#I would trade every good thing in my life right now if I she could have lived forever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aewon · 5 months ago

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HEARTS ON FIRE - YANG JUNGWON

SYNOPSIS: you lived your life buried in your parent’s routine for you. a perfect princess with a perfect life…or so one would think. now you’re being married off to the prince of valdenia for a trade operation. problem is, he already has a girlfriend, and he is not happy.

pairing: prince!jungwon x princess!reader

genre: royalty au, arranged marriage, enemies2lovers, non-idol au

word count: 8.1k

You don’t know what you did to deserve this. Here you are, a young woman with ambitions and dreams, being married off to some low-life prince.

Being a princess is not easy, fuck everyone who says it is.

From age 5, you have been taught, more like forced, to be a good princess.

Following every rule, never stepping a toe out of line.

You learned how to walk, how to talk, how to eat, how to be.

You were heavily reprimanded and punished if you ever appeared in a way your parents didn’t like.

You can only be yourself when you’re alone, in your room.

You are not allowed to indulge in your interests in front of your parents, who will shut you down immediately.

Your most immense love is art. You remember being ten years old and admiring the paintings your family kept in the palace. You pointed out every stroke, every color, every detail your eyes could find. When you told your parents you wanted to paint, they scolded you. They said art was a waste of time and that you had better things to do.

The following week, your parents had a professional painter come to do a family portrait.

You got scolded for not holding still because you wanted to watch the painter.

The only good part of your life was Estelle. She was the head maid, and you loved her.

She treated you as her own and let you indulge in every interest you had in secret.

One day, Estelle showed up in your room with paint and a canvas.

You were so thrilled you almost screamed.

You spent the rest of that day painting. Of course, you weren’t good, but that was okay.

As time passed, you garnered a collection of paintings you had done, inspired by the ones you saw in the castle. Eventually, you got good! As much as you wanted to show your parents, you knew they would disapprove. And you didn’t want Estelle to get in trouble either.

Here you are over ten years later, still hiding your paintings in your room. You’re not worried about your parents finding them because they never enter your room.

It’s almost time for dinner, and your parents said they had important news to share.

As you make your way down, a pit forms in your stomach. Something suddenly doesn’t feel right. You do your best to ignore it, entering the dining hall.

Your parents barely acknowledge your presence.

“Before we start dinner, you must know something, Y/N,” your father says.

“Does this have to do with the news you told me about?”

“Yes, you’re getting married.” Your mother responds.

What? Did they say married?

“What are you talking about?” You ask, and that pit inside your stomach grows.

“You’re getting married to the prince of Valdenia. This is an opportunity to do business with them, and they only offered if we gave them your hand in marriage.”

“Are you kidding? I'm being sold off for a business deal?”

Your father stands abruptly, slamming his hands on the table. “Don't speak to us that way! You have no choice in the matter!”

“This is my life we’re talking about. Who are you to give it away!” You can feel your eyes prick with tears.

You knew your parents didn't care for you the way they should've, but this was too far.

“We’re doing what's best for the kingdom!” Your mother argues.

“So, giving me away is what's best for the kingdom. I knew you didn't love me, but this is sickening!”

With that, you rush out of the dining area.

You can feel the tears rushing down your cheeks.

Slamming your door shut, you climb onto your bed, still sobbing.

After five minutes, you hear your door slowly open.

You figure it's your parents, and you're ready to tell them to get out until you hear a soft voice call your name.

You look up and make out Estelle’s figure through blurry eyes.

You spring up off your bed, running into her awaiting arms.

“Estelle, they're marrying me off,” you sob, burying your face into her dress.

“I heard, sweetheart. I hate to be the one to say this, but this could end up being a good thing.”

You sniffle, looking up at her, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe you’ll find love. A love who will cherish you and let you be yourself. Look at this situation with an open mind. You never know what’s in store for you.”

You stop crying, taking Estelle’s words in.

Could this be a benefit to you?

Could your life take a different turn?

You go to bed that night, a million thoughts racing in your mind.

The following day, you don't speak to your parents as they tell you that you’ll all be meeting with the king and queen of Valdenia, along with their son.

Of course, they're acting like nothing happened. That's what they always do.

You're in one of your best gowns, a beautiful blush pink ensemble.

Unfortunately, Valdenia is a long 3-hour carriage ride from your kingdom.

The only thing you have to cure your boredom is a book.

As you read, no one speaks. You're surprised your parents aren't whispering to each other as they usually do.

Time passes slowly. When you finally look up from your book, it’s mid-day.

Looking outside the carriage for the first time, the once dull gray that was painted in the sky turned brilliant blue.

The kingdom of Valdenia comes into view. As your carriage rolls through, you see people all along the streets. Kids, vendors.

Every person you see has a smile on their face.

Compared to the people of your kingdom, this looks like paradise.

Outside the palace doors, the king and queen stand alongside their son.

Your parents step out first, and you follow.

Coming face to face with their son, he looks away from you, not meeting your eyes.

You scoff, looking down at your heel-clad feet.

You're broken out of your trance by the queen's loud voice.

The queen cups your face, squishing your cheeks together.

“Look how beautiful you are! Isn't she perfect, dear?”

She turns to her husband, who smiles, gracing his features.

They both usher you and your parents inside.

The prince follows you grudgingly.

As you enter the palace, you are welcomed into their charming dining room, where tea and finger foods have been prepared for your enjoyment.

You end up sitting across from the prince as your parents make small talk.

You can feel him glaring at you.

It’s so obvious, yet everyone seems to be ignoring it.

You look up, finally meeting his eyes.

He doesn’t look away or soften up. He continues to glare.

You haven’t even introduced yourself, and he’s already looking at you with hatred.

You won’t stand for that, so you quickly slip him your middle finger.

His expression finally changes from anger to surprise before he’s frowning.

Jungwon’s never hated someone so much.

You’ve done nothing to him, but your existence already hinders his life.

And here you are, flipping him off.

How rude!

Yes, he was glaring at you, but even so, that doesn’t mean he deserved that!

He’s about to say something, hoping to get you in trouble, but he’s interrupted.

“We’ve set your wedding for next week,” his mother says.

“Next week!” You both say simultaneously.

Your parents send you a ferocious glare, making you shut your mouth.

“Yes, next week. Y/N will be moving in as well. We’ve already arranged for your things to be packed and brought here for tomorrow.” Jungwon’s mother gives you a genuine smile, and you almost feel a twinge of relief for a second.

You can't remember the last time you had a genuine smile directed your way by your parents.

Maybe moving here won't be so bad?

“Can I say something?” You ask out into the open.

Your parents send you another glare, but the king of Valdenia nods, signaling you to speak.

“I’m honored that you're opening up your home to me. Can I ask that I bring someone with me?”

“And who would that be, dear?” The queen asks, looking at you with warm eyes.

“Our head maid, Estelle. She’s someone I rely on very much, and I'd hate to be without her,” you respond.

You look at your parents for approval, as do Jungwon’s parents.

“If you are okay with it, then we are as well,” your father says, gesturing to the king and queen.

“Then it’s settled!” The queen claps; she’s delighted.

As both families continue discussing arrangements and wedding planning, you zone out.

This could either go good or bad.

You'll have to wait and see.

All your belongings had been moved into Yang’s palace by the next day.

Your room is enormous, more extensive than your own at home.

Or should you say, your former home?

Your parents didn't even say goodbye to you; although you expected it, it still stung.

Luckily, you had Estelle.

She, with her belongings, arrived in Valdenia that morning.

You rushed out to meet her, squeezing her tightly.

“Thank god you're here. I don't know if I could do this without you.”

The Yangs (minus Jungwon) welcome Estelle with open arms. She helps you unpack, hanging up your dresses, blouses, and pants in your closet.

Meanwhile, you rant to her while sitting on your freshly made bed.

“He didn't even let me introduce myself! He left the second the meeting ended, even when his parents told him not to!”

“Maybe he's shy, darling.”

You huff dramatically, “He’s not. He was glaring at me with such hatred in his eyes. If looks could kill, I'd be buried 6 feet under!”

Estelle sighs, “Maybe he just needs time to adjust. This is probably sudden for him, too.”

You take a deep breath and nod your head. Still a workaholic, Estelle leaves for the kitchen to see if there’s any work she can do.

Boredom finds you quickly, so you leave your room to tour the castle.

You hear hushed whispers as you reach the end of a long corridor.

You lean in, straining your ears to hear the conversation.

“I know this is upsetting, my love, but we’ll figure it out.”

You immediately recognize the prince’s voice, but who’s he talking to?

“I just want us to be together like we promised, and now you’re being taken away from me.”

That’s definitely a girl’s voice.

It’s easy to piece two-and-two together. This is the reason why Jungwon hates you.

He has a girlfriend.

Jungwon speaks again.

“She’s not gonna come in between us. She’s nothing compared to you, Maylee.”

You can’t help but scoff. It’s not like you’re hurt, but he doesn’t even know you.

“It’s not like you can tell your parents no…just marry her. We can still be together. It’s not like you love her.” Maylee chuckles, and you roll your eyes, silently mocking her.

As soon as you hear the sound of lips smacking, you rush out of there and go back the way you came.

You return to your room, staring at the paintings leaning on your desk. You managed to smuggle them out of your old room without your parents noticing. Maybe now you’ll be able to indulge yourself in your art.

There's a knock at your door.

“Come in!” You shout.

The open door reveals Mrs.Yang, and she smiles at you warmly.

“I came to see how you're settling in.”

She spots your paintings and is immediately intrigued.

“Did you paint these?” She asks, taking one into her hands and admiring it.

“Yes. I've loved painting since I was little. My parents never allowed me to indulge, so I had to do it secretly.”

“They're amazing.” The Queen gawks, and you feel a twinge of pride.

“You must keep painting!” She says, “I'd love to hang up your paintings in the palace.”

Your eyes widen at her suggestion, “Oh no, I’m not that good. I’m nothing compared to the professionals.”

“Nonsense.” She waves her hand, “You must allow me to display these. You deserve to be praised. And please allow me to buy you more supplies.”

You try to decline, but she insists, and you don't have the heart to tell her no.

By the following day, you see your paintings hung in multiple areas of the palace.

You decide to explore outside the castle, finding yourself in its large outdoor area.

There's a beautiful garden in front of you, and you take your time smelling every flower.

There's a bench in the center, and you sit down and take a deep breath.

“You can't be here,” a voice behind you says.

Turning, you look Jungwon directly in the eyes, “Says who?”

“Says me, you're not welcome here.”

You bring your finger to your chin, pretending to look up in question.

“Hmm, according to your parents, I’m welcome anywhere and everywhere in and outside this castle. You wouldn't wanna go against their authority, would you?”

You see his jaw clench, “Can you just leave? This place is reserved.”

You gasp, “Ah! This is you and your girlfriend's little spot, right?”

His eyes widen as he starts to sputter.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me…or is it?”

With that, you get up making your way back inside the castle.

It takes a few seconds before you hear his footsteps rushing to catch up with you.

He grabs your arm, spinning you around to face him.

“You’re not gonna say a word about her to my parents, or else.”

You pout playfully, tilting your head, “Or else what?”

He can't help but chuckle in disbelief. He’s never been faced with this kind of attitude.

“I will make your life a living hell.”

It's your turn to chuckle, “I'd love to see you try.”

You take his silence as your cue to leave.

That night at dinner, Jungwon eats his food roughly, pissed off.

How dare you speak to him the way you did! I mean, are you crazy?

Now, he can't help but keep his eyes on you, praying you don't expose his relationship.

“What did you do today, Y/n?” Mrs. Yang asks.

“I spent some time outside today, in the garden. I ran into Jungwon, and we had…a lovely conversation.”

Jungwon can feel his heart speed up. This is it. You're going to expose him.

“Oh? What did you talk about?”

You smirk at him from across the table, “Just how excited we are for the wedding!” Only five days to go!”

Jungwon visibly relaxes, and you catch his eye, sending a wink.

He glares at you, sucking his teeth.

The eye contact is broken once his mother squeals, clapping her hands excitedly.

“I’m so happy you're both excited! It’ll be beautiful. We’ve made sure of it.”

“It will truly be magnificent,” his father adds, patting Jungwon on the back.

He smiles, trying to hide his anguish behind his wine glass.

Dinner continues with Jungwon’s mother raving about the wedding: cake, decorations, guests.

“Mrs. Sim said she’s ecstatic to see you get married!”

Wait…the Sim’s? Jungwon suddenly starts to panic inside his head.

“The Sim’s are coming?” He asks, looking at his mother.

“Of course they’re coming, dear! You, Maylee and Jake were the best of friends growing up!”

A lightbulb suddenly goes off in your head.

Maylee? Of course, his girlfriend was his childhood friend. This new information sets a fire ablaze in your mind.

You smirk to yourself, shaking your head at the thought.

“What’s got you smiling, honey?” Mrs. Yang asks.

“Nothing! Just thinking about my dress. I know you said it comes from the best in the world.”

“Oh absolutely!” And she starts a long tangent of how renowned the maker of your dress is. She tells you small details so as not to ruin the surprise. Maybe it’s weird you haven’t seen your wedding dress, but you trust her word.

Your eyes meet Jungwon’s again, and you blow him a kiss, chuckling as he looks at you in pure disgust.

5 DAYS LATER

When you wake up, your ladies-in-waiting immediately rush you into your bathing chambers. Your hair and body are thoroughly washed and scrubbed, your teeth are brushed, and your skin is prepped.

They bring you to Mrs. Yang’s room where you’ll be getting ready.

She smiles at you, ushering you forward.

“Are you ready to see your dress?”

You nod, and your nerves are playing with you for some reason. Why are you nervous?

She unveils it, and you gasp in disbelief.

It’s beautiful. The neckline dips into a beautiful bodice with a butterfly in the middle. The design continues into the middle of the dress and its sides, with another butterfly at the bottom.

The sleeves are loose and flowy, and the skirt shines.

“Mrs. Yang…it’s stunning.”

“Only the best for a stunning girl,” she says, “I noticed that you paint a lot of butterflies, which is why I requested they be incorporated into your dress.”

It’s true. You do love butterflies. You loved trying to catch them when you were younger.

Your mind begins to wander a bit. You remember imagining the day you’d get married. You didn’t expect it to be arranged, but the one thing you always hoped for was for your mother to be the one to see you in your wedding dress.

She wasn’t here, yet Mrs. Yang was, and that’s more than you could ask for.

Mrs. Yang brings in the stylists. They sit you down and begin to dote on you.

You see Estelle out of the corner of your eye and smile at her, giggling as she responds with two thumbs up.

Once your hair is dried and styled, they move onto your makeup. You decided on a light style, not wanting your makeup to outshine your dress.

Once it’s finished, they get you into your dress.

It fits you perfectly, and you almost squeal at how beautiful you look. Not to brag, but you think you look amazing. Once they place the veil on your head, you look complete—a perfect bride.

The wedding is being held in the palace courtyard, with friends and family of the Yang’s filling up both sides of the seating.

You’re not surprised to learn your parents didn’t come.

But you have Estelle, and that’s all that matters to you.

You make your way to the palace doors, knowing it has begun when the music starts to play.

Estelle stands by your side, ready to walk you down the aisle.

“You look beautiful. I never thought I’d see this day.”

“You’re all I need, Estelle. Thank you.”

As the doors open, you see everyone standing and looking your way.

You keep your gaze forward, walking one step at a time.

Jungwon looks handsome. You can’t deny it. His suit is white to match your dress, and his black hair contrasts beautifully with it.

As Jungwon stares you down, he can’t deny you look beautiful.

You hear gasps and whispers as you make your way past the crowds.

“She looks stunning.”

“What a beautiful girl.”

“Jungwon is a lucky man.”

You chuckle to yourself if only they knew.

Once you reach the end of the aisle, you stand across from Jungwon as Estelle takes her seat up front at your request.

Jungwon carefully lifts the veil, putting it behind you.

As you look into each other's eyes, you see something in his, an emotion you can’t put your finger on.

The minister clears his throat, bringing everyone’s attention to him.

“Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today to witness the union of Y/N and Jungwon. Two souls brought together to become one. One soul, one body, one heart, and one mind. If anything should object to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

No one says a word. The silence is almost deafening.

“Let’s begin. Marriage is a partnership of trust and dependence to one another while walking life’s long path. Marriage is about communication and commitment, sacrifice when needed, and love in the best and worst times.

It takes time to build a good marriage, and we hope for nothing but the best for our bride and groom.”

The minister turns to you.

“Y/N, do you take Jungwon to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you love and cherish him; trust and commit to him, through joy and pain, in sickness and health, for as long as you both shall live?”

You take a deep breath, “I do.”

“Jungwon, do you take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife. Will you love and cherish her; trust and commit to her, through joy and pain, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” he says, and as he smiles at you for a second, you almost think it’s genuine.

“Then, with the power invested in me, I pronounce you, huband and wife. You may now kiss your bride!”

Kiss? Nobody mentioned a kiss.

Jungwon knows what his parents expect, so he takes your face into his hands with a heavy heart, pulling you forward and molding his lips to yours.

You want to feel disgusted, but you can’t. You kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck.

The cheers in the background drown out as your lips move passionately.

What’s happening? Are you and Jungwon not supposed to hate each other?

As you pull away, you notice your lipgloss has transferred onto Jungwon’s lips.

Instinctively, you raise your hand to wipe the lipgloss off, making the crowd chuckle.

Jungwon takes your hand as you turn to the crowd, waving as pictures are taken every second.

You walk back down the aisle, entering the castle for the reception in the grand hall room.

There’s food, drinks, music and most importantly the cake.

Everyone sits to eat. There’s a large selection on the menu.

You decide on a crab-based dish, putting on a bib to avoid getting anything on your dress.

Jungwon sits beside you, eating his food and being quiet.

Once everyone has finished eating, people start chanting for you to cut the cake.

You and Jungwon, along with everyone else, gather around it, and you cut the cake together.

Cheers erupt, and without thinking, you put some frosting on your finger before smearing it on Jungwon’s cheek.

Laughter fills the air as Jungwon looks at you in shock.

He doesn’t hesitate to fire back, targeting your cheek.

You laugh as he kisses your cheek, smearing the frosting.

After enjoying the cake, a delicious vanilla custard that you adored, you make small talk with all of Jungwon’s family and relatives.

“Where are Jungwon, Jake, and Maylee?” Mrs. Yang asks.

“Those three are always doing something secretive. Y/N, would you be a dear and go find them?” Mrs. Sim asks you, and you nod, getting up and leaving the room.

You don’t care to find them, so you wander the halls aimlessly until you hear shouting coming from an empty corridor.

“What the hell was that?” That voice definitely doesn’t belong to Jungwon so it must be Jake.

“What are you talking about?” Jungwon asks, confused as to why he’s being yelled at.

“You were practically all over her!” Jake yells.

“You looked so in love,” a feminine voice says, that must be Maylee.

“I’m not in love with her. We hate each other!” Jungwon insists, looking between the Sim siblings.

“Well, it didn’t look that way to me!” Jake retaliates.

“I just watched you marry and kiss another girl. Don’t you realize how terrible I feel?” Maylee asks.

“I get it,” Jungwon says, “But I had to look convincing to my parents!”

“That bitch certainly didn’t seem to mind having you to herself,” Maylee says.

You clear your throat, smirking as the three look at you like deer caught in headlights.

“The next time you wanna argue and talk shit about somebody, maybe don’t yell and cause a commotion about it.”

You walk forward, standing in front of Maylee, who’s between Jungwon and Jake.

“And next time… come say it to my face. Don’t be a pussy.” You throw the bouquet in her face, turn around, and walk back.

“You may need that,” you say as you leave the three dumbfounded.

You devise some weak excuse about how you couldn’t find them, but within a minute, they all come shuffling back into the grand hall.

The night ends with everyone congratulating you and Jungwon as you hang off his arm. You catch Maylee’s eye as the Sim’s are leaving. You can’t help but be petty, shooting a wink and waving her way. She glares ferociously before being ushered out by her mother.

You yawn, the day's events catching up to you.

“Are you tired, sweetheart?” Mrs. Yang asks, cooing at you as you nod sleepily.

“You’re in luck. We just had your bedroom cleaned and prepared for you both,” Mr. Yang says.

“Wait,” Jungwon interrupts, “What do you mean for us both?”

“Well, now that you’re married, it only makes sense to share a bedroom!”

You and Jungwon look at each other and then back to his parents.

“I understand your point, but we still barely know each other. Isn’t it a bit soon?” you ask, Jungwon nodding in agreement.

“Nonsense! If anything, this will help you get closer!” Mr. Yang responds.

Before you can argue any further, they bid you both goodnight.

You both stand there for a few seconds, taking in this absolute setup.

“We could just not sleep in the same room? They don’t have to know,” you suggest.

Jungwon shakes his head, “They’ll know. They’re parents, they know everything.”

“So you wanna sleep in the same room?”

“I don’t want to,” Jungwon says exasperated, “But we’ll have to.”

It turns out that the bedroom is the second-best in the castle, only after the king and queen’s.

“We can move all our stuff in here tomorrow. Let’s just wash up, get changed, and go to bed,” Jungwon says before making his way to his now-old room.

“Wait!” You call out.

He turns around, raising an eyebrow.

“Can you unzip me? I can’t reach it.”

Jungwon doesn’t think anything of it, reaching to unzip your dress.

That is until he sees the expanse of your smooth skin. Before he can stop himself, he’s gently running his hand down the middle of your back.

You freeze, not expecting his touch.

He snaps out of it and, before you can say anything, runs, leaving you in the corridor.

You turn to your room, undressing and wearing comfortable sleepwear.

You enter the bath chambers and wash off your makeup, putting your hair into a protective style.

You return to the bedroom, finding Jungwon hasn’t arrived yet.

The room is even bigger than yours. When you check out the closet, it expands even farther than yours.

The bath chamber has a tub, a separate shower, and two sinks. On one side of the room, there’s even a couch.

It’s perfect for two people.

You hear the door close behind you, and Jungwon clears his throat.

“I can sleep on the couch so that you can sleep in the bed,” he says, already making his way to it.

“No, I’ll sleep on the couch!” You protest, grabbing an extra blanket from the closet.

“I can’t allow that. As much as we don’t like each other, I can’t let a lady be uncomfortable.”

You sigh, “Then we’ll both sleep in the bed, just keep some space between us.”

Jungwon nods, and you both make your way to the bed.

You get in first, making yourself comfortable, and Jungwon follows suit.

Neither of you say anything, nor do you say goodnight.

Sleep overtakes you quickly.

When you wake up, you notice an arm around your waist.

Looking beside you, Jungwon is still fast asleep.

You carefully remove his arm around you and leave the bed.

Heading to the bath chambers, you quickly shower, brush your teeth, and wash your face.

Jungwon is still asleep when you return, so you head down to breakfast without him.

The king and queen are nowhere to be found, but breakfast is still laid out, ready to be eaten.

You sit down, preparing your napkin before digging in.

About ten minutes later, Jungwon enters the dining hall, hair disheveled and pajamas slightly unbuttoned.

He says nothing as he sits next to you and starts to eat.

He looks cute, you hate to admit.

His eyes are puffy from sleep and his cheeks are slightly bloated.

“What are you staring at?” He asks.

“Nothing!” You respond, quickly turning back to your food.

It’s quiet for a few minutes before you speak again, “You must’ve slept well last night, considering I woke up with your arm around me.”

Jungwon freezes beside you, side-eyeing as you try to hold in your chuckle.

“I normally hold a pillow when I sleep. It must’ve been an accident.”

You hum, not believing him for a second.

“I ran into my parents before coming here. They said we’re having dinner with the Sim’s tonight.”

You sigh, “Do I have to deal with your girlfriend and her brother again?”

“No, but maybe don’t provoke her either?”

“But it’s fun,” you pout playfully.

“Not for me. I get all the backlash!”

“Well, maybe tell them to knock it off!”

With that, you get up and finish your breakfast.

You go to your old room where all your clothes reside and bring them into the new room.

Jungwon had the decency to take up only one side of the closet with his things.

Next is moving your paintings. The room has enough space to line them up nicely by the large window.

You prepare for the rest of the day, taking a long, hot shower and getting dressed in one of your gowns.

You head to the garden, sitting on the bench with your paints and canvas.

The sky is still shedding its orange rays.

So you sit, and you paint.

You paint until your hands become numb from holding your palette and brush.

By the time you’ve finished, the sky has shed its previous colors and welcomed a beautiful blue.

You paint that as well, blending the colors seamlessly.

You paint the clouds, their shadows, and the scenery before you.

Each flower is painted with details someone else might never see.

But you see everything.

You hear footsteps approaching from behind you, and Jungwon’s voice graces your ears, “The Sim’s are here. I was sent to get you.”

Your eyes widen. How rude of you not to be there when guests arrive.

You quickly gather up your paints, brushes, and palette.

Finding your hands full, you look to Jungwon for help.

He takes note and carefully takes your painting into one hand, his other occupied by your easel.

You take numerous fast-paced steps ahead of him, rushing to get inside.

“Calm down, they’re not upset.”

You send him a glare as you walk even faster.

When you reach the bedroom, you put everything away, Jungwon carefully setting down your easel and painting.

You stand in front of the full-length mirror beside the closet door and fix your appearance.

Rushing wasn’t a good idea as your hair is now disheveled, strands flying everywhere.

You brush your fingers through it, calming any flyaways and loose hair.

Turning around, you see Jungwon still there, staring you down.

“What?” You ask. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, you look fine. Let’s go.”

He holds out his arm, looking for you to interlock yours.

You do as such, putting your other hand over his.

When you arrive in the dining hall, the Sim’s, minus the siblings, look at you both warmly.

Jungwon pulls your chair out, and you thank him quietly before he sits beside you.

Everyone begins to eat while the parents start a quiet conversation.

You can feel eyes on you, but you don’t look up to catch them.

“So,” Mrs. Sim says, “How’s married life treating you both?”

You put on your “fake but real” smile. “Well, it’s only been a day. I don’t think we’ve experienced any real marriage life yet.”

Mrs. Yang interrupts you, “Nonsense. I heard them having a couples spat the other day. Of course, I don't know what it was about, but it’s not my business. They’re both adults. They can keep it between themselves.”

The Sim’s laugh, and the Yang’s as you and Jungwon smile awkwardly.

“Oh, and they don’t know this, but I went into their room to check on them this morning. It was so cute how Jungwon wrapped his arm around you while you slept,” Mrs. Yang says, turning to you.

Jungwon suddenly chokes on his food, coughing violently as you hit his back.

Mrs. Yang looks at Jungwon, “Careful, sweetie. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but I couldn't help it! My baby boy is embarrassed,” she coos.

“Mom,” Jungwon grumbles as he finally stops choking.

He looks at Maylee to find her glaring straight at him, and he gulps heavily.

“Excuse me, I have to use the restroom,” Maylee says, quickly ushering herself out of the dining hall.

After five minutes, her parents question her whereabouts, and Jungwon takes this as his chance.

“I’ll go look for her!”

He rushes off, running through the corridors looking for her.

Suddenly, he hears a crash coming from the bedroom.

He darts to it and finds himself in the middle of Maylee destroying your paintings.

“What the hell are you doing!” He yells, dragging her away from the now slashed canvases.

His yell alerts everyone still at the table, and they’re rushing in within seconds.

You get one look at your destroyed paintings before you collapse on your knees, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“What did you do?” you ask, looking at Maylee and Jungwon.

“This is what you get for stealing my man, bitch!”

The Sim’s and Yang’s look between you and Maylee before Mrs. Sim speaks up, “Sim Maylee, what on earth are you talking about!”

“You wanna know the truth,” she starts, “Jungwon and I have been dating for three years. 3! And all of a sudden, this bitch makes her grand entrance as his soon-to-be wife? Are you fucking kidding me? She’s been cuddling up to him this whole time, and I’m sick of it!”

You get up, and before anyone can blink, you slap Maylee across the face, “How dare you. You’re mad about our arranged marriage, so you destroy my life’s work?”

She holds her now red cheek, staring at you in disbelief.

You turn to Jungwon, “I know you hate me, but this is too far.”

With that, you turn and leave the room, running through the corridor and leaving the castle.

You run and run as far as your feet will take you.

Jungwon turns to Maylee, “This…this was too much Maylee.”

“So it’s true?” Mrs. Yang interjects

“Yes, mother, it’s true. I said nothing because I knew we’d be forced to break up if you found out. We planned to keep our relationship a secret even after my marriage.”

He turns back to Maylee, “How could you do this?”

“Why are you defending her?” she shouts. “I’m your girlfriend; you should be on my side.”

“But you’ve crossed the line, Maylee, and dragged me into your mess, too!”

Mrs. Sim crosses the room and yanks her daughter by the arm. “Let’s go! Say goodbye because, as far as I’m concerned, you two will not see each other anymore.”

She drags Maylee out as she struggles in her mother’s hold while Mr. Sim puts his hand on Jake’s shoulder, dragging him out as well.

The Yang’s are left in the room, glaring at their son.

