#tomorrow will be the day for professional life...I hope | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wave2tyun · 2 months

Text

meddle about | ☆

pairing: idol!yeonjun x idol!reader

genre: idol!au, best friends to lovers, some fluff but also a bit suggestive (?) towards the end

prompts: – “you’re blushing”

– “i can feel how fast your heart is beating right now”

warnings: none!

word count: 1.8k

a/n: the inspiration for this came from a wonho photoshoot behind the scenes clip that i randomly saw on ig reels........😟 i hope there aren't any mistakes left in this because i've been lazy and going only by trust when i repost fics asdbhja

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

you and yeonjun didn’t exactly meet…under the greatest circumstances.

as txt’s fame was continuously on the rise, there was no way you had never heard of yeonjun, or the name tomorrow x together. however, it was only when you had your comeback stage at inkigayo that you finally got to see yeonjun in real life, and not just on a screen.

you expected things to go smoothly. yeonjun was going to just take your interview, and then you were going to simply perform with your group on stage, as usual.

realistically speaking, that was supposed to be it- nothing more than a polite, professional interaction, he was the mc after all. you didn’t even think you’d cross paths with him throughout the day again. but the lunch break had something -quite staggering- in store for you:

the inkigayo sandwich. those words still make you shudder.

as an idol, you had to have one, at least once. it was the talk of town after all, even though the combination of egg, crab and strawberry jam- all squished together between 3 pieces of white bread- didn’t exactly sound appealing to you.

you gulped as you looked at the piece of food in your hands; the smell wasn’t that appetizing either, and you wondered how it was possible for them to have such high sales for a shitty product.

you didn’t want to do it, but the thought of wasting your money without at least having a bite was haunting you. you closed your eyes, anticipating the worst outcome imaginable as the sandwich came closer and closer towards your mouth.

“hey- at least remove that paper before you start eating” one of your members said, making you frown. paper? what paper? the ingredients of the sandwich were already weird enough, what did they add that paper for?

confused, you opened your eyes again, a small note had been carefully placed somewhere between the plastic wrapper and the bread. grossed out, you removed it, moving towards the trash can to throw it away, only to get a glance of a phone number written on the back of it, making you stop in your tracks.

‘call me ;) - choi yeonjun’

now, you see- you only knew that the inkigayo sandwich was famous, you didn’t know why it was famous.

you angrily searched for choi yeonjun around the cafeteria, shoving the sandwich towards his chest once you found him “what the fuck is this?” you hissed appaled by his actions. not sparing him a single moment to respond, you instantly got into a rant about how you were ‘put in danger’ by him for placing something (almost) inedible in your lunch.

he stared at you with big eyes and raised eyebrows, panicking that you’d blow this out of proportion even more if he excused himself before you were done blowing off some steam. he knew very well not to argue with a sleep deprived person who was also hungry.

“that actually wasn’t meant for you…” he muttered in the end, biting his cheek.

“oh.”

on the way back to the dorms, you swore you’d never step foot back into inkigayo ever again, or at least not until yeonjun stepped down from his position as an mc.

despite the seemingly traumatic event, you still kept the piece of paper containing his number, jam stain and all. you fiddled it around your fingers as you rolled around in bed, unable to fall asleep. it was way past midnight, and the remorse you felt for not having apologised to yeonjun was keeping you wide awake. you had been too embarrassed to utter any more words after hearing his reply and used the first opportunity -which was a member calling out for you- to leave the room.

the guilt was eating you up, and, in the end, you decided it was best to at least say sorry to him through text. and so you did- not exactly expecting much besides getting blocked by him.

turns out yeonjun found the situation more amusing rather than infuriating. he accepted your apology with ease, and you promised that you’d buy him lunch the next time you visit inkigayo, as emotional compensation.

yeonjun, however, lied to you that day. the phone number in the sandwich was, in fact, meant for you. he heard from his seniors that ‘back in the day’, this was a particularly popular method to start dating between idols. when it was announced that you’d perform on the day he was mc-ing, he found his chance, took it, then pretty much failed miserably. his attempt at getting to know you better was somewhat saved by your apology text. after the whole ordeal, he decided that it was better to take it step by step and develop his friendship with you before dipping his toes into the dating scheme once again.

bit by bit- yeonjun began to reveal his flirty nature. first, he started bringing food and drinks to your company whenever you told him you had to stay up late, practicing overnight. then, he made sure to always compliment how you looked in music videos or album teasers, sometimes even sending coffee trucks to the filming sites to support you. finally, he started bringing you flowers whenever you were done with comeback stages. the change in his attitude was making you question the status of your relationship. still, knowing how risky this all was, you decided it was foolish to jump to any conclusions- although a part of your heart did cling tightly onto the hope that he did this because he saw you as something more than a friend.

it was no surprise to the public eye that the two of you were close friends in the industry. so, when elle korea wanted a photoshoot between a pair with good chemistry, yeonjun ran to his managers, begging to convince some of the higher-ups to recommend the two of you. not a single soul in the company was able to resist him, so he successfully scored the spot. however, you were only informed that you received an offer for the photoshoot, not that yeonjun had been involved in this whole ordeal.

the concept was not quite what you were expecting.

when you heard the words “a pair with good chemistry” you were expecting a fun, bubbly photoshoot, something colorful maybe- not a sensual, romantic theme. you choked on your spit when they showed you the outfit you were supposed to wear, then choked again when you saw yeonjun’s outfit: black pants and a blue satin button-up shirt that had more than 3 buttons left open, exposing the skin of his chest.

and -as if the revealing clothes weren’t enough- there was one more detail left that would supposedly “tie this all together”: a kiss mark. on yeonjun’s neck.

the staff handed you a tube of red lipstick, shoving you and yeonjun in a private dressing room before you could even process the situation.

you stole a look at yeonjun, who pursed his lips, trying to contain his laugh as he made eye contact with you.

“did you know about this?” you asked him with a serious face, pointing the lipstick towards him. why were you the only one baffled here?

yeonjun couldn’t help but let out tiny squeaks as he struggled calm down, your shocked, accusatory expression all too entertaining for him “no” he snickered “why? are you nervous? think you can’t do it?” he crossed his arms.

the attitude with which he said that only earned him a scoff from you “of course i can do it” you said as you walked towards the mirror. once you were in front of it though, you were suddenly way more aware of how sweaty your palms were getting, hands trembling a bit as you put the lipstick on.

yeonjun was never one to shy away from physical touch. you were used to receiving hugs from him, sometimes even having him hold onto your hand or arm, swinging them playfully whenever you walked together. but this? this felt…different.

intimate.

it was like a possible breach within your friendship. and while you weren’t exactly nervous about the situation itself, you were definitely afraid about what was going to happen between the two of you after.

yeonjun was already behind you once you finished putting on the makeup and turned around. the playful smirk he’s had ever since you both entered the room never left his face. he lightly quirked up an eyebrow, provoking you to make the move- curious to see if your earlier statement was the truth or whether they were just empty words. unsure what to do with your hands, your fingers didn’t let go of the lipstick tube, playing with it in a restless manner as you inched closer towards yeonjun’s neck. the citrus fragrance of his perfume still lingered on the skin, and you closed your eyes as you left a quick kiss there, the touch too light to leave a mark visible enough.

“you’re blushing” yeonjun chuckled, tilting his head as he looked in the mirror behind you, clicking his tongue “that’s not right…” he muttered. his gaze was fixated on your face for a few seconds, admiring the pink dusting your cheeks. then, they trailed off to your hands, snatching the item to cover his own lips in that same crimson color. “this is how you do it” he whispered, dipping his head down, arms sneaking around your waist simultaneously. warm breath on your neck, chest flushed against yours, yeonjun could feel your racing pulse underneath his lips as he pressed a long kiss on the hot skin. the chilling sensation running down your spine had your hands unconsciously reaching out for his forearms, holding onto them to keep yourself steady and not slip away from his grasp.

“i can feel how fast your heart is beating right now” he breathed out, fingers tracing lines along the small of your back. seeing that you weren’t pushing him away, his face didn’t leave its close spot to your body. instead- his lips travelled along the skin, pressing featherly kisses along the way- nibbling, lightly biting, the red marks blooming being hidden away by the lipstick covering them.

the mirrors, the vanity lights, even the photoshoot itself, they were all turning into a hazy memory as you were becoming more and more enthralled by him. completely absorbed by his touch on your body, you felt like you wouldn’t be able to breathe properly again until he carried on with the next step. “jun-” the sound of the nickname was enough to send an electrifying jolt throughout his heart. his own breathing was irregular as he stopped, distancing himself a bit from your neck to lift his head up, plush lips and smudged lipstick coming into sight.

“we’re not leaving this room until you kiss me on the lips”

taglist: @huekalover3000

#wave2tyun #txt #txt fluff #txt x reader #txt fic #txt imagines #txt scenarios #txt smau #txt headcanons #txt yeonjun #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun fic #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun headcanons

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janeyseymour · 2 months

Note

hiii!! i love your writing and i hope you’re doing well <3 i was hoping to request a melissa x reader with “causal” work crush between the two of them. reader is a very put together teacher during school hours but a trendy aesthetic person off campus. mel comes across reader at the grocery store and is astonished at the revealing alternative style and sexy tattoos. reader gets super nervous and shy once mel teasingly approaches. no one at work has ever seen her like this but especially not her crush melissa

oh wow, this one... nice. written as i procrastinate cleaning my house!

Personal and Professional

wc: ~2.4k

You grew up hearing from both of your parents that you should never mix the personal with the professional. So you compartmentalize. You’ve always done it. You kept school life away from home life when you could, and now you keep your work life away from your home life. That’s not to say that you aren’t friends with your coworkers at school. It’s just that it’s much easier to keep professional Y/N and personal Y/N separate.

And the personal and professional you are two entirely different people.

You see, at school, you’re ‘Miss Y/N’. You keep it all together. You’re buttoned up, you’re conservative in your clothing style, and you strive to maintain that aura of professionalism that you see coming off of people like Barbara Howard. You’re pretty damn good at it too. You’re kind, you allow your coworkers to see small bits of your home life (“Oh, I’ll probably just do some grocery shopping before laying on my couch for the entirety of the weekend… maybe I’ll go to the gym,” is your usual response when they ask what you’re doing over the weekend), and the teachers have all come to respect you once you settled into your position.

But once the school hours are over and you can let your hair down, both figuratively and metaphorically, you trade out your blouse and sweater or blazer for more form-fitting and revealing shirts, pants that aren’t slacks, and you change your flats to your doc martens that you’ve been rocking since the eleventh grade. You take out the clear stud and put in your nose ring, and exchange earrings different from the delicate hoops you wear to school. Your multiple tattoos show in your street clothes, and you love it.

You’re not entirely sure how your coworkers would feel if they knew that this was how you presented yourself outside of the school, but it doesn’t matter. They’re so used to seeing you all done up to teach that even if they did see you outside of school, they probably wouldn’t recognize you. You sure as hell wouldn’t go out of your way to say hello if you saw one of them outside of campus.

But then things start to change about six months into working at Abbott.

Shit. You have a thing for one of your coworkers- Melissa Schemmenti to be exact. It’s a very casual and silly thing the two of you have going on, really. She flirts with you, you flirt with her; it’s all in good fun. You know that you’ll never act on it though because you keep your many lives as far away from each other as possible, even going as far as grocery shopping a few streets over from where you know most of your coworkers go in order to not run into them. You’ve never had an issue with running into anyone outside of the school anyway- why would that change?

“What are your plans for the weekend, hot stuff?” Melissa flirts with you while you’re eating lunch. “And don’t give me your usual answer… you gotta have more of a life than what you lead on, miss mysterious.”

You roll your eyes. “You wish I was with you.”

She hums in lieu of an answer before asking you again, “What are your plans for the weekend?”

“Honestly?” you chuckle. “Probably some grocery shopping, I have a friend coming over tomorrow, and then Sunday is a day to grade and veg out on the couch while I catch up on some shitty reality tv.”

“Sounds riveting,” the redhead jokes.

“Well, what do you have going on?”

“Nothin’,” she grins. “I fully plan on staying in my Eagles sweatshirt and catching up on laundry and some chores- probably have some wine while I’m at it. Care to join me on Sunday after I go to church?” She’s never asked you if you wanted to hang out outside of work before, and it throws you for a loop. You nearly choke on your salad.

“Oi,” she huffs playfully. “I was just messin’. I don’t want to have to endure any of that shit reality tv in my house.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “I wouldn’t want you to have to sit through that either.” The two of you finish up your lunches and head back to your classrooms to deal with your monsters for the rest of the Friday.

“See you Monday, babe,” Melissa winks at you as she closes the door to her classroom and locks it.

“Oh, counting down already, I see,” you roll your eyes. “See you Monday, babe.”

When you get home, you change out of your stuff work attire and into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. You change out your jewelry for the things you prefer. You fully plan on laying on your couch with a bottle of wine on this lazy Friday night, but when you get home you realize that you finished off your favorite white last weekend. With a sigh, you go into your bedroom to change into some nicer street clothes- you would rather be caught dead than wear sweatpants and a sweatshirt out in public. At the front door, you pull on your docs, and then you’re off to the grocery store.

If you’re there now, you decide it’s best to just get your grocery shopping for the week out of the way. You grab a cart and start perusing the aisles like you usually do.

You have a few things in your cart when you find yourself in the aisle with the wines and beers, and you’re currently pouring over the selections. What would your friend want? Probably just some Yuengling. So you throw a case of that into your cart before turning to look for the wine that you love. Little do you know, Melissa is turning her cart down the aisle that you’re currently in, and she recognizes you almost immediately.

You look so starkly different than she’s used to seeing you. If she’s being honest, she’s a little thrown off with your outfit. She’s so used to seeing you in your work attire, your hair either in a neat, low bun or down. But here? This look is entirely different from what she was expecting you to be done up in outside of work. She of course knew that you wouldn’t always be dressed like a teacher, but wow. She was not expecting this. You’re in a pair of tighter, ripped black jeans, you have a tank top on, and your hair is thrown up into a stylish messy bun with a few pieces strategically pulled out to give off the appearance that it’s an effortless look (it is for you). Is that a tattoo on your shoulder that she sees? And a tattoo on your arm? How has she never noticed that before? You have a cartilage piercing, bold earrings for your first and second, and… is that a nose ring? She didn’t even know you had your nose pierced. If Melissa’s honest with herself, it only makes you that much more attractive.

You turn, satisfied with your decision, and pop the bottle into the top of your shopping cart. You make eye contact with the redhead that is practically drooling over the sight of you. You give her a shy wave, but you don’t dare to interact. Don’t mix the personal from the professional. The woman snaps out of her own trance and waves back with a curious look.

You continue down the aisles, and you think that you’re in the clear from Melissa- you acknowledged her, that’s all you had to do. She goes on her way too, but the two of you run into each other again during checkout.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” she winks at you as she starts putting her groceries up on the conveyor belt. “Never pegged you as a beer girl.”

“Hey,” you say softly, shyly. “It- it’s actually for my friend.” That also throws Melissa for a loop. At school, you’re so confident, quick to make a remark. But now, you sound like you have something caught in your throat, and you nervously tuck one of the loose strands of hair behind your ear, as if that would make you more professional looking. “I’ve never seen you around here before?”

“I usually go to the one that everyone else goes to, but they were out of my wine, so…” she gestures to it before putting it up on the belt. “It was worth the extra ten minute drive though if it means I get to see you.” She winks at you with those emerald green eyes of her, but you don’t reciprocate. You nervously worry your lip between your teeth, as if you have no idea what to say.

Melissa understands your hesitation and shrugs. The two of you stand in line together awkwardly. She’s rung up, and as she leaves, you call a gentle, “Have a good weekend, see you Monday.”

She turns and blows a kiss your way, waving flirtatiously before leaving.

Your weekend is nice. Your friend comes over, you go out to the clubs, and you almost forget about the encounter that you had with the hot redheaded second grade teacher.

The small break from work is over all too soon, and you find yourself somewhat dragging yourself into Abbott on Monday, but duty calls. You’re back to wearing your lightly colored blouse and a sweater over top to cover the tattoo that you didn’t feel like putting makeup over today, you’re back in your dress pants and flats. You didn’t even bother to do your hair, just simply brushing it and letting it cascade over your shoulders instead.

You enter the staff lounge and it’s empty, as it always is. You’re always the first one in. Whoever comes next is always a mystery, but today, it’s Melissa Schemmenti. Of course it is. Without anyone else there to buffer, you know she is absolutely going to bring up your meeting on Friday night.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” the redhead says suavely. “Have a nice weekend?”

“Yeah, babe,” you shoot out. The coffee pot dings. “You want some?”

“You know I always do,” she sighs out as she makes a move for the cabinet with the mugs inside. She grabs hers before sauntering over to you. The second grade teacher hands you the mug before cozying up to you.

“For you,” you roll your eyes as your pour the scalding hot liquid into her cup.

“Thanks, babe,” she smirks and winks. “So… when were you goin’ to tell me about this little number?” she rests a gentle hand on your shoulder- the one with the tattoo.

“What do you mean?” you chuckle.

“That tattoo,” she licks her lips.

“I forget it’s there,” you roll your eyes. “Young Y/N mistakes.” Not true at all. You love that tattoo, and most of your street clothes show it off.

“It’s sexy,” she tells you lowly. “Kinda like the ear spike and the nose ring I had no idea you had.”

“I’m a different woman outside of school, babes,” you tell her, smirk evident as you start to fix your own coffee. “Didn’t realize I had to tell you about it all.”

“You don’t,” she shrugs. “I’ll find it all out myself… little miss alt girl.”

“In your dreams,” you fire out, and you get pretty close to her.

“Oh, every night,” she challenges you and moves even closer. At this point, the two of you are nose to nose.

And wow, it wouldn’t take much more for you to-

“Good morning!” Janine bursts in through the door, not knowing what she’s walking into.

You and Melissa couldn’t jump away from each other faster. The young, energetic teacher starts to ramble on all about her weekend, and your other colleagues start to make their way in. When it comes time to watch the news, Melissa settles herself in next you. Her hand finds its way to your shoulder, and she starts to trace the outline of you tattoo. Then, you feel the redhead’s hand make its way to your arm, where the other tattoo is that she saw. You didn’t know she saw that one too. She lets her fingers lazily trace around that one as well. All of your coworkers are too enamored with what’s happening on the screen to really notice, and Melissa’s green eyes are trained on the television as well. You could not be further from what’s happening on the screen. All you can think of is Melissa, and the things that she’s doing right now are driving you crazy.

Soon though, the kids will start to trickle in, and you know you have to get to your classroom. So you head out, a flirtatious smile and wink thrown the second grade teacher’s way before you close yourself into your room. You take a deep breath, and get ready for your day.

As you’re about to make your way out of your classroom, you hear heeled boots clinking along the linoleum floor, and you know those boots belong to the redhead that’s been on your mind all day.

“Hey, babe,” you says, back turned to the door, but you know it’s her. “Come to walk me out?”

The clicking gets louder, and before you can even think, Melissa has you pinned up against your desk. You can feel the corner of it digging into your back, and then you don’t because all you can feel are her lips on yours. Instinctively, you kiss her back. It’s better than you had been dreaming of. And then she pulls back, wipes away the lipstick she left smudged, wipes her own mouth to fix her own lip, and then winks at you.

“I’m done pretending that all this flirting we do is harmless,” she says once she’s righted herself. “You, me, dinner tonight at The Capital Grille. 6, sharp.”

You don’t know what else to do other than nod.

“And don’t come dressed in your teacher outfit,” she instructs. “I want the babe that you are… Ear spike, nose ring, tattoos out.”

With that, she turns on her heel and makes her way out of your room. As she’s making her way down the hall, you hear her call over her shoulder, “Don’t miss me too much!”

So much for not mixing the personal with the professional.

