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livinginshambles · 2 years ago

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You're unbelievable (derogatory) | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You're best friends with James, but since his new relationship with Lily, you find yourself standing on the side more often than not.

Your friendship with James breaks when he has to choose between you or Lily, and it's only after the damage is done that he realizes the consequences of his actions.

Note: Lily's kind of a not cool in this fic. Not proofread, mistakes (grammar and maybe continuity because I rewrote the middle from memory) Time lines are wrong, howarts is endless.

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“James Potter, you’re unbelievable!” You exclaimed, and if not for the widest grin ever plastered on you face, those words could hold an entirely different meaning. You gave James a tight side hug while you clutched your precious gift to your chest.

“Well, you better believe it darling,” Sirius appeared on your left. “Prongs made us stand in line for that signed copy for eight hours. EIGHT HOURS,” he complained and shook James back and forth by his shirt collar.

“And not to mention, he woke us up at 2 o’clock in the morning for that,” Peter happily reminded him, and Sirius wailed at the memory and dramatically dropped to his knees. You stumbled back and James was quick to hold you steadily.

“Oh, quit it with the theatrics,” Remus mused, and he pulled Sirius up from the floor where he had slouched his entire weight against your legs. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Sirius huffed. “For you maybe. Because you secretly wanted to get your book signed too,” he accused Remus. Remus sheepishly shrugged.

James pressed a kiss to your temple, and you melted inside. “Happy birthday, love,” he whispered with a fond smile, and you bashfully looked away.

“Thanks,” you muttered awkwardly. Godric, you despised the attention that birthdays bring along.

“On that note, I’m heading towards the library,” you excused yourself. “But thank you guys so much for getting that book for me, I love you guys so much,” you said and blew them a kiss as you stepped backwards to the door.

“Hold on,” James frowned. “We’re not celebrating?”

“Uh, no I have to work on our Potions assignment.”

“Oh. Well, let me walk you to the library, yeah?” James offered, but you had an inkling feeling that it wasn’t really a question.

You laughed and pulled a face at him. “I can’t stop you anyways, can I? You’re an absolute menace, Potter.”

“I’m just trying to spend the day together.” James wrapped an arm around you and guided you towards the door.

“You know, the day on which the world has been blessed with your birth. And just as it was always meant to be, might I add, because look at where this led, such a perfectly beautiful day to celebrate.” He winked.

“Today is a wonderful day,” you hummed in agreement. “But you know I was supposed to be born late April, not March. So not really ‘as it was always meant to be’ at all,” you pointed out.

James rolled his eyes. “Uh, yes it was. Otherwise, we would’ve never met at the hospital and become bestest friends.”

“That’s not even correct gramm-”

“Besides, didn’t see you much today,” James unbotherdly continued.

You shook your head in amusement. “Come along then,” you pretended to relent in a joking manner. James was already pulling you along anyway.

You looked back at the rest of the marauders. “You guys also coming?”

You got an unenthusiastic hum from Peter and nothing from Remus, who was too deep in his book to have heard you. You looked at Sirius.

“Darling, I love you, but that’s six flights of stairs,” Sirius laughed, and he settled in on the sofa.

You gasped in fake horror. “So, is that the limit of your love for me?” You sniffed and pretended to wipe away a tear. “I guess-, I guess that’s it then. We’re just not meant to be,” you sighed.

“I know, darling. And I’m sorry. Just know, it’s not you, it’s me,” Sirius solemnly agreed.

You opened your mouth to continue your devastating-sad-ending-love-story when James, who had felt strangely annoyed at Sirius, impatiently grabbed your hand and pulled you out the door.

You enjoyed the feeling of walking hand in hand with James, even though it was short-lived. He let go of your hand as soon as he realized he was still holding it, and you two walked next to each other in a comfortable silence. Again, short-lived.

“I swear, one of these days, Lily might give me a chance. She smiled at me yesterday after supper, you know.” James happily bragged, eyes in a dreamy haze, no doubt imagining Lily.

You peered up at him and quietly admired his blissed look. It may never be directed towards you but seeing him so happy really made you glad and all warm inside.

Not that you’d ever let him know that.

Instead, you snorted at his words, tiptoed, and slung an arm across his broad shoulders. “In your dreams, maybe,” you sassed at him. James wanted to huff at your reply, but at your struggle to reach his other shoulder, he couldn’t help but laugh wholeheartedly, and he wrapped his arms around your shoulder instead.

“You’ve got to stop growing, James,” you protested and ducked out from under his arm.

“Quite the opposite actually, perhaps you should start,” he mocked you and you reached out to shove him but he put a step back out of the way fluently and then smoothly pulled back his shoulder just in time when you tried to shove him again. “So predictable,” he tsked. You opted to stick out your tongue instead.

“So,” James started. You hummed in reply. “Mum’s asking if you’re spending Easter with us again,” he casually mentioned.

“Oh really, Euphemia is asking me huh,” you teased him.

James looked away embarrassedly.

“Hm, not sure,” you shrugged nonchalantly. “Think I’m gonna be sort of preoccupied with my cousins from Ireland,” you looked at him through the corner of your eyes and caught his disappointed expression. A grin grew on your face like that of a Cheshire cat and you nudged him again.

“Oh, come on James, I’m kidding, you know. I’ve literally never not spent Easter with you. Besides, I live right across the street, James. I can literally come over any time, even if my cousins visit.”

“Yeah, but I meant like stay over at my house for the whole holiday,” James pouted. You glanced at him and smiled fondly. “Well, again; I live right across the street. So I guess I can also just go and visit my cousins at my house any time.”

You finally reached the bottom of the staircases and stopped mid-step. “Bloody hell, I forgot my books.”

You shot James a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I just have to go back up real quick, but it won’t be long at all-.”

“I’m right behind you, love.”

“You can’t be serious,” you gaped at him.

James was beaming. Sirius and Remus’ jaws were slacked on the floor and Peter frowned as if he was trying to comprehend James’ statement.

“She agreed to a date!?” Sirius shrieked out. “But-,” Sirius stammered and he let his eyes fall onto you for a split second. It was very quiet for a moment while all of you processed this news.

“Well, I’ll be damned, Prongs,” you grinned up at him. “Not such a far-fetched idea after all.” You smiled encouragingly at him and he shot you a grateful look.

“Congrats,” you nudged him, and that seemed to break the rest of the marauders out of it, all congratulating and offering date ideas.

You zoned out for a moment. A bitter-sweet taste in your mouth. You we’re thrilled for James. You knew how much she meant to him. But that little piece of hope that you had unconsciously clung onto, made the news tough to take.

Regardless, you were just happy to have James in your life. He was your best friend, and you would support him, no matter what. Because you knew he’d do the same for you.

“When’s the date?” you curiously asked.

James scratched his head. “Uh, next week, Friday night.”

“Wait, Friday when you were going to take me to see the blue crescent moon?” you deadpanned.

“I’ll take you to the next one, I promise,” James solemnly swore and he put his hand on his heart.

You huffed in disappointment but quickly turned around to face Remus with a sweet smile. “Remus, my best friend,” you started, and instantly got pulled back by James who wore a pout on his face.

“Wait, it was supposed to be a you and me thing,” he whined while he tugged you back into his side. You stuck your tongue out and ruffled his hair.

“You’re busy, and the next blue moon is going to be a full moon, so we’ll be with Remus,” you pointed out. “And after that, it’ll be another two years until the next.” Then you skipped back over to Remus.

James hummed in thought. He knew you were right. “Fine,” he reluctantly said. “But I’m taking you to watch the passing comet next month,” he bargained.

You stuck out your hand with a laugh. “Deal,” you grinned.

“It’s a promise,” James confirmed.

It became clear to you that you might have overestimated your own importance to James after he and Lily officially started dating.

Your eyes were searching for James, and you decided to confront him when you spotted him.

“James!” You ran to catch up to him. You smiled at Lily with a small wave. “Lily,” you acknowledged her. “Can I borrow him for a moment?” You asked her. She shrugged and waved her hand in a discarding manner, “of course.”

“Hey uh, you didn’t show up yesterday, just checking in?” you asked James in concern when Lily was out of reach.

James mind blanked for a moment. He was racking his brain about ‘yesterday’ and his eyes grew wide when realization hit him. “Bloody hell, I completely forgot!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah,” you laughed, relieved that he was alright and had just forgotten about it.

“Well you didn’t show up in the astronomy tower so I tried looking for you, but I couldn’t find you. I asked Sirius for the map, but can you believe it? He said he’d lost it.”

You chuckled when you recalled his apologetic expression and completely missed the way James shut his eyes and pinched his nose in guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” James said. He pulled you into a hug.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, Sirius joined me to watch the comet pass by. Wasn’t that impressive, but it did look like a falling star so I guess I made a wish, and-”

“Can have him back now?” Lily’s voice came from behind him, and he quickly released you. “Yeah, of course,” you rushed to say, but she had already grabbed him by the arm and led him away.

James looked back at you and mouthed a ‘sorry’ at you. You shook your head dismissively and raised your thumbs up.

It was only during the next missed hangout, two weeks later, that you found out he forgot because he’d been with Lily instead.

Peter had seen you off to find James, and had watched you return three hours later, a sad look on your face.

“Not again,” he’d groaned and slipped up. You couldn’t be angry at James because you realized that he was just putting effort into his new relationship. Peter had hugged you and you two had spent the evening sneaking into the art room to paint each other.

Peter was surprisingly a splendid artist and you had put the painting that he painted of yourself against the wall on the floor next to your bed, and gave Peter the one you painted of him.

“Damn, Peter,” James nodded at the canvas. “You painted that?”

“Huh? Oh,” Peter was getting dressed and pulled his sweater over his head. He looked from the painting to James. “Uh, Y/N did,” he beamed. “It looks good right?”

“You guys painted..?”

“Yeah, cause you didn’t show up again yesterday,” Peter casually mentioned. “You know, she was-“ He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because James had already sprinted out of the room to find you to apologize.

But as usual, James thought it had to be a grand gesture.

Flowers! Lily liked flowers. Girls like flowers, perfect. The idea popped up in his head, and he went to work to cover your entire dorm and bed with flowers.

It seemed like a perfect idea.

Until it evidently wasn’t.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, it slipped my mind,” James apologized for the thousandth time as he sat by at the side of the hospital bed with the rest of the marauders. They shared a look with each other.

“Well, I bet you’ll never forget about my severe flower allergy ever again now,” you joked in attempt to console him. Your face was swollen and your eyes were bloodshot.

You smiled at James and tried to push back the hurt you felt at the fact that he forgot about something as important as that.

“I’ll make it up to you,” James quickly promised with a grimace.

“Do you get that same sense of déjà vu or is it just me,” Sirius remarked from the other side of the bed.

“No, I get it too,” Peter agreed almost too quickly.

James frowned at his friends for the little jab. They knew he didn’t do it on purpose right? He looked at Remus for support.

“Better be one hell of an idea,” was all he said.

“Oh come on,” you attempted to kick Sirius weakly with your leg but failed because your legs were still half paralyzed.

“Stop giving him such a hard time,” you started. James shot you a relieved look.

“He’s already feeling shit for almost killing me,” you grinned and James groaned and dropped his head on the side of your bed. You moved your arm with some effort and let your fingers stroke through his hair.

“I’ll be the best best-friend there is, starting from right now. I’ve got so many ideas for Easter holiday and it includes your favorite chocolate,” he promised in a muffled voice.

Whatever you imagined his ideas for activities during the Easter holiday included, it wasn’t with Lily in the picture. Yet here you were, sitting across of her at the dinner table.

They were both deeply engrossed in each other and you and Fleamont shared a look.

“How’s your year been, sweetheart?” Fleamont asked and he looked at you over his glasses. You smiled at him, relieved.

“It was great so far, I mean, despite being bedridden for two weeks, but the guys have been great,” you jumped to talk about your adventures.

“I went to watch the blue crescent moon with Remus, and the comet with Sirius. And I’ve painted with Peter! I’ve got to say, he’s painted me in a flattering light,” you rambled on passionately.

“Oh, and we’ve started a study group thing together, it’s basically just Remus and I trying to help Sirius and Peter though,” you lightheartedly joked.

“We’ve played some harmless pranks too, like turning every toad into a cat and every cat into a toad, it was utter chaos!” You shared and at his disapproving look and focus on James, you quickly intervened. “Don’t worry, James didn’t do anything, he’s been good,” you joked.

You missed Fleamont’s raised eyebrows.

“I’ve been swimming in the lake with the boys and pranked Remus and Peter with Sirius and pretended to be merpeople, you should’ve heard their screams!”

Your eyes were gleaming at this point as you relived your happiest moments so far. “Well, until Remus cast a spell on Sirius that turned him into a slug of course.”

“So when the four of us went to Hogsmeade…” You continued to ramble on and failed to notice how James’ eyes subconsciously trailed over to you every now and then, listening in on the conversation and realizing his name never fell once.

Lily noticed his divided attention and was unsurprisingly and rather justifiably annoyed at James.

She voiced out her concerns to James that very night during which you had excused yourself and gone home across the street.

You didn’t want to third wheel and Godric forbid should you share a room with Lily. She hated your guts as it was and you didn’t feel like being smothered in your sleep.

When you had offered to go back home, you had sort of hoped he would say something along the lines of “No, please stay” and instead were met with a “Yeah, that’s probably for the best”.

And now, all he could wish for was chilling on his bed with you next to him while he was being chastised by Lily. His eyes glanced up and he stared at the enchanted bedroom ceiling full of stars, Lily’s voice long gone from his mind.

“Are you even listening to me?” She waved her hand in front of his face and he fought the urge to pull an annoyed face at her.

At his lack of response though, she repeated herself. “I’m your girlfriend. I thought you wanted this?”

James let her words sink in for a moment. She was all he ever wanted. And it was so so different from what he’d imagined it would be like.

Of course, he wasn’t planning on breaking up or anything, he didn’t want to be that douchebag that was only in it for the chase after all. And he hoped somehow that those feelings would return sometime.

She was everything he wanted. He just wished she’d be more interested in his friends, less disapproving of his pranks, or more proud of his achievements at Quidditch.

He would appreciate it if she were just a little bit more patient with him, and shared a little bit of his humour.

He just wanted her to be more open and enthusiastic about their relationship and himself.

He wanted her to be a little more like you-

He reeled back from that revelation. Oh.

Oh no. That would ruin his friendship.

“-and you know what, you can’t have both, James,” Lily continued and he snapped out of his thoughts.

“I can’t be your girlfriend if she’s in the picture. So choose. It’s me or her.”

James stared at her in surprise and then walked out of his room without another word to her.

He looked out the window at the real starry night sky. It seemed to him that he’d lose you regardless. But maybe, he’d be happy with Lily. She was all that matters, he convinced himself.

“Don’t you see how wrong it is that she’s making you choose,” you asked him incredulously, but your eyes looked at him pleadingly. James forced himself to look back at you and shook his head.

“No, she’s-, she’s right,” he mumbled, and you staggered back at that. “I mean, you’re a girl, you know?” You raised your eyebrows in an unimpressed manner. “Astute observation.” You dryly remarked.

“And everyone assumes things about us, so please, you have to understand that this isn’t fun for Lily either,” James tried. “I just can’t be friends with you and be in a relationship with Lily at the same time.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off.

“I can’t,” he urged. “And between you or her, I choose her. She’s my girlfriend,” he reasoned.

“And I’m your best friend since we were born,” you stubbornly retorted.

James looked at you beggingly, hoping that you’ll understand his predicament and that you’d make it easy on him. At the squint of your eyes and the deepening frown on your face, he gulped. “Please. I’m really sorry, but I have to choose her,” he finished weakly, doubling down on his decision.

Realizing that he wasn’t joking, it felt like he might as well have punched you in the gut. Your stubborn look flickered to hurt and then morphed into an ice-cold front of indifference.

You took a deep breath and collected yourself. You stared at him up and down, not recognizing your best friend in him anymore.

“You’re unbelievable,” you shook your head at him, and your voice was devoid of any emotion. With no other words to address the situation, you pushed past him roughly.

Months passed by and the summer vacation started. Then it ended and Hogwarts began again. All without a word from James. He had stopped spending much time with the marauders, mostly busy with walking after Lily.

Sometimes he would glance at you when she wasn’t watching, and he’d feel so lonely.

He waited for you during the vacation, but you never went to yourr house across his. Instead you spent your time with your cousins in Ireland.

When he made his way towards the platform on September 1st, he felt weird. First of all, he was slightly reluctant to go. He realized that he had thoroughly enjoyed his holiday without Lily.

But secondly, and perhaps most importantly; This was the first time ever that he went to the Hogwarts Express by himself, without you by his side, and an epiphany cleared his mind. Everything was so wrong.

You eyed him up and down. With lack of better words, he looked terrible. So terrible, that you might’ve pitied him any other time, because how could you ever be angry at James, when he looked so sad.

When his eyes are glassy and red. When his hair is disheveled as a result of an undoubtedly rough night. When his voice cracked at his sloppy apology. Or when his lips trembled almost unnoticeably when you said no.

But all of that wouldn’t magically clear away your own misery of the past months.

“I was supposed to be your best friend,” you enunciated slowly. “It’s always been you and me. Merlin, we’ve known each other since we were born and they ran out of baby cribs at St. Mungo’s, so they put us together in one!” you exclaimed.

You bitterly scoffed to yourself at the reminder of your literal lifelong friendship.

“But you cut me off for a relationship with Lily? Lily who rejected you for years and when she finally did agree to date you, never even gave you the time of the day?”