“I’m very disappointed in you,” his father says.

Jungwon hangs his head in shame, “I know. I just… didn’t want to end my relationship with Maylee. We fell in love over time and never had the guts to tell any of you. But I don’t condone this! I would’ve never done something like this!”

“You need to find Y/N and apologize to her immediately. You should’ve stopped Maylee’s actions when she first showed hostility.”

Jungwon nods, and with that, he begins his search for you.

He passes some maids, asking where you went, and they tell him you ran outside the castle.

As he makes his way outside, a guard rushes up to him. “Prince Jungwon, the princess ran out here in a frenzy. We tried to go after her but were ordered not to leave our post. She ran into the woods outside the castle!”

Jungwon books it, running as fast as he can, shouting your name. He runs through trees, swatting branches out of his way.

Then, he hears it. Soft sniffles came from in front of him.

He approaches you carefully, not wanting to startle you or make you run away.

“Y/N?”

You turn around, glaring once you see it’s him.

Standing up, you begin to walk away from him, but he’s faster and grabs your arm.

“Wait! Please let me explain! I had nothing to do with Maylee destroying your paintings. I didn’t tell her to do it. I didn’t participate. I don’t hate you. I’ve been in the wrong this whole time. I treated you terribly when you did nothing wrong, and I’m sorry.”

“Those paintings were priceless to me, Jungwon. What am I supposed to do now?”

He takes your hand, “Make new ones and new memories?”

You bite your lip, “You’re right, and I’m sorry, too. I was hostile towards you when you were also in a shitty situation.”

He waves his hand, “Let bygones be bygones and regarding Maylee, I think it’s fair to consider her my ex now.”

Jungwon holds out his hand, “Let’s go home?”

You take his hand, and the both of you make your way back to the castle.

Mr. and Mrs. Yang welcome you back with open arms, literally holding you in their arms. For the first time in forever, you feel like you’re with family.

Estelle helps you and Jungwon clean up the destroyed paintings. You decide to throw everything away, wanting to make new memories like Jungwon said.

That night, you and Jungwon get into bed with a newfound friendship.

The morning light shines through the curtains, and it makes you squint.

You look beside you and see Jungwon is gone.

Sitting up, you stretch before preparing to get out of bed.

“Hold it right there! Breakfast in bed for the lady.” Jungwon comes in with a whole tray of food. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and toast, with a glass of orange juice.

“Jungwon, you don’t have to do nice things for me. We’ve forgiven each other for past mistakes. There’s no need for this,” you say, smiling at him.

“I want to do this. I want to make up for my wrongdoings, so please, just let me,” he pleads.

He sets the tray down in front of you.

You pick up your fork and knife, cutting into the pancakes. You hold out your fork for Jungwon, “Say ah!”

A light blush dusts Jungwon’s cheeks, but he accepts the food graciously.

You gesture for him to sit next to you in bed, “Let’s talk.”

He complies, “Talk about what?”

“Anything,” you say, “What are your plans for today?”

“I didn’t have any plans for today. I thought maybe we could go out and paint! I’ve never done it before, but it looks fun!”

You smile as you eat, “I think that’s a great idea.”

When you (and Jungwon) have finished breakfast, you gather all your art supplies again and make your way outside the castle, this time with Jungwon in tow.

“So, first things first. There are no rules when it comes to art. You can do whatever you want, as long as you like it.”

You’re facing the woods, so you tell Jungwon to paint that. He begins, and within half an hour, he’s finished. He presents his final product to you like a shy kid, and you can’t help but coo.

Surprisingly, it’s not bad for a complete beginner.

“So right off the bat, I can tell you understand color. What you’re missing is lighting and shading. Notice how some are lighter when the sun hits the trees while the branches in the back are darker?”

As you ramble on and on, Jungwon can’t help but think you look beautiful. You’re talking passionately, and he can’t stop staring in awe.

He doesn’t even realize you're calling his name until you snap your fingers in front of his face.

“Are you listening? This is important!”

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I can just tell how much you love art, and I think it’s cool.”

You hum, “Well, thank you. What about you? What’s your favorite thing?”

Jungwon contemplates momentarily before looking down at the grass, “I don’t have one.”

You frown, sitting next to him on the bench.

“That’s okay!” you say. “We can find your favorite thing; we just have to experiment!”

Painting class for the day officially ends there, as you’re now determined to help Jungwon.

As you walk the corridor castles, you ask, “So, what do you like to do?”

“I like sports. The guys and I usually play rugby when we’re all free.”

You recall being introduced to 5 other boys who Jungwon said he grew up with, Jake included.

“I don’t think you can teach me that.” You laugh as Jungwon smiles shyly beside you.

“What else?” You ask.

“Well, I like to sing.”

“Really?” You ask, surprised.

Jungwon nods, “I always loved putting on performances for my parents when I was younger.”

“Well, sing for me!”

“But I’m shy,” he says, looking down as his cheeks become red.

“Come on,” you whine, dragging out the n, “I’m your wife. You don’t need to be shy in front of me.”

“Not you pulling the wife card.” He laughs.

“Please.” You pout, putting on your best puppy eyes.

Jungwon takes a deep breath before he starts to sing, and you’re immediately captivated.

His voice is like honey. It’s smooth but slightly raspy, and it’s like an angel singing in your ears.

When he finishes, you clap excitedly.

“Jungwon, you’re so good!”

He gives a small thanks while you keep walking.

You think you’ve found a new obsession.

Jungwon sits on the picnic blanket beside you, singing quietly to you as you watch the sky.

You sit up abruptly, causing Jungwon to stop.

“Do you think in a different universe, we would’ve been friends first before anything?”

Jungwon ponders for a moment, “I don’t see why not. Let me ask you something: do you think we could make our marriage work?”

You turn to Jungwon, eyebrow raised, “You mean, like, romantically? I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” You smirk, causing Jungwon to turn away quickly.

“I mean, you’re beautiful. I can’t help but think, now that things are good between us, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try. The last thing I want is to be in a loveless marriage.”

“Sure, we can try.” You turn yourself towards Jungwon, touching his cheek to make him face you.

“Kiss me,” you say.

Jungwon’s eyes widened. They dart to your lips quickly before finding your eyes, “So suddenly?”

You figure he’s not going to do it, so you do.

Leaning forward, you capture his lips with yours.

He kisses you back, pulling you closer with a hand behind your head.

His lips are soft, and he tastes like the strawberries and chocolate you had.

It’s passionate. It feels like sparks are going off. This kiss is different from the one you shared on your wedding day. This one feels natural like it’s a kiss with love and not for show.

Before it can go any further, you pull away, giggling as Jungwon chases your lips.

He whines, “Don’t tease me!”

“I’m sorry! You’re just too cute.”

“Don’t wanna be cute to you,” he mumbles.

“You don’t wanna be cute? Do you wanna be more than that? Like what?”

“Handsome, hot, sexy?”

“Who said I don't find you hot, handsome, and sexy?”

Jungwon smirks, “Do you?”

You push Jungwon’s shoulder back, throwing your leg over his, straddling his lap.

He brings his hands to your waist, holding it tightly.

“What if I said I think you’re the sexiest, hottest, most handsome man I’ve ever seen?”

He rubs circles into your waist, “I'd say you're the sexiest, hottest, most beautiful woman I've ever seen.”

You lean in for another kiss, nipping Jungwon’s bottom lip.

God knows how long you spent there. After coming inside, you sit down for dinner with the Yang's.

“So, what did you two do today?” Mrs. Yang asks.

“We had a picnic!” You respond. “Jungwon prepared everything, and it was amazing.”

Mrs. Yang asks for details, and the two women talk excitedly while Jungwon looks at you with fondness.

As you lay in bed that night, you think about how drastically your relationship with Jungwon has changed.

You dreaded this marriage, being forced to be with someone you didn't love. And now? Your perspective has completely changed.

Jungwon is a fantastic person. You wish you had seen it earlier.

Do you think you could fall in love with Jungwon? You believe you already have. While the thought almost scares you, your feelings for Jungwon overcome that.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Jungwon comes out of the bathroom, having thoroughly washed up.

He joins you in bed, turning to face you as you smile at him.

“What?” He asks, smiling back at you.

You raise your hand, stroking the area above his eyebrow, moving the hair in the way.

“I think I love you, Jungwon.”

Jungwon's eyes widen, and then they soften.

“I think I love you too, Y/N.”

You don't say anything else as you lean in, kissing him.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my love.”

2 WEEKS LATER

Jungwon plays with your hair as your head lays in his lap. His nimble fingers find their way to your cheek, grazing over it.

You look up at him, meeting his eyes.

Puckering your lips, he laughs, bringing his to yours in a sweet kiss.

“There's a festival in the town tonight. Do you wanna go?” He asks.

“What’s it gonna be like?”

“Games, music, food, the works.”

“Sounds fun, I'd love to go!”

Night comes quickly, and you've just finished preparing for the festival.

Jungwon comes out of the bathroom, ready as well.

“You look beautiful, my love,” he says, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around you.

“And you look dashing.”

The festival is in full swing by the time you and Jungwon arrive.

People greet you as you pass, giving you gifts and free things.

You take them all graciously, thanking them for their generosity.

You and Jungwon find a private spot, taking time to admire the view of the town ahead.

“I got you something,” he says.

You turn to him, eyebrows furrowing when he pulls out a small box.

“I know we had a rocky start, but I have to say that these past few weeks with you have been some of the best I've ever had. I know our vows weren't exactly the most genuine, but now, I mean those words genuinely. You are an amazing, passionate, loving, caring woman, and I love everything about you. I truly promise the rest of my life to you.”

With that, he opens the box, presenting a beautiful gold necklace. You gasp in surprise as he shows it to you.

“Jungwon, it's stunning.”

“I got our initials engraved on it, so we're always together no matter what.”

As he puts it on you, you think to yourself, maybe this life was meant for you.

In the end, you got your fairytale ending.

note: this took me entirely too long but it's done!! i hope you all enjoy!

taglist: @jiamini @dokidokior @26796i

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favefandomimagines · 5 months ago

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Love is a Battlefield (j.m)

Request: Idk I don’t have like a request request but anything with jj maybank honestly okay or maybe the way 13 going on 30 randomly popped in my head like maybe Jenna and matty vibes @idontevenknowbsblog

Summary: JJ Maybank had been your best friend since you were 4 years old and then life started to complicate things.

AN: this is a long one lol and maybe not as close to Jenna and Matty but definitely a best friends to lovers, I got carried away lol not edited

Your mom would joke that it was fate for JJ Maybank to end up in your life. It was fate that her and JJ’s mom would be in the same lamaze class. Because of fate and that friendship, it formed the relationship you cherished the most. JJ was a constant. If there was one thing you could rely on, it was JJ always being there.

Even after his mom left, JJ was there. Moreso after Luke began the drinking and the drugs. It was often a point of contention between him and your mother. She felt she owed it to her long time friend to look after her son and Luke put JJ in danger every day.

Kindergarten started with you and JJ, and ended with you, JJ, John B and Pope. The four of you becoming an instant package deal.

The three of them were there when your dad passed away suddenly when you were 10. Though John B and Pope were supportive, JJ never left your house. Sleeping in a sleeping bag outside your bedroom door for weeks.

It was the four of you navigating your adolescence up until the age of 14. The Summer before sophomore year started with four and finished with five.

Kiara became a fast friend when her parents opened The Wreck and you needed a Summer job to keep you busy. The rest was history, Kie’s Kook year being nothing but a snide comment here and there.

JJ joked that you were the glue that held the Pogues together. If they didn’t have you they’d all fall apart. He loved you since you were 14, all throughout high school and he never said a thing. You staying in his life was more important than how you stayed in his life.

Now you were quickly approaching graduation. You hadn’t been too open about your post-grad plans and that worried him.

He was worried you were going to leave him and never come back. Was it overdramatic? Sure, but it was also realistic. You were always too good for him and maybe that’s why he never told you how he felt.

It was the night before the first day of senior year and the Pogues were sitting around the fire at the Chateau.

“What are everyone’s post-grad plans? We haven’t really talked about it.” John B spoke. “Way to kill the mood, dude.” JJ replied. “Come on, we have to talk about it. We can’t stay at the Chateau forever.” John B replied. “Well, I got into USC. Only a 6 hour drive from you guys.” Kie said.

“I’ll be going to community college on the mainland.” Pope replied. “Starting trade school next fall, open up my own garage here.” John B said. “Y/N, what about you?” Kie asked. “Oh, well, if you would’ve asked me two weeks ago I would’ve said nothing at all but, I do have some news.” You answered.

JJ furrowed his eyebrows at your words. News? What have you not told him? You tell him everything.

“I applied to UNC and I got in. Almost a full ride but I’ll work for the rest of my tuition.” You announced. The Pogues cheered and came to their feet to applaud you. You had always talked about attending UNC ever since you found out your dad had attended.

“That’s amazing, Y/N!” John B cheered. “And only 3 hours from you and J.” You commented. JJ being the only one to not congratulate you didn’t go unnoticed by you. While everyone was occupied, you nudged his foot with yours, signalling to go down to the dock.

You both got up from your spots and walked down to the water in silence. “I know what you’re thinking,” You started. “And what am I thinking?”JJ asked. “You think I’m leaving you. That I’m going to move on from you, find something better.” You continued.

JJ’s silence proved that your thoughts were right. “J, I’m not going anywhere yet. It’s only August, we have almost a year left.” You spoke. “Y/N, this is UNC. You’re going to school, get your fancy degree and move on from your entire life. Me included, you won’t want to hang out with some guy who’s doing nothing with his life.” JJ explained.

“You’re taking over the entire yacht club. That’s a big deal! You’re going to be getting a head start with your life while I’ll be in school for 8 years waiting to start mine.” You replied. “Besides, you think 3 hours is going to keep me away?” You added.

JJ shrugged, his gaze fixated on the water in front of him. “You’re my best friend, JJ. I would never leave you behind.” You added. “Do you promise?” He asked. “I promise.” You said, holding out your pinky in front of him.

“A pinky promise? Come on, Y/N, we’re 18.” JJ said. “And when have I ever broken a pinky promise?” You rebutted. JJ smirked slightly before hooking his pinky with your’s.

It was October. The leaves began to change and the air was becoming brisk. Fall had descended upon the Outer Banks and Fall meant homecoming. You thought you had outgrown the excitement for homecoming but it was your last one. And you thought that maybe homecoming was the perfect time to tell JJ how you felt about him.

Somewhere between 15 and 16, the feelings of love you had for JJ had gone from platonic to the complete opposite. That was why you held off on telling JJ about UNC. Thinking that you two could live in your perfect teenage bubble for a little while longer.

You felt stupid for trying to pursue a relationship with JJ a few months before you left for college but your friendship has withstood the test of time, it could withstand 266 miles. Right? You owed it to yourself to try.

“So, are you going to ask JJ to homecoming?” Kie asked. “How did you know?” You asked your friend as the pair of you stood at her locker. “Because I know you, Y/N. You’ve had feelings for you for as long as I’ve known you. You look at him the same way you look at Paul Mescal.” She teased.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to ask him. I’m terrified he’s going to say no and then I ruined everything.” You said. “He’s not going to say no. And even if he does, you guys have been through too much to let something this small ruin your friendship.” Kie replied.

You wanted to believe her and that everything was going to be fine one way or another bit as you stood outside JJ’s house, pacing, you couldn’t help but think of the worst case scenario. Luke was MIA so you didn’t have to worry about him storming outside.

JJ walked by his front door and heard your voice mumbling outside. He looked out the window and saw you pacing on his lawn. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” JJ asked as he opened the screen door.

“J, hey, uh I just wanted to ask you something. Or tell you something.” You stammered. “You okay?” He questioned. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.” You said. “What’s up?” He asked.

“Okay, so um, would you want to go to homecoming with me? Either as friends or, uh, more than friends?” You said, avoiding his gaze at all possible. “What?” He questioned. “Do you want to go to homecoming with me? Not as friends but as a date?” You repeated.

JJ thought he was dreaming. Were you really telling him you wanted to go to homecoming as more than friends? But why now? You were leaving for Chapel Hill in the Fall, how is it fair to either of you to pursue your feelings when you’ll just be leaving?

“Y/N, you’re leaving in August. I don’t think you want to do this.” He said. Your face fell as you processed his words. “I’m sorry, what?” You asked. “You’re leaving. Even if I felt the same way, we couldn’t do long distance.” He lied.

JJ lied through his teeth. He had to because he knew you needed to go to UNC. It was your dream, it’s where you always wanted to go. He couldn’t stand in the way of that. It was going to be harder as friends, he couldn’t imagine what it’d be like as your boyfriend.

Though seeing the look on your face made him wish he could take those words back. “Uh, this was a mistake. I should go.” You said, backing away slowly from his front porch.

You were so embarrassed, how could you have misread everything that poorly. “Y/N, we-“ JJ started. “Don’t. Please don’t make me feel worse than I already do.” You interrupted, before turning around and walking home.

JJ could see not only the unshed tears in your eyes, but the hurt as well. He could’ve been honest, told you the truth. He didn’t know how you’d both do long distance once you were in college. He was scared to lose you but he did anyway by lying.

You got home and walked through the front door and saw your mom standing in the entryway. “How’d it go?” She asked. But she could tell by the look on your face that it did not go well.

All you did in response was finally break down in tears. Your mom gave you a solemn look before she walked over and wrapped you in an embrace. “Oh honey, I’m sorry.” She spoke. “I feel so stupid.” You cried. “You’re not stupid, Y/N, you just loved him.”

It was now December. Homecoming came and went and you didn’t go. Two months had gone by and you hadn’t spoken to JJ. You were angry, embarrassed, confused. Why did you think JJ felt the same way? Why did you ruin your friendship like this?

JJ called you everyday, sent texts, but you didn’t want to see or hear what he had to say. You were angry with him for embarrassing you the way he did. And you were stupid enough to think he actually liked you. He was JJ Maybank for crying out loud, every girl in your grade wanted to be with JJ. What made you different?

That meant that your relationship with the Pogues was suffering. You didn’t want to make them choose sides so you made the decision for them and therefore stopped seeing them as often.

But it was now Winter Break and they were determined to figure out what exactly had gone wrong.

“So what’s going on with you and JJ? You haven’t spoke in months.” John B asked as you sat outside your house. “Nothing. What did he tell you?” You questioned.

“Nothing. Just like you. Seriously, Y/N, what happened?” John B questioned. You were quiet for a moment, fidgeting with your fingers.

“I told him how I felt. I told him that I wanted to go to homecoming with him as more than a friend and he rejected me. He doesn’t feel the same way.” You explained.

John B was silent. More so out of confusion than anything else. How could JJ say he didn’t feel the same way when he 100% did?

“Can we please not talk about it? I’m embarrassed enough as it is.” You added, standing up to walk back inside.

John B was going to figure this out one way or another.

He arrived at home and saw JJ’s bike out front. “J?” He called entering the home. “What’s up?” JJ asked, entering the living room. “What is going on with you and Y/N? And don’t lie and tell me nothing. She told me everything.” John B questioned.

JJ was quiet for a moment, knowing that he was going to have to face his mistake. “You have feelings for her, J. Why did you tell her you didn’t?” John B added.

“Because she’s leaving. She’s going to UNC, going to make all of her dreams come true and I can’t be holding her back. What happens if we got together? One, she stays here for me and then down the line resents the fact she stayed instead of following her dreams. Two, I get my heart broken because I fall even more in love with her and she leaves. It doesn’t end well for either of us either way.” JJ answered.

“JJ, you can’t live your life like that. Have you ever thought about going with her? They have jobs in Chapel Hill.” John B suggested. “And be her loser boyfriend who followed her from home?” JJ scoffed. “Now you’re just being a jerk. And being way too hard on yourself.” His friend said.

“It’s the truth, John B.” JJ replied. “No it’s not. You just won’t let yourself be happy.” John B told him.

JJ was quiet as John B walked off to his room. Maybe he had a point. He was finding excuse after excuse to not let himself be happy. But his entire life was based on waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You were the most important person to him and he couldn’t lose you like he’s lost everyone else. What was he supposed to do? The damage was done, you weren’t talking to him. There was no way he could make things right.

His body moved before his brain could catch up, and he was getting on his bike making a run for your house. John B was right. He shouldn’t be letting these things get in the way of something that would make him happy.

When he arrived, he barely turned the bike off before he was already off. He just stood there for a moment, thinking about what he was going to do next. He didn’t really leave with a plan.

JJ looked down at the flower bed and saw small pebbles and his brain kicked into over drive.

He tossed the first pebble at your window, the sound slightly echoing off the glass. After a few seconds, he tossed another one.

You were sitting on your bed reading a book when you heard taps on your window. You furrowed your eyebrows as you discarded the book and walked to the window.

The sight shocked you. JJ was standing outside tossing rocks at your window. You slid your window opened and looked out. “JJ, what are you doing here?” You asked.

“You weren’t answering my calls or texts.” He says. “I know. That was on purpose.” You sassed back. “I want to say…I lied to you,” He started.

“I lied to you the night you asked me to homecoming. I do feel the same way. I have since we were 14 and you punched Rafe Cameron in the nose for making fun of my backpack. You’re my best friend. You’re perfect and I just got scared. Scared that no matter what, we were just going to be another high school couple and never speak again once you leave. I love you, Y/N and I was stupid to make you think that I don’t.” JJ finished.

“Give me a sec.” You said before closing the window. JJ’s heart sank. Were you going to reject him? He felt like he was going to throw up from anxiety.

JJ heard the front door open and moved to stand in front of your porch. You walked out in your seashell pajamas that you bought with Sarah last year.

"Do you mean all of that?" You asked. "You're not just going to bail when it gets hard?" You added. "No, no I'm not going to bail. You're worth it, Y/N. Like you said you'll only be a few hours away. I could be in Chapel Hill by noon on a Wednesday if you said the word." JJ said.

"Then I guess I need to get a UNC Boyfriend t-shirt. If that's what you want." You said. "I'll wear that t-shirt every single day." JJ said, walking towards you kissing you deeply.

You had imagined your first kiss with JJ many times and the real thing was so much better than you had thought.

#imagine #imagines #outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj obx #obx #outer banks imagine

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gotham--fc · 5 months ago

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January Hymn - An Emily Sonnett Imagine

So this takes place during 2020 when Sonnett was on loan to Gothenburg and that was a very long time ago so if the timeline is not correct that's the way the cookie crumbles 🤷‍♀️(also my first time writing in second person if y'all like it I might do more second person stuff)

Also based off the song January Hymn by The Decemberists which I cannot recommend enough their entire discography is *chefs kiss*

About 2k words, pretty angsty, not a happy ending

You had long since accepted that this was as far as your career will take you.

You grew up in Sweden, up north, and moved to Gothenburg when you turned 18. You played soccer all your life and it was obvious to everyone who saw you that you were yards ahead of every other kid you played with. Your parents would drive you hours away from your hometown so you could play on a competitive team in a bigger city, where your talent was matched and developed. You ended up on an academy team and set your sights on going pro.

You are a professional player now. In your teenage years, you imagined yourself in World Cup finals, Champions League finals, you imagined your mantle filled with trophies and medals. You imagine you would leave Sweden. You liked to imagine yourself in Germany, or France, or England, maybe even America, and playing for top clubs around the world. However, none of those dreams really panned out for you.

You moved to Gothenburg and signed your first professional contract. You didn’t notice it at the time, but you were nearing your peak in your play, your development slowing. You love playing here, always have, but you didn’t imagine spending your whole career here. Over the years, you have watched players leave. Young players rise quickly through the ranks and get swooped up by flashy contracts at even flashier clubs. You look back at yourself at 18, 19, 20, and you know you were never as good as they are, never really had a chance at going somewhere else.

You’re not upset. You’re at peace with it all now. Sure, when you first realized that your dreams wouldn’t pan out, you were heartbroken, disappointed, frustrated, but you moved on. You’re happy with your life. You still get to play the sport you love for a living. You recognize now that you would’ve crashed and burned had you gone anywhere else. You love Sweden too much to leave, and the homesickness would’ve been too much. All in all, you’re happy where you are and you don’t regret a thing.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

Players move around all the time. It’s the nature of sports, players choosing to leave for a variety of reasons, teams deciding not to resign players for whatever reason, the team is always changing. You have been a staple in Gothenburg for years, but you’re one of a few. You’re used to having your friends move away and you’re used to only seeing them over Facetime after fighting through time differences. It’s part of your life.

You don’t think much of it when your coach announces a new player will be joining the team on loan from America. It’s not the first American, and it’s not the first loan, and really you’re just happy to see a new face. With Covid restrictions you really only see your teammates and the coaching staff, and you’re looking forward to not having the same conversations over and over. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to have an extra player to contribute when you’re pushing for a title.

Emily Sonnett, when you meet her looks like she’s had more of a year than you have. There’s a deep tiredness in her, one that she tries to hide behind her smile. You hear whispers in the locker room, about trades and the team in America she wasn’t playing for. You don’t care. You don’t care what she’s running from in America, you don’t care what her reasons for coming here are. It’s not really your business to care, anyway.

"Hi, Emily, right?" You approach her in the locker room. Her head is trained down at her cleats even though she’s tied them tight already. Her head snaps up when you speak.

“Most people just call me Sonnett. Or Sonny. Whatever you want.”

“Okay Sonnett,” You say, “You enjoying the city so far?”

“Uh, I haven’t really had a chance,” Emily, Sonnett, says, “I don’t really speak Swedish so, I just try not to get lost.”

Most of the team knows some English, some more fluent than others, but they do tend to speak Swedish to each other. You learned English when you were younger, in the hope that you might need it when you moved away. You’re grateful for it now, because Sonnett looks like she needs someone she can speak to.

“I’ve lived here for a long time, let me show you around. Gothenburg is a beautiful city, I would hate for you to not see the city the way I do.”

“Okay,” Sonnett says, “I’d like that.”

You take Sonnett around the city, showing her all your favourite spots, and you love sharing your city and your country with your teammates, but something feels different with Sonnett. She’s hilarious, and you laugh the whole day, and every time you laugh her eyes light up. You asked her, earlier in the day, why she came to Gothenburg, and she gave you a vague answer about COVID and not being able to play in the States over the summer and just wanting to get some games under her belt before the Olympics next year. You understand, in a way, because you’ve never not had soccer, never not been able to play, and you can’t imagine having it taken away without your control.

You have been fairly lucky with injuries, never having anything serious enough to take you out for a long time. You have watched your teammates and friends sidelined for months with injuries, and you feel extremely grateful that you’ve never had to deal with that. You know that Sonnett isn’t unable to play in the States because of injuries, but because of the pandemic that has effected you as well. No one really knows what the pandemic will bring, how the world will be impacted by it, and you’re just happy you get play, that the team has found a way to play safely.

“I know Sweden is not as warm as Florida,” You say when you noticed Sonnett shiver.

“Oh, I wasn’t in Florida, I was in Georgia with my family,” Sonnett says, “I don’t have a place in Florida and I’m not about to couch surf off my friends, so I just stayed with my family.”

“I did not realize your American teams don’t provide housing.”

“They did, they do,” Sonnett says, “There’s no point in getting me a place. They’re not playing in Florida this year, and they won’t keep me next year. I told them I don’t want to stay next year.”

You’re not really sure what to say. The conversations today have been lighthearted, and you’re not sure how to handle the change. You’ve had teammates request transfers before, but the system here is so different than in the States. Here, if you don’t want to stay with a team, you just don’t sign another contract, but it’s different over there.

“I was traded,” Sonnett says when you stay quiet, “From Portland. I’d been there for so long and I really thought they’d keep me, but then they traded me. And I don’t want to play for Orlando. I… I want to go back to Portland, I want my old life back. All my friends were there and I was really happy. It felt shitty that they could just get rid of me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” You say, because what else is there to say?

“I’m not playing in Florida, for the Pride, and I made that clear. I don’t even want to go back to Portland, because it’s obvious I don’t mean anything to them, and all my friends are gone too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“D’you know any good pet shops?” Sonnett says suddenly, “I wanna get my dog Bagel so many Swedish dog toys before I go back.”

Your head reels from the abrupt change in conversation. You get the sense that Sonnett is not someone who likes to have serious conversations, so you don’t push. You don’t have any pets, so you don’t know where the nearest pet shop is, but you use google maps and you laugh as Sonnett makes jokes about each toy and the way she butchers the pronunciations of names.

It feels like the start of something, something you can’t put a name on. You didn’t know it then, but the start sometimes can also be the end.

***

You knew Sonnett’s loan would end. That’s how loans work, there’s also an end date to them. While you knew that, and knew your time was limited, her departure crept up on you. First, you were ecstatic, thrilled, that you won the league. It’s what the team has been working towards, and you get to see all your hard work paid off. Through the celebrations and the champagne, you find Sonnett alone.

“I thought you were the life of the party,” You say, “Or are your stories lies?”

“No, I am usually pretty rowdy,” Sonnett says, “They don’t call me Saucy for nothing.” You chuckle. “I was just thinking how much I’ll miss this.”