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction

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komorim · 1 year

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itoshi sae that takes pictures of his meals routinely after you expressed your worry of him not eating enough. his manager is beyond relieved after he sees that the footballer is now gaining some weight.

itoshi sae who doesn’t mind being affectionate with you in public- who cares if there is a teenage boy gawking at you two while taking a picture for his twitter account that would surely be on headlines tomorrow? not sae.

itoshi sae that gets a bit cranky when you don’t reply to his messages within an hour. itoshi sae that even more cranky when you call off your nightly calls one day (it ended up with all of his teammates getting insults left and right for every minuscule mistake- his manager calls you that afternoon and begs you to not do that again).

itoshi sae who takes screenshots of your messages and saves the pictures you send him. his favourites are the ones during calls: where it is perfectly candid and his screenshots notifies you.

“what? it’s not like you’re naked or taking a shit.”

itoshi sae who proudly flaunts his relationship with you while wearing your matching couple necklace during matches. he kisses it to dedicate a score to you, and his teammates can’t help but wonder who you are (and what you have done to itoshi sae).

itoshi sae who isn’t embarrassed of his obvious softness towards you. in fact, he once almost completely murdered the opponent’s goalkeeper for throwing the ball straight at his chest, breaking the necklace.

“you glorified octopus, can’t aim for your life of you huh? even a country bumpkin has the common sense to avoid an opponent’s midfielder you-“

you were informed of the commotion by his manager the day after that (he keeps in contact with you very often, knowing that you do a better job keeping sae in check than him).

you tell sae to just not wear the necklace during matches. to which sae quips back, clearly offended:

“are you on his side? he broke our necklace?? you know, like an idiot???”

itoshi sae who still frowns at the little rust at the end of the necklace, where his manager got a professional to fix for him- vowing to score a goal at the goalkeeper’s face next time. (he now brings up the university’s goalkeeping ability every moment he gets during interviews).

-🐨 (im back againnnn ^^)

i most definitely did not expect more from you, but i can’t exactly say i’m complaining (i love you for this). i hope this means you saw my post and hopefully you also liked my hcs! now…undramatic drumroll…some more from me as well!

‣ itoshi sae hcs ⋮ part one !!

cw // none this time as well

itoshi sae who, because he doesn’t care about the media, ends up in a lot of trouble with his manager regarding how he acts. his manager has a headache he whenever he thinks about how to clean up sae’s messes, and he no doubt is somewhat too intimidated by the football player to confront him about it. so instead, resorts to seeking you out for help.

when you talk to sae about the matter, he isn’t exactly happy about it as he genuinely doesn’t see why people should care about his character when they’re supposed to be focusing on his playing abilities. however, he begrudgingly promises you to act better in public the next time. only because it was you that asked (he can’t find it in himself to say no to you, albeit he regrets agreeing to some dumb shit you ask of him sometimes).

itoshi sae who never gives his interviewers an easy time, almost always failing to cooperate with the questions asked. however, when one host on a talk show asks about you, a small smile tugs on his lips instinctually and he can’t help the shine in his eyes as he talks about you, the love of his life.

itoshi sae who puts you as his top priority, being able to drop almost everything in order to come to your aid. sae is the type to always support you no matter what. the exact definition of “even if the whole world turns against you, i’ll always be by your side.”

itoshi sae who is definitely an actions over words kind of boyfriend who’ll never really give you sweet nothings. he’s probably the type to call you a dumbass for not wearing more on a cold day as he drapes his jacket over your shoulders with a concerned expression (tsundere but doesn’t know it).

itoshi sae whose facial expression is always the same, barely ever changing. however, he doesn’t know it, but the tips of his ears always turn a bit pink and gives him and his feelings away whenever you compliment him. he loves how you’re always so proud of him, especially as your opinion is one that’s greatly important to him.

itoshi sae who saves all the paparazzi photos of the two of you together. even if they get annoying sometimes, following him everywhere, he has to admit that they take really high quality photos of you both.

itoshi sae is the probably type to either pick you up and spin you around or hug you tightly by the waist as he gives you a kiss after a big game. he’s not always this fond of being affectionate in public, but after a tense game, he’s a bit high off the adrenaline and acts before thinking. not that he cares if others see how much he loves you though.

itoshi sae isn’t the type to really get butterflies near you or when the both of you are together. though he does feel warm and loved with you. the emptiness in him that leaving home at a young age caused was filled by you. the lonely feeling that was gained after he and rin broke up was replaced by happiness that was gained from being with you. you gave him a sense of belonging that he hadn’t felt in a while.

itoshi sae is the type to have a slow burn kind of love life. he is the type to develop feelings for you over time. when he finally couldn’t help but admit that he has fallen for you, he determines that you’re the one (but before that he was most likely in denial for the longest time; like come on, just admit that you’re in love, it won’t kill you). he wasn’t going to love another; you already took up so much of his heart that he couldn’t love anyone else even if he tried. not in this life, not in the next, and not in forever.

do not copy or repost my works. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated.

3K notes · View notes

rhaenella · 4 months

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idk if ur reqs are open but im obsessed with ur account. i was wondering if u could do a smau of any driver (other than danny ric) x pbr!reader. like shes the only woman to ever compete at NFR in bull riding. shes also 19 and doesnt ride with a helmet (just a cowboy hat) shes also like yhe biggest rodeo barbie you could imagine.

Firstly, I’m sorry it took me so long to get to work on your request, end of the year stuff and other wips got in the way 🫠 Anyways, I decided on Max for this because I almost immediately thought of him and his little Texas outfit 🥰 Also, I have to admit that my (non-American) knowledge of professional bull riding consisted primarily of The Longest Ride so excuse any inaccuracies, but I tried my best to read up on it! That being said, I hope it’s to your liking :)

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

MV1 | Season of Champions

pairing: max verstappen x pbr!reader

genre: social media au

summary: you and max are each other's biggest supporters as max tries to secure his 3rd world championship title, whilst you're fighting for your 1st in a previously all male dominated sport

masterlist

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Liked by wagsf1, user3 and 135,092 others

mv.y/nupdates: Tomorrow our girl can secure one of the few select spots in the NFR finals!!! Unfortunately Max can’t be there due to his own race in Qatar, but we’ll be sure to cheer them both on ❤️

View all 712 comments

user1: they’re gonna kill it on both sides of the atlantic

user2: POWER COUPLE

user3: omg i hope y/n wins 🙏 she deserves this so much

user4: my alarm is set for 4 am to support y/n 🫡

user5: are you taking a nap between their races??

user4: lol obviously

user5: same 😂 it’s a tough life stanning max & y/n

7 October

Liked by y/n, mv.y/nupdates and 112,363 others

pbr: y/n y/l/n becomes the first woman in history to qualify for the NFR finals in Las Vegas in December! Congrats on this incredible achievement, y/n. See you in Sin City⚡️

View all 674 comments

user6: OMG SHE DID IT ❤️❤️❤️

user7: i’m so proud of her, i’ve literally been here since day 1

user8: remember when she used to do rodeo and everyone told her she could never go into pbr… look at her NOW 🔥

user9: she gave her hat to the little girl in the front row 😭❤️

user10: yep i cried

user11: y/n is not only the best, she is the SWEETEST

8 October

Liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 805,298 others

y/n: There aren’t words to describe how it feels to finally have my childhood dream come true. I’m not gonna lie, it was a tough road, especially as a female in this industry. Working my way up through rodeo to where I am today: a NFR finalist!! It’s a real pinch me moment… Little me would be ecstatic (just like present me 🙈) To all the other little girls that share the same passion & dream, it’s possible! Never stop believing in yourself ❤️ Now, let’s get that trophy!!!

View all 3,238 comments

maxverstappen1: My girl 😍 You’ve 100% got this 💪

y/n: Thank you baby 🥰 But first, Texas!

landonorris: GET INNN

Liked by y/n

lewishamilton: Legend in the making 🤍

Liked by y/n

user12: you’re gonna inspire so many girls to follow their dreams 🧡

user13: ✨role model✨

user14: soooo… idk if anyone’s seen the other finalists but she’s going to absolutely annihilate the competition just saying

user15: fr, they ain’t ready

8 October

Liked by user16, user17 and 658,512 others

f1: Howdy, y’all, it’s race week 🤠 Austin, here we come! 🇺🇸

View all 520 comments

y/n: Looking sharp sheriffs!

carlossainz55: Muchas gracias

charles_leclerc: Have to look our best this weekend, don’t we?

y/n: I wonder who for 🤔

charles_leclerc: 😉

user16: UHM FLIRTY MUCH??

user17: easy there sharl, she’s taken 💀

user18: cota the soap opera, i’m here for it

16 October

Liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 778,543 others

y/n: Switching my bull gear for that other bull gear 💙 COTA LET’S GOOO

View all 2,160 comments

maxverstappen1: Blue looks good on you

Liked by y/n

danielricciardo: Yeeeeehaaawwww

redbullracing: Team Bull. Always.

y/n: Hell yeah!!

user19: you can pull off literally anything 😍

user20: y/n is at cota this weekend!!!!!

user21: omfg finally some y/n & max content

user22: we’ve been STARVED

user21: exactly 🥲

user23: GIRL WAIT YOU SWITCHED TO THE CAP??

y/n: Don’t worry!! It was only for the pic 😊

user23: oh thank god

18 October

y/n's story

Seen by landonorris, alex_albon and 2,436,712 others

19 October

Liked by y/n, victoriaverstappen and 728,451 others

maxverstappen1: Austin ready 🇺🇸💪

View all 1,934 comments

y/n: There were so many cool hats to choose from but he insisted on wearing mine…😈

landonorris: Initiating the cowboy hat rule just in time before the race… Clever girl

alex_albon: Oooohh everybody watch out

schecoperez: 😂😂😂

y/n: You know it ;)

maxverstappen1: Wait what?

landonorris: Nothing, mate 🤠 You’ll find out soon enough

user24: BYEEEE AHAHAHA

user25: y/n and the whole grid ganging up on max 😭

user26: he’s so oblivious i love it

19 October

Liked by sophiekumpen, redbullracing and 654,281 others

f1: VERSTAPPEN WINS AT COTA! 🏆

View all 2,017 comments

user27: 🔥🔥🔥

user28: the goat does it again

user29: little sad that max didn’t wear the cowboy hat on the podium tho

user30: lmao y/n is probably as well

22 October

Liked by maxverstappen1, alex_albon and 768,311 others

y/n: WHAT. A. WEEKEND. 15th win of the season & 50th altogether!!!🥇Proud of you Maxie 😘😘

View all 2,108 comments

maxverstappen1: Love you 😘

user31: MAXIE??? i’m sobbing

user32: i need to know all her nicknames for him NOW

user33: and i need her to be at every one of his races

user34: same she fitted right in with the crew in the pitbox, joking around and everything :’)

user33: truly one of the few wags who are actually into the sport…

22 October

Liked by y/n, danielricciardo and 734,161 others

maxverstappen1: It’s incredible to win my 50th Grand Prix here today. I feel very proud to achieve this! Amazing job by everyone in the team 👏 And special thank you to y/n, the hat indeed brought us luck!

View all 1,998 comments

y/n: Always trust the hat, you should wear it more often

maxverstappen1: Unfortunately we cannot all break the helmet rules

y/n: 🙄

user35: lmao y/n is like you either die trying or you don’t try at all

user36: she has an aesthetic to look after 💅🏼

y/n: 🤣 You got it!

user36: OMG OMG

user37: BROOO

user38: well at least we’ve got that confirmed now

22 October

y/n's story

Seen by charles_leclerc, fernandoalo_oficial and 2,766,192 others

23 October

y/n's story

Seen by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and 2,541,384 others

23 October

Liked by user39, user40 and 31,476 others

mv1jet: Verstappen’s jet just touched ground! 🛬 Nevada, United States of America 🇺🇸

View all 508 comments

user39: oh god everyone get ready

user40: this can only mean 1 thing

user41: MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN, 3-TIME F1 WORLD CHAMPION, COMING TO SUPPORT HIS GIRL AT THE BIGGEST PBR EVENT OF THE YEAR HELLO YES I AM SAT

28 November

Liked by mv.y/nupdates, pbr and 275,021 others

wranglernfr: Today marks the start of the 65th NFR Finals! Newcomer and fan favorite y/n y/l/n has a good shot at winning the championship this week. However, will she decide to adhere to the mandatory helmet regulations or will she risk disqualification and still wear her self-proclaimed good luck hat? We’ll find out soon, folks. Stay tuned!

View all 1,454 comments

user42: i bet she keeps to her aesthetic

user43: oh def, she basically said it herself already

user44: but but but would they really disqualify her when she wins…??

user45: technically it is against the rules to ride without a helmet during the nfr’s so… yeah they might

user44: 😥😥

user46: please y/n don��t jeopardize it all 😩

2 December

maxverstappen1's story

Seen by landonorris, schecoperez and 3,014,839 others

11 December

Liked by maxverstappen1, mv.y/nupdates and 301,294 others

wranglernfr: NFR 2023 Champion y/n y/l/n⚡️Despite sticking to her famous but controversial cowboy hat, y/n becomes the 65th winner in Las Vegas at just nineteen, beating the runnerup and last year’s champion Billy Youngster!

View all 1,778 comments

user47: SHE DID IT!!!! 💪🔥

user48: i’m bursting with pride i’m so happy for her 🥰🥰🥰

mv.y/nupdates: two world champions this is almost too good to be true 😭❤️

user49: their christmas is gonna be one helluva party

user50: well deserved, that billy kid had it coming

user51: he only won last year because of dumb luck!

user52: FACTS

user53: this year we have a winner who’s worthy of the title ❤️

user54: can’t get over how y/n was so far up ahead they literally couldn’t disqualify her for the hat thing lol

user55: imagine if they had, people would have rioted

user54: omg they would have, with max at the front hoisting his pitchfork in the air, leading the pack

user55: 😂😂

11 December

Liked by maxverstappen1, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,219,748 others

y/n: Cowboy hat + racing gloves = champions of the world 🏆

View all 4,193 comments

maxverstappen1: ❤️

sophiekumpen: So proud of both of you 🥰

victoriaverstappen: Coolest auntie (en oom natuurlijk🙊)!!!

Liked by y/n

landonorris: Congrats on making champion, champ!!! And wow… Max has got his own hat 👀

y/n: Yup! He deserved it after his triple US win 😍

charles_leclerc: Does this mean that your hat claim has lifted…?

maxverstappen1: Unless you want another inchident, back off

y/n: Uhm... He knows what it means now…

charles_leclerc: 😳

alex_albon: RIP Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc 🪦

Liked by maxverstappen1 and y/n

12 December

Liked by y/n, landonorris and 1,182,853 others

maxverstappen1: Wear the hat…

Comments have been disabled

12 December

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

a/n: translation of “en oom natuurlijk” > “and uncle ofcourse”

Happy holidays! x

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

#request #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x pbr reader #max verstappen x female reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x y/n #max verstappen smau #max verstappen fake instagram #max verstappen fake social media #formula 1 smau #formula 1 fanfic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen blurb #season of champions

743 notes · View notes

helen-with-an-a · 16 days

Text

Clumsy

Hi. So this was a request that I thought was such a cute idea. I hope you enjoy it.

Lucy Bronze x Reader

Description: Moments were Lucy helps take care of R when she's clumsy

Word Count: 2.8k

TW: Injury

You were clumsy. That had been a fact of life since you were born. In nursey, you had a designated Mr Bump ice pack that was used solely by you. In primary school, the office lady who doubled as the nurse was your best friend, often spending more of your playtime with her getting something patched up than running around with your friends. In secondary school, things didn’t get any better. You often sported random bruises that you didn’t know where they came from. You would think that being placed into a sport that required a level of coordination and skill from a young age and then becoming a professional footballer would improve your balance and dexterity, yet you were often on the ground in matches due to your own idiocy rather than a harsh shove or poorly timed tackle from the opposition.

The bruises to your ego hurt more than the ones on your skin, but you often just laughed it off, accepting the hands that came to help pick you up off the floor and wipe away the grass stains. The hand that, more often than not, belonged to Lucy. She was always the first to come to your aid with a poorly concealed laugh and a kind smile. In a match, it was followed by a raised eyebrow and a squeeze to your shoulder as she shook her head, trying to remain professional on the pitch. In training, it was a gentle kiss to the forehead and an arm around your waist as she steadied you. In your daily life outside the training ground, you could never fully fall as she often tucked you safely into her side or had a firm, supportive grip on you if that wasn’t possible. In your own home's privacy, you could hardly move without Lucy fretting over you. She had seen too many injuries occur for you to be allowed to do much without her personal supervision – not that you really minded your girlfriend’s near-permanent presence.

------------------

It was a wet and windy day as you battled it out on the pitch. It was not the most ideal conditions to play in regardless, but with your inability to stay on your feet, you were having more trouble than most. You were making a run up the wing when you tripped, stumbling over your own feet as you went flying, skidding painfully along the sodden grass. You groaned, embarrassed that you had, once again, ended up face down on the pitch. You lay there for a minute, waiting for your mind to catch up with what happened before rolling onto your back.

“You good, love?” Lucy laughed as she came to your side.

“Ow,” you groaned, but reaching for her to help pull you back to standing.

“Are you ok?” Lucy asked again, a hand coming to rest on your shoulder as you drew level with her again.

“Yeh, sweets, I’m ok,” you sighed, wiping the worst of the mud off your jersey. Her eyebrow raised, silently asking if you were being honest with her. "I might be a little sore tomorrow, but I’m okay,” you mused. You had gone down a little harder than normal and could already feel the ache in your body as a result.

“Do you need to come off, bubba?” She asked, face full of concern as she scanned you discreetly.

“No, I’m ok. My ego took more of a battering than I did,” you laughed, lifting your shoulder to trap Lucy’s hand between it and your cheek. She squeezed three times and winked at you. You stuck your tongue out in an attempt to playfully lick her hand, demonstrating to her that you were clearly fine.

“C’mon, then. Let’s try to stay vertical with your feet on the ground for the rest of the match, shall we?” Lucy teased as you moved back into your respective positions.

“I can try, but I make no promises,” you joked back, grinning widely at her as you separated.

She shook her head at you. “I love you,” you mouthed at her.

“I love you,” she mouthed back.

------------------

“Shit,” you said as you stumbled up the stairs to the training pitches.

“Careful, idiota maldestre.” Aitana called as she came to steady you.

“Mi héroe,” you thanked her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “And I’m not an idiot. I might be clumsy, but I’m not an idiot.” You slipped her into a headlock that she quickly broke out of.

You came to stand beside Lucy in the huddle before training started, her arm automatically drawing you into her side.

“No quiero ninguna herida,” Jona said as he finished his pre-training speech, his eyes lingering on you for a second longer than everyone else. You just smiled at him.

“Now, what are we going to do today, love?” Lucy asked in a serious tone, but you knew she was teasing. Her hands came to rest on your hips as the others split off into their training pairs.

“Stay upright,” you replied in an equally severe voice.

“Good.” She squeezed you lightly before glancing around and pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. You rolled your eyes at her antics and beamed anyway.

Your promise only lasted about 20 minutes. You were in a trio with Alexia and Patri; Alexia pushed against you with a yoga ball as Patri passed the ball for you to kick back. It was going well. You remained strong and firm, leaning back into the shoving and stabilising your core muscles. But you were so focused on keeping your body straight that you forgot where you planted your feet.

“Fuck,” you exclaimed as you went tumbling to the ground, Alexia and the giant blue ball following you. Patri stood, slightly stunned, as her group was no longer in front of her; instead, there was a pile of limbs on the floor. “Ay, dios mío. Estás bien?” Patri asked, recognising the grimace of pain on your face. “Ow,” you winced as you tried to wiggle it. Now standing again, Alexia left your side, heading toward your girlfriend.

“Bubba?” Lucy’s concerned voice reached you as you shifted to sitting, her hand coming to rub your back as she crouched by your side.

