners, are nearly certain to seize the capitol. They think the 5 year war is almost over, and are trying to figure out how to cover the end. This is, like, literally the whole of the first two scenes.

The old guy wants to cover the battle of Charleston "for whatever is left of the New York Times" and then retire. The three younger journalists have an even crazier idea: skip the battle of Charleston and use the last remaining highway into/out of DC to outrun the Western Forces and cover the fall of the White House.

So the overwhelming majority of the movie is a several day, many hundred mile road trip in an armored car marked PRESS. This involves driving west to Pittsburgh and then back east to Charleston, to get around the combat zone, which results in the real main part of the movie:

The road trip is intended to show you how much the combination of anarchy, localized paranoia, and fear of looters is driving various levels of savagery far from the war zone, which the reporters and photographers keep stopping to document.

It ends with the race to keep up with the Western forces so they can cover the fall of the White House, which is the only long combat scene in the movie, and it is incredibly intense, and very loud and scary, and nobody except maybe the kid photographer covers themselves in glory.

And every scene of it tells the same didactic message, told in about a dozen different ways: when the war is over, whether or not you were "on the right side" is going to matter a lot less than the horror you lived through, and wartime journalists put themselves through hell to try to prove that to you before it's too late.

#a24 films #a24 civil war #alex garland #war #journalism

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saltygilmores · 2 months

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DANCE MARATHON EPISODE-PART 3

So I had seen this Charity Dance Marathon gimmick on an episode of the Golden Girls (an episode which aired in 1987) and I feel as if I’ve seen it on other shows as well. (fun fact I just learned this week: Gilmore Girls and Golden Girls both shared at least one writer). Were these ever real things or is this just a gimmick made up for sitcoms? Are there real people out there shaking their moneymakers til they drop? Who can actually dance for 24 hours with only minimal breaks? It seems incredibly uncomfortable. See also: Charity bachelor auctions (Seen this gimmick on The Golden Girls again, and The Simpsons). Stars Hollow could never auction off a date with a hunky bachelor because Miss Patty keeps all the eligible single men and teenage boys chained up in her basement. I may have to do some research on these phenomenons.

I already can't stop saying Shug and Shuggy and Shugar at random intervals after seeing Land of Bad yesterday, and Babette is not helping, lol. Maybe on a different timeline, she was Shug's Momma (actually...maybe I shouldn't wish that for dear Babette).

I just want to point out the sign in the background reading: "All students riding a school bus home after school must wait in the gym." Who is so far away they're taking a bus to school in Stars Hollow? Stars Hollow is like four feet long. Maybe there are so few teenagers in The Hollow they have to consolidate with other districts and bus in students from other towns, like seat fillers. Those poor kids, deprived of an education like that.

Everything reminds me of Captain John "Sugar/Shug" Sweet. Sookie informs Lorelai that under duress, she reluctantly agreed to her husband's "four in four" plan (four kids in four years, what is she, a dog?) and now she can't back out or have a conversation with him about it so she has no choice but to lay down and accept his sperm, lest she cause any conflict in their newlywed marriage where things are still bright and shiny and they enjoy sniffing each other in the morning, or something like that.

Tell that to Liz Danes.

That's rich and creamy coming from Ms. "I Almost Married Max Medina Without Discussing Where We Were Going to Live".

This is a janky medical operation we've got going on here. Medical examinations being performed next to open containers of food, no gloves being worn by medical personel or kitchen staff, and massage therapists walking around wearing tshirts saying "Masseuse" on them, because it's important to establish who you're getting massaged by. If it doesn't say Masseuse on the shirt, you might end up getting a rubdown from an unsanctioned random weirdo.

Alexis's is sneering like, "I'm here working 14 hours day in the Los Angeles heat in a heavy coat with a bunch of DORKS when I could be home boinking MY NEW BOYFRIEND MILIO VENTIMIGLIA and touching his BIG WANG! But maybe we can sneak in a quickie behind craft services later"

Mrs Kim is the real star of this episode.

Oh hey Mrs. Stanley Appleman.

Kinky.

If you keep drinking all that coffee, you're going to turn into a Coffee. Or probably have back to back heart attacks.

The clock is ticking to Shane's imminent demise. Hopefully her collapse from excessive blood loss won't get in the way of the other dancers, because Jess is going to butcher her behind the school without any witnesses. He is home sharpening his axe. #MurderOnTheDanceFloor #BetterNotKillTheGroove How the hell did they rustle up 156 couples/ 312 people for this thang anyway?

I love Luke in this episode :)

Pretty rich and creamy coming from you, Miss No Car, No Job, No Pet, One Friend, Butthead Boyfriend, Goes Home From College Every Weekend to Visit Mommy. Kirk has a thousand careers, he will eventually have a pet and a girlfriend, and what reason would you need a car in The Hollow? Except to escape it. Kirk easily has the most interesting life in The Hollow, save for Miss Patty, maybe (who has the most interesting past). He seems pretty content with his life. I love that there's a "security" guard back there. I guess he was sleeping on the job when Shane's cries of agony rang out into the cold Connecticut sky.

Says Miss Lonely Pathetic Existence Also Attending The Same Marathon With Lonely Pathetic Mother And Every Other Lonely Pathetic citizen of the entire town.

YAYYYYY.

If Lane doesn't stop causing so much friction in Hep Alien, she might be replaced with this guy. I'm sure he will get paid equally as much drumming for a group of teenagers as he's currently getting paid to drum for a small town twerk-till-you-drop charity event.

Remember when swing music had a brief resurgence in the late 90s? Those were the days, oh some days they were. But since time stands still in The Hollow, they're actually still on the 1930's wave. This is too much fun and so cute and whimsical and joyous and what a wonderful episode it is. Can't even snark too hard about the dancing. Lowering snark cannons.

They're going to go home and have unbelievable amounts of sex.

You know who else is going to go home after the DM and have an unbelievable amount of sex? I'm sorry. You came to The Thing, Dean! You did the bare minimum! You paid your girlfriend and her mother an uninspired compliment! For that Lorelai will stare at you like a hungry dog salivating over the last scrap of meat on a bone.

#gilmore girls #denise rewatches gilmore girls #Dance Marathon #tsgdt #they shoot gilmores dont they #rory gilmore #lorelai gilmore #luke danes #kirk gleason #babette #sugar #shug #shuggy shug #gilmore girls season 3 #Shane is swan food

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nerdieforpedro · 4 months

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The Brave, the Bold, The Dirty - Fanfics that I adore

Volume 4

All fanfics on this list are for readers age 18 and up, please respect the author's tags, warnings and notes as they're there so you know what's in them. Read at your own risk.

A Slice of Life Day by @linzels-blog (Din Djarin x GN reader)

Bakers are killing it with Pedro boys this holiday season. Our reader shows the clan of two how to bake some goodies for Life Day. Cue all the feels.

Loser by @kiwisbell (Frankie "Catfish' Morales and Fem reader)

The reader is friends with Frankie and helps him celebrate his birthday. Teaching Frankie is it's own reward as he's a hands-on and enthusiastic student. Catfish needs all the help he can get.