You stared at him incredulously and had to remind yourself to tone down your voice a little. You had unconsciously been raising it and didn’t want to attract unwanted attention.

“You followed her around like a lost puppy and cast me aside because she didn’t trust you for being friends with a girl and you were so easy to discard me,” you laughed humorlessly, trying to mask your hurt feelings. “I guess I must’ve really not meant all that much to you.”

To James’ credit, he at least had the decency of looking remorseful. His own words were replaying on a loop in his head. Of course he regretted it all.

“You can’t come back after that and expect me to just open my arms for you,” you firmly stated.

James looked at you helplessly, and you let out another laugh in disbelief. “Oh, Godric, you did,” you stared at him with wide eyes in surprise.

James could feel himself getting flustered and spoke up again. “I just thought that maybe-,”

“No, no, no. Like I said, I’m not doing this again.”

“Please, lov-, Y/N please, if you would just let me prove to you that you do mean so much to me,” His voice was getting increasingly more desperate. “I just want-, I need you to give me a second chanc-”

“A second chance? James, you are way past that. You’ve already had a second chance,” you bitterly told him. “Merlin, I’ve given you a second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth chance. I would’ve given you a thousand chances, but even that, you threw away.”

You tiredly rubbed your face. “I have nothing left to give you.”

Your words hit him in the face and his chest tightened.

“Oh… No, I-, I definitely understand.” His voice came out quietly.

James wanted to hide away. He felt utterly pathetic and ashamed at his own actions.

“I’ll uh, I’ll leave you alone, then.” He turned around but stopped mid step.

“But Y/N? If you ever change your mind, or if you ever need me, I’ll be there for you this time. Always right behind you.” James let his eyes linger on your face for a moment, taking you in. Merlin, he really missed you.

Your mind struggled to find the words to properly articulate all that you’ve felt these past months.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. For not trying to fight for you more,” you sympathetically offered.

“Oh, what? No, that’s-, it really was all my own fault. I chose her over you, and it was stupid. I was stupid, not you.”

“I don’t know. I feel like I should’ve tried harder to find a solution. I regret it too, you know, that we lost us.”

James frowned at your words.

“You-, I don’t even-,” you sighed. “I thought we would be in it for life, you know,” you eventually confessed, and James eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if he understood that completely, but his heart had made a small jump at your confession. Surely you didn’t actually mean…?

“Maybe not side by side as lovers or anything,” you quickly tried to cover yourself, but instead confirmed James’ thoughts. “But I was so sure we’d be partners nonetheless.” James watched you smile fondly, but sadly at the thought.

“I tried so hard not to be jealous of the fact that I was no longer the first person you’d go to for everything.” You chewed on your lower lip and James forced himself to pry his eyes away from it.

“You could be again,” James whispered to himself. But it was loud enough for you to hear it. You chose to ignore it and the way your heart tugged.

“But it was never an issue of jealousy when you actively forgot me on so many different occasions and then just kicked me out for her.”

“I'm sorry, I don’t know why I… how I even…”

“Look, I have to go,” you settled on, and nodded awkwardly at him. “But thanks for apologizing,” you added before you left.

You’d gone about your life according to the same routine of the past few months and paid James little to no mind. Though he was spending all of his time with the marauders again, you somehow found a way of disappearing right when he would arrive.

Days passed and James watched you laugh at the punchline of the joke that a ghost had told you. So close and yet so far.

James knew that you told him no when he had asked if things could go back to the way they were, but he couldn’t give up on you. It was as if something was physically stopping him from doing so.

He wanted you to see him again, but would never cross your boundaries, which left him in a difficult position.

The first opportunity presented itself when he overheard some guy talk shit about you. Except he only saw red instead of an opportunity. Because how dare they.

“She’ll give in someday. I’ll show her how to have a good time. Godric knows she’s too prudish, wouldn’t even let me-“

James surged forward before he could even think and grabbed the guy by the collar, his wand was pointed at the boy’s throat in a matter of seconds, a piercing glare on his face as he gritted through his teeth.

“Don’t.” It was a warning and the boy heeded it and scrambled away when James released him.

“What are you looking at,” he called out to the students that had stopped to watch what was happening. They too, quickly scrambled away, pretending they hadn’t seen a thing.

But by supper, everyone had heard about it, including you. You looked at him from further down the table and nodded at him with a appreciated smile.

James heart skipped a beat and he dreamed of you that night.

So what else could he do for you that would make you happy, he wondered while he wandered around the castle. The marauders were hanging out with you right now, leaving James to his own devices.

“Books!” He yelled out loud and it startled a cat. “Signed books had been successful, right? But what books, and how to…” He muttered to himself.

You stared at the pile of books that started to form next to you while owls flew in and back out again, only to return with more books. When you opened the one on the pile to your left, you saw that it was signed by one of your favorite authors.

Your eyes grew wide and you quickly inspected the signature from up close. Your hands stroked the beautiful hard back cover of the book. First copy.

People all over the great hall were looking at the spectacle but you just laughed and blew a kiss at the last owl.

You glanced at James because you knew it was him who orchestrated all of this. Only he would know all your favorite authors and books.

James simply offered you a smile and continued eating his food, but he was absolutely beaming inside at the gleeful look on your face.

You visited him in his dorms that night. “James,” you whispered. You held your finger to your lips as a sign not to wake the others.

“James, thank you for the books, they’re amazing,” you told him. “But James, you’ve got to stop. Don’t fight on my behalf. Don’t spend so much money on me. Please “ you begged him.

James’ smile fell. “I made you uncomfortable,“ he noted. You sighed and sat down on his bed. “I used to give you gifts all the time,” he weakly defended himself.

“I don’t want to forgive you,” you started. James looked down.

“You hurt me. Do you get that? You hurt me and broke our friendship and I don’t know when I’ll want to be friends again, but it’ll never the same when I do. So you have to stop doing all of this. You can’t try to buy it with gifts and heroic deeds.”

“I don’t want it to be the same either,” James sighed out in a defeated tone. “I just need you with me. One way or another. I’m not trying to buy anything, I just want to make you happy.”

You understood his words and the implied confession behind them. After all, you had felt the exact same way months ago.

You sadly smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. James closed his eyes at the contact and tried to savor the moment. You really were his greatest regret.

“I don’t want to forgive you,” you stubbornly repeated.

“You don’t have to. I just want to be there.”

“Right behind me, right? No matter what pace?”

“Of course,” he replied.

It took time. Months and months actually, where he respected your boundaries and slowly inserted himself back into your life, with your permission of course.

At first simply joining you with the marauders again. Then thoughtful actions such as giving you his spare quill. Later on even sitting next to you during Transfiguration and building up to study nights and eventually back to star gazing.

However slow it was, everything was worth it, James thought to himself as he opened the door to invite you in for the Easter holiday.

“Hi, thank you for coming over,” he widely smiled.

“Ah you know, I live right across the street, love.”

Taglist: Only 50 first people, rest in comments.

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waynes-multiverse · 13 days ago

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Time After Time – Chapter 9

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language & smut, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, sexism/feminism, angst, nightmares, Soldier Boy x Liberty/Stormfront (it hurt lol), heart attack, fluff and feels

Word Count: 13.8k

Posted on Patreon April 25, 2025

A/N: This one is purposefully long with a few small jumps as time goes by 😉 Basically a chapter with a lot of foreshadowing underneath and few heart-crushing lines (from Ben) to drive the dagger in real deep as we ramp up for the big one next week. Enjoy their nausea-inducing love while it lasts! 😘 ✨ Chapter title comes from Casablanca (1942)

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Chapter 9: As Time Goes By

At first, there was only warmth.

Your body was curled against his, still cocooned in the afterglow of everything that had unfolded hours ago. The room smelled faintly of his cologne, spiced and clean, and of candlewax, tobacco, and sleep.

Somewhere down the hall, the old house creaked its bones. A radiator hissed. Ben breathed evenly beside you, his broad chest rising and falling with a peace you hadn’t seen on him until tonight.

You might’ve stayed there. You might’ve slept through until morning.

But time didn’t move in straight lines for you. And sleep? Well, it was never as safe as it should’ve been.

Chandeliers. Marble. Chrome. Velvet. It hit like a film reel catching fire.

The world spun sharp and artificial, dripping in gold and red like a club soaked in champagne and blood. Cigarette smoke curled in the air like snakes. It smelt like bourbon and perfume that cost more than rent. The room was closed off and quiet, shut off from everything else, but the faint sounds of jazz music and the hum of a party just going on outside those four walls drowned in.

You knew where you were. Time had a scent, your brain announcing the exact date like a conductor on a train ride informing you about the next stop.

1952.

And there he was.

Ben, a little older. Harsher. Shirt unbuttoned, hair slicked, jaw clean-shaven like a Hollywood star, sitting with his bow legs sprawled out and one arm slung around the back of a velvet chaise lounge like he owned the whole goddamn world.

His smile was all teeth – cold and calculated – and his sparkling green eyes didn’t hold softness, only amusement, like he was constantly bored and waiting to be impressed.

The woman beside him was draped over his shoulder like a mink. Dark-haired, cruel-mouthed, with a cigarette holder dangling between her fingers and a voice like glass shattering. She wore diamonds like knives and a red dress like a challenge. High cheekbones, hard eyes, a smirk like she’d stepped over graves in heels just to make a point.

You knew her, had seen her on the news and in temporal glimpses before. She was American by passport, but her blood sung of Reich-born purity. A survivor – not of war, but of ideology.

Your stomach twisted.

You hated your fucking brain sometimes. You tried to will yourself away, to wake up, to control your dream and powers like the movie Inception had you believing you could.

But there was no escape. You were stuck here. Just another witness to history with no real power.

“I’m starting to think you only invite me to these things so you can show me off,” she said, fingers crawling up his chest.

Ben raised his champagne flute in salute and smirked. “You’re not wrong.”

She rolled her eyes. “And here I thought American men were supposed to be subtle.”

“Subtlety is for men who don’t already own the room.”

She giggled like dark silk. “You always were too soft when I met you. That little streak of sweetness? It was disgusting.”

Ben leaned in, one hand on her knee, corrupted by time and power. “You cured me of that.”

Your stomach tightened more. You wanted to throw up, felt the bile rise in your throat. But you stood there – still, just part of the wallpaper.

The woman purred, pleased. “Good. Sentimentality makes men soft.”

“Softer they are,” he said, chuckling, “the easier they are to break when we crush them underfoot.”

And for a heartbeat, it felt like he found your eyes across the room and was looking directly at you, sucking the oxygen from your lungs one atrocious word at a time.

Her laugh was low and theatrical, like someone who hadn’t meant it in years. “The famous golden boy. America’s sweetheart. You used to have a conscience, you know. Always trying to protect the weaklings.”

Ben snorted, his smile weaponized. “Conscience got in the way. I got over it.”

You stiffened, heart breaking into sharp pieces and shattering to the polished marble floors by your feet like a broken mirror – but this seemed like more than just seven years of bad luck ahead.

She clicked her tongue, pleased, her fingers trailing along his razor-sharp jawline in awe. “That serum really did a number on you.”

“It just cleared the fog.”

“That’s my boy.” She smirked cruelly, leaning in, her red-painted lips grazing his neck, his hand hitching higher on her thigh. “Humanity is a failed experiment. Mercy is fiction and compassion a leash. Good thing you cut yours a long time ago.”

Ben didn’t flinch. He grinned – soulless, hollow, and wolfish. “They’re all goddamn insects. Screaming about meaning. Scratching at their cages. They only pretend they’re free.”

“I heard there was another fire at a protest downtown,” she said coolly, swirling her drink. “Shame. What a loss.”

“Should’ve picked a better cause.” Ben laughed darkly into his glass. “Let them march. Let them scream. We’re built to outlast them. That’s what the serum proved, didn’t it?”

She nodded, shifting into his lap, straddling him. “We’re evolution. The end of weakness.”

Your breath caught somewhere in your chest, heart pounding behind your ribs like a prisoner as Ben looked at her like he respected her cruelty. He kissed her then, harsh and possessive.

Their laughter spilled across the room like gasoline. You felt your skin burning with hellfire.

“And you worried I couldn’t handle it,” Ben then said, mocking, grip tight on her hips. “Said I had a fuckin’ heart. That I might hesitate.”

“You proved me wrong. All that kindness in you – it was just programming. The real you was underneath. The serum just stripped the softness off.” She smiled like she was proud of the creation he’d become. Her masterpiece. “That’s why my husband picked you. He wanted someone the public could worship. The boy next door with a monster underneath.”

Ben laughed, a sound that didn’t belong to the man you knew. “Christ, they bought it, too. The press, the soldiers, even the politicians. Especially the politicians… All I had to do was smile and they opened every fuckin’ door. Learned to speak their language. Talk about patriotism. Family. Hard work.” His sneer turned as sharp as the combat knife he carried. “Makes it easier to gut them when they’re not lookin’.”

Your nausea morphed to white-hot anger the longer you listened to them, but you slowly began to understand why you were here – why your brain wanted to remind you of this.

You weren’t supposed to forget, to fantasize. You were supposed to remember the version of him who let a monster crawl into his lap, kiss his mouth, whisper hatred into his soul, and called it fucking foreplay.

And she laughed like he was the funniest man in the world. Of course she did –low and delighted. “You’re darker than I expected, Benjamin.”

“I always was. Just needed the right company.”

That one hurt the most, a piercing dagger to your heart, slicing it in two without a care in the universe.

They clinked their glasses, celebrating superiority.

“The world will learn,” she murmured against his skin, lips brushing his ear as she set both their drinks aside. “Not all at once. But they will. Through collapse. Through fire. Through obedience. You play the golden hero. Meanwhile, you leave bodies under rubble and call it collateral.”

She sounded like a fucking manifesto.

You felt yourself shaking, a tremble that ran bone-deep. This version of him didn’t love. Didn’t mourn. Didn’t feel. He was what happened when power met emptiness and got everything it fucking wanted.

And then you watched her kiss him. Messy. Thoughtless. More dominance than desire. Ben grinned against her lips but didn’t kiss her back with any real heat. You could tell it was a game to him, something to stave off the boredom.

She slid his shirt open, dragging blood-red nails across bronzed and freckled skin. She ground against him, and he tugged her closer, palm running up her spine.

They collapsed back onto the velvet chaise in a tangle of limbs and silk and smug disdain. Every movement was transactional. Purposeful. His hands roamed her body like territory, hers clawed at his shoulders like she was digging her name into the surface of a monument. She dragged her mouth down his chest, biting hard enough to bruise, and he laughed – like it was all just theater.

Like none of it meant a damn thing.

You jolted awake like a punch to the gut, air tearing into your lungs too fast, too sharp, scalding and aching like you’d been holding your breath under water. Sweat clung to your skin, hair damp against your neck. The sheet tangled around your waist felt like chains.

“God,” you groaned, dragging a hand across your face. “Not that fucking Nazi bitch.”

Jesus fucking Christ, why her? Why couldn’t you just watch him fuck Crimson Countess instead? At least that woman was only painfully stupid and not evil in a delete-the-human-race kind of way.

Your heart hammered so loudly you didn’t even notice the body stirring behind you. The blanket fell to your sides as you sat there, gasping for air, like you’d clawed your way out of another world – or fucking Hell. You weren’t quite sure.

“Hey,” Ben's voice broke through the fog, groggy with sleep but alert as he sat up next to you. “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

You didn’t answer at first. You were still there – still seeing his hands on her hips, the twisted smile he wore, the dismissive way he talked about human beings like they were goddamn gum stuck to his combat boots.

Ben watched you closely in the pale wash of the moonlight, green eyes adjusting. You could feel the heat of him beside you – bare chest, sleepy hair, hot breath. His skin was still warm, still familiar, but your own felt like it had been scorched raw.

And for a second, you hated your own brain. Hated how it blurred the lines so easily.

“Jesus, you’re shaking.” His voice lost its sleep-soft edge. “Are you okay?”

You flinched when his hand tentatively splayed across your shoulder, fingers brushing the edge of your spine like he didn’t want to spook you. It wasn’t intentional – you hadn’t meant to, your muscles locking up under his touch on reflex.

And he noticed. Of course he did.

Ben froze, swallowing. “Sorry,” he said quickly, drawing his hand back. “Didn’t mean to–… Did I–… Did I do something?”

God, it wasn’t fair he asked you that. What a fucking loaded question.

“No, uhm, no–” You shook your head quickly. “Just a dream, okay? Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Well, uhm, I’m awake now,” he said in a lightly joking tone, ruffling a hand through his hair. He was quiet for a moment, teeth gnawing on his lower lip, still thinking about daring to touch you again. He didn’t know if he could. If you wanted him to.

His hand jittered with the need to hold you.

“Bad dream?” he asked quietly, lump stuck in his throat, breaths of uncertainty fanning against your shoulder blade.

You nodded, swallowed. You tucked your knees up to your chest, hugged them instead of him.

“You have these a lot, huh?”

“Every night.”

Silence again.

Ben shifted beside you, his weight sinking into the mattress as he leaned in slightly. “I didn’t know. Why did you never say anything?”

You huffed a laugh – dry, fragile. “Well, I’m not exactly used to sharing a bed with anyone.”

You tried to ignore, fight how your skin began to crawl in his proximity. They were two different people, looked at you differently, but the voice – that deep, rich baritone – it was still the same that had said all those awful things and meant them.

“Right.” Ben smacked his lips, and you could hear the cogs turning in his head without even looking at him. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No, look, I said I’m fine,” you snapped. A little too harshly. Too unfairly. You exhaled a sigh through your nose. “I’m sorry. Just–… Give me a minute, alright?”

