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angelisverba · 1 year

Text

kryptonite

in which y/n smokes weed (sometimes) and she thinks her dealer is super cute, and harry always gives her a little extra because she’s sweet

word count: 8.2k

pairing: plug!h and y/n

warning: if you are uncomfortable with the use of drugs, please do not continue reading!! i DO NOT want to see any messages in my inbox that talk of ‘glamourizing’ this drug. if you don’t like it-> don’t read it. mentions of bullying, peer pressure,

author’s notes: the second and final part to this fic will be posted next week, feb. 02 at 8am pst.

* * * * * * *

Harry hated parties.

Admittedly, they were a third of his source of income, but unless it wasn’t a gathering exclusively composed of his close circle, he didn’t want anything to do with it. They were too loud and sticky, messy and smelly. Red solo-cups littered at every available corner, half filled with Coca-cola, vodka, and the occasional sad, cigarette butt. Scantily clad girls and ‘discreet’ boys that didn’t know how to read body language that clearly screamed ‘I’M NOT INTERESTED!’. It just all got his nerves because half the time he knew they were only using him to get reduced prices on the marijuana he spent ample time on growing.

He tried, as a general rule, to limit his reluctant, brooding attendance to parties he knew would only consist of Mitch, Sarah, Adam, and the handful of other friends that just wanted to have a good time and a nice snuggle on a cramped couch that rumbled with intoxicated laughter. He liked being in a crowd he knew, it was much more intimate, less pressure-filled. He didn’t have to maintain that ‘polite’ air that was socially required in an atmosphere of people he didn’t know. No niceties or complimentary. When it was just him and his friends, all of that ‘quiet’ and ‘please, thank you’ shit wasn’t necessary. He could jump straight to his affectionate, giggly, sprawling-all-over-everyone’s-lap self, and no one would question it because they know it’s what he preferred.

But, at a big house party like the one where he was at, where everyone knew him as The One Guy Who Sells The Good Shit, Harry had to pretend to be polite and quiet and small, and adopt an overall stiff persona that made him prickly and cold. This wasn’t him. He didn’t like this, and wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for his very convincing friend Mitch, who noticed that business was slow and assured him that he was bound to 1) ‘sell a shit-ton’ and 2) gather a handful of new clients once they realized that what he had to dispense was pretty good quality for a subjectively cheap price.

Mitch had been right, of course.

The small black backpack of goodies that Harry had brought to this inconspicuous function had been empty in less than two hours, and he’d repeated his number enough times that it started to feel forgein on his tongue. Once or twice, a few girls had flashed him what could be called ‘bedroom eyes’, but he wasn’t in the mood to get his rocks off. When he came with a purpose to sell, any need, want, or hope for sex flew out of the window because then he ran the risk of girls thinking their ‘connection’ entitled them to some sort of discount on weed, and he didn’t particularly fancy ruining his post-coitous bliss with the awkward exchange of rejection that followed their questions.

Plus, it made him feel used.

A good three hours have passed, and he’s about to tell Mitch he’s ready to leave when his line of sight is snagged on the diamond image- no, a beautifully deceiving mirage, because there’s no way this girl is real. Not when she looks like a ditzy sprite, a walking mermaid, a glimmering fairy, a heart-wrenching siren, and any other bewitching, ethereal creatures that stole men’s souls upon the first breath they took in their presence. She looked like one of his psychedelic hallucinations that whispered sweet things to him and played with the ends of his hair when he’s in the lull of shrooms, brought to life. Grounded, real, and three-dimensional, not just in the airy, green-leafed recesses of his muddled mind.

This pretty little enchantment that caught his eye had floated into the room on two clumsy, shoddy-sneaker covered feet that extended from bambi-like legs with knees that were almost comically knocking against one another. She walked slanted, her shoulder pressed against her friend’s, whom Harry might have been able to recognize as Sarah if he spared his gaze, but that was impossible. So, he thought to himself, this is how magnets work? Even if he wanted to, he knew he wouldn’t be able to dislocate his line of sight from the socket it had carved itself into. Her cheeks, rounded with laughter and smiles, were dusted with the telling, glimmering sheen created by alcohol, and her eyes were bright, shiny, and starry from the handful of lamps that lit the living room. The slope of her waist, semi-shrouded deliciously from the billowy fabric of her powder blue summer dress (he couldn’t fucking believe she was wearing a dress when it was windy outside. Did she not care for her health?) and it made him think of the marvelous illusions created from marble. He was fond of going to museums and staring- for hours, at times- at statues of women draped in silk that were replicated with such precision, it was almost as if the wind was right there, rippling against the tantalizing figure of the unidentified female, so much so that an man was inspired to share his tortured vision. In solid form, nonetheless.

It made him wonder what the artist could see in real life. What they envisioned the model to be like underneath the heavenly fibers that twisted and turned restlessly with running air, preventing a clear grasp on the body underneath. Spurred to the point of such desolation, left with a hunger to resurrect what their mind’s eye consumed in physical format to live on forever and torment anyone else who looked.

He understood then. Understood that hunger and want for more.

She spun prettily like one of those ceramic ballerinas in a golden music box owned by children of important people, and that damn dress was both too loose and too free, moving around her with a protective fluidity from hungry, lovelorn wolves like him. He can’t hear her clearly because he’s too far away, but the snippets of her laugh that his ears manage to funnel down to his eardrums sound like a fairy’s tinkle.

She is a dream. Head thrown back before she replies with such enthusiasm and a strange half-lucidity that it has him leaning in to try and hear the drunken words that escape her soundless lips. He’s stuck in a moment of frozen time with her and only her. There’s a pinch behind his sternum when her head moves in his direction, and a strong titanic-worthy sink when she stops before even reaching his gaze. The words of some pop song from the early 2000’s skim cheesily through the background of his brain like a lonesome draft. Where have you been all my life?

Tunnel vision, he believes it might be called.

Next to him, Mitch bumps his shoulder, shattering his dangerously sharp focus with mumbled words that Harry doesn’t quite register with complete comprehension because they sound warped, as if they were spoken through a thick layer of glass or from underwater.

“What?” He blinks, his eyes stuck on her but his head rotated enough to the side that his friend knows he’s listening. He’s afraid that if he stops looking, or even blinks, she'll evaporate into thin air and he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering if she really was a mythical being conjured from his second-hand high.

Mitch clears his throat and hides a knowing twitch of his mouth beneath the rim of his drink, “I said her name is y/n.”

Harry, distracted and oblivious, is unaware that Mitch caught on to the focus of his attention, asks, “Who?”

This time, he can’t help but huff a chuckle, “This girl, H. Her name is y/n. She just started working with Sarah. Sarah says she keeps to herself, but there’s been a bit of… bullying, so she invited her out for a good time.”

“Bullying?” A faucet of anger opens in his major arteries and replaces his blood with a river of internalized rage. Bullying? Bullying her? His head whips around with enough speed to crack the vertebrae in his neck, and his thick brows furrowed with a fierce expression that would scare anyone that looked at him then (Mitch being exempt because he knew there would be no harm coming from that look). “What do y’mean bullying?” He spits the word out like it tastes foul.

Mitch takes another sip from the red solo cup, taking time to compose his face before continuing casually, “yeah. Y/n’s new, sweet, and quiet. Sarah says the others at work think that she’s their personal coffee runner or something. She tries to help her when she can, but she's not always around ‘cause of meetings or whatever.”

Harry sucks on his teeth and shakes his head, twisting again to observe y/n with mooney eyes, bitterness still simmering within him at the treatment she receives at her workplace. Especially when the smile he was so fortunate to witness made him taste caramel and honey and peach nectar and all of the sweet treats that traversed through his esophagus when the munchies hit. It warmed him to finally have a lovely name to attach to a lovely name.

Y/n. It settled nicely in his inner monologue, and he wanted to speak it. Test it on his tongue to see if it molded his lips as nicely as he imagined it would. It fit her, he thought. Y/n. Weirdly, Harry itched to throw it casually in a conversation with her. An exclamation. A wheezed whisper in the middle of a breathless laugh. In a greeting. In a goodbye. To grab her attention. To console. It was ridiculous! He didn’t even know her but he wanted, badly, for this party to transform into one of the more comfortable ones he had with his friends. For her to sit next to him on the couch his arm around the space behind her as she leaned into him unconsciously as the conversation continued. To grab her bicep in a nervous giggle when he stumbled after one too many. To share a bowl of chips with her (lime was his favorite, but he would eat barbecue flavored ones- his least favorite- if they were hers).

“Whose-”a burp, “motorcycle is blocking the driveway?!”

A clearly drunk male slurred from the front of the house, an arm raised as he swayed in a half-assed attempt to grab everyone’s attention, the drink in his hand sloshing onto the carpet and Harry winced, half from being startled and half from the suddenly stiffness that came with several pairs of eyes landing his way.

“Sorry, mate. That would be me.” He raised a finger in the air and bent at the waist to deposit his unfinished drink on a low black coffee table by his knees. He shrugged, rolling his lips into his mouth and turning to Mitch with his shoulders lifting with the beginnings of a hug, “‘was just gonna leave, anyway.”

“Early night, H?” Mitch mumbled, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek while embracing his friend, the ghost of a laugh lingering in his nasal passage. Harry’s cheeks turned a light pink and his nostrils flared in his attempt to hide his smile.

“Yup.” Harry returned the kiss, his nose digging onto the scruff of Mitch’s cheek, tickling him. Stepping back from their show of affection, he patted his palms against his thigh to make sure he had his phone and keys, and tugged the strap of the small backpack on his shoulder to verify it’s presence.

Mitch resumed his leaning position against the door frame, hand in his pocket, “alright. Text me when you get home.”

“‘Course.” Sparing one last glance in the charming sprite’s direction as he said his final goodbye, he was devastated to find that she had, in fact, disappeared, just as he’d feared.

He almost stayed to find her and watch over y/n like some sort of guardian angel, but he didn’t have the guts to go up to her. He hadn’t even finished one drink, so liquid courage wasn’t there to help him, not when he had to ride his motorcycle home. He almost asked Mitch to keep an eye on her for him, but it wasn’t necessary. Sarah was with her, and therefore he’s already watching her.

And from the comforting, yet teasing, twinkle in his friend’s eyes told Harry everything he needed to know. He knew that he was well on his way to cracking his head open over his heels.

Their friendship had always been one of little words.

******

Harry’s been delivering weed for a while now.

What started as a side hustle to obtain much needed income when times were tough developed into an interesting near full-time job with amazing results and benefits (he got to smoke weed for free now, since he grew it himself, but there was always that whole ‘don’t get high off your own supply’ rule, so he did limit himself). He had thought that he would have trouble attaining customers, but word spread like wildfire amongst his close circle of friends, which all happened to be free spirited individuals that harnessed the powers of nature, and then their friends, trusted friends, and so on and so forth.

It got to a point where he needed a separate phone for dealing alone because the ‘rush hour’ would meddle with his personal texts, leading to frequent ‘wrong person’ texts, and he traded his crappy car for a decent motorcycle so he could get to drop-off locations quicker. The added ‘badass’ effect also stroked his ego, so it was a wonderful bonus.

But the annoyance of being interrupted in the middle of something like, let’s say… an episode of Hannibal with a warm bowl of buttered popcorn in his lap always came in the same frustrating amounts.

Like now.

The Netflix screen pauses on Mads Mikkelsen’s face, spouting some bullshit about a tea cup, when his phone dings with a new notification. The sound is a specifically selected ‘ding!’ that is different from his personal phone so it’s easier to differentiate the purpose of the incoming message, and a rumbling groan vibrates from the back of his throat. Throwing his head back against his beat up, brown leather couch, Harry slams his hand around him until his ringed fingers click against the sleek device, and it automatically lights up as he brings it up to his face.

Unknown Number: Hi! Mitch gave me this number and said I’d be able to buy some pre-rolls?

Fucking Mitch. He often passes the number off to his buddies at the record store he works at. The dude started typing again, and the grey bubble with three dots wiggles at the bottom corner of the new text chat. Harry waited.

Unknown Number: If it’s too late for you, I understand.

It was, in fact, too late for him. But, money was money. He technically wasn’t doing anything important, so he would go and deliver to this-

Unknown Number: My name is y/n, by the way :D

Not a dude.

Fuck.

Not a dude.

The popcorn went flying off his chest and spilled all over the floor as he jumped up from his seat. Fuck. Y/n? Y/n with a smiley face. The girl from the party? His heart came to a stuttering stop, screeching like tired on asphalt breaking at a high speed as he came to the realization. The girl has haunted him like a stubborn will ‘o wisp for the past week was texting him. Albeit, it is for a service, but it was still something. The marijuana aspect of his situation didn’t bother him. He sold and consumed, it would be hypocritical of him if it did. Besides, she was an adult. She could do what she liked.

His jaw is on the floor, his eyes popping out of his head and he can’t believe what’s happening to him at that moment. He’d kiss Mitch on the mouth next time he saw him. It’s not until he sees the grey bubbles appear and disappear quickly again that he remembers the normal, usual response to this kind of situation is to type back. With trembling fingers, he pressed on keys, tapped on the backspace button, and repeated those motions several times because he had no idea what he was supposed to say- no, what was right to say to her. He had a standard response when it came to people who wanted to buy from him, but sending her prewritten message in his notes app that consisted of a short, perfunctory greeting followed by a menu-structured list of what he had available that day and their prices. There was no way in hell he’d send that to her.

Harry: Hello! It’s not too late for me to deliver. What can I help you with?

Unknown Number: Mitch mentioned that you offered a 2 for $35 deal?

Unknown Number: Is that still available?

Harry did offer a two-joint for thirty five bucks deal. Pre-rolled joints in cherry rolling paper about as long as his middle finger to the halfway point of his palm, semi-thickly packed with a hybrid blend of the two Mary-Jane plants (Sativa and Indica, none of that Maui Wowie, Blue Dream, or other strains; he liked to keep it simple) he had in a specially insulated box in the garage attached to the house he rented. It was his most popular sell; decent amount, excellent high, excellent trip. But… two? Was she smoking with someone else? Or was she saving one for a later time? He didn’t think she was the type to smoke two at once, but then again he didn’t know her, so her reasons were unclear to him.

However, if he arrived at her location and she was with someone (a male, specifically) his night would be ruined, because then that would mean that any marginal chance that he had with her was out of the question. And he couldn’t ask her right away because they hadn’t even properly met yet, and that would be weird and rude. That didn’t help his overthinking tendencies, and in a matter of seconds, Harry was sitting at the edge of his couch, popcorn crunching underneath his butt as a frown settled on his handsome features. Jaw set, lips puckered in contemplation with a pinch between his drawn eyebrows that casted shadows over his emerald eyes. He looked menacing, and his smattering collection of tattoos didn’t help either.

Or his motorcycle.

Or the intimidating stigma that came with his title of ‘plug’.

Stubborn as he was, this look of ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ would stay with him for the rest of the night, all because he couldn’t restrain himself from coming to incorrect conclusions. He didn’t know if y/n had a boyfriend, if she was with a friend, or if she would even be interest in him, but the sour thoughts that she did have a boyfriend and wouldn’t be interested in a ‘lowlife’ drug dealer loomed over him like a murky, stormy, thundering clouds.

He sent his response and changed her contact name.

Harry: I do!

Harry: Did you want to see the rest of the menu or are you set?

He knew he was being short with her. His messages were missing their customary smiley faces, the extra exclamation marks, the occasional x’s and o’s. He didn’t even type with capitalized letters, but in order to refrain from diving even further into this hole of hope, he decided that the change in his style of grammar would help him become emotionally distant. He just couldn’t bring himself to add them while he was in a stubborn, self-induced slump. While he looked angry, glittery butterflies beat their cellophane wings inside his ribcage and shook magical glitter onto his intestines, making them warm and queasy.