Exposed by @maggiemayhemnj (Ezra x GN reader)

Out of a haze, feelings that neither of them thought were reciprocated were made clear, as were events from before things became murky. It reads like an epic poem.

Face to Face by @bluebeary-jay (Din Djarin x Fem Mandalorian reader)

The reader and Din are riduurs, as such the helmets can come off. But are they ready? All the fluffy fluff.

Frankie & Din by @avastrasposts (Din Djarin x Frankie Morales)

Who would have ever pictured these two meeting? It's genuinely sweet and funny. They should have their own sitcom with Grogu "Two Pilots and a Foundling."

Don’t Drink the Punch by @wildemaven (Dave York x Fem reader)

Soft Dave York needs his own warning. He does make boring work parties 100 times better. Complements to the tie.

Watercolor by @iamskyereads (Pero Tovar x Fem reader)

The reader hopes to one day capture the Knight she pictures fore herself in her sketches. Taking over for the bath girl was an enlightneing experience.

Sex on Fire by @katiexpunk (Firefighter Joel x Fem reader)

The reader had moved to New York into her aunt's apartment. Her aunt was neighbor's with Joel, now she is. Let the burn start.

You Belong With Me by @lowlights (Dieter Bravo x plus size Fem reader)

Let no one ever tell you that Dieter Bravo wouldn't give all the toys you want. Any type of toys you asked for, and will ensure you try out every single one.

At the Garden Inn by @batdarkladyvampir (Dieter Bravo x curvy Fem reader)

The reader is a manager of a B&B in Arizona. Not a place one would expect to see Dieter Bravo. She didn't expect that Bravo would take more than a liking to her either.

Sky Drabbles by @frenchiereading (Frankie Morales x Fem reader)

The sky keeps changing and so do the reader's and Frankie's feelings for each other. They roll on like the clouds, growing into something more maybe? Might find out beyond the horizon.

Linger On by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (Joel Miller x fem reader)

To the reader, Joel is like a bad penny, he keeps popping up. Maybe she wants him to, maybe she's mad that she wants him to. All the angst. Rambler's a master at it.

Resting Eyes by @frenchiereading (Joel Miller x fem reader)

Frenchie is having a blog milestone celebration 🎉 A cozy celebration. I sent her an ask with a Pedro boy and a prompt (reader and Joel reading aloud to each other) and this sweet domestic fic is what she created with that little of information. I love her ❤️ I am biased, but this applies to the entire list (maybe Frenchie a smidge more 😘)

Yours by @wheresarizona (Dave York x fem reader)

Hot smut + possessive Dave with a generous slathering of Soft Dave. Read this and enjoy, you'll thank your eyes later.

White Christmas by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (Dieter Bravo x fem reader)

Not everyone has happy holidays with their family because it's more stress than it is worth. So get away from it all and diddle your Dieter fast, slow, rough, with a dash of red or however you enjoy your diddles. Diddle deep and scream. 😝 Stay hydrated 💦

Give to me by @sp00kymulderr (Dieter Bravo x fem reader)

Dieter Bravo has feelings, a lot of them about our reader. He's running through them in the aftermath of the night before. He's all in, consumed and doesn't want to talk about it. Just wants more time. So sweet.

Please check out the fics on the list and support them by liking and reblogging. Authors enjoy interactions about their work. 🤓

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin #joel miller #frankie morales #dieter bravo #dave york #Nerdie's recs

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growing-home · 2 months

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i spent nearly two decades of my life severely depressed and suicidal and for so long i believed wholeheartedly that it was my fault. i believed that the reason no medication or therapy had ever worked for my depression was because i wasn’t ACTUALLY depressed— i believed i was just lazy, bad, manipulative, and just using depression as an excuse for the inherent badness i thought was inside me. this was a story that was told to me and reinforced over and over again by treatment providers.

this past summer, i tried my 30th+ psychiatric medication, not expecting to see any results. the day i realized it was working was the day i realized that i was…planning my future???suddenly i no longer wanted to stay in bed all day and never go outside. i no longer wanted to isolate. i wanted to see people, talk to people! i started spending more time with friends and facetiming people and talking on the phone, things that i rarely did in the past. when i had been depressed, the only movies/tv shows i could focus on were super intense, fast paced, and scary or disturbing because that was the only way to hold my attention. after starting this medication, i started enjoying SITCOMS! i no longer felt like i was fighting to just get through every single day of my life.

there was such a clear and measurable difference in the quality of my life that i started to question why i believed that my depression had been my fault. it became very clear to me that a large part of my depression had been biological. i had not been lazy or bad. i had been sick. my brain was sick the same way other organs get sick sometimes. this brought up a lot of grief for me— grief for all the lost time that i’d spent trying to find something that worked, grief for how much pain i had been in for so long. but it also brought up sheer FURY at all of the therapists and psychiatrists who had treated me like i just wasn’t trying hard enough to get better.

i had been labeled treatment resistant, of course, and the only recommendations i had received after being given that label were TMS, Ketamine, and ECT. once i had tried all three with no success, i believed i was just a lost cause. i thought i was out of options. i was made to feel that way by so many treatment professionals. i was told that nothing was working because of my complex trauma and that once i healed from that then i would stop being depressed (as if it’s that easy to just fully recover from CPTSD!) i was told that i just needed to do more DBT, i just needed to live and breathe DBT skills and then i would get better, even though i’d done intensive DBT programs for years with no improvement to my depression. (yes, it helped me to change my behavior and quit self harm, but behavior change isn’t necessarily indicative of a change in mood. i could do all the right things all the time and still be in excruciating mental pain.)

i was told that i just wasn’t trying hard enough, or that i must have a personality disorder, or that i just needed to exercise more, or eat less, or eat MORE, or eat differently, or get a job, or get a dog, or do yoga, or acupuncture, or biofeedback, or find purpose in my life— psychiatrist after psychiatrist looked for something to blame everywhere but in the mirror. instead of admitting that they weren’t equipped to help me, they made me believe that it was MY fault i wasn’t getting better. and i believed them. for SO long, i believed them.

and now after finding a medication that works for me, i see everything so much more clearly. psychiatrists need to put their enormous egos aside and actually treat patients with treatment resistant depression instead of blaming us for suffering from a (partially at least) biological illness. if you’re a doctor and you know that a patients illness is outside of the scope of your abilities, either do more research and get more training to help them or refer them to someone who specializes in what they need. don’t keep them around letting them pay you thousands of dollars while you make them try the same thing over and over and over again and expect to get a different result. people act like things like ECT are a last resort option, and in doing so make people believe that if it doesn’t help then you’re out of options. but nobody ever tried me on tricyclics. nobody tried me on MAOIs. nobody told me about how some dopamine agonists like Pramipexole have had some success in treating treatment resident depression. instead i was made to feel like asking to not be suicidal daily was asking for too much. if you’re a clinician who thinks that’s asking for too much, you’re in the wrong profession. we can do better than that. we NEED to do better than that.

