#childhood friends to lovers!au

[enhaflixer]

all i know is we said "hello" (and your eyes looking like coming home)

family friend!Jungwon x f!reader

Synopsis: Years of just friends start to unravel when Jungwon dates the wrong girl, and you realize you might’ve lost him for good—until one fight changes everything.

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings: Angst to fluff, Jealousy & misunderstandings, Toxic ex-girlfriend, Emotional confrontation, Kissing

Masterlist

AN: THIS ONE GOES OUT TO MAAAA GIRLLLLLL @naurwayyyyy YOU GO BSF HOPE U LIKE IT

-

Yang Jungwon met you for the first time at a neighborhood playground when you were both six years old. The air buzzed with excitement as children ran across the wood chips, their laughter ringing through the summer evening. The smell of grilled food drifted from nearby picnic tables, where parents gathered to chat and keep a watchful eye on their little ones. You had just finished building a sandcastle, proudly shaping the turrets, when a shadow loomed over you.

Can I help?” Jungwon’s voice was quiet but curious. His neatly combed hair and serious expression made him look oddly formal for a playground, but there was a warmth in his eyes that made you nod.

Together, you molded the castle, carefully adding moats and bridges. He handed you a twig to use as a flag, and when you placed it at the highest turret, he clapped as if you had just accomplished something grand. That was all it took. From that moment on, you were inseparable for the rest of the evening. You chased each other across the monkey bars, competed to see who could swing the highest, and shared his snacks—because, as Jungwon had explained, “friends share snacks.”

When the time came to leave, your parents had to pry you both apart. Your mother chuckled, shaking her head. “Looks like they’ve found their new best friend.” His mother nodded, a knowing smile on her lips. “I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

And they were right.

Your friendship with Jungwon only deepened as the years passed. Your childhood was filled with shared birthdays, school projects, and whispered secrets under blanket forts. Summers were spent playing hide-and-seek until dusk, while winters meant snowball fights and cups of hot chocolate at each other’s houses. There was never a moment of hesitation between you two—Jungwon was your person, and you were his.

At a school talent show in third grade, you had nervously gripped the microphone, ready to perform a duet with Jungwon. You had practiced for weeks, but the crowd made your stomach churn with nerves. Jungwon had noticed immediately, nudging you gently before whispering, “We’ve got this.” When you finally sang, his voice carried yours, steady and sure. By the time the song ended, the entire auditorium had erupted in applause.

Then there were the family picnics, where both families gathered in the park with packed lunches and coolers full of drinks. Your parents, ever the shameless matchmakers, would tease, “Look at our little soulmates.” You and Jungwon would exchange exasperated looks before groaning, “We’re just friends!” But despite the protests, there was an undeniable closeness between you that neither of you could—or wanted to—explain.

Even on rainy days, when plans were canceled, the two of you found joy in the simplest things. Instead of sulking over ruined outings, you built elaborate pillow forts in your living room, draping blankets over chairs and stringing fairy lights inside. Those rainy afternoons were filled with whispered conversations and laughter, the outside world forgotten as long as you were together.

High school brought new experiences and social circles, but your bond with Jungwon remained unwavering. At your first school dance, you had both stood awkwardly near the refreshments table, watching your peers with amusement. “This is weird,” you had muttered.

Jungwon had chuckled. “Very weird.”

But eventually, he had held out a hand, grinning. “Come on. Just one dance.”

With a reluctant sigh, you had taken it, and for the rest of the night, you danced—badly, terribly even—but together.

As high school progressed, you faced more changes. Exams, sports, extracurriculars—all the things that came with growing up. But at the end of the day, you and Jungwon always found your way back to each other, whether it was through late-night calls about homework stress or spontaneous ice cream runs after rough days.

Until Soojin happened.

-

University was supposed to be an exciting new chapter, a place where you and Jungwon would navigate the unknown together. But then Soojin Kim entered the picture, and everything started to change.

You first noticed her at a university mixer, where her effortless charm and striking beauty immediately caught Jungwon’s attention. You had watched, a strange feeling settling in your stomach, as she laughed at his jokes, leaning in just a little too close. Jungwon, captivated, barely noticed when you excused yourself early that night.

The first time Jungwon introduced you to Soojin over coffee, you knew something was off. Her saccharine smile never quite reached her eyes, and though her words were laced with politeness, every compliment felt like a carefully disguised jab.

“You and Jungwon must have been such adorable kids together,” she had said, stirring her latte. “It’s cute how you still follow him around.”

Something in your chest twisted, but Jungwon, oblivious, had only beamed. “Yeah, we’ve been inseparable since we were kids.”

Soojin had tilted her head, smiling. “That’s adorable. But I mean, college is all about moving forward, right?”

It wasn’t long before Jungwon started canceling plans more often. “Sorry, Soojin wants to go to this concert tonight,” he’d text last minute. Or, “I’ll make it up to you, promise.” But promises didn’t stop the empty seats at your usual café meet-ups or the growing ache in your chest.

-

Your birthday had always been special—an unspoken tradition where Jungwon would take you to your favorite café, just the two of you. It was something you both looked forward to every year, a brief moment of certainty in a life full of change. But this year, something was different.

You sat alone at your usual table, the one by the window where the sunlight would always hit just right. A small slice of cake sat untouched before you, the candle flickering unsteadily. You checked the time again, your phone screen lighting up to show that nearly two hours had passed. The initial disappointment had settled into something heavier, something that ached deep in your chest.

You had hoped—hoped that despite everything, despite Soojin and the increasing distance between you and Jungwon, today would be different. That maybe, for just this one day, he would remember.

But the empty seat across from you told a different story.

When the bell above the door chimed, you glanced up, your heart foolishly lifting for a split second. And there he was—Jungwon, breathless, his hair slightly disheveled, his jacket hastily thrown on. He scanned the café, his eyes finding you instantly, but instead of relief, all you felt was the sharp sting of resentment.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, rushing toward you. He slid into the seat across from you, his hands pressed together as if in prayer. “I lost track of time.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable. The scent of Soojin’s perfume still clung to his clothes, sickly sweet and unmistakable.

“You lost track of time,” you repeated, your voice eerily calm. “Or you just didn’t care enough to be here?”

Jungwon flinched slightly, his brows pulling together. “That’s not fair. You know I wouldn’t miss this on purpose.”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “Jungwon, do you even realize how many times you’ve said that lately?”

His mouth opened, but no words came. He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time, he seemed to notice the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your shoulders slumped as if carrying a weight you hadn’t meant to bear alone.

“I’ve been trying,” he finally said, voice softer now, like he was trying to mend something that had already cracked beyond repair. “I know I haven’t been around as much, but—”

“But you always have time for her,” you interrupted, your voice raw. “Jungwon, I’m not asking for every second of your day. I never have. But you used to be my best friend. You used to show up.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

Jungwon exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. “I didn’t realize…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like this.”

You swallowed hard, pushing down the lump forming in your throat. “But you did.”

And that was the worst part. He had hurt you, not because he wanted to, but because you had stopped being a priority without him even realizing it. And now, sitting across from him, you weren’t sure if there was a way to fix it.

You pushed your untouched cake toward him and stood. “Happy birthday to me,” you muttered, turning before he could see the tears threatening to spill.

As you walked out of the café, the cold air hit your face like a slap, grounding you. For years, Jungwon had been your safe place, your constant. But now? Now, you weren’t so sure.

And maybe—just maybe—it was time to stop waiting for him to show up.

-

The days following your birthday were eerily silent. The usual pings of Jungwon’s messages that once filled your phone were now just ghostly notifications that you left unread. He called—once, twice, ten times—but you never picked up. Every attempt he made to reach you was met with quiet rejection, your heart too raw to even consider the possibility of listening to whatever excuse he had prepared.

The absence of his presence was both a relief and a new kind of pain. You had spent so many years orbiting around each other that now, without him, you felt unsteady. But what hurt more was the realization that maybe this was inevitable. Maybe, despite everything, people did grow apart. Maybe you had just been fooling yourself into thinking you and Jungwon were different.

Minji, your closest friend at university, noticed immediately.

“You look like hell,” she said one afternoon, plopping down next to you on the grass outside the library.

You exhaled, leaning back against the cool stone wall. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. You’re walking around like a zombie,” she pressed, concern lacing her voice. “You haven’t spoken to Jungwon since your birthday?”

You shook your head. “No. And I don’t plan to.”

Minji studied you for a long moment before sighing. “You know, you’re allowed to be mad. You’re allowed to feel hurt. But you’re also allowed to talk to him.”

You knew she was right. But the thought of facing Jungwon, of pretending things could somehow go back to normal, made your stomach twist.

“Maybe I’m just tired of always being the one who cares more.”

Minji didn’t argue. She just squeezed your hand in quiet support.

-

Jungwon didn’t stop trying.

Every day, he sent a new message. I know you don’t want to talk, but I just need you to know I’m sorry. Or Please, let me explain. Some nights, you stared at your phone longer than you should have, your fingers hovering over his contact before locking your screen and setting it aside.

But the walls you had built around yourself started to crack when you saw him outside the lecture hall one afternoon, standing in the cold, waiting.

For you.

The moment your eyes met, he looked like he had something to say, something desperate, something urgent. But instead of walking over, you turned in the opposite direction.

You didn’t know what hurt more—the way his shoulders slumped in defeat or the way you kept walking, pretending it didn’t matter.

-

The following days were filled with a silence heavier than any argument. You ignored Jungwon’s texts, his missed calls, his weak attempts to act as if things could simply go back to normal. Minji had been right—maybe it was time to stop waiting for him to show up.

But he wasn’t the only one trying to get your attention.

Soojin cornered you in the university library one afternoon, a saccharine smile stretched across her lips. “You really thought he’d choose you over me?” she mused. “It’s sad, really.”

You didn’t respond, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much her words affected you.

“Jungwon will come around,” she continued, twirling a strand of her hair. “But by the time he does, it won’t matter. You’ll already be out of the picture. You’re just some pathetic wannabe who I have to end up stepping on to get what I want.”

Her words settled over you like a dark cloud, but what neither of you realized was that someone else had overheard the conversation.

Sunghoon, one of Jungwon’s closest friends, had seen everything.

And he wasn’t going to let Soojin win.

