#I’ve only been watching since March and I was out of the country and couldn’t watch for a good part of the summer

[certifiedsportslesbian]

That race was so crazy oh my god

#super fun though #apart from what happened with Pierre #thank god he’s alright #but that was all sorts of fucked yo #but a crazy race #so far my f1 experience has been a little boring #I’ve only been watching since March and I was out of the country and couldn’t watch for a good part of the summer #then there was the summer break #so I haven’t seen too many races #but they’ve all been pretty boring #this race was so fun they should be more like this #aside from Pierre almost hitting the tractor #and Charles losing his position at the end of the race #that broke my heart a little #f1 lb

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

All the Time in the World - Chapter 8

Birkhall, March 2020

“What did your test say?” His voice sounds husky over the phone and it sets my heart in a little flutter of panic. 

“It’s negative, Darling.”

“Thank God. Phone me in an hour. I have to write a letter.”

The days have merged together in a way which seems to make time stand still. An ongoing void of hours which lead to more isolated hours, filled with worry. I look up from my book expecting at least twenty minutes to have flown by but they never do. They crawl. I made a shrewd prediction with this virus but I expected that we would be safe at Birkhall, not infected and hiding away from spreading it to other people. Why him? Why not me?

The phone rings again and at first I’m glad for the hour to be over, and then very aware that only fifteen minutes have passed and I’m gripped with panic again. I know it’s him. “What is it?”

“William, he’s positive.”

Oh, good Lord. “He’ll be fine, Darling. He’s young, fit. You don’t need to worry.” Please don’t worry. Concentrate on getting better. I’ll do all the worrying for you.

“He says he feels fine.”

“Well that’s just what you need to hear. Thank goodness.” I’m going to phone his wife later and prize out the real story. William’s never let us know when he’s ill. Not when he was at school and was struck down with flu, he carried on attending lessons until his house master noticed how much he was struggling and phoned us. Not when he was at university and had a kidney infection and Kate phoned us in a panic when she found him doubled over in pain. It’s as if he has to maintain a facade at all times.

“I’m sure you’re right. I seem to be fine anyway.”

He doesn’t sound fine to me but I bypass the issue. “Well that’s good to hear.”

“Darling, if I’m not, I don’t want you to come and visit me.”

“What?”

“If, and I fervently hope it doesn’t come to this, but if it does, you’re not to come to see me.”

“Darling, if you’re ill, I’m coming to see you.”

“No. I don’t want you to. I’ve seen those awful videos from Italy. I don’t want you visiting me when I’m like that.”

“How ridiculous. I don’t care what you look like.”

“And if I’m ventilated, you must stay away.”

“I will not!”

“Everyone else has to die alone. I’m not being the exception.”

“What the fuck?”

“I know they’ll let you in if you push them. No one will say no to you. They won’t dare. I’m telling you now, I don’t want you there.”

The shock from his words strikes through me and I’m at a loss for what to say.

“Darling, put your camera on. I want to see you.”

“I don’t…”

“Camilla, put your camera on.”

My hands are shaking as I reach for my iPad and press the call button. He never uses my full name and there was something about the tone that I couldn’t argue with. It takes us a few minutes to fix the connection between us and to adjust the video and the volume on the speakers but the time gives me a little chance to think and devise my argument.

“You can’t be seen to have special treatment.”

“That’s the most ridiculous argument. If you’re about to die, it matters not two hoots what anyone thinks. The entire country can hate me, it’s not anything I’m not used to. And it wouldn’t matter. I’m not living this life without you.”

“Darling, you can’t come. What if you catch it from me?”

“I don’t care!”

“Well I do!”

“You wouldn’t even know - you’d be hooked up to a ventilator.”

“I want you to promise me, you won’t come.”

“No!”

“You have to.”

“No, I bloody don’t!”

“I want to die knowing you’re safe. Knowing that I’ve not made my family’s position harder than it already is.”

It’s been a very long time since he made me cry and I do now without hiding my eyes, letting him see but he’s resolved; his face is crumpled with guilt but he holds his position. He watches me cry. “How can you not let me say goodbye to you?” I do cover my face now as the tears turn to sobs and I turn my face to shield myself, my shoulders shaking.

“Let me see you.”

“How can you watch me cry?”

“Because I want you to be safe. Promise me, Milla.”

“No!”

“Dammit, it’s the only thing I can do to make dying alone in a hell hole bearable. I need to know you’ll be okay.” He shouts at the camera and the speakers distort his voice.

“I’m not going to be okay!” I scream the words back at him and end the call. Then I turn it off and unplug the phone, just as I hear it ring. I’m so angry I want to hit something and my heart has cracked and the pain is like nothing I can remember. I pace about in my room until I can’t take it anymore and I fly to my bedroom and grab the largest pillow and hug it to my chest to staunch the pain. His first reason, his primary reason, isn’t anything to do with me. All he cares about is his public perception. Then the tears come with a vengeance, making me rock with the violence of the emotion as I cling to the pillow as if for life. I want his arms around me. I want to push my face into his neck and breathe him in.

2000, St James’ Palace

As wonderful as it is to be able to be seen with him, out in public, I feel bereft this morning when he leaves me to go to his appointments. I need to remember how far we’ve come and try not to wish for more time. The impossibility of our situation was almost easier to deal with when there was no hope of a life together. Now it feels like it could be possible, I’m impatient. And bored. So bored. It’s difficult to maintain life as it used to be. There are so many ordinary things which are now almost impossible for me to do, but that gaping hole in my life isn’t filled by being able to see him more often. We still have so little time together.

Charles tells me to occupy myself by getting involved in charities, but I feel like a fraud, like I’m trying too hard to be someone I’m not, or worse, like I’m emulating his ex-wife. I don’t want to take her place. I don’t want to be anything like her. My life is narrowing to a point where I can see why she was so angry and frustrated but I refuse to complain about the pressure to him. The constant humiliation and attacks I get from the media, from supposed friends, from The Firm, from Charles’s family, are almost crippling and everything I do is wrong. I embarrass him. I damage him. I’ve made him the laughing stock of the entire world. His younger brother has a particularly visceral reaction towards me, sitting on his mother’s knee, whispering my faults like a serpent around her neck. It’s like fighting the wind. I try at least to look the part, pay more attention to my personal grooming. He didn’t ask me to but he didn’t object when it was suggested and I’ve now got a rather generous allowance just for that. I’m torn between the knowledge that I must look the part, and a deep resentment that I must do this to be considered acceptable. But whatever I do, the photographers always see the worst. I see the pictures occasionally and I look so awful, I sometimes worry that they’re right. Why would he choose to be with someone so hideous? And then I give myself a stern talking to because I know better than any person on the planet where his heart lies. But the allowance is almost an admittance that I’m not enough for him. This deep-set hurt is so insignificant in the grand scheme of things that I ignore it, try to lock that feeling away. I don’t want to make anything in his life any more difficult than I already have done.

His distinctive footsteps distract me from my thoughts and I get up to greet him. He’s so happy to see me, I see his eyes light up and I forget the pain. He is what I am fighting for.

“Darling, thank goodness you’re here.”

Where else would I be? I don’t say it as it feels a little peevish. Instead, I kiss him and help him take off his jacket before pulling him for the tea that’s already laid out ready for us, chatting to him, asking him about his day. He looks at me peculiarly, alarm in his pale blue eyes and my heart knots with anxiety.

“Sit next to me.” He yanks my arm and I sit next to him, worried as his hands rub my thighs like he’s trying to comfort me. “I don’t think you’re being very honest with me.”

“What am I not being very honest about?”

���I think you’re being false with me to try not to upset me.”

“I’m not being false.”

“You’ve stopped arguing with me.”

“Perhaps I just agree with you more.”

“You’re always pretending to be happy, dealing with me…”

“I want you to be happy…”

“No. I feel like it’s no longer real… This, between us. It’s a facade. It’s you appeasing me. It’s not a real relationship.”

My breath chokes in my throat and nothing comes out. I feel my eyes welling up and have no control as my nose blocks up almost instantly. The worst thing about it is that he’s correct. I’m living on a tightrope, dealing with him, managing him. Concealing my own pain from him.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” 

His eyes are watery and they break me, letting uncensored tears flow down my face, each moment that passes makes it more difficult to breathe. “Please don’t do this to me again.” I don’t know how the words escape but they stab me when I hear myself say them; the memory of phoning him to be told he doesn’t want to speak to me, he doesn’t want to see me anymore, is still so raw it merges with this new agony. To my shame, I clasp onto his hands, bending double so my face is on his lap and my body erupts into sobs.

“Do what?”

“Please don’t leave me.” I feel his body tense up with my words and I know he’s angry.

“I’m not, I’m not. Of course I’m not.” 

But his voice is gentle and I feel his lips kissing the back of my neck even as I break into a fresh round of sobs. 

“No, Darling, I’ll not do that to you ever again.”

He doesn’t try to shush me as the pain from not being chosen jars through me.

“I’d convinced myself that everyone was right about you, that I needed to let you go.”

“You didn’t even tell me…”

‘I was a coward. I’m so sorry.”

He pulls his hands from the clasp of my own and then strokes my hair. I feel him kiss the back of my head even as I burrow further into his lap.

“But you told me it was okay. That you understood.”

“I did understand!”

“And you’re doing the same now. You’re so understanding but you’re doing it at your own detriment.”

“I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you. I’ll never leave you. Don’t apologise. I don’t deserve it. Please sit up, Darling.”

It takes me some time to sit up. For the shock to dissolve through my body, for my nerves to calm. He sits with me, stroking my hair, my back, until the sobs become a trickle down my face that I can’t stem and I sit up enough to look at him, feeling him holding my shoulders.

“I thought that the only way the public would accept me divorcing Diana was if you took the fall.” “You were manipulated…”

“No, I wasn’t. I thought I was making the right decision. You need to know that I chose to do that to you. It was my own poor judgement. I’m so sorry but I wasn’t listening to what people said and was swayed. I thought I was doing the right thing. You don’t need to worry about what other people are saying to me; every person on earth can tell me I should leave you and I’ll never do that again. They were some of the worst weeks of my life.”

“You just cut me out.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I was so cruel to you. It was easier to not speak to you, to let my secretary inform you I didn’t want to talk to you again. I was so, so wrong. But Milla, you just forgave me, I didn’t know you were still so upset about it.”

“You rang me hysterical, what was I meant to do? I love you. I know you.”

“That’s what you do. And I love you for it, but you internalise everything. And I don’t realise how much you’re hurting. Milla, that was four years ago, you sheltered me from that for far too long. What are you hiding from me now?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie. Darling, I want this relationship, but I want it to be a relationship between two adults. Let me in.”

I shake my head at him, trying to stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. It’s too difficult.

“Do you not trust me?”

No. I don’t. I know him too well. I know I can’t do this. I have to be the strong one. “Yes, I trust you.”

“You don’t trust me.” 

I hear his sigh and I reach for him automatically, knowing I’ve hurt him, wrapping my arms around his head, feeling his arms encompass me. “It’s too much, all at once. I do trust you.” I’m trying to appease him and I’m not sure he believes me.

“Well then, start small. Tell me one thing that is hurting you.”

We’re silent for a long time. Long enough for the tears to dry on my cheeks, enough to almost be in a daze of sleep. He holds me and doesn’t let go. He’s waiting for me. “Sometimes…” But the words tie around my tongue and it’s like a brace, holding them in. I feel his thumb rubbing against my shoulder and I know he’s waiting. I take a breath, “Sometimes I allow it to get to me…” I feel my chest constraining the words and they tail off. He waits but I can’t continue.

“What gets to you, Darling?”

 “What,” I clear my throat, “people say about me.”

“Is there anything in particular?”

“Everything.”

“What’s everything? Tell me, Darling.”

“I can’t.”

“Well shall I run through the things I think you might be bothered by and you can just tell me yes or no?”

I feel like he’s scraping away at my insides with a scalpel and I have to evade the scrutiny. “It’s not one thing. It’s just a cumulation of everything. I’m being silly.”

“You’re not being silly. I don’t think any person alive has ever had to suffer the indignities you’ve suffered.”

“It doesn’t bother me…” 

“It evidently does…”

“It doesn’t. It’s not that people say things, it’s that because of their words, we’re pulled apart.”

 I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I exposed you to the press. I’m sorry that you’ve been made into a pariah. I’m sorry that loving me has hurt you so much. But it’s going to get better, I promise you, My Darling, I will do everything I can to make things better and we’ll be together eventually.”

And even as I love him for his words and I tell him, it’s not the whole truth. What upsets me is that I am never, and never will be, his first priority. Although the words and spite cause me pain, I can rise above them. What makes my heart ache is the understanding that I am an embarrassment that he needs to manage, carefully mould into his life. If I ever become too damaged to rehabilitate, he’ll drop me like a stone to ensure the good standing of his family. It’s not something I will ever say. I understood this a long time ago and I accept it. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.

#duchess of cornwall #camilla #camilla duchess of cornwall #camilla fanfiction #charles and camilla #duchess camilla #love story #prince charles and camilla #charles and camilla fanfiction #charles and camilla fanfic #king charles lll #king charles and queen camilla #king and queen #marriage #divorce #dysfunctional family #soul mates #old friends #trauma #love conquers all #romance #passion #prince charles fiction #prince of wales #covid #covid19 #pandemic #lockdown #sickness #frustration

[mariacallous]

Content warning: This article contains a scene including a graphic sexual assault.

My friend sets aside his cocktail, its foamy top sprinkled with cinnamon in the shape of a hammer and sickle, to process his disbelief at what I’ve just told him. “You want to return to Russia?” he asks.

I met Enrico when I arrived in Stockholm eight months ago. He understands my situation as well as anyone. He knows that I fled Moscow three days after Russia invaded Ukraine; that my name, along with the names of other journalists who left, has fallen into the hands of pro-Kremlin activists who have compiled a public list of “traitors to the motherland”; that some of the publications where I’ve worked have been labeled “undesirable organizations”; that a summons from the military enlistment office is waiting for me at home; that since Vladimir Putin expanded the law banning “gay propaganda,” I could be fined up to $5,000 merely for going on a date. In short, Enrico knows what may await if I return: fear, violence, harm.

He wants me to explain why I would go back, but I can’t think of an answer he’d understand or accept. Plus, I’m distracted by the TV screens in the bar. They’re playing a video on loop—a crowd in January 1990 waiting to get into the first McDonald’s to open in Russia. The people are in fluffy beaver fur hats, and their voices speak a language that, for the past year, I’ve heard only inside my head. “Why am I here?” a woman in the video says in Russian. “Because we are all hungry, you could say.” As the doors to McDonald’s open and the line starts to move, I no longer hear everything Enrico is saying (“You could live with me rent-free …” “You could go to Albania. It’s cheaper than in Scandinavia ...” “We could get married so you can live and work here legally …”).

Part of me had planned this meeting in hopes that Enrico would persuade me to change my mind—and he did try. But I’ve already bought the nonrefundable plane tickets, which are saved on my phone, ready to go.

A week later, I spend a night erasing the past year from my life—a year of running through Europe as if through a maze. I clear my chats in Telegram and unsubscribe from channels that cover the war. I wipe my browser history, delete my VPN apps, remove the rainbow strap on my watch, and tear the Ukrainian flag sticker from my jacket. The next day—March 29, 2023—I fly to Tallinn, Estonia, and ride a half-empty bus through a deep forest to the Russian border. The checkpoint sits at a bridge over the Narva River, between two late-medieval castles. German shepherds keep watch, and an armed soldier patrols the river by boat.

“What were you doing in the European Union?” the Russian guard asks.

“I was on vacation,” I say.

“You were on vacation for more than a year?” she asks.

I reply that I have been very tired. She stamps my passport and the bus moves on.

What I didn’t tell the guard, and what I couldn’t tell Enrico, is that I’m tired of hiding from my country—and that I want to trade one form of hiding for another. I have conducted my adult life as if censorship and propaganda were my natural enemies, but now some broken part of me is homesick for that world. I want to be deceived, to forget that there is a war going on.

“Start from the beginning,” my mother would say when I couldn’t figure out a homework problem. “Just start all over again.”

I woke up on February 24, 2022, to a message from a friend that read: “The war has begun.” At the time, I was an editor at GQ Russia, gathering material for our next issue on Russian expats who had moved back home during the pandemic. I was also editing a YouTube series called Queerography. For a blissful moment, I took my friend’s text for a joke. Then I saw videos from Ukrainian towns under bombardment. Russian forces had encircled most of the country. My boyfriend was still asleep. I wished I could be in his place.

A few months earlier, American intelligence had informed Ukraine and other countries in Europe of a possible offensive. But Russia’s foreign minister, Sergey Lavrov, had responded: “This is all propaganda, fake news and fiction.” While I didn’t necessarily believe the truth of Lavrov’s words, I doubted the regime could afford to tell a lie so big. Vladimir Putin’s approval rating was near its lowest point since he gained power. On the eve of the attack on Ukraine, only 3 percent of my fellow citizens thought the war was “inevitable.”

After the invasion, I spent three days in silence. I couldn’t sleep, and I had no appetite. My hands trembled so badly that I couldn’t hold a glass of water still. When I visited friends, we’d sit in different corners of the room scrolling through the news, occasionally breaking the silence with “This is fucked up.”

In Moscow, armed police patrolled the streets to deter protesters. Soon, the press reported that a man was arrested in a shopping mall for an “unsanctioned rally” because he was wearing blue and yellow sneakers, the colors of the Ukrainian flag. News media websites were blocked in accordance with the new law on “fake news” about Ukraine. People stood in line to empty the ATMs. “War” and “peace”—two words that form the title of Russia’s most celebrated novel—were now forbidden to be pronounced in public. Instagram was filled with black squares, uncaptioned, seemingly the only form of protest that remained possible. The price of a plane ticket out of Russia soared from $100 to $3,000, in a country where the minimum wage was about $170 a month.

If I waited another day, it seemed, the Iron Curtain would descend and I would become a hostage of my own country. So on the morning of March 1, my boyfriend and I locked the door to our Moscow apartment for the last time and made for the airport. In my backpack were warm clothes, $500 in cash, and a computer. We were leaving for nowhere, not knowing which country we would wake up in the next day.

At the international airport in Yerevan, Armenia, flights arrived every hour from Russia and the United Arab Emirates, another route along which people fled. Once we were there, we boarded a minivan to Georgia, the only country in the South Caucasus with which Russia no longer maintained diplomatic ties. The van was packed with families and their pets. From one of the back seats, a girl asked her mother: “Mama, are we far away from the war now?” A night road through mountain passes and volcanic lakes took us to the border. I asked a guard there to share a mobile hot spot with me so I could get online and retrieve coronavirus test results in my email. “Of course,” he replied, “though you don’t deserve it.”

In Tbilisi, the alleys were lit up at night with blue and yellow. On the city’s main hotel hung a poster that read “Russian warship, go fuck yourself.” Fresh graffiti on walls around the city read: “Putin is a war criminal and murderer.”

At an acquaintance’s apartment, we shared a room with two other men who had fled. “The most important thing is that we’re safe,” we reassured each other if one of us began to cry. “I’m not a criminal,” said one of the guys. “Why should I have to run from my own country?” None of us had an answer.

In Russia I was now labeled a “traitor and fugitive.” The Committee for the Protection of National Interests, an organization associated with Putin’s United Russia party, had stolen a database containing the names of journalists who had left the country and distributed it on Telegram. Liberal journalists in Moscow had begun to find the words “Here lives a traitor to the Motherland” scrawled on their doors. One critic was sent a severed pig’s head.

My fellow fugitives and I started looking for somewhere more permanent to live, but most rental ads in Tbilisi stipulated “Russians not accepted.” We tried to open bank accounts, but when the bank employees saw our red passports they rejected our applications. Like so many other companies, Condé Nast—which publishes GQ and WIRED, among other magazines—pulled out of Russia. I was without a job. The YouTube show I edited closed down soon after, its founder declared a foreign agent and later added to the Register of Extremists and Terrorists. Foreign publications told me that all work with Russian journalists was temporarily suspended.

Soon signs began to appear outside bars and restaurants in Tbilisi saying that Russians were not welcome inside. I decided to sign in to Tinder to try to meet people in this new city, but most men I chatted with suggested that I go home and take Molotov cocktails to Red Square. I placed a Ukrainian flag sticker on my breast pocket and wandered the city in silence, ashamed of my language.

My boyfriend and I finally found a room in a former warehouse with no windows, the furniture covered in construction dust. The owner was an artist who was in urgent need of money. To pay the rent, I sold online all my belongings from the Moscow apartment: a vintage armchair from Czechoslovakia, an antique Moroccan rug, books dotted with notes, a record player given to me by the love of my life. Ikea had closed its stores in Russia, and customers wrote to me: “Your stuff is like a belated Christmas miracle.”

One day in mid-spring, I left the warehouse for an anti-war rally that was being held outside the Russian Federation Interests Section based in the Swiss Embassy. The motley throngs of people chanted “No to war!” In the crowd I glimpsed the familiar faces of journalists who had left Russia like me. “Why did you come here?” a stranger asked me in English. “To us, to Georgia. Do you really think your cries will change anything? You shouldn’t be protesting here. You should be outside the Kremlin.”

I wanted to tell him that I grew up in a country where a dictator came to power when I was 6 years old, a man who has his enemies killed. I wanted to say: One time, when I was an editor at Esquire, my boss denounced an author I worked with to Putin’s security service, the FSB, and the FSB sent agents to interrogate me, and when I warned the author, the FSB came for me again, threatening to arrest me and listing aloud the names of all my family members. I wanted to tell the stranger on that street in Tbilisi that I’d had to disappear for a while, and that when I felt brave enough, I had gone to protests and donated money to human rights organizations. That I had fought but, it seemed, had lost. That I just wanted to live the one life I’ve got a little bit longer. But at the time I couldn’t find the words.

A month later, the world saw images of mass graves in the Kyiv suburb of Bucha, dead limbs sticking out of the sand. Outside our building one morning, on an old brick wall that was previously empty, was a fresh message, the paint still wet: “Russians, go home.” My boyfriend went back to Russia so he could obtain a European visa, promising he would be back in a month, but he never returned.

I spent the rest of the year on the move: Cyprus, Estonia, Norway, France, Austria, Hungary, Sweden. I went where I had friends. The independent Russian media that I’d always consumed went into exile too, setting up operations where they could. TV Rain began broadcasting out of Amsterdam. Meduza moved its Russian branch to Europe. The newspaper Novaya Gazeta, cofounded by the Nobel Peace Prize laureate Dmitry Muratov, reopened in Latvia. Farida Rustamova, a former BBC Russia correspondent, fled and launched a Substack called Faridaily, where she began publishing information from Kremlin insiders. Journalists working for the independent news website Important Stories, which published names and photos of Russian soldiers involved in the murder of civilians in a Ukrainian village, went to Czechia. These, along with 247,000 other websites, were blocked at the behest of the Prosecutor General’s Office but remained accessible in Russia through VPNs.

“During the first days of the war, everything was in a fog,” says Ilya Krasilshchik, the former publisher of Meduza, who went on to found Help Desk, which combines news media and a help hotline for those impacted by war. “We felt it our duty to inform people of what the Russian army was doing in Ukraine, to document the hell that despair and powerlessness leave in their wake. But we also wanted to empathize with all of the people caught up in this meat grinder.” Taisiya Bekbulatova, a former special correspondent for Meduza and the founder of the news outlet Holod, tells me, “In nature you find parasites that can force their host to act in the parasite’s own interest, and propaganda, I believe, works in much the same way. That’s why we felt it was our duty to provide people with more information.”

I wanted to continue my work in journalism, but the publications that had fled Russia weren’t hiring. My application for a Latvian humanitarian visa as an independent journalist was rejected, and I didn’t have the means to pay the fees for US or UK talent visas.

The panic attacks began in the fall, during my first stay in Stockholm. Red spots, first appearing around my groin, started to take over my body, creeping up to my throat. I’d get sick, recover, and then wake up with a sore throat. In October, I learned that my boyfriend had married someone else. The next day, my mother called to tell me that a summons from the military enlistment office had arrived.

I was in Cyprus when, at 3 am one February morning, I woke to the sound of walls cracking and the metal legs of my bed knocking on marble. Fruit fell to the floor and turned to mush. The tremors of a magnitude-7.8 earthquake in Gaziantep, Turkey, had passed through the Mediterranean Sea and reached the island. I didn’t scramble out of bed. I hoped instead that I would be buried under the rubble—a choice made for me by fate. Later that month, my friends in Stockholm insisted that I come stay with them again. I wandered the streets on a clear winter day, buying up expired food in the stores. The blue and yellow flags of Sweden shone bright in the sun, but I saw in them the flag of another country. Back in the apartment, I slept all the time, and when I did wake I lulled myself with Valium. One day I felt the urge to swallow the whole bottle.

Frightened by my own thoughts, I felt how much I wanted to be back in Russia. In my mother country, all the tools of propaganda would keep painful truths at bay. “The news in Russia is only ever good news,” Zhanna Agalakova, a former anchor on state TV’s main news show, later told me. Agalakova quit after the invasion began and returned the awards she had received to Putin. “Even if people understand that they’re being brainwashed, in the end they give up, and propaganda calms them down. Because they simply have nowhere to run.”

Masha Borzunova, a journalist who fled Russia and runs her own YouTube channel, walked me through a typical day of Russian TV: “A person wakes up to a news broadcast that shows how the Russian military is making gains. Then Anti-Fake begins, where the presenters dismantle the fake news of Western propaganda and propagate their own fake news. Then there’s the talk show Time Will Tell that runs for four, sometimes five hours, where we’ll see Russian soldiers bravely advancing. Then comes Male and Female—before the war it was a program about social issues, and now they discuss things like how to divide the state compensation for funeral expenses between the mother of a dead soldier and his father who left the family several years ago. Then more news and a few more talk shows, in which a KGB combat psychic predicts Russia’s future and what will happen on the front. This is followed by the game show Field of Miracles, with prizes from the United Russia party or the Wagner Private Military Company. And then, of course, the evening news.”

I had gone from being infuriated by this kind of hypnosis to envying it. The free flow of information had become for me what a jug of water is to a severely dehydrated person: The right amount can save you, but too much can kill.

“Welcome to Russia,” the bus driver said as we crossed the border from Estonia. I was nearly home. There was no particular reason for me to return to Moscow, so I made for St. Petersburg, where some friends had an apartment that was empty. I used to look after it before the war, coming over to unwind and water the flowers. It was a place of peace.

All my friends had left Russia too, so I was the first person to set foot in the apartment in a year. Black specks covered every surface-—midges that had flown in before the war and died. I scrubbed the place through the first night, starting to cry like a child when I came across ordinary objects I remembered from peacetime: shower gel, a blender, a rabbit mask made out of cardboard. Over the next few weeks, I tried to return to the past as I remembered it. I went to the bakery in the morning. I exercised, read, wrote. At first glance, the city seemed unchanged. There were the same boatloads of tourists on the canals, tour groups on Palace Square, overcrowded bars in Dumskaya Street. But more and more, St. Petersburg began to feel to me like the backdrop of a period film: impeccably executed, the gap between the past and the present visible only in the details.

One day I heard loud noises outside my window, as if all the TVs in town had suddenly started emitting the sound of static. The next day the headline read: “Terrorist Suspected of Bombing St. Petersburg Café Detained and Giving Testimony.” The café had hosted an event honoring the pro-war military blogger Vladlen Tatarsky, and a bust of his likeness had blown up, killing him and injuring more than 30 people. But life went on as if nothing had happened. St. Petersburg was plastered with posters for an upcoming concert by Shaman, a singer who had become popular since the invasion thanks to his song “I’m Russian.” (He would later release “My Fight,” a song that seemingly alludes to Hitler’s Mein Kampf.) In a candy store I noticed a chocolate truffle with a portrait of Putin on the wrapper. “It’s filled with rum,” the clerk said.

Sometimes in checkout lines at the supermarket I glimpsed mercenaries in balaclavas, newly returned from or preparing to go to the front. On the escalator down to the subway, where classical music usually floated from the speakers, Rachmaninov’s Second Piano Concerto was interrupted by an announcement: “Attention! Male citizens, we invite you to sign a contract with the military!” In the train car, I saw a poster that read: “Serving Russia is a real job! Sign a military service contract and get a salary starting at 204,000 rubles per month”—about $2,000. One afternoon, as I stood on the platform next to a train bound for a city near the Georgian border, I overheard two men talking:

“I earned 50,000 in a month.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, bro. But I won’t go back to Ukraine again. It’s fucking terrifying.”

This was a rare admission. The horror of the war’s casualties—zinc coffins, once prosperous cities turned to ruins—were otherwise hidden behind the celebrations for City Day, the opening of the St. Petersburg International Economic Forum, and marathons held on downtown streets.

After a week or so in Russia, feeling very alone, I went on Tinder. One evening I invited a man I hadn’t met over to the apartment. I placed two cups of tea on a table, but when the man arrived he didn’t touch his. He threw me to the floor, unbuttoned his pants, and inserted his dry penis inside me. “I know you want it,” he whispered, covering my mouth. “I can tell from your asshole.”

I bit him and squirmed, trying to get him off me. After he left, my legs kicked frantically and I couldn’t breathe. I knew that the police wouldn’t help me. I contacted Tinder to tell them that I had been raped and sent them a screenshot of the man’s profile, but no one answered. That evening I bought a ticket for a night train to Moscow. More than ever, I wanted to see my mother.

“You must have frozen over there,” My mother said as she met me at the door to her apartment outside Moscow. Putin had said that, without Russian-supplied gas, “Europeans are stocking up on firewood for the winter like it’s the Middle Ages.” People were supposedly cutting down trees in parks for fuel and burning antique furniture. Some of the only warm places in European cities were so-called Russian houses, government-funded cultural exchanges where people could go escape the cold as part of a “From Russia with Warmth” campaign. When I told my mother that Sweden recycles waste and uses it to heat houses, she grimaced in disgust.

Thirteen months earlier, when I had left the country, my mother called to ask me why. I told her that I didn’t want to be sent to fight, that I couldn’t work in Russia anymore. “You’re panicking for no reason,” she said. “Why would the army need you? We’ll take Kyiv in a few days.” After the horrors in Bucha, I had sent her an interview with a Russian soldier who admitted to killing defenseless people. “It’s fake,” she responded. “Son, turn on the TV for once. Don’t you see that all those bodies are moving?” She was referring to optical distortions in a certain video, which Russian propagandists used to their advantage.

After that, we had agreed not to discuss my decision or views so that we could remain a family. Instead, we talked about my sister’s upcoming wedding, my aunt’s promotion at a Chinese cosmetics company whose products were replacing the brands that had quit the country. My uncle, a mechanic, had finally found a job that would get him out of debt—repairing military equipment in Russian-occupied territories. My mother was planning to take advantage of falling real estate prices to buy land and build a house. In their reality, the war was not a tragedy but an elevator.

I had arrived on Easter Sunday, and the whole family gathered at my mother’s house for the celebration. My aunt told me she was worried that I might be forced to change my gender in the West; she had heard that the Canadian government was paying people $75,000 to undergo gender-affirming surgery and hormonal therapy. My stepfather was interested in the availability of meat in Swedish stores. Someone asked whether it was dangerous to speak Russian abroad, whether Ukrainians had assaulted me. I kept quiet about the fact that the only person who had attacked me since the invasion was a Russian man, that the real threat was much closer than my family thought. The TVs in each of the three rooms of the apartment were all switched on: They played a church service, then a film called Century of the USSR. There were news broadcasts every two hours and the program Moscow. The Kremlin. Putin—a kind of reality show about the president.

“Do you know what this is?” my mother said as she placed a dusty bottle of wine without any labels in the middle of the festive table. “Your uncle gave it to us,” my stepfather chimed in. “He brought it from Ukraine.” A trophy from a bombed-out Ukrainian mansion near Melitopol, stolen by my uncle while Russian soldiers helped themselves to electronics and jewelry. “Let’s drink to God,” said my stepfather, raising his glass. “You can’t raise a glass to God,” my mother answered. “That’s not done.” “Let’s drink to our big family,” he said. The clinking of crystal filled the room; to my ears it sounded like cicadas.

Suddenly I felt sick and locked myself in the bathroom. I tried to vomit, but my stomach was empty, bringing up only a retch. “What’s wrong?” my mother asked, standing outside the door. “Drink some water, rest, sleep.” I tried to lie down. My skin began to itch. My friend Ilya Kolmanovsky, a science journalist, once told me: “Did you know that a person cannot tickle himself? Likewise you cannot deceive a mind that already knows the truth.” Self-deception is dangerous, he said: “Just as your immune system can attack your own body, your mind can also engage in destroying you day by day.”

That evening I left my mother’s apartment for St. Petersburg and made an appointment with a psychiatrist. I told the doctor that I felt like the past had been lost and I couldn’t find a place for myself in the present. She asked when my problems began. “During the war,” I answered, careful to keep my face expressionless. The psychiatrist noted my response in the medical history. “You’re not the only one,” she said. She diagnosed me with prolonged depression and severe anxiety and prescribed tranquilizers, an antipsychotic, and an anti-depressant. “There are problems with drugs from the West,” she said. Better to take the Russian-made ones. If the Western pills were like Fiat cars, then these would be the Russian analog, Zhigulis: “Both will bring you closer to calm, but the quality of the trip will differ.”

Though the drugs seemed to help, I began to realize over the next several weeks that no amount of pills could change this fact: The home I was looking for in Russia existed only in my memories. In June, I decided to emigrate once again. At the border in Ivangorod, spikes of barbed wire pierced the azure sky and smoke from burning fuel oil rose from the chimneys of the customs building. This time, as I left, I felt that I had no reason to return. My home was nowhere, but I would continue searching for one.

With financial help from a friend, I moved to Paris and signed a contract with a book agent. I made an effort not to read the news. Still, from time to time, I came across stories about Putin’s increasing popularity at home, how foreign nationals could obtain Russian citizenship for fighting in Ukraine, how the regime passed a law that would allow it to confiscate property from people who spread “falsehoods about the Russian army.” One day, when air defense systems shot down a combat drone less than 8 miles from my mother’s home, she called me and asked: “Why did you leave? Who else will protect me when the war comes to us? Who if not my son?” I didn’t have an answer. “I love you, Mama”—that was the only truth I could tell her.

[grumpyblackbird]

You look like you’ve seen a Ghost.

Pairing: Sort of Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!CIA!OC

Authors Note: This is my first time publishing anything I’ve written on tumblr. So please behave and be nice. If you have constructive criticism it is welcome. Please bear in mind that english is not my first language. The spanish phrase in this was translated via Google translate and I apologize for any mistakes. I feel like some parts of this don’t really make sense, as well. But maybe that’s just me. Please enjoy, anyway.

Summary: This is basically a quick rewrite and somewhat of a self-insert of the Cutscene before they take back the Vaqueros and go after Graves and Shadow Company in Modern Warfare 2022.

Skylar had just finished cleaning and reassembling her assault rifle, getting ready to take down Graves and his Shadows, while listening to Price. The captain had started to chew out another of his superior officers. Just like he did back then with Colonel Norris. No matter the tense situation she found herself in, this made her smile. Price always seemed to get away with mouthing off. Yet, John would rain hellfire down on those, who would mouth off to him.

“I don’t need fixing. I’m a patriot protecting my country.” As Sky heard this, she stood up from her seat in the corner of the room scoffing. Not loud enough for the microphone to pick it up and for Shepherd to hear it. But loud enough to get Price's attention at the end of the table. “He should be protecting his country from himself. That last missile could start World War 3, if we don’t find it in time.” Skylar couldn’t have kept this thought silent even if her life had depended on it. This concern of hers had to be voiced, because no one else in this room was going to say it and she had enough time since coming back to the safe house to go through all of the information Kate had gathered.

Instead of voicing his own thoughts on that matter John stood up and started pacing while berating the General on how you’re not supposed to bury each other in shit. While watching that scene unfold Sky could feel someone's eyes on her but none of the men in the room were obviously watching her. As she moved closer to the table, Price had already turned back to the screen telling Shepherd to “call off his Shadow”. “He’s a dog with a bone, and I highly recommend you do not try and take it.” The General's response made her step around Gaz obviously about to give him a piece of her mind on that matter, only to be held back by Kyle’s hand on her right shoulder. “He’s the one who threw that bone but he doesn’t have the balls to admit it!” There had always been a certain temperament in her and sometimes she just couldn’t keep silent, especially in high stress situations like these. Not exactly a good trait for a special forces operative but so far it didn’t get her in too much trouble. Maybe she did learn that from a certain Captain.

“This is your last chance to change your mind.” “Then what?” “Then after I go for him…I’m coming for you.” With that Price ended the call by closing the laptop and giving all of us the go ahead to mentally prepare ourselves for the next mission. His eyes found me standing next to him and a silent reprimand was passed between us. He did understand where I was coming from but it wasn't a good idea for me to also antagonize a superior officer. Alejandro left the room first, pushing open the doors and marching towards Rodolfo standing at the other end of the barn-like building. Sky followed in the back shouldering the strap of her rifle. Alejandro had already called the attention of the Vaqueros towards that table. Price was taking lead on this briefing starting with “Alright, listen - we are taking back your HQ.” Skylar was moving around the table to take her place next to Rudy.

“We are killing Commander Graves.”  “When?” “Now.” There had been a certain urgency in Rodolfo’s voice asking that question and to Skylar and definitely every Vaquero in this building it was understandable. Graves and his PMC had committed war crimes in Las Almas. Killing women and children. Killing everyone in their search for Soap, Ghost and her. It couldn’t stand and it wouldn’t. This filled Skylar with a well familiar rush of pre-combat adrenalin. Pushing away the weariness of the last battle. The Reaper was coming to collect.

“This is a fight against our own… We are not 141 and Los Vaqueros on this. We’re a team.. Ghost Team." Everyone in the room was watching Price and now turned to Ghost who pulled out a bag, emptying its contents of skull balaclavas on the table. Silence rang out and you could have heard a needle drop as soon as Ghost pulled off his signature mask revealing his face and identity to most of them for the first time. Skylar felt herself freeze up. “Good to see you again, Simon.” It was like everything else in this room seized to exist. All of her senses were honed in on the one fact that Ghost was very much a ghost.

There he was. Her Simon.

The man she had mourned for the past few years was the same man she had been working with for a while now and he never once deemed it necessary to tell her. Everyone else had already taken a mask and was putting it on or moving towards their gear to put it on before getting ready. But Sky hadn’t moved a muscle, hadn’t even properly taken a breath up until Rudy knocked his shoulder into hers whispering: “Parece que has visto un fantasma.” It broke Sky out of her trance. Turning to Rudy and taking a shaky breath before suddenly stepping around him and beelining it towards the nearest exit. She needed air. All of the adrenaline formerly rushing through her had faded and now she felt sick. He was alive!

“Breathe.”, came a deep voice from behind her and a hand was laid on her shoulder. Skylar pushed away from said hand and turned around. “Don’t tell me what to do! You...all this time. And you knew. You gave me that dog tag with his name on it, knowing full well he was alive.” Price was his usual calm self while Skylar was feeling betrayed. “Even Kate knew and she never said a word. Why?” “It wasn’t our secret to tell.” Skylar scoffed and took a few steps away from Price. “And you think it was a good idea to have this secret revealed right before we go into combat?” “No, I don't think it was a good idea, but I also didn’t know he would do it, and that’s why you’re with me” With that he handed Skylar a balaclava, turned around and moved back inside the building.