Y/n: I think that’ll be all for tonight

The causal mention of ‘for tonight’ gives him hope. That implied there would be other nights, and even though he’s currently grumpy because relationships are fucking complicated, he wanted to see her again and again.

Harry: Send your address, please.

She sends her location.

Harry: I’ll be there in 15 minutes.

Since he’s already half dressed in black jeans and a white Fruit of the Loom t-shirt from his earlier afternoon deliveries, he only has to part the crystal bead curtain in the doorframe of his living room to grab the leather jacket hanging from a bright yellow coat rack besides his door, and the backpack that he left in a slump besides his shoes (already packed with goods). He doesn’t think twice about the popcorn that’s scattered all over his floor and couch or that the Netflix “are you still there?” screen blinks black when he picks up his keys from the hook next to his door.

The garage opened when he pressed the button inside the kitchen hall, and he stepped out through the side door leading to the space where he kept his motorcycle. The owners before him had left a shit-load of junk that had taken up most of the space, and with their permission, he sold and threw most of it away. For the most part, it was empty. A bench, some boxes, and the white-refrigerator like rectangular box underneath the worktable along with his ride were the only things in there.

Grumbling and pouting like a petulant child, Harry clipped on his black helmet, flipped the visor down with two slender fingers, and dropped the backpack into the compartment attached to the backseat. A button on his keys closed the garage door behind him as he kicked aside the stand and swerved with a screech onto the road, the night air wrapping around bare throat as he cut through at a higher velocity than was surely legal on a residential street, but he didn’t see it as a crime when the heart was involved. He could picture himself explaining to the officer that pulled hi over in a hypothetical situation, that he was on his way to deliver drugs to the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and the officer nodding solemnly at his noble cause.

Totally realistic.

Cars honked when he cut them off abruptly, and he gathered stares from the handful of people that were still wandering along the streets, spilling out at random intervals from bars. He had to cut through bits of the city to get to where she lived, and the three red lights that stalled his perusal were lucky that they were government property or else he would have damaged them in a severe fit of impatient rage. He tapped the tips of his shit-colored vans against the road and clenched his ringed fingers around the handlebars, engine roaring with pending release. He should have grabbed leather gloves, he thinks, if not to impress her, then at least to keep his fingers warm because it was an especially chilly night.

Harry’s pulling up to a brick building in exactly fifteen minutes. There’s fire escape ladders trickling down the side, and cement stairs leading up to a brown oak door with a thin window pane slightly left ajar while a burning yellow light seeps in a long bar across the steps like a satin ribbon. Several windows are bright with light from the inside, and the spare streetlamps that cast a spotlight on the sidewalk make the street unsettling, like someone is hiding in the shadows extending from tree trunks. Harry doesn’t like it one bit, and he hopes y/n isn’t walking these streets by herself at night.

He’s simultaneously taking his helmet off and reaching for his phone in his back pocket when he hears her small peep coming from the door.

“Hi!”

And then, she’s all he can see, hear, think. She’s just as absorbing and hypnotizing as the first time he saw her, even though she’s standing in what is clearly pajamas. A long, sage knitted sweater that ends at the tips of her fingers and just above her knees, making her look like a leafy blob. Black sweatpants that are just as loose and baggy shadow the faint silhouette of her legs. Y/n is fiddling with her fingers, picking whatever color nail polish paints her nails (Harry can’t see because he’s too far away) and it makes him want to soothe her hands with his own. She’s tugging her bottom lip between her teeth and she probably doesn’t even realize that her eyebrows are furrowed and the bunch on her brow-bone casts comic-like shadows across her pretty little face.

Stupidly, because he can’t think of anything else to say other than ‘hello’ but he thinks that’s lame, he clears his throat and says, “how’d you know I was here?”

“Your… uhm- your motorcycle,” she points with a finger to the machinery beneath his bum. He’s leaning against it, not wanting to intimidate her by crowding her space in a dark-ish place but he doesn’t realize it actually makes him look very intimidating and ‘bad-boy’ looking. Especially with the leather jacket, “was kinda loud.”

“Mmm,” he hums his acknowledgement, because at that last corner he had purposefully revved the engine more than necessary. To impress her or to sate his devilish tendencies, was unclear. The space between his collarbones feels like it’s inflating and deflating with every rapid pulse of his heartbeat, and for the first time in a while, he doesn’t know where his ‘game’ is. He feels lame, at a loss for how to act around an angel when he was nowhere near her level. Hell, did this count as corruption of her innocence? He was selling her drugs for fuck’s sake.

At this realization, a heavy, sticky, nasty weight slathers itself all over his back and it can only be described as guilt. Should he be selling her weed? Should he even be morally conscious at this point? He sells weed to teenagers when he’s sure they aren’t narcs, but this wasn’t some zit-faced twerp.

This was y/n.

A few seconds of silence pass and she’s just staring at him, her lips rolling like there are words she's holding in and Harry staring at her with a closed-off expression, thick chocolate eyebrows furrowed deep in concentration because he’s memorizing every curve of her face to look back on when she wasn’t with him anymore. It’s after her first intake of breath with her mouth open that he snaps out of it and twists hurriedly to yank out the pink baggie with shiny red cherries printed on them. His current special, though he saved the decorated packaging for his closer group of friends because he knew it made them happy and he loved seeing that smile on their faces, but he wasn’t going to tell her that (and secretly he hopes it might put a dent on his irrational guilt).

“Here are y’cherry joints,” he holds it out, pinched between two fingers and his lips are a hard line as his heart beats out of his chest because- oh, god} she’s stepping closer and she smells really good and-

“‘Kay, uhm…” She takes the bag from him and mentally, Harry curses because she chooses to cup the underside of the bag and that wipes all chances of their fingers accidentally touching. She won’t meet his eyes, she’s shifty on her feet, and he doesn’t know how to tell her not to be nervous without sounding like a creep, “I’ve n-never done this before, and Mitch didn’t say if you took cash or Venmo so I brought my phone and wallet because I wasn’t sure which one you preferred.”

His heart goes through the life cycle of a dandelion. It blooms, yellow with happiness and new life breathed into his seedling soul by the sound of her voice, and transforms into the wispy tufts that fly away, ditzy and twirling from her sweet breath. All the while she holds him in her hand, smiling.

But all of these feelings are hidden away under his mask of self-preservation, writhing and squirming like worms. He gives away nothing, his eyes looking a little dead even though the in-between space where his head meets with the nape of his neck is damp with nervous sweat and he remains stiff and lazily posed against his motorcycle because he’s sure if he didn’t have that support his knees would knock together and sound like the cue ball hitting a winning shot in an empty pool hall.

Carding his hand through his unruly curls, he realizes that he should’ve styles his hair before leaving the house or foregone the helmet entirely, not caring about dying because first official impressions should be killer, and the extra harsh cut in his British drawl when he rasps, “cash is fine,” has to do with his own annoyance.

Y/n is flustered, evidence of that clearly sprawled all over her cheeks and base of her throat which he can see even in the darkness. She lifts the front end of her sweater with a paw-hand and Harry’s insides explode. Her phone and folded dollar bills are squeezed between the band of her bottoms and bare skin of her stomach. For just a second, the beautiful second in which she plucks the money from her body, he catches sight of a white, lacy bra-band that looks glorious while backdropped by the plane of her abdomen. He discovers the meaning of life and death, and wishes for a bit of both because this is torture.

The back of his mouth is drier than the sahara desert. Two tender fingers give him Holy ten and five dollar bills, and her angelic voice sings, “thank you,” when he takes it from her like a beggar.

Harry is an asshole because he can’t even respond with words only a hum of ‘mhm’ before swinging his leg over his ride and muttering a half-hearted, choked, ‘see you’ before roaring away.

****

He tries to invalidate his rapidly growing crush. Truly. He wants to brush it off his shoulder like dust because it’s annoying and distracting to constantly think about her, but nothing works.

In retrospect, he was even psychologically rude about it, trying- and failing- to find negative qualities about her or flaws in her appearance, but his fawning heart wouldn’t allow such disrespect to the receiver of it’s pesky little affections. The worst he could come up with was that her eyes looked as if some snot-nosed, uncoordinated, messy little kid had shaken an entire bottle of glitter onto a piece of copy paper and called it a day. And that her voice was soothing enough to coax that same child into comfortable, cow-jumping-over-moons dreams.

He wishes he were that hypothetical child rocked to sleep by her lulling voice because by the way things were going, he’s having a pretty hard time getting a wink of sleep because every time his phone vibrates he snaps straight up like his spine is locked and obsessively searched his phone for her name. And he’s tried putting his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ but it only makes it worse because what if he texts her and he doesn’t see it because he’s sleeping?

All of the customers that came after her, during his period of constant surveillance over his ‘trap phone’ received the best delivery times and the snarkiest attitude he’s ever had to offer. The morning sun isn’t as bright as it used to be and the moon is dimmer than usual because nothing can compare to her. He misses her terribly and it’s stupid because he doesn’t even know her and she probably thinks he’s a jerk because he acts like such a dick.

Mitch thinks it's funny that he’s so twisted about a girl. ‘A’ girl because even though he was high when he spilled his secret to his friend, he doesn’t think he could stand a potential breach of his privacy in the case that Sarah found out.

“I haven’t heard from her in a while,” Harry said.

“Do something about it,” Mitch said.

And well, what the fuck was he supposed to do? It’s not like he can reach out to her to ask her if she wants to buy more weed. That would seem greedy and insensitive on his part; a money hungry dealer. He’s already in a limbo of moral dilemmas that shouldn’t exist in the first place and he doesn’t want to complicate it by any form of shady communication.

His dilemma, however, was solved by whatever divine being that dared to bear witness to his nonsensical pleas to the ether. It seemed as though she favored the night and dark for her ‘picking up’, because the delightful ding! came at the thirty minute mark of his tossing and turning.

With the sheets rumpled around his waist and his templed damp with faint beads of perspiration, Harry straightened in the same way he has for the past month, only the tedious exhaustion of it not being her was begging to gnaw at him. Was this what it felt like to be paranoid? Snapping alert at every single indication of a phone because you think it’s the IRS- or the girl who infects your mind, in his case- calling to demand a service?

Preparing for disappointment again, Harry picked up the phone and squinted as his pupils adjusted to the sudden change in light.

Y/n: Hello, Harry! This is y/n. You delivered to me last month? Are you available for delivery at the moment?

There is a muted thud as his phone slips out of his shocked hands and lands on the rumpled duvet. A thundering set of drums replaces his beating heart and his jaw remains slack because it has lost the ability to close. The perspiration on his hairline transfers to the cave of his hands. For weeks he’s been in a constant state of glum, waiting for her next text, and now that he has it the only thing going through his mind is oh my god, oh my god.

Still, through his haze he manages to reply with,

Harry: Hi!

Harry: Yes, I remember, and yes, I’m available

What he really wanted to say, and what he should have sent was, how could anyone forget you? You haunt me day and night. But that was a little obsessive, and probably would have scared her off before they even got anywhere.

Harry: Would you like to see what I have available?

Y/n: Please :D !

The pre-written list of items he has available changed this week. He’s added some chocolate edibles, brownies, and gummy bears that he picked up for a cheaper, wholesale price at the dispensary he frequents, and it makes him wonder if she’ll dare to buy them. He had one a few days ago at Mitch’s place with Sarah and has a smashing time. He couldn’t stop petting their cat, Texas, because the feel of her brown fur between his fingers was heavenly.

Grey bubbles appear and disappear several times along with his intake of oxygen before a long text appears, listing everything she wants from his makeshift ‘menu’ and… it’s a lot. The last time he received an order like this it was for a frat party that one of Mitch’s coworker’s friend’s brother referred him to, and it took him an entire week of rolling and baking to get his inventory back up. His kitchen smelled like weed-butter for a solid month.

Harry: Give me a moment to make sure I can sell you everything. Pretty large order…

The chipped black paint on his nails became a dark blur as his fingers typed, deleted, and typed uncertain words over and over again before finally settling on a sentence that was… neutral and didn’t send the wrong meaning. Usually, with his customers he was a mixture of blunt and friendly, but y/n wasn’t just a customer, and it made everything ten times harder.

Y/n: I’ll take whatever you have, please! Take your time, I don’t mean to stress you out

If she said please one more time, Harry was sure that he would become a liquid, coagulated version of himself among the mess of his blankets.

Jerking his ankles free of the fabric snake that snared him to a useless bed, he clambered off, knuckling at his tired eyes and shivering as the cool, still air of his room wrapped itself around the warmth of his body. Reaching into his closet for the first things he finds, a dark green hoodie and grey sweatpants, Harry yawns and dramatically stretched with his arms way above his head, hoping that the movement would push out the feeling of loneliness that was beginning to take purchase between his ribs, right underneath his heart.

Another late night, another delivery. He wished there was someone in his bed to call him back. Please don’t go, they’d say, the bed is cold without you in it. A warm hand trailing like a ghost against his thigh as he walked away, and a sleepy smile or groan of displeasure as his goodbye. He might not stay in the bed, but he would be happy- no, elated, to know that he would be coming back to someone.

The grow light of his makeshift greenhouse tinted his skin purple as he rummaged through all of his pre-rolled and pre-packaged items, his phone at his side as he checked off everything she has asked for.

9 of the Cherry Deals

6 of the citrus-infused pre-rolls

4 lavender-infused

10 brownies

And 2 8ths

In total, it came out to 28 joints.

Which is… well, a lot for just one person, or two, or three (unless you’re Snoop Dog or something). Packing everything up into four separate paper bags, and then a larger white bag so that she isn't filling with all of the smaller ones, he types out another cold text.

Harry: Okay I have everything.

Harry: Send the address, please.

She sends the address, and Harry follows the same routine as the last time, nearly eating shit as he flew out into his garage. Excitement bubbles in his guts at the same increment and volume of his motorcycle’s initial purr. Flipping open the back compartment he usually stores things in, he realizes that there is no way it’s all going to fit inside, so he turns on his heels to grab a backpack from inside and then he realizes that he’s not wearing any shoes. The smooth, grey floor is cold against the arches of his bare feet, and his brows furrow at his own insolence. Had he been so wrapped up in… everything that he didn’t put on shoes?

Rolling his eyes at his own actions- and feeling a little embarrassed that he’d let it happen- Harry returned to his home and snatched up the first pair of fashionable compatible shoes within his reach (green converse the same shade of his sweater) and the backpack to place the white bag in ( a little redundant, but he didn’t think holding it while he rode would be a good idea). Rushing back to the garage, he hoped that he wouldn’t come up empty with words like he had the time before.

The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away.

***

He was right about it being a party.

At least three minutes before he was flipping down his kickstand, the thundering bass of some rap song (he thinks he can hear ASAP Rocky, but he’s not too sure) shakes the streets and the trees. It’s a house party in a building that was too big to fit into the word ‘house’, but yet too small to fit in ‘mansion’. Toilet paper and trash litters the front yard while couples make out and loners smoke cigarettes, or maybe joints, out on the generous porch. Sports cars and beat up rides pack the driveway and most of the street in front of the house, so it makes it really difficult to station his motorcycle in an area where he has a clear view of who’s coming in and out of the house, and therefore, really hard to spot y/n.

That is until-

“Hi, Harry!”

She’s sitting down on the curb with her arms around her legs and her chin on top of her legs, looking… scared. Her eyes were blown open like a newborn doe, and the sprawl of her limbs as she unravels from her sitting position to a wobbly stand mimics the shaky, knocking knees of a filly that is learning how to walk for the first time. Her voice is even headier than it was the last time he heard it, like windchimes in the spring chill.

Harry’s eyes roam over her with no attempt to conceal his blatant appreciation for the fuzzy sweater falling down to her mid-thigh. They seem to have become a pattern with her. This time, it’s a baby blue crew neck and a pair of jeans, and y/n’s has tried to tie her hair up into a bun at the back of her hair but spiky pieces stick out the back and tendrils swap her ears, making her look like a soft, smudge-y dream.

