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sashaisready · 8 months ago

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Starting Over: Chapter 5 - Better

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

Hi! I'm sorry this took so long, work has been kicking my bum lately and I haven't had much writing time. But it's here - the final part! I hope you like it. Thanks to everyone who has reblogged/commented/engaged with this story - it means so much. Thank-you!!

💔

One week later…

You were cleaning tables when you glanced at the diner’s clock and realised it was almost 9am. Friday was here once again…

…Would he be in as usual?

It was raining heavily outside, throughout the early shift your regulars had rushed in and shaken the sogginess off their coats and umbrellas once they were safely over the threshold of the diner. You’d chatted with them, commiserating with them about ‘this damn weather’ and promising to warm them up with coffee and breakfast.

You’d spent your time off this last week popping into the hospital to see Lou. He was doing well, making progress, but the road to recovery was long. He needed to make major adjustments to his lifestyle and potentially engage in physical therapy as they think he’d also had a small stroke. He got his personal mail delivered to the diner and asked you to open it and keep him updated with anything pressing. The medical bills you’d seen were already dizzying and his insurance only covered part of it, but you couldn’t bother him what that just yet – he didn’t need the stress on top of everything else. You’d figure it out. You always did.

Lou had made you acting manager to pick up the slack while he was gone. You were pulling extra hours, working overtime to ensure the ship remained afloat while the captain remained on the shore. It was tough, but you couldn’t deny you loved the buzz of being in charge – of keeping everything moving.

You hadn’t seen Bucky since that night at the hospital. He’d insisted on driving you home after you’d said goodbye to Lou, ignoring your protests that the subway was perfectly fine…

“The subway, doll? Fuck no. Not on my watch”.

You’d rolled your eyes, knowing you didn’t have the energy to fight him after the evening you’d had. He knew it too. You’d merely sighed and hopped into the back of his SUV as you gave him your new address, giving a little wave to Clint who was driving.

The two of you sat in the back in silence for the entire journey, you watched the city flying past you from the window and it felt strange that the outside world was just continuing around you like normal while yours had almost collapsed.

The car rolled to a stop in front of your building, and you turned to Bucky. He seemed to be studying you carefully, concern drawn across his features. Even after all this time and distance, the beauty of his face still took your breath away at times.

“Thank-you…for the ride. For dinner. For showing up…all of it,” you said softly.

He nodded stoically, “always. Look…no matter what happens between us, I’ll always show up for you if you need me. Any time, any place. And Lou is going to be just fine, alright?”

Almost instinctively you found your hand sliding across the leather of the seat towards him. He looked down as your hand moved to find his. You clasped your fingers around his metal digits, the cool sensation against your skin was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. They in turn wrapped around yours and the two of you sat holding hands for a short while. You didn’t speak or look at each other, just both existing in the moment and concentrating on the feeling of your hands entwined. You paused, wanting to say more – but unable to quite find the words.

Eventually you couldn’t bear the strange tension in the air. You gently withdrew your hand and cleared your throat as you shuffled across the seat towards the door.

“Well, thanks again. And for the ride, too”.

“Anytime. Nice building…” he peered out of the window at your apartment block.

“Ah yeah, thanks,” you said proudly.

“You doing okay, living there?” he asked quizzically in his Brooklyn-lilt, his brows furrowed.

“Mm…I mean, it’s not as fancy as your place,” you chuckled, “it’s kinda cramped and small, but it’s cosy and warm. And it’s mine,” you told him with fondness.

He smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “My place was yours too, you know”.

You chewed on your lip, you hadn’t intended it as a slight against him. “I-I know Buck…but…you know what I meant”.

He nodded reluctantly. “Yeah…that’s good. I’m pleased for you, really”. His nose crinkled as he looked at you fondly. It was a little mannerism of his that you’d missed.

You shared a small smile before getting out of the car and heading inside. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to look back at the car, a storm of emotions fighting to escape you. Your fatigue mixed with your anxieties about Lou, confusion about this sudden shift with Bucky now swelling. You could tell from the quiet behind you that the car hadn’t pulled away yet, no doubt waiting until you were safely off the street. You put your key in the door and quickly moved inside.

That was last week. You hadn’t spoken to him since, although you’d wondered if you should reach out. You thought he might’ve been in touch – a text, a call, but nothing. It was nice, he was leaving the ball in your court and not crowding you, respecting the boundaries you’d established. But part of you couldn’t shake the small sense of disappointment that lingered, too.

The fact was you couldn’t deny that something was stirring. Bucky, who you’d long written off and blacklisted for his betrayal, had started to be on your mind more and more. He had crept back into your brain.

You didn’t believe the old adage that time healed all wounds, but it had certainly helped. The space you’d had from him a year on from the incident had allowed you to find yourself again, the parts that you hadn’t realised you’d lost after diving headfirst into your relationship with Bucky. You still felt immense pain when you thought about what happened…but you also thought about how he had been true to his word. He hadn’t tried to force you back, not aggressively pursuing you or trying to talk you round. His weekly mornings at the diner had never felt pointed or manipulative. You believed that he was just happy to have you in his life, like he’d said. You’d since found your own place, started therapy and looked at your own issues, thrown yourself into work. Remembered who you were before you were ‘mob boss girlfriend’. You knew that what had happened with Bucky was not your fault, it wasn’t your job to reflect and change accordingly – that was all his. But still, having the space and time to work on yourself…it was refreshing. One small silver lining on this ugly, black cloud.

You’d also been on a few dates over the last few months. Nothing to write home about. A few nice guys, a few less than nice guys. Nothing had truly sparked for you; nobody had piqued your interest enough to want to really explore more than a few dinners or coffees. Maybe it was because of how things ended with Bucky, or you just hadn’t met someone right for you, or maybe you were just off dating altogether…But it wasn’t something you felt real enthusiasm for at this point. But that was okay. It had been fun to dip your toe back in the dating pool, and you weren’t averse to trying again when the moment was right, or you met the right person.

Unless of course, it was because someone else was on your mind.

Your slow burn friendship with Bucky had crept on you, taken you by surprise. The man who had once broken your heart now had a new place in your life. It was strange, but in some ways, you knew him better than you had when you were together. Despite your previous connection - your conversations had opened territory up you’d never covered together before, previously too caught up in passion and heat to dive as deeply as you had now.

And most importantly, he had shown up for you that night at the hospital, been there for you without you needing to ask. He had brought you dinner and stayed by your side without a word, because he knew you needed not to be alone – needed support. You were touched by his care for you, his willingness to clear his schedule for you at the drop of a hat. It meant a lot. It meant everything. He had intuited how you felt and acted immediately. He was there.

You didn’t know what it meant, if anything. Something had changed, the safe barrier of diner breakfast chats had been crossed. Part of you was panicking – no! Don’t let him get close, not again! Remember what he did! But another part of you had missed him deeply, longed to hold him again and wake up to him each morning. Your thoughts were a spiralling mass of contradictions and conflict, nothing made sense.

You weren’t sure if you could ever truly forgive him for what happened.

But could you try?

Roscoe snapped you out of your thoughts as he passed you the latest batch mail on his way by. You thanked him, flicking through the junk mail until your attention was caught by the hospital logo on one of the envelopes. You winced, tentatively ripping open the paper as you braced yourself for the latest bill.

You cursed under your breath as you unveiled the total figure, a stupid amount of money. You spiralled as it sank in, wondering if Lou would have to sell the diner in order to settle his debt. You knew he didn’t have anywhere near enough in his savings. You thought about all the jobs that could be at stake, including yours, and your heart ached most of all knowing that the restaurant was Lou’s baby. It would break him to give it up.

Maybe you could call them, sort out a payment plan…something?

You tried to calm yourself down, thinking about what your therapist would say about your immediate jump to the worst-case scenario. Relax. You can fix this. Remember your mindfulness exercises. Life would find a way.

The opening of the front door pulled you from your catastrophising. You glanced over, making eye contact with a rather damp Bucky as he entered the diner. He sighed, shaking the rain from his coat as he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“A lovely morning…” he muttered, deadpan.

You smiled, stuffing the hospital bill into your apron pocket and going to grab the coffee jug, “Morning, Buck. Get a little wet?”

“A little,” he gruffed, slotting himself into his usual booth.

You chuckled as you filled up his mug.

“How’s Lou?” he asked, shaking the rain from his hair.

“He’s doing better, thanks for asking. They’ve got a whole treatment plan worked out for him - so that’s positive”.

“Good. Glad to hear. You over here running the show while he’s out?”

“Something like that,” you smiled, then shuffled on your feet as you realised you needed to talk to him. “Bucky, I-”

A loud clatter and exclamation from the kitchen cut you off, causing you both to look over at the disturbance. You sighed with exasperation.

“Ah. Duty calls…I’ll put your order in while I’m in there”.

You rushed off to sort out whatever mess waited for you in the kitchen as Bucky smiled playfully at your annoyance.

He noticed something had fallen out of your apron as you dashed off. A piece of paper. He leaned over to pick it off the floor for you in case you needed it. Before he realised it was private and had a chance to look away, his eyes were immediately drawn to the monstrous sum at the bottom of the page. Ah. He grimaced as he quickly put two and two together, folding the paper neatly and leaving it on the table. He took a sip of his coffee.

You appeared a little while later with his order, sighing heavily as you placed the plate in front of him.

“Sorry about that…Roscoe and Ron were fighting about if the bacon was too crispy, and some trays got caught up in the carnage. Never a dull moment around here…”

You suddenly noticed the paper on the table, your words trailing off as your eyes locked onto it. You snatched it away quickly, shoving it into your apron.

“That’s not…that’s-” you floundered, embarrassed for him to have seen it.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to snoop. You dropped it, so I picked it up and then realised what it was,” he explained softly.

“It’s fine. I’m dealing with it,” you shrugged, desperate to appear nonchalant.

��Sit down, doll”, he said sternly.

You scoffed, “Bucky…I’m busy running a restaurant here…”

He paused, looked up and bellowed across the diner, “Roscoe! Ron! Handle things while your boss takes a break!”

You rolled your eyes, turning to see Roscoe and Ron nodding furiously as they scattered and suddenly started working harder than you’d ever seen them. They had always been afraid of Bucky. You stifled a laugh.

“Problem solved, now sit,” he gestured.

You reluctantly sat down opposite him, “Bucky…”

“We’re gonna talk”.

“I don’t need-”

“No. Let’s do this”, he said sternly.

You folded your arms in front of you, fully aware that you resembled a petulant teenager but not caring enough to stop.

Bucky cleared his throat, taking a sip of his coffee before picking up the letter. “Now, I don’t want to overstep…but I can take care of this you know…”

You shook your head. “No. Thanks for the offer, but no,” you told him firmly.

“Alright. That’s fine. So, Lou has enough to cover it?” he asked, “all of it?”

You nodded a bit too quickly, “mmhmm”.

Bucky caught it immediately, your lie. You noticed the quirk of his brow and the subtle rubbing of his lips together. Damn him.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he sipped his coffee again and ate a few forkfuls of his meal, then wiped his mouth with a napkin and tilted his head quizzically. “Guess it’s all wrapped up, then”.

You nodded again in agreement, but knew he wasn’t done.

He took his time, casually taking a few more bites of his breakfast and sipping his coffee. You knew his relaxed demeanour was a careful façade…you had somehow found yourself at the centre of a famed Bucky Barnes interrogation.

You tried to appear relaxed, as if you had nothing more to add.

“Because…” he started.

Ugh.

“…because, if he didn’t have enough. That would be a problem, wouldn’t it?”

“Mmm. It would. But it’s not…so…”

“Right”, he cut you off. “But if he didn’t – great eggs today by the way – if he didn’t, that would be putting this place at risk, right? All the staff here and their jobs. Your job?”

“Right,” you replied, your voice a little strained.

“And of course Lou himself…he loves this place. It’s his baby. I’m sure he’d be devastated if he had to give it up to pay his medical bills. Especially as the last thing he needs right now is more stress and financial worries on top of his ill health”. He paused again to eat, not even looking up.

You nodded; your eyes now slightly cloudy now.

“Yep…” you said meekly.

He looked up at you, his eyes intensely locked onto yours, gesturing towards you with the fork. He was in full swing now. The diner suddenly felt much hotter, you could feel tiny beads of sweat forming on your forehead and the back of your neck.

“And I hope it would be known, if that was the case of course, that my offer would have no strings attached. Because I could imagine someone might decline it out of pride, or concern that it would have conditions and that person would then be in some sort of debt to me…either financially or emotionally. And if that was the case, I’d want to reassure them that it would only be a friend looking out for a friend, helping because I want to, and I can, and God knows I should do something nice once in a while to even out my moral scales…”

The barrier broke and your tears finally escaped, the stress about Lou and this intimidating bill, and your confusion about how you felt for Bucky, all finally coming to the surface. You cupped your face in your hands as you quietly sobbed.

“I’m sorry, I just…I…”

Bucky moved like lightning, whipping around to your side of the booth as he swung in next to you.

“Hey…hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to be clear what my offer entailed; but I understand why you’d be reluctant to accept my help”.

He pulled a few napkins from the dispenser and tenderly wiped away your tears.

“It wouldn’t be a loan, doll, and you wouldn’t need to make nice with me to say thanks. You could call me an asshole and dump these eggs on my head, and I’d still pay in full with a smile. There’s no expectation here, no contract – legal or implied”.

You sniffed, looking up at him blearily, “you’d really do all that for me…but…why?”

He paused, then very delicately used his thumb to collect the tears forming at the side of your eye.

“You know why,” he said plainly.

Your heart panged, and you looked down at your hands in your lap, clutching at one of the now-soggy napkins he’d given you. You sniffed again as you regained your composure, suddenly feeling exposed in front of him. The two of you stared at one another for a few moments and you were so desperate to tell him everything, but you couldn’t form the words. You hoped he would elaborate and fill in that gap for you, but he didn’t.

He quietly got up, putting on his coat and placing some bills down on the table to cover his check. He leaned over and kissed you on the crown of your head, then used a finger to tilt your chin up to look at him.

“You don’t have to decide anything now,” he told you as he looked into your eyes, “Think it over. I’ll be back here next week like always”.

He smiled at you, then disappeared out into the street. You heard the roaring of the rain outside as the diner door opened, the little bell above the frame chiming to announce his departure.

You missed him already.

You looked down at the hospital bill in your hands, the total at the bottom practically screaming from the page.

He’d hurt you so badly, you weren’t sure if you could ever fully forgive him for that fateful night. You understood it had been his insecurities, you understood he had lashed out after he thought his worst fears were realised – but that had only even explained his actions, not justified them.

Although…he’d always been there over the last year. Slow and steady, but he’d taken the time to rebuild his relationship with you platonically. He’d let you manage the pace, never tried to force anything more than you were willing to give him.

…and he’d been there for you.

He continued to be there for you.

It wasn’t about the money. He wasn’t trying to pay you off to win favour. He was just trying to be there for you, and this was something he had the power and resources to help you with.

He was your friend.

He loved you. He’d continued to love you…

“Are you back off break, boss?” Roscoe rudely interrupted your train of thought, “Ron said that the fryer-”

You were pulling off your apron before your brain could even catch up with your body.

“Nope,” you shot back, firing out of the booth at full speed as you tossed the apron at him on your way out, “a little longer…”

You left Roscoe gawping in your wake as you sailed through the front door. You yelped in shock as you stepped out into the downpour, you’d forgotten about the mini storm happening beyond the restaurant doors. It was so dark outside it looked more like early evening than the morning hours. You looked down at your immediately soaked uniform, your work shoes flooding as you traipsed through the puddles…

Focus!

You surveyed the street, your eyes catching a brief glimpse of the SUV turning the corner. The instantly recognisable JBB107 plates drawing your focus in the split second before they vanished.

And so you ran.

You sprinted after the SUV waving your arms, shouting for it to stop. A concerned elderly lady asked if you were okay but you sailed on by. You must’ve looked utterly insane.

You rounded the corner and rushed up behind the SUV as it slowed. The back door flew open, and Bucky suddenly appeared out of it, a look of horror on his face as the vehicle pulled over.

“Doll! Jesus Christ, what the- are you okay??” he shouted to you as you approached.

You didn’t answer, just flung yourself inside the car as you desperately tried to catch your breath. Bucky slid across the seat to give you room. The divider screen was up so you couldn’t see the driver. One less person to witness your mortifying display, at least.

“Fuck…you must be freezing,” he muttered as he pulled off his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders and leaning over to close the car door behind you.

You were, your teeth chattered. Your hair was wet and matted, your uniform soaked through.

“Bucky…” you said hoarsely as you dripped all over his plush car interior.

“What is it, doll?” he asked, his eyes wide and alarmed, “what’s going on??”

You couldn’t find the words so you acted purely on instinct, you cupped his face and kissed him. Kissed him hard. Kissed him longingly. He caught up quickly and kissed you back, his fingers tangled in your soaking hair. It was desperate, messy. Your teeth clashed and your cheeks bumped. It had been so long that you’d lost each other’s rhythm with this. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. You couldn’t have waited any longer.

He pulled away, gawping at you incredulously as he held your face in his hands.

“Doll…does this mean?”

“Let’s go slow,” you whispered, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. The effort you’ve put into rebuilding us from the ground up…for being my friend…for never pushing me…for Lou…but I’m not sure I’m ready to jump into this headfirst…whatever this is…”

He nodded, “of course, anything you want”.

“I’m not sure if I can…fully forgive. But I want to try,” you told him softly as you pressed your forehead to his.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as he sighed. A sigh of long held tension, of relief.

“Thank-you for giving me a chance…I didn’t think you ever would again,” he admitted.

“Yeah…well neither did I,” you laughed,

“What changed your mind?”

“Well…. how you showed up for me with Lou has made me rethink a lot of things. Plus…the money”.

He laughed, “the money? Really? This whole time I just needed to pay you off?”

“No…”, You rolled your eyes, “it was more that you offered, but you didn’t force anything, and you made it clear it was no strings attached. It’s like…you want to help me, but you trust me to make my own decisions and don’t just try and fix it all for me, like you used to. I just…it made me realise how much I’ve missed you. But it’s gotta be different this time…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…like…I want to stay in my apartment. And I want to keep my job,” you said firmly.

He nodded, “yeah. Of course”.

“Maybe I’d move back in with you one day…but I want my space”.

“Okay. You got it,”.

You smiled, “yeah?”

He smiled back at you, the smile that still made you weak at the knees. “Doll? If it means you’re by my side…Of course ‘yeah’. Anything you want. And I have some conditions too…”

“What?” you frowned. “This isn’t exactly a two-way negotiation, Buck…”

“Just…listen. They’re conditions for me. I promise I’m going to trust you entirely, and to communicate you with you properly – not let my emotions get the best of me. I’m a different man to who I was the last time we were together. I know how lucky I am to get this second chance with you. I’m not fucking it up. I'm gonna be...better”.

He spoke earnestly with such conviction that it was almost aggressive. You nodded gently, squeezing his hand. You believed him.

“Alright…well, let’s give it a shot, shall we?”

He grinned, “I can’t believe you’re here…”

“Me neither. But…I’m sorry I’m dripping rainwater all over your car”.

He shrugged. “Fuck the car”.

And then he kissed you again.

Maybe you did believe in happy endings.

THE END

There we have it! I hope you liked where it went. I know some of you didn't think she should ever forgive him and I understand, and I'm sorry if you're disappointed! But in my eyes he had shown her he was willing to change...and she wasn't trying to rush back into anything heavy. Thank you for reading!

If you liked this story, please consider supporting me with my Ko-Fi link 💐

#mob!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #starting over fic #sebastian stan

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vanteguccir · 7 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤCOLORING DATE * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where the triplets and Y/N have a small 'coloring drawings date' back in Boston

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader

WARNINGS　::　none

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

It was a chilly Boston afternoon, and the cozy kitchen of the Sturniolo triplets' childhood home radiated warmth. The black and white marble counter was covered in a colorful array of pencils and printed drawings ready to be filled in.

Matt, Nick, Chris, and Y/N sat together, each absorbed in their masterpieces, while an assortment of completed drawings, taped with pride, decorated the fridge nearby - just like the one back in Los Angeles, creating a gallery of memories they'd crafted every time they came to Boston.

Y/N was nestled close to Matt, sharing a single pair of earphones that played their shared playlist, mix of indie tunes, and a few songs that made them laugh as they lip-synced together.

Every so often, Y/N would pause her coloring just to press a gentle kiss onto Matt's shoulder or cheek, and every time she did it, Matt’s face would light up with a shy smile, his hand instinctively reaching over to brush her fingers, squeezing them lightly before returning to his coloring.

Across the table, Nick was squinting at his drawing, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he carefully filled in the skin of the pokémons with a vibrant mix of yellows, blues and purples. Chris, with a look of intense focus, was working on an abstract swirl of colors, occasionally nudging Nick to make him mess up just a bit, causing laughter between them.