Jungwon hadn’t slept properly in days. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face—not the happy, familiar version he had grown up with, but the hurt expression you wore at the café, the disappointment in your eyes when you walked away from him. It haunted him, clawing at the edges of his thoughts, leaving a hollow ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away.

Sunghoon’s message had been the final push.

You’ve been blind for too long. It’s time to open your eyes.

So Jungwon had listened.

He met up with Sunghoon later that evening, sitting across from him in their usual spot on campus, but this time, the easy camaraderie they normally shared was missing. Sunghoon was serious, his expression set in something Jungwon rarely saw—disappointment.

“You really don’t see it, do you?” Sunghoon asked, shaking his head. “How much she’s hurting?”

Jungwon swallowed hard, staring down at the table. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad,” he admitted. “I just… I thought we were fine.”

“Fine?” Sunghoon scoffed. “Jungwon, she’s been holding herself together while you’ve been running around with Soojin, acting like she doesn’t exist.”

His stomach twisted. He wanted to deny it, to say that it wasn’t true, but as Sunghoon’s words sank in, so did the reality of the situation. He had neglected you. He had made you feel like you were nothing more than a leftover part of his life when, in truth, you had always been the most important part.

Sunghoon leaned forward. “I saw Soojin today.”

Jungwon frowned. “What?”

“In the library,” Sunghoon said. “She was talking to Y/N, telling her she was just some pathetic little girl waiting around for you. That she never had a chance.”

Jungwon felt something inside him snap. “She said what?”

“She tried to make her feel small,” Sunghoon continued, watching Jungwon closely. “And you know what Y/N did? She didn’t let her win. She stood up for herself. She walked away.” He paused. “From Soojin. And from you.”

Jungwon felt like he had been punched in the gut. He thought back to every time you had tried to reach out, every moment where you had smiled through your hurt and pretended you were fine when you weren’t.

And he had let you suffer alone.

“Damn it,” Jungwon muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I need to talk to her.”

Sunghoon nodded. “Yeah, you do. But this time, don’t just show up with excuses. Show up with the truth.”

-

Jungwon barely remembered the walk to your apartment. His heart pounded in his chest, his stomach in knots as he rehearsed what he was going to say. He had no right to ask for forgiveness, but he had to try. He had to make you understand just how much you meant to him.

When you opened the door, your expression shifted from surprise to guardedness.

“Jungwon,” you said, your voice tired. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you,” he said quickly, before you could shut the door in his face. “Please. Just give me a few minutes.”

You hesitated before sighing and stepping aside. “Fine. Say what you need to say.”

Jungwon stepped inside, his gaze searching yours. “I messed up,” he began, his voice raw. “I hurt you, and I didn’t even realize how badly until it was too late.”

You crossed your arms, looking away. “Jungwon—”

“No, please,” he interrupted. “Let me finish.” He took a deep breath. “I let Soojin get in my head. I let her convince me that you’d always be there, that it didn’t matter if I pushed you aside. But it did. It mattered more than anything.”

Your lips parted slightly, your fingers tightening around your sleeves. “Jungwon…”

He stepped closer, his eyes shining with something desperate, something real. “You are the most important person in my life. You always have been. And I was an idiot for not seeing that sooner.”

You blinked, your breath hitching. “Then why did you choose her?”

Jungwon shook his head. “I didn’t choose her, I broke up with her. I was just too scared to admit who I really wanted. And by the time I realized it, I thought I had already lost you.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and uncertain. Then, finally, you exhaled, your shoulders dropping. “You hurt me, Jungwon.”

“I know,” he whispered. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. But I need you to know that I—” He hesitated, then looked you straight in the eyes. “I love you.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeated, voice steadier this time. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I was too stupid to realize it.”

You stared at him, emotions flickering across your face—shock, disbelief, something else. “Jungwon…”

He swallowed. “Please. If there’s even a part of you that still—”

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. It was years of bottled-up emotions, of missed chances and unspoken words, colliding all at once. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as if to make up for every moment he had let slip through his fingers.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mingling. “You’re an idiot,” you whispered.

Jungwon let out a soft, breathless laugh. “I know.”

You smiled, the tension in your shoulders finally easing. “But I love you too.”

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt right again.

The Honeymoon

The ocean waves lapped softly against the shore, the golden light of the setting sun casting everything in a warm, dreamlike glow. You and Jungwon walked barefoot along the beach, fingers intertwined, the sand cool beneath your feet. The rhythmic crash of the waves was the only sound between you for a moment, peaceful and steady—like the quiet certainty that after everything, you had finally found your way back to each other.

Jungwon gave your hand a gentle squeeze before stopping, turning to face you. “I still can’t believe we’re here.”

You smiled, feeling the salt-tinged breeze against your skin. “Me neither.”

His eyes softened, filled with a warmth that sent a familiar flutter through your chest. “After everything, I never thought I’d get to have this with you,” he admitted, brushing a stray hair from your face. “That you’d still choose me.”

You reached up, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “You fought for me,” you whispered. “And you never stopped.”

He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll never stop,” he promised. “Not now. Not ever.”

The kiss that followed was slow and deep, filled with every unspoken vow, every moment of longing that had led you to this very place. It was a kiss that tasted like forever.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you knew without a doubt—this was just the beginning.

[kittykatstiles]

saw this pic on ig and people were like “sterek?” “this is sterek” like 10 years later the sterek impact is still going strong it’s crazy

[witchywithwhiskey]

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

[eicsferrari]

so my darling - cl16 smau

requested: yes♡

face claim: nailea devora & other pinterest pictures

a/n: i LOVED this concept and i think this is my favorite au i've done so far. tysm for the request<3 also idk and i will never learn the difference between in/on/at, i just vibe it bc i don't care

masterlist

જ ♡ જ

Then

charlesleclerc beach forever⛱️

tagged yn

♡liked by arthur_leclerc & others

yn shell yeah! seas the day

charlesleclerc my god your puns are terrible

yn shut up😔 u secretly like them

charlesleclerc if that's what you need to believe...

arthur_leclerc without me? i sea how it is

charlesleclerc DON'T ENCOURAGE HER

yn YES ARTHUR WELCOME TO THE PUN CLUB we get together every thursday🤝🏼

pascale.leclerc.355 ❤️ hope you had fun! ♡liked by author & yn

જ ♡ જ

Now

📍london

yn dump of a great weeekend

♡liked by bestfriend & others

bestfriend prettiest girl😍

yn youuu

user1 new music when???

user2 i miss seeing charles in the comment section

user3 it's been 3 years move on🙄

arthur_leclerc bet the england rain makes you miss home ♡liked by author

yn i always miss home❤️

user4 i don't understand what happened between charles and her but it cannot be that bad if arthur and her are still friends

user5 i agree but idk how close they still are. they comment on each other posts but we never saw them together again

જ ♡ જ

Then

yn can't believe this kid is going to be a f1 driver. charles, my best friend, the most important person in my life: i'm so incredibly proud of you. you deserve this more than anyone. whatever happens, whatever you do, i hope you know you'll always have me❤️

♡liked by pascale.leclerc.355 & others

charlesleclerc i love you

yn i love you more

pascale.leclerc.355 i always adored that picture of you two!

yn me too <3

arthur_leclerc you made him cry

yn he's not special i've Been crying

જ ♡ જ

Now

જ ♡ જ

Then

yn he won me a plushie :)

♡liked by charlesleclerc & others

charlesleclerc two plushies*

yn liar you said you wanted to keep the big one

charlesleclerc well in my defense it's ferrari red, call it a manifestation tactic

arthur_leclerc only yn could convince you to do karaoke

charlesleclerc it's not fair! she said "bet you won't do it" so my competitive ass had to

yn nooo don't spill my secret way to make you do everything i want

arthur_leclerc acting like he doesn't do anything you want regardless🙄

જ ♡ જ

Now

yn posted a story

💽scott street - phoebe bridgers

↪bestfriend replied to your story: good luck🤞🏼

જ ♡ જ

yn bday boyyyyy!! cheers to pour decisions

♡liked by arthur_leclerc & others

arthur_leclerc last night was so much fun!! thank you for coming

yn always❤️ how's your head?

arthur_leclerc it hurts. i think the tequila was too much

yn you should've drawn the lime!

arthur_leclerc i-

user6 charles and yn were at the same place, this is not a drill. i repeat, charles and yn at the same place!

bestfriend hot pics but text me!

yn better yet come over

user7 let us in, share the convo with the chat🙏🏼

જ ♡ જ

જ ♡ જ

yn posted a story

💽best friend - conan grey

જ ♡ જ

જ ♡ જ

charlesleclerc life has been good lately

♡liked by pierregasly & others

user8 is that yn or am i going insane???

user9 you might be onto something

yn was the boat on sail?

charlesleclerc don't

yn you missed my puns admit it

charlesleclerc i missed all of you

user10 i waited years for this😭

જ ♡ જ

yn don't mind me, just (tea)sing

♡liked by charlesleclerc & others

user11 THAT'S LEO

user12 charles in the likes war is overrrrr

scuderiaferrari that jacket🔥 ♡liked by the author

yn thank you admin, i've been saving it for a special ocassion

user13 this better mean we are getting yn back on that paddock 🙏🏼

charlesleclerc red looks good on you❤️

user14 he is flirting, right? or am i delusional?

જ ♡ જ

💽cowboy - selena gomez & benny blanco

yn cowboy boots give a kick to any outfit🤠🏆

texas u were fun. ferrari 1-2❤️

tagged charlesleclerc

carlossainz55 perfect weekend, forza ferrarri!

yn congrats on p2!! just two chili guys on the podium

carlossainz55 houston, we have a pun!

charlesleclerc it's contagious, it's a disease at this point

iamrebeccad beautiful girl😍

yn i love youuu let's get coffee soon

charlesleclerc it was special having you there<3

yn can't believe i was there to see you win!! i sobbed the entire time

yn problem is now you set the bar too high. i expect you to win every time i go to see you

charlesleclerc i'll do my best😉 anything to impress you

user15 yes he is flirting

જ ♡ જ

arthur_leclerc posted a story

જ ♡ જ

yn "so my darling" out now

comments have been disabled

જ ♡ જ

જ ♡ જ

charlesleclerc remember i'll always love you

♡liked by yn & others

bestfriend ok leclerc guess i will share the best friend title🙄🙄

charlesleclerc i was here first ?

bestfriend i already said i agreed to share it don't push your luck and take what you can

arthur_leclerc fucking finally! it only took you like twenty years

yn always and forever❤️

charlesleclerc ❤️

જ ♡ જ

taglist: @justaf1girl @anamiad00msday @readtoooomuch @2bormaybenot

[zumicho]

stamped

© zumicho all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my works on any platform.