in my experience, out of every profession, doctors have some of the biggest egos i’ve ever seen. i say this as someone who is both mentally ill as well as physically disabled. many doctors HATE it when you do your own research. they HATE it when you have suggestions, or when you ask for what you need. it’s almost as if they feel threatened by it, like they need to believe that they are superior to their patients because of how much time and money and energy they put into going to med school— they need to believe they hate their hard work was worth it so they have a tendency to dismiss any ideas their patients might have. i don’t care how many years you’ve been in school. you do not get to tell your sick patients that it’s their fault they’re sick to justify your laziness and refusal to learn new things. put away your god complex and actually listen to your patients.

and the strangest part to me is that the longer you have been suicidal for, the less seriously they take it. the same way that the more chronically ill you are the less people believe you. it’s bizarre— when people see pain that is beyond what they can fathom, instead of feeling empathy, they tell you you must be faking it or that you must be looking for attention. i’ll never understand this. it’s as if they think that suicidality doesn’t need to be taken seriously unless the patient has successfully completed suicide. and i think it’s very clear how that logic is flawed. i was treated like i just wanted attention whenever i asked for help with my chronic suicidality and it made me terrified to ask for help with ANYTHING. i still constantly am afraid that if i’m too honest with clinicians then they’ll think i just want attention. attention isn’t a bad thing to want, all human beings need some degree of attention, but regardless that doesn’t negate the severity of a person’s suicidality. i wasn’t attention seeking by asking for help. i was STRONG. i was really fucking strong, far stronger than i should’ve had to be. i fought for my life every single day and i am lucky to still be here but it’s not luck that got me here. it’s ME that got me here.

i don’t want to make it sound like i speak for everyone who has suffered from TRD, because i don’t think that would be fair. i can’t tell you if there’s a med out there that’ll work for you. all i can tell you is that most psychiatrists prematurely tell chronically suicidal patients that there is nothing they can do to help them or that they’re out of medication options. if you’re a psychiatrist or doctor and you feel yourself getting defensive while reading this, i invite you to get curious about where that activation is coming from.

and if you are someone with treatment resident depression or chronic suicidality reading this, i am telling you now: your illness is not your fault. i don’t know if it’s going to get better or not, but i can promise you— it is not your fault and it never has been.

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elslovers · 10 months

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i neeeeed need abby to make me feel better about having such a shit dad. as someone currently coming to terms with just how much their dad sucks i just know abs would be such a good comfort.

summary: fathers day is easily the hardest day of the year for you it weighs heavy on you every single year but thankfully this year you have abby

authors note: this was such a sweet one to write fathers day can be really hard for a lot of people including myself so I hope this helps and warms yalls heart like it did mine and too anyone else who can relate fuck dads

YOUR DESERVING

“fuck him"

you mutter, throwing your phone down against the bed and ignoring the pile of texts from your girlfriend Abby was going to have to wait it was taking all your mental energy not to grab your phone again and shatter it against the wall

your phone screen lights up again, and you peer at the text through tear filled eyes

abby <3 : I'm headed to my dad's. Can you just let me know your okay?

and you want to tell her you are you want to so bad, but you've never been able to lie to Abby, so you settle on a thumbs-up reaction and turn off your phone until the miserable Day is over because, in all honesty, if you see one more happy father-daughter duo posting photo collages of them, it might just kill you

fathers Day always makes you feel small

but this year was unbearable. In years passed, and you would send a card out for your dad in the post, send him a text, maybe even ask if he wanted to come over and have dinner

but this year, you sat idly by refusing to act as though he was ever anything resembling a father because now you know good and well he isn't seeing Abby with her dad solidified in your mind that that what you had wasn't that of a father at all you'd spent your whole life desperately trying to earn his love his praise his attention but after seeing how freely Abbys dad gives it you knew none of this was supposed to be this hard

and it hurt it hurt so much more than you could explain

you spent your Day in the safety of your apartment, growing out of the noise of your mind with whatever mindless sitcom peaked fancy at any given hour

you tried not to let it hurt

you knew it was wrong to ignore Abby the way you had, but you didn't want your issues seeping Into what for her was a happy day, but you never could lie to her so avoiding the situation seemed to be your best bed

it all ached. It was a dull type of pain that came in harsh flashbacks to your childhood, all the waiting by the phone hoping he would call just to be let down all the birthdays he ignored all the times you were supposed to visit that he just ignored

it affected you greatly left you questioning your worth at every single turn

if he didn't want you how could anyone else right?

abby was aware of this she saw how intensely his lack of presence in your life and the hell he gave you when he was had shaped you she watched you second guess your every move you made it broke her heart watching the girl she loved so much hurt all because he didn't show up how you deserved

it felt impossible to untangle the version of him he made you into from who you actually wanted to be

but abby wanted to help you

she had to help you

Abby palmed her keychain flipping through them until she found the key to your apartment before unlocking the door

and oh did her heart ever break at the sight

you were tangled up in blankets a crying mess as you clutch a mug of what she has to assume is not tea judging by the half empty bottle of vodka on the counter

seeing her girl so broken up was enough to bring her to tears

"abby..." god you hated how weak your voice sounded so sad you hated that he still had this power over you that after all these years that his grip was still strong enough to make you break

"oh oh honey hi..." she spoke gently making her away over to settle beside you on the couch her voice was gentle but her mind trying and failing to suppress the violence she wanted to inflict on the man who made you like this she wanted to ruin him how he tried to ruin you and show him that regardless of how horrible he was to you you still turned out so well that regardless of all the darkness he inflicted on you you were still the brightest person she knew

"today is the worst day" you muttered and she felt her heart break a little harder "all I ever wanted was for him to be around and there has to be a whole goddamn day to remind me that he wasn't that lots of other girls got what I didn't that of whatever reason I just wasn't good enough to deserve a dad"

Abby never thought about it quite like that how truly painful this Day must be for you seeing all the girls including her with their gold star dads and here you have been all Day drowning your sorrows in liquor and sitcoms wondering why you didn't deserve a dad lie everyone else got

"oh angel" abby cooed out her arm hand covering the expanse of your cheek as she pulled you into her side determined to offer you all the comfort she could "you deserved a dad you deserved more then just a dad you deserved someone who showed up for you who held you when you cried and loved you the way you deserve he never took care of you and he's a fuckin pussy but i'm gonna take care of you do you understand? im gonna fix what he broke baby and one Day your gonna see how deserving of that you are"

you didn't know how bad you needed her words until she spoke them but you needed them oh so badly you trusted abby she was the only dim guiding light you had left in this world and if she said you were going to be okay you knew you would

#abby anderson #IRISWRITES #Modern!abby #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson au #abby tlou #abby Andersen x fem!reader

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8bitscarlet · 2 years

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Back to the Beginning

Summary: The night that Wanda finally let you know what she wanted, your life changed and you don't know if it was for the better.

Genre/Warnings: Angst/Fluff (cussing, drinking)

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Word Count: 8k

A/N: Alright everyone, here it is. The final chapter of I Hear a Symphony and the first ending of one of my series. This was definitely an incredibly fun series and thank you to everyone who's stuck through with it! Happy Reading!