"Hey, don't mess with my work!" Nick huffed, shielding his paper from Chris, shooting him a dirty look. "Fucking moron."

Chris snorted.

"Oh, come on, Nick, I’m just adding some flair to it!" He laughed, his tone playful, but he left Nick’s drawing alone, deciding instead to lean closer to Y/N and Matt, peeking at their work, accidentally hitting some pencils to the floor. "What are you two coloring over there?" He teased, a soft smile on his face as he watched Y/N and Matt too close, almost blending into each other, the identical maroon sweaters disguising who was who.

Y/N grinned, lifting her drawing to show a sunset over mountains, shaded in soft pinks and oranges.

"It’s our little Boston sunset for the fridge gallery."

Matt smiled brightly, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand as he glanced at her drawing.

"It’s going to he the prettiest drawing in there, babe." He murmured, leaning down to place a quick, sweet kiss on her temple.

"You're so disgusting." Chris huffed, rolling his eyes playfully before going back to his own paper.

Y/N stuck her tongue out playfully in response, her eyes gleaming with a happiness that was contagious.

As the playlist continued, Matt and Y/N swapped colored pencils back and forth, murmuring softly to each other about which colors went best with the others.

After a while, Nick stood up, lowering his grey headphones, heading to the fridge, and scanning their growing gallery.

"Alright, let's see what new masterpieces we're adding today." Nick announced, carefully peeling off a piece of tape to stick Chris's vibrant butterfly next to his own pokémons drawing on the fridge door. "At this point, we’re not even gonna see the fridge anymore." He grinned, smoothing each piece into place with a bit of pride.

Without missing a beat, Chris turned to Matt and Y/N, an exaggerated impatience in his voice.

"C'mon, lovebirds, finish up so we can add your little sunset next to my work of art."

Matt scoffed, rolling his eyes as he passed a glance at Chris.

"If we’re being honest, yours doesn’t even deserve a spot." He muttered with a smirk, dodging Chris’s halfhearted swipe at him. "Oh, I'm gonna end you-"

"Boys, no fighting near the fridge!" Came Mary Lou’s voice from the couch in the other room. Both brothers froze, biting back laughter as they stood straight. Nick stifled a chuckle, sharing an amused look with Y/N, who shook her head at them all, her smile soft.

"Alright, Matt, focus." Y/N said, tugging him gently by his sweater sleeve to bring his attention back to the counter. "Before I finish this sunset all by myself."

Matt let himself be pulled down with a playful grin, settling beside her once more.

"Fine, fine." He relented, leaning in close, their heads nearly touching as they dove back into their coloring, whispering and swapping pencils as if the world outside didn’t exist.

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x yn #matt sturniolo x reader fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x bff reader #boston #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo oneshot #matt sturniolo blurb

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deconstructthesoup · 7 days ago

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All right, quick rundown of our new PCs:

-While Maxwell seems to be continuing Murph's D20 trend of playing doofuses (only broken by Riz in JY because, well, he was reprising his very first D20 character), it looks like he might actually be our first balance between Murph's two different types of PCs---he's a reasonable, level-headed, intelligent guy who also happens to be a bit of a clueless rich boy. Also, to my knowledge, Maxwell may be our first instance of D20 having a PC whose class itself is homebrew---not just a homebrew subclass, like Pinnochio being a Destiny warlock or Gorgug being a Barbificer... barbarian/artificer, but full-on playing a homebrew class. To that, I say hell fucking yeah.

-Olethra is, of course, continuing Ally's trend of playing the most blatantly queer character at the table, and this time, their PC is a starry-eyed transfemme with a deep sense of wanderlust. I was, sadly, wrong about her being an Armorer artificer---at least, for now, and if I had to guess, I'd say that the mech suit is so she's not at a disadvantage as the only level two character in a party of level sixes---but honestly, I'm really curious to see how Olethra's gonna level up. I don't think we've ever gotten a straight martial character from Ally before, and if Olethra doesn't take some artificer levels (or becomes an Arcane Trickster), she might be their first. (Liam doesn't count, rangers are half-casters.)

-Daisuke appears to already be beating out Lapin and Ricky for the title of "hottest Zac character," and after that incredible introduction... oh, boy, do I fucking agree. It's so fun to see Zac play a genuinely smart and crafty character, which is honestly more common than most people think---Gorgug eventually found his smarts and confidence, Lapin was... Lapin, Skip was very intelligent and just needed time to get used to being in a human body, and Pib was obviously a little scheming stinker. Seriously, though, Daisuke is a delight, I love that he's a Gunslinger, and I think we all need to appreciate the poetry of the comedy sniper actually playing a sniper. Who is also an old divorced outlaw who kills people who try to mess with his ex-step-granddaughter.

-Marya Junkova, the woman of my dreams. Once again, Emily has created a character who I will become unreasonably obsessed with, and I am not just saying that because she's spooky (my favorite D&D character asethetic) and an artificer (my favorite D&D class). I love her accent, I love her look, I love the idea of her being a happy-go-lucky adventurer who has been turned sad and cynical by trauma, and I am so fucking excited to see the lore behind the crow-thing she's gonna kill. Also, I'm all in favor of the headcanon of her being undead... mainly because my current character is also a steampunk-heavy, spooky, undead artificer with a gun and weird pets. They have a mechanical heart.

-If it weren't for Iga Lisowski, Van would be a completely different direction for Siobhan, but I am so stoked to see her play an IDGAF old woman with a sweet, supportive husband again. She's a badass, she's a bicon, and I really wanna know how she lost that arm. Not much to say about Van as of right now, I'm excited to learn more, and I can't wait for Siobhan to repeatedly wreck everyone's ears with that whistle.

-And last but not least, we have a beautiful return to the Kingston Brown vibes with Monty, who doesn't really appear to have that "chaotic entitled" energy that Lou found so appealing after playing Squak, though of course there's something to be said about him playing a famous author again. I love seeing Monty be all warm and paternal and supportive, I love how he really encapsulates the energy of your archetypical nature caster, and I love how there's a little bit of chaos wound into this big, comforting soul. Though... that being said, I do hope he's got a decent subclass under his belt. If you're not playing a Gloomstalker or doing an insane multiclass build like Siobhan did with Rosamund, rangers can be tricky.

#i love being wrong and also being right #i'm guessing that van is a battlemaster or something along those lines #and i am ALL IN FAVOR of the headcanon that things get more magical as they get closer to zood #because this isn't an oops-all-martials campaign! artificers and rangers have magic!#and olethra could be an arcane trickster! we don't know yet!#dimension 20 #cloudward ho #maxwell gotch #olethra macleod #daisuke bucklesby #marya junková #van chapman #montgomery lamontgommery

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writersdiscouragment-blog · 3 months ago

Text

"Since when did you start drinking oat milk?" Ryan was looking at the to go cup like it offended him personally.

Lou shrugged, not seeing what the big deal was as he took a sip of his ice oat milk latte. "Sometimes I like to switch it up, so what?"

Ryan wasn't buying it, he looked at Lou and then at the cup before rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to the script.

It was later in the day when Ryan stopped Lou again, this time by the craft table where the A.P was informing Lou that his order for a beyond burger was ready for them.

"You're eating plant based meat?" Ryan asked, frowning as Lou picked up the container from Monty's.

Lou was taken back momentarily, he shrugged again and made a show of opening the container. "Hey, nothing is wrong with a burger and loaded fries from Montey's"

"Yeeeeaaaah, but you're the same guy that used to tease Tyler for eating lean turkey bacon and ahi tuna sandwiches." Ryan pointed out, recalling the time when the three would hang out during the filming of Teen Wolf and Everybody Wants Some. "You even balked about dating another vegan and vegetarian again."

Lou seemed indifferent as he started to eat his lunch. "Well, that was then and this is now."

Ryan opened to his mouth, ready to push the subject more when Oliver and Aisha came over. They each had their own scripts in their hands and looked tired from rehearsal.

"Ooooh, lunch time, finally. I am starving." Oliver was already rubbing his hands excitedly together as he eyed the table for his order.

"Beef day today, Lou?" Aisha teased as she picked up her order for lunch.

"Ahh, no?" Lou said slowly, he looked nervous suddenly, his eyes glancing from his burger to Oliver. "It's a Montys burger."

Ryan risked looking at Oliver first, his friend looked surprised, standing up straight and studying the container in Lou's hand.

"Since when did you start eating vegan food?" Oliver asked.

Ryan crossed his arms, smirking as he pointed out "I asked the same thing. He even ordered oat milk for his iced coffee this morning."

"Really?"

Lou let out an annoyed huff, "Oliver and I have a kissing scene later on in the truck and I know he's vegan so I didn't want him to taste any animal by products when we kissed." Lou explained in one go. "There. Happy?"

Ryan was not expecting that. He looked to see Oliver face turn from confused to touched.

"Aww." Aisha cooed, poking Lou's pec, "You're just a big old teddy bear, aren't you Lou?" She laughed, hugging Lou's side. Lou had no problems reciprocating the hug back and laughed as Aisha poked him again, this time on his stomach.

it wasn't until later when they were filming the kiss scene in the truck that Oliver brought up Lou's change of diet.

"Thank you. For doing that by the way." Oliver said softly as they waited for the director to call for action again. "Not most people think of doing that for me."

Lou shrugged, not wanting to make it a big deal. "It's nothing."

"It's something." Oliver countered back, "You changed your whole diet for today. Have you done it the other times when we had a kissing scene?"

"Yeah." Lou leaned against the car door. "I know I'm not vegetarian or vegan, but I figured you wouldn't want to kiss me and taste...I don't know? A grilled cheese sandwich or a double double." He joked, trying to avoid Oliver's gaze. He could feel the other man studying him.

He looked up when he felt a weight adjust his tie. Oliver was close to him now, his blue eyes bright as his coy smile. "Thank you." Oliver said softly.

"Don't mention it."

Lou couldn't help but think their kissing scene in the truck was a little more softer and tender than their previous kiss scenes as Buck and Tommy.

#louliver

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onlyangel4 · 10 months ago

Text

cindy lou who. cs55. SMAU

request: Can you do a lando x reader or Carlos x reader based on the song Cindy Lou who by Sabrina Carpenter

in which carlos moves on but you can't

warnings: angst. heartbreak. cursing. five year age gap with carlos. not a happy ending

author's note: pls, pls, pls send in more requests they are so much fun

faceclaim: sabrina carpenter

part two

f1wags

liked by user1, user2, user3 and 12,301 others

f1wags: sources have confirmed that carlos sainz and y/n y/ln have called it quits after two years of dating. with carlos stating that he did not have the time to give y/n the relationship that she deserved.

view all 248 comments

user1: we have just lost the greatest wag of all time

user2: i am in mourning

user3: oh y/n we will miss you

y/ninsta posted a close friends story

written: you said you could not give me what i needed but what if all i needed was you?

alexandrasaintmleux replied to your story: i am so sorry my love. i will be over in the morning and i will take you out for lunch okay angel

y/ninsta: thank you my love

f1wags posted a video to their story

description: grainy footage captures the moment y/n ran out of her house to greet alexandra saint mleux. y/n broke down as soon as she saw alex and cried into her arms.

y/ninsta

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charlesleclerc, fernandoalonso and 165,001 others

tagged alexandrasaintmleux

y/insta: time to work out who i am without you

view all 298 comments

alexandrasaintmleux: always here for you honey

y/ninsta: i would be so lost without you alex

fernandoalo_oficial: chin up paddock daughter

y/ninsta: i'll try, paddock dad

user10: these candids have such a sadder mood compared to the posed pictures she usually posts. i hope she is okay.

f1wags

liked by user13, user14, user15 and 20,901 others

f1wags: carlos sainz spotted showing pda to scottish model rebecca donaldson. donaldson (29) was first connected to carlos three weeks ago when they attended the same birthday party. this picture comes just seven weeks after carlos' break up with y/n y/ln (24)

view all 451 comments

user13: he just needed someone older, more mature. y/n was never wife material.

user14: imagine telling your ex you could not give her a proper relationship and then getting straight in bed with someone else. not a good look.

user15: i just know y/n is not okay right now.

carlossainz

liked by landonorris, iamrebeccad, y/ninsta and 1,001,319 others

carlossainz: the best summer break in a long time

view all 2,363 comments

user23: that caption is not it carlos. think about y/n's feelings.

iamrebeccad: what a gorgeous view (i'm not talking about the sunset

carlossainz: i could say the same about my view

user24: y/n get out of the likes honey you deserve better. BLOCK HIM.

y/ninsta posted a story

written: was having a shit day and then i dropped my coffee so now i'm crying in a parking lot.

alexandrasaintmleux posted a story tagging y/ninsta

written: helping my girl get her sparkle back one day at a time

y/ninsta

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, kellypiquet, charlesleclerc and 203,092 others

y/ninsta: ten months older, i won't give in. now that i'm clean, i'm never gonna risk it

view all 607 comments

user31: y/n in her clean era we love to see it

alexandrasaintmleux: i still can't believe you wore that shirt to the bar. p.s so proud of you

y/ninsta: what can i say, i like to make a statement

kellypiquet: missing you honey

y/ninsta: miss you too kells

carlossainz

liked by iamrebeccad, lewishamilton, landonorris and 2,008,001 others

tagged iamrebeccad

carlossainz: to celebrate a year with my soulmate i asked her if i could share forever with her

view all 27,091 comments

iamrebeccad: i am so excited for our story

carlossainz: as am i my love

lewishamilton: congrats to you both

landonorris: congratulations mate you make the best couple

user39: notice how there is no max, charles and fernando in the likes and comments. they are team y/n and i love them for that.

user40: poor y/n

y/ninsta posted a story

written: every time i think the cut is healed salt still makes it sting

#f1 x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #f1 fandom #formula 1 smau #formula one smau #formula one #formula 1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz smau #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x female reader #cs55 #cs55 x reader #cs55 smau

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hazeysmile · 20 days ago

Text

001 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆 -

𝙥𝙖𝙯𝙯𝙞

| Parings: paige bueckers x fem!oc x azzi fudd

| Synopsis: valeria de martel, a rookie foreign basketball player, scores a sponsorship that lands her at UConn, home of the Huskies. She meets star player Paige Bueckers, who’s not too happy about her joining, while Azzi Fudd is super excited to have Valeria on the team. As Valeria settles in, she vibes really well with Azzi, and their connection feels natural. But things are tense with Paige, who sees her as competition. Over time, though, they go from rivals to friends. With her strict parents far away and the pressure of big games, Valeria feels overwhelmed, especially when an old flame shows up at school. Meanwhile, both Paige and Azzi starts falling for her.

| word count: 11.6k

| authors note: I want to apologize for the delay in getting Chapter 1 to you. I've been balancing learning to ride a dirtbike with work, and honestly, my motivation dipped for a bit. Anyway, it's attached. Just a heads-up: I'm still a novice writer, so I'm open to constructive criticism. Also, I didn't get a chance to proofread, so apologies in advance for any typos or grammar mistakes. I'll get Chapter 2 to you ASAP!

જ⁀➴ 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗢𝗡 𝗔 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘-𝗪𝗔𝗬 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗡𝗜𝗞𝗔 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗞𝗞 𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧, 𝗥𝗔𝗠𝗕𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗚𝗘─

You were deep in your thoughts about Paige and her sudden coldness, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Nika and KK were lounging nearby, clearly enjoying the show. KK was practically in stitches, howling with laughter as you dramatically declared, "It’s like she’s holding a grudge against me for stealing her favorite Barbie doll!" Your voice hit that hilariously high pitch, adding to the absurdity of the moment.

As you vented your frustrations, the ridiculousness of it all washed over you, and you couldn’t help but chuckle along with them. Their laughter was infectious, wrapping around you like a warm blanket, pulling you out of your spiral of confusion. You then thought of Lou, the girl who you gave your number to had texted you with her playful mix of Spanish, French, and English.

As the night wore on, the laughter between the three of you faded into a comfortable hum, replaced by the kind of easy conversation that stretches seamlessly into the early hours. The glow of the phone screens illuminated your faces, casting a soft light on the shared smiles and sleepy eyes. Eventually, the three of you drifted off, falling asleep on FaceTime, the connection lingering like a warm embrace, even as dreams took over.

Fast forward to the university, and you found yourself navigating the labyrinthine campus, your sense of direction notoriously terrible. It took a solid thirty minutes of circling around before you finally spotted the entrance, but you made it just in time, revving up your motorcycle with a grin.

Back in France, you had a couple of bikes that your parents gifted you—gifts that felt more like a way to sidestep their shortcomings as parents than genuine affection. They never quite owned up to their mistakes, opting instead to shower you with material things. You wrestled with the moral implications of accepting their gifts, knowing deep down that it was wrong to let their attempts at guilt-assuagement affect you. But the allure of those bikes was hard to resist; they were your passion, a reminder of the joy that came from the open road. The only reason you were awake, and alert today was because of KK, her infectious energy pulling you from the depths of sleep when all you wanted was to stay cocooned in your dreams.

KK was on one, banging those pans like a percussionist in a chaotic symphony, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. “I didn’t get no sleep 'cuz of yall! Yall not gone get no sleep 'cuz of me!” The words blasted through the phone, and you and the Croatian woman couldn’t help but groan in unison, the annoyance spilling over even as KK's laughter bubbled up like soda fizzing over. It was impossible to stay mad when her joy was so infectious, and soon enough, you found yourselves caught up in the laughter.

Rolling into the sprawling parking lot, you took in the scene: students milling about, some huddled in groups, their laughter ringing out like music, while others dashed off with purpose, backpacks bouncing against their sides. You slid your 2022 Yamaha MT-10 into a spot, the bike’s sleek, muscular frame glistening under the sun, a true beast of engineering. It was like a magnet, drawing eyes as you parked, a few students stopping mid-conversation to admire the beauty of your ride.

Your 2022 Yamaha MT-10 stands out with its bold black and dark red design, exuding an aggressive vibe that catches the eye. The matte black finish gives it a stealthy look, while the dark red accents. Up front, the sharp LED headlight shines brightly, surrounded by dark red details that contrast beautifully against the black, highlighting the bike’s muscular build and sporty feel.

The wide fuel tank flows smoothly into the exposed trellis frame, showcasing its impressive engineering while enhancing its strong appearance. The ergonomic low-profile seat is designed for comfort and control, inviting you to take on the open road. The sporty black wheels, accented with dark red, not only amplify the fierce look but also improve handling. The high-mounted exhaust system features a sleek design that fits perfectly with the bike's overall aesthetic, while the rear tapers off sharply for a streamlined finish.

As you turn off the engine, the bike lets out a satisfying rumble. You take your key from the ignition, the sound echoing softly. Slipping off your leather gloves, you kick up the stand and unstrap your helmet. As you lift it away, your hair catches the wind, capturing that perfect moment of freedom after a ride.

Your hair was charmingly messy, a look you loved for its natural vibe, though you kept it from being too wild. You wore a gray plaid flannel shirt from Bershka over a plain black T-shirt, paired with black-wash slim flare jeans that fit just right. On your feet were the cool grey Jordan 4 Retro sneakers, and a small sling bag hung casually from your shoulder.

Silver rings adorned your left hand, making your tattoo stand out beautifully, while a stainless-steel butterfly pendant necklace added a touch of elegance. And let’s not forget your iconic white Calvin Klein corten stretch boxers—an obsession you developed the moment you spotted them.

You set your helmet on the gas tank along with your leather gloves, then gracefully stepped off your bike. Pulling out your phone, you queued up your playlist, balancing the volume perfectly. As Bad Bunny's "Vuelve Candy B" began to play, you shoved your keys into your pocket and quickly pulled out your timetable.

As you strolled through the campus, students cast fleeting glances your way, their curiosity evident. Your gaze flicked to the building codes, searching for your class. "Calculus lecture... more like calculus-tastrophe of my patience," you muttered, frustration creeping into your voice as you glared at your schedule.

Around you, students lounged on the grass, engaged in lively conversations and laughter, while others tossed an American football back and forth, boasting about their skills.

School had never been your favorite place; it felt like a drain on your time and energy. Sure, everyone knew you—thanks to your parents, who were quite the celebrities in France with their multi-million-dollar businesses. But that fame came with its own burdens. Playing the role of the perfect daughter weighed heavily on your mental health, especially when you knew you were far too clever for the straight-laced image everyone expected.

Despite being a straight A-B student, you found ways to express your true self—occasional fights, tardiness, and even skipping classes to tag abandoned buildings with your friends. But then came the day your parents discovered your report card. You remembered it vividly, the disappointment in their eyes hitting harder than any punishment could.