“Hello,” he says softly, not needing to clear his throat this time. He steps forward a bit, so he can hear her better (or at least that’s what he tells himself), “s’good to see you again.” Harry’s words are louder and more amicable than the last time he greeted her, and his lips part in a crooked friendly smile which she returned with the same tentativeness. There’s something off about her this time around. She’s pulling at her sleeves and shifting her feet, glancing over her shoulder as soon as she’s standing straight and her eyes won’t stand still on Harry’s figure for more than a few, burning seconds.

“It’s good to see you, too! I hope I’m not waking you up every time I text, though,” an exhaled laugh left her lips, and she dropped her gaze down to her shoes. Y/n rocked on her feet, once and then twice. “I think I’ve… I’ve made a habit of texting you late at night.”

And he blushes, “I- uhm… I was having a hard time sleeping, so you didn’t wake me. It’s fine.”

If only she knew that he was having a hard time sleeping because his subconscious was a bothered brat over not seeing her again. Pleading words of requests to ask her never to stop texting him were dancing on the tip of his tongue, banging against his barricaded lips and begging to come out. However, he didn’t think such daring words were fitting with their barely budding relationship. They were pitiful and needy, like a puppy, and frankly, Harry didn’t want to present that image.

“Oh,” she stilled her movements, checked over her shoulder again and then looked him in the eyes and said, “are you okay?”

“M’fine, yeah. Just got a lot of you on my mind at the moment,” he says. It makes y/n furrow her brows and tilt her head at him like a little cat, only then that he realize what he has said, “Things! Got a lot of things on my mind. Sorry,” he clears his throat, looks away while hanging his helmet on the handle of his ride. “Haven’t been sleepin’ much.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. That sucks,” y/n pouts. Pouts at him. And he just blinks. Doesn’t smile or laugh.

“S’alrigh’. Y’got quite a large order this time. Havin’ a party?” As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to slap his palm against his forehead. He probably sounded stupid, given there was clearly a raging party going on in the house behind her. Of course she was having a party, what he should’ve said what ‘what are y’celebrating?’ or ‘are you here alone?’. Like the ‘do you have a date?’ kind of alone.

“You got it right? Thank you. And… something like that, I guess. I’m a bit nervous, honestly, because I’ve never…” She shrugs, looking away from him and back to the house.

“Never been to a party like this?” He’s confused. Surely he can’t mean that she’s never smoked before? Right? Because if that were the case, then what did she do with the weed he gave her last time? And what was she doing at a party were they were on this much drugs.

“No! No, no, I’ve never… smoked before.” She’s adamant in shaking her head. Her hands too, splayed wide like jazz hands.

“Y’never smoked before? What about last time?” Harry hates how it sounds as though he’s accusing her, but he can’t seem to control the way his words are coming out of his mouth, not around her, and it’s making him look like a dick. What he wants to do is smile and tease her, to find some way to ask her if she would like to share a joint with him without sounding too sleazy.

Shaking her head, “those were for my roommate and his boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Harry’s heart pitter-patters in his chest, his mouth in a straight line, and although there’s an abundance of emotions elbowing against the other in his chest, he shows none of them.

“Yeah,” awkwardly, she shifts her weight from heel to heel, arms crossed before reaching into her pocket and bringing out a folded wad of cash. “$540, right?”

“That’s right, but…” C’mon man, he scolds himself, pull it fucking together. This is a concerning situation. Surely she can’t be buying this much this time and not plan on participating. “Are you gonna be a’right?”

Worrying her lips between her teeth, she lets out a deep breath before answering. Smiling and nodding as she answers as if she wants to convince herself, “I think so. How hard can it be?”

“Pretty hard if it’s y’first time, sweetheart,” Harry forces himself to smile a little, but instead it looks as though he’s grimacing. “Will y’friends walk y’through it?”

Y/n looks back at the house again, and shuffles her feet. She’s got a sad little look in her eye, droopy and shy. Great. He was making her uncomfortable. “They’re n-not really my friends,” she says, “but I guess so.”

What? “What?” The word is sharp in his mouth. What the fuck was she doing, then? Hanging with people that she didn’t look all that enthused to be with, buying their weed, standing out here all alone?

“They’re not-”

A male comes out of the house, red solo cup in hand, and he’s not wearing a fucking shirt. He’s waving a hand in the air, trying to flag y/n down Harry assumes, and he’s offended for her. Harry’s brows furrow and his hands curl into fists behind his back. Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? What the fuck is he drinking and why is he being so disrespectful interrupting their conversation this way? All for some weed?

Now on the last step, the guy shouts, “Y/n, what’s taking so long?”

The poor girl jumps, startled, and her eyes go wide. “Sorry, I’ll be in soon!” Y/n shoves the money at him, frazzled, and takes the paper bag from his hands. “Here's $560, Harry. The rest is a tip. You can count it if you’d like!”

“It’s alright, here you-” she’s already bounding away from him, but he doesn’t want her to go, and somehow, he finds the will to call her back. He just wanted her to look at him once more, because she wasn’t even inside yet, but he missed her gaze. “Y/n!”

She stops, and he gets exactly what he wants. Her attention. “Yes?”

Harry swings a leg over his motorcycle and gets ready to leave before he does anything stupid like… like trying to hold her hand or something. Who knows, he lost his ability to act his age around her. “Have a water bottle at your side,” he’s mumbling almost, “and don’t take too much in on your first try. Exhale and don’t freak out when y’start coughing. Or embarrassed. It’ll be okay. And… and do y’best to relax.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

And y/n smiles at him.

It’s small, and it’s meek the way a feral kitten approaches a human with food. Scared, and rightfully so, because Harry wants to scoop her up and take her home.

“Of course. Have a safe night.”

She nods and walks away with another piece of his heart in her hands.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff oneshot #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles smut imagine #harry styles fanfic

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sequinsnstars · 12 days

Text

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ fresh page, on the desk ݁˖ ⊹ ‧₊˚

JASON GRACE .ᐟ

ingredients; mason grace and cupcakes

fyi; gn reader who is roman but has no specified godly parent, timeline is messy but wtv, cursing, i reference media i like bc i’m self indulgent, little additions to the hoo plot, silly little 4th wall breaking

notes; first fic hii, lmk ur thoughts! probably a series 👀 big thank u to all my fave pjo writers/moots for inspiring this 🫶🏽 @hopelesslyromanticshark @jgracie @cinemaconrad

wc; 1.7k

food mood; classic vanilla cupcakes. perhaps with a light chocolate frosting.

Cyclops Books was your safe haven.

After a long day of excessive criticism during training, it was the perfect place to allow yourself to relax your posture, if only a little bit. You loved your friends, yes, but sometimes you just needed a little break from it all. The entirety of New Rome was your third place. The somehow always-green grass and thriving flowers, the curved cobblestone streets leading to homes filled with laughter and warmth, the lingering scents of the bakery’s famous freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies – you could go on. Even Terminus couldn’t stop you from coming here as much as you were able to.

So why was it so off today?

As you took your usual evening stroll before dinner, you noticed that almost all the homes and shops had their bright white porch lights on and the usual soft, yellowed string ones were put away. Not to mention the lack of New Rome Elementary kids playing outside after school, or the fact that the usual cozy atmosphere felt tight and formal: the exact thing you tried to get away from by coming here. It even felt like the sunset sky was trying its best to remain a single organized color rather than its usual gorgeous, messy, watercolor-like self.

You tried not to think about it much as you entered your favorite bookstore. Your bookstore. It had been ever since your first visit years ago. It had taken a while to grow accustomed to camp. During the New Rome field trip for fresh campers, something about it drew you in. The warm hanging lights and the stacked bookshelves reminded you of a shop in one of the many cities you’d lived in. That one had always been your favorite. Tyson and Ella had welcomed you strongly that day, cheering, “New campers! New campers!” and shoving slightly burnt croissants in your face. After seeing all your favorite mortal books for sale, you decided it would be the first of many times you entered the place. It wasn’t long before you striked up a friendship with the two owners – they were some of your favorite people to see, plus, they let you pick out their store music!

(As of late, you’d mostly been playing the new Taylor Swift album.)

You opened the door, greeted with the familiar out-of-tune entry bells. Ella was curled up in her cardboard box, sleeping, but she peeked out when she saw you.

“Hello!” Her eyes lit up.

You smiled. “It’s nice to see you too, Ella.” According to what Percy had said about his first quest with Hazel and Frank, Ella was a lot more content now that she was with Tyson. You were truly happy for the couple, they had been nothing but sweet to you and they deserved all the good things coming to them.

She yawned and murmured, “Big event today. Tyse preparing in back. Back, back, back… Back to December. Taylor Swift. Speak Now. Now, now, now…” and promptly dozed off again. You let her sleep, heading to the romance section to hopefully find the new Emily Henry book. Still, you couldn’t shake the thought out of your mind.

You entered the next aisle, thankfully getting your hands on the last copy of Funny Story. You took another quick walk through the areas you normally shopped from, since the store almost always had copies of books before they were officially released. It was unclear how Tyson and Ella managed to do this, but you suspected it had something to do with all the excess time a certain son of Vulcan–sorry, Hephaestus–had been spending on his computer, finding passcodes for mysterious files.

Not that you were complaining.

You walked a little faster to the R section when you spotted Love of the Gods!, a packed adventure about three mortals, Peter, Annie, and Grant, stumbling upon an entrance to the Underworld at a Halloween party and pet sitting the three-headed dog, Cerebrus. Silently, you thanked Leo for saving you from the four months of wait time for the official release.

Heading to checkout, you picked up a few new annotation tabs and cute pens for when you started reading your new books. You peeked over the counter to see if Tyson had come back – you really were curious about what was happening today. You were about to head into the staff-only back room (perks of being friends with the owners) until you saw a rose-adorned china bowl filled with cupcake batter just by the door.

Ella’s birthday was approaching fast, so you remembered that Tyson was preparing. He’d told you that he was going to make some sweet treats in advance, as well as plan to surprise her with Eras Tour tickets and ask Taylor to play The Alchemy and You Are In Love as the acoustic set.

You were so not jealous that Leo and the couple had gotten to attend a listening party for The Tortured Poets Department as a thank you for that one time they went on a quest to retrieve an enchanted scarf from the monster James Gyllenborg. Who said that?

You were focused on the food in front of you, but if you’d looked up to see who walked in when you heard the door bells chime, you might have avoided the fiasco about to happen.

Your books were tucked under your arm so you could help Tyson out a little and start pouring the batter into cute heart-shaped molds. You filled two cups and were getting ready to start a third when someone shoved your back, hard. The two novels you were about to purchase fell into the batter bowl, now completely soaked. Your jaw dropped.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” mumbled a voice from behind you.

“Watch where you’re going,” you hissed. If it was another one of those annoying New Rome boys, you swore you were going to–

You turned around and saw a blonde boy wearing a black vintage varsity jacket, blue jeans, and a pair of Chuck Taylors. You would have brushed the matter aside and treated him like anyone else if you hadn’t seen the Imperial gold glasses, the scar on his lip, and that pair of electric blue eyes.

The same ones half the camp fawned over.

Holy Tartarus.

“Praetor Grace,” you said.

Jason tensed at the name. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

There was a bit of awkward silence, then he continued. “Every few months, either Reyna or I come here with the intention of doing shop inspections. Council work. Normally, we go in and introduce ourselves, but usually when I come here… is his name Tyson?”

“Tyson,” you agreed, still reeling from the shock.

“Yes. Him. He gets stressed out when I say I’m praetor, so I dressed a little differently this time, to say the least. I only hope he doesn’t know my face well enough to recognize me.”

So that was why he was out of his professional attire. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t have guessed he co-led the camp. Oh gods, this must have been why New Rome was on edge today.

Jason peered over your shoulder to look at the bowl. His eyes widened when he saw the books. “Shit. Did I do that? I’m so sorry, I’ll pay–”

“No, it was an accident, it’s not your fault,” you interjected. You did not want to have to deal with the awkwardness of the praetor paying for you. Besides, Tyson didn’t mind these kinds of things too much, since you two were close.

Just then, said Cyclops walked out.

Both you and Jason rushed in front of the bowl mess. You weren’t anxious about the books – it was the batter. If Tyson found out it was ruined, he’d be devastated.

You felt queasy seeing the grin on his face. How were you going to get yourself out of this?

“Friend!” he exclaimed. “Brought another friend… a boyfriend?”

Laughing nervously, you said, “No, not my–”

Jason took your hand in his calloused yet warm one and beamed at Tyson. “That’s right. The name’s Mason. I’ve heard all about this wonderful shop!”

What the fuck?

He looked at you, a hint of pleading in his eyes. Oh. You understood.

“Yes, he has, obviously.” You nodded hastily. “I just had to tell my loving, sweet, gorgeous boyfriend all about Cyclops Books!”

(Was it you, or did the praetor turn a little pink?)

He recovered fast, replying with, “Pfft. Says the most amazing, beautiful, and talented baker I know.” Jason moved aside to reveal what you’d been doing before he entered the store. At first, you panicked, but when you looked at the bowl and books, they were clean and separated, as if nothing had happened at all.

Tyson gasped. “Cupcakes!” He ran to clear items off the counter so he could move the setup to a better area.

“How did you do that?” You whispered out the corner of your mouth.

“Gravity acts on air. Child of Jupiter stuff and all that. I lifted the books out and transported the excess batter back into the bowl. Any remaining dust or bacteria I sent back into the atmosphere. I tried to direct it to the sewers. The cupcakes are fine.”

“Wow.” You were impressed. He’d gone that far for someone he barely even knew?

Tyson returned to pick up the baking materials and put them on the counter. He looked up with a bright expression. “Wait. Double date! Ella! Me! Mason! You! Pretty please?”

Um.

You were about to say no and tell him about getting punishment from Reyna – having to clean out Scipio’s stable for the whole week. It wasn’t a lie; you had been caught skipping out on training a few days ago. You were surprised Terminus even let you into New Rome, considering he was usually informed on who broke camp rules. But before you could respond, your new boyfriend did.

“That sounds perfect! This Friday at six? We could visit the cinema, maybe?”

Gleefully, the Cyclops clapped. “Yay! Good idea!”

“Great! It’s a date!” Jason smiled. He glanced at you, but you couldn’t read his expression. “I’ll pick you up thirty minutes early. I’ve got to go help out Cohort 5 now really quick, there’s a soldier that needs tending to. I’ll see you later?”

You stared at him for a few seconds before processing what he was asking you. “Of course. Totally. Yeah.”

He nodded and winked as he left the shop.

What just happened?

hope you enjoyed the meal!

thank you for your order and your waitress siara hopes you come again soon 💌

#signed by siara ♡#pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #jason grace #jason grace x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackson x reader

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ohmygraves · 4 months

Text

there's this cafe near the base that soap likes to frequent. he's a regular, and he goes there everyday when he can. it's a nice, cozy cafe where he can sit back and relax, enjoying the quaint atmosphere away from sweaty soldiers running around the base. sometimes, he even brought price and ghost some coffee or tea, if they so prefer.

now, the base has a pretty great coffee machine, sure, but johnny likes to dabble on some other beverages. perhaps try some matcha latte or some hot chocolate, but if anyone asked him if he's there for the drinks, he would lie and nod at them, saying how the latte or the chocolate was the best thing he's ever tasted.

the drinks are amazing, don't get him wrong. the ingredients were high quality, and the prices were a little bit on the pricier side for a local coffee shop. but it was the cute barista that got him hooked in the first place.

you were the barista on the morning shift, and johnny would walk in at around 9am sharp if he could drop by. he'd always order whatever you recommend, being the lovestruck boy he is, and happily give them a try with your pastry of choice. and then, you'd always ask for his name, but he'd give you some funny names that would make you laugh instead. one time you asked him for his name, he'd say "pope turté the third" and you kept giggling while making his order. when you called the name of the order, it drew a laugh from everyone at the cafe, and johnny would proudly pick up his drink and pastry from you, giving you his signature smile before leaving.

it was just that, your whole friendship with him. he makes you laugh with his ridiculous names, and you'd make his drinks the way he asked you, perhaps give him a few cakes or pastries for free if you're feeling generous. both of you were too scared to go further, afraid of being too forward. but you knew that you adored him, and he adored you too.

so, the next time he comes over for a cuppa, you simply hand him a paper cup with a lid, already made fresh, together with a single croissant by the counter.