@ thetravelingtyper

#codmodernwarfare #simon ghost riley #call of duty oc #{i will always have your six} {skylar johnson} #simon riley x oc

[spoonyruncible]

This is, like, 98% vent so take the usual precautions and etiquette on that.

Like, so, I’ve had a hard week. I’ve had a very very hard week even for me. I lost my whole entire voice, I had an evening so awful it was comical, my best friend had his very nice expensive desktop computer get shorted out and his dog badly mauled by an off leash beast, and my sibling straight up had to endure dramatically unexpected gun violence.

So it was.... it was very not good. I literally think it’s been more than five years since I actually became nonverbal, much less for more than a full day. But I am, keep in mind, a mentor for a group of underprivileged trans youth. Yes, I live in poverty, so do they. I make a pretty good mentor. I know the kinds of shit that the cis lady leading the group straight up never would have considered.

Case in point, we’re not quite a full year strong but I’ve watched my kids grow up, I really really have. It’s magical. I would take a bullet for any one of the kids. One of them is straight up by baby brother now and the second I see him post COVID I’m pretty sure I will cry and cry and cry and maybe we can hug. But this week the focus was Pride. And, y’all, apparently the basic understanding of Pride is kinda rough.

Like, okay, yeah, Stonewall. And God and Jesus and All The Little Baby Angels bless and sing to Marsha P. Johnson. But that’s not the end, that’s the start. It’s so wild to me that Stonewall is like, “And that’s the story of queer pride. The end.”

Babes and Elders, Friends and Enemies, Autists and The Less Fortunate, Gentlefolk and Ungentlefolk, I am not that fucking old at all. But I remember the brutal murders of Brandon Teena and Matthew Shepard being subject to humiliating jokes. It’s what I grew up with. My first understanding of ‘gay’ was that it killed you, painfully and horribly but for some reason that was okay and no one minded too much. It was even meant to be funny most of the time. I grew up at the tail end of a mass death, when RENT premiered (stage show, not movie) I was 7 and AZT was the best you could possibly hope for.

Now we have PrEP and AIDS isn’t a death sentence, we even talk about it now like a mildly more scandalous STD than the usual ones instead of.... well, like it was talked about in RENT. Death. Just death. And gay used to mean AIDS so gay was uncompromising slow death. Gay was prostitution and drugs and death.

Like, it’s very hard to articulate how different it was just twenty years ago. I even smiled at my daddy once and said, “I don’t have to tell you how I voted, but I will tell you that people who vote how you do drag people like me behind trucks.” That was the only time I can remember shutting him up in an argument, he couldn’t pivot, he tried a little with “I never” and I was immediately, “No, say I’m wrong and we’ll have a conversation.” so he just.... walked away. It was the most honest he ever was in acknowledging that, yeah, I was extremely brave. I was willing to die and he wasn’t willing to protect me. It was the bravest I’ve ever felt in my life.

And I am still, as I said, very young. I come from a third world region of an allegedly first world country. (I can get into the racist implications of that but this is a vent post so I’m not going to dissect everything.) So my experience? Still magical and impossible. Having to shove away earnest lesbians even though RadFems assured me I was just a closeted lesbian and only men had this and it was called autogynophillia and was a fetish. I only craved male power and was nervous about being with girls. I was not, they were wrong, but the idea of maybe if I date girls I’ll be normal and safe in 2003 is way way way past anything a bitsy baby transman would guess at in 1983. The way progress marches is not.... not easy to follow.

I didn’t expect to be a queer educator. I didn’t plan to be an ‘’’expert’’’ but now I am because I hear things like, “Maybe putting out all those pride flags is baiting a bear with the man who keeps threatening to kill you” and my whole self leaps out with, “That was wrong what this woman I trust said. You have to make a choice, sure, and I will not tell you which is wrong and which is right but Pride has never been about being quiet and meek and trying not to be bothered. I’m not going to tell you to keep fighting or to do anything you don’t want to, but I will say that Pride is emphatically not about keeping yourself safe. If you want to stand up then I support you, if you want to keep yourself safe I support you. Because the road to where we are right now? It is covered in the spilled blood of martyrs and I would never ask you to do that, never ask anyone to, but I would also never ever tell you to back down and be safe. Stonewall wasn’t safe.”

And, that’s crazy, right? Telling a kid that we do stand on the shoulders of giants, but those giants did not live to see today? Like, Harvey Milk (who I did not get into) wasn’t shot because he was too good at politics. Some people are alive now, some, a few, a small number. I am one of the youngest somehow, one of the younger of the older generation which is wild to me, impossible. Like, if you’re maybe 40 at the most then you’re the first of the ones that didn’t face The Dying Times, which means the people who dealt with the shit from Stonewall and the following horrors are just.... just gone.

I was stunned this kids didn’t realize the actual genocide made of purposeful neglect had even... even occurred. It was disturbing. I cannot remember the actual square on the quilt, so if you find it then thank you, but it was roughly “I am 19 and will be dead in three months. That’s very sad.”

I’s just, Christ, maybe we need to do a little better education? Maybe a little more on the why of how now came to be? On why Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was revolutionary, on how “In 1960 49 states had anti-sodomy laws criminalizing homosexuality” ignores  that in 2015 plenty of states still had those laws on the books? It’s frustrating, is all, it’s very frustrating.

#this is so very clearly a personal post #painfully so #if you want to take bits then ask me and i will likely say yes #if you want to argue then first of all do not and second of all message me #this is obviously not for reblogging #again dog mauled #voice gone #week bad #i do not need a hard fucking time #if you give me one then okay? #i guess i'll deal with that #but like maybe don't? #i'll even put things together more cleanly and articulately if you ask

[lovemesomesurveys]

Do you use the Oxford Comma? I see a lot of debates on this. Yes I do.

Do you enjoy baking? if so, what's the last thing you made? I sometimes get in the mood during the holidays. The last thing I baked was sugar cookies last Christmas with my brother. How much are gas prices in your part of the world? I’m not exactly sure, but I know it’s expensive. What are your favorite activities when the weather warms up? The only summery, outdoorsy thing I like to do is go to the beach.  How many objects around you are purple? Just part of my phone case.

Do you enjoy gardening? No. Do you have any stories about bad weather you've experienced? Been caught out in the middle of rain storms a few times. Are you a playlist making type of person or do you just shuffle all of your songs? I used to be a playlist person, but now I’ll just hit shuffle. I like the variety.

What are your favorite type of rocks? igneous, sedimentary, metamorphic? I don’t have a favorite. Let's say you would make great money doing so.. would you ever be a beekeeper? Nooo. Do you have any concerts you're planning on attending? No, unfortunately. There’s been a few recently I wish I could have gone to. It’s been over a decade since my last concert, I miss it. Would reading minds really be a good super power? or just stressful? Just stressful for sure.  March 8th is International Women's day! Who are some inspiring women in your life? My mom. Do you think corn belongs in a stir fry or should it be left out? I’ve never had stir fry and I don’t even really know what goes in it.  If you had to choose only 1 thing to eat for 1 month.. what would it be? I don’t know, but ugh, I miss food. D:  Do you enjoy amusement park rides or are you more into the food like me?  With the exception of Disneyland (I love the rides and food), it’s the food for me. When was the last time you went on a nice, relaxing walk? Uhhh. Have you ever had to crawl through your windows because you locked yourself outside? No. Are you a country music fan? I like some.  Do you have the cilantro 'tastes like soap' gene? or do you enjoy it? I loveee cilantro. Also, I didn't know people couldn't but, can you smell ants? What scent do they put off to you? i’ve heard that before. No, I don’t think so but I’ve also never attempted to. I’m not going to go get near one to find out either. Do you enjoy Iced coffees and lattes? What is your typical coffee order? I do, but hot coffee is the best. I typically get a white chocolate mocha or a caramel macchiato.  If given opportunity, would you record a song? What artist would you collab with? No, I can’t sing. Do you believe in an afterlife? Yes. Do you think there is 1 true God and the others are fake or what are your thoughts on religion altogether? I believe in one God.

Have you ever had any unusual pets? Would you ever want one? No. How often do you consume pizza? What is your go-to pizza place and order? I’d say like 2-3 times a month. I like this local place. That sounds so good... Do you remember the feather in hair trend? Did you like that or ever partake in it? I didn’t wear any.  Do you think Daylight Savings Time should be a thing? I don’t really care. Have you ever watched Dragon Tales? What was your most watched show as a child? I’ve seen some of it before cause my bro and cousins watched it when they were kids. I was a Barney, Arthur, Nickelodeon, Disney Channel, WB and Fox Kids 90s kid. If you had to get a tattoo of lyrics or a quote, what would it be? I’ve wanted ‘free bird’ for several years.  Do you have any tattoos or piercings? I wish I did but, needles😬 No tattoos, and just my earlobes for piercings. If you're interested in astrology.. what are your big 3? (sun, moon, rising) -- What do you consider to be red flags in a person? not just personality wise. think about professions, maybe what they drive.. etc.. How they interact with others, body language, questionable interests, their profession, possibly.  What is a simple thing you cannot do? Like, I can't whistle for example. I can’t either.  What do you think of leaving Christmas trees up year round and decorating them for different holidays? I’d do it. I’ve left my mini tree up in my room before for like 2 years, ha, I could have at least swapped out the decor for the holidays. Do you like carpet or do you think it should be a thing of the past? I much prefer tile and hardwood.  Are seasonal allergies bothering you as well or are you a truly blessed human with no allergies? I suffer from ‘em, too. What is the scent of the last candle you lit? I don’t light candles. Would you rather give up bread or cheese for the rest of your life? Don’t be cruel. Another question that got me thinking.. are there more doors or wheels in the world? Uh. Are there any bands or artists you think get too much hate? Nickelback for example. Why did it become a thing to hate on them? I still like their music. Free groceries for one year or free gas for one year? Which would you choose? Groceries. What is your favorite body of water? ocean, lakes, ponds.. etc. Ocean. final question.. How are you doing? feel free to rant and let it all out. life is crazy. I’m tired, in pain, uncomfortable, frustrated, hungry, depressed...

#personal #text #survey #surveys

[bardofsomerset]

Allison Russell at Omeara, Part One: Song to Stage

There are three options and I don’t know which is mine. I look from staircase to staircase at all the people certain in where they’re going. It’s London, everyone’s marching in their own determined line. My choice is something of a random one, but I head upward. 

Narrow and grey shifts into open daylight. There’s space around me, a breath of relief from those close-pressed crowds. The delight of the fresh air is tempered slightly. Most of the country has started cooling from those ridiculous heights of just a week ago, but heat still congeals in thick ropes around those towering city buildings. Out in the space between them, I’m caught on the sharp edge of the sun, brilliant on my cheek.

This is the moment. It’s where it starts becoming real. Me being me, I have planned for a dozen ways in which this could go wrong. I’ve already navigated what I thought were the biggest hazards:  the long road of buying tickets and finding a place to stay and making travel plans, and I’m almost ready to breathe, but not quite yet.

From the moment our evening was agreed, I’d been watching more potential hurdles springing up ahead of me. A rail strike. A heatwave. A pandemic. Any one of those things could have stopped me making it to the city, or could have closed the venue before the performance began. Now I was in London, the chances of it dramatically falling apart were drastically reduced. Not gone, I admitted, but reduced.

What I hadn’t planned for? My friend – the person I’d expected to be right there waiting for me – being nowhere in sight.

It wasn’t a worry at first. I was a few minutes earlier than planned. I’d just message her and let her know I was here.

Can’t send.

My phone told me. Now that was rude. I tried again. Nope. I had a signal. What was wrong? Maybe I’d run out of credit? No, that couldn’t be it. I’d have received a text warning me in advance.

No, wait, I used to get texts. I’ve changed provider since then. Perhaps I don’t get text warnings anymore?

Perhaps the universe doesn’t like me.

So I shuffle around in the increasingly uncomfortable sun outside of Vauxhall station, the Tube behind me, the entrance to National Rail ahead, a thriving mass of people and shops and daily life all around. I don’t need to worry yet, I’m early.

I don’t need to worry yet. It’s only just five.

Maybe I need to worry a little, but she’s only ten minutes late. That’s within the margin of error.

I look around, measuring each person against my memory of her. The build is wrong, or the hair’s off, or they’re not wearing glasses. Of course, it’s been a few years, so maybe I’m the one in error. I watch the passers-by, I watch the clock, and I wonder if I was right to think this day was doomed. It had seemed so implausible from the start.

*

This story begins in a lot of different places, but perhaps the most immediately relevant is in January of 2022. That’s when I randomly bumped into this article during a general wander through the internet:

It’s a rather interesting read, and well worth the time. If you want the abbreviated version:

Jason Isbell is a pretty cool guy but there are also many, many awesome Black women making country (and country adjacent) music and they are nowhere near celebrated enough.

I’m a pretty casual follower of country; it’s something I’ll have playing the background but it’s not something that I actively seek out like I do jazz. Still, I took that list of awesome Black ladies in the spirit it was intended and started listening my way through. It was late at night at the time, everyone else asleep, the dark wrapping round close and the air hovering in silent stillness. I had to turn the volume right down.

Now, I should emphasise that I did like pretty much every person on this list, several of whom have since become regular plays, but I also carried on browsing the internet at the same time in a general “well, this is nice” sort of way. There was no reason to think “Nightflyer”, a track picked at random after a YouTube search like every other song I’d found from the article, would be different, but then Allison Russell’s voice did that thing it does.

If you’ve heard her before, you know what I mean. If not…well, listen. Start where I did:

I acknowledged the first chorus as a pleasant sort of intro, then returned to the internet. I was concentrating on something else and remember, I’d set the volume to quiet, when she reached “I’m the smoke up above the trees, Good Lord.” Something about the way that sound vibrated over those words skipped my lazy ears and drove itself right into my spine. I stopped. Everything else stopped. There was nothing else in the world.

For a few moments I savoured those notes, that ever-changing tone that travelled right through my body. And then I tried to go back to my random internet browsing, but I couldn’t, because she was still singing and there was no room for anything else next to that voice. It swallowed everything. I hung there, motionless, and every other thought just disappeared.

And it wasn’t just the voice. The density of those lyrics, that imagery. This was poetry. Moving into the second verse to taste the contrast of “sick” and “light” at the back of your throat, then hitting the jarring, captivating idea of the “violent lullaby”, one of those lines that I really wish I could have written myself, followed by the way her voice slows and stretches on “suffocating” until you can feel that heat clinging to your skin.

“I’m each of his steps on the stairway / I’m his shadow in the door frame.” No metaphors there. Suddenly all those beautiful layers of imagery were gone, and dread slammed in their place. This was the first moment when reality snapped in, too much and too heavy. This was when I began to wonder if this song was more than just some pretty pictures and a mellifluous tone.

We touch that simple, stark fear for just two lines, just long enough to understand, and then we’re jerked away, our eyes following the narrator’s gaze up to the lunar moth and focusing so, so hard on its tapping. Anything to try and avoid what we know. The fact you can look elsewhere, but the smell still lingers, the beer-stained breath that ensures there’s no doubt exactly what’s underneath. It’s a masterpiece of writing, both in what’s directly said and what isn’t. The melody and the space between, indeed.

Of course, as I would later learn, this song isn’t about abuse. This album is not about abuse. It’s about what happens after, about claiming joy, about healing. In line with that, the coldest moment of “Nightflyer” oh so swiftly slides us into a place of relief. We can’t stay in that room for long. The next verse crawls back out and emerges into something new. Rebirth, one of the images Outside Child really delights in.

We enter utter triumph. His soul’s trapped, I left him behind so I could fly free. The gold and the green, so much richness and life just in those two colours.  If you can reach “What the hell could they bring to stop me Lord?” and not raise your hands in celebration like a little old lady in church on Sunday, I’m not sure you’re listening to the same song as me.

I started to prepare for it to wind down, because we’d reached what felt like a climax and it was roughly the length you expect from an average track, but even better, it was one of those tunes that’s longer than you expect, when you’re bracing yourself for disappointment because you know it has to end but somehow there’s another verse to surprise you. This time the violence is defiance and transformation, from wounded bird to screaming hawk to a battle dove, each striking with impossible vividness.

Now we’re soaring again, breaking the bounds of earth for the moon and the solar flare. Expanding so far that that little room and its trapped moth are almost forgotten. Almost. Child and mother and love on all sides. A communion with every face of the universe.

“Nightflyer” did end, eventually, but after that breathless, transformative experience, sitting in the dark, clinging to my wakefulness when everyone else curled among their pillows, I knew I needed more. The list of artists from the original article was put on hold so I could fill myself on every song of Outside Child.

Whenever you listen to a new album for the first time, some tracks pull themselves into your ears with particular vehemence. It doesn’t mean the others are bad, just that there’s a primal element to hearing music that you can’t always control. “Nightflyer” was obviously one for me, but on my first run through Outside Child proper, the hooks started with “Montreal” and “Hy-Brasil”, to be followed by “All of the Women” and “4th Day Prayer”, then “Persephone” and “The Hunters” when I went round yet again. As for the others? “The Runner”, “Poison Arrow”, “Little Rebirth” and “Joyful Motherfuckers”? Those came later.

“Montreal” being one that sticks with you makes sense because it’s the opening track, the very first thing you hear, but it’s more than that. The city breathes through this song, it’s a living thing. You can feel it, feel how small you are amidst its spires, feel how secure you are in its cradling arms. It builds structure and safety amid the darkness, literally thanks to the towering of those buildings and the shadows they cast, then you see the light creeping awake through the unity of old and young. And of course, seeing that child who’s been lost outside is where you establish the premise and title of the album, and a peek at the wider story to be told.

You also need “Montreal” to be early on, so when “4th Day Prayer” takes us to Westmount Park, when “Persephone” runs us up la rue St. Paul, when “The Runner” travels from “Mont Royale / Aux Portes des Lions” and stops us right out the South Hill Candy Store, we know what that means and we’re anchored in the certainty of that place. Montreal continues to breathe, and live, and cradle, throughout the album, and it helps shape its reality.

As for “Hy-Brasil”, that manages a feat that few songs manage, to be written in the present but to sound ancient, like it was first sung a thousand years ago, like it’s a spell or an enchantment first breathed by the fair folk, like it’s from a realm that’s not quite earth. I went on a deep dive afterwards trying to research the myths that I was sure must have inspired it. “Montreal” creates atmosphere, but “Hy-Brasil” reverberates in it.

“All of the Women” reminds us that this single story is part of a larger whole, that for every voice that’s found so many more are lost. It’s those little moments and small beauties that survive in the rawest and most painful of times, it’s a refusal to apologise and a demand to be seen. Every repeated phrase magnifies the defiance, the indomitable, indestructible nature of the cast-aside people, the people outside.

If “All of the Women” spans the present, “4th Day Prayer” is the song that most anchors Outside Child in the length of its history, in all the women who came before, in every generation that saw that same violence given a new face. As with the rest of the album, it’s not a cry of despair. It’s a refusal to accept that fate, a determination to deconstruct it and rewrite it so that no one in the future will have to survive that again. In many ways, it’s the sequel to “Quasheba, Quasheba”, though that was a song I hadn’t discovered yet.

“Persephone” wasn’t quite what I expected the first time through, not based on its title, but on relistens I managed to appreciate it. The immediacy of the blood and violence in the first verse, that moment of hopeless isolation when she doesn’t even bother to ask the cop for help, because she’s already learnt that the people who are supposed to protect aren’t there for her, the enigma that is Persephone, goddess of spring and bringer of new life, given human form, the desperation involved when all you can do is keep moving “nowhere to go but I had to get away from him”, how even though we never leave the blood and the bruises and the fear behind, love still grows precious and intimate among it all. To borrow from another Persephone and her companions in Hadestown:

“Some flowers bloom Where the green grass grows Our praise is not for them But the ones who bloom in the bitter snow We raise our cups to them”

Parts of “The Hunters” could be a lullaby in a child’s ear, if you don’t pay too much attention to the words. If you do, then that jarring, violent image from “Nightflyer” is given solid form against the gentlest melody. When the lyrics finally registered, my main thought was mostly: “ouch.” This is another fairy tale, not quite the same myth as “Hy-Brasil” but still one that travels back centuries to those primal days when monsters howled in the forest and stories were inked in blood.

Now, I’d discovered Allison Russell in an article about country music but none of these tracks were country as I imagined it. I saw the album described as Americana and/or roots, and tried to find a more specific definition of what those terms meant, but…well that wasn’t helpful.

What Outside Child is is expansive and intimate all at once, bringing you into a place so private then singing out until daylight rings. It’s one person’s story turned into the history of humanity and all its experiences. I said this isn’t an album about abuse. What it is about, in many ways, is love. Not just romance, but a dozen different ways that one human can connect to another, and to the world, to know that it’s worth living:

It's trembling first love:

"Don’t make a sound, don’t cry out love Your parents are sleeping just above I kiss you once, I kiss you twice Fall asleep looking in each other’s eyes"

and the love passed through the generations, from your ancestors:

"My great grandmother was a magic weaver ...

Down in the cradle oh I would hear hеr as I breathed my soul beliеved"

to your children:

“I am The Mother of the Evening Star / I am the Love that Conquers All”.

It’s love of a place:

"Oh my Montreal Can I dream of you tonight?"

and of music:

"Then I heard that Rock and Roll ...

I was up above me, I was standing right beside me - oh And I saw my deliverance

It’s the love that grows in unlikely places and small moments:

"she likes the way that I smile and sing as I walk I like her fabulous outfits, the proud way she moves, she says "I used to be a dancer...some grace you don't lose ...

When she's not there I worry about her"

and the love that comes when you’re connected to the whole world:

"Can you feel the Mother moving Through the bonds of our works?"

The love that’s pulled from darkness and horror:

"Poison arrow be kind to me and I’ll be kind to you ...

All you sad and broken travelers, come on”

and love for all the other people who’ve been through the same thing:

"Three for the children breaking through Four for the day we're standing in the sun"

And it ends with a call for you to express that love too:

"If you’vе got love in your heart, but it’s way down in the dark You bеtter let it see the sun, this world is almost done ...

Hey you hey you Who you think I’m talking to? Show 'em what you got in your heart"

Though of course, you can’t forget the love that should be, but isn’t:

"Oh Papa, oh Mama It is of you I am afraid ...

Curse you child, curse you child We should have killed you as a babe"

And through every love and every lyric is that voice. That voice, that holds a thousand tones. The sweet and the soaring, the rough and the raw, that simmering, controlled intensity that vibrates through every atom followed by joyous freedom that sends you flying. The whole world and every emotion in it can be found in Allison Russell’s voice.

I needed more, and turned back to YouTube to find the next Allison Russell album, but all I could see were a couple of random, though excellent songs. I didn’t know “By Your Side” but I could feel each word and note crawling inside me, settling just under my skin to stay long after the video ended. “Landslide” was an old friend, and already much loved, but just spinning those lyrics into French created something new, forcing me to pay attention when I could have dismissed its familiarity.

Then YouTube started to recommend unfamiliar bands by the names of Our Native Daughters and Birds of Chicago, which wasn’t what I was looking for at all. Where were all of Allison Russell’s other albums?

I don’t think it even occurred to me that one CD could be the sum total, or that Allison Russell could maybe have made music under other names. That’s until I paid a little more attention to the thumbnails. There was a very definite resemblance between one of the Native Daughters, and one half of Birds of Chicago, and the woman I’d watched sing “Nightflyer”. I decided to investigate.

I went and listened to Songs of Our Native Daughters, and yes, there was that unmistakable voice amid all those other tones that I still had to learn to distinguish, those other brilliant women who I’ve since added to my regular playlist for their own solo work. That was my introduction to Rhiannon Giddens and Leyla McCalla, and it redirected me back to Amythyst Kiah, also on Jason Isbell’s original list. Definitely a good decision on my part.

There was fun and celebration on Songs of Our Native Daughters, but there was a lot that was serious and thought-provoking too, the sort of thing that makes a lover of history at once happy and horrified. And then there was “Mama’s Cryin’ Long”.

“Mama’s Cryin’ Long” is the kind of song which rips all the words out of your mouth and leaves you transfixed in shock for the next few minutes, barely able to breathe, let alone move. Don’t believe me? Watch the documentary video, and the faces of everyone else when they first hear it. They’re like “yeah, we’re gonna help you record this, but first we need to recover for a minute”.

When I later went and listened to Rhiannon Giddens on her own, when I worked my way through a back catalogue that included “At the Purchaser’s Option” and “Come Love Come” and “Julie”, I looked back at “Mama’s Cryin’ Long” and realised exactly who had to be responsible for that particular retelling of history. Discovering Allison Russell was a gateway to a whole new world and an endless list of singers and songwriters and musicians who deserved my attention.

*Glances at the Valerie June and Adia Victoria and Rissi Palmer and Queen Esther and Kyshona that have also filled my listening since I began following Allison Russell on Twitter.*

After recovering from Our Native Daughters, I immersed myself in Birds of Chicago, whose music is so excellent to have feelings by. They’re songs to stick together the pieces of broken things, a dozen ways to write about love in the face of doubt, loneliness and violence. It’s the aching beauty of “Super Lover” and “Till It’s Gone”, the defiance and even triumph of “Cannonball” and “All the City Girls”, the unfettered joy of “Alright, Alright” and “San Souci”, the magic of those “tiny electric sea horses” in “Mountains, Forests”, the whole lifetime painted in “Hold Steady, Rock Slow”, that old spiritual somehow written just a few years ago known as “Barley” the intimacy and intensity of “I Have Heard Words” and then “American Flowers”, which might just be a perfect song.

Further back there was Po’ Girl, and the seeds that would eventually bloom in Outside Child, the laying down of themes and ideas that still had to grow. Imagine my surprise when I heard the opening of “Corner Talk”, and it was basically “All of the Women”. I tell people that they have to listen to the entirety of that Outside Child to fully understand it, to trace the concepts underpinning every song, but really, if you want to see it completely, you need to look right back to Po’ Girl and linger in the words of “No Shame” and “Kathy”.

It seemed a good time to go back to Outside Child and listen again, listen closer. Now I knew it was autobiographical, and I was prepared for my own emotional reactions, I was able to realise a little better the weight of that story, put context to that moment in “Fourth Day Prayer” when she claims the cemetery as the safest place to sleep, when she chooses it over what’s supposed to be home. Deeper layers upon deeper layers as I tried to climb all the way inside.

This isn’t just an album, it’s an autobiography. It’s not just an autobiography, it’s a family history. That’s another reason you can’t just stop at the songs on Outside Child. You need to at least include “Quasheba, Quasheba” and “You’re Not Alone”, chronologically the first and last parts of the saga even if they both appeared before it. Between them you slide in “Hy-Brasil”(great-grandmother was a magic weaver) as a more recent ancestor before first adding in a Po’ Girl (and Birds of Chicago) number, “Kathy”, as one step closer to the present. If you’re listening to “Kathy” then you have to play “No Shame” next, so you can hear that echo from “Why’d you let him steal your joy?” to “I will not let him steal my joy.” That’s an idea we’ll hear again, even more definitively, in “The Runner” with “Can’t steal my joy”. Eventually you reach “You’re Not alone”, where the joy is visible and real in “Every little shiny thing”. “You’re Not Alone” ends with the bequeathing of that inheritance, that ancestral strength, on to the next generation:

“In the cradle of the circle All the ones who came before ya Their strength is yours now You're not alone”

Another way to do it is to start with “Quasheba, Quasheba”, then move to “Fourth Day Prayer”. That path follows the history through its geography:

"From the Golden Coast of Ghana To the bondage of Grenada"

Then one step further:

"From the coast of Africa To the hills of Grenada To the cold of Montreal That whip, that whip still falls"

It doesn’t get much more explicit than that, this ongoing cycle, this long line of Black women still hearing that same violence, the kind magnified over generations.

Except it’s not just an immutable, unbreaking cycle. “Nightflyer” is a song of here and now, with in one person’s lifespan, but it’s also the centre point of the narrative, looking both back and forward from the narrator’s experience as a child, and as a descendant, to where she becomes “Mother of the Evening Star” herself.

No, that Evening Star label is not explicitly explained in this often enigmatic song, but it does become clear when its echoes recur at the final chronological point (so-far) in this story, “You’re Not Alone”:

“Hey my little Evening Star”, becomes a direct address, not about the narrator of “Nightflyer” but about the Evening Star herself, the next generation. The story continues, only this time with a promise that pain doesn’t last forever, that you don’t have to be alone in your suffering, that this inheritance will always turn into love.

 (Brief pause to admire that rhyme on “compass” and “wonderous”.)

Just stop and think how powerful that is for a moment, to look back at hundreds of years of violence being passed from generation to generation among your ancestors and say “That’s enough. This stops with me. My daughter will never have to go through what I did. What we did.”

I followed that narrative from end to end and through all its branches. Within a few months, I was reasonably certain I’d actually listened to most of Allison Russell’s work, both solo and in various groups, most of it multiple times. That might have been enough, but I was going to have a few strokes of luck all in a row.

*

I could have stopped there, with the listening.  When I first discovered Outside Child the thought of getting to hear it live didn’t really occur to me. Pretty much every artist that I’ve seen was someone I’d been a fan of (or at least known of) for years. I suppose it felt like progressing from an album to a concert was a kind of long-term development that couldn’t be rushed. Well, in the cases where they were still around to tour in the first place. There are disadvantages to being born in the wrong era, musically speaking.

On top of that, I’d already been to one big concert in 2022, a long-term ambition realised, and I still couldn’t quite believe that it had happened, and gone well. Asking for more seemed tempting fate. When I walked out of The Forum, Bath in April with the last notes of Imelda May’s “Diamonds” lingering in my ears and my throat and my chest, with more than a decade as a fan given tangible form, I thought that moment of satisfaction would feed me for years until the stars next aligned for someone else’s concert.

That’s why the decision I made in May to check out the tour page on Allison Russell’s website was a bit of a whim, perhaps a reaction to having listened so intently to all her music in such a short space of time. If you had asked me, I’d have said that the chances of a Canadian musician based in Nashville who I’d never even heard played on the radio over here appearing somewhere that I could practically manage to attend was so small as to have been invisible. Looking for dates felt like inviting disappointment.

Except there were two dates. Two. Two performances in the UK. One of them was at a festival and I knew I didn’t want to bother about all of that, but there was also one London gig at a little place called Omeara.

London, now London I could do. London’s just over an hour away by rail. Except, of course, for an evening performance, there’s no guarantee you’ll make it back to the station before the last train leaves. It even said, on the Omeara website, that concerts could finish late. I’d need somewhere to stay, which was more money and more logistics and frankly my first instinct when something looks like it might be complicated is to just label it impossible. I put the idea aside.

Well, mostly. I did really, really want to go though. I couldn’t remember the last time discovering a new artist had hit me quite so hard, and there was only one album in recent years that had given me a comparable number of feelings. Funnily enough, it was the album I’d been lucky enough to see, at least in part, live at The Forum earlier in the year. Life Love Flesh Blood by Imelda May.

I say in part because it was the tour for 11 Past the Hour, so obviously those were the tracks that got the most airtime. As for the even older stuff, the rockabilly stuff, she’d warned us before the show started that it’d only make two or three appearances, making sure we wouldn’t be too disappointed. I wasn’t because I do adore the newer sound, but I couldn’t help but wish that’d I managed to see her earlier, when the back catalogue was smaller and it was easier to guarantee which songs would make it to the setlist.

My brain began to persistently nag me that going to see someone performing from their first album was the best way to make sure you heard every song. Leave it until later in their career and there would be picking and choosing, like with Imelda May. I didn’t know when Allison Russell would be back in the UK or if it’d be a convenient time and place for me.

Plus, Imelda May had been my first concert in years and it had been incredible beyond words. Of course I wanted to find a way to do it again, to try and recapture that feeling that only exists when you and the singer are in the same room and their performance saturates the air. Yes, it also made me more sceptical that I’d be able to make it work, as two dream concerts in one year seemed a bit much, but I knew I’d regret not trying.

I am not, as a general rule, a social person. My mother believes that interacting with lots of other people is healthy. I personally try to avoid it. On this particular occasion, however, her suggestion that I find someone else to go with me to make the logistics easier was a good idea. In theory. It’d have probably been better if I had a friend network of more than three people, none of whom lived anywhere near me, or London.

However, I am still a Revver at heart, even if Revelation Rock-Gospel Choirs is no more, and being a Revver means having at least one acquaintance in every city. A little memory snuck into my head, whispering that I did have one person who lived in London. Or she had done, last time I saw her. Someone with excellent taste in music and who was generally a delight to spend time with.

Me being me, I focused on the potential problems:

I hadn’t spoken to her for three years. Not because we’d fallen out or anything like that, just life (and lockdowns) had been happening, but messaging someone who you only known middlingly well after all that time just to ask a favour seemed a little rude. I wasn’t sure if we were close enough friends for such an out-of-nowhere request. Would it be weird?

I didn’t know if she still lived in London. A quick glance at her Facebook said she was in Manchester. Now, you might think this brought my planning to an end, but I happened to know that she had lived in Manchester before London, and she was also notoriously bad at social media. It wasn’t entirely inconceivable that she just hadn’t got round to changing it. For over three years.

In line with her general uselessness on social media (possibly her only character flaw, which for a woman who rebuilds villages destroyed by earthquakes seems pretty minor), she was also notoriously bad a replying to messages. I could Facebook, e-mail and text her and it wouldn’t be a surprise if I received only silence on all three.

The chances of her being available on that night were slim. We’re talking someone who travels, and volunteers, and helps construct schools in remote corners of the world (see, being bad at responding to messages does seem a small annoyance, doesn’t it?). Her calendar tends to be pretty packed.

I cannot emphasise enough, with so many things that could go wrong and so little chance of success, just what a big deal it was for me to ask her anyway. The music had enough of an impact on me for me to consider it worth it.

I sent a message in the most casual tone I could possibly manage, and put a lot of energy into preparing for a negative response, or even more likely, no response at all:

“Are you still living in London?”

Not only did I get a reply, it arrived within two hours:

“Hi Devon! Yes, still here!”

Now a series of questions, each asked in the assumption she’d say no:

(This is the abbreviated version. I tend towards wordy, as you may have guessed by the fact that I’m over 5000 words into this and we haven’t reached the venue yet)

“There’s a concert in London that I’d like to go to but I’m not sure I’ll make the last train. Do you have any floor/sofa space available?”

She needed to check her calendar, as she was away from home, but it was a conditional yes.

That could have been enough. It was enough, really, I didn’t want to push it. I had the most important thing. But then I dared the final hurdle, grasping for the star:

“Is the concert itself something you'd be interested in, on the off chance?” I sent her the link to “Nightflyer”, to the exact same video that had stopped me in my tracks. A concert is meant to be a communal experience. Imelda May had been shared with one of that network of three friends. And it was too long since I’d seen this particular acquaintance.

I knew she had good taste in music, after all, we’d met in the choir. The first concert we sang in together, she wore her steel-toed work boots because they were the only black shoes she had to hand. That meant I could stand on her feet as much as I wanted but she had to be extra careful not to tread on mine. From such moments are friendships made. Every concert after that point, I tried to stand next to her because I knew if I got lost, she’d help me find the right note. The fact she had impeccable taste in books was just a bonus.

This time there wasn’t an instant response. Days went past as my jitters grew. I wanted to buy my ticket; I wanted solid confirmation that this could work. Perhaps she’d changed her mind. When five days had passed, I finally poked her, in the most unobnoxious way I could manage. It turned out she was just being bad at Facebook again, and still didn’t have access to the calendar. I did get a proper answer to one question:

“Did you like the video?”

“Yes, she's got an amazing voice!”

That was what I needed to hear. I gave a big sigh of relief, because at least it meant she really did want to come and wasn’t just trying to gently put me off. A few days later, without me needing to harass her again, she finally returned to her calendar and within minutes of her confirmation, I’d booked two tickets. There was still some finagling to do about trains and times and where we were going to eat, but we were on track.

*

Which brought me here. The sun and the glare outside Vauxhall station. The crowds full of brunettes with glasses who aren’t her. I’m trying to connect to the Wi-Fi in the nearby Starbucks. Perhaps I can message her that way. If not, my brain is busy trying to calculate how long I can stay here or if I’ll need to make my own way to London Bridge and hope she joins me.

Yes, I overthink things.

I’m leaning on a lamppost, fingers and head focused on my phone, wondering if she cut her hair short and dyed it purple since our last meeting and that’s why I’d been unable to spot her. It seems unlikely, but you never know. Then a familiar figure pushes past, in too much of a rush to notice me. It takes me a moment to notice my own recognition, especially after the false alarms.

No, this is definitely her. It’s the back of her head, no face or glasses, but I’m so certain that I wonder how I could have doubted my memory. She’s missed me in passing just as easily as I missed her, hurrying a bit too urgently to make up for the delay. That’s what a dentist appointment will do to you. The one thing I hadn’t accounted for in my long, long list of reasons for things to go wrong? The length of time needed to polish up your teeth.

Still, my original plan was now half an hour out and I really, really need to make sure we reached Omeara in time. There’s a rush to her flat, just enough time to drop my bag (not even long enough to properly inspect her bookshelves) and then back to the Tube and the baking furnace of the Jubilee Line.

I’d told my companion she was in charge of directing us, her being the one with local knowledge, but once we step out at London Bridge, I take the lead again. I’d carefully traced the route on the map before I’d left the house this morning, reciting the turns over and over again, peering at the Streetview option but not quite spotting the Omeara sign. I’m just heading in the general direction and hoping it’ll be there. I’m still not certain it’s all going to happen.

In an astonishing twist, it turns out that if you follow the directions exactly, Omeara is exactly where it’s said to be on the map. For avoidance of doubt, as we walk past the clearly labelled door, a strain of music floats out from behind the nearest wall:

“Yeah I’m a midnight rider

Stone bonafide night flyer.”

Soundcheck time. Yep, definitely in the right place.

#Bardic Writings #if music be the food of love #Youtube

[gucciwins]

Golden Sparks 

Harry is new to town and signs up his eight-year-old daughter, Josie to the soccer team where he takes an interest in the well-respected Coach Y/N.

Word count: 25,027 

A/N: Hello friends! I hope you’ve been well, honestly I had this idea for a while and it wasn’t until I stepped back from another piece and came back this one that it began to flow. im proud of what I wrote and I hope you enjoy. my longest piece to date :) I do hope you all love it. 

Warnings: sweet dad harry, slight angst, slight smut

please do let me know what you thought of the story and please reblog! <333

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

"You're going to do great."

"I know, dad." Harry's eight-year-old daughter responds.

"Hey, I'm being supportive." Harry shakes Josie's foot, causing her to laugh.

"Thank you, I'm excited. Honest." Josie puts her hand over her heart, making Harry's heart melt.

He hadn't seen his daughter smile this much since they found out about the tryout that was soon to start in fifteen minutes. He felt awful making her move from their home in Georgia, but it was time, and this new opportunity would be good for them. Josie hated to leave her friends but mostly her soccer team with whom she had been with since she started playing at the age of five, but Harry promised he would find her a team, and he did.

The team was different from back home, seeing as it was an all-girl team instead of a mixed team of boys and girls. Not that he minds; he feels this will hopefully allow Josie to branch out and make friends that would not pick on her for playing what they said was "a boy's game." Those parents pissed him off back in Georgia, but he's gone, and he prays this goes well.

"Do you think mom will visit my games more now that we're closer?" Josie's green eyes peer up at him, reminding him that she looks nothing like her mother and is his little clone.

"I hope so. She was excited to hear about the move, remember." Josie nods before glancing at the field where other girls were chatting as they laced up their cleats.