“I’m ok, sweets. It’s just my ankle. I put my foot down wrong.” You tried to move it again, but it didn’t hurt, though it definitely felt funny.

“Ok, let’s get you up and to the medics.” Lucy moved to help you up, taking most of your weight. You gently added more pressure to your foot, relaxing slightly as no pain radiated up your leg. “What did I ask you about injuries?” Lucy sighed dramatically as she guided you to the bench where the physio was waiting.

“I’m sorry,” you said guiltily, your cheeks flaring with an embarrassed blush.

“I know you are, love,” she said, depositing you on the seat and pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “No funny business,” she said seriously as she cupped your face. "And listen to the doctors.” You nodded, taking her hand and kissing her palm lightly.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you,” she answered, equally as quiet before she returned to training.

------------------

“Anem, anem,” Aitana chanted, her excited calls encouraging everyone to increase their speed as you walked to Manuela’s. There was finally a break in the busy schedule, so naturally, you used it to your advantage. The drinks were flowing, and the carefree atmosphere helped relax you immensely.

“Oops,” you muttered under your breath as you tripped over the uneven pavement. You didn’t go very far, not with Lucy's iron grip on your hand.

“Okay?” She asked you as you shook off the jolt.

“Yeh. You saved me, sweets. My knight in shining armour.” You lifted your intertwined hands and pressed a loving kiss on the back of hers.

“Ew, ustedes dos son asquerosas,” Mapi gagging as she fell in step with you. You clicked your teeth.

“Girl, you have no leg to stand on with that. You and Ingrid are so in love, it’s hideous to witness.” You laughed at how offended she seemed.

“Es cierto,” Lucy agreed. Ingrid giggled at her girlfriend’s expression.

“Uhh, mi Princesa, no deberías estar de acuerdo con ellos.” Mapi continued, outraged at the apparent attack on her relationship.

“She just recognises the truth,” you goaded, drawing Ingrid closer as she swung her arm around your shoulders.

“Relax, min skjønnhet. She’s only teasing.” Ingrid placated her girlfriend, extending her hand out for Mapi to take. You watched as she and Mapi fell into a quiet conversation, love clear on both of their faces. You turned to look at Lucy and found her already looking at you, her own adoration clear on her face, which you were sure echoed in yours. She squeezed your hand three times, causing a blush to bloom on your cheeks. You squeezed back three times and watched as she looked down, slightly shy under your intense gaze.

The problem with alcohol for you was that it caused you to fumble even more. You had gone outside with Ona and Keira to get some air – the sweaty club was getting to all of you.

“So, yeh. I think I want to try to get a long weekend away in soon ish,” Ona finished her conversation. You weren’t really paying attention, your minds drifting between the chicken nuggets you would pester Lucy for on the way home and if you wanted another drink or not – the world spinning slightly as you sucked in the cool night air.

“You alright over there, clumsy?” Keira asked, noticing you staggering somewhat as you drifted away from the pair.

“Um? Oh, yeh. I’m a-ok,” You threw Keira the universal ‘ok’ sign – pausing slightly as you commanded your fingers to do what you desired. Your drunkenness was obvious; you blinked a little too slowly, and you were clearly not in complete control of yourself, but your speech wasn’t slurred yet.

“Sure, you are,” Ona laughed as you tried to wedge yourself between them, throwing too much weight into the action and launching yourself forward. You crashed heavily into the ground, your knee taking most of the force. You yelped a little at the pain before flopping down on the floor behind the bar. You looked down, and a slight graze on your right hand captured most of your attention until Ona gasped.

“What?” You looked around, trying to see the cause of her alarm.

“Su rodilla,” she said as she pointed to your knee. Your drunk brain didn’t know what she was referring to, but you followed her finger and came to stare at your bloodied knee. You gasped.

“My knee,” you whined, only now becoming aware of the throbbing cut.

“I’ll get Lucy; you stay with her.” Keira rushed back inside.

“Oni, I fell,” you pouted. You looked from your knee to her and back again, your frown increasing with every minute. Ona had to admit, drunk you was very adorable.

“Love?” Lucy appeared, looking around frantically for you.

“Sweets?” You perked up, looking somewhat like a meerkat.

“Hey, lovely. How are you doing?” She asked gently, taking a seat next to you.

“I fell,” you said wetly through the tears that had begun to roll down your cheeks.

“Oh, Bubba. It’s ok.” She cooed, drawing you to lay your head on her collarbone. She shushed you gently, used to your drunken antics after the number of years you had dated. It was easier for her to treat every issue with just as much seriousness as you did. “It’s just a small cut. Let’s get you patched up, and we can head home, ok?” You nodded, refusing to leave the sanctuary of Lucy’s chest. “Do you want me to do it, or are you ok with Manuela’s staff doing it?” she asked, leaning back slightly to hear your answer.

“Want Mazza to do it,” Lucy sighed. You often missed your best friend when you were in Barcelona and she was back in Manchester.

“Mary’s not here, Bubba. How about Keira?” Lucy comforted you, nodding to Keira to take the first aid kit from the security guard who had joined you outside. You sniffled slightly, burring yourself further into Lucy as the alcohol wipe stung your cut.

“Can I have nuggets?” You asked, your mind still lingering on the food you craved.

“Sure, love.” Lucy laughed as you sat up straighter at her response.

“I love you,” you said, staring straight into her eyes.

“I love you,” she responded, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

------------------

You stared at your relatively empty fridge. An onion, a pepper, some leftover chicken, and 3 eggs stared back at you. It's not particularly inspiring, but it would do. You gathered the ingredients, deposited them on the chopping board, and started cutting. You should have started with the pepper to avoid having watery eyes as you chopped everything, but you weren’t thinking and now you were regretting it. The lingering sting of the onion made it harder to see what you were doing. The front door opening also distracted you even more. Lucy’s calls of arrival made you not watch where you placed the knife and try to cut the pepper.

“Fuck,” you swore loudly. The red liquid came streaming out alarmingly quickly. “Ow, ow, ow.” You blinked away the tears.

“Love, what’s wrong? Are you ok?” Lucy ran around the corner, skidding on the hard floors as she rushed into the kitchen. You were aware of how scary it must have looked, you standing wide-eyed at Lucy, blood running down your hand with a knife in the other.

“Oh, Bubba.” Lucy soothed, her gentle fingers taking the knife from your hand and manoeuvring you to stand by the sink, letting cool water wash over the cut. “What happened, lovely?” she asked her.

“I was trying to make us tea,” you said dejectedly. Why couldn’t you do anything right? All you wanted was to do one small thing for Lucy, and here you were, bleeding into her sink. You looked up to the ceiling, trying really hard not to let the tears fall. She gently patted your finger with a clean towel before holding it tightly, trying to stop the bleeding. “So stupid,” you whispered dejectedly.

“Hey, stop that. Accidents happen.” She chastised gently, pushing some hair out of your face.

“Not just this,” you waved your injured hand around. “I constantly trip and fall, and it’s just so stupid. I’m an adult. I’m an athlete. I should be less of a fucking clumsy idiot.” You had heard it your whole life – people teasing you over your clumsiness, calling you affectionate nicknames based on your inability to stay upright. You sniffed, staring hard at the floor.

“Hey, no, stop it.” She said firmly, her free hand forcing your chin up until you had to look at her. “I love that you trip all the time. It’s part of who you are,” she kissed your cheek. “And I like that I can help you,” she admitted softly. “It makes me feel important,” she whispered.

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “You are important. And not just to me. And not just because you help me when I trip.” You spoke with such conviction. She leant in to press a passionate kiss on your lips. You hummed quietly at the feeling. “I love you,” you proudly stated when she drew away.

“I love you,” she said declared back.

------------------

You weren’t really paying attention as Leah moaned about something someone had done to her. It was very trivial, but she took it as a personal attack. You spotted Lucy walking down the path to the field with two water bottles. You saw her spot you and speed up slightly, smiling at the thought of her hurrying to get to you. She was practically speed walking down the gentle slope, her movements slowly becoming less controlled. You saw her foot catch the uneven pavement from a tree root. Before you knew it, you had abandoned your conversation with Leah and rushed to Lucy’s side, getting her just in time to stop her from falling painfully onto the concrete.

“Easy, sweets,” you teased, leaning your body into her to help steady the both of you. “You ok?” you asked her, scanning her features for any discomfort.

“I’m all good, bubba. You caught me.” She smiled broadly at you.

“You always catch me. I thought it was only fair.” You pressed a kiss to the underneath of her jaw.

“I love you,” she said happily.

“I love you,” you replied, equally as joyful.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

386 notes · View notes

lady-lostmind · 2 months

Text

Bittersweet

Love is: Missing each other.

a @steddielovemonth prompt Thank you @oh-stars for betaing this!

WC: 891 | Rating: T

ao3 link

Steve hurries in the door, throwing his bag down and rushing to the phone, snatching it off the hook. “Eds?”

Eddie’s voice rings through the line. “Hey, Sweetheart.”

Steve sighs, slumping against the wall, heart still pounding in his chest. “Thought I was going to miss you. I got out later than I thought.”

Eddie sighs. “You kind of did, baby. I’m sorry. I’ve been calling for like twenty minutes. We have to leave soon. I just…really wanted to hear your voice so I’ve been stalling.”

Steve feels a lump form in his throat and he tries to push back the tears welling in his eyes. “Fuck. Okay, I’m sorry. I uh– fuck. I miss you.”

Eddie pulls away from the phone and Steve can hear a muffled argument happening on the other end of the line, probably with one of the guys from the band. Eddie comes back, full volume, and clearly frustrated. “I miss you too, Stevie. I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll try to call tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, I lov–” Steve sighs as the dial tone rings out in his ear, and slumps against the wall.

He hates this. Hates that he only gets to talk to Eddie for a few minutes every couple of days. Hates that every conversation is rushed. Hates that he feels anxious if he’s out of the house for too long, not knowing when Eddie might get the chance to call.

He hates that he kind of hates the band. That he hates this tour. Because he’s thrilled for Eddie. He is. He’s so glad that he’s getting to live his dream. That the band got signed. That the tour is almost sold out. He is. Eddie deserves for all his dreams to come through. It’s just– things are moving so fast. And they were just really settling into a life together and now…

Steve just misses him. He misses him so fucking much. Misses coming home to his crazy loud music. Misses falling asleep in his arms. Misses the way he would hop up from whatever he was doing to give Steve a kiss goodbye. He misses him all the time.

So, yes. He’s so happy for Eddie. And wants nothing more than for this to go well. He hopes he’s having the time of his life. It just also…really sucks.

–

Eddie shoves Gareth who just hung up on Steve, and tries to grab the phone back from him. “What the fuck, man. He’s going to think I hung up on him!”

Gareth rolls his eyes, holding the phone out of Eddie’s reach. “We’ve been waiting on you for like half an hour, man!”

Terry sticks his head out of the bus. “LET’S GET A FUCKING MOVE ON!”

Eddie sighs, dropping his hold on Gareth and rolling his eyes at him when he just stares at him, waiting to make sure he’s actually heading back. Eddie turns around and jogs over to the bus, hoping they make a pit stop early tomorrow before Steve heads to work.

No one ever tells you that having all your dreams com true is going to like, kind of fuck up anything good you already had going on in your life. And Eddie had it fucking made, okay? He landed Steve Harrington. Steve motherfucking Harrington. And this tour is fucking it up.

Sure, it’s fucking amazing. It’s everything he ever dreamed it would be. Playing to thousands of people a night, hearing them scream the lyrics to his songs back at him. Getting to do the whole rockstar thing. Which, okay. That’s maybe being a little generous still. They’re not playing sold out stadiums or anything. They’re not fucking Metallica. But like, they have fans. They’re selling out venues. Sure, small ones. But a sold out show is a fucking sold out show. And they’re making like, actual real money. Eddie can say that he is a professional musician. Because he is currently supporting himself with his music. And that shit is cool, okay. He is goddamn ecstatic about that shit.

But he misses Steve. A lot. And he hates that he can hear the hurt in his voice every time they talk. He would never tell Eddie. But he can tell. That this is fucking killing him. And he’s not doing so hot himself. Turns out you get used to it when a pretty boy is constantly smiling at you and giving you kisses when you walk by. He’s in fucking withdrawl, okay? Plus like…he was getting laid. Like, regularly. That’s not something he ever thought he’d have. He misses snuggling up to Steve at night, their hands wandering, and getting to hear Steve’s voice turn all breathy.

And it’s not just the sex. He misses the sex, okay? He’s only human. But he misses Steve. He misses their shitty little apartment. He misses going to pick him up from work and take him to dinner. He misses the way Steve hums in the shower. He misses when he gets all sleepy when they watch a movie on the couch, clearly dozing against Eddie’s chest but insisting that he’s still watching. He misses the way he lights up when Eddie walks in the door, going all puppy eyes and smiles.

So, yeah. He gets to be a rockstar. But he misses his fucking boyfriend.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fanfic #steddielovemonth #day 10 #love is missing each other #long distance #rockstar eddie munson #lady lostmind

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venus-haze · 1 year

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My Destruction Is an Hour Late (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: As a nameless, faceless administrative assistant, you never expected any members of The Seven to give you the time of day. In your year or so of working at Vought, Homelander’s taken a particular liking to you, always seeking you out to help him with whatever tasks or projects he can conjure up to take up as much of your time as possible. When you’re not available to help him after hours since you have a date planned, his interest in you proves to be far more than professional.

Note: Reader is a woman but no other descriptors are used. First time writing for Homelander so I hope it’s at least okay! Y/N naming convention isn’t used in this, Homelander only refers to you by pet names. This takes place between seasons 1 and 2. On the shorter side of what I usually write, but a lot happens in this. Title comes from one of my favorite lines from Buddy’s Rendezvous by Father John Misty. Do not interact if you are under 18 or if you post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Homelander is a warning. Suspected murder, age gap (Homelander is in his 40s while the reader is 20s/30s), emotional manipulation, some dubcon which involves explicit depictions of food play and mommy kink. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Being part of the corporate machine wasn’t exactly what you’d dreamed of when you were a little girl, but working for Vought softened the blow. You could see the look in people’s eyes when you told them who your employer was, one of the first things strangers learned about you. Interest and envy punctuated every question, but what everyone wanted to know was ‘Have you ever met any of The Seven?’

You had, and you weren’t sure whether it was a good or bad thing that in your drive to keep the best paying job you’d ever had in an overpriced city like New York, you earned a reputation of reliability, which meant extra assignments but the overtime pay to go with it. One supe in particular was the source of most of your after hours work. Needless to say, he wasn’t pleased about the singular occasion when you were unavailable.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you said. “I can’t tonight. I blocked off my time this evening on my calendar.”

“Yes, I saw that, but what could you possibly be doing that you can’t help me with this? You’re my go-to! I thought you were reliable, but this is—“

“I have a date,” you said softly.

His jaw clenched, and you could’ve sworn you saw a flash of red in his eyes for a brief moment as he glared at you. He couldn’t have been that angry that you wouldn’t stay late to help him, not when there were dozens of other low-level Vought employees around. You couldn’t accept jealousy as a possible motivation, perhaps possessiveness, you’d heard of his odd relationship with Madelyn Stilwell, who was killed a little over a month after Vought hired you.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you repeated weakly. “I can help tomorrow.”

He scoffed, clearly expecting you to offer to cancel your date to help him instead. Vought was one of the highest paying employers in the city, and you’d heard from your acquaintances in the HR department that the average job posting got well over 2,000 applicants on the low end. It wasn't uncommon for employees to work late nights here and there, but it seemed like so much of your time was consumed by Homelander. You’d foolishly volunteered to help him with something not long after you’d been hired, and as he said, you’d become his go-to. He intimidated you, but at times you found he could be almost sweet when it was just the two of you.

In all honesty, your social life had suffered immensely since you began working at Vought, and some of your friends had stopped the pretense of asking if you were free when they were planning to hang out, and you’d only become aware of the plans when you saw the Instagram stories after the fact. Restaurants, concerts, weekend trips—that used to be you. In a fit of loneliness and desperation one of the few nights you didn’t arrive back at your apartment and practically collapse asleep, you’d opened all of the dating apps you hadn’t touched in months, and quickly arranged a dinner date at your place with a nice enough guy named Jesse.

You sunk into your desk chair, an expensive ergonomic one he specifically had Ashley order for you because you’d complained of back pain once. Returning to your assignment at hand, you tried to ignore the eyes on you for declining Homelander’s request. At least five o’clock came sooner rather than later, and you rushed to gather your things, wanting to get out of the building as quickly as possible to avoid any further confrontations.

It was odd leaving Vought Tower when it was still light out. You’d almost gotten used to leaving for work and coming home in the dark. The train back to your apartment was unusually crowded, a consequence of actually leaving at rush hour. Jesse would be over at seven, leaving you just an hour and a half when you got back home to cook and get ready. You’d decided on lasagna, a dish easy to make but equally easy to impress with.

Multitasking dinner and fixing up your hair and makeup probably wasn’t the best idea you’d ever had, but before working at Vought, you loved to entertain. It’d been so long, though, you’d forgotten how involved it was. Despite nearly spilling pasta sauce on your simple yet classic black dress, you were a bit relieved when Jesse seemed to be running a few minutes late–until a few minutes turned into far more.

7:14 ‘If you need directions, let me know!’

7:36 ‘Hey, is everything okay?’

7:53 ‘Are you seriously ghosting me?’

At a few minutes past eight, you angrily typed a simple ‘Fuck you’ when a knock at the door startled you, and you nearly pressed send when you flinched. You had half a mind not to answer. Who the hell did he think he was showing up an hour late? Another impatient, more forceful knock echoed through your apartment and you rose to your feet, throwing your phone aside on the couch and storming over to the front door.

Opening it, you expected to see your less than punctual date in your doorway. Instead, the man at your door looked extremely out of place in your modest apartment building.

“Homelander?”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Is that lasagna I smell? Yummy.”

“I—what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you, but—“

A drop of blood rolled from one of his gloved hands and onto the floor in the hallway. Your mind immediately raced to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’d just apprehended some violent criminal. Although, in that case, he’d return to the tower right away and report the incident for the crime analytics team.

“I was just in the area and thought I’d stop by,” he said casually, as if he regularly came over to your place unannounced.

You nodded, moving out of the way for him to enter. “Of course, um, is everything okay?”

Vought kept all employee information in a database, and you were sure he had access to it and found your address that way. Still, it didn’t make any sense. You weren’t important on the Vought totem pole, and you didn’t feel like you and Homelander were all that close. Though, it seemed he knew far more about you than you could have anticipated.

The more you considered it, though, the timing, the convenience of his arrival in the absence of your date, not to mention the literal blood on his hands—you looked at him, wide-eyed at the man who just stepped foot in your home, not wanting to believe the worst but knowing it’d be dishonest otherwise.

Homelander grinned, his pearly white canines glistening like fangs beneath the soft lighting you’d carefully set up in your living room. “Now, why are you looking at me like I’m the big bad wolf?”

Your lip trembled. “It’s nothing.”

“Perfect! Then let’s eat,” he announced jovially. “I’m sure you’ve been waiting long enough.”

“Sure, make yourself at home,” you said.

You went into the kitchen to retrieve the lasagna from the oven, which you’d kept at a low temperature to keep the dish warm but not overcook. Grabbing fresh basil from the fridge, you garnished the pasta with a few leaves. Suddenly lasagna seemed like a stupid choice. Jesse probably would have appreciated it, but Homelander was used to food cooked by Vought’s staff of professional chefs. It was too simple, even if you had made the sauce yourself.