"thank ye, bonnie. hoo muckle?"

"seven quid with the pastry." you replied sweetly, a small smile on your face.

he happily paid for it with his card, handing it over to you. you processed it as he wanted, returning it with a receipt and his orders. as he bid you farewell, he took a sip of the cup, finding it to be a delicious hot chocolate, with some spices in it.

turning the cup, he sees his name, john, written on the paper cup with a marker, a heart as the "o". just below his name, a number with a "text me" was written, together with your own name.

somehow, his hot chocolate tasted sweeter than usual.

#pls correct the scottish if it's wrong i literally couldnt even speak english properly sometimes i need help #i tried my best #we all need loverboy johnny #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty headcanon #cod headcanon #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader

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eddiesghxst · 9 months

Text

PRICE OF FAME (PART 3/12)

ALRIGHTY HERE WE GO !!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie and gareth don't get along and eddie thinks you look cute when you're sleeping

contains: enemies to lovers trope, smoking, alcohol use, maybe gareth's a bitch lol, scary feelings, a sprinkle of fluff, and eddie being down bad in every way, shape, and form <3

word count: 5.3k

| previous part | next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Breakfast has been your favorite part of joining Corroded Coffin on tour. Aside from the fluffy, soft, sweet pancakes, grease-dripping bacon, and toe-curling orgasmic coffee, breakfast has always been lighthearted and fun. Richie makes everybody sit at the table together like a family so there can be some sense of normalcy throughout the busy days; it’s nice.

You alternate with your seating, wanting to get to know all of the crew members as best as you can while you have the time, and you’ve had decent conversations amongst some awkward ones. On the first day, you sat next to Mitch, the light coordinator, and listened to his story about how he met his husband. They’re expecting a baby this fall, and you two bounced a few names off each other for him to consider. On the second day, you sat beside Kaylee, the tour stylist, and talked about your college horror stories. On the third day, you sat next to Brandon, a stage manager, and spoke about… well, you don’t really remember because he talked the entire time, and you kind of blanked out. Slowly, you’ve made your way around the table each day, learning little things about the group.

Today, however, there is not the usual lighthearted and familial atmosphere at the table.

You came down to the breakfast hall a bit late from your shower, and the second you stepped into the room, you could sense the tension still hanging from yesterday. You haven’t spoken to or seen Eddie since he confronted Gareth at the studio, and you’re not sure if he’d even want to see you, but you have no choice but to take the only open seat next to him.

You quietly say good morning to everyone, and Richie is the only one who gives you a warm response. “How’d you sleep, birdie?” He questions around a mouthful of eggs. You nod and settle in, “Good, I almost slept through my alarm.” You jokingly admit. Richie chuckles, “1500 thread count sheets will do that to you.” He says, causing the table to erupt in a soft symphony of laughter.

It falls awkwardly silent, and you try your best to avoid glancing at Gareth, but there’s no doubt everybody notices the shiner he’s sporting on his eye. The room is filled with sounds of forks clanking against plates and the quiet mumble of short, faint snippets of conversation until Richie clears his throat, “We’ve got an interview with the press at twelve and rehearsals at three, like always, so do what you need to do before then. We can’t be late for this interview, got it?” He reminds the crew, and everybody’s head nods in understanding, all but one.

“I’m not going.”

All eyes turn to Gareth, a full plate sitting untouched before him as he slumps back in his seat. Beside you, Eddie lights a cigarette, and you opt to busy yourself with taking a bite of your French toast, practically feeling the anger radiating from Eddie as he takes a drag. Richie clears his throat once again, scooting closer to the table and tilting his head with a look of confusion, “Um… why not?” He questions.

Gareth glances at him as best as he can with his black eye, “Because I’ve got an eye the size of a tennis ball on my face, Richie.” Everyone at the table seems to uncomfortably shift now that the elephant in the room has been addressed. Eddie doesn’t waste a second to speak up from beside you, “Nothing you didn’t deserve.” For the first time since yesterday, Eddie looks at Gareth and sees the swollen eye he left from yesterday. Eddie doesn’t show a single hint of regret.

The table returns to quietly eating as Gareth ignores Eddie’s comment, “I’m not going.” He reiterates. Richie sighs and rubs the coarse mustache on his face, “You have to go, Gareth. Just put some shades on.” He suggests, returning to his food as if the conversation finished, but Gareth holds up. “I’m not gonna sit there in shades like a fucking idiot, man.”

“Well, you don’t have a choice, son,” Richie snaps, dropping the fork in his plate to look at Gareth. You wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole, and you’re sure you’re not the only person with that wish when you look at the other crew members at the table. “This band has an album coming soon,” he reminds the group, “We don’t have time for rumors and gossip to start circulating; you need to show up as a unit. This isn’t up for debate.”

The conversation could’ve ended there because, quite frankly, it seemed like Gareth was willing to go with it, but Eddie couldn’t let the moment to say something slip, “Just let him go, Rich.” He shrugs. You glance at Eddie, watching as he taps his cigarette ash into his plate, “It’s not like he brings much to the table anyway.”

Across the table, from the corner of your eye, you see Gareth lean forward to glare at Eddie, “The fuck does that mean?” He snaps.

Eddie looks at Gareth for the second time and shrugs, “Means you’re a shit band member, man. Fuckin’ Mitch has done more for this band than you ever have or could’ve done.” He gestures towards Mitch, ignoring when the man slightly cowers in his seat. Gareth looks at Eddie with a stone-cold glare, saying nothing momentarily and letting the thick blanket of silence curl around everyone's neck. He leans forward and points a finger at Eddie, who’s not even looking at him anymore, “Fuck you. You wonder why Chrissy left you for Jason Carver, it’s because you’re a fucking asshole.”

“Jesus Christ, guys–” Jeff tries to interject, but Gareth continues speaking, “At least Jason acknowledges her. That’s more than you ever did.” He jabs. Eddie chuckles, shaking his head before speaking around a cloud of smoke, “You don’t know shit about me and Chrissy.”

Gareth tauntingly laughs, “Nah, she filled me in quite a fuckin’ bit.”

The invisible ticking time bomb seems to have gone off in Eddie’s mind. He stands up from his chair, a loud screeching noise grating everyone's ears as he flicks his cigarette into his plate, “The fuck did you just say?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Richie interjects, standing up and raising his hands as a gesture to stop. “Enough. Fucking enough,” he glances between the two heated men in annoyance, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you boys, but you need to figure your shit out on your own time.” He snaps. Your hands rest in your lap, anxiously picking at the seam of your jeans, wanting to shrink into your seat because you can’t help but feel as if this is your fault. It was your journal he read anyway; you play some part in the issue, right?

Richie sits back down with an exhaustive huff, picking up his fork to resume eating, but before he picks up a piece of his food, he gestures at the table, “Either sit down and finish your goddamn meal, or fuck off somewhere. Both of you.”

Eddie stands for a moment before deciding to leave without another word.

By the time the press interview rolls around, you’re more anxious than you thought you’d be. Between the time frame of breakfast and now, you had more than enough time to ponder over the messy situation you’ve accidentally created between Gareth and Eddie.

Truthfully, you had no idea that the Chrissy Gareth had mentioned during your conversation was Eddie’s ex-girlfriend Chrissy; hell, you didn’t even know Eddie had an ex-girlfriend named Chrissy until yesterday!

On one of your few sit-downs with Gareth, you ended up discussing his love life, and you took the leap of faith to ask him if he’d ever been in love.

“…There was one girl. Her name was Chrissy; we went to high school together.”

“You dated?” “No,” Gareth shakes his head, “No, we never dated. But I always had this weird connection with her… like we understood each other in a deeper way.”

You smile in awe of the sweetness behind his words, jotting down little notes in your journal as he speaks. “I always admired her to an extent, but she, uh,” he clears his throat and scratches at his jaw, “she was in another relationship for most of the time I knew her.”

Gareth silently watches as you continue to write. You look up at him when you realize he’s been silent for a while, and you open your mouth to ask what is wrong, but he speaks before you, “Is this um,” he gestures towards your journal, “this bit isn’t going in the final publish, right?” He asks. You tilt your head, a few questions running through your mind, but you brush them off, “Um… well, I suppose I can leave some of it out, yes.”

Gareth nods, shifting in his chair and clearing his throat. “Okay, good. Um… well, anyways,” he begins, “Me and Chrissy didn’t hook up until I went back to Hawkins during our break off from last year's tour.”

Ultimately, Gareth had explained that Chrissy had recently left a three-year relationship when they’d hooked up. He explained that they crossed paths at a bar, and things took off from there, but he cut it off with her the following morning. He never told you why he cut it off, but you now understand the guilt of betraying his best friend had forced him to do so.

You had no idea that the entire conversation was pertaining to Eddie’s ex; if you had known, you would’ve never written it down. You wouldn’t have even finished the conversation if Gareth had told the whole truth because, quite honestly, you would rather not be in the mix of this disaster.

You’re disappointed. Upset that Gareth practically used you to get the guilt off his chest. And the truth is, that conversation did little to nothing for Gareth in the long run; he still felt guilty for never telling Eddie, and it’s only gotten worse with the added tension between them now that the secret is out.

Eddie was cold toward you before, but now he’s thicker than the ice in Antarctica. He’s avoiding you at all costs— and maybe he’s just avoiding everybody. Still, you can’t help but take his avoidance personally, especially when you’d thought you were finally reaching some sort of middle ground with him.

You sit off to the side of the stage with the rest of the band’s crew as you watch them take their seats for the press interview. Eddie sits on one end of the table while Gareth sits at the other end, the other two members filling the two seats in between. Gareth had no choice but to cover his black eye with a dark shade of glasses, and it seemed like nobody paid mind to it— typical rockstar wardrobe and all.

The interview was off to a good start, with reporters asking questions about the upcoming album, life on the road, and relatively anything about the music. Near the end, however, is when things seemed to get rocky. The questions became more of a filler than anything important, and boys were evidently tired of answering. It wasn’t until a journalist asked a specific question that things seemed to reach a tipping point.

“There’s been rumors that this album has more love songs than usual. Could you confirm or deny that?”

The boys look at each other, and Gareth leans forward to respond, but Eddie beats him to it. “There were a few, yeah, but um… They didn’t make the final cut, so maybe next time.”

The energy vividly shifts amongst the boys; Gareth looks at Eddie and scoffs before leaning back into his chair, clearly throwing in the towel for the rest of the interview. You don’t understand the apparent dispute just now, but you find out when the boys finish the interview and walk into the green room.

“What the fuck, man?” Gareth spits, walking a few paces behind Eddie. “We’re not cutting the song.” His loud voice booms through the room, not caring if anybody will overhear their dispute.

“I’m not putting a song out that you wrote about my fucking ex-girlfriend, Gareth. Are you out of your fucking mind?” Eddie snaps.

Richie turns to the band and crew members and motions for them to leave the room, which nobody even bothers to protest, eager to escape any more awkward conversations for the day. Everybody else makes a beeline for the tour bus, planning to fill in the few hours before rehearsal.

You glance back at the room where Eddie and Gareth are bickering, and you bravely choose to sit in the chair outside the doorway. You try not to stick your nose in their business, but they’re arguing loud enough for you to hear snippets either way. The conversation doesn’t last long before Gareth storms out of the room and down the hall, bursting through the doors and out of sight.

You glance back into the room where Eddie stands, fishing out his pack of cigarettes and sparking up. You figure now is better than ever, so you clench your bag strap and stand up, hesitantly stepping into the room. Clearing your throat once you’re a few steps away from Eddie, you watch as he exhales a cloud of smoke. He glances at you and turns away, “What do you want?”

You take one step closer, “I um… I wanted to apologize.” You begin. He looks at you again, brown eyes tired and riddled with pain— and you can’t imagine how much of a whirlwind the past twenty-four hours have been for him. “For what?” He asks, confusion and annoyance laced within his tone.

He’s turned to face you, shiny chains glistening on his hips beneath the building lights. You shake your head, struggling to find the words, because, was this really even your fault?

You obviously can’t apologize for Gareth fucking his ex-girlfriend— you had no part in that— and it’d seem silly to apologize for accidentally dropping your journal. So, what exactly do you apologize for? How do you let him know that you’re sorry this was how he found out, even if it isn’t entirely your fault?

You decide to try and redirect your wording, “I want you to know that I was never going to put that in the final article.” You say.

Eddie scoffs, taking a drag of his cigarette before responding, “And why would I believe that?” He questions.

He’s gazing at you like the first night you’d met when he was watching you from across the green room and commanding you to leave. You think he has the same intentions now, but Eddie has yet to learn that you’re stubborn.

“Well, for starters, Gareth asked me not to put it in,” you admit. Eddie’s jaw tenses and part of you feels as if you’ve tossed Gareth under the bus, but you had no choice. This was Gareth’s doing, and if you have to tell the ugly truth to save your image, then so be it. “He didn’t tell me why, but I know now. And now that I know the full truth behind that story, I definitely won’t write it in.”

Eddie watches you momentarily, intense eyes burning holes through you before he turns away. He scratches his jaw for a moment, taking a breath before returning to you. Eddie points to you, the burning cigarette hanging between his fingers as he speaks, “You know,” he begins, “somehow, you’ve managed to persuade everyone that you’re some sweet, innocent small-town journalist that just wants to ‘appreciate the artists,’ but that,” he gestures to your bag where he knows your journal is resting, ashes fluttering to the ground with each wave of his hand.

“That proved everything I believed about you.” He says. “People like you are fucking vampires. You suck the life out of people to keep you alive, and it’s fucked up.” He snaps.

Your face twists in anger, subtly shaking your head as you subconsciously step closer, “Eddie, I didn’t… I didn’t even know she was your ex, and if I did, I would’ve never written about it.” You exclaim, tossing your hands in exasperation. “And I’m sorry you found out the way you did, but you can’t hate me for something someone else did!”

Eddie frustratedly rubs his face, “That’s not the point!” He exclaims. “I read your journal. I saw everything I needed to see to confirm that I was right about everything with you and this fucking article.” He stresses, his loud voice echoing throughout the empty room.

“I'm not here to destroy your life, Eddie!” You snap, voice raising to match the level of his own. Eddie steps closer, towering over you and glaring so intensely into your eyes that you almost cower, “I don’t fucking believe that for a second.” He snaps back.

His chest rises and sinks like a rocky boat beneath his angry breaths, and he’s so close you can smell the cigarettes and mint on his breath. The scent of his cologne wrapping around you and choking you like a snake.

You don’t know how much more patient you can be with Eddie. You don’t know how much more of this back-and-forth you can take before it drives you insane. You want it to end. You want him to understand that you’re not his enemy; you never were.

You can only think of doing one thing: unzipping your bag and reaching in to grab your journal. Eddie watches with a hint of confusion in his eyes as you crack open the journal and start flipping through the pages. “What are you doing?” He asks in annoyance, patience running thin at your silence.

You flip through nearly half of the book before finding the pages you sought. You don’t think twice before ripping them out, not even caring if it destroys the binds of your precious journal. “The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks again.