Harry despised his ex-girlfriend, the mother of his child. At the age of nineteen, he became a father, and his ex, three years older than him, didn't want to raise a child to a man who wouldn't marry her. They were together for two months when he called it quits until she came back a month later, calling him an asshole for getting her pregnant. After giving birth to his beautiful girl, she gave him full custody, not wanting to worry about diapers and night cries.

All she worried about was getting her figure back. It wasn't until Josie turned one that she came back and demanded to be part of her life, leading to them going to court and getting to see Josie on the weekends, and it went well because his daughter always came back happy after a visit. When Josie turned five, Claudia moved to California because she fell in love and was going to get married. Claudia didn't care that she was leaving Josie behind. A heartbroken girl not knowing why she couldn't be part of her mother's wedding and why she moved across the country so far from her.

Josie cried for a whole week straight until the ice skates showed up on the front door with a note from Claudia for Josie to chase her dreams. Thus, having Harry sign her up for ice skating classes came to an end in two short weeks when she learned how awful the leotards looked on her.

Josie was then determined to find a sport liking the idea of being active and having the chance to make friends, which led to her seeing soccer on the TV when a commercial of Alex Morgan for Nike came on. She asked question after question until Harry told her okay, and went to call a friend to see where he could find a team for her.

The first team they found was only boys, not wanting to mix, causing both of them to get upset, but a mom took pity on them and told them of the Sunnyville team looking for players. It was perfect; seven girls and eight boys were on the team, and Josie fit in perfectly until she didn't.

At first, Josie wasn't very good; no kid is, but Harry every night took her to their large backyard and practiced with her, and within a few months, she was able to dribble a ball at her feet without looking down constantly. She wasn't the best, but she was improving.

Harry enjoyed every minute he got to help her improve because within the next few years, he saw her go from being timid to push someone away from the ball to beating someone in a sprint.

California was a significant change for Harry and Josie, but this was a big deal for the company, and Josie understood. He was happy he could do something for her now it was her turn to shine and prove why she deserved a spot on the team.

"Now go prove why you're the best, petal." Harry kisses his daughter's forehead, taking her bag over his shoulder.

She takes a step forward before stopping. "Walk with me there, daddy."

Harry's smile softens, "Of course, honey."

They march forward, their steps in sync; Harry can feel eyes on both of them as they pass parents in their chairs, some sitting on blankets spread out on the grass.

There's a woman, dressed in black Nike sweats, some fancy Nike cleats on her feet and a plain maroon tank top and over to cover from the breeze is a windbreaker; the team logo on the left side over her heart and right under is a name he can't quite make out. If Harry's being honest, she took his breath away, she's gorgeous, and she's smiling at him. Harry's sure if he kept looking into her eyes, he would fall in love.

"Hello, I'm Coach Y/N." She greets them with a big smile on their face.

"Hi, I'm Josie, and this is my dad, Harry Styles." Josie steps forward, holding her hand out that the coach is quick to shake.

"Nice to meet you." Harry finally speaks.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Styles. I've got all the paperwork that you submitted, and everything looks good."

"That's great." Harry nods, keeping his eyes on her. "Just Harry is fine, please." She nods, letting him know she heard him.

"Nice accent, you English?" Y/N asks.

"I am, Josie was born there too, but she's lived in the states all her life."

Y/N nods, "No wonder I didn't spot an accent on her." She teases.

"My dad sounds funny, so one of us is okay." Josie jokes at Harry's expense.

"Hey now," Harry pouts, causing both to laugh and his heart to flutter, wanting to make Y/N do it again.

"Now, Josie, how about we introduce you to the girls before we get started."

Josie nods and steps forward to follow Y/N.

Y/N addresses him one last time, "You're welcome to sit by the parents or welcome to stand behind our bench on the sidelines."

"Thank you." Harry watches the walk away, his daughter's bright pink socks standing out around the flash of black, green, and blue. He smiles, knowing he'll have a good eye on her, as will the coach.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

It has been a while since the team had a tryout for the Golden Sparks team. It has not been necessary because most of the young girls are already on the u-9 team.

She had heard the rumor of new people moving into town but wasn't sure, so on a whim, she added them up in places parents were bound to see them; at the grocery store, doctor's office, the school, and the local sports store.

Thanks to the flyers, they got two responses from Mr. Styles and Mrs. Clover, who wanted their girls to join. Mrs. Clover's daughter, Caitlyn, was switching over from a different team, so she knew the girls on the team well. Josie, the daughter of Mr. Styles, would be the only one who needed an introduction as she was new to the town.

After meeting Harry, she was surprised at how handsome and young he was. Most parents here are well over the age of thirty and are married or dating.

She has been coaching for four years now and only started because of her niece Juliet who is part of the team. Y/N's older sister, Clara, had Juliet at 23 a year after her wedding and when Y/N was only 18 and about to start university. It was a good thing she had decided to go to university only three hours away and not across the country as she first thought, or she would have missed so much of her niece's and goddaughter's life.

Y/N had just graduated and knew she would no longer be playing soccer and needed something to do when her sister Naomi approached her and asked her if she could watch over Juliet for the summer so they didn't need to get a babysitter. She was more than happy to accept.

At first, they would paint, color and dance, but they got bored quickly. Y/N wasn't one to spend her time inside, so instead, she decided to take her four-year-old niece to the park with a soccer ball and make the most of it.

At the local park, they both ran around each day, chasing the ball for hours. A week later, Y/N bought Juliet her first pair of cleats, letting her shoot in the nets. As the weeks went by Y/N, saw Juliet improve as well as take direction well. She was a bright young girl, and Y/N knew she was still small, and all she wanted to do was run, but Y/N knew that because Juliet had seen her play, she knew what was right and wrong. There were times when she just ran in circles picking flowers because, after all, she was a four-year-old.

A month into summer, a mom approached her, asking her if she was a coach because she saw her there every day. Y/N laughed it off and told her she was just taking care of her niece. The mom told her it was a shame because her daughter told her it looked like fun. Y/N smiled and said to her that she was welcome to join, and before she knew it, a bunch of little girls came together to kick a ball around.

Only when Y/N had over ten girls showing up every Monday and Wednesday at a designated time did she begin to look at soccer leagues for children, and to her luck, there was one in town, an all-girls league that started from age 4 to age 18. She got the paperwork required for her to be a coach and for the girl's parents to fill out. She pitched the idea, and everyone was aboard.

That is how Golden Sparks was created, and those four-year-olds are now eight. She has watched them grow in front of her eyes. She went through her master's coaching a team. It's just something she does as a hobby, and it's wonderful because she knows how vital her coaches were for her when she was growing up. Now she can do the same.

She loves these girls, which means she had to do trial runs for how well the new girls fit in with the team dynamic. That is why today is an important day for Caitlyn and Josie.

"Ladies, may I please have your attention?" Y/N calls out to all the girls trying to juggle their individual balls as they wait for her.

The girls quickly shuffle over, passing their balls to Kate, who is setting up both nets and getting out the bright pink pinnies that Emilia's parents donated to the team that the girls will be needing.

Josie is standing very close to Y/N, and Caitlyn comes to stand to her other side.

"Now, today's practice is going to be different. We have two guests today. We have Caitlyn, who comes from Ice Angels from across town, and Josie, who comes from Georgia all the way across the country. I hope you will be kind and welcoming because we would be honored to add them to the team."

Juliet raises her hand and smiles, waiting for Y/N to let her speak. "Yes, Miss Juliet," Y/N giggles.

"Can we say something interesting about ourselves when we introduce ourselves?"

"Now, that is a smart idea. I wish I would have thought about it." All the girls smile, waiting for her to share.

"I'll start, I guess." She puts her hand on her hip, exaggerating her thinking face. "My name is Y/N, and I'll be your coach, and something interesting is that I like to paint." She turns to Kate, who is standing there, arms crossed. "You're next."

"I'm Kate, the meaner coach,"

"Kate," Y/N chastise.

"Kidding," Kate laughs, capturing all of the girls' attention. "I'm the assistant coach, and I love making tamales. Next potluck, you'll know how amazing they are."

Kate volunteers Steph, standing next to her, allowing her to share, and before she knows it, all the girls have gone. It's a calm environment, and Y/N is happy she can help these girls be a part of that. There were a total of fourteen girls, sixteen now with the two new girls trying out, meaning they would have even teams of eight, just one more than in an actual game.

Y/N makes two teams by dividing her forwards, midfielders and defenders. Then the scrimmage vest were handed out to the team where the new girls were trying out.

"Four twelve-minutes quarters," Y/N shouts, and in the next second, Kate blows the whistle, and they begin.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

Harry was sweating, his focus was on Josie and how well she was playing, but he also noticed how the coach was whispering to her assistant coach. They were doing a lot of talking, and he did not like it one bit. They had finished two quarters and took a more extended break before the third, where Josie shot him a thumbs up after drinking water. She was too busy talking to a girl to come see him. Harry was happy she no longer felt nervous and was making friends.

He had heard nothing but good things about Golden Sparks and their coaches, but he was nervous about what they thought of his daughter. When they blew that final whistle, Harry let out the breath he was holding. Thankful that Josie would be told her fate on the team.

The coaches rounded them up, and Harry just wanted to rush over there and have them tell him there and then, but no, they were dragging it out for him. Then again, they had more than one player to look after for.

"Golden Sparks!"

It was shouted out by all the girls, and they rushed over to their bags. Josie walked to her bag, handing her pinnie to the assistant coach while Coach Y/N made her way over to another parent. A young girl with a long french braid made her way to the coach, most likely to talk about her fate on the team. Harry moves his gaze away from them when he spots Josie chatting away to a girl about her age, wearing a black top with the team's logo on it. Usually, after practice, she rushes over to Harry, and she slips out of her cleats in the car. It makes him emotional seeing her make friends, something she didn't have many in her previous team.

Before he knows it, the coach talks with Josie and the other young girl before she nods and gets up, swinging her bag over her shoulder. The three of them make their way over to Harry, chatting softly, not allowing him to hear a word.

"Hi, petal. Did well out there." Harry tells his daughter once she's an arm's length away. He frowns when she doesn't rush into his arms to give him a hug.

"Yeah, it was fun. Everyone is so kind." Josie smiles at her father.

"Mr. Styles," Y/N begins, but Harry has to interrupt.

"Harry, please."

"Sure, Harry," she emphasizes. "Josie is a wonderful player."

"I agree."

"But," Harry frowns, knowing this is not going where he would like it to. "Josie tends to hold the ball too much. When given the opportunity to use her left, she takes that extra pass to switch to her right where it causes her to lose momentum and the opening."

"I get it, she's not perfect, but neither are those players out there."

"Dad." Josie gives him a glare to be quiet and listen.

"As I was saying," Coach Y/N, her voice just a bit less friendly. "She has flaws, but we noticed she has lots of speed; she controls the ball really well. She's stellar in the midfield."

Harry shifts his eyes to Josie, who is holding back a smile, and that is when he knows she's in. "We'd love to have her join the team and help her become an even better player."

"That's wonderful, I accept."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm glad you think it's a good idea, but it's Josie's choice to make."

"You're right. I'm sorry. Josie, honey." He steps back, a tad embarrassed.

Josie lets out a nervous laugh, "I had fun."

"How long have you played?" Y/N asks Josie.

"Three years now," Josie says, looking at Harry for confirmation and nods.

"The most important question is how you felt playing with everyone?" Y/N knows how important feeling welcomed to a team can mean to someone.

Josie looks up at her, a smile on her face. "Like I belonged."

"Does that mean you're joining?" The young girl standing behind Y/N answers.

"Yes. I would love to join." Josie says, a grin taking over her face.

"Well then, welcome. Practices are 5-7pm. Sometimes we can have a scrimmage with other teams, and it will be an hour before or after just to take that into consideration. Games are on Saturday, but when we have tournaments, they are Saturday and Sunday."

"That's great. I sometimes get out of work late." Harry confesses.

"It's why practices are later because we know parents work. So just shoot us a text the day before or early morning, and either Kate or I can pick them up as well as other parents. We're great with carpooling."

Harry smiles; he likes how organized they are. He has no worries about Josie joining the team. He's happy, and if he's honest, he is kind of glad to see more of Coach Y/N.

"It was great to meet you, and I'll see you on Monday for practice," Y/N tells both Harry and Josie.

As they are going to walk away, the young girl in two dutch braids speaks, "Auntie Y/N truly is the best. She's the reason I play so well." Juliet tells Harry.

Y/N blushes, "Knock it off. Save the sweet-talk for Kate."

"She's your aunt!" Josie explains. "That's so cool."

"Harry, this is Juliet, my niece and the reason this team exists. I introduced her to the sport at age four."

Juliet nods, "Yeah, because she didn't want to rotten my head with television."

This causes all of them to laugh. Harry and Josie walk away with a smile on both their faces.

Yeah, they would fit just right in. It was beginning to feel like home.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

It's been a month since Josie joined the team, and he's never seen her shine as much as she has since she joined the group. It's like she's a whole new little girl, he hates to admit it, but his little girl is growing right in front of his eyes.

They had recently had a team bonding; they headed to Kate's house to swim and do a little bonfire. Parents were allowed to stick around, but almost none did because they want their daughters to feel comfortable hanging out with their friends and be themselves. Also, all the parents trusted Kate and Y/N with their daughters because of the years of friendship.

Harry wanted to stay the first time, a bit fearful she wouldn't like it and also because he wanted to get to know Josie's coach better. He hadn't had many chances to chat her up, always getting a formal greeting and a goodbye. Harry can proudly say he has a crush on coach Y/N, but he wants to have a chance to take her out and maybe take it further.

Josie begged and begged him not to stay, so he just did a quick hello and then left. What did he do in the four hours his daughter was gone, nothing. He was bored without her. Harry began to watch a movie he'd been dying to see, but it was boring. He went to call his best mate, but it went straight to voicemail, then remembered it was date night for Mitch.

He couldn't drink because he wanted to pick Josie up even though he knew she could carpool, but he wanted to hear all about it right away and maybe get one more glance at Y/N because she looked lovely in her pastel pink shirt, black leggings, and a matching scrunchie. His feelings only grew each time he saw her, but he wouldn't dare pursue anything because his daughter adored Y/N, and he wouldn't do anything to wreck that.

It was Monday, and he was driving his daughter to practice. She was on a high because she spent the weekend with her mom. Claudia managed to make her soccer game and then took her home for the week. Everyone got an insight of his ex and how she was not the kindest, but sure did adore her husband by the way she kissed him the majority of that game. Harry did not want to sit next to them, but she wanted to flaunt her relationship in his face to his luck. Not that he cared one bit, he just cared about his daughter's happiness. That she happened to be a part of.

After they won the game, she sprinted over to them after Y/N congratulated them on the win, and they finished shaking the other team's hands. Josie wrapped her arms around Harry, squeezing him tight before hugging her mother, who just patted her back before letting her go congratulating on her goal.

Claudia's interactions with Josie always made Harry upset, but what was he to do? She gave him full custody and only saw her on weekends. It was easy living, but that doesn't mean he had to like it. He wanted his daughter to have a mother figure to guide her and show her the right and wrong to show her what it is like to be strong and resilient, yet Claudia was none of that for his daughter. Sarah, Josie's godmother, did more of that, and Harry was thankful.

Showing up to practice, Harry was embarrassed and hoped Y/N didn't bring up meeting his ex-girlfriend. Josie was quick to introduce them, but thankfully the conversation didn't last long as she was called over by the other team's coach.

"Can you drive any slower?" Josie pouted, looking out the window as Harry entered the parking lot at a safe speed in case any person happened to cross in front of him.

"Josie, I'm not trying to run anyone over." Harry sighs as he finally eyes an open parking space and signals left, always cautious about an accident.

"Well, I want to talk with my friends before practice." Josie has unbuckled herself and is close to throwing herself out of the car.

Harry puts the car into park, unlocking the car door. "Fly, young one."

The grin that takes over Josie makes Harry happy. "Love you, dad."

"Love you too, Josie."

Harry slides his sunglasses on, hating how bright the sun was; it'd be a few hours until the sunset. He was nervous; he was dressed in black slacks that hugged him in all the right places with a mint button-down shirt that calls attention. He didn't have time to change today; everyone saw him in his casual clothes, never his work attire. Josie said she didn't mind, but he did. Honestly, he was nervous about what Y/N might say about his look. Not that he cared what she thought. Not one bit, right?

He went to his trunk, got out his purple folding chair, and left the matching one there. Harry is a sucker for deals which is why he walked out of the store with two when he only needed one.

He strolled, making sure no eyes were on him, and he was in the clear until he heard a shout, "Dad!" He looked over at the field, and it was Josie waving at him to sit closer to the parents. Harry shot her a thumbs up; he liked the parents genuinely. They have all been so kind and welcoming, telling him the best places to go for the team's discount.

He got along well with Payton's and Stephanie's parents. They had a good sense of humor and liked asking him questions about where he was from and how Josie was growing up. His daughter had become best friends with Juliet. They were two peas in a pod, talking from the beginning of practice to staying almost ten minutes after as they slowly took off their cleats.

Y/N didn't mind seeing as she had to pick up everything, and the girls were eager to help her if it meant spending more time together. Honestly, she was begging for a sleepover, but he kept telling her no because he wanted to meet at least one of her parents first. He wasn't sure what either one did, but Juliet didn't mind if they couldn't make it to a game because her biggest supporter was already there.

Harry approaches where all the parents sit under a shaded tree, waving at everyone before taking a seat next to a man reading on his kindle. He smiled, knowing he loved reading in his downtime as well. This would be an excellent spot to sit, conversation or not he'd be comfortable, but first, an introduction was needed.

"Hello, don't mean to bother you, but I don't think I've seen you before. I'm Harry Styles. My daughter Josie joined the team last month."

"Well, Harry Styles, it's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard wonderful things about your daughter. I'm Xavier Torres, father of Juliet." Xavier responded with a bright smile on his face.

Harry doesn't hide his surprise. "I've been dying to meet her parents. She's a wonderful girl, glad our daughters decided to get along."

"Yeah, we come as often as we can, but Juliet always assures us she's fine. That she has the best auntie watching over her."

"Coach Y/N is great with everyone. I've never seen anyone so dedicated." Harry shares.

"She's always been like that. I met Clara in my second year of university. She was only fourteen then, but she was so caring. I wasn't introduced to the family until we've been dating for six months, and she was shy but always offered me water or cookies she had baked. I loved having conversations with her; she has always been the smartest person in the room."

Harry grins; this definitely grew his crush on Y/N.

"I hear they are begging for a sleepover," Xavier comments, breaking Harry from his thoughts.

Harry nods, "Yes, I kept saying no because I wanted to meet the parents."

Xavier smiles, agreeing they were the same. "Yeah, we had to meet the dad."

He's shocked Xavier doesn't ask him about a partner, but then again, Y/N could have easily mentioned meeting Claudia and her husband. Harry's grateful if she did not like having to explain how he's a single dad and how he wishes his daughter's mother would do better.

"Well, now that this has happened, I have no problem with a sleepover happening."

"Glad we're on the same page." Harry laughs, grateful, their daughters will be happy with them.

Harry and Xavier spend the entire two hours of practice talking. Harry has close friends, but he wouldn't be opposed to adding Xavier to his guys' nights that happen less frequently now. At the end of practice, they exchange numbers and promise to coordinate a date for the girls. It may be summer, but the girls are still keeping busy during the week instead of doing nothing.

The girls rush over to them at the end of practice, giggling at the two fathers still chatting away.

"Does this mean a sleepover can happen?" Juliet asks, squeezing Josie's hand she's holding.

Harry and Xavier share a look and nod. "Yeah, it can happen."

"Amazing!" Josie cheers jumping up and down.

"We have to plan a day that works for both of us, so it may be a while." Josie frowns but nods. Juliet does not accept it.

"Auntie Y/N can host it."

"Your auntie is going to do what?" Y/N says, sneaking up behind her tickling her sides.

Juliet lets out a loud shriek, not being able to escape her grip. Harry beams at Y/N loving how playful she is with her niece.

"You can host our sleepover. You aren't busy like daddy and Mr. Styles." Juliet says in one breath after Y/N let her go.

"I do have a job, you know," Y/n says in a sing-song voice. Xavier laughs as Juliet pouts. "But I do have more availability than your parents. I'd do it if both of you were comfortable with it." Y/N looks up at Harry and Xavier, letting them have the final say.

Xavier throws an arm over Y/N's shoulder and pulls her in a hug. "Of course, it's a yes; I'm always looking forward to a kid-free house."

"Rude, daddy." Juliet frowns, crossing her arms.

"Only joking, my little flower. How about frozen yogurt on the way home?"

"You're forgiven."

Y/N waits patiently for Harry to answer as he has a staring contest with his daughter.

He sighs, "Yes," Josie cheers, hugging Juliet. "Only if we're really not imposing on Y/N."

"Please, Harry. I'd be honored to have them over. I'm an excellent host, and my movie collection is amazing."

Juliet smiles. "She does, also the biggest backyard so we can run around and do whatever. There's also a pool." She whispers the last part.

"Enough speaking about my house. She'll get the tour soon enough."

"So it's settled," Harry tells them.

"Guess it is; send me when you guys decide. I'm free after twelve on Fridays, and I'll take them to the game on Saturday, of course, or we can do it after a game. All up to you, gents." Y/N gets it all out there, allowing Harry to breathe a little easier.

"Good," Xavier shouts.

"I'm going home, coming Julie?" As Xavier swings his chair over his shoulder. "Daddy, you have to help auntie Y/N. You just sat on your butt for two hours."

"Hey now, I watched you practice."

"I'm going to tell mommy, you know how she feels about you not helping Y/N. She'll give you an earful." Juliet sasses her dad.

"I don't know where you got all that sass from, but I know I'm going to hate it when you're a teenager," Xavier mumbles as he goes to get the goal nets put away.

Y/N laughs before turning to Harry and Josie, "I'll see you both on Wednesday. Have a good night."

Harry watches her walk away as she races Juliet over to the balls scattered around. He smiles at the ground, hoping he could one day make her laugh that much. He doesn't notice Josie watching him, and she grins, happy that maybe one day her daddy will smile as bright as Xavier does when speaking about Juliet's mom.

They walk hand in hand to the car, both comfortable walking in silence for what the future might bring them.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

Y/N enjoyed morning games as opposed to the afternoon, where the sun was blazing high. She had a hat that was helping with the heat, thankful she hadn't started sweating yet. She loves coaching, but during the summer, it isn't the most enjoyable.

"Hi, Coach Y/N."

She turns her head over her shoulder and sees Harry approaching. She checks him out, thankful for her sunglasses; he's got a black short-sleeve button-down that shines in the sunlight, letting her know it's expensive; he paired it with white linen pants and the beat-up Vans he always wore. He always looks good.

"Nice to see you, Harry."

"How are you?"

"Doing good, bracing the summer heat."

"Yeah, not so enjoyable."

"Ready for the game," Harry says, pointing to the field that will soon have fourteen girls running around.

"Yes, they have been working hard. I'm excited, and you?"

"Oh, nervous," he confesses.

"The girls are going to do great. If they start dozing off, then we can start to worry."

Harry laughs, knowing that she is right. It's about the girl's focus.

"How long did you play?"

"Too long." Y/N jokes.

"Haha," he laughs.

"I started at six and played up until I finished university."

"Wow! You must have been marvelous." Harry is amazed that someone can play a sport that long then go to teaching. He was never the most athletic, but he was a beast at ping-pong that was all hand-eye coordination.

"I would like to think I was good."

"You started coaching when?"

"The year I turned four, and soon enough I was running, and by four she bought me my cleats and bam! A team was created." Juliet answered for her.

"I'm pretty sure you told Harry this already." Y/N laughs playfully, nudging Juliet.

Juliet shrugs, "Just like reminding."

Y/N grins, "Okay, lovebug."

"Plus, you're a great coach."

Harry nods. "I can attest to that. All the girls love you, including Josie."

"And I love them," she tells him truthfully. "We don't get many new players, but we're happy to have Josie. She earned the starting spot as right-wing."

Juliet nods, jumping up and down, "Yeah, she's really good."

"Go on, start the girl with four corners." Y/N pats Juliet's back to get her to go on the field.

"Yes, ma'am." Juliet takes off running, talking to Kate, who helps her get started, and Y/N knows it's her cue to walk away from Harry.

"Good luck, coach."

"Thank you, Harry. See you after."

"Sure, of course. I'll be cheering for you. I-i-i- what-" Harry stutters while she stands there holding back a smile as she can see the heat traveling up his face. "I mean you and the girls. A-all as a team."

"Well, we appreciate it."

Harry watches her walk away, letting out a short laugh, not being able to believe he made a fool of himself.

The game was tied 1-1 with only eight minutes left. Harry could see Y/N was calm, voice firm when speaking to the girls. Lola was about to take a corner kick, he saw her take a step back, and Harry was ready for her to strike it, but instead, she shocks him as she passes to a player who ran up to her.

This startles the other team before Brenda sends it to the center midfielder, who passes it to Josie, who is screaming she's open. Brenda sends a through ball, and off his daughter runs. She gets a foot on it, looking at where the goalie stands. She makes the pass strong enough that the goalie doesn't stop it and just for Andy to tip it in, but it's too strong, causing the ball to go over the net. It's a miss but, everyone didn't mind impressed with the play.

The last few minutes were slow as both teams were tired out, and there was no chance for another goal in two minutes. When the referee blows the final whistle, all the girls bring it in, jogging over to Y/N and Kate as they all round up in a group hug. Harry can't hear what she's saying, but he knows it's reasonable considering all the girls are sporting similar smiles. He is quick to pack up his chair, ready to say goodbye to his daughter, who is about to have a sleepover with her coach and best friend.

The girls come back from clapping the other team's hand and are quick to go sit on the bench and take their shoes off. The clean-up was accomplished quickly today. Harry is waiting to talk to Y/N as she speaks with other parents. Caitlyn's dad praises her for that play, but Y/N is quick to tell him it was all the girls; they are the players. Either way, he hugs her, and Y/N pats the older man back softly. She waves goodbye to most girls when he finally gets to approach her.

"Great game today."

"Yes, they played well." Y/N agrees.

"Your coaching reflects on them."

"In a good way?"

He nods, "The best way."

She thanks him, and he knows she's not one to be boastful, so he changes the conversation.

"You are still good to take them for the sleepover."

"Of course, I'm excited."

"That's great. What time should I pick her up tomorrow?"

"Oh, I forgot to mention earlier, my sister and brother-in-law are coming to have dinner if you'd like to join us. Xavier has been dying to use the grill, and you'll get to meet my sister and my nephew."

"Juliet never talks about a brother."

Y/N chuckles, "It's because he barely started walking, so he doesn't hold much of her attention."

"Ah, that makes sense."

"She loves being a big sister, but only when he sleeps or plays blocks."

"Older siblings got to love them."

"Yeah, I know."

"Do you have a sibling?"

"I do. She's 35 and lives in London and runs a law firm. Total badass."

"I bet she is."

"If she ever stops and visits, please bring her around and would love to get all the dirt on young Harry Styles."

"Only if I get to do the same."

"Stop by Sunday, and you'll get the chance." She shrugs at him as she walks away.

"See you Sunday then." Harry shakes his head smiling as she grabs a bag of soccer balls and begins walking to the parking lot.

Josie runs over and gives him a big hug. "See you tomorrow, daddy."

"Bye honey, call me if you need anything."

"Sure, I love you." She yells as she runs to Y/N and Juliet, who are waiting for her at the end of the grass.

Harry knows she's in good hands, but his heart can't help but miss his little girl. He'll see her tomorrow and Y/N as well. He ignored how hard his heart was thumping at his interaction with Y/N instead of letting himself get lost in the idea of the beautiful afternoon that was to come tomorrow.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

Y/N had a great time with the girls. She promised she would let them do their own thing and just supervise, but both girls wanted her involved. As soon as they arrived at her house, Juliet gave Josie a tour of her home, taking her room to room before they ended up in the backyard, both dressed in their bathing suits to go swimming.

She couldn't help but laugh, knowing how eager they were to go jump in the pool despite playing an intense game for an hour in the blazing sun.

"You little ladies must eat first before you can even think of swimming," Y/N says, arms crossed over her chest, knowing Juliet was going to try to fight her on it.

"Auntie, that's not what we want to do."

"Maybe so, but your tummy's say otherwise."

Josie steps over from behind Juliet to stand next to her. "I would like to eat. Dad says we need to regain all the energy we worked off."

"Your dad is a smart man, Jo." Y/N nods to the girl. "It's a 2-1 vote, then."

"Fine," Juliet groans dramatically.

The girls sit at the table as Y/n begins to boil pasta. She decides on pesto as she has had a craving, and both girls happily agree. In just thirty minutes, she serves the girls two even plates, and they have a flowing conversation. Mainly, Josie and Juliet do the talking, occasionally asking YN her opinion or a question they want her to answer.

After the late lunch, she sends the girls to wash up and meet her outside to lather them in sunscreen. She puts most of her dishes in the dishwasher and soaks her pans in water, wanting it to be easier to wash later when the girls give her a free moment.

"Thirty minutes we are waiting," Y/N tells them, the sun lotion bottle in hand.

"Come on, you believe in that?" Juliet asks.

"Okay, little miss rebel, since when do you always question everything I say." Juliet's eyes go wide, and she shrugs.

"Alright, listen. I adore you, Juliet, but it's not nice trying to take advantage of me because you have a friend over."

Y/N waits for her to say something, but she nods her head and moves to hug her around her waist. She hears her mutter a sorry, and when Y/N brushes her hair back, she sees Juliet move back to look up at her. "I'm sorry."

Y/N gives her a small smile. "It's alright. Now sit down so I can get your back."

Josie patiently waits her turn, and just as Y/N finishes Juliet, she speedwalks to the edge of the steps and sits on them, letting her feet get soaked. Josie sits patiently as Y/N spreads the sunscreen to her shoulders, then turns her to get her face and neck, allowing Josie to rub it into her legs.

"All done, Josie." She stays seated on Y/N's patio chairs under the shade. Y/N doesn't question her not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable.

"Is it okay if I go join Juliet?" Josie asks in a soft voice.

Y/N almost awes out loud at how polite Juliet is, "Of course, go on. I'll let you know when it's okay to go in."

Looking out at the spacious yard, Y/N frowns, getting lost in thought about how she has the perfect home, but it gets lonely. It might be time she looks into getting a pet. She'll have to go check the local shelter soon but knows she should think about it for a while longer.

The ringer of her phone tears her out of her head when she hears the splashing, "Is it, time auntie?"

"Yeah, sweetie, it is."

Quickly she swipes three pairs of goggles from the table just as she begins to hear their splashing paired with laughter.

"Are we playing mermaids, auntie?" Josie asks as Y/N steps into the water, relaxing in the cool water, not suffering from the heat.

"We sure are," Y/N raises the three goggles and hands over one to each of them.  

It's after two hours that they all emerge from the pool, deciding to head into the shower seeing as the sun has begun to set. She ushers them carefully to the shower letting Josie use the guest room and Juliet her room seeing as they are the only two rooms fully equipped with towels and shampoo.

After the three of them are clean and changed in the pj's, Y/N makes popcorn to snack on while they play a few board games. They switch from Uno to Candyland to Mancala. It goes on for a while until they decide to put on a movie deciding on Tangled.

It wasn't until a quarter to ten that Moana watched Maui sing "Your Welcome," they began to yawn and started trying to fight back to sleep. Y/N thought they would never go down to sleep because two eight-year-olds have too much energy. Y/N paused the movie and told them it was time to sleep. Neither girl put up an argument.

She guided them to the guest room that had become Juliet's over the years. The girls get tucked into bed after brushing their teeth.

"Thank you for a great day, Y/N," Josie whispers, grabbing her wrist, halting her, tucking their blanket.

Y/N smiles at the kind girl. "Of course, sweetie. It's been a joy having you here."

Y/N goes to Juliet, gives her a kiss on the forehead, whispering a quiet goodnight who already has her eyes closed, her breathing slow and steady. She goes to Josie, who's looking at her with wide eyes. "Would you be okay with a forehead kiss goodnight? I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Y/N addresses the young girl.

Little does Y/N know that small comment was enough for Josie to seal Y/N in her heart forever for her kindness. "Yes, please." Bright green eyes look up at her with a small smile as she gives her a soft kiss.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

"Night, Jo."

Y/N goes to her room and does her night routine taking extra steps due to getting more sun exposure today. She loves how she feels putting on moisturizer at the end of the night. She lays in bed under her soft white covers. Her eyes shut, and she begins to count backward. She reaches all the way to one and tries again but stops halfway, sighing, knowing there's no chance she'll sleep; she heads to the kitchen to make herself a tea.

With her chamomile tea in hand, she sets it on the chrysanthemum coaster on the side table, picks up the book she left there, and sets it in her lap as she turns on her television to Netflix, deciding on The Great British Baking Show to use as white noise. She presses play on where she last left off, forgetting the book in her lap as the bakers had to make a raised game pie for their signature.

Y/N had already watched collection three, but it was one of her favorites. She loved the bakers and liked watching Nadiya improve each episode. The technical challenge was getting started, the bakers reading their vague instructions to make the tennis fruit cake when she heard small steps down the stairs.

She turns around, spotting Josie making her way down, "Hi there, you alright?"

Josie just nods but continues towards her, joining her to sit on the couch. "Can't sleep?" Y/N asks to share her lavender throw blanket with Josie.

"Not really."

"Yeah, I get restless sometimes as well."

Josie stares, tilting her head as if trying to figure out why she can't sleep, "What do you do to try to sleep?"

"Well, I usually try to read a book in bed, but I decided tea and a bit of tv would help."

Josie nods, and Y/N can tell she's working up the courage to ask her something. "Can I please try with you?"

"Of course, would you like tea as well?"

"Chamomile?"

"Sure, that's what I was drinking."

"Daddy adds a bit of honey."

Y/N smiles, "Honey, I can do that."

She goes to the kitchen alone, getting Josie her favorite mug with bees scattered all around. As soon as she's done making her tea and checking it is at a suitable temperature, she brings it out to her. Y/N sees Josie has put play on the show.

Y/N just grins, happy the girl likes the show as well. "Have you seen this season?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, me too."

"Nadiya is excellent," Josie comments as Nadiya wins first in the technical challenge.

"She is! I'm glad they picked her as the winner though she had strong competition against Ian and Tamal."

Both Y/N and Josie sit there in silence, sipping their teas, watching the bakers now try to make Charlotte Russe cakes for the showstopper. It's not until the presentation begins that Josie breaks their comfortable silence.

"Why can't you sleep?"

"Well, uhh, sometimes I can't get my brain to shut down and have lots of thoughts swirling around."

"Oh," Josie responds. "Do they ever stop?"

"Yeah, usually when I count backward or tell myself a story."

Josie looks delighted at hearing Y/N sharing this with her. "What kind of story?"

"A sweet one, one my grandparents used to tell me, or I make one up."

"And it works?"

"Almost always."

Josie continues with her questions, but Y/N doesn't mind. "Do you get bad dreams?"

"Not always, but sometimes, do you, Jo?"

Josie smiles, "I like that."

"What?" Y/N says, puzzled, aware she avoided the question.

"Jo, dad calls me honey, darling, Josie and Josephine when I do something I'm not supposed to, but no one ever has said, Jo. I like it."

"Oh, I'm glad. It's alright that I keep calling you that then."

Josie repeatedly nods, "Of course."

Y/N looks back at the TV focusing on the new episode that started during the talk.

"Sometimes I dream I'm back in Georgia with daddy." Josie is looking down at her lap, where she draws a circle on the palm of her left hand with her right index finger.

"Yeah, how does that make you feel?"

"Sad sometimes and sometimes happy."

"Why is that?" Y/N asks in a soft voice.

"Well, mommy called me more when I lived farther away. Now I don't get to see her every weekend even though that's the deal. She doesn't even like watching me play."

"That must be tough, Jo. Have you shared this with your dad?"

Josie shakes her head no. "He'd get mad at mom, and I don't want anyone fighting."

"Don't think it's fighting. Your dad just wants the best for you and wants your mom to see that as well."

"I guess."

"Did you know I've visited Georgia?"

"You have?" Josie sits up, crawling closer to her, excited at the change in conversation.

Y/N nods, "My grandparents had family there, so every summer, we'd make our way there. Spent all our time at the lake or just walking through the woods. They lived in a secluded area, so lots to roam."

"We lived in the city."

"I bet you still went to neat places."

Josie thinks about it for a minute, "We did, the weekends were for the lake, and it was easy to drive to another state for a week."

Y/N laughs, knowing how exciting it was visiting a new state in a matter of hours compared to how hard it is in California. "Yeah, I liked that as well."

"What's your favorite memory?"

Y/N stops to think about it; it has been a while since she thought back to her times there. She hasn't had the chance to go back since her grandparents passed away.

"The fireflies. I remember we were in one of my uncle's backyard, and he was showing us his peaches. When I saw a buzz of light followed by another, and soon enough, they were all around us. My uncle tells me he'll never forget the look on my face because it was true happiness and disbelief."

Y/N's smile is nostalgic. If she closes her eyes tight enough, she can picture the fireflies surrounding her. She's brought back to the present when she feels a small hand placed over her own.

"Thank you for sharing that with me," Josie says before she leans over, giving Y/N a hug.

Y/N laughs and hugs her back, happy she got to know this sweet girl better.

"I think it's time for bed."

"Okay."

As they begin walking up the stairs after making a stop in the kitchen to put their mugs in the dishwasher, Y/N stops outside the guest room.

"You're really wise for your age."

Josie nods, "My dad tells me that all the time."

Y/N can't help the smile that Josie draws out of her, "Goodnight."

"Night."

Y/N goes to bed with lots more on her mind. Her thoughts on the young girl who is caring more on her shoulder than she lets on. Josie has grown us quicker and doesn't realize it due to her experiences. Y/N goes wondering what tomorrow will bring.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

A lot was running through Harry's mind after the dinner he had on Sunday with Y/N and her family. Trust him; he enjoyed it. He adored seeing her in a different environment, but she seemed distant, and so did Josie. It's as if the two gravitated towards each other more. Always whispering to each other.

He enjoyed seeing them get along; he just didn't like not being included. This also made him second guess in pursuing Y/N. He wasn't willing to risk it not working out. Harry also knows he's not sure if he'd survive the heartbreak.

It's been a while since he's put himself out there, but as a single dad, he feared that no woman he had met was good enough to meet Josie, not after learning that he had full custody.

Y/N's sister was kind, always teasing Y/N but Y/N gave it right back. He could tell the love they had for each other was the kind he shared with Gem. They might not have been that close in age, but they appreciate each other better as adults. Harry loved Y/N's nephew, who stumbled every few steps he took, which is why Y/N took it upon herself to have him attached to her the whole night.

It warmed Harry's heart and gave him all kinds of crazy ideas, for example like a baby that was half him and half her that he'd love just as much as Josie.

Fuck, he had it bad.

Harry's thankful it's Wednesday, and he gets to see Y/N again. He didn't make practice on Monday having Sarah bring her, and today Y/n picked her up from his house where Mitch was watching her because he had a meeting that would be running long. Luckily, he made it just in time before the practice started.

He knew he was going to stand out, showing up wearing creamed flared trousers and a black silk button-down. Harry had taken off his cropped, lapel grey plaid jacket knowing the heat would eat him alive if he left it on.

Harry chuckled to himself as he walked from the parking lot; his folding hair swung on his shoulder. He waved to the parents before setting up alone under a tree, wanting to enjoy the shade today and no conversations unless it was from one specific person.