He glanced around at the decor in your apartment while you busied yourself in the kitchen. A framed print of Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart on your wall, a well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice among the books stacked on your coffee table, assorted candles glowing softly in your dim apartment, “You’re quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

You could feel your face heat up at his correct observation, nodding bashfully as you set the tray of lasagna on the table. It didn’t help that in your excitement for the evening, you’d made a ‘first date playlist’ consisting of Elvis, Sinatra, Simone, and some other older artists that played softly from the speaker you had set on the counter. It wasn’t like you had expected Jesse to be the one, but you wanted to indulge yourself.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I am too, really,” he said, his voice oddly assuring, as if he weren’t saying it just to humor you. “Not many of us hopeless romantics around anymore.”

He had taken off his gloves since you’d gone into the kitchen, laying them neatly next to his plate. You ignored the small droplets of blood that had pooled on the table, focusing on making sure the serving of lasagna didn’t collapse into an unsightly mess on his plate. At least luck was on your side in that respect, as you nearly sighed in relief at the nice presentation. You were a bit less careful with your own serving before sitting down across from him.

Having Homelander eat your food felt more nerve-wracking than if Gordon Ramsay were over, it wasn’t like the latter could laser your kitchen table in half if he thought it was horrible.

“Goddamn, this is delicious. What’s that I taste in here?” He sounded genuine, not patronizing as you almost expected. Maybe he just didn’t eat lasagna very often.

“I seasoned the ricotta,” you said.

He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! I didn’t know you cook like this.”

“I love to cook, I just haven’t had much time recently.”

“Interesting what you learn about people outside of work.” He grimaced a bit when he took a sip of wine. That was on you and your tendency to buy cheap alcohol. You could stomach the subpar taste for the sake of the buzz, but as far as you knew, Homelander couldn’t get drunk, so there wasn’t even that benefit.

“I can get you something else to drink. I’m so sorry,” you said. “I have water, iced tea, I think some soda, too.”

He looked at your fridge and huffed, displeased. “You have half a bottle of flat Coke. I’ll take the tea.”

You could’ve given A-Train a run for his money with how fast you raced into the kitchen to pour Homelander a glass of iced tea and bring it back to him.

“Did you find someone to help you with that thing you mentioned earlier?” you asked as you handed him the drink.

He shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “No, like you said, it can wait until tomorrow.”

You hummed in response, biting back a comment about how it didn’t seem like it just a few hours ago. Instead, you sat back down and focused on finishing the lasagna on your plate. Suddenly it seemed like far too much, but you powered through the rest of the meal you’d worked so hard to make as Homelander led most of the conversation, while you gave short responses, hoping he’d get the hint at how uncomfortable you were. If he did, he certainly didn’t care.

“So, what’s for dessert?” he asked when you collected the dirty plates from the table.

“Ice cream,” you answered. “I’ll get yours first.”

“Nonsense, we can share,” he said.

You merely nodded, disappearing into the kitchen to pull the small carton of vanilla ice cream from your freezer. The bowls in your cupboard seemed too pedestrian to serve Homelander in, until you remembered the plastic, diner-style ice cream cups you’d bought not long after you moved into your apartment. Carefully scooping the dessert into the cup, you were pleased with how professional it looked.

Ice cream and spoon in hand, you set both in front of Homelander, who looked from the treat to you. “Ooh, vanilla, such an under-appreciated flavor, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” you answered, unwilling to admit you’d only bought it because it was on sale, and you had left over chocolate syrup from when you were on your brief home cafe kick.

You yelped when he pulled you onto his lap, bracing yourself by placing your hands on his chest. He seemed pleased at your reaction, smiling as he took a spoonful of ice cream and held it in front of your mouth.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he said.

You leaned in, opening your mouth and allowing him to feed the dessert to you. His smile widened when you swallowed.

“Okay, my turn,” he said cheerfully, ignoring the way your hand shook as you scooped up a generous amount of ice cream and put the spoon in his mouth.

The moan he let out as he sucked the ice cream off of the spoon was nothing short of sinful, and you felt ashamed that it stirred something in you. Sure, you found Homelander attractive and had a brief crush on him before coming to terms with the fact that it’d never happen, but this was just bizarre.

The odd ritual continued for another few agonizing minutes, and it was almost like he was going out of his way to see how much you would put up with before you’d protest or challenge him. You told yourself it was because you wanted to keep your job, and you were definitely afraid of him, but a small part of you that you tried to push deep into the recesses of your mind was starting to enjoy it.

“You know, I’m having a great time. We should do this more often,” he said, finally setting aside the half-empty cup.

You gulped. “Yeah, if you want to.”

“Do you not want to?”

“It’s not that, I just–I was expecting someone else tonight.”

“Right. Jesse,” he said, spitting the name like venom.

You’d never told Homelander your date’s name in the brief conversation you’d had with him about it back at the tower. There was no way he couldn’t hear your heart racing. If you didn’t calm down, you were sure your dinner was going to make an unwelcome reappearance.

“So, what was the plan after the romantic candle lit dinner? Just a kiss goodnight, or were you going to let him fuck you?” he asked, his voice flat as he pinned you in place with nothing more than a cold stare.

You balked at his wording. Not that you hadn’t heard him curse before, it was a shock in and of itself the first time he dropped the f-bomb in front of you. He’d never been so directly crass toward you, though. “I-I don’t—“

“You don’t put out on the first date?” he finished. “Really make ‘em work for it, huh?”

“I just don’t want to be that intimate with someone I don’t know well,” you answered, shifting uncomfortably in his lap.

“Good thing you know me like the back of your hand, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed absentmindedly.

His fingers brushed one of the slinky spaghetti straps of your black dress, the caress reminding you of how easily he could break you if he wanted to. You'd seen him lift cars with his bare hands and not even break a sweat. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then to the crook of your neck, then your cheek, until finally he captured your lips in a kiss that left you dizzy. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until he forced your mouth open with his tongue.

Tangling your fingers in his hair in an attempt to steady yourself only encouraged him.

He pulled you closer so you were fully straddling him, and you knew despite the force with which he held your hips in place, he was holding back. You nearly choked on your own spit, or perhaps it was a mix of yours and his at this point. He was already pushing it with how much force you could handle, and he was holding back.

When he finally pulled away, you looked at him, glassy-eyed and lips surely in the process of bruising. You could feel his hardening cock through his suit as it pressed against your thighs. He stared at you, intense and uncomfortable for a few moments before his gaze wandered right next to your ass. He picked up the cup of melted ice cream with one hand, and tore open the front of your dress with the other, as if it were nothing more than tissue paper.

“You dress like such a little prude at work, but this–fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Before you could respond, he poured some of the melted ice cream over your chest, and you gasped at the sensation of the cool liquid making contact with your skin. He watched, mesmerized as it rolled down your breasts, a droplet of vanilla hanging from one of your exposed nipples. He dipped his head, licking it gently before taking your breast in his mouth.

You whimpered as his teeth harshly grazed your nipple, needy and insatiable as he lapped up the sticky ice cream that’d begun to dry on your chest.

“Fuck, mommy,” he whined against your skin, throwing you for one hell of a loop.

He poured the rest of the vanilla ice cream on your chest, some of it landing on your already ruined dress. Throwing the cup aside without a second thought, he brought his attention to your other breast which he’d simply been groping until then. You nearly jumped when he grabbed your hand, threading your fingers through his hair. Oh god, he wanted you to pull him closer.

Hesitantly, you pushed his face against your breast, his moan practically vibrating through you. You kept your hand in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as he relentlessly sucked and licked your breasts. The stimulation was almost too intense to be pleasurable, but the wetness between your legs said otherwise. You couldn’t hide that from a man like Homelander, your gut twisting at the realization he could probably smell your arousal.

He was fully hard now, and with how rough he was getting, you could tell he was close. Biting your sensitive lip, you slipped your hand between your bodies, rubbing his hard on through his suit.

“Oh fuck, mommy, don’t stop,” he moaned.

It felt almost wrong, seeing the most powerful superhero in the world so vulnerable, but you knew better. Despite the facade of submissiveness, he was in control.

“Are-are you close, baby?” you asked, hoping if you played the part, the less time you’d be subject to his troubling fetish.

“Yes,” he whined. “God, I’m–”

He squeezed your breast when he came, and if you weren’t sure it’d be bruised in the morning before, that had made you certain. You gasped in pain, tears rolling down your cheeks which he wiped away in his post-orgasm haze.

“You did so good. You did so fucking good, just like I knew you would,” he praised.

He picked you up like you were nothing, and in a way, you were nothing. Your body was already pushed to limits you’d never experienced before, and the night was far from over, as you’d find three hours and a broken box spring later. You weren’t sure at what point you’d fallen asleep–or maybe passed out was more like it–but when you awoke the next morning well past nine o’clock, your body was almost too sore to move as quickly as you needed it to.

“Good morning, babe,” Homelander greeted as you shuffled into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as if he owned the place.

“Homelander, I’m going to be late—“

“No you’re not. I already called in for you, let ‘em know you’re taking a sick day. We can keep the little white lie between us,” he said, with a mischievous smile and a wink.

“Oh,” was all you managed as you sat at the table, a wrapped breakfast sandwich and cup of coffee from the bagel shop you stopped in every morning was sitting neatly at your place. “You picked up breakfast?”

“It’s the least I can do after you made dinner last night. By the way, the people over there wanted me to tell you congrats when I let them know the good news.”

“Good news?”

“Your promotion,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You’ll be reporting directly to me from now on, take out all of the bureaucratic bullshit between us.”

“Thank you,” you said, voice shaky and uncertain.

He pursed his lips. “I’d expect a little more fucking enthusiasm, but we can work on that.”

“You’re right, I’m just still a little groggy is all,” you said, forcing a smile on your tired face. “Thank you, honey. I appreciate it.”

“There we go,” he said, his quick mood shift almost startling you as he leaned down to give you a kiss. “You know I’m always looking out for you, right, babe?”

You glanced at the dried blood on the other side of the table, where he’d been sitting the previous night. Before you could think too much about it, you widened the fake smile you were giving him. “Of course I do.”

#homelander x reader #the boys #homelander #the boys x reader #homelander imagine

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adore-laur · 5 months

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DADRRY: PART TWO

— part one

——

The Styles household is missing a vital component this weekend. Harry isn't home, which is a rare occurrence, but duty is called at the most inconvenient moment. It had been a little after five in the morning when he received a blaring phone call from his boss. His snores had abruptly stopped as he fumbled around to answer the call before speaking groggily with a pinch to his eyebrows that would indeed induce a splitting headache.

You were still half-asleep when it happened, and all you can remember seeing was Harry running his hands over his face after he hung up. He then slid out of bed with a quiet groan and took a shower. It didn't take long for you to realize that he had been called in to work. His pragmatic side refused to leave the restaurant severely understaffed, and you understood his decision.

Before he slipped out the door, a minty kiss was given to the corner of your lips, and he whispered, "Love you." You later awoke to a cold and empty bed, and it felt uncomfortable without his warm body pressed against you.

It's a quarter after eight now, and you assume Harry will be done working after lunchtime. Your daughter will undoubtedly be confused about why he isn't here to cook a breakfast buffet and carry her down to the beach for a morning swim like he does every weekend. You're dreading telling her because she could throw a toddler fit at any moment, especially when sleepy.

With a suppressed yawn, you reach for your phone on the nightstand and text Harry. You'll try to make his shift less chaotic.

I'm sorry you had to go in today. I hope it goes by quickly. We'll see you when you get home! I love you.

You hope you can ease some of his frustration. He becomes grouchy when work obligations are thrown at him at the last minute, and working on a Saturday could be extra stressful since he doesn't know the weekend menu and preparation like he used to. Despite that, he's a professional, so you can count on him to push through and adapt.

Eventually, you start your day by walking to the balcony overlooking the coast. Your daughter will wake soon, so you bask in the soothing moment alone. Below the balcony is where all the beach toys live — floaties, buckets for building sandcastles, and even a foldable lounge chair Harry spoiled your daughter with on her last birthday. It's your family's subtle mark on the world, and it ignites a strong feeling in your chest. You built this life with Harry, from every little toy on the sand to the oceanside memories the three of you will always cherish.

Your reminiscing ends as the brisk morning breeze ripples goosebumps over your arms and legs. Your mind naturally drifts to the thought of Harry and how tomorrow will be his only day off before he has to pound out five straight days of work again. He's dedicated to his career and tries desperately to leave his stress at work instead of bringing it home, but you have a feeling he'll be spent today.

You hear soft footsteps padding down the hallway as you think of something you could do to cheer him up. You smile and walk back inside, meeting your baby girl's puffy eyes and lost expression. Your heart immediately crumbles. Harry is always the one to wake her on the weekends. After waking up, you'll often see them already at the kitchen table, either sharing a slice of buttered toast or creating faces on their pancakes using an assortment of fruit.

Kneeling to her height, you brush tangled curls out of her eyes. "Good morning, sleepyhead. I know Dad was supposed to wake you up, but he had to go to work. He'll be home in a few hours, okay?"

Her lips pout. She's currently in a clingy phase, so not seeing her dad when she usually does has her understandably upset.

You gently shush her to try and stop any forthcoming tears. "I know, sweetheart. Let's eat some breakfast, and then we can think of something to do for him before he comes home," you say, not wanting to deal with a meltdown this early.

She nods and sulks toward the kitchen, with you closely behind. You make frozen chocolate chip waffles with a lousy side of green grapes. It's nothing compared to what Harry would make, but it'll have to suffice. You sit next to her and cautiously watch her eat so she doesn't shove big bites into her tiny mouth. She still looks visibly upset.

The vacant chair across the table mocks you. It feels bizarre not having him here talking about the day's plans or what's for dinner. You can't remember the last time he had to work during the weekend. The restaurant's management has always been top-notch, and the employees are usually punctual, but there must have been someone sick or an unforeseen scheduling issue.

"Can you think of something to do for him?" you ask your daughter.

She silently mopes and picks at her waffle. You'll have to think for both of you.

You could have lunch made for him when he gets home, but you're not sure if he'd be hungry with being around food all morning. On top of that, he'll be exhausted and will most definitely want to take a nap. A better idea would be to visit him at work at the end of his shift. He'd appreciate it.

"Would you want to go and see him at the restaurant?" you suggest, stealing one of her grapes.

That gets her. Her eyes focus on you as she excitedly bobs her head. You grin and kiss her temple before cleaning the remnants of breakfast.

"I'm going to shower, and then I'll help you get ready," you tell her while lifting her out of the highchair. She gallops to her room without another word, clearly in a much happier mood than before.

You pull out your phone and ask Harry what time he works until. Since you want to surprise him, you send a vague text. You're not worried about getting a response soon, so you check on your daughter and find her playing with her toys, then head to the bedroom to take a quick shower.

After that, you're met with a new text message.

Harry: 1:30 or 2. Everyone is in a bad mood. The breakfast rush was a disaster. Someone called in because they were hungover. How are you guys doing? Sorry if she's cranky because of me.

You: That sucks. Only five more hours, though. And she's fine, just a little mopey. Have a good rest of your shift, baby.

Three dots immediately pop up.

Harry: Tell her I miss and love her. I'll call you during my lunch break if it's not swamped.

You: Will do.

You shut your phone off and find things to do around the house to make time pass faster — cleaning, playing with dolls, and even baking brownies. When it finally hits one o'clock, you pick out an outfit. It's not too hot outside, so you wear a long sundress that flows prettily. You then dry your hair and let it loose, knowing Harry likes it that way.

Entering your daughter's bedroom, you find her still playing with dolls on the plush carpet. A yellow gingham dress and white Mary Janes lay on her bed. You grab them, help her into the cute outfit, and then brush through her wild curls.

Once you both are ready, you grab your keys and head out the front door. You strap your daughter in the Volvo's car seat before settling behind the wheel. It takes fifteen minutes to get to the restaurant, so you put on a Disney playlist for her to listen to on the way there.

When you eventually pull into the parking lot, it appears busy. You couldn't imagine working at a restaurant on a Saturday during the summer. Once parked, you unbuckle your daughter and hike her up on your hip before walking around the back. There's an employee door that leads to the kitchen without having to walk through the entire building. You've visited Harry on his lunch breaks before, even before you got married. When you first started dating him, you remember how he would wait outside in his chef coat, standing against the brick wall. When he'd spot you, he'd meet you halfway and trap you in his arms, kissing and hugging you until he had to clock back in.

Now, you walk through the door with a mini version of you and him clinging to your side.

The kitchen is bustling, the smell of sizzling meats and vegetables instantly invading your senses. Dishes clang in the sink, so you assume they must have just finished serving lunch. Everyone recognizes you by now, and they offer a friendly smile or wave before resuming their respective duties.

You scan the room for Harry but can't find him anywhere.

"He's in the employee bathroom," says a man you've seen before as he passes you. "He needed a break. The lunch rush was a nightmare."

If the breakfast rush was a disaster, and the lunch rush was a nightmare…

"Oh no," you mumble. It must have been bad for everyone today. "I'll go check on him."

You wander toward the bathroom door and knock twice. The familiar clearing of Harry's throat is muffled on the other side.

"Yeah?" he says hoarsely. His nose sounds plugged up. Has he been crying?

"It's me, honey. Can I come in?"

It's silent for a few seconds before you hear the lock turn. You crack the door open and step inside before turning and locking it again. When you meet Harry's gaze, your heart sinks. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, his chef coat is unbuttoned, and his curls fall over his forehead. He looks so worn out.

Yet it all goes away momentarily when he sees who you have on your hip. He gives the slightest smile before sniffling and taking her from you, hugging her tightly while her arms throw themselves around his shoulders. His eyes stay trained on yours, offering a nod as if to convince you he's okay.

You close the short distance and run your hand through his tousled hair. Your thumb then grazes the faint wetness under his eyes before you squeeze the apple of his cheek and give him a sympathetic smile. He leans forward and plants a tender kiss on your lips. It tastes like bell peppers.

"Are you okay?" you murmur with concern.

Harry sighs and says, "Not really. It was six hours of nonstop orders and running around. We're so understaffed, baby. Everyone kept pissing each other off." He sniffles. "I just want to go home."

"Are you done for the day? I can help clean up or something."

"I have to take the meatballs out for dinner service. They're almost done, then we can go."

"Do you want to help him take the meatballs out?" you ask your daughter. Her head snaps up with lightning speed, making you and Harry laugh.

"Yes, please," answers her soft voice.

Harry sets her down and takes her tiny hand before leading her out of the bathroom and toward the ovens. Sure enough, a large sheet of seasoned meatballs is cooking in one of them. "Four more minutes, and then we can take them out," he tells her.

She kneels in front of the oven, watching them closely. Harry smiles fondly and grabs a spare chef hat from under a nearby counter. He places it on her head and crouches next to her.

After admiring them for a while, you stand behind Harry and massage his shoulders. His head rolls back as he looks at you upside down, dazzling you with his handsome face.

Once the timer beeps, Harry carefully opens the oven and grabs two mitts, putting one on his hand and one on your daughters'. He slides the baking sheet out so he can grip the edge while he maneuvers her hand to grip the other side. With slow and cautious movements, they successfully set it on the stovetop. Harry quietly cheers and high-fives her, then takes their mitts off. She looks so proud of herself.

"I was thinking we could go to the supermarket and get ingredients for date night tomorrow," you say as Harry washes his hands.

"Yeah, we should do that," he replies, hanging up his chef coat. "I have some recipes saved on my phone."

His outfit is somewhat wrinkled—a cream-colored button-up untucked from grey trousers. After he removes his work shoes and slips on white loafers, he wipes a clean rag over his face to get rid of the buildup of sweat and grease.

"Do you want to ride with him?" you ask your daughter. "We're stopping at the store on our way home."

She nods and raises her arms for him. He picks her up and clocks himself out before escorting you to the parking lot. Harry buckles his girl in the Bentley while you get in the Volvo. He then saunters to the open driver's side window and casually rests his arms on it.

"Are my eyes still red?" he asks, rubbing them with his knuckles.

"Don't rub them; it'll make it worse," you say. "But they're not too bad. I'm sorry today was stressful, Harry."