"What the hell are these grades?" Your mother’s voice cut through the air, laced with her thick accent, her gaze sharp as it fell upon your slender frame. "Te pusimos en la mejor escuela de Francia, ¿y esto es lo que obtenemos? Cuatro B’s, dos A’s y dos C’s, ¿hablas en serio, Valeria?" The weight of her disappointment hung heavily between you, each word a reminder of the high expectations that loomed over your every move. "No entrarás en las mejores universidades con estas calificaciones. ¡Tienes que hacerlo mejor! No gastamos tanto dinero en tu educación para que descuides tus estudios. ¡Y ni siquiera me hagas hablar de tu comportamiento en la escuela!"

Once again, you found yourself ensnared in this familiar cycle of reprimand, your parents’ towering figures casting long shadows over your spirit. Your mother held your report card as if it were a contagious disease, something to be feared and avoided. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, the sting of their words cutting deeper than you cared to admit. You were sensitive to their anger, especially from the two people who meant the world to you.

You despised the scoldings, the punishment that seemed to envelop you like a heavy fog. Most kids would share your aversion, but for you, it felt like an unending quest for perfection, a constant reminder that you had to be their ideal daughter. As their voices rose, so did the prominence of their accents, a clear indication that they were truly furious.

"L-Lo siento, mamá," you murmured, your voice quivering like a fragile leaf caught in a storm. You weren’t even certain why you were apologizing; it never seemed to be enough for them.

Your mother scoffed, a disbelieving chuckle escaping her lips as she flung your report card at you. "Is that all you can say? 'Sorry'? Si estuvieras realmente arrepentido, estarías trayendo a casa mejores calificaciones y tomando tu educación en serio en lugar de pasar el rato con esos amigos delincuentes tuyos, jugando... ¿qué fue? ¡Ah, sí, baloncesto!"

You flinched at the bite in her voice, quickly snatching the report card from the expensive floor, the weight of her words heavy in the air.

"¿Por qué no puedes, por una vez, ser como tu padre o tu hermano? Diablos, ¿por qué ni siquiera te gusto? Todos tenemos éxito, viviendo cómodamente en nuestra riqueza. ¿De verdad quieres que te re repudiamos, que te veamos vagando por las calles por el resto de tu vida?" Her tone was laced with arrogance and coldness, sending a chill down your spine. You looked down, arms instinctively crossing behind your back, hiding the report card from her piercing gaze.

Frustration welled up inside you, a familiar ache that always seemed to surface in these moments. It felt as if they were constantly finding ways to wound your fragile spirit, no matter how hard you tried to meet their expectations. Your fists clenched tightly, nails digging into your palms, a desperate attempt to contain the whirlwind of emotions raging within.

"Siento no ser lo suficientemente inteligente para ti. Sabes que la escuela no es fácil para mí." Your mother let out a laugh, a sound that cut through your words, her expression morphing into one of even deeper annoyance. Just as her lips parted to unleash her thoughts, the grand double wooden doors swung open, and the atmosphere of the room thickened, heavy with unspoken tension.

Then he appeared—your father. The last person you wished to see. Standing tall at 6'2", he had a well-proportioned, athletic frame that commanded attention. His deep chestnut hair was trimmed short on the sides, the top styled back with effortless precision, not a single strand daring to defy him, the peppering of silver adding a distinguished touch.

His facial features were striking, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline that was emphasized by a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes, a deep shade of green, were sharp and piercing, often radiating an intensity that was both alluring and intimidating. Clad in a tailored suit of the finest fabric, a dark charcoal gray that whispered of elegance, he unbuttoned his blazer, as a designer watch peeked from beneath his cuff.

With a practiced grace, he folded his blazer and draped it over the back of his leather chair, the very seat where he often settled with a cigar in hand. "Alors, qu'est-ce qui se passe que tu m'as appelé de mon entreprise, chérie?" he asked, his voice smooth yet laced with authority, ready to delve into the drama that had unfolded in his absence.

He tilted his head, not sparing you a glance, his piercing green eyes locked onto your mother as she spoke. It was evident he was aware of your presence, yet he chose to disregard it, and you felt a strange ambivalence toward his indifference.

Your mother began to voice her concerns, her words flowing in a melodic rhythm of Spanish, while he hummed softly, seemingly unfazed. With a practiced nonchalance, he unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, each movement fluid and confident. A man of many languages, he wielded them as tools in the business world, a skill that had undoubtedly served him well.

Finally, he cast a glance in your direction, an unreadable expression settling on his face as he approached you with deliberate steps. A primal urge to flee surged within you, yet with each step he took, your feet felt as though they were anchored to the ground. You focused on your shoes, your breath coming in shallow gasps, a silent plea for escape.

"Recommençant des problèmes à l'école?" His voice was devoid of warmth, chilling as he towered over you, his gaze piercing through your trembling frame. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, a cruel satisfaction at your discomfort. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you mute as he tilted his head, clearly displeased by your silence.

He extended his large, calloused hand toward you, grasping your chin with a grip that felt both commanding and unsettling, forcing your gaze upward to meet his. You trembled beneath his hold, the weight of his cold stare pressing down on you—a look your mother adored, a man she would never trade for anything in the world.

"Es-tu insolente, Valeria?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder, low and heavy with authority.

You shook your head sharply, your words trapped in your throat, ensnared by the thick, oppressive air that hung between you like a storm cloud.

"Insouciant?" he pressed, tilting his head with a slight, almost predatory curiosity, his expression unyielding.

Once more, you shook your head, paralyzed by fear, unable to meet his gaze, as if looking away could shield you from his scrutiny.

With an audible click of his tongue, he expressed his annoyance, tightening his grip on your face, and a small whimper escaped your lips, betraying your resolve. "As-tu une langue dans ta tête?"

His voice rose just a notch, the weight of his accent sharpening with each syllable, as you fought back tears, determined not to let him witness your vulnerability. "O-Oui, père." The words finally slipped from your lips, fragile and stammered, tinged with the unmistakable lilt of your own accent, echoing the tension that thrummed in the air around you.

"Dis-moi pourquoi tu choisis d'être paresseux à l'école au lieu d'utiliser ta tête. C'est exaspérant que vous ne puissiez pas voir que nous faisons ce qui est le mieux pour vous. Tu ne m'écoutes jamais, ni à ta mère; c'est toujours une excuse. Chaque jour qui passe, vous trouvez de nouvelles façons de me décevoir. Honnêtement, j'atteins ma limite, Valeria."

Every word he uttered sliced through the air like shards of glass, each syllable deepening the ache that settled in your chest. A tempest of emotions swirled within you, the overwhelming urge to scream or weep clawing at your insides—a desperate plea for understanding. Why did they impose such towering expectations upon you, fully aware of the struggle you faced each day? At just fourteen, the weight of success felt like a heavy shackle, chaining you to a life that felt more like a prison sentence than a journey. All you longed for was a taste of normalcy, a fleeting moment unburdened by their relentless standards. You were utterly exhausted, drained by a reality that seemed to demand perfection while you yearned for freedom. Sleep became your only sanctuary, a refuge from the unyielding demands of a school that viewed you as the perfect daughter, simply because your parents basked in wealth and fame. How tragically misguided they were.

"I'm not lazy! You only see me when it fits your crazy high standards! What’s really best for me—your expectations or hers? You don’t even know your own—!" Your voice was abruptly silenced by a sharp, brutal slap that echoed within the confines of your father’s office. The sting radiated across your cheek, leaving a vivid red handprint as your head turned, the metallic taste of blood pooling at the corner of your bottom lip.

You froze, your head still tilted, the grip of your father’s hand vanished, replaced by his furious glare. Anger radiated from him like heat from a raging fire, nostrils flaring, while tears threatened to spill from your eyes, blurring your vision. The air was thick with tension, a palpable silence that felt suffocating.

"Me répondre, prétendre que nous ne vous connaissons pas ? Nous vous avons donné la vie ! Nous vous avons fourni tout ce que vous auriez pu demander, et c'est ainsi que vous nous remboursez, moi et votre mère!" His voice thundered, thick with a French accent that intensified the fury in his tone. You trembled, rooted to the spot, your bottom lip bleeding, crimson droplets trailing down your chin—a silent testament to the emotional and physical torment you endured.

He continued to shout, his accent becoming increasingly pronounced with each heated word, a torrent of frustration spilling forth. You felt an overwhelming desire for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, to escape the suffocating tension that filled the room. Meanwhile, your mother hovered nearby, her voice a soothing balm, desperately trying to calm him down, and slowly, it seemed to be working.

Your father pinched the bridge of his nose, a futile attempt to ease the evident anger and frustration etched across his face. "Valeria, c'est votre dernière chance de répondre à mes attentes. Je vous rabande de l'école et j'engage un professeur professionnel juste pour vous. Ils vous perceront tout ce qu'un lycéen devrait savoir. Il vous est interdit de vous associer à ces délinquants que vous appelez amis, et plus de basket-ball - cela fait clairement baisser vos notes. Je te surveillerai de près. Si tu te fouts encore en l'air, tu vas à l'internat."

Your heart sank at the utterance of those words: no more basketball. It felt as if you were sprinting through an endless abyss, a doorway looming far ahead, just out of reach, with a basketball tantalizingly waiting for you just beyond it. Yet with every desperate stride, the door seemed to recede further into the shadows.

You stumbled slightly, grappling with the weight of his proclamation, your voice trembling as you stammered out apologies in a futile attempt to negotiate with your father. His icy gaze pierced through you, unyielding. "W-Why anything but that? Please, Father, I will try—!"

But before you could complete your desperate plea, his hand rose sharply, halting your words mid-flight.

"It seems I misspoke." The man with the dark hair turned away, folding his arms across his chest as he perched himself atop his imposing desk. Your mother, ever attentive, cut his cigar just the way he liked it, placing it between his lips as she produced her elegant lighter, igniting it with a flicker. He took a deliberate puff, exhaling a plume of smoke that curled lazily into the air. "Je n'ai pas demandé tes supplications, Valeria, et franchement, je m'en fiche. Ma parole est définitive : vous cesserez de jouer au basket-ball. Cela vous a transformé en rebelle. Maintenant, laisse-moi et ta mère tranquille ; ta présence me rend malade."

Fury and sorrow intertwined within you, a tempest of emotions as you clenched your fists, the weight of his words pressing heavily on your heart. You turned and fled from his office, the smoke lingering behind you like a ghost as he resumed his conversation with your mother about matters unknown. Panic surged in your chest, tears streaming down your cheeks, every sound blurring into a distant hum. You didn’t even notice your older brother calling out to you, a futbol tucked under his arm as he prepared to leave for practice.

A sudden tug on your shoulder yanked you back, pulling you into his chest, where worry etched itself across his features. He had just dropped his futbol, and his firm yet gentle hands cradled your face, lifting it from the damp fabric stained with your blood and tears.

"H-Hé, calme-toi, Val, d'accord?" he urged, his voice a soothing balm as he wrapped his arms around your trembling frame, drawing you closer. He whispered sweet memories and amusing tales, coaxing your breath into a steadier rhythm. When he finally pulled back to meet your gaze, his frown deepened, concern etched in every line of his face.

He tenderly wiped the blood from your chin. "Tu te sens mieux maintenant ? Dis à ton grand frère ce qui s'est passé."

Your voice cracked, tears welling in your eyes once more, but you fought to contain them, clenching your fists tightly. "Je ne peux plus jouer au basket. Je ne peux rien faire. Mon père va me surveiller de près. Je vis en enfer ; j'aimerais ne jamais être—"

Before you could finish that thought, he flicked your forehead, drawing a scowl and a whine from you as he held your gaze steady. "Don't you dare finish that. You're going to be fine. Je demanderai à Lorenzo et Damien de parler au père; ils peuvent négocier avec lui. Vous savez qu'il les écoute généralement." His reassurance cracked a smile from you, and he beamed back, a flicker of hope igniting in the space between you.

"Maintenant, allons dans votre chambre pour que nous puissions plonger dans vos bandes dessinées. What do you say?" He gestured toward your sanctuary, and you nodded eagerly, your excitement bubbling over as he took your hand, rushing you both toward your haven.

"Qu'en est-il de la pratique, grand frère?" you murmured, your voice raspy from the earlier turmoil. He merely waved it off with a casual flick of his wrist, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Missing practice to hang out with my baby sister? Allez, cette bande dessinée "Bone" est beaucoup plus amusante que n'importe quelle pratique."

You didn’t even realize you had zoned out, your gaze wandering down to your schedule, the ink blurring as a single tear slipped silently down your cheek. It landed softly on the paper, a tiny reminder of the weight you carried. A nervous chuckle escaped your lips as you hastily wiped your face, your hands trembling, a sheen of sweat forming on your brow. Why had that long-buried memory resurfaced? It haunted you—after winning the international U16 championship, you had stepped away from the court for four long years, a decision that felt like a betrayal to your passion. But last year, the call of the game had pulled you back, reigniting a rush of vitality, that exhilarating sense of freedom that once defined you, rekindling your joy in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

Shaking off the shadows of the past, you resumed your walk, determined to forget the memory that lingered like a specter. A group of college students caught your eye, their stares piercing and invasive, as if they were dissecting your very essence. The leader of the pack exuded a casual confidence, his smile polished and rehearsed, as if he believed it could charm anyone into submission. They were clearly jocks, their self-importance radiating from them like a beacon, suggesting they thought the world revolved around their bravado.

As the four jocks approached, you chose to ignore them, pressing forward with a sense of purpose. But the ringleader was relentless, tapping your shoulder with an insistent touch that sent a jolt through you. You kept your pace, but suddenly, a rough hand clamped down on your shoulder, pulling you back and halting your steps with an unwelcome force.

"Hey, pretty girl, you new here? Haven’t seen a face like yours around," he said, his tone dripping with an overconfident bravado that made your skin crawl, a stark contrast to the delicate warmth of the day.

You let out an inward sigh, fully aware that they wouldn’t cease their antics until you acknowledged them. “That’s right. Would you mind? I’m trying to find my class,” you replied, your tone a delicate balance of annoyance and polite firmness, enriched by your thick accent.

The ringleader, a young man with bleached blonde hair and a T-shirt that clung uncomfortably to his frame, remained undeterred by your rejection. “So, uh, what brings a pretty girl like you to UConn?” he asked, attempting a wink that might have held a trace of charm if it hadn’t felt so forced and contrived.

“Basketball,” you replied curtly, your eyes drifting to your timetable as if it held the key to your escape. “And if you’ll excuse me…”

"W-Wait just a moment," he interjected, stepping closer, a flicker of desperation igniting in his gaze. "I’m Daniel. These are my boys—Mark, Leo, and Jack." He gestured to his trio of companions, who waved at you with a blend of amusement and curiosity. "Maybe we could show you around; you seem a bit lost, babygirl."

You felt a cringe ripple through you at the word "babygirl" slipping from his lips. It was already grating enough when he called you "pretty girl." Those words never felt right coming from a guy unless he possessed genuine charm and knew how to engage with women. It wasn't that you disliked men; you simply chose not to label yourself. But you absolutely despised those who missed the glaringly obvious rejections that hung in the air like an unwelcome scent.

"I believe I will manage. Merci, mais non merci. And don't touch me again," you declared, yanking your shoulder away from his firm grasp with a resolute flick. Your natural charm typically drew people in—both women and men—but this man's overconfidence grated on your nerves, as if he believed he could charm anyone in sight. You were accustomed to receiving admiration for your attractiveness, both in friendly and desirable contexts, yet his advances felt dull and discomforting.

His friends erupted into laughter, clearly entertained by Daniel's failed attempt at wooing you. "No need to be rude; I was just trying to help a pretty girl like you out. Hmm, you said you transferred to play basketball—is that all the balls you can handle? I have two in mind that you might like to play with."

A snort slipped from your lips, quickly evolving into a cascade of laughter that bubbled up as you tilted your head back, reveling in the sheer absurdity of his brazen remark. The sound was infectious, a melody of mirth that filled the air around you. As the laughter subsided, you dropped your head forward, resting your chin on your hand, your eyes glimmering with a mix of amusement and distaste. "Let’s get real for a second: your breath reeks like merde, and your pick-up lines are just as shitty. Do yourself a favor and find someone else to annoy, imbécile."

You watched as Daniel’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, his expression a portrait of wounded pride as you turned to walk away. It was as if your words had pierced his heart, but deep down, you knew it was his ego that had taken the real hit. As you moved on, he hurried ahead, sauntering backward in a desperate attempt to keep your gaze locked on him, a comical scene that made you wish he would trip over his own bravado and land flat on his face.

“Ouch, that stung! C'mon, babygirl, don’t be like that. I can show you a real good time,” he declared, flashing a grin that was equal parts audacity and desperation, his hand making an absurd gesture at his crotch. You rolled your eyes, annoyance flaring up inside you as you continued to ignore him, striding past with purpose, his three friends trailing behind like lost puppies.

“Hey, I’m talking to you…” Daniel called out, his fingers stretching toward your arm in a misguided attempt at connection, just as a stranger intervened with impeccable timing. With a fluid motion that spoke of practiced confidence, the newcomer seized Daniel’s wrist, twisting it behind his back while applying just the right amount of pressure to send a clear message.

"Ow, ow, ow! What the hell?! Crazy bastard, let go of me!" Daniel's voice rang out, a desperate mix of pain and incredulity, slicing through the charged atmosphere. His friends stood frozen, their eyes wide, caught in a tableau of shock and indecision, unwilling to intervene in this unfolding drama.

The newcomer, radiating an unsettling calm, wore a knowing smirk that suggested he relished the moment. His grip was unyielding, a silent testament to his resolve. "Can't you take a hint, Danny boy? She's clearly not interested. It’s time for you to back off from my new friend."

With each futile twist and turn, Daniel struggled to break free from the iron grip that held his wrist captive, a mix of anger and embarrassment flooding his senses. "Okay, okay! I'll leave her alone! Just let go of me, for fuck sake!"

The newcomer’s smile widened, a lazy amusement dancing in his eyes as he shoved Daniel back toward his friends. Mark, unable to suppress his delight, chimed in with a teasing lilt, "Haha! You've just had your ass handed to you by Elias and been publicly humiliated by the new pretty girl! I can’t wait to spread this around campus!" His words dripped with a blend of mockery and triumph, each syllable a sharp reminder of Daniel's defeat.

Leo and Jack joined the chorus of laughter, their chuckles ringing out like a soundtrack to Daniel's humiliation as they turned to walk away. Left alone, he rubbed his sore wrist, a mixture of frustration and embarrassment swirling within him, silently pleading for this moment to vanish into the ether, hoping against hope that his friends would keep this little spectacle under wraps.

You finally caught a glimpse of the new guy who had swooped in to help, even though you could've easily handled yourself. He stood tall and confident, his short black hair falling in curtain-like waves around thick, slightly arched eyebrows that framed his warm brown eyes. Those eyes, glimmering with a gentle light, seemed to hold a universe of stories, perfectly complementing the straight, defined nose and full lips that hinted at a playful smile, one that promised both mischief and warmth. His fair skin bore a light tan, while his sharp jawline, accentuated by light stubble and a neatly trimmed goatee. Small silver hoop earrings dangled from both ears, paired with a delicate silver stud that caught the light just right. He wore a snug gray hoodie over a crisp white shirt, light blue jeans that hung casually, and fresh white Nike Air Forces.

"Sorry about that; some guys these days don’t know how to take a hint, so I thought you could use some help. I’m Elias Taylor." His voice was deep but not overly so—just the right amount of resonance that made you lean in closer, as if drawn by an invisible thread. He stretched out his hand toward you, and you hesitated for a moment, taking in the warmth of his smile before clasping your hand in his. The connection was electric, a moment suspended in time, as you felt the strength of his grip and the unspoken acknowledgment of your own resilience.

Elias regarded you with a smirk before saying, "Valeria De Martel! Nice to meet you!"

The way he pronounced your name was almost lyrical, each syllable dripping with admiration and curiosity. You tilted your head, blinking in surprise, momentarily lost in the depths of his gaze. You hadn’t remembered giving him your name, and he chuckled at your bewildered expression, the sound like music in the air. "You've heard of me?" you asked, a mix of curiosity and disbelief threading through your tone, your heart racing at the unexpected recognition.

"Of course! Most people on this campus know who the hell Valeria De Martel is! You're the new UConn rookie for the Huskies, and your victory in France winning the international U16 championship trophy? You're pretty badass Frenchie!" His laughter was infectious, a bright spark that illuminated the lingering shadows of the moment.

"Oh... well it's a pleasure meeting you, Elias," you said, your voice laced with a thick French accent, a soft and charming smile illuminating your face as a delicate blush crept across your cheeks at his flattering words. It was a moment of delightful surprise; you had never expected anyone to pay such attention to your highlights or to know about your accomplishments. As he released your hand, a gentle warmth lingered in the air between you.