SYNOPSIS : your brother’s best friend is a travelling volleyball sensation. he sends him letters from every country he visits, & you could care less. till.. he starts addressing them to you.

PAIRING ; oikawa tooru x reader SMAU 📼

TAGS / CWS : none of the art is mine unless stated, language, sexual & kys jokes, suggestive, borderline angsty, childhood enemies to lovers *wink wink*

completed 𖦹°⋆ TAGLIST closed

♥︎ .ᐟ.ᐟ FILM BRO POSERS + IWA ; SIDE HOES

────────────────────────

mailbox boy — where it all started

01 . 02 . 03 . 04 . ✎ 05 . 06 . 07 . 08 .

signed sealed delivered — the end of it all

the letters : bonus

────────────────────────

author’s note: it’s over! sad to say this is probably the most poorly executed work on my account — but I’m keeping it up for the sake of those who hold it dear to their heart <3 thank you for reading

@wyrcan @guitarstringed-scars @mimi3lover @itsdragonius @vivian-555 @blueberrygeniejam @cryptictheseus @azharyy @yuminako @iluvmang @aliensstolemyheart @ilyless @tojirin @mylahrins @gra-eae @reads-stuff-quietly @neeksnicoboytoy @elliott0o0 @nnnyxie @chizunata @girlkissersco @kiyoomis-side @scxrcherr @causenessus @eggyrocks @phoenix-eclipses @walllflowerrrsss @gsyche @acowboykisser @swag-only @serossidechick @le000xxgrd @eclecticeggknightpsychic @garfieldissocool @dazqa @venusianeros @youmake1mistake @thechaosoflonging @r0seandth0rns @empress-pug-pug @iad0ru @hyenagoated @chemiru

[strrykais]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ love (untold)

as complete total opposites you and hyunjin have been friends for as long as you both can remember. he has always been by your side whenever you called, he just wishes you would call to tell him you love him.

pairing: nerd!hyunjin x fem!reader

genres: social media au (smau), written, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, unrequited love, senior year (college), jealous bff (both ways) more to be added

extra: they have been friends for 14 years, hyunjin fell first and harder, hyunjin super geek, yn very popular, both are very touchy to each other, yn terrible taste in guys..

playlist: you are in love - taylor swift | fallingforyou - the 1975 | the only exception- paramore | sweet - cigarettes after sex | sorry, i love you - stray kids | love untold-hyunjin | miss you - hyunjin | there - stray kids |

authors note: hey… THIS WILL BE A SHORT ONE (i hope)

status: finished

taglist: closed

1- shit bag to go

2- what moms are hot??

3- cliterferencing right now

4- enemies to lovers trope

5- teach me how to kiss

6- you fucked hyunjin??

7- i want him inside me

8- live tweeting before sex

- extras

hyunjins first time

[luvismenu]

pause or play — jeon jungkook ,, series (on-hold)

m.list ,, navi ,, no taglist requests allowed !!

pairing: younger, whipped, pathetic, streamer!jungkook x older, responsible, oblivious, developer!oc

summary: jungkook is a popular twitch streamer; someone you help with tech as part of your job as a twitch dev. but he’s also your best friend. and you’ve always been the one to take care of him, from fixing his streaming issues to helping him through anything he needs. you don't mind, of course. but what you don’t realize is that jungkook doesn’t want to be just the little kid you grew up with anymore. he wants you to see him as something more.. he wants you to see him as a man.

genre:

smau + written

fluff + crack

childhood bsfs

warnings: streaming/gaming talks, tech/dev talks but it's silly, lots of (sexual) tension, slow burn-ish, oc is so cutie and sooo mother, jk is literally babygirl. edit: NO FUCKING SMUT (i dont see them in that way anymore, come on, they're just my little cutie patooties </3)

started: 7 jan 2025 ended: ..

index:

intro #00

stream #01 — picky

stream #02 — boxing 📝

stream #03 — mario

stream #04 — underwater 📝

stream #05 — thirst trap

stream #06 — espresso 📝

stream #07 — valentine

stream #08 — different 📝

stream #09 —

stream #10 —

© 2025 luvi. All rights reserved.

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Muscle Memory : Chapter One

Pairing: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS Restaurant Owner Bucky Barnes x Cardiac Surgeon Female Reader Alternate Universe

Series Summary: In a town that never forgets , she thought she could hide the bruises behind a perfect smile and life. But someone from her past sees too much—and remembers everything. sorry its so vague just don't want to give too much away!

Chapter Word Count: 3.1k +

Series Warning: DOMESTIC VIOLENCE!!! its a big theme in this series so protect yourself if that is triggering for you! Physical and Verbal Abuse to Reader (never from Bucky) , injury , trauma , nothing graphic. Will update accordingly as the story goes on!!!

Chapter One Warnings: mentions of abusive father & abusive fiancé to reader , protective comforting Bucky , mentions of blood , injuries and bruises , mentions of food and drinks , ft: Wanda Maximoff and OC! Tyler (readers fiancé)

If i missed anything let me know!

Author Note: my first series everrrrr im so exciteddd this is my baby and have had the idea for something like this since before i started writing! Next chapter is already written and will be posted soon! if you would like to be tagged let me know!! enjoy bbys 💖

Chapter One Chapter Two!!

SERIES MASTERLIST 🫶🏼

MAIN MASTERLIST 🌷

The city hadn't changed much since the years she had been gone. 

Not really anyway.

Sure , a few new high-rises had wedged themselves into the skyline like eager newcomers squished together in a family photo , but the old angles were still there , stoic , sharp, familiar. 

Streetlights blinked in the same rhythm she had remembered. 

The sidewalks hadn’t forgotten her footsteps.

 Every block and street corner seemed to hum with memories , as if the pavement itself still carried the echoes of teenage laughter , secret tears , and plans whispered under a sky full of stars.

The hospital loomed tall and pristine in the distance , sterile and gleaming. 

But to her , it didn’t look cold. 

It looked like triumph. 

Like reclamation.

Like she’d pulled herself from the mud and built a cathedral with her own hands. 

It stood on the same hill where she’d once sat with blooming bruises and a heart too shattered for her young age 

Where she would always look up and swear that one day , she’d make it. 

That one day , she’d wear the white coat , sign the charts , hold the scalpel , save the lives.

Now she was Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Cardiothoracic Surgeon and head of the entire department. 

Not a visitor. Not a student. Not someone passing through.

She had come home.

And yet—

As the moving truck sputtered away down the street , leaving the scent of diesel and the echo of squeaky brakes in its wake , she stood frozen on the front step of the townhouse. 

Her townhouse. The key dug into her palm as she gripped the metal.

. Her stomach was a fist , clenched tight and turning.

“Looks good , huh babe?”  Tyler’s voice broke the moment. 

He slipped up beside her and smashed his lips into her face kissing her cheek ,  too rough , and too hard. 

His arm wrapped around her shoulders like a noose dressed up , and disguised by comfort and his false charm.

“Yeah , it looks great. ” she said meekly.

But her eyes stayed focused on the street instead of the home. 

Tracing the curves of the curbs and gutters she once knew like the back of her hand. 

She could still see the old versions of herself darting past mailboxes and garbage cans , chasing time , chasing escape.

Tyler didn’t notice the catch in her voice when she answered.

Or at least he chose not to.

Inside her jacket pocket , her hand clenched around the metal keyring as the years came crashing back. Trying to ground her spiraling mind. Being back here came like a flood.

The summers. 

The scraped palms. 

The nights hiding from her father’s drunken rages. 

She remembered the feel of bark against her skin as she climbed the backyard oak , the sting of bruises and cuts she didn’t talk about , the muffled arguments that never stayed inside her family's walls. 

Bucky Barnes had been her lifeline—mud on his knees , flashlight in hand , whispering jokes in the dark while she tried not to cry too loud.

Even as a small boy who didn't understand how your dad , who all he knew of parents was nurturing love ; could hurt a girl like you so badly.

 But he would still hold you as you wept on his shoulder wetting his little polo shirt with your tears.

She could still hear his voice telling her they’d leave someday. 

That they’d go far. He would take her away from here and from the pain. That they’d never come back unless it was on their terms. Not forced.

And they actually had.

They left the city and went to the same college in the next state over. 

She’d go on to study hearts. He’d studied business.

They had run. Two kids with a car full of borrowed time and little money they saved.

They had done what they dreamed about.

But even the best dreams crack when reality sets in.

✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿

Her ring caught the sunlight. 

It was beautiful—flawless. A large round diamond sat on a thick gold band. It was impressive and some would say remarkable. 

She would get stopped by women in grocery store lines saying how they wished they had a man like yours. Or you would get flooded with the “you are one lucky girl” 

You scoffed thinking of that. Lucky.

Tyler had proposed in Paris on a weekend trip just the two of you , he got down on one knee in front of the eiffel tower with a camera crew he’d hired for the moment. 

It was public , polished , perfect. Just like him.

What no one saw was what came after the perfection and cameras. 

No one saw the beating you endured if you looked at the pizza delivery guy a beat too long , or if a barista wrote his number on your coffee cup. 

Tyler would show you with his fists and strength how you weren't good enough or pretty enough. That you're stuck with him because he's the only one who can love someone like you.

People didn't see the way he always apologizes too fast after the beatings , always circling back saying it was your fault. 

He had brainwashed you into staying, believing his words in between slaps and punches.

The way his smile turned mean when he thought no one was watching. How his touch sometimes lingered in ways that weren’t tender or loving.

How she had learned to brace herself every time he raised a hand or tight fist near her at home.

✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿

That first night back to her hometown , after boxes were half-unpacked and furniture half-placed where it belonged, Tyler unbuttoned his shirt in the kitchen and groaned utterly exhausted

 “Let’s get dinner. I found a spot people swear by around here”

She dropped the last box she carried into the kitchen with a soft thud. 