*please do not repost or translate my material or claim as yours. reblogs,comments and likes are always appreciated! *

__________________________

You had always wondered what your life would be like without Wanda. You thought it was practically the end of the world when you were away on that two year mission. The pain and loneliness you felt then, it couldn't compare to how you felt now.

That mission, you at least had Bucky and Carol, a distraction from the mistakes you made. Two friends to cheer you up when things just go too sad and too dark. Now, you have nothing but your own thoughts and the silence of the world.

Life without Wanda was a life in a motel. Tony said it was on the dingy side of town, trying to get you to stay in his penthouse, but it was just out of the city. The furthest you could get from Wanda, to make sure you could only run into each other at the Compound. Even then, you made sure you never ran into her.

You trained earlier than her and worked later than her. The only time you saw her was with a forced grin on your face as you were leaving, exhausting yourself to the point of nearly passing out.

Then you would go back to your little room all alone. A single bed with a tv that only had five channels. The day's takeaway in the fridge, right next to the new case of beer you picked up on the drive home. You sighed each time you turned that key, this was your home. Not the home you dreamed of. Not the home with a sprawling garden in the back and sitcoms playing in the living room as the smell of dinner filled the house.

In this home, you watched dirty water run down the clouded window pane that overlooked the highway. Always cracking open another beer to try and wash her memory down. If you weren't there, you were hanging out in places where other lonely people got together. Sitting on a creaking bar stool and talking about where it all went wrong. Trying to string together all the "would've, could've, should've."

This was always expected though. Finding ways to try and distract yourself from her, telling yourself that there were people worse off than you, and just avoiding the whole problem itself. Just like you did before, just like you're doing now and just like you're afraid of doing for the rest of your life.

What you didn't expect though, was the uphill fight you were forced to partake in every single day. From the moment your eyes opened to when they closed after you wore yourself to the bone. Long days and even longer and lonelier nights. You had signed up for this game all those years ago and you were bound to lose. Losing meant there would be an end and you'd get through it.

That's what you told yourself. That you'd be able to live a life without her.

You knew you were lying to yourself. This wasn't something you'd be able to get through. Maybe it would hurt a little less as the days went on. You'd add on a wave alongside that forced grin. But you'd just be in a fog. Disillusioned that you were fine and moving on, all the while you were trying to fill yourself up with anything to replace her.

Some might tell you it wasn't healthy. Wanda leaving that much of a gap in yourself. But the moment you had met her in that record shop all those years ago, it was like your soul was whole for the first time in your life. And when you lose half a soul, no one should expect you to be fine.

And that hole in your soul made itself ever present on quiet days like this. No training and no missions were on the agenda. You were left to your own devices inside of your hidey hole and all you could do was look around at the binge you had the night before. It was much more than just a case of beer and the cocktail of pain meds for those lingering pains from your torture.

Glancing at one of the pill bottles as you listen to your joints crack awake, pushing against your knee to straighten out, you eye the note written next to it. A softer handwriting than your chicken scratch, a simple reminder to only take these with water. You grin softly, always seeing a note like this when you went to pick up your pills from the Compound.

It isn't fair, you thought as you held the note between your fingers. This being the only way she could communicate with you but the team knew, she was the only one you'd listen to.

Sighing, you scoop up an armful of empty beer bottles, kicking along one of the boxes of pizza towards the kitchen trash. You grumble to yourself, trying to remind yourself to pick up after yourself so you don't have to do this with a raging headache. As you slam the box into the trash, nearly throwing the whole bin out the window when the bag tears, there's a soft noise to your side.

You stop, fingers clenching the sides of the trash can in anger and slowly releasing them in a quiet nervousness. No one besides Carol, Bucky or Nat came to visit you. And that was either to grab coffee on the way to training or dragging out of bed for training. Slowly, you step quietly towards the door, flipping through your phone to see if you had agreed to meet up with someone .

Coming up empty, you lean forward and peek through the peephole in the door. Your heart jumps in your throat, the phone you hold nearly crashing to the floor. As the excitement turns into dread, you contemplate keeping the door locked. Just to stand there and stare until you watched those green eyes disappear and listen to her footsteps walk down that hallway and leave, forever.

You know that won't happen. You'll get another knock, then a text on your phone before she would start pounding on the door. There was nowhere else for you to be except here. With a sigh, you reach towards the deadbolt and twist it open. As the door swings open, you wish you could slam it back into place and hide forever.

But you keep opening it, showing Wanda in all of her glory. Auburn hair is pulled back into a ponytail as strands fall around her face. You always swore she never had to try hard to look perfect, she always was. Your eyes cascade down her body quickly, a simple errand outfit. You nearly let out a relieved breath that she isn't wearing one of those dresses she wore when you two went on dates. It's selfish, hoping she wouldn't try to find comfort in someone new, but you can't help it.

As your eyes climb back up to her face, you try to keep the air around you two professional. You aren't a couple anymore. Hell, you aren't even a fling anymore. You just happened to work on the same team as her. Raising a brow, you watch her tighten her jaw, wondering if she was hoping you wouldn't open the door.

You tap the door with your knuckles, pulling in a tight breath as you finally reach her eyes and hold yourself steady, "Hi,"

Her jaw loosens, almost as if she let go of a breath she was holding and you see the slightest grin at the corners of her lips. She stares at you, not even hiding the fact that she's taking all of you in. It had been a while since the two of you had been this close. You hope she can't see the tiredness in your eyes or the new scar across your lips from being a bit too reckless on mission.

A mission you left without much warning to her, a last minute sign up. You remember the hurt on her face when she saw you geared up and walking to the Quinjet hangar. Knowing she had no say in what you did, but feeling something all too familiar.

All she could do was mutter a silent plea. Not to die.

"Hi," she whispers out, both you not wanting to make the next move.

Silently, you pat your chest and try to grin as convincingly as you can, "I didn't die in Prague,"

Wanda was about to take a step forward but she stops, mouth falling open as she tries to understand your decision to make that kind of joke. Of all the things she was afraid of, it was you dying. And you just went and said that. You realize your mistake as soon as the words leave your mouth and grimace, silently apologizing.

"Did uh, did something happen at the Compound?"

Wanda takes in a quick breath, as if she remembered why she came here in the first place, "Oh, right," Quietly, she leans over and picks up a small box that she had placed to the side, "This is everything I could find that got mixed up in my things, so,"

Stepping forward, she plops the box in your arms as you stare down at the contents. Your things that were mixed up in hers. You nearly push it right back to her when you see what's in there. Sweatshirts she had stolen, little notes you had left for her and a few of the vinyls you had given her over the years.

"I..." you try to clear the knot from your throat, "I could've just gone to get this from you."

Wanda shakes her head, "It's alright. I have a thing at one of the school's..."

You nod slowly, remembering all the time she used to drag you to those school assemblies. So excited to see the kids and just talk to them. She was a saint walking around on earth and dragging a devil like you around.