Elias circled you with an air of playful curiosity, his hand resting thoughtfully on his chin, before exclaiming, "You have a pretty badass bike as well—damn, this is awesome! I'm a huge fan of the Huskies, but now that we're friends, you definitely have to get me a seat for your games." His words danced between jest and sincerity, prompting you to roll your eyes in a playful manner, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Yeah, as if! Why can't you just buy tickets like a normal person?" you muttered, your accent wrapping around the words with a delightful flourish. His laughter rang out, rich and infectious, as he slung his arm around your shoulder. Surprisingly, you felt an easy comfort in his embrace, an unspoken connection that you couldn’t quite articulate.

"Damn, Frenchie! You must not know how things work here in Connecticut," he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "You see, whenever the Huskies have home games, they sell out in the snap of a finger because the fans absolutely love seeing them play."

"So, what brings you all the way from France, Frenchie? Besides basketball, that can't be the only reason," he teased, his voice a playful lilt as you both meandered down the sun-dappled path, the gentle rustle of leaves harmonizing with the soft cadence of your footsteps.

"Just to travel," you replied, your words slipping from your lips with the lilting cadence of your French accent, a melodic veil over the half-truth that concealed the deeper yearning within. Beneath the surface lay the heavy burden of expectations, the relentless pressure from your parents that loomed like an ominous shadow, casting doubt upon your every step.

"Naw, that can't be the reason..." His tone shifted, a conspiratorial whisper threading through the air, the gravity of his gaze piercing through the lighthearted banter. "Definitely to get away from high expectations and your parents, right?" The casual nature of his words struck a chord deep within, and you met his probing gaze with a blend of surprise and reluctant intrigue.

His laughter erupted, bright and effervescent, shattering the fragile tension that had enveloped you both. "I'm just fuckin' with you, Frenchie! Jeez, you look like you wanted to punch me in my shit," he exclaimed, amusement dancing in his eyes as he cast a glance at the crinkled schedule clutched tightly in your hand, a testament to your nervous grip.

"Let me at least show you your classes and give you a tour. It’s the least I can do for those basketball game tickets. What do you say? Deal?" His sincerity wrapped around you like a warm embrace, coaxing a reluctant smile to your lips as you rolled your eyes in playful resignation.

With a nod of agreement, he patted your shoulder affectionately before releasing you from his grasp. As he began to lead the way toward your class, you trailed behind him like a lost puppy.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

As you sprinted across the sun-drenched expanse of the football fields, the echoes of laughter and music lingered in your mind, remnants of a lazy afternoon spent with Elias and his eclectic crew of friends. They had formed a small band just a couple of weeks ago, aptly named Hamartia, a title that hinted at both their youthful exuberance and the inevitable flaws that came with it. Elias, the charismatic guitarist and de facto leader, had a magnetic presence that drew you in, while Dallas, with his rhythmic intensity on the drums, and Daniela, whose bass lines pulsed like a heartbeat, created a sound that was surprisingly cohesive. In your honest opinion, they were pretty good—raw and unrefined but brimming with potential.

Elias had casually suggested that you join the band, a proposition that sent a jolt of anxiety through your veins. Elias had invited you to join the band, a proposition that both thrilled and terrified you.

You had always dabbled with instruments, but the thought of performing in front of an audience made your heart race for all the wrong reasons. Your parents had sent you away to boarding school at fifteen, a decision that had shattered your sense of belonging and left you grappling with their expectations.

The boarding school they sent you to wasn't so terrible, really. Within its ivy-clad walls, you discovered a world of music, learning to play various instruments that filled your days with melody and rhythm. It was there, amid the structured chaos of academia and faith, that you met her—the bright spark that illuminated some of the best moments of your life.

The school, a strict Christian institution, didn’t particularly bother you; rather, it offered a sense of order that you found comforting. For three years, you navigated its corridors, and in your final year, you even embraced the thrill of basketball, the court becoming a sanctuary where you could channel your energy.

You thrived within those walls, achieving straight A's and B's, your behavior transforming over time. This newfound success led your parents to become increasingly lenient, their attention drifting as they believed you had finally met their expectations. Yet, in an unexpected twist, you chose to leave without a word, vanishing into the unknown, leaving them to ponder the silence of your absence.

You weren't even ready, still wearing the clothes you'd thrown on for school that morning. Your long legs carried you across campus, a full-on sprint that blurred the edges of your vision. A trail of mumbled apologies followed in your wake as you navigated the throng of students. Punctuality was usually your mantra, but today, basketball beckoned with an irresistible allure. You'd managed to slip away, savoring this new sense of freedom, the absence of your parents' watchful eyes a heady elixir.

Despite your best efforts, you were still thirty minutes late, a fact that gnawed at your nerves. You could only hope your new coach wouldn't unleash a torrent of reprimands as you burst through the facility doors. The sound was like a gunshot in the otherwise silent gym. Every girl mid-practice snapped their heads in your direction, their focus momentarily shattered. The rhythmic cadence of bouncing basketballs dissolved into an echoing silence; all eyes now fixed on you.

Each step you took, the sound of your shoes clicked against the polished floor, each click amplified by the sudden quiet, as you hurried towards your new coach. But fate, it seemed, had other plans. Your foot caught, and you stumbled, gravity seizing control as you crashed onto the unforgiving hardwood. The thud reverberated through the gym. Unbeknownst to you, Paige snorted, her hand flying to her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle her laughter. Lou, ever the compassionate soul, jogged over to help you up, while KK winced, a shared empathy for your misfortune etched on her face.

Your cheeks burned with the fiery blush of embarrassment, a sensation that intensified with each passing second. A groan escaped your lips as you felt a hand gently grasp your arm, lifting you back to your feet. You quickly retrieved your bag from the floor, your fingers brushing against the cool leather. It was Lou, her soft smile a comforting beacon in the sea of judging eyes. "Esto es vergonzoso," you muttered, your voice thick with a French accent laced with a Spanish lilt. "I wish the floor would swallow me whole. Hopefully, Coach isn't too mad about me being late." The words tumbled out in a hurried rush, earning a low chuckle from the Mexican woman beside you.

Lou simply patted your shoulder, her touch offering a silent reassurance as she guided you towards your new coach. "Aye, todos tenemos días malos, a pesar de que ese otoño fue quite an entrance," she teased gently. "Solo tal vez un poco de regaño, nada que no puedas manejar. Además, esta es tu primera vez en Estados Unidos, así que relájate, chica."

You offered a nod, your face etched with an apologetic expression, hoping to smooth over the situation. Lou gently nudged you towards the coach, then discreetly stepped back, leaving you to face the music. "Finally, you've decided to grace us with your presence, newcomer. You're officially thirty minutes late," the older man pointed out, his finger tapping impatiently on his silver wristwatch. The gesture was precise, each movement deliberate, like the ticking of time itself counting against you.

"L-Lo siento, Coach," you stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I lost track of time, and this campus is very huge. I think I got lost more times than I can count. It won't happen again." Your thick accent. You couldn't miss Paige's derisive snort from a few feet away, a clear indication that she found your predicament amusing. You chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the man before you.

"Well, now that you know your way here, don't let it happen again. Otherwise, you'll find yourself running until you drop." Geno's tone was a complex blend of seriousness and lightheartedness, leaving you uncertain whether he was joking or delivering a grave warning.

His hand, a warm anchor, settled on your shoulder, the unexpected gentleness of his voice cutting through the ambient noise of the court. "Alright now," he announced, his tone carrying a subtle command, "since our newcomer has finally arrived, gather 'round."

The girls, all coordinated grace, moved as one toward their coach, you, and Lou. Only Paige trailed behind, her face carefully blank. "From this day forward, Valeria," Geno declared, turning his head to meet your gaze directly, his eyes holding a wealth of unspoken expectations, "I will be your new coach. My name is Geno Auriemma, but you will call me Geno. Understand?" You nodded, absorbing the quiet authority that radiated from him. He continued, his voice gaining a sharper edge, "Listen up! As some of you may know, we have a new foreign player joining our ranks, and a few of you might've already met her. But for those who haven't, this is Valeria De Martel. Let me make this crystal clear: you will show her the same respect and courtesy you expect for yourselves. From this moment on, she is part of this team; she is a Husky." Geno's declaration hung in the air, his eyes locking with Paige's, a silent challenge passing between them. Paige lowered her gaze, a flicker of defiance momentarily subdued.

Geno stood 6'1", a figure of quiet authority that commanded attention without uttering a word. His short, gray hair, threaded with strands of white, framed a visage that balanced strength with a surprising gentleness, the lines etched around his eyes. Dressed in casual sports attire, the modern uniform of his trade, he wore glasses.

Lou's enthusiastic clapping sparked a chain reaction, a wave of applause rippling through the team, a warm welcome washing over you. Lou, ever the effusive one, launched into a rapid-fire stream of praise in Spanish, punctuating her words with a friendly pat on your back. "Now then, Valeria," Geno interjected, his voice a calm counterpoint to Lou's exuberance, "get changed into your uniform. We're going to run a drill on the court." He gestured towards the locker room with a nod, his eyes conveying a silent expectation.

"Aye, aye, Coach G," you responded playfully, your accent thick and charming, as you offered a mock salute. The gesture, lighthearted and irreverent, elicited a low chuckle from Geno. The rest of the team joined in the laughter. All, that is, except for Paige. She stood apart, her expression unreadable, her eyes flicking upwards in an eye roll that betrayed her disdain for your voice and, perhaps, your very presence. Undeterred, you jogged towards the locker room, the sound of your sneakers echoing on the polished floor as you disappeared behind the heavy door.

Emerging from the locker room, the official jersey feels foreign against your skin, the assigned number a ghost of past camaraderie. Scanning the court, the girls are already warming up, their energy a stark contrast to your own trepidation. A touch on your shoulder startles you; Lou stands beside you, a knowing grin playing on her lips, her eyebrow arched in silent inquiry.

Adorned in your new UConn jersey, layered over a navy-blue T-shirt, paired with matching shorts. Your feet were encased in Kyire 7 TB Midnight Navy shoes, a subtle nod to modern style. The ensemble served as a canvas, highlighting your sculpted arms, where subtle veins coursed beneath the skin. Your legs, powerful and finely tuned, bore the marks of both athleticism and artistry. Tattoos snaked around your calves, each design a meticulously crafted narrative – a phoenix rising from ashes, symbolizing resilience; a geometric pattern, reflecting your love for precision and order; and a delicate floral motif, a nod to the beauty you find in the world.

Lou stood there, a silent observer, admiring your physique but also puzzled by the unexpected addition of a shirt beneath your jersey. Her confusion hung in the air, a question unspoken yet palpable, as she took in the details of your carefully curated appearance.

"Why the hell are you wearing that, chica? You're going to be a walking sauna out there," she teased, tugging at your navy tee. You held back the real reason—a story for later. For now, a smile would have to do, keeping your secret safe.

A lazy smirk tugged at your lips, prompting her eyebrow to arch in playful curiosity. "Just means you'll have a front-row seat to my sweat and tears," you quipped. Before she could retort, a piercing whistle shattered the air, abruptly ending your tête-à-tête. Both you and Lou turned to see Coach Geno, whistle clenched between his teeth, as he announced, "Alright, listen up! We're running 3-on-3 drills today. Nika, Lou, and Valeria, you're a team. Azzi, Aaliyah, and Paige, you're up against them. Let's get to work!" The challenge was set, the teams were chosen, and the game was about to begin.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a sudden reminder of the intensity of 3-on-3 drills. It had been years since you'd faced live opponents, your practice sessions since the age of fourteen relegated to solitary endeavors or occasional matches with your uncle. This was different, a true test of skill and mettle. As you blinked, gathering your composure, Lou's radiant smile cut through your thoughts. Her excitement was palpable, eager to finally witness your prowess on the court. With a playful tug, she steered you toward Nika, who stood observing you with a lazy smirk.

"Our uniform was made for you, beba!" she exclaimed, her eyes flickering up and down, taking in the fabric and the number emblazoned upon it. A knowing smirk touched your lips as you retorted, "Any uniform looks good on me; I mean, just look." With a casual gesture, you lifted your jersey and navy shirt, revealing a glimpse of your toned abdomen. Upon it, a tattoo in elegant Chinese characters, medium in size, proclaimed, "Always love yourself first." A phantom troupe tattoo subtly peeked out from the defined waistline.

Nika's eyes rolled, while Lou's whistle cut through the air. "Show off, now see what you're really made of." She gestured towards the court and the beckoning basketball. You nodded, your Adam's apple bobbing with a nervous flutter. What if you don't play well? What if you've lost your touch? What if they aren't impressed? What if you embarrass yourself? The thoughts swirled as you clenched your hands into fists. Yet, one thing remained certain: you were determined to play in the WNBA; that was your unwavering goal.

As you, Lou, Nika, Aaliyah, Azzi, and Paige took your positions, the gym hummed with an anticipatory energy. The ball was tossed into play, and the knot of nervousness tightened.

Nika dribbled the ball up the court, her eyes scanning for an opening. You moved to the corner, seeking space, but Azzi defended you closely. Looking into her eyes, you saw nothing but focused precision gleaming back at you. Her sharp defense made it nearly impossible to break free. This felt different from the international competition where you'd won the U16 championship cup. There, challenges were scarce, but now you were caught between a rock and a hard place.

As Paige orchestrated the game, her voice, sharp and clear, guided Aaliyah and Azzi with the finesse of a maestro. Her eyes danced between you and Lou, weaving a strategy that transformed the court into a beautiful ballet of teamwork.

"Switch if she cuts left!" Paige's command cut through the gymnasium's roar, a precise directive that echoed in the electric air.

Yet, you chose to ignore her call, instead succumbing to the rhythm of your own instincts. With a swift, deliberate cut across the court, you sought to carve out space for a pass. But Paige, ever the astute observer, anticipated your intentions with uncanny precision, reading the unfolding play as if it were a well-worn novel. She slid into position, deftly obstructing the passing lane and forcing Nika to seek out Lou instead.

"C'mon," she muttered, her voice laced with mockery, just audible enough for you to catch as you brushed past her. "Honestly, Frenchie, don't humiliate yourself out here; it's utterly pathetic watching you struggle to keep up."

You puffed out your cheek, frustration simmering beneath your skin, her words a sharp sting. Inhaling deeply, you fought to retain your composure, anchoring your gaze on the ball, determined not to let her taunts divert you from the essence of the game.

Lou effortlessly caught the ball from Nika, a swift move towards the basket. Aaliyah loomed, an imposing figure blocking any chance for a clean shot. With a subtle flick of her wrist, Lou passed the ball to you.

Instinctively, you caught the ball with ease, shifting your weight and executing skillful dribbling moves that carved a small opening from Azzi. Just as you surged forward, the ball was suddenly stripped from your grasp, leaving you stunned and disoriented. You watched as Paige, already positioned beyond the arc, launched a flawless three-pointer. The ball soared gracefully through the air, landing with a satisfying swish.

As she jogged past you, a cocky smirk played on her lips, her eyes glinting with triumph, "Damn, Frenchie! You're not watching your surroundings at all. Better keep your head in the game, or your food's gonna get snatched right out from under you!" She taunted. You clenched your fist, struggling to maintain your composure, but she sought to break your cool, to know that her antics were working, burrowing under your skin.

As the game wore on, your frustration mounted. Lou and Nika noticed, observing as you sweated, muttering curses in French and Spanish, their attempts to ease your agitation proving futile. Paige's relentless mockery and taunts had burrowed deep under your skin. Despite your efforts, every shot seemed to bounce off the rim, save for a few lucky ones that found their mark.

Azzi's reign over the court, an era defined by her incandescent energy as she orchestrated the offense alongside Aaliyah and Paige, each dribble of the ball was a deliberate act, resonating with unspoken intent. You, a sentinel of defense, crouched low, every muscle coiled, ready to unravel her advances in a heartbeat. Then, Azzi surged, a whirlwind of resolve seemingly unbound by earthly constraints.

Pursuing her like a relentless specter, Paige executed a screen with calculated precision, the collision sending you spiraling onto the unforgiving hardwood. The echo of the impact reverberated through the gym, a discordant note amidst the symphony of the game. As you lay there, disoriented, it felt as though you had collided with an unyielding fortress, Paige casting a long shadow over you, her lips curved into that infuriatingly self-assured smirk.

In that fleeting moment, Azzi hesitated, a flicker of pause before she resumed her glide toward the basket, her movements now a study in fluidity and grace. Gathering the ball, she ascended, her eyes locked onto the rim, a beacon in the distance. At the apex of her jump, she released the ball, sending it on a trajectory of exquisite beauty, kissing the backboard before it slipped through the net, eluding Nika's desperate reach.

"We can't keep meeting like this Frenchie. It looks hopeless." Paige called out her voice dripping with cruel mockery as she tilted her head staring down at you. "How's the floor treating you? Tough crowd, huh?" She snorted before laughing at your disoriented form laying on the hardwood floor while Lou and Nika jogging over towards you their faces etched with concern and indignation, directing their reprimands at Paige who nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders.

Her words, laced with a chilling indifference, hung in the charged air of the court: "Basketball's a contact sport. If she can't handle it, she can kick rocks." With that, Paige turned, her exit a study in nonchalant grace, though not entirely escaping the subtle censure of Azzi's shoulder nudge—a silent reprimand for the persistent sting of her taunts.

Then, the warmth of Lou and Nika's hands enveloped yours, a gentle but firm invitation back to your feet. Frustration simmered, each breath coming in ragged pants as your gaze remained fixed on Paige, her cocky smirk a radiant beacon in the periphery as she shared laughter with Aaliyah. It was Lou's delicate touch upon your cheek that finally shattered the trance, pulling you back to the present.

"What the hell is her problem?" you exclaimed, the cadence of your accent thickening with the swell of irritation, your finger a pointed accusation aimed at Paige. Lou merely cast a fleeting glance in her direction, her expression unreadable. "She's just competitive; don't sweat it." Nika's hand settled on your damp jersey, a reassuring weight against the storm brewing within. With a scoff, you ran a hand through your disheveled hair, allowing it to fall where it may, as the coach mercifully called a timeout—a brief reprieve from the aftermath of the collision that still reverberated through your very bones.

"Why does it feel like she's always gunning for me? Like I'm the main character in her hate story?" You blurted it out, totally winded. Your jaw was clenched so tight you could feel it ticking. You were too consumed with Paige to notice Lou, who'd already taken off, her sneakers squeaking on the polished floor as she sprinted to grab a towel and a bottle of ice-cold water. All you could feel was Paige's presence, the way her shoulders were set, the deliberate curve of her neck as she pretended you didn't exist. Lou tossed the towel, the soft cotton a welcome distraction as you swiped it across your forehead, soaking up the sweat. She popped the top off the water bottle, the hiss of escaping pressure a sharp counterpoint to the simmering tension.

"Don't let her crawl into that pretty head of yours, chica." Lou murmured, her Spanish accent a comforting warmth. Her eyes flicked towards Paige, a vision of casual charm as she laughed with Aaliyah and Azzi. Azzi's gaze, however, was subtly different—a fleeting check of your well-being, a silent acknowledgment of Paige's uncharacteristic aggression. You swallowed, the cool water a momentary distraction from the burn of Paige's animosity, each gulp a small act of defiance against the rising tide of frustration.

"You're letting her dictate the rhythm of your game, the very way you play." Nika observed, her voice a soft but firm current. You turned, the water bottle still touching your lips, her words a refreshing splash against your rising anxiety. "This court, this team—they're as much yours as they are hers. You're a Husky; wear that badge with pride. Show her—show them all—that you belong here, without question." Her words were a flint striking steel, igniting a spark of resolve within you. It was time to claim your space, to silence the doubts, and to prove, not just to Paige but to yourself, that you were every inch a Husky.

As Coach Geno blew the whistle your gaze shot towards him as you handed Lou your towel and water which she jogged towards the bench to place the water and towel back as she walked back towards you and Nika, "Alright ladies lets resume our position continue this drill. Valeria are you okay?" Geno turned his gaze towards you his voice was commanding and clear that you nodded your head only prompting Paige let out a snort, small laughs escaping her lips but only get nudge by Azzi who gave her best friend that look which Paige retort with an eyebrow as Azzi rolled her eyes.

As the practice game progressed you getting your groove back, you were so focused that you completely ignored Paige taunts and mockery. You made shots from mid-range or deep range without any hesitation that found their marks splashing through the net even giving assists towards Nika and Lou, blocking shots from Paige who became annoyed by your abilities. You and Paige was going head-to-head not giving neither of you room to breathe trying to outperform one another.

The intensity rose up as the ball swung back to your team. Lou held the ball with a calm confidence before it to you. Without elegant effort caught it naturally while Lou and Nika giving you encouraging head nods that fueled your determination. In that moment your whole body shifted into attention mode your focus sharpening like a laser making world around you fade. A bead of sweat tracing down the bridge of your nose and the rhythmic bounce of the ball echoed like a heartbeat.