You made the grave mistake of glancing over your shoulder and finding his eyes. And he looked at you like he worried. Like he cared. Like he fucking loved.

It goddamn near killed you.

“I always thought you were running from something,” Ben said softly when the silence had stretched on too long. “When you first showed up, you looked like hell. And when I offered you a place, you looked like I’d offered you a way out of a burning house.”

And it almost broke you that he didn’t know he was the fucking fire you were constantly trying to escape.

He went quiet for a second, eyes flickering across your face in the dark. You could feel it – his mind working on overdrive, trying to piece together the right thing to say without making anything worse.

And you didn’t mean to – you really didn’t – when his fingers reached for your arm and you jerked away again. Fucking muscle memory.

You hated someone with his face but none of his soul.

“Ben, please–… Please don’t touch me right now,” you begged quietly, desperately, and avoided looking at him like he was the ruin of something that once felt sacred.

But this time, you might’ve broken something inside of him.

And he snapped.

His hand shot out and grabbed your arm, spinning you to face him before you could pull away. His other hand locked around your jaw. Not soft. Not careful. His grip was all tension, all desperation – like holding you in place was the only thing keeping him from splintering in half.

He was trying to hold the world together, trying to hold you together. And sure, you could've easily used your powers and bolted out of there, twisted his arm clean off his body, but your love for him kept you tethered in place like it always did.

All you needed was a second to clear your head, really.

“No,” Ben bit. His voice was raw, harsh, fingers tightening around your arm. “You don’t get to shut me out anymore. Not after last night.”

“Ben–” You struggled in his arms, squirming against him. “Let go–”

“No. Not this time. Not until you look at me.” His voice cracked with hurt, and you found his eyes. “You keep pushing me away like I’m the enemy. Like I’m gonna hurt you, and I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”

Your breath stuttered, and he saw it. Saw the flicker in your eyes. The way you wouldn’t meet his.

And it fucking gutted him.

Ben stared at you, jaw clenched. “Jesus Christ, after last night? After everything you gave me… after everything we did – you’re really gonna look at me like that?”

“I didn’t mean–”

“Yeah, you did,” he cut in, the wound you sliced even audible in his tone. “You meant it. You mean it right now. You won’t even let me touch you.”

You stilled in his grip, shoulders drawn tight.

“Last night, you let me see every damn part of you–” His fingers curled around your waist, dragging you closer, like he needed to feel your heartbeat against his own. “You let me touch you. You let me in. And I touched every inch of you, sweetheart. You don’t just get to take that back like it didn’t mean a goddamn thing.”

“It’s not about that–”

“Then what is it about? Huh?” His eyes burned, voice rasping as he pushed forward. “You think I don’t see it? The way you push me away like I’m gonna rip you apart? You think I don’t know something’s eating you alive? I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna let you drown five fucking feet away from me.”

“It’s not that simple,” you breathed, your voice hoarse.

Your hands pressed to his chest, trying to create distance, but he leaned in anyway, nose brushing the side of your cheek as he anchored you there. Close. Inescapable.

“That’s not good enough,” he said, pulling you closer still, sheets slipping dangerously low between you. “It’s like you’re waiting for me to let you down. Like you’re… bracing for it. And I don’t know how to prove to you that I won’t. I’m not gonna disappoint you.”

But you will, your mind argued.

Not him. Not this version. But the man who sat on that velvet chaise with blood still under his fingernails. The one who only saved lives because the headlines said it made him look good.

“Ben, please…” The tears came hard and fast, burning your eyes and skin like acid rain.

“I know what I saw,” he said, voice rough but steady, like he was grounding himself in the truth. “I know what I felt. You didn’t just give me your body – you gave me you. You gave me your goddamn heart.” He paused, swallowed, fingers digging deeper into your flesh. But he didn’t look away, not even for a second. He held your gaze, jaw tight. “And I gave you mine. You know I did. I guess… somewhere along the line, you got under my skin, and now you’re in my goddamn bones, sweetheart. Can’t fucking erase that.”

You sucked in a breath like your life depended on it, lungs close to collapsing in on themselves. “You don’t understand,” you argued weakly, barely audible but loud enough in the quiet morning hours.

“Then make me,” Ben said. It wasn’t a demand – it was a plea. “I’m not asking for all of it. Hell, I’m not asking for most of it. Just–… Don’t make me the villain in some nightmare I wasn’t even in.”

You trembled in his grip, your body alive with guilt, indecision, and terror, and for a moment, you wanted to push him away, to pull back into the secret bunker you’d built. How could you explain all of it to him? How did you tell someone the thing you were terrified of was a future only you could see?

You couldn’t say anything, and you couldn’t escape your feelings either. You were too close. The heat of him, the rawness in his eyes – it was everything you wanted.

And everything you fucking feared.

Ben’s thumbs brushed under your eyes, catching the tears you hadn’t realized had fallen. “Hey,” he said quietly like he was trying to keep you from falling apart. “It’s me. I’m right here. Always. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

You closed your eyes, breath catching in your throat. His other hand tightened its grip at the back of your neck, not rough but steady. Anchoring you.

“I’m strong enough, okay?” Ben’s voice dropped, low and desperate and full of promises he’d never be able to keep. “Whatever you’re carrying, I can handle it. I’m strong enough to carry it, I swear to God.”

You couldn’t speak. The weight of his words pressed down on you like a thousand stones, each one heavier than the last. You didn’t know what to say. So you just made a small, broken sound in your throat and pressed your forehead softly against his, nodding, unable to fight the pull anymore.

But you weren’t giving in. You were just giving up.

Ben’s breath ghosted over your lips, and you could feel the way he was holding himself back. He didn’t close the gap between you. You felt it, felt the way his chest heaved, the way he was trying so damn hard to give you space.

“You think people are good?” you whispered your question into the silence of the night, as if asking it too loudly during daylight would provoke a wrong answer.

Ben blinked, hesitated. “What do you mean – like, deep down?”

You nodded in his palms, and he didn’t answer right away, worrying his bottom lip.

“When I was a kid,” he said eventually, “I used to think so. Thought people were trying their best, that everyone had a little good in them if you looked hard enough.”

“And now?”

He looked away for a beat, to your hand on the mattress, brows faintly furrowed. “Now I think… some people are just mean. They like power or control or watching something break in their hands. Doesn’t make them broken. Just makes them what they are.”

You remained quiet.

“But there’s still good ones too,” he added, softer. “I just think they’re harder to find.”

“What changed your mind?”

“My old man, mostly.” He huffed a small chuckle, humorless. “I think most people would rather double down than admit they were ever wrong, you know?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding once more. “Do you ever think people deserve second chances no matter what?”

Ben wet his lips in thought before answering. “I think it depends on the person. The choice. What they do after the mistake.”

“And what if they don’t know they’re lost?” you asked.

He glanced at you again. “Then someone’s gotta be willing to help them find their way back.”

You swallowed hard. God, you wanted to believe him.

“Even if they’ve done unforgivable things?”

This time, Ben was quiet for a moment longer.

“I think if someone’s trying – really trying – to be better, then yeah. I think redemption’s possible. But not everyone wants that. Not everyone deserves it.”

That landed somewhere heavy in your gut.

“I think the problem is,” you said and found his eyes, “people always want to believe they’re the hero. Even when they’re not.”

Ben tilted his head. “You’ve been thinking about this a lot, huh?”

You looked away and nodded. “Lately.”

He didn’t push.

“I used to think,” you whispered, “that there were good people and bad people. And if you were lucky, you’d find someone good and hold onto them. But it’s not that simple, is it?”

It was so easy to want to trust him like this. So easy to believe in the version of him lying inches away, heart in his eyes. The one who made you laugh. The one who’d give you the world.

“No, uh, I guess not,” Ben said quietly, the confusion etched into his brow, still wondering, still trying to figure out what your questions meant.

After a moment, you eased back under the covers, swirling head hitting the pillow. Ben mirrored your movements and lay down next to you, but you didn’t move closer.

He shifted – just enough to be near, not enough to touch. Then he reached out, slowly, and let his hand rest between you, palm up on the bed. A silent offering. Not a demand.

You stared at it – and then tentatively placed your fingers in his. He gave your hand the gentlest squeeze.

Warm. Steady.

Grounding.

You studied him for a few pounding heartbeats, lying there, facing each other, hand in his. And all you could think about was how you never wanted this version of him to go away – the good one.

It was unfathomable, too much for most to grasp, how this man next to you – the sweet one, the kind one – could ever say and do all these vicious and barbaric things.

Didn’t that mean those parts had always been there? Even now? How could such vile seeds sprout and blossom in only ten years?

Math was the universe’s answer to everything, but it still couldn’t answer you this.

“Want to tell me a stupid story?” you asked suddenly, your heart seeking to find the light within him.

Ben’s brow lifted. “Like what?”

“Like… childhood. Teenage embarrassment,” you said, your lips involuntarily twitching with a smile as you watched him.

Ben chuckled, carding a hand through his hair, and sighed. “Alright, when I was a kid – I’m talking seven or eight – I tried to impress this girl from the neighborhood by building her a treehouse. Except I didn’t actually know how to build, well… anything. So I used cardboard boxes and tied them together with string.”

You snorted, smile spreading. “Let me guess… it collapsed?”

“Oh, immediately.” Ben laughed. “While she was climbing into it.”

“Oh no, poor girl.” You bit back your own laugh.

“She scraped her knees and never spoke to me again.”

Your teeth tugged on your lower lip, the smile barely containable underneath. “So you’ve always been charming, huh?”

“Charming and tragically underqualified,” he said with a wink.

“I don’t think you’re underqualified in all areas of life,” you teased cheekily, watching the dimples form as the boyish smile rose.

“Well, uh, thank you. Glad you think so.” He scratched his throat and blushed. Actually blushed. Like all he really was, was just the boy next door.

“What about birthdays? What was your favorite one?” you asked with innocent curiosity.

But the smile faded.

“Oh, uhm…” He hesitated and cleared his throat before he decided to answer. “We-, uh, we didn’t really celebrate birthdays. My-, uh, my father always said birthdays were earned and that I hadn’t done a damn thing worthy of a cake or a song. Said you don’t get to be celebrated for simply being born.”

The ache that bloomed in your chest was slow, wide, and throbbing. “Ben–”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, shaking his head as if he was shaking off the pain. “I didn’t know any better. I was a kid. Just thought that was normal, you know? No parties. No presents. No cake. He always thought birthdays were indulgent. Wasteful.”

“And your mother?” you asked softly.

You knew Margaret had shut down eventually, probably because of reasons just like this one, but you also knew it must’ve broken her heart that her son didn’t even get something as innocent as cake for his own birthday.

Ben exhaled a long sigh. “She tried, I guess. She used to sneak a cupcake into the garden. Said it was ‘just because it’s Tuesday.’”

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, barely able to hold your tears back.

“Don’t be. Had a good life. Better than most,” Ben said and looked at you as if he knew you hadn’t. “You know, sometimes, I’d wait until the whole house was asleep. No staff, no lights. Just me... I’d tiptoe past the study, even when it was empty – because God forbid I woke him up – and I’d sneak a slice of cake from the kitchen. Hell, sometimes even bread if that’s all we had left that day.”

Silence settled again, softer now, the tension gone. Ben tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, brushing his knuckles along your jaw.

And then it hit you – a memory. Not a distant one. One from here. The first dinner you’d shared with him in this house.

Ben never got to celebrate his own birthday, but he made sure you had yours. He gave you what he’d never been given. And not because you’d expected it. But because he’d wanted to.

“That night, after I told you it was my birthday, you gave me cake,” you said.

Ben’s lips curled into a soft smile as if he knew you’d put it together now – that it hadn’t been just cake.

“I didn’t think it meant much to you,” you added, the realization almost too much.

You’d just been a stranger back then, and he’d still done the kindest gesture for you. Something so personal it bordered on heartbreak.

“Didn’t it, though?” he asked, green eyes twinkling with something more than amusement. His tongue swiped over his teeth, fingers stilling the little circles he’d been absentmindedly drawing on your skin. “You said it so casually back then. Like you stopped expecting something a long time ago. Like your birthday didn’t matter. And I-, well, I guess I just figured it should, you know?” Then he gave a shrug like he hadn’t just turned your whole world upside down. “You should have what I didn’t. Simple as that.”

Simple.

“You remember the projector you gave me?” he asked then, catching you off guard.

“Yeah, wasn’t even sure you liked it,” you replied.

“I-… I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted. “No one’s ever done something like that for me. Given me something just because they thought I deserved it, you know? Not because they had to or because they wanted something. You just did it so casually.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” you replied softly, squeezing his hand. “Just figured you might like it.”

“But it was a big deal… to me,” he said, swallowing thickly. “You know, I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to figure out what to give you in return. You don’t seem like a jewelry person. And flowers and chocolates seem like they’re not good enough.”

Your lips twitched with a faintly amused smile. “It’s called affection, Ben. You don’t have to trade me livestock.”

Ben snorted a breath of laughter. “Well, livestock would’ve been easier to figure out.”

The silence that followed was thick and warm and golden.

And you looked at him then, really looked – like you’ve done so many times before whenever those doubts and fears crept back into your mind – and could see none of the monster you ran from in the future.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d already changed the outcome. Maybe you being here, right now in his arms, in this moment with him, was enough to undo all the damage and aches.

If anyone could find a way to cheat the system, it was you.

And then, you finally scooted closer, Ben welcoming you fully into his embrace, his warmth, protective hands steady on your skin. He still didn’t push. He waited.

For you to lean in. For you to let go.

Your lips brushed against his – tentative, testing, and then tempestuous. The fears, the worries, the whole world dropped away in that moment – no clock, no consequence.

You sank into him, into the gravity of it – the ache and the safety, the chaos and the calm, the ruin and the refuge.

The kiss hit like a wave – hard, fast, breathless. Your mouths crashed together, teeth scraping, lips bruising. You gripped his shoulders like you were drowning, dragging him closer, deeper, until his arms locked around you like he’d die if you slipped away again.

Ben groaned into your mouth, one hand fisting in your hair, the other sliding down your back, pulling you flush against his bare chest. You whimpered when he bit your lower lip, and he growled when you yanked his hair in return.

Reverent, raw, ruined.

He was coaxing you back to life, setting your skin alight with every haunting touch.

His breath hitched when your palms pressed against his shoulders, easing him back down onto the mattress. He went without a word, without resistance, letting you take him under like the tide.

You climbed over him, bracketing his hips, the soft morning light painting your skin in dabbled gold.

Ben watched you as your fingers ran across his chest, over the plane of muscle, the steady thump of his heart beneath your touch. The way his throat moved, the flicker in his forest green eyes – there was a vulnerability there he almost never let anyone see.

You kissed the space above his heart and felt it stutter beneath your lips. His hands smoothed up your thighs – but he didn’t dare to grab, didn’t dare to pull. You could feel the heat of him pressed between you, hard and ready and still waiting for you to decide.

To take.

And then the knocking started – frantic, sharp, and out of place in the hush of dawn.

Ben stilled beneath you, brow furrowing and grip tightening, a groan of frustration escaping low from his throat as his head sunk back into the pillows.

“Mr. Benjamin? Ben? Please–”

Florence.

Three more rapid thuds against the heavy oak door followed before you both started to move. You slid off Ben and slipped under the covers as he scrambled out of bed and reached for his slacks, still half-crumpled on the floor.

You could see how he steeled himself, the invisible armor you’d watched him peel off last night reforming before he opened the door. You clutched the sheets tighter to your chest, fighting the embarrassed flush in your cheeks.

You, naked in Ben’s bed, would surely make it into the morning newsletter of the staff gossip.

And then Florence stood there in the hallway, in her pale morning dress, her apron wrinkled, her bun slightly askew – something you’d never seen before. Her knuckles were white around the edge of the doorframe.

“It’s your father,” she said without preamble. “He collapsed near the study. I believe it was his heart.”

Ben went still. Not a muscle moving, not a breath escaping.

And you? Well, you slowly started to panic internally as the seconds ticked by. Had you–? Were you–?

No…

“I’ve rung Dr. Norwood. He’s on his way.” She then glanced behind him, and her mouth twitched – whether in approval or concern, you couldn’t tell. “I thought you should know.”

Ben swallowed once. “Did he say anything?”

“He was conscious. Barely. Couldn’t get up.” Her voice softened, and this time, the worry was unmistakable. “You should come down.”

Ben gave a nod, automatic, and turned back to you – expression unreadable, jaw tight.

“Stay here,” he said quietly, already pulling a shirt over his head.

“Do you need–”

“I’ll be back soon.”

You nodded, and he was gone.

The county fair stretched wide under the June sun, the air thick with the mingling smells of grilled sausage, fried dough, and the sweet scent of cotton candy and kettle corn.

The fairgrounds buzzed with color and laughter: a brass band played ragtime near the main pavilion, children darted through clusters of hay bales, women in cotton dresses strolled beneath bunting-draped stalls, and sunlight turned the dust into gold as it kicked up beneath worn boots and saddle shoes alike.

Ben walked with his hand firmly laced in yours, a half-melted lemonade in the other. And all the while, he’d brush his thumb over your wrist, leaning in close to whisper something private (and dirty) into your ear or kiss your temple when you laughed with your head back.

You should probably preface this by stating that, over the last three and a half months, Ben had been happier than he’d ever been.

Mornings spent tangled up in bed, late-night drives to nowhere, afternoons where the only agenda was you.

He smiled more. Touched more. Laughed more. Everything was blissfully fine.

And Ben’s father? Well, the bastard survived, so there really was nothing to feel guilty over.