"It's fine. Hopefully, management gets their shit together so I won't have to come in on my days off. They know my weekends are important." Harry stares into the distance and mumbles, "It's that idiot's fault for getting wasted the night before his opening shift."

"Hey, stop dwelling on it. The hard part is over. Now, you get to go home and take a nap. Plus, you have off all day tomorrow."

"You're right." He readjusts his footing and focuses intently on you. "By the way, I like your pretty little outfit."

"Thank you. Your clothes are so wrinkly."

He scoffs lightheartedly. "Wow. What a nice compliment."

"No, you look great," you say, backtracking. "It's just such a dad outfit."

"I guess that's better than when you say I dress like a grandpa."

"A cute grandpa." Before he can reply, you say, "Let's get out of here."

"'Kay," he says, rhythmically tapping his fingers on the car. "Bye, my love. Please drive safely."

You start the engine and crank up the air conditioner. "The store is literally a street away, and you'll be following me. I think I'll be okay."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Let me worry about you, yeah? Traffic was awful this morning."

"I know, I know. You, however, need to drive even more safely. You've got a baby on board."

"She's not a baby anymore."

"Don't say that. I'll start crying."

He laughs. "Please don't. Crying while driving isn't safe."

"I'm kidding. Sort of. Okay, we're wasting time. Begone." You wave him off and roll up the window, but Harry knocks on it offendedly.

You groan and roll it back down. "What do you want?"

"Uh, a kiss goodbye? Am I chopped liver to you?"

"You're so dramatic."

Harry leans in until half of his torso is through the open window. He puckers his lips, and you give him a searing kiss. He hums, satisfied, then gives you a peck on the cheek before retreating.

He always gets his way.

——

Shopping started wonderfully. It truly did.

Now, not so much. Your daughter is throwing a tantrum in the beverage aisle with wails and crocodile tears galore, all because you won't buy chocolate milk for her. You keep reiterating that there's a jug at home, but according to her, it's not the same. Harry is on the opposite side of the store, finding a specific type of rice needed for the date night recipe he picked out, so you're left trying to diffuse her outburst alone. You hope he'll heroically come down the aisle any minute.

Your skin feels hot and prickly as you attempt to calm her down, but she's stubborn like her dad. Usually, she'll listen, but there are scarce fits that she unleashes at full power. It's absolute torture enduring them while simultaneously trying to subside them.

No one really talks about the humiliating parts of raising a child. The most common example is dealing with tantrums in public places where everyone stares at you with subtle judgment.

It's almost comical how she plopped herself on the cold, hard tiles as she cried to no one in particular. An impulsive thought made you want to tell her that she was just embarrassing herself, but you resisted. There was no need to make her cry even harder.

Just in time, Harry comes speeding down the aisle with a frazzled look and a bag of rice in his hand. He takes in your defeated expression, then glances at the cause of it. He huffs — relieved that it's not an emergency — and crouches to her height.

"I told her I won't buy chocolate milk because we already have some at home," you explain, trying to blink back frustrated tears. "They're different brands, and I guess that's a massive problem."

Harry sighs while looking at your daughter sternly. He'll often take a soft approach, but you know this tantrum is worse than others. She rarely gets temperamental in public.

"That's enough," he scolds firmly. "We have some at home that you can drink, okay? You listen to your mother when she tells you no."

Her sobs weaken, yet her tears still fall. She sniffles and stares at you with those devastating eyes before choking out another raspy sob. She starts to run away, but Harry's paternal instincts have him standing with a displeased groan and catching up to her. He scoops her up using one arm and secures her over his shoulder so she can't escape. She begins squirming and screaming, causing you to tiredly run your hands down your face.

"All right, let's go," he says, his body practically a punching bag for her little fists and feet. "You're being a brat."

Harry roughly passes the rice to you and then takes her to the car. You release the breath you were holding and decide to just buy the chocolate milk anyway, so you don't have to deal with whatever that was again. You also find the other ingredients before heading to the checkout area to pay. The monotone beeping of the scanning gun keeps you from crying in front of the cashier.

Being a parent is draining. People warned you, but it's ten times harder than they make it out to be. Sometimes, you feel like a bad parent for not being able to control your child. You've had conversations with Harry about how he feels the same way. You know it's completely normal to feel guilt, shame, and insecurity, but it doesn't make those thoughts any less heartbreaking to conquer.

It's just one difficult day. You always get through it.

Once you leave the store, you spot Harry setting up a movie to play for your daughter on the small screen that's hooked to the back of his headrest. You don't hear any crying, so you assume he successfully calmed her down.

Harry eventually sees you in his peripheral and gives you the tiniest wave. You almost fall apart at his gentleness as you walk to your car. Your daughter probably doesn't want to see you right now, plus you don't want to set her off again, so you just get in the driver's seat and bite down on your bottom lip to keep the tears at bay.

After a few moments, you hear Harry's car door shut and footsteps walk closer. It's enough to make the first sob escape. Harry's attentive and caring nature can always break the dam if you're sensitive enough.

He opens the door on your side and immediately brings you in for a warm, consoling embrace. You let out soft cries in his arms, his hand cradling the back of your head as he shushes and sways you. His presence alone is enough to patch the holes made from today.

"She's good now," he murmurs, his cheek nuzzling the side of your head. "It's okay. We'll talk about it later. Let's go home first."

You nod, just wanting to be in the comfort of your own home. Harry reaches over your legs and opens the center console to pull out a small package of tissues he knows you keep in there. He takes one out and dries your tears while gently cupping your cheek.

"Today's been weird with you being gone. It's not your fault, but I guess we're not used to it. Sorry for crying."

"Hey, stop that," he replies quietly. "I cried, too. It's good to cry. What do we always say to each other? Parenting isn't easy, and we're learning every day. We're in this together, right?"

This time, you start crying at his loving words, and you can't help but start laughing at both of your messy states. He cradles the back of your head and kisses your forehead several times. "Are you good to drive?" he asks, his hands gripping the top of the car as his foot plants itself by your seat.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." You nod your head toward the grocery bags in the backseat. "I bought the milk so she doesn't hate me forever. Is she still mad at me?"

"I had a little talk with her. Told her to give you a big hug when we get home, so be prepared."

"Thank you for handling her. I love you."

"Love you more," he says. "I'm sorry for throwing the rice in your hands, by the way."

You wave him off. "Doesn't matter."

"Okay." The door begins to shut. "Drive safe."

"Excuse me, am I chopped liver to you?" you repeat what he said earlier. "Leaving me without a kiss?"

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth. "You've got snot in your nose, so I think I'll pass," he teases as he walks away.

"Hey! I kissed you in the gross restaurant bathroom after you were crying."

He just shrugs smugly. You grin and start driving.

——

After you arrived home, Harry took a short nap and later made a seafood dinner. Your daughter also gave you a bone-crushing hug, as promised, but you're sure it was only because she saw you bought the chocolate milk she wanted.

Now, you are all at the house's private beach area to get some fresh air. Harry puts swim floaties on your daughter's arms while you bring out her plastic sandcastle-building tools. The sky is a dull blue, and the coastal breeze is pleasantly warm.

Even when it's gloomy, your family feels like sunshine.

Once her floaties are secure, she runs into the ocean to splash around — she knows not to let the water rise past her waist. You set her tools by the shore and look at Harry with your hands on your hips, waiting for him to start the activity he came up with. He suggested that the both of you pass a football around for some reason, and you couldn't think of anything else to do, so you agreed. He's changed into yellow swim trunks, a blue tie-dye shirt, and black sunglasses on his face. His feet are bare, and he's holding a football. You don't remember ever owning one, so you have no idea where he grabbed it.

"Ready?" he calls out over the wind.

"Sure!" you call back, showing him your palms so you can catch it. "Please don't throw it too hard!"

"You act like I'm an NFL player. Stop stroking my ego, love."

"Just throw the ball, Harry."

He stances up and peers at you over his sunglasses as if to tell you to get ready. He brings his arm back over his head and throws it. It goes left and doesn't even reach you.

"Nice throw," you say sarcastically as you pick it up. "You're really giving Aaron Rodgers a run for his money."

Harry briefly scowls at your comment, and you glance back to see him jogging toward you. You try to run away from him, but he quickly lurches forward and lifts you. You squeal as he spins you around before setting you down and stealing the ball.

After twenty minutes of Harry's horrible football skills, the both of you decide to lie on the hammock close to the water. You and Harry can fit on it together, so you curl into his side as he throws one arm around your shoulder to keep you near. Lightly swaying in the wind, you enjoy the peaceful serenity of where you live. Your daughter is still in view, collecting shells along the shore. The waves rush forward and then retreat. The clouds hang low in a sheath of grey. It's a sight to behold.

Harry kisses your cheek softly before murmuring, "Wanna talk about earlier?"

"We probably should," you reply, propping yourself up with your elbow.

"Talk to me about how you felt," he says, taking off his sunglasses. "Lay it all on me."

You shift your gaze to your daughter. "I just... I know we've dealt with her tantrums before. But that one in the store was the worst one, you know? I've dealt with them alone when you're at work, and I know you deal with them when I'm gone, too. She's usually so well-behaved in public and I kind of froze when she threw a fit. She wouldn't listen to me no matter what."

Harry nods, paying full attention as you continue, "And I was embarrassed because people stared at me and probably wondered why I can't control my child. She's such a sweet girl, but it's those stubborn moods she gets in that frustrate me. I don't want to yell at her either because that will upset her more. Then I almost started crying at the checkout because I felt so ashamed that you had to step in to help. And I know we're a team, but I felt useless." You finish with watery eyes while watching your sweet baby girl pick up a seashell and place it in her little self-made pile of others.

Harry brings you closer and kisses your temple before responding in a voice that's just above a whisper. "Everything you just said, I understand entirely. I feel the same way sometimes. Remember when you were out with your friends, and I was home alone when she was just a baby? How I called you bawling my eyes out because she wouldn't let me hold her? She kept wailing, and I tried everything, but absolutely nothing worked. And I felt so shitty because my entire job as a dad is to take care of her, yet I couldn't even do that. I was so scared that she was done with me. But like I told you today... we're learning. We're in this together until she moves out and gets sick of—"

You kiss him mid-sentence. "Don't say that, please. She's not even three yet. I don't want to think about her moving out."

Harry squeezes your shoulder and says, "Sorry. But you get the point, yeah?" He slides his hand up your neck and through your hair. "You're the best mum. I'm so grateful you can come to me and talk through these insecurities. We're never too old to talk about it."

The sun peeks from the clouds, and you take in Harry's features, now basking in golden light. "You're the best dad and husband I could ever want. Thank you for being my shoulder to cry on and for always listening to me. No matter how big or small the problem is."

"I love you," he whispers, thumbing along your cheekbone. Did my sweet-talking give you flutters?"

"Oh, it's fluttering. For sure."

"I've still got the moves," he says, pumping his fist.

As you snuggle into his arms, your daughter prances over with a sand dollar in her palm. She clumsily clambers on top of Harry and holds it up to his face. His head retracts to look at it, and he smiles widely at her discovery even though she already has about seven sand dollars in her bedroom.

"For me?" he asks with exaggerated surprise.

She nods. "Because you had to work."

Your heart melts at her sweetness. Harry looks over at you and raises his eyebrows before looking back at her. "Yeah? Thank you, baby. And where's mommy's present for getting you chocolate milk?"

Her face drops, and she quickly climbs off before returning to her seashell pile. You laugh and hide your face in Harry's shoulder. Even through the hardships, you feel like the luckiest person on the planet every single day.

Once the sun sets, you all walk to the house and settle in the backyard. It's a spacious area with two reclined chairs and trees surrounding them, string lights strung across their branches. It's one of your favorite spaces. It's where you and Harry snag some alone time after your daughter goes to bed or where slow dances and conversations about the future happen.

Slow dancing still happens, but a certain little girl likes to join this time.

You venture inside momentarily and grab your music speaker, then head to your bedroom to steal one of Harry's old shirts for your daughter to wear as pajamas. It'll fit more like a dress on her, but she sleeps better with his scent engulfing her. Truthfully, you can't blame her.

Outside, Harry is letting your daughter look through his phone for a song to play. He helps her scroll through a playlist he created for sleep troubles. You unzip her dress and take it off as Harry helps maneuver her so you can pull the shirt over her head. She practically drowns in it.

Once she chooses a song, you turn the speaker on so his phone can connect. The flute that begins playing is familiar — "Constant as the Stars Above" from Barbie as Rapunzel. Harry sometimes hums it to her when he tucks her in at night.

He sets her down and lets her stand on top of his feet with her Mary Janes. They dance under the moonlight, Harry holding her hands above her head as he twirls her. She tiredly giggles, and you check your phone to see that it's way past her bedtime. You can't bring yourself to disrupt the moment, so you admire their special bond for the next few minutes.

When her eyes start drooping, you carry her inside and lay her in bed before calling it a night. Getting to wake up with your family tomorrow puts a dreamy smile on your face as you fall asleep to the sound of distant ocean waves.

——

Sunday mornings are medicine for the soul.

A delicious assortment of food is on the counters as Harry gracefully travels around the kitchen to flip pancakes on the griddle or crack eggs into the pan. He's entirely in his element with tortoiseshell glasses over his sleepy eyes and a white robe tied around his body. Your daughter sits in her highchair at the kitchen table, her curls sticking up every which way. She's in her own world eating dry Cheerios.

Whenever Harry passes by her to set plates or cups down, he ruffles her hair and kisses her cheek, sometimes even stealing a piece of cereal from her. She turns around with a pout before smiling because Harry playfully looks around the room and whistles nonchalantly like he didn't do it.

Once all of you are sitting down with plates full of Harry's five-star breakfast, you discuss plans for the day. Your daughter is spending the night with Harry's mother since it's date night for you and him. She's leaving right before dinnertime, so she'll still be spending a good portion of the day with the both of you.

Harry plans to cook Chinese food tonight, and you plan on getting him to watch The Bachelorette with you. He told you he was absolutely not doing that, yet you know that once it's on, he'll become engrossed with the drama. He'll pretend he doesn't like it but then bombard you with questions about who hates who.

It hits five in the evening fairly quickly and your daughter just left with no fuss. You hope she doesn't have another one of her temper tantrums.

Harry has changed out of his pajamas and into a white T-shirt with a baseball hat turned backward. He also has a bit of scruff from not shaving for the past week.

There are days when you look at his outfit and think he looks like a dad more than usual. Today is one of those days. He has a black apron tied around his waist as he boils water for the rice. You'll never get tired of watching him cook. He's so focused and delicate with his hands, whether chopping vegetables or sprinkling seasoning.

You sit on the counter and watch him. While he waits for the water to heat, his hands place themselves on either side of your legs. You smile as he slides his warm hand under your sweatshirt and strokes his thumb against your stomach. There are permanent stretch marks indented on your skin from being pregnant. You tried to get rid of them by using expensive creams and exercising. After a while, you gave up and slowly but surely accepted that your body helped grow and bring a child into the world, and there would forever be proof of it. Harry had helped tremendously with seeking acceptance. He never forced you to love the physical changes. He was the one helping you put on creams and looking for workouts to do with you. He never pushed you.

His thumb continues stroking your soft skin, and his eyes are zoned out on the floor. You wonder what he's thinking about.

"The water's boiling," you whisper to snap him out of his trance.

Harry stands straight and clears his throat. He pours the rice in, and your hand raises to scratch the stubble along his jaw. He tilts his head and kisses your palm.

Once dinner is done—two savory Chinese chicken and fried rice bowls—the two of you sit across from each other and dig in. As Harry chews, you notice he's off in his own world again. You nudge your foot against his.

"Where's your mind tonight?"

He blinks quickly. "Sorry. Were you saying something?"

"No, just observing you," you say with a soft smile. "You were daydreaming when you were making dinner, too. Just making sure you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm good. I just… wanted to talk to you about something before we go to bed. Nothing bad, I promise."

"We can talk after we watch The Bachelorette. That's more important."

He rolls his eyes and replies, "I guess I'll watch it with you."

The both of you clean up after finishing your meals, then head to the couch and tune in to the show. You've been recording episodes after they premiere since you're usually too tired after work to stay up and watch them in full. You're about halfway through the season, and this is the first episode you've been able to watch with Harry. Or, well, force him to watch. He hates all the crying and stupid fights. Not to mention how you always talk about how cute the guys are.

Your favorite contestant appears on screen, and you gasp. "That's Greg! Isn't he adorable? I want him to win."

"He looks like he finishes too fast," Harry comments flatly.

You scoff. "Looks like you guys have something in common, then."

"I will shut this off and delete the recording," he threatens under his breath.

"I'd divorce you. I'm not kidding."

"And leave me for Greg? You wouldn't."

You just huff and continue watching Greg get some action in a hot tub with the bachelorette. When there's a commercial break, you lay your head in Harry's lap.

"If you were the bachelorette and I was a contestant, would you pick me?" he asks after a few moments.

"No."

He pinches your side. "Liar."

"It's true," you admit honestly. "You'd try too hard. You wouldn't kiss me the first night to seem like a gentleman. And then another guy would steal your time away from me, but you'd be too nice to say anything about it."

"I would not," he argues weakly

"You're getting pretty defensive. I beg to differ."

"Whatever," he replies, scratching along your arm. "I'd sweep you off your feet, and then we'd get married. The whole nation would love us."

"Greg could do that as well," you tease, loving how he's getting jealous.

"Well, good thing we're already married and have a kid together. Unless you're planning on leaving me for him."

"Thinking about it," you mumble as the show comes back on.

When the episode ends, it's around nine. You still have dishes to wash, so you get up and fill the sink with soapy water. Harry is beside you in seconds to help, and you suddenly remember what he mentioned earlier during dinner.

"So, what'd you want to talk about?" you ask, beginning to wash cups.

"Oh, um, this is just something I've been thinking about lately. And I wanted to bring it up because it concerns both of us—you, mostly."

He's nervously spewing words, so you shut the water off and grant him your full attention. "Talk to me," you encourage, bumping your hip with his.

Harry exhales somewhat shakily. "When you were on the counter and my hand was under your sweatshirt... my mind immediately went back to when you were pregnant." He avoids eye contact as he scrubs a plate. "How much I loved it. The whole progression."

You know where this conversation is going. You've thought about it before. Dreamed, even.

"It's been on my mind for a while, you know?" he continues. "She's almost three, and I think having another one would be nice. Again, it's completely up to you. Pregnancy isn't easy, so it's just an idea."

"But you've been thinking about it for a while?" you reiterate for clarity. Harry nods shyly, drying the clean plate with a towel. "I've been thinking about it, too," you add.

Harry's head whips toward you. "What?"

"I feel ready to do it a second time. To be pregnant again."

He sets the towel down. "Seriously? For real?"

"It's a perfect time. We've got the money and space. I'm all in if it's what you want. I think she would love to have a sibling."

Harry inhales heavily and darts his gaze between both of your eyes. He then breaks out into a beautiful smile, rubbing his hand along his mouth. "Okay," he says. "Yeah, I want another baby more than anything. We can start trying whenever you're ready."

You grin while washing your hands. The dishes can wait until tomorrow. "We can start tonight. We're home alone, and the outfit you're wearing is making me hot."

"Yeah?" he says, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Sweet. Wait, right now? We're doing this?"

"Yes, right now," you reply as you walk toward the bedroom. "C'mon, let's brush our teeth and get a head start."

Harry takes off his hat and catches up to you. When you glance back, he's nervously wringing his hands in front of him like a schoolboy, and it almost makes you laugh. After seven years together and experiencing the awkward stages of dating and then pushing out an entire child with him in the room, he still gets nervous about these things.

It reminds you of the time you told him you were pregnant.

——

You pushed the gift bag toward Harry, and he gave you a suspicious look paired with a smirk.

"Did I miss our anniversary or something?" he murmured as he opened the bag and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper.

You shook your head and braced for his reaction. You'd been trying for a few months, and you finally got the answer that both of you wanted. The positive pregnancy test hidden behind your back felt like a ticking bomb.