You tear each page out and drop the book to the floor, ignoring Eddie’s questions as you shred each torn-out page to pieces. Eddie watches in silent and hidden shock as each pen-soaked strip flutters to the ground, creating a heap of trash between where you both stand.

You tear the last piece and let it fall before looking at Eddie, watching as he gazes at the torn pages. Nearly five pages worth of writing, gone.

“There. It’s gone. Do you believe me now?”

Eddie says nothing when he drags his gaze up to look at you, shock-ridden across his face. “I’m not who you say I am, Eddie. I’m not here to ruin your life; that was never my intention.”

Eddie stays silent, seemingly lost for words, and even if you want him to say something, your braveness has begun to falter, and you itch to leave the room. You’re strong-willed, but you’re no fucking superwoman, and Eddie has pulled every exhausting breath out of you, and you can’t seem to get a grip because every time you breathe in, all you smell and feel is Eddie.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

You grab your destroyed journal from the floor, not bothering to try and fix the binding before you shove it back into your bag, and you don’t say another word as you leave the room.

You’ve been writing for hours when you check the clock— twelve thirty-two. The band played a show tonight, but you decided to stay in your hotel to let your ankle rest— you haven’t been taking all the precautions the medic advised you to, so by the time lunch rolled around, you were in an uncomfortable fit of pain. You used your free time by tweaking the draft of your article— adding in new pieces of information and taking out unnecessary notes. You’re about twenty pages in, but by the end of the month, you’ll have compiled it all into ten; but for now, it seems your brain has become a muddled mess of words and ideas.

You suppose drinking three glasses of wine didn’t help fix that, either. You’re tipsy, teetering on the edge of drunk, and that’s a dangerous place to be when you’re practically working. You don’t even want to think of the past drunken works you’ve made; they’re worse than you’d like to admit.

You sigh, dropping your pen onto the hotel desk, leaning back in your chair, and rubbing your hand down your face in exhaustion. You glance over to the chair you’ve propped up to rest your injured leg, deciding that you should probably ice it since you’ve neglected to do so all day.

You figure you’re done writing for the day anyway, so you put your things in order before grabbing the ice bucket and making your way out of the room to find the ice machine.

What you don’t expect to find on your journey is a sleepy Eddie sitting in the hallway just a few doors down from yours. Maybe you drank four glasses of wine.

Out of common, drunk courtesy, you redirect your path and limp over to where he sits, arms folded across his chest and head leaned back against the wall with shut eyes.

You gently say his name to grab his attention, but he doesn’t budge. You shuffle closer, calling his name out again, and when that doesn’t work, you gently nudge him with your non-injured foot. His eyes flutter open, blinking away the light sleep from his eyes as he looks at you.

You tilt your head in question and ask, “What are you doing sleeping in the hallway?”

Eddie shifts in his spot, grunting and glancing at the bucket in your hands. From the looks of it, Eddie is as sober as can be, so you guess he decided to skip out on the after-show festivities they usually partake in. “I um… I lost the key card to my room.” He explains, gesturing to the door across from where he’s seated.

“The band is out for the night, and the lobby’s closed, so…”

You nod in understanding, glancing around the empty hallway, catching sight of a cleaning lady entering a room down the corridor. And technically, you don’t owe Eddie anything.

You could leave him here in the hallway to spend the night sleeping on the hard ground, and it probably wouldn’t bother him either way because Eddie clearly doesn’t like you, but fuck you feel bad.

You’re not a terrible person. You wouldn’t kick somebody when they’re already down, and Eddie… Eddie is clearly down.

Before you can thoroughly think it over, your liquor-weighted mouth speaks before you can stop yourself, “You could crash in my room for the night.”

Eddie looks at you with the blankest expression he could ever muster and blinks, “Why would I do that?”

God, he’s such a fucking asshole.

You shrug, gently swinging the bucket in your hand and glancing around again, “I don’t know, unless you'd like to sit here all night like a moron, then be my guest.”

Your ankle hurts as you stand and wait for Eddie to make up his mind, and just when you almost decide to throw in the towel and let him fend for himself, Eddie grumbles a short “Fine,” and gets up.

You watch as he reaches down to grab his leather jacket and turns to you, “You can go ahead; I have to get ice for my foot.” You tell him, pointing to your door so he knows where to go.

Eddie glances down at your injured leg and says nothing before he reaches forward and gently takes the bucket from your hands— cold, jewelry-covered fingers brushing up against your warm knuckles and sending shivers up your spine.

He hands you his jacket, and you stand silently, confused by the exchange. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he answers your question, “I’ll get the ice.” And he doesn’t even bother looking at you before turning around and leaving to find the ice machine.

You’re too drunk to figure out what that was about, and your ankle is starting to throb under the pressure of standing, so you walk back to your room clutching his jacket and trying your hardest not to let the familiar scent of Eddie knock you dead.

You leave the door slightly propped open for Eddie and place his jacket on the chair near the desk. In the meantime, you busy yourself with removing your suitcase and clothes you’d haphazardly tossed around from the extra bed where Eddie will be sleeping. You figure you’ll just head to bed once Eddie gets here, so you exchange your jeans and fitted top for shorts and a ratty old He-Man shirt from high school.

You’re setting your previous clothes aside when Eddie steps into the room, a bucket full of ice in one hand with a Coke and chips in the other. You raise an eyebrow, questioning the extra items, and he shrugs as he shuts the door with his foot, “What? The vending machine was right next to the ice, and I was hungry.” He explains as he places the bucket on the desk, making sure to avoid placing it on your work pages. He tries his best not to look at what you’ve written, and you don’t point it out when he clears his throat and diverts his attention to something else. He grabs the wine bottle and shakes it, raising an eyebrow when he realizes it’s less than halfway full, “I take it someone had a good time?”

You roll your eyes, walking over to take the bottle and put it back on the desk. “Not that it’s any of your business.” You respond, turning to grab a ziplock to fill with ice. Eddie takes the bag from you and shoos you away, “Go sit down, I’ll do it.”

Your face twists in confusion, “You’re starting to scare me. Are you gonna kill me?”

Eddie laughs and busies himself with scooping large chunks of ice and dropping them into the open ziplock. “I will if you don’t sit down.” He responds.

You relent and walk over to your bed, sitting at the head of the mattress to lean against the pillows near the headboard, doing your best to shove a pillow beneath your foot lazily. You sit silently, hands folded against your stomach, watching Eddie work.

He’s wearing his usual black jeans, decorated with hanging chains from his waist, and a plain white shirt, hidden muscles flexing beneath the soft cotton. His shoulders are broad yet hidden beneath the thick, curly mane of hair he has. Tattoos litter his arms, a few trickling down to his fingers, and you catch glimpses of his knuckles dripping with drops of water from the ice and— fuck.

There’s no way you’re checking out Eddie Munson, the asshole who’s made your life a living hell these past few weeks. You really can’t handle your liquor.

You panic and grab the TV remote, quickly turning it on to fill the silence. You distract yourself by watching the random sitcom playing until Eddie steps into your view. You must’ve been focused on the show because Eddie seems to have traveled to the restroom to get a towel to wrap around your makeshift ice pack. Your sheets are pulled back, leaving your bare legs on display, and you can’t help but squirm when Eddie stands at the foot of the bed and takes in the sight of you.

He says nothing as he gently lowers the ice onto your ankle. His inked fingers sink into the plush cotton of the towel, and if Eddie weren’t an artist, you bet he could land a job as a hand model. Or maybe you’ve really lost it.

His gaze flickers to catch your wide eyes, and you hold your breath when he speaks, “Is it too cold? Do you need another towel?” He asks. You stutter to answer him, so you shake your head no, eventually sputtering out a response of, “N-no, it’s fine. Thank you.”

Eddie turns to grab his snacks and falls into the other bed with a sigh, cracking open the bag of chips and popping a few into his mouth. You grimace and pull the sheets over your body as you comment, “If you bring ants to my room, I swear to god, Munson, I’ll hunt you down.”

Eddie chuckles, glancing at you as you shift around and get comfortable in bed, “Not with that broken foot, you won’t.”

You glare at him over the heap of expensive duvets and pillows, “I wonder whose fault that is?” You respond, falling back into bed when you see him roll his eyes.

Eddie clears his throat after a moment, “Speaking of that,” he begins; you peek over at him once again to watch as he puts the chips aside and grabs the remote to start flicking through channels. “Since we’re off these next four days, you should keep it light on your feet.”

You sarcastically laugh, “Don’t tell me you’re actually concerned for my well-being. This night keeps getting weirder and weirder.” You joke. Eddie pauses his task to glance at you, “No, I just…” You raise an eyebrow, urging him to continue. He rolls his eyes, “I’m not a complete asshole, you know?” He grumbles, turning back to the TV.

You’re snuggled into your sheets now as you watch Eddie flip through the channels, admiring how different features of his face light up under the different colors from the screen. He’s… pretty.

“What do you have planned for your days off?” You question behind a drawn-out yawn. You think you catch a glimpse of a smile on Eddie’s lips, but you can’t see very well in the dim lighting. “My Uncle Wayne is flying in, so… I’m spending time with him,” Eddie explains. You smile, “Your uncle?”

Eddie nods, and you hum, “That’s nice… Can I meet him?”

You’re never drinking wine again.

Eddie looks at you as if you’ve asked him the dumbest question on earth, “Why would… why?”

You shrug, “Maybe he’ll help me figure out why you’re such a grump.” You half-heartedly tease. Eddie scoffs, returning to watch the movie he’s landed on, “If you think I’m grumpy, you’re not equipped to meet Wayne.” He comments. And then something remarkable happens.

Eddie smiles to himself.

It’s small and obviously not meant for your eyes, but you see it either way, and it… fuck, it makes you feel things you would’ve never imagined you could for such an asshole of a man. What is going on?

“He can’t be any worse than you.” You joke. Eddie scoffs, “Nah, Wayne takes the cake for grumpiest man alive,” he bids.

Eddie tells you about Wayne, little memories he remembers that bleed into more memories until, eventually, he’s practically taking a walk down memory road. You go back and forth with him, commenting when you had a similar situation or when Eddie mentioned the same show you loved in high school.

At some point, Eddie’s stories and the low hum of the TV lull you to sleep, and you find yourself lying in cotton candy clouds, sinking into the softness and letting it surround you.

Eddie’s not sure when you checked out on him, but he figures he’d been talking to himself for a while because you're fast asleep when he looks over at you.

He watches you for a moment and appreciates the way the blue and white hues of the TV dance across your face. Your skin looks soft under the fluorescent lights, and he thinks the steady rise and fall of your breaths is more entertaining than any movie he could’ve landed on. And you’re so pretty— soft and molded to perfection, and Eddie thinks he might like you more like this; when you’re not talking and being the most obnoxious person he’s ever met. Eddie hates the feeling he gets in his chest from just looking at you.

You’re cute, he thinks.

He shakes his head to free himself from whatever weird feelings are spiraling through his mind, and he turns off the TV, letting the darkness swallow the room.

He’ll just have to worry about his feelings another time, he thinks.

————

part four

————

a/n: HII U MADE IT TO THE END, U CAN ALL THANK MY STINK @mmunson86 FOR THE TINY PIECE OF FLUFF, THIS WAS FOR U BAE <3 ANYWAYS, PLS LET ME KNOW HOW U LIKED THIS PART I ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR UR FEEDBACK, ILY BYE

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2 @mvnsonslvt @s-u-t

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merbear25 · 3 months

Note

Hi pretty!! I hope you're having a nice day.

Congratulations fot the 100 ♡♡♡

I would love to participate in your event! A drabble with Law or Crocodile + 🛌 one bed trope and/or 😈 them walking in on you

I let you the freedom for the rest! Thanks sm ♡

With love, Cami!

Hey lovely, Cami! Thank you for sending in your request! I decided to give you both characters with each situation. I was super excited to write this, so I hope you like it 🥰 Since this was asked on anon and I can't double check your age, I left the 😈situation as suggestive.

One bed trope with Law

Having to spend the night in the town you were passing through was far from ideal, but to make matters worse, there was only one hotel with an available room—one room, with one king sized bed.

His face twitched at the woman after she cheerfully told him about how lucky he was to book it, seeing as there aren't any other options around town. You butt in to thank her before Law's eyes burned a hole into her.

Entering the room, the both of you tossed your belongings to the side and stared at the awaiting bed. This situation was just as awkward for you as it was for him, but you tried to be an adult about it by commenting that this was only due to the circumstances.

Huffing at your comment, he went into the bathroom to prepare for bed, leaving you in the privacy of the main room.

Climbing into bed, you attempted to look natural; there was no position to make you appear as such, though.

When Law reentered the room, he shuffled towards his designated spot, keeping himself curled at the edge. The air felt thick with uneasiness, making you want to break the silence looming over you.

"At least it's a king size."

He didn't respond.

"Gives us more space to hug at the sides."

A slight exhale came from him, underlined with a laugh, "Yeah, sure."

Turning over on his back, the tense atmosphere began to disapate. The both of you exchanged small observations you'd noticed about the room and the day, helping you feel more at ease.

When you woke up, neither of you were clung to your side of the bed; you were lain comfortably next to each other.

Law walking in on you

This was the third time this week you disappeared. Where could you be going off to? He thought, the irritation was building, since he actually needed your help with something. Having the idea to check your room, he heard your voice seeping through, nearly inaudible. Focusing on what could be happening, you sounded like you might be hurt? No, maybe crying?

The irritability came to a hault; he was beside himself when he thought something could be wrong, so he opened the door—seeing you fully exposed was a complete and utter shock. Your eyes shot open to see him standing there, and you quickly tried to cover yourself, yelping at his sudden intrusion.

Stood at the door, dumbfounded, he finally stuttered an apology. He backed out of your room, slamming the door shut. His face remained bright red for the remainder of the day.

One bed trope with Crocodile

The absurdity of having to spend the night in a city like this was getting to him. And even yet, for whatever reason, you could only find one hotel with vacancy. Glaring at the receptionist, who was apologizing profusely for the inconvenience, he begrudgingly accepted what they had to offer—one measly room with one measly bed.

Trying not to let this ruin his entire night, he attempted to accept the current circumstances. There was no use in sulking over what couldn't be changed. Looking over at the bed, he gave you two options: either sleep on the floor or start mentally preparing to share a bed with him. He stated that he snored and advised you to fall asleep first.

You'd had a long day just like him, so you decided to share the bed with him. After getting cleaned up, you saw him handling some of the paper work that still needed doing.

He offered to turn the main light off but would leave the desk lamp on as he worked. This wasn't an issue for you; even if it was, he wouldn't have cared.

Following his advice from earlier, you settled down to drift off to sleep. You weren't sure how much time had passed, but you were woken up by his snoring.

Rubbing your eyes at the sight of the moon shining through the curtains, you came to realize that there was some extra weight pressed against you; his arm was wrapped around your waist, and he'd pulled you into a bear hug. Not wanting to call attention to this, you thought it'd be in your best interest to ignore what was happening and try your best to fall back asleep.

This was easier said than done, however, since his snoring only worsened—droning on into the late hours and leaving you with a sleepless night. When his alarm sounded, you pretended to still be passed out, hoping to avoid any awkwardness from his supposedly involuntary cuddling.

You felt his arm suddenly shoot away from you, along with the rest of his body. Pausing a moment, he got out of bed and ordered you to do the same.

Crocodile walking in on you

After the meetings held together, you were always quick to scamper off to god knows where. He didn't pay it much mind until you fled before he had the chance to ask you about a pressing matter at hand.

Figuring you'd come back soon, since you'd forgotten your coat, he waited for a bit. But as time passed, his impatience was getting the better of him. Setting off to find you, he passed by a closed door.

Sweet noises could faintly be made out from behind it. Who would be so bold as to try something like that? So, to confirm his suspicions, he flung it open and was met with you in a compromising position.