With a sense of purpose, you dribbled pretending to drive left but Paige already read you like an open book. With a burst of energy you drove right executing a smooth crossover yet Paige remained close to you like a shadow as you approached the hoop, Azzi eyes on you and Paige hoping you would show Paige that you belong and put her stubbornness in place, your heart raced with adrenaline matching steady thump of the ball against the polished hardwood floor.

Paige stood behind you like a determined shadow her forehead glistening with sweat her blue eyes glistening with focus and resolve. In fast motion you leaped forward your body defying gravity as you soared up flickering your wrist up. The ball seemed to dance in your hand as you were trying to do a reverse layup suspended in mid-air as Paige front was near your back she wore a cocky smirk ready to block your layup.

In heart beat as you were still in midair your hand snapped back behind you and Paige as you gave Nika a snake-eyed pass behind your back the ball slipping effortlessly passed Paige guided by your fingertips as Nika effortlessly caught the perfect snake-eyed pass she was positioned in right corner behind the three-point line, your eyes were sharp finding the open you felt Azzi gaze on your and Paige which created a opening for you as Nika squared her shoulders her gaze determined and leapt into the action as Azzi rushed over intent to on a jump block but the ball was already released gliding through the air in a seamless arc destined for glory. It found its mark with a satisfying swish the net rippling gently as it embraced the ball like a long-lost friend.

When the pass happened, it was more than just a play; it was a statement. The ball arced through the air, a perfect trajectory ending with your teammate’s triumphant score.

A slow, satisfied smirk curled your lips, mirroring the arrogance Paige had displayed just moments before. The taste of retribution was indeed sweet. "Wow, you're really committed to letting me make that pass, aren't you? Thanks for the assist, carino," you purred, the words dripping with a rich accent that underscored the sting. It wasn't just about the points; it was about turning her own game against her, a subtle yet decisive victory in your ongoing battle.

As you jogged back to your defensive position, you caught Paige’s eye roll and scoff. She dismissed it as mere luck, a fluke that wouldn't be repeated. But you knew better. It wasn't luck; it was precision, strategy, and a touch of poetic justice.

"Hell yeah, that's what I'm talking about, Frenchie!" Nika's cheer cut through the air, her hand finding yours in a sharp, satisfying high five. It was a brief, electric connection, followed by the familiar, intricate handshake the two of you had concocted during countless practice sessions. Lou, never one to be left out, rushed over, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "Good shit, chica! Didn't even see that coming—hell, I honestly don't think Paige seen it coming!" Her Spanish accent, usually a low murmur, now vibrated with excitement and praise.

The three of you fell back into formation, ready to seize the game. The wave of approval from Nika and Lou washed over you, bolstering your confidence and determination. The earlier frustration and anger, which had threatened to consume you, began to dissipate like mist under the morning sun. Your gaze drifted towards Paige, who was already staring at you, her eyes narrowed into a piercing glare. It was a look that could kill, a silent promise of retribution that sent a faint shiver down your spine. Yet, you shook it off, unable to resist the impulse to meet her gaze with a taunting smirk.

As the 3v3 scrimmage wound down, the score was deadlocked, and the air crackled with anticipation. The next basket would likely decide the game, and everyone in the gym knew it. Paige had possession of the ball, her eyes locked onto you as she slowly dribbled up the court. Each bounce echoed in the tense silence, a metronome counting down to the inevitable clash.

Paige signaled for a screen from Azzi, but you anticipated the move, fighting through the pick and sticking to Paige like a shadow. Paige dribbled right, then crossed back to her left, a fluid motion designed to create separation, but you mirrored her every step, refusing to yield an inch of space. As she approached the free-throw line, she rose for a mid-range jumper, her form a testament to countless hours of practice. In that fleeting moment, you sprang upwards, your hand outstretched, your fingertips barely grazing the ball as it sailed through the air. It found its mark, hitting the rim with a metallic clang before bouncing away, the sound echoing the intensity of the moment.

"Rebound!" you called out, a cocky grin spreading across your face. The earlier words of Nika and Lou had worked their magic, restoring the confidence that had momentarily deserted you.

Nika secured the rebound and fired a quick pass up court. You exploded into a sprint, gliding towards the paint, your feet dancing across the smooth hardwood like a seasoned performer on a polished stage. Paige scrambled back on defense, but you were already a step ahead, anticipation fueling your every move. As you reached the paint, Nika lobbed a perfectly timed pass, the ball arcing gracefully through the air towards your outstretched hands.

Paige lunged, desperation etched on her face, but she was a heartbeat too late. You ascended, not merely jumping, but launching yourself into a gravity-defying ballet. It was a breathtaking rise, an arc of defiance against the mundane. Your hand met the rim, and with a primal roar of exertion, you slammed the ball through the net, the sound echoing through the stunned arena.

"Game!" Coach Geno bellowed, the whistle piercing the stunned silence, yet a flicker of admiration danced in his eyes. You landed, a warrior returning from battle, sweat tracing glistening paths on your forehead, your hands finding purchase on your hips as you gulped in air. Nika and Lou converged on you, a jubilant storm of celebration, their voices a chorus of triumph.

High fives rained down, each slap a jolt of pure adrenaline. The exhilaration coursed through your veins, a heady cocktail of victory and exhaustion. It was a rare and exquisite sensation, this challenge, this hard-fought win. You had half-expected to dominate, accustomed as you were to the relative ease of the U16 European championships. But Azzi Fudd and Paige Bueckers were a different breed, a relentless force, their skill a mesmerizing blend of artistry and power. They were relentless on both sides of the ball, they were skilled in both offense and defense, leaving you in awe and breathless and yearning for more.

Nika loops her arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a familiar side hug, yet you can't shake the prickling sensation of a cold stare boring into you from across the court. It's Paige. Her gaze is sharp, unwavering, a silent challenge cutting through the post-game jubilation.

"Damn, damn Frenchie! I thought you were handing them the win for sure?" KK's teasing grin breaks through the tension as she approaches, dapping you up, your practiced handshake a familiar rhythm in the chaos. She praises your performance, a flurry of words that barely register as Azzi approaches, her smile soft and genuine.

Turning your head, you offer a lazy yet charming smile. "Wow, Valerie, you're truly amazing out there. Can't wait to see you play for us in a actual game." Her voice is rich, melodic, drawing you in like a siren's call. Your heart thuds against your chest at her words, your cheeks already flushed from the heat of the game now tinted a deeper pink.

She gently pulls you away from Nika, who doesn't seem to mind, already deep in conversation with Lou about your dunk – a feat they'd never seen a woman your height accomplish. Azzi's hug is warm, close, the sweat and heat from her body seeping into yours. Her hands rest loosely on your waist, but it's the brush of her lips against the shell of your ear that sends a shiver down your spine, a sensual whisper that speaks volumes.

"The way you moved on the court was mesmerizing, like a dance that I couldn't take my eyes off of." Azzi's words hung in the air, a silken thread that tugged at your senses. Your eyes fluttered shut for a fleeting moment, her voice a husky caress that resonated deep within your bones. It was a siren's song, a melody you could drown in without a second thought. "T-Thanks, Azzi," you stammered, the word catching in your throat. "You were truly remarkable. I've never broken a sweat like this. It's exhilarating."

You cursed the betraying stutter, but Azzi seemed to find it endearing, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she leaned closer, her breath ghosting against your ear. "Maybe we can do 1v1 sometime. I promise to make you sweat even more." The words, innocent on the surface, dripped with a sensual undercurrent that sent a shiver dancing down your spine. Your face flushed crimson, your breath hitching in your chest. Perhaps you were reading too much into her playful banter, but the way she'd purred those words, the tantalizing promise in her voice, left your knees weak and your mind reeling.

Meanwhile, Paige, a storm cloud brewing in her eyes, marched past without so much as a glance, her silence a stinging rebuke. Yet, despite the intoxicating pull of Azzi's presence, a desperate need to bridge the chasm between you and Paige surged within you. "Excuse me for a moment," you murmured to Azzi, her fingers reluctantly leaving your waist, a departure that left a pleasant ache in their wake. You jogged after Paige, reaching out, your fingertips grazing her wrist. The moment she felt your touch, she recoiled as if burned, snatching her arm away with a disdainful flick of her wrist.

She stopped, glancing back to find you trailing behind, a sheen of sweat on your brow and a soft smile playing on your lips. "You are incredible point guard," you blurted out, your accent thick and rich with genuine admiration. "I hope to learn from you, that we can become great teammates in the future!" You extended a hand, half-expecting her to turn away, to dismiss you with a scoff. Instead, she moved closer, her presence towering over you. Her hand clasped yours, a firm yet surprisingly gentle grip that sent a jolt through you. In a swift motion, your head found itself resting against her shoulder, her lips ghosting against the sensitive shell of your ear.

"Frenchie, listen and listen very closely," she murmured, her voice a deep, resonant timbre that sent shivers down your spine. "I don't like you. I can't stand the sight of you. We will never be teammates. Your win today? A fluke. Pure, dumb luck, and it won't happen again. Got it?"

Her words were like shards of ice, each syllable cutting through you with chilling precision. You were left speechless, the air thick with unspoken emotions. She released your hand, the warmth of her body abruptly gone as she turned her back to you. You instinctively reached up to touch your ear, now burning with a flush, your lips parting to form words that caught in your throat. Despite the sting of her rejection, a strange sense of elation bubbled within you. You were shocked, surprised that she had touched you, had spoken to you with such raw intensity. It was a small victory, perhaps, a twisted sort of progress that others might deem insane.

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octaneink · 5 months ago

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‘Cause I'm alive when I feel you pressed up to my side

James Marriot x Fem!Reader

Summary : James simps through music Warnings : None (Unless you count me writing James as a sap) Notes : I saw the pictures taken by vap0rize_ on TikTok and my mind spiraled. I am so sorry if this is out of character for James. It is also based on a song called Happy Slides by Daily J!

The sun had barely crested the horizon as James stared out of the dust-splattered window of the tour bus with a notebook and pen in hand, his heart once again feeling heavier than the luggage stored beneath him. The vast, warm and bright expanse of the Australian motorway stretched before him, a stark contrast to the cosy flat in Brighton he'd left behind in the UK with the girl who'd captured his heart. The quiet hum of the engine had been his lullaby for days, a deafening contrast to the music he performed and the roars of crowds at each event.

The band members were scattered throughout the bus. Jago knocked out on one of the chairs with a pair of eye masks and ear plugs on, Matt and Jono individually flipped through well-worn dog-eared pages of books. Sam sat quietly moving his fingers on his guitar, mindful of making any noise, and Lou sat at the wheel.

James tapped his pen on the book, the page made looked like it had more things crossed out rather than actually containing legible words. The most recognisable being ‘song for you’, which made him think. Would you see it as cheesy? Would you even want a song dedicated to you? The both of you had only been officially dating for five months, slowly dancing around each other for eight, and been friends for two years. Was he coming on too strong?

Huffing, he flipped back a few pages to where the lyrics began. His pen hovered over the words, lightly tracing the lines he'd scribbled down weeks ago late in the night. The words bringing memories that held a warmth that bloomed deep within his chest, a melody of a time he struggled to capture at the moment.

The words were created weeks ago before James left for his newest tour. Harsh winds shaking the bins under the window of their shared flat. The flat itself was warm, cosy, with a strong smell of aromatics as his girlfriend cooked their last meal they’d share for a while, and the occasional meow from Otto. James smiled softly and stared adoringly at her as every time the cat meowed, she’d respond in return, pretending to hold a conversation with him.

He felt like a disgusting sap every time he thought about anything that was related to her. Her infectious laughter, and how the way her smile had a way of reaching into his very being — where one look, he’d melt, any stress he’d feel before having magically disappear. In the small, shared space, she had become more — his muse.

The pages fluttered as he flicked through them, revealing a photo of the three of them taped to the inside cover of the notebook. It was a Polaroid, peeling at the edges, the tape lifting as James did this for the 3rd time when he got a new notebook. She was cuddling Otto in her arms, while he had one of his arms around her waist. She faced the camera, eyes squinting slightly, with smile lines sprouted from them, while he looked at her with an utterly lovestruck expression it made his head hurt. Before her, he didn’t know he could look at anyone like that.

James blinked back to the warm tour bus as he read the words again. “Let's never leave this room.” he mouthed to himself, the memory of her voice echoing in his mind. The three lines on the page had come to him as naturally as her smile had stolen his heart—unexpected, unassuming, and utterly captivating.

Though, he struggled to complete the piece.

“James, you okay, mate?” Lou, peered at him through the rearview mirror, his eyes bleary with the remnants of last night's sleep and today’s early rise.

James looked up, his gae lingering on the horizon. “Yea mate, just tired.” he answered.

Lou nodded, the minutes pass between them in silence, then the bus lurched suddenly. “Shite.” Lou spat, turning the indicator to merge safely into the hard shoulder. The engine thwapping through the way, before it gave one last, loud, thwap and sputtered to a halt.

The sudden silence was jarring, and the lads looked at one another with a mixture of shock and annoyance.

“Bloody tour bus.” Matt muttered from the back, breaking the silence, and a round of groans and complaints ensued.

“Right,” he said as the others started to get up, “I’ll sit somewhere and keep out of the way. I doubt I would be of any help.” Noises of agreement bid him goodbye as he walked out of the tour bus with what he had on hand. As he walked away from it, he placed the pen as a bookmark and closed the notebook with an audible snap. Then, walking over the short metal fence, he sat on it facing the bush.

A few minutes passed of him mindlessly humming an imaginary tune, then his mind raced with a sudden spark of inspiration. He knew he had to write it down it before it slipped away. He turned back to his notebook, the lyrics that had once felt so elusive now flowed from his pen like a river released from its dam.

The words picked up from the picture of their lives together in Brighton—the way the light hit their living room when she drank her morning cup, the sound of her socked feet on the wooden floor as she danced around Otto, who chased the cat toy in her hand playfully.

As the bus sat there, a silent sentinel on the side of the road, James wrote until his hand cramped. He didn’t notice the passing cars, the sun rising higher in the sky, or the sound of his bandmates talking with a stranger about the breakdown. The only thing that mattered at that moment was the symphony of words that played out on the page before him.

Finally, with the sound of a distant tow truck approaching, he scribbled down the last word, with the tune clearer in his mind, he smiled broadly staring down at it.

In the back, the driver of the tow truck climbed out, a burly man with an interesting hair cut and a kind smile. “Looks like you’ve got a loose fan belt, lads. We’ll have you sorted in no time.”

James nodded absently, his mind still lost in the world he’d just created in his notebook. As the band members moved to stand by him, and with the mechanic tinkering away, he remained seated on the metal fence, the song becoming clearer and clearer as the moments passed by.

Humming the tune absent-mindedly and tapping the pen on his thigh as the beat caught the attention of Jogo. He looked over silently at James’ notebook, reading the words on it, a smile slowly started to spread across his face, “You fucking sap.”

James startled, looking over him and seeing Jogo’s smug smile. James rolled his eyes.

“What do you mean by that?” James replied, playing it off as if he wasn’t aware of what he had done.

Jogo snickered. “Don't play dumb with me. You've got hearts in your eyes and her name paraphrased multiple times all over your page.”

James felt his cheeks warm, and he quickly slapped the notebook shut. “It's just a song.”

The band members, having heard the exchange, gathered around curiously. “What's he got?” Matt asked, peering over Jogo's shoulder.

Jogo pointed the notebook out. “Looks like James here is feeling romantic. And he's been keeping it from us.”

James rolled his eyes again, “It's just an idea. Nothing serious.”

But the excitement on their face was palpable. “Come on, man,” Sam said, clapping him on the back, “Don't hold out on us. What's the new tune?”

With a sigh, James realised he couldn’t keep it from them any longer. He'd written it for her, but he didn’t expect the others to know of it so soon. “Okay,” he said, “But if it's shit, you can't laugh.”

The guys chuckled and stood closer around him, expression eager. He began to hum softly, the pen tapping on his thigh with a beat, then he took a deep breath and began to sing.

As melody grew, filling the surrounding space, and their eyes lit up as they recognised the potential. “That's a hit, James!” Jono said, clapping his hands.

James felt his cheeks flush under their praise. “It's just the start, really. Nothing special yet.”

But their enthusiasm was infectious, and each of them asked questions on what part they fit into as they drove off in the newly fixed tour bus. And as they pulled up to the new hotel near the venue they would play the night, Lou said “We'll make it something special, mate.” said with a grin, already tapping the rhythm on the steering wheel of the bus.

So, every night before they went on stage, they'd gather around on the stage, dim lights as production set up around them. James with his guitar, Sam with his bass, Jago with the drums, Lou with the keys, Matt and Jono on their guitars. They'd play around with the melody, adding bits and pieces, turning James' quiet confession into something that could shake people’s hearts.

The song grew into something that didn't just belong to James any more, but to all of them. It was a piece of their collective heart, a love letter to a girl they hadn't met but knew well through James' stories.

The days leading up to the last concert were a whirlwind of rehearsals and whispers. The band dropped hints to their eager fans through social media, building anticipation. Edits on TikTok popped up with a silhouette of James and his guitar, with the words 'Surprise at the end??' were in bold in the video’s descriptions. Many fans not in Australia called for the last concert to be streamed illegally. As for the people that were there, they were vibrating with excitement as the date grew closer.

The hours before the last concert, James sat in the hotel room, his heart racing as he went over the lyrics for the final time. He could hear the muffled sounds of the city outside, but all he could see was her face, imagining her reaction to this song. He hoped it would reach her in Brighton, that she'd feel the same way he felt when he wrote it—alive.

As the sun set on the last day of their tour, the band's nerves were palpable. They'd been playing together for a while, but this was different. This song was personal, a secret shared with a crowd of strangers. The venue was packed, the lights were hot, and the air was thick with anticipation. The crowd roared as they took the stage, and James looked out into the sea of faces.

The setlist flew by, each song a stepping stone to the grand finale. The energy built, and the crowd sang along to their favorites, their voices a symphony of love and longing that echoed through the speakers.

And then it was time.

The stage went dark. A single spotlight fell on the band, and Jogo started the song with his drums, teasing a quiet introduction. The rest waited, their instruments poised, ready to bring the song to life.

The crowd, once lively, was silent, holding their breath for James to start singing.

As they played, James couldn't help but think of her, her laugh, her smell, the way she'd look at him when he played her his favourite tunes. He sang with every ounce of his soul, hoping she could feel it, hoping she knew it was for her. And as the last chord rang out and the applause erupted, he knew he had given her a piece of himself that no one else could ever claim.

The aftermath of the show was a blur.

One moment he was on stage singing his heart out for the world to see, then he was in the quiet hotel room, luggage packed for his return home in the morning.

He picked up his phone, his thumb hovering over her number. He'd call her when the dust settled, when he could finally hear his heartbeat without the deafening applause. He had so much to say, so much to tell her about the journey this song had taken him on. But for now, he leaned back in the bed and closed his eyes, the echoes of the music still playing in his ears, a promise of what was to come when he finally returned home.

The flight home was a blur of airport terminals, screaming people, and sleeplessness, but the moment his feet touched the ground in London Gatwick, his tiredness evaporated. He took the earliest train, then a cab straight to their flat. It was late, and the lights were on when he arrived.

He knew she'd be waiting.

James placed the key into the lock, turning the key and stepped through the door. He removed his shoes, put on some slippers and took of his coat, hanging it up by the door. Then he walked into the livingroom. He saw her, curled up on the sofa with Otto in her arms.

She looked up, her eyes lighting up when she saw him, and for a moment, he forgot all about the tour, the bus breakdown, the song. They rushed into each other's arms, and everything felt right again.

“Welcome home.” he hugged her tighter, “We missed you.”

He pressed a kiss on her head, “I missed you both too.”

James moved them so they sat at the sofa, limbs intertwined “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

She smiled mischeviously up at him “Oh, I think I may have an idea.” pecked him on the lips “I think everyone online has an idea.”

James felt his cheeks redden slightly “Well, it's not like I was keeping it a secret or anything...”

They both laughed, and she cuddled closer into him, her head resting on his chest as they sat on the sofa. Otto jumped up and nestled in between them, purring contentedly.

“But seriously, James, it's beautiful. Thank you.” she said, her voice filled with genuine admiration.

He kissed the top of her head, and they sat there watching the tv “It's true, you know.” he said, looking at her.

Her eyes sparkled with happiness as she looked up at him, then she leaned in to press a lingering kiss to his lips. “I know.” she murmured, smiling. James puled her tighter to his side as her next words left her lips, “Let's never leave this room. What do you say? ‘Cause I'm alive when I feel you pressed up to my side”

I will say it with full CHEST, when I saw those pictures taken by vap0rize_.... IT WAS OVER

I HAD NO THOUGHTS LEFT

I felt absolutely filthy I had to make something cute to make up for it. I hope I hit the mark!