Harry carefully unwrapped the present. His eyebrows furrowed as he unfolded an apron in front of him. His eyes ran over it, and then his jaw went slack. Written on the fabric was 'Daddy Duty,' and three pockets were sewn into the bottom to hold baby supplies while he cooked.

He stared at you with wide, tear-filled eyes. You just nodded your head and presented the stick from behind your back. He slowly stood, setting the apron on the coffee table, and walked over to you with his hands reaching out. He took the stick with a shaky hand, his other covering his mouth.

Staring up at the ceiling, Harry choked out something between a relieved breath and a sob. His arms instantly wrapped around your shoulders, bringing you into his warm embrace. He was trying hard to keep it together, but you heard his shaky inhales and sniffles. You were crying, too. You'd both wanted this for so long.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispered against your neck. "I can't believe this. How far along are you?"

"I'll know at my first appointment next Thursday. I'll text you all the information."

"No, screw that. I'll take off work. I have to be there."

"Okay, we'll go together," you told him, secretly hoping he would say that. "Are you happy? I was so nervous. I didn't know how to tell you."

"Of course, I'm happy." He breathed exasperatedly, like he couldn't believe what you had just revealed. We're going to be parents. We're going to have a baby."

The both of you laughed against each other in disbelief. It was surreal, and it was all happening at the perfect time.

——

The thought of giving him another baby to cradle in his arms and to get up with at crazy hours in the morning leaves you yearning for it more than ever.

After brushing your teeth, you take your clothes off and don't waste any time taking Harry's off. You push him to make him lay back on the silk sheets before straddling his thighs, his tattoo peeking out from underneath his boxers. You grind against his cock, noticing he's hard already. Your hands spread on his firm chest as you continue rolling your hips.

Your underwear dampens, and Harry's hands grip your waist. He lifts his hips to relieve some pressure, his neck straining as he whimpers after every movement of yours.

You stop straddling him and slide his boxers off, his cock resting against his abdomen. You then take your underwear off and hike your legs over his thighs to hover over them again. This is the first time he's gone without a condom since you were pregnant, so you're nervous about the raw feeling.

"You with me, baby?" Harry asks breathily. "We're doing this?"

"I'm just gonna go slow so it doesn't burn," you say, lining yourself up.

He nods encouragingly. "We'll take our time. Let's make this good."

You exhale and slowly sink yourself into his cock. The stretch burns, but it still feels heavenly without a barrier. Harry groans as your hands grip his tense shoulders. His fingers flex on your hips when you take him all the way and begin rocking back and forth. He moans in response, his hips meeting the motion of yours.

You've missed this. You can feel every inch of his skin, and the contact is a pleasure like no other.

Harry decides to quickly flip you over so he can be on top. His forearms prop himself up as he starts thrusting at a faster pace. So much for going slow. His face is buried in your neck, and he places nipping kisses on it every so often, leaving love bites. You wrap your trembling legs around his body as he hits the deeper spots that have you arching your back against the mattress.

"Feel good?" he asks, his cheek resting against yours.

"So, so good. Don't stop."

The pit of your stomach forms a tight knot as he continues. He lowers one hand and stimulates your clit with his thumb as he roughly snaps his hips against yours, letting out salacious groans and whimpers into your ear. His body is warm like a personal furnace — it's burning against yours, and the closeness of your two bodies always leads to eruption.

"I'm almost there," you say, heat striking down your back. "Keep going… please don't stop."

"I'm close—God, I'm close. I'm with you, honey. Just tell me when you're ready."

You clench around him, and he pulls out and quickly gets behind you, pushing you to lay on your side. He thrusts back in, his chest pressed right against your back. One hand moves to grope your breast, and his other arm places itself above your head on the pillow to move some strands of hair off your forehead. The two sensations have you leaning your neck back against his shoulder and moaning loudly.

Your orgasm hits before you can warn him, and you cry out as his hips slow, riding it out before stilling and shuddering out his release. Broken groans are muffled into your neck as he asks, "Gonna make me a dad again?" You nod fervently at his question. "Yeah?"

You keep nodding until he's physically spent. He keeps his cock inside you, his body relaxing against yours. The both of you are breathing heavily, and you feel his cock soften, the feeling bringing you a strange sense of comfort.

"Think that did it?" he asks.

"I hope so," you answer. Harry repositions himself, his cock nudging inside of you. "God, you feel so perfect all the time."

Harry begins stroking his hand across your stomach, every so often giving you a gentle thrust that has you softly clenching around him. You're sensitive, but it's a natural response. When his hand starts rubbing circles around your stomach to ease the remaining pressure there, you smile giddily and think about getting to experience pregnancy all over again.

Harry eventually pulls out and kneels before you, hooking your knees over his shoulders. This is precisely what he did the last time you were trying for a baby years ago. Apparently, the position is supposed to help get one to stick, for lack of better words.

Harry begins whistling nonchalantly, and you start laughing hard because he's acting like he does this every day. He tries to give you a look as if to say what he's doing is incredibly serious business, but he eventually sputters a laugh. Now, both of you are giggling like maniacs.

After about five minutes in the position, Harry sets your legs down to put his boxers back on and then leaves. He comes back and provides you with aftercare—a warm, damp cloth, a clean pair of underwear, and one of the brownies you baked earlier today.

You eat your dessert while the ocean waves crash outside the open window. You get comfortable on his lap, and he circles his arms around your waist.

Tomorrow will mark the start of a new week. Your daughter will come home, and you all will make new memories together.

After tonight, it will hopefully be the start of another chapter.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #dadrry #dad!harry #dilfrry #harry styles #adore-laur

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salty-croissants · 5 months

Note

If its okay to request, could you do some relationship headcanons for Rayman (and later Ramon?) with a s/o who's been working with him for a really long time? Like a PA? If that's too specific though I totally get it.

Thank you for the request !

Don’t worry , it’s not too specific , it’s actually a very interesting concept :D

Hope this turned out okay !

Details : use of gender neutral reader ;

established relationships ;

no warnings needed

Rayman 🧡

You have been working for Rayman for quite a few years , handling various business matters for him in the position of the voice of Eden’s personal assistant , and over time his charming presence and confidence completely won you over …

… and you weren’t the only one who felt that way .

The more time he spent with you , the more Rayman started to notice little things about you that him smile : the way you were always so kind to the other staff members working behind his shows , the way you laughed , the way you seemed to know what to say to him whenever he was having a bad day , even bringing him coffee when he ended up working overnight …

It wasn’t long before your relationship grew beyond more than just a professional one , and when eventually Rayman revealed his true feelings to you you were overjoyed …

Now it’s been a while since you two started dating , and you both really couldn’t be happier about your decisions .

I think Rayman is someone who overworks himself quite a bit , with the Board of Directors constantly monitoring what he’s doing and giving him more and more things to handle , so you definitely have to take care of him whenever he ends up not doing it himself …

< Ray , it’s 1:00 am … you need to get some sleep . >

< Ah , don’t worry about me y/n … I need to prepare for tomorrow’s meeting , it’s really important , and - >

< Well , I assure you that you will barely be able to stay awake at tomorrow’s meeting if you don’t get some rest , and having you fall asleep live in front of everyone doesn’t sound like the best way for it to go . >

< I -

…

Heh … touché . >

Since you’re always working together but can’t really display too much affection in public , Rayman likes to surprise you with little kisses when no one is looking , smiling in front of your adorable reactions to them …

Before he heads out to one of his shows , you make sure to wish him luck with a kiss of your own , adjusting his bow tie while feeling his loving gaze on you .

< You got this sweetie , you’re gonna do amazing tonight . >

< Thanks love … I’ll meet you back here as soon as this ends , don’t think I forgot about our date ~ >

You actually got to see up close the catastrophic interview with Red that lead Rayman to lose his beloved job , and you were the only one who remained by his side to comfort him when he was in shambles , desperately trying to bury his sorrows in alcohol rivers …

< That’s … that’s it … m-my life is … it’s all over … I have no goddamn purpose left , how am I even going to … >

< Ray , you do have purpose … we are going to figure this out together , I promise . >

Your words mean more to him than you’ll ever know , and as he lets you hold him in your arms Rayman can’t help but be thankful for having met you , the person that was able to fill the emptiness in his heart created by a life of loneliness and fear …

With you by his side , Eden’s now ex star doesn’t need to be afraid anymore .

Ramon 🖤

Now that he is fully aware of the atrocities Eden committed , atrocities that he unknowingly allowed to happen , Ramon’s only wish is to find you and explain everything to you .

He knows you would never blame him , he knows you will understand , and yet he can’t help but feel incredibly nervous as soon as he take a few steps into his lounge where he knows you were waiting for him to come back …

< Oh Ray , there you are ! I was worried something happened to … you … >

Your relieved expression immediately turns worried when you see just how troubled your boyfriend looks … he looks … different , for the lack of a better word .

< Oh god … sweetie , are you okay ? Are you hurt ? >

< Oh … don’t worry , that’s not mine . >

Ramon briefly points at the blood on his face before walking towards you , holding your hands in his .

< y/n , there is something I need to tell you …

It’s … probably gonna be hard to accept , but I need you to listen to me .

Can you do that for me ? >

You nod in response , staring back into his tired eyes and giving him your full attention .

< I’m listening . >

When he finishes speaking , Ramon’s worries about you blaming him for being so blind to all the terrible things the Board of Directors had been doing behind his back immediately vanish as soon as you wordlessly lock him in a tight embrace …

< Is … is it really okay … ? >

< Of course ! The Board of Directors was really good at keeping all of this hidden all these years … there was no way for you to know .

Besides , I … did indirectly work for them too , so we’re in the same boat right now .

I could never be mad at you over this . >

He is so relieved to hearing you say that …

< Thank you , y/n … I … I love you so much … >

< I love you too , Ram … nothing that happens from now on will ever be able to change that . >

Even now that the two of you have basically started your own little resistance , some things haven’t changed that much between you … like you constantly taking care of him whenever he gets hurt during a fight .

< y/n , I’m okay , really , you don’t have to - >

< Yes I have to .

Now please stay still honey … I need to finish patching you up . >

Ramon is always , always going to be watching over you , no matter the circumstances :

you’re heading out alone ? He will come with you , and if he can’t he’ll still end up following you from afar , his guns always ready to shoot any possible threat to your safety .

You’re sleeping ? He’s ready to immediately wake up if a sudden , suspicious noise reaches his ears … you sometimes wonder how he can fall asleep comfortably with a big gun under his pillow .

< Are you sure that’s comfortable for you , love ? You might get neck pains , sleeping on a hard surface every night … even if your neck is invisible , I think it could count , and - >

< Pfft … you’re so cute darling … thanks for caring so much about me , but it’s fine , really . I just wanna be ready for anything at all times : I won’t allow anyone to hurt you . >

Even tough you often tell him not to worry too much about you , Ramon just can’t help himself : you know him better than anyone , you mean everything to him , and if he were to lose you …

Let’s say he does all he can to avoid thinking about that horrible scenario .

#captain laserhawk #x reader #captain lazerhawk rayman #rayman x reader #rayman #gender neutral reader

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magicbystarlight · 6 months

Text

Before I Knew You - Part Ten

Bill Weasley x Reader

Masterlist, Part One

Thank you for reading, I love seeing the comments and appreciation for this story ❤️

Summary: You’ve spent years training under Madam Pomfrey in the hopes that you would join the Healers at St. Mungo’s at graduation. But in the aftermath of the death of Albus Dumbledore, you chose to join the Order instead. When you’re forced into hiding, you find yourself alone with Bill Weasley and his new wolfish tendencies.

Word Count: 4,037

Warnings: 18+, typical canon warnings, sprinkle in some miscommunication, age gap, questionable ethics from a medical professional. Minors DNI.

The ocean was louder than you remembered. Colder too.

Wet sand sank under your feet with each step, waves erasing the prints you left behind. The paper that morning had read August 30th. A month since the wedding. Six weeks since the farm. A little more than two months since the Death Eaters’ attack on Hogwarts. Eight months since you'd last seen your parents. A year since you’d kissed Cillian goodbye thinking there was a future together. Somehow that seemed too short a time for everything that had happened. All that'd you'd lost.

It had been easy to compartmentalize. Push it away and focus on anything else. But the holes were there. You missed the Cillian you'd known. You missed your parents and their excited, encouraging smiles. You missed Madam Pomfrey's complete trust in you and your abilities. You missed the days when you thought you had any control of tomorrow.

Three years working the Hospital Wing, two more being its frequent volunteer. All in hopes of a job at St. Mungos. You’d gotten it. A spot in the Janus Thickey Ward working with patients with spell damaged minds. The decision to walk away from it had been easy. You were no longer safe, yes, but that wasn’t why.

You could still remember his blood on your hands. The panic in Madam Pomfrey’s usually calm movements. His eyes finally opening, blue in a sea of red, and his hand gripping your wrist. He’d mumbled something. Impossible to understand. But he was alive and there was hope. He would live. Scarred and straddled with symptoms of an unknown severity, but there had been hope he could live his life mostly as he always had. Then Fleur had fled.

All he'd gotten was a letter. All you'd given Cillian was a letter. She’d sent back a ring, you’d sent back a bracelet. Maybe not the same, but they were kindred sentiments. And it was devastating to destroy something that in another time would have been forever.

The sand shifted as you sat. No wonder Bill hated the idea of you leaving. No wonder you had such a hard time actually wanting to leave. It was ironic how well matched you were. Poetic even. You his stand in for Fleur and he yours for Cillian. He could make you stay and you could stay. He wanted to protect people and you wanted to heal them.

But he wasn't Cillian and you weren't Fleur and this wasn't a relationship. This was two traumatized people trapped together in a war trying to keep each other alive.

High tide came while you watched the moon's reflection ripple in the water. The ocean couldn't combat the forces of the moon. How could you?

—

Bill sat, head in his hands, at the table when you returned to the cottage. Waiting.

"Thought you went to bed."

He looked up. Gods it wasn’t fair when he looked at you like that. Like he was relieved to see you. "Yeah, yeah I did, but I heard the door and I thought…”

He didn’t finish the thought. You had to look away. His sad eyes were for someone else. “I needed some air.” Had you looked like that when he left? Maybe the first night. Much worse the other three. "I wouldn't walk out on you." Not like he did.

"Right," was all he had to say.

Maybe you should have left.

"I'm off to bed then." You hadn't made it two steps before he pleaded for you to wait.

"Can we talk?"

It was too much. Your emotions were still raw, bleeding and blistering from the scab you’d picked away. It hurt. You were hurting. And he only cared because he thought you were going to leave. Gods, why did that make it worse?

"I don't fucking know Bill, can we? Cause I’ve tried. But every time you leave. Or we say ‘tomorrow’. But there’s never been a tomorrow, has there?” You couldn't look at him. If you did, you'd break. "I'm exhausted with this back and forth. Trying to manage being your Healer who understands how difficult this has been for you and being your friend who doesn't understand why you won't let me help you." You could hear him move, but you kept your gaze fixed on the stairs. "I can't keep doing this, having this same conversation with you. I know it's a lot, I get it, I do, but I'm terrfied I'm going to watch you die in this fucking cottage because your ego is too fucking big to let someone take care of you." He was standing right behind you. You could step back, let his arms wrap around you.

"I had nightmares." It was a fragile confession. An admission he didn't want to give. "Every night after that first one in the Hospital Wing. They always changed, but it was mostly just Greyback and Death Eaters coming after the people I cared about. Every night. Except the night Mad-Eye died. I thought maybe it was because I lived it that night, because they came back. And then we came here and it was so…peaceful. I just slept. Until I fucked everything up and left. The only night since then that I haven't dreamed of death and blood is the night I came back."

"You should have told me."

"What was I supposed to say? Sleep with me so I don't have bad dreams?"

You spun, shoving your finger into his chest. "And there's that fucking ego, Bill." "Ego? You think this has all been about my ego?"

"I know tonight was."

He started to say something, reconsidered, and said instead, "Alright you got me there. But, but, wait, please," he grabbed your hand as you'd begun to turn away again. "Think about this from my perspective, yeah? You’ve made it abundantly clear that you would do whatever it takes to make me feel even an ounce of relief.”

“Of course I would.”

“And don’t you see the problem with that? If I’d told you in the beginning that I needed to sleep with you and needed to fuck you, you’d have done it.”

“It would've taken me a bit to come around to it," maybe not as long as you'd like to admit, "but yeah. Yeah, I would have.”

“But not because you would have wanted to.”

He was wrong, but it only made you feel worse. “Do you realize how unethical it is for me to want to fuck you, Bill? It goes against everything I’m supposed to be as your Healer. You don’t have control over what’s happening to you, how your body’s reacting, and I’m supposed to be helping you through it, not taking advantage of you.”

“Taking advantage of me? I’ve got almost ten years on you. These last few months have been hell for you and now—now you depend on me for almost everything. What I want is depraved." He still held your hand, now clutching it against his chest. "I'm supposed to keep you safe and instead all I can think about half the time is…Merlin, you don't need to know. And maybe, maybe I can't help that, but I never had to drag you into it." Like you knew you would, you broke. Reaching up, you cupped his face. His scruff scratched at your palm as he leaned into the touch. "You didn't drag me into anything."

"I did, didn't I? Bringing you here? I should've taken you somewhere else with someone else."

"I think you're forgetting if it wasn't for you and Remus, I'd be dead. And if you hadn't been so quick at the wedding, I'd either been caught by Death Eaters or Cillian." His grip tightened on your hand, eyes clenched shut. "We've made the best choices we can, Bill. The ones that've kept us alive."

"It doesn't feel like there's been any choices."

"Well we have a choice now. We can figure out another living situation for me, with someone else and hope that alleviates some of your symptoms. Let me finish," you said as he opened his mouth. "We can do that. Or we can ignore how complicated and unethical it is for me to stay and we do what we need to do for each other. What we want to do to each other. But only, only if let me take care of you."

"So you do want me?" "Bill Weasley, did you hear any other words I said?"

His hand took hold of your waist, pulling you closer. "Every one of 'em. I'll let you run any test, answer any question, poke and prod whatever you need, follow every instruction you give. Promise. Just stay with me."

"I'm not doing this again. I won't have this conversation a third—" you paused and corrected, "a fourth time. If you can't—"

"We won't." His grip tightened, forehead pressing against yours. "We'll do it your way."

"Okay. Good." He felt so warm. "Maybe we should get to bed?"

“Yeah.”

“Together, right?”

“I do need you to keep away the bad dreams,” he mused before sweeping you into his arms. His amused chuckle as you questioned how he kept picking you up so effortlessly left you feeling breathless. “You’re light as a feather, love.”

It was only a few minutes later that he was breathing evenly beneath you in the small bed upstairs, an arm draped around your waist. He wasn't Cillian. You weren't Fleur. This wasn't a relationship. For now though, this was enough. One day it wouldn't be, but you closed your eyes and slept.

—

Nothing could have made you leave bed. It smelled too good, felt too warm. After weeks of terrible sleep, it was heaven. From Bill's steady breath against your hair, it seemed he wouldn't crawl out of bed anytime soon either.

Almost nothing could have made you leave bed.

Nothing but a loud pop, followed closely by another.

You were jinxed. You had to be. It was the only explanation for a Weasley horde popping into existence so early in the morning with Bill still wrapped around you in bed. Bill's wide-eyed terror mirrored your own as the shrill voice of Molly shrieked at the familiar laughter of Fred, George, and Ginny.

"...to Diagon Alley! Alone! To think I trusted you boys with her!"

"It was a quick stop," one of the twins insisted as you both fell out of bed and scrambled down the stairs. "Needed to grab something from the shop," said the other.

"And no one even saw me!” Ginny added.

“But what if they had! Don’t you think it would have raised a very dangerous question of exactly how you’d appeared there when no one saw you leave the Burrow? Hmm? They think they're watching our every move! We cannot have them question that!”