He shut the door behind him and warned you not to be so reckless. Scoffing at the sight of you, he doubted if you were even able to properly finish what you'd started. He'd offer to help you, but only as punishment for you scandalous behavior.

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #law trafalgar #one piece law #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #law x you #trafalagar law #trafalgar d. water law #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile #one piece crocodile #crocodile x you #crocodile x reader #follower event #one piece imagine

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halucynator · 10 months

Note

hey babe ! i saw that you take mattheo riddle requests xx i was wondering if you could write a mattheo riddle x reader where reader gets dumped (by whoever you want) and mattheo riddle comforts them? Thanks x

Pretty Crier

Pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, not proof read, fluff (not a warning but wtv)

Best friends to lovers.

The reader is Slytherin. Mattheo calls reader princess (just more natural for him to).

English isn't my first language so there might be mistakes xx

Summary: your boyfriend breaks up with you and mattheo riddle comforts you.

Oh and mattheo and reader have been friends since year 1 so they're like really close.

A/n: thanks for the request xx kinda lost inspo at the end lmao

If you want to request I recommend reading this xx

reblogs are appreciated xx

You knew it would happen. You knew he was going to dump you. You just didn't think it would be so fast. So, of course your shock was justified when your boyfriend broke up with you this morning for no apparent reason. He claimed "he was bored of you" and "found someone more exciting". I mean, if he was going to break up with you, he could atleast give a valid reason.

Tears flooded your eyes as the words hit you like a face slap. You ran down the hallway to the astronomy tower where you knew you'd be alone and bawled your eyes out. Alone. Or atleast you thought you were.

You heard the shuffle of footsteps behind you, wiped your eyes and turned around. And there he was towering you. Mattheo Riddle.

You looked at him with teary eyes.

"What do you want?" I say though my voice doesn't sound the least bit intimidating. Infact it quavered.

"I just want to help you. You could atleast be nice about it." He states, rolling his eyes.

You glare at him.

"I don't want your help." You say obviously lying.

He raises his eyebrow, unamused.

You roll your eyes and acquiesce in his decision. You pat next to yourself gesturing him to sit next to you.

He sits next to you, his back against the pillar like yours. He takes out a cigarette and lights it.

"and here I thought I was the depressed one." You say sarcastically.

"what, you want one princess?" He asks.

You didn't initially intend on saying yes but you do.

He opens his box.

"Shit I'm out." He says. "Here take this one." He hands you his.

"no it's fine." You reply.

"you're right, you're the one that's depressed. Take it. I don't mind. Unless you don't want to for some other reason." Mattheo states.

"i- erm fine. We could share it?" You suggest.

"yeah yeah that's fine!" Mattheo says nervously.

"sorry i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You can have that one." you blurt out.

"no it's fine don't worry just making sure you aren't uncomfortable." he smiles at you genuinely.

"he actually smiles! Like a genuine one!" You joke trying to liven up the atmosphere.

Mattheo chuckles at that.

"Only for you princess" He replies.

"So erm who made you cry?" Mattheo asks.

"Just some asshole ravenclaw."

"He sounds like a jerk."

"he is."

"What'd he do?"

"he broke up with me. Said I was boring."

Mattheo wears a shocked expression.

"first of all that bitch ravenclaw is probably more boring than any slytherin that ever existed. Second of all, you are not boring. I've known you since year 1 and somehow I am not bored of you. That bitch knew you for two seconds and was already bored. Third of all, red flag red flag red flag." Mattheo exclaimed.

I chuckle.

"oh and did I mention you are beautiful and amazing and that annoying fuck does not deserve you." Mattheo adds.

"thanks." I smile at him trying to hide the tears clouding my sight. A tear rolls down my eyes.

Mattheo reaches out to wipe it away, shortly stopping to make sure he has your consent. When he receives a nod from you in reply, he gently wipes his thumb against your cheek to remove the tear. It shouldn't give you butterflies but it did.

"don't cry princess." Mattheo hugs you and rubs circles in your waist to comfort you.

You breathe in his cologne mixed with the scent of the cigarette you two shared. You relaxed in his hold.

"how long have you been crying?" Mattheo asks like it's a normal question to ask.

"sorry?" You respond.

"you're a pretty crier." He winks at you.

"You haven't been with me one minute and you're already flirting." I tut at him jokingly.

"you don't mind it do you princess?" He asks.

You shake your head.

No you didn't mind it. Of course you didn't.

"you look better when smiling though." He says.

You smile at him.

"trying to impress me huh?" He winks at you.

"what can I say, I guess even I can't resist your charm." You play along.

"don't worry darling, nothing to be ashamed of." He smirks at you.

"don't pride yourself Riddle." You try to humble him.

"hard not to when one of the prettiest girls I know admits to not being able to resist my charm."

"you don't mean that."

"yeah I do."

"prove it."

And he does. His lips crash against yours. His lips are soft. As he pulls away, you smirk at him.

"looks like you can't resist my charm." You say pointedly.

"yeah I guess not. But is that so bad?" He asks.

No. No it wasn't. Infact it was much better than he would've known.

#harry potter imagine #harry potter #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x you #marcus lopez imagine #deadly class imagine #deadly class #marcus lopez x reader #marcus lopez arguello

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 10 months

Note

hey! can i request a conrad x reader where the reader is having a really bad day (maybe she’s with some old friends but they’re being really mean to her or something), and she calls him and asks him to come get her and he just like drops everything to pick her up, and then comforts her? thank you!

Who else thought of Nathan Scott in that scene? I was mentally screaming in my hotel room

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You never wanted to be one of those girls who abandoned their friends once they got into a relationship. So, when Nicole, Dara, and Gigi invited you to go shopping with them, you gladly accepted the offer. It had been quite a while since you had a fun girls' day, and you missed it.

Regrettably, things took an unexpected turn during the shopping afternoon. The girls began using the time to gossip and say hurtful things about you behind your back while you were trying on clothes. You tried to brush it off, thinking they might be feeling bitter since you started spending more time with Conrad, but their behavior was just plain mean and it was starting to hurt.

After the third store, you had enough. You didn’t want to be around them anymore. So while the girls were looking at pairs of shoes, you made a quick decision to text Conrad and ask him to pick you up.

Less than a minute later, you got a message back saying he was on his way. You felt guilty for making him drop Cleveland. Conrad agreed to help him and teach him about sailing for his new book. You even encouraged him to assist him, but beside Conrad, there was no one who you could call.

When Conrad got to you, he got out of his car and held you tight. ‘’What happened?’’ he asked gently, concern evident in his voice.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you recounted the hurtful comments your friends had made. ‘’I don’t know why she would be so mean. I’ve never expected less of Gigi, but didn’t think Nicole would ever talk like that about me. She was always so nice to me, I thought we were close.’’

Conrad pulled back from the hug and tipped your chin up. ‘’They’re bitches,’’ he said, his protective side showing. ‘’Girls like them are not worth being sad over.’’

You sniffled and nodded. He was right. Real friends would never talk behind your back like they did.

‘’Let’s hit the boardwalk,’’ Conrad suggested, trying to cheer you up. ‘’Still think you can beat me at ‘shoot your shot’?’’ he teased playfully.

You laughed, feeling the weight of the hurtful comments beginning to lift off your shoulders. ‘’Oh, I totally can!’’

As you reached the boardwalk, the lively atmosphere and the sound of crashing waves provided a welcome distraction. You immediately headed for the basketball game, ready to take the challenge. The employee gave you and Conrad five balls each.

Your competitive spirits ignited as soon as the first ball went through the basket. Laughter filled the air as you both tried your best to score points and outdo each other, only missing one ball. Which was because of the wind.

For the fourth shot, Conrad decided to be a show off and cover one side of his face and throw the ball with one hand. He grinned when it went in, making you shake your head. He wasn’t trying to impress you. He just wanted to make you smile and laugh.

‘’Okay, Nathan Scott.’’

Conrad chuckled and picked another ball. ‘’This is your last shot, love. If you miss this one, it’s gonna be three to five—’’

You gave him a look. ‘’Five? Don’t be too sure of yourself, Fisher. Maybe it’s you who’s gonna miss your next shot…and I’ll win.’’

He scoffed, shaking his head. ‘’Not a chance.’’

The rest of the afternoon was spent playing games, laughing and eating cotton candy until you forgot all of their names. Conrad even won you a turtle plushie at the ring toss, which you happily brought home at the end of the day.

‘’I had the best day with you today,’’ you said as you walked back to his car, one hand holding his and the other cradling your turtle, feeling incredibly lucky to have someone who could turn your day around so effortlessly.

—

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1 @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup

TSITP taglist: @msmarvelknight @maritaleane @dingus0401 @idontknowwhatimdoing777 @nomorespahgetti @lomlolivia @5sosbands @bloodyhw @depthsofdespairr @a-band-aid-for-your-heart @gilbertscurls @brandirouse86 @leilani-nichole @Veescorneroftheworld @papayaboyluvr @bchindureyes @bellysbeach @slytherinambitious

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher fanfic #the summer i turned pretty #the summer i turned pretty imagine

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bluemari23 · 4 months

Text

warm and soft | kim hongjoong

summary: your soulmate knows exactly what to do when he can tell your stuck in your head, needing to just feel him against you.

pairing: kim hongjoong x reader

genre: soulmate au, soulmates, established relationship, fluff

warnings: family trauma, mentions of past issues, insecurities,

word count: 1k

masterlist

author comment: just needed some soft hongjoong studio moments in my life right now

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

Pushing the button for the third floor, you quickly enter the elevator before someone else decides to get on. You weren’t particularly in the mood for small talk with people you were barely familiar with.

Ever since you and Hongjoong found out you were soulmates, and you were introduced to the company and his group, Ateez, life had gotten a little more hectic and chaotic than you were used to. Random people kept coming up to you and congratulating you on finding your soulmate, which you thought was sweet, until they continued by asking if they could meet your soulmate.

Sometimes you felt as though you didn’t matter, and meeting your soulmate didn’t seem to change that thought.

Currently, you were on your way to your soulmate’s studio, a carrying tray of both of your favorite coffees’ and an extra for whenever he decided he needed more. You learned quickly that Hongjoong had a love for coffee, and pretty much needed it for survival as the leader and main producer for his group.

His group, Ateez, quickly embraced you and brought you into the fold. They were all unbelievable sweet and nice to you and were all swift to treat you as their older sister. Well, most of them, you were only slightly younger than Seonghwa.

The boys had an off day today, and when you tried to text Hongjoong, you didn’t get a reply, which meant he had shut himself in the studio again. Normally, you wouldn’t try to burden him with your own problems and interrupt his time at the studio, but this was a day off, and your soul ached for him.

It took you a couple of seconds to find the door to his studio but when you did you entered the code Hongjoong gave you, entering as quietly as you could only to see Hongjoong, eyes closed and head resting on his shoulder at his desk.

It seemed he had fallen asleep at the studio again.

You stepped in and closed the door as quietly as you could, but the new movement and noise woke up the producer, causing him to swivel his chair to see who came into his studio.

“Hey baby.” His voice was rough and low, tingles shooting down your spine at the sound. His hands immediately reached out for you, grasping you by your hips and pulling you into him, jostling the coffees in your grip a little but not enough to spill.

He takes the tray from you before pressing a slow and soft kiss to your lips in greeting. His hand moved from your hips down to your thighs, griping them tight so he could pick you up. You squeal in surprise as he picks you and your walks a couple of feet away to the small couch he has against the wall.

He sits down and pulls you into him, one hand still gripping onto your thigh as his other hand moves up your side and to the back of your neck, cupping the skin there and pulling you in so your nose rests against the crook of his neck.

It’s as if he could tell exactly what you needed, what your soul needed.

“So soft and warm, baby. Could cuddle you all day.” You feel his lips move against your forehead; another soft kiss pressed against your temple as he speaks. He rubs smooth circles on your thigh, your leggings only slightly getting in the way.

“Thank you for coming to see me…and bringing me coffee.” He whispers into your hair, not wanting to break the atmosphere you both created. It wasn’t rare for you to come to the studio when something was bothering you.

Hongjoong noticed early on that you tended to keep everything bottled up, not wanting to burden anyone with your worries or problems. You didn’t have the best home life and that translated into the person you were now.

You hummed in response, words not coming easy now that you were with Hongjoong, wrapped in his warmth and shielded from all your problems.

Things were easy with him. You never felt like you didn’t belong, not when he held you so close, fitting perfectly in his arms. Not when he touched you so gently, like every moment was special.

“Love how you fit perfectly against me. My beautiful soul.” He tugged you even closer, not a part of you was without his warmth. The hand gripping your thigh moved up to rub softly at your back, the brush of his hand causing tingles to move up your spine.

“Your beautiful soul.” You whisper back, liking how possessive your soulmate can get sometimes. You love when he calls you his; when he calls you his soulmate. It makes you feel special and like you belong somewhere.

“That’s right. My beautiful soul.” He murmurs back, moving his head down until his chin was resting against your shoulder, nose brushing against the skin of your neck. Another kiss pressed to your skin as he squeezes you a little before tugging you both until you were laying back against the couch cushions.

You had completely forgotten why you came to the studio, forgotten the upset that rooted its way into your heart that morning. All that encompassed your mind was the way Hongjoong held you close, telling you about the new song he was working on for the upcoming album, and how Jongho’s injury had been healing.

You don’t even think he minded when you fell asleep to the low timbre of his voice, relaxed and feeling safe and comfortable with your soulmate and his studio.

#kim hongjoong #hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #soulmate au #soulmates #hongjoong imagines #ateez hongjoong #ateez hongjoong x reader #bluemari23

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tuxibirdie · 9 days

Text

【Happy Birthday, Silver!】

┌── •✧• ──┐

“Father, where are we going?”

“I am quite curious as to where you are taking us, Lilia.”

“I’m sure Lilia-sama has something great in mind!”

Lilia chuckled and patted Silver. “Cater showed me this positively delightful little cafe. They have such delicious food, and the atmosphere is most calming. I’ve been wanting to bring all of you over at some point, and what better time than Silver’s birthday?”

“Oh, that sounds nice. I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you for bringing us today, Father.” Silver smiled. Malleus donned a smirk and hummed, “Yes, that does sound quite delightful. I’m looking forward to trying their dishes.” Sebek nodded, “It does sound nice. I hope the food is…” he shuddered, “Good.”

Lilia nodded along, “Yes, yes, I assure you they have delicious food!” He continued to lead the trio, eventually turning a corner. “There it is! Cute, isn’t it?” Lilia pointed to a small building with a striped pink awning and cursive lettering on the window spelling “Stargazer’s Cafe”. As the quartet approached, Malleus noted their outdoor decor. “Oh? Are these orchids? You don’t see blue orchids often,” he marveled. Lilia chirped, “Right? Their flowers are always so nice! Olivier—he’s the owner—tells me they source them from the flower shop right across the street.” He hummed, “I wonder if these flowers have any particular meaning. Anyways, let’s go in! Come, come!” Lilia ushered everyone inside.

“Welcome to Stargazer’s Cafe,” a familiar voice rang out as the quartet entered. Sebek pointed and shouted, “HUMAN!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?” Eden startled for a moment, before sighing. “First off, it’s ‘Merry’ to you. Second, I work here. Third, don’t yell. You’ll disturb the customers.” Sebek quickly looked around and bristled. “WHA- THERE’S NO ONE ELSE HERE!!!” Eden ignored him and continued, “Anyways. Hi, Lilia! Silver, Malleus. What brings you here?”

“DON’T IGNORE ME????”

“Eden, hi! We’re here to celebrate Silver’s birthday, kee hee hee.”

“Father… Hello Eden. I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Greetings, child of man. It’s nice to see you here.”