"Well," you give the box in your arms a soft shake, "I'll see you around,"

She nods, and you wonder if she's thinking about all the times she took you with her, too. Her soft eyes watched you sit at a too small table as you laughed at the incoherent sentences some of the kids made up. You tried your best for her but your past always gnawed at your heels. You had caught her stare a few times then and knew she was thinking about the future.

Now, as you catch her eyes, you know she's thinking about everything that you did.

"Oh, before I forget..." she pulls her purse forward and pops it open, "I should probably give this back,"

You stare for a moment at the ring pinched between her fingers. Slowly, you move the box to your side as you gingerly reach out and take it in your hand. It's small and light but weighs heavily in your grasp. The aching in your chest is nearly too much to handle, a stinging in your eyes as you think about what could've been. And all you can do is stare at it, remembering you had stuffed it inside the letters you had never sent her.

"Alright," you nod, raising a brow as you try and set a grin on your face.

Right then, you should've just said goodbye and closed the door. The longer that door stays open, you know the longer you'll be sitting and drinking. The longer you stare at those eyes, the stronger your wish for her to just tell you that she never loved you in the first place and definitely doesn't love you anymore. Maybe then, you'd be in just a little bit better shape to try and move on.

But you don't. You turn back around as you place the box down on the floor and look directly into those green eyes that hold your whole life. She doesn't know it, but that look she gives cuts you so deeply. The tears around her eyes try to lure you in to pull her to you, to put your lips on hers and tell her that you love her.

You remember the last time you kissed her. The night in her room that filled you with so much hope. The night you should've kept your hands in your pockets and didn't even give her a hug. Maybe if you had done that, you wouldn't be so fucked up.

"Okay," Wanda sighs, trying to force a grin on her shaking lips as you turn the doorknob gently.

"Bye, Wanda." you try to keep the tone in your voice friendly but you can hear the cracking of your voice as you see the pain in her eyes, "Wands?"

She stops and turns too quickly and both of you know it. A name that shouldn't be on your tongue and a reaction she shouldn't have anymore.

"I know it hasn't been long" The months were starting to stack but you bite your tongue, "But do you-,"

All she gives you is a sigh and you know what she's going to say, her fingers playing with the rings that still decorate her fingers, 'I miss you..."

You cross your arms and give a small nod, "But,"

Wanda gives you a small grin, you always knew her too well, "I don't want you to use me like I'd be using you if we..." You nod, if the two of you went back to how it was, "I... If this is something, I don't want it to be one night."

"I get it, I just. I wasn't sure if anything changed."

"No," the word cuts you like a knife and you watch as she take out her car keys, "I can't be jumping off the deep end right now. I can't."

The air rests heavy between as there are no more words to share. Another quiet goodbye and all you can think of is how you're already drowning the deep end. There's no one to save you and you almost believe that Wanda is the lucky one in all of this.

But when she turns to wave goodbye, you watch the single tear run down her face and realize the truth. None of you are lucky. And you wonder if you're both destined for a life of pain

_______________________

Your phone buzzes again. The fifth time in the span it took you to turn onto your other shoulder to sleep. You groan, opening your eyes as you smack your hand down on the vibrating device.

Squinting, you try to focus on the bright screen that you hold in front of your face. There's five messages on your lock screen, all from the same person. The person you've been desperately trying to avoid since you got back a box of records and sweatshirts.

Trying to rub the sleep from your eyes, they flick up to the clock on the screen and you let out a sigh. You should definitely get some training in. Steve would be disappointed that you had taken two days off to let your body recover from the last mission you went on.

Unlocking your phone, you tap on a message thread and ignore the five waiting for you to read. You know what they say, you don't need a reminder.

<Training. 30 minutes?>

Your hand hangs limp over the edge of the bed as you wait for the buzz of a new message. Eyes slowly start to fall as you feel yourself falling back asleep but you feel the vibration in your hand and open your eyes. Grinning as you're expecting a snarky message, that grin falls from your face quickly. It's six messages now.

Knowing that Carol doesn't answer right away, you drop your phone on the bedside table and force yourself upright. You glance around the room with a groan as you wish for just another hour of rest. Beer bottles litter all of your counter space, an improvement from littering your floor.

Your clothes are thrown haphazardly around and you wonder if you actually have any clean training clothes. Standing, you start to pick through your clothes and see if you can get away with wearing something again.

Grimacing as you smell a shirt, you throw it towards the hamper as you take the least insulting shirt to spray with the air freshener.

Splashing your face with the cold water that trickles out of the bathroom faucet, you can hear more buzzing from your phone. The tap squeaks out into the quiet room as you dry your face and peek at the glowing screen. A missed call and a message from Carol.

You chuckle, typing out a response when there's a loud banging on the door. The phone clatters to the counter as you eye the cheap knife block on your counter, your heart pounding against your chest. The door doesn't fall open to a militia of Hydra soldiers and you realize Nat is no doubt here to make you train.

"One second," you groan, trying to tidy up the room. You don't know if you'll be able to handle another lecture from Nat about trying to keep things clean. About how you should just move back to the Compound, at least there you know there isn't asbestos in the walls. The pounding grows louder and you worry that the other patrons are going to start complaining.

"I'm coming!" you yell towards Nat on the other side of the door and the pounding stops. Muttering to yourself that she's impatient, you whip open the door and nearly rip it straight off its hinges.

"You can text Danvers back? If you don't want me to text you, just block me!"

The words knock against your ears as you stare in disbelief at this attack. A sickening feeling in your stomach as you see the anger she uses to hide her pain away from everyone. You clench your brows,

"I can't. We're teammates. What if you were dying?"

"Exactly, what if I was? You didn't even read them!"

Her yelling would've had you glowering at her in the past. You would've been angry at her for coming and attacking you in your 'safe haven' and then you would've been tearing off each other's clothes.

But the way your life has been these past months, you're relishing in this moment. You'd thought about finding anyway to see her. Whether it was you slamming on her door in the middle of the night or wishing that she'd show up on her own. Anything to see her again, but you knew neither of those would bring her back to you forever.

"Let me get this straight," you rest your hands on your waist and watch Wanda's shoulders loosen as she hears no malice in your voice, "You came all the way over here to yell at me about who I text? Wanda, jesus. Why are you here?"

The question catches her off guard, as if she doesn't really know why she's here. In her mind, she was probably looking for a fight. To get you to look at her for once this month. Something to prove that you were still in love with her.

You know the team talks, share what they think's appropriate with each other. You've heard how Wanda asks about you and she no doubt knows you've asked about her. Both of you hadn't heard it from each other though. You were nothing but strangers to each other, just wanting more.

"We haven't trained in a while,"

Wanda avoids your stare as she tries to look into your room. You sigh and step in front of her, "Didn't think we needed to,"

Wanda nods slowly, "Right. Danvers is your new partner, right?"

You stare at each other, knowing what she's insinuating with those words. All you do is clench your jaw, trying to figure out what she wants from you.

"God, I'm... I'm sorry." Wanda breathes out, looking as if she just shrunk ten sizes as she slides her phone back into her pocket, "You don't owe me replies. And today isn't an excuse for me to be an ass. I just... I just really wanted to punch something."