“Yes please, I'm starving , what were you thinking?” 

“Found this restaurant and pub downtown , called Buck’s. It's really popular ‘round here.”

The name hit like a punch to the ribs.

Her breath hitched.

“Buck’s?” she repeated , too fast.

He didn’t notice.

“Yeah. Local staple or something. Said it got a new owner recently looks good online.” He smirked. “Should be fun.”

She forced a nod , but something inside her had already shifted. 

It was subtle , almost imperceptible , like the first hairline fracture in a porcelain vase that was just about to crack.

   ✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿

Buck’s looked like something out of a memory she’d tucked away too carefully.

The kind you don’t mean to keep , but never really lose. 

It hit her the second she stepped inside—warm amber lighting spilling across polished dark wood floor and ceilings , the low murmur of conversation and laughter , clinking glasses with the clack of the pool balls being pocketed  , and the faint scratch of a needle on vinyl as some old soul record spun behind the bar.

It smelled like smoked cedar , aged bourbon , and something sweet sizzling from the kitchen , probably a fresh cobbler or pastry.

It had to be Bucky’s place. 

It felt like him. 

It was honest , solid , warm at the edges and stubborn in the bones.

And there , along the back wall , were a large gallery of photos.

Black and white , sepia-toned , some a little faded with time. 

High school football teams , parades , the town's winter festivals , and a massive framed shot of their old neighborhood during a block party.

 She saw it instantly: the two houses side by side , hers painted in peeling blue and white shutters , his in sun-bleached brick with ivy vines crawling up the sides. 

That same crooked and overly worn fence. And that same tree she used to climb when the yelling got too loud.

Her fingers twitched at her sides.

Tyler was talking to the hostess , probably making a show of using his full name. Always networking , always turning charm into currency. 

She kept her eyes low as they followed the hostess to a table near the bar , but her ears strained for a sound she hadn’t heard in a decade.

And it came booming from the kitchen.

The black double doors swung open with a familiar squeak.

A voice called out something to the bartender—gruff , amused , easy.

She didn’t have to look , she knew.

But she did anyway.

And there he was.

Bucky Barnes.

Not seventeen anymore. 

Not that reckless boy with scraped red knuckles and a mop of brown curly hair.

No—this man was grounded. Worn in the way good leather is worn , weathered by life , yes , but built to last. 

He was a true man now. His beard was thick , touched with sun or maybe lightning with stress. His hair was pulled back in a small knot at the nape of his neck. His black T-shirt clung to shoulders broader than she remembered , and his sleeves were rolled high , revealing strong muscles and tanned forearms that moved with a calm purpose.

He looked like he belonged here. 

Like he'd carved this place out of his own heart and life and made something beautiful out of it.

And then , his eyes found hers.

It was like being punched in the throat and kissed in the best way , all at the same time.

A split second of stillness.

No breath. No noise.

Till his mouth moved before his mind betraying him.

“Y/N?”

It left his mouth half-disbelieving , half-hopeful , like maybe saying it would make her real.

She stood by the table as Tyler sat down , heart hammering like it was trying to break right out of her chest. 

“Hi.” she whispered.

He crossed the space between them in seconds. 

His arms went around her without hesitation , and she let him. 

She melted into him like a memory finding its shape again. 

His scent hit her like a freight train of nostalgia. Soap , whiskey , and something smoky she couldn’t name , probably whatever was on the grill currently.

“You’re really here,” he said softly against her ear , his voice hoarse.      “God, it’s been…”

“Too long , I know , I got a job at the hospital so I'm back for good.” she said, and it felt like truth was unburied.

They sat there just–smiling , taking in the other after years of yearning.

Then she remembered. Tyler.

She pulled back , the present slamming into her like a cold wind. 

“Um sorry t-this is Tyler, my fiance, and Ty this is Bucky , he owns the restaurant” she said , her tone shifting as she stepped aside her voice laced with something like shame or guilt.

Tyler stood and offered his hand , perfectly pleasant. 

“It's good to meet you , Bucky. Nice place you’ve got. Y/N used to live around here.”

Bucky’s eyes stayed on her for just a beat too long. As she was looking down at her feet.

Then he looked at Tyler and shook his hand. 

His grip was firm. Controlled. “You can call me James , and yeah. We grew up together next door.”

“Oh okay , James. So are you two like childhood friends?” Tyler said with a question.

Bucky gave a nod , slow and unreadable eyes flicking back to her. “Something like that.”

Then with a nod to Y/N he was gone , retreating to the bar like nothing had happened. 

Like the earthquake of seeing her again , here , hadn’t cracked his foundation wide open.

But when he came back with drinks , his hands were steady.

 He placed the glass in front of her , and as she reached for it with a “Thank you” , her sweater sleeve slipped back.

Just a few inches. Too much.

The bruise on her arm was yellow at the edges , fading and older, but unmistakable.

His eyes flicked down.

He saw it. But said nothing.

Maybe it was from her recent moving , a couch hitting too hard or a box being dropped he tried to convince himself.

But the smile that had been there just a moment ago didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. 

His jaw clenched. The muscle twitched once.

He turned and walked away , saying something about getting back to work.

He didn’t look back as he walked towards  the kitchen.

✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿

They finished dinner , but the food tasted like nothing. She was numb.

Tyler kept up a steady stream of chatter , about how impressed he was with the décor and vibe of the place , how his clients would love this place , and how maybe they should come here more often. 

She nodded when it seemed appropriate , murmured agreement when he looked her way for her input , but her mind wasn’t in the room or focused on the food she was now picking at. 

It was back at the bar. 

Back on Bucky’s face. Back on that fraction of a second when the bruise on her arm shifted the entire gravity of the evening.

He had seen it.

Of course he had.

She wondered if he’d known instantly , or if his brain had a moment to mistake it for something else. 

He knew what bruises like that meant. Knew what kind of silence came with them. They had both lived together in that silence once.

And now , he was watching her live in it again.

Tyler reached across the table , fingers lacing with hers.

She didn’t flinch this time but only because she had learned not to. If she flinched or recoiled from his touch in public Tyler got angry and would “give her something to flinch for” at home after words. 

When they paid the bill and Y/N gave a small wave to Bucky as they were leaving , they walked out into the cool night air. 

The sky had dipped into a deep navy , and the streetlights flickered to life in a staggered procession. She wrapped her arms around herself , more for comfort than the cold.

“Not bad,” Tyler said, stretching like a man satisfied with himself. “Good food. Friendly people. Might even beat that French place downtown I saw had better reviews.”

She forced a smile. “Yeah. I-It was nice.”

Her voice stuttered wearily; it didn't sound like hers.

And then , across the street—a familiar voice cut through the night like a firecracker.

“Y/N?! No way!”

She turned instinctively , and a blur of red hair was already coming at her.

“Wanda?” Her voice cracked under the weight of disbelief and joy.

Wanda Maximoff hit her like a hurricane of happiness , throwing her arms around her with a squeal that made a couple people on the sidewalk turn their heads. 

“Oh my God , what are you doing here? Are you back back?!”

“Yeah back for good , I just moved in,” Y/N managed, laughing through the emotion thick in her throat. “Took a position at the hospital.”

Wanda’s eyes widened. “Wait—the cardio position? That’s you? Vision said some hotshot was coming in to lead the department , but he never said it was you!”

Y/N flushed , laughing for real this time. “Hotshot’s a bit of a stretch Wans.” 

“No way, you’re a legend already.” Wanda grabbed both her hands. 

“You have to come to my wedding. We’re doing it here—Buckys letting us use the rooftop. I’ll text you the date!. You better not have plans.”

“I—uh—”

“Please. Everyone’s gonna lose their minds when they see you.”

“I’d love to , of course I'll be there,” Y/N said , surprised to realize she meant it.

Wanda beamed , already pulling out her phone. 

“Perfect. I’ll text you. And , hey! Welcome home, okay? You're really home.”

She gave one last hug and jogged back across the street to her group, disappearing into the night with a smile over her shoulder.

Y/N stood still for a second , stunned by how effortlessly the past had folded itself back around her like a worn-in sweater. The warmth of it. The weight of it. 

Her phone vibrated and she saw the invite from Wanda sent with lots of kissing emojis.

“Small town,” Tyler muttered. “Everyone knows everyone.”

There was a tone in his voice , slight, off—but she didn’t take the bait.

She just smiled quietly , pocketing her phone and hands.

As they walked down the block toward their house , her eyes flicked back—just once.

Inside the restaurant , behind the tall windows glowing golden in the dark , she saw Bucky.

Leaning against the bar still , towel over his shoulder, arms crossed tight. Watching. Not glaring. Not starring.

Just watching her.

His face was still. But his eyes—

His eyes burned.

He had seen the bruise. And he had seen the way she flinched when Tyler lifted his hand , even if it was only to brush away a stray hair on her forehead.

He had seen it. He remembered what that looked like.

He remembered it too well. And this time , he wasn’t seventeen. He wasn’t helpless. He wasn’t leaving.

This time, he had roots here. A life. A place that was his.

And now , she was finally here, too.

-end

CHAPTER TWO

thank you so much for reading! 🥹

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

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[heyimkana]

Sung Jinwoo illustration from Solo Leveling: Arise

[prettydaisygirl]

I don’t know if you already wrote it but, can you do Childhood friend with James Potter? Can it be a hurt to comfort?

Hello, nonnie! Thank you so much for requesting! This really got away from me, I'm not gonna lie… This is the longest thing I've written for James so far. I hope this is what you were looking for! Love you, enjoy <3

childhood friend!James Potter x fem!reader & the cruelty (and mercy) of childhood love ✿ 3.7k words

cw: fem reader, wizard!James, muggle!reader, childhood crush, first kiss, James breaks reader's heart, James ghosts reader, Lily dies (I'm so sorry), I apologize if I messed up anything canon I don't usually write for the wizarding universe, angst with a good ending

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

1969

For all intents and purposes, you’re having a good day. You had gone on a walk to the library with your mother for a new book, you’d had some popcorn as a snack (your favorite), and now you’re playing outside in the garden in your favorite dress while the sun shines down from high up above you. The light from the sun’s rays dances around you as you move, your giggles a symphony of joy and happiness on this beautiful summer day. 