Sure, some people would claim you were – directly or indirectly – responsible for that man’s heart attack.

Indirectly for instigating his wife to start a feminist revolution at the dinner table and seducing his son to rebel against the best-laid plans. But really, you had just been a supporting character with a natural curiosity. Could someone seriously blame you for this?

And sure, some would be all too quick to point a finger at you for your direct involvement by stopping that dick’s heart for barely a breath.

It had been less than five seconds, alright? And it wasn’t like he’d dropped immediately after you’d done it. There had been several hours between those two completely unrelated incidents. Besides, the man smoked, drank, ate fatty red meat, and harbored rage issues like there was no tomorrow, so who was to say you were responsible for his little health scare?

Cause and effect could not definitively be proven and as sure as hell wouldn’t hold up in a court of law. Anything could’ve taken that tyrant down a notch.

It wasn’t your fault. You hadn’t almost killed your boyfriend’s father. End of story.

And if anything, if you truly had been a tiny bit responsible, the universe should’ve written you a goddamn thank you note. You’d practically gifted everyone in the mansion a fucking vacation.

Ben was happier. The staff was happier. And Margaret was downright drunk on life.

As soon as her husband had been wheeled away, she’d already picked out a private clinic in Switzerland before she even asked if he’d survived. Sadly, Richard Brooks, ever the controlling business magnate, didn’t go for it and set up camp at an exclusive convalescent clinic nestled in the wooded hills of Bryn Mawr instead – just outside the city.

The estate-turned-sanatorium catered to men like the Brooks patriarch – powerful, prideful, unwilling to be seen at their weakest.

And for the first time in his life, Ben had space to breathe. His father still sent for him once a week, doling out sharp instructions between rounds of rest and rehab, but the weight of his daily presence was gone.

Margaret, on the other hand, never visited her husband at all. She saw him once when he was still at the hospital in Philadelphia, but during that visit, you hadn’t been quite sure if she hadn’t just been aiming to give him another heart attack that would stick the way she’d been relentlessly antagonizing him.

And now, you were here, on a warm Saturday in late June, meeting two of Ben’s friends for the first time – a schoolmate from Choate, Quentin, and his sharp-tongued girlfriend, Josie. The four of you made an easy group – flushed from sun and sugar, teasing each other like you’d known one another for years.

“That’s the third pie sample you’ve taken,” Josie pointed out with a mock-scandalized gasp, giggling as she watched you go for a blueberry flavor this time. “You know they’re gonna make you buy one.”

“I’m just being thorough,” you said, licking your thumb. “It's a civic duty. What if someone sold subpar pie?”

“She’s a patriot.” Ben chuckled, leaning close to brush a smudge of berry off your cheek. “Upholding American values. God bless her.”

Josie rolled her eyes and elbowed her boyfriend. “Do you think they’re always like this?”

Quentin grinned. “Well, I’ve only known her an hour, but I’d put money on it.”

“You’ve still got a little bit of jam on your lips,” Ben murmured, brushing his thumb by the corner of your mouth. His tone was warm, teasing, and far too amused. And by his little smirk, you knew there was no jam at all. “Want me to kiss it away?”

Cheekily, you nodded, grinned, and draped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a searing kiss before he could do it himself. And both of you still smiled all the way into the kiss, not being able to stop.

Behind you, Josie let out a soft laugh. “God, you two are revolting.”

Quentin lifted a brow, amused. “They’re adorable. Leave them alone.”

“No, seriously,” Josie said, sidling up beside you. “It’s like watching the first ten minutes of a musical before someone starts singing on a balcony.”

You turned to her with mock offense. “I haven’t burst into song once.”

Untrue. You sang and played piano at the mansion all the time – especially for Ben.

Josie smirked. “Give it time. You’ve got that look in your eyes.”

Ben frowned, glancing down at you. “What look?”

“The ‘I’m-in-love-and-mildly-dazed’ look,” Josie clarified, clearly delighted. “It’s the same face Quentin made when he saw me eat five corn dogs in a row last year.”

Quentin nodded solemnly. “I’d never known love before that moment.”

You and Josie burst into laughter, while Ben only rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He just slipped his hand around your waist and pulled you subtly into his side.

You then nudged Josie playfully. “Let’s ditch them before they start flexing over who can throw a horseshoe farther.”

Josie smiled, linking arms with you. “Agreed. The boys can grunt and puff all they want while we go get kettle corn and admire the handmade quilts.”

Aside from Dottie, you hadn’t exactly made that many friends yet in this time period. You’d almost been elated when Ben had suggested an outing with some of his closest friends. He’d never introduced you to someone from his life before who didn’t live in the mansion or worked at the steel mill – much less as his girlfriend.

But he had said the word so casually and easily today, full of pride even, that it made your heart swell and soar like a hot air balloon. You knew this was a big step. Something was settling.

But that familiar itching feeling still gnawed on you. Not as often. Not as prominent. But still there.

You knew you used to have friends where you came from, but their faces were blurry and their names just always on the tip of your tongue. You forgot parts of your childhood too, which arguable wasn’t the worst.

Your memories were fading.

Never the big things but the details.

You still knew you grew up in a trailer park. The town? Gone. You knew you were from the East Coast, though.

You knew you had studied physics in Montreal and could remember the contents of your textbooks like the back of your hand but not the teachers who taught them to you.

You knew you’d lived in a ground floor apartment in New York, tucked underneath a stairwell, but you couldn’t remember the district or your own kitchen sink.

However, without fail, you could always remember him – and you had no idea why.

The nightmares hadn’t stopped, not even a little. It was like your brain was sacrificing memory capacities to remind you of the danger sleeping in your bed. But whenever you woke up – panting, sweat-drenched, and with fear in your eyes – Ben would just be there and hold you, not saying a word.

Ben watched you disappear toward the artisan tents, arm looped through Josie’s. His eyes lingered on the soft sway of your hips in the yellow sundress, a fond, secret smile grazing the corners of his mouth.

Quentin let out a low whistle next to him, chuckling. “Oh, buddy, you’ve got it bad.”

“Hm, what?” Ben snapped out of his daze, blinking at his friend.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Quentin noted, a subtle smile creeping onto his face.

Ben cocked an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Lighter.” Quentin gestured vaguely. “Like you’re not carrying around the weight of seven generations of Brooks men on your shoulders.”

That made Ben snort. The men then drifted away from the girls toward the edge of the field, where a few picnic tables sat beneath the lazy shade of oak trees. The noise of the fair dulled behind them, replaced by the hum of cicadas.

“She’s good for you,” Quentin said then, watching Ben lean against the trunk of a tree.

“Yeah, she makes it easy,” Ben replied simply, toying with an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“Not a sentence I ever expected from your mouth.” Quentin smirked. “I’m honestly still trying to figure out how exactly you pulled this off.”

“Oh, trust me. So do I.” Ben huffed a small laugh. “She just showed up one day. Like she knew where to find me.”

“So, what’s next?”

Ben didn’t speak right away. His gaze wandered to where you were pointing something out to Josie at the ring toss booth, your hands moving animatedly like you were explaining physics again while your hair caught sunlight like gold thread.

“I’m looking at houses,” Ben replied after a beat.

Quentin’s brows shot up. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, but not in the city – outside. Big yard, porch. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere I can build something that’s mine. Ours,” Ben stated but didn’t look up, too coolly pocketing his hands in his slacks.

“Wow. So this is real.” Quentin blinked, then thoughtfully licked his lips. “What about your old man? You think he’s finally ready to relinquish control when he comes back?”

“No.” Ben let out an amused laugh at the idea alone. “But I don’t need him – or his money. I can do this on my own. I know what I want now.”

“Which is?”

Ben hesitated, then looked out over the fair – at the sunlight spilling like honey across the grass, at the crowd, at the space you’d just disappeared into.

“Peace. A home that’s mine. Her in it.”

Quentin studied his friend for a moment, then gave a sly grin. “So, are you going to marry her too or just haunt a porch together like a pair of charming ghosts?”

Ben chuckled softly but didn’t deny it, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about it.”

Quentin raised an impressed brow. “Jesus, you really are gone.”

“Well, I’m not rushing it. It’s more of a someday kind of thing,” Ben assured, but there was a faint smile playing across his lips.

“Does she know about all your plans?”

Ben shook his head. “Not yet. I wanna show her first. Want it to be right for both of us. Not sure she’s ready yet, you know?”

Quentin nodded slowly, then teased, “You always were a sentimental bastard underneath the attitude.”

“Well, don’t tell anyone.” Ben chuckled lightly. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Quentin slapped a hand on his shoulder, firm and approving. “Well, do me a favor and don’t propose till I’m ready to pop the question to Josie. Otherwise she might raise Cain if she finds out you of all people got there first.”

“Hey, no promises.” Ben laughed, amused.

He smiled when his eyes found you in the crowd again, the love in his chest a steady thrum. Not loud. Not showy.

Permanent.

The Ferris wheel, now aglow in soft pastel lights, turned slow and deliberate against the dusky indigo sky when the sun had dipped below the horizon.

String lights blinked like stars strung across booths, and somewhere in the distance, a fiddle played the opening bars of a waltz. Children carried oversized stuffed animals and parents carried yawning toddlers.

Ben helped you climb into the swaying seat, his arm settling around your shoulders, and you instinctively leaned in.

“Gotta say, that’s probably the most romantic thing you’ve done so far,” you teased Ben, nudging him in the ribs a little.

He smirked that lazy, boyish grin again – the one that flipped your insides upside down. “Wait until I get you to the top.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?”

God knows that man could never keep his hands to himself. You wouldn’t have put it past him to go third base on top of a Ferris wheel.

“Depends on how much you like heights.” He winked.

Yup, as expected.

But once the fairgrounds blurred into a mosaic of warm, twinkling lights below you, he actually surprised you by tucking you closer to his chest.

“You ever been on one of these before?” Ben asked, his own natural curiosity about you peeking through once more.

Sometimes he’d ask you about your life, your childhood, your memories from school or Christmas, and you actually would’ve loved sharing those moments with him – good or bad.

However, there was one tiny problem:

“Uh, I can’t remember.” You shrugged and tried to be as subtle and casual as possible about it. “Maybe, yeah. When I was a kid.”

Ben pecked your temple but never pressed. Somehow, even without knowing the full truth, he seemed to sense the borders of what you could say – and what you couldn’t.

It wasn’t always easy – carrying this big secret around like a second brain. You didn’t even fully understand the rules – whether staying longer meant damaging something, whether loving him harder meant losing him faster. The equations on your chalkboard hadn’t yielded positive results so far. But in moments like this, you wanted to believe time could bend enough to make space for both of you.

Ben then grew quiet next to you – thinking, brooding. And you knew by now that something was on his mind again. Probably his father. That was usually when he became uncharacteristically mute – like someone had tied a weight around his throat to choke him.

“You always get this contemplative at high altitudes?” you teased.

Ben’s mouth twitched. “Only when I’m weighing the pros and cons of throwing myself off something tall.”

“Jesus, not dramatic at all, are we?”

He exhaled a sigh through his nose. “He comes back next week.”

Ah. There it is…

Three months worth of spending nights and days with him had sort of morphed you into an expert on all things him.

“Clinic says he’s well enough to return to his usual routine. Which means barking orders, throwing parties, and pretending nothing ever happened. He’s throwing his annual Fourth of July party. Same thing he does every year. Big, loud, obnoxious, too many cigars. Wants it to be his ‘triumphant return to society.’”

“Huh. Like Caesar marching back from Gaul,” you quipped.

Too bad you’d already played Ides of March with that man.

Ben snorted. “You’re not wrong. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s expecting a big military flyover.”

“Classy.” Your smile then faded slightly, chewing your lower lip. “I’m not invited, I’m guessing.”

Ben’s silence was answer enough.

“It’s fine,” you said quickly and forced a smile. “I’ll just stay in my room. Ration my chocolates, write in my journal about the war effort, and look longingly out the window like I’m in a Jane Austen novel.”

Ben turned toward you, brow furrowed. “You’re not staying in your room. You’re coming with me.”

You blinked. “Ben, I don’t think it’s–”

“You’re my girl,” he cut off your protest. “And I want everyone to know it. I don’t care what he thinks or if he has another heart attack by the damn champagne tower.”

Your breath caught a little. God, this boy…

You looked at him then – the way the wind lifted his hair, the clean line of his jaw, the unshakable way he said things he meant and never walked them back.

You wanted to live in this moment forever. In this golden, impossible bubble of carnival lights and him saying things like ‘my girl.’ You wanted to give him everything.

“You ever think about how all of this will just… be gone someday?” you mused, squinting at the blurred colors of the carousel spinning under a canopy of stars. “The fair, the music, the booths. Blink and it’s history.”

Ben glanced over at you with that quiet, amused look he gave you sometimes – like he wasn’t entirely sure what kind of puzzle you were, but he wanted to spend his life trying to solve it anyway.

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

“I’m serious,” you said, trying not to laugh. “Entropy, decay, time marching on – it’s all just a slow slide into disorder.”

“Remind me again what you studied?” he asked dryly.

You grinned and nudged him with your shoulder. “What, you don’t like a girl who can calculate the collapse of the universe?”

“I like a girl who can out-think half the men I know and still kiss me like I’m the only equation she can’t solve.”

Oh. Well, point for him.

“But seriously,” Ben continued, “you’re not hiding. I’m not letting him dictate that. I don’t want a future unless you’re in it.”

Shit.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, comforted by the steadiness of him and the creaky Ferris wheel car that somehow felt more stable than the rest of your life.

Your heart weighed heavily, but you smiled anyway. “You might regret that. I have no idea how to navigate country club hors d’oeuvres without starting a class war.”

Ben laughed. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Alright, I’ll come to the party,” you agreed and ignored your heart, which blinked like a neon warning sign between your ribs. “But only if there’s pie.”

He chuckled softly. “That can be arranged.”

“And I want to wear something entirely inappropriate.”

“Also allowed.”

You stared at him, something hot and electric blooming in your chest. You looked out over the grounds again – rows of flickering lights and laughter echoing below.

“You know, we’ve got plans, you and me,” Ben said suddenly.

“What kind of plans?” you asked, brow raised, shifting a little to look up at him.

“I said I’d figure out a way out of that hellhole for both of us. I still mean it,” Ben said, deep voice untypically hesitant like he was testing the idea out loud for the first time. “I’ve been looking at houses.”

You sat up a little, your heart pounding like a demolition hammer, throat dry. “You-, uh, you have?”

Ben nodded and smiled. “There’s one I keep going back to. Found it last week, and I don’t know… Feels right. I think you’d like it. Needs some work, though. A lot of work, actually… The porch steps need replacing, the roof’s a mess, and the windows rattle like a haunted saloon.”

“So perfect, then.”

“Perfect,” he echoed.

You were speechless. You’d never suspected he’d been dreaming behind your back. But you wanted to answer. God, you wanted to say yes and kiss him senseless and let the night carry you straight into forever. But reality tugged like a thread at the edge of your dress.

The part of you that lived in spreadsheets and time travel formulas wanted to tell him that buying a house with a girl who could theoretically be ripped out of this timeline at any moment was probably not a sound financial decision.

“It’s about an hour outside the city. Old place,” Ben continued, green eyes searching your face. “But there’s this little outbuilding on the property. Think it used to be a carriage house. Brick. Sturdy. Could be turned into a workshop.”

You swallowed, your heart thudding only louder. “A workshop?”

“I thought you might like it,” he said and gave you a cheeky smile as if he knew exactly how to make your heart soar. “Figured it be ideal for your tinkering. Your experiments. I don’t know much about the physics of whatever it is you do in George’s shed, but I figure if I can’t understand it, it’s probably important. I can picture you in there with your hair tied back, goggles on, muttering equations and setting things on fire.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, warm and stunned. “Oh, you think I’m just some mad scientist who needs a shed to explode things in, huh?”

“I mean, you did nearly set our bedsheet on fire last month,” Ben teased you. “Not in the good way…”

“That was a side effect! Totally unintentional. Science is messy,” you defended. Seriously, that only happened one time, alright?

“You’re messy.”

“True,” you admitted proudly. “But I get results.”

Ben laughed softly. “But I’m serious, alright? You light up when you talk about that stuff. That thing you built last month with the vacuum tubes and the light sensor – I don’t even know what it does, but you looked like you’d conquered the moon.”

Ugh. You wished. Fuck Buzz Aldrin.

“It was just a proximity alarm,” you replied. Honestly, you were just beating boredom by building random gadgets with whatever scraps you’d find in George’s shed. Sometimes you did miss flipping through TV channels on a lazy Saturday on a couch.

“See? You say that like it’s normal.” Ben laughed, watching your cheeks turn red under the colorful lights, but then the humor faded from his eyes as he glanced back toward the fairgrounds. “I don’t have the full money yet. The house is cheap, but it still needs a down payment. I’m working on it. But I’ll get there. I swear. I’ve got a few things saved, and I might sell the car.”

There was guilt in his tone. Shame, even. As if he had already failed you by not conjuring up the entire future out of thin air like a bunny from a top hat.

“But you love that car,” you argued softly.

Ben only gave a small shrug of his broad shoulders. “It’s just metal. This–,” he gestured between the two of you, “–this is more.”

You squeezed his hand. “You know, I never expected you to do it all alone. I know it’s weird – a woman offering to pitch in. But I don’t want you to carry everything by yourself. I want this to be ours, too. And maybe I also want the upstairs bathroom to have a really nice tub. I’ve kind of gotten spoiled over the last few months,” you quipped.