Five heads of fiery red hair came into view of the windows causing your own to whip around the house in case anything screamed, “We had sex last night!” Bill seemed to do the same. He dove for something on the floor that you couldn’t see from the table. He managed to straighten up just before the door burst open.

Fred—you knew it was him because he had both his ears—was the first of the brood to come through with George and Ginny close on his heels. “Mornin’ Bill! Mornin’ Gorgeous!”

“Merlin, Fred! Have no manners stuck in that head of yours?” Molly gripped as she followed. She turned from her son and fixed you with a softer, apologetic look. “Sorry dear. We didn’t mean to burst in."

"Oh, we most certainly did," Fred countered as he made his way to you and threw an arm around your shoulders. George added, mirroring his twin, “We were hoping to catch you two doing something naughty.”

"That's it! Both of you, back to the Burrow!"

Whining shouts of protests came from the three younger Weasley siblings as you were released. “It was a joke!” “Can’t anyone have a good laugh these days?” "But it's my last day!"All you could do was hope that nothing in your face gave away the very naughty things they'd have caught you doing if they'd come by the night before.

As the argument continued, Arthur took the opportunity to break away. He approached Bill, his expression markedly more subdued than the others. He whispered something into his son's ear. Bill's gaze flitted to you—in worry? Horror? Embarrassment? Oh gods, did Arthur know? Did they all know? An uncomfortable bubbling in your stomach grew as the two disappeared into the bedroom Kingsley had occupied the day before.

“One more toe out of line and I will send you back, do you hear me?”

Your gaze snapped back to the others. No. They didn’t know. Fred and George would certainly never let you live it down if they’d known. Molly would not be looking at you with any kindness if she thought you’d taken advantage of her son. And Ginny… you didn’t want to know what she would do. You’d seen the aftermath of her hexes.

"Now outside. The three of you."

Ginny gave you a small wave as she followed her brothers outside. Definitely didn’t know.

"Again, very sorry dear," Molly said kindly. “It was just supposed to be Arthur popping over, but Ginny overheard and well, she heads off to Hogwarts tomorrow and she’s been wanting to come.”

“Of course, yeah—yeah. I think Bill mentioned he wanted to have everyone over. Before, you know, Kingsley and all that. Something about fighting chickens?”

“Chicken Fight. The kids do love that game.”

“Right, yeah. So, um, has something happened?” Your fingers picked at your lip as you nodded towards the bedroom. “You know, since Arthur was coming by.”

Molly hesitated before giving a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Just normal Order business. Nothing to fret about.”

When you'd gone off to the farm, you hadn't really thought about bringing along a swimsuit. Molly, the ever prepared mother, had brought along an extra one-size-fits-all swimsuit for you. So you spent hours on the sand and in the water with the Weasleys doing your best to act like everything was completely and utterly fine.

Like you weren’t worried about what had happened between you and Bill the night before, or worried for his health, or worried about what that horrified look meant, or worried about Ginny going to Hogwarts the next day, or worried if Kingsley was alright, or worried if someone else was going to show up on the verge of death again.

You were fine.

Completely and utterly fine.

“You alright?” Fred asked as he sat next to you on one of the towels. His hair still dripped, his siblings continuing to toss around a Quaffle in the water.

You gave your best attempt at a smile as you pulled your knees tighter against your chest. “Yeah, of course.” You'd never been good at acting.

“Really?”he asked with a raised brow and skeptical tone. "Cause I don't think I've seen you crack a smile at all today."

Resting your chin on your arm, you watched Bill get tackled and dragged down into the waves by Ginny and George. Arthur was passed out a few feet away turning a shade that would rival his hair and Molly was sitting peacefully under an umbrella reading. Bill and Arthur had come out of the room like nothing had happened. Joking, playing, teasing with their family with an uncomfortable force. They wanted everyone distracted for the day.

"Maybe not alright. I'm worried about Ginny and all the other kids going off to a castle crawling with Death Eaters," you conceded. A half-truth. It would be Madam Pomfrey's first time completely alone in the Hospital Wing after three years of your help. She didn't need you, of course, she was more than capable of doing her job before you'd even been thought into existence. But you could imagine this year would be more of a strain than any other she'd experienced.

More than the year He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hid behind the turban of Qurrial.

More than the year the Chamber of Secrets opened and petrified Muggleborns.

More than the year dementors roamed the grounds.

More than the year of the Triwizard Tournament.

More than the year Dolores Umbridge tortured kids in detention.

Even more than the last year that ended with Death Eaters storming the castle.

“We’re all worried,” he said, shielding his face from his siblings to hide his frown. “I—I tried to talk her out of going. Told her we wouldn’t mind going into hiding. But she’s stubborn.”

“Stubborn is a famous Weasley trait, isn't it?” It was meant as a joke, but it came out too dry. If there was anything you knew it was how stubborn a Weasley could be.

“Suppose it is.” He laughed softly as his sister ramed her shoulder into George's side, sending him toppling into the water. "Can you do me a favor?"

You side eyed him, knowing not to trust anything he asked of you. You'd seen plenty of people in the Hospital Wing after doing favors for him and George.

"Forget about it all for a few hours. Try to enjoy what's left of today." You looked back to the water. George and Ginny squabbled over the Quaffle. Bill was standing to the side, his face turned towards where you sat at the beach. "If not for yourself, then for Ginny."

Fred stood then, sand sticking to his trunks. Extending his hand, he smiled expectantly. "Let's go challenge Ginny and George to a chicken fight, yeah?"

Your response was automatic. "George is not cleared to have that sort of pressure on his ear."

"He's totally fine though!"

You scoffed, finally taking his hand to stand. "He is not! He has a hole where his ear should be."

"Oh, come on, love," he said, watching as you dusted sand off yourself, "can't we be a bit ear-responsible today?"

A smile fought to take hold of your lips and you had to look away from his triumphant gleam. "No George. But Bill did promise me a game."

"Oh, Ginny'll be stoked about that." He took your hand again, dragging you into the cold water. "Oy, you lot! Time for a good ole' game of chicken fight, yeah?" George cheered. "Not you though, Georgie Boy. Our little healer says you've got to sit this one out." George booed.

"She's with me," Bill said, nodding at you.

Fred tugged you closer, throwing an arm over your shoulders. "Fat chance on that, mate!"

"Does no one want me as their partner?" Ginny pouted. She didn't seem very serious, but it was enough for Bill to concede. It wasn't enough, however, to keep him from warning his brother that one inappropriate joke would end up with him sent back to the Burrow. Fred's promise of good behavior did little to soften the eldest's irritation.

He was jealous.

Ridiculously jealous.

Ginny suffered for it. What should have been an easy win for her, turned into a struggle with Bill constantly losing balance in the waves sending them both crashing down with the slightest push. Ginny still managed to bring you down a few times, but Fred was steady on his feet. It was Ginny, pushing hair and water out of her face as she stood back up again, who suggested a partner change.

Fred was reluctant to let you go. Didn't the two of you make an excellent team, after all? But you worried Bill might snap, the blue in his eyes barely visible with how wide his pupils had grown.

"It's just a game," you reminded him lowly before he knelt down in shallow water to let you climb on. He gave no response beyond a content hum when your thighs pressed against his face. This time it was Bill who suffered. More so than Ginny had. How, exactly, were you supposed to focus on a game when his hands were on you?

Fred took the wins with all the modesty of a Gryffindor. His boasting you could handle, but his attention focusing on you, trying to flirt like he always would was detrimental to Bill’s health. And his.

It was Molly’s fretting over George getting sand in his ear that gave a perfect excuse to ease the tension. Physicals. Everyone needed one. See how George's ear had been healing, check no one had come under the Imperius Curse. It’s what you were supposed to do in the morning with Bill, anyways. One by one you examined the Weasley's in the room you'd occupied upstairs. Molly was the first, voicing her concerns over each of the others. Arthur came next. He was silent, only answering questions asked. Then it was Ginny. She cried. She'd tried not to, but she was sixteen and the world had fallen apart around her. A small drop of Essence of Dittany cleared up the redness in her eyes before she returned to her family. Fred and George were together, amusing themselves with their banter.

And last was Bill. The door hadn't been shut more than a second before you were pressed against it.

"It's all in my head." His kiss was soft, but desperate. "It's all in my head," he repeated against your lips. Your fingers brushed a strand of his hair back into place. "It's just Fred being Fred. He doesn't know."

"Maybe we should tell him."

You chuckled, but he didn't. "Bill."

His response was to trail kisses along your jaw.

"Bill," you said firmer, pushing lightly against his chest. "We're not telling him. Or anyone."

"Why not?"

"Because how do we explain…this?"

"We don't have to explain. We tell them we're together and that's all."

Your heart clenched. It was one thing for you to know that you were filling the voids left by the war, but for the world to see that? No one would believe you were together for anything beyond convenience and desperation. It would be easier to explain the truth. "I'm not going to lie to everyone about what this is."

He pulled back, turning away and running a hand through his hair. "Right." He plopped on the bed. "You're right. You're not going to lie to anyone that we're together when we're not. I'll keep my emotions in check."

"It's not like we're going to have people here often. We'll be alone again in a few hours."

He nodded, blinking up at you in a neutral expression. "You're right. We should get on with the physical. It's part of the deal for you staying, isn't it?"

“Fine.” You went through the motions, checking him over. He was fine, a little better than normal even. His heart rate was accelerated, but considering his day that wasn’t much of a surprise. His mood has somewhat recovered before you returned to his family, thanking you with a searing kiss.

An extra chair had been transfigured from some old driftwood to add a seventh seat at the table for dinner. Fred and George had tried to take the side with three chairs, hoping to trap someone between them. But Molly was far too used to their antics and sent them to the other side to sit by themselves. Ginny was a buffer between you and Bill, his father beside him and Molly next to you at the ends. Ginny kept you talking throughout most of the meal Molly had made, asking as discreetly as she could about healing spells.

“It was so nice to come here today,” Molly said, dabbing a napkin under her eyes. “I’m so glad you suggested it, Ginny.”

“It was lucky dad needed to come today.”

George asked, mouth full. “Why did you need to come today?” Fred, needing to be part of the conversation too, asked, “Yeah, what’d ya have to tell Bill?”

You were going to let it be a family squabble, but Arthur made the mistake of looking at you and averting his gaze too quickly. “Bill?”

“I don’t think now is the appropriate time to discuss it,” Arthur said.

Bill disagreed. “Cillian went to his office. Asking questions about you.”

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#bill weasley x reader #bill weasley x you #bill weasley #bill weasley x y/n #harry potter fanfiction #before i knew you

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 11 months

Text

Move On

Aaron Hotchner x Reader Blurb

Summary: Rossi tells Aaron he should get back out there

Warnings: Mentions of Haley’s death

Masterlist

“C’mon Aaron, it’s been two years. You’re coming out with me tonight,” Rossi insisted, following Aaron into his office. They had just gotten back from a case. It was quick, they were only there for two days, but it still wasn’t easy. Along with that they were getting used to having a new agent around, Y/N L/N.

She had done well and proved to be professional and more than capable but Aaron had a hard time thinking straight on this mission. “I should really get home to Jack,” he said, dropping the case files off on his desk for tomorrow.

Rossi sighed, that’s what Aaron always said and it was always a valid excuse. “Fine but one of these days you’re going to have to actually come out with me. You need to meet some women, live a little.”

“Dave, I’m not interested in going out to meet random women. Jack needs as much stability as I can give him and adding strange women into the occasion won’t help,” he explained, stepping out of his office. They now had a view of the bullpen where most of the agents had shuffled off except Y/N who was still collecting her things.

“So don’t meet a random woman,” Rossi suggested. “Seriously? No one’s piqued Aaron Hotchner’s interest in over two years?” At that moment Aaron looked up, finding his newest, and most distracting agent, getting ready to leave. As she swung her bag over her shoulder she gave him a small smile before turning, walking out of the office, back to her own life. “Ahhh,” Rossi caught the silent exchange and the way Aaron’s eyes lingered. “You’re interested in our newest agent.”

Now, Aaron Hotchner is a very highly trained man. When he was a prosecutor he would lie to criminals’ faces just so he could get what he wanted from them. Now as an FBI agent, lying is a part of the job description, as well as keeping your cool in tense situations. But nothing could prepare him for Rossi’s observation. “N-no,” he stuttered out unconvincingly. “No I’m not.”

“Yes you are. You couldn’t focus when she was in the room. You bought her coffee, held the door open for her every chance you got.”

“I do that for everyone,” Aaron futilely defended.

“But with her you did it with intention,” Rossi pointed out. “You should ask her out,” he suggested.

“No, absolutely not,” Hotch cut in gravely. “She’s my subordinate, I just signed off on her transfer here, one of the most selective units in the FBI. Even if I wanted to pursue anything with her they’d say I abused my power and took her on for the wrong reasons. I won’t put either of our careers at risk.”

Dave sighed, knowing Aaron was right. “Well I hope you get her someday.”

Moving on to You (Sequel)

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch #hotch x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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magicfootballstuff · 8 months

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Dirty Little Secret - part 4 (leila ouahabi x reader)

Summary: A love story about secrets, flirty messages, football rivalries, and useless lesbians who don’t know how to communicate. And it all starts with one badly timed challenge in the Champions League.

Leila Ouahabi x Arsenal!reader

Part 4/?

Read other parts here.

———

When you arrive in Barcelona, it’s like the events in Turin a few days ago never happened.

Leila greets you at the airport with a beaming smile and a kiss and even offers to wheel your little suitcase from the arrivals gate to her car.

On the drive back to Leila’s apartment, you tell her about your flight and in return she talks about the last training session before tomorrow’s cup final. She seems confident that Barcelona will win and though you want to match that energy, you’re still a little scarred from the Champions League final last week, where you were confident she would be lifting the trophy there too. A domestic cup is different to the Champions League, you suppose, and you’d hope that you’ve both learned lessons from last time, but still.

Leila’s apartment is on the second floor of a cute little complex that looks out over a park. She insists on carrying your bag again, and you’re not going to complain as she leads you up the stairs at the side of the building until you reach her floor.

As she unlocks the door and you follow her inside, this feels way more intimate than all the times you’ve slept with her. This is Leila’s home, a glimpse into her life that you never imagined you’d see when you were just sneaking around with her at St George’s Park during the Arnold Clark Cup.

But while you’re ready to learn more about Leila from spending three days in her home, you’re not prepared for exactly what you’re going to learn about her.

Specifically, from the boxes and open suitcases littered around her apartment.

“You’re moving?”

Leila sets your bag down by the door and nods silently.

“Like to a new apartment or…?”

You almost don’t want to ask. Leila and Barcelona are two things that seem like they should always go together. But the glossy tears that start to shine in Leila’s eyes tell you the answer without the need to complete your question.

Suddenly her behaviour in Turin, how emotional she was and her mention of other factors coming into play, make perfect sense. Winning the Champions League for a second time would have been the perfect way to end her time at Barcelona, but that just makes the cup final tomorrow even more important.

“Come here,” you say, offering your arms out in an embrace.

Leila steps close and her body sinks into yours, arms wrapped tightly around each other.

“It’s my time to leave,” she sniffles into your shoulder. “I’m ready for a new challenge.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s an easy thing to do,” you remind her, one of your hands stroking a comforting path up and down her spine. You remember your own journey, leaving the comfort of Manchester at eighteen when you signed your first professional contract with Arsenal, moving down the country for something new, and how difficult it was to push yourself out of your comfort zone. “In fact, I think it’s very brave of you to choose to do the right thing for your own career.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod.

You pull back, but only far enough to be able to look Leila directly in the eyes, which are shining with the threat of tears that she tries to fight off.

“I’m sorry if I was a bit of a dick in Turin,” you murmur. “I understand now why it was so hard for you when you didn’t win.”

Leila sniffs and wipes at her eyes.

“Winning it again would’ve been the perfect end to the story.”

“You’re gonna win tomorrow though, right?” you tease her.

Leila smiles through her tears, and she might be the prettiest person you’ve ever seen.

———

At first, you’re nervous about wearing Leila’s shirt to the cup final. You haven’t even told any of your friends that you’re in Barcelona, let alone that there’s something going on between you and Leila, and you can only imagine the reaction in the Arsenal group chat if a photo finds its way onto Twitter of you in the crowd at this game so obviously there as Leila’s guest.

As it turns out, there’s nothing to worry about. You don’t know if it’s the cap and sunglasses that successfully keep you under the radar, or if it’s simply that none of the Spanish crowd give enough of a shit about English women’s football to recognise you in the first place, but your worries are for nothing. Besides, you start to realise that you might not care who finds out anyway when Leila runs onto the pitch for the pre-game warm up and immediately looks for you in the crowd, sending a little wave in your direction when she spots you that fills your chest with warmth.

You could get used to this.

———

After the game, with a winner’s medal hanging around her neck, Leila practically skips over to you.

“Felicitats,” you tell her, your tongue stumbling over the unfamiliar word, but the grin that spreads across Leila’s face is more than worth the five minutes you spent practising a single word while the pitch was being set up for the trophy presentation.

“Did you enjoy the game?”

“I did,” you nod. You reach for the medal around her neck, feeling the weight of the metal between your fingers as you say, “This looks good on you.”

“This looks good on you,” Leila says, raising her eyebrows and smirking at you as she thumbs at the material of the Barcelona shirt she gifted you to wear.

“Yeah?” you ask her. “You like it?”

Leila is a little too eager to nod, and you grin back at her.

“I like it too.”

The temptation to lean over the railing and kiss Leila, especially when she’s looking at you in the way that she is, is almost too much. But if wearing Leila’s shirt in public is already a risky move, kissing her is definitely too far.

Later, for sure. When you’re alone.

Leila also has later on her mind, but for a different reason.

“We’re having a party tonight to celebrate? Do you want to come?” Leila asks.

“With all your teammates?”

It never once crossed your mind that Leila might want you to meet her teammates. Everything has been so secretive so far, you’ve barely had more than the briefest of interactions with each other in front of other people before, and you sort of assumed that apart from coming to watch her game today, you’d spend the rest of your visit to Barcelona just the two of you. But of course Leila will want to celebrate with her friends tonight, her last game with the club ending with a trophy.

“If you don’t want to we can just go back…”

“No,” you’re quick to interrupt, reaching for Leila’s hand. “I want to. I just … never mind. Thanks for inviting me. I can’t wait to celebrate with you.”

———

You feel a bit awkward as you enter the Barcelona after party with Leila. They’ve hired out a bar for the night and the place is already buzzing with players, staff and guests when you arrive. You’ve changed out of the shirt with Leila’s name on the back, but Leila makes sure there’s no doubt about who you’re here with by linking her fingers with yours as you step inside.

“Okay?” Leila asks you, perhaps sensing your nerves, and you nod in response.

Leila has dressed up too, changing out of her football kit and into a dark suit which hangs open over a lacy bodice. Her hair hangs down over her shoulders instead of being swept back in her usual ponytail and she’s wearing smoky makeup that accentuates her dark eyes.

You can hardly keep your own eyes off her. The most beautiful girl in the room, and your hand is the one she wants to hold, proudly showing you off like she wants everyone to know you’re important to her. Like you’re more than just a fuck buddy.

You’re overwhelmed by the party but thankfully Leila isn’t, collecting a glass of champagne for each of you before she leads you by the hand to where a few of her teammates are gathered.

Leila introduces you - in English, you notice, which can only be to make you feel welcome - and you smile awkwardly as you greet her teammates, feeling their eyes burning into you like they’re trying to assess your compatibility with Leila.

Mapi León is the first to react, punching Leila in the arm, before she launches into high-speed Spanish. Leila clutches at her sore arm momentarily with a look of outrage on her face, then starts talking too.

From the tone of the conversation, they seem to be bickering. And from the occasional glances at you, you suspect you might know what they’re bickering about.

You’ve never wished you knew Spanish more.