On another note this is the song that inspired this fic. Idk how to make it smaller 😞

#James Marriott #James Marriott x reader #James Marriott x fem!reader

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sturnmeovr · 6 months ago

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♡‧₊˚ Sweetheart!Reader x Babydaddy!Chris - Gender Reveal ˚₊‧♡

Gender Predictions

The sound of intermixing conversations flowed around the room, family and friends filled each seat at the dining table, all mingling as they finished the last of their dinner. Mary Lou and Jim were too excited for their first grandbaby’s arrival, so they jumped at the chance to host your gender reveal at their house, making sure to have everything put together for the special moment. Of course, they wanted to be surprised with the gender of your baby just like everyone else, so they left the cake decorating up to a local bakery. It was a small group that attended your reveal, less than fifteen people.

Keeping your pregnancy a secret from the world had been hard the last few months, but you didn’t want your child around any negativity. The internet was a crazy place and neither of you wanted your child to fall victim to that. Since you and Chris were keeping things private, you two agreed to only tell the people you weren’t able to hide it from.

After everyone finishes their dinner, some leave their plates half finished due to the anticipation boiling in their guts much like it did yours and Chris’. You smooth a hand over your bump, looking to your left to see your mom with a kool aid like smile stretched across her face, “excited, sweetie?” You give her a small, toothless smile, “nervous,” you tell her. You hadn’t been able to shake the feeling all week. Knowing you were about to find out the gender of your baby had your mind spinning and your brain thumping. Your uneasy comment gains Chris’s attention, he looks over at you and places a hand on your thigh, making you turn towards him, “don’t be,” he reassures you once your eyes meet his.

“If everyone would quiet down, Y/n and Chris are ready to cut their cake,” Mary Lou announces to the party guests. The room falls silent as you and Chris stand at the head of the table, a white heart shaped cake was placed in front of you, the white icing piped the words “It’s a ….” in cursive across the top of it. Each family member and friend watched, smiles and looks of anticipation plastered on their faces, a few with phones in their hands ready to capture the special moment. Butterflies dance around in your stomach and your heart hammers in your chest as Chris hands you a matching wine glass, “ready, baby?”

Your mind runs wild, not letting you push out a reply, instead you press your lips together and nod your head at him. Chris gives you a reassuring smile, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand, your fingers being intertwined the whole time. “Okay, you guys count us down,” he tells the room full of people. The two of you line your glasses side by side along the edge of the cake, looking the opposite way as the both of you press down, cutting thru each layer of classic white cake and mystery icing. Once you can’t push the wine glass down anymore, indicating you were thru all the layers of the beautifully decorated cake, the room starts to count down, “three… two… one!”

You and Chris spin around in unison, both of you lifting your long-stemmed wine glasses at the same to reveal a white and blue striped pattern. You slap a hand over your mouth out of pure shock as everyone seated around the table cheers along with Chris, “I fucking knew it, I'm having a son!” he shouts out, happiness and excitement laced thru his voice as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in for a bear hug. Chris squeezes you tight, gently swaying on his feet, rocking the both of you side to side in the process. “A boy!” he exclaims once again before pressing a sloppy kiss to your forehead and placing a hand on your growing bump. You couldn’t help but let a bright smile make its way across your lips, “a boy,” you repeat. Your brain runs rampant at the thought of having a mini Chris running around. If your son was anything like his dad, you knew your heart would melt the day you finally met him, much like it did when you met Chris for the first time. Each day made your pregnancy less surreal for you, your gender reveal being one of the most memorable. You were surrounded by so much love and there was no doubt that once your son was here everything would be complete. He would always feel the same love you felt that day, he’d always be surrounded by people who would do anything for him. Knowing your baby would be taken care of and loved in the place of your absence made tears brim your eyes. You weren’t sure if it was the pregnancy hormones or if you felt that deeply about the people who attended and put your gender reveal together. One thing you could confirm, though - this was the day of your pregnancy by far.

Wc - 851

An - I made this as blurb because I have a fic for them coming soon! Sorry for everyone who wanted a girl 🫣 I feel like every dad!Matt or dad!Chris fic I read, they have daughters. Nothing wrong with that, I love and find so much inspo from other writers babydaddy fics. I just wanted a bit of a change! Don't worry, Mary Lou will get her granddaughter one day 🥹🫶🏻 Anyways, I hope everyone likes it! (sorry I just love this divider sm. I can't stop using it lol)

Babydaddy!Chris Masterlist

Masterlist of all of my works

Ask me questions or give me suggestions about babydaddy!Chris & sweetheart!Reader!

🏷️ - @lvrsturniolo @ribread03 @unknvhx @m11rx @loveparqdise @sweetshuga @emely9274 @frickin-bats @katie-tibo @leila-marie4 @delusional-4-fake-people @shadowthesim @immy08 @trevorsgodmother @watercolorskyy @thepubeburgler @courta13 (went back thru all my works and readded a few tags, sorry tumblr wasn't letting me tag half of my taglist for some reason??)

Photo edits and dividers are mine. Feel free to use.

#♡‧₊˚ cheyenne's works #♡‧₊˚ babydaddy!chris #♡‧₊˚ sweetheart!reader #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo blurb #♡‧₊˚ babydaddy!chris x sweetheart!reader #babydaddy!chris x sweetheart!reader #sweetheart!reader #chris x reader

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cuddlenano · 5 months ago

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nobody asked (l.s)

summary: in where lance confesses being married.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | final part

note: hi!! as you can see this is the last part, I really enjoyed writing this. hope you liked it

•

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instagram

tagged: louleigh

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, louleigh, estebanocon and others

lance_stroll we couldn't wait more, meet Mia, our little angel.

so happy to share this with the love of my life.

view all the comments

chloestroll now leo have someone to play with ❤️ liked by lance_stroll

astonmartinf1 sending baby AM merch 💚 liked by lance_stroll

fernandoalo_oficial Welcome Mia 👶🏻 liked by lance_stroll

georgerussell63 she's definitely a Mercedes girl

| lance_stroll no??

user1 I'm so jealous, wish I was mia stroll 😔

user2 imagine being born and knowing that you don't have to work a single day in your life because your dad is a millionaire

liked by lance_stroll, fernandoalo_oficial, alexandrasaintmleux, iamrebeccad and others

louleigh how i love being a mom 🤍

view all the comments

lance_stroll I love my two girls liked by louleigh

| louleigh love you more

iamrebeccad she's so perfect 🥹❤️ liked by louleigh

alexandrasaintmleux she's so tiny, can't wait to hug her 🤍 liked by louleigh

user1 I want to see lance in his dad era

user2 I bet she'll look like lou

| user3 I hope she does

f1gossip she's gorgeous 💚

user4 can't wait to see more content of stroll family

#f1 fanfic #f1 smau #lance stroll #f1 #f1 social media au #lance stroll fanfic #lance stroll smau

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louferrighojr · 1 month ago

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louliver + secret relationship/secret relationship revealed 👀

so the drabble turned into 478 words whoops...

🛏️

Oliver lets everyone into his trailer once they've finished shooting for the day, grinning when Lou immediately throws himself across the bed with a satisfied sigh.

"Man, this bed is comfortable," he murmurs as Kenny sits next to him, kicking his shoes off as Oliver rummages in the mini fridge for drinks.

"Oh, it is," Kenny says, sounding surprised. "Damn, Oliver, how did you get the best one?"

"Right? It's almost better than my bed at home," Lou adds as Oliver passes round the beers.

"It's way better than your bed at home," Oliver replies, smirking until he realises everyone is staring at him.

Oh.

"You've slept in Lou's bed?" Aisha asks, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him from her seat on the couch, amusement glistening in her eyes.

Oliver glances at Lou, trying to figure out just how to answer that.

They hadn't exactly planned to keep it a secret.

(They hadn't exactly planned for a relationship at all).

It had just made more sense when they'd only been hooking up to keep it to themselves, saving each other from the inevitable questions from…. well, everyone, really.

And then hooking up had turned into something more and now here they were nearly eight months later, and Oliver has just put his foot in it.

Lou just shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and Oliver knows him well enough by now to know what he's trying to say: your choice.

"Uh, well," Oliver starts, a slow smirk forming, "there's not normally much sleeping."

The shocked silence lasts for barely a second before Aisha yells, "what!" and Kenny starts choking on his beer.

"You asked," Oliver grins, glancing at Lou again to see him looking pleased even as he blushes.

"I wasn't being serious!" Aisha laughs, looking between Oliver and Lou with something of a bewildered expression.

"I knew you were seeing someone!" Kenny says triumphantly, pointing at Lou with his beer once he's finished choking on it. "You've been even more hyper than usual the past few months."

"Yeah, sorry," Lou grins, winking at Oliver. "Blame him."

Oliver rolls his eyes fondly as he flops onto the couch next to Aisha.

"So, months, huh?" she asks, holding out her beer as she throws her other arm around his shoulders.

"Eight," Oliver replies, clinking his bottle against hers as Lou does the same with Kenny.

"Well I'm happy for you both," Kenny says, smiling, "and impressed you managed to keep it secret for so long."

Lou laughs, bright and warm, and Oliver doesn't realise he's staring quite so fondly until Aisha nudges him, a teasing grin on her face.

"Oh, it's that bad, huh," she whispers as Lou starts telling Kenny about a few of their near misses and Oliver ducks his head, feeling suddenly shy.

"Yeah," he admits, blushing, "it kinda is."

send me a prompt and i'll write you a louliver drabble

#no idea if trailers usually have beds but for the purposes of this ficlet they do #louliver #911 rpf #ferrigho writes

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 8 months ago

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Epilogue: True Love Is Hard To Find

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is the epilogue of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series.

Word Count: 12.2K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this one 18+ because it's Soldier Boy. Vomiting, Dark/Depressing thoughts, Heartbreak, FLUFF, FLUFF, and oh did I mention FLUFF, Sexual innuendo, Self-deprecating thoughts, Drinking, Cursing, Some references to past trauma, References to past sex, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Song lyrics are bold, italics, and are in red. The lyrics come from "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love," by Russ Colombo (can be found at the link). This is the song I based the series on and it really is wonderful to listen to.

A/N: Well guys, we made it. Just remember that this isn't goodbye, it's I'll see you in a little while.

Five Months Later…

"Is it time to go yet?" Ben murmurs into your ear, his breath rustling against the hair he tucked carefully behind it moments ago, his hand pressing into the small of your back.

The sounds of clinking glasses, laughter, and small chatter ebb and flow over the crowded art gallery, the white walls a subtle backdrop to the colorfully dressed people, waiters, and the canvases that hang on the walls.

Women in elegant dresses stand at different sized paintings while men dressed in casual suits and ties stand beside them in stoic contemplation, their eyes following the gentle brushstrokes that cover the canvases hanging in succession against the bland backdrop.

Waiters dressed in simple suits with silver trays of food and pastries weave through the crowded room, offering treats to whomever they stop by, while a bartender sits at a large wooden bar designed to fit into the venue serving drinks to patrons and pouring multicolored liquids into glasses.

It had been five months since Ben came back, five months since you said goodbye to Homelander, and five of the happiest months of your life.

The first month following Ben's return, you had taken him to the house in Maine, figured that you both could use a vacation and spent your days sunning on the beach together and curled up in bed making up for the time that you lost when Ben was gone. You weren't complaining, not when every day you felt the same way as when you'd woken up the day after your birthday, not when each time Ben kissed you felt like the first time, and not when every time he touched you it felt like you were filled with sunlight. You felt warmer, lighter, happier, and being with him was even more wonderful than you remember.

Every day was fused with wonder and expectation and every night Ben made you feel more loved than you ever had. You were so blissfully happy that you had forgotten the past and were excited for what the future would hold for the two of you.

Lou, Rosemary, and Ryan had come after a few weeks to spend time with Ben and you at the house. Lou was ecstatic that Ben was staying in your lives and spent every moment with him on the beach having him help her make sandcastles and look for shells and shiny rocks that were rubbed smooth by the waves.

Rosemary was still icy towards Ben, but you knew that she was starting to get used to him being around. All you hoped was that one day she would warm up to him, but it was a little less awkward between the two of them. She was at least calling him by his name and she could stand to be in the same room as him. When Ben read the paper in the mornings at the breakfast table off of the large kitchen at the house, Rosemary drank her coffee quietly and read through a paperback, you painted in your watercolor pad absentmindedly, and Lou tried her best to copy you all the while making small talk with Ryan who sat beside her.

Ryan was living in the spare room in Rosemary's apartment and despite being corrected, Lou referred to Ryan as her older brother every chance she got, something that always made Ryan brush bright red. At first Rosemary and you had been wary about bringing in a blossoming teenager in to her home, not to mention a blossoming teenager that had the ability to level a small building if he wanted to, but Ryan seemed to like living there and he didn't cause any unnecessary trouble. Butcher came by every week to take Ryan out of the apartment to give Rosemary a break and Ryan was always happy to go with him.

That was something you weren't sure about. Yes, you liked that Butcher had such a big influence in Ryan's life, but you didn't like how often he came by. You weren't sure you trusted him with what he knew about Lou's powers that only seemed to grow by the day since their development. Every time Lou watched something with a supe in it she started exhibiting a new ability, but she seemed to be able to turn them on and off at will.

Which was good. She also seemed to understand the idea that it wasn't good to show them in public. There were a few slip ups, for example when Ben and you took Lou for ice cream one day. she got so excited when she received the cone that she started levitating a few inches off the ground and another time she threw a temper tantrum at the grocery store and stomped her foot so aggressively against the ground that the entire building shook.

The looks she got when she did both of those things were the same looks you got when Lou called Ben and you "grandpa" and "grandma" in public.

But she was doing better and with Rosemary's ability to touch Lou and get the power Lou was exhibiting, Rosemary had been able to show Lou how to control some of the abilities better than others.

Ryan also helped. He was old enough to babysit Lou when there was no one else, comforting because now that Lou had powers you didn’t trust anyone else to be around her and didn't trust that Vought had forgotten. Ryan was just starting school, a school just a few blocks from Rosemary’s apartment where he could feel like a real kid, and was already struggling through math. When he asked Ben for help Ben had replied that Ryan didn’t need it and the only thing Ryan should focus on was sports.

Ben was no longer allowed to offer Ryan education advice and Butcher and you both tried your best to help Ryan with math instead. You’d also told Ryan not to listen to someone who got kicked out of every boarding school he ever went to, which only made Ben smack you on the ass and say "it takes one to know one" while Rosemary mimed vomiting in the kitchen.

You had asked Rosemary if she wanted to get a new apartment, big enough for everyone so you could be around 24/7 to help her, but she’d complained and said that she was too old to be living with her parents.

She was right, but you still tried your best to be around to give her a break whenever she needed one.

Of course it wasn’t all good in those five months.

Rosemary quit her job at the hospital after everything happened with Homelander and didn’t tell you that she’d gotten a new one working with Butcher on his team. When you’d confronted her about it she’d told you that it wasn’t a big deal, but to you it was. You had spent the past 40 years of Rosemary’s life keeping all the supe shit separate, but now she was diving in head first. You’d had a fight, a bad one, one of the worst the two of you had ever had and you’d spent three days in bed crying to Ben who held you tight and didn’t let you go. When Rosemary had finally showed up three days later, her own eyes red and rimmed with dark circles beneath you knew she was just as upset as you were. And then she told you why she did it.

It wasn’t because of Butcher, it was because of Homelander.

Rosemary was guilty, frustrated with herself because she had been unable to keep Lou safe from him. Rosemary said that she felt like she had been hiding her entire life, turning her back on a piece of herself, and that she needed to do this. She felt like a failure, worthless, and that she needed to embrace who she really was. So you tried to be supportive all the while contemplating if you should follow her on missions to make sure that she was okay.

But that seemed a little obsessive so you held yourself back.

It was going well and honestly, Rosemary seemed happy. Not to mention Butcher liked having her around for medical assistance if there was a problem in the field.

Ben was working for Butcher too, something else you also didn't agree with, but at least now you didn't have to worry about Rosemary as much. You knew that Ben wouldn't let anything happen to her, but you also didn't love that you now had both of them to worry about. Sometimes you thought about working for Butcher too, but after everything that happened with Homelander, Stan, Noir, and your old team, you were happy to immerse yourself in your art again, to dive in to your creativity and let it wash away any of your worries and pain that rose in the aftermath of the everything that had happened five months ago.

You'd told Ben that he didn't have to work, told him that the both of you had more than enough money for a few centuries, but for Ben it was bigger than that. He wanted to work, thought that it was his job to provide for the both of you, his job to take care of you, and you didn’t want to argue with him about that. It was difficult to say no to him, not when he was just as happy as you were, and not when he was giving you everything you said you wanted all those years ago the night you saved Noir. He had given you a home, someone who loves you, and someone to come home to and it was more wonderful than you could have ever imagined. He gave you everything he promised and more.

Sometimes when you were together, he'd get a look on his face like he had no idea how it happened, and you weren't too sure either, but you were so happy that you didn't care. The things you'd daydreamed about all those years ago, of Ben and you living together and being in love dulled in comparison to the real thing. You'd never seen Ben smile as much as you had in the past five months, never seen him so full of life and happiness in all the years you'd known him, and you wanted him to be that way every day for the rest of his life.

And you had never been as inspired to paint as you were now, hence the art show Ben and you were currently attending.

Rosemary, Lou, and Ryan were taking it easy for the evening and you didn’t blame them. Rosemary had just come back from an overnight trip with Butcher's team from somewhere in the South and stated she needed to relax. You’d graciously offered to take Ryan and Lou with you, but she’d waved you off. Said that it was alright and that Ben and you should enjoy yourselves.

You think that working together also helped Ben and Rosemary get more comfortable interacting, but there was still some tension that you hoped would fade in the coming years. It was better than it had been. You were also worried about them working with Butcher's team because of what you'd done to them at Vought, but so far there didn't seem to be a problem. In fact, Rosemary and Annie were becoming friends, which made you happy because Rosemary had friends, but none who she could be one hundred percent honest with about who you were and the powers she had. With Annie, Rosemary didn't have to pretend.

Grace Mallory called every week to check in and keep you updated on Homelander's progress. He was still the same as he had been five months ago, but she was getting a new doctor to come take a look at him, someone who was well versed in memory loss and you hoped he was able to figure it out. Not that you really wanted old Homelander to come back, but because you didn't know where to go from here. You knew that if Homelander ever got out, the first thing he would do was find Compound V, and then come after your family. But it still felt weird to kill someone who didn't remember the things they had done.

Sometimes you wished that it could have been different, but if this was how it always ended up you wouldn't change a thing, because it meant that you might not be here with Ben.

You smile up at Ben, adjusting his dark tie with a steady hand and smoothing out the collar of his black suit. "We've been here for twenty minutes. And it was you that wanted to come to my show."

Ben grins. "Maybe I just wanted to see you all dressed up sweetheart. Have I told you how beautiful you look?"

He had, several times before you left your apartment. Not to mention you'd walked out of the bedroom and into the living room Ben had all but tackled you onto the couch and made the both of you late because you had to redo your makeup.

Your dress was maroon, backless, and had capped sleeves that fell off your shoulders to curve just over your biceps. It was cinched at the waist and fell elegantly to your feet that were encased in a pair of black heels that made you almost tall enough to reach Ben's shoulders. There was a new necklace hanging around your neck, one that Ben had gotten you for your one month anniversary. It was a kite cut emerald about the size of the end of your pinky. You still had the pearl necklace that Noir had stolen from you, but now when you looked at it, you felt sad and didn't remember your father. Not to mention the pearl necklace that Ben gave you as a replacement was still in pieces from the night that you both wanted to forget.

So he'd gotten you this one and you loved it, because it reminded you of Ben's beautiful eyes, the same ones that were focused on you right now, shining in the light of the gallery.

Ben looked better than you did, then again you always thought he did. He was wearing a sharp black suit with a crisp white shirt and a black tie. Every time you looked at him you couldn't believe he was all yours. You wondered if he felt that way whenever he looked at you.

"I can't leave early, it’s my party remember? It would be rude to-"

He leans in again, his hand tightening on your waist. "I'd much rather take you home and congratulate you myself."

Ben doesn't miss the shiver that travels down your spine with his words, eyes shifting to the goosebumps that erupt on your arms. "Come on doll, I could go get the car right now." He purrs pressing a kiss just under your left ear, feeling your resolve begin to waver, which was already hanging by a thread. Ben never needed to do much to persuade you, but you noticed that when it came to you Ben also had a hard time saying no. And you loved how easily you worked him.

“Didn’t you congratulate me before we left?” You murmur kissing along his sharp jaw. “And this morning?” You drag your hands up his chest feeling a low groan vibrate through his rib cage. “And last night?”