Ben looked at you like you’d just spoken in tongues, both relieved and unsure if he was even allowed to feel that way. He scratched the back of his neck, chuckling a little. “Well, I’m glad to hear you say that because I might have another idea.”

He didn’t directly say he needed your help. He never would. Because he wanted to provide. Because his father had conditioned him to think anything less was a failure. But it was there – in the hesitation, in the subtle shift of his shoulders. That need. That quiet ask.

“What were you thinking?”

“Well, uhm, I figured maybe you could invent something? Something smart, something useful. Doesn’t have to be flashy. And I could take it into the city. Sell it, or license it, or whatever people like me do. You know, I’ll take the meetings, flash a smile, wear the suit.”

You arched an eyebrow in amusement. “So you want me to be your secret genius in the basement while you take the credit?”

“Exactly. A reverse Edison, if you will,” Ben said.

You snorted a small laugh. “Oh, honey, Edison was Edison. He made a whole career out of stealing ideas from people smarter than him.”

“Perfect,” Ben replied, grinning. “We’ll just continue a proud tradition.”

Not the worst idea he’s ever had, your inner Puck sang mischievously while he already rolled around in dollar bills.

And then the bigger question hit you like a thunderbolt: Whose invention could you hijack without guilt?

You mentally opened a file folder titled Men Who Deserve to Be Robbed – and it wasn’t even a fucking short list. Hell, you’d rob Edison blind in his sleep and still feel absolutely nothing.

And sure, your abilities were like a cheat code to capitalism. You could practically feel the timeline shiver beneath your feet. Invention theft? That was a whole different ethical category than ripping off Wall Street and placing bets on sports games.

A small-ish part of you even felt bad about it – briefly.

However, you then reminded yourself of Hedy Lamarr, who helped invent frequency-hopping and got zero recognition during her lifetime because, you know, tits. Rosalind Franklin literally died while Watson and Crick strutted off with her DNA work. Mileva Marić, Einstein’s brilliant first wife, who probably had her fingerprints all over the theory of relativity, got written out of the narrative. And last but not least, there were women like Margaret Knight, who invented the machine that made paper bags and had to goddamn sue a man who tried to steal the patent.

So yes, if you “borrowed” something from a few future men, you were sure history could cope. Call it fucking karmic redistribution.

Cosmic balancing or whatever…

After all, if your plan to rewrite the future worked, Homelander would never be fucking sneezed into existence in the first place. Didn’t you deserve a little something for that favor?

Lise Meitner cracked nuclear fission and didn��t even get a Nobel!

And then, your mind was suddenly buzzing with ideas, mentally raiding the patent archives of the future like a war criminal with excellent taste.

The list in your head quickly became extensive. The transistor radio? Tempting, but messy. Velcro? Possibly too weird. Solar panels? Ambitious. But then there were penicillin production, the jet engine, the electric razor – honestly, men were begging to be fucking robbed blind.

Hell, you could patent the damn Frisbee and fund your entire life with Ben from the back end of a plastic disc.

Vive les fucking femmes!

“You’re thinking about it too hard, sweetheart,” Ben broke through your thoughts with an amused laugh. “You always get this little crease between your brows when you’re trying to out-logic yourself.”

“Do not,” you muttered.

Ben then quietly bit his lips. “Look, I know it’s not ideal – me being the front. I mean, you’re brilliant. Scarily brilliant, even. I promise this arrangement would only be temporary, you know? To get a foot in the door? But I don’t want a life where you’re stuck behind me in some shadow. I want us side by side.”

Translation: I don’t want you to become clinically depressed like my mother one day, but also, the world doesn’t take you seriously right now due to your vagina.

And God, you hated how right he was. But if you tried to walk into a patent office right now with a device from thirty years in the future, you’d probably be laughed out of the building.

“Fine,” you sighed, nodding. “You go march into meetings with investors and wow them with your penis.”

Ben snorted a chuckle, gently kissing the top of your head as if it would soothe the ache this time period caused sometimes. Luckily, it did a little.

“The brains behind this operation is still you, sweetheart,” Ben added softly and pulled you closer, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

You buried your smile into his coat as the hush of the Ferris wheel cradled the things neither of you could promise but desperately hoped for.

Dreaming a future into existence.

The soft hum of cicadas drifted through the cracked window of the work shed as your fingers twisted a final coil of copper into place. The air smelled like old wood, smoke, and the faint tang of metal – a strangely comforting cocktail you’d come to associate with long afternoons spent here, hidden from the rest of the mansion, the party preparations, and Ben’s increasingly suffocating father.

The asshole had only been back two fucking days and was already driving everyone up the tall walls of the mansion.

As you reached for the wire cutters, the door creaked open. “I swear to God, George,” you muttered without looking up, “if that’s you looking for your soldering torch again, I’m invoking squatters’ rights.”

“Relax,” came Ben’s amused voice, warm and unmistakably close. “It’s not George.”

You glanced over your shoulder, offering a crooked smile. Ben leaned against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets, sleeves rolled up and the first two buttons undone. His hair – and Lord help you – was slightly tousled, like he’d just raked a hand through it in frustration. The late afternoon sunlight cut sharp behind him, shoulders slouched like he’d just come from a war. Which, to be fair, he kind of had.

Ben didn’t move toward you right away, only stood there for a beat, jaw tight, apple green eyes scanning your half-finished contraption like he was pretending the world outside hadn’t just tried to bury him alive again.

“Rough day?” you asked, returning to your work. “Are you here to tell me your father wants to build a runway in the backyard for Roosevelt’s plane?”

He huffed a tired laugh. “You could say that. He did mention fireworks. Big ones. The kind that might violate state law.”

You giggled softly. “Maybe I can help with that. Been exploding a lot of things in here recently.”

For a week now, you’d been trying to come up with the perfect invention for you and Ben to sell and finally get out of this place. You were heavily leaning toward polaroids or disposable cameras.

No pressure.

“What is that supposed to be?” he asked, nodding toward the mess of copper, wires, and what may or may not have once been part of George’s broken lawnmower.

You sighed dramatically. “Well, so far it’s nothing and only good at electrocuting me… and maybe creating small indoor thunderstorms.” You wiped your hands on an old rag and finally turned your full attention to him. “How’s your father? Any new pearls of wisdom?”

“Oh, he dropped a good one this morning.” Ben grinned and then proceeded to mimic his father. “He actually said, and I quote, ‘She’s a pretty little thing. A boy needs his amusements. Just don’t parade her around like a prize hog.’”

“Charming. You guys have a real Norman Rockwell family dynamic going on. Glad to know I’ve got the Brooks seal of approval as a temporary whore.” You snorted. “I hope you told him I’m very corrupting, practically feral, and can’t be trusted near high society.”

“Oh, I did.” Ben chuckled. “You should hear what else he says when he thinks I’m listening.”

You arched a brow. “Let me guess – I’m a bad influence and possibly a communist?”

Ben huffed a laugh. “Close.” He then raised a hand and ticked off fingers. “Let’s see… He said that you’re too clever for your own good, too opinionated for a wife, too mouthy for polite company. Also said you argue like a politician. Oh, and my personal favorite – ‘curves that men fight wars over.’”

Thank you?!

“He said that?” You cocked an eyebrow, fighting the repulsive shiver creeping down your spine. His father always looked at you like you were something exotic he didn’t quite approve of but wouldn’t mind sampling.

“Verbatim. Over scotch. Twice.” Ben smirked, unaware. “Said I always did like toys with bright packaging and sharp edges.”

You pursed your lips. “Wow. Flattered.”

Ben gave a tight smile. “He said you’ll chew me up and spit me out. That you’re the kind of woman a man ruins his life for, which I think was meant as an insult, but all that did was get me hard again.”

You blinked, then tilted your head, your heart stuttering a little. “Well, for the record, I don’t plan on ruining your life. But if I do, tell him I’ll make it memorable. How’s that?”

Ben laughed softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes anymore, letting out a long sigh instead. “He also said the Du Ponts are coming tomorrow. Real subtle message. Guess he’s hoping Grace shows up in a white dress and a shotgun.”

“Is the shotgun for me or for you?”

“Both of us, I’m guessin’…” He offered an apologetic wince that wasn’t nearly apologetic enough. “He still thinks that I’ll come to my senses once I’ve had my fill.”

You waited for the jealousy to rear up, but it didn’t. You weren’t worried about her. You were worried about him.

“And have you?”

Ben’s eyes locked with yours, sending you his signature lazy, mischievous smile. “Not even close, sweetheart.”

“I don’t suppose we could stay in here until next week, huh?” you mused jokingly.

“Tempting. But then my father would assume you murdered me in cold blood.”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t be the worst headline I’ve had.”

“Apparently her folks are very keen on picking things back up. She’s not married yet. He made that real clear,” Ben huffed, rolling his eyes back. “I told him I’d rather take a vow of celibacy and become a monk.”

“Really? You?” you teased.

Ben laughed, tilting his head back. "Well, I was hoping you'd sneak into the monastery by night."

You looked at him – at this beautiful, exasperating, filthy-mouthed dreamer who somehow had crawled into your ribs and never left — and it hit you again, deep in your chest.

“What if he’s right, though?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “What if you wake up one day and realize you are like him?”

Ben’s eyes snapped to you, all trace of teasing gone. “Don’t say that.”

You held up your palms in defense. “I’m not trying to pick a fight.”

“I know,” he said gently. “But it’s not gonna happen.”

You swallowed hard, turning back to your tinkering on the bench to occupy both your hands and mind with something else. “Just feels like we’re running toward something, and I don’t know if it’s our future or a brick wall.”

He blew out a slow breath, raking a hand through his hair. “You know what your problem is? You’ve got this whole wild, brilliant mind, and somehow it still makes room for the worst-case scenario.”

You sighed a little, even though your whole body wanted to scream the truth. “It’s just... I’ve seen it happen. People chasing comfort until they don’t recognize themselves anymore.”

Ben frowned. “You think I don’t ask myself that? That I don’t lie awake some nights wondering if it’s all carved in stone? That no matter how much I fight it, I’m gonna end up like him?”

You swallowed thickly, heart heavy in your chest.

“You really think I’m that close to being him?” he asked then, voice rough around the edges, and you knew all he wanted to hear was that you believed in him – that you knew he was good and would never, ever walk down that path of darkness.

But how could you with everything you knew?

You glimpsed at your chalkboard – at the unfinished and unsolvable equations, which were supposed to tell that you were on the right track. That this was the way to fight goddamn fate.

But there was no comfort written chalk.

“I don’t want to think that,” you said carefully, eyes focused on the copper wire in your hands. “But you grew up in his world. You know how to fake it. You’re good at it. And sometimes… I don’t know. What if one day it’s easier to go back to that than keep fighting it?”

Especially if I’m gone and can’t be the angel on your shoulder, your mind added in silence.

Because you knew the future. You knew what happened when he did go back, when the fight drained out of him, when he let the numbness win. You’d seen what he’d become. You’d stood in the ruins of it once.

Ben was quiet for a long time.

“Look, if I ever did go back to that life, the only way I could survive it is if I drowned myself in it. Booze, whores, money, noise. Numb myself enough to forget what I gave up. To forget you,” he said, a bitter, broken smile crossing his lips. “And even then, I’d still hate every minute of it because you’re not there.”

You tried to be brave. You really did. But some dark little knot still twisted behind your ribs.

Outside, thunder rolled across the hills, guttural and ominous. The wind picked up, rattling the door of the shed as the sky began to dim, announcing a summer storm. It felt like the entire universe was angry with you for meddling with its plans as well.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Ben’s hands were suddenly at your waist, slow and deliberate as he stepped up flush behind you. You froze for a second before he leaned in, breath warm against your ear.

“Stop worrying so much, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dropping to a low, seductive tone, all grit and gravel. “I told you. I’m not leaving you. And I’d burn the whole goddamn world down before I let anyone take you from me.”

Well, considering the circumstances, that vow was less romantic than he probably thought it’d be.

“Don’t seduce me in the middle of an electrocution hazard.” You gave him a look but were barely able to hide the smile.

He only ever came to visit you in the shed for two reasons: either venting about his father or missing you. Today seemed to be both.

Ben shrugged innocently behind you and picked up a spool of copper wire and toyed with it, rolling it between his fingers like he was picturing using it on you. All the while, his wolfish green eyes kept dipping to the hem of your dress.

“Just thinkin’... Might be our last moment of peace before the circus hits tomorrow.”

“Smooth.” You grinned teasingly, but the flicker in your stomach betrayed how quickly the heat spread. “This is a workshop. A sacred place for science. No seduction allowed.”

His hands put their attention back to your waist, gliding slow and warm around your hips. “Come on. Even Einstein went for a roll in the hay. Probably.”

You snorted. “You’re a menace.”

“And you love it.” He kissed just behind your ear, sending sparks all the way down your spine. “Love when I take what’s mine.”

His hands roamed your body, slow and deliberate, fingertips grazing over the fabric of your dress. You could already feel how hard he was, pressing into you, lazy and thick.

You leaned back into him instinctively. “Ben, George could walk in any second–”

“Then I better be quick.” He smirked against your skin, one hand sliding down your side, fingers playing with the skirt of your dress, bold and purposeful. “Besides, I like when you worry. Makes you clamp around me like you’re trying to keep me inside.”

“Benjamin!”

He chuckled, deep and warm like bourbon and sin. “C’mon, baby, been thinking about you all damn day,” he muttered into your neck. “While my father lectured me on mergers and legacy and how I’ve ‘wasted enough time on distractions’ – he meant you, by the way.”

“Sure.” You huffed a laugh that died in your throat when his palms skimmed your stomach, hot and broad.

“And I just kept thinking about you in here, grease and chalk on your cheeks, dress wrinkled, legs bare, tinkering with all your little mad scientist toys. And all I wanted was to–,” he kissed the spot just behind your jaw, where your pulse spiked, “–come bend you over this bench and ruin you where you make magic outta junk.”

You felt his belt unbuckle behind you – quick and practiced. Clink.

Ben’s hand slipped lower, and you gasped as his thick, long fingers found the slick heat between your thighs.

“Christ, honey… No panties?” His voice was ragged, laced with a reverence that made your cheeks burn.

“It’s too hot for cotton, okay?” You giggled weakly, your breath catching several times in the middle of it as his fingers kept exploring.

“Already so wet for me, huh, little genius?” he rasped between littering kisses along your neck and shoulder.

“Yeah, well, congrats. I’ve got a Pavlovian response to belt buckles now,” you quipped breathlessly.

“You know,” he murmured, pointer finger sliding between your folds before he faintly pressed against your clit, “you’re real dangerous when you say all those fancy words I don’t understand. Gets me all hot under the collar.”

“Everything gets you hot.”

“Damn right.” He smirked, teeth nibbling on your shoulder. “Can’t help it. I’m fucking obsessed with you, sweetheart. My little physicist. My brilliant, stubborn, filthy-minded girl who makes sparks fly – literally – and has no idea how sexy she is when she’s mouthing off with pliers in her hand.”

Your brain short-circuited when he then pressed closer, grinding against the curve of your ass, thick, heavy, and leaking. Middle finger joined the lonely one, rubbing soft circles over your bundle of nerves that made you squirm in his hold.

“Ben–”

“Shh,” he hushed, the smugness undeniable in bis voice, “Just let me take care of you, baby. ‘M managing your stress levels like the good, attentive boyfriend I am.”

You snorted half a whimper, involuntarily clenching around the emptiness in your cunt. And Ben noticed, grinned wider.

But that was what always wrecked you the most. The soft edge under the filth, the reverence in his voice even as he played you like a sinful little instrument, the way he touched you like you were both holy and his to ruin. It was as addictive as any vice in this world.

One drag of a cigarette and now you were doing heroin.

Your brain, traitorous and unhelpful, already began calculating angles of entry, force of friction, and how quickly you could achieve orgasm before George walked in looking for his wrench set again.

Ben gathered the fabric of your skirt, fingers raking it slowly up your thigh, bunching it at your waist. His other hand pressed to the small of your back, guiding you to lean slightly over the workbench like you were his own personal offering.

His lips trailed down your spine, lazy, messy, and sinful as always. You braced your palms on the bench, white-knuckling around the edge.

His knee nudged your legs farther apart, grip firm and tight around your waist. He stroked himself behind you, your ears picking up the slick drag of skin over velvet hardness.

Your thighs trembled shamelessly, and then – he pressed the thick, perfect head of his cock between your legs.

And just… stayed there. Teasing. Lingering. Rubbing.

He didn’t move. Just rocked, slow and torturous, coating himself in your arousal without giving you what you needed most.

Mother of Einstein, have mercy.

Ben grinned against your neck when a little whine escaped you. “That’s it, baby. Let me feel how much you need it. Say you missed me.”

“I saw you four hours ago.” You made a noise that was half a snort and half a gasp. “And you already defiled me twice this morning.”

“Say it anyway.”

“I’m gonna strangle you with your own belt if you keep doing this,” you threatened playfully, panting.

“Promise?” Ben’s grin was downright wolfish.

You smiled, amused. “I missed you.”

“Good girl.”

And then he pushed in with one rough, filthy thrust that knocked the air out of your lungs.

You cried out at the sharp snap of his hips as he buried himself to the hilt, stretching you open inch by burning inch. His grip on you was iron-tight, holding you in place like he never wanted you to get away.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he growled. “Still so wet. Still so goddamn tight, even after everything I’ve done to you.”

His hips started moving, deep and steady, claiming you over the workbench with every thrust. Rough, demanding, possessive.

“Ben–... fuck,” you moaned, helpless under the weight of him, under the fire igniting low in your belly.