You spin around, arms in the air, when you notice a boy watching you from the fence, arms resting on top of it. You stop, quickly lowering your arms. For some reason, you feel embarrassed to have been caught playing, even though it’s your own garden. Stupid boys.

“Hi!” The boy says brightly, and your head spins for a moment. From the twirling or the boy, you aren’t sure.

“Hi,” Your voice is significantly more hesitant than his, and you take a small step back from the fence. He’s bigger than you, taller, at least a year older if not two. His hair curls in chocolate ringlets against his forehead, his dark eyes shining just as brightly as his beaming smile. 

“My name is James!” He says, sticking his hand out over the fence toward you. “But everyone calls me Jamie.”

You eye his hand wearily, unsure if it’s safe to talk to him. Your mother tells you not to talk to strangers, but this boy seems nice enough.

When you don’t immediately take his offered hand, he reaches his other hand over the fence as well.

You look between his offered hands before looking up at him with eyes full of confusion. 

“I thought you might be left handed.” He says, his laugh sweet and contagious. You find yourself giggling, taking one of his offered hands in a handshake. You tell him your name, and he decides that the two of you will be best friends. 

You play together for the rest of the afternoon. James makes you laugh, teaches you games about magic and wizards, dragons and some weird sport called quidditch that you’ve never heard of. You chase after him, he saves you from the scary dragon, and the both of you are red-faced with sore bellies from laughing by the time the sun threatens to dip below the horizon. 

Your mother calls out to you, calling you inside, and you find that you don’t want to stop playing with James. He tells you he’ll be back tomorrow, with the promise of mermaids and pixies. 

He does come back the next day. And the next day. And the next. By the end of the summer, the two of you are inseparable. Your parents don’t seem to mind the boy coming to play in the garden, and he’s very polite to them when they speak to him. You spend almost every day together, laughing and playing and innocently enjoying each other’s company in the way only children can. 

When school starts again in the Fall, you see him less. Your play dates are mostly on weekends, or late evenings when your mother lets you stay out a little past dark if you promise to stay in the garden.

James doesn’t go to your school. You’ve asked about him, and no one even seems to recognize his name. When you ask him about it, he tells you that he doesn’t go to real school until he’s 11. Your mother tells you that this means James must be homeschooled, but you don’t think so. He seems confused when you show him your homework. 

It doesn’t matter to you, though. You wish James went to your school so you can see him more, but you’re content to play with him on the weekends. He is a bit strange, different from the kids you play with at school, but you don’t mind. Your friends at school don’t even believe that James is real, which makes you upset. James is real, he’s amazing, and he’s your best friend. 

The next summer is much the same as the previous one. James spends almost every afternoon playing with you in your garden. You laugh, pretending to be werewolves or ghosts, finding yourself enamored with James’ stories. He’s the best friend you’ve ever had.

1971

James spends all summer babbling excitedly to you about how he is going to school this year. He talks all about his classes, and his teachers, and how he’s so excited to go watch quidditch. He wants to live in some place called the Griffin Door. You think it sounds cool. You listen, you try to match his bright, happy energy, but the whole time, your brain is preoccupied. 

“So you… you won’t be here to play with me on the weekends?” You ask softly, picking at the grass next to your skirt. The two of you are sitting in the garden under your favorite tree. 

James’ smile falters. “Well, I- I mean… no. Because I’ll be at school.” His words are slow like he hadn’t thought about it before. He watches the way your shoulders droop, and he’s quick to try and cheer you up again. “But I’ll be back for Christmas!” 

“You promise?” You ask, turning to sit on your knees beside him. You stick out your pinky, eyes focused on his. He nods, looping his picky with yours. 

“I promise.” 

He does come back for Christmas. You missed him even more than you thought you would, more than you thought possible. He smiles brightly when you spot him in the garden, spinning you around happily as you hug him. It’s a little difficult with your coats and earmuffs on, but your joy in seeing your best friend is worth it. 

You invite him inside for hot chocolate and cookies, and your parents let the two of you sit in the living room. The Christmas tree sparkles brightly, warming the room around you. 

He tells you about his lessons, though you struggle to keep up with a lot of what he’s saying. You’ve never had any lessons like James’. He tells you about his friends, and you listen intently. Peter, Remus, and Sirius seem very nice, if a little mischievous. You’re happy he has friends at school, but you can’t help as some gross little feeling bubbles in your gut at the idea of sharing him. 

He comes over Christmas evening with a gift for you, a painting of a butterfly that you swear has wings that flutter when you aren’t looking directly at it. You give him a sweater you helped your mum knit, and James acts like it’s the best thing he’s ever owned in his life. You hug him good-bye, and he pats your head and says “see you next summer!”

1975

James is acting weird. Maybe not weird, but different from how he normally acts, and you can’t figure out why. You’re teenagers, things are changing, obviously, but you’ve known James to act the same towards you the entire time you’ve known him, including during last Christmas. 

He smiles gratefully at your mother as she hands him a glass of lemonade. He takes a long sip, and you wait for your mother to go inside before leaning forward, narrowing your eyes at your best friend.

“Why are you acting like that?” You ask him, tilting your head just a bit. Your tone isn’t accusatory, just curious. But you’d think you told James you killed his dog, he practically jumps out of the metal chair. It makes a loud scraping sound against the brick below it which makes you jump too. You raise your brows and he looks sheepish, knowing he can’t deny it.

“I just… you look pretty in that dress.” 

You think you just died and went to heaven. 

Over the last few summers and Christmas breaks when you’ve seen James, you’ve developed some significant feelings for him. It seems like a really strong childhood crush that will fade away, waning during the school year. But then, you see him again and it comes crashing back.

So, needless to say, the smile that breaks across your face might be the most genuine one you’ve ever given.

“Thank you!” You say, voice a bit thick with gratitude and a whole host of other emotions as you look down at your dress. It’s your favorite color, and James knows that.

A while later, just as the sky is beginning to turn pink, you lean against the fence next to James, playing with a flower. He has his head tilted back, face toward the sun. His freckles have darkened over the last few weeks, and you blush as you suddenly imagine yourself kissing every one of them.

“You never answered my question,” You say, turning your head to look at him as you twirl the flower stem lazily between your fingers. The corner of James’ mouth tilts up but it’s clear he doesn’t know what you’re referring to.

“What question?” He asks, brushing some of his curls off of his forehead. You should get him a headband.

“Why you’re acting strange.” You rest your head on your hand, ignoring the way the texture of the wooden fence digs just a bit into your skin. 

“I thought I did.” He says, and he tilts his head in a way that mocks the way you normally do it. You narrow your eyes at him and he playfully swats at your face. You dodge, giggling.

“Hey!” You say, swatting back at his hand. He uses it as an excuse to trap your fingers with his own, interlacing them together. You swoon, your eyes going soft as you look at him. “What was your answer then?” 

James still doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans forward, pressing his lips to your own. You inhale sharply, and he takes the chance to guide you through the kiss softly, sweetly. He brings your hand up to rest at the back of his neck, his arms moving around your waist to pull you closer. It’s everything you could’ve ever hoped for in a first kiss, and more. It’s like exploring universes with him again, this boy who has always created magical worlds for you with tales of dragons and werewolves. You miss those days, he doesn’t talk much about his wizard fantasies anymore. 

You break away from the kiss, blinking up at him. He smiles down at you, and you swear you can feel butterflies in your whole body, not just your stomach.

“You’re amazing,” He whispers, brushing his nose against yours. “There’s your answer.”

The rest of the summer is much the same. You and James spend your afternoons and evenings enjoying each other’s company, sharing soft kisses and low whispers in the summer heat. You hug him tightly the day before he leaves for school again. You tell him you’ll miss him dearly, and he tells you that he’ll miss you more. 

1977

You feel every muscle in your body tense when you spot the familiar mop of brown curls making its way down the road toward your house. You spring off the couch, flying over to the window to make sure you’re not hallucinating. 

It’s really him. James Potter is coming down the road. 

You stand, scrambling to put on your shoes and fix your hair before opening the front door. You approach him just as he turns toward your house. He seems to stop, seemingly unprepared to see you waiting for him. You don’t know how to feel. Your stomach churns but your heart aches. It gets worse as he takes several more steps forward, coming to a stop right in front of you. 

“Hi.” He says. It’s the first word he ever said to you, all those years ago. It had been a lot more vibrant and bubbly back then.

“Hi,” You say back. You think yours probably sounds the same. 

He blinks several times, running a hand through his hair and looking to the side. He clears his throat, shuffles his feet, and looks at the ground. It’s clear he is struggling with what to say.

“Are you just… not going to say anything?” You ask him, and he flinches a bit. Part of you relishes in it, another part feels guilty. You hate this. When he still doesn’t respond, you continue. “James, what happened? You said… you said you’d see me at Christmas and then I just never heard from you again! Two years, Jamie!” 

You find your eyes welling up with tears and you take a shaky breath in, looking up at the sky and taking a step back from him for a moment to collect yourself. There’s a long, thick moment of silence. You have so many things you want to say, so many things you’ve imagined saying. 

I miss you. I love you. I hate you. How could you kiss me and tell me that I’m your favorite person and then never speak to me again? Please come back.

But you don’t say any of those things. You don’t get the chance to say anything at all, in fact, because James is speaking for you. 

“I have a girlfriend.” He says. And your world shatters. “And it’s pretty serious. I think… I think we’ll probably get married right after graduation next summer.” 

The long silence this time is even colder than the last. You don’t know what to think. A girl? Has he ever mentioned a girl to you? Maybe in passing, but most of his stories were about the Marauders, their pranks and mischief that are sometimes so brilliant you wonder how they could ever possibly pull it off. But never a girl.

“You have a girlfriend.” You repeat his words. Blank, emotionless, still processing. He nods, kicking lightly at the dirt with one foot. You will yourself not to cry. “So, why are you here, then?”

You don’t mean for it to come out so harsh, but it does. And James flinches. 

“I just… thought you deserved to know.” 

“Well, I wish you hadn’t!” You finally snap, a tear running down your cheek. You wipe it away quickly, and you watch as James’ eyes follow the movement. You hope he feels bad. “You can’t just abandon someone like that, but this is somehow worse. I wish you would’ve just never come back!”

You turn around, preparing to stomp toward the house but James grabs your wrist. You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he’s stronger than you. He pulls you toward him, wrapping his arms around you despite your fighting. You cry, trying to wiggle out of his grip but it’s no use.