“Are you complaining doll?” His eyes glint mischievously, smirk pulling at the end of his lips.

“No. Because I happen to like congratulating you too.”

“Good, because I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting to congratulate you.” Ben nudges his nose against yours, before fitting his soft lips over your mouth. The subtle scratch of his well trimmed beard tickles against your cheeks as he deepens the kiss, his hand pressed against the small of your back, securing you against his strong body.

It was moments like this that made you want to melt into him, to let him take everything you were, and everything he was and mold them together as one. Ben was everything to you and now that you knew what it was like to have him not be in your life, you were never going to let him go.

"Ben." You smile, gently laying your hand on his cheek, feeling the coarse hairs of his beard scratch against your palms. "Please, just another hour at least."

"Sweetheart-"

You stand up on tip toe, so you can whisper in his ear while holding tight to his right shoulder. "Baby please. One more hour and then you'll have me all to yourself."

"Promise?" Ben murmurs, eyes darkening with your proposition.

"I promise."

Ben smiles pleased, and turns back to survey the crowds chattering about the paintings you had done, his arm wrapped around your waist.

The different sized canvases on the wall were awash with colors. The theme was "Out With the Old and In With the New," inspired by a trip Ben and you had taken to Philadelphia, but also you saw it as a new beginning, a way for the two of you to shake off the shadow of the past and move into the future together. He'd wanted to see how much Philadelphia had changed and you hadn’t been there since your brother’s funeral.

The two of you had spent the week going to places you knew all too well before you became supes. Some of the buildings were still there, while others had vanished into obscurity. Ben's family estate was still just as you remembered it. He was still technically the owner, but you didn't want to make him stay there, not when you knew about the scars that clung to the walls and creeped along the staircases. He had stepped foot inside, the musty smell wafting out through the open doors, the dust swirling in clouds with every unsure step he took. Ben's father had died a few years before Ben went to Russia, and despite all the ways Ben disappointed him, Ben's father still left him everything.

When Ben stood just in the entryway of the mansion you could see the weight settle on his shoulders once more, the weight his father put there and pressed into him. The last time the two of you had been there was when Ben's father died, but you hadn't been able to comfort Ben the way you wanted to then. This time you took him into your arms and pressed his head into your shoulder, trailing your fingers into his hair, and holding him close to you. Ben put it up for sale before the two of you left, and you were more than happy to see it go.

Your family home was still standing, but inhabited by your distant relatives from your brother's side of the family. You hadn't tried to make a connection with them since you vanished forty years ago and didn't want to insert yourself into their lives now. You had everything you needed, you had a family, and you had Ben.

The canvases on the walls were born from what you found remaining in Philadelphia, the city that rose from the one you used to know so well. Each painting was an amalgamation of your memories of the Philadelphia from your youth painted in shades of gray and what replaced it, rose from the canvas in splashes of bold color as if rising from the ashes. It was one of your best shows, and judging by the chatter you had heard and how excited your agent and the curator was you knew that there weren't many canvases left over. Your favorite was hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room, the centerpiece of the entire show.

It was painted from the memory of the day Ben and you sat on the warm soft grass by the pond at Fairmount park. In the painting two people sat on the bank, the boy half turned to stare at the girl with a flower tucked into his jacket pocket and the girl half turned, her face pointed down focusing on a watercolor pad in her lap while her hair fell forward, but the audience could still see her smile and the boy's smirk. They sat in a haze of black and white while the new park swirled out from them in bold colors.

Ben hadn't seen it until you showed up to the gallery a few moments before the show opened. You'd kept it a surprise, only working on it whenever he was working, and his reaction was worth it. As soon as he saw it Ben had stopped dead in his tracks just within the front doors as if he couldn't believe it, his gaze focused on the picture. You'd asked him if he liked it and in response he had grabbed you and kissed you so fiercely in front of your agent and the curator that both of them walked away to give you some privacy. You were still buzzing from that kiss, well, the kiss and what Ben had done to you on the couch before you left your apartment together.

"I'm going to go get a drink." Ben glances in the direction of the bar before looking back at you. "Do you want something?"

"No, I'm okay right now. Thanks though."

He presses a kiss into the top of your head before he vanishes into the crowd. You prepare yourself for the wave of loss you feel whenever Ben leaves. It had only gotten worse after months of spending time together. When he went out of town it was almost unbearable, but he did try his best to keep you posted, by calling you whenever he could. Sometimes you worried that you needed him too much, that he thought you were being too clingy, but every time you tried to consciously pull back it was Ben that always doubled his efforts to be around you, almost as if he was trying to make up for you toning it down. It reassured you that Ben wanted you there and genuinely wanted to spend time with you.

"Y/n!" You hear a familiar voice say and you turn your head to see your friend Levi making his way through the crowd. His dark curly hair hangs over his shoulders in gentle waves and he's wearing a black button down shirt that he's rolled up to his elbows revealing the patchwork of ink covering every square inch of his golden skin. Levi was also an artist that showed at the gallery, which is how the two of you met. Over the years you had each gone to each other's shows and then out to dinner to celebrate. He was a good friend, but you knew he had feelings for you.

You had forgotten that he was going to be here, hadn't thought about it, and hadn't told Ben. An important thing that you should have told him because Levi is the man that you'd almost slept with.

It had almost happened two years ago and you had come to Levi's show, a collection of recycled sculptures that had stunned New York City. The two of you had gone out to dinner as you always did and after, Levi had leaned in to kiss your cheek to say goodbye, but you'd turned at the wrong moment and he'd caught your lips. The both of you had frozen outside the darkened restaurant, the sounds of the city rising around you, his dark brown eyes catching and holding your gaze. You don't know why you did it, maybe because you'd been lonely for so long or maybe because Rosemary had told you that you needed to start trying again, that she was worried about you being alone, so you kissed Levi.

You weren't sure how you ended up back at his apartment in his bed, but you'd stopped him just before you had sex. You told him that you couldn't do that, that you didn't think that you could be what he wanted, and that you were sorry. It had felt wrong to give him hope, only to take all away again. For you to do that had reminded you of the hope Ben had given you when you finally slept with him and how hollow you were when he broke your heart and told you that you meant nothing.

You refused to do that to someone else.

Levi had been confused, but he'd respected you, told you that you didn't have to apologize for anything. Unfortunately since then it had been a little bit awkward, because you knew he still had feelings for you, not to mention he'd seen you naked.

"Levi!" You smile back at him

He pulls you in for a hug, holding on to you for a second longer than he should. "How are you? I haven't seen you around and you didn't come to my show. I was worried."

"Oh I was out of town for a little bit." You wave a hand. "Kinda last minute."

"Oh. Well, I guess you weren't too busy for this." He gestures to the canvases on the walls. "They're gorgeous. I think this is my favorite show of yours."

"You say that after every show."

"And you say that at every one of my shows."

"Because it's true." You roll your eyes at Levi. "Your work gets better with age-"

"I could say the same thing to you." Levi runs a hand through his tangled dark hair. "Come on, you have to tell me the truth."

"What?"

"Were you an art prodigy or something? You can't be much older than me and your work is just insanely mind-altering."

If only he knew.

"Nope. I've just been practicing a long time." You smile to yourself at the inside joke.

"So unfair. I hate you, you know that right." Levi grins.

"Oh please. If anything I should hate you. I've never been good with sculpture."

"I told you that I would be available for lessons anytime."

"I'll think about it."

Levi glances around the room at all the people. "You know, I think they make a bigger deal about your shows than mine."

"Green isn't a good color on you Levi." You snort at him.

He only smiles. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"

You freeze. It was the same thing that Ben had asked you moments ago before Levi showed up. Except when Ben said it you couldn’t help but smile and blush, but when Levi said it, it just was weird. "No. But it's alright." You smile awkwardly.

"Did you-" He clears his throat sensing the shift in conversation. "Did you want to get dinner after your show?"

The two of you hadn't had dinner since the incident two years ago, instead you had gone for coffee, because it felt less intimate and more like something the two of you could do as friends. You didn’t think that you would fall into bed with him if you were fully caffeinated. But it still made you feel bad because you thought you were leading him on, even when you told him exactly what you wanted.

"I know we haven’t in a while, but I miss you." Levi's eyes soften. "I know that what happened was a little awkward, but we can still be friends. Or maybe we can talk this out and you can tell me why you think doing this would be bad.” He gestures between the two of you. “Because we have so much in common and I really like you. And I think you do like me, but you just won't admit it-“

"Levi-" You begin to say, trying to think of a way to let him down easy, again, because he still didn’t seem to understand.

Ben's muscular arm weaves around your waist, pulling your hips back into his where he stands behind you as soon as you begin to answer, the warmth of his body like a shock to your system. He's got a glass of scotch in his free hand and he's staring at Levi with an unreadable expression.

Ben kisses you on the cheek, lingering for a second too long for it to be casual, blatantly marking his territory.

"What did I miss?" Ben says it as if he couldn’t hear the entire conversation from the bar, but you knew he had.

Levi’s eyes widen at Ben’s appearance and flick to you as if looking for an answer. Ben downs the glass in one gulp, placing it on the tray of a waiter who passes by.

“Ben, this is my friend Levi. Levi this is-“

You hesitate for a moment. Calling Ben your boyfriend felt wrong sometimes. Your relationship felt different to just say that he was your boyfriend, it didn’t seem to be enough, not to mention you felt like Ben was a little old to be your boyfriend, just as you felt a little old to be his girlfriend. Calling him your everything felt more appropriate, but it was too intimate for someone to know other than Ben.

“Ben.” Ben says extending his free hand to grasp Levi’s in a death grip, and you see Levi wince sightly when Ben tightens his grip. “Her husband.”

If you’d been drinking something you would have done a spit take right then and there. The word coming out of Ben’s mouth was foreign and so out of the blue the two of you might as well be swimming in the middle of a cobalt colored sea. The two of you hadn't spoken about that at all. It had never come up in conversation, even when the two of you took a walk around Rosemary's block and passed a jewelry store with a display of engagement rings. In fact the only time that you'd mentioned that you wanted to marry someone was the night that Ben almost killed Noir forty years ago and Ben made a joke about the two of you getting married. It had hurt when he did, it felt like he was mocking you, like he thought that it wasn't important.

That night you'd asked Ben if he wanted to marry someone and he said "maybe." You weren't sure if that was because Ben didn't believe in marriage or if he thought it wasn’t necessary, but to you things like that were important. You were old-fashioned and you wanted to marry Ben, you wanted to be his wife, but Ben hadn't proposed or stated that he wanted to marry you.

That could be your insecurity about being too clingy or your insecurity that Ben would pull away from you rising all over again, but you weren't sure if Ben cared about being your husband.

And yes maybe you were expecting a proposal sometime in the future, but it still hadn't happened and a part of you was worried that because it had not happened yet, it never would. Mostly because you couldn't think of what he was waiting for. He'd said that he never wanted to leave you ever again, told you that he wanted to give you everything you wanted, told you that he'd never love anyone else the way that he loved you, and yet there hadn't been talk to marriage. Not to mention you had told him that you loved him and that you'd never leave him and that you couldn't live without him.

Yes, you were living together, sharing a bank account, and spending every waking moment of your lives together, but there had been no discussion about him marrying you.

Which is odd because why did he tell Levi that we were married? Was he just trying to think of something official to make him back off?

Levi's eyes widen with the word "husband" his eyes darting to you in surprise. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that you got married, congratulations." It doesn't sound sincere, but if Ben hears the insincerity, he ignores it.

"Thanks Levi." Ben smiles wider, pulling you tighter against his side. "It's fairly recent. We're still in that Honeymoon Phase, you know how it is." Ben's smile turns more into a smirk. "Kinda hard to leave the apartment if you know what I mean, champ. Could barely get her to this thing."

Your entire face flushes bright red in embarrassment, struck speechless. You knew Ben better than anyone and you knew that he was doing this because he was jealous, but it didn’t make it any less embarrassing or any less Levi's business what Ben and you did in your apartment. Ben also didn't have anything to be jealous about, Levi was nothing compared to him, no one was compared to Ben, not when you were children and not now. You were sure that you'd told him that over and over again.

"Oh-um-" Levi clears his throat awkwardly, his own cheeks the same color of crimson of yours. "Yeah, well-"

"But if you still want to have dinner, I'm sure my wife and I could work out something." Ben smiles enjoying how frazzled Levi is.

You try not to flinch when Ben says the word "wife." "Ben-" You begin, hoping to give Levi a way out.

"Well, I'll have to check my schedule. I've got a show coming up and well-" Levi fumbles. "I'll see you." He turns and vanishes into the crowd of people flocking to your paintings.

Ben chuckles to himself. "He couldn't get out of here fast enough could he?"

You don't answer him. Ben's arm is around your waist, the warmth of his skin diffusing through his suit jacket and your dress into your body, but you don't feel the comfort you did when he first put it around you.

"You didn't have to do that." You say.

"Yes I did. He was trying to come on to my girl and we both know how much I hate sharing sweetheart." Ben replies light heartedly and you can hear the smile in his voice.

"Uh-huh." You look up at him. "So, I'm your wife? Funny I don't remember our wedding."

Ben's smile fades for a minute, clearing his throat. "He wants to fuck you. I was just trying to-"

"He's my friend Ben. We've been friends since I started showing in this gallery."

"He asked you to dinner."

"We've been to dinner before. We sometimes go out after the shows." You reply vaguely.

“You went out with him?” His eyebrows furrow together in confusion.

“No. We had dinner as friends. I recall you and I having dinner as friend a lot.” You say, not about to admit to Ben that you almost slept with Levi. You knew that particular piece of information was unneeded and would only upset him.

“That’s different!” Ben scoffs.

“Why is that different?” You pull back from him, letting his arm fall from your waist as you cross your arms over your chest.

“Because we both already were in love with one another!” Ben says it matter-of-factly as if it's the most obvious answer in the entire world.

"What? That doesn't make it a date!"

Wait, did he think that all those times we went to dinner were dates? Has Ben just been thinking that we were going out all these years? Is he freaking crazy? He doesn't have a right to think that way, not when he was sleeping his way through every major city in America.

"Yes it does."

"So you're telling me all those years that we spent together we were dating? And that you chasing after every woman who crossed your path was you what? Us having an open relationship?"

Ben narrows his eyes. "That's not what I'm saying."

"I mean, it kind of is. You think that just because we loved one another and went out to get food it was a date."

"No. I mean that it's different because you loved me and I loved you!"

"Ben-"

“Did you fuck him?” Ben's jaw locks, anger flashing in his eyes as he changes the subject.

Your mouth drops open in shock. "What? No. I told you that I've never been with anyone else, only you. I wouldn't lie about something like that-"

Does he really think that I would lie about that?

Ben's body stiffens and you see the dots connect inside his mind, green eyes hardening to a solid chunk of unyielding jade. "Is that the guy you almost slept with?" His gaze turns murderous.

"Ben-"

Ben's head swivels to glare at where Levi is standing across the room from the two of you speaking to someone else about his work. You can practically see the gears turning in Ben's head as he thinks of all the ways that he can kill him.

Truthfully you knew that Ben had a tendency to get jealous, had known it since the night Howard and you were dancing together, but you didn’t think that he deserved to be jealous about this.

I thought he was dead. I was trying to move on.. AND I didn’t sleep with him. Not to mention Ben and I weren't together. It's not like I was cheating on him or something.

"Why are you getting so angry? I wasn't cheating on you, we weren't together. And I didn't sleep with him."

"But he fucking touched you." Ben growls, his eyes narrowing at the back of Levi's head and you know that if Ben had laser vision Levi would be dead.

"He touched me two years ago! You're being ridiculous. I didn't go on a murder rampage through New York City whenever you slept with someone. If I did that there wouldn't be anymore women left in the state of New York."

"I am not being ridiculous!" He snaps eyes flashing back to you.

"Okay you've got to calm down."

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down."

"I don't understand why you're getting so angry about something that didn't happen. Not to mention it's me that has the right to be angry!"

"Why?"

"Because this," You wave your hand around the gallery. "Is my job and that," You point at Levi "Is kind of my coworker and you embarrassed me!"

"What? How the fuck did I embarrass you?" Ben was trying to keep his voice down, but you knew that it was becoming difficult for him.

"Well, call me crazy, but I don't want to talk about my sex life with someone else. Not to mention you had no right to lie to him. I get that you get jealous, but what you did was uncalled for."

"What in the actual fuck are you talking about?" His hands are clenched into fists at his sides so tightly that the skin stretched tight over his knuckles is white.

"We aren't married Ben. We live together. Those are two different things."

"It's not that different." Ben's shoulders fall and you see something flash for just a moment in his eyes that looks like disappointment.

Does he really think that living together and being together is the same as being marriage? As making a life-long commitment to someone? I mean I want to be married to him because I want to make that promise to him, want to bind myself to him because he's the only man that I've ever loved and I ever will love. I want to be his wife because I can't see my life without him in it.

"It is to me."

"But-"

"But what?" You scoff.

"Well we-" Ben's eyebrows furrow as he tries to find the right words, but he comes up empty handed.

"The only time that you've ever brought up marriage was when you were drunk off your ass on my couch after Noir, when you brought up Howard and then made a joke about the two of us getting married!"

"I mean, it wasn't completely a joke and I told you that I wasn't that drunk." Ben frowns. "And that doesn’t mean anything!"

"What do you mean it doesn’t mean anything? To me it does. Making that promise to someone, making a vow to them, binding yourself to them and saying those words aloud in front of everyone you love to someone means something to me. And I've told you that. I've told you what I wanted." You look up at him for a moment, before you realize something. It creeps along your skin like the first frost on a window pane. "Wait, are you saying that the idea of marriage doesn't mean anything to you? That you don't want to marry me?"

"Sweetheart wait a minute." Ben reaches out for you, but you take a shaky step back from him.

“What are we doing?”

“Huh?”

“I mean really. What are we doing?" Your voice is barely a whisper, but you know that Ben can hear you. Emotion makes your voice wobble as you stand there and look at him. He looks just as devastatingly handsome as he always does, but something lurks in his eyes that you can't place.

Deep down you had believed that Ben wanted to marry you, but maybe he was just waiting for the right moment, but now you weren't sure. Based on everything he'd said in the last minute you were starting to think that Ben didn't want to marry you.

If marriage doesn't mean anything to him, then does that mean he doesn't want to marry me? And then where is this going? I know that I want to get married and if he doesn't does that mean I'm not his forever?

"What do you mean?" The look on his face shifts into something else, something that looks surprisingly like fear, and to see that on Ben's face was physically jarring.

"If we're not going to get married then why are doing this? Why are we-" You look around the room, suddenly cold. "Ben, why are we together?"

You knew that you loved Ben more than anything and that you wanted to be apart of his life forever, that you wanted Ben to be your always. You wanted to say those words to Ben, to make that vow to love and cherish him for the rest of your life, but he didn't want to make them to you. Suddenly you felt like the stupid little girl that lived in Philadelphia and always did what you were told the one that watched her best friend make out with girls like Missy Callahan and longed to be with him.

"Sweetheart-" Ben says, stepping forward to touch you again, but you pull away from him. "Wait-" The tone of his voice is thick with emotion, gruff, just a rumble.

“I think you should leave." You say it, but your voice sounds hollow and far away.

It was the first time that you’d told him to leave since the night he came back to you, the first time since he came back that you wanted to be alone. You wanted to think this over, because now that you knew how he felt about marriage all you could think of is the possibility of spending years together only to be traded out by a newer model because Ben never wanted to marry you.

The people around you laughing and chatting at each of your paintings all of a sudden seem to be mocking you. Their happiness and joy taunting the warring heartbreak and hurt that swirls in the pit of your stomach. You feel your mind begin to slip into the memory of when you walked out of the bathroom at the night of the premiere, when you wove through the people who were so happy to be there while your heart was breaking. When it felt like your world was ending, and honestly, the feeling that you have now feels almost too similar to ignore.

"No I want to talk about this. I don’t want to leave.”

"I want you to." You lock eyes with him, fighting the urge to cry. "I need some time and I don't think it's a good idea for you to be here right now."

"But-" Ben's eyes haven't left you.

"Please go."

"Sweetheart-“

“No." You say sharply. "I think it would be better if you just went home. You wanted to anyway.” You let out a shaky breath, feeling your heart squeeze in your chest. "And this isn't the place for us to talk about this."

“Not because I didn’t want to be with you. I wanted to go home with you.” He emphasizes and reaches for your hand, but you move it away from him. Ben winces as if it hurts for him to be unable to touch you. Given what he'd confessed to you in the past you knew it was true.

“No I-“ You shake your head, tears burning against your eyes. “I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t be with you if I’m not your forever. If you don't want to marry me. I-” Your eyes lock with his, hurt and heartbreak clamping around your heart in a vice. “So please just go.”