Your body arched into his rhythm, every drag of his cock through your walls hitting deep, just right to make you delirious. The bench creaked beneath you, tools rattling with each movement, but you didn’t care. Maybe the only consistent variable in your life now was Ben – his hands, his heat, his cock filling you so perfectly it felt like your soul rebooted.

If George walked in, you’d probably just wave and tell him to knock next time – and maybe explain the wiring diagram mid-orgasm.

Hell, let the blue-blooded ghosts of Ben’s ancestors hear your strangled moans and spin in their fucking graves.

One of his hands then slipped to the front, rubbing tight, merciless circles over your clit again with ruthless fingers. The other one stayed flat against your lower back, pinning you in place while he took you – every stroke thick and relentless, your body jolting forward with every pound.

The brutal snap of his hips turned feral. Harder. Faster. Rougher. Sharp teeth grazed your shoulder, his hand squeezing your hip tight enough for a bruise to stay – at least for a little while.

Somewhere in the haze of sweat and slick skin and unspeakably sinful noises, you wondered if this was the real reason women didn’t get credit for their work – because the moment they tried to make history, some man came along and railed it out of them.

And now you were getting bent over a workbench with a genius brain and absolutely no coherent thought left.

The rush hit like a wave crashing over rocks – hot and shattering and all-consuming. You bucked back into him, crying out his name with a broken moan, barely muffled by your arm. Your body clenched and spasmed hard around him, knees buckling as he fucked you through it.

“Jesus, that’s it, baby. You takin’ it like a goddamn dream,” he growled low in your ear, losing control as your walls fluttered around him.

He punishingly drove in deep once, twice more for good measure, spilling inside you in hot pulses and with a groan that sounded like it had been clawing its way out of his throat since sunrise.

Thank fucking God for your IUD. In close to five months, he’d never asked once about protection. You honestly didn’t know what was going on in that head of his sometimes.

The shudder of his hips then rocked both of you against the table. The room stilled, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex and sawdust. Ben slumped forward, pressing his face into the back of your shoulder, breathing heavy.

“Next time, warn me before you whip your belt off like a gunslinger,” you panted with a cheeky smile.

“Next time,” Ben rasped, nuzzling your neck, “I’ll tie your wrists with it.”

You wheezed, shaking your head, still breathless. “Why are you like this?”

Ben pressed a kiss to your shoulder blade, then the back of your neck, smug grin underneath, still twitching inside you.

He pulled out of you slowly, carefully smoothing your wrinkled skirt down before tucking himself in. Then he spun you to face him, holding your wobbly frame.

“All you, honey,” he replied, smirk smug and wide and lazy. He pecked your lips. “I’m gonna marry the hell out of you one day.”

Your heart almost jumped out of your ribcage. Was he serious? Was he thinking about that? You hadn’t even thought about that.

Ben then pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and stuck one between his lips.

You arched an eyebrow. “You better not think about lighting that in here.”

He snorted, square still stuck between his teeth, matchstick in hand. “You plan on filing a complaint with the shed manager?”

“No, you idiot, but you light that in here, we’re both going up like a firecracker before the party tomorrow,” you sassed. You were not about to go up in flames in a toxic sex crypt.

Ben laughed, tucking the nail behind his ear instead.

“You’re lucky I still let you in here. Truly, you’re the worst kind of distraction,” you quipped.

Ben had the audacity to look proud of himself. “You practically begged me to stay.”

“Oh, please, I only tolerate your presence because you’re decent in bed and occasionally bring snacks,” you teased him further.

“Decent?” he repeated, turning toward you with a wounded look in jest. “Decent? Woman, you were seeing stars five minutes ago.”

“You’re confusing an orgasm with a head rush from the lack of ventilation in here.” You grinned, then fully giggled when he barked a laugh and grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him.

You let yourself be folded into him, the warmth of his body anchoring you like it always did. The wind was whistling outside, the light that filtered into the shed through the cracks darkening. You could smell the rain in the air now – wet soil and electricity – before thunder roared once more across the garden like cannon fire.

Ben then took your hand, gesturing toward the door. “Come on, let’s get inside before the storm hits.”

You nodded, but your eyes drifted back to the chalkboard full of half-erased symbols, smudged like the memories of him you couldn’t clean off, as if meaning might surface if you stared hard enough. A futile map for a journey you were already too lost to finish.

But you squeezed his hand and followed him into the dark anyway, hoping you could outrun the storm a little longer.

▶️ Chapter 10: Here's Looking at You, Kid

I'm fully aware you guys have a love-hate relationship with this chapter. Ben dreaming, reader worrying, and a Fourth of July party next week?! Well, let's light 'em up! 🎆🧨👀

Coming Up:

On your way back to the garden, the empty mansion echoed faintly with distant music and laughter from outside. And then there he was:

Richard Brooks was already waiting, posted by the doorway to his study like a vulture smelling fresh meat.

“Miss,” he said, not even bothering to finish your name. “Inside. Now.”

“I was just heading back to the party,” you said, forcing a polite smile.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he said and opened the door with one hand and stepped back, waiting like a man who never heard the word no.

You walked past him, breath shallow, pulse fluttering like a caged bird. And then it was just you, Richard Brooks, and the scent of whiskey and old power clinging to the room like rot.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, absentmindedly pouring himself a glass of bourbon. “Making friends. Charming donors. Wiggling your way in like a parasite.”

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. Careful. Controlled. “What exactly is it you want from me, Mr. Brooks?”

“I want to make this very simple,” he said, stepping closer with the slow gravity of a man used to the world bowing to him. “You want money? I’ll give you money. You walk away from my son. Tonight. I don’t care where you go, but you disappear. And in return, I’ll write you a check large enough to make sure you never have to get your hands dirty again.”

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt. 1:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

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@supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v @youroldfashioned

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girliism · 2 months ago

Note

i need preggers user x Art

art donaldson x pregnant!reader

“is this real.”

art actually couldn’t believe what was in his hands at the moment.

you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. “yes, of course it’s real.”

a sigh of shock from art filled your dorm room. it was your last year at stanford, and art had already dropped out to focus on his professional tennis career. you two were barely together due to the long distance and now after of one night where you had missed each other too much to worry about things like protection, you were pregnant.

“how -uh- how far along are you?”

“two months.” the baby would be born sometime after your graduation.

art nodded, taking it all in before standing up in front of you. “i know i’m on the road a lot right now, but whatever you need i’ll be there. i promise.” he placed a comforting kiss on your forehead you melted into.

art kept his promise. using whatever free time he had to spend on calls with you.

“how’s the baby, did it kick yet?”

“first, they’re not an it, and i’m pretty sure it’s too early for that.”

without fail he was at every doctor’s appointment, leaving wherever he was on tour to fly in to come sit with you in the cold doctors office.

“alright mom and dad are you ready to find out the sex?” your sonographer who’s been with you since the beginning of your pregnancy having bared witness to art’s breakdown at the sound of hearing your babies heartbeat for the first time asked.

you and art shared a look, it suddenly all becoming real.

“yes.” was said in unison.

“looks like you’re having a girl.” she said

twin gasp fell from you and art. a girl.

it was probably not a smart move for where art was in his career, but during the last four months your pregnancy art decided to take that time off and stay with you. his coach thought it was a bad idea, but art didn’t care. promising he’d make it up by playing extra hard next season.

“what should we name her?” art had his head resting against your belly, and his hand under your shirt stroking it. you guys were watching some shitty reality tv show that you both couldn’t help but be obsessed with. “i hadn’t really thought about it.” there was so many names to choose from, you were kinda hoping it’d magically hit you when you say her the first time.

“what about…. april?” art lifted his head catching you scrunching your nose up. “what? i’m keeping it on theme with an ‘a’ name.” still you shook your head. “maybe…” you twisted your fingers around in arts curls, thinking. “lilith? can do lily for short.” art opened his mouth to talk, but was cut off by a harsh kick.

“did you feel that?” you whispered. art nodded. of course he felt it, she hit right in the center of his palm. art let out a laugh when she did it again.

“i guess she likes it.”

during late nights when he thought you were asleep, art liked to unborn fetus, having read is was good for development.

“hi, baby it art, your daddy. mommas asleep right now which means i have you all too myself.” he whispers into the belly. “don’t tell anyone this, but i’m really fuc-freaking scared. i’ve never dealt with a baby before so please go easy.”

you bit back the smile creeping on your face.

“i can’t wait to meet you. keep thinking about all the things we’re gonna do together. you’re first walk, you’re first word, you’re first tennis racket. just hoping you don’t inherit my back hand, it’s shit.” he laughed, before catching what the time was. “it’s getting late i’ll let you sleep, but just know i love you forever.”

you felt him place a kiss above your belly button. you had to quickly snap your eyes closed when he came to lie next to you.

“and i love you too.” he whispered right in ear, whether you heard it or not. you did.

the bigger you got mixed with your emotions being on ten had you feeling insanely insecure. but art thought this was the hottest he’s seen you.

“did you know.” art interrupted your reading by placing kisses on neck. “that having sex can naturally induce pregnancy.” you hummed, mildly amused by his actions. “really?”

“mhm.” art brought his head out of neck to kiss your cheeks and the corner of your mouth. “not that i’m trying to rush the ‘baking’ process. just thought we should try it, you know, bust some rumors.” he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

it was impossible for him to be around you sometimes, but he never acted on it until he saw how you were now. laid out on the bed fresh from the shower with only your bra and panties, it was likely you got too tired to finish getting dressed. you look so round and glowy, it had art’s heart breaking and his cock hardening.

“i mean, if that’s what they say what’s the harm in trying.” you sigh, arching up into art’s touches. the book you were reading now forgotten.

the last month has rough. you were a box of nerves, the knowledge that she could come at any time any where was freaking you out.

it was just four days before your due date, and somehow you let art convince you to come watch him practice at the tennis court.

“this one’s for you two!”

art yelled across the court dedicating a back hand hit to you and the baby that ended up hitting the net.

your laughter gets cut off by a particularly hard kick to your abdomen. at first you ignored it but then another came and shorty after that another one.

“oh shit oh shit. i think the baby’s coming.” you hissed.

art’s never driven as fast as he was driving now. red lights and stop signs be damned, he was getting you to that hospital.

you ended up getting there on time, and was changed into a hospital gown, hooked up to multiple machines and given your pain reliever of choice. then before you knew it they were telling you to push.

art was positive you were gonna break his hand from how hard you were squeezing, but he held on equally as tight.

“i can’t do it.” you cried. you were so close to the end, one hard push away from this being over, but you were so tried.

“just one more, it’s almost over.” the doctor encouraged you, but you shook your head.

“come on, baby just one more. one more push you can do it.” art cupped your sweaty face in his hands locking eyes with you as gave one more push. soon the loud cries a baby filled your ears, and fat tears fell down yours and art’s faces.

#girliism #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fluff #pregnant!reader #ask #got a little carried away

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em1989ts · 5 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭

five hargreeves x reader

part one. part two. main masterlist.

word count: 2.2k

summary: you wake up in the apocalypse, with no memory of what life was like before. five years later, you meet another survivor. what happens when the two of you reluctantly decide to work together?

author's note: sorry i took a little break lol, now that school is starting again i have motivation to write so i'm continuing this story that i forgot about. part two is gonna have all the good stuff: enemies, tension, smut, so hopefully i can finish that this week ;) enjoy!

not proofread!

You were on fire.

The skin on your arm felt as if it were melting off as you sat up quickly, patting your opposite hand against the flame to put it out. A large hole was fringed into the sleeve of your shirt, framing the bubbling pink flesh of the burn on the outside of your arm. You grimaced as you stared at it, the pain remarkable and all you could think of before you fully registered where you were.

The sky was a dimming blue, telling you the sun had set not long ago. You would soon be in pitch darkness if it weren’t for the hundreds of glowing fires surrounding you.

Looking around, you couldn’t find anything familiar. Nothing to recognize. Nothing that would give you a hint as to where you were or how you got there.

You racked through your brain for anything that would tell you what caused this.

Climbing off the pile of rubble, you carefully walked through the bricks and glass to find flat ground, gagging as you saw the state of the main road.

There were bodies. People were burnt. People were in pieces.

Turning around, you noticed limbs sticking out from the piles and piles of concrete. People were crushed.

You yelled and screamed, running around pleading for someone to hear you, to call out to you.

You wished there was another survivor but there wasn’t.

Something bad had happened here.

And you were the last one standing.

It had been five years since that night. The first night of your new life in the apocalypse.

As an eighteen year old, you have become adjusted to living on your own, surviving however you can, even if it means eating cockroaches for dinner. You still couldn’t remember what caused the end of the world, or how you even survived, but after years of searching, you’ve come to the conclusion that you’re the sole survivor.

The only reason you could come up with to explain your survival was a glitch in the matrix. After years of brainstorming through the little memories you had, only bits and pieces made sense. Of course you knew your name, you knew you lived in New York City because that’s where you woke up, you knew you were thirteen when it all started, but that was pretty much it. A newspaper you found during one of your first few days in the apocalypse told you the date of which it happened: April 1st, 2019. This never made sense to you, due to the fact that you were born in 1989. How could you have possibly woken up in the future?

At first, you were extremely cautious. Examining bodies that lay in the street, making sure there were no bites taken out of them, in fear of the possibility that zombies were somehow the end of the world. But no, no zombies. Not even killer robots. The most logical explanation you could think of was a natural disaster. Possibly an asteroid impact that shattered the globe and scorched its people, but who knows.

The apocalypse was hard to adjust to, having to teach yourself a lot in order to survive, but soon enough you knew how to live a stable life on your own.

You learned to wield weapons, always having a loaded gun or sharpened knife with you, just in case you ever found someone alive who would try to fight you for your supplies, yet no one ever did.

Until today.

You had been walking down the highway for a few days now, heading south for the winter to escape the cold. Dragging your wagon behind you, which carried all your necessities, you noticed a gas station on the side of the road in the distance. Your food rations had been running low, so you were thrilled to be able to stock up before continuing your travels.

Swerving through the abandoned cars that were left on the road, full of bones, you quickly walked to the rest stop. You would’ve opted for running but you did your best to preserve your energy for when it was needed most.

Like always, there were no footprints indicating there were others present. No signs of survivors, just the occasional pile of bones.

Before you brought the entirety of your belongings inside, you went through your backpack for a small pistol and quickly loaded it before shoving it in your pocket. A knife was snug in your sock for easy access as well. Your wagon was left just outside the door for a moment as you went up to the glass and scanned the interior of the gas station. Nothing looked suspicious so you grabbed your wagon and made your way inside. It was difficult to maneuver the metal cart through the door but once it passed through, you hurried over to the closest aisle and started examining its contents.

You were thrilled to find pads that hadn’t been entirely burned up, stuffing a good amount of those into your backpack. There was a good amount of medicine and health supplies still intact but you didn’t entirely trust the expired medication. The wall was lined with shelves of unrefrigerated drinks which you were about to stand up and look through when you heard something. It almost sounded like a shoe squeaking against the smooth floor.

You froze. You mustn’t have heard that correctly.

There were often times where you hallucinated people. Just simple people, families living their normal lives in a normal world like it hadn’t burned to the ground. Noises that you knew weren’t real played in your head. But this made every alarm ring in your brain

Survival kicked in as you remained low, your shoes were scuffed up and you were careful and light on your feet. It couldn’t have been you that made that sound.

You slowly crawled to the edge of the aisle, lifting each foot as quietly as possible until you made it to the corner.

Instead of sticking your head out of the aisle to look, in fear of a headshot, you looked for a reflection that could tell you if anything or anyone else was in the store.

In the corner above your head, there was a circle reflective mirror that allowed you to see the entire store, but as you noticed it, you weren’t fast enough to dodge the figure around the corner that lunged at you as soon as your eyes saw its reflection.

The figure covered most of their face with a cloth mask and a hat with goggles that covered their eyes. They pinned you down onto the hard floor by your shoulders and it knocked the breath out of you initially but you quickly stabilized and kicked your knees up into them to shove them off. Neither of you had gotten up onto your feet yet, both brawling, almost forgetting how to fight after only imagining it for so long. The two of you quickly stood up to continue the fight and before they could lunge at you once again, you drew the pistol from your pocket and aimed it straight for their head. You didn’t want to shoot the only other living person in the world, yet you would if you had to.

You couldn’t make out their eyes through the goggles but you could see them freeze at the sight of the barrel pointing at them.

The gun was as steady as your stance. They slowly raised their hands as they reached for the hat. You cocked the gun, warning them not to dare to reach for anything. They raised one hand in reassurance as they pulled off the hat, the goggles coming off with it.

A boy.

His hair was shaggy, dark brown and awkwardly grown out. His eyes were a piercing green, brightly contrasting from the dust and dirt on his forehead.

As he pulled his bandana from the bridge of his nose, he revealed the rest of his face to you.

Damn.

You cursed your initial thoughts, yet they only made sense.

Stuck in the end of the world with a boy your age, what was the universe trying to insinuate?

He could tell you were caught off guard as your eyes were caught on his face. Noticing your faltering hands, he quickly twisted the pistol out of your hands, kicking it away as it fell to your feet, and twisted you around until your back was firmly pressed against his chest. He had your arms pressed down to your side as his wrapped around you and held you down. You tried to shake him off but his voice in your ear made you freeze. The warm breath on your cheek soothed you, even with his threatening demeanor.

“How are you alive?”

Your chest rose and fell as you tried to stabilize your breathing in his hold.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

How was it possible that there was another survivor, coincidently your age, who you just happened to avoid for the past five years? It made you question how many others were out there, or if it was only the two of you left on the planet.