Eden’s face contorted into surprise. “Wait, it’s your birthday? Hello?? Why didn’t you tell me? I need to get you a gift—” He started looking around frantically, then ducking behind the counter. Silver held a hand up, “Ah, hold on… There’s no need to do that.” Eden popped back up and wagged a finger. “Nuh uh! I have to. It’s the law,” he said as he turned around. “One sec. I think I have something in the back.” Eden disappeared into the back before Silver could respond. “Wait, is it actually the law…?” Silver asked, concerned. Lilia chuckled, “Perhaps it is!” Malleus but a hand to his chin in thought. “How interesting. Human customs are quite strange,” he mused. Sebek stared at the three, debating over telling Silver the truth, but not wanting to risk bursting Malleus’ bubble.

“Aha!” Eden’s voice rang out. “Silver! Close your eyes. I found it,” Eden smiled, reappearing with his hands behind his back. “Alright,” Silver obliged, closing his eyes. As Eden trotted closer, Silver could hear a chuckle from Lilia, a hum of amusement from Malleus, and a… scoff? From Sebek. Silver merely waited for Eden’s surprise, until he felt a gentle touch on his head. “There! You can open your eyes now. Merry Cr—I mean—Happy birthday, Silver!” Eden chirped.

Silver opened his eyes, and huffed out a laugh. “A ribbon?” Eden nodded and put his hands on his hips. “Yep! Now you’re the present! Your existence is a gift to the world!” Eden beamed, turning up the theatrics. “Or something like that,” Eden tittered. “Anyways,” he slid back behind the counter and winked, “What would you like to order? It’s on the house for the birthday boy.”

─── •✧• ───

SILVER BIRTHDAY!!! 👑

yk I was originally just gonna draw silver and nothing else but as you can see that didn't happen LMAO

so here's a fake birthday card <3 it was really fun actually!

└── •✧• ──┘

(no blur + closeups below the cut)

#I did NOT edit at all and it's almost 1 am I hope it's coherent 💀#silver vanrouge #twst silver #oc: eden #twst yuu #twst mc #diasomnia #ツイステ #ツイステッドワンダーランド #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #oc #original character #tuxiart #art #digital art #illustration

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sanjis-moulinrouge · 8 months

Text

Private Dance

Sanji x Reader | +18 | Smut

Summary: Reader & Sanji share a romantic and intimate moment while dancing.

a/n: This is the first ff I share, so please be kind. The idea came after listening to a jazzy record.

As we reached the island, there was a pirate-filled bar. Luffy, Chopper and Usopp went immediately for food, while Zoro just escorted and observed behind the three of them. Nami was so excited that she went to walk around to find some ways to gamble or to make more money.

“Sanji-kun, take care of y/n, please?” she asked while disappearing into the crowd.

“Ah, Nami… I- just…”

“Don’t worry, y/n. I’ll take good care of you” he said softly. I just nodded a bit embarrassed. I was impressed by how huge the place was. There were five floors with different lighting adorned with colorful ornaments and handicrafts from different parts of the world, same with food. There were exotic dishes, the cook tried to take a look at the dishes and the large menus displayed.

“Ahh, this place is cheerful, y/n. Would you like to go for a walk?” he suggested while he lit a cigarette. “Your curious eyes don’t lie, honey.” He had the sweetest voice, so I didn’t refuse, at the end it felt great to spend more time with him.

We went over the four floors, and while Sanji was talking to an old waiter about a dish, I could see the crew, except for Nami, on the second floor ordering food and laughing, the lighting there resembled their friendly mood, it looked warm. Nami was on the third floor sitting next to a group of men with poker cards in her hands, she was immersed in it.

I could tell that the fifth floor caught Sanji’s attention, his eyes were fixed on the blue figures and tones that came from that place. Darling, would you mind going upstairs one more time? he asked shyly.

When we got there, there weren't as many pirates as I expected and the place looked quiet, the music in the background was soothing, it was definitely a place to rest. I walked over to where the music was and sat at a small table near the speaker. Suddenly, Sanji's gaze met mine. “Here you are, sweety.” He got closer and sat in front of me. “Sanji, I’d like to order something here, they have a dish I haven't eaten in a long time.” He smiled, “let’s eat what you wish. This is a moment for ourselves.” It was hard to understand what he meant, but I assumed he was being kind as he usually was with any lady. He looked so charming with the blue lights reflecting in his intense eyes.

The dinner felt intimate and calm, he told me about his dreams and how that place reminded him of imaginary memories about the All Blue during his childhood. I lost the notion of time, his voice and his manners made me forget about my own worries.

“Such lovely music, would you like to dance, y/n?” I wasn’t prepared for that, but since I love to dance I went for it without hesitation. Sanji held my hand gently and placed the other on my waist. I tried to avoid looking at him in the eyes because my heart suddenly started beating fast. “Are you alright, y/n?” he asked. “Y- yes” I smiled blushing.

I felt suffocated in the romantic atmosphere. It was late and the only people there were the waiters who were sitting in a corner almost falling asleep. “It’s late Sanji, maybe we should go back with the crew.”

He pressed his tense body against mine as we swayed to the music. “Relax y/n, we're just getting started”. His voice was inviting. I put both arms on his shoulder to fully embrace him. He leaned his head to reach my neck, his heavy and warm breathing made my whole body shiver. He kissed my neck delicately. “Your smell is so nice, dear”, he whispered. As he hugged me, he started caressing my back. He grabbed me tight, “please, let’s continue y/n. I don’t want this to end” he confessed. He looked at me, we kissed slowly and then passionately. His slightly trembling lips brought instant pleasure, a bittersweet mixture of nicotine and red wine we early tried.

“I wanted to do this a long time ago, y/n. You’re astonishing, sweetheart”, he squeezed his body against mine, making me moan a little against his mouth as we closed the distance again. As we swayed, something hard began to press against my lower stomach. I couldn’t help but kiss his neck. “y/n, I c-could dance with you all night. Don’t stop baby, nobody is going to interrupt us”, he murmured while breathing heavier with any passing second.

I could feel a warmth forming from both of us. I wanted to devour him, we were so tight that he started to rub his growing erection against my abdomen, while a delightful moan escaped his lips. “A-ahh, y/n. You’re so good. I-I love you”, he frowned at pleasure and all the other arousal expressions on his face were hard to handle, even his hair was a total mess. Looking at him in that state made me feel weak, he was as intoxicated with desire as I was.

“Mm-m, I don’t think I can contain this any longer, I need to feel your skin, to feel you from the inside” he revealed as he thrusted his hips hard, “would you mind if we find a place here to continue a private dance, love?.”

#sanji #sanji x reader #one piece smut #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #sanji smut #op #opla #one piece #one piece x reader #sanjis-moulinrouge-fiction #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #reader insert

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delulu-with-wandanat · 6 months

Text

International Affairs | Last Part

Reader Description: Masculine style, They/He, AFAB, International Student, 20 Years Old. Sometimes will be describe using masculine terms (man, boy, handsome, etc)

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x InternationalStudent!Reader

Warnings 18+: Specified age gap (Wanda is 34), cheating.

Words: 5,077

Summary: Y/n and Wanda unexpectedly meet at the local fair being held in Westview. Wanda reveals her true feelings, and a third party gets involved

Did I really have to be that stupid? Y/n thought to themselves.

It has been 2 weeks since they confessed their love, from then on the two haven't interacted with one another. Albeit it was Wanda's request, but Y/n had also been avoiding her. Nevertheless, the woman still plagues their mind. Her smile, her personality, her sweet and caring demeanor, Y/n missed her dearly. It's such a shame that the feeling wasn't mutual, as Wanda was still very much in love with her husband.

"I get that you got rejected, but come on man..." Kate said as she returned to his side now holding an ice cream, Y/n rolled his eyes at his friend.

"Shut it, Bishop."

"Plenty of hot girls in NYU too y'know." Kate paused for a second, "And professors." Y/n snorted at that.

"You mean like Professor Belova?" Y/n teased her, Kate's face turned bright tomato. She playfully shoved them. The two friends stayed silent, just enjoying the atmosphere at the fair. Watching people playing games, trying to win a prize for their date. Families enjoying their time together, kids trying to drag their parents to the ferris wheel.

It was nice. Y/n glanced at Kate who was enjoying their ice cream, "Can I have some of that?"

Kate narrowed her eyes, "Get your own!"

"Bitch- I'm gonna tell Mrs. Vostokoff that you got the hots for her daughter."

Kate's eyes widen at their statement, "Professor Belova is her daughter?"

"Apparently! I'll tell you about it later, I'm gonna go buy some food." They walked around the fair to find whatever food they are craving at the moment. Y/n wondered if maybe Wanda was also at the fair, Westview is a small town, surely it would be easy to spot her. However, he didn't know if seeing her would be a blessing or a curse. As much as Y/n misses her, she made it clear she didn't want any interaction between the two of them.

Y/n continued to walk around, they spot a food stall that caught their eyes. Classic American hotdogs doesn't sound so bad, they thought. He approached the stall but accidently bumped into a small figure.

"Oh, sorry mister!" The child apologized. Y/n looked down and was surprised to see the little boy.

Damn he's basically a carbon copy of her, "Tommy?"

Tommy's eyes widens in relief, "Y/n!" the boy then hugged him tightly. Y/n had met Wanda's kids before, during the time Wanda was still hiring him he would teach them guitar, baseball lessons, even babysitting them at times. Therefore, the boys had formed a strong bond with Y/n.

"Hey buddy!" They hugged the boy back. They glanced around hoping to see Wanda, but she was nowhere to be seen. "Where's your mom?"

"I- I can't find her. Can you help me look for her?" Tommy asked with teary eyes, no wonder he was so happy to find someone he was familiar with.

"It's alright bud, I'll help you find her." Y/n gave them a pat on the shoulder. "Come on, now you hold on tight alright?" He said as he held Tommy's hand to ensure he doesn't lose him. Tommy nodded his head, he trusted Y/n. The two then went on to search for Wanda after Y/n sent Kate a quick text explaining the situation.

He merely got a, "I've read this story before ;))" from Kate. Whatever the hell she means.

Meanwhile, somewhere at the fair, Wanda was pacing back and forth frustratingly. "How could you lost him?!" She asked her husband.

Vision looked up from his phone, he doesn't seem concerned that one of his sons is lost. "I thought he was behind me."

"You were supposed to watch over them. Vision, for fuck sake get off the phone!" He sighed and reluctantly put away his phone. "Where did you lost him?"

"I don't know-"

"YOU don't know?!" Un-fucking-believable.

"Wanda, I told you, I received a text from work-"

"I don't want your bullshit excuse!" The two continues to argue while their other son, Billy, sits on the bench looking around for his brother. The poor boy had to deal having his parents constantly fight, on top of that, watch how neglectful his own father was being.

Billy loves his dad, but at times it feels like he was just some stranger to him. Billy tried not to focus on their conversation and instead observes the people around him. Suddenly, his mother approached him with a frustrated look. She tried to muster up a smile for him, "Come on, honey. Let's look for your brother."

He glanced at his dad who was now talking on the phone, "Is dad not coming with us?"

"He..." She was unsure of what to say, "He has some business to take care of, but don't worry! He'll join us soon enough."

"But we have to find Tommy together!" Before Wanda could respond the boy approached his father, tugging on his shirt to catch his attention. "Dad, dad!"

Vision looked down at his son, "Sorry buddy, I'm on the phone."

"Dad come onn! We have to find Tommy." The young boy pleaded, wanting to spend more time with his father.

"Billy, I'll join you and your mother in a second alright-"

"But Dad-"

"BILLY I said not now!" Vision raised his voice, Wanda's heart broke at the sight of her son's excitement dropping. She immediately went to held his hand.

"Come on, Billy." She said with a gentle smile. Billy looked away from his father, visibly disappointed. Wanda gave Vision a look of disdain. "Don't bother coming home." She snarled at Vision at a volume only he could hear.

Before Vision could respond, Wanda turned to walk away with Billy. Seems like Vision couldn't care less, as he continued to talk on the phone.

On the other side, Y/n and Tommy searched tirelessly for Wanda. Y/n glanced at the little boy, surely enough he looked like he was about to cry. Y/n stopped their track and bent down to his level. "We'll find your mother, Tommy. I'll make sure of that." He said with a soft smile.

The boy nodded with teary eyes, Y/n glanced around and saw a game stand where you throw a baseball to knock down a bunch of bottles. He guided the little boy to the game stand and pulled out some money, "One throw says we'll find your mother AND win a prize, how's that?" They asked Tommy, trying to cheer him up.

"One throw? But you get 3 chances?"

"One chance is all I need bud." Y/n said confidently. Tommy's face lights up.

"If you fail you treat us all food!"

"Challenge accepted." Y/n grabbed the ball and focused on his target, come on Y/n don't let him down. And then they throw.

CLANG!

All 6 bottles falls down, the two boys whooped in excitement. Y/n gave Tommy a high five. "Impressive throw." The girl who's guarding the game stall complimented him. "Is he your son?"

"Nah, I'm just... babysitting." Y/n lied. The girl seems relieved to hear that.

She handed him the prize, "One more and I'll give you my number?" She asked him with a flirtatious smile, ok she's kinda cute.

Y/n smirked, "Put in another plushie and your number, I'm down." The girl gave him another ball.

"Do your thing, tiger."

Tommy observed the two's interaction and can't help but giggled. He pulled down Y/n to whisper, "I think she has a crush on you."

"Really?!" Y/n asked, pretending to be oblivious. Tommy nods excitingly. "I guess I'm going to have to impress her." Y/n took their position again... then they throw.

CLANG!

All bottles falls down again, the boys fist pumped the air. The girl gave them another plushie and a piece of paper. "When you're done babysitting, come find me." She gave them a wink, Y/n smirked.

"Maybe I will..." He quickly glanced at the paper, it had her number and name written on it. "Cassie."

Y/n took both of the plushie and gave it to Tommy, "Here, for you and your brother."

"Awesome!!!" He exclaimed.

"Now let's look for your mom again." Tommy held Y/n's hand again, but it didn't take long until Tommy was slowing down because of tiredness. "You tired buddy?"

"Yeah..."

Y/n then bent his knees, "Get on my back, you'll be my eyes up there." Tommy excitedly followed his instruction, when Y/n stood up on his feet again the boy couldn't help but laughed excitedly.

"I could see the world from up here!" He said dramatically.

Y/n laughs at Tommy's statement, "Alright captain! Tell me what you see." They continued to walk around the fair with Tommy on his shoulders being his eyes on the crowd. After a few minutes of walking, Tommy tapped his hair rather excitedly.

"I see them! I see them!" He pointed in their direction. "MOM!!!" He waved his hand, trying to get her attention.

Wanda noticed her son, considering he was getting a piggy back ride, it was easy to notice him. "Tommy!" She quickly dragged Billy with her, she hadn't noticed Y/n due to the crowd.

Tommy was too excited, Y/n had to put him down from their back. Tommy was quick to dragged them with him. "Come on Y/n!"

Fuck this is nerve wrecking, Y/n wasn't sure how Wanda would react seeing them again.

After running through the crowds, the family was finally reunited. Wanda immediately hugged her other son, "Oh thank god!" Wanda pulled back to look at him with concerns. "Are you ok?? Did anyone hurt you? Did a stranger tried to talk to you?"

"I'm ok mom. I was with Y/n!" Tommy said, pointing at the figure behind him.

Wanda inhaled sharply at the name, there he was. Y/n gave her a shy wave. They were the one who found Tommy, and took care of him, making sure he found his way back to his mother. Wanda stood up, before Y/n could say anything, Wanda hugged him tightly.

"Thank you..." She said, Y/n hesitantly hug her back.

"No worries." The two pulled back and stood awkwardly, "Well I guess I should-"

"And mom, mom! Look what he got me and Billy." Tommy showed her the plushie they had won earlier. Wanda glanced at Y/n, waiting for an explanation.