You head cocks to the side. Miss this? It’s hits you, the season is over, and Sonnett’s loan is over, and she’ll be going back to the States.

“I’m happy to go home, see my family and friends again, but I’ve really enjoyed it here.”

“Yeah,” You say quietly, feeling choked up suddenly.

The two of you look at each other and you can see the emotion in Sonnett’s eyes, no doubt mirrored in yours. There’s something you want to say, caught on the tip of your tongue, and you’re not even sure yourself what it is, but before you can, someone bumps into you and then you and Sonnett are dragged back into the celebrations.

Sonnett leaves a week later.

You offer to drive her to the airport. It’s an excuse to see her one last time before she leaves and she doesn’t fight you on it. You pick her up from her apartment and she slides into the passengers seat of your car. She looks tired, and you think a little sad, but she hides her emotions so well that you can’t tell if you’re just projecting.

The drive is quiet, the two of you attempting to make conversation, but there’s nothing to say. She’s leaving, and you’re staying, and neither of those facts will change. Her life is in the States, and yours is here, and maybe in another life you would’ve been more talented and more skilled and maybe you would’ve found yourself in the States, on the same team as Sonnett.

You park in the drop off zone and you get out of the car while Sonnett grabs her bags from the back. You take a moment to just look at her, and then you pull her into a hug.

“I’m glad you came here,” You say, “Even if it was short. I… I wish��” There’s so much you want to say. You pull back to look Sonnett in the eyes. As soon as you lock eyes, all the words leave you. What can you say?

She stands there, looking at you, and she’s waiting, she’s waiting for you to say it, and you’re waiting for her to say it, because how can you say anything right before she leaves you? How can she say anything right before she leaves you?

“Goodbye Emily Sonnett,” You say, “Don’t forget about me when you win a gold medal, okay?”

“Never,” She says, “Don’t forget me when you win the Champions League.”

And with that, she’s gone.

You drive back alone.

As you drive, even though you’ve lived in Sweden your whole life, it feels colder than it has ever been.

You go about your life as normal, except with an aching hole in your chest. You go over the drive and the goodbye over and over, wondering. What would you have said? What could you have said that might’ve made her stay? If you said something, if she said something, would it have changed anything?

No, you think, it wouldn’t have, because your lives are thousands of miles apart and nothing will ever change that.

You watch her at the Olympics that summer and you watch her lose in the semis and you watch Sonnett on the field, with her teammates, after the loss, and then in the bronze medal game, when they win. You wish you were there, you wish you could call her, congratulate her. You wonder if she watched your Champions League games. You wonder if she saw you lose and wished she could call you. You wonder if she thinks about you at all.

Maybe in another life, you tell yourself, maybe if things were different. Maybe you should just let it all go, maybe when you stop waiting, she’ll come back to you.

#emily sonnett #emily sonnett x reader #uswnt imagines #uswnt imagine #emily sonnett imagine #uswnt #woso imagine #woso

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galaxiasgreen · 2 months ago

Text

🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 8.7k words]

"I can't lose him," he whispered, a shattering realisation. "Not like I lost Anne, and... and you." "You haven't lost me." "You are the one good thing in my life right now," he said, voice broken with rage and pain, "and we can't even talk in the hallway!" You leant against him then, shoulder to shoulder. And there it was, like clockwork. Strawberry laces. "Then let's be two normal people right now. Just... for a little while. Like before."

In which, with his relationship with you a secret, Ominis tries to pull his best friend from the brink of darkness.

Tropes: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, pure-blood culture, canon rewrite, book!canon compliant, Ominis meets the Sallow Twins, Forced Proximity, Denial of Feelings, duelling practice, the Relic Quest.

[MASTERLIST][FIRST][PREV][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

3. A Secret Friendship

From then on, your friendship together was a secret.

Ominis' growing feelings even more so.

There was a forbidden agreement between you that, to save you, and to save himself, you wouldn't interact in the outer world. No cheerful waves in the hallways, no hanging off each other's arms between lessons. The only way to communicate was through notes, traded like secrets, a folded scrap of parchment slipping into his robe or your pocket. Ominis doubted Perry Malfoy and his cronies would bother to learn braille at his expense, after all, and this way you could keep in contact without breaking the façade.

Your grasp of it was clumsy though. In your impatience, you forgot words like the and a, your cadence was robotic and primitive, and one time you forgot the L in public, which made him snort so hard he got detention in History of Magic.

When notes weren't needed, or seemed too risky, there was the language of touch, even more heretical to his family's values, and even more seducing. Your elbow a gentle nudge to his side, in the hallways, on the front lawns, your pinkie brushing his in class, lightning through his skin. They were fleeting, these moments of connection between you, but no less potent.

No less desired by him.

Even though you were a social creature, most energised when you spent time with your friends, you took to this naturally. No matter how tedious, you lived for the notes, for the secrets you shared. Your mood improved drastically, he could sense it, freed of your previous burden.

He felt the same too. Lighter on his shoulders, his heart.

On days when the both of you felt the most daring, where the stars aligned for a culmination of your letters, you met him under the Astronomy deck, when everyone was away at the evening feast, to have a little feast of your own, an eclectic mix of sweets sent from your family and treats bought at Honeydukes. It often left Ominis feeling a little sick, but he never minded, not when it meant he could spend time with you. Sometimes Sebastian joined in – but mostly not, his attentions captivated by his search for a cure.

And, Ominis was starting to realise, by Missy.

"He fancies her sooooo much," you said to him one day.

Ominis reclined against the wood. Even wrapped in blankets by a lit brazier, hushing the cold, he wasn't comfortable – he never would be, not when this meeting was illicit, stolen from beneath the stars. But there was something about you that relaxed him enough to forget it all, even temporarily.

"Do you think it's requited?"

"Er, yeah. Those two are always flirting." You threw a popping candy into your mouth, and it crackled as you spoke. "And goodness, you should see the looks they give each other. Seb makes googly eyes every time she looks at him, and she makes googly eyes when he's not looking."

For once, Ominis was grateful he didn't know what googly eyes were.

"What's she like?" he asked, curious. "Missy?"

You waited a moment, fishing for the right words.

"Intense."

"Like Sebastian then."

"In a different way. Sebastian is hell-bent on finding a cure for Anne. He has one goal in mind. But Missy isn't driven by one thing alone... but I don't know what drives her. She's extremely good at everything she does, spells and history and theory, but she always seems... guarded."

"Naturally, you took that as a challenge."

You made a raspberry noise. "No! I just happened to stand next to her in Flying. She's the sort of person you want as your friend, not your enemy."

That alone troubled him. "And paired with Sebastian makes a dangerous cocktail."

"You think she's encouraging the Dark Arts?"

"I know she's encouraging the Dark Arts."

You didn't reply to that, as unsure as he was.

"She's not a bad person, but she's definitely... hiding something."

She had her secrets. He had his as well, but his didn't try to lead his best friend into the waiting arms of Dark magic. Into Unforgivable Curses and choices that could not be taken back.

Letting Sebastian embrace the darkness was an option Ominis didn't even think to entertain. He was family, after all. Like you were, like Anne. A steadfast companion through thick and thin, through his best days and his worst – and now, when Sebastian needed him most, Ominis would not turn away.

A choice made despite its painful consequences, he now realises.

He remembers the first time he met him, all those years ago. It was not, in fact, in the dungeons of the Slytherin common room, their beds next to each other in the dorms by fate, but earlier, when they were both eleven and the Malfoys hosted an expensive soirée to officially welcome the new incoming year into the magical world.

Ominis already had his new wand and was relying on it excessively, since he discovered with its power his senses were more acute to his surroundings. It pulsed intermittently, moulding the world around him to a language he could understand. The Malfoy Manor ballroom was lit by chandeliers, torches burning along the walls, and a hearth, twice his height, the heat from it alone enough to make the whole house swelter. The floor was polished, heels squeaking along its smooth surface, and scents interwove like tapestry, roast pork and lavender bouquets and a tangle of overwhelming perfumes. How vast it all was, how grand. He imagined this was what it was like to see, to drink in the sights greedily, the world beyond his fingertips fascinating.

Unfortunately, to everyone else, it was not as fascinating as he himself.

"Behave yourself tonight, Ominis," his mother hissed to him as she shucked her coat, dropping it with a whumph onto a tiny house-elf's waiting arms. His father hadn't been able to attend, so she had taken his place, just as callous and stern, caring as much about family connections and alliances as the rest of them did. "Make friends with the older students. They will be your guides. The Nott girls are two years your senior, for example, and one of the Lestrange children three."

"Isn't there anyone starting in my year?"

"A few." Her sneer was audible. "The Reyes have a daughter – Imelda. I've never liked her mother, so uptight and condescending. The McDowells as well, but there's a rumour her father was unfaithful, probably with some Mudblood. It's a shame. The Malfoys, Blacks, and Ellingboes all have their children starting next year."

For some reason that brought him relief. His mother didn't let go of his collar though, thrusting him in front of her society friends and their progeny, sometimes too young for Hogwarts, sometimes having already started. Questions arrowed his way were never about his personality, his likes or dislikes – always, they opened with his eyes and their murkiness and the sight he did not have. One boy even farted and asked Ominis whether he could already smell it, which earnt a cuffing from his father, and led Ominis' mother to pull him away in disgust.

"Ominis," his mother said at one point, dropping her forced, sycophantic pitch. "You remember Phineas Black? He's the current headmaster at Hogwarts."

Oh, Ominis remembered Phineas Black all right. His unpleasantness was legendary.

"You will behave, won't you, Gaunt?" Professor Black spoke down to Ominis, voice a dismissive rumble that said he'd soon forget this exchange ever happened. "Every year there's always someone making unnecessary paperwork for me. Last year a group of sixth-year Gryffindors thought it would be funny to jinx my quills to sing every time I wrote a letter. If it were up to me, I would've had them lashed for insolence."

"It's what they deserved," his mother agreed.

"Alas, capital punishment is rather frowned upon these days. I had to settle with detention instead. And scrubbing the entire Hall of Herodiana with a single toothbrush."

Staying silent, Ominis thought, was the wise move.

Soon his mother tired of brandishing him like a prized Puffskein, leaving him unattended at the buffet table to entertain her friends. Ominis was alone – lonely, when the sounds of laughter and music were suffocating from the inside. He clutched his wand, using it to navigate to the closest wall, where a cascade of belladonna draped over stone. How was he supposed to network? There were too many bodies, too much noise.

"You're Ominis Gaunt."

In the chaotic din of the ballroom, he hadn't heard the snooty boy come up. He tuned to the voice, scolding himself inwardly. Pay more attention. "Yes."

"I'm Peregrine Malfoy."

Well, at least finding the Malfoys had been easy. Ominis frowned. "You're nine."

"Nearly ten."

"You don't start Hogwarts for another year. What do you want?"

"My father says I should introduce myself." Peregrine barely gave himself enough time to pause for breath. "What's it like being blind?"

The question fatigued him. "It's like being blind," he snapped, unable to help himself.

"That's not an answer."

"I can't give you an answer since I don't know what it's like being not."

"If you can't see, how are you going to do schoolwork?"

He thought about telling him about braille, but he was smart enough to know that Peregrine didn't actually want answers. He just wanted to prod where he didn't belong.

When Ominis didn't say anything, however, Peregrine took it as a sign of composed aloofness, and dragged him over to his own clique of friends. It was an overwhelming few moments, shaking hands, first names flying into one ear and out the other, the only one he recognised being Dorothy Ellingboe – his cousin once-removed. He barely knew her, the Ellingboes being an old wizarding family that originated in Norway that extended a branch into England to strengthen the line. Yet Dorothy was a sneering, simpering girl that thought herself better than everyone else, ugly in temperament as well as voice.

"So you're blind?" asked the Fawley boy. "Why can't you just use a spell to make yourself unblind?"

He resisted the urge to sigh. He'd done this rigmarole a thousand times before.

"It doesn't exist."

"Bet it does. You just need to think about the Latin. Vide means see. Have you tried doing that?"

Never, because his parents had already done it.

"Maybe," the boy continued, "you could take a potion. The powdered root of asphodel, for example—"

"Quiet, Hector," Peregrine muttered, facing the door. "Look who's just come in!"

"No way," said Dorothy, sniggering. "I'm surprised they could afford the Floo Powder to London!"

"They look like they've just climbed out of a fireplace, all right," said the Black boy, Ominis didn't remember his name – some pompous star, no doubt. "Like those peasant Muggle chimney sweeps."

"Who is it?" Ominis asked, feeling stupid and left out.

"It's the Stone-Broke Sallow Twins," said Peregrine. "Look at what they're wearing!"

Ominis couldn't see, but he could guess – plainly adorned breeches, or a threadbare frock. He felt the shift in the room as they entered with their uncle Solomon. His mother had babbled about the Sallows once or twice – their parents had been Hogwarts professors who died in a freak accident – often accompanied with similar contempt, but she disdained almost all of pure-blood society, so who really knew what they'd done to invite so much ire.

"We should invite them over, shouldn't we?" asked Peregrine. "That's the courteous thing to do."

"Ugh, this again?" said Imelda Reyes, with an audible roll of her eyes. "Can't we just have one party where we don't butt heads with the Sallow twins?"

"You're one to talk, Imelda," Hector muttered. "Butting heads is all you do every day."

"Only because you make it easy."

"Don't be a spoilsport," Peregrine jeered at her. "Honestly, you're just as bad as Kaydence Lestrange. If you're going to ruin the fun, run along to your parents and be dull with them."

Imelda made a noise like she was going to beat him, physically throw a punch, but instead stormed off.

"Oi, Sebastian, Anne!" With no one to stop him, and Ominis a quiet observer, Peregrine called out across the ballroom. "Come over here!"

Even with this supposed history between them, Sebastian and Anne came over. The tension ratcheted up.

"What do you want, Perry?" muttered Sebastian.

"Peregrine," the boy snapped. "I wanted to introduce you, because it's polite – not that you would know politeness. You remember Hector Fawley, Antares Black and Dorothy Ellingboe, and meet my new friend, Ominis Gaunt."

Friend? Hardly. Ominis had half a mind to run off with Imelda Reyes, and fought to keep a shudder off his face.

"So, who did you bribe?" asked Dorothy.

"What?" said Sebastian.

"To get in, of course," she said, like she was asking about the weather. "No way Edwin Malfoy invited you."

"He invited us," Sebastian said through gritted teeth, "because we're starting Hogwarts next year."

Hmm. Ominis' mother had failed to mention that.

"Can you even afford a wand?" Antares laughed.

"Yes." A soft whip noise as he withdrew it. "Would you like to see how it works?"

"Sebastian," Anne cautioned, grasping his sleeve.

Antares wasn't deterred. "Oh, please. I doubt you know a single spell."

Peregrine laughed then, laced with taunting. "Even if he did, I wouldn't worry, Antares. It's not like that wand chose him. It's probably a hand-me-down from his dead, mud-loving parents."

Ominis was suddenly knocked to the ground, wand scattered out of his grip. There was a struggle above, and Anne's voice rose above the boys' grunts.

"Leave it!" she demanded. "For goodness sake, Sebastian!"

Sebastian shook her off, but the fury was there. "Say one more word—"

"You'll what?" spurred Peregrine. "Cry about being a sad orphan?"

"Boys," came a thundering voice. This one Ominis recognised – Edwin Malfoy. "What's going on?"

The scuffling stopped at once. There were two wide steps back, echoing in the sudden quiet of the ballroom.

"Just some light banter, Father," Peregrine said immediately, still and cool. "Nothing to be concerned about."

Sebastian hastily cleared his throat. He knew the boundaries, too.

"Nothing at all, sir."

Edwin made a noise of disbelieving. "Play nice, Peregrine. You'll all be going to school together soon enough."

But when he left, and Peregrine did too, Hector, Antares and Dorothy dogging his heels, it was with a loud snigger, one that promised that this altercation wasn't the last. Ominis wasn't sure whether anyone even noticed him, left on the ground, panicking as his wand was nowhere close. He palmed the floor in frenzy, terrified someone would tread on his hands.

"Here." Anne tapped his arm, then looped hers with his. "Let me help you up."

He stood. "My wand—"

"It's here." Sebastian pressed it into Ominis' shoulder, and he took it, grateful. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you over."

He was pretty sure it was Peregrine's elbow that went wide, since he was standing right next to him, but an apology of any kind was novel.

"Are you hurt?" asked Anne.

"Just my ego," said Ominis, which made her laugh.

"Ominis Gaunt, right?" Sebastian contemplated a moment. "So you really are blind— ow! Anne!"

"Don't be so rude!" she snapped. "He already knows!"

He did, but he couldn't help but grin anyway.

"You don't like Peregrine Malfoy?"

"Don't like?" Sebastian crowed. "I'd rather lick the underside of a Graphorn's arse than—" He seemed to remember himself. "I-I mean, you know, he can be, er, difficult—"

"It's all right," said Ominis, grinning. "I bet a Graphorn's bottom spews a lot less manure."

Sebastian let out a hysterical bark. Even Anne giggled.

"Thank goodness. We thought we were the only ones who didn't like him. He's so pretentious."

"Hector, Antares and Dorothy can shove it too," said Sebastian. "Mean gits with bad manners. They're all the same. And we're the twins here!"

Ominis tried to picture them, identical, but all he could imagine was their voices, how they inflected the same, laughed the same, spoke in the same accents.

"Dorothy is my cousin, actually."

"What?" said Sebastian.

"Oh, no," said Anne quickly, "h-he didn't mean—"

"And she's horrible."

This time they all laughed.

"I don't understand though. Why don't they like you?"

"Because we don't have money," Anne said, harrumphing as she did. "Because we live in a hamlet and not a fancy house, like this one. Stone-Broke."

"And don't forget Mama and Papa," Sebastian added. "They didn't care about blood or whatever, and taught everyone at Hogwarts when they were professors."

"Like they could turn away the Muggle-borns!"

Aunt Noctua, then, wasn't the only pure-blood to have such radical opinions. He may not have totally agreed, not when he'd yet to meet a Muggle-born, yet to have these notions proven, but it made him like these two, this odd pair the society kids disdained, all that much more.

He stayed with them for the rest of the party. The pair were hoping to follow their parents into Slytherin, same as Ominis; Sebastian liked Aurors and fighting magic, whereas Anne was eclectic, her interests broad yet undefined. Both of them shared an insatiable thirst for knowledge, and eventually even Anne caved to asking about Ominis' condition: how the wand helped him, how he sensed the world. This time he didn't mind their questions. They treated him like a person, not a pet.

When the party was over, Sebastian and Anne promised to wait for him when he arrived at Hogsmeade Station on the first of September. They promised to see their first few months together, as a team. Ominis left the party feeling lighter than he had all summer.

"The Sallows?" A hum escaped his mother's lips when he told her of his new friends. "They're poor. No money to their name, and their parents were happy to educate the Mudbloods at school. Still, they're dead now, and I'm loath to admit they both come from good breeding..."

That had been good enough.

And indeed, Sebastian and Anne had been waiting on the first of September, as they said they would, on the platform. They'd walked into the Great Hall with arms linked, taking in the new sights, smells and sounds, and rejoiced when they were Sorted into Slytherin together. Anne had sought to make her own friends and establish herself independently, free from Sebastian's influence – the last thing she wanted was to live in her boisterous brother's shadow for her entire Hogwarts tenure – but always she came back to him and Ominis. They hung about in the Undercroft, playing Gobstones, testing new jinxes, enjoying their newfound freedom and space.

Eventually she grew fond of you too, like he had. When your schedules worked, you were a tenacious quartet, three pure-blood Slytherins and one, odd little Muggle-born Hufflepuff.

Once you were all best friends. You were family.

Now the darkness threatened to ruin everything.

When the Astronomy deck was occupied, Ominis invited you to the Undercroft. It was dismal there – a reason you didn't enjoy it as much as anywhere else in the castle. Not a reason he understood, of course, but he never pretended to comprehend your particulars, nor your need for natural light. Nonetheless, you agreed on occasion. It was private, it was his, and it was safe.

Until it was no longer any of those things.

He headed down the lift to meet you, excitement brimming in his bones. December had long since arrived, and the chill along with it, weeping from the underground walls. He'd come earlier than planned, prepared to make the place as welcoming as possible. Lit torches, pillows and blankets, sweets, whatever it took.

But as the lift clunked to a stop, a female voice drifted down the hallway.

And it wasn't yours.

"Don't you think you should tell him?"

"What? About our frolicking around for the triptych?"

"It's not funny, Sebastian," Missy scolded. "You can't keep the relic a secret. It's thanks to him that you have this spellbook in the first place."

Ominis' excitement vanished, replaced with the emptiness that came after a string of broken promises.

"I know that," Sebastian admitted, "but if it works, then he'll see we have nothing to worry about. If the relic really can reverse Anne's curse, he'll see that nothing was in vain."

"He'll find out one way or another."

"It won't be from me." There was a hopeful inflection to him. "And... from you?"

She sighed. "I... suppose not."

"I promise," he said, so believing of own delusions, "it's for his own good."

Ominis threw up the gate then.

"I'll decide what's for my own good."

He sensed it then, the small things. A sharp intake of breath. Sebastian's fingers on crinkled paper – his feet moving to block the book.

"You lied to me," Ominis said, thrusting his wand at his friend. "You swore—"

"I actually said I understood—"

"Don't be deliberately obtuse. You knew exactly what you were implying."

"Ominis, please, see reason." Sebastian was calm, which was even more infuriating. "I love Anne, more than the world. Wouldn't you do anything for someone you loved?"

"You're arguing a pointless moral question."

"Am I? You have Gibby, after all."

It was like stone in his gullet.

"Don't you dare compare our situations."

"Why? It's no different."

"I'm not resorting to Dark Magic to talk to her!"

"But you are half in love with her. You're willing to risk being a blood traitor to your family for her."

Hearing him say it out loud was unfathomable.

"I— I'm not—" he stammered. "This is besides the point—"

"It isn't." He pushed past Ominis, spellbook in hand. "We're both willing to do whatever it takes. You do it your way. This," he said, "is mine."

Sebastian had gone through the gate when Ominis yelled, "Your obsession will cost you!"

His friend didn't reply. Soon the lift ascended the shaft, and Sebastian was gone.

Missy stepped forwards. "Ominis—"

"No, you don't get a say!" he barked. "You shouldn't even be here. This is my place. I didn't invite you. Sebastian shouldn't have brought you here!"

"He— he thought you'd be okay with it," she said quietly. "I would've found this place eventually."

"How? Only the Gaunts know of it!"

She didn't answer. Typical.

"I know you've been encouraging this— this madness—"

"I want to help him," she insisted, "but I'm trying to rein him in. I promise."

"Your promises mean nothing to me."

The gate opened then. In you ambled, jovial and beatific.

"Hello!" you piped. "I passed Sebastian on the way here, but he— Missy? What are you—?"

"She was just leaving," Ominis said.

Missy hesitated – a second, two. There was more she wanted to say.

Then, "Yes. I'm sorry to disturb you both."

When she left, you pattered over, joy diminished.

"Something happened, didn't it?"

He blew breath from his teeth. "Something always happens."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Frankly, all he wanted to do was scream, but telling you would do for now, though he was careful to leave out the being in love with you part. The way Sebastian threw it out there so casually... it unsettled him that these secret feelings he'd been trying to quash were so conspicuous. Sebastian was reckless and willing to do anything – would that include divulging Ominis' darkest secret? Did he have to fear the power his friend had over him now, too?

By the time he was done, both of you were leaning against the pillars, your legs tucked against your chest, his anger decaying to a low ache.

"But he doesn't know where the relic is?"

"It's only a matter of time." Ominis was certain of it.

You hummed. "I didn't realise how bad it was. Poor Anne..."

Anne, the victim in this, had her voice filched by her brother a long time ago.

"I'll write to her tonight," you said. "Sebastian has always been too headstrong for his own good."

"I can't lose him," he whispered, a shattering realisation. "Not like I lost Anne, and... and you."

"You haven't lost me."

"You are the one good thing in my life right now," he said, voice broken with rage and pain, "and we can't even talk in the hallway!"

You leant against him then, shoulder to shoulder. And there it was, like clockwork.

Strawberry laces.

"Then let's be two normal people right now. Just... for a little while. Like before."

Before. The nostalgia was painful. He missed those simpler times, when it was you, him, Sebastian and Anne, parading around Hogwarts without a care in the world.

Now Anne was cursed.

Now Sebastian was obsessed.

Now you had become a dirty secret.

And he clung to you, begging fate not to steal you too.

He smiles now, a memory coming back to him fondly. A memory of first year, after Christmas lapsed and the snow and ice were finally retreating from the grass. Exams were looming on the horizon.

And you were doing terribly in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Though you were Muggle-born and humbling to the magical world, though you knew your grades were poor enough to raise concern, you swaggered into the Clocktower Courtyard that afternoon like an untouchable knight.

"Someone's confident," said Anne. She, and Ominis and Sebastian, had been waiting for you.

"Always," you trilled. "I may be the worst duellist in Hufflepuff—"

"Try the whole year," muttered Sebastian.

"— but I have the most fun, so who's really winning?"

Ominis snorted. You swatted his arm lightly.

"You're going to fail the class if you don't get better at duelling, so," a little teasing fluttered through Anne's declaration, "we're going to be your new teachers."

"You may only address me as Professor Sallow from now on," said Sebastian airily. He paced, drawing Ominis' ear across the courtyard. "And I don't plan on going easy on you."

Your bravado vanished "Do we really have to do this? Have you all fight me at the same time?"

"Diamonds are made under pressure, aren't they?"

"I don't want to be a diamond. A nice, sturdy rock would do."

"You sound scared, Gibby."

"Of course I am! It's three against one!"

"All you have to do is protect yourself," said Anne. She stepped backwards six paces, and Ominis copied. "A simple Protego spell. Okay?"

"If I say not okay, will you leave me be?"

"Stupefy!" Sebastian cried.

"EEEEEK!" Instead of blocking, you pitched to the ground as the spell hissed on stone behind you. "Hey! I-I wasn't ready!"

"Sometimes you won't be ready!" Sebastian said darkly. Then, "Come on, Ominis. Help me."

He wasn't certain attacking you this way was the best way to learn, but, well, there was something about diamonds and pressure. Hogwarts was a safe haven, protected by enchantments more powerful than a dynasty, more ancient than a family tree, but the outside world wasn't so kind. It was cruel. He wanted you to prepare, because Sebastian was right: one day you might not get the chance.

He shifted his weight. "Impedimenta!"

You dodged that one, too.

"Ominis!"

"What?"

"You're being— mean!"

He threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Come on, Gibby! At least try!" Anne's boots scraped against stone. "Accio!"

You stumbled forwards. "Ack! P-Protego!"

"Crus Vacillare!"

A soft thud. You tripped over yourself.

"Too weak," Sebastian called. "You have to mean it."

"I-I am meaning it!" You stood. "I-It's just— hard!"

"How about we make it more interesting?" he suggested with a flinty smugness. "If you don't cast Protego successfully... we all get to eat your sweet stash."

Your gasp was unfiltered. "You wouldn't."

Ominis sighed. He would.

Sebastian danced on the balls of his feet. "Again!"

Anne's voice was clear. "Aqua Eructo!"

"P-Protego!"

Water gushed forwards, but judging by only the slight squeal you let out, your charm had been slightly successful.

"That's more like it!" Sebastian yelled. "Again! Impedimenta!"

"Prote— ah!" You were laughing suddenly. "Look! I'm sooooo slooooow."

"Gibby!" Anne cried. "Do you want us to eat your year's supply of Fizzing Whizbees?"

"And all your toffee nougat?" added Sebastian.

"And," Ominis smiled, "your strawberry laces?"

"Okay, okay! I swear I am trying." You inhaled deeply. "Give me the one-two, Ominis!"

He wouldn't attack you very hard. Despite everything, he couldn't bring himself to.

"Levioso!"

"Protego!"

Zing. The spell lanced off the shield.

"Ah!" you cried. "I-I did it!"

Anne came closer. "Only because Ominis is holding back," she sang.

"He's not!" A pause. "... Are you?"

Ominis grimaced, which made Sebastian snigger.

"Boo!" you pouted. "I-I could defeat you, for real!"

He sincerely doubted that. His family had been instilling duelling technique and practice since he got his wand, in first year. It was imperative, they believed, that Ominis learn to defend himself, use his magic to the fullest potential, to prevent their 'enemies' from taking advantage. Their words. It was why he knew Crucio so early into his education, why he knew too much about Dark Magic. He suspected there was more to it – that they feared, because he was blind, he was more susceptible to defeat. Still, he liked to think he'd done well to keep up.

But he was nonchalant with you, not wanting to pop the balloon of your confidence. "Are you challenging me to a duel?"

"Yeah, I am! Let's do this!"

He swung around to create space between you, amused – but if it helped to improve your grade, he was glad.

"Two Sickles says Ominis ends up on his arse," Anne muttered.

Sebastian let out a single, hysterical laugh. "I'll happily take that bet."