“Do you understand what they’re saying?” you ask Ingrid, who seems to be trying to follow the conversation with a frown of concentration on her face.

“She called Leila a liar, I think,” Ingrid translates for you. “Something about leaving Barcelona for a girl - from context I guess that’s you?”

“Oh, I’m not … I mean, she’s not…” you stammer. Suddenly you have Mapi and Leila’s eyes on you too as they fall silent, and your cheeks start to heat up as you try to explain, “She’s not moving for me. I only found out yesterday that she’s leaving Barcelona at all.”

“Yes, Mapi,” Leila says, speaking in English now, for your benefit. “See?”

They switch back to Spanish, leaving you in the dark once again. But even though you don’t actually understand what they’re saying, you can sense when the conversation moves on from talking about you almost straight away, and you relax.

But Ingrid’s words stick in your mind. You don’t know how good her Spanish is, whether what she translated was completely accurate, but she seemed to think that Mapi thought Leila’s decision to leave Barcelona was related to you, which gets you thinking. You and Leila aren’t serious enough for there to be a deliberate link, but if Mapi thinks the two things are connected…

You remember what Leila said after the match earlier, the look in her eyes as she admired the way you looked in her Barcelona jersey. And while it’s definitely going to be strange to see Leila in another team’s colours, you think the feeling would probably be mutual if you ever saw Leila in red and white.

It plays on your mind, and you decide to ask her when she leads you away later to get another drink from the bar.

“You’ve decided which club you’re moving to?” you ask, leaning against the bar beside Leila as you wait for a bartender to be free.

Leila’s eyebrows twitch upwards momentarily, probably surprised by your question, before she answers, “Yes.”

“It’s not…” you trail off, almost feeling stupid for asking, because you’re sure that you would’ve heard something if it was the case, either from Leila herself or at least whispers from somewhere else. “It’s not Arsenal, is it?”

Leila smirks, then says, “No.”

“Right, of course,” you say. “I didn’t think so, but it’s just the way Mapi was talking about me and your move, made it sound like the two things were related.”

“No. Mapi likes to - I don’t know how to say it in English - she talks a lot of shit?”

You nod to show that Leila’s used the right words.

“You’ll find out soon where I’m moving,” she tells you.

“Very mysterious,” you tease her.

You spend a brief second wondering why she’s being so secretive about which team she’s moving to. You doubt you’re going to get much more out of Leila about her future team anyway, but you’re soon denied that chance anyway when the whole bar erupts into song. The ringleaders, Patri Guijarro and Claudia Pina, have clambered up onto a table and use half empty beer bottles as microphones as they lead the singing with a lot more enthusiasm than musicality.

You recognise the song, from both the game today and the time you spent amongst the Barcelona fans at last week’s Champions League final, as one of the Barcelona chants. Though you don’t know the words, the energy in the room is infectious, and as Leila slings an arm around your shoulder and joins in, you grin and hum along to the recognisable tune.

———

This is probably the longest you’ve spent in Leila’s company, certainly the longest you’ve spent together without sleeping with her, and while you hope that there will be plenty of time for that during the remainder of your brief stay in Barcelona, it’s nice to get to know her through her body language and interactions with her teammates, finally getting the chance to see Leila at her most natural.

It doesn’t take you long to realise that Leila is an affectionate person.

She’s constantly touching you, whether it’s your legs or shoulders nudging against each other, or her hand seeking out yours. You don’t mind that you don’t understand the Spanish conversations, because she makes you feel included with looks and little touches.

Leila is also a funny person. You’ve always found her to be charismatic, but most of your interactions have been laced with flirtatious jokes anyway. When you see her with her friends, you realise that Leila likes to make other people laugh, even if that comes at the cost of having to be a little bit goofy. It’s endearing, and your cheeks quickly start to ache with how much you’ve been grinning.

But you also start to wonder if things would be the same if the situation was reversed and you’d invited Leila to England. Would you have introduced Leila to your teammates? What would she have learned about you from seeing you with your closest friends? And most importantly of all, would still she like what she sees?

“Do you want to leave?” Leila leans across and murmurs to you, while the conversation in Spanish continues around you, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Don’t you want to celebrate with your teammates?” you ask, conscious of the fact that today was her last game in a Barcelona shirt, tonight her last official night with these girls as her teammates.

“I want to celebrate with you,” Leila tells you, her mouth curling up into a smirk as her fingers squeeze your thigh.

It’s very hard to be thoughtful towards Leila’s limited time with the other Barcelona girls when her dark eyes are making mischievous promises.

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, your voice breathless.

“Come home and I’ll show you.”

———

In hindsight, three days in Barcelona was never going to be enough.

Predictably, you spend most of the second day, the day after Barcelona wins the Copa de la Reina, in Leila’s bed. It’s only later in the day that you finally get up and put some clothes on, because Leila promises that she knows the best seafood restaurant in Europe. She’s not wrong, and after a short drive down the coast, you enjoy a delicious meal looking out over the sea as the sun sets.

If this was a date, it would be a very romantic setting. But you and Leila are still straddling the line between football rivals who hook up and something more.

The third and final day you spend being tourists around Barcelona. It surprises you when Leila tells you she’s never really visited many of the big tourist sites herself, despite living in Barcelona for so long, but it means you get to explore them together. But she also shows you some of the places that she loves - a cute little coffee shop, Camp Nou stadium, her favourite sushi restaurant. You get to know the city through her and her through the city.

Three days isn’t long enough, not to fully explore this beautiful city, nor to properly get to know the girl who is showing you around, but you’ll take it.

Three days with Leila are better than none.

———

“Manchester City,” Leila tells you in bed that night, speaking into the darkness as you play with her hair, her head resting on your chest, savouring every moment you can get together before you have to fly back to England in the morning.

“Huh?”

“I’m about to sign for Manchester City,” Leila explains.

Your hand stills in Leila’s hair, processing her words in slight disbelief.

“You’re shitting me.”

“What?”

Trying not to disturb Leila on your chest, you reach across to where your phone lies face down on the nightstand, unlocking it and scrolling through the gallery of photos until you come across one in particular. It’s old and a little blurry, but just clear enough to make out that it’s a picture of a little girl, aged about ten, with a full fringe and her long hair tied into pigtails, dressed in a full Manchester City kit.

“Is that you?” Leila asks, lifting her head to examine the photo as you angle the screen of your phone to show her.

“Been a City fan my whole life,” you tell her. “I came up through the academy too. It doesn’t mean I’m going to let you win though. I’m an Arsenal girl now.”

“I don’t want you to let me win,” Leila says, propping herself upright and swinging a leg across your hips. You let your hands slide up Leila’s thighs and toy with the hem of the oversized t-shirt she’s wearing to bed as she adds, “I want a challenge.”

You anchor your hands on Leila’s hips and flip her over onto the mattress, settling between her legs as your mouth finds the column of her neck and presses a line of open-mouthed kisses from the apex of her shoulder up to the sensitive spot below her ear.

“You sure about that?” you murmur.

As Leila’s hand finds the top of your head and tries to guide you down her body, it doesn’t feel like much of a challenge at all.

———

You’re in the England pre-selection camp the following week, still mournful of the fact that you only got three days in Barcelona with Leila, when the news is officially announced.

“Chloe, have you seen we’ve got another new signing?” Lauren asks, as she wanders across the gym to where you and Chloe are doing some conditioning before training.

“At City?” Chloe asks. “Who is it?”

You’re only giving them half of your attention as they talk about their latest club news, more focused on adjusting the weights at each end of the barbell, until you hear who it is they’re talking about.

“Spanish player,” Lauren says to Chloe. “Leila something - I don’t know how to pronounce her last name.”

“Leila Ouahabi?” you supply for Lauren, the weights now forgotten.

“That’s the one,” Lauren confirms with a nod. “Look.”

Lauren offers out her phone, where the latest post on Manchester City’s Instagram page is displayed announcing the arrival of Leila as a new signing, complete with a picture of Leila in the sky blue kit of her new club.

“Do you know her?” Chloe asks.

“We’ve played against each other a few times,” you answer vaguely, reaching for your own phone to look up the announcement yourself.

You don’t tell them about the nature of your relationship during the Arnold Clark Cup, or that you spent three nights in her bed only last week, or that you get butterflies in your chest every time you think about her.

“Is she good?”

Distracted by the picture of Leila in a Manchester City shirt, which looks weird, though in a good way, after she’s spent so many years at Barcelona, you respond absently, “Good at what?”

Lauren sniggers.

“Good at football?”

“Oh, right. Of course, why would I know if she’s good at anything else?” You laugh awkwardly, before you finally answer, “Yeah, she’s pretty good.”

You tune out the rest of their conversation, starting your set of reps with the weights as your mind thinks of the image of Leila in sky blue.

———

Later, when you’re taking some down time in your room between training and dinner, you look through the various pictures of Leila that have been posted today, both by the Manchester City account and by Leila herself. It’s going to take some time to get used to not just the sight of Leila in a City kit, but also the idea that she’s going to be living in the same country and playing in the same league as you.

You stare at the pictures for way too long. You struggled to cope when Leila sent you a picture of herself wearing your England shirt but this, seeing her in the jersey of the team you’ve supported since your parents dressed you in a Manchester City onesie when you were just five days old, is provoking another reaction from you entirely.

If only you weren’t so loyal to Arsenal these days…

Still, you message Leila to let her know what you think of her move.

You You look good in blue 😍 And if you need someone to show you around Manchester…

There’s a knock on your door and you get up from your bed to answer it, finding Leah standing outside in the hall.

“Ready to go down for dinner?” she asks.

“Just a sec,” you reply, slipping your feet into a pair of trainers. You reach for your phone which lies face up on the bed and the screen lights up with a new message from Leila as you pick it up.

Leila It’s a date 😉

You fight off a smile as you slide your phone into the pocket of your shorts and practically skip over to where Leah waits in the doorway.

“You’re in a good mood,” Leah observes, as you start to make your way down to dinner.

You’re half caught in a daydream, imagining a time where you get to walk around Manchester hand in hand with Leila, showing her all your favourite places in her new home city, but you push that to the back of your mind for later to save having to explain yourself to Leah.

“Just nice to be back with the team, isn’t it?” you try to explain away your cheerfulness.

Leah rolls her eyes and says, “Weirdo.”

#woso x reader #woso imagine #leila ouahabi x reader #leila ouahabi imagine #dirty little secret

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slytherinshua · 3 days

Text

ROMEO AND JULIET

genre. ballet au. fluff and a lil drama. warnings. shotaro has a bit of an annoying ex. reader has hair long enough to put in a bun. ballet terminology that you may or may not understand sry </3. pairing. professional ballet dancer!shotaro x professional ballet dancer!reader. wc. 2k. request. no. a/n. i had a lot of fun writing this since i used to dance as well, tho the drama i added was a bit unnecessary. i kinda didn't want to lean into the toxic ballet environment stereotype cause honestly it's just not true?? but anything the get the wc up 😭😭😭

You could feel Shotaro’s hot breath on your neck as he set you back down from the lift, waiting for you to catch your balance for the arabesque before he let go and you did your final sequence of pirouettes to end the first pas de deux. Romeo and Juliet was one of your favourite ballets to perform, but god was it tiring. You could feel your legs and feet screaming for rest, but you prepared for the turn sequence nonetheless, knowing you had no time to rest.

Your body went into autopilot as usual, and you pushed up onto relevé for the fouettés, ignoring all your body’s signs for rest. You felt Shotaro’s hands come back to your waist after the 5th turn, holding you steady for the last 3. You ended as gracefully as you started, with a practiced smile before the music ended and you were able to relax finally.

You heaved in a few breaths, Shotaro doing the same next to you. He gave your shoulder a quick squeeze, something that would go unnoticed if you weren’t looking for it.

You listened to the director’s few corrections and praises before making your way off stage and into your private dressing room. It was the first stage rehearsal before shows started tomorrow. There was a full week of night time showings and 2 afternoon ones as well. At least you would be getting a good pay check for this season.

You had just finished changing into your regular clothes when you heard the familiar knock on the door and sighed in relief. Shotaro opened the door slowly, smiling at you fondly through the mirror. He had already changed as well, and splashed water on his face and hair to cool off, it seemed. He was always faster than you were. He came up behind you, draping his arms over your chair and around your chest, chin rested on your shoulder.

“Tired?” You asked him, reaching to take out the bobby pins in your hair. He nodded and nestled further into your neck. You scratched his head gently on your way to get another bobby pin, and he sighed.

“So tired. I shouldn’t have signed up for those early morning classes tomorrow. I’ll barely have time to sleep tonight, and then the first show is tomorrow.” He complained. You were about to respond when you heard a knock on the door and straightened. Shotaro quickly jumped back a safe distance from you, crossing his arms in front of him and leaning on the wall. You were both used to the routine of hiding your relationship at all costs.

Your heart sank when you realized it was Haeun, your main understudy for the show. Your life when you joined the ballet company had been fairly easy and drama free, until you somehow got on her bad side. You were always competing for the main roles in shows, and you hated the pressure. You had worked extra hard to earn the role of Juliet in this ballet particularly, since you knew Shotaro would already be cast for Romeo.

It was a romantic ballet, and there were quite a few kisses on stage for the purpose of the story. Of course you knew it was all acting even if he had to kiss someone else, but you really didn’t want it to be Haeun. She seemed less than pleased that she only got understudy for Juliet, and kept bothering you every day after rehearsals were over.

She looked shocked as soon as she saw that Shotaro was in your dressing room as well. You hoped she wouldn’t mention it, but, of course, she did.

“Osaki. I didn’t expect to find you in here as well.” She gave a forced smile that you saw through the mirror.

“I was just talking to Y/n about some details for the pas de deux.” He said smoothly, diverting any suspicion. “She was amazing during rehearsals, don’t you think? So perfect for the role of Juliet.” He smiled adorably, looking at you fondly. Haeun looked less than happy about him praising you.

There was a moment of silence, and you were sure she was about to protest Shotaro’s words, probably making up some criticism about you dancing badly during rehearsals. You knew you hadn’t. Shotaro was right; you had danced near perfectly. Haeun always pulled something out of thin air just to degrade you. You had learned to not listen to anything that came out of her mouth, but you were slightly worried with Shotaro still in the room.

She seemed deterred from saying her usual rude remarks when Shotaro was there to hear them as well. She agreed quietly before leaving the dressing room. You felt some weight lifted off your chest as your boyfriend closed the door again. You rested your forehead against the desk of the vanity, hoping that that was the last time you had to worry about Haeun bothering you before the fight for main roles in Alice in Wonderland.

“What was that about?” Shotaro asked curiously, quirking a brow at you through the mirror.

“She usually comes to bother me after class, rehearsal, shows— really any chance she gets. I guess it’s entertaining for her.” You shook your head, grabbing your hair brush as you pulled the bun net off your hair and let it fall free.

“She’s not very nice.” Shotaro said quietly, taking the brush from your hand and running it gently through your hair for you.

“I know. I don’t mind that much anymore. Don’t worry, okay?” You smiled at him through the mirror, adoring his shiny eyes and button nose as he beamed back at you.

“All done.” He kissed your temple. “Let’s grab food on the way back.”

You packed up quickly and followed Shotaro out of the building, carefully making sure you didn’t hold his hand until you were 2 blocks away from the theatre. At this point, you weren’t even worried about the company finding out about your relationship, but you were sure if Haeun got word of it, she wouldn’t let it go.

You nudged your boyfriend’s shoulder, “Taro.” He hummed, happily accepting one of your earbuds that you were offering. You turned on his favourite playlist and walked hand-in-hand to a good Japanese restaurant.

The show was going absolutely perfect— if you ignored how Haeun glared at you backstage. You weren’t sure why she was making so much effort today of all days. She had her own roles in the ballet to focus on, and you wished for once she would focus on being as professional as possible instead of picking a fight with you.

It was during the first intermission that she finally spoke to you. You had just gotten off stage after your scene with Shotaro; Romeo and Juliet had professed their love for one another. You had a longer break than just the 20 minute intermission, as you wouldn’t be needed on stage until after the first scene of Act 2. Haeun seemed eager to take a hold of this break. She quickly found you in your dressing room after you had slipped into your stage outfit for Act 2.

“I knew you were always brazen, but you’ve certainly outdone yourself this time, haven’t you?” She snapped.

“Haeun, what are you mad about this time? Now is not the time to bring up some petty complaint-” You got cut off by her before you could finish.

“Petty? Don’t you think that’s a bit hypocritical coming from your mouth? There’s nothing pettier than dating just to get back at me. You thought it would affect me, didn’t you? Well, it didn’t. You can stop the act now.” She sneered, and you were half certain she was critically insane at this point.

“What are you talking about? I’ve never done something like that.” You probably shouldn’t have engaged in the conversation in the first place. It was smarter to ignore her and not give her the attention she wanted, but you were genuinely bewildered as to what she was talking about this time.

“You thought I wouldn’t know that you started dating Shotaro? Why else would you purposefully date my ex boyfriend?! You’re determined to steal everything from me, aren’t you?” She raised your voice louder than you would have liked, the ringing getting to your ears before she left the room.

You weren’t even sure you had heard her right. Shotaro? Ex boyfriend? It was probably the most absurd thing to ever come out of her mouth, but what scared you was that she sounded genuine this time. All previous attempts to get under your skin were so obviously ridiculous, that you weren’t willing to spend even an ounce of your mental energy on it. But the honesty in her voice threw you off guard. Was she being truthful about dating Shotaro?

There was only 5 minutes to stage and you still hadn’t done your hair. You decided you would circle back to the topic after the show. For now, you had to focus on getting ready before you had to be on stage.

The rest of the show went smoothly, and even Haeun didn’t seem to bother you on or off stage. All of it was rubbing you the wrong way— her previous words, her sudden disinterest in bothering you, and how genuine she had sounded. It didn’t excuse all the times she had picked a fight with you for no reason, but maybe in her mind you had actually wronged her.

The company had always been competitive for lead roles, and you were confident that you were only cast because you fit well with the production. You did better in classic ballet roles, and were often only part of the company group during more modern ballet showings. You had seen Haeun get cast as the lead for many shows, so her obsession with you getting lead roles always seemed to confuse you.

Romeo and Juliet, Swan Lake, Giselle, even Cinderella. All of these ballets you had performed alongside Shotaro, even long before you had started dating him. Maybe that was why she was upset over it; because you were the one performing alongside him instead of her.

Shotaro came to your dressing room after the show as usual, his usual bright and bubbly energy so contagious that you couldn’t help but smile at him. You had only one thing to ask of him before you let the topic rest.

“Hey, Taro?” You wiped off some of your makeup as you spoke.

“Hm?”

“Did you date Haeun?”

He laughed a little at your question and you threw him a questioning glance through the mirror, “Yeah, for like 2 weeks. She really liked me, but I didn’t really like her back much. I think she still likes me even though I ended it so long ago. We haven’t spoken at all outside of work for 3 years now. Why do you ask?”

“She just brought it up with me earlier. I was just wondering since you had never mentioned it before— but given that it was so short, I see why. I think that’s why she’s been bothering me as well.” You explained, much more reassured than you had been before.

Shotaro scrunched his nose, “She knew about us dating? I’m surprised she didn’t say anything to the director… I would’ve expected her to make a bigger deal out of it.”

“Me too. I’m guessing she couldn’t say anything because it would harm you and not just me. Either way, I’m not too worried about hiding our relationship anymore.” You grinned at your boyfriend and how his face lit up at your remark.

“Really?”

You nodded, “Now that she knows and still didn’t say anything, there’s no risk. No kissing me during rehearsals, though.” You clarified.

Shotaro frowned, “I wouldn’t be that unprofessional. I’ll only kiss you when there’s no one else around.” He smiled, leaning in to press a quick peck to your lips just to prove his point.

Your lips formed a loving smile, thankful that you were able to stay next to Shotaro, both onstage and off.

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