"We were looking for you, and he seemed sad so we played a quick game." Y/n explained.

This young man, whom she had an affair with, seemed to cared more about her children than her actual husband. "That's very kind of you, Y/n."

"Can he come with us??" Billy asked excitedly, the boy was bouncing on his feet.

"I-"

"Yeah mom! He can win us more prizes!" Tommy added.

"Oh so I'm just invited to this outing because you guys want more toys huh?" Y/n asked playfully with their arms crossed.

"NO!" The twins said simultaneously while glancing at one another.

Y/n snickered at the boys, Wanda gazed at him for a second. They were better at interacting with her boys than Vision ever did, well you saw how he was. "It's family time boys, I don't want to intrude."

"But Y/n IS family! Right mom?!" Tommy asked, Wanda glanced at her sons again. The two seems eager to have Y/n join them, and deep down, Wanda wants him to join too.

"Y/n... Would you like to join us? I don't mind." She said kindly with a smile, fuck that damn smile again. Y/n couldn't say no to that.

"Well alright then!"

The boys cheered in unison and was quick to drag him by the hand, "Boys slow down!" Wanda said with a laugh, seeing how excited her boys are made her happy.

Y/n sent Kate a quick message, telling her that he'll be joining Wanda and the boys instead.

To which our dear Kate respond with, "Damn, use protection-" we love a supportive friend.

The four of them played a bunch of different games, mostly the ones that would get them prizes. Y/n being the athletic person that they are, manages to win them all. Wanda mostly watched, albeit, she was mostly watching them.

Wanda tried not to, but the young man decided to take off their jacket at one of those hammer games to reveal their sleeveless shirt. And holyshit did she missed those strong toned arms. Honestly, it made her mind wander to their previous escapades.

"I could feel you staring." Y/n teased her as they continued walking, keeping his voice low just for the two of them.

"It's hard not too. If I'm being honest, I think you're doing it on purpose."

"And if I am?"

Wanda lets her eyes roamed their body shamelessly, "You won't hear any complaints from me." she said with a smirk.

It's like as if the conversation from their previous night never happened. The four kept walking, honestly, Wanda had a much better time with Y/n than with her husband who was constantly on his phone. Y/n was also very attentive towards her kids, like when Billy asked for a piggy back ride because his brother got one. The sight made her heart melt. Perhaps if time was on their side, they would've been a wonderful family...

But they could, couldn't they? Exactly what was stopping her?

Y/n had confessed their love, and at this moment, Wanda... maybe felt the same???

She was conflicted. But after seeing how neglectful Vision was, how dismissive he is to his own son. She knew he wasn't the man she would want for the rest of her life. But is she truly ready to let another into her heart so quickly?

They're sitting right there? What are you waiting for?!

"Wanda." Y/n's voice snapped her out of her thought. She glanced at them and was greeted with a gentle smile. The four of them decided to sit on the bench, exploring the fair was quite tiring so they decided to get some food. "It's getting late, I think they're getting pretty tired."

Surely enough her boys looked sleepy, she checked the time and to her surprise it was already 9.45. "Right. Come on boys, let's get home." They twins gathered their last energy and stood up from their seat. They walked to the car and Y/n accepted Wanda's offer to ride back, considering Wanda's house was near Mrs. Vostokoff's, he only needed to walk a few blocks. However, before he could get into the car, a girl called out him.

"Hey! I didn't think I'd catch you here." The girl on the baseball stall, Cassie, smiled at him.

"Cassie! Hey, yea I was just about to head back." Y/n chuckles.

"Already? I didn't even get your name." Her tone was rather flirty, Wanda did not like this one bit.

"Y/n." Wanda called to him, she tried to hide it. But Y/n could tell there was some undertone in it.

"That's my name." He kept his gaze on the girl.

"You have my number. See you round..." She said, leaning her body closer slightly in a flirtatious manner. Once she was out of sight, Y/n smirked to himself and got into the car.

They looked over to the side and to their surprise, Wanda was clenching her jaw. Is she ok? Wanda started the car and drove out of the parking lot. They stayed quite for a few minutes until Wanda broke the silence.

"Who's that?"

"Just... some girl from one of the game stand."

Wanda hummed, "She seems very smitten of you."

"I mean... yeah I guess? I don't wanna be too cocky." They chuckled. In their mind, Wanda had no feelings for them whatsoever. So to them the whole flirty banter was all platonic, like maybe that's just the nature of their friendship.

However to Wanda, who was now settling with her feelings, felt betrayed. All that banter and moments they shared a few minutes ago was nothing to him? The ride to her house was rather quick, she parked the car on the driveway and wasted to time to get out. Ok... she seems pissed?

He got out of the car as well, moving onto the back seat to grab the twins who were sleeping soundly. "Leave the toys, we can get them later." Wanda instructed, they nod and picked up Tommy. They followed Wanda to the twins bedroom on the second floor.

Wanda was already tucking Billy on his bed, giving him a soft kiss on the forehead. He could hear a soft whisper, "Good night, Billy." he smiled at that.

They gently did the same with Tommy, tucking him in, opting to softly pat his shoulders instead. "G'night buddy."

The sight was perfect, like two parents tucking their kids to sleep. Wanda realizes she never shared this moment anymore with Vision, here she is sharing it with a guy she just met during the summers. The two walked out of the twins bedroom and made their way back to the living room. They locked eyes with each other, the atmosphere between them was rather tense. As memories of their last meeting came flooding back, the rejected confession, Wanda's hurtful words, Y/n's broken heart. It was weird how they wind up back where they left off.

"Well uh... that was quite the coincidence, but it was nice seeing you again." Y/n said, trying to break the tension.

"Likewise." Wanda looked down at her feet.

Wanda was distant once again, well, I guess there really is no chance. Maybe Y/n was just hoping for too much. Hoping for something that would never happen.

Again.

"I'll see myself out, enjoy your night, Wanda." He said kindly with that smile of his. Don't make the same mistake.

They turn to leave. Now. Y/n slowly walks to the front door. For fuck sake-

"Y/n, wait!" Oh thank christ-

"Yes?" They turned to face her. But Wanda's words got stuck in her throat. What did she even wanted to say? Did she truly loved them? She certainly don't want to be Vision anymore, but are they really the one? She only knows Y/n for a few months. How will she know if Y/n won't just end up the same as Vision.

"I-" Fuck why couldn't she say anything?

So Y/n decided to speak up first, "I had a fun night, if you still want to keep our distance I'll gladly accept that. But I do want to say, I'm glad this time we ended on better terms." He said kindly.

"Yes... I'm- uh..." Just fucking say it Wanda.

Y/n waited patiently for her to speak whatever she wanted to say. But for some reason she couldn't utter a single word, "You don't have to say anything. Goodby-"

His sentence was cut off by her lips. She gently cupped his face, getting on her tiptoes slightly. Y/n was shock, beyond shock. What is happening? Is this another one time thing? Did she liked them back? Their mind was going for a million miles an hour.

If Wanda couldn't pour out her feelings in words, she might as well pour it out through her actions. She loved him by cupping his face gently. She missed them dearly by the way she pressed their lips rather harshly. Her body yearned him by the way she lets him pulled her closer by the waist.

They pulled back breathlessly, gazing deeply into each other's eyes. "Wanda?"

"Y/n I-" She shook the last bit of hesitation, "I- I don't know how I feel about you, but what I know is I missed you dearly. The thought of not having you in my life, it- it makes me feel sad. I regret my words, everything I said to you. You're... not just a plaything, you're everything. You are everything and more to me."

Y/n's heart started beating rapidly. They had a hard time believing her words.

"I know I hurt you, and you have every rights to walk out of that door right now. But-"

"Then why did you say those things?" Y/n asked sadly.

"This is not an excuse for me to be a bitch, but truth to be told I think I was just... afraid. Y/n I'm a married woman falling in love with a 20 year old man. I have two sons and a husband. Even if, now that I think of it, the only thing holding Vision and I together is merely our marriage. Everything is just so complicated." She started rambling. But one word that caught their ear the most, was love.

Y/n inhaled sharply, they were at lost for words.

"When you talked to that girl, I realized, I didn't want to see you with another. I just wanted you to be mine, mine only." Her hand was still cupping his face, she rest their foreheads together. "If you had been just a casual fling, I wouldn't care so much. Yet that's not the truth. Because the truth is the thought of you with someone else makes me sick."

"Wanda-"

"I know it's not fair. It's not fair at all, to want to keep you to myself when I'm still conflicted with my own feelings. But- Hmpf!" Her rambling this time was cutoff by a kiss, god how much she missed to lips.

Her hands wrapped around his shoulders, pulling them even closer. The kiss was... different. Rather than lust, it was full of love. A new found love that they now shared with one another. After a few seconds they pulled away from each other, yet still holding each other close.

"You don't know how glad I am to hear that." Y/n said with a smile, eyes glistening slightly. Wanda couldn't help but to let out a soft laugh before pulling them into another kiss.

"There's still so many things I need to hash out. But if you'll have me... would you be willing to wait?" Wanda said against his lips.

"I would wait for you until hell freezes over. Take all the time you need." Y/n responded genuinely. Wanda felt her heart blossomed, is this what it feels like to be properly loved? To have someone love you just as much as you loved them?

Perhaps it is. The love she yearned for. One that her husband couldn't provide, one that was lost over the years of marriage. Something tells her it'll be different with them. That it would be a start of a wonderful thing for years to come.

If only the universe is on their side.

The front door flew open, and the two of them pulled away immediately. Shit.

"Wanda, have you found him? I'll go to the police station tom-" Vision stopped his sentence as soon as he saw Y/n. Wanda is scared shitless. They both are.

Fuck.

"Who are you?" The venom in his voice was very noticable.

"I'm-" Fuck what do I say?

"Vision..." Wanda started.

"Is this what you've been doing behind my back?"

"Just- Vis, please-"

"After everything I've done for you, Wanda!" He yelled. Vision approached her with an angry look, Wanda took a step back. "I bet you had so much fun being fucked like the whore you are didn't you?"

Wanda was surprised to hear her husband speaking to her like that. But if we're being completely honest, she wasn't completely innocent either.

"Don't talk to her like that!" Y/n spoke up.

Vision whipped his head in their direction, "And you" he snarled. He then walked closer to Y/n as if sizing him up. "What makes you think you could sleep with a married woman?"

Y/n gulped, yes their whole relationship was messed up. Y/n knew damn well that she was married, yet he still continued to pursue her.

"What you don't have a fucking mouth?" Vision shoved him. Y/n stayed quiet, not wanting to escalate the situation. "Not so fucking tough now, are you?!" They clenched their jaw.

"Vision, leave him alone." To their surprise, Wanda spoke up for them. This moment required caution, but to be honest Y/n felt their heart swell at Wanda's defense.

"What?" Vision narrowed his eyes at her who was now standing on the side between the two of them.

"It's late, and you should leave. I specifically asked you not to come home tonight."

Vision let out a sarcastic laugh. "You're defending him?"

Wanda sighed, their marriage was complicated. But at this point there was no love between them. She had her heart for someone else, and Vision doesn't even care about his family. "You and I both know we're only together for the sake of our kids. Let's not pretend there's anything between us."

Vision scoffed, "You are unbelievable..."

"Oh don't act so innocent, I've seen the text between you and your assistant." Wanda spat. Vision tensed slightly at the sentence. Shit things just got better. "Leave."

"You can't kick me out of my own house, Wanda."

"The house was passed down from my parents, it's under my name. Leave." She asked one last time. Finally, Vision walk towards the front door. However, it seems like he had more to say. Before he closed the door on his way out he looked back at the two of them with a disgusted look.

"This fucking kid has no status in this country, he works a minimum wage job, he's still in college struggling to pay his own tuition. What makes you think he can provide you with everything you need?" He snarled.

Wanda crossed her arms, "That's none of your concern. I'm surprised you even cared about our family's needs when just tonight you couldn't careless about Tommy's whereabouts." Seems like she hit a nerve as Vision slammed the front door when he left the house. Wanda let out a breath of relief. She glanced at Y/n who looked deep in thought.

"Y/n?" She asked.

"Hmmm?" He looked up at her. Wanda could tell something was wrong. She approached them and gently cup their face.

"Don't mind what he said."

However, Y/n was now washed over with reality. Vision's words were hurtful, "But he was right..."

Wanda's heart shattered at the sight, "Darling, no." Y/n had a sorrow look. Wanda wanted nothing more but to kiss it away.

"Wanda... I have nothing to offer you."

"Don't say that... Please don't say that." She pulled them down so she could plant a soft kiss on his forehead lovingly. "You provide me with so much love and care." Y/n gently rest their hand on top of Wanda's, they gazed int each other's eyes. Love visible on either's side.

But he couldn't... Y/n had nothing. And Wanda deserved someone who could give her everything.

Slowly, Y/n pulled away Wanda's hand from their face with a sad smile. Wanda's heart shattered slightly. "You need someone who could provide more than that."

"What if I want you?"

"Wanda, I want nothing more than to be yours. But I'm just a broke college student. To make matters worse I'm an international student, I have no status here."

"You can apply for a work visa after graduation." She tried to reason.

"I'm only in my second year, it'll take a few more years to pay off my debts. And I don't even know if I'll get a job in the film industry knowing how competitive it is." Tears started to pool in Wanda's eyes. They were both too caught up in their little bubble forgetting the complication of their relationship.

Wanda had a family to take care of. Now that Vision was out of the picture, she had to figure out a way how to balance work as a single mother. She didn't made this decision because of Y/n, no, Vision turned out to be a deadbeat father. But if she did wanted another partner she would preferably want one who is in the same life stage as hers.

Yet her heart couldn't help but to call for Y/n.

"I love you, Wanda. But I-" Y/n kept holding her hand, he wants her. God he wanted nothing more than to be hers. To be able to provide for her. To show her love and care that she deserves. But as usual, time and the universe was not on their side. "You deserve someone better."

Wanda couldn't hold herself so she pulled them into an embrace, hiding her face on his chest. Their arms wrapped around her. Both of them cried for the life they wish they could have had with each other, but due to the circumstances, it couldn't happen. Yet.

"Just... hold me."

"Forever if I could."

Wanda stayed there, listening to their heartbeat. Her heart was torn. She wishes she could have a life with them, but she has a duty as a mother. As much as she knew she was capable of providing herself and her boys financially, deep down their relationship would be doomed if it continued. With Wanda being busy at work, taking care of the boys, and adapting to life as a single mother. Y/n focusing on their studies, after they graduate they need to focus on finding a job and adapt to adult work life. Not to mention handling all the paperwork and requirements as a foreigner.

It was too hectic. Too much complication already to their own complicated life.

But what if love was enough to conquer it all? Or is that just wishful thinking?

"Y/n." Wanda pulled back, gazing into his eyes.

"Yea?" Y/n responded. Wanda's hand reached up to tangle itself in his hair. She kissed his forehead, Y/n closed their eyes. Wanting to forget everything just for a second.

"I love you too." Wanda said softly.

Oh how their heart bloomed hearing those 4 words. Y/n couldn't help but smile at Wanda's confession.

"In another time, another life. I promise to love you in every single one of them."

Phewww, finally. I can move on to a new series, i hope you guys liked this shameless self-insert fic! Damn this last part was LONGGG I have a few ideas for Wandanat, and maybe another one for sum more Wanda x Readers :>>>

Anywho, Taglist! @dorabledewdroop @weptmango (lmk if you would like to be tagged as well for future Wanda x Readers works! (truth is idk how taglist works :'))

#wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximommy #wanda maximilf #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x internationalstudent!reader #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff angst #wanda x masculine!reader #wanda x gn!reader #wanda x male reader #wanda x student!reader #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #idk why i love to break y/n’s heart #international affairs #wanda maximoff smut

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