"Thanks, Anne," muttered Ominis.

"Thanks, Anne!" you chirruped.

She was right though. For someone who'd only just learnt Protego, your ego was inflated. He had been holding back because he didn't want to injure you, nor your pride, but there was a fine line between that and arrogance. He raised his wand in your direction, preparing a list of spells to use.

"Duellists, bow!" Sebastian called.

He dipped his head. Presumably you dipped yours.

"Ready?" Anne called. "And... go!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Pro— eeek!" You rolled out of the way. "Wait— let me think— Stupefy!"

The spell skimmed his ear. Well. That was unexpected.

"Accio!"

"Protego!"

A great block. You squealed delightedly.

"That's it, Gibby!" yelled Anne.

"Flatten her, Ominis!" yelled Sebastian.

Ominis scoffed. "Impedimenta!"

You parried the blow again, retaliating with your own. He was starting to enjoy the competition, the fierceness of your pushback. You traded blow for blow with him, soon finding a rhythm that worked for you.

Sweat was collecting on his brow. "Diffindo!"

You cried out then, a wild howl, and crumpled to the ground.

"Nice!" called Sebastian.

Ominis smiled.

"Gibby?"

You didn't respond. You didn't move.

Horror washed over him – he hadn't meant to hit you so hard... he only wanted to graze!

Panicking, he ran over, robes fluttering. "I— I'm so sorry—"

"Flipendo!"

Suddenly he was gyrating through the air, spinning and helpless—

"Arresto Momentum!"

Anne's spell prevented him from smacking his head. Instead, he plonked to the ground, unharmed. Then you were standing above him, clapping, jumping with joy.

"Hahah, you fell for my trick! You did!"

He grunted, sore. "It was... clever."

A mistake. You let it fuel your slightly maniacal laugh.

"I am undefeatable! Unstoppable! Un... Un-attackable!"

"That's not a word." Still he filled with pride and got to his feet. "Well done."

"Yeah, good show, Gibby. Now you won't fail DADA miserably," said Anne. Then she coughed. "Looks like someone owes me two Sickles."

Sebastian grumbled and placed the tinkling coins in her hand.

"I have you all to thank," you said, humbler now. "I will carry these lessons forever, Professor Sallow, Professor Sallow... and Professor Gaunt."

But that wasn't end of them. From then, Ominis didn't underestimate you. He duelled you again and again, testing you, noting your mistakes, but he'd learnt from his own – not to fall for your trickery again. For any trickery. It gave him a sense of peace to know, should the time come, you could hold your own now.

A time, Ominis anticipated, that would come sooner rather than later.

"Where are you going?"

His and Sebastian's clashing ideas had been left unspoken, like shattered glass left on the ground between them, neither willing to pick up the pieces.

"I don't like the accusation in your tone, Ominis," said his friend, shunting another article of clothing into a bag. Their dorm was empty, a rare moment for a Friday morning. "I'm just going to visit Anne for the weekend. That's all."

But Ominis wasn't stupid – he heard the clinking of glass, the sharp, clinical scent of dittany. Who packed Wiggenweld Potion for a weekend home? It honed his suspicions immediately.

"I see," he said at last. "When do you plan to go?"

"Tomorrow morning, after breakfast."

"May I come along? I haven't seen Anne in a while."

But Sebastian was hesitant. "I'm sorry. I just... don't think it's a good idea."

Ominis relented. For now. When he left the dorm, he summoned the house owl with a click of his fingers. For once, he didn't give a damn if he got caught – this was something too worrying to go through the discreet channels with you. He had the Quick-Quotes Quill scribble the note.

Wooden Bridge, 6pm. Urgent.

At six o'clock, during the feast, he was there, waiting, leaning against the crooked panelling and let the biting wind chop across his hair and face. The air was parched today, snow impending but hesitant to fall. Even stacked in layers, a chill ran through him.

He heard the tell-tale clop of your boots, hurrying to meet him. Your breaths came out in shuddering pants.

"What's wrong?" you asked at once. In public, yet you didn't care, coming right up to him, halting a hand's reach away. "Are you hurt?"

"No," he said. "I'm sorry to call you out here, but it's Sebastian."

"Is he hurt?"

"I think he's about to do something stupid," he murmured. "And reckless."

You sighed. "I would have so many Galleons if I bet on him doing something stupid and reckless."

A fair point, but it was especially poignant now. After the argument, the feeling of trust in his friend had eroded. Now that trust was pocked with holes, and those holes were quickly filling with suspicion.

"Have you seen Missy?"

"Today? We did some homework during our morning free period. I asked her if she wanted to finish it tonight, but she said she was going to pack for Irondale. She's going there for the weekend – some catacombs, I think, to pay respects."

Irondale wasn't far from Feldcroft.

It seemed to click for you at the same time.

"You don't think— the relic—"

"I do," muttered Ominis. "In fact, I have a feeling I know where they're going." His heart thundered. "You said she was leaving tomorrow?"

"Yep."

"Have you seen her since this morning?"

You hesitated. So that was a no. Sebastian hadn't been around since the morning either.

They've already left.

You stomped your foot. "Oh, sugar, honey, iced tea!"

"... What?"

"Sugar, honey— never mind, Muggle thing. What do we do?"

"We have to go after them. If they've had a break-through with the artefact, it could put them in grave danger."

"But if they left earlier today, they could be there by now!"

He struggled to think. "Then we fly."

"We— fly?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

"But, Ominis— I'm a terrible flier! Madam Kogawa has made me take first year classes every year!"

He wanted to reach for you, to imbue you with confidence. Flying was your weak point, he knew. You loved the sensation – not so much the control it required.

"It has to be you. I can't navigate." He didn't want to push you, but this time he insisted. The stakes were too great. "If we don't do this... Sebastian and Missy..."

"I know," you said, defeated. "Ugh, okay. Meet me at the end of the bridge. I'll get a school broom."

It took you little over ten minutes, to rush to the front lawns and snag a broom from the cupboards. He heard the one you chose guttering over the horizon, shakily hovering to a stop next to him. You took his sleeve.

"I really think this is a bad idea. What if— what if we crash?"

"We won't crash."

"What if you plummet off the side and I can't catch you?"

"I won't plummet."

"What if Ranrok's loyalists shoot us down?"

"They won't spot us."

"... You're suspiciously optimistic."

"I'm moderately realistic," he corrected. "We don't have time to waste."

"Okay." Your grip wavered, even as you guided him to the broom. "Hop on."

It was a sudden hesitation that gripped him then, stuffed cotton down his throat. Because he hadn't considered how, exactly, he would be travelling. That for this to work, he would have to share a broom with you, holding onto your waist for support.

He swallowed, though his mouth was dry, and settled over the broom shaft. Already you were close – too close for him to fathom, the scent of strawberry laces suppressing the billows of pine and lake waters that swept in from the south. His fingers hovered, mere centimetres away from your waist. Even the brush of your coat was enough to drive his mind to catatonia.

"Are you, erm," you said shyly, "are you going to hold on?"

"Y-yes," he choked out stupidly, "right."

He reached around, looping his arms around you, pulling you close. Your back fit neatly against his chest, your heat and warmth abolishing the cold, your head tucking beneath his chin, a swathe of your hair under his nose. Already he was nervous, already he gnawed with worry for Sebastian and Missy, and yet this was the moment he almost unravelled. You were his safety. You were the wind beneath him, buoyant and uplifting.

"Hold tight," you mumbled, voice a vibration through his own chest, which only made him even more delirious. "Three, two—"

You pushed with your legs, sending you both cracking into the air. Stomach yanking down to his legs, his grip cinched, and he cried out as you shot them upwards so fast he didn't get to take a breath. You were hitting max speed too quickly. Wind churned around his ears, sluiced along his toes – you might have yelled something that he couldn't understand.

You steadied the broom, levelling them with the horizon, but he didn't dare loosen his grip. Flying was terrifying, and magnificent, and it was twice as terrifying and magnificent with you.

"Merlin's beard, Gibby! Slow down!"

"S-Sorry!" you called, fear and exhilaration evident. "I'm going right. Brace yourself!"

You leant starboard, and he leant with you. Now that you were pulling on the shaft, the broom slowed to a decent pace, enough that he could hear the sky. The distant rush of train and trees, the snake of the river that ribboned through the valley, a humming thread. Wind, carding through his clothes. He rested his chin on you, and your hair curled against his face, each tendril like a cat's tail, flickering and restlessness.

A thought came to him, unbidden. What would it be like to kiss the top of your head? To draw the hair away from your neck, and place his lips there too? Desire burned through him, drunk on adrenaline and nerves, and he had to clench his jaw to dispel the feelings.

Now was not the time. In fact, there was no time when such thoughts were appropriate.

Yet they came to him nonetheless.

"W-We're going between Irondale and Feldcroft," he pushed out through gritted teeth, through his useless feelings. "South of the mountain peak!"

He feared landing with you even more than take-off, but by some miracle, you managed to shakily jettison them between a cluster of trees, on an even patch of grass. The ground came up hard though, and he took the brunt in his knees, crying out as he fell to the side, the handle tangled between his legs. You stumbled off the broom into a patch of honking daffodils.

"Ack— Gibby?"

"I'm okay!" you chanted, voice pilfered by the tooting flowers. "Just bruised my bum! You?"

"I bruised my everything."

"... Touché."

You came over, sliding the broom from beneath him and helping him to stand. The touch was innocent, and yet your hand in his, with the flight fresh in his mind, hyper-aware of the proximity of you, stoked his cheeks to flames and his heart to a marching drumbeat.

You let go almost instantly, but it was enough.

"Well," you said, "that wasn't so bad."

"We almost died," he muttered. "Twice."

"My lowest record yet, so be grateful. Are we close?"

He withdrew his wand, and the scenery fell into place in his mind. The evergreen honeysuckle, dotting the nearby dirt paths, wending through the uneven terrain of the countryside. A flash of hard, callous stone. A funny taste of smoke and ash, like an unpleasant bonfire. Strange. Nonetheless, you were close – very close, in fact, that he recognised the nearest stretch of fencing, leading towards the Feldcroft Catacombs.

"It's just south of here," he said. "Let's go."

When you reached the cave entrance, the great stone wall had been moved. Someone was already inside, and casting Revelio showed that it was not too late, that the footsteps before you were fresh. You propped the broom aside and went to go in, but he reached for you, held you for a moment – that stupid feeling stirred within him again.

"Wait. Let's— let's think. I don't think it's a good idea they see us."

"Why?"

Truthfully, he didn't know. Perhaps it was only to see what they were doing. Perhaps it was only so he could have you to himself, just a little longer.

"We ought to be cautious," he amended.

You gasped, suddenly excited. "Ominis Gaunt... are you suggesting a stealth mission?"

"Hardly," he retorted. "Let's just— keep our distance."

"Okay." But you were practically bouncing. "We have to catch up to them first. We'll need to be quick."

"Lead the way."

So you closed your hand in his, and led him inside.

The way was dark and cold, a bone-deep sort of eeriness. You cast Lumos, and he did too, to help you see. Together you ran across the dust-ridden earth, over bones and rat droppings and the splattered blood of spiders, pricking the air with a tangy note. You shuddered when a few of the babies crawled into view, but it seemed that Sebastian and Missy had cleared the larger ones out.

Still, you didn't let your fears daunt you. It was quite something to feel your determination, vibrating through your touch, the tremble that went through you as you held his hand to guide him. It gave him courage and might, especially when the quiet sank deeply into him, an omen of trouble to come.

Only at the heart of the catacomb did familiar snippets of voice quell the silence.

"They're close," he whispered to you.

You cast Disillusionment, and he quickly followed. Your boots steps were light, but still the ground crunched. It was enough to let them pursue, closer and closer, until the voices crystallised.

"The relic must be nearby," Sebastian was saying – the desperation in his voice was like nothing Ominis had ever heard before. "I can feel it."

Missy tsked. "Stay focused. I believe there's another chamber ahead – and we have yet to face any of the matriarchs."

"Bet they'll be thrilled when they find their friends dead."

They hurried ahead – you followed.

"Thank you," Sebastian said suddenly. You stopped, causing Ominis to bump into the back of you. "Thank you for doing this."

"It's nothing."

"Nothing? You're risking your life for me, and for Anne."

She didn't reply.

"Why?" he asked into the brazen silence, surprise tinting his voice. "Why are you helping me? I know you partway agree with Ominis, and you barely know Anne. You barely know me."

"Can I not help anyway?"

"No one wants for nothing."

Missy was quiet a moment.

"Perhaps. I'm not entirely altruistic."

"So?" he asked again. "What's your price?"

And she said, "Redemption," like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Redemption?" you muttered to Ominis, at the same time Sebastian said, "Redemption for what?"

But Missy simply scuffed a rock. "Come, we're nearly at the end."

Intense and guarded indeed. You crept forwards on light feet, and Ominis dogged your heel, unsure what to make of the conversation.

There wasn't time to dwell when the spiders descended, great hulking beasts that shook the ground, all the way through his feet. He felt you stiffen beneath your grip – the sight of them must've been terrifying.

"T-There's so many—"

Still, Sebastian and Missy had charged in, spilling enemy blood against the walls.

"S-Should we help them?" you asked.

Ominis hesitated. "No. Perhaps— perhaps it will deter them."

But of course it didn't. The spiders kept coming, vicious wave after vicious wave, and yet, Sebastian and Missy's resolve never puddled.

"Depulso!"

Missy sent the spider soaring. Unfortunately, it landed on its feet.

Right next to you.

Disillusionment wasn't strong enough so close. The creature heckled, then screeched, sucking up venom through its body, guttering, preparing to shoot—

"No, look out!" you yelled.

It spat venom and you shoved him, hard against the ground. The concealment broke, but the venom hissed against the rock face where his head had been.

"Sorry— it was going to hurt you—"

"No time." He got to his feet, helped you and readied his wand. "Ready?"

"Can't really say no." Then, loudly and brashly, "Confringo!"

The spell blasted the spider backwards. Despite your terrible fear of spiders and insects, you ran into the fray and zapped another off its perch above. Pride reared through him again. That duelling practice, all those years ago, had not been for nought.

"Gibby?" Sebastian yelled. Then, with even more shock, "Ominis?"

"Less talking, more blasting!" he said.

One by one, the spiders were felled. It seemed endless, the onslaught – when one died, three more would surface their way up to take its place. He worried for you, panicked nearly, but remembered to trust you to defend yourself. In fact, you all shielded one another, in tune like an orchestra, thrumming to each other's beat. Sebastian's Exploding charms gave you the opportunity to flee when you were overwhelmed. Missy froze the spiderlings to let Ominis deal with the mothers. Then there were moments he couldn't explain – moments where even magic didn't seem to be the answer. Explosions like lightning, striking down their shrieking enemies, the air charged with a sharp tang of it. Always it followed Missy like a storm cloud, she its wild epicentre.

"Ominis," she called, "watch out!"

The spider had been in front of him – he was certain of it. But suddenly it was not, and Missy was stomping down, crushing shell and bone beneath her boot. How, when it is twice the size of me?

He let the questions fester until the spiders were all dead. Hot breath escaped him in shallow bites, there was foreign blood splattered on his front, and his arm was sore from casting so much, so frantically – but he was alive, and so were you, and Sebastian and Missy.

"What..." Sebastian managed a long breath. "What the hell are you two doing here?"

It was the offence he took that boiled Ominis' blood.

"I could very well ask you the same thing," he snapped back, advancing on Sebastian. "You told me you were going to see Anne!"

Still, Sebastian did the unthinkable.

He turned away.

"I knew it. You are here for the relic!" Ominis yelled. "Don't you dare, Sebastian—"

"Or what?" Sebastian challenged, swinging back to face him. "Why are you so determined to stop me? To stop me from helping Anne?"

"Because you are losing yourself! Because the Dark Arts seem harmless until it is too late."

"Anne is in pain every damn day!"

"A Dark artefact will. Not. Work!" His wand hand shook. "It will not reverse the curse and it will require a sacrifice too steep to pay!"

"You haven't tried! You can't possibly know what will happen!" He laughed suddenly. "Your family is broken, Ominis. You don't understand what it's like for me to fight for mine."

He was enraged, but a new feeling came swooping in, extinguishing and final. Hurt.

"That... that is a low blow—"

"Wait," Missy said, perturbingly cool. "Let's not argue."

"Yes," you agreed at once. "We can compromise."

"And you?" Sebastian scoffed at you. "Are you going to stop me, even though you love Anne too? Are you going to side with Ominis because you always do?"

Your reply was injured. "T-There are no sides, Sebastian—"

"If you're going to stop me, then there are sides!" he bellowed. Ominis heard the wooden whip of his wand. "I'm taking that relic. So step aside."

Ominis gripped his wand tightly.

"I will not."

"Stop," snapped Missy, and this time, she was no longer composed. She was firm, commanding. "We're not fighting. That's absurd."

"Only one of us gets our way," Sebastian muttered. "Are you going to strike me, Ominis? Are you?"

"Sebastian, go stand over there. Cool off, for goodness sake." Suddenly someone hooked Ominis' arm – Missy, dragging him away. "You, with me. Gibby—"

But you were already heading towards Sebastian. Ominis hoped you were talking it out, telling him why it was a bad idea – he had to trust that you could convince him.

He yanked off Missy's grip. "You can't seriously think taking that relic—"

"I know it's risky," Missy hissed at him, "but Sebastian has made up his mind. There's no convincing him otherwise. I tried."

"Not hard enough!"

"He's relentless, Ominis. The only thing we can do now is to let it play out, and minimise the consequences."

It was so ridiculous he laughed. "What was it you said you sought? Redemption?" He flung the word back at her. "Tell me, how does encouraging Dark Magic redeem you?"

By the elongated pause, he'd cracked through her impervious armour.

"How did you—?" Then, he was met with cold steel. "My reasons are my own and not for you to know. I'm trying to take the middle path here, but you're both being impossible."

"I'm trying to stop him making a stupid mistake!"

"And are you willing to ruin your friendship over it?"

His next words rammed themselves back down his throat.

Because the answer was no. He wasn't.

"Ominis," and he hated how perfectly reasonable she sounded, "there will be no talking him out of this. He is beyond reasoning now. So you either step aside, or fight. Your choice."

He knew what it was like to steep in the Dark Arts. He understood its allure, its false promises. Yet even so, he couldn't possibly let these years slip through his fingers like sand. He couldn't possibly release all the joy and jokes, the laughter, the pranks and brotherly love shared between the two of them. Sebastian was an anchor in the perpetual raging sea of Ominis' life. Anne had already been taken from him too soon, and you were teetering close to the edge, risking so much with his family's hatred encroaching you.

If Ominis lost Sebastian, he lost everything.

"You—" Anguish tore him from within. "I... I will step aside."

"A wise choice."

"But I will not stop fighting for him. I won't."

She didn't reply. She merely called Sebastian over to the relic, which fell into her pocket for safe-keeping, and then they were leaving.

"For what it's worth," Sebastian said as he passed on the way out, voice broken with his own hurt, "I... I'm sorry we can't agree on this."

Ominis didn't respond.

They left.

He was alone with you.

There was nothing to say, nothing that could be said. He felt his chest breaking, fracturing into pieces, slowly but surely taking his resolve down until it was lying in dereliction before him. A lump that had swollen in his throat became painful.

Why? he wondered. Why does the darkness haunt me so?

You didn't have to say anything. You simply took his hands in yours, rubbed your thumb over his trembling knuckles.

And he fell into your arms, and cried.

[MASTERLIST][FIRST][PREV][NEXT]

Thank you to my tag list: @cordidy @witchyafterdark If you'd like to be added/ removed, please let me know 💚

[Divider credits]

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy mc #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis gaunt fanfic #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt fanfiction #sebastian sallow #gibby #missy #acvasverse #my writing #my stuff

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cjlouwho · 3 months ago

Text

Uncle Eddie (part 5)

Our Juniper is growing up 😞 You can read this chapter below, or on ao3. All parts can be read together or as individual stories.

Eddie was pretty sure that this was the most nervous he'd been in his entire life.

Standing on the Buckley-Kinard porch, flowers in one hand and a poorly wrapped birthday present in the other, he let out a deep breath as he waited for someone to come to the door.

When the door finally opened and Tommy stood in front of him, he felt about two feet tall.

“You are in some deep trouble, Man,” Tommy said, shaking his head.

Technically, he deserved it. It was all his fault.

Juniper's tenth birthday was the first time she would have both parents, and her Uncle Eddie, off work for the whole day. Everyone was going to be at the party, even all of her very annoying ten year old friends, but she was most excited to show off her firefighting family, which very much included Uncle Eddie.

Except Eddie, after a very long and exhausting forty-eight hour shift, was asked by Smith if they could trade shifts. “I only have a twelve on Saturday, and I'd be willing to take your twenty-four on Sunday.” And damn if that didn't sound like a good bargain at the time.

It wasn't until he got back from a call on Saturday and checked his phone to see three missed phone calls and five texts from Buck that it hit him.

He was supposed to be at Juniper's party.

He was an idiot.

And should probably get his brain checked for forgetting the one thing she'd reminded him about over and over to the point of Eddie having to beg her to please stop reminding him.

So now he stood at the door with apology flowers and a present that would have been awesome yesterday, but would probably mean nothing today.

“Am I even allowed in the house?” Eddie asked, Tommy already moving to the side to let him in.

“Well, technically Evan was closer to the door when the bell rang, but he went out back instead of answering.”

Eddie stepped inside but stayed in the entryway while Tommy closed the door. “How mad at me are they? How mad are you?”

“Mm,” Tommy hummed, thinking it over. “I'm down to about a four, but that's because of all the downright pathetic texts you sent me yesterday after Evan wouldn't respond to you. Juniper is probably a nine, but I think she's more sad than mad. Evan is... Well, Evan is Evan, so.”

“So I'm in really deep trouble.”

Tommy nodded. “Oh yeah.”

“I guess I should get started on my apology tour then.”

“Good idea. The five apology texts you sent last night are enough for me, by the way. I'd start with Juniper today if I were you. Evan won't forgive you until she does.”

A sigh. “She in her room?”

“Yeah. Good luck.”

*****

Eddie knocked on the open door, standing in the doorway until Juniper hopefully gave him the all clear to enter.

She was facing away from him, sitting at her desk and carefully applying polish to her fingernails. The knock caused her to swivel in her chair, but the smile she had faded quickly when she saw Eddie there. She turned back around.

“I thought you were Papa,” she grumbled out.

“No, just me. Can I come in, Chewy?”

She shrugged. “Free country.”

For all the ways she was turning into her own person, she still contained so much of her dads attitudes.

Eddie walked into the room and over to her desk, setting the flowers down beside her. “That's part of my apology,” he explained, then he set her gift on the other side of her. “That's for your birthday. Your nails look very nice, by the way.”

It was something she had been getting into lately. She loved trying new polishes. Right now she was applying a shimmery blue, and she had done so almost perfectly. She practiced on Tommy a lot. His toes had a new color every week.

The present Eddie had gotten her was a new polish kit that had come out. It was apparently a huge deal with tweens... and she was supposed to have it yesterday so she could do all her friends nails.

“I don't know if- if you know this,” she said, twisting the cap back on her polish, “but my birthday was yesterday.”

Eddie went over to her bed, tossing some stuffed animals to the side before he sat down. “I know, Juniper,” he started, hoping she'd eventually look his way, “and I'm sorry. I made a stupid mistake, I know I did. There's no excuse, but I am sorry.”

Juniper sighed. She stared down at her nails, watching them shine as she moved them around. “Papa told me I should forgive you.”

“That's nice of him.”

“Daddy told me it was, um, it was up to me.”

“That... sounds like your dad.”

“Then Papa told Daddy that people make mistakes, and a- as long as people really try to do better and mean that they're sorry, we should forgive them.”

“That's good advice,” Eddie agreed.

“Then Daddy told Papa that certain mistakes shouldn't be made in the first place and people should make an- an effort to show up.”

“Well, everyone has the right to feel however they feel,” Eddie reasoned.

“Then,” she continued with an exasperated breath, “they kept talking back and forth so I just came in my room.”

Sometimes Eddie wished he could be a fly on the wall to see what kinds of conversations happen in this house.

This was not one of those times.

“Well, Chewy, I- I hope you do forgive me, but I understand if you need more time, okay? I'll make it up to you however I can, but if you want me to leave you alone for a while I will.”

When Juniper didn't respond, Eddie got up and started for the door. “I'll see ya, Juniper.”

“Wait.”

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to see that Juniper was facing him now. “Yeah?”

“Are you really sorry?”

“I'm really sorry.”

“And you promise you won't do it again?”

“I-” Eddie paused, “I promise I will do my best to make sure I never make you sad again.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That is- is not the same.”

“It's the best I can do, Kid.”

She eyed him for a minute before seemingly coming to a conclusion. “Fine. I forgive you.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. You said you'd make it up to me, right?”

There's always a catch.

“Yes... Yes, I did.”

She smiled brightly, folding her hands together. “Can we go to Fun Zone today? It's a trampoline park and it's like th- the best place to go ever! Can we go?”

Well, that didn't seem like too much of an ask.

“Sure,” he replied. “Let me clear it with your dads first, but I'm sure it'll be fine.”

She clapped excitedly, her nose scrunching up with her grin. “Yay! I'm gonna get ready!”

Eddie glanced at his watch. “We'll head out in a few minutes, okay? I gotta talk to your dad first.”

The look on Juniper's face changed. “Ohh,” she grimaced. “I think Daddy's more mad than me. Here.” She hopped off her chair and picked up the flowers Eddie had given her. She pulled out one of the miniature roses and handed it to him. “Give this to Daddy. It might help.”

Under any other circumstance, Eddie might have laughed at the serious expression on her face, but not this time. After all, Juniper got her stubbornness from somewhere, and that somewhere was definitely Buck.

*****

Tommy was on the couch reading a magazine when Eddie came out to the living room. “How'd it go?” he asked.

“I've been officially forgiven,” Eddie informed him. “Although it did take a bit of a bribe. We're gonna go to some trampoline park thing after I talk to Buck.”

Tommy perked up at the mention of the park. “You mean Fun Zone?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Tommy snorted. “Oh, she's good. She is good.”

“What?” Eddie asked nervously. “Why?”

“On Sunday's kids get endless free ice cream. Endless ice cream, trampolines, they've got zip lines, obstacle courses, rope climbing, stuff like that. Add it all together and-”

“And she's gonna vomit in my truck.”

Tommy nodded. “I'd take a bag.”

“She's punishing me, isn't she?”

“We must all pay for our sins, Eddie,” Tommy replied, dramatically flipping the page of his magazine.

“Is Buck outside still?”

“Mhm.” He nodded toward the rose in Eddie's hand. “Flower for him?”

“Junie's idea.”

“Hm. Probably should've gone for the whole bouquet.”

With a roll of his eyes, Eddie turned for the sliding doors and headed out back.

Buck was sitting on the porch, staring out into the backyard ever so solemnly.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie began with a slow approach toward him.

Buck said nothing, turned slightly to fix his gaze further away from Eddie, toward one of their trees.

“Just letting you know, I already talked to Juniper and cleared everything up.”

Still no response.

Eddie sighed. He scooted a chair beside Buck and sat down. “Buck, I'm sorry. I was overly tired when I took that shift and the party slipped my mind.” He held the flower in front of Buck's face so he couldn't avoid it. “Juniper accepted my apology. Can you?”

Buck stayed unmoving at first, but after a few seconds he took the flower from Eddie and stared down at it. “You only brought me one flower?”

“Buck.”

Finally, Buck turned to him. “That was a really crappy thing to do, Eddie. Junie looks up to you, she'd been telling all her friends about her Uncle Eddie. Told them you were the cool uncle that taught her Spanish, and then you didn't even show up.”

“Buck, I-”

“And I worked on that damn party for two months. You remember all the clipboards.”

“I do.”

“A vintage, early 2010's birthday party? That was the theme I was given! Whatever the hell that even means! Tommy and I spent two months figuring it all out, but all she'd ever talk about was the fact you'd be there. Tommy and I are just her dads, Eddie, you're the special, cool one in her life. You let her down.”

As if Eddie didn't feel bad enough already. “I know, Buck. I know I let her down, and let you guys down too. I'm sorry.”

“You should be,” Buck replied, face tense.

They were both quiet for a minute, until Buck's posture slowly relaxed.

“You know I wouldn't care so much if it was just me, but you hurt Juniper,” Buck explained. “She still enjoyed her party, but she was really upset you weren't there.”

“I know, Buck. I really am sorry, okay? I'm gonna take her to Fun Zone today for a few hours and- and maybe we can have all her friends come to the station sometime soon? Give them a class on fire safety and show them what we do.”

Buck thought for a moment, twirling the rose between his fingers. “And you'll be the one giving the class,” he replied. It was less of a question and more of a command.

“Yes, I will give the class.”

Buck sighed. “Fine. You're forgiven.” He pointed at Eddie, “Never do it again though.”