You try to chuckle, "Punching? A little too spicy for us, huh?" Wanda's smile sits halfheartedly on her face as your jaw tightens, knowing today jokes aren't needed, "What is it, 6 years today?"

Wanda nods, "We... He would've been thirty this year," You can see her stiffen as she comes to the realization, another birthday without her brother. Another birthday where she doesn't fight to blow out the candles because he was 'twelve minutes old'.

Quickly, she tries to shake away the thought, to find something to distract her from the shadow of death that covers today, "Did you want to grab breakfast or something after you... I mean, I know you and Danvers get donuts and,"

She starts to ramble. It's been a long time since you've heard her do this and you'd always hold her close and tell her whatever she wanted to do, you'd do it. Instead, you force yourself to stay silent. To let her drone on and on until she has no more words to fill the quiet between you.

Slowly, you step to the side and silently invite her inside to maybe hide her from the pain that waits for her once she's alone. As she walks in and you close the door, you let her look around for a moment. At the piles of mismanaged filing on the desk and the dishes that pile in the sink. Her eyes rest longer than they should on the bed, wringing her fingers as her eyes flash back to you. You take in a slow breath, knowing that there was a simple way to slap a band-aid on all of this.

Wanda releases the breath she took with you, "You really meant it, huh?"

You hum out and wish you could take all the pain you can see wafting off of Wanda, the tightness in her lips as she tries to hold herself together.

"You'd do anything for me? I told you I couldn't do this and you do all of this," she raises her arm at what your life is like now, "You'd live like this because I'm selfish? Because I can't sit down and figure out what I want?"

You stay silent, knowing that all of this was you being selfish too. To say you were giving her space but still being close enough to be in the back of her mind. Like she said the last night with you, she was still connected to you. And even if you didn't have her powers, you felt it too. You couldn't leave, even if you blamed it on having to stay close for the team. You were just as selfish, never wanting to let her go.

"I just... you were right. Every time we get close, we blow up. One night doesn't fix what I did for two years. Maybe, maybe we do have to try and move on."

Wanda's eyes widen, her breath catching in her throat as she tries to see if you're just lying to yourself. To try and hear any loud thoughts that maybe screaming at her to stay. You try with every ounce of your strength to silence them.

"And you want to move on?" Wanda whispers, quietly as if she doesn't want to hear those words.

"I have to," you say as your phone buzzes and you listen to Wanda sigh out.

"Don't get that,"

You press your lips together and raise your shoulders "I have to,"

Wanda steps forward quickly, "No, you don't have to. What do you want?" She yanks the phone from your grasp and throws it onto the bed, "Just like you always asked me. What do you want, hm? What. Do. You. Want?"

Wanda's eyes stare deep inside of you, wishing you could just tell her as you fought to keep everything inside of you. To keep silent that you were terrified of hurting her again. Knowing how scared she was that you'd break her heart again made you rethink each word you said, each pause you held o not reopen the wounds you'd given her.

"I want my phone."

There's a slight buzzing sound as Wanda's green eyes glance over to the bed, another buzz. You step towards the bed, your shoulder just brushing hers, fists clenching as you feel the jolt of electricity through your stomach. As you lean forward to grab the glowing phone, you practically jump on it as you watch the magic fling it across the room.

Your fingers just catch the edge, groaning as it lands safely in Wanda's hand. Throwing a pillow against the headboard, you snap at Wanda.

"I am not a child! Give me my phone, Wanda!" You stare across the room at each other, freezing at the annoyance in your voice.

She gently places your phone on the entertainment center, face down so all you can hear are the soft buzzes. She stays quiet against your tone, knowing you're fighting from telling her the truth again.

"What do you want," Wanda says, her voice soft and alluring, begging you to pull down your walls.

"I don't want this," you say, watching those green eyes snap to yours as the words leave your mouth. The tears fill her eyes as you step forward.

Wanda's brows clench tightly, trying to understand what you're telling her. You sigh, running your hands down your face as you try to clear the knot from your throat.

"Wanda, I'm not trying to find comfort because I'm lonely. I don't want this to be how we say goodbye. So, what I want, you can't give," You slip into your shoes and yank your jacket, leaving behind a slowly spinning chair.

As you grab your keys, Wanda steps in front of you and pulls your eyes up from the ground. Her hands hover just in front of you, fingers twitching to touch you. To rest them on your chest as she talks to you, to have your eyes rest on hers and watch them warm at her touch. She can feel your breath on her and watches your hands bunch in your sweats, fighting the same urge.

"Try me," she whispers, feeling you take a step forward as you press your body against hers. It's everything you've been missing, your body shivering as her cool touch just passes along your skin.

You shake your head, "If you want my phone so bad, don't lose it," You words brush against her skin, your eyes watching the blush grow and knowing how badly her fingers want to wrap around your wrist. To hold you near and feel your whispers all along her skin.

Stepping to the side, you slip past her and feel her hand fall back to her side. She quietly follows you out of the room, curiously watching as you leave it unlocked. Anything of value you had left in the Compound.

The air is cold, fall is beginning to turn into winter and the sun is hidden behind clouds. The leaves on the ground rustle with a light breeze that fills your skin with goosebumps.

You glance back to Wanda, watching her huddle tighter into her hoodie as you open the passenger door of the car. She stares at it, confused as to why you're not handing her a helmet and jacket.

"Traded Bucky until I move back in. Easier to haul stuff over, " you tell her, not mentioning that Bucky had seen something in your eyes that night. How he had ran down and yanked you off that bike before you could force the speedometer to its limits on a rain slicked highway. Swapping your keys for his, a beatdown car as old as you that barely made it past sixty.

Wanda slides into the passenger seat, looking around as you climb in and crank the engine awake. It sputters as you turn the heater just how she likes it, turning all the vents towards her to keep her warm. She notices the small gesture and you can feel her eyes on you, the weight of their stare trying to pull you in but you back up with a single mirror.

Your heart is pounding in your ears as you raise the volume of the radio, hoping she can't hear it or see the way you stretch out your fingers from gripping the steering wheel.

The silence is thick between you, neither of you mentioning how the engine sputters at stop signs or how you're fighting every urge to rest a hand on Wanda's thigh. The buzz of your phone is loud inside of the cupholder and Wanda glances down at the screen, reading the name.

"It's,"

"Ignore it," you glance at her as she clears her throat and you take a slow a turn.

"Are you going to kill me and dump my body?"

You let out a small snort, a grin growing on your face as you rest your arm on the center console, "Everyone knows you're here. I'm the first suspect. The angry ex."

Wanda chuckles, shifting down into the seat now that the heater is blowing. You turn your head as you wait for the last stoplight to turn green and as you do, you see her. The twinkling in her eyes that has replaced the pained tears she had in your motel room. No shade of green could describe her eyes and you knew nothing could come close to the beauty trapped inside. Her mouth opens to tell you something but a loud honk startles both of you.