He sees her pocketing her phone in her bag and knows this is his chance to talk to her. He makes his way discreetly as possible, going behind the parents, who are all currently staring down at their phones.

"Y/N,"

She turns, she scans him head to toe quickly, not wanting Harry to catch her, but he does. He lets it boost his ego a little.

"Harry, a bit dressed up, no?"

He chuckles, doing a little spin for her. "Not at all, haven't you heard business casual is the new uniform."

She shakes her head at him, "We'll take it into consideration."

"That's all I ask."

Y/N looks over to Kate and motions for her to get the girls' warm-up started.

"Dinner was nice."

Y/N nods, "It was. My sister really likes you."

"That's good. She's really funny."

"She knows it." Y/N rolls her eyes playfully.

Harry knocks his hips into her, "Don't worry, you're still my favorite."

"Gee, I was so worried." Y/N fakes dramatically but isn't able to hide how her cheeks heat up at his compliment. "Now, you need to go sit. I have to coach. Parents are going to think I'm flirting."

Harry smirks, "I don't mind the flirting."

"Styles, you'd know if I was flirting."

"I'm just going to say that I very much am."

"Hmm, I'll take that into consideration. For our future conversations."

Y/N joins the girls as they are about to start their second lap; Harry slowly makes his way to his waiting chair, happy that Y/N might like him just as much as he likes her.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

Y/N pulled Josie aside before the scrimmage wanting to speak with her noticing she wasn't connecting with the team as she had on Monday.

"Doing okay?" Y/N asks as Josie gets a drink of water.

Josie nods, "Of course."

"Well, Juliet told me you didn't want to hang out. She said you had wanted to try that donut place with us on Friday."

"Because I had plans with my mom."

"Oh, that's fun."

"No."

"Why not?"

"She said she was busy," Josie murmurs.

"Well, you're still welcome to join us on Friday. I'm going to take Juliet to get ice cream at my favorite shop after practice. You're welcome to join." Y/N offers, knowing the little girl needs something to cheer her up.

"Does my dad have to come?"

"Not if you don't want him to."

Josie shakes her head no.

"Okay then."

"I'll go ask permission now."

"You can wait," Y/N laughs at her eagerness.

"No. I tell him now, and he can think it over while I play."

"Okay, sure. Don't take long."

Josie nods about to take off, but Y/n stops her. "Josie, I'm sorry your plans changed."

"She's been doing that more." She shrugs as if she's not bothered.

"Just because she is doing that doesn't mean you aren't loved. Your dad loves you and your godparents; the team does as well. I do, also. You're amazing, Josie." Y/N tells her, knowing Josie needed to hear it from somebody other than her father.

Josie's eyes shine, but she blinks the tears away. She gives her a quick hug before turning around and running towards Harry. From the corner of her eye, she sees Josie dramatically asking for permission as she lets her father retie the laces of her boots. Y/N smiles because she loves Josie, and if given a chance, she might also get an opportunity to love Harry. Y/N looks forward to watching what the future may bring.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

Kate had organized a pizza party for the girls because they had been doing so well and thought they deserved a reward. Y/N and Kate always talked about motivating and encouraging the girls for their hard work and dedication. They would do small gatherings or bring them a treat to enjoy after practice, and the occasional Monday off that happened on significant dates or when they as a coach needed a break which wasn’t often because they loved this and the girls.

A pizza party was fun, it allowed parents to interact somewhere that wasn’t crazy hot, and the girls got to eat their weight in pizza. Y/N personally loved it because she got to eat crazy good buffalo wings. Kate and Y/N always shared a basket.

Y/N had sat in a booth with Kate across from her knowing the girls would take up two of the long tables. They rather not squeeze in between when they have a good view of them here.

“Anyone I should be aware of, Thomas, was it?”

“Uhh, no. He turned out to be a jerk who couldn’t get me off.”

“Gee any louder, Katie, would you.” Y/N smiles at Cynthia’s parents, who are in line waiting to order themselves around some beers. Y/N was never one who got into drinking, but it doesn’t bother her those who do.

“Anyways, the one who is coming is Tiffany, and we have been talking for a week, and I think I may be in love.” Kate sighs, a faraway look in her eye as the waiter drops by her beer. Y/N eyes it, not liking how much foam was in the cup.

“You say you’re in love each time.”

Kate rolls her eyes at Y/N, “Well, I mean it this time.”

“Sure.”

“No, you’ll see. Tiff should be here soon. She got the most gorgeous curls and the most perfect brown eyes. Then when she talks Spanish to me, I have an idea what she’s saying, but it turns me on like crazy.”

“I can translate for you.” Kate rolls her eyes, knowing Y/N’s Spanish was perfect due to her high school and college years, not to mention she took YMCA classes at seven. “Anyways, let us move on from the conversation.”

“Okay, let’s talk about your sex life.”

Y/N chucks a piece of lettuce at Kate hitting her square on her chin. Before Kate can retaliate, Harry steps towards them, “Hello, ladies.”

“Hi, Harry,” Kate responds by making crazy eyes at Y/N.

“Mind if I join you, don’t think Josie would like me sitting with her or alone.”

Y/N nods, “Of course, but only if you don’t mind sliding in. I like the edge seats, or you can sit with Kate.”

Kate shakes her head no, “No, he cannot. My date should be here soon.”

Y/N gets up to let Harry slide in, he does a little wiggle to get to the other side, and Y/N does her best to hide her laugh. It seems to work, as he didn’t mention it. Y/N feels her body heat up because their thighs are touching. She feels ridiculous getting worked up over a simple touch.

The next hour flies by, and Tiffany arrives during that time, and Y/N loves her. She is as gorgeous as Kate described, her hair long falling down her back in thick ringlets, her brown eyes captivating, and her golden skin shines with just a hint of sunlight. She can see why Kate was smitten, but getting to know her and Y/N can happily say she’s a perfect fit for her best friend. She hopes it works out for Kate because this will be a heavy heartbreak if it doesn’t.

Y/N excuses herself, wanting to check with the girls. She approaches the table sitting by the pinball machines. The girls have question after question for her that she happily answers. She looks to see Juliet, happily leading a conversation with a quiet Jo sitting next to her staring out the window.

She excuses herself from the girls and places a hand on Juliet’s shoulder, who stops her chatter to grin up at Y/N before continuing like she never stopped. Jo just smiles at her before looking at the other girls acting as she was involved in the conversation, but Y/n knows better.

“You alright, Jo?”

“Of course, a bit full, that is all.” Y/N stares at those green eyes long and hard before nodding.

“I’m just over there if any of you need anything.”

“Yes, thank you, coach.” Most girls answer in unison.

Y/N goes back to their table, and Harry smiles, scooting over, “Saved your spot. Susan tried to nab it.”

“My hero.” She giggles.

The conversation around Y/N flows easily; she laughs and comments. There is a moment where Harry squeezes her thigh affectionately when she makes a witty comment defending him and his style. She wishes he’d rest his hand there, but he moves it back on top, also not wanting anyone to be suspicious.

As much as Y/N is having a lovely evening, her gaze drifts over to Josie, who hasn’t uttered a word since she was with her.

Harry is too busy chatting and having a nice time to notice how quiet Josie has gotten, not that she blames him; the place is loud and complete because it’s a Saturday afternoon. This worries Y/n as she has seen Josie withdrawing more and more but didn’t want to believe it. Josie hides it reasonably well.

Y/N hopes she’s wrong and that sweet Josie is only having an off day.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

Harry was happy to see Josie loving California. He knew it was a risk moving across the country when the East coast is all she had ever known. Josie has shown him nothing but happiness; he can't wait to see how she does in the Fall when she goes back to school. The great thing is she will have friends due to the girls on the team. Also, he hates to admit it, but it has been good for Josie to see more of her mom. Allowing them to build a better relationship. Harry only wishes the best for his daughter and hopes he has been doing that so far in her life.

It's Wednesday, and Harry feels his weeks go by faster now that they have a structured routine. He always gets excited because he knows that he'll have a chance to chat with Y/N no matter what.

They arrive five minutes before practice starts, making Harry rush out of the car, holding Josie's hand as she pulls him along, wanting to apologize to Y/N.

Y/N approaches them as they reach the area where all the girls have just started their warm-up lap.

"We're so sorry. We got stuck in a traffic jam." Harry rushes out, hating to get his daughter punished for his tardiness.

She shakes her head at him, not bothered. "Go on join the others, Josie," she gently touched her shoulder. "I've got to chat with your dad."

Josie gives her an uncertain look, but she assures her with a smile. She runs off, joining the second lap at the back of the two lines.

Harry stands there, uncertain, not sure what she needs to tell him. By the solemn look she has, it might not be good.

She walks off to the side a distance from the parents and has an eye on the girls finishing up their warm-up laps before going into a stretch.

"Josie brought up something I think you need to know."

Harry waits, allowing her to go on, knowing he shouldn't interrupt.

Y/N takes a deep breath before looking him in his eyes, "Josie says her mom told her she needs to stop calling her and to stop with the visits. That she's pregnant, and that's her priority, not her."

Harry's jaw drops. He didn't know Claudia could be so cruel to their daughter. He wasn't even aware she was pregnant or that she wanted more children. Mostly he hates that he does not hear this from his daughter.

"She told me she was afraid of how'd you react to the news, but I told her she needed to address it, and by your reaction, I assume she didn't."

Harry shakes his head. "No, we celebrated the win and had a good weekend. Seemed happier than normal honesty."

"It's common for kids to try to block it out. As someone who had to go through her fair share of child therapy, I feel like it would be good for her to see a therapist." Y/N tells him, voice gentle, knowing this is a lot for Harry.

"Why" Harry bites back, defensive. "She's fine, happy, and laughing."

"Harry, I'm not saying she's not, but she needs to talk about it. Jo won't be with you, and it's because she trusts and loves you and doesn't want to hurt you. She thinks she is protecting you; an eight-year-old shouldn't be trying to protect her father."

Harry feels himself boiling, no longer wanting to hear any more of what she has to say.  

"The signs are there."

The signs," he scoffs.

"Quietness, sadness, isolation, anxiety." She points to the field, and he turns to see Josie stretching alone, lost in her own head. No longer sitting between Juliet like she always had the last few weeks. A frown on her face seems to be permanently placed.  

"You've got no right to say this." Harry wishes she never brought this up.

"I'm doing this for her, not for you."

Harry has had enough; he wants her to hurt her like he is right now, which is why he lets his mouth speak before he can think over what he has said, "Who do you think you are? Honestly, you're a lousy soccer coach who has nothing better to do but judge kids and their parents."

"Harry," she whispers, trying to mask her hurt.

"No, you've said enough. I think you can forget about Josie playing for this team." His voice dripping with venom. "Seems all you wanted was extra cash in your pocket with the addition of a player ."

He walks towards the field. "Josie, we're leaving," Harry doesn't care that the other parents are watching now. He throws Josie's bag over his shoulder as he watches her jog over to him,

"We just got here. I was warming up."

"Josie, we're leaving." No room for argument in his voice, but Josie stands her ground.

"I don't want to leave." Her voice falters as she stares up at him.

"Josie, don't."

"Dad, I like it here, Coach is-"

Harry cuts her off, "Enough, Josephine, you're not coming back here ever."

Those words bring tears to her eyes; she drops her head, defeated. She follows behind Harry and turns to look at Y/N one last time, shooting her an "I warned you look."

Y/N watches them walk away, and she can only hope this is the last she sees of them. She shakes all her feelings out, knowing she has all eyes on her right now. She's got a team to coach, and just like that, she brushes away Harry and his cruel words, knowing they'll resurface later in the appropriate environment.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

After leaving the practice field, Harry And Josie did not speak a word to each other or the next day. They continued in silence, not for Harry's lack of trying to get a word out of Josie; she was just that upset with him.

All he received were head shakes, and Harry was worried. He cooled down after and let everything sink in, but the damage was done; it was too late.

That same night Harry called Claudia to confront her to tell her he would be taking her to court to forget seeing Josephine. All she responded was that it was quite alright. She was giving him full custody and would be sending him the paperwork she had already signed. Then hung up the phone on him.

Harry was appalled that a mother could do this to their child, to abandon them with no care. He always knew Claudia wasn't a good person, but he wished better for his daughter, and right now, even he didn't feel good enough for his angel girl.

On the fifth day of silence between his daughter and him, he received an email he was tempted not to open due to who it read the sender was. He did so anyway; it was the name, phone number, and location of a therapist nearby. The email read professional, not a hint of the last few months of knowing each other. There was an endnote that said to give her as a reference. He knew he would think it over for now.

On the seventh day of his daughter ignoring him, he called the number that he marked down on his phone. He called and set up an appointment for the following day; he knows it could have been longer if he didn't name drop Y/N. Harry knows he needs to apologize, but he's not sure where to begin or if it would be appropriate to show up at her house, but he decided to focus on one thing at a time, and that would be Josie.

Harry would have liked to walk hand in hand into the big building with big windows overlooking a secluded private park, but Josie walked ahead and sat herself on the rainbow-colored couches for kids and picked up a Judy Blume book to read.

Harry walks to the front desk and admires all the photos pinned up behind the receptionist. He knows they must be patients with only their first name signed. His favorite is a dinosaur swimming on a floaty holding a milkshake; there was some natural talent hanging on the wall as well as a lot of imagination.

"Sir, here for?" The receptionist called him for his turn, not noticing the person in front of him was now seated.

"Styles, Harry. Well, Josephine," he corrects. "Sorry."

"No worries, all parents do that their first time."

He awkwardly laughs.

"Dr. Sylvia Hernandedz will be with you shortly." He thanks her, going to sit on the black couch. He sinks right in full of comfort.

Five minutes later, they are called to go. He reaches for Josie's hand, and she lets him take it but doesn't make any move to hold him; it's as if he's carrying dead weight. Harry sighs but follows behind the receptionist.

"Hello, Styles family, lovely to meet you." A woman in her mid-forties greets them, a nice styled bun not a hair out of sight. Glasses on the bridge of her nose. She has a dark blue pencil skirt and a white buttoned shirt tucked in. He feels not as uncomfortable as he thought he would.

"I'm Syliva Hernandez, and you must be Josephine Styles." She leans down to be eye level with Josie and sticks out for her to shake.

"Yes, Dr. Hernandez. A pleasure to meet you." Josie responds politely.

Dr. Hernandez smiles. "Now, how'd you know I was a doctor?"

"The frame behind your desk shows your credentials." She points to the USC doctorate hanging behind a desk full of framed photos.

"Well, aren't you an observant girl?"

"Thank you."

"Would you like to accompany me to this playroom while I chat with your father? I can have my friend Alycia join you if you don't want to be alone."

Josie shakes her head no, "I'll be fine. I like being alone sometimes. I had a very wise person tell me it's okay to want to be alone sometimes, but it doesn't mean you're alone."  

"Did your dad tell you that?" Dr. Hernandez asks.

"No."

"Very, well off you go. We'll have an eye on you but feel free to use all the items in there."

"Thank you." Josie slips right in, grabbing paper and colored pencils, carefully pulling out her desired colors.

"Have a seat, please, Mr. Styles."

"Thank you."

He sits in the mahogany chair; he can't say he likes it much.

"These chairs are awful. My office is better furnished, I assure you."

Harry tears his eyes from Josie to look at the therapist.

They are silent, and Harry isn't sure what to do.

"Uhh...Y/N Y/LN recommend us to you. I'm not sure if they informed you or I had to let you know."

"Yes, I'm aware. She's a great person." Shutting down conversation.

"Your daughter's birthday."  

"December 13th, she's eight".

"How long have you been separated from her mother?"

"Since before her birth. We have a court agreement that I get weekly, and she gets her weekends, but that has recently changed. I have full custody of her.

"How does that make you feel?"

"Not okay; I grew up with divorced parents. My mother never remarried. I have an older sister, but we live in different countries."

"Do you fear the same for her?"

"Think it's worse for her. Josie's mother told her she didn't want her anymore because she would be having a baby. She didn't even tell me. She told--," he cuts himself off.

"Who did she tell?"

"Her soccer coach."

"A female?

"Yes. They are close. Have a real bond, an understanding of sorts."

"Do you think she is looking for a female to look up to?"

"It would make sense. My mother lives in London, and we only see her on holidays, same with my sister. She gets on well with my best mate's girlfriend, Sarah. She taught Josie to play the drums a bit. Also, Glenne, a dear friend."

"Male figures in life?"

"Too many. Mitch, Jeff, Adam, and his kids. Tyler, a family friend."

"It seems she has paternal figures, but she's searching for maternal figures." She states before continuing, "What's the reason you brought her in?"

"The coach addressed to me that she was worried that she was withdrawing herself, becoming anxious and lonely. Less happy. I didn't see it, but we've gone a week without speaking, and I've seen her mope and stare off a lot."

"Is she still seeing her coach?

"No, that's part of our not talking. I got upset over the suggestion of therapy and took that away from her."

"It led to a negative response."

"Yes, and I feel awful about it."

"It seems that the sport and coach are important to her and who she is. It's what you call a safe place."

"But she was beginning to withdraw from there as well," Harry states, not knowing it couldn't be so safe if she was isolating herself.  

"Well, we'll have to talk with her. Are you comfortable with me speaking with her alone? I do have to let you know what I speak with her is confidential. She can tell you about it, but you cannot ask me."

"Yes, of course. It's fine, I understand." Harry knows therapy can be scary, but it can also be the start of something better.

"Well, let me call her back."

Dr. Hernandez stands and opens the door, "Josephine, come with me, please." Josie nods her head, putting the colored pencils away and bringing her picture with her.

"I apologize if we took too long."

"Not long. Enough to finish my drawing." She shares, giving the doctor a small smile.

"Can I have a look?"

Josie hands it over, Dr. Hernandez turns it so they can both see what she drew. It's a photo of a goal net and who he assumes to be himself in the net. A little girl with two pigtails standing there, hands raised, and another female is to the side cheering with a megaphone.

"It's beautiful."

"Thank you," Josie says proudly.

"Do you think I can keep it? Have you sign your name and add it to the front desk."

"Would you?" Josie's eyes go wide at someone other than her dad hanging up her art.

"Of course."

"That'd be wonderful." And for the first time in a week, she turns looking up at Harry. "Did you hear that daddy, Dr. Hernandez wants to keep it?

"I would too; it's beautiful, darling."

"I can make another."

Harry smiles, grateful, his daughter is her vibrant self, "Thank you, honey."

"Josephine, are you okay with your dad stepping out and you talking with me privately one on one?

"Yes, I like you. Also, you can call me Josie."

Dr. Hernandez nods in acknowledgment before turning to address Harry.

"You can wait in the waiting room. Alycia will bring you back to discuss in my office when we are done."  

Harry mutters okay and walks out, closing the door behind him. He walks a few steps before laying his head to rest on the wall. This has felt like a lot, but he also feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulder.

Maybe I need to see a therapist. Harry thinks to himself, liking that he got a lot off his shoulders in just a short amount of time.

He's walking down the hallway when he hears a familiar voice, one he didn't think he'd have the pleasure of ever hearing again.

It stops him in his tracks.

He hears her voice once more and follows it out to the waiting room he's supposed to be waiting for his daughter.

Harry sees that she is talking with Alycia, and as he steps closer, he feels like it is harder to breathe.

"I have three more clients before I'm done for the day, but I have a thirty-minute gap, so maybe we can order smoothies, my treat." She tells the secretary handing her two twenty bills so that she can get everyone a drink.

"Y/N," he gasps out.

His eyes roam her body; he's never seen her dressed, so office official always used to see her in shorts, sweats, leggings, and a t-shirt. She's wearing this blue satin silk blouse tucked into high-waisted black trousers and low heels.

She is gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.

Y/N turns, not at all trying to hide the surprised look on her face.

"You're here." She nods; he's not sure why she's here.

"Here's your next client's file. They are doing an intake. You have over half an hour."

"Great."

Harry is now standing in front of her. "You work here?"

Y/N nods.

"You're a therapist." He states.

Y/N can clearly see he wants to talk and knows a better place to do it than their waiting room filled with waiting people.

"Why don't we talk in my office?" Harry nods, ready to follow her, but before he can, she turns to the desk once more, "Hold my calls, please, Alycia."

"Of course."

"Follow me, Harry."

They walk in silence as they pass Dr. Hernandez's door. She opens her door, allowing him to enter first. It feels bright and full of color; the wall's painting is pale green and hanging on the walls; she has lots of scenic photos and drawings. The chairs are nice, a red velvet couch pushed against a wall, her desk is not that big, he notices. It lacks pictures compared to Dr. Hernandez. Her degrees are placed on a bookshelf. She has it color-coded in colors of the rainbow, which is quite impressive.

"Have a seat." She offers all the open space.

Y/N takes a seat on the couch, and he follows.

Harry feels underdressed next to Y/N, and that has never happened before; he is always the one showing up in extravagant and overpriced suits.

"You work here." He waits for her to confirm.

"Yes, I'm a therapist here. Dr. Hernandez was my advisor during my undergrad. She knew what I wanted to accomplish for my career. They offered me a job, and I accepted. They have been supportive of obtaining my doctorate."

Harry is very impressed, "Congrats, that's wonderful."

"Thank you."

They both quiet down, not sure who should go first. Harry is about to start when Y/N begins to speak.

"Listen, Harry, I'm sorry. I went about addressing it wrong, and I never meant to upset you. I apologize." Y/N keeps her eyes on his wanting him to see how sincere she was.

"No need, I've taken a week to reflect on what a jerk I was. Having Josie give me the silent treatment for a week was torture." Harry confesses, scratching his neck to avoid reaching for her hand.

"Is she okay? Harry, that's a long time." Y/N's voice laced with concern.

"I'm sure she's chatting Dr. Hernandez ear off as we speak."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"I brought it on myself by taking her away from one thing she truly loves."

Y/N nods, not able to disagree with Harry. "Yeah, I understand."

"Is that how you know she needed therapy because you're a therapist?"

"Yes. I saw the signs, but I mostly observe and never address it, but from the conversations I've had with Josie and the relationship we built, I felt like I owed it to her to get her help." Y/N pauses, debating if she was ready to share more of herself with Harry. "It was also that I saw myself in her, it felt familiar, and I wanted to help."

"I'm going to tell you a story."

Harry can tell it's not going to be an easy one as she's not staring at her hand, focused on the lone ring she has on her index finger. "You don't have to."

She reaches over and squeezes his hand once to let him know it's alright. "I was nine years old when I walked in on my dad cheating on my mom with his secretary. I told her as soon as she came home and she didn't believe me. She went as far as calling me an attention seeker. By the end of the week, we were living with my grandparents. I didn't see my parents again after that day. At age ten, I started visiting the counselor because I blamed myself for my sister no longer having parents. I wouldn't even allow myself to talk to her; I was just consumed by guilt taking all the blame when I shouldn't have."

Y/N knows Harry's gaze is on her, but she doesn't dare look up, not wanting to see the pity in his eyes. "Don't think I've stopped since then. A big reason I'm doing the job I am now is for those who helped me along the way.

"Y/N,"

"Harry, no pity comments. I've made my peace, sure the trauma never truly leaves, but you overcome it."

"Thank you for sharing that with me, I know I don't deserve it, but I'm grateful."

Harry needs to apologize; he wants to leave here today knowing he didn't lose a friend.

"I'm sorry I hurt you."

"Harry, you-"

"No, I really am; I didn't mean a word I said. I know you're more than a coach, and you're not lousy; you're brilliant. You're my daughter's favorite person. I didn't mean it, and I hope you'll forgive me."

"I accept your apology, that was a bad day for all of us, but I can move past it if you can?"

"Yes, I would love that. I feel awful you're someone I trust, a friend. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.

"Thank you, Harry."

"One more thing."

"Yes, go on."

"Can you recommend a therapist for me? Talking with Dr. Hernandez was amazing, and I think I would benefit from it."

Y/N doesn't make any comment, just nods. "I'll send you a list of therapists but do know you'll always find a friend in me if you ever need a shoulder to cry on or someone to watch over you as you get drunk."

Harry chuckles; he'll keep that in mind for future references.  

"There's a knock on the door. "Yes, come in."

"Sylvia is ready for Mr. Styles."

"Thank you, Alycia. I'll walk him to her office."

Y/N stands, and Harry follows close behind as they make their way out to reunite him with his daughter.

"Y/N, can I hug you?"

She bits back the smile threatening to overtake her face at how small he looks asking. "Yes, that's fine."

Harry doesn't wait for another second; he throws his arms around her holding her tight. He hadn't been lucky enough to hug her before, but now doing it, he doesn't think he ever wants to go a day without one.

They walk out, both having heated faces due to enjoying being the embrace of one another. She walks them a few doors down and knocks, waiting for the go-ahead to go in.

"One last thing," She says, pointing a hand to his chest."

"Name it." He'd give her anything.

"Jo comes back to the team. You bring her to the game this weekend."

"Yes, of course."

She beams at his response, "Great."

Y/N peeks her head in, locking eyes with Sylvia. "Alright, to come in, Doc?"

"Of course, Josephine, this is my good friend and coworker Y/N."

Josie turns and smiles wide, jumping up when she sees her walk in with Harry right behind her.

"Hiya, champ. Seems to have found your dad lost out here."

Josie giggles and runs into her arms, hugging her tightly.

"I've missed you."

"As have I little miss sunshine. I missed my fastest midfielder at the game. All the girls missed you."

"Awe, I'll be back," she looks up at Harry with a look of worry on her face. "Right, daddy?"

"Yes, darling. Got a game at ten am on Saturday."

Josie lets out a loud shriek.

"So this is Coach." Dr. Hernandez says with a knowing smile.

"Yes, she's great," Josie responds, holding tight to Y/N's hand.  

Y/N chuckles. "How about you and I go draw a picture to add to my office while Dr. Hernandez and your dad tie up some little things."

"Okay."

They walk out hand in hand as Josie catches up with Y/N on everything she did on her week away. Not shying away from how she handled the now resolved issue with her father.

"You don't look as blue," Dr. Hernandez comments."

"Sorry," Harry blushes, having been lost in thought on the two girls who just walked out.

"Mr. Styles, your aura is soft, kinder."

"Yeah, I think she has that effect on people."

"You might be right."

Things are finally looking up, and Harry looks forward to rebuilding his relationship with Josie and hopefully creating one with Y/N besides their parent and coach relationship.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

It's been two weeks since Josie came back to play, and thing's have been going smoothly. Harry begins helping out with cleaning up at the end of practice to talk to Y/N more. He asks more about her job and how the doctorate is going. He worries she might be juggling too much, but she assures him she has a smooth dynamic of handling everything.

It's a cold Saturday morning, it's the quarter-finals, and the nerves are high for everyone. The girls finished on top of the leaderboard, but the league likes doing a championship game to honor all the hard-working teams.

Y/N is quieter this morning, and all the parents have picked up on it. They are used to her light and kind nature, wishing everyone a good day and accepting treats. Cynthia's mom is in charge of snacks for today and offered her a muffin one she never says no to except today.

It immediately puts everyone in a skittish mood.

Truthfully, Y/N isn't here for the parents, but the girls and the team they are against is the dirtiest. Most girls are nine and will be moving up a division, but Coach Roman teaches them that dirty plays will make them win. Her girls are strong players, but she reminds them of the importance of sportsmanship and playing with heart.

Y/N even makes sure she cannot be approached by anyone, only the girls and Kate, as they start to warm up on the field. The girls do their drills as Kate stands quietly by your side.

"Someone can't take their eye off of you."

"Stop."

"It's true though, he was pouting when he saw you on the field clipboard in hand," Kate says with a giggle.

"Shush."

"Going to ask him on a date?"

"Only if we win."

That shuts Kate up, "You're joking."

Y/N slowly shakes her no, "Girls, two lines, run through side net shots."

Kate and Y/n stand back to back as the girls pass, and they kick it-bag, giving them only a second to angle themselves. This is one of their favorite warm-ups, and she's glad she can still talk with Kate during it.

"What made you finally decide?"

"I realized he's not going to make a move because one he fears I'm going to reject him and two it goes horribly wrong, then he might never show his face around here again. I'm positive he likes me."

Kate nods, "he likes you, adores you. He's got it bad." She's quiet for a moment before starting up again, "I know we're going to win, so how are you going to ask him? I'm going to need all the details."

"I'm going to go up to him and ask him out to dinner, simple as that."

Y/N changes the drill marking the end of their conversation; she leads the girl into two groups of keep away while Kate takes Dawson, their goalie, to keep warming up.

Before they know it, captains and coaches are called. Coach Roman is smug and annoying as he shakes her hand. The girls pick heads and win the coin toss. They choose to have kickoff; Roman's girls decide to stay on their side, meaning everything to their advantage as they have the slight uphill to battle through for the first half, and the second will use it to their advantage.

The starting lineup is quick to attack, and in a matter of minutes, Juliet scored a goal from a pass from Imelda. The girls' cheer, happy to be leading the game. They know better than getting cocky; if anything, this intensifies their speed at playing. The next twelve minutes of the second quarter are stressful as Josie makes it a two-zero lead from a corner kick. Just as half-time is to be called, a midfield slips through the defense from the back and gets it over Dawson's head, and just like that, the referee calls it.

Y/N can't remember the last time she was this anxious. It's foul after foul, and she's had enough of it.

Kate is quick to round up the girl, not wanting to monopolize all their time, wanting them to relax mostly to stay in a positive mindset. Kate leads the talk letting them know they are doing well and that the left-wing is getting beat, but having the downhill in favor should help her out now. Y/N went around making sure each girl was safe and had no injuries, only grass stains on their knees.

"Be aggressive, but don't stoop to their level."

"Yes, coach" is heard in unison as a response.

Each girl goes to their bags and starts to stretch, knowing they can't approach their parents because it's easy for them to influence them on how they are playing. Everyone respects it, but there are a few times a parent comes by.

She decides to take a walk, getting away from the girls. She just wants to relax and not be as tense for the end of the half.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when she hears someone call her name.

"Fuck, Harry. You scared me."

He raises his hands up in defense. "Sorry, I was just checking if you are okay?"

Y/N doesn't hesitate to rush into his arms, tucking her head into his neck. Harry, without hesitation, wraps his arms around her. He runs his hand down her back softly, hoping she finds it comforting.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." She holds him tighter, so he goes on. "You're okay, yeah, doing a good job. Girls are playing well. Taking care of each other, just like you taught them."

She slowly nods her head, she's calmed down, and Y/n thinks it might have to do with his soothing heartbeat.

"Deep breaths, love, Come on with me."

Harry breathes in and out until she does it with him. He feels her relax and tries to pull her back, but her grip is tight.

"It's okay, not going anywhere."

"Sorry," she whispers.

"No need to apologize, love."

"I just don't like when coaches teach their girls to play dirty; I hate injuries. They're just kids." She whispers, looking up at him now.

"They'll be okay."

"You don't know that. We have two quarters left."

Harry knows he won't be able to comfort her like he wants when he hears the ref blow the whistle. "Look, the girls are about to start, and they need a coach."

She nods, knowing she has to go back to her coaching mentality. The girls are her main priority; she can do this.

"Thank you, Harry."

"I'm here for you, whenever you need."

Y/N jogs over, nudging Kate playfully, who is shooting her suggestive eyes. They let the captain lead the huddle and listen intently before wishing them luck. The parents clap as the team cheer echoes out.

Only twenty-four minutes left, they can do this. She knows they can. The referees assured them he'd get a better eye on them, not wanting anyone to be carried off injured. Y/N refuses to take her eyes off of her girls. Constantly reminding them to keep communicating with each other when she hears them go quiet.

The last two quarters pass much quicker than the first; the girls play with more fleeting touches, not allowing the other team to put pressure on them.

Just when number eleven is close to getting the ball, Leslie switches the ball over to the other side; Y/N is shocked at how well Josie brings it down, she constantly struggles with this at practice, but she knows that Josie has been putting in the extra work.

She can hear Harry clapping and cheering on Josie; Y/N shouts her praise, letting her know she's doing well. Andie gets a breakaway, and it's a one-be-one versus the goalie. She fakes right as it goes left, touching it in softly, and in it goes. Y/N can't stop cheering, feeling the buzz all over her body. She's incredibly proud of the hard work they have all put in. Just as they reset and the ball is passed back, the whistle is blown and signifies they have won.

Golden Sparks are moving on to the semi-finals.

The girls are quick to jog in and tackle Y/N and Kate in a massive group hug. Y/N is going to be basking in this happiness for the entire weekend.

Y/N sends all the girls to their parents, letting them know she was okay doing the clean-up on her own. Kate stuck around, as did Juliet, because she wanted to have breakfast with Y/N telling her parents they were not welcome to come even though the invitation was extended to them. Clara and Xavier did not take any offense, happy to go back home and nap the morning away if their young toddler would let them.

Y/N approaches Harry after she gets everything settled in her trunk. He smiles at her, walking over helping her close her trunk as they wave by to Kate together. Josie and Juliet hang out in Harry's car, going through his Spotify playlist as they skip song after song, not being a fan of his taste.

Y/N lets out a deep breath, "I've been working up the courage to do this."

"Do what lovely? Harry asks curiously.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" Y/N feels her stomach tense up as she waits for a response; by his wide eyes, she can tell he wasn't expecting her to say that, but he plays it off well.

"Asking me on a date?"

"I am."

Harry agrees, "I'd like that."

"Does Friday work for you?"

"Yes, great."

"I'll uh, pick you up."

"Proper wine and dine, love." She chuckles because, yeah, she wants to swoop Harry off his feet just like he did to her without even trying.

Y/N gives him a hug holding him tight for a few seconds, smiling up at Harry feeling giddy that they had a date planned after two months of flirting that they weren't sure would go anywhere.

"Juliet, we got to go."

"Okay, auntie." Juliet slams the door just a tad bit too hard, making Y/N mutter an apology.

"Bye, Harry."

"Bye, love."

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

Friday had arrived quicker than Harry expected. He got to see Y/N during the week because of the practices, and he was texting her every chance he got. He wanted to let her know he liked her and he was serious about pursuing her. It's been a long time since his last relationship, but call him cliche with Y/N; it all feels right. That everything is falling into place like it should.

Now here he sat on his couch waiting for Y/N to arrive; he had changed his outfit three times because she told him casually, and he couldn't settle on a look. It wasn't until he put on a plain black tee that hugged her arms just right and white linen cropped pleated trousers that he felt ready. He even broke out his new white Vans for the evening.

Harry was about to check the time when there was a knock on his door. He couldn't tame the butterflies in his stomach if he tried. As he opened the door, Harry let out a laugh because there stood the most beautiful woman holding up a bouquet of red lilies. He's falling in love, and there's no stopping him; he just hopes she's there to catch him.

"Hi Harry, these are for you."

Harry laughs, not knowing how to react to receiving flowers, "I'm speechless." He accepts them and gently cradles them in his arms. "I'll put them in water, and we can go."

"Sure, no rush." Y/N admires his living room, never having stepped foot in his house until today, and it's small but cozy. There are photos of all his family framed on the wall to her right. He has a small bookshelf that holds more vinyl than books.

Harry comes back and sees her staring at a photo of Josie on her first birthday covered in cake from head to toe. "I'd give you a tour, but I'm actually really excited to start our date."

"I'm sure they'll be another time."

She walks down his driveway to her parked car allowing Harry to have a moment to look her over. She's dressed casually; she has high-waisted jeans that show off all her beautiful assets. Her lavender cardigan looks warm; she left it open to expose a white plain top. It is genuinely a casual look, but she makes it look over the top.

"You look beautiful," Harry tells her as she stands by her car door.

Y/N does a small twirl before jokingly curtsying for him. "Glad you think so. Those trousers are doing your thighs justice if I do say so myself."

Harry giggles loving how easy she compliments him.

"Right, I wanted to take you mini golfing but considering it's a Friday and summer, it's going to be packed with teenagers."

"Oh, you definitely saved us."

"Yeah, I thought we could take Josie during the middle of the week as a date. I bet she'd enjoy it. Although, I never keep track of points because I'm too competitive."

The date has barely started, and she's left him speechless twice.

"You want Josie to join us on dates." Harry states.

She looks over at him quickly as they are stopped at a red light, "Of course, Harry. She's your daughter; I don't expect you to find a sitter every time we want to go out together. Isn't it like if you're dating me, you're dating my daughter."

He chuckles, "but not on our first date."

"Honestly, I think we were long overdue for a date."

"Yeah, I wanted to ask you out all summer long," He confesses.

Y/N gasps in shock as she signals a right turn, briefly checking her blind spot before making the turn. "Yet, it only happened with a few weeks left in summer."

"Yeah, but we got here, didn't we?"

Y/N leans over and places her hand on his thigh, squeezing him twice, "Yes, we did."

Harry sees her turn into a diner that looks a bit run down; he doesn't dare question her because she seems so excited as she gets out of the car and waits for him by the trunk. Y/N extends her hand for him to take, and he does without a hint of hesitation.

Y/n leads the way, but he hurries to open the door for her. She thanks him with a squeeze of the hand. Walking in, he was startled at how Harry felt he was transported to a seventies diner. The booths were red and looked sparklingly new. To the left was a jukebox that he was desperate to have a look at, maybe dedicate a song to Y/N. The floor's black and white pattern shined at him as the waiter wore a nice button-up with a black bow tie, a red and white striped apron thrown over, his name tag said James.

"After you," Y/N said, wanting Harry to pick a booth side; he knew better than to fight her and slid in on the left side. Harry is surprised when Y/N slides in right next to him. "This alright, Harry?"

Harry grins at her, dimples on display just for her. "Yeah, just caught me by surprise."

She opens up the menu sliding the other one away so they could share. Y/N points to some of her favorite items on the menu and cringing at ones she disliked.

"You know the menu well." Harry states before deciding on the turkey burger she had raved about.

Y/N chuckles, closing the menu. "My grandparents brought Clara and me here every other weekend, never letting us eat out. My grandmother was against the food industry, and she knew the owner here prided themselves on giving back to the community. Always holding fundraisers or donating to local teams."

"Fast food industry isn't the best, but I thank them because I can get Thai food delivered to my house."

Y/N doesn't have time to respond, as their waiter comes back with two glasses of water. "I'll have the turkey burger, no onions, and fries instead of the salad."

Harry didn't know she didn't like onions but made a mental note on it, "I'll also have the turkey burger and the side salad. Oh, and the couple milkshake, we agreed on strawberry, right?"

Y/N nods her head, "I had forgotten about that, but yeah, two straws, please."

"I'll have that out shortly," James tells them, walking away.

"The shake is too hard to die for; it has whipped cream on the top and bottom. It's freshly made, nothing like the canned kind. It's large! Made to be shared, thank goodness you remembered."

Harry shrugs, "That's what I'm here for."

Harry loves how easy conversation flows with Y/N. He doesn't have to force himself to say try to think of a topic or question to ask her. She's very open in sharing herself with him, he's never had someone drop down all his walls this quick, yet again, he might have dropped back ages ago.

Y/N talks to him about his grandparents and how adoring they were. That they supported all of her dreams, even the ones that we're crazy, like wanting to become a witch because she wanted to make flowers grow from her palm. Harry shared how the first year of Josie being born, he felt like he never slept, always nervous something would happen. He also tells her how living in Georgia is something he didn't enjoy, but he also didn't want to bounce Josie around from school to school. It was only date one, but Harry was excited for what the future had in store for them.

When James came back to drop off their burgers and shake. Y/N didn't even hear him too busy laughing at a dumb joke Harry had told her; he can't even remember the joke he made because her laugh is music to his ears.