Eddie raised his hands in surrender. “Wouldn't dream of it.” He groaned as he stood, his bones creaking in ways they never did when he was younger. “I gotta see if Juniper's ready to go. Mind if I steal your kid for a few hours?”

Buck shook his head. “No, but... Wait, did you say you're going to Fun Zone?”

“Yeah.”

“She's gonna puke in your car.”

Eddie closed his eyes, bracing himself for whatever he had just gotten into.

“Yeah, I... I know.”

#bucktommy #911 #tommy kinard #evan buckley #eddie diaz #juniper buckley-kinard

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eddiemunsons-missingnipple · 10 months ago

Text

Firefighter!Eddie Munson x reader

Warnings: none, fluff

~ Been thinking about Eddie as a fire fighter after watching 9-1-1

Not proofread

Eddie never had any real desire to get into this type of profession. The thought never even crossed his mind. After he got into some trouble with police. the judge gave him two options to pick from, which were. Spend a few months behind bars or community service.

After a while, he ended up failing in love with it. He very much liked uniform and riding around in that big truck. He loved helping people. He figured out that was his true calling. He's been caught in some very life-threatening situations. For the part most, he's getting calls for various things. Usually, they're just false alarms, or some kid got their head stuck in something.

Eddie's saved cats from trees and families from their burning homes. Every day, he goes home smelling like smoke. Eddie wouldn't trade this life for anything else. Not to mention, most of the town laid off his ass too. That was a big plus. No more harassment or being threatened.

His department got a call like normal early that morning. For a small house fire that got a little out of control. Eddie rushed with the rest of his squad and got his uniform on, hopping in the truck.

By the time they got their the fire was pretty much put out thanks to you. Your neighbor was in her eighties, and her cat had knocked her candle off the table. The fire lit up her shaggy curtains in an instant.

The entire squad rushed into her apartment anyway to inspect everything just to make sure it was safe. Eddie went in but came back out to talk to you.

"You put out the fire?" He walked up, taking his helmet off. His uniform stained in old soot. E. Munson was patched on his jacket at the bottom.

You had just helped the paramedics take away your neighbor. She had asked you to watch over her cat for the night. Which you happily agreed to.

You turn around. "Oh, uhh yeah, I did-."

"That could have gotten real ugly next time. Just leave and let us handle it." He walked a little closer. His tone wasn't rude, but it wasn't too friendly at first either.

You nodded, knowing he was right after all. That fire could have gotten really bad very fast. "Hopefully, there won't be a next time."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck."So you live here long?" Eddie's tone changed to more a friendly one.

His eyes squinted a little as the sun beamed down on him.

You smile and begin to walk away, "Two years."

"Two years? Wow, we get calls here all the time, and this is my first time seeing you." He recalled raising his eyebrows.

Eddie has been called to this apartment building more than he can recall. He knows the people and the building like the back of his hand. One time, it was for a kid who stuck marbles up his nose. The others were for little none dangerous things. But he definitely should have remembered a face like yours by now.

You slowly side by side, "good or bad?"

He stopped walking, and a smirk played on his lips, "I guess in this type of circumstance good."

"So I should start calling for any tiny minor inconvenience?" You turned to face him.

He was about to say something else but was cut off when another fireman yelled for him. "Eddie! It's all clear!"

You watched him throw a thumbs up and look back at you. The sun, his eyes, made his brown eyes almost glow. His hair was tied in a low bun, and he had slight stumble. You noticed a tattoo on his neck peaking out from the collar of his jacket.

He chuckled and went back to your conversation, "If I got to see that pretty face, I think I can let it slide."

Your felt your face get hot, and you cleared your throat. "I bet you would."

Eddie looked down at his hands, taking his gloves off, revealing a few fades scars more tattoos. His voice got a little low, "are you by chance single?"

"I am." You eyed him curiously. "Why do you ask?"

"Jus' wanted to go on one little date." He shrugged.

"Only one?" You questioned. You didn't want to sound offended, but why one date?

"Oh yeah, only need one to convince you in seeing me again." He kept his tone playful and light-hearted.

Eddie can tell he probably insulted you. He definitely didn't want to do that. He was just trying to be flirty.

"You think you can win me over with one little date?" You crossed your arms over your chest.

He stepped closer to you. "Oh, absolutely." His demeanor full of confidence. he was so sure he could woo you into as many dates as you wanted.

"Fine, we'll see if you're right then, Eddie." You bit your cheek trying not to laugh. You took what he said as a challenge. You also won't deny you did like him. You only met him an hour ago. For such short interaction, you felt drawn to him. He this twinkle in his eye that made you want to get to know him.

You and Eddie exchange numbers before you watched him hop back into that big firetruck parked out. He sat in the front seat with an arm hanging out the window. You couldn't look away. You saw him tip his helmet toward you as they pulled off and back to the station.

You hope your first date goes well because you're already planning the second one.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #firefighter!Eddie #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #scheduled post

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msbigredmachine · 3 months ago

Text

New To This - Chapter 12

MASTERLIST

“Yo Parrish, guess what just came in for you!”

Turning towards the office, Delilah allowed the excitement to bubble up inside her knowing exactly what had arrived at her mentor’s doorstep. Accepting the letter from him, she smiled as she opened it up and the details of her new developmental deal stared right back at her. At last, confirmation that in just three months’ time, her life as a struggling Jill-of-all-trades trapped in lowly, boring Pensacola was going to be a thing of the past.

She wanted to share this news with her father. She wished he was here. She would share her joy with her mother, her sister, and the man she loved. She’d already shared with the “other” man in her life, the one that had pushed her this far to begin with. It felt good to tell him, even though every thought of him was plagued with this weird, aching mix of guilt and desire all the time these days.

Ever since she returned from her tryout two weeks ago, Tank noticed there was something off about his star pupil. She was still sharp and solid in the ring and the light in her eyes still seemed to shine for this business. But there was something else weighing her down and he couldn’t figure out what it was. Running his hand over the top of his shorn head, he reached out and snapped his fingers in front of her face, rolling his eyes when she masked her true feelings by playfully blowing a noisy raspberry. "Earth to Miss Parrish. Talk to me. What’s goin’ through your mind right now?" he asked.

With a sigh, Delilah took a seat in the chair across from his desk and crossed her legs in the roomy seat. Letting her eyes skim down the second page of the contract where the finances were detailed, she assessed, "It's a dream come true, Tank. The money's a lot better than I could have hoped, especially for developmental."

Tank nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I woulda killed for this kinda money when I first started out," he agreed, looking over the numbers in the contract. "Fifty-five thousand a year for a rookie, even before tax, ain’t no joke. And with multiple appearances a month on NXT? Not a bad gig, girl. Not bad at all."

"Well it better be, it was hard enough to entice Andre as it is," Delilah said, "The money’s good and all, but I care more about wrestling than anything else. And let’s be realistic. I could spend months, maybe years in the Performance Center before I’m ever let on NXT. It happened to the Rock’s daughter. Other star candidates, too. I’ll just focus on working my ass off until they deem me ready to go."

Tank scoffed at her attempts to downplay her worth. “I might be biased when I say this shit, but them girls can’t lace your boots,” he assured her. “And what’s this talk about enticing Andre? Is he still digging his feet in?” Though she had told him about nearly every fight she'd had with her fiancé since she first stepped through the doors of his gym, Tank had always done his best to keep his professional distance from her relationship. Delilah Parrish was the closest thing he had to a star, and all he was truly concerned about was making sure that she stayed focused and happy.

Blowing out a long breath, she crossed her arms over her legs and drew one knee up to her chest. "In his defense, I am asking him to change his entire life for me," she acknowledged, knowing that it was the only real argument she had. To be honest, she was yet to get a real answer out of Andre since they had started fighting over her dreams, and only left it alone because the fighting had subsided and he seemed to be legitimately putting in more effort for her. He worked out with her when his schedule allowed and accompanied her to a few of her matches. In exchange, she was putting in more effort with their wedding plans, hoping to maybe finally do the deed before the move. Right now, things between the couple were as stable as she could hope for.

Tank, like everyone else she had talked about the situation with, just shook his head. "You a team, right? Ain’t that what gettin’ married is?" When she rolled her eyes, he chuckled. "Yeah, that's why I never did it and never will. Honestly, though, Dee, I think you need to talk to him about it. Ask him, point blank, exactly what his issues are. See if you guys can work through them between now and when you move."

Maybe they could. But did she really want to start bringing up old dirt again now that there was some semblance of harmony between her and Andre? If anything, these days, the burden of their tension was shifted to her. Because two weeks had passed and she still had no answers. The realization was more powerful than ever. Her relationship with Andre had been forever changed by what she did with Josh and it was only a matter of time before Andre found out. And if, when, that happened, there would be no more fixing anything.

Especially not with her currently bookmarking the coordinates to a location just sent by said lover of hers, who was back in town and asking her to come over.

Delilah looked up from her phone, swallowing down the emotion climbing up her throat. "And if we can't work through them? What happens then?" she asked Tank.

Her voice was so fragile, like a little child, that he fought the urge to hug her and tell her it would all be okay. "You'll figure it out. Just know that I’ll be there for whatever you need regardless," was all he offered, fully aware that she was an adult and ultimately, her personal decisions were hers.

Delilah nodded, grateful for his mentorship yet eager to change the subject before she said something she regretted. "Thanks. So, now that I'm using a submission move as my finisher, I think I need more work on my core strength…"

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

“Oh my god, stop,” Delilah panted, her voice stuck somewhere between a giggle and a gasp as he dramatically peppered her face and neck with pecks and kisses, his big hands all over her naked body.

“Mmm, you make the prettiest sounds when you come for me, mama,” Josh murmured, caressing her breast, their little play fight quickly becoming more serious as he switched to slower, much more passionate kisses that had her moaning into his mouth, “So damn pretty, make me wanna go another round...”

Delilah cupped his face in her small hands, her thumbs smoothing over his beard as she forced him to focus on her words, “Babe, chill…I need to recover a bit. You’re a…lot…to take in.”

Josh grinned proudly. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, rewarding her with one more long, charged kiss before tapping her ass and pulling out of her with a quiet groan. Delilah rolled onto her back and stretched out on the plushness of the sofa, watching him slide his briefs back on. The sunlight streaming from the window illuminated his tatted back muscles and toned legs, the scrumptiousness of them making her squeeze her thighs together from lust and seriously tempting her to drag him back onto the sofa and take up his offer for round two.

Slipping into his t-shirt, she followed him out of the conversation pit and to the kitchen island where he was pouring two glasses of Merlot. "This is a really nice place, Josh," she complimented, finally getting to look around since they had barely made it past the front door before they were all over each other like dogs in heat. "I like that there's not much furniture yet. Just the bare essentials but it gives the house a more open layout than it already is."

"Thanks, I love it," Josh answered, handing her a glass of wine as she perched on the stool next to him, his eyes on his iPad showing his backstage promo with Bron Breakker on YouTube. "I can just come in and chill when I get tired of Atlanta. A couple minutes’ drive to the beach, nice little pool outside and gym area. It’s the perfect escape, uce." He gave her a long look. “Shame you won’t be around these parts no more, though.”

Delilah laughed and kissed her teeth. “Not you talkin’ like you don’t got other reasons for coming to Pensacola. And I see me definitely coming back to visit every once in a while. My mama and sister are here. You got family here, too, right?”

“Yeah, but it ain’t the same.” It was a silly thing to say considering the fact that despite her being here with him right now, Delilah was still all about Andre. Josh knew that. Even when she was with him in Orlando, he had sensed that her fiancé was still very much on her mind. But he had to admit that deep down he was happy that Andre was being a giant asshole, that the dude clearly didn't know what he had in this beautiful woman who was going places, that she had ended up seeking comfort in his arms and still was.

Moving on quickly so she couldn’t react to his statement, he reached into his open carry-on suitcase and pulled out a gift bag. “Oh, by the way, I got you something," he announced. Sliding the gift box labeled Swarovski over to her, he chuckled at the gasp she let out, a bewildered look on her face.

“What’s this?” she inquired, looking over at him with wide eyes.

"Just a lil' sumn to celebrate your brand new contract as a WWE Superstar. We co-workers now, girl," he said with a big smile, watching her loosen the ribbon from the box and remove the lid. Nestled in velvet was a simple diamond necklace with a matching bracelet and earrings, the stones gleaming with flawless clarity. His heart warmed at her facial expressions and her happy smile as she looked up at him.

“You didn’t have to do this. You’ve already helped me so much, Josh,” Delilah insisted, her voice thickening with emotion. “You’re the reason I got this contract, the reason I’m about to start living my dream. I can’t begin to tell you just how grateful I am for you.”

Josh felt a smile of his own touch his lips. “Nah, baby. You did that,” he replied tenderly. “You’re the one who made the decision to follow your dreams. I just…made a few suggestions, ain’t nothin’-”

He was silenced by Delilah flinging her arms around him, her body angling to face him as she tucked her face in the crook of his neck. In turn, his hand lowered down to her hip, holding her close as he brushed his lips over her temple.

“I take it you like it?” he asked.

“I love it. Thank you,” she whispered back. She would figure out how to explain away the gift to Andre, but right now she was consumed with gratitude, and maybe something else for this wonderful gesture from a man who, despite the complication between them, had grown into one of her closest friends.

Her phone buzzing from across the room interrupted their embrace. Her reluctance to unhand him for the few seconds it took to retrieve the device humored Josh as he watched her slide off the seat, his gaze fixated on the tantalizing sway of her hips and ass still visible through his shirt that was baggy on her.

Delilah winced as she found her phone face down on the floor by the couch, no doubt knocked off while they were knocking boots. She was relieved to see the screen wasn’t cracked and even more relieved to see that the notifications were only from her favorite wrestling gossip blog and nothing more serious or concerning.

Or so she thought.

Gossip Gworl Piping Hot Tea: Exclusive pics of Jey Uso and his (ex?) wife Tameka.

She should have cleared out the notification, knowing full well of the drama that was about to be unleashed. But her curiosity was too great. With jolted nerves, she unlocked her phone to read the article.

Several pictures, at least six in number, of Josh and another woman sitting cozily in some park. His wife, according to the comments. They were recent pics as well, just last week. Wearing sunglasses and a SnapBack backwards on his head, his arm was looped around her neck with their fingers linked together. Delilah’s heart raced faster, her fingers shaky as she scrolled through more pictures, of him and her sitting in a circle with whom she assumed were their sons…Of him kissing her cheek, a big grin on her face as she adjusted her sun hat...

It was a steep drop, the plummet of her stomach. A dull ache that materialized in her chest and only seemed to grow stronger with each breath she took. Yet somehow, with this suffocating myriad of emotions swelling inside her, she still managed to put one foot in front of the other, her numb legs steering her towards the kitchen in search of answers she already knew she wouldn’t like.

“You ready to eat, bae? I did my best makin’ this chili con carne so don't-” Josh turned around, startled to find her right in front of him with her phone in his face.

“That’s your wife, right? The one you’re still separated and not divorced from?” Delilah questioned, her tone accusing. She watched his eyes frantically scan her phone, and his reaction told her everything she needed to know.

Josh sighed, reluctantly meeting her fiery glare. “Babe…We was at an event with our kids. We…we had to put up a united front…”

She smiled, the wry stretch of her full lips devoid of any humor. “Mm-hmm. That looks real united to me.” Stomping back over to the living room area, she stripped off his t-shirt and grabbed her clothes. “I gotta go,” she murmured.

“Baby…Dee, wait,” Josh trailed behind her, making one excuse or the other, but she tuned him out, focusing on getting dressed and packing her things and getting the fuck out of there.

He wasn’t even to blame, not fully at least. This was on her. She had been so enamored with him and his aura, swept up in his sweet talk and his gestures and the dizzying sex that she had forgotten she was messing around with what was essentially a married man. This was the bitter dose of reality that she sorely needed, and she was grabbing onto it tightly with both hands.

Josh was still following her around like a lost puppy; he was starting to babble, his words tumbling over one another as he tried to plead his case. But she didn’t want to hear it. She couldn’t hear it. Swinging her backpack over her shoulder, she brushed past him only to be stopped by his hand catching her arm. “Delilah, look at me, please,” he implored, “Let me explain-”

Delilah shook her head, calmly extricating herself from his grasp. “There’s nothing to explain. I shouldn’t be here. I should never have been here, so I’m going home.” Her gaze fell on the gift box sitting abandoned on the countertop, and she felt like an even bigger fool. She pointed at it as she finally looked him in the face. “And that belongs to your wife. Not me.”

Ignoring the wounded look in his eyes, she made a beeline for the front door, fighting to shake off the burn of his eyes on her as she yanked the door open without another word and fled. Half-expecting him to come after her, she was ultimately grateful that he didn’t; the last thing she wanted was for him to see the anguish on her face.

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

Later that evening, Delilah was curled up in the loveseat watching Andre, blissfully unaware of his fiancée’s turmoil as he threw his head back laughing at a Chris Rock special on TV. For the first time in ages, she looked at him, really looked at him. A huge ball of emotion swelled up in her throat, and she had to blink rapidly to keep her tears from spilling down her cheeks for the umpeenth time in just a couple of hours.

She couldn't lose him. She couldn't bear to lose the most stable relationship she had ever had in her life. She had fucked up badly, but he didn't know that, therefore there was still time to fix it.

"I love you," she blurted out.

Andre looked over at her, the confusion in his eyes quickly giving way to a tender smile. "I love you too, baby."

Delilah stood up and pulled her tank top over her head, exposing her breasts. Her shorts soon followed before she made her way over. She snatched the remote from his unsuspecting hands, tossing it somewhere. He looked even more confused now, but she straddled his body before he had time to react. Leaning down, she cupped his face and kissed him with all the purpose and passion she could muster. Her tongue invaded his mouth, catching him off guard. She had never kissed him like that; it was as if she was trying to devour him whole. Her fingernails raked across his bare, toned chest, causing him to wince a little, but she didn't stop. He moaned into her mouth as she rolled her ass against his covered crotch, maneuvering him so that they both fell across the couch with her on top.

"I want you, Daddy. Touch me," she commanded, breathless.

It was more of an order than a request, one Andre eagerly obeyed by letting his hands roam over her bare breasts down to the silky material that barely covered her plump backside. Impatient, Delilah shoved her hand inside his pants, her grip firm on the long, hard erection that was aching to be inside her. Releasing it from its confines, she stroked him eagerly, lowering her mouth and spitting on the head.

"Whoa, Dee," Andre choked out in surprise, trying to catch his bearings. "This some OnlyFans shit you got goin’ on…"

Delilah ignored him as she continued her oral attack, sucking his dick from base to head and back down. It was a striking contrast between the tight seal of her lips and the pain of her teeth scraping his hard flesh that had him groaning and squirming from pleasure. A couple of minutes passed before she climbed back on top of him and slid his dick as deep inside her as possible. With her hands planted on his chest holding him down, she rode him wildly, their heavy breathing met only with the sound of the worn couch creaking beneath their writhing weights. Her eyes fluttered shut as Andre grabbed her hips and thrust harder inside her, her mouth falling open in a groan as he hit that one sweet spot that made her eyes water. She opened her eyes to look down at him, her heart lurching when instead another pair of eyes was staring back at her.

“No,” she hissed, burying her face in Andre's neck as she bounced on him with increasing desperation, trying to focus on the man groaning underneath her. She grabbed his hand from her breast and guided it down between her legs, making his fingers work her clit like Josh would do. His face haunted her, the memory of him hunting her down until all she could do was let the pleasure consume her as she climaxed hard. Underneath her, Andre’s body jerked as he emptied into her with a strangled moan, his warm seed splashing deep inside her walls. Delilah shivered as her pussy clenched and unclenched, making a mess between them as they drained each other to the last drop. When it was over, she collapsed on his torso, briefly disoriented from the sheer strength of her orgasm.

"Dre…"

Andre ran his hands along her back and kissed the top of her head, weaving his fingers through her hair. "Damn, baby. We been fucking so good lately, so spontaneous. I love it," he lauded her with a kiss on her lips.

Delilah rolled off of him and stared blankly at the ceiling. Now what? This was supposed to fix everything. This was supposed to bring them back to normal. Supposed to erase what she had done with Josh. But nothing had changed. Nothing was different. Everything was very much still the same. And all that was left was a painfully gnawing feeling she was now convinced would never go away.

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

Things just took a sharp turn. Thoughts?

I love likes but I love comments more 😉

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#jey uso #main event jey uso #new to this #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso x black oc #jey uso smut #jey uso x black!reader #jey uso imagines

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zepskies · 1 year ago

Text

Break Me Down - Part 13

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

Word Count: 6,500

Tags/Warnings: Peril, hurt/comfort, angst, and a deal…

Part 13: A Generous Deal

Frank, Ben’s former henchman, gave you a quirking smile.

Beside him was Loco, who tossed you a wink. He carried a semi-automatic weapon in his hands.

“You look good, corazón,” Loco said, reaching for your sister. “Let’s get you guys out of here, no?”

“Who the hell is trying to kill us?” Louisa said, accepting his hand after you guided her up from the ground. Frank covered you all while firing back at the shooters.

Loco snorted in amusement. “Vought. Who else?”

“Jesus, fuck,” you muttered. “What do they want with me? It’s Ben they were after.”

“Who’s Ben?” Louisa asked. Meanwhile, Loco guided you both out of the apartment and down the stairs. Frank covered you guys from the back as he followed.

“El capitán, Soldier Boy,” Loco supplied as he pointed to himself and Frank with his gun, “Our boss.”

“Soldier Boy?!” Louisa shot you an incredulous look. You gave her a wan smile before you glared at Loco, pointing his gun away.

“Watch where you aim that thing,” you reminded him. Loco just scoffed. He covered you when you stepped out of the apartment building, leading you to a black SUV parked illegally on the side of the road.

Right now, you were grateful for that as bullets seemed to rain down from everywhere. But with Frank and Loco’s expertise, the four of you made it into the car. Frank was your chauffer, and he sped off down the street.

“How the hell are you alive?” you asked Frank. “You were shot point blank in the chest.”

“Was wearing Kevlar,” he said. “And I was on V24.”

“So he fucked those mall cops in the ass with hot lead and broke me out of prison,” Loco supplied, shooting you a grin.

You smiled back at him, but when you looked over at your sister, gripping the inside of the car door for dear life with petrified eyes, you grabbed her hand to steady her.

You turned back to Frank. “We need to pick up my mom. If they’re after me too, then she’s not safe.”

“Where?” he asked. You gave him the address of the hospital where your mother worked. Frank turned a corner sharply in order to change course, making you grip the car handle yourself.

“Jesus, Frank. Go a little smoother on the wheels, yeah?” Loco quipped.

“You want a nice kiddy ride, or you want to get there alive?” Frank retorted. “We’ve got a narrow window, even less now that we’ve got a second stop.”

“It’s not that far. Lower West Side,” you said. And you continued to instruct him through the New York traffic. He was an adept driver, but he wasn’t a New Yorker. You pointed out the best roads to take to get there within half an hour.

Loco stayed with Louisa in the car (albeit, first with a lot of reassuring that she would be safe with this perfect stranger that she could only suspect was a criminal).

Frank escorted you inside, where you found your mom at the reception desk (thankfully) on the first floor. Her eyes lit up when she saw you.

“Oh my God, you’re back! How are you, sweetheart? Oh, come here,” your mother said, getting up from her desk to pull you into a hug. You accepted it with a smile, but you grabbed her shoulders firmly and made her see the sense of urgency in your eyes.

“Mom, I need you to come with me,” you said in hushed tones. She looked around, from you to her confused coworker at the desk beside her.

“What? Honey, I can’t. I’m at work—”

“Now, Mom. I’ll explain later.”

“Marie, you going on lunch break?” asked her coworker.

“Yep, I’m taking her out,” you supplied, looping your mother’s arm with yours. “Come on! I found this cute little French bistro a few blocks away.”

“Honey,” your mom tried to whisper. She didn’t like the look of Frank hovering beside you. He was a tall man, broad and wearing a long black trench coat—and a gun concealed within.

“Just trust me,” you told her, gripping her hand tight.

Somehow you made it to the car without incident. But once the five of you were on the road, with all three women squished in the backseat, Louisa turned to you.

“So you’re actually helping Soldier Boy now?” she asked, and with a sly raise of her brow, “Or should I say Ben?”

Your face began to heat up, but you clung to your stoicism.

“Soldier Boy,” Marie gasped. “Didn’t he kill Homelander?”

“May that prick get fucked in the ass for all eternity in hell,” you muttered. Once again, your mother gasped.

“Young lady. I don’t like that,” she said, with all due side eye.

“You don’t like anything, Mother,” you quipped.

“Wait, wait. You’re not getting out of this.” Louisa leaned over and grabbed your hand. “What’s the deal with you and Soldier Boy? I thought the whole point of your mission was to arrest him.”

You let out an exasperated sigh.

“I was on the job, things went sideways, I got captured, and things got…complicated.”

Frank huffed. “I think the kids are calling it Frenemies with Benefits.”

Louisa uttered an incredulous laugh while simultaneously freaking the fuck out, especially at the word captured.

“Excuse me?” said Marie. You gave the man a withering look.

“Don’t help me, Frank.”

An amused smile tugged at his lips. But then it was wiped away.

“Incoming. Three tails,” he said. Loco looked in the side mirror, and his muttered curse was a confirmation: they were being followed.

“Where are we headed?” you asked.

“Supe Affairs,” Frank said. He took evasive measures, banking on corners and doing his best to beat the cars tailing them through traffic.

Until the mid-size SUV was side swiped by an even larger black one. It slammed into your side of the car, making it spin out. You all screamed as the car flipped over once and managed to land.

You had to blink drops of blood out of your double vision, but when it cleared, you saw Black Noir had landed on the hood of the car. Your eyes widened.

Noir raised his gun and shot through the windshield, but while Loco shot right back at him, Frank put the car into reverse—into the path of a coming bus.

He actually sped towards it. And at the last moment, he sharply turned the car to try and fling the supe off the hood.

It worked, somewhat. Noir was forced to stop the bus from hitting him directly, causing the front of the bus to fold up like an accordion against his hands. And while he was distracted, Loco threw a projectile at the supe’s face.

Noir caught it with ease, but he didn’t expect the way it erupted with nerve gas in his face. Before it could affect the normal humans in the car, Frank reversed again and finally managed to dislodge the supe.

He turned the car around and was able to get the car back into Drive, but the entire windshield was gone, and breathing felt like agony once again. If you had to guess, it was your broken ribs flaring up after the initial impact.

Your shoulder also ached like a bitch. You didn’t think it was dislocated, but at the very least, severely bruised.

Not broken, at least, you thought bitterly.

“Oh my God. You okay?” Louisa asked, gasping once she looked over and saw you clutching your arm.

You could also feel blood dripping over your brow and down the side of your face. Your mom also had a knock to the side of her head, but she and Louisa looked more or less fine, if scared out of their minds.

“I’m okay,” you said, giving them a reassuring smile. You directed it at Frank next, when he glanced back at you with concern.

You fished into your pocket and found your cell phone unscathed. Letting out a relieved breath, you found Grace Mallory’s personal cell in your contacts and started the call.

She picked up on the third ring.

“Who is this?”

“Grace, it’s me. I—”

“How did you get this number?” she asked.

“Stole it from M.M.’s phone,” you replied impatiently. “Listen, I have a situation—”

“You’re already on thin ice,” she said. “This better be fucking good.”

At that, the narrow thread of your temper snapped.

“I’m playing bumper cars with Black Noir in the Lower West Side. How’s that for fucking good?” you said, raising your voice. “He’s trying to kill me and my entire family. I need your help, right now!”

A beat of silence, and Grace replied.

“Understood. What are the cross streets?”

“We’re in a black SUV,” you replied, and you gave her the closest streets as they passed by. “We’re heading toward the S.A.”

“Backup will arrive shortly,” she said. Then she hung up on you.

It was a good thing too, because you lost your grip on your cell when another car bumped into the SUV, this time from the driver’s side. Your eyes widened as you saw Black Noir again, this time with a grenade launcher.

“Heads down!” you screamed, reaching for your sister.

Just as he would’ve shot at the car, a helicopter flew overhead and shot directly at the supe. CIA units swarmed in in various cars, and it allowed Frank the distraction he needed to slip away from the supe.

Frank and Loco escorted your family to the double doors of the Supe Affairs building. You hung back real quick once they were inside, knowing the men couldn’t go in. They would likely be apprehended.

“Thank you,” you told them. Emotion made your eyes glassy. Loco gave you a smile and rubbed your non-injured shoulder.

“Just get yourself checked out,” Frank said. He gave you a scrap of paper with two cell phone numbers on it.

“Reach us here if anything changes,” he said. With Soldier Boy, his tone implied. You nodded and took the numbers from him. Loco left to start up the car, but you grabbed Frank’s arm, holding him back a minute.

“Why’d you come find me?” you asked. “You guys…didn’t owe me anything. You don’t even owe Ben.”

“He does technically owe us,” Frank said.

You nodded at that. “Well, you could just cut your losses…is it that good a payout?”