Glancing forward, the light's green and you quickly wave to the car behind you and get moving. Wanda giggles quietly, your cheeks burning at the embarrassment but you keep your eyes locked on your destination. Soon, you're parking off to the side of the road.

You're out of the car quickly, shaking out the nervous weight in your arms as you walk around the back of the car. Wanda slowly climbs out, eyes locked on the building you stopped at.

It's boarded up and it's certainly an eyesore amongst all of the new and prospering shops and restaurants here. The paint is starting to chip but you can still make out the words on the weathered sign. Wanda walks slowly up to it, glancing back as you swing your keys around your fingers so she doesn't see the way they shake.

"Is this?"

You let out a hum, watching the way her eyes light up as the keys slide into the lock and turn with a soft click.

"Oh, wow," she breathes out, hand wiping down the window at one of the posters in front of the boards. You glance at it, a small grin finding its way on your lips as you read the event. It was one of the first concerts you and Wanda had gone to. You had picked up an order of vinyls when you saw it and knew that had to be where your first proper date would be.

Slowly, Wanda walks into the building. Her eyes scan through the darkness as you try to get some of the lights working. They're dim and flick inside what is an empty building but this place fills with memories that keep you warm. Dust coats every inch of this place, vinyl sleeves unmoved all this time. The instruments that were once sold here are shoved off to the side and the posters are starting to curl at the corners. But the way Wanda walks through here, it's as if it never closed.

Wanda slowly flicks through the vinyls, her nose scrunching as she lifts up a vinyl for you to see. You chuckle quietly as you close the door and lock it, your jaw clenching tightly as you see those neon words, Houndmouth.

"You bought them out," Wanda smiles, wiping away the dust from the case of the demo vinyl player, "You are a music snob."

You slide your hands into your pockets, a small grin on your face as you cough away some of the dust that tickles your throat. Wanda excitedly walks around, remembering all the memories the two of you shared here. Patting the place where the cash register was and how she'd sit there, legs swinging as you scoured for new records as she talked to the worker. How you caught her eyes when you glanced up from your search to see her watching you with giddy eyes.

Wanda stops and glances up with a frown. You watch her quietly as she steps to the side, counting the shelves and almost rearranging things in her head. She steps around and into another shelf and grips the top tightly,

"Here."

"Here?" you ask, walking over to her but she shakes her head and points for you to walk on the other side of the records. You listen to her silent order and stand there, brows raising as you shrug in confusion.

Wanda smiles, the flicking light above you glistening off her tear filled eyes, "Here. This is where met for the first time."

You feel like your got punched in the lungs as all your air rushes out, "No, no. I met you over there." you point towards the walkway to a nearly empty wall of practice instruments, "You ran straight into that worker carrying that box,"

She groans, smacking your arm as you remember the way she looked that day. Her auburn hair the fell from her half bun and the nervous pulls at the sleeves of her oversized blue shirt.

"Of course, and you had that stupid smile on your face," she points at your side grin, the blush you fell in love with that day filling her cheeks again.

It felt like a million years ago but like it just happened yesterday. You remember trying so hard to make her laugh and you wonder if you should've tried so hard. You wonder where the two of you would be now if you hand't looked up. How much better off she would be if she had never met you that day.

"Why the hell do you have the keys to this place? If you're taking care of it, you're doing a horrible job," Wanda smiles, her finger sliding along the top of the vinyls.

"That undercover mission was cushy," you say as you lean against the shelf and hear it creak, "A lot of pay. I had heard from a buddy this place was going under and..." You clench your brow as you look around this dusty building, "I mean it was important then and I couldn't let it be turned into another chain store. I meant to tell you."

Wanda hums, "Lied again," it's a joking jab but you don't laugh and watch her smile fall form her face.

Glancing at your watch, you raise your brows, "I know it's early. We're still about four months, eight days, fifteen hours-,"

Wanda looks down at her phone with a small grin, "Twenty three minutes and twelve seconds. My birthday."

You nod, remembering she loved to count down to the exact second. Just so she could prepare for when Pietro would yell that it was his birthday twelve minutes early when they grew up. And for her to quietly whisper him a 'Happy Birthday' as she grew another year older without him.

"I wanted to give this to you. Maybe have a side business or something. Make you a professional music snob but uh, yeah." You clear your throat as you walk over to a table that was dragged out of the office, "It's just been siting here. I never knew if you'd ever want to see this place again."

Wanda calls out your name as if to tell you that was a dumb thought but you quietly unhook a couple of keys from your ring and place them on the table, "It's yours. All the paperwork's in the car. We can get the names changed so it's only yours," you sigh, trying to remember if there was anything else as you try and keep your eyes from her.

"Y/N. You seriously bought this?"

Crossing your arms in front of you, you give a slow nod as Wanda slowly starts to walk towards you.

"You bought the first place we ever met,"

"Yup," your voice barely breaks through a whisper, scratching against your cheek nervously at how close she's getting.

Wanda sighs and sits next you up on the table. She pats your thigh and takes in a deep breath,

"I can't take this from you. I mean, you're probably more connected to this place besides just me."

You furrow your brow, barely remembering your life before you met Wanda. Without Wanda, this was jut a record store, nothing more, "I haven't been here since the last time we came. I bought it overseas, Wanda. I didn't even come to check on it."

Wanda's brows raise, a heavy blow as she looks around. A shivers runs through her and you see that grin on her face,

"You think there's ghosts?"

You chuckle, appreciating how she's trying to keep the air light in such a happy place, "I think it's too young for that. Though, they did have a phonograph here. Maybe a spirit followed it."

She laughs quietly, glancing around in silence. As if both of you are waiting for a ghost to pop out and prove that it's here. But nothing happens. Just the two of you breathing through congested noses in a place that brought you the best person in a life filled with so much regret and hate.

"Y/N?" Taking in a deep breath, you look over at Wanda as she spins the rings on her fingers, "What do you want?"

The table creaks underneath you as you decide not to sit on top with Wanda, "What I want is to start over. That day I met you here," You can practically feel your stomach doing somersaults, listening to the short hum from Wanda as she seems to understand. From the look on her face though, she's going down the wrong path.

"I want to brush off that work date I had that made me leave. To have actually taken you out for coffee and listened to that record with you."

Wanda nods slowly, "Do you regret how we met?"

You shake your head with certainty, "I regret how I handled things."

"Me too,' she agrees, sighing as you both think back on the year you've had. The dumb mistakes you two made when you were so close to mending each other. Too scared to risk it all again.

Your phone buzzes against the top of a drum that Wanda had set it on. You chuckle at the noise it makes, "I should probably go get-," As you stand to grab it and leave for the paperwork before going to train, a hand grips you so tightly you feel a twinge of pain. Looking back, Wanda's lips are starting to tremble.

"Don't,"

"Wanda, do you really want to let your walls down again? Maybe you're right..."

Wanda stands up, the table creaking out as you watch her every move, "Tell me you have no more lies,"

You shake your head, "None," her hands grab at the hem of your shirt and slowly pulls you closer to her. You try to fight her but you spent all your energy back at the motel. As you look at her, the vulnerability in her eyes, it doesn't take much to have you drawn into her. Your fingers running beneath her hoodie as she draws in a tight breath at how cold your fingers are.