Y/N waits for Harry to take his first bite, and he decides to tease her just a bit. He slowly raises the burgers stopping an inch from his lips; Y/N sits there, chin perched on her hand as if she has all the time in the world to wait for him.

"I'm in no rush, casanova." She smirks, not falling for his game.

Harry knows eating burgers is nothing sexual, so he decides to go all in. He moans at the first taste he gets, it's juicy, and the pepper jack cheese is perfectly melted, adding an excellent combination.

"Love, that is an amazing burger."

"I know." She's already gotten a bite in. She eyes his salad plate for a moment before looking back over to her fries.

"You want some, sweetheart?"

Y/N giggles at his comment, "God no. I eat healthy enough already, thanks to Juliet, but can I have some of your ranch?"

Harry understands eating healthy, he does it for Josie, and since Y/N is constantly around Juliet, it makes sense she would change her eating habits but does know as an aunt she's easier to give in to desserts. Not that he minds; he needs more sweetness in his life.

"Sure, you eat it with your fries. That's interesting."

She shrugs, "I don't think it is. Everyone in my family eats fries with ranch, including Josie."

"If Josie starts eating fries like that, I will know who to blame."

Y/N bumps her shoulder with Harry, "Haha."

They eat most of their meal in silence. Occasionally, Harry steals a few fries causing Y/N to chuckle before turning her plate, so Harry didn't have to reach over her. She doesn't chastise him about not ordering fries if he wanted some. Harry likes how much he enjoys spending time with Y/N.

"What's one thing you hope to accomplish within the next five years?" Harry asks as Y/N passes the shake back to him and takes a generous drink. They had finished eating, and now we're trying to finish the shake that Harry thought was smaller than what had arrived at their table.

"My usual answer is a doctor, but what's happening next year, so, give me a moment," Harry waits for her, watching as she plays with the rings on his right hand. They went front sitting thigh to thigh to Y/N, hooking her leg to Harry's, causing her to lean more on him. Harry liked it, and if he wasn't somewhere public or their first date, he would have pulled her into his lap. He took a chance and set his hand on top of her thigh; to his surprise, she placed her hand on top of his, intertwining their fingers together.

Every little thing she did made him fall deeper and deeper.

"I want to run a marathon."

"A marathon? I didn't know you were a runner."

"Oh yeah, last December I ran a half marathon, and it was hell, but once the runner high hits, it's the most wonderful thing."

"Why not do it now?"

Y/N frowns, taking off the rose ring from his finger and slipping it on one of hers. "The training is rigorous. You have to work up the miles constantly and eat better. I would rather enjoy the upcoming year."

"Well, when it happens, I can't wait to be there cheering you on." He tells her with a hopeful look.

"I'll hold you to that, Styles."

Harry smiles, hoping she does, hoping he gets to spend many more years to come with her in his life.

Y/N excuses herself to the restroom, and Harry decides it's a good time to pick a song. He approached it grateful to half a quarter hanging in his pocket. The jukebox looked old but well kept. Harry saw over 100 songs but searched for a specific one in mind; he was thrilled to see it was on there. Just as it started to play, he saw Y/N walking back towards him, so he hurried over to slide into their seat.

"You know, you're kind of clumsy."

"Am not," he denies.

"Oh, sorry, so it wasn't you who bumped into the table as you made your way to sit down."

Harry decides not to respond, knowing she saw him embarrass himself, and instead starts singing along to the song. The smile on her face widens as she hears how good he is.

"I'm not surprised you picked Fleetwood Mac, "songbird" is a sweet song."

"Am I that predictable?"

She nods, "Jo always sings one of their songs; at the sleepover, she said that's what you played most, so I taught her my favorites."

"Is it you I have to thank for the ABBA and Selena obsession?" He playfully glares.

"Guilty. She needed to brighten her horizon."

"Josie doesn't even know Spanish."

"Ah, but she will now."

"You're weird." Y/N shrugs in acceptance, knowing he meant it as a compliment.

As Harry's song comes to an end, she jumps up and rushes over to pick her song. She doesn't shy away about dancing her way back over to him. She mouths along to "The Name of the Game," moving her body to the beat.

"The name of the game?"

"You know it, darling."

Harry feels the heat in his cheek and hopes Y/N won't bring it up. She gets him flustered in just a few words.

"You know this is about falling in love with your therapist," he states

"Harry!" She exclaims. "No, the song is open to interpretation."

"What do you think?"

"I think it's about the early days of your relationship and wondering if it'll be something more or not. Also, that bridge, I mean come on."

Harry loves how passionate she is about the song. He loves that she's not afraid to share her thoughts with him, and he realizes he's doing the same. He can't help himself and leans in to press a kiss to her temple, throwing an arm over her shoulder to pull her close as they sit there listening to the song to the end.

"Ready to go, angel?" He feels her mutter a small okay, as she gets up, offering her hand to him as he's at the edge. "Let's go take care of the bill."

Y/N chuckles, "Already did, Harry."

Harry pulls her back, turning her to face him, "When?"

"The restroom, oldest trick in the book."

"Sneaky, sneaky."

Y/N, let's Harry lead the way out this time; they say goodnight to the staff and hurry over to the car. He didn't bring a coat, and he still wasn't used to how cold California got at night. He thought summer meant warm nights with a gentle breeze, not chilly air. Y/N seemed to not mind it, not hurrying after Harry as he jumped into the passenger seat.

"Afraid of the cold, H."

"Yes, why is it so bad?"

"Didn't you get snow in December up in the peach state? Also, aren't you from where the sun never shines?" Y/N teases him as she settles in her seat, turning on the heater for Harry.

"We visit occasionally; I can handle the weather with the appropriate clothing." He pouts at her, rubbing his arms.

Y/N turns around, reaching for something in the backseat before settling in again and settling it in Harry's lap. She doesn't say anything besides dazzling him with a smile and pulling out of the parking lot.

Harry slips it on over his head and finds it fits him loose, "I hope you know you might not be getting this back."

Y/N turns to look at him as he drags the collar up to his cheek to feel the softness it still holds, "That's my coach sweater. Kate got me a few, all in different sizes; I wear this one because I like baggy hoodies."

Harry smiles at her, he knows everything they have done has been in reverse, but he loves how confident she is. He knows she's been hurt before in the past from what she's shared but not once has he felt her trying to hide or push him away. He wants to tell her everything he's kept locked inside, he's never felt like this before, and he hopes the feeling never goes away.

"You know, if people see you wearing the sweater, they'll start talking."

Harry turns in his seat, facing her as the street lights shine on her face. "Let them. I've got no shame in people thinking you're my girlfriend. If I'm lucky enough, it might come true."

Y/N shakes her head, thankful for the darkness because he won't be able to see how her face heated up. The drive to his house was short, he wished for the night to never end, but even he knows he's not that lucky. Harry lets her know it's okay to pull into his driveway as he had his car parked on the curb right.

"I'll walk you to your door." Harry holds her hand the short way to where they will soon have to say goodnight.

Harry doesn't try getting his keys out; instead, he turns her to look at him, wanting to remember her in this moment forever. His last first date. Call him crazy, but there was no one else for him. It was always Y/N; he just had to find her.

"I had the best night with you," Harry whispers, pulling her close by her waist. She rests her hands on his shoulders and nods. "We're doing this again, Y/N."

"I got a second date." She cheers.

Harry leans his forehead against hers, smirking as he hears her breath hitch. "You get a second, a third, a fifth, a one hundred. You name it, you got it."

He's so close to closing the gap between them, feeling their breaths mix together.

"That means you'd be stuck with me for a long time."

"I want to say forever, but that might be too soon."

"Our secret." She whispers, her eyes dancing from his lips to his eyes. "Please kiss me, H."

Harry knows he won't ever be able to deny anything she wishes in life, mainly because he was close to losing her once before.

His lips moved slowly, savoring the feel of her against him as he pulled her close, letting himself rest against the door. He felt the butterflies in his stomach going crazy as she moved her hands to his hair, tugging on the small curls. Harry pulled back in fear of letting out a moan at the intense pleasure she made him feel.

Y/N pulls back breathless but presses her lips to his cheek, not wanting him to touch to go far. "Will you give me another, darlin'," Y/N nods a starry look in her eye as she lets Harry swoop in and take control of the kiss. This second kiss is faster and more passionate. Harry was holding back before, but now he wants her to feel everything he makes her feel. Harry wants her to know he gives her goosebumps and fireworks.

"I could kiss you all night." Harry trails kisses on her cheeks, loving how lost in his touch she is.

"Too bad, I need to rest. I've got to coach a game tomorrow."

That statement is enough to bring Harry back to reality, where he has to wake up extra earlier to pick up his daughter then drive her to the game. They have to say goodnight, even though neither one of them wants to.

Harry pulls away, dropping his hands from her waist; Y/N follows by letting her hands slide down from his hair.

"See you tomorrow?" He winks at Y/N as she walks backward, creating distance between them.

"Of course, we got a semi-final to win."

Y/N walks to her car, touches her lips feeling the lingering heat on when he kisses her breathless. She is turning on her car, making sure her headlights are on, when she sees Harry rushing down the steps toward her, the smile on his face contagious.

"What is it?" She asks as she rolls down her window, knowing she wouldn't leave soon if she got out.

"A kiss for the road."

Y/N couldn't dare deny him a kiss, especially when she was craving more already.

Harry slipped a hand the back of her neck, fearing she'd pull back sooner than he wanted. Her lips tasted like cherry; he figures she put on chapstick. This was only their third kiss, but it had only gotten better. Harry swiped his tongue against her bottom lip, begging for entrance, but she pulled back, letting out a breathless laugh at the pout he made, no longer able to feel her against him. She leans and pecks at the corner of his mouth, whispering a goodnight as he steps back, letting her drive away.

It may be too soon, but he might just love her.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

The semi-final had to be one of the most intense games she had seen the young girls play. It was goal after goal from each team, neither one backing down on the pressure.

In the second half, she told them she was proud that if they kept playing how they were, this game was theirs. Going in a 3-2 lead, the girls stood shocked when, in a corner kick, the other team had been able to get it into the back of the net and over Dawson.

Kate thought this might knock them down, but it sparked something in all of them. All the parents stood up from their seats when they saw them dance around the opposing team switching the ball side to side. Honestly, it was something far advanced than they've ever presented.

Y/N was in awe; their communication was at a new level. There wasn't much time left, and Kate feared penalty kicks even if they were prepared for it.

Lani had control of the middle field; she just needed to get it past their defense. Juliet had defenders marking her tight, no way able to make a run towards the goal. If they played it right, Juliet would draw them out, leaving a gap allowing them to make a run for it. That's all they needed for a foot race.

Kate was sitting on the bench holding tightly onto Sarah Beth's hand, not able to take the pressure; then again, no one could take it. It all happened so fast; one moment, Juliet ran towards the midfield, two defenses following close behind when she got a touch on the ball, letting her send it back where it came from, then straight down the line. Jo and Franny ran down both sides too far ahead to be stopped; Jo was able to get a touch on it, crossing it straight to Franny, who shot at goal but was stopped by the opposing goalie. Jo was there for the rebound striking it in.

Goal!

She did it. She made the final goal.

Jo was quick to be bombarded by the rest of her teammates hugging her as they ushered back for the kick-off. Y/N wished she could run in there and hug her, telling her how proud she was, but for now, shouting 'great job' and 'stay focused' would be enough. Y/N looked over at Harry, who was wiping his tears still yelling proudly for his daughter, and like he knew she was staring, he looked over at her giving her the cheesiest grin she had ever seen on him.

The game finished, and the Golden Sparks won another game, taking them to the final the following week. Y/N congratulated the girls telling how proud she was of them and the hard work they put in each game. She told them she can't wait to see them on Monday and to have a wonderful weekend. Then told their parents to spoil them a little extra this weekend that earned a cheer from all the girls.

As Y/N was packing up her things, Kate and a few other parents already helped carry everything over to Kate's car. She felt arms around her waist.

"Hey, quickster," Y/N says, turning, allowing her niece to hug her properly.

"The girls are going to get ice cream if you want to go with them; Emilia's mom will text you the address," Juliet asks, but Y/N has spent enough time with them and wants to let them be.

"Thanks for the offer, but you have a good time. I'll let your mom know Emilia's mom is dropping you off." Juliet nods, giving her one more hug before hurrying over to Emilia's car, where Jo also happens to get in. She sends them away; she notices Harry a few vehicles over putting a bag away when she reaches her car.

Something comes over her because the next thing she knows, she's calling his name and standing next to him.

"Hiya, love. Doing alright?"

Y/N tucks her hair behind her ear and nods, "Yes, all good. That was an exciting game."

"Good to hear."

"You doing anything now?" She asks, peeking over her shoulder, seeing Kate has her eye on her, but she just rolls her eyes before looking back at Harry.

"Going home, my munchkin left me."

"Well, there's a great Mexican restaurant here if you'd like to join me for lunch."

Harry smirks, "Asking me on another date, are you?"

"I have to when I know you're still a bit nervous about making a move," she confesses bashfully.

Harry's not surprised she can so easily read him; all the walls he had left are gone.

"Then I'd be honored."

"Great, uh good. Just follow me then."

Arriving, they were seated quickly. A plate of chips and salsa were delivered shortly, Harry asked for guacamole. Y/N didn't argue, knowing for many people that was one of their favorite dips. Personally, she wasn't a fan. She didn't like the texture. Most people were shocked at the revelation, and no doubt Harry would as well.

"What's good here, love?" Harry says, leaning into her side to peek at her menu instead of opening his.

"Hmmm...honestly everything. I always get something different when I come, but you can never go wrong with tacos."

"Alright, you want to share?"

Y/N shrugs, "We can. I'm not picky, but I am starving."

"Have some guacamole; you haven't gotten any."

"No thanks, I'm not a fan."

"You serious?"

"Yes, Harry."

"That's strange."

"What is?" She sets the menu down to look over at him.

"I mean, it's fine. At least you'll never buy avocado toast for like six dollars." He chuckles, and Y/N can't help but join in.

Their waiter comes over, "Estan listos para ordenar?"

Y/N nods, "Hola, si. Dos tacos de asada, y dos de al pastor. Por favor."

Harry is staring intently at his menu, not speaking a word as they wait for his order. "You alright, darling?"

He leans close to whisper in her ear, not able to focus on the term of endearment, "Can you order for me?"

She doesn't tease him, just smiles, "Y una orden de enchiladas rojas."

Their waiter smiles and walks away, promising to be back shortly.

"Have we discussed you speaking a second language?"

"I thought we had." She brushes it off like it's no big deal.

"I don't think so."

"Okay, I took YMCA classes from age seven and did so all the way until college. Even have a minor in Spanish."

"Impressive."

"Sorry if you felt uncomfortable. They speak English as well but primarily speak Spanish."

Harry shakes his head, not wanting her to feel bad, "No, I was just caught by surprise. Hearing you speak Spanish was a turn-on."

"I'll keep that in mind." She winks at him, glad to see the blush spread on his cheeks.

Lunch went great, just as she had expected. They shared food, Y/N enjoying Harry's enchiladas much more than the tacos. Harry happily ate the three tacos she left after eating most of his plate, not that he minded. Y/N appreciated how open he was in sharing food. She had always done it growing up, so Harry allowing her to do the same made her find more profound comfort in their already growing relationship.

Harry beat her to the bill, and she let him take it not without letting him know she'd get it the next time. They stood outside together, allowing the nice breeze to brush over then neither one was eager to say goodbye. They knew they would see each other soon, but with the growing affection, they just craved more time together, more time getting to know each other.

Harry had her pressed against her car door, hidden from the view of others. "We should do this again."

"We should," she agrees.

"My house Thursday night, Josie is going out with Sarah and Mitch to watch a movie, most likely do a sleepover as well."

"I'd like that. We'll see if you can maybe have a sleepover yourself."

Harry smirks, liking the idea of her spending the night with him, not caring that they both had work the following day.

"Are you going to kiss me?"

"I want to."

"You have my full permission," she teases.

Y/N met him halfway and pressed, letting him press his lips against hers. As she kissed him back, she wanted him to feel how much she liked him, how fast she was falling for him. His hands wrapped around her waist tight; it gave her comfort. She knew he wouldn't let go until she asked.

She felt her beat just a little fast as she left out a soft moan; she shifted closer as his mouth opened over hers and his tongue slid between her lips.

He was in control of her. She did not mind one bit.

With a sigh, she tilted her so he could kiss her more deeply; he didn't need any encouragement to do as she wished. His kiss became more intense, she could feel the burn between her thighs, wanting more, needing more, and that's when she knew she had to pull back, but he beat her to it.

Harry pulls back, staying close enough that he could steal another kiss, "God, I can't get enough of you."

He surprised her, how open he became with her feelings, she hadn't asked how his therapy was going, but god, it must have been doing wonders if she could feel every emotion that was going through him as she gazed into his loving emerald eyes.

"I'll see you soon, darling." Harry took that as his cue to let his hold of her go.

"Not soon enough," he whispers.

"You'll see me Monday," she reminds him.

"Can I steal a kiss then?"

"If you're lucky."

Y/N knew it wouldn't be long until she could say she was in love with Harry.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

Harry never thought he'd be the type of guy to be excited over a simple call or text reading: 'I'm thinking of you." She's made him feel good and confident in their relationship. He sent flowers to her work that led to her sending him a selfie with her face buried in the flowers.

At practice, he knew she couldn't pay attention to him, but that didn't mean he couldn't. He saw how fast she moved with the ball showing the girls a new drill, then doing it again slowed down, making sure they all understood. He admired how she never got frustrated. He knew how hard it was to handle one eight-year-old, but sixteen was impressive. He'd sit there for hours just admiring her if he could.

On Tuesday, he called Alycia, the receptionist at Y/N's office, asking for her lunch schedule, wanting to drop by and leave her lunch. She let him know she was taking it later that day at 2 since she was so busy. He decided that a BLT sandwich from two blocks away would do as she had once expressed to him how well done they were, promising to take him one day.

He walked in, noting how few people were in the waiting room, but eagerly stepped up to the counter. Alycia greeted him kindly, now seeing him more than once when he took Josie to her first session. Josie showed improvement, and each time he brought her, he made sure to leave a note behind for Y/N.

As he told Alycia to give you the food, there Y/N came walking down the hall. He was surprised at how casual, yet professional her look was; she had a silky oversized button shirt tucked into her linen pants, wearing her brown loafers he knew she didn't use often.

"Alycia, can you update this- Harry!" Y/N looks shocked to see him standing in front of her, not at all expecting to see him; she just planned on calling him later at night like they had been doing the past few days.

"Hi, love. Brought you lunch." He smiled sheepishly, holding up the bag.

She laughs, handing over the file to Alycia then stepping towards Harry to wrap him in a hug she has been wanting to do since she laid eyes on him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight against him, taking in her sweet honey scent. Before pulling back, remembering, after all, she was at work.

"I'm starving, thank you, darling. I was about to head out." Y/N rubs her stomach jokingly.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. See you tomorrow."

Y/N pouts, "You're not staying?"

"Well, I didn't want to assume."

"Assume, please." She laughs at the smile she gets Harry to give her.

They excuse themselves from Alycia and walk towards her office. They take a seat on her couch as Harry hands her the sandwich. They ate together, and for the forty-five minutes they had together, it was perfect; they shared stories of how their week was going at how Josie was anxious for the game and just promising to see each other soon. Harry got a kiss goodbye and was glad he would be seeing her the following day.

It's Thursday night, and Harry will finally get her for more than half an hour. Josie left a few hours ago to watch the movie with Sarah and Mitch, her sleepover bag on her shoulder not at all a surprise for Harry. He glanced around his house and knew it wasn't the cleanest. Josie always had some stuff scattered around the house, but he knew it just gave the house character.

"Hey, I'm outside," Y/N tells him on the phone before hanging up.

He rushes to the door, swinging it open to see her shut the door with her hip before making her way to him, a grin on her face as she carries a pink box in one hand and what he assumes to be food in another.

"You said you don't always like having to cook, and I know you said you love Thai." She giggles as he reaches to take the bag out of her hand, letting the smell take over.

"This is sweet, love. I appreciate it."

"Well, of course," she shrugs off his compliment. "I wanted to do something nice."

"I feel like I should be the one doing sweet things for you," he confesses as he guides her to his kitchen.

Y/N frowns, "Darling, we can move past that."

"Can we?"

"Of course, I feel like we've grown in the last few weeks. There's a different type of trust, don't you think?" She turns to face him, knowing the conversation was serious.

"Do you know how sorry I am?"

She nods, slowly stepping towards him, stopping right in front of him. She lifts her hand under his chin to have him look at her. "I do, and I forgive you. Sometimes we let our emotions win."

"I hope you know I'd never do that again." His voice is soft.

"I know."

She leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

"Dinner?" She beams.

"Yes, of course."

The meal is good, probably one of the best foods he's had in a long time. She didn't pick this up from his usual place but wouldn't tell him where she went. Told him she needed to keep some things to herself to keep surprising him. Harry finished most of the meal and then opened the pink box she left on the table that held a mixture of donut holes.

"You've still got room," she exclaims.

"They smell so good." He defends. Y/N laughs but rejects the offer to have one.

After cleaning up, he leads them to the living room, deciding to watch a movie. The scroll endlessly for a few minutes before settling on Life As We Know It. Harry shared that it was one he enjoyed watching back, and she agreed.

They had only gotten thirty minutes in before they began chatting. Y/N went on about how she was planning a trip to take two up north wanting to visit June Lake and hike some trails. Y/N's sister was going to see Xavier's family in San Diego, so they couldn't go up with her. Harry, without thinking, said if she'd have them, they could go. She didn't respond, making him assume she didn't want them to join, but she surprised him by hugging him.

"Best idea you've had tonight. I'll make all the reservations. Just let me know when you're free." She told him before settling back down next to him, her hand on his thigh going back to the movie. She was grinning at the montage of Holly and Eric and how they were learning how to co-parent Sophie. Harry had not taken his eyes off of her; she laughed as Sophie pooped in Eric's old hat.

"You're staring." She narrows her eyes at him, suspicious.

"It's because you're beautiful."

"Thank you," she answers timidly. "Very sweet of you."

"Of course, I'm going to spend the rest of my life telling you how beautiful you are if you let me."

"God, you're smooth."

Harry smirks, "Smooth enough for a kiss."

She didn't answer him; she wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him forward so that he could meet her halfway, and pressed her lips against his. Harry was quick to take control, slipping his hands around her waist and placing her on his lap, "this okay," he asked, quickly pulling back making sure she said yes. Once he had a go-ahead, he went back to her lips; she shifted closer, now touching chest to chest, not a single space in between as his tongue slipped into her mouth, prideful of the moan she released against his mouth.

Harry smoothed his hands from down her waist to rest on her ass, then cupped her and held her to him as he thrust against her. He pulled back for a second fearful he went too far; Y/N frowned, slowly opening her eyes whispering "again" against his lips, and who was he to deny her.

She could feel his hesitation, slid her hands up, and cupped his jaw, "You're okay, we're okay. You're taking care of me. I want this."

Harry swallowed hard, noting she never stopped rocking herself on top of him. His mouth curved in a slight grin, pushing up to meet her, he felt her go soft in his arms, and that's when he really realized the effect he has on her.

He needed her lips on him, it had only been a few moments, but he was craving her. He laid a string of kisses up her neck until he reached her mouth, lips swollen, but he knew she was eager for more.

"Harry, please." She had a hand tangled in his curls, needing to close the distance.

"I got you, love."

He tilted her head, allowing him to kiss her deeply, the kiss only more intense than before. If he didn't need to breathe, he would kiss her forever, never stopping.

"So pretty, all those moans just for me,"

"All for you," she breathes out.

Harry smirked, moving her up and down over his pants at a steady rhythm, but she was fighting for control.

"Harry."

"It's alright, love, let yourself go. Show me how pretty you look when you come."

Y/N was so close, tensed her thighs around him about to reach her release when they heard a phone ringing, halting their movements. Harry groans, pressing one more lingering kiss to her puckered lips, before reaching over to the side table to his right for his phone, "not me."

She holds back a whine, getting up for her phone inside her jacket. "Whoever it is, don't answer," he half-jokes.

Y/N giggles and looks at the caller as she swipes right to answer, "it's my niece."

Harry watches as she nods, telling her to relax and that she'd be right over.

"Has our night been cut short?"

"It has. Juliet got in an argument with her dad and is now threatening to move out."

"What," he laughs, standing up as he watches her shrug her jacket on.

"Yeah, to the backyard or with me."

"She really made you a mediator."

Y/N laughs, shrugging.

As Harry is walking her to the car, he can't believe how the night turned or would have. "You know I thought it would have been my child who interrupted us."

"Well, your daughter is an angel next to Juliet."

"You really think so,"

"I know so."

"You make it so easy to fall for you," he confesses, wrapping her in a hug before she leaves him for the night.

"Harry."

"What, I mean it."

She leans up to kiss his cheek, "I'm sorry we didn't get to finish."

"Me too."

"I hope you know once I'm in bed tonight, I'll be thinking of you."

"That's not fair."

"Why not?"

"Because I want to be the one taking care of you, making a mess of you."

"We'll get there," she promises.

Harry leans in and kisses her; it's short and sweet.

"Night, Harry. See you Saturday."

"See you then. Goodnight, love."

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

It's bittersweet honestly, it's the final game of the season. The girls have worked very hard to get where they are now: at the championship game. After this game, win or lose, they'll have a month off. No one will call her asking for an extra jersey, asking her for a ride, or texting her what time the game was, even with them owning the schedule. They'd all get a break until mid-September.

Harry and Josie were the first to arrive, while Kate and Y/N were setting up the warm-up drill.

"Loverboy is here." Kate teases as they walk to the bench.

"Stop." Y/N looks over at them, seeing them heading this way. "Styles family, good to see you."

"Hiya, Coach."

"Hello, Jo. You're going to go get ready?" Y/N says, looking down at the girl's black crocs with Avengers pins.

"Yup," she skips away, sitting on the grass next to Kate, who's pumping air in a few balls.

"Harry, hi."

"No darling," he teases."

She narrows her eyes at him, "I'll have you sit with the other parents if you keep teasing."

Harry looks appalled; she'd suggest such a thing, "Now that hurts."

"You know I thought you'd be sweeter, especially about that wonderful night we had Thursday."

A smile tugs up Harry's face at the memories, "My apologies, didn't want to upset my girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" Y/n doesn't hide her surprise.

"Yeah, uh, we've gone out enough. I like you, and I'm going out on a limb here that you like me," she nods, allowing him to continue. "You're marvelous and love, Josie; god, you even gave her a nickname. I want this; I really want to hold your hand and keep going on dates with you and kiss you. I never want to stop.

She smiles, stepping into his embrace, "I'll be your girlfriend, boyfriend."

"Enough to risk a kiss?"

She doesn't reply; instead, she leans in, giving him a chaste kiss.

"Now go be a good parent and take a seat."

Harry does so. The smile on his face mirrors her own.

The game passed in a blur; the four quarters finished quickly. Y/N had thought they lost to the other team carrying a two-one win over them. The girls didn't look defeated, but each girl she subbed came out with a sigh but cheered as the minutes counted down.

Everyone hated losing, including herself.

Then out of nowhere, Priscilla, a usually shy player, gets a touch on the ball and sends it towards the goal. The goalie lets it slip under her, and what do you know they scored. The cheers seem endless; Y/N isn't bothered with the time, knowing there isn't much left in the final quarter.

This gives the girls a new motivation like a spark has been lit. It's a game of keep-away, Blue Devils not giving up easily. Abby gets the ball at her feet, and she freezes; the goalie is running right towards her, the defense kept away by the others; it's not until someone shouts, "Shoot!" that the young girl lifts her left foot shooting it through the goalies' legs and hitting the back of the next. Then just like that, the referees blow the whistle and call the game.

The Golden Sparks had won the championship. Y/N felt the tears in her eyes, thankful for the sunglasses hiding her overflowing emotions.

Y/N laughs as she feels Kate hug her and begin jumping up and down.

"We did it!!"

"They did it!"

Y/N is swept through the motions as she shakes hands with the coaches and claps the opposing team's hands. It's not until Juliet runs towards her with full force, knocking her onto the grass, wrapping her arms around her waist, that she's brought back to the moment. Then before she knows it, there are fifteen more girls joining in on the group hug. She's not sure when Kate was dragged into it, but she feels their joy.

They have a lifetime of wins and losses coming ahead in their young lives, but she's happy to be part of one that brings them so much happiness.

The young girls help her get up before hurrying over to their waiting parents. Juliet is being smothered in kisses by her parents. Josie is passed around by Harry's friends and her godparents, congratulating her on the win. Each girl showing off their small first place trophies, indeed to be displayed for all to see somewhere in their home.

Y/N has waved almost everyone off, telling them she would see them for pizza and drinks at their usual location. She took one look around the emptying field and felt she did well this season, but there was also room for her to grow as a coach.

"Looks like you're a champion, love."

Y/N turns around to find Harry smiling at her, Josie a few feet behind, waving to a couple with a baby. "Think she's the champ; she played the game. You did wonderful out there, Jo." She grins as Jo looks at her proudly.

"I still think you should be congratulated; you led these girls. Taught them and helped them grow into becoming better little humans." he shares, grabbing her hand pulling her into his chest.

"Well, thank you." Y/N looks down at Josie, who's crouched down trying to pick up what's likely to be a worm, "Ready for some pizza, Jo?"

Josie nods, not looking up too entranced on the creature in her hands now.

"Can I give you a gift, you know for uh...winning?"

"Course, I like presents." She grins at him, eager for what it could be.

His fingers curled into her nape and pulled her head into his as he kissed her softly. She felt his full lips move over hers; she felt how much he felt for her. As Harry brought their kiss to an end, he pulled back and looked into Y/N's eyes. "Was it a good gift?"

"The best," she answers before they are interrupted by a giggling Josie, who is staring up at them.

"Does this mean you're together?" Jo asks.

Y/N and Harry share a look before looking back at Josie, who's patiently waiting, "yes."

"Oh my! Dreams come true!" She shouts, running circles around them.

"Isn't meeting dad's girlfriend too soon a bad thing?" Y/N asks Harry.

"Not when you know you're never letting go."

"Oh, I like the sound of that." She lets pull her towards him, his arm resting comfortably over her shoulder.

"Plus, you're meeting all my friends at the pizza place, they all came to cheer on Josie, and you did say everyone was invited."

"I might just regret saying that."

"It'll be fine. Not a chance you don't win them all over."

Y/N brings them to a halt, Harry smiling down at her. This is happiness; she never wants to forget it. Harry leans in, letting their mouths meet in a kiss, soft and passionate as they both spill their feelings for another, hoping that with each passing second, the emotions only get stronger and stronger.

Harry pulls back, resting his forehead against hers, "I don't know what the future will bring, but I'm glad we'll be able to see it together."

Josie walks a few steps in front of them, leading the conversation. Harry and Y/N listen intently, holding each other tightly because this is what their future will consist of; more soccer games, more smiles, more laughs but most importantly, more love.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

thank you so much for reading <3333

I adore you. take care xx

#harry styles #harry styles stories #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles x reader #dad harry #soccer coach y/n #harry x you #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #my writing

[chocolateheart]

Door number 12

Title: Door Number 12

Word count: 7937 (I know, I'm sorry)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: A noisy neighbour is bringing you a lot of emotions. What if this bubbling tension and frustration will finally find their way out?

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex (please, wrap it before you tap it), creampie, fingering, handjob, pinning to the wall, clothes tearing, biting, scratching, a lot of kissing, strong eye contact, sex noises, tension, some swearing, noisy neighbour, arguing, stealing food, property damage, I don't know, porn?

Bingo Square Filled: Neighbour AU for @spnmixedbingo

A/N: Yes, another porn. Please, don't judge me, I couldn't help it. I won't say much, that fic just sorta happened. I hope you'll like it! Enjoy babes!

A/N: As always huge huge huge THANK YOU to my dear beta, angel and Queen @winchest09 for giving this piece a look. Love you Tabbs <3 Still, mistakes are mine!

A/N: The gorgeous divider designed by incredibly talented @talesmaniac89 <3

Throwing your bag on the counter along with your keys, a deep sigh left your chest. You numbly looked around your apartment as you began to take off your jewellery. Why did this place always look like a pigsty every time you got back home? Your necklace and bracelet joined your bag when you tossed them to one side as a yawn escaped you.

This day was exhausting, to say the least. Maybe your work wasn’t that demanding but sometimes it was just tiring to the point where you wanted to cry. After shrugging your jean jacket off, your feet took you to the couch and you just collapsed down on it with a pained grunt. Your body was stiff and aching, your head was pounding from pain and as soon as you felt a pillow under it, your will to stay awake had started to fade. You knew you shouldn’t take a nap now as there was still so much left to do today, but for god's sake, it was Friday evening and you had been working for the past 5 days at top speed. An hour of rest was something you definitely deserved.

Without standing up, you lifted your hips to take off your jeans and wrapped yourself in the blanket you always kept on the couch. Relaxing your body with a deep breath, you closed your eyes, already halfway to dreamland. But as soon as you felt yourself drifting completely, a loud sound of guitar suddenly sounded in your ears, making your eyes snap open.

No, not again!

Fisting the pillow, you felt the anger growing as you knew exactly where the loud rock music was coming from; recognising the band as AC/DC. When the volume increased, you hid your head underneath the pillow, desperate to cut off your aching skull from the noise. But it didn’t work, the sound still bleeding through the cushion. It didn’t take you a minute to shoot up on straight legs and pull on your sweats while marching towards the front door.

Mumbling inappropriate words, you entered the staircase for your building and immediately went down; hearing the power of the music increasing with every step you took. You found yourself on a floor below, with your jaw and hands clenched, eyes glued to door number 12 as you approached it. Once you stood in front of it, you lifted one of your fists and hit the hard on the wood a few times, ready to murder the person on the other side. Of course he made you wait till the song ended, causing you to repeat the punching a couple of times.

When the door finally opened, you were fuming with anger, eyes shooting lightnings towards the tall man on the opposite side of the doorstep.

"I swear to god, Winchester," you hissed through gritted teeth, a loud melody almost muffling your words. "If you won't turn that down, I will physically harm you." Your threatening pulled a laugh from him which only acted as another oil drop to the fire.

"Sweetheart you can't do anything to me," he said, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed on this broad chest. "Besides, I don't understand what your problem is." Dean shrugged as if nothing had happened, making your brows shoot up.

"You don't understand?! This music is driving me crazy!" You took a deep breath and while not breaking the strong eye contact you had with him, you started to enlighten him on what exactly was wrong. "I’ve had a terrible day, no, week actually. Everything hurts, my head is pounding and this music is shaking my walls which in turn, is not letting me sleep. So if you could be so nice and turn that off because I swear on what's holy, if I lose my goddamn mind, your name will be the first one I'm gonna mention once they ask me how I ended up in mental hospital." Words just slipped out of you in one unbreakable line and you took shuddering breath after, composing yourself.

However, the smug smirk didn’t leave your neighbour's face; he didn’t give a damn about your monologue. After you finished, he only put a hand on your shoulder and delivered his response.

"It's a Friday evening and we live in a free country. There’s no rule saying I can't listen to loud music, unless it's lights out. What's more, you're the only one who can't stand this, I don't see anyone else coming here to complain, so maybe the problem lies in you, not in me," he simply said, as he flashed you a fake, sarcastic smile and closed the door. But not before saying, "have a nice evening."

You looked up to the ceiling, asking for patience but the frustration and anger were huge. You growled, kicked Winchester's door with your socked foot and cursed, feeling pain going from your toes to the tibial bone.

On your way back to your apartment, you were mumbling out every possible, offensive name that came to your mind when you thought about that green eyed man. Your relationship had been heated ever since he moved into the building. He made your blood boil. Loud music, meetings with his friends, watching movies on full volume on his surround speakers after dark in the middle of the week, noisily cooking at midnight; even his one night stands apparently had an unfulfilled opera career.

You were having a battle with Dean, on average, twice a week. Knowing you weren’t the only one who couldn’t stand his behavior, you asked others for help, but Dean’s charm was way bigger of an opponent than you had expected. He could just use a sweet smile, say a few, flirty words with this deep voice and Ann from the end of the hall would walk on wobbly legs with stupid smile on her face for the next four days.

You couldn’t really blame her, the man was ridiculously attractive but you were looking past it. Dean was an annoying asshole and the only reason you had not yet clawed out his eyes was the fact that visiting the jail wasn’t exactly a wooing thought.

Shutting your door behind you, you leaned against it and ‘Sweet Child O’ mine’ came on. You growled once again, hit your wooden barricade with your head and looked down, trying to find calmness in your floor. Once you stopped radiating fury, knowing that the person below won't let you rest for at least two more hours, you chose the second drawer in your kitchen, searching for painkillers. If you were being made to stay up, you were gonna be productive. Swallowing two aspirin, you decided to clean the place so you could focus on college work tomorrow.

If only you could actually focus on college work.

After waking up at 8 am the next day, you opened the window on your way to the kitchen, craving coffee. It wasn’t normal for you to get up at this hour on the weekend but your finals were coming and you had way more work than you expected.

Thankfully, the weather outside was pleasant; the sun was already shining, creating morning shadows and the soft wind streamed inside your apartment, tickling your ankles as you sat at the table, eating breakfast. The smell of spring made you smile, always bringing back good memories. After the meal, you didn’t bother to change your pajamas for the actual clothes and you just took the laptop to start working on your college sheets. You were sitting with one of your legs bent, heel leaning on the chair, messy bun on your head, sipping on the second coffee while listening to the birds singing happily outside. Words were flooding out of you, making you feel certain that it wouldn’t take you long to be done with your essays. But that blissful moment was cut short when a loud rumble of a car’s engine resonated under your building, causing you to jerk in your chair and almost spill your drink.

Recognizing it straight away, you looked up, trying your best to not get angry again but as the sound of his loud engine revving l continued, you smacked the table with your palm and stood up. As you leaned on your window sill and gazed out, you spotted black, slick Chevrolet with the driver's door, trunk and hood open. Tools were scattered around the vehicle, a jean clothed leg was sticking out from the inside and you greeted your teeth, knowing who that was.

“Hey!” you yelled out, not caring if probably half of the residents could hear you. “I’m trying to study here!”

Dean peeked out and up at you, smiled and got out of the car, leaning his elbow on the hood in a nonchalant way.

“Good morning to you too,” he said and flashed you the oh-so-charming smile.

“It would be good if you didn’t interrupt it with your loud junker,” you spat back, leaning on the window frame and smiled when his face fell; he hated it when someone insulted his Baby, and you were very much aware of that. “Now, could you please lower your generic volume because I have a lot to do and you’re the last thing I want to deal with today.”

“Nobody tells you to. I’m minding my business, you go mind yours, I ain’t stopping you.” He gestured towards you with his grease covered hand.

“No, but your car is making noise that shakes all the dishes in my cabinet.”

He just shrugged and you narrowed your eyes, seeing that he didn’t care about whatever your problem was. “Then I suggest closing the window.”

After saying that, he dived inside the vehicle and seconds later you heard the strong twang of a guitar. Again. This man was very successful in making you hate rock music. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, stopping yourself from throwing a flowerpot at him; only because it was a very nice pot and you were emotionally attached to it.

“I need fresh air! I’m not gonna close the window! Turn that off!” you screamed, but he only frowned and pointed to his ear.

“Sorry sweetheart, can’t hear you!” You could see the smile dancing on his lips and you really wanted to break something on his head. “The music is too loud!”