His dry smile told you yes, it would be that good.

“But that doesn’t explain me,” you pointed out.

Frank considered you, as if contemplating the reason himself.

“We knew if Soldier Boy was going to break out, it would be because of you,” he said. “We happened to be watching you when we saw Black Noir casing your building.”

“Doesn’t totally explain why you’d risk your lives for me,” you said.

Frank seemed uncomfortable with the question. So you let him off the hook with a smile.

“Thank you. Again,” you said. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

His lips curved at that. “Me too, kid.”

You ushered your mom and sister through the S.A. building, ignoring the odd and concerned looks from people going about their workday.

You knew the three of you made quite a sight, especially when your face was literally dripping blood, and your arm was pinned to your side.

You noticed Butcher striding down the hall with M.M., and you called out to him loudly.

“Still think Black Noir isn’t a fucking priority?” you shouted.

Both men noticed you in surprise, but while Butcher was mostly curious, M.M. was concerned. You then ignored them and started guiding your family up to Grace’s office.

As it turned out, you didn’t have to. She stepped off the elevator and led the three of you into a private office. She had already requested an on-call doctor for you, and he was there waiting with his supplies.

Marie helped you into a chair, where you let out a shaky breath. The doctor came over to check your shoulder, during which Marie stroked your good arm and Luisa brushed your sweaty hair from your face.

“Not broken or dislocated,” he confirmed. “Just bruised. You’ll need to ice it for a few days.”

“What happened?” Grace asked at last. You met her blue-eyed gaze.

“I told you. Black Noir tried to kill us. I assume I was the target, because he found me at my apartment,” you said with a wince, rubbing at your aching ribs while the doctor wrapped your arm in a temporary sling. He next worked on blotting and stitching up your head wound, which he remarked was shallower than it seemed.

What you needed were some painkillers.

“I want my mom and my sister placed in protective custody,” you told Grace.

Both women protested at first.

“What are you going to do?” Luisa asked incredulously. “You can’t do this by yourself.”

“We’ll take care of this,” you tried to reassure her.

“And what about school? I can’t just drop out for God-knows how long.”

“I’ll talk to NYU, get them to let you complete your classes online.”

“What about me? My job isn’t so flexible,” Marie pointed out. You frowned, at a loss for what to say. Your guilt was growing by the moment; not only had your family been put in danger because of you, but their lives were about to be completely uprooted.

“We’ll work it out with your employer as well,” Grace said.

You gave her an appreciative look. Grace could be a bitch, but it seemed she wasn’t a complete asshole.

When you turned back to your family, hot tears welled up in your eyes and slid down your cheeks unbidden.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked on a sob. “This is on me.”

Luisa tearfully shook her head, holding your hand. Your mom was in a similar state as she wiped your tears away.

“I just want you to be safe,” Marie said. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

You nodded, but you couldn’t force yourself to lie to her this time.

In a few hours, you saw your mother and sister off as Grace directed them into protective custody. They would be taken to a safe house tonight, and would remain there until the matter of Black Noir was settled.

You were exhausted, in pain, and emotionally spent, and you were going to need a safe house of your own. But you agreed to spend the night here at the S.A. building, where there were cots available upstairs for when supes where occasionally held overnight.

You debated the idea growing your mind, whether it would be good for you in this moment…

But you couldn’t help yourself.

You had to see him.

Your steps were slow, but you eventually made it to the “cellar.”

The guards raised their brows at the state of you, still with dried blood, bruises, and your arm in a temporary sling. Your hard gaze warned them to mind their fucking business.

“Open it up,” you said, raising an expectant brow. After glancing at one another, one of the guards shrugged. He pressed the button to disengage the outer walls, which parted for your entry.

You stepped inside, this time grateful for the way those walls closed behind you. You knew the guards would be watching regardless, but the semblance of privacy was enough for you.

Ben was sitting up in his cot, back against the wall with his arms crossed. The stance was familiar to you; he was probably awake, but trying not to fall asleep due to the nerve gas making him drowsy.

His eyes opened when he heard you coming. His mouth opened, poised to be snarky, until he actually caught sight of you. Whatever acidic words he’d been about to say died on his tongue as he took in your injuries, from stitched and bandaged head to your arm in a sling.

He got up and approached you, until only the glass separated you two by a few feet.

“What the fuck happened?” he asked. His voice was gruff, but you thought you detected concern behind his green eyes.

“Black Noir,” you rasped.

You explained to him what happened from the very beginning. Your sister showing up at your apartment, followed by Noir shooting at you, then Frank and Loco showing up to extract you from the building.

“Those fuckers are still alive?” Ben noted with surprise. You could see that he was pleased by the news, and you smiled.

“Yeah, they saved me,” you admitted. But then, your lips trembled. “Black Noir tried to take me out. Me and my whole family.”

Ben watched you tear up, his jaw tightening. The fury lighting in his blood gave him new energy as he contemplated just how slowly and painfully he’d take Stan Edgar apart for this. He had no right to sick that damn bootlicker on you.

And probably just to get to him.

Ben began to pace. He had no other way to vent his frustration, other than hurling up his cot against the wall with a guttural sound of rage. (Which he did, not seeing how it made you flinch.)

He was in this cage, and meanwhile, you were out there. Unprotected. Taking bullets that should be his…and his alone.

He wiped a hand over his mouth and looked back at you. You were wide-eyed, vulnerable, not sure what to make of his reaction.

Ben wanted to continue blaming you for his imprisonment…but deep down, he knew you weren’t the one who put him here. He also knew why you wouldn’t break him out either.

You were stubborn about your convictions—something that frustrated him to no end. But ultimately, he admired you for how you always held your ground, even against him.

Especially against him.

But right now, you looked exhausted, in pain. He just couldn’t do anything about it. And that irritated him, he discovered.

“Did your dad order the hit?” he asked. “Stan said he was still alive.”

You tilted your head, like you hadn’t thought of that before. Despite your lingering tears, your expression briefly became cold as stone.

“If my father knew about this, he’s a dead man,” you said.

Ben inclined his head in agreement. It looked like even you had a limit on what was forgivable.

You sighed and stepped closer to the cell. You implored him, first with your eyes, and then with the truth.

“Ben, I need your help,” you said. “As long as Stan Edgar and Vought still stand, it’s a target on your back. Now it’s on mine too. My mom, and my sister. Please.”

Ben seemed to consider it, as his gaze left your face.

Then, he came up closer to the glass window.

“Call your boss. Tell her it’s time for a talk,” he said.

You sighed in relief, covering your eyes with a hand as your tears fell anew. You looked up at Ben, trying and failing to get ahold of yourself.

“Thank you,” you said.

Ben’s anger crumbled that much more. He sighed and pressed a fist up to the glass on his side to lean against it. You laid a hand against the glass, opposite his.

His eyes met yours. As resentment drained out of him, slowly, his fingers uncurled.

His hand laid on the glass in line with your smaller hand. You could almost pretend the window didn’t exist between you, and the cold glass under your palm was really his. A moment later, Ben let his hand fall and returned to his cot.

Soon, you wanted to tell him.

You would make sure of it.

Grace’s heels clacked on the metal ground as the fortified barriers disengaged, allowing her entrance into the observing area of Soldier Boy’s cell.

The man himself looked up at her from where he sat on his cot, his hair falling over his brows. He straightened and stood, and he met her at the forefront of the cell.

She stopped a foot behind the glass and crossed her arms. Ben’s gaze seized her up lazily—the gray pantsuit and white blouse, the coif of blonde hair piled on her head, the light layer of lipstick across her thin lips. She looked even less fun now than she had in the 80s.

“You’ve gotten old as fuck,” he remarked.

“As I hear it, a few wrinkles don’t bother you in the slightest,” she countered.

His lips curved. He’d never fuck this broad on mere principle, but she was still easy on those baby blues.

“So,” she began, “Two options. One: you can sleep in here forever, until you look as old as I am. Or two: you’ll work with my team to bring down Vought, on our terms. Which means executing approved targets only. Collateral damage kept to a narrow minimum.”

Her gaze was unyielding, clinical at best.

“Operate within the confines of the law. And if by some miracle you pull all of that off…you can publicly retire to South America, never to step foot in the U.S. again,” she said.

“We will leave you alone, provided you don’t actively create havoc. And if you deviate from the plan in any way, we will hunt you down and bring you right back here. You will never know peace.”

Ben stared at her, almost amused at her audacity. “That’s your idea of a goddamn deal?”

She ignored him, her expression turning thoughtful.

“Oh, yes,” Grace said, a finger tapping on her arm, as if she just remembered something. She mentioned your name, making Ben’s brows furrow.

“Should you fuck up your end of this generous deal, I will also personally make sure that you never see her again,” she said.

Ben’s jaw tensed, his green eyes narrowing a fraction.

But he figured his best play here was to bluff.

“What makes you think I give a flying fuck about that?” he said snidely.

For the first time, a bit of humor lightened Grace as her mouth tugged at a smile.

“Actually, it seems you do. And a great deal of one,” she said. “That you’re considering this agreement at all is because of her.”

Ben’s lips pressed together.

“The fact of the matter is, Benjamin, I can make her disappear,” she stated, “even more thoroughly than I’ll bury you if you cross me.”

That threat nearly unhinged him. A vein pulsed in his neck as he ground his teeth.

But he managed to keep his cool, smooth as he crossed his arms and stared back at this platinum-haired bitch.

“See, you can talk big behind that glass. But the truth is, you need me,” he said. “All you bitches do. And you’re all afraid of me. So if you want to threaten me, by all means…just don’t forget who the fuck I am.”

M.M. carefully watched the archive footage from yesterday between you and Ben from his laptop. He saw the shift in the supe when you walked in, battered with your arm in a temporary sling. M.M. watched the man’s anger build, but for you instead of at you.

By the time he made it to the end, watching Ben’s hand meet yours on his side of the glass, M.M. sat back in his seat and frowned, resting his chin in his hand. What the hell…

Maybe Soldier Boy did give a fuck about someone other than himself.

M.M.’s phone buzzed, breaking him out of his reverie. It was Grace.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Team meeting,” she said, instructing him to head up to a conference room on the third floor in ten minutes. Sighing, M.M. closed his laptop and made his way up.

Annie and Hughie were already there, followed by Frenchie and Kimiko, and finally Butcher, strolling in to make his entrance as always.

You were the only one not in attendance, having gone back to full-time in the Surveillance department. Though considering what happened yesterday with Black Noir, he was surprised you weren’t here…

But once Grace started the meeting, explaining what had become of her meeting with Soldier Boy, M.M.’s already precarious mood darkened even further.

“It’s an insane fucking deal,” Butcher agreed, breaking the steely silence of the room following Grace’s little report. “But it’s one we’ve made before.”

“You’ve made before,” Annie retorted. “This is crazy. We can’t trust Soldier Boy.”

“But we all know who does,” M.M. said. His gaze shifted to the door, where you had just stepped in. It seemed you were invited to the meeting after all.

You were late, quite literally holding Starbucks. It looked like a caramel macchiato, iced, light froth. You sipped it through a green straw and took a seat beside Frenchie, who offered you a smile as he smoked a cigarette. You returned it before you addressed the group.

“Take my personal stake out of the equation,” you said.

“So you admit it’s personal,” M.M. remarked. You shot him a glance, but you didn’t let him deter you from your point.

“Ben is our best play against Black Noir. That’s just a fact,” you said. “He was cloned in part with Homelander’s DNA.”

“Okay, sure,” Hughie said. “Despite all the…potential logistics problems there, what about Stan Edgar? He’s been one step ahead of us this entire time.”

That was a fair point, one you acknowledged with a nod.

“I think we should look into Victoria Neuman. She turned on Stan once to protect herself, who’s to say she won’t again?” you said.

“Or, she’ll pop our heads like water balloons,” Frenchie pointed out, letting out a puff of his cigarette. Hughie frowned and waved his hand across the plume.

“Do you have to do that right in my face?” he asked. Frenchie blew a kiss (and a small ring of smoke) at Hughie with a playful smirk.

Again, you smiled. “Ben can help with that too.”

Most of them didn’t like the idea. Annie and Kimiko frowned, while Hughie looked unsure. Frenchie might’ve been persuaded…

Butcher actually seemed to agree with you, shockingly. He looked over at M.M., whose stance in all this was obvious.

“You wanna make things safe for your daughter, taking out Vought is fucking it,” Butcher said. It wasn’t what you expected him to say…but maybe the men had had this argument before.

M.M. was tense, his hand clenching into a fist on the conference table.

“You don’t have to tell me that shit,” M.M. said tersely. He looked up at Mallory. “I’m assuming as a part of this fuck-ass deal, Soldier Boy walks free after all this is said and done?”

Grace confirmed this with a short nod, though you could see she wasn’t happy about it either.

“After the work is done, he won’t be allowed to step foot in the U.S. again,” she said.

You frowned, upset at that little footnote, but you held in your reaction as you watched M.M. rise out of his seat, his chair roughly sliding against the ground. He dented the table with a heavy fist as he strode out of the conference room.

Ben rolled his eyes as he took the contract. It had been laid on the tray compartment where his meals were usually slotted through.

You, Grace, and Butcher stood on the other side of his cell. You also thought the contract was stupid; you all knew if Ben didn’t comply with this arrangement, a measly piece of paper wasn’t going to do shit. But Mallory was nothing if not thorough.

He signed it with the pen and shoved both back through the slot. Mallory collected it and turned at Butcher, and then you with her sharp eyes.

“On your head be it,” she said. Then she departed the cell, where the additional fortifying walls were left open. With a raised brow, Butcher signaled to the guards to cut the nerve gas.

Once the mist cleared from the inner cell, Ben took his first real breath in a week. He blinked as the heavy fog he’d been resisting for days cleared, and he stood straighter. His green eyes were on you as the cell finally disengaged, sliding open with a hiss.

You bit your lower lip as he stepped through barefooted. He still wore the clinically white clothing the S.A. provided, like he was the inmate of a psych ward or something. He eyed Butcher warily.

“Ello, gov. Back in business again,” said the Brit. Ben rolled his eyes.

“Just stay out of my fucking way,” he replied.

You wanted to pull him into your arms already. But professionalism be damned, you didn’t want to show your vulnerability around Butcher.

Instead, you held up a plastic bag of clothes and shoes for him to change into, meeting him with a smile. The tightness in his face eased a bit when he glanced over at you, then took the bag with a nod.

“Hungry?” you asked.

Ben’s lips curved into a smirk. “I could eat.”

You felt heat flare in your face as your mouth dropped open slightly.

Butcher rose a brow as he glanced between you two. He chose to ignore the supe’s blatant eye-fucking. He just wanted to get this over with.

“First off, let’s get something squared away,” Butcher said.

He then turned his head and released a wet cough that didn’t sound pleasant. The man also looked pale, and if you thought about it, he hadn’t been looking well in the meeting earlier either. You gave him a concerned frown.

“You okay?” you asked. Butcher gave you a side glance.

“Fucking phenomenal. Here.”

He provided Ben with an S.A.-issued cell phone, and you with the address of a safe house.

“His and hers,” Butcher said, handing you the keys. You understood his meaning; since Black Noir was after you as well, it made enough sense to put you and Ben in the same safe house.

“Now, lest you think of pulling another Houdini act, it won’t hurt to remind you that you will be watched,” he said to both of you (but mainly Ben). “I myself, along with other agents, will be checking in from time to time, making sure everything’s on the up and up.”

“Whatever, are we fucking done?” Ben snapped with impatience. He started walking out of the cellar, towards the open door that showed the brighter lit hallway. Once he stepped out though, he wasn’t sure where to go.

You gave Butcher a parting look before you caught up with Ben in the hall. You laid a hand on his arm and led him to the nearest bathroom so he could change while you waited outside. You texted with the agent that would be your driving detail, making sure the car would be ready.

After a few minutes of waiting though, you began to get antsy and impatient yourself. You went to the bathroom door and knocked, opening it a crack.

“Ben, you okay?”

“Yeah. Come in,” he said.

You paused, not sure if that was a good idea. But you also didn’t know why that was your instinctive thought.

Taking a breath to steady yourself, you hesitantly opened the door to the men’s bathroom and stepped inside. Ben was already dressed, just fixing his belt.

He wore a pair of dark wash jeans, a plain black shirt, and some boots. It wasn’t his normal look, but even this suited him well. He stretched out the shirt in all the right places, particularly the arms.

But you blushed as you noticed the smirk on his face; he’d totally caught you checking him out.

“Well, that answers my question,” he remarked.

Your lips flickered at a smile as you drew closer.

Looks good, you were about to tell him, but nothing came out. Your voice got stuck in your throat as you looked up at him. It seemed this moment was finally hitting you.

There was still so much unknown shit on the horizon, between Black Noir, Victoria Neuman, Stan Edgar, your family in protective custody, and all the rest. But at least you had helped accomplish one thing today.

Your eyes stung as they welled up with tears, and you bit your bottom lip to keep it from wobbling.

The smirk on Ben’s face faded. But then his brose rose in surprise as you surged forward and caught him in a hug. Your arms slipped around his middle, and his arms fell around your frame, mostly on instinct.

When he felt your tears dampening his shirt, heard you crying softly, felt the tremble in your body, he collected you tighter against him, his hands splaying across your back. Something in his chest clenched up…but then it eased. He dropped his lips to your hair.

“What’s this now?” he asked, somewhat teasing. You shook your head against his chest, not willing to answer. His hand fell to your waist and gave you a squeeze.

“Come on, baby doll,” he said. He grinned a little, though you couldn’t see it. “Where’s that steely bitch who didn’t cut me any fucking slack this week?”

You choked on a laugh, despite the tears still slipping down your cheeks.

“She’s a good actor,” you replied. Ben chuckled and soothed a hand over your hair. It gave you hope that he didn’t resent you too much. You were just so damn relieved.

“I’m sorry this couldn’t happen sooner,” you whispered. You weren’t sorry for not breaking ranks to get him out, but he had to know you’d never wanted him to go from one cage to another.

Ben’s grin faded. He stayed quiet, unsure of what to say to you.

After a moment, your cell phone chimed and buzzed in your pocket. Sniffling, you pulled away from him enough to reach into your pocket and read the text.

“The driver’s ready to take us to the safe house,” you said, pocketing your phone. But you still clung to his shirt with your other hand. You were also avoiding his gaze. Embarrassed, maybe.

It made him smile. He tugged a strand of hair behind your ear, prompting you to finally look up at him. He then bucked a gentle fist under your chin.

It got a small smile on your face, because you knew then that he didn’t hate you. The rage and contempt he’d levied at you this week, it hadn’t been the real him. This was the man you’d held out for…the man you’d caught glimmers of over the past two months.

Ben cleared his throat.

“Well. You ready, sweetheart?” he asked, raising a brow. You nodded and let go of him, wiping your face to make sure it was dry before you stepped outside.

Once the two of you left the bathroom, you led him out of the S.A. building. The car was waiting, another mid-sized SUV, and the driver transported you both to the safe house, which looked like it was going to be outside the city.

Makes sense, you thought. You turned to Ben, who sat with you in the back.

“How do you feel?” you asked. Still drowsy?

He didn’t look it. The moment the Novichok cleared the cell, he seemed to regain his faculties. Now, you were more concerned about the potential psychological effects. You were worried about how the past week might’ve set him back.

But Ben only gave you a wry curve of his lips.

“Like a million bucks,” he replied. His gaze roamed over you, noting your healing cuts and bruises from the car chase yesterday.

“You’re not wearing the sling,” he commented. You rubbed your bruised shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you said, downplaying a little.

Pain meds were doing wonders for you though. Frenchie had slipped you some of the “good stuff” this morning, which had the added benefit of chilling you out for hours. You had come off it a while ago, but you had some normal painkillers in your suitcase.

You’d been escorted home to collect some of your things, and the suitcase now laid in the trunk. You felt bad that Ben didn’t have anything but the clothes on his back…but you were sure the CIA would provide other things for him once you two got to the safe house.

Ben surprised you, however, by thumbing an outline around the butterflied cut on your head as he examined it. “Doesn’t look deep.”

“It’s not,” you agreed, blushing a little. “I’m fine, Ben.”

His gaze found yours then, sharp as always. His mouth twitched.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said. His voice was a rumble, deep and filled with promise. Your cheeks warmed further as you tilted your head at him.

“What does that mean?” you asked. A smile started to tug at your lips.

Ben just smirked and crossed his arms, facing the road ahead. You eyed him, but a trill of anticipation ran down your spine.

It seemed like a small eternity until you reached the safe house, several miles out into Upstate New York. It was a modest, one-story house in the middle of a gated community.

The outside walls were painted beige with a brown trim. The driveway paved with cobblestone, with a little walkway flanked by small bushes with little red flowers. It was the perfect unassuming place to house the most famous supe alive.

The driver left you with your bags, which Ben grabbed before you could barely reach out your good arm. He flashed you a grin and waited for you to unlock the front door.

“Home sweet home,” you breathed as you stepped past the threshold. Your hands fell to your hips while you surveyed your surroundings.

Behind you, the suitcase and the small duffel bag dropped to the floor. You started to turn towards him, but apparently you weren’t fast enough on the uptake—as Ben hooked an arm around your waist and spun you around.

Before you could even blink, your back was pressed against the door. You’d clung to him on instinct as a gasp fell from your lips. But you looked up into Ben’s smirk, his heated eyes filled with desire, and maybe a flash of relief.

You felt it too. The sweet craving fulfilled of finally being alone, as he claimed you with a kiss. You made a sound of pleasure, of acceptance as your hand rose to his cheek.

Your fingers soon slid into his hair as you tilted your head, deepening the kiss.

Ben braced himself against the door hard enough to shake it on its hinges. It was all you could do to hold onto his arms as his knee pressed between your legs, finding friction against your jeans.

Being with him was a relief, you discovered. And having him inside you was starting to feel like home.

AN: 😏 I know, I'm terrible for ending it there, huh? What did you think of their little reunion here?

Don't worry though, next chapter is the real reunion.

Next Time:

“You need a trim,” you said, letting out a breathy laugh. You kissed his cheek again. Slow, and with purpose.

Ben let out a sigh through his nose. His eyes closed again at your gentler kisses, your touch. Maybe he reveled in this—being able to hold you back. It felt right.

If he was honest with himself (and this time, he was), you were somehow able to ease the frayed edges of his mind. Edges that had been starting to unravel in that cell.

Keep Reading: PART 14

Soldier Boy Masterlist

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Series Tag List:

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#A Generous Deal #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 13 #zepskies writes

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gamesetart · 5 months ago

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ohhhhh idk something about both of them trying to get you back into their lives at once, behind each other’s back. for themselves, yeah, but as a gift to the other. They just need to figure out how to get their claws in you first!!

and when Tashi breaks through first— when she invites you out to a “business dinner” that ends with the two of you in the backseat of her fancy ass car and you’re on your knees taking care of her the way you used to— the way art didn’t know about <3 messy and slick and her hand is in your hair and she’s telling you what a good job you’re doing, that she needed this, needing you.

But she’s Married. And you think about Art and feel that sad ache in your chest, like a missing part of you. You’ve always had a soft spot for him, of course you did. He was a good boyfriend, until the end when he started getting distant. You couldn’t hurt him the way you currently were. With Tashi’s taste on your mouth and her looking at you like you’re some magical missing piece that can fix her life.

So you’re the first to leave. Tell her it’s a mistake and you Can’t do it. You think about texting Art, but he texts you first. “Can I see you?” And you think he knows, that you’re going to have to explain and apologize. Then you get a second text from him. “I just miss you.”

And you’re sitting there thinking about how fucked up their marriage is.

Okay byeeeee

being possibly The Only Person privvy to how absolutely fucked up the donaldson marriage has to be the best and worst position on earth.

because you didn't, nay, couldn't imagine tashi had ulterior motives when she invited you to dinner. how could you? you've seen their press conferences. hell, you were invited to their wedding. (a shitshow for another day). they have a beautiful marriage and a beautiful daughter and a beautiful life.

still, you've never been able to feel totally... secure around tashi. so you shave every inch of yourself. you polish your skin in the shower until you glitter. you do your hair just the right way, perfect around your face. you put on your favorite dress, a gorgeous little black number that laces up the back and shows off perfect, tennis player legs. you remember the way you were - just before art, when it was just you and tashi, and you spent ages together under covers, trading kisses, tangling limbs.

(there wasn't ever an overlap, but you always did feel a little guilty never telling art you and tashi used to hook up. probably it would have fucked with his head. or he would have cum his pants.)

so you're astonished when you end up in that backseat. tashi tastes so familiar, and it feels so right to be back like this, doing the one thing you knew you did best: please her. she might have been the better tennis player, but you'll be damned if you aren't the best lay she's ever had. and for a moment, it's nothing but perfect as she looks down at you, ankles braced on the front seats, smiling coyly. telling you how much she's missed you, how much she's "missed this, baby, you're doing so good for me, that's it, that's it, fuck, just like that--" and it's amazing how well you still remember exactly what to do with your tongue, exactly how to drag her orgasms from her sweet, sweet cunt.

you leave, hop out of her car and take yourself home. you tell her this can't happen again, and maybe its best if you avoid each other at events for the near future. tashi doesn't expect that to hurt, but she also didn't expect you to be able to turn her down like that. you never did before. oh, my darling, she thinks, you've grown. tashi loves to get what she wants, and she will. but shes a little bit pleased you're so assertive now. it'll be that much sweeter when she finally does land you.

it'd kill art to hear it from you. a betrayal of the worst kinds, to the boy you dated all those years ago and the man you're still a decent friend with - the one who greets you with a hug at every social event, the one who danced with you at your first olympics event, when you hovered awkwardly at the edge of the dance floor. the one who texts you updates about his life and meets you for brunch if you're both in town. the friendship with art is distant, and you rarely meet in person, but it's there. you're bound together by that year at stanford. by the loss of your virginity on your ballet-slipper pink dorm room bedsheets. by the locket with his face in it he gave you for your six months. by the leather bracelet you wrapped around his wrist. by every kiss, every hand held, every sweet nothing in the middle of the night. and every bit of purely platonic friendship after.

but you should tell him. bear the brunt of his hurt. you deserve it, you tell yourself. and you're going to, too, you draft the text in your notes app and everything. prepare yourself, the next day, to send it but you don't need to.

art 🌻 3:23 pm

can i see you?

your heart falls into the floor and you think, oh, god, he knows, he knows and i didn't tell him and its all my fault and he knows--

but then the second message comes in. after a minute or two, like he was debating sending it.

i just miss you.

and you realise for all their publicity, for all the game changers posters and the matching public smiles, the donaldsons are one fucked up couple.

#cat ur brain #the vibes are matched and immaculate #art donaldson #tashi duncan #catchat!#innercircles #stanford exes!au #working name tbh #kit.writes

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zegrasdrysdale · 6 months ago

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also if your not uber uber busy could YOU PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE write a fic based off of one of these songs (feel free to do all of them my queen but NO PRESSURE) I also don't mind who the fic is with use who ever you feel would go best with it :)

Before you Go - Lewis Capaldi

It's Not Over - Daughtry

Goodbyes - post Malone

Circles - Post Malone

I hate you, I love you - Gnash

Mr Brightside - The Killers

Scars to your beautiful - Alessia Cara

Thank you I might request more but again no pressure

[ it’s not over ] j. drysdale

paring : Jamie Drysdale x fem!reader

summary : Jamie and his girlfriend broke up right before he was traded to Philly. when Jamie comes back to pack up the rest of his things, she tries to fight for them since she doesn’t believe it’s over for them

warning(s) : angst galore ! a few uses of Y/N

author’s note : giving me free range to write this abt whoever was probably not the best idea, especially when i like writing jamie angst 😈

fic inspired by :

༺═──────────────═༻

I was blown away What could I say? It all seemed to make sense You've taken away everything And I can't deal with that I try to see the good in life But good things in life are hard to find

The NHL season ended without a word from Jamie since the day he got traded to the Flyers in January. Nearly four months passed after he was traded and she never got so much as a text message from her former boyfriend of nearly two years.

They shared a whirlwind of a relationship where they met, said they loved each other, and moved into an Anaheim apartment down the street from Trevor all within a year.

She truly loved him, and she truly messed up before he left for the trip to Nashville that he never came back from.

She knew there were rumors going around Anaheim about Jamie's trade, and Jamie blocked them out every time he heard even a whisper about him getting traded out of Anaheim. He didn't want to hear the reality. When she tried to get him to see that, he walked out the door for the trip after they got into a fight. He packed a bag and spent the night at Trevor's.

Now that the season is over, she expects him to come back to finish packing whatever he didn't grab over the All Star break in February. She couldn't just leave the apartment. She couldn't leave all of the memories behind so easily, especially since she still loves him.

Trevor texts her the day after the season ends and tells her that Jamie is coming in soon to grab the last of his things. Jamie couldn't even let her know that he's coming by. She spends that night curled up in their bed.