"Let me explain."

"No. I need to be alone."

“Sweetheart-“

“How many times do I have to say it? I want you to leave!”

The people around you turn to look at where Ben and you are standing, hearing your final words ring in the air between the two of you.

Ben freezes, something vulnerable crossing over his face before his expression hardens into the one that was more familiar. “Fine.”

And as he walks away, weaving through the people that stand at every canvas, you try not to feel the pit open up beneath your feet ready to swallow your broken heart whole.

When you get home the apartment is cold and dark, the shadows of your living room lengthening with every step you take towards the dark hallway and what lies beyond. Hurt, sadness, and remorse creep along your skin like a spider, it's spiderweb clinging to your body and ensnaring you like a wiggling fly in it's grasp. There was no warmth, only the cold chill of fear of what you’d find when you entered your shared bedroom.

Ben's cologne was stale, hanging in the air, but it wasn't fresh, just a reminder, and you knew deep down it was because he wasn't here. But somewhere you clung on with bloodied fingertips hoping and praying that he was.

You'd spent the rest of the evening nursing a glass of red wine, fiddling with your necklace, and talking with anyone who came up to you about the paintings, but you lacked the enthusiasm you should have.

Nothing else seemed to matter, not after the fight you'd had with Ben, and standing amongst your creations felt frivolous, especially when everything you said to him rang in your ears.

At the end of the night you'd stood at the centerpiece, looking at the familiar brushstrokes and splashes of color of the picture of Ben and you sitting on the bank of a pond while tears crept along your cheeks.

Your agent had taken your tears as tears of joy, happy that you’d sold out your show, but gazing up at the painting you regretted it's sale. It made you feel like a part of you was being sold, as if the memory you had of that day would go with the painting to it's new owner leaving you with nothing.

You'd realized as the night wore on how stupid you'd been. You wished that you could go back and apologize for everything you said to Ben, because it didn't matter, nothing else mattered to you but Ben. And you hated yourself for telling him to leave, not when you knew how much he hated it when you told him to go and when you knew after all these years he still struggled with the idea that you didn't want him with you, when in reality being without him made you feel as if you were drowning.

And right now in the aftermath of the fight, you could feel the seaweed tangling around your ankle to pull you under.

As you stood there gazing up at the painting you'd realized that maybe Ben really did think the two of you were married and maybe deep down you knew that. That it wasn't about saying those vows in an official ceremony, it was about everything the two of you said to one another every day since he came back, it was about the promises that Ben made and kept, and it was about everything the two of you had been through over the years.

A stupid ceremony and certificate didn't matter to you, not if it stood in the way of Ben and you. You'd graciously take everything he had to give you for the rest of your life, and you knew that Ben felt the same way. You knew that he wasn't going to leave you, wasn't going to cheat on you with someone else, and wasn't going to turn his back on you. Not after everything the two of you had gone through and not when you knew how much Ben loved you.

That was what you wanted to say to him now, because you felt so stupid that you yelled at him. To tell him that none of it mattered, that the only thing that mattered to you was him.

The urge to throw up surges into the back of your throat as you creep down the hallway, but when you open the bedroom door you see that the bed is empty. A cold hands traces it's way down your vertebrae bringing with it the chill of fear that you'd done it, you'd finally made Ben want to leave you, that he was fed up and he was gone for good.

You almost don't make it to the bathroom sink before you throw up the two glasses of wine you drank, the sour taste of bile and alcohol burning your throat as your hands tighten on the cool lip of the marble vanity. Sweat and tears streak down your red face as a shudder works it's way through your body.

You'd hoped that he'd be in bed, the thought was optimistic at best, but you knew that Ben couldn't go to bed without you. Even when you were up late painting Ben would always pull you away to come to bed, because he needed you there, he wanted you beside him as he drifted off, holding you close against his chest and molding his body around yours. When Ben went away for work and was gone for days, he always came back with dark circles under his eyes, and you knew he didn't sleep, because Ben couldn't sleep without you.

You could feel the ghost of his touch against your skin, causing more tears to crest and fall down your cheeks and another shudder shake your body.

You scramble to find your phone where you placed it on the counter beside you. The selfie of the two of you on your home screen pressed cheek to cheek almost mocking before you swipe your thumb frantically to find his contact. You hold it up to your ear listening to the line ring and each time it does, it's like another nail in the coffin, because Ben doesn't answer.

When the voicemail starts you're not really sure what to say.

"Hey it's me-" You clear your throat, but it does little to hide the sob. "I just got home and you're not here and I miss you." Your voice breaks. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that to you or made a big deal about it, please Ben just come home. I was being stupid and I don't want to live without-"

The message is cut off and you stand there with the phone pressed into your cheek for another minute, unable to put it down. You feel it crunch in your hand as you lose control, crying harder as you stand there in front of your vanity trying desperately not to feel like this is the end and Ben was never coming back.

The shower you take is longer than you intended, because you zone out halfway through and it's only when the water runs cold that you realize you need to get out. It's been over an hour since you got home, almost past one in the morning, but Ben still isn't there.

Instead of putting on one of your shirts you put on a pair of panties and you grab an oversized cotton shirt of Ben's that hangs mid-thigh, inhaling the familiar scent and trying to find some comfort, but all it does is remind you that he's gone and nothing compares to when he's here with you.

When you slide into bed, it's cold, and fear begins to trickle along your skin, fear that Ben was never coming back and the last thing you'd ever say to him was that you couldn't be with him and you wanted him to leave.

Something rough works it's way down your arm in a gentle motion, stirring you from sleep. One look at the alarm clock on your bedside table reveals that it's well past four in the morning. You didn't remember falling asleep all you remembered was crawling into bed and hugging Ben's pillow to your chest wishing that it was him.

You blink your eyes to adjust to the darkness, noticing a dark figure sitting on the edge of your side of the bed staring down at you. Ben's green eyes catch in the light that comes from the cracked bathroom door, flashing dark green in the mist of darkness that shrouds his body from the rest of the light. He's wearing the white button down shirt, but his suit coat and tie are missing. The first few buttons are unbuttoned and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing freckled skin. His hand is tracing it's way over your arm, the roughness of his palm against your skin familiar, warm and comforting.

"Ben?" Your voice is hoarse and broken, for a moment unsure if this is a dream and he's not really here.

He doesn't say anything.

"Ben!" You practically shout it this time and surge upwards out of the bed to wrap your arms around his body so tightly that you think you hear the cracking of bone, but you can't control yourself now. Not when he's warm and he's here, not when he came back despite what you yelled at him.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did.” Tears were streaking down your face where it’s buried against the smooth slope his neck, saturating his dress shirt. “ I don’t want to lose you over something stupid like that.” You pull back to cup his cheeks taking in a shaky breath as you lean your forehead against his, memorizing the familiar edges you love so much. Even as close as you were to him you wanted more, you always wanted more. “I love you, only you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone, more than I ever will love anyone. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry that I asked you to leave, I don’t want you to leave ever again. Whenever you’re not here it’s cold and colorless and I don’t want to live my life like that ever.” Your body shakes with sobs as you hold Ben tighter against you, afraid that he’ll vanish before your very eyes. “You and me together is enough for me. It’ll always be enough for me. We don’t have to-“

“It’s not enough for me.” Ben interrupts, his eyes not leaving your face. His expression is unreadable, the soft plains of his face sharpening in the moonlight that seeps through the bottom of the curtains of your shared bedroom.

“What?” You gasp and could feel your heart seize in your chest and your throat tighten in fear.

I can’t lose him, not again, not over a stupid argument that doesn’t mean anything when Ben means everything.

“This.” He clears his throat and gestures between the two of you. “Us being together like this, it’s not enough for me.”

It feels like you'd taken a bullet to the chest again, a sickening jolt back, and a sharp pain that follows as everything you know is stripped away. You're sure that you're about to break down into nothing, your heart crumbling in your hands as you try to hold it out to him and he turns away from you. Him saying those words to you made you feel like you had nothing left, because to know that you had him and lost him hurt more than knowing what it was like not to have him as completely as you had for the past five months.

"Ben please. I'm sorry I-" You sob, trying to cling to him, afraid to let him go, but he pulls away and stands up from the bed. "Don’t go please! Just tell me what I can do to make this right. Tell me how I can fix this." The words sound garbled as they exhale in one breath through tears and snot reaching for him frantically. "Please Ben I can't lose you-"

Ben takes your outstretched hand, gaze focused on your face. "Come on." He tugs gently, expecting you to follow him out of the bed.

"No, I want to talk about this. I don't want you to go!"

"Come on sweetheart." Ben encourages you quietly, tugging your hand once more, and this time you allow him to help you up from the bed.

You follow behind him, sobs shaking your shoulders because you're afraid Ben is taking you out to the living room to yell at you again, to tell you that he doesn't love you and you're going to find a packed bag.

But then Ben squeezes your hand to comfort you as you enter the living room and you stop dead in your tracks.

The entire room is covered in lavender, the kitchen counter, the coffee table in front of the plush leather couch, the large wooden table on the opposite side of the room that serves as your desk/workstation, and on the kitchen island broken up intermittently by candles that cast a soft honeyed light over the room. You gasp softly as Ben releases your hand, looking around the space with awe. You'd never seen so many bouquets of lavender in your entire life, each one sitting in a pretty glass vase, and in the center of the room stands one of your cherry wood colored easels holding the painting of Ben and you sitting on the bank of the pond.

You step closer to the painting, tracing the brush strokes with your eyes as you had earlier that night, reaching out to touch the edge, suddenly confused.

"Ben, what is this?" You turn to look at him, wiping the back of your hand across your face. You were sure that your eyes were puffy and that you were still covered in a layer of tears and snot, but you didn't care. Ben had seen you like this before and you were more worried about what was happening rather than how you looked.

You didn't understand what was happening, not when Ben came home so late and not when you had spent the entire night worried that he wasn't going to come back to you.

Ben is standing by the record player pushed up against the brick wall of your apartment that stands opposite your exhaustive collection of records and drops the needle. The song that begins to play is hauntingly familiar and you recognize it before Russ Columbo starts to sing.

"I can't forget the night I met you, That's all I'm dreaming of..."

It wasn't the first time that Ben and you had listened to this particular record, or danced together in the living room of your apartment in the quiet hours of the evening to "You Call It Madness, But I Call It Love." The song was filled with memories, some good, some bad that the two of you had shared over the years. The words heavy and familiar, the story much too similar to the one you shared with Ben.

A part of you is surprised that he chose to play it. You still didn't quite understand what was happening, you thought that Ben was breaking up with you, but this didn't feel like a ending.

"How did you get the painting? I sold it." You ask him.

"You made a promise to be faithful, By all the stars above…"

The song continues to play bringing memories of each time it did rising with the soft familiar swell of the music. A flash of you dancing for the first time with Ben flits across your mind bringing the usual warmth and happiness followed by the memory of your birthday when you danced together and it felt like no one else existed as if it were just the two of you left in a world where everyone else was gone.

"I know." Ben half-smiles. "I bought it."

"But why?"

"My heart is beating, For you constantly…"

He's still standing by the record player as if he's afraid to get closer to you. "Well, I've never bought any of your work and I wanted to be supportive." Ben shrugs. "And I didn't want someone else to have a piece of us Sweetheart, felt wrong."

"You're all I needed, And so I pleaded, Please come back to me…"

Your breath catches. It was the same thought you'd had when you were standing at the painting at the end of the night wishing that you hadn't sold it, wishing that you kept it for Ben and you.

"Look I-" Ben clears his throat. "I've- fuck- I’ve never had a way with words, you know that." He takes a cautionary step forward towards you as if he's afraid you'll run. "But I'm going to try my best here."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry."

"You made a plaything out of romance, What do you know of love…"

"Ben no, you don't have to apologize for anything." You close the distance between the two of you, taking his hands in yours to wash away any uncertainty Ben has about touching you. "It was me, it was all me and I shouldn't have said what I said and I shouldn’t have made you leave. I hate it when you leave. I-"

"Hey. Let me say this first." Ben's thumb rubs over the back of your hand, his eyes wide and an understanding smile on his face.

"At first, a slight suggestion, That grew to light my mind, Was the eternal question…"

"Okay." Your heart was stuttering in your chest, senses overwhelmed by the lavender that covered the room.

Ben looks down at your hands for a minute. "I'm sorry that I made you cry again. I hate it when you cry, especially when it's my fault. And I'm sorry that I made you think that I didn't want to marry you.” He almost whispers it and takes a deep breath. "When you asked me forty years ago if I wanted to marry anyone the only person that I could ever see myself marrying was you. Spending my life with you, waking up with you every morning, going to bed with you, and showing you how much you mean to me. And the truth is, it's all I've been thinking about since I got back, but I-" He swallows, still not looking up at you. "Fuck. I didn't think you'd say yes. "

"True love is hard to find…"

He wanted to marry me forty years ago?

Your eyes widen. "What? Why would you think that?”

Ben's green eyes flick up to yours for a moment, raising an eyebrow to remind you that he's trying to say something.

"Sorry." You murmur, tightening your hands around his.

"I don't deserve you, I never have. Fuck, it feels like my whole life I've been trying to earn you, but I never seem to come close." He sighs. "I've fucked up so many times and I've hurt people, killed others. I fucked up our friendship and I pushed you away, because I was-” Ben tighten his jaw as if it’s difficult to say the next words, “-Shit-" he murmurs the word under his breath before he continues, "scared to fail you and scared that I couldn't be what you wanted. I thought you deserved someone better, someone good, someone who wasn't such a fuck up like me, someone who you could love you the way that you deserve and I-" Ben swallows and takes another deep breath. "I spent my life chasing away everyone who tried because I hated the thought of you with someone else.”

"And in the day I found you, my love I had to share, I built my dreams around you…"

It hurt you to hear him say those things about himself, hurt you to see him still buckle under the pressure that his father put on his shoulders, and hurt you to see how little he thought of himself. Ben was one of the strongest people you knew, but even then you knew he needed you, and you'd spent your entire life making sure that you were there for him and you weren’t going to stop now.

"Somehow you made me care…"

"And yet every time I'm with you, you've never make it seem like I don't belong there. You don’t make me feel like a fuck up or a disappointment. You don’t turn your back on me or ignore the parts of me I tried to cover up for so long from everyone else. You see me, more than anyone has.” Ben murmurs, the smile on his face breaks something deep down inside of you and you can feel the tears begin to spill all over again. He traces a rough hand along the soft smooth edges of your face. Hands that had done painful over the years but were only gentle to you, hands that held you close, and treated you with love that only you were able to see. "You make me feel loved and I thought that I'd never have that, that I didn’t deserve it, but ever since I was eight years old you've forced yourself into my life and I can't imagine a world without you in it, I don't want to."

"Ben-" Your voice breaks with a sniffle, eyes brimming with fresh tears.

"Shh. I've still got a few more things." Ben smiles, brushing away a tear from your cheek. "You know my old man never gave me any advice that was worth a damn, but your dad did. He said that there's going to be a lot of women I run into and that most men pick from first glance the flashy ones that don’t last, the ones that aren't willing to stay for long, and the ones that care about all the wrong things. Your dad told me that I should pick someone that understands me better than I understand myself, someone who holds me accountable, someone that doesn't put up with any of my bullshit, someone to grow with, someone who loves me even if I believe they shouldn’t, and someone that makes me a better man." He chuckles under his breath. "And I knew exactly who he was talking about the minute he said it, because it's you sweetheart, it's always been you, from the moment you walked into that damn study and lied to my father about where I was."

"My heart is beating, For you constantly…"

The song is in full swing now, but you can barely hear it, all you can hear is Ben's steady heartbeat and yours beating together in tandem. The love you feel for him swelling in your chest with the music and with his words. You want so badly to pull him close and tell him how much you love him, how he's the only one, how he's everything you dreamed of, but you're trying not to interrupt him.

"Eighty years ago I made a mistake, I asked you to leave everything behind and come with me, because I couldn't lose you and because I couldn’t stand to see you with someone else. I didn't ask you to marry me, I didn't tell you how much you meant to me or that I loved you. I was selfish and I took advantage of our friendship. I strung you along all those fucking years, made you wait-"

"You didn’t take advantage of our friendship-“ You begin to say.

"Sweetheart please." He squeezes your hand and continues. "Forty years ago I made another mistake." He closes his eyes as if trying to forget for a moment, before he looks you in the eye once more. "I had everything I wanted for one night and then I fucking lost it. I treated you like you meant nothing to me. I threw you away. I said terrible things to push you away. I hurt you, and I will regret those things for the rest of my life, because it’s not true, you mean everything to me."

"You're all I needed, And so I pleaded, Please come back to me…"

You raise your free hand to his cheek. "I've forgiven you." You whisper and Ben leans into your hand.

"I know. And I don't deserve that, I don’t deserve you, I never have and I don’t think I ever will. You have meant more to me than anyone in my entire life. You are my family and my home. You have stood by me and loved me despite all the terrible shitty things I've done. You have seen me at my worst and you never left. Being your boyfriend isn’t enough for me. You being my girlfriend isn’t enough and frankly, it doesn’t feel like the right word for you not when you mean this much to me and not when you're the only person I need. So I'm asking you," Ben drops down on one knee, making your breath catch in your chest.

"Eighty years too late, to spend the rest of your life with me. Because I've spent the past forty without you and I don't want to spend another second regretting that I didn't do this eighty years ago. I'm asking you to chose me one more time, Sweetheart, and I promise that every day I will chose you every day for as long as I live. You said that you wanted to be my forever, well sweetheart, I can't imagine anything better." Ben swallows and reaches into his coat with his free hand, his right still holding on to yours, for a black suede box. "Will you marry me?"

You stand there for a moment stunned as he opens the box in his hand, gazing up at you like you're the sun as if you shone so brightly that the heavenly hosts bowed to your brilliance and he can't help but worship you. It's the same way that you saw the couple looking at each other the night Ben and you danced for the first time that continues to play in your silent apartment, bathed in the golden glow of candle light.

You gaze at Ben, eyes tracing the familiar face, seeing the old parts of him and the new ones that you'd come to love. You could see the boy you grew up with and the man he became, the same one you knew as a child and the man you fell in love with. The one who always put you first, who cared for you, protected you, and the one you thought you lost years ago.

The ring nestled in the black velvet is everything you imagined it to be. It's perfect, elegant, classic, it's you in every way, and it only proves to you again how well Ben knows you.

You could remember the day that Howard proposed, when all you felt was dread as he dropped to one knee in the dining room in front of your parents and revealed the ugliest piece of jewelry you’d ever seen, when he didn't make a grand gesture, didn’t profess his love to you, and didn’t make you feel special.

But Ben did. He always made you feel special, seen, loved, and appreciated. You refused to live another moment away from him and refused to deprive yourself of this indulgence, of him.

Ben had saved you more times than you could count and the day he took you away from Philadelphia was one of them. Away from a man who didn't love you, who didn't appreciate you, and who didn't think that you were worth more than a trophy to parade around a city.

You smile at the ring, tears glazing your eyes, because after all these years, you were right, Ben knew exactly the ring to get you and he knew exactly what to say to make everything else fade away into the past and have you hopeful for the coming future with him.

"Sweetheart?" Ben murmurs, looking suddenly worried and you realize that you haven’t given him an answer.

You look from the ring to the man you love with your entire being. "Took you long enough Benjamin."

Ben's smile makes you melt from the inside out. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes." You smile, vision blurring as Ben smiles even wider and puts the ring on your finger, before rising up from the ground to capture your lips against his as if he wishes for the two of you to fall in love all over again.

"There isn't anyone else Ben." You murmur against his lips. "There never has been and there never will be. All I want is you and me, forever."

Ben kisses you all over again, his hands holding you so tight against his chest that it’s almost painful, your own tangled in his hair, but you can't stop and you don't want him to either. Not when this was what you wished for, not when this was what you wanted for so long and you thought you'd never had, and not when you'd thought you'd lost him.

"Then I'll give it to you sweetheart." Ben presses his forehead against yours, his eyes shining. "I'll give you forever."

"And you call it madness, Oh but I call it love…"

A/n: I'm not crying... I lied, I am BIG time. Goodness, finishing this series is like saying goodbye to characters that feel like my children. Honestly, I can’t believe that we've finally all made it here, but here it is. There are so many people that I want to thank, too many to name, those who have been here from the beginning and those who came later, people who's constant comments, reblogs, and encouragements made me turn this story from one chapter into a multi-chapter fic. There are just so many wonderful people that I've interacted with on this site that made me want to continue writing and helped me find confidence in how I wrote and this fic is for them.

As always thank you so much for reading! This series will be continued in the form of some one-shots that I am plotting out currently and I have a lot of really cute ideas and some that are more angsty. Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for future fics in this universe. ❤️🥰

Taglist:

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