Clenching your jaw you gave up. Another defeat, but it wasn’t the war you lost; it was just a battle and he was yet to feel your comeback. Showing him your middle finger, you closed the window and went to the bathroom, not being able to hear the soft chuckle that left him.

Maybe to an outsider, Dean’s behavior wasn’t such a big deal, but the longer he acted like that, the more annoying and tiring it was becoming. You couldn’t focus on basic activities because he was giving you a headache in various ways and for some reason, you couldn’t just talk it through with him. Every attempt at trying to get to an understanding with him, ended up with a fight.

Winchester was just a pain in the ass.

Thankfully, he vanished before noon; his car was gone and there was a blissful silence that you made the most of, and finished the majority of what you had to do.

Surrounded by papers and books, you were sitting down on your fluffy carpet, leaning back on your couch, typing away on your laptop. Glancing at your clock again, you frowned. It’s been almost 85 minutes since you ordered pizza; your stomach was rumbling, unhappy with the fact of still being empty. Finding your phone, you dialed the pizza parlor’s number once again. Standing up, you stretched your muscles and looked outside, watching the sunset sky as you waited for someone to pick up. Finally, the lady’s voice spoke to you down the line, asking you how she could help.

“Hi, I made an order from you and I still haven’t received it? It’s been over an hour,” you explained politely, scratching the back of your head.

You didn’t like situations like that; delay was understandable, but it had been way too long. However, you hated to call someone out, you never wanted to make someone’s job harder than it already was. Giving your address to the lady so she could check where your food was, you spotted the black vehicle under the building and your brows shot up. He was home and it was still quiet; it wasn’t normal.

“Miss, the system says your order was delivered and we have a confirmation of receipt.” You frowned hearing her words as what she said was impossible.

“Are you sure? There was no delivery here.”

“Yes, I’m positive. It says someone picked up the order twenty minutes ago.” Pinching your nose, you took a deep breath.

“Could you check the address precisely, please? Maybe your driver made a mistake?” you suggested being already sure someone else got your food.

“Rosenhouse Street, building 4, apartment 12,” she read and the last number made you flinch.

“Apartment 20,” you corrected her, but she denied.

“No Miss, the order was picked up by apartment 12.” And just like that the level of your anger reached three digits in a second.

“Okay, thank you so much,” you murmured and disconnected the call without a goodbye, already storming halfway across your place, getting ready to leave.

Slamming the door, you took a very well known path downstairs and you banged on number 12 as soon as you stood in front of it. Feeling the urge to punch the person who was supposed to open, you inhaled deeply, clenching your teeth. Just... keep it cool, Y/N.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” you growled the second Dean came into your view in his domestic clothes, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie.

“Whoa, what?” he tilted his head with an uncomprehending look.

“Listen,” you pointed a finger at him. “Loud noises, annoying car, your mean behavior, fine, okay. Screw it. But stealing food? That is childish. Can you go any lower?!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he said with a smile dancing on his lips. “What food?”

“My pizza,” you muttered through your teeth.

“Oh, right!” He smacked his forehead, acting like he just now understood. “Yeah, pizza was great.”

“You stole it!” you exclaimed, a little too high pitched.

“No I didn’t,” Dean stated, giving you a small, I-know-better smile.

“Yes, you did. I ordered it and you just pocketed it!” You really wanted to stamp your foot like a little girl to tick your fury.

"No sweetheart, I didn’t," he said, crossing his arms and straightening his back so he could tower over you, making you look up. "The guy came in with pizza, said he's supposed to bring it here, so I paid for it and ate it."

"Oh! Because it's normal to pay for the food you didn’t order and keep it to yourself. And stop calling me sweetheart!" You puffed out irritated, making him smirk.

"You're cute when you're angry." Your face fell and you felt your palm itching. What would he do if you slapped him?

"Dean," you warned him but he chuckled.

"No, seriously." He reached to your forehead, wanting to brush it with his finger. "You have this cute, little wrinkle in the middle-"

"Don't touch me." You smacked his hand away and pointed a warning finger straight into his face. "One more action like this and you're gonna regret it," you growled out and walked away.

"So it's threatening now, huh?!" he called after you, coming out to stand in the hall.

Before you stepped on the stairs, you turned around with such a force, that your hair flipped over one of your shoulders and you showed him your middle finger. Hearing his low laugh bouncing on the wall, you scoffed annoyed as you stomped loudly going back upstairs. You swore that if you were supposed to become a murderer one day, that this man was gonna be victim number one. This whole 'lets annoy her' process would be great fuel for you to slice that slender throat of his.

Shutting the door again, you walked into the kitchen, dived in the fridge and decided to stuff yourself with pancakes. Screw Dean and his pizza, you were not going to give him satisfaction with ordering anything else tonight.

“So, he’s a confident man,” Jo stated after you told her about Winchester’s behavior.

You came to Harvelle's to grab something for Sunday dinner; they had the most delicious menu in the whole town and no one could change your mind. You were sitting with a blonde girl at the table, outside their restaurant, sipping on some light drinks Ellen had prepared for the two of you. Ash was already working on your meal in the kitchen while Jo was taking her break so she could sit with you and listen about your neighbour under the floor. It took you way longer to describe everything and you felt kind of bad for that. You weren’t the type who whined about such things and forced friends to hear about your bullshit, but now you were desperate to get it all off your chest.

“Confident asshole,” you corrected her, “I just wish he could finally get his ass kicked, you know? I can’t live with this man! He’s an arrogant, offensive, little, annoying dickhead!” you said, crossing your arms on your chest.

After a few seconds of silence, you looked up at Jo. She was watching you, clearly trying not to smile; her lips were twitching and small dimples had already appeared. You knew her long enough to know that she was all ready to tease you about this whole situation.

“What?” you barked at her and she lifted her hands in defense.

“Nothing!” She shrugged. “Just, your relationship with him seems to have been… rough since the very beginning.”

“It is! I really wanna punch him!” Jo lifted her brows, a smile breaking on her face.

“Just punch him?” The suggestion was shining in her eyes and your shoulders fell down at the subtext.

“Jo!” she started giggling when she heard your resigned tone. “Just because I’m having a heated exchange with a hot guy doesn’t mean that I wanna fuck him!”

“Oh, so you think he’s hot?” she asked innocently, taking a sip from her glass.

“Yes, but he’s an idiot and I would never let him in my panties, come on,” you scoffed as you rolled your eyes. The last thing you would ever do was having sex with this man.

“Sure.”

And you knew Jo didn’t believe you. To be honest, if you thought about it really, really hard, you weren’t sure if you believed yourself…

The door opened and Ash came out with a smile, your food packed in a thermal box.

“There you go, girl. We do not accept any complaints,” he said, winking at you and you chuckled, taking the meal from him.

“Thanks, Ash.” He saluted you and vanished as quickly as he appeared. You glanced at your phone laying on the table and sighed seeing the time. “Okay babe, I’m gonna go. School’s calling and I bothered you enough anyway.”

“Oh stop it, you’re not bothering me, don’t be stupid,” she said smiling, and hugged you tight. “Text me when you get home.”

“Sure thing.” You winked and walked backwards, watching her disappear inside the RoadHouse.

Smiling to yourself, you turned around and crossed the street. At first your thoughts were filled with Jo who could always put you in a good mood but then they gradually transitioned into someone else.

You didn’t know if it was your overworked system or what Jo had teased you about that caused Dean to stick inside your mind, but you wanted to scream; it was like he had nested in there. Not only was he disturbing your living space, but he was now invading your mental space as well. What’s more, it wasn’t exactly hard to not think about him in a nasty way, and you hated it. The truth was that he was attractive from his fluffy hair to his toes, and more than once you had caught yourself daydreaming about his hands and mouth on you.

You couldn’t help it. The way he looked was not fair and Jo made you realise that if not for his attitude, you would have slept with him a long time ago. Thankfully, in the moments you felt weakness for him, he was doing something that pissed you off to the point where you wanted to bite his head off.

You really wanted to get even with him, you had to bounce the ball. The need to bite back was so big that you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw the paint store. The bulb in your head flickered on and a devil smile angled your lips. Maybe it was a bad idea, maybe it was childish, maybe it was crossing the line, but you had suffered enough thanks to this jerk.

Buying one can of pink chalk paint, you were muting your common sense that was currently shouting at you. As the saying goes - you only live once. He wanted a fight? You were going to fight. He started to play a strong hand? You were going to do the same. He thought playing with you like that was fun? Well, you were gonna have some fun too. Besides, he wouldn’t realise immediately that the paint would easily wash off, but seeing him panic thinking that his car had been defaced was revenge enough.

With a few last strokes of a paintbrush, you were finished. Straightening your back, you looked down at your work and smiled, satisfied with pink flowers you had drawn on the black surface. They were a nice contrast and you really liked the shape. In all honesty, it kinda burned you to paint this four wheeled beauty, but it wasn’t your fault her owner was a douchebag who deserved a lesson.

The impala was parked in her usual spot, next to the building that was mostly asleep. There were no cameras and due to the late hour, the chance of someone spotting you was small. Besides, you were just a hooded figure, no one would recognise you anyway even with the dim light from a lonely lantern. It was risky, but you were too far gone in your revenge to care. It had been done and you wished you could see Dean’s face in the morning.

Gathering your things you looked around, checking to see if there was anyone you should avoid and you got back to your apartment. After closing the door, you took off your clothes, staying only in leggings and a t-shirt, and decided to make some tea. You had this weird energy bubbling inside of you and it would be a waste to not use it on college papers. Getting comfortable on your couch you started going through materials for one of your projects.

Not expecting any visitors, you jumped slightly while hearing a rapid knocking on your door an hour later. You frowned and stood up, finishing your tea on your way to the entry. What you saw on the other side almost made you smile like an idiot. Dean was boring into you with his eyes; if looks could kill, you would surely be a beautiful corpse by now. His chest was rising and falling heavily, jaw clenched to the point his cheek was twitching and you could see the slight blush coloring on his face. He was wearing his leather jacket but was also in sweats so you assumed he was about to make a quick grocery run or something.

“What the hell?!” he growled at you before you could say a word. Ohhh, he was angry.

“What?” You shrugged innocently, ignoring the weird chill that ran down your spine after hearing the vibrations of his tone.

Dean took a deep breath, doing his best to not shout out. “I wanted to go get some beer and burgers, but guess what. Someone screwed up my car. And you know what? I think it was you.”

He pointed a finger at you, holding keys in his hand. You laughed and leaned on your doorframe, ready to confront him. Satisfaction already tickled your insides, but there was one thing that you had to admit - he was hot when he was angry.

“You really think that I have nothing better to do than mess up your car?” you asked, amused by his flaring nostrils.

"Don't you fucking dare play with me like that," he said firmly, not wanting to yell. "Do you know it's property damage? You broke a law and I can easily get you in trouble."

He was fuming with anger and you were sure that if it was possible, there would be smoke coming out of his ears. You smiled and stood your ground, finding it adorable how he thought he had anything useful against you.

"You have nothing on me. No proof that I was the one who defaced your car," you started, taking two steps to stand inches away from him. "Call the cops and I'm gonna tell them all about the nuisance, the stealing, manipulation and manifestations of aggression all coming from you.”

You stared straight into his eyes, a smart smile not leaving you even for a second; feeling confident in your words. Maybe he had a point, but you weren’t empty handed. You could get punished for what you did and so could he.

“What is your problem, Y/N?!” he asked, pinching his nose, clearly irritated with you. “You keep whining, making problems out of nothing and now painting my damn car?”

“You’re not letting me live in peace!” you raised your voice. “Your loud music, loud car, loud tv, loud you in general! I can’t sleep, I can’t study, I can’t do anything because you’re always there to disturb me!”

“Then leave!” he suggested, raising his tone as well. You were taken aback; lifting your brows you blinked a few times. Was he joking?

“Leave?! Are you kidding me now?! This is my home and just a friendly reminder, I was in here first so maybe you should back off!”

“But you’re the only one having a problem with me!” he yelled, spreading his arms, highlighting the obviousness of his argument.

“Because you’re a manipulative ass! You use your charm, this fucking smile, your shining eyes, and nice language, and the whole building is yours! Even Ian from the 4th floor and he doesn't even like people!”

“Ian is a cool guy!”

“Good!”

You took a breath and opened your mouth to say something more but no words came out. Again, you were convinced that there was no way to come to an agreement with this guy. Further arguments were pointless. Looking at him you shook your head and brushed your hair to the back. The soft smile and look you gave him next, made him frown a little.

“You know what? Fuck you,” you said simply and went to close the door, but his retort didn’t let you.

“You wish.”

Freezing, you locked your eyes with his and in a split second, something shifted in the air. The atmosphere got thick and the tension you had been building for months, now came into play, kinda taking you both by surprise. Dean felt it too, you could see his expression changing. He was trying to read you, trying to understand what was buzzing between you. A part of you wanted to explain it, to show him that you already knew it was sexual tension saying ‘hi’, but as soon as you realised that, you swallowed and forced your rational mask back on.

Shaking off the urge to take steps towards him, you scoffed and sending him one last look, you shut the door without saying anything. Taking two deep breaths, you leaned your forehead on the wooden barricade and closed your eyes.

There was no way in hell you would give in and break. He had everyone else in his fist, but not you. The only person that didn’t fall under his spell, the only one that didn’t let your craving inside take better of you. Dean was still your enemy and a pain in the ass; it was a matter of honour and dignity to stay away.

However, soft knocking made your eyes snap open. No. Darting your head from the door you looked at it, knowing who was behind it but that didn’t even register when you pulled on the door-handle. Dean was supporting his body on his arms that he had placed on both sides of your door, blocking the way. He was looking at you intensely, his breathing quicker than moments ago.

You could see the exact second he made a decision. You knew he was going to do something he shouldn’t and yet, you let him close the gap between you and crush his mouth to yours, cupping your cheeks at the same time. The force he hit you with made you take steps backwards, encouraging him to come in and turn you around so you could unconsciously close the door. His grip was firm, long fingers digging in your neck as hot lips forced yours apart. But your stubbornness caused you to push him away, breaking the connection.

The look you exchanged was a mix of emotions; hate, passion, frustration, lust, confusion, hesitation. This was something completely new for you; needing him was unfamiliar, strange, but at the same time stronger than anything you had felt before when it came to Dean. There was this quiet voice telling you that it was already too late; you tasted it and you wanted it, obviously. The other voice was louder, trying to make you aware of how messed up it's gonna be after, but somehow you didn’t want to listen. Not this time.

"Fuck it."

Saying that, you approached Dean and gripping him by the back of his neck, you pulled him down for a kiss. It was sloppy and deep, all teeth and tongues. He inhaled through his nose, bending down when your nails clawed at his skin. Grabbing you by the waist, he used a little pressure so you walked backwards. You didn’t expect to be pushed against the wall and a surprised gasp escaped you when your back hit it. Looking up at Dean, you noticed how his hungry eyes flickered over your figure and a cocky smirk formed on his face. You mirrored his expression and lifted your chin, so you could suck in his lower lip, biting on it softly. His response was immediate and fierce; he pressed his body to yours, pinning you to the wall completely, kissing you even deeper than before. The heat flooded you, making your cheeks burn and a sweat break.

You moaned and that seemed to spur him on because his hands started travelling all over your body. Doing the same, you aimed for his jacket, pushing it off his broad shoulders so it could land on the floor. The thought of finally discovering what was under his clothes took over your brain and you started to pull on his t-shirt, hazed and eager. But Dean grabbed your wrist and pinned it next to your head, not letting you undress him. You twisted and tugged, trying to break free, but he slid his fingers between yours and you instinctively clenched your palm.

“Don’t fight,” he breathed out, leaving your lips as he dropped to your neck, letting you take a much needed breath.

Leaning your head back you gave him the access to your throat where he licked and sucked, french-kissing your flesh. Your knees buckled a little when his hot lips closed on your pulse point, sending shivers down your spine as his stubble prickled you. Feeling his second hand sneaking under your shirt, you held your breath and jerked on the skin to skin contact. He wasn’t delicate; his long fingers were squeezing and digging, a firm touch making it all the more intense. Using your free hand you fisted his hair, pulling on it. Dean purred, nibbling on your flesh, making your eyes roll. It was like playing tennis, back and forth; you had an answer to each other's movements.

The hunger inside you was growing fast; you were getting more and more impatient and being caged by Dean only made you feel limited. So, naturally, you rebelled, trying to take control; with Dean it was always a competition. But your attempt only caused him to press his body more, his knee coming between your legs, making it harder for you to move. The thin material of your leggings was a weak protection to his touch and you whined when your sensitive area met his thigh. Fidgeting even more, you made him chuckle.

“Stop fighting,” he whispered into your ear as he pulled your earlobe between his teeth.

Growling, you turned your head and sunk your teeth into his neck, tasting sweet and salty. Dean hissed and backed away, looking down at you with a surprise in his eyes, brows slightly furrowed. You smiled and angled yourself to speak against his lips.

“Don’t act like you don’t like a fight, Winchester.”

The suggestion was clear and he seemed to understand. Your relationship was already a ticking bomb so why not have a little fun?

The challenging look you gave him was a last jolt and his mode switched. Before you could do anything, he kissed you firmly, letting go of you just to grab on the front of your shirt. Pulling with two hands Dean ripped the fabric in half, revealing your torso, making you smile a devil’s smile. He shook his head in disbelief that you were actually going along with it and grinning, he attacked your jaw. Scraping it with his teeth first, then kissing and going down passed your neck, to your collarbone. Bending his knees so he could reach lower and lower, he proceeded to shrug the destroyed clothing off you and focus on your breasts. Placing sloppy kisses on the curves, Dean moved his hands on your back and unclasped your bra. As soon as it was gone, he sucked in one of your nipples, causing you to arch your chest. Pulling his hair, you grabbed the back of his head, letting him know you enjoyed his work.

Every time his lips touched you, they left burning spots and you could feel yourself getting wetter. Not holding back anymore, you started to roll your hips, seeking the friction his leg could give you. Still playing with your boobs, he caught your hips and added the power to your moves, dragging a moan from you. Glancing down, you spotted the bulge in his sweatpants and realised he was still wearing too much clothes.

“Take that fucking shirt off,” you panted out, grabbing on the piece of clothing on his back.

This time he allowed you to do what you needed, lifting his arms to make your task easier and the second his chest was bare, you used your nails to leave red lines, making him grimace from pain before he kissed you. Caressing his newly exposed body, you felt firm muscles of his strong arms flexing. He wasn’t a gym type of guy, he was soft in some places but firm and strong in general, and that turned you on to the point your stomach flipped.

Suddenly, he pushed on your hips until your butt touched the wall behind you and pulled away from you, straightening himself. You looked at each other, panting and flinching in anticipation. Keeping the eye contact, Dean cupped your face, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips and slowly slid his hands down your body. You swallowed hard when he hooked his fingers behind your waistband and pulled your leggings down, crouching in front of you.

With a thumping heart you looked down at him, meeting his dark eyes watching you as he kissed your knee, your thigh, your inner thigh; his hands travelling up your legs, leaving goosebumps. You shivered when his hot breath hit your still clothed core. He placed a kiss on your damp panties, making your pussy clench and stopped. Leaning his forehead on your lower stomach, he tried to remain self-control, breathing strongly to calm himself down... and he failed. This whole situation was too much and he had wanted it for way too long to stop now.

Shooting up, he claimed your lips, driving his fingers inside your briefs at the same time. His digits went through your folds, gathering slick and found your clit, making you gasp into his mouth.

“Yeah? Right here?” he whispered and you sucked the air in through your mouth when he drew a circle, pressing harshly on your little nub.

Feeling him smiling, you clung to his neck, keeping him close when he started to make circles on your button. Moaning laughs escaped you, mixed with short breaths as you felt fire filling your veins, tickling sparks running from your clit to every nook of your system. For a moment you lost yourself in the feeling, but your brain woke up when he nudged you, rubbing his dick on your leg.

Opening your eyes, you locked them with his, tracing your palm down his chest and stomach. Somehow, you managed to turn you both around so he was by the wall. You didn’t care about teasing him through his pants so you pushed your hand inside and grabbed his hard shaft. Dean jerked and choked on his breath; the whole foreplay made him ridiculously sensitive.

You smiled satisfied and began to pump him, making his head fall back on the wall. His exposed neck was shining with sweat, throat moving as he swallowed hard. Your biting kink was begging for you to bite him, but the view was too good to not watch. His breathing quickened along with your strokes, his jaw flexing when he opened his mouth to chug. A thick vein popped out on the side of his neck, a guttural whine coming from him when you rubbed your thumb on his tip. Finally, you gave in and closed your lips on his jaw, light stubble pricking your lips. Dean turned his head and palming yours he brought you in for a kiss but you broke it fast, having enough.

"Come on," you said, taking his hand and leading him to your bedroom.

Not being able to stay away from each other, you stumbled towards the room, kissing and laughing, getting rid of the rest of the clothes on your way. Hitting the bed you let yourself fall on it, pulling Dean behind you. He hovered above you, using his tongue to play with your nipples as you both climbed up to the headboard. Adjusting the pillows beneath you, you felt his body pressing down, arms sneaking under yours as he kissed you deeply. Rolling his hips, he drove his cock between your folds, poking your clit and you automatically lifted your lower body up on your heels, feeling the electricity running through you. Dean bit down on your lip and pulled on it hard with his teeth, smiling when you hissed.

Without thinking much you just reached between your bodies and guided his cock to your entrance, making him freeze. The look he gave you was a mashup of a question and disbelief, and all it took was your evil smirk. You felt him fisting the sheets under you and with one, mild thrust he slid inside of you. Arching your back you inhaled, digging your fingers into his shoulders. He was stretching you; your walls fluttered around him when he bottomed out, making the two of you give silent moans, your voices stuck in your throats from intensity.

Watching you, he began to move, making you both more and more comfortable with the feeling. Gradually, his pace increased and so did the noises. Your breathy moans and growls filled the room, mixing with the sound of skin slapping on skin as Dean's hips waved between your thighs, faster and faster. New layers of sweat covered your bodies as the temperature increased; you felt the omnipresent, pleasurable burning.

Dean kept the rhythm, only stopping for just for a moment to kiss you. Not letting the opportunity pass, you pushed on him and flipped over so you were on top. Looking at you with a smirk, he palmed your asscheeks as you sinked down on him, continuing the activity.

The passion and sensuality made your head spin; Dean’s lustful eyes devouring you alive weren’t helping. You dragged your nails on his flesh again, making him hiss between the sounds. It wasn’t easy to breathe, to think or control yourself; your body started working by itself, speeding up, making you bounce on him while leaning your hands on his chest for support. Dean couldn’t decide where to touch, what part of you he should grab next; his hands were everywhere. Wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck he sat up, changing the angle and gave you this eye-rolling kiss. This asshole knew what he was doing.

A new position allowed you to only roll your hips and you laid back, grabbing Dean’s ankle to make your moves more fluent. He took a handful of your ass, helping you, watching himself sliding in and out of you, growling in pleasure. Tangled together you moved in sync, matching the other’s moves, grinding to empower the sensation. Feeling the coil tightening in your stomach, your head hung back and you exhaled, wailing quietly. A hand flattened on your back and Dean violently pulled you up, pressing your forehead to his. With closed eyes, panting against each other's mouth you chased both of your deliriums. Your pussy fluttered, your nails dug into his neck as you clasped it; the feeling started to overwhelm. The way Dean was moaning and clinging to you made it clear that he felt the same.

Your strength was fading and you found yourself slowing down. Dean’s attempts to continue were in vain as he was becoming weak too, exhaustion and his upcoming release taking over him.

“Y/N,” he warned you and you opened your eyes, looking at him when he reached between you. “I’m gonna-” you kissed him, cutting him off, tugging on his lip with your teeth.

“Stay inside,” you whispered, watching the surprise flash through his features.

The serious, assuring look on your face made his eyes roll back and the noise he made, clamped your stomach. Using your last strands of your power, you sped up, Dean joining you by hitting the right spot inside you. His fingers found your clit again, rubbing on it fast and you moaned loudly, feeling your muscles tightening.

A few more strokes, a few more moves and the crushing wave of pleasure hit you; your inner walls pulsated, squeezing Dean’s cock as you grabbed firmly on his neck, holding on for dear life. His thrusts went more erratic but also were more powerful; he was pounding inside you slow but hard, putting his forehead between your breasts. You were shaking and his breath fanning over your tummy only added more goosebumps.

Then you felt his arms wrapping around you and he hugged you tight. Pulling you close, Dean thrusted for the last time and with a low, throaty groan he stilled; his cock throbbing inside you, allowing you to milk him as you were still coming. The two of you were shivering, entwined in each other, panting and sweaty. Your heart was hammering and you could feel Dean’s galloping as well.

After calming down a bit, he let go of you and fell back on the bed, hitting the pillows with a sigh. Licking your lips, you looked down at him and smiled, seeing his eyes sparkling with joy and bliss. He laughed, caressing your thighs and then pulled you down for a kiss. It was sweet and soft, without tongue, just lips brushing yours; completely different then those earlier.

Oh, so he could be gentle too.

Cupping his face, you pecked his mouth a few times and then rolled off of him, standing up to make a quick run to your bathroom to clean yourself, leaving the door open.

"Hey!" you heard him yelling not even two minutes later, after you splashed your face with cold water. "Is it weird that I wanna cuddle?!"

You smiled on his words, shaking your head. Asshole also appeared to be a softie cuddler. Can this evening be any weirder?

"Yes!" you yelled back, laughing as you put down the cloth you were using to dry yourself.

"Cool!" he announced and then changed his tone, "I don't care."

Chuckling, you turned the light off on your way out and grabbed a random, oversized t-shirt from your drawer to put it on, letting it slip from one of your shoulders. Dean was making himself comfy in your bed, watching you carefully with his arm under his head and a stupid grin on his face.

"What?" you asked as you climbed on the bed, joining him under the covers.

"Nothing," he shrugged and shifted so you could fit in, resting your head on his chest.

Throwing your arm over his middle, you hugged him as his fingers came to trace the skin on your shoulder. A comfortable silence fell over you as you cuddled, enjoying the warmth, but you knew his mind was running, just like yours.

You didn’t like this tendency of yours to overthink, but the current situation was not only unexpected but also confusing. What now? Lovers? Relationship? Friends with benefits? Enemies with benefits? Because, you had to stay honest, if he did something that would piss you off, no matter how good he was in bed, you would still punch his perfect nose.

"I'm sorry." His words surprised you, detaching you from your thoughts. "For being a noisy neighbour."

You could hear the genuine guilt in his voice and that immediately made you feel like a bitch, so you said the first thing that came to your mind.

"I'm sorry for screwing up your car," you mumbled and quickly regretted it.

"Ha! So it was you!" His victory voice made your eyes roll and you poked his side, annoyed by the fact he dragged a confession from you so easily.

"But if it makes you feel any better, the paint is made of chalk so it’ll easily wash off," you said, unable to help the silly smile that spread across your face when you saw the relieved but shocked expression that he wore.

“Well played,” he chuckled, the sound rumbling under your ear which you found oddly comforting. So you snuggled more, melting into the intimacy.

You had to look the truth straight into the eye; maybe he did infuriate you like no other but there was something else. A pull, an urge to blow off the constant steam forming between you. You wanted him and something was telling you that from now on you won't be knocking on door number 12 just to fuss about loud music.

And once Jo finds out, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it :) Feel free to leave some feedback. ASKs and DMs are open, don’t be afraid to message me. Every word from you is gold <3

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[sourholland]

A Royal Convenience || Tom Holland

| Series Masterlist |

Part Seven

Summary → When an alliance is made between England and France, you are sent away to marry the crown prince and heir to the British throne. Except both you and Prince Thomas despise each other at all odds, subjected to the hand of the monarchy and unable to stand each other.

AN → So this chapter could potentially be a bit triggering for some people, it is pretty descriptive into the beheading of someone. I would like to preface this in saying that I do not support capital punishment, nor do I support the death penalty. This is merely a work of fiction, and I am only trying to bring to life history. Anyways, this chapter is something else. Let me know what you guys think, I’m sure you’ll have some thoughts.

Pairing(s) → Prince!Tom x Princess!Reader

Warnings → Angst, Beheading - Descriptive, Blood, Vomit - Descriptive, Light Smut, Choking Kink, Alcohol, Language, Intended Oral Sex - Female Receiving, Knife Play

Word Count → 4.5k

“I want to leave, please just let me go home,” you pleaded.

It was only you and Tom at the heart of the throne room. After the whole shooting ordeal, he’d rushed you back and demanded the audience of the King.

You were both waiting, still suffering from the shakes, you could only beg and pray that he would let you go. Tears stung the backs of your eyes, cheeks hot and feverish. Tom had sent all of the guards away, not caring that it wasn’t proper for you both to be alone without a chaperone.

“Please, Tom,” you almost whispered.

“You can’t go home, Y/N,” he replied simply, peering over at you from his spot parallel to where you stood.

“I was just shot at! What more could you people want to see in order to let me go home? I miss my mother, I wish to see my mother,” you shouted at him.

“I couldn’t let you go even if I wanted to.”

“But you do want to?”

Silence. Tom said nothing. He only straightened his posture a bit, looking away from you and back to the door. The King had still not come, there had been an attempted assassination and the King of England could not be bothered to grace his own son with his presence.

“This is why I told them to take you back to your chambers,” he murmured to himself.

“You can hardly look at me!” You marched up to him, taking a free hand and pressing it to his chest in anger and frustration. “Look at me, Thomas.”

His eyes slowly lifted from the ground to your eyes, your breath staggering from the rage and sudden proximity. There was an intimacy in the way you both seemed to get yourselves into these situations. It was a change for you to initiate something like this, especially since anyone could come through those large double doors at any point.

“Please,” you begged.

“You don’t get it do you?” He asked, eyes falling to the dip of your lips, parting at the curve of your Cupid’s bow. “You and I, we haven’t got a way out of this. It’s for life, Y/N. There is no running, not really. Don’t you think I’m tired? This life is exhausting, but it’s bigger than both of us. There’s no out, no going home. The sooner you accept that, the sooner this’ll all become a lot easier for you.”

“I hope you’re saying that when our heads, or God forbid, the heads of our children—”

The doors opened and King Dominic and his entourage came through, there was hardly any urgency in the way he walked. You and Tom quickly stepped away from each other, he stood taller, bowing as his father sat. You gave a quick and anxious curtsy.

“You’ve clearly been quite busy, I didn’t expect an act of high treason to pull you away from whatever important engagement you were wasting your time with,” Tom scowled.

“Do watch yourself, Thomas,” the King responded.

“Did you not hear about the man who attempted to put a bullet through my skull?” He question, tone raising.

“From what I’ve heard, the bullet was directed towards Princess Y/N, meaning this was hardly even an attack on the Crown.”

“She is the Crown! We’re to be wed in less than three weeks, she’s practically the Princess of Wales already!”

You stood in silence, wondering whether or not you should step in. Tom told you to go back to your wing of Buckingham Palace when you’d both come back, but you refused. He was shifting uncomfortably under his father’s intense gaze.

“Maybe so, but not yet. I’ll have the bastard’s head, hell, you can even watch if you’d like. I won’t cause an uproar within the country, this is far from the first attempted assassination of the Crown, nor will it be the last,” the King boomed.

“What if that bullet had landed between my eyes, my head blown apart within seconds? What would you have done then?” Tom asked him, brows furrowed.

“You have three brothers, one of which would probably do the job better than you,” he responded, coughing into the handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.

You took in a sharp breath, wondering how any decent person could say such a thing. Tom stiffened, his lips forming a fine line. There was something lacking between the two men, you hadn’t seen it before, but now it was clear as day. There was absolutely no love, no compassion. You were staring at a King and his successor.

“That’s an awful thing to say,” you finally said.

“Don’t, Y/N,” Tom leaned over to you.

King Dominic’s eyes scanned over you, eyes flickering from you to Tom. The room was almost silent, the ruffling of your dress pooling at your feet filling the air.

“You are quite a pretty little thing,” he mused. “Shame, you know? That you have no clue when to keep that mouth shut.”

“And why is that?” You asked him, stepping forward.

“If you hadn’t been brought here from France, I’m not sure you’d have been very popular among suitors.”

“Then it’s a good thing that I don’t exist to cater to anyone’s domestic pursuits, isn’t it?”

Your gaze did not falter, King Dominic’s eyes piercing your own. He was dressed in fine satin, but this did not distract you from the fact that there were deep purple crescent shapes, littered in purple and indigo underneath his eyes. The King’s sallow skin was discolored against his sunken in eyes, and downturned mouth.

“She’ll bear witness to the beheading,” King Dominic remarked, pushing up against his throne to stand.

“What?” Tom asked very suddenly, stepping in front of his father. “She’s eighteen, practically a child! You cannot expect her to watch something like that!” He shouted, waiting for his father to let go of his pride.

“If she can stand before me—acting as if she is King, and not I, she can watch the man you ordered to die be executed.”

Tom went to argue, but was met with his father’s hand held high in his wake. He slumped back in defeat, sighing as the King turned in front of him. There was hardly anything you thought he could say, and nearly nothing he could do.

You let out a shaky breath, holding your abdomen with a free hand. There was nothing you wanted more than to be in your mother’s arms, or to sleep in your old bed. Yet, you stood in the throne room of Buckingham Palace, having just been shot at and conspired against.

“The Tower of London. Tomorrow.”

This was all he said, turning his back to both of you and walking off. Tom said nothing, not until a man came in after his father had left and leaned into his ear, an unreadable expression passing over his face.

“He was Danish?” He asked the unfamiliar man.

“Yes, sir. I am sure of it, it is all we were able to get out of him.”

“Leave us,” Tom motioned towards the door.

As the man left, he turned to you with a look as set as stone. He was upset, yet somber at the same time. Something about the way he was staring at you left the hairs at the nape of your neck standing up. You couldn’t help but step forward, feeling the need to steady yourself.

“Do you remember when the Prince from Denmark and I had a row?”

“I would hardly classify that as a row, you are still battered from hitting him so hard. When I saw him today, his face looked worse than it had that night,” you said.

“Y/N, you have no reason to listen to me, or to trust anything I say, but please heed my words, do not engage with Nikolai again. I cannot stress—”

“Is this what you do now? Tell me whom I can and cannot see. I have nothing, Tom! My life has been seized from me, and now I cannot even dictate who I see?”

Tom’s hand just barely brushed your own, his head bent to look directly into your eyes. There was an urgency in them, something telling you that this was bigger than both of you. You remembered the way he had held you down when those shots were fired, and the way he held your hand.

“You’re right—about all of it. I am asking you, Y/N, not as the Prince of Wales, or even as Thomas. I’m asking you as your husband, as the man you have been dealt in the most unfortunate of circumstances. Please, just stay away from him until I can be sure of something. This is all I ask of you, and even then, I deserve nothing from you. So in this moment, right now, you and I are not the next King and Queen of England. We are simply a man and a woman, nothing else.”

His words came out pleadingly, his fingers curling around your wrist. The pad of his thumb dipped underneath your glove. The skin on skin contact made you shiver, wondering whether or not Tom was being serious in his words. Nonetheless, you nodded feverishly, feeling him let out a deep breath of relief.

-

The carriage ride and walk into the large and extremely ancient looking castle, seemed to blur together. You were dressed darkly, a short veil covering your face in an almost sheer material.

Tom was beside you, his hand lightly cupping your elbow as the both of you entered the large room at what felt like the heart of the Tower of London. Prince Harry and Prince Sam followed closely behind the both of you, the King in front.

Everyone parted as you all made your way through the crowd of Nobles. You learned that the man’s name was Sir Alfred, and his title was the reason he was to be executed in such a manner. It also contributed to the fact that his beheading was occurring in such a prestigious place. Many famous executions took place in the same location, you had heard of many of the people who had lost their heads in the same position.

At the front of the room there was a high block on top of a sort of wooden stage, an executioner standing off to the side with an axe in his right hand. You couldn’t fathom the idea of having to do what he was only minutes away from doing himself.

Tom looked like he wished to say something, but in the end stayed completely silent. You were all completely sectioned away from everyone else, standing to witness the man about to die for his crimes.

In he walked a moment later, he wore a baggy black tunic and a cross around his neck. His head was down, eyes on the floor. When he came through the archway and into the large room, you couldn’t help but feel a lurch in your stomach. He denied the man who asked if he wished to say anything before he placed his head at the high block.

You felt your hands begin to clam up, wringing them against your dress. The man stood in prayer for a moment, a single tear falling from his eye. He mouthed a few words and took his place, bringing to cross to his chapped lips, and placing a single kiss upon it.

“Help me, God.”

His words were enough to make you sick, watching as he bent forward on his knees. His head sat firmly on the block, the man holding the axe waiting patiently. Someone said something in the distance, but your ears were pounding.

The moment the blade raised, you fought the urge to squeeze your eyes shut. It came down in a thud, a loud noise coming from the mouth of the man. A splatter of blood came soon after, his head was still intact. The blade raised again, and it struck once more. This continued another time, until at last, Alfred’s limp body had fallen.

You tasted acid, biting your tongue as you pushed through the cluster of people and looked for any exit. There was a single stone passage leading to a bit of land outside, you had no clue how you had gotten there. In a fleeting moment, you felt yourself hunch over and begin to empty the contents of your stomach onto the ground.

You felt a pair of hands grasp at the bit of hair falling into your face as you heaved, holding your chest firmly. You willed yourself to stop, but bent once more. Your throat burned, tears prickling the backs of your eyes.

“Are you—”

“No, no—I am absolutely not alright,” you just barely got out. “I’ll be in the carriage.”

-

You spent both of the following days in your quarters, claiming ill to all of those who asked. Dinner had been brought to you each night, and every other meal left for you as well. You couldn’t decipher whether you were doing it out of spite, or pure hatred for the establishment you were marrying into in less than three weeks.

A small portion of it may have also been out of fear, the thought of even being out and about sent a shockwave up your spine. Every time someone rapped on your chamber door, you couldn’t help but flinch.

On the morning of the second day you’d isolated yourself, the Queen sent word that the ball she’d arranged was still to be attended. You couldn’t help but groan at the man she’d sent to deliver the message. You had absolutely no desire to make an appearance at a dance, especially after the past few days.

It was only hours later when Anne pushed through the double doors to your room, sending all of the other servants away in a simple hand motion. You furrowed your brows at her, holding onto the bedpost, corset left loose and undone. She looked as if she had seen a ghost, clutching the underside of her dress.

“Your grace,” she curtsied quickly.

“Anne, is everything alright?”

There was a pause, she brought a small brown bag out from under the cloth of her brown dress. She undid the clasp gently and pulled out a dagger, extending her hand to give it to you. With it came a sheath and what looked like two leather bound straps.

“I have reason to believe someone is dangerous, ma’am. I—well, I wanted to be sure you would be able to defend yourself, should something present itself tonight,” she said shakily.

“Oh, Anne. Where did you get this?” You asked, placing a hand on the blade.

“A stable boy offered it to me at a fair price, I just wanted to be sure you’d have some sort of defense. If you don’t want it—”

“No, no! I’m terribly grateful, I just haven’t a clue how to properly handle something like this.”

There had been very little swordplay taught when you were being instructed to be the ruler of a country, and even less as you grew into a young Princess. You handled horseback riding, language study, arithmetic, and learning the duties of a sovereign.

Anne took a few moments to show you how to hold the knife, and then flipped up your undergarments to have access to your thigh. She strapped the leather bindings to it gently, the sheath sticking to you as she slid in the dagger. You felt nervous, knowing you were armed underneath all of the layers. Yet, something about it made you feel safer.