We'll blow it away, blow it away Can we make this something good? Well, I'll try to do it right this time around

The following morning, she's up early and thinks about what she can do to fix what's broken between them over a cup of coffee. She has no idea if he's mad at what she said or mad at the fact that he did get traded out of Anaheim.

Maybe she shouldn't have said anything about the trade before it happened. Maybe he wouldn't be about to move out the last few boxes he packed in February if she let him process his future trade on his own.

She fucked up, but maybe she can fix it. It's not over until they both think it's over, and she doesn't think it's over with them. She'll try to do it right this time. She'll be supportive of him instead of trying to get him to see reality. That's where she messed up because Jamie was probably trying to cope with the fact that he wasn't wanted in Anaheim anymore by the team that put their faith in him and drafted him 6th a few years ago.

All she wanted to do was prepare him for the possibility of being traded across the country, and she was met with radio silence since he walked out that door.

He walked out that door with her heart and took it across the country with him. She has to try to fix what's broken. She's not ready to say goodbye to him. She's not ready for him to become a memory or a ghost that haunts her dreams.

The sound of a key in the door grabs her attention immediately. She was leaning on the kitchen island and stands straight up when the door opens. She leaves the cup of coffee on the counter because she is afraid that she's going to drop it when she sees who's walking into the apartment.

She bites her lip so she doesn't say anything when Jamie walks into the apartment for the first time with her there since the fight a bunch of months ago. It feels like a lifetime ago when he walked out the door.

He freezes when he sees her in the kitchen. Their eyes meet and she has to hold back tears.

Jamie looks so much happier and healthier than the last time she saw him in person. The bags under his eyes have gotten lighter. He is practically glowing.

He was working so hard while he was playing for Anaheim because he felt like he had something to prove. He felt like he needed to prove that he belonged here. Philly wanted him so he probably was able to relax.

"Hi," she finally breathes out when the silence gets to be too much for her. "You look, um ... you look good."

"Thanks," he replies, voice quiet. "Are the boxes still in the bedroom?"

She nods quietly and Jamie makes a quick escape down the hallway. She rests her elbows on the counter and puts her face in his hands to hide any emotions that Jamie could see when he comes back out into the living room.

Her throat closes up and tears prick her eyes. She had no idea that seeing him again would cause her to have this reaction. Seeing Jamie will always probably make her have some kind of reaction.

Let's start over I'll try to do it right this time around It's not over Because a part of me is dead and in the ground This love is killing me, but you're the only one It's not over

When he comes back into the living room, Jamie is carrying one of the six boxes that are left. That's probably the biggest box so he has to carry it by itself. The other boxes are light so they can be carried two or three at a time.

That means she's running out of time to talk to him before he walks out of her life completely.

She walks back to the bedroom where his remaining boxes sit in the corner. She sits on the bed so she can catch him when he walks back into the room. With a quick wipe of her cheeks to dry them, she settles on the mattress with her legs crosses and waits for Jamie to come back.

There are footsteps in the hallway and Jamie appears in the doorway a second later. He pauses mid-step when he sees her sitting on the bed they used to share.

"Can we talk?" she asks as her entire body shakes with anxiety and nervousness. "Please?"

Jamie walks over to the corner and piles two of the boxes on top of one another. "I don't have time," he tells her as he picks up the pair of boxes. "Trevor is waiting for me outside to take me and my stuff to the airport for my flight to Toronto."

She frowns as he walks out the door with his things, but she quickly throws on a pair of slides and follows him. "Jamie, please," she begs. "I don't want to let you leave without saying what I have to say. I don't want you to get on that flight without talking to me first."

He gets on the elevator and she jumps on with him. He presses the button to go to the first floor and the doors shut. "(Y/N)," he sighs. "I can't do this again. I don't want to do this again."

"I want to fight for us, Jamie," she says anyway as the elevator keeps descending to the first floor. "I'm not letting you just walk away so easily again. It was a mistake the first time letting you walk away. Especially because you didn't come back."

The doors open and Jamie walks out. She follows him out the front door. Trevor's car sits next to the curb, and he leans against it. "There is a reason I didn't come back," he comments as he throws the boxes in the trunk of the car. Then he looks at her. "I was traded, remember? I bet you do because you kept reminding me that I was going to be traded."

His words cause her to freeze as he walks away. She looks at Trevor, who just points in Jamie's direction. "Go," he tells her. "He's just being hard to get."

She runs after him as he approaches the elevator. The doors open and she once again joins him in the small room.

"I should've been a good girlfriend and be there for you to help you cope with the possibility of being traded," she says to Jamie. "I shouldn't have kept telling you to face reality. I didn't understand how you were feeling, but I do now. I wasn't there for you and was making it harder for you. I'm sorry."

The two walk back into the privacy of their apartment because it's still technically Jamie's apartment too. Once the door shuts, Jamie spins and faces her.

"You made it seem like you were excited to move to wherever it was I got traded to," Jamie snaps. "Meanwhile, I was leaving behind the life that I had made for myself over the past four years. I was leaving the best teammates behind, I was leaving my best friends behind. I pushed myself so hard once those rumors started that I hurt myself trying to prove that I belonged here. I hurt myself trying to prove that I had a spot on the Ducks, and they still traded me anyway. There's a reason I didn't want to face that reality and it's because I was leaving everything behind. Then there was you who seemed like you didn't care what you were leaving behind."

"Because I was ready to move across the country to be with you!" she shouts at him. Her voice is strained as she chokes back tears. "I didn't want to leave everything behind, but I was ready to start a life with you wherever you ended up, then you walked out that door and never came back. You ignored every single text and call I made. You never gave me the chance to explain myself, and now here we are."

He walks back into the bedroom to grab the last three boxes. "I didn't want to hear your excuses," he says as she follows him. "I didn't want to listen to how excited you were to start the next chapter of our lives or whatever while I was struggling to walk away from Anaheim. Sorry if I needed a second."

As he stacks the last boxes on top of each other, she says, "I would've given you as much time as you needed, Jamie. All you had to do was talk to me. Instead, you ignored me." She pauses as Jamie lifts up the boxes. "If I could do the last few months over again, I would. If I could be there for you then I would. I'd support you through anything. I did support you. I watched every single Flyers game you played in and I had to resist the urge to call you when you got hurt a few weeks after the trade. I had to ask Trevor how you were even though he was hurt too because I wasn't sure if you'd answer and I was worried you'd hurt your shoulder like you did last year. I cheered for every point you got and I loved you from 2,700 miles away while you were ignoring me."

Tears form and fall down her cheeks as she tells Jamie what been happening with her since he left. She's angry, but she loves him so much that she's willing to be angry at him for a second while they talk for the first time in months.

She's willing to be angry at him for this one moment.

Jamie puts the boxes on the ground and looks at her. "You still loved me and supported me even though I was ignoring you?" he asks like he doesn't believe her. She nods and wipes away her own tears while she looks at Jamie. "I didn't know-"

"You wouldn't have known because you refused to talk to me," she interrupts as she rubs her face. "I'm sure you didn't bother asking Z how I was either because he didn't tell me if you did ask."

"I asked him not to tell you."

"What?"

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. "I did ask how you were doing, but I told Trevor not to tell you I was asking because I wasn't sure if I wanted to talk to you yet," Jamie explains. "He didn't tell me that you still loved me and were supporting everything I did in Philly."

"Still love," she corrects. "Still support. I always will because I thought for years that it was going to be the two of us til the end. When you walked through that door a little bit ago, I was getting ready to fight for us. I didn't think it was actually over between us, but you tell me if it's over or if we can start over."

Jamie stays quiet, and the only reason she doesn't immediately tell him to leave is because she can see that he's genuinely thinking about her words.

I've taken all I could take And I cannot wait We're wasting too much time Being strong, holding on Can't let it bring us down My life with you means everything So I won't give up that easily

His phone buzzes and he takes it out of the pocket of his shorts. He looks back up at her and says, "I have to-"

"Go?" she interrupts again. "Then go, but know that I'm not done fighting for us and our lives together."

"(Y/N)," Jamie sighs. "I have to go tell Trevor that I'm staying." Her eyes widen. "It's not over between us. I don't want it to ever be over between us, so if you'll let me, I'd like to start over. Redo the last few months or so with you."

All of the tension leaves her body and she nearly falls to the floor. She lets out the biggest sigh of relief, and also the loudest sob that echoes off the walls of the bedroom. She covers her face and cries into her hands.

A pair of arms wrap around her shoulders and she smells Jamie's familiar cologne on his body as it engulfs her. "We'll do it right this time," he assures her. "I promise.

I'll blow it away, blow it away Can we make this something good? 'Cause it's all misunderstood Well, I'll try to do it right this time around

Let's start over I'll try to do it right this time around It's not over Because a part of me is dead and in the ground This love is killing me, but you're the only one It's not over

༺═──────────────═༻

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radioactive-reactions · 5 months ago

Note

Just a quick little idea for a reaction, could you maybe do companions (and maybe Mr. House) finding out that the Courier is a pre-war ghoul?

Of course! The New Vegas fandom has just celebrated Mr. House's 4th birthday, so consider this my small contribution.

Ghouls were anything but uncommon in the Mojave, but those who had lived through the Great War were particularly exceptional. Everyone knew about the ghoulish Courier - zombies rising from the grave made good saloon talk, after all - but only those closest to them were trusted with the knowledge of just how old they were.

Raul is just happy to have another viejo around to commiserate with. Invariably, he begins to keep the two up long into the night trading stories of the Old World - and more often than not, the Old World's failings - around the campfire. "Hey, boss, you... you remember Cuna de Lobos? Ahh, the bomb dropped right at the end of Season 91, just when Catalina was about to show everyone what she'd been keeping stashed under her eyepatch. My grandmother would have killed to see it. She could have, too."

Boone is as unflinchingly stone-faced as ever, and his thoughts are quickly summed up in three succinct words: "I pity you." There's a moment of consideration, a realization that he may have gone too far, and he tries again. "You and all the... others. There are a few in the service. You knew what came before. Saw it with your own eyes. Christ, the rest of us must be like kids playing dressup to you. In your shoes, wouldn't have bothered staying around to see how it'd all turn out. No point."

Veronica has a million questions. Try as the Brotherhood might to hoard pre-War knowledge, she's never come quite as close to a living, breathing repository of it as she is now. "Wait, wait, back up, like... five steps. You're telling me you could walk into the bunker anytime you please and totally school Elder McNamara and you've just been sitting on that?! Oh my God! Okay, okay - is it true that every kid back then was raised by a robot slave? A-and did you really have to ritually encase all your food in Jell-O before you ate it?"

Cass gives an impressed whistle, looking the Courier up and down just to make sure they haven't actually been feral this entire time. "Fuck me. Uh, that's not an invitation - I don't want anything falling off. But that'd make you, what, two-hundred-something? Older than the Republic, the way they tell it. We've got some Rangers like that, supposedly the ultimate badasses if you look past the bad knees and the death rattle... but between you and me, I think you've got a sturdier claim to the title."

Arcade freezes up at the news, getting that awkward, wavering smile he always flashes when he's backed into a corner. "Wow. Uh... hey. Just so we're clear, I in no way endorse - o-or endorsed - the whole Enclave 'cleansing of the world's tainted' thing. I'd like to think that goes without saying, given the way my life has gone since then, but... just so we're clear. Uh, if you need any kind of specialized care, please just say the word. I've given Beatrix enough topical collagen to fill a bathtub... if one inexplicably wanted to do something like that."

Lily doesn't quite seem to get it, bless her heart, but enough careful explanation does slowly get her to regard the Courier as more of an equal than a grandkid. "MY MISTAKE! YOU DON'T LOOK A DAY OVER A HUNDRED, DEAR. WHATEVER YOU USE, I'VE JUST GOT TO GET DOCTOR HENRY TO MAKE ME SOME! IF I HADN'T MADE A PROMISE TO MY HUSBAND, REST HIS SOUL, I COULD JUST EAT YOU UP."

Mr. House predictably uses this as ammunition to further his own plans. There's no change in the face on the flickering screen, but whatever cold mental calculus drives him moves the Courier up a few spaces in his strictly regimented list of priorities. "Then you, more than anybody, understand what we have to lose - or rather, what we have to gain. Put another way, you are in a unique position to understand the resources at my disposal. Imagine the luxuries you enjoyed before the barbarians in Washington reduced you to this base, hardscrabble existence among the ruins of their shortsightedness - and I think you'll appreciate that ruins isn't simply a turn of phrase here. Imagine having them again: not just the house and the car, not just the material indulgences, but the structure that made them possible - will continue to make them possible. We alone know what's been lost, and we alone hold the potential to see it returned."

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #fnv companions #reactions #raul tejada #craig boone #veronica santangelo #arcade gannon #lily bowen #mr house #rose of sharon cassidy

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formosusiniquis · 7 months ago

Text

have your cake

So way back in August 2023 the steddiemicrofic challenge was Cake and 311 words, my head empty brain came up with one thought and it was Steve Munson having a bakery called Mun's Buns and so many months later I finally got around to finishing my vision

Ships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins; implied/past Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington/Carol Perkins WC: 6408 | T | tags: Future Fic, the lightest of post homoerotic friendship breakup angst, fluff, Tommy POV AO3

The bakery has a stupid name, is the first thing Tommy thinks when Carol tells him where he's supposed to meet her on his lunch break. He’s still thinking that, when he sees the place for the first time through his rain speckled windshield. It's a modest storefront, small for what Carol says is a booming business, tucked in next to a used bookstore and a music shop. There's a baby yellow awning hanging from the front just underneath a sign lettered in soft blue that reads Mun's Buns.

He's late, is the second thing he thinks after pulling up. Caught up in some stupid bullshit for his dad he hadn't managed to slip away until 12:30. Even then it had only been because Tommy had told him he was going to be late for their cake tasting. He'd rolled his eyes when his father and Greg, a guy that Tommy only considers a co-worker in the sense that they are technically on the same payroll since Greg in every other aspect is incompetent and an idiot, had winced. Shooing him away like a kid who'd just admitted that he's already twenty minutes past curfew. But catching sight of the way Carol has her arms crossed, tapping her foot fast enough to kickstart a motor, while her hair hangs limp in a way that it hadn’t this morning a third thought crosses his mind: maybe he should have been a little more worried.

Waiting isn’t going to make things any better. So he steps out of the car, let’s the misty damp cling to him in a way that makes his dress pants and button down feel like a poorly tailored second skin, and takes his licks like a man. "Late, thirty minutes late. Christ, it's the only thing I've asked from you Tommy." Her right hook stings just as badly as it did sophomore year when she punched him for asking out Erin Murphy instead of her.

Shit like that is probably why no one expected them to make it this long or this far.

When they went away to college; different schools, hours apart. His parents had been gleeful as they'd warned him that high school relationships didn't always last. That he should keep his options open, he didn't want to miss out on the love of his life just because of comfort. He didn't get offered the family ring when he decided to propose right after graduation. Carol has always been particular. Wanted the house to come back to before the wedding could happen, wanted a long honeymoon. That meant saving, a lot of it. Tommy knew and Carol did too, they'd overheard his mother and aunt gossiping in too loud voices after too much wine that they hoped the long engagement meant they were both trying to figure out a good way to break it off with one another.

Still, over the course of their now five year engagement no one's asked once if they wanted to trade for it.

Carol thought it was horrendous anyway. She’d had her ring picked out since ‘85, styled her class ring so it would look like the oval cut diamond she wanted. Had him slide it on her finger the second it came in.

Cause in the politest of terms, Carol could be a raging bitch. She was Tommy's favorite person in the entire world.

There’s going to be a bruise on his shoulder tomorrow, even if she’s guiltily smoothing a hand down his arm now. Thrust toward the door first in offering, Carol is sorry she hit him but she’s not apologetic. “I’m serious, Tom, if we lose this appointment and have to go with Sweet Treats for our cake I'll- I'll-"

Whatever threat she was preparing is drowned out and then cut off by the echoing TONG of the door chime. A light in the back shifts color for a second, out of place enough that he wonders if he even really saw it. Head tilting toward Carol, his question catches in his throat when he notices her pinched off appraising. Better not to add to the ammunition she might already be building.

And if Carol is looking he better do it too. She'll want to debrief when they're having dinner tonight, just like they did with the florist, the caterer, the three wedding planners they'd met with, and each of the venues that they'd visited. And it wasnt because she was demanding, fuck you Greg. It wasn't because she was being nitpick-y, alright it was a little bit because she was but he liked being particular with her. He liked being involved in his wedding.

So he looked around.

The way they utilized their space -- a building that big and there's barely enough room to stand, we want someone who knows how to work with limited space for the venues we're looking at -- was the reason their first wedding planner hadn't gotten hired. Small, but not cramped. There are a handful of tables scattered in the open space in front of the counter. It’s the kind of small town cozy that Hawkins had tried for and he doesn’t see very often anymore now that they’ve moved out to Indianapolis.

It’s lunchtime, still too early for people to be seeking out the rows of deserts in their neat glass counter and too late for the breakfast crowd. But one of the tables is occupied by a teenager with long, black braids scribbling in a notebook while a slice of ice cream cake melts on a plate by her elbow.

Everything was neat, organized, and compliant with health code regulations -- they hadn’t even made it in the door of the first caterer’s when she noticed a trail of ants and roaches marching into the open kitchen door.

Carol had always been quick when she was making up her mind about something. Like those Sherlock Holmes stories they’d had to read in school, in a couple of seconds she could spot everything she needed to make a decision. After a decade Tommy still couldn’t keep up; but he was always best at following someone else’s lead.

The smile she’s got frosted across her face is as sugary and fake as the roses on the cupcakes he can see behind the low topped counters as she approaches the only visible staff member. A girl, young in the way that nebulous way anyone younger than him was now, with thick squared glasses that magnified two distressingly blue eyes. The counters looked like they were designed to sit low enough that she could easily see over the top while in her wheelchair.

“Welcome to,” her customer service tone borders on bored. Two words into a clear script and she sighs, as if saying the name physically pains her, “Mun’s Buns. We’ve got a special series of summer flavors: Strawberry Lemonade, Lavender Mint, Chocolate Fudgsicle, and,” she sighs again, “for the grownups a boozy Blue Moon with orange zest.”

“How about a wedding cake.” He’s impressed. Carol made it through the speech without interrupting.

“Do you have an appointment?” the girl raises her voice, enough to make them both flinch back. Customer service isn’t a requirement for this part of the job necessarily, but Carol had bailed on two venues because the staff hadn’t been polite enough.

Her smile doesn’t crack though, “Yes.”

Even though he’s pretty sure this girl has to be basically blind with the inch thick frames, she levels Carol with a lethal stare. “Not you.”

From the open entryway behind her Tommy had been able to make out what sounded like the highlights of yesterday’s game. He assumed that space had to be the kitchen where these rows of deserts were made. He’s still surprised when a guy’s voice is shouting back, “I don't know, Max, do I? Why don't you check?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Max shouts back, glowering at then in stand in for her mystery boss.

“With your finger, asshole. It's in braille. When I gave you this job you said you were actually gonna work.”

“Douchebag." Her eyes never leave them, while her hands rummage around in a space beneath the counter where the cash register sits. Max offers no explanation or apology for her shouting or for her boss. A large red appointment book gets slammed down on the nearest counter, making Carol jump but the neat two by twos of chocolate frosted cupcakes don't budge. He watches, a little fascinated by the way her finger scans the page before slowing. "Did you write this or did Dustin?"

Carol has always valued gossip over professionalism, he thinks that’s why she’s done so well as a hairdresser even though she was always awful at chemistry. It’s also why he’s held off from pointing out that they could solve this a lot faster if this guy would come out from the back. "Why?"

“Cause one of you can't spell and one of you is trying to invent braille shorthand. So I'm not really sure what to do with TomGan Wed.”

“It might be Thomas and Wedding.” Carol leans over the appointment book as she says it, using a tone of voice he has never once heard her use in the entire time he’s known her. He thinks it’s supposed to be helpful.

“Wedding sampler.” The girl calls toward the back, “It's getting late.”

“I’ve got it,” the voice from the back shouts back.There’s an effortless assurance Tommy can hear from where he’s standing. It hits him with a wave of nostalgia so strong he grabs Carol’s arm on instinct.

“Really,” she says, cutting her gaze over to him. He’s not sure what she sees. “If we could hurry this along, it's just we've only got an hour.”

“You're late.” The glare she gets shuts Carol down faster than he’s ever seen.

“Right.”

“Okay I've got it.” The voice from the back is now the voice in the doorway. Hidden for a second by a serving tray loaded with samples of rich looking cake, it’s the first time since arriving that Tommy has actually wanted to be here. Not just because he can make out strong shoulders and a body of a man that’s still very fit but clearly enjoys his work too; the hint of love handles above strong thighs. Only then that tray dips, and for the first time since 1985 Tommy finds himself looking at the shocked hazel eyes of Steve Harrington. “Oh.”

Carol reacts for him, taking in a breath sharp enough she might puncture a lung. They’ll both wind up suffocated on the floor of this stupid bakery with an awful name, because Tommy can’t manage to breathe at all looking at Steve. Still unfairly handsome, faintly pink at the shock of seeing them too he imagined.

His hair is long, is the first real thought his half fried brain manages to put together. Soft looking even where it’s damp at the temples where sweat has pooled. He has it pulled back with a couple of the same butterfly clips that Carol likes to use.

His second, somehow more hysterical thought: this wasn’t how Steve Harrington was supposed to be included in his wedding.

Tommy was six years old and knew he wanted to marry Steve. When he’d told his mom -- to ask for her ring, Steve thought it was romantic like princes and princesses that they had a special ring that they got married with -- she’d grabbed by his arm so hard it’d left finger shaped bruises. So he’d held that certainty quiet in his heart until he was ten, and suddenly it was okay to want to play with girls on the playground -- he thinks it’s because Steve got tired of there never being an even number when they tried to play kickball, he had a way of making everyone want to do the thing he was. Carol wasn’t afraid to tell Tommy C. that he was dumb or to tell Mark L. that he hadn’t actually made it to the base, Steve liked her fast. Too fast, and Tommy had to tell her that one day he was going to be able to keep Steve all to himself. But he knew that it wasn’t right to say that now, even if he wasn’t all the way sure why it wasn’t. He was ten, but he would be eleven soon, and he took this part of him that he’d kept secret for so long and he whispered it to Carol under the slide while Steve tried to convince Brad P. that he could too pick two people for his kickball team first.

He was ten and Carol said they could share. Boys can’t marry boys, but girls can. So they could both marry her and live together forever.

It became a joke when they finally shared it with Steve, thirteen and boys going out with girls wasn’t funny the way it used to be. Sarah Jane asked Carol if she had a chance at going steady with Steve. She told Tommy about it later and they both told Steve that he was too good to date any of the girls in their grade. “Well I’ve got you guys,” his voice cracked when he said it, throwing an arm around both of them. Carol didn’t care as much, but even she’d noticed the way Steve was changing from boyish to handsome.

They were sixteen and disaster was just around the corner, not that he knew that. Steve dated around but he always came back to them. The head, the heart, the body. They don’t feel complete without each other -- at least Tommy doesn’t. Mr. Kripke, who was hungover more often than he wasn't, passed out ten minutes into study hall. Carol didn’t even wait to see if he’d wake back up before she left her assigned table for theirs. She smoothed out a lined piece of notebook paper for them, and Tommy scoffed like he was supposed to. “Aren’t we a little old to be playing MASH?”

“It’s dirty MASH, and I thought you’d think it was funny.”

“I think it’s funny,” Steve had said, “that you’re getting eiffel towered on your wedding night. Who else is joining in, Carrie?”

“We couldn’t agree on who got you for their side of the aisle. So we’re taking you to bed instead.”

He was sixteen and the way that the two of them looked when they shared a joke was the hottest thing in the world. The way their smiles mirror when they turned to him, sharp and ready to flay open the softest parts of him.

Tommy’s two days older when Steve lets him kiss the taste of Carol out of his mouth.

It was three days after he turned seventeen and he had to pretend he didn't want to die when he saw how Steve looked at Nancy Wheeler. Like he didn’t want to rip his hair out because Steve was fucking infatuated with this mousy little teacher’s pet and wouldn’t even look at him anymore.

He still doesn’t like to think about the breakup. He pokes it like a fresh bruise. Less often now, but when he does he digs his fingers in. Baits Carol into fights he doesn’t mean just so he can pretend like he hasn’t lost something that hurts like a limb.

Steve Harrington turns twenty-eight next week, and he’s standing in front of them both holding pieces of what might turn into their wedding cake.

“Wow I can’t believe you’re in Indy!” False excitement grates, but at least Carol has gotten herself together enough to speak. He thought he’d have at least another few months to prepare for the thought of seeing Steve, by their ten year reunion he was going to be married and happy and over it.

“Yeah, this is- Married, wow! I kinda can’t believe you haven’t already.” He says it to Carol, his platitudes had always been for Carol, but his eyes find Tommy.

While Carol chatters at them and for them both, nervous, he knows she’s nervous. The situation is sudden and strange and fraught. But Tommy just looks at Steve, who looks at him. He’s getting married in three months, one week, and two days from now and for the first time in eleven years Steve is looking at him.

"Takes a while to save up for when you want the best of everything. Dad's still the skinflint he always was, I think he'd pay me less than minimum wage if he could get away with it."

And those soft brown eyes look so sad, looking at him. Sometimes he thinks no one will ever understand him the way that Steve did.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting the best, or having a long engagement." Carol defends. It's the same line she's been giving everyone. Defensive of him and herself and the choices they've been making. He can't believe Steve is someone she thinks they have to defend against.

“I really hope you're happy, man," he says, and the sincerity is a balm on the sting of this conversation. He pushes his hair back from his face, the way he always has when he's uncomfortable and trying not to make it obvious. And there's a fresh new hurt when Tommy catches sight of a plain gold band on Steve's finger, shining bright between the golden highlights of his hair.

“I’m happy about this,” he can say honestly. Carol is one of the only things he’s ever been sure about. She held him steady as she could when his other sure thing left him with a cracked foundation in a convenience store parking lot. “What about you? How long after meeting the future Mrs. Harrington did you wait to put a ring on her finger?”

“Tommy,” Carol chides as the teen in the corner snorts. To anyone else it would sound like a reprimand for being nosy, he, and he suspects Steve, knows she’s telling him to stop worrying a scab that has no hope of healing right.

Married and they didn’t know. Wouldn’t have found out until the reunion. It’s not like he expected an invitation, maybe an engagement announcement sent to their parents’ houses. They’d sent one to Loch Nora when the real ring had finally made it to Carrie’s finger. It was equal parts olive branch and offering. They’d gotten it back return to sender with no forwarding address.

The bell above the door tongs again, loud enough to make Carol jump. The platter of cakes doesn't shift at all in Steve’s hand. His arm shows no sign of fatigue. It’s almost distracting enough that he misses the obvious. The bell signals someone is coming into the store.

“Sorry, Sweetheart. I know I said I wasn't gonna be late but Mike…” There just inside the door is the Freak. Undeniable even with his head down as he digs through his shoulder bag. From the riot of poorly maintained tangles that still hang around his shoulders to the expanded mess of tacky ink on his arms. The only thing that’s changed is the age in his face and the band on his shirt.

“Munson?” Carol has the reflexes and the personal grace to address him first. Shock more than the disgust it might have been when they were still kids.

Tommy feels like a kid still. Looks to Steve in an instinct he’d thought he’d stamped out years ago, only to be met with wide eyes and teeth grit tight enough to draw out the square line of his jaw.

“Christ, I still get nightmares that start like this.” Munson says, eye darting between the three of them. “Max, am I naked?”

“Don't know, don't wanna know.”

“I thought you'd be able to tell by the energy in the room.” He wiggles his fingers, still bedecked in silver, like they can divine the vibrations or some witchy shit.

That’s enough to make Steve break just a little. A soft, exhaling scoff before he finally starts to move out from the counter. Tommy catches, and he doubts Carol misses it either, how Steve passes the closer tables to set his tray down between them and Munson.

“I can tell I don't want to be here for this.” Their redheaded audience member says, “I'm taking my 15.”

“Don't go harass Mike, he's finally working,” Munson says.

“Will and El are on shift on the other side,” Steve calls out, not looking at any of them as he moves cakes from his tray to the table. A deliberate selection he seems to be making.

“Whatever, I’m gonna call Lucas and break up with him so he can play better or whatever.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Munson calls out, “I’ve only got him on a five point spread.”

If Carol’s nails break from how hard they’re digging into his arm, somehow it’ll be Tommy’s fault. Not the fact that they’ve advanced the worst part of their ten year reunion by months, and also Munson is here and knows shit about basketball.

“Sorry, think my hearing’s going, sounded like you said you want him to lose and he’s getting kicked from the next one shot. I’ll let him know.”

“She gets that from you,” Steve and Munson say in sync. Glaring playfully at one another the way Steve used to with Carol.

“I’ll tell Robin you were-”

“Do not sick Buckley on me, Max made the deaf joke not me.”