He squeezed you harder in his hold, an uncomfortable tightness in your sides, as he demanded into your ear, “Answer the question.”

There was no point in struggling further, “I don’t know, okay? I woke up one day and the world was destroyed,” you gasped.

He loosed his hold and turned you around, eyes frantically searching over you, searching for a sign you might continue to fight him.

You stood still, staring at him in return, not sure what to do. He seemed deep in contemplation, but that’s what happens when you’ve spent years living in your own head.

“I don’t remember anything from before,” you elaborated, “I just remember waking up in a pile of rubble, surrounded by fire and bodies.”

You analyzed his face as he took in your story, imaging if the same thing happened to him. Does he remember anything from before? Could he tell you what happened?

When he made no move to verbalize his thoughts, you said one last thing on your mind.

“I didn’t think anyone else survived.”

With this, he looked up at you with a furrow in his brow.

“Well great, as if there weren't enough resources to begin with.”

He bumped your shoulder as he made his way back to the aisle he was originally in, kneeling next to a backpack as he resumed filling it with whatever he found necessary.

You were shocked to say the least. How could he be so indifferent to find out someone else survived? Did he want the whole fucking world to himself?

As he paid no further attention to you, you decided to grab your own bag and continue filling it with as much goods as possible, concerned he would selfishly take everything good.

You hopped over the counter to grab the entire supply of lighters, lighter fluid, and batteries. When you looked up, the boy was standing in front of the counter with a pissed off look on his face.

“Did you take everything?”

You shrugged, “Maybe.”

This time, you actually walked around the counter instead of hopping over, and as you were doing so, you noticed a case of water bottles. Clean drinking water was unfortunately hard to come by, so this was a good score. You picked up the case with a smug grin and walked by him out the door.

He followed right behind you, “Oh come on, you have to share that,” he pleaded.

“Oh I have to? I don’t think so, I don’t owe you anything,” you said as you plopped the case onto your wagon.

As you walked off, you could tell he was in a bit of a mental dilemma, yet you were also in the same boat.

Should you turn around and work together with him? Combine resources and stop the other from going mad in isolation? Or should you go your separate ways? Stay on your own, only focusing on keeping one person alive.

You came to a stop, deciding it might be better to stick with him. If he threatened you or if he was too much of an asshole, you could just kill him.

When you turned around you jumped, not realizing he had walked up to you.

“I have a base, not too far down the road,” he said to you, “We could work together.”

You signed, contemplating one last time. You only made a base once, but it didn’t hold up well and you ran out of supplies quickly. It was easier to be on the road and travel for food and make temporary stops. However, something told you to go with him. Call it instinct if you will, but you stuck your hand out. He immediately took your palm in his and gave it a firm shake.