A while later, she brought all of the servants back in and they began to dress you. By the time you had finished, you stared into the full length mirror at the entirety of the velvety looking gown. It was a deep red color, with a dipping neckline that left your shoulders and collarbones exposed underneath the candlelight.

You opted for a more bold choice in tiara, ditching your family heirloom and going for a fringed tiara that dated farther back than you could guess within the British royal family. It was littered in diamonds and went well with the dress, watching as the material swished at your feet.

“I must say, this is one of my favorite dresses you’ve worn so far,” one of the lady servants murmured.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Thomas of Wales,” announced a man, almost out of nowhere.

You watched as the doors opened, the guard member stiff and standing tall. Tom rolled his eyes, wishing his entrance had not just been broadcasted so generously. Though, he was far too used to it by now to say a thing. It really had been quite unnecessary, but it was clear that the young man was quite new.

“Princess,” he greeted.

You turned, meeting his eyes and watching as he swallowed hard, eyes dipping to the curve of your bosom, and curl of your gloved hands. He was dressed in his usual formal ball attire, blinking a few times and noticing the way you moved to sit.

A diamond necklace laid untouched, sitting prettily on your vanity. He sent a nod to each of the women crowding you, watching as they fled the room. You peered over your shoulder, almost immediately seeing him lift up the heavily studded jewel. It was cold against your bare skin, but his hands were warm as he fiddled with the clasp at the back of your neck.

You gazed into the mirror, watching his determined eyes work their way around your shoulders and spine. Just as you felt the necklace sit comfortably, his fingers lingered for a moment, the brush of a knuckle against the divot of the arch of your neck.

“There,” he said. “Now—we should probably be going.”

His words came out breathlessly, turning around quickly and looking away. You couldn’t help but let out the wisp of a breath yourself, feeling the heat flush to your face. The trace of his touch remained on your skin, the thud of your heart quickening as soon as you took his arm.

The short walk to the ballroom was mostly silent, only breaking when you would make a mindless comment, making him reply with a crude remark. You felt a pull in your gut, like you wanted to despise him more than anything. Most of the time you were together, that was all it was, disdain. Though, in passing moments, you couldn’t help letting your guard down.

These thoughts rapidly halted when you both entered the large familiar room. You both made your rounds, greeting the guests and embracing family, his family. Soon after, you watched Tom step to the side and reach for a bottle of what you could only guess was brandy.

“A dance?”

This was a phrase you heard dozens of times throughout the night, men after men swinging and swishing you around the floor. Some of which left you drowning in your own boredom, others capable of making you smile and laugh. There was no sign of Nikolai, this was odd to you.

Tom sat at the edge of the room, elbows sat on his knees while he drank himself to death. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, curls falling into his eyes. The most peculiar thing was the way he watched you, the way he would be able to speak and converse, yet still make sure to flicker his gaze back to you.

The dagger at your thigh made you feel a bit less helpless, like you had a bit of leverage. Though, the night quickly faded and everything was turning out to be incredibly mundane. Nothing was seemingly out of the ordinary, and when you took your out, a feeling of relief washed over you.

Your soft steps sounded as you made your way back to your chambers. It was easy for you to find the right moment to claim you were tired, and needed to retire to your bed for the night. Tom had left you for the entirety of the night, keeping to himself for the most part.

You grasped the brass handle, pulling it open to reveal a room full of servants meant to help you undress. You bid them all a goodnight and promised you could do it on your own, wishing to be alone. When the last of them departed, you lifted the tiara from your hair, unclasping the necklace and placing both of the priceless items on the wood of the table.

You heard the rattle of the door a second later, asking who was there. No response. You felt your pulse quicken, lifting up the skirts of your dress and pulling at the handle of the knife. You took a few paces backwards, jumping when you realized it was only Tom. His back faced you as he closed the door quietly, throwing his hands up when he turned to see you, dagger in hand.

“Y/N—put down the knife,” he said cautiously.

You hadn’t a clue why you were still holding it in a position like you planned to stab someone. The adrenaline, perhaps. Tom approached you slowly, making your head swim with thoughts. Some part of you was wondering why you hadn’t dropped your hand, and the other was telling you to stay just as you were. He was just as bad as any other man you’d encountered, wasn’t he?

“Give me the knife,” he held a hand out. “Just let me see it.”

“You’re drunk,” you muttered, smelling the alcohol on him.

“You truly do know how to sober a man up, though, don’t you?” He laughed.

There was something mocking about his words, like he knew you wouldn’t do anything. This set something off inside of you, that feeling in your chest only grew when you took the opportunity to step forward and act as if you were going to pass the dagger off to him. When he extended his palm, you pulled his wrist forward and did your best to slam his back against the nearest wall. Your right hand, firmly grasping the hilt of the blade, rapidly meeting his neck. You pressed it into his exposed skin, watching his pupils dilate.

“Feeling sober?” You asked, masking any bit of anxiety.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

You felt the beat of his heart through his shirt, pressing deeper. This earned a shocked wince, making you take in a deep breath yourself. His expression was surprisingly calm compared to your own, making it even more difficult to grasp when he flipped the both of you very out of the blue. His significantly larger hand had flawlessly brought the dagger from your white knuckled fingers, and into his own.

You felt the cold blade against your hot skin, his breath fanning over the sensitive spot below your ear. Your chest constricted, never having been this close to him before. You could smell the mix of brandy and whisky on him, wondering if he could sense how fast your heart was beating.

“Quick. Just not quick enough,” he teased lowly.

Something about this position made you almost melt, just now noticing how dry your mouth had become. Tom’s head turned to look into your eyes, making you practically jump. There was something so intimate in the way he was looking at you, something so personal.

“God, you truly have no clue about the things you do to me,” his drunken words seemed to spill out.

“Don’t I?” You asked, feeling his free fingers slide against the skin of your jaw. “You despise me, hate me even.”

“I wish I hated you.”

These were the last words spoken between the two of you before the space between both of you was filled. Firm, but warm lips were being pressed onto your own. With hardly a second to react, you felt your hand slide up the fabric of his clothed shoulder and to the nape of his neck. Your fingers threaded themselves into his hair, tugging harshly as he kissed you harder.

You arched your back against the hard surface you were pressed at, listening to the clatter of the knife against the floor in the night. His now freed hand found your neck, gently curling around it and squeezing. The euphoric feeling sent a wave of pleasure down your back, a single whimper passing between your conjoined lips.

“Tell me you hate me,” he whispered to you, breaking away for only a moment.

“I hate you,” you kissed him. “I hate you,” you kissed him again. “God, I hate you right now.”

One of his hands remained around your neck, the other sliding down to your waist and flipping you around. His nimble fingers played with the buttons at the back of your dress, pressing sloppy kissed against your neck and throat. Once the dress fell to your ankles, he pulled several layers over your head. Before you could even get to unlacing the corset, his heavily ringed hands twisted into it, ripping it straight down the back.

You were left in almost nothing, a thin article of clothing covering you. His hand brought itself to your breast, kneading at the almost completely exposed skin. You let out a repressed moan as he cupped the swelling of your chest.

“Is this okay?” He asked between wet kisses, trailing generously down your collarbone.

“Yes,” you hardly got out.

He nodded against you, lips brushing the skin above the neck of your underdress. It slid down, exposing the tops of your breasts. His head dipped, tongue trailing behind, leaving goosebumps along your feverish chest. He bit gently, leaving you to pant as you felt his hand slide up your calf and onto your thigh, he undid the holster, listening to it fall to the floor.

Before you could even truly think, you were being placed on top of one of the wooden surfaces of your bedroom. Tom was on his knees, pulling your ankle to him lips and pressing a kiss to the skin. This continued up to your knee, nearing closer and closer to your aching core. His touch was like fire, spreading through your whole body.

Movement outside of your chambers made you stiffen, Tom sat up immediately. The sound repeated itself and you were both scrambling to get away from each other. Your discarded clothes littered the floor, corset ripped down the middle. Tom was clearly disheveled, but mostly dressed. You began to realize the extent of what you both had done.

You grabbed at a few of the pieces of fabric, finally looking up and meeting his eyes. You both stared at each other for a moment, and without a word, Tom slipped out the door and into the night.

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #Tom #holland #a royal convenience #prince!tom #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagines #elle’s fics

[deborahmessingsfingers]

I’m Tired

pairings: bo burnham x reader

word count: 3283

tags/warnings: explicit language, mental health issues, mental breakdown, angst, hurt/comfort, sad Bo, gender neutral reader

also on ao3

Bo had been off for a while. He’d only been working on the special for a few months when you noticed the first sign. He started to talk a little less, which at first glance, you weren’t too worried about. He often became quite reclusive and introspective when it came to his writing process, channeling all of his energy into planning and drafting.

It’d happened before, when he was in the early stages of producing Eighth Grade. Conversation grew thin and infrequent, all of his time and energy was spent planning, writing and ruminating, though as the process progressed from writing to filming, his sparkle returned and you could see the life and excitement dancing around in his eyes once more.

Since he started Inside, you were lucky if you got to see his eyes at all.

At first, he’d come bouncing back from the guest house each evening, excited to discuss his latest ideas and concepts, eager to receive your feedback and the fresh perspective you gave.

This routine was quick to disappear.

Every day, he’d come back from the guest house a little later and a little more deflated until your interactions were limited to a kiss good morning and a kiss good night.

Eventually he stopped coming to bed all together. You never went into the guest house so as not to disturb his flow, but you assumed he’d taken to sleeping on the fold-out couch. You’d hoped he was sleeping at least, for the sake of his well being.

You missed him. God, you missed him, more than you ever thought possible. Despite the fact that he was a mere few feet away from your front door, you felt more distanced from him now than the times he’d been on the other side of the country, touring, performing, and seeing the world.

He’d always been like that. Limitations in physical proximity could only wedge such a divide between you two, it was always the inner demons and anxieties that caused the rifts.

You attempted to rip the bandaid off after a month of the same, silent routine. You anxiously approached the guest house with the best olive branch you had available; a peanut butter sandwich and a cup of coffee. Your free hand knocked on the door of the guest house tentatively, not wanting to disturb him in the middle of something.

No answer.

You knocked again, still quietly, but with more intention.

No answer.

You shakily grasped the doorknob and twisted, your mind flicking through every dreadful outcome. Opening the door, you see one outcome you didn’t quite anticipate.

The room was dark and humid, the space overwhelmingly cluttered with miscellaneous cords, lights and stands.

And in the middle of all of the chaos, he was just… sitting there.

Hunched over the keyboard in the corner of the room. He just sat and stared at the keys, his white-knuckled fists resting on his thighs. You immediately noticed just how long his hair had grown, long enough to cover his eyes, the rest of his face hidden in it’s shadows. He appeared completely immersed in his own world, clearly missing all your attempts at grabbing his attention.

“Bosey,” you said, your tone just short of a whisper, head cocking to the side to see him a little better from the doorway. Bo inhaled sharply as his head turned to face you, seemingly pulled from his thoughts. His brow was quick to furrow.

“What’re you doing in here?” he asked. His voice was raspy and hoarse, not unlike how it sounded first thing in the morning. It reminded you so much of all the mornings spent waking up next to him, often in his arms, spending hours upon hours talking until noon about anything and everything, at least until you were cast out of your cloud of bliss by your worldly responsibilities. God, how you missed those moments.

“I thought I’d just come check on you. Didn’t think you’d eaten anything in a while so,” you paused, setting the peace offering down with a quiet clink, “thought I’d make myself useful.”

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, and his thanks was expressed simply by mirroring your unconvincing grin. He tutted, running his hands through his hair, as he often did when nervous. You could tell he was exhausted; the bags under his eyes were so dark and he could hardly make conversation with the one person who knew him best.

The air was thick with tension, the awkwardness quickly made you both uncomfortable and your head was reeling with anxieties on how you wound up feeling like this; like an unwelcome stranger in your own guest house.

“You been sleeping okay?” you asked, hand gently gesturing to the fold-out couch behind him as you lent against the doorframe. You felt slight comfort at the sight of tangled bedsheets, though the relief was quickly expunged as you lost count of the wires and equipment covering the mattress.

“Y-Yeah, i’ve been... It’s fine,” he sighed, his large hand wrapping around his jaw to scratch the sides of his beard, “I’m just a little busy right now honey, I-I gotta get back to it.”

His hands slapped his thighs matter-of-factly before he stood up, shuffling towards the back of the room. He began to fiddle with equipment, pointlessly messing around with a tangle of cords he’d picked up from the kitchen bench.

Your eyes instinctively closed shut as you felt a wave of dizziness hit you. His avoidant nature and impatience all but confirmed it; he was not doing well.

You felt incredibly and painfully torn. You knew him better than he knew himself sometimes, but if there was one thing you were both unsure of, it was how to handle situations like these. Pressing any harder would only prove to make him snap, though leaving him to his own devices would only further encourage his bad habits.

You could ruminate on this dilemma for the rest of your life to no avail, but an instinct deep within you pushed you to query just a little more, to try and reach out as gently as you could.

“Have you thought about, um…” you faltered, scrambling to find the right words, “taking a break soon, honey? Even just a little one? I know how important this is to you, but I know in the past you’ve burnt yourself out, and maybe even if you just came inside for a shower, just to reset and maybe just-”

“I said I’m fine.” he interjected harshly. You were caught off guard, now feeling sheepish and bewildered, truly feeling like an intruder. You kicked yourself inwardly for pushing too far, you knew this would happen. You opened your mouth to try and apologise, to take back the supposed infringement, but his voice came through when your own refused.

“I’m about to start filming. Could you…” he asked, hoping you’d get the message and leave without having to ask you explicitly. You were too befuddled to push any further, already regretting the attempts you’d made.

“Of course, sorry honey.” you replied, shaking your head. Your lips pressed together in a tight, forced smile until you left and shut the door behind you. The slam was enough to bring tears to your eyes.

You shook your head to try and clear it, trying with all your might to move on from the incident and figure out a plan moving forward.

He said he was fine.

You knew he wasn’t.

There were a few times you thought it was all going to be okay. Shortly after the guest house dispute, you were surprised by the sound of the back door being opened. He greeted you with a tired smile and you quickly snaked your arms around him, holding on to him for dear life, telling yourself you’d never let go again.

He sat with you in the kitchen, peacefully watching you cook. You could tell he missed your company just by the soft smile on his face, the first one you had seen in a long time, and you beamed at the very sight of him sitting contently with Bruce on his lap. There wasn’t much conversation over dinner, though compared to earlier, the awkwardness was nonexistent. Until dessert.

You wanted to pull out all the stops, utilising every second of this rare quality time to enjoy his company and to show him how much difference a few hours of luxury and relaxation can make.

You left him lounging on the couch to make his favourite dessert - sticky toffee pudding with vanilla ice cream. You were so relieved you could scream at just the simple thought of him zoning out in front of the television with the dogs, truly letting himself just be, for the first time in a long time.

When the pudding was ready however, your cheesy grin quickly dropped as you realised you were presenting dessert to an empty room. The dogs were quick to start barking, running back and forth between yourself and the back door, and you nearly dropped the plates at the sound of that heinous shed door closing once more. You couldn’t believe it. Just when you thought things were starting to look up, he waltzes straight back towards the problem itself.

Not thinking for a second, you set the plates down and marched over to the guest house. You didn’t bother to knock this time, instead assertively opening the door to see him already settled with a keyboard on his lap. His head flew up at the sound of your entrance, mouth flying open with silent questions. You stopped for a moment - both of you did, a little surprised at your bold entry. Coming to your senses, your gait quickly softened, hands clasped loosely in front of you so as not to alarm him.

“I-I made dessert. Your favourite.” you explained meekly, watching him from the doorway once more. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply, filling you with a sense of dread. You knew what would happen if you pushed it, but here you were. You were so desperate at this point, missing the man you fell in love with and frightened of the shell he’d become. Even more so than that, you were frightened for him.

Bo had always had trouble accepting help, and the idea of him asking for it was inconceivable. He’d opened up to you over time about a lot of things, but every time it got a little more serious he’d close up like a clam, refusing entry into his world until the situation simply dissipated.

“I can’t, I’m busy.” he deadpanned, fiddling around with the microphone stand. You could feel the wave of disappointment wash over you once more. For a few hours, you really thought things had taken a turn for the better, for a few hours your hopes had been lifted, all for it to just come crumbling back down tenfold. The adrenaline quickly hijacked your brain, talking on your subconscious’ behalf before you had a moment to strategize.

“You’re always busy.” you snapped. Your voice wasn’t that loud, but you knew he could hear it shake, months of anxiety and concern finally bubbling over. Your fear only grew when you saw a glint of rage flicker behind his eyes.

“It’s my job.” he rebutted with a swift, disapproving shake of his head.

“But you always push yourself too far, Bo. I know you’re just so passionate about what you do, but you always end up so burnt out and I-”

“Stop saying that!” he bellowed, finally placing the keyboard aside and standing up to face you. His height has never intimidated you, but the way in which he towered over you made you feel so small and powerless.

“You keep saying that when I'm not, it’s like you want me to be, like you want me to stop working.” he explained sternly. You felt your words get trapped in your throat, hyper-aware and petrified of digging this hole any deeper.

“I don’t want you to be burnt out, Robert,” you explained, using his full name in hopes it would better emphasize your sincerity, “I just care about you. I’ve seen this happen to you before, when you just go and go and go until you can’t anymore, you stop eating, you stop sleeping and you never talk to anyone about it, you just bottle it all up and let it eat you alive. And I mean, I miss you. God, I miss you so much, but more importantly than that right now, I’m worried about you.” you blurted.

You could feel your body tremble, your veins flooding simultaneously with relief and pure fear after finally airing the grievances you’ve fostered for months.

You watched as he processed your words. You might have just been projecting, but for a moment, you swore you saw his face soften, a part of him wanting so desperately to give in, to surrender and let you help. Lamentably, he huffed out a tired, contemptuous laugh.

After all you said, he simply turned his back to you, picked up his keyboard and continued on like you hadn’t said a peep. For a moment, you stood there, truly gobsmacked, but the piercing screeches of his synthesizer were enough to usher you out the door and back to the house, not stopping until you were in bed and crying into your pillow.

Your mind wouldn’t let up, over-processing every word he spoke, every breath he took, looking for illusory warning signs that this was it. All the years you’d spent together, all the hard work and love and dedication you’d poured into the relationship, all of the sacrifices, all of the rewards, it was all now null and void because you’d pushed him too far.

At some point, your mind had crossed over into the world of paranoia, manipulating every once-pleasant memory of the evening to fit your new narrative, that this was the end.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but the slightly-damp pillow was enough to indicate that it happened pretty fast. Your brain soon caught up with your body, picking up the very noise that woke you up - the shower.

You rose from your bed with a furrowed brow and made your way down the stairs as quietly as you could, as if your presence would scare him off like a fly. You made it face to face with the door of the guest bathroom, the shower was undoubtedly on, and from the excited state of the dogs, Bo was undoubtedly in there. You gently rested your hand against the door, unsure of what to do.

Eventually, you backed up and took refuge on the couch, allowing him space to wash away the day and hopefully clear his mind.

Ten minutes passed, you sat patiently, silently on the couch as you waited for the shower to stop.

Another ten minutes later and you hadn’t moved from your spot, save a few adjustments for Bruce who had curled up under your arm.

It had been half an hour since you sat and your nerves were multiplying by the second. You were using every fibre of your being to hold yourself back from going in there, no longer trusting that gut instinct that, once again, reared it’s ugly head. You could hear it’s faint screams echoing in the back of your head;

‘Push’.

The impulse grew more enticing with every passing second until it had been forty five minutes since you awoke and you could no longer wait.

Pacing up to the door, the hesitation that stopped you from going in last time revealed itself once more. The hesitation was quickly silenced, however, by the sound of muffled sobs.

Your heart was in your throat, your stomach twisting and churning itself into impossible knots in response to the muted lamentations. Your body turned to jelly as you dubiously opened the door, wincing at the creak of it’s hinges. You could feel your heart drop to the floor and shatter at the sight before you.

Bo was curled up in the corner of the bathtub, arms around his knees as his hair completely concealed his face. He was seemingly unbothered by the harsh, hot stream of water hammering against his head, and you could only just make out the shaking of his shoulders through the steam.

Without a moment of hesitation, you stepped out of your shoes, well beyond caring about the clothes you were wearing, and stepped into the bathtub fully clothed to sit behind him. Your legs splayed out on either side of him, and your arms quickly wrapped around to sit atop his own.

You could truly feel him crying now as he leant into your touch, too exhausted to fight any more. You could feel his laboured breathing, you could hear his wordless whispers as he tried and failed to speak. So you spoke for him.

“I’ve got you, Bo.” you said quietly, beginning to rock him back and forth and softly kissing his head. Finally, he managed to squeak out a few words,

“I’m so fucking tired.”

It was punctuated with a sob, and you had to muster every ounce of strength you had not to cry yourself. You’d never seen him like this before. You’d seen him stressed, you’d seen him deflated, you’d seen him tired, overworked and depressed. But never quite this broken.

“I’m so fucking tired. I’m so tired, please” he continued, repeating his mantra over and over again,

‘I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired’

You couldn’t imagine how much he must have to say, and neither of you knew quite where to start. But after all these years, he’d finally hit the breaking point.

You continued to slowly rock him back and forth, gently kissing his hair as the both of you sat under the scalding hot stream of the shower.

He tensed up for a moment in your grip, his demons seemingly coming back to remind him he isn’t worthy of help. A vague suggestion of ‘You shouldn’t have to do this’ was muttered under his breath, but this time when you pushed back, he let you. Your hold on him endured, soothingly rubbing small circles on his arm with your thumb until he settled once more.

“I’ve got you.” you reassured him once more, hoping to god that this time you got through. And as you felt his shoulders start to shake once more, you think you just might have.

“Why am I doing this?” Bo asked, voice raised to compete against the strong pelt of the shower. You stayed silent and let him continue.

“What’s the fucking point? I can’t even tell what I'm doing anymore. It’s all I can think about, all I can do is just work on it but I hate everything I come up with, it just makes me so fucking miserable. And sometimes I just wanna stop, for the night, and get into bed with you, and the girls, and just forget about everything for a few hours but I can’t switch my fucking brain off and I’m just stuck in this fucking endless feedback loop in my head and I’m just so tired” he cried, gasping in a loud breath.

“It’s okay, baby,” you cooed, pulling him a little closer to you, “you don’t have to be okay. I’ve got you.”

Bo didn’t know how to say it, he didn’t know where he’d begin, but he was so thankful that you persevered, that you were still there with him, that you were right there holding him through this.

#bo burnham x reader #bo burnham oneshot #bo burnham imagine #bo burnham x gender neutral reader #z’s writing

[beomcoups]

I’m Sorry

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: idol!Jaehyun (NCT) x femme reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, smut, fluff, loves to exes au, idol au

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: R(18+)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: heavy emotions, small drinking, kissing, fingering, oral (f.receiving), missionary, Jaehyun hits it from the back, choking, nipple play, slight nail digging into skin. 

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.5k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It’s been months since you and Jaehyun have broken up and you thought you would be okay, until he asked you to come over. 

You know you shouldn’t be here, standing outside his door. You two are no good to each other, you fight more than you make up, and you’ve both been hurt so many times; yet, when he called, you came running. 

 You’ve been broken up with Jaehyun for months, your last fight so brutal that you vowed to never see each other again. It worked for a while, distracting yourself with work and blocking him from all social media. You felt strong and confident that you could get through this and that you can move on from him. But then you saw him on your friend’s Facebook page at dinner, his handsome dimpled face catching you off guard as you watched your mutual friend celebrate their birthday. It angered you, seeing him happy and without a carefree in the world while you had to pull yourself together and go through life without him. 

Yet, as mad as you were, the happy memories you two shared flooded your mind, and your heart sank from the loneliness you had to bear and the feelings you have from missing him. When you think of Jaehyun, you get emotional, almost sick even; the love you have for him is greater than anything you experienced. He wasn’t your first love, your first kiss or your first sexual experience, but meeting him on that sunny afternoon on the beach changed your life. He understood your fears and your innermost thoughts and had a way of speaking that calmed your restless soul. Jaehyun has a wicked sense of humor and a kindness that melted your heart beyond words. He took you on spontaneous dates and would buy you flowers because he knew you loved them. His impeccable features and his sex drive were only pluses in the relationship that made you feel like he was the one; that you could be with him forever. 

But his duties as an idol started to keep him away, and you knew that being with him came with that risk. You thought you could handle it, not being able to see him for weeks at a time and sometimes months if he was out of the country. The facetime and skype calls lasted for a while until those slowly started to fade, and you were staring at your phone at night, wondering when he would call. It didn’t help see him on tv, flirting with other women and showing off his charms that made you fall in love with him. You saw red when you saw him escort that famous actress to their premiere with his hand on her back. You have never been the jealous type, but seeing the man you love and have not seen in weeks with someone else set you ablaze. You pleaded with Jaehyun to carve out some time for you, even if it was just for an hour, but he always claimed he was too tired or busy. So you got fed up, marched over to his dorm unannounced and gave him a piece of your mind. He called you selfish and insecure, and that hurt you to the core. You screamed at him, throwing the promise ring he bought for you at his chest and broke up with him. You stormed out of the dorm, the members pretending that they didn’t hear anything, but you knew deep in your heart that they heard it all, and it just added more to your embarrassment. 

As the months went by, you thought about that night often, what you could have done differently and if you would still take him back. So many nights, you held your phone in your hand, wanting to dial his number and make it alright. You hate him for letting you leave, but you love him just as much, so when he asked you to come over, it was a no brainer. So with a bit of liquid courage, you made your way to him, holding your breath all the way. 

𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧’𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

Seeing Y/N again after all these months was like a breath of fresh air. She walked into Jaehyun’s room, beautiful as ever, her hair down in all its shiny glory, her skin glowing like the yellow orb in the sky. She is wearing that oversized sweater he bought her when he came back from tour, with shorts that show off those legs he loved to be in between. She smiled at him as she came in, but behind those beautiful eyes held a sadness he knew because of him, and he would do anything to take it away. Jaehyun is hopelessly in love with her, and there is no him without her. Y/N keeps him sane and anchored when he feels like he is going out of control. She understands him better than anyone and takes care of him, nurturing him with her sweet words and kind actions. Jaehyun’s never been able to convey how much she truly means to him, and he regrets letting her go. Seeing her in front of him brings colors into his gray world, and he needs her. 

“So,” she stands there, twiddling her fingers as she sits down on the bed. “How have you been?”

He rakes his fingers through his hair, unsure how he should answer. Jaehyun wants to be honest with Y/N and kiss her beautiful face, but his pride will not let him. Instead, he leans back against his desk and folds his arms, trying to keep his cool demeanor. 

“I’ve been okay, I suppose,” he clears his throat. 

There is awkward dead silence, and he would be a liar if he said his heart wasn’t jumping out of his chest. He’s never been good with expressing his feelings, and it took a lot of courage and convincing from his members to give Y/N a call.

“You know you miss her, man,” his member Johnny voice rings through his head. “Just call her. The worst thing she can say is to fuck off or not respond at all.”

“So what have you been up to?” Jaehyun questioned, attempting to break the ice. 

“Nothing really,” she sighs. “Just work work work.”

The deafening silence comes back, and Jaehyun is panicking, unsure what to say next. He doesn’t want to push things too fast and scare her away but damn it, he wants to be with her. 

“What am I doing here, Jaehyun?” Y/N  interrogates him, catching him off guard. “If you called me here for small talk, we could have done this over the phone.”

“I didn’t invite you here for small talk,” Jaehyun swore, his eyes pleading with her. 

“So why am I here-”

“I miss you,” he blurts out, his voice echoing in the walls. “I fucking miss you, and I want you back.”

Her eyes widen, shocked at Jaehyun’s revelation, and he continues to confess how he feels. 

“I was a fucking idiot for letting you walk out that door,” he laments, taking a seat in his chair. “At the time, when we were fighting, I felt like I was suffocating. I had comeback schedules and movie premieres to go to, and I didn’t want to let you down, but I felt like I was being pulled in different directions from everyone. So when you yelled at me, I got frustrated and lashed out at you instead of listening. I’m sorry about that.”

Watching Y/N’s eyes well up with tears broke his heart, and he wanted to kiss her pain away and make her whole again. Jaehyun yearned for her, and he was not letting her go again. 

“You called me selfish and insecure,” Y/N sniffled, wiping her tears with her sweater. “That really hurt me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaehyun gets up and softly grabs her hand, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was feeling like you were not hearing me and you yelling at me made me feel like I was backed into a corner.”

“So you couldn’t handle me expressing how I feel?” Y/N criticized him, taking her hand away from him. “You were barely talking to me, and to see you on tv and flirting with these women, it made me snap.”

“So that made it okay for you to barge into the dorm at 1am and scream at me?!” Jaehyun rebutted, staring deep into her eyes. “You embarrassed me and wouldn’t let me get a word in. You called me a coward and accused me of cheating on you. God Y/N, I would never do that to you. I love you and respect you too much to lose your trust like that.”

Y/N looks down, twiddling her fingers once more, tears falling down her cheeks. He moves closer to her, wiping more tears from her eyes and lifting up her chin.

“Do you still love me?”

Y/N looks at him, her eyes already telling it all before she could answer. 

“Yes, Jae, I love you,” she confesses. “I couldn’t stop loving you if I tried.”

Jaehyun’s heart flutters at her soft words, and a wave of relief washes over him. It felt good to hear that she still loved him after all these months have passed, and caught up in the moment, he kisses her deeply. 

“I’m sorry, he apologizes, giving her space. “I should have asked if that was okay.”

“It’s okay,” she says softly, gazing at him lovingly. “Kiss me again.”

(𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕)

Jaehyun kisses you, and it feels like home, like you finally found the missing piece to your puzzle of your soul. You give into him completely, sliding your hands underneath his shirt, feeling his toned abs before taking off his shirt. You pause to gauge his response, and he smiles, whispering that he loves you and that he’s sorry. You nod and kiss him again, allowing his hands to roam around your ass before giving it a tight squeeze.

“I missed you,” he breathes in between kisses. 

“Did you?” you tease him, fumbling with the button on your shorts.

He undoes the button for you and slides your jean shorts off for you, laying you down on the bed as he climbs on top of you. He holds back for a moment, admiring your beauty before continuing his onslaught of kisses, trailing down to your neck. His cool hands slide up your sweater, unhooking the front of your bra and softly rubbing your mounds. You bite your lip in an attempt to hold back your moans, the electricity sparking from each touch.

“I’m never going to hurt you again,” he promises, lifting up your sweater and revealing your breasts. 

He cups them and puts them in his mouth, sucking on each nipple tentatively and with such care. Your center is dripping, and you slide your hands down to your panties, softly rubbing yourself. He takes notice of your action and trails his kisses down your stomach, nipping you lightly until his face is in between your legs. He pulls your panties to the side, taking a long swipe of your sweet nectar before diving in. 

“ Oh my god,” you moan, taking a fistful of his hair.

He ravages you, lavishing his tongue at your entrance and sucking on your clit, his nail dug dip into your hip. Your moans get increasingly louder, and he slides two fingers in you, your walls already convulsing around him. 

“You gotta be quiet for me, baby, okay?” Jaehyun whispers, slowly thrusting in and out of you. “I don’t want everyone to hear us.”

You nod feverishly, covering your mouth as you fall into a euphoric state, being finger fucked by the love of your life. He returns his mouth to your clit, your legs buckling on impact, your hand pulling his hair tighter. You create a rhythm on his tongue, slow fucking his face until you feel yourself reaching your breaking point. 

“Baby…” you moan, your stomach coiling. “I’m almost here.”

He suddenly removes his fingers out of you, shoving down his grey sweats and revealing his hard dick, eager to be inside of you. He lifts your leg up and slams into you, making you yelp from impact. 

“It’s been way too long,” he groans, slow stroking your tight cunt. 

Jaehyun allows you to get used to his size before increasing his pace, the lust in his eyes evident. Your hunger for him in insatiable, begging him to fuck you harder, not caring about the bed hitting the wall loud enough to wake everyone up. You lifted up your shirt and pinched your nipples, slapping them because you knew he liked that, and you like the slight pain from it. 

“You are so sexy,” his breathless praise of you makes you hotter and want more of him.

He slides his hand on your throat, holding a firm grip as he continues to plunge deep inside of you. You try your best to cover your moans with your hand, but then your stomach coils, signaling your release. You tap his shoulder feverishly, and he pulls out and flips you over, taking you from behind.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he growls, slamming into you with such force you almost fall off the bed. 

Jaehyun grips your hair tightly, skin slapping filling the walls in the room, and he fucks you into the mattress, releasing his feelings from missing you all into this moment. He tells you he loves you over and over, and you believe him, not wanting this moment to end. You grip the sheets tightly, warning him of the upcoming rapture that was ripping through you. 

“Go ahead, baby,” he encourages you. “Cum for me.”

You scream his name in the sheets, your orgasm rushing through and all over him, your insides convulsing on his dick. He shudders and pulls out shortly after, emptying himself on your ass and giving it a small smack. You collapse on the bed, your legs sore and shaking, unable to move. 

“That was…” you start to say.

“Amazing,” Jaehyun finishes your sentence, leaning over and kissing your sweaty forehead. 

You both laugh in unison, and you slowly sit up, admiring the physique of the man you love. 

“Hey Jae,” you call him softly, holding your hand out for him to take. “I don’t want to fight like that and be away from you that long ever again.”

He nods and smiles, giving you a deep kiss before pulling you into a hug. 

“Me neither, baby,” he agrees. “These months without you have been hard. I felt like a piece of me was missing.”

You gaze up at him lovingly, placing a small kiss on his lips.

“It’s about time you two made up,” Johnny’s voice comes through the door. “He’s been miserable without you.”

Jaehyun sucks his teeth and throws a pillow at the door, his face red with embarrassment. 

“It’s okay,” you giggle. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#nct-writers #neowritingsnet #neothestars #nctcreations #kpopficsnetwork #ksmutclub #kafenetwork #kpopscape #kdiner #wkcnet #nct #nct 127 #nct fanfics #jeong jaehyun #jaehyun #jaehyun fanfic #nct smut #nct angst #nct fluff #kwritersworldnet

[ray-ray-writings]

UMM THIS

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMe24dvmM/

Im sorry I know you are packed and busy but can I make a request based on that video?? BECAUSE HOT DAM JUST WILBUR ENTERING LIKE

‘WHAT IS THIS I HEARD ABOUT HURTING Y/N AND TOMMY ‘

LOOK AT THAT VIDEO LOOK AT IT AND TELL ME YOU ARENT SIMPING TO THAT MAN

I simply cannot tell you that because it would be untrue because I am SIMPING so hard…. Also this was way longer and had a lot more plot than I originally planned so…. There’s that lol. Hope you enjoy. (P.S. Because it’s so long, this is going to be the only post tonight, my brain is a bit fried rn lol. Have a great night everyone!)

Warnings: Mentions of very quickly losing a lot of weight, it’s brief but it’s there. As well as, manipulation from Dream. At one point the reader is like “wow it’s been three days since you hit me… Thanks Dream!” And a few swear words here and there. 

Before Wilbur died, you and Wilbur were married. It absolutely broke your heart to watch the love of your life lose his mind (and then his life) for the nation that you and he created to raise and protect your boys in. But you stood by his side until the very end. You held his hand as he died and clutched his body with Phil once it was over. Ghostbur gave you somewhat of a shock. Because you’re husband was back, and he remembered you. He was the man you had married. The person he was before the presidency, before the war, before L’Manberg… You’re Wilbur was back. But you were still sad. You couldn’t hug him or kiss him like you were able to and although he seemed to be right in front of you, it felt like he couldn’t be farther away. Ghostbur can see this and decides that if he can, he really wants to try to come back to life. He tells his father and older brother about this and so they begin planning and researching. In doing this, they kind of accidentally turn a blind eye to what is happening to you and Tommy. 

While those three are figuring out how to bring Wilbur back from the dead, you and Tommy are being harassed by Dream. Something else you lost when you lost Wilbur was protection from Dream. For some reason, Dream was always afraid of Wilbur. Perhaps it was his ability to always stand up for what he wanted and fight for the things he loves… Or perhaps it was because he was Techno’s brother. Doesn’t matter. Point is when you lost Wilbur you lost the protection from Dream. Dream threatens you and Tommy, trying to provoke Tommy and trick him into doing stuff so that Dream could get him in trouble and one day it finally works. Dream tells Tommy where George’s vacation house is because he knows that Tommy cannot resist checking a place out and looking through other people’s stuff. So Tommy drags Ranboo over there and while they’re there they accidentally knock over a lantern and burn some of the house and some of the chests. On the other side of the server, Dream is in your home, poking fun at you for losing your husband and telling you that it was partially your fault and just stuff like that. You didn’t react. You never could when talking to Dream. But his words stung and slashed deep, and he knew it. Finally after a while of this, Tommy comes bursting through your front door, out of breath and seemingly panicked. “What’s the matter?” You ask softly, leaving your kitchen and going to comfort your boy. Tommy is about to spill everything but when he looks up he sees Dream and immediately swallows his words. “We were playing tag… That’s all… Tag” he says. You absolutely do not believe him but you catch his gaze and know that whatever he’s done he cannot say it in front of Dream. So you decide you’ll just have to wait…. You don’t have to wait long. 

“You burnt down George’s vacation home?” Dream’s deadly tone sounds from the kitchen. Your eyes widen and scan Tommy’s face and the look that overtakes him, you know it’s true. “I did not burn it down… I knocked over a lantern and a small fire broke out… I tried to repair everything, it’s fine.” Tommy insists. But Dream seems too pissed to listen to reason. “Come with me” he hisses, marching forward and snatching Tommy’s wrist tightly and marching out of the house. A small whimper left Tommy’s lips as he was pulled causing you to fly into a rage. “Let go of him!” you demand, chasing after them. Dream doesn’t listen and so you reach out and shove his shoulder causing him to stumble, let go of Tommy’s wrist and whip around to face you too. A chilling smile rests on his face, “Oh you just messed up big time.” Before you can react, he reaches out, grabs your wrist, grabs Tommy’s again and continues on down the Prime Path. You’d try to fight it but the grip on your wrist was just too strong. Dream pulls you to Tubbo and immediately jumps on the boy. He explains what happened as well as says that you assaulted him and that he wants you two exiled from L’Manberg or there will be hell to pay. Dream tells Tubbo he will start a war and will kill everyone and everything if his orders are not followed. You can tell Tubbo really doesn’t want to, but it’s something he has to do. Tubbo lets out a small sigh and nod, “Okay Dream. You win.” He murmurs, not looking at Tommy’s betrayed face. “Excellent choice, Mr. President,” the man spits out. “Tubbo” Tommy utters broken heartedly, staring at his best friend, silently begging him to say sike… It never comes. “Dream please escort Tommy and Y/N out of my country.” “With pleasure” You wrist is seized again and you’re being dragged away from your home. 