“Weird, that’s not what I heard.” Steve has always claimed his hair as his best feature. It isn’t -- Carrie liked his eyes, Tommy his hands -- but it’s hard to deny that it doesn’t look good, flipping over his shoulder. His smile is private, just for Munson, soft the way he got whenever he picked up a new girl. Carrie taps the back of his hand, two sharp smacks, their signal for years that he needed to pay attention and notice something she had. Wide, nervous eyes dart to Steve -- like he hadn’t already been looking at Steve -- so he does his best to assess the way Carol would.

Jealous, viciously, Steve had been theirs in every way that mattered since they were ten years old and Carol had never liked sharing her toys with anyone but them. She watched his face for any sign of unhappiness anytime a new girlfriend came along, and when she found one she passed it along to him. So he could pick and joke until Steve was all theirs again.

So he checked the face. Tried to ignore the way Steve was lit up from the inside out with a joy he could barely remember, and then he saw the hearing aid.

He tapped back, three times. O.M.G.

“The 1985 Homecoming court here to reveal that this has all been a long con, Stevie?”

“Yeah I faked the name change paperwork and picked up a fake ID, sorry I took my business somewhere else.” Steve says it with the sincerity he’s always made those kind of jokes with, his strange sense of humor never coming across when he always sounded so serious.

Munson gets it though, snorts loud and ugly, before a smile pulls wide across half his face the otherside taught with a gnarly scar. “Now I know why my fake ID business went belly up when we got to the city, not like I only sold three in high school.” He gestures to the three of them in a wide arc.

Sophomores, they had decided it was time to throw their first real party now that Steve’s parents had moved out of Hawkins in all but name. Steve was a latchkey kid of new proportions and took to self sufficiency in a way that had seemed adult to him then; and in hindsight looked more like a child fighting for his life. Steve bragged how he’d been saving up the weekly checks they’d sent to ‘sustain him’ while they worked in the city during the week. His contribution to Tommy and Carol’s vague plan to throw a kegger by the pool. When they’d floundered, immediately, with the hows, Steve had been the one to suggest going to Munson.

“Love this preview of the reunion,” Carol cuts in, there’s no bite but Munson bristles anyway like she’s being rude for reminding them that there are customers present. “Steve?”

It’s funny, Tommy thinks, the way Steve still straightens his back at Carol’s tone. All this time and he can’t fight the old ingrained instincts either.

“Dustin made the appointment,” Steve apologizes, even as he’s posture perfect and preparing his pastries. The unsaid, ‘I definitely wouldn’t have’ doesn’t go unheard and it doesn’t sting any less even this far from their last interaction.

“Munson could join us,” Tommy offers, a new olive branch since their last one was never seen. Even if it does raise three sets of brows and makes Carrie’s nervous smile tighten even more in the corner of her mouth.

“Well at least one of us has to,” Munson, Eddie, says. Just says, tone like it was meant to be something said under his breath.

He's grown up a lot since high school, they both have. Still, he's only got twenty minutes left on his lunch break and it's been a long day. "God, is that why it's called that?" Growth, he doesn't say that Steve Munson sounds a lot dumber than Steve Harrington.

"It's charming," Carol and Steve both say. Though Carrie is definitely lying and Steve barely gets it out from between his gritted teeth, a sore spot. He's always been good at finding Steve's bruises.

"It's charming," Tommy agrees, like he always did when he was out voted.

Eddie has a smirk spread across his face and a ‘too proud of himself’ look in his eyes. Mouth open to make some quip that Tommy is going to pretend is funny, for Steve’s sake. Now that they’re here, he’s going to do something to show that they could talk to one another again. Steve clicks his tongue, taps his index and middle finger down to his thumb two quick times before he can.

He turns to the girl in the corner, "Erica, scram, go help Robin and the kids with the new donation that just came in."

The teen continues to scribble in the notebook in front of her, bulky headphones over her ears, she makes no sign that Tommy can see that she's heard Steve speak. "Erica, go, or I'll tell your mother you moved out of the dorms. You're 20, it's not child labor, and you've got a timecard."

She sighs and wordlessly packs up her things, she gives Steve a scathing look that takes Tommy back to high school. The withering eyebrow and rolled eyes would have been just at home on Steve’s own face in 1985, but she marches behind the counter, the sound of her dish rattling in the sink before she disappears out the same door that the redhead had gone out.

Now that the room has been cleared, an awkward silence has found the space to squeeze in. Munson, the original, still standing in the doorway and Steve standing between his unlawfully wedded husband and the two people who had lost their chance at him years ago.

The wedding and the reunion both on the horizon had dredged up a nostalgia that Tommy and Carol had been dealing with in their own ways. Dredging up old yearbooks, Carol had found a shoebox of old notes that she’d kept. Conversations written in three different inks by three different hands, nonsensical after all this time. Tommy woke up from dreams that he hadn’t had in years. Always of Steve and Carol, a study in opposites, but similar where it mattered.

“Well,” Steve says, taking charge of the situation like he always would when the other two faltered, “you’re here for a reason. We might as well get started on it.”

Steve’s fingerprints are still on them, just like he’d noticed theirs on him, molded as they were together. They’ve always bowed to his expectations, and his whims. When he ushers them to the table with a spread hand, Tommy and Carol go where they’re beckoned.

And so does Munson.

They keep an empty chair between them, an artificial divide for Tommy’s sanity, but with the sprawl of Munson’s legs their knees still occasionally brush together. Carol had taken the spot closest to Steve, who has stayed standing. He is their gracious host, marking the head of the round table.

“I pulled out the full sampler before I realized it was you,” Steve says. Even with as off balance as the interaction has felt, Tommy doesn’t feel his hackles raising. While it’s possible he’s gotten more subtle with his digs, Steve’s vicious tongue was usually unmistakable. “I can tell you about as many of them as you want though if you want to pretend like we don’t already know what I’ll be making you. I’m sure neither of you have eaten lunch yet.”

“You are going to take us on?” Carol asks. Shock always gives her tone an extra edge, defensive and catty, even if she’s really just waiting to see if another shoe will drop.

“Obviously,” Steve says, placing a faintly orange square of cake in front of her. He slaps Eddie’s hand away from another piece without looking away from either of them. “That’s as far as I’ll be going in participation though.”

He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s mouth twitches up with the joke, a filthy smirk that leaves Tommy flushing hot. Too warm to not be a bright and obvious red at the acknowledgment of that old private in-joke.

It doesn’t get better when Carol moans, “Oh my god, Steve!” Even if it is about the cake.

He laughs, and Tommy suspects the two are actually trying to kill him. He chances a glance over at Munson who looks like he doesn’t care at all that his husband has made Tommy’s fiance moan. He is watching Tommy though, an inquisitive look like the one Carol gets when she happens to catch a nature documentary.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with Carol, “I’ll do something small with that citrus cake for you and Tom so you’ve got something you’ll actually eat on your wedding, maybe a pineapple buttercream on top like that nasty Juicy Fruit gum you like so much.”

“I mean it’s really crazy how you’re so good at this when you’ve never had any taste,” Carol compliments, she never did learn how to be nice.

He could probably count Steve’s teeth in the answering smile. Tommy can feel it like an ache in his chest how much he missed this. He snatches another cube of cake off the tray just so has something else to focus on.

“That’s the fancy one for the people who hate their guests,” Munson says as the cake has settled on the flat of Tommy’s tongue.

“It’s lavender,” Steve corrects, and the floral flavor is lodged in the back of his throat at least gives him a reason now to feel so choked up. “And it is for a particular sort of bride.”

“Are you saying I’m not fancy and particular, Munson?” Carol asks.

She’s obviously talking to Eddie Munson, who lifts his hands up in answer. But it’s Steve who says, “If you tried to feed that to Gail she would leave the reception bitching the whole time.”

“Well go on,” Tommy finds himself goading now that he’s swallowed, “finish calling your shot, Stevie. You said you knew what we were walking out of here with.”

Carol reaches across the table, locking eyes with Eddie as she snags the piece closest to him. The one his fingers had been inching toward like he thought Steve wouldn’t notice him trying to take it.

“I’ll make a small citrus cake for you, Carrie, we’ll hide it in the back of the larger cake so you can get the pictures of you cutting it and smashing into each other's faces-”

“We will not be doing that,” she interrupts, the warning for him and also unnecessary. He already knows how she feels about being embarrassed in public.

“Then the big cake for your guests will be a chocolate cake, I can cover it in a buttercream or a fondant icing also chocolate, because it’s the only kind of cake the Hagan family will eat. Even though I’m sure John hasn’t given you a dime for the wedding, he’ll complain until Hannah gets married if he doesn’t like the cake.”

“Really,” Steve continues, “the only thing up in the air is how many people you were able to get away with not inviting, Care.”

The two of them start talking actual wedding logistics, and as Tommy grabs another bite of cake -- this one looks like it might be a normal flavor -- he figures the real show of good faith would be talking to the only other person at the table while he eats what Steve correctly dubbed his lunch.

“Y’know he never actually answered me,” he says in an undertone.

Munson seems surprised at being spoken to, only widens his eyes in response to Tommy’s unasked question.

“I asked Steve how soon after the first date he proposed, he never actually answered.”

Eddie softens at the edges before he can even say anything. Steve had a way of doing that, bringing out the romantic in a person. He loved with a passion that demanded it be matched. “Technically I proposed to him, but he says it doesn’t count because we weren’t together and I was high on morphine after a major surgery and thought he was Apollo, come to whisk me away.” The smile on Munson’s face looks dopey and drugged up now, like the very memory of whatever hospital stay is so ingrained in his mind he can feel the high now.

“But,” he goes on, “he told me we were getting married whether it was legal or not about three months after he got legally married to another woman.”

“Stop,” Steve has always been able to sense when he’s about to be the butt of the joke. He has a finger pointed at Eddie like a teacher delivering a lecture. “You can’t tell people that. It was for tax reasons, I’m not cheating on my wife.”

“You say tomato, I say whichever one of us is your least favorite has to be the extramarital affair.”

“I say, you’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.” Tommy can hear the warm affection behind the insult, the way their picking is a safer way to express their passion for one another.

He thought he would be jealous of whoever finally managed to reel in Steve Harrington for good, and he is. The emotion is there, present in the snarling tangle of emotions that this encounter has left in him. One that he and Carol will have to slowly tease and pick out tonight when they’re home in bed. Trying to make sense of what each thread is and what it means for them. But the one bright pulsing thread he can make sense of is happiness. He’s happy for Steve, happy that he gets to see an old friend so at ease and obviously cared for.

And he’s sad that his time is up, his lunch hour so close to an end he’ll be late getting back to the office. Something he can already hear his Dad and fucking Greg giving him shit for. Which means they have to end their time here.

Steve walks them to the door, flips the sign to mark them closed for lunch.

“Congratulations again, you two,” he says, “I really am happy I can get to be a part of this with you all. Even if it’s a little different than we used to imagine.”

Carol reaches out for the both of them, puts her hand on his arm. Tommy finds that he’s the one who actually says, “We’re glad you found someone who makes you this happy, dude. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, he’s alright most of the time.” It's said with such fondness it becomes a declaration. It’s hard to imagine how they thought they could ever be the something that could make Steve this happy. But maybe in a different life, under different circumstances it could have been.

There’s a minute where they all stand in the doorway. He wonders if they’re all afraid that this might be the last time they see each other, speak to one another, until Steve is delivering the cake on the day of the wedding. Maybe it’s just him, he was the one who pushed back the hardest after things ended.

Someone finally gives in and pushes the door open. It’s TONG a death toll for their current conversation. But it also sends a jolt through Steve, he straightens to his full height like a shock has gone through him. “Here,” he says, “here, um.” He digs around in his apron until he finds a pen and a receipt pad. Jots down something before tearing it off and putting it in Tommy’s hands, “It's our home number, in case you have any cake emergencies or something.”

They really can’t stay any longer.

Carol takes the note, better at keeping track of these things than Tommy is. It’s hard to know if they’ll actually use it, maybe after they talk about it, but if they do she’ll be the one to do it. She’s always been braver than him.

There’s no way of guaranteeing anything but the fact that they’ll have a cake on the table on their wedding day. But he hopes that Steve might stay for the ceremony once he brings it, he can even bring Eddie if that’s what gets him there.

Alone in his car, Tommy lets himself take a minute to think about Steve Harrington one last time. He isn’t going to get what he wanted as a kid. Doubts that he’ll ever be as close to Steve as he’d been in childhood, too much time has passed and too much has changed.

But there’s an opportunity to get to know Steve Munson, and he isn't going to pass it up. Even if he doesn’t know how to name a bakery.

#steddie #steddie fic #implied past stomarol #Baker Steve Harrington #my fic #tommy x carol #tomarol #genuinely don't know what their ship name is I'm sorry #future fic #the author is experiencing some complicated emotions about their 10 year reunion and this is now the second fic I've posted this year-#-that's mentioned one so clearly forcing fictional characters to emote about it for me is not working #the terrible trio do own every business in the little storefront Tommy mentions and they employ the kids who they have a stable income-#-while they work on their passion projects

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thisapplepielife · 1 month ago

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Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Seven Deadly Sins pop-up event.

The Waiting

"She's not answering," Gareth says, holding the room phone up to his ear.

"Believe it or not, her life doesn't revolve around you, kid," Eddie says, writing in his little notebook, not even looking up.

Well, yeah, Gareth knows that. He does. But she also knows his tour schedule. She knows that when he gets within 100 miles of Omaha, they always find a way to meet up. It's been this way for two years.

Nights spent together, holed up in hotels, fucking and laughing and having a good time together. Because while they like each other, they know that trying to make this work while he's on the road is a non-starter.

So, they only get nights. Great nights, a few times a year. Her in his arms, his bed, his heart. When she's there, she's the only one he wants.

It's the most comfortable and predictable thing in his life, besides music. They have an arrangement. Non-exclusive. Don't ask, don't tell. And it's worked.

But now, she's not answering or returning the message he left on her machine, and that's never happened before. She always calls back.

When she finally calls back, it's not what he expected.

"She has a boyfriend now," Gareth says, flopping down on the bed. "Can you believe that?"

"Uh, yeah? She's a fucking doll. Maybe you should've committed when you had the chance."

"You know I'm not doing that until I'm at least forty. She knows that, too. I never lied."

"I didn't say you lied, but you definitely got greedy, kid. You wanted her to wait while you were off fucking around. Did you seriously think that she'd wait forever, just on the off-chance you'd settle down with her someday? Get real. I'm sure she weighed the odds if you'd ever settle. And if you did turn forty, and magically decide it was time, what were the chances that you would marry forty-year-old her, and not some twenty-eight-year-old groupie?"

Eddie's monologuing at him. Which is nothing new. But it still makes Gareth bristle.

"That's not. I wouldn't. I wanted her. My endgame plan was always her."

Eddie raises an eyebrow, "Well, maybe her endgame plan wasn't you."

Gareth still calls. Every time they wind through the Midwest. Two years later, he's nearly two hundred miles away in Bonner Springs, and that's further than their agreement covers, but he tries anyway. He'd make it work. But when he makes contact, she finally tells him not to call again. That if she ever wants to, she'll get a hold of him, not the other way around.

She never does.

After five years, they play right in Omaha, and he doesn't whip his head around with the arena lights, searching every face his eyes can find.

But he does wonder if she married the boyfriend. If she has kids that aren't his.

He wonders that a lot.

They take a break from touring. He's thirty-one, and alone every morning when the sun comes up. Everybody's beat up and worn down. One year off turns into three. He's not sure they'll ever get back on the road.

Everybody's settled down. Happy.

Everybody but him.

So, he pretends. Gets a girlfriend that's probably too young for him, but she doesn't give a fuck about what he does on the side, because she isn't interested in anything other than his money.

It's not a terrible deal. He gets to fuck around, and his house isn't empty.

Two years in, sitting across from Eddie at breakfast, he says, "I could marry her, I guess."

And Eddie drops his fork. Deliberately. Like an asshole.

"Don't you fucking dare. You don't love her. You barely like her."

He's pretty sure he's not capable of love. Because the only time he thinks he felt it, he didn't do a damn thing about it, instead trading his happiness for his freedom.

His engagement makes the news, but so does the messy break-up, later.

"At least you're only out a diamond, for fuck's sake," Eddie says, yanking open the blinds. Gareth hates him right now.

"I miss her," Gareth says.

Eddie lets out an exasperated sigh, "No, you don't. You're just lonely."

Gareth rolls over, face in his pillow, mumbling, "Not her. Di."

There's a beat where he thinks Eddie didn't hear him, but he's not that lucky.

"Jesus H. Christ. That again?"

Again? Always.

"You don't want Di. You just want what you can't have."

That's not true.

They book a stretch of shows. Gareth isn't sure it can be called a tour, it's so small. And he's pretty sure it's just to get him out of the house. Either way, they're on the road again, and he's back to his old habits. It really is like riding a bike.

He has Steve order the condoms he likes in bulk, and fucks his way through the cities they hit. He's good at this. He's never gonna settle down. He says he's getting a vasectomy, and Eddie tries to talk him out of it. Eddie's just scared he'll start raw dogging around, after.

Fair enough. He's overdue for a downward spiral.

The shows are fine. But they always are. They are well-oiled and in sync, even after years off.

Then they land in Omaha.

There will always be a pang of hurt coming here, but it's been over ten years. She's not his, and never really was, because he never let her be.

The arena is playing music before the show starts, as always, but tonight three out of the last five songs have been Tom Petty. It's an extra twist of the Omaha knife.

Di loved Tom Petty.

The Waiting starts up.

That's it.

"Steve," Gareth snaps, "for fuck's sake. Tell them to knock the Petty off, it's putting me on edge."

Steve just shrugs, like he has no control over it. As if he couldn't put a stop to anything with one look, hands on his hips.

So, he's letting this happen. Asshole.

On stage, Gareth's still in a bad mood. But there's a looker in the front row, and maybe he can make that happen tonight.

After the set, he runs off-stage and right next to Steve, is Di. Older, with different hair, but definitely her.

His heart stops.

She's here.

He's thirty-seven. And she's here.

He holds the door of his dressing room open for her. He figures they're gonna talk. Maybe close this chapter for good.

But he sits on the couch, legs spread, and she crawls right on his thighs. Then grips his shoulders, and pulls herself forward, flush against his crotch.

Oh fuck. Goddamn.

They tear off clothing, desperate, fingers grazing. A condom is found, and then she's sinking down on him.

He groans, and tilts his head backwards.

"I wanna know," she says, and he looks at her. Waiting to see what she wants to hear as she's rocking on him. Tom Petty was right. The waiting is the hardest part.

Then she smiles, "Are you still a slut?"

He laughs. Not Petty, Chili Peppers, then.

And he is. Nods. But, maybe?

Maybe, he doesn't want to be.

"Not if you'll stay."

"Right answer," she says, teasing, caressing his stick calloused fingers. "You're not forty yet, you know?"

"Forty isn't even old."

She laughs.

"I was single for the first time in years, and thought, now? Then I read you were getting married."

"Not anymore," he says.

"I know. That's why I'm sitting on your cock," she teases, and he laughs. "I didn't know if I even remembered you right. Or if you'd remember me at all. It's been years."

He touches her hair, her face, "I want you. I love you. Not telling you that, not acting on it way back then, haunts me. I lost fucking years with you."

And, yeah, he's not forty.

But he's ready.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Well, yeah, I might have chased a couple women around, All it ever got me was down, Yeah, then there were those that made me feel good, But never as good as I feel right now, Baby, you're the only one that's ever known how, To make me live like I wanna live now Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, The Waiting

Notes: Title is from The Waiting by Tom Petty (shocker, lol) but this was also heavily influenced by the songs I Should Have Married You by Old Dominion and Otherside by Red Hot Chili Peppers.

#corrodedcoffinfest: seven deadly sins #prompt: greed #corrodedcoffinfest #gareth stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things #corroded coffin #steve harrington #corroded coffin fic #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic

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highinmiamiii · 2 months ago

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NO FEELINGS - ch. 02

🇬🇧 a prelude 🇬🇧

A/N: heeey yall, it’s been a second i’ve been feeling some of that good ol’ block lately. i wanted to make this second chapter a lot more detailed and maybe get a little nasty with it already but i fear my brain just wouldn’t allow me…so i hope you enjoy this flashback/prelude chapter with that tattoo scene in a little more detail that i had sitting in my drafts for what it is. leave a comment if you wanna be apart of my permanent taglist and any feedback or suggestions are welcome. thank you all so much for following and reading i love you so much! enjoy this while i sort out this blockage and come back stronger, better and hornier 😈 also i hope the switching back and forth isn’t confusing i attempted to differentiate for ya’ll

Her POV: back of steakhouse (present)

She leaned against the grimy counter, staring at the faded ink on her arm as her mind drifted. It hadn’t taken much—just one look at him sitting out there. The way his jaw clenched, cigarette hanging from his lips, the same damn way it used to back in London. She hadn’t expected to ever have to see him again, and now, as the memories came flooding back, it felt like a sucker punch to the gut.

London in the 90s. A wild, rebellious time. The city had swallowed her whole, but she’d been too busy chasing the dream to care. The music. The crowds. The life. And then there was him—Billy. She wasn’t sure what she saw in him at first. Maybe it was the same reckless abandon she had, or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t give a damn about anything, including her.

Butcher’s POV (Present)

He lit another cigarette, taking a long drag, eyes narrowing as the smoke curled up toward the dim lights. Christ, she’d aged, just like him, but the fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed much. Still that spark, that defiance. But behind it, he saw something else. Pain. Maybe even a little bitterness. The last thing he had in mind when coming here was to dredge up all these old memories. If he’d known *she*, of all people would be the one serving him piss poor American whiskey in a tiny little white sheer tank top, he wouldn’t have dared to show up here…or would he?

But London… yeah, he remembered. He could still see her, standing there in that grimy club, screaming lyrics at the top of her lungs. The way her fishnets dug into the meat of her thighs, her big messy carefree hair to match her attitude. That night had been pure chaos—loud, electric, full of bad decisions. She’d been wearing some old Nirvana shirt, looking every bit the rebel without a cause. That’s what caught his eye. A Yank, lost in a sea of Brits, and still holding her own.

Her POV: Camden, London (Flashback)

The club was packed, bodies pressed together in the heat of the moment. The shitty Sex Pistols cover band’s rendition blared through the speakers, the crowd was a frenzy, and she loved every second of it. She’d never felt more alive, more free. And then, through the haze of booze and music, there he was. A cocky grin, leather jacket slung over one shoulder, eyes dark and sharp. He looked like trouble, and that’s exactly what she was after.

They’d met by accident—literally, she’d spilled her drink on him. He’d smirked, tossed a sarcastic remark, and she fired one right back. That was how it started. The banter, the late-night pub crawls, the music they bonded over. Sonic Youth. The Clash. Pearl Jam. They’d spent hours talking about bands, trading tapes, dissecting lyrics. He was tough, but he got it. He understood the frustration, the rebellion that was running through her veins. And she loved him for it.

Butcher’s POV: (Flashback)

She’d been a live wire from the moment they met. Mouthy, sharp, full of opinions. But bloody hell, she knew her music, and she didn’t take shit from anyone, of course it didn’t hurt that she was the sexiest damn woman he’d ever seen in his life. They’d spent that whole night drinking and talking, getting lost in the chaos of London’s underground punk scene. She wasn’t English, not by a long shot, but there was something about her—something that felt familiar.

Maybe that’s why he stuck around. Maybe that’s why they became inseparable after that night. Camden was their playground, the pubs their refuge. They were both running from something—her, from a life that didn’t suit her, him from his demons, the ones that always seemed to creep in when the booze ran dry.

Her POV: Streets of London (Flashback)

They’d wander the streets of London at 3 a.m., talking about everything and nothing. She’d ramble about her dreams, how she’d saved up for years to get to London, only to find out that the dream wasn’t as glamorous as it seemed. He’d listen, nod, offer some witty remark, and she’d laugh, feeling lighter for a moment.

Then there was that night—the tattoo. They’d been drunk, of course, stumbling out of a pub when he saw the tattoo parlor.

“Go on, love, get somethin’ that sticks. Like us,” he’d slurred, smirking like the devil himself.

She rolled her eyes, but she was too far gone to resist. “You’re full of shit, Butcher.”

“Am I, now? Bollocks to it. Get the ink, love.”

And so she did. Never Mind the Bollocks. The same words that were now permanently etched on her skin, a reminder of those wild nights, of him.

Butcher’s POV: Tattoo Parlor, London (Flashback)

He couldn’t forget that night. Hell, he couldn’t forget any of it. She’d been so fiery, so full of life. He’d loved that about her, even if he didn’t say it. They’d been reckless, sure, but wasn’t that the whole point? To live fast, to not give a fuck?

But then Lenny died. And the whole world went to shit.

He’d shut down, shut her out. There were no more late-night pub crawls, no more snarky conversations over cheap pints, no more music. Everything that once felt like an escape, even her, turned into a reminder of what he’d lost. And what was worse, he couldn’t pull her into the darkness that now consumed him. She was too bright, too full of life—life that he no longer wanted a part of.

He’d ghosted her, plain and simple. He’d watched her from a distance, knowing she’d be heartbroken, but he couldn’t give her any more of himself. There wasn’t anything left to give. And London, once the vibrant backdrop to their wild love, became a suffocating city, drowning him in grief.

Her POV: Pub in London (Flashback)

She sat alone at their favorite pub. The one they used to haunt after every show, after every wild adventure through London’s underground. She kept checking her phone, waiting for a message that never came. The hours passed, the pint in front of her went warm, and still—nothing.

He was gone.

She didn’t want to believe it at first. But night after night, the calls went unanswered, and slowly, it started to sink in. He wasn’t coming back. Not for her, not for the life they’d carved out together. London, once her grand adventure, started to feel like a prison without him. The streets that used to be filled with music and laughter now echoed with silence. And every time she looked down at her arm, at the ink that now felt like a cruel joke, her heart twisted in pain.

Butcher’s POV: Steakhouse Booth (Present)

He snuffed out the cigarette, a bitter taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the smoke. Sitting here now, seeing her again after all these years, the memories were crawling back. The nights they spent in each other’s arms, the reckless abandon, the laughter… and then, the way he left her. Cold. Brutal.

He had his reasons, sure, but none of them would make a difference now. She hated him, that much was clear. And maybe she had every right to. He’d left her to fend for herself, knowing she’d have no way of surviving in London without him. But at the time, it felt like the only way to save her from the wreckage of his life.

Her POV: Backroom of the Steakhouse (Present)

She could hear the chatter of customers, the clatter of plates in the kitchen, but it all faded into the background. All she could think about was the way her life had fallen apart after he left. She’d had to scrape by, working whatever jobs she could get, barely keeping her head above water before finally fleeing back to the States.

And now, here he was. As if none of it had happened. As if he hadn’t left her stranded in a foreign country with nothing but a damn tattoo and a broken heart. She could feel her pulse quicken, her chest tightening with anger, with hurt. She wanted to storm out there, demand an explanation, shout at him for all the years she lost trying to pick up the pieces.

But instead, she stayed put. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d wrecked her. Not after all this time.

Butcher’s POV: Steakhouse Booth (Present)

He knew she was out back, probably stewing in her thoughts, just like he was. A part of him wanted to go to her, to explain, maybe even apologize for how things ended. But the other part—the part that still felt the weight of Lenny’s death, of everything he’d lost—kept him glued to the booth.

What was the point in dredging it all up? She’d moved on. She had to have. Just like he had. But then again, why did it feel like seeing her was pulling him back into that old life, back into those nights where it was just them against the world?

He reached for his glass, took another slow sip, eyes fixed on the dim light of the restaurant. Whatever they had back then, it was long gone. But seeing her now, it felt like a piece of him still lived in those London nights, still ached for the chaos and the connection they shared.

Her POV: Backroom of the Steakhouse (Present)

She pushed away from the counter, straightened her apron, and steeled herself. He could sit there and sulk all he wanted, but she wasn’t about to fall back into the past. Not with him. Not after everything. The memories still hurt, sure. But she wasn’t that same girl anymore, and she’d be damned if she let him drag her back to that place.

As she headed back out into the dining area, she caught sight of him again, sitting there like a ghost from her past. It was strange, how someone could look so different and yet so much the same. His face was more lined, his hair grayer, but that smirk, that swagger—it was all still there.

She had half a mind to walk right past him, pretend like he didn’t exist. But something inside her—maybe the part that still hurt, still remembered what they had—wouldn’t let her.

Butcher’s POV: Steakhouse Booth (Present)

And there she was, moving through the restaurant, that same defiance in her step. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret—just a small one, mind—but it was enough to remind him that they hadn’t been all bad together. They’d been wild, reckless, and young, but they’d had something real in the middle of all the madness.

As she came closer, his gaze locked onto hers. It was a silent challenge, like it always was between them. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him first, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to back down, either.

But the years between them? The ones filled with silence, with her hurt and his guilt—they hung in the air like smoke from a freshly lit cigarette.

And in that moment, Butcher couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, some things weren’t meant to be left in the past.

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current tags: @butchersdarkbird @scrmqwn

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