"I have so much guilt, Wanda. I should've done everything so-,"

"Don't," Wanda whispers, "Brush off that work date. Start. Over."

Your arms wrap tightly around her waist as she presses her lips against yours. A soft touch, so different from the rough kisses the two of you shared so often. Your lips barely start moving against hers before she's already pulled back, her breath running over you and her soft skin already intoxicating you, "No more lies. No more secrets. What do you want?"

Your lips brush against hers as her fingers bunch up the back of your hoodie, trying to pull herself as close as she can to you, "I want to fix this,"

She rests her hands on your face, chills running down your spine when you see her searching eyes, "So do I,"

Those words snap something inside of you, releasing something you've been holding onto ever since you came back from nearly dying. The desperation to have Wanda back with you, to feel her love and not just her lust. For all those innocent touches of hers and to share everything life had to offer with her. You just wanted her.

Wanda can see it, she can feel this change inside of you. Her arms wrap around your neck as she pulls you to her, your face fall into the crook of her neck. Your body shakes as you let her truly see the guilt you've carried, no more lies.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," you croak out, your fingers practically wrapping her hoodie around your hands. Her fingers massage along your neck, listening to your shuddering breaths, "I can't lose you again."

She cups your face, wiping away the hot tears that run down your face. She's smiling as her own tears run down her face and you chuckle at the mess the both of you are in, "As long as I don't lose you, we've got this."

Clearing your throat, you run a sleeve across your nose. Feeling the wave of emotions recede and look around, the cogs in your brain turning. How much more can you do this? How much more can Wanda take? How long would it be until you messed all of this up again and lost her again. If there were meant to be no more lies, you couldn't lie to yourself and believe that you could honestly fix this.

"I like your optimism. But are you sure. I mean, are we being realistic?"

Wanda hums, not an excited sound but cautious. Her eyes study you carefully, wanting to read your mind but knowing she shouldn't. The quiet tension the air makes her shift. You know what you're about to say and you wonder if Wanda's truly ready to hear it.

"You said it yourself. Every time we get closer to each other, we blow up."

Her eyes flick away before finding yours, "So, are you saying patterns can't change? Like you haven't changed?"

You look away with a sigh, a grin on your face but it isn't because you're happy, but because of every other emotion filling you. Your hands shake as you run them down your pants and try to clear out your throat, trying to clear your head for what you're about to tell her.

"It's not just me. Have you seen anyone at the Compound hold a steady relationship? I mean, Bucky and Nat haven't even figured it out," You glance over to her, green eyes staring off into the distance at the resolution you're working towards. A resolution that's going to shatter her world all over again. Her mind is turning at a million mile an hour, not prepared for the pain that's about to drown her again.

Nodding slowly to yourself as you pull in a deep breath, you stare at the wall just past her, afraid to see the pain in her eyes, "When I was tortured... I learned the definition of insanity."

Wanda mirrors you, a smile to try to hide the pain, "Having this conversation in our record store."

You swallow the knot in your throat, rubbing your hand against your lips as you hear the crack in her voice but she smacks your thigh, "Let's just get you back home to the Compound and talk-,"

"I thought that I could handle what the other's couldn't," you talk over her, darting your eyes away from her trembling lips that she tries to hide, "But even after we got together, I failed to make us my priority. My past has taken so much and it's damaged more than me. I've left it and it's still dividing us. There's no finish line in the war I'm in,"

The tears have welled up inside of your eyes as you turn to Wanda, to give her the respect of your attention. Her tears have already escaped her eyes, fingers spinning her rings faster than you've ever seen before.

"You know, I spent the whole flight from Jordan questioning if it was fair to keep dragging you along. To have a promise that we could figure this all out with time."

Wanda nods slowly, sniffling and trying to look at you without breaking, but the cracking in her voice tells you everything, "And did you come up with an answer?"

All you do is stare, wondering if maybe it was too soon. Maybe a year apart from each other would be better. Would let both of you truly figure out what you wanted but sit-in in a place of memories, knowing it all started with lies, you can't keep dragging her along. You pull in a tight breath, shoulders rising high as you try to drop the tension in them.

"With all the mistakes I've made and all the collateral damage I've caused to what we were," your heart is pounding in your chest but you force yourself to look into those tear filled eyes, "The biggest tragedy would be using that as an excuse to not fight for a future with you."

Wanda's head tilts, curious if she heard you right. The wrinkles between her brows soften and the trembling of her lips grows. The grin fills your face, "We should be with each other. Together. Fix us, together."

She stares at you, watching the grin form into a smile as her lips rise but fall in disbelief as her stare narrows to see if you're joking. She scoffs as she looks away to take a breath and laughs,

"You sure you're not still drunk from all that beer?" she reminds you of the empty cases in that shoddy motel room.

You shake your head, "Never thought clearer about anything else in my life. Do you want this?"

Wanda slides off the table, a huge smile on her face as you raise your brows, "Yes?"

She barely lets you get that word out of your lips before she grabs your hoodie and yanks you to her, "Yes!"

Her lips smash against your smile, arms wrapping around her waist as you hold her against you. The instant you felt her soft lips on yours, the world became brighter and lighter all around you. The world was less daunting as you held this powerful woman in your arms.

"Oh my god," Wanda scrunches her nose as she grabs your face, pushing back your hair to look at you clearly, "I was so worried you were going to propose."

You smile, "Oh really. That's what you were worried about?"

Wanda hums, her nose running along yours as you melt into her soft touches, “Mhm, no other options. Had to play hard to get, make you see straight.”

Your lips peck against hers, the sound of her hum hits against your chest with an electric jolt, “I thought we weren’t supposed to lie,” you mutter against her.

She slides her finger down the new scar on your lip, knowing how many scars each of you has and knowing that none of them will be because of each other,

“Just kiss me,”

You raise a brow as she smiles, knowing you are certainly going to enjoy making up for all the passionate and tender moments you lost. She sighs out, “and love me.”

Pulling away, you cock a brow at her choice of words, “Did you just-?”

Wanda smiles, her finger tracing down along your neck, “You should write more romantic letters like that,”

Smiling, feeling a flip in your stomach as she looks at you with those eyes that nearly drop you to your knees, you move quickly. Your arm slides behind her knees as you pick her up and start carrying her giggling body to the backroom, “Oh, I’ll show you some romance,”

Wanda shakes her head, pressing you back before your lips smash against hers as you settle her down on a desk, “Hey,”

You stop, hands wrapped around her waist with a grin, already knowing what she’s going to say and preparing yourself.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Breathing out slowly, you let the words wash over and practically feel the worries that weighed down your shoulders disappear. You didn’t want to spend another day without her touch, to feel her soft touch on her skin as she talked about her day and all her dreams with you. And if you mutter your own three words, you can start to make up for all your regrets. It’s barely a thought in your mind as your lips press against Wanda’s for a quick moment,

“I love you.”

_______________________

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