After you three get out of the SMP, Dream lets go of your wrists and lets you walk for yourself. You approach Tommy and wrap a comforting arm around him. “It’s going to be okay Tommy. Everything is going to be okay.” You comfort the young boy who sighs and nods, “I just can’t believe that he would throw me under the bus like that,” Tommy murmurs. “I know kiddo. I know.” You follow Dream for a very long time until he is satisfied that you are far enough away from the rest of the SMP. “Okay, we stop here… Put your stuff in this hole,” Dream commands, digging a small hole for the two of you to throw your stuff in. You let out a scoff and roll your eyes, “No way. You’ve already forced us into exile. There’s no way we’re giving you our stuff.” Dream’s face flushed a bright red before he lurched forward and grabbed you. Putting in a headlock to where you’re back was pressed against his chest, his arm around your throat while he has a crossbow to your head. “I’ve had enough of you fucking attitude Y/N. You have no power here. I do. I’m in charge and when I say to do something, you do it. If I ask you to jump, the only thing you may ask after that is “How high?” Do you understand?” You don’t speak, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of obedience. But then the tip of the arrow digs into the side of your head causing you to let out a small pained whimper, “I said, do you understand?” he demands again. “Yes” you finally whimper out. He moves the crossbow away from your skull and lets you go and shoves you forward, stumbling into Tommy who catches you and stabilizes you. “Put your stuff in the hole… Now” he growls, not in the mood for any more ‘games’. You and Tommy share a look and then a sigh and slowly put your things in the hole like he demanded. And you could only watch as he placed TNT above it and blew up everything. All of your items that you had worked hard for… Gone in a moment. Dream leaves with a cackle. You and Tommy are just there. Shocked. Finally, after a few moments, you’re able to shake yourself out of it. “Okay… Let’s get started, there’s no time to waste.” Tommy just looks at you and then he sighs and nods. “Let’s do it then.” The two of you spend the rest of the day gathering materials and building yourself a little shelter. You were all alone… At least you were all alone with your brother.

As we all know, Dream comes back almost every day. He comes back, blows up your stuff and leaves. The first time he came back you tried to stop him… It didn’t go well. “Dream, please he just-“ He cut off your words with a harsh slap across the face. It sends you flying and leaves your head spinning. “Haven’t you learned yet? Stuff. Hole. Now.” And you have no choice but to obey. You watch with a broken heart as Tommy slowly begins to actually trust Dream and believe him when he says that no one misses him. You do your best to be there for him and convince him that it’s not true but as days go by and no one, not even your Ghostbur, you can’t help but slowly believe that they’ve forgotten about you two. As time goes on, it seems that you and Tommy fade. You lose a lot of weight. Your food source is scarce and you have to do a lot of work because you’re restarting every. single. day. You get hurt a lot easier and it takes a lot more time to recover. Every once in a while, Dream will physically hurt you. Whether it a slap or a small sword slash, he does it just to make sure you still remember who’s in charge. You just learn to take it and deal with it. It hurts, but at least it’s you and not Tommy. Ranboo visits you once and is horrified at what he sees. He’s worried about you, but knows he can do basically nothing to help you. He makes a mental note to tell someone about it back in the SMP…. And even though he has memory problems, this is one thing he cannot forget. 

On the other side of the SMP, Philza, Techno, and Ghostbur have done it. They’ve cracked it. They have figured out how to bring Ghostbur back to life and to bring back Wilbur. The three make the plan and tell no one, especially not you. (Yeah…. They don’t even realize that you and Tommy aren’t around rn lol) They want to make sure this works before they tell anyone. So they do all the prep and the work and then they perform the ritual. They perform it in a cave somewhere just a little bit away from Techno’s house so that absolutely no one would know where they are or what they were doing. They begin just as nightfalls. Carefully completely each step and making sure they’re doing everything just right, knowing if they fuck up one small thing it’s over and they won’t be able to get Wilbur back. The three complete the final step and wait…. Nothing happens. “Fuck!” Techno curses, his eyes falling to the book, “We did everything right! It should have worked!” “Techno calm down, we’re all upset but at least we-” Philza doesn’t get to finish. All of the sudden a bright light floods the room. The light? It’s coming from Ghostbur. “Uhh guys?” the ghost questions in fear as he is levitated off the ground. Philza and Techno cannot look at him for fear of going blind. Ghostbur is unsure of what is happening but then the shredding pain fills his body. A scream rips from his throat as his whole form begins to physicalize. The skin begins to become real as the bones, blood, organs, and all other internal body parts forms. All memories that Ghostbur had forgotten flood Wilbur’s mind as his whole life flashes before his eyes, reminding him of everything. It only lasts a few moments more before the light fades and Wilbur is dropped from the air. His body hits the ground with an extremely harsh thump. He feels the impact and lets out a groan. His whole body is sore… But he’s there. He’s real and most importantly he’s alive. “Wilbur?” Philza asks hesitantly. Wilbur lets out another groan. The two standing men share a look before rushing to his side. They kneel beside him and gently reach out. Don’t tell anyone but tears threaten to fall from both men’s eyes, Philza and Techno’s, as their hands actually are able to touch Wilbur and they don’t go through him as if he were a ghost. They gently help him from his side to laying on his back. At the movement, Wilbur opens his eyes and is met with the tear laced ones of two of his family members. “Hey guys” he manages to croak out, “how’s it going” “Wilbur” Philza breaks, a tear streaming down his cheek before he lurches forward and wraps the boy into a warm hug. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry” the older man sobs to his son. “Shhhh,” Wilbur calms his father, “It’s okay Dadza. I wanted it. You did what you had to do. It’s okay.” To the two’s surprise’s Techno’s buff arms wrap around the two and join in the hug. “It’s uhhh… it’s good to see you Wilbur” Techno grumbles, not really liking the emotion that had built up in his chest. Wilbur let out a soft laugh, “Good to see you too Tech.” 

The sweet moment is broken by someone calling Techno’s name a little ways away from the cave. At first, they elect to ignore it, but then the voice calls again, this time for Philza and they can tell now that whoever it is, is panicking. So the two help Wilbur up and gently help him out of the cave. They look out over the snow and find Ranboo there, standing on Techno’s front porch. “Ranboo!” Techno calls out causing the tall boy to turn around and then run at them. “Techno! Phil!.... Is that Wilbur? Like actual real Wilbur? He’s alive?” Ranboo asks, his tone still slightly panicked. “Yes Ranboo… It’s a long story but to sum it up we managed to bring Wilbur back to life… Now why are you here and why are you panicked.” Ranboo’s eyes shift back to Wilbur and gulps, “I knew you weren’t going to like this… But now you’re really not going to like this… Dream is hurting Y/N and Tommy…” All three, especially Wilbur, snap to attention at that. “What?” Wilbur asks harshly. Ranboo gulps and nods before diving into his story. He tells them about your exile and how Dream has been treating you two, blowing up your stuff and even physically harming Y/N. He tells them that Dream has the two convinced that nobody cares about them anymore. The three go stiff at that. Have they all been so focused they really missed all of this? Well time to go right some wrongs. It is almost as if all ache and tiredness left Wilbur’s body at the thought of his spouse being hurt, especially at the hands of Dream. He straightens up and takes a few steps toward Ranboo, “Take them to us” he speaks, his tone pretty damn dark. Ranboo nods and quickly turns around and leads the three men back to the exile spot. 

Back in exile, you and Tommy built a house… Logsted! It wasn’t exactly your taste, but it made Tommy happy so you lived in it together. You had woken up, actually feeling kind of good. The bruises and nicks on your face had slowly begun to heal and Dream hadn’t hit you in the past three days. You had a nice dinner last night, you and Tommy had found some chickens and made a small chicken farm a little ways away from the house so that way Dream couldn’t easily find it, but point is you had chicken for dinner… that’s what I was getting at… I’ll move on. So long story short, you were feeling good. The sun had risen and so Tommy and you were just kind of waiting for Dream to show up so you could get the daily blowing up over with. And like clockwork, he shows up, but for some reason he’s angry. For the past couple days he’d actually be pleasant to be around, greeting you asking you how you’ve been. But today was different. He slammed the door open and begins digging a hole in the middle of Logstedshire… That’s really weird. He was going to blow up the stuff inside the house? No way. But he points to the hole and you know he wants you to dump your items in. You move to the hole but don’t throw your stuff in, “Inside the house? Can we please go outside, I don’t want to ruin our hard work” wrong thing to say. A growl escapes Dream’s lips as he reaches forward and slaps you hard across the face, harder than he’s ever slapped you. It is enough to make you dizzy, but you don’t even have time to recover because his hand is in your hair, yanking it back forcing you to look at him. “You stupid bitch. You would think that after all this time, you would have learned by now… I mean you were doing so so well. But it just seems that you never learn your lesson… Guess I’ll have to teach you yet again.” And he pulls out his sword and points it at your stomach, ready to slice you again. Just as he’s about to harm you, the door swings open again and someone stumbles in. They lean against the doorframe with their hand grabbing the top of the frame. You can hear Tommy let out a gasp and you watch Dream’s eyes widen in fear. “So Dream,” an all too familiar voice calls, “What’s this about hurting Y/N and Tommy now?” And then you’re let go by Dream. You crash to the ground, fall flat on your ass, but you manage to scramble to a stand as you stare at the door frame in complete... Shock? Amazement? Fear? You can’t tell. You’re husband, Wilbur, is standing there in the flesh. Literally in the flesh. He’s alive again and you cannot believe it. “Wilbur” Dream stutters out, “You’re alive? How-” “That doesn’t matter, Dream. What matters is the fact that you’ve been hurting Y/N and Tommy… We can’t have that. So now what is going to happen is I’m going to take my family back to L’Manberg and you are never going to hurt them again,” Wilbur announces, moving ever so slightly further into the room. Seeming to have recovered just a bit from shock, Dream actually retorts, “Or what?”. Two more people enter the house and it causes Dream to blanch even further. “I think you know what… now run along.” Not wanting to risk it, Dream takes off running. 

Once you’re sure he’s gone, you allow yourself to speak. “Wilbur?” You whisper out, still not sure if this is real or if you’re dreaming. Wilbur’s attention shifts to you and he completely soften. “Hello,” he greets with a soft smile on his face, taking a few steps toward you, “Have you missed me?” Deciding you don’t care if he’s real or not, you rush forward and throw yourself into his arms. You, like Philza and Techno, almost cry at the feeling of your body’s connecting. He’s here. He’s real. And he’s alive. His arms wrap around you and hold you to him so tightly, you almost can’t breathe. But you don’t care. You’re hugging your husband. You’re actually hugging your husband. “I missed you so much, Wilby. I mean we had Ghostbur but it wasn’t the same. I missed you,” you mumble into his shoulders, the tears slowly falling out of your eyes. His hand comes up and slowly pets your head, in silent comfort and reassurance. 

After a few minutes you pull away slightly, “How are you-” You’re cut off by his lips pressing against your and you cannot help but melt. It has been months since his passing and this was just the absolute best feeling in the world. You kiss back with so much passion it makes your head spin, this time in a good way. It’s also probably the only time ever his brother’s didn’t fake vomit at the sight of you kissing. You only pull back to catch a breath, but right as you breathe in, Wilbur’s lips are back on yours. The process repeats a few times, before you manage to breathe out a “Will,” causing him to pull back, but leaving his forehead resting on yours and his lips just hovering above yours. “Yes my love,” he mumbles to you. “Can we go home please” you ask, not wanting to be here at Logstedshire any longer. He gives you a warn grin, leaning the inch forward and kissing you once more before giving his answer. “Of course my love. Let’s get out of here.” 

#mcyt #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #mcyt drabble #wilbur soot #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot drabble #philza #technoblade #tommyinnit #ranboo #dream #tubbo #ray responds #our beloved alex8o

[littlemixnet]

To me, a good ally is someone who is consistent in their efforts – there’s a difference between popping on a pride playlist or sprinkling yourself in rainbow glitter once a year and actually defending LGBT+ people against discrimination. It means showing my LGBT+ fans that I support them wholeheartedly and am making a conscious effort to educate myself, raise awareness and show up whenever they need me to. It would be wrong of me to benefit from the community as a musician without actually standing up and doing what I can to support. As someone in the public eye, it’s important to make sure your efforts are not performative or opportunistic. I’m always working on my allyship and am very much aware that I’ve still got a lot of unlearning and learning to do. There are too many what I call ‘dormant allies’, believing in equality but not really doing more than liking or reposting your LGBT+ mate’s content now and again. Imagine if that friend then saw you at the next march, or signing your name on the next petition fighting for their rights? Being an ally is also about making a conscious effort to use the right language and pronouns, and I recently read a book by Glennon Doyle who spoke of her annoyance and disappointment of those who come out and are met with ‘We love you…no matter what’. I’d never thought of that expression like that before and it really struck a chord with me. ‘No matter what’ suggests you are flawed. Being LGBT+ is not a flaw. Altering your language and being conscious of creating a more comfortable environment for your LGBT+ family and friends is a good start. Nobody is expecting you to suddenly know it all, I don’t think there’s such a thing as a perfect ally. I’m still very much learning. Even recently, after our Confetti music video I was confronted with the fact that although we made sure our video was incredibly inclusive, we hadn’t brought in any actual drag kings. Some were frustrated, and they had every right to be. You can have the right intentions and still fall short. As an open ally I should have thought about that, and I hadn’t, and for that I apologise. Since then I’ve been doing more research on drag king culture, because it’s definitely something I didn’t know enough about, whether that was because it isn’t as mainstream yet mixed with my own ignorance. But the point is we mess up, we apologise, we learn from it and we move forward with that knowledge. Don’t let the fear of f**king up scare you off. And make sure you are speaking alongside the community, not for the community. Growing up in a small Northern working-class town, some views were, and probably still are, quite ‘old fashioned’ and small-minded. I witnessed homophobia at an early age. It was a common thought particularly among men that it was wrong to be anything but heterosexual. I knew very early on I didn’t agree with this, but wasn’t educated or aware enough on how to combat it. I did a lot of performing arts growing up and within that space I had many LGBT+ (mainly gay) friends. I’ve been a beard many a time let me tell you! But it was infuriating to see friends not feel like they could truly be themselves. When I moved to London I felt incredibly lonely and like I didn’t fit in. It was my gay friends (mainly my friend and hairstylist, Aaron Carlo) who took me under their wing and into their world. Walking into those gay bars or events like Sink The Pink, it was probably the first time I felt like I was in a space where everyone in that room was celebrated exactly as they are. It was like walking into a magical wonderland. I got it. I clicked with everyone. My whole life I struggled with identity – being mixed race for me meant not feeling white enough, or black enough, or Arab enough. I was a ‘tomboy’ and very nerdy. I suppose on a personal level that maybe played a part in why I felt such a connection or understanding of why those spaces for the LGBT+ community are so important. One of the most obvious examples of first realising Little Mix was having an effect in the community was that I couldn’t enter a gay bar without hearing a Little Mix song and watching numerous people break out into full choreo from our videos! I spent the first few years of our career seeing this unfold and knowing the LGBT+ fan base were there, but it wasn’t until I got my own Instagram or started properly going through Twitter DMs that I realised a lot of our LGBT+ fans were reaching out to us on a daily basis saying how much our music meant to them. I received a message from a boy in the Middle East who hadn’t come out because in his country homosexuality is illegal. His partner tragically took their own life and he said our music not only helped him get through it, but gave him the courage to start a new life somewhere else where he could be out and proud. There are countless other stories like theirs, which kind of kickstarted me into being a better ally. Another standout moment would be when we performed in Dubai in 2019. We were told numerous times to ‘abide by the rules’, which meant not promoting anything LGBT+ or too female-empowering (cut to us serving a four-part harmony to Salute). In my mind, we either didn’t go or we’d go and make a point. When Secret Love Song came on, we performed it with the LGBT+ flag taking up the whole screen behind us. The crowd went wild, I could see fans crying and singing along in the audience and when we returned it was everywhere in the press. I saw so many positive tweets and messages from the community. It made laying in our hotel rooms s**tting ourselves that we’d get arrested that night more than worth it. It was through our fans and through my friends I realised I need to be doing more in my allyship. One of the first steps in this was meeting with the team at Stonewall to help with my ally education and discussing how I could be using my platform to help them and in turn the community. Right now, and during lockdown, I’d say my ally journey has been a lot of reading on LGBT+ history, donating to the right charities and raising awareness on current issues such as the conversion therapy ban and the fight for equality of trans lives. Stonewall is facing media attacks for its trans-inclusive strategies and there is an alarming amount of seemingly increasing transphobia in the UK today and we need to be doing more to stand with the trans community. Still, there is definitely a pressure I feel as someone in the public eye to constantly be saying and doing the right things, especially with cancel culture becoming more popular. I s**t myself before most interviews now, on edge that the interviewer might be waiting for me to ‘slip up’ or I might say something that can be misconstrued. Sometimes what can be well understood talking to a journalist or a friend doesn’t always translate as well written down, which has definitely happened to me before. There’ve been moments where I’ve (though well intentioned) said the wrong thing and had an army of Twitter warriors come at me. Don’t get me wrong, there are obviously more serious levels of f**king up that are worthy of a cancelling. But it was quite daunting to me to think that all of my previous allyship could be forgotten for not getting something right once. When that’s happened to me before I’ve scared myself into thinking I should STFU and not say anything, but I have to remember that I am human, I’m going to f**k up now and again and as long as I’m continuing to educate myself to do better next time then that’s OK. I’m never going to stop being an ally so I need to accept that there’ll be trickier moments along the way. I think that might be how some people may feel, like they’re scared to speak up as an ally in case they say the wrong thing and face backlash. Just apologise to the people who need to be apologised to, and show that you’re doing what you can to do better and continue the good fight. Don’t burden the community with your guilt. When it comes to the music industry, I’m definitely seeing a lot more LGBT+ artists come through and thrive, which is amazing. Labels, managements, distributors and so forth need to make sure they’re not just benefiting from LGBT+ artists but show they’re doing more to actually stand with them and create environments where those artists and their fans feel safe. A lot of feedback I see from the community when coming to our shows is that they’re in a space where they feel completely free and accepted, which I love. I get offered so many opportunities to do with LGBT+ based shows or deals and while it’s obviously flattering, I turn most of them down and suggest they give the gig to someone more worthy of that role. But really, I shouldn’t have to say that in the first place. The fee for any job I do take that feels right for me but has come in as part of the community goes to LGBT+ charities. That’s not me blowing smoke up my own arse, I just think the more of us and big companies that do that, the better. We need more artists, more visibility, more LGBT+ mainstream shows, more shows on LGBT+ history and more artists standing up as allies. We have huge platforms and such an influence on our fans – show them you’re standing by them. I’ve seen insanely talented LGBT+ artist friends in the industry who are only recently getting the credit they deserve. It’s amazing but it’s telling that it takes so long. It’s almost expected that it will be a tougher ride. We also need more understanding and action on the intersectionality between being LGBT+ and BAME. Racism exists in and out of the community and it would be great to see more and more companies in the industry doing more to combat that. The more we see these shows like Drag Race on our screens, the more we can celebrate difference. Ever since I was a little girl, my family would go to Benidorm and we’d watch these glamorous, hilarious Queens onstage; I was hooked. I grew up listening to and loving the big divas – Diana Ross (my fave), Cher, Shirley Bassey, and all the queens would emulate them. I was amazed at their big wigs, glittery overdrawn make-up and fabulous outfits. They were like big dolls. Most importantly, they were unapologetically whoever the f**k they wanted to be. As a shy girl who didn’t really understand why the world was telling me all the things I should be, I almost envied the queens but more than anything I adored them. Drag truly is an art form, and how incredible that every queen is different; there are so many different styles of drag and to me they symbolise courage and freedom of expression. Everything you envisioned your imaginary best friend to be, but it’s always been you. There’s a reason why the younger generation are loving shows like Drag Race. These kids can watch this show and not only be thoroughly entertained, but be inspired by these incredible people who are unapologetically themselves, sharing their touching stories and who create their own support systems and drag families around them. Now and again I think of when I’d see those Queens in Benidorm, and at the end they’d always sing I Am What I Am as they removed their wigs and smudged their make up off, and all the dads would be up on their feet cheering for them, some emotional, like they were proud. But that love would stop when they’d go back home, back to their conditioned life where toxic heteronormative behaviour is the status quo. Maybe if those same men saw drag culture on their screens they’d be more open to it becoming a part of their everyday life. I’ll never forget marching with Stonewall at Manchester Pride. I joined them as part of their young campaigners programme, and beforehand we sat and talked about allyship and all the young people there asked me questions while sharing some of their stories. We then began the march and I can’t explain the feeling and emotion watching these young people with so much passion, chanting and being cheered by the people they passed. All of these kids had their own personal struggles and stories but in this environment, they felt safe and completely proud to just be them. I knew the history of Pride and why we were marching, but it was something else seeing what Pride really means first hand. My advice for those who want to use their voice but aren’t sure how is, just do it hun. It’s really not a difficult task to stand up for communities that need you. Change can happen quicker with allyship.

Jade Thirlwall on the power, and pressures, of being an LGBT ally: ‘I’m gonna f**k up now and again’

#jade thirlwall #lgbt

[chudleycanonficfest]

Dorkus Maximus

Day 20, Story #1 is by @honouraryweasley12

Title: Dorkus Maximus Author: honouraryweasley12 Pairing: Harry/Ginny Prompt: Slice of life Rating: PG

The locker room door slammed open, and a frustrated raven-haired witch marched in, a sporting bag slung over her shoulder and a broom in hand. She marched to where her teammates were sitting and threw her equipment down in a huff.

"What's with all the press? It's only an open practice. Bloody nuisance, they are."

"Good morning to you, too, Reena." Edith replied, giving her friend a wry smile.

She groaned. "I know this is the first full season since the end of the war and everything, but it's mental out there. I guess people are really excited for Quidditch to be back."

Edith scoffed; her face unable to hide the surprise. She glanced around at the other women who were staring at Reena and murmuring indistinctly. All but a redheaded witch sitting at the far stall.

Reena glanced around, confused by the reactions of her fellow Harpies. "What, what did I miss?"

"Have you met the new Chaser? She just graduated from Hogwarts."

Reena shook her head. The redhead stood up and strode across the room, holding out a hand.

"Hi, I'm Ginny."

Reena shook her hand, still unsure what the new chaser had to do with the number of reporters at their usually quiet practice. "Nice to meet you, I'm Reena Kumar. I guess we'll be chasing together."

Ginny smiled. "I'm looking forward to it. I've been watching you play for the past few years."

"You must be quite a sensation to draw all that attention."

Edith interrupted. "Her full name is Ginny Weasley."

Reena's eyes widened. "Weasley? As in the family of war heroes?"

Ginny blushed. "It wasn't just us, so many people fought."

"No wonder there are so many reporters outside. I guess we'll have to get used to it, having a celebrity on our team."

"You're already celebrities," Ginny replied.

"Sure, amongst some people. But everyone knows of your family now."

Ginny shrugged. "I have your poster up on my wall. That goal you scored on Wimbourne in '96 was amazing."

"Well, I see you're a student of the game. Just ignore those tossers outside and concentrate on the practice."

"It's fine. They follow my boyfriend and I everywhere. He hates the attention, but I've gotten used to it, being with him."

"Oh, who's your boyfriend?"

The rest of the team howled with laughter, as Ginny's face flushed a deep red.

Edith piped up again. "I know you're a fanatic about your training in the offseason, Reena, but you can't be serious. Have you not looked at a magazine or newspaper in the last year?"

Reena bristled defensively, facing her teammates. "What the hell is the matter with all of you?"

Edith laughed, clapping her friend on the shoulder. "Ginny here also happens to be the girlfriend of Harry Potter."

Reena spun back around. "What? THE Harry Potter?"

Ginny nodded, smiling. "It's really not a big deal."

Edith sat down heavily, fanning her face in jest. "He's so dark and mysterious, running off on secret missions to save the world. Fighting off evil at every turn. So brave and heroic."

It was Ginny's turn to laugh, drawing the attention of the rest of the women, who were unable to resist listening to gossip about the famous Harry Potter.

Edith looked affronted. "What did I say?"

Ginny shook her head. "He's not like that at all. He did what he had to do; he didn't want any of the burden he's lived his life under. You've been reading too many gossip rags."

"What's he like then?" Reena asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

"He's… a dork," Ginny replied affectionately.

A loud roar of indignation rang out from the rest of the team, unbelieving of her description of the most famous wizard in the country.

She held up her hands. "I'm being completely truthful. He's nothing like the stories make him out to be."

The sharp voice of team captain Gwenhog Jones suddenly rang out, silencing them as she entered from the trainer's room. "Enough with the chit chat. We hit the pitch in five minutes. Kumar, Leech, and Weasley, you'll lead us out."

The team nodded and got back to their usual routine. Ginny couldn't help adding one more thing. "Judge for yourselves when you meet him."

A few minutes later, they were lined up, brooms at the ready. Edith threw an arm each around Ginny and Reena. "Let's go."

~*~

Three hours later, the locker room was almost empty. Most of the team had showered and left after a hard first practice, one which had been flooded by the flashes of cameras as reporters tried to get a first glimpse of Ginny Weasley, current media darling.

It had been so bad at one point that Gwenhog almost crashed into the stands, sending them all scrambling.

The only players left in the locker room were Reena, who was busy stretching, and Ginny, who was trying to come up with a gameplan on how to avoid the questions and photos. The Anti-Apparition jinxes on the locker room were proving to be an annoyance.

There was a soft knock on the door, so Ginny marched over and opened it a crack, ready to ream out the reporter she expected. Instead, she was greeted with nothing.

"Gin, it's me."

"Harry!?"

"Yeah, can I come in? No one is changing or anything, are they?"

"No, come in." She pushed open the door slightly, allowing him in before shutting it again.

He whispered a phrase, lifting his Disillusionment charm, before quickly pulled her into a long snog. After they broke apart, he stepped back.

She looked him up and down, bursting out in laughter. "What are you wearing?"

He was decked out from head-to-toe in the signature green and yellow Harpies colours, including a kit with Weasley across his back. He had a glittery green pom-pom in his left hand, and his face was painted with the Holyhead logo. He even had a hat on with an animated chaser throwing a quaffle through a hoop.

"I came to see your practice! You were great!" Harry exclaimed, rather loudly and enthusiastically. He mimicked flying and waved his hands wildly. "That one move you made where you faked to the middle, then threw it through the far hoop was outstanding."

A voice called out. "What's the commotion. Is everything—"

Reena froze as she rounded the corner, coming face to face with Harry.

Ginny smirked, and gestured to her boyfriend. "See, I told you. Reena Kumar, meet Harry Potter."

Reena laughed, seeing the look of confusion on Harry's face. He shrugged his shoulders and stuck out a hand. She stared at it in awe for a second, before taking it.

Harry shook her hand energetically, still buoyed by his exuberance over Ginny's practice.

"Nice to meet you, Harry. My friends and family will hardly believe it!"

"Nice to meet you as well. Oh!" His eyebrows suddenly raised in recognition. "Gin's shown me some of your highlights. You're an amazing chaser!"

"Thank you." Her voice was halting, still somewhat taken aback by his bizarre appearance.

"Did you see Ginny? Wasn't she fantastic? You looked like a veteran out there. Just incredible!"

"Harry, calm down, it was one practice."

He bounced on his heels. "But you were so great, love. All of you were. You're going to be at the top of the table, I can feel it!"

Reena shook her head, stunned that the saviour of their way of life was indeed as Ginny described. After an awkward second of silence, she addressed him. "From what I've read, you're quite a good Seeker."

"I'm alright," Harry responded.

"Don't be modest." Ginny turned to her fellow Chaser. "He could've played in the league if he wanted to."

"She's definitely surpassed me since I last played at Hogwarts. Wasn't she great for her first time with a professional team?"

"He does have a point, Weasley. You were pretty good."

"See, Gin?"

She waved him off. "Thank you, both. Where were you, Harry? I didn't see you."

"I was planning to surprise you, but there were too many reporters. I hid myself in the top corner of the stands. I also may have planted a rumour just now that you had snuck out already, that's why no one is here."

"It's almost like you've done this before." Ginny added wryly.

Harry grabbed her hands in his. "We should really get going. Your mum planned a big celebration dinner and most of the family will be there. It was really great meeting you, Reena!"

He practically dragged Ginny to the doors as she waved goodbye to her teammate, flashing Reena a look of humoured exasperation and rolled her eyes.

Harry kept babbling on as they exited the room. "Ron really wanted to come, too, but he had too much work. He and Hermione will be there, as will George and Angelina, Percy—"

The doors shut behind them, cutting off the sound. Reena simply shook her head and smiled. Dork didn't even begin to cover it.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #hinny #harry x ginny

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 11

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Nope! Notes: Here we are, a breath away from the end. This features not one, but FOUR songs written by myself. If you only choose to listen to one of them, listen to the final one (Cradle of Heaven), as it is a duet I wrote specifically for this fanfiction, as something that the reader wrote to play together with Daniela. The links to these songs will be within the fanfiction itself, at relevant times. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato, Pt. 9: Berceuse, Pt. 10b: Hymn AMAB

Chapter 11: Cadence

(Cadence: Two chords that mark the end of a song)

The stage is set, the lights are dimmed, your heart pounds within your chest, and the world is yours. Soon, it will be Daniela’s. She is right by your side, as ever, hand gently taking hold of your own. There’s a silent reassurance in her grip, a reminder that the two of you have overcome a plethora of challenges. A promise that this will be no different. Both of you take a deep breath, in sync, before exchanging a quick kiss. All of your hard work has been leading up to the coming moments. Although you are beyond confident in your lover’s abilities, there is a shadow of doubt in the back of your mind. Not for her sake, but surrounding the expectations held by her mother, the standard against which you would be measured.

“Come hell or high water, Songbird, I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise,” Daniela whispers, squeezing your hand again, eyes unblinking as they stare into yours. “You’ve made every right choice, worked harder than anyone I know, and there is nothing more I can ask of you… except another kiss to celebrate afterwards, that is.” Giggling in response gives you the moment you need to relax, nerves fading into the background of your mind. “Now let’s put on a show the likes of which my mother has never seen, mhmm?”

THREE HOURS EARLIER:

“Here, you can borrow my brooch. It’s been in the family for generations, since before we even came to the village, passed down starting with an ancestor who crafted it himself, from materials he scavenged while fleeing his home country,” Daphne rambles, helping you attach the jewelry to your shirt. Thankfully, her hands do not tremble nearly as much as yours have been for the past hour. “I’m more than sure that Lady Daniela will tell you this much, but I feel the need to repeat just how good you look right now. I don’t know where the hell they’ve been hiding this version of our uniform, but damn do I wish I could get one for my next date with Ygritte. Seriously, if you can get one in my size, please do me that favor.”

“Anything for my best friend. Especially after all the times you’ve saved my ass these past few months,” you reply, pausing to give her shoulder an affectionate pat. If not for her constant interference running, someone would have certainly found out about your relationship with Daniela. “Speaking of that… of my life being on the line, I mean… no matter what happens today, no matter what Lady Dimitrescu decides, take care of yourself. You’ve gambled with your own blood to keep me safe, but what I’ve done, what I’ve risked, those were my choices. My consequences. The last thing I’d ever want is for you to pay for them, somehow.”

Rolling her eyes, Daphne gives you a playful shove to the chest, before smoothing out the fabric of your dress uniform. Now she refuses to meet your gaze, a familiar mistiness taking over her brown eyes.

“Nobody around here is stupid enough to think you’ll die today. You managed to get Lady Daniela, of all people, to stay focused long enough to learn some absolutely beautiful pieces of music. You have proved, time and time again, that you are a talented musician, teacher, and ‘servant’. So get out there and kick some metaphorical ass, my friend, because you are ready,” she finally says, offering you what seems to be a handshake. But as soon as your hand meets hers, she’s pulling you in for a hug, holding you tight for a solid minute. When at last you part, you give her what may very well be the last smile she’d ever see gracing your lips.

---------------------------

A hand’s edge against xer forehead, parallel to the ground, kept perfectly flat. From anyone else, it would be mockery. From xer? Honest salute, solidarity in a traditional form, accompanied by a sharp-toothed grin. Mimicking the expression, you wave at Ava, glad to see that xe would be awake for your concert. After your first night with your girlfriend, Daphne had helped arrange for someone to be your “cover story” for sleeping outside of your usual quarters. With Daniela’s input (and jealousy), only one candidate had revealed themselves, in the form of a (conveniently) mute butler with an inconsistent schedule, love of mischief, and somehow the respect of the Dimitrescu family. Now, xe appeared ready to escort you to the location of your trial by fire.

“Are you sure our mutual friend won’t be upset to see the two of us together?” You teased, knowing full well that Ava was one of the only people that Daniela trusted 100% around you. In response, xe gives an exaggerated shrug, then quickly links xer arm with your own. Together you march onwards to your destiny, amused by the way xe practically skipped down the hallway. Maybe there was a certain wisdom to xer shenanigans, a carefree philosophy that encouraged laughter in the face of death, and you embraced the thought with a smile.

Before long, however, the two of you encounter another unlikely pair headed towards the same destination: Lady Cassandra, looking somewhat embarrassed, with an unfamiliar maiden at her side. Their hands are clutching each other desperately, although neither of them dares to look at the other. Instead they both watch you closely from where they’ve paused in the corridor. Oddly unfazed, Ava gives them a short bow of acknowledgement, earning xer a brief nod from Cassandra. Seeming eager to move on, she addresses you quickly before gesturing for you to keep walking.

“Good luck. Don’t fuck this up for Daniela, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” she growls, doing her best to downplay her obvious concern. Wanting to let her keep up with her facade, you merely give a nod as you resume walking towards the concert stage. Soft footsteps behind you let you know that the strange pair are accompanying you. Still walking alongside you, Ava repeatedly glances behind you, putting out xer hands in the shape of a heart, giggling all the while. If you didn’t know any better, you would almost assume that xe wanted to get hit by Cassandra.

“Ava, please calm down. If you’re not careful, she’ll throw something at you. If she does that, you’ll probably dodge, and then I’ll probably end up getting hit, and then I’ll miss the concert, Lady Dimitrescu will kill me as punishment, Daniela will be sad and whiny about it, and none of you will have any peace for, like, a month. Three weeks, bare mims,” you tease, nudging xer in the ribs. Emphasizing a pout, xe sends one last look at Cassandra and her ‘friend’ (whose hand she was still holding onto like a lifeline), mouthing words you couldn’t parse. Based on the way Cassandra groans, it was something ridiculously cheesy. Regardless, xe behaves the rest of the way there…

ONE MINUTE TO SHOWTIME:

“I love you, Firefly, and I know that you’re going to do absolutely amazing out there. I’m so proud of you,” you murmur, pressing a feather-light kiss to Daniela’s cheek. As dearly as you wish to stay behind the curtain, in her arms, you know that the show was inevitable. With one last nod to your beloved, you part the fabric shielding you, stepping into the spotlight. Imaginary crowds grow hushed at your appearance, a sea of faces greeting you warmly. In truth, there are but five members in this audience, each gazing upon you with veiled interest. Donning you best presentation persona, you set this final act in motion. “Lady Dimitrescu, Lady Cassandra, Lady Bela, and Mx. Caldwell, it brings me great pleasure to present to you, on this day, a concert performed by your own Lady Daniela. For three months now I have acted as her instructor, and these three months have been, perhaps, the most rewarding of my entire life. I could not possibly be any more proud of her than I already am. Now, without further ado… let us begin!”

Stepping to the side, a tug of a rope has the curtains parting entirely, revealing your beloved, waiting ready at the piano. All at once your audience (including Cassandra’s partner, acting as a mere servant in the background) sits up with wide smiles. They look Daniela over, taking in the sight of her fanciest dress, and the way her eyes light up with joy. By the time her fingers begin dancing away at the keys, there is not a single ounce of anxiety in your entire soul. This first song is a relic from your past, a representation of an abandoned idea, yet she plays it like a celebration. It’s fast, hits hard, a bold take right out of the gate. Admittedly, it is also somewhat short. Nonetheless, it serves its purpose, igniting a spark of excitement in those present. Once the song ends, Daniela is surprised by the intensity of her family’s applause. In the back of her mind, she trembles with excitement, knowing that the best was yet to come.

Riding this wave of pride, she immediately settles into the next song, something slower but far grander. Affection thrums inside your chest as you watch your pupil perfectly execute another piece. You can only imagine what her mother must be feeling, to see just how far her daughter has come in such a short amount of time. A quick glance in Alcina’s direction reveals the barest hints towards her being impressed. For now that was enough to satisfy you. Soon enough her face would twist in surprise, as the second song ended, and a new face steps up onto the stage: Lady Bela. Wordlessly she retrieves her violin from the back of the stage, then turns to the front with a mischievous smile.

“Now, a duet! Presenting the ever-talented Lady Bela, to join Lady Daniela for a rendition of an original song, dubbed ‘Northern Lights’. Enjoy!” You call out, before once more taking your place at the side. While Daniela did not need you to count her in for her solo performances, this feels ever so slightly more important, and as such you do your best to conduct for the duration of the song. If either of the performers need it, they hide it well. Honestly, you weren’t sure if your girlfriend had looked your way even a single time so far. ‘Twas incredible to witness her. Akin to a siren, near glowing, taking to the stage as if born to grace its center. Even with Bela working her own magic, Daniela is ever the star. Together they weave a lovely song, notes rising high into the air, swirling around an enchanted audience.

When it ends, both performers give a bow, as if the entire affair had come to a close. Without hinting at what was to come, you switch places with the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. A deep breath rattles your ribcage as you find your center, reaching out to take Daniela’s hand, the two of you raising your arms upward in a display of union. For the first time this evening, Lady Alcina narrows her eyes in what feels like disapproval. But you pay her no mind. Instead you sit alongside your beloved, quietly settling into your practiced position.

There is no introduction for this song. No announcement, no showmanship, nor even a countdown into the symphony. Simply, like exhaling a breath, the two of you start to play. Your phrases echo hers, and vice versa, calling and answering, accompanying all the while, natural as anything holy in the wild. ‘Tis the second shortest song of the night, only long enough to showcase the degree of your partnership with Daniela. As the song crescendos into an ending, you manage to meet the gaze of your employer. Perhaps it is merely an illusion of hope, or a reflection of lights above, but you swear you see tears in her eyes.

“Outstanding, incredible,” she praises, rising to her feet alongside her other daughters, clapping all the while. Once again you rise to your feet, hand clasped with Daniela’s, bowing as deeply as you can manage. Before you can even process what’s happening, your girlfriend is being pulled away from you, swept up into the arms of her mother. Desperation digs like a knife into your heart, as you ache to celebrate with her, but you remain ever in the guise of a professional. “You did amazing, my dear. I cannot begin to describe how proud I am.” The family gathers around each other, buzzing with affection fit to make the hardest of hearts melt. You are left on the outside, awkwardly waiting, without a hint of acknowledgment.

Even if this concert was a measure of your skill as a teacher, Lady Dimitrescu had never bothered to consider you more than another servant. This night was about Daniela. About your secret girlfriend, the brightest star in all the skies. That is not something that bothers you, nor does it surprise you. All that makes you wish to weep is the desire to kiss her. To sweep her into your arms, with celebratory kisses, singing her name as a praise to higher powers. In the end, it takes several minutes for Daniela to pull away enough to move back to you, and even then she cannot give you the reaction she yearns for.

“I’ll come by to talk to you tonight, I promise,” she whispers, as she gives you the weakest hug you have ever felt. Then she is returning to her family, clinging to her mother with a massive grin. Soon enough you are left alone on stage, quiet surrounding you, mixed feelings gnawing at the pit of your stomach. Something feels… wrong. You cannot put a name to it. No one has hinted to you what your beloved has planned, for none but her even have a clue. As soon as she is alone with her mother, as soon as she has the smallest sliver of an opportunity, she knows what she must do. “Mother… we need to talk. I... I have a confession to make.”

#daniela dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #avaskian caldwell #cliffhanger #sorry folks #not beta read