“I know you hate me.” James says, his voice a low whisper that gives away how close to tears he is too, “But you’re still my first best friend. I just… I had to see you, and I wanted you to know.”

You let him finish speaking before you try pushing against him again. He lets you go this time, and you wipe at your face, trying (and failing) not to glare at him.

“Well, I hope it’s great.” You say with a thick sniffle, and as mad as you are, you mean it. “I really hope it works out and you’re happy, James. Really.” 

He doesn’t stop you when you turn around this time. And you will never admit that you watched out the window as he stood in the same place for several minutes before turning and leaving back the way he came. 

1982

Today is a strange day. You knew it when you woke up this morning and there was an owl staring directly into your bedroom window. It stayed there the entire time you got dressed and ready for the day, then vanished once you went to make breakfast in the kitchen. 

You went for a walk, following your normal route, and you found yourself speeding up when you felt like someone was watching. The owl was back, and you’re sure it was the same one. People give you odd glances, like they are watching you from the corner of their eye. It makes you feel uneasy, so you walk home even faster than usual.

The knock at the door during dinner is also an oddity. Since you began living here on your own, there have not been many guests. You don’t pretend to be upset with that, you quite enjoy your solitude with your garden and your books. 

You wipe at your mouth, standing up from the table and lightly padding your way over to the front door. You swing it open, only to feel like the rug has been swept from under your feet.

This is the strangest thing by far, you think. A clearly disheveled, clearly older James Potter holding a small boy that appears to be a carbon copy of him. Except for his eye color.

James says your name, his voice shattering into a million pieces as he sees you. 

You greet him, and step aside to let him in. It’s been about five years since you’ve seen him, and he’s somehow even more handsome than he was before. You didn’t think that was possible.

You help James to settle Harry down in the living room for a nap, encouraging him to help himself to some of the dinner you made. There’s a while that he doesn’t talk, and then like a dam bursting, he does.

He tells you everything, about how all of that stuff with wizards and magic is real. He tells you about the war, about Voldemort and Death Eaters. He tells you about the prophecy, about Peter’s betrayal, and the death of his wife, Lily. You hold him while he cries and you feel guilty for the hatred you had in your heart for the girl who stole his. You never would’ve imagined having to hold him while he mourns the death of the mother of his child.

Harry fusses in the middle of the night, while the moon is high in the sky, and James tells you that he came here because he needs help.

“My mum and dad, they… aren’t around anymore. And obviously, neither is Harry’s mum.” You watch as tears pool in his eyes and you hug him gently from the side, not wanting to overwhelm him. “Remus and Sirius are wonderful with him, but they’re still… dealing with everything like I am.”

You nod, and you tell him you’ll help him with whatever he needs. 

It’s tough, learning to raise a toddler. You’ve never had to parent a child before, though you struggle to call it parenting given the situation. You help James and Harry develop a new routine, watching as it works wonders for Harry and his sleep routine. James eventually returns to work, and you finally seem to grasp that this is real. James is here, and now you wonder if he will leave again. 

The two of you talk one summer afternoon, just like you used to. Harry plays in the grass next to you, babbling away as he chews on his fingers.

“Now that you’re… doing alright, will you be leaving?” You ask him, never one to beat around the bush. He shakes his head quickly, his brow furrowing.

“You think… I’m leaving?” He asks, brushing a hand over Harry’s hair with a smile when the boy proudly shows off the lady-bug on his finger. 

“I mean, I just… I didn’t want to assume the two of you were staying,” You say with a shrug, “You are more than welcome to stay. In fact, I want you to stay. But I know you… usually have other plans.”

There must be something in the way you say it because James visibly deflates. Harry shows you the bug and you make a silly face at him, which makes him giggle before he returns to playing with the grass.

“I never meant to hurt you,” James says, and you nod. He’s told you before that the summer he didn’t see you wasn’t because he didn’t want to, but because Sirius had run away from home and had come to live with them, so he didn’t have a chance. 

“I forgave you a long time ago, Jamie.” You say with a shrug and a light sigh, tilting your head back and enjoying the feeling of the sun on your face. “I was a child with the world’s biggest crush and I felt like it meant I wasn’t good enough for you. I’ve grown up, I understand you had other things going on.”

“Of course you’re good enough for me!” James is quick to correct you, but his words seem to surprise himself just as much as you. “I mean… I did really like you. Things with Lily just… fell into place.”

“You don’t need to explain it to me, James. I… I’m glad you had your time with her, and of course I adore Harry more than anything. I mean it when I say you’re my best friend.”

“Do you think…” James licks his lips and the movement catches your eye. “Do you think we could ever explore what we started that summer?”

The question catches you a bit off guard, and you purse your lips as you let it hang in the air. Harry giggles loudly as a moth flies by his face. 

“I think… we could. Eventually.” You say finally, and James brightens just a bit. You do too. 

“I can wait.” James says with a nod, “I made you wait a long time for me, so I’ll wait however long you need.”

“Promise?” You ask, sticking out your pinky. You can see the same scene, in this same garden, a decade ago. His answer is the same as it was then as he interlaces his pinky with yours.

“Promise.” 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[melancholymetropolis]

Please Please Please

plot: Marriage Law AU In which two best friends partake in a marriage of connivence to appease a marriage law placed on Piltover. However, one party is no longer satisfied with that arrangement and proposes a divorce.

pairings: Adult!Claggor x Reader

genre(s): Hurt with Comfort; YEARNING; childhood friends to lovers

warnings: unedited (mostly). MUTUAL SILENT PINING. friends to married idiots to lovers. lots of tears from both parties. love confession for the ages. no smut, just feels

a/n: I promised this months ago, but burn out is real. I am fully aware that this might make no noise, but I needed to get this out. I needed to write something where two people are so hopelessly in love with one another that they almost sabotage it. this is for the sad girls-- they need love too

w.c: 2.0k

“I think. . . we should get a divorce,” I said, looking up from the steaming pile of mashed potatoes on my plate.

Claggor lowered the serving spoon back into the bowl, before placing it on the table. His hands clenched and released repeatedly, just as his mouth started open before snapping shut. He was trying, and failing, to find the right thing to say. Thoughts played out on his face like subtitles, yet they managed to be jumbled together. After a few seconds, the taller gentleman inhaled sharply and raised the glass of wine to his lips. He took several gulps before waving his hand for me to continue.

I didn't know how I expected him to react, but it wasn’t like that. Clay was flustered and speechless. Two reactions I've hardly ever seen him portray in our decade long friendship together. His demeanor was that of confidence and security. There wasn't anything he couldn't achieve with his hard work ethic and enlightened mind. It was one of the reasons why he was a decorated engineer at such a young age. Why he had a seat on the Council, discussing the worries of undercity residents and bringing further unity to Piltover. 

“Well,” I said, nervously tapping the table. “When the Marriage Law was announced, you suggested a union between us to avoid becoming entangled with strangers. A platonic union.”

“Are you not. . . happy with this arrangement?” Claggor chose his words carefully. As if he were lighting a match next to a powder keg.

“I . . .” I turned away from him, almost too embarrassed to express my wants. I mirrored his actions: grabbed my glass of wine and took several gulps from it. I sighed heavily and looked back up at him. His brown eyes were trained on me. Watching my every move, dissecting every expression on my face. 

There was a look of panic behind them, of desperation. 

He didn’t want this to end.

“I am happy with the arrangement,” I replied. “You're my best friend and confidant. My right hand. You know me better than anyone else. So, it was a no brainer to enter this union with you. I love the home we created and spending time with you. It's just. . .”

“Tell me, Y/N,” he said gently.

“I . . . want more,” I said softly. “I want a romantic partner more than a platonic husband. And I know you're not interested in romance. You made that notion very clear with our separate rooms and such.” I paused for a second and chewed on my bottom lip. I waited until the words arranged themselves in a neat pattern before speaking again. “I am watching my homegirls go on dates, buy engagement rings, have giant weddings with their spouses. It didn’t bother me in the beginning, since this whole mandated marriage thing was so fresh. But, it’s starting to. I feel like I am missing out on something wonderful. And I don't want to pressure you into having that kind of relationship. So, I'm suggesting a separation. A no-fault divorce.”

Claggor nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I replied with a raised eyebrow. “‘Okay’ as you understand? Or ‘Okay’ as in "let's get divorced””.

“More like “Okay, let's go on a date””.

“You don't mean that,” I said, shocked. 

Claggor took another swig of his wine before leaning forward. “I do.”

“You're joking.”

“I'm not.”

“Bullshit”.

Clay chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “What? Are you scared to go on a date with your husband?”

“Well. . . yes”, I said, earning a deeper laugh from Claggor. 

“Come on, sweet pea,” he teased.

“I hate it when you call me that.”

“I won't bite. . . unless you want me to.” There was a smirk on his lips. Dangerous and seductive, just like the rest of him at that moment. 

“Clay, what are you doing?” I said with narrowed eyes. “What's your angle?”

“No angle,” he replied with a shrug. “Simply flirting with my wife.”

My body froze. My eyes scanned his face. Once. Twice. Three times to find the joke. To find humor behind that gaze. There wasn’t any. He was being completely serious. The realization caused me to slump back in my chair. Out of all the things I’ve been expecting, his proposition for romance had not been one of them. He was a man of solutions, or facts. To me, he saw our marriage as a means to an end. I was the only straight, single woman left in our friend group. We had enough history to know all sides of each other. The good, the bad and the annoying traits that graced our person. The fear of the unknown had always plagued my consciousness. The uncertainty of the future had given me crippling anxiety. Marrying a stranger would’ve been too risky then; Claggor was the safest option. He made me feel secure and seen. There had been many nights that he simply held me during a panic attack, or called out of work because I wasn’t feeling too well. But, when I was all better, he’d never mention those times again. Almost like they didn’t happen. Almost like they meant nothing to him; which was why I thought romance was completely off the table. It was why I thought I needed to find someone else.

Because loving someone who doesn’t want me has gotten too painful.