If only you knew what you were getting into.

~~~

part two.

#five hargreeves #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves x reader #tua fandom #five hargreaves x reader #tua five #number five #aidan gallagher x reader #enemies to lovers #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves x reader smut #five hargreeves x you #number five x reader #number five imagine #five x you #five x reader

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livlaughloveluke · 1 year ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗳𝘁 𝗽.𝟭

child of dionysus x luke castellan 🍷

IN WHICH… the man you hate just can’t seem to leave you alone

warning! this fic contains- swearing // alcohol mentions // shitty parents // use of y/n // angst // daddy issues! // spoilers to tlt // probably not book accurate // implied sex!! // no actual smut, but definitely heavy illusions to sex (both characters are 18) // loss of virginity // drugs (medicinal) // blood // reader wears a swimsuit?? // reader gender isn’t mentioned i think // mentions of death/drowning // ends on an cliffhanger!!!

[a/n]-we’re just going to say tlt takes place in 2005, so luke and reader will have been born in 1986. also, incase you didn’t know, Hera doesn’t have any demigods, so her cabin is empty :)

part two is in progress, just wanted to put something out until then. also kinda ends on an odd note because it wasn’t intended to be multiple parts

🎧- night shift by lucy dacus

6.6k words (oopsies)

You hated Luke Castellan above all else.

Coming from you, that was a pretty bold statement, considering that you had a fiery hatred for plenty of things. Whether it be people who smacked their gum too loudly or ignorant gods who brushed off their children with no remorse, everything seemed to unwillingly ignite a spark in you. However, someone in particular really seemed to piss you off.

The mere sight of his stupid curls and even stupider scar hadn’t always awakened such a burning rage in you; in fact, he used to do the opposite. He was fourteen when you first met him.

April 13th, 2000

Luke had been placed into the chaos of Cabin 11, the other campers unfazed by a new demigod living with them as they carelessly bumped into his shoulder while playing tag. Old magazines scattered the wood floors, and dust covered the edges of his scrappy bed. With a sigh, he threw his bag onto the floor and escaped the overwhelming sensations provided by his siblings.

The light tour Chiron provided was seemingly useless as he mindlessly waltzed down to the lake, unsure of another quiet space to go to. He performed a quick glance around to ensure he was really alone, and then plopped down onto the rocky shore with a groan. Without his father and now Thalia, he wasn’t sure if he’d survive a night at this bullshit camp.

“You okay?” You emerged from the woods, staring at him with a concerned expression. He jumped slightly, startled by your presence since he literally just checked to see if he was alone. “Oh, uhm, yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked, noticing the way his tone was so unconvincing while sitting down next to him and staring out at the view. It wasn’t typical of you to be so welcoming, but you had recently received dessert privileges back after getting them taken away for punching some Aphrodite girl, so a cheery mood was accompanied. He glared at you, slightly annoyed by the way you interrupted his moment of peace. But then again, you weren’t really bothering him, so he figured you could stay. You were also breathtaking, so how could he shoo you away?

“No.” Luke replied honestly after a moment of silence, a slight grimace decorating his features while thinking about his long past.

“Fair. I’m sorry about your friend.” You said, your voice filled with empathy rather than pity as you kept eye contact with the horizon despite the cooling wind that turned your eyes glossy and ruffled your neon orange shirt. “Thanks.” He muttered as the memories flooded his mind, to the point where he had to clench his teeth together so he wouldn’t cry.

“I’m Y/N. Child of Dionysus.” Turning around, you offered a friendly smile until you realized he had his head buried into the crook of his elbow and emitted gentle sniffles. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. Did I say something? I’m trying to work on it, I swear-“

“Does it ever get easier?” He interrupted, although his request came out muffled as he whispered into his skin.

“Well… sorta.”

“Sorta?”

“You get used to the whole Greek God thing, I guess.” You reply, avoiding the question he was clearly implying about his father being present. It wasn’t one you typically liked to talk about, along with most of the other campers with daddy issues. The truth was, you hated the gods for abandoning their children, but speaking out about that would have some brutal consequences. Let’s just say you would lose more than just dessert privileges for a week.

“I’m heading down to the bonfire; you should join.” You said after another long pause of silence, standing up and dusting the particles of sand that had collected on the bottom of your denim shorts.

“Okay.” He stood up, wiping his eyes, and followed you as you hiked through the trees.

“So, why were you stalking me again?” Luke spoke up with a sarcastic tone, stepping over the large tree trunks that had fallen down onto the forest floor.

“Woah, I was not stalking you, newbie.”

“Sure looked like it when you magically appeared out of the woods.”

“Well, I wasn’t, okay? Mind your business.” You snapped, the caring facade slipping away as you stared at him harshly enough to pierce his heart.

“Jeez, sorry.” Luke looked down at his feet, feeling a little guilty for being too pushy with practically a stranger. After seeing his suddenly reserved body language, you stopped the hike and faced him.

“Don’t apologize.”

“What?” His gaze averted back up to meet your cold expression.

“Don’t apologize. I was being a bitch. Stand up for yourself.”

“Uhh..” Luke was now extremely confused, looking around as if this was some sort of prank show with the way you switched up so fast.

“Let’s try again. I’m gonna say the sane thing, and you’re going to stand up for yourself. Kay?”

“I don’t-“ He started, but was quickly interrupted by you.

“Well, I wasn’t, okay? Mind your business.” You repeated from earlier, making your voice sound even ruder as you dramatically exclaimed.

“N-no? Is that what I’m supposed to say?” He questioned, still nervously glancing around and searching for some sort of explanation or another person hiding in the undergrowth to reveal it was a silly joke. You raised your eyebrows in disbelief at his terrible performance, blinking slowly as you scoffed.

“Oh gods. It’s not what you say; it’s how you say it. Be more confident.” Stepping back, you repeated the sentence again. “Well, I wasn’t, okay? Mind your business.”

“No.” Luke said, this time with more pride, although he kept staring at you for a sign of approval. “Good!” You supportively with a grin, turning to continue your walk. And after a sassy eye roll, Luke followed behind.

“Just trying to protect you from the Ares kids. They can be assholes.” You happily explained, a little too cheery for someone who just snapped at him.

“Yeah, okay.”

Luke knew he should be bothered by your interesting behavior. I mean, most would, but deep down, he liked how you were empathetic in such a strange way. It made him feel human, instead of like a tourist attraction that people whispered sweet nothings to and stared at curiously.

“Don’t take anyone’s shit, and soon enough you’ll be swimming in kleos.” You stated, swaying with every step and providing plenty of hand gestures.

“Kleos?”

“Glory. Everyone here is basically fighting to be respected.”

“Oh. Shouldn’t everyone just be respectful?” He obliviously asked, ducking under a low, hanging branch.

“They should, but they aren’t. But with glory, it makes you important. People sit up when you walk in the room; stay out of your way; things like that.”

“Wait, so I just have to stand up for myself, and suddenly I’m all important?”

“Sometimes. Usually, though, you have to major in some skill. Archery, sword fighting, healing, etc. You been claimed yet?”

“Yeah, Hermes.”

“Oh.” You replied, dissatisfaction noticeable.

“Oh??” Luke questioned, offended and sounding a little more rude than he intended.

“It’s not really a bad thing. Just different demigods are usually good at certain stuff. With Hermes, they typically tend to be good liars.”

“What’s your talent?” Luke asked, causing you to go quiet for a minute while thinking.

“Well, I’m really good at poker. That’s about it.”

“You’re a good talker, too.” He said, causing you to shoot him a threatening glare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you give decent advice, and you’re pretty welcoming. That’s a plus.” He instantly backtracked.

“Half of the camp would disagree with you on that. Turns out hostility doesn’t get you the best reputation.”

“You’re hostile?” Sure, you may have had a little anger management problem, but hostile? You seemed sweet enough to Luke, at least.

“I don’t talk to all the newbies like this.”

“Then why me?” Luke, from his understanding, wasn’t special. He didn’t stick out. He wasn’t super hot, smart, or funny. He was just average, in his opinion.

“Dunno. Why not?” You said, which wasn’t entirely true. He just seemed different, like he was hiding more beneath the surface. Similar to a puzzle that you needed to solve, except if you didn’t, you’d be burdened with a painful itch of curiosity for the rest of eternity.

“Hm, Fair. But what should I try to achieve kleos?”

“Don’t go for archery or healing; the Apollo kids will smoke you. Maybe sword fighting? I could show you the basics sometime.”

“Sword fighting it is.”

May 21st, 2001

"Where were you during arts and crafts?" You asked while sitting down next to Luke at lunch, clearly irritated by his absence during this morning's activities.

"I was-" He tried to explain, but you had already taken his hands and begun to inspect them, your touch shutting him up. You huffed in annoyance while gently tracing over his callouses and cuts.

"You were training again."

"I just needed more practice. I didn't mean to-" He started, feeling remorse for not showing up, but you were there to quickly interrupt him.

"Save it. I have bandages back at my cabin; let's go. It's the least you can do for leaving me with your siblings all morning." You slammed your hands on the table, standing up and practically dragging Luke to follow you (he would have followed even if you didn't force him).

Once a long distance away from the pavilion, you brought up a topic he wasn't the most comfortable with. "Training to prove yourself?" He swallowed back his anger, not wanting to lash out at you, despite the fact that you could obviously take it.

"Maybe I am. Who cares?"

"I do. Stop caring about the gods so much."

"Easy for you to say. Your father's here." Luke mumbled mockingly under his breath, barely above a whisper, but you heard.

"I'm not sure he even knows my name. He's a drunk dumbass, not exactly great dad material." This shut him up, his gaze traveling to the dirt floor until you reached Cabin 12. Silence and tension filled the air as you opened your backpack, scouring for the gauze and anticipatant. Gripping his wrist with a rage-filled force, you carefully rubbed the Neosporin over the red cuts and wrapped his palms with the stretchy material gifted by an Apollo friend.

"Don't say I don't care about you. You know I do." You whispered, breaking the quiet atmosphere and filling it with fiery love.

"But he doesn't."

"So?"

"He's my father. He should."

"You should stop focusing on what you don't have. Working yourself to the bone won't improve your relationship."

He didn't respond, not having an argument or a sassy comment whipped up, because you were right. He manufactured this mindset that if he was good enough, if he had glory, Hermes would finally notice him and would finally love him. However, there was always a little voice in the back of his head that made him doubt all of his hopes for a family. You just amplified that voice like a microphone.

"And you left me alone with your brothers. Bleh." You smiled, trying to lighten the mood a little while tying off the first bandage.

"C'mon, they aren't that bad."

"You should have heard how they were talking about Julia from Aphrodite Cabin."

"Ew." He laughed, looking at you while you concentrated on wrapping his last hand. You looked so stunning like this, with your pearly teeth peeking between the skin of your lips and your eyes squinting while focusing on making sure it was perfect. He was truly a dumbass, focusing on the gods while you were right in front of him. "Done." You said while tucking in the end of the gauze. He hinged his hand open and shut a few times to make sure it was sturdy, and of course it was.

"Thank you." Luke praised you, not just for patching him up, but for caring.

"Anytime. Hey, I made you something during arts and crafts." You dug through your plastic junk drawer, clinking around all the junk in search of something specific.

"Hm?"

You snatched up a small beaded necklace from the drawer before extending your hand and showing it to him. It was crumpled up, the flimsy string intertwined with itself and the beads out of order, so he picked the jewelry up and awed at the handmade piece. It was wooden beads painted in deep burgundy paint with your first name spelled out in Greek letters, strung on black elastic.

"It's gorgeous." Was all he could manage to utter out, still starstruck by the thoughtfulness of your gift.

"Thanks. We should probably get back to lunch before it's over." You replied, and for the first time in Luke's year of knowing you, you look flustered. You nervously glanced down at the laces to your shoes and fiddled with your fingers, even swaying from the tips of your toes to the back of your heels.

"Yeah, yeah." He agreed, slipping the necklace on and walking out with you behind him. For the rest of the day, he was all smiles and giggles, with others unsure of why he was in such a good mood. Until the inky night sky swallowed the bright blue light, and nightmares came with it.

Most demigods were prone to the occasional bad dream, but Luke was a frequent victim of Hypnos’ curse. Every other night was filled with images of losing what he loved, but he was too embarrassed to talk to someone about it, so he suffered silently.

That night, the dreams were particularly horrific, to the point where he awoke covered in sweat and probably some tears, too. His mind debated whether or not sneaking out and waking you up was a bad idea, but the thought of staying awake alone in his bed another minute scared him more than any profanity you could throw at him for interrupting your “beauty sleep.”

Tiptoeing silently outside the hot cabin, his heart pounded as he traveled to your room next door. He was still in flannel pajama pants and an old tee shirt with some vintage band plastered on it, the chilling wind erupting goosebumps.

Luckily, your bed was right next to a window, which he promptly (and quietly) tapped on to wake you up. A few groans and twists later, you slid open the glass and gawked at him.

“Luke, what the fuck are you doing?” You whisper-yelled, praying to the gods none of your siblings woke up and started bitching.

“I had a nightmare.”

“You woke me up at two in the morning because you had a nightmare?”

“Please, I just need someone to talk to.” Hearing the desperation and seriousness in his voice, you couldn’t possibly reject him, no matter how tired you were.

“I’ll be out in a second.”

Sliding the window shut, you slipped on some sandals and exited to see Luke, who was standing on the porch.

Walking down the steps with him tracking behind, you waited until you were isolated by the lake to talk. “Everything okay?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been having really bad nightmares lately, and I know that sounds stupid, but I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Have you tried talking to the Apollo kids? It’s not rare for them to deal with insomnia.”

“Well, no. It’s humiliating. It’s taken me a year to talk to you about it, and you’re my best friend.” Luke skimmed past the term ‘best friend’, unsure if you felt the same. It was stupid; you were definitely his best friend, but what if he wasn’t yours?

“First of all, it’s not. But I don’t mind talking to them. I can say I’m having nightmares, and they’ll probably give me melatonin, and then I can give it to you.”

“You’d do that? Smuggle drugs for me?” He spoke softly, the moonlight enchanting his features.

“Course. You’re my best friend.”

December 27th, 2002

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You yelled at Luke in the empty Hera Cabin, angrier than ever. Word had spread to you like wildfire of a quest Luke had accepted, despite the fact it was a suicide mission.

“Listen-“

“No! You told me you didn’t care about the god’s approval anymore. And now you’re going on some bullshit quest?! You’re a fucking dumbass.”

“I just need one chance to prove myself to him.” He pleaded, begging for you to understand and forgive him, even though he knew you weren’t the “forgive and forget” type. Honestly, he was about 80% sure you were still holding a grudge against him for stealing the dessert off your plate three months ago.

“Why aren’t you happy where you are? You’re the best swordsman at camp in three hundred years; half the girls here are in love with you, and everyone practically worships the ground you walk on!”

“I don’t care about them.”

“Do you not care about me, either?” You spoke softly, which was a dramatic shift from the heated yelling a few seconds ago.

“What? Of course-“ Luke cared about you more than anything— more than himself or any silly god. It wasn’t very far-fetched to assume that he even loved you, although his anxious self would never admit anything of the sort. But this quest was a dream of his, and it wasn’t possible for him to just give it up.

“Whatever. I’m done with your bullshit.” You cut him off and stormed out, leaving him to watch you walk away with an aching pain in his heart. That wound was left open as he set out for his journey that night, along with two other campers who were slightly underqualified.

The quest went to shit the minute they left camp’s solace, with monsters attacking from every direction. However, he and his companions were able to make it to the guarded tree with only a few minor injuries.

Until Luke reached for the golden apple and was sliced by the dragon who protected the fruit. Blood gushed out of the cut that decorated his eye as he stumbled away. The loss of blood and shock caught up to him, and eventually he lay in the arms of his friends, fading in and out of consciousness.

The idea that your life flashes before your eyes when you're near death is indeed true. Memories of previous years flooded his brain, from his childhood to his teen years (which mainly consisted of you). As the light faded away, all he could think of was how he never admitted his love to you and how your last interaction with him was an argument.

The next time he awoke, he was in the camp infirmary, dazed as he slowly blinked the sleep away from his eyes. The teenage nurses yelled at him as he slowly stood up and deliriously walked outside, but he couldn’t care less. He just wanted to see you and apologize. His near-death experience was a wake-up call, a sign that what he was feeling towards you wasn’t just friendly admiration.

Luckily for him, you were waiting for him outside, sitting on a wood bench as you anxiously bounced your leg. As he stumbled out the door, you immediately stood up and rushed towards his weak body. What caught him off guard was the way you hugged him instantly, wrapping your arms around his torso while burying your head in his chest. For the first time in days, you were able to breathe, inhaling his musky scent rapidly. The fight had taken a toll on you. You lied awake at every night scared out of your mind that he would die hating you.

“I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things, I was just angry at you for leaving me, but-” You rammbled into the cloth of his shirt, the vibrations on his skin making his heart flutter.

“Don’t apologize.” He said with a loopy smile, making you laugh with relief while remembering the first time you met. His original plan of confessing his love to you the moment he woke up with a dramatic spiel was immediately thrown in the trash as he looked at you from above. The worries of ruining this magical friendship you had spent two years building overtook the joys of the possibility that a new relationship would blossom. So for now, he was comfortable being friends with you. Best friends.

The stares from others went unnoticed, Luke too enchanted by your warming touch to see the way others gawked at him from afar, like he was a monster. Not until the next day, when he wasn’t drugged, at least.

When he looked in the crowded bathroom mirror the next morning after plenty of rest, it almost scared him. His gash was a beaming red with dried maroon blood on the edges and a violet hue discoloring the nearby skin. Swallowing nervously, he did his best to clean it up with warm water before rushing to the picnic tables for breakfast, where you sat munching on cereal.

“You’re the most brutally honest person I know. How bad is it? Like, can I even show my face anymore?” He blurted out, causing you to glance up with a slight panic. After a few seconds of consideration, you replied.

“It makes you look badass.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. Go get something to eat and come back to talk to me.” Luke responded with a nod, heading off to grab a quick breakfast. With a tray of pancakes in his hand, he returned and sat down across from you.

“So?” You waited eagerly for some explanation of his trip.

“It went like shit. You’re right, I’m not good enough.”

“Woah, I never said that.”

“You implied it.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant you shouldn’t rely on your successes or failures to determine your worth.”

“Same thing.” He retorted with a scowl, stuffing his mouth with food.

“Not even close. So, what’d you learn?”

“That I need to train harder.”

“Holy shit, you are a dumbass.” You said with a long blink and a theatrical sigh.

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. How’s Annabeth?” Annabeth and you were always so different, but somehow that made you closer. She spent her hours strategizing and acting like an adult, and you spent yours playing games and wishing you were younger. Regardless, she was like a little sister to you.

“She’s… like usual.” Luke replied with a crinkle of his lips.

“Mm, so she’s still forcing herself to be an adult at nine?”

“Yeah, just about.”

“We should get her to play poker with us one night. Help loosen her up a little.”

“Not a chance.”

March 19th, 2003

You and Luke stood side by side, anxiously waiting for Capture the Flag to start, while Chiron yapped about the rules. You’d already heard the whole spiel of instructions multiple times, so naturally you grew bored, and your mind wandered off to the boy beside you.

He looked like a true warrior, with his pointy metal helmet that somehow sharpened his features. Over the past few summers, he had grown significantly, and the puff on his cheeks had thinned out. Needless to say, he wasn’t short of admirers.

You painfully watched as hundreds of girls fawned over him and even began to dread getting ready in the bathroom because of how many praises were thrown at him.

Luke sensed your annoyance from afar, although it wasn’t hard to notice by the way you scowled every time someone approached him with a new compliment. However, he thought you were just envious of the praise he received. In reality, you felt threatened, like someone would steal your spot in your best-friend-who-sometimes-flirt-with-each-other relationship with him. He would never let it happen though, even if you weren’t aware.

“Let the games begin!” Chiron yelled, snapping you out of your daydreaming session.

“You take the east side of the forest, I take the west, we meet up in the middle, right?” You wanted to confirm the Athena cabin’s strategy with him, to which he replied with a quick nod.

“Mhm. See you on the flip side.”

“See you on the flip side, Castellan.” You both turned to the different small groups that you were leading, setting out on foot to start your plan.

Annabeth and a few other geniuses had spent the past two weeks carefully crafting a flawless plan for today’s Capture the Flag game. You and Luke would attack, traveling into their side of the woods, while the rest would defend.

While you might not have been the best swordsman, you were a master of trickery and deception and decent at fist fighting. Plus, you had a solid team backing you up.

“So basically, we just need to fight some of the red team and then meet up with Luke and his group in the middle. Kay?” You instructed to your acquaintances, who diligently followed behind you as you hiked through the evergreen trees, until you saw a few of the other team lurking around. With a surprise attack, you were able to defeat them, with little of your squad lost in the process.

You kept on trekking through the dark depths of the forest before spotting some of the best members of the red team, specifically Sam from Ares cabin.

They were the biggest asshole around, and extremely cocky for someone who was the second-best sword fighter in camp. Plus, they were always trying to get in your pants, along with every other counselor who was old enough. To be frank, they were super hot, but you weren’t interested in anyone currently. Well, anyone who wasn’t Luke Castellan.

Knowing you wouldn’t win this battle, you shuffled to the bushes and silently watched while thinking of a good plan.

“Nice try. Up. Slowly.” Sam said unexpectedly, causing you to sigh with frustration and calmly stand up, along with your teammates.

“So, you can either give up now and save yourself the trouble, or we can do the whole fighting thing and eliminate you that way. Your choice.” They stated with a smile, only egging you on.

“What a little bundle of joy you are.”

“Hm, okay, fighting it is.” They sliced for your stomach, the metal of their blade clinking with the iron of your breastplate. You were stunned at first, but immediately charged back while his goons attacked your friends.

The sound of swords slicing and heavy grunts filled the woods, alerting Luke, who was a decent distance away. Most of his teammates had been eliminated, so now it was just him and one other member. He lightly jogged to the scene, not caring too much.

Meanwhile, your group was putting up a solid fight, but so were they. You clashed swords relentlessly with Sam, while your teammates suffered a bloody battle. In a mere minute, all of your team had surrendered, but so had all of Sam’s team.

With every second that passed, your efforts got messier and energy your got lower, and it was apparent this wasn’t going to be your victory. With one clean slice, Sam nicked your arm violently, and you let out a scream in response. Unbeknownst to you, Luke heard your pain and panicked, changing his pace from a careless jog to a speedy sprint. His partner yelled at him, confused, but Luke just kept going, despite his muscles that ached like fire.

You grew exhausted, now just weakly defending yourself from every attack. Seeing how unfocused you became, Sam took this opportunity to swipe your feet with his leg and send you tumbling to the ground, disarming you in the process.

Both panting heavily, they shakily brought the blade to your neck and stepped on your torso to prevent less squirming.

“You’d be a lot hotter if you weren’t such a bitch.” They said, and before you could come up with a witty reply, Luke had charged from behind. Slicing at Sam with adrenaline-fueled anger, he instantly knocked them down to the floor.

“Don’t ever talk to them like that again, or I’ll seriously fuck you up. Okay?”

“Okay, Jesus! What are you, their boyfriend or something?”

Luke wasn’t sure how to reply, so he didn’t. Was this too protective of him? No, he was just helping a friend. Right?

“Just say you surrender already.” He mustered up.

“Fine, I surrender.” Sam mumbled, and Luke took his sword away while they fled. Then, he turned to you, who was watching the whole thing from the floor.

“Holy shit, thank you.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. They hurt you?” He replied with a grin, helping you up with his right hand.

“Nothing bad.” You responded, twisting your arm to get a glance at the cut. He winced with empathy while grabbing your wrist so he could get a better glance.

“Ouch. Go to the infirmary. It’s bleeding a lot.”

“Whatever. Go get the flag, trooper.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. With a sly salute, you both headed your separate ways. Luke had a pep in his step as he jogged to the bright flag, forgetting all about his partner, who was somewhere in the trees far behind him.

You headed to the nurse, getting it cleaned and patched up easily before setting off to the lake. Sitting on a pointy rock, you waited mindlessly for this stretched-out game to end. Technically you were still in, but your match with Sam was enough fighting for the day.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long, because Luke emerged from the forest a few minutes later carrying a gleaming red flag with pride.

Standing up, you cheered with excitement as you ran up to him, squealing like a little girl. He stopped in front of you and dug the pole into the rocky shore with a grin. Still in awe, all you could manage out was a toothy smile in reply.

“Congrats, Castellan.”

“Eh, it was no big deal.” He joked, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Whatever. Bonfire tonight!!” You laughed and made sure to yell out the last sentence for all of your teammates, who whooped with glee.

When the sun drifted down the horizon that night, you and dozens of campers headed down to the shore, where a sparking fire raged. The flames danced as you sat around, scattered on different logs. You currently sat on the floor next to Luke while he sat on the wood, leaning your back against the dead tree and ever-so-slightly brushing up against his legs.

Everyone had noticed your change in attitude over the last few years. You seemed bubblier and more happy because, well, you were. Falling in love with someone who had a chance of reciprocating feelings was heaven. Every long stare from across the room and gentle touch made your skin crawl with adoration. Maybe you should tell him. But why ruin everything?

As the night stretched on and the violet sky dissipated into a jet black that was freckled with stars, you grew sleepier. And after the third yawn in only ten minutes, you decided it was time to hit the hay.

“Okay, I’m calling it quits. Night guys!” You stood up before turning to Luke.

“Goodnight, Luke.” You whispered in such a caring tone that he felt shivers down his spine. Speechless, he watched with hearts in his eyes as you walked away.

“At least try and be discreet.” One of his friends laughed as soon as your figure went unseen.

August 2nd, 2004

“Absolutely not. No way!” Annabeth yelled at you.

You, Luke, and her all sat on the floor of Cabin 12 playing Uno because apparently gambling “isn’t appropriate for an eleven-year-old.” The problem was that you liked to make up your own rules, while Annabeth strictly stuck to what was written in the instructions.

“Beth, everyone plays this way! Just take your six!”

“If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you?” She gave you her signature death stare.

“What are you, my mom? Luke, what’s your opinion?”

“Do not drag me into this.”

“I quit. I’m heading down to the lake, you guys wanna come?” You stated, slamming your mountain of red cards onto the floor and jumping up to search for a bathing suit in your dresser.

“I have archery training.” Annabeth said, grabbing her stuff and walking out.

“I’ll go.” Luke replied a little too eagerly.

“Okay. Meet me at the docks in ten?”

“Sure.” Using his bandaged palms to push off the wood floor, he left to go change.

Slipping into your black swimsuit, you threw a baggy shirt over it and skipped down to the shore, where Luke was waiting with his feet in the icy water.

“Hey.” You alerted him of your presence while sliding off your cover and tossing it down beside you. His breath hitched, and he couldn’t help but gawk at the slivers of your exposed skin. Nervously swallowing, he weakly replied. “H-hey.”

Ignoring the way he stuttered and stared, you jumped into the cool lake. The blue water engulfed you in a refreshing embrace, rolling off your skin as you emerged from the surface.

“I’ll race you to that buoy over there.” You pointed to the white float that bobbled up and down.

“Deal. Winner gets loser’s dessert for a week.”

“Deal.” You took off before he was even in the water, pushing off of the wood dock to accelerate forward.

“Cheater!” Luke yelled playfully before jumping in and following your path.

Eventually, he caught up and even reached the buoy first, grinning triumphantly as you paddled towards him.

“I hate you.” You mumbled, but the beaming smile plastered on your face told another story.

“Fine, you can keep your dessert privileges, but I still want bragging rights.” He offered, not caring a smidge about anything but making you happy.

“Gods, you’re such a good person.” You said, knowing you would have taken his food and flaunted on him for the next seven days.

“Race you back?”

“Fuck no. I’m tired.”

“I’ll carry you. The waters not too deep; you can sit on my shoulders while I walk.”

“You’ll drown.”

“I’m pretty ripped; I think I can manage carrying you one hundred yards.” He jokingly replied with a flex of his bicep, which was definitely appreciated by your wandering eyes.

“Sure. I’m not saving you if you do end up drowning, though.” You climbed onto his shoulders, and he gripped your calfs to help stabilize you and because he really just wanted an excuse to touch you.

“That’s a pretty badass way to die.” He said while trailing through the fresh liquid.

“To die while swimming through five-foot-deep waters?”

“Well, not when you phrase it like that.”

“How would you phrase it?”

“Glorious hero meets his fate at the lake with another counselor’s thighs wrapped around his head.”

You both froze with shock when he uttered his suggestive remark, even Luke not realizing his mistake until after. He felt his cheeks go hot and nervously tried to apologize for making you feel uncomfortable.

“Oh my gods, I swear I did not mean-“

You cut him off with a deep and angelic laugh, clearly not hurt by his poor choice of words.

“You’re a dumbass.” You choked out through heavy giggles, and he instantly relaxed upon realizing you didn’t think he was a complete pervert. Every laugh you released was like a weight off of his shoulders, and that was when he knew he could not shove his feelings down anymore.

Hours had passed, and you two ended up watching the sun fall by the lake while sharing a cherry red and white striped blanket. Not a word was whispered as you rested your head against his shoulder, his curls dripping onto your skin. He couldn’t help but smile as he felt your slow inhalation of the crisp air.

Once night arrived and the cicadas started chirping, it was finally time to break the comforting silence.

“I’m gonna go shower.” You said while slowly standing up and letting the towel drape off of your body.

“Me too.” Luke replied, getting up and placing the towel back on your shoulders so you wouldn’t have to brace the chilling breeze in a swimsuit. As you walked away, he couldn’t help but stare.

“Wait, I need to talk to you once you’re done. Meet me in the Hera Cabin after we’ve showered?” He called out after you, to which you nodded in response.

He needed to confess how he felt about you immediately, or his chest might actually explode. He needed to tell you about how his heart raced every time your touch lingered a second too long, how he ranted to Annabeth every night about the things you did that made him swoon, and how he was madly, head over heels, in love with you.

Once the musk of lake water had fully washed off, you headed to the infamous empty cabin, where Luke was waiting. His hair was still wet from the shower, causing his curls to separate, and he fidgeted with his fingertips while anxiously waiting for your arrival.

“You okay, Castellan?”

“No, I’m not, actually. I need to tell you something, like right now.” He stuttered out, his lip crunched up like he was in pain.

“You’re scaring me a little, but I’m all ears.”

“I love you.” Luke blurted out, the tension in the air increasing significantly with just three words.

“What?” It seemed as if the world had stopped, even the birds quieting down for a listen.

“I’m in love with you.” He repeated, like it was no big deal, like it was second nature.

“You love me?” You whispered out, almost like it was unheard for you to be loved.

“More than anything.”

You swallowed, thinking for a second while he awaited a response.

“I love you too.”

With the conformation of your words, he leaned in until the tips of his nose rubbed against yours. His lust-coated eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips, making it apparent what he wanted. Luke breathed in your fresh scent heavily while watching and waiting for a reaction—for you to pull away or do something.

Trailing a hand up into his hair, you delicately pushed his head until your lips met. His skin was honey-sweet as you gingerly kissed; it looked like something out of a romance movie. He forced himself to be a gentleman and pull apart after a few seconds, no matter how much he wanted to kiss you until his oxygen ran out.

Looking up into his eyes, you craved more. This built-up tension between you two was finally erupting, and it needed more than just a little kiss to be satisfied. So, you took charge and feverishly leaned in for more.

His hands cusped your cheek, carefully avoiding any boundaries you might have set up. That was until you snagged his bottom lip with your teeth, and he lost all self-control. The sweet kisses turned into a full-blown make-out session as he steadily snaked his hand down your torso and to the fat of your ass.

Only breaking for air when absolutely necessary, passion filled the atmosphere, along with hushed moans from the both of you. Luke warily trailed his hand upwards to your chest, and you could tell where this was heading. Panting, you removed your lips from his and spoke up.

“I’ve never.. I’m still…”

“Me too. Do you.. still want to?” He revealed, his heart racing while still daintily grazing your skin.

“Yes. Please.” You desperately nodded, like death was approaching if you didn’t continue. With that, he laid you down on the squeaky mattress of an unused bunk bed and hovered over.

“Gods, you look stunning.”

୨୧

part two in progress…

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