The buzzing of the timer brought me back to reality. I snapped to my feet and took quick steps to the kitchen. I hastily shoved on the oven mitts and opened the metal door. I removed the cobbler from the top rack and placed it on the stove. In one fell swoop, I turned off the oven, took off my mitts and placed them back on the designated hook by the stove. After taking several deep breaths, I turned on my heel and intended to head to the dining room. But Claggor was standing in the kitchen’s doorway. A wary look on his face. 

“Did I do something wrong?” There was hurt in his voice, a pain I have heard before.

“No, of course not,” I said a little too quickly. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because you’re crying, sweet pea,” he said, softly.

I pressed a hand to my cheek and immediately felt damp skin. “Oh.”

“You have to talk to me, Y/N,” Claggor states, taking small steps in the room. “Because clearly something is bothering you and it has to do with our marriage. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Marriage.

It was one of the few times he referred to our agreement with that word. 

It was always “union” or “arrangement”.

Hardly ever marriage.

Hardly ever a word that insinuated more than a platonic relationship.

A friendship. 

“Do you. . .” I heard myself asking. “Love me. . . romantically?”

A somber smile formed on his lips. And, despite my blurry vision, I could see his eyes begin to gloss over. Every muscle in his body relaxed. He was about an arm’s length away from me, then. But, he didn’t dare touch me. Afraid of how I might react; knowing my history and skittish tendencies. 

“Baby, I have loved you every day since we were fifteen years old,” he confessed, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “And just when I think I can’t love you anymore, you do something that makes my heart grow three sizes.” A tear rolled from his left eye and rolled on his cheek. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I haven’t loved anyone the way I love you. I couldn’t. I won’t. You are the love of my life. So, please. . . please don’t leave me now. Not when I just got you all to myself.”

More tears escape their ducts and slide down my cheeks. “But you said you wanted this marriage to remain platonic. Hell, you didn’t call it ‘marriage’ when you proposed. You said it was an “arrangement”, like some sort of business deal.”

“Come on, sweet pea,” he teased. “If I told you I felt, you would’ve run for the hills. We both know that.”

A small giggle fell from my lips. “True.”

Claggor took a step forward, our bodies mere inches apart. “I had to present this marriage in the most non-threatening way possible for you to even consider it. Hence, the separate rooms, separate bank accounts and separate lifestyles. The “marriage” couldn’t be more than a legal obligation in the beginning.’

“You wanted me to trust you,” I declared, stepping forward. 

“Exactly,” Claggor replied, closing the distance between us. “There wouldn’t be a relationship if we couldn’t trust each other.”

The rise and fall of his chest was quick and almost panicked. The complete opposite of his calm demeanor. His glossy eyes were beginning to make my heart weep and my mind sing with lyrics from sappy love songs. I could feel my heartbeat quicken, matching Claggor’s. I placed a palm on his cheek; he immediately leaned into my touch. His eyes seemed darker than before, almost like his pupils dilated at the sight of me. I felt myself lean forward and my eyes drift close. His lips hit mine a moment later. Claggor groaned loudly and wrapped his arms around me. I gasped at his strength and he took that opportunity to slither his tongue in my mouth. It was my turn to groan, then. Somehow, his palm was at the nape of my neck with his fingers in my braids. His other hand hooked around my waist and lifted me off the ground. My rear collided with the marble countertop and jerked back in surprise. 

Claggor immediately pulled away. “D-Did I go too far?” His eyes searched my face for any sign of discomfort. “I apologize if I did.”

I shushed him and opened my thighs for him. Claggor’s soft middle was in between that open space in moments and his lips were on mine again. There was heat behind the second one. A ferocity I never expected from him. His hands were everywhere. Rubbing my thighs, clenching my waist, tangled in my braids. Claggor wanted to touch me anywhere and everywhere. He wanted to feel every part of me. Almost like he was making up for lost time with the quickness of his touch. It seemed like he had been waiting for this moment for a very long time. Maybe, by his own admission, for almost a decade. My heart glowed at the thought. Claggor’s longing for me had reached its limit. The love he kept shielded from me was slipping out; spilling onto my body via gentle kisses and quick touches. He wanted me so bad it was beginning to hurt him.

Clay inhales sharply before pulling away from the embrace. His forehead is still pressed against mine and his arms hold me tighter than they ever have. His breathing is rapid and his exhales fan my face. His entire body was trembling, almost as if it were coming down from a high. When his brown eyes finally open, they are darker than they ever were. Deeper in shade and emotion. He drinks me in, reading my every expression before opening his mouth.

“I love you.”

The words are like an arrow to my heart and I feel tears begin to well in my eyes.

“Please don’t leave me.” The plea was stronger that time, sharper in tone.

It demanded an answer. 

“I won’t,” I said. “Because I love you, too.”

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

a/n: I have an idea for an Arcane Marriage Law series with different characters. Y'all just gotta be let me know how you feel about it.

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Taglist

@chubbygrimpanda20 @slutforurmom575 @kermitlaffrogg @vanillasundaeblob @appapasta @miniaturepenguinkryptonite @navisakura @majonla @simpfl369 @celineloves2dmen @lyn-soso stormster111 @glitterforashes

[emmcfrxst]

this is high school benny miller as the captain of the football team 🫡

[narudoodles]

Day 4 & 5 : on a date / canon divergence (modern AU) 🍂🍁🍂🌿

[isawjamfirst]

what if they had met as children and bcame friends since then huh WHAT THEN

[forwards-beckon-rebound]

kiss and cry

summary | you’ve learnt to build your walls sky high in the wake of dick grayson’s abrupt departure from the world of skating. but one decade later, he’s back like nothing ever happened, and you’re back to square one. prompt | language of flowers event: a bouquet of purple hyacinths in blue wrapping paper with a pink ribbon ♡ pairing | dick grayson x gn!reader wc | 3.2k warnings/tags | pairs figure skating, childhood friends to strangers to ???, mutual pining, repressed feelings, angst, swearing, insecurity, no use of y/n, very liberal interpretation of how you’d qualify for the olympics ty @strangergraphics for the divider!

Brian Orser is a liar. 

“Oh c'mon kid, I had no idea. I thought this was a good kind of surprise! You might have a chance at the Olympics this time around!”

You should’ve known something was up when he asked you to stay after practice. The old man is annoyingly close to catching up with you, and if you weren’t wearing skate guards right now, you’d speed walk to the lockers faster. 

“Isn’t this good? You need a new partner, Dick finally decided to call me back, and anyways, I thought you l-”

You don’t need to hear the rest of his sentence to know what he’s about to say. “I didn’t. And I don’t anymore.” Neither of you seem convinced, but at least it gets him to shut up. 

What pains you the most is you can’t even be mad at the older man. You can’t cry, or scream, or throw a tantrum like you were 9 again, because at the end of the day, this is the coach you had begged to take you on. The one who has been behind so many legends and basically built your career up from the ground. Had this been any other situation, any other person, besides the Boy Wonder himself, you would probably be on the verge of much happier tears. But you know, just like last time, he won’t be here to stay. And you don’t know how much more heartbreak you can take.

Before you get the chance to talk him out of it, a pair of footsteps joins you. Speak of the fucking devil.

It’s like they had planned some flanked attack, with Brian herding you towards the front of the building and Dick stepping in to cut you off as you’re about to make your grand escape. No idea, your ass. Brian knew you wouldn’t be able to say no if they had you cornered like this.

“Dick!” he exclaims, pushing past you to wrap the black-haired man in bear hug. Normally, you think you’d be hurt by how his face is practically illuminating (he had never greeted you like that before). But you have your own worries to deal with: namely, a heart that is currently trying to claw its way out of your throat and lungs that have forgotten how to inhale air. You think Brian might still be speaking, but if he is, you’ve tossed that all to the side in lieu of studying the man in front of you.

You make it a point not to meet his gaze, even as you feel him trying to meet yours. Perhaps it’s pride, perhaps it’s fear, but either way, you know as soon as you look at him, properly look at him, any objectivity will fly out the door.

So you settle for the obvious things. He’s taller, and his face is sharper, no longer rounded by baby fat. Even the spiky haircut you used to tease him for is grown out now. He looks good—but nothing like the boy you have enshrined in your memories. This isn’t the boy who would stay behind to help you practice your jumps. This isn’t the boy who would pack an extra lunch for you in case you forgot yours. This isn’t the boy you cried yourself to sleep over for months, the boy who almost made you quit the one thing you loved most in the world because the thought of skating alone made you want to hurl.

This? Him? It’s just a bitter reminder that figure skating wasn’t the only thing he left behind all those years ago. 

You think you hear the two of them discuss the technical details. Practice schedules, song choices, choreography—it all goes in one ear and out the other. It’s a conversation you have with the older man at the start of every season. An annual promise that that year would be the year you finally earn the recognition you had worked so hard for. 

Technically, everything had been perfect. Technically, you were good. Enough to consistently land a spot at the Grand Prix Final.

But not good enough for a medal. It was never enough. No matter how much training you did, how many extra jumps you crammed into your programs, how many partners you had cycled through. There was no use in denying it: after Dick had left, you hadn’t been the same skater.

It’s pathetic. Your crush had not only abandoned you at 14, but any hopes of even making it to the podium had been crushed then as well. And you hate that 10 years later, you still haven’t moved on. Not enough to say no to his offer. Because like it or not, chemistry is everything in pairs, and there’s nobody like him. There is nobody like Dick Grayson.

It’s silent now. They’re waiting for you. 

You finally look up to meet his gaze. “Okay, I’ll do it.” 

—

It’s too easy to fall back into step with Dick. He always greets you with a smile, brings you snacks before practice (homemade ones at that), and carries your bag to your car for you, even though you insist that you’re more than capable of doing it yourself. He’s certainly trying, but the more effort he puts in, the more you can’t help but resent him. 

His kindness is all just a means to an end for him. He’s buttering you up so your movements are less goddamn stiff when you’re next to him, so you at least vaguely resemble an evenly matched pair. You know from Brian that he’s only coming back because of a stupid bet he made with his brother. He’s just here to prove he can make it to the Olympics. Your childhood dream, what you’ve decided would be the sign that you’ve made it—to him, it’s just another achievement he can use to inflate his ego. The worst part about it is he’s good enough that he could genuinely make it happen that effortlessly. And once he’s satisfied with that, he’ll waltz out of your life just as quickly as he came in. 

So when he offers you a hand as you step out of the rink, when he happens to have an extra energy drink, when he suggests a “team bonding” dinner, you don’t accept. You’ll let yourself entertain him on the ice for the sake of the skate. But nothing more. 

At the very least, you can admit that your performance aspect has definitely improved since skating alongside Dick. You breeze through Eastern Regionals, then Skate Canada, then Skate America, and in no time at all, you’re at the Grand Prix Final: the one barrier you’ve always hit. 

The short goes even better than you imagined it would. Too good. You’ve seen the posts that the fans have made about the two of you, digging up old skating clips to support their theories about the two of you. There’s a poorly worded interview by Brian that does nothing but fuel the flames, and even some of the commentators have been talking about how good the two of you look together. All signs seem to be telling you that you have nothing to worry about; the two of you are perfect. They don’t understand that that’s exactly what you’re worried about. 

You don’t catch yourself until it’s too late. You’re slowly getting consumed by him—by his soft smiles and whispers of encouragement and stupid, stupid puns. You’re back where you started, feeling weightless as the two of you skate your free program, actually losing yourself to the music. There’s nothing to prove anymore; this isn’t a performance—this is just how it’s always meant to be. It should feel right. But it doesn’t, because you’re terrified that if you let yourself get comfortable in his embrace, you won’t be able to skate like this ever again.

You pop the triple Lutz. Then you go into an Euler and a double toe loop that’s under-rotated too. You don’t understand, your jumps have always been pristine, especially your doubles. You haven’t made a sloppy mistake like this in a while. The last time was when–

Shit, you’re too early into the step sequence, the turn too sharp at the corner. You meet his gaze repentantly, like that will absolve you of your guilt. You don’t know what emotion you’re expecting to find in eyes. Maybe anger? Frustration? That’s certainly how you feel at the moment. Whatever it is, it’s certainly not adoration. 

You want to ask him what the hell is going on, but there’s no time. Last move. Death spiral. You have to hold hands, and the contact makes your skin burn. You don’t have the heart to look at him again. You’re afraid of what you’re going to find.

Suddenly everything feels too tight: the rink, your chest, the skates around your feet. You have to get out of there. One revolution, two, three, four. You can hold on, it’s almost over. Another four. He pulls you back towards him. It’s your final pose. The two of you are chest to chest. 

You just have to hold this for a second, and then you’re free. You can do it. You can do it. And then he’s leaning in even closer, until his forehead is pressed against yours and your lips hovering over each other. 

You can’t do it anymore and all you can think about is how to get out of there. You don’t even bother to wait for your score; you’ll deal with Brian’s scolding later. But you know if you stay out there any longer, you won’t be able to scrape together what little sanity you still have left. 

You’re leaving. You have to leave.

And as you run back to the lockers, you realize somebody’s been calling out your name.

“Hey, wait! Is everything okay?” Of course, the one person you don’t want to see would follow you. “Why did you leave like that? Did I do something wrong?” His hand hovers over your arm for a moment before he pulls it away and you don’t know whether you should laugh or cry. He used to do it with practiced ease back when you were kids, when you would joke that he had cooties but let him do so all the same. Now, you’re not sure if you can stand his touch, and from the look on his face, it seems to break his heart.

”Nothing, let’s just forget about this.” You feel like you’re being strangled and it takes all of your energy not to burst into tears at the moment. 

”No,” he says softly. “No, I know you, I know you’re not okay. Please, let’s talk about this.” 

And suddenly, everything’s just too much. He’s acting too nice to you, like he actually cares. Like maybe the fervent glances and lingering touches on the ice mean more to him than just pandering to the judges. But you know he doesn’t, because then he wouldn’t have left.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “No, you don’t know a single thing about me. So don’t act like you care about me now.”

”I do though!” 

“Bullshit. We’re not anything to each other.” 

His face crumples immediately. He takes a step back. This is the closest he’s ever been to tears.

On a kinder day, you’d take it all back. You’d apologize and beg for his forgiveness and he would be disgustingly kind like he always is and you could both forget about this. But you’re tired of dancing around the issue and you think there’s a sick part of you that revels in his pained expression. 

You take a step forward. “You’re just a coworker. This? This act where we pretend like we can stand to be in the same room as each other? This isn’t real. So stop acting like it is. You didn’t care about me when you left. So why the change now? Do you know how fucking hard it was for me to move on? I couldn’t even skate afterwards. I thought my career was over. And I’ve had to fight every single day to prove that—that I’m still a capable skater, that I have a place in this sport.” 

Your voice trembles, and it takes all of your strength to swallow the lump in your throat. “I had to fight to be able to skate without you. To have the courage to stand on the ice alone. So I’m sorry that I’m not willing to welcome you back with open arms, because I know this is just some stupid game to you. You’ll get to the Olympics, because of course you will, and I’ll get to ride on the coattails of that. And that will be the greatest moment of my career, but to you, it’s just another thing on your checklist. Then you’ll go back to whatever you decided is more worthy than m–” You choke on your own words. “Than skating. And I’ll have to pick up the broken pieces again. But frankly speaking, I don’t know if I can do that a second time.”

It’s dead silent, save for your panting. You feel like you just ran a marathon. And Dick? You can’t read him, and that’s what scares you the most.

”Forget it.” The silence is driving you insane, and you just start running your mouth. “Fuck, forget it. I should just be grateful you’re even my partner this season. It’s the only way I’ll make it to the Olympics. I know you’re thinking it, you and Brian—”

“Don’t say that.”

“—that’s why you left, isn’t it? Didn’t want to be tied down to a pathetic fucking loser.”

“I never said th—”

”I can’t blame you. I’d leave me too—“

“I DIDN’T LEAVE YOU!” 

Now you’re both silent. You’ve never heard him raise before. You’ve never seen him this desperate either. He’s shaking as he stands in front of you. “You’re right, I didn’t care about skating. It was always just a hobby to me. But I stayed because of you. Because I was young and stupid and in love and the only way I knew how to show you that was to skate with you. And it killed me when I had to quit, but I just…I saw how much passion you had for skating. Like it was the air you needed to breathe, but I knew I couldn’t dedicate myself to the sport like you could.. And you deserved a partner who would love skating as much as you do.”

You think your brain short circuits after “in love,” and if he says anything else after that, you certainly aren’t processing it. “…You loved me?”

Dick laughs like you’ve just asked if water is a liquid. ”Of course I did. Everybody knew it too. Brian used to tease me about the way I would look at you. And I figured I would finally tell you after I quit, in case it would make things awkward, but then…”

“I blocked you.” You whisper in horror. 

“Yeah, so I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me after that. I didn’t realize quitting meant I would lose you too.” 

And suddenly you’re 14 again, watching the boy you’ve had a crush on for over half of your life tell you that he doesn’t want to skate anymore, and you feel so small and so stupid. “Oh god. So all of those years…”

He nods, “I lied about the Olympics thing. Or well, I really did have a bet with Jason, but when Brian told me that you needed a new partner…I came back hoping it would be a chance to make it up to you.”

You’re still having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that maybe Dick had genuinely been trying to make amends with you. “So you being nice wasn’t just for show or team-building or whatever?”

“Team-building? God, I don’t think there’s a world where I can love you in any other way.”

The first realization that he had loved you in the past had been enough to nearly give you a heart attack. But to hear love? In the present tense? You think back to how he’s been acting for the past few months. All of the weird incidents that you can’t just explain away by saying that he’s making fun of you or being civil to you as a teammate or just being nice because that’s how he is. 

Because there’s no other explanation for why he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, why he lifts you with a reverence that could rival the likes of Keats and Byron, why he lingers on the ice after every practice, like he’s chasing the last vestiges of your warmth. 

And you have so many words dancing on the tip of your tongue, ways in which you can lay down your heart for him as he has done for you. But both of you know that even this stolen moment is just that: stolen time.

”Shall we go back?” He offers you his hand evenly, but there’s a tremble in his voice that gives him away. Like he’s worried that even after all of this, there was a universe in which you still don’t reciprocate his feelings. 

Your heart is screaming at you to assure him, promise that yes of course, you would accept him. But the words evaporate from your mind before you have a chance to grasp onto them. So you hope that at the very least, your actions can convey a fraction of your feelings. Hand in hand, you make your way back to the rink. No matter what the result is, you think it’ll be alright if you have Dick’s shoulder to cry on after this is all over. 

—

“And with a free score of 129.44 and a final score of 205.57, that puts America’s own duo from Gotham at third place in the Grand Prix Final!” 

Third, the word echoes in your head, taking you a few moments to process. Third, and there were no other American teams on the podium. Sure, it isn’t exactly the most fairytale ending, but it’s better this way—more real. You turn to look at Dick, who you’re sure has the exact same look of astonishment that you do. You remember Brian doing the math before you guys had even made it to the venue. Based on this event and the rest of your results this season, it was clear that the two of you were the uncontested pair in the whole country. 

“You’re going to the Olympics!” Brian whoops, hugging the both of you and jumping for joy in a way you think only he can get away with. You’re grinning so hard your muscles are starting to twitch but honestly you could care less about that. All of the training, all of the sleepless nights had finally paid off, and you felt like you had really, truly made it. And the fact that you did it with Dick makes it all the sweeter to you. 

You got a medal, a boyfriend, and that day, the kiss and cry finally lived up to its name.

more dick skating hcs | event m.list | main m.list | navi

[youneedsomeprompts]

~ WHY WOULD CHILDHOOD FRIENDS FALL IN LOVE ~ WRITING PROMPTS

requested by: anonymous

Feel free to use and reblog!

the other knows their past (and that creates a special familiarity)

the other knows their best-kept secret and stays by their side regardless

the other knows them so well that they don't have to explain themselves

they love the past versions of each other

they have a soft spot for the child the other once was

they know each others' weaknesses and it makes them so much closer

they associate them with a happy time in their life

they are an unexpected haven of safety

because everything new hasn't worked out so they come back to the old

because they see them in a whole new light when they reunite and suddenly it's romantic and not solely platonic

they secretly have loved the other one for a long time

because they're fellow sufferers

they know what to expect of the other

they always fall back on each other

they can rely on the other

they appreciate each other's growth and make each other feel seen

they have shared so much, why not share the rest of their lives?

they have always envisioned themselves ending up together

they make the child in each other happy

they've put so much work into their relationship already that the trust just doesn't compare to anyone else