#i just hope we find a way to move past this

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x fem reader)

You had always been their sweetheart.

Soft, tender, and gentle- the heart of their home. The warmth in the spaces between them, the one they curled around after long days of violence, soothed by your touch and your voice, the way you cared for them without hesitation. No matter how much blood stained their hands, no matter what nightmares haunted their sleep, you were there. Unshaken. Unyielding in your love, hands gentle and soft as you cradled them close and warm.

So they had never needed to know about the things you kept buried.

The past you refused to unearth. The things you could do, the person you had been before them- before you had a home to call your own, before you had people who held you just as carefully as you held them.

They didn’t need to know, and you didn’t need to think about it.

Until they went missing.

You first learned something was wrong when John’s daily check-in didn’t come.

It had always been a habit of his, something he did without fail, no matter how far away he was. Just to let you know I’m breathing, love. That was what he had said, years ago, the first time he had explained it to you. You had teased him for it- What, you don’t trust me to not burn the house down?- but he had only smiled, voice steady and sure when he told you, I like knowing you’re safe.

It had never failed. Not once. Even when he himself could not text you, Lasswell herself assured you they were fine and merely had to be careful.

But now came the silence.

No messages. No calls. No updates.

You tried not to panic. They were on a mission, after all. Maybe something had gone wrong with their comms, or maybe they had been forced to go dark, and Lasswell was busy. It had happened before, and they had always come back to you, whole and alive, pressing their faces into your neck, murmuring apologies and reassurances.

But then a full week passed.

Then two.

And no one would tell you a thing and Lasswell wasn’t picking up, either.

You had tried- had called, had knocked on doors, had pushed until you were met with polite deflections and stone-cold refusals.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that information is classified.”

“There’s nothing we can share at this time.”

“We appreciate your patience.”

Patience.

As if you would sit here, helpless, and just wait. Hopeless, and helpless, and unable to do a single thing to help then.

No. No, you had done that before. You had waited before. And it had cost you everything.

You weren’t that girl anymore. You weren’t a victim of circumstance, hoping for scraps of kindness, praying for someone to do right by you.

If no one would help, you would do it yourself; because they were yours, and they were the best thing that have ever happened to you, and you weren’t going to lose them.

Tracking them down was easier than you expected.

You had spent years curating the image of someone soft and harmless, someone not worth keeping secrets from. And people loved to talk. Especially when they thought you were just a grieving, desperate woman trying to find a lost fiancé and his friends.

All it had taken was a few well-placed words, a few tearful looks, and doors had opened.

It had taken only days to pinpoint their last known location, then. After you’d hunted down Laswell, and had her help you. Though you were glad to see that she was working to find out where they were, as well, and merely lacked the manpower because of some general named Shepherd.

You filed the name away for later thoughts.

A warlord with connections to arms smuggling in Eastern Europe. An old base, abandoned by one regime and taken over by another. And your men had been sent in to dismantle it.

But they hadn’t come back. MIA, the reports said.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t care for those three letters. You moved.

You gathered supplies, mapped out your route, planned your approach with the precision of someone who had done it before. You emptied old caches, dusted off weapons you hadn’t touched in years, and set off.

The infiltration was clean; a single shadow among many, slipping between patrols, cutting down obstacles with silent, brutal efficiency. Years it may have been, you hadn’t gotten as rusty as you’d feared you’d be.

You had never been squeamish. You had learned long ago that softness had no place in survival- but it could thrive and bloom in the aftermath, a stubborn weed that eventually makes way for a full bouquet.

But this was different.

This was fury burning in your blood as you carved a path forward, every movement precise- you couldn’t afford any less.

You didn’t stop, no matter what.

Not until you found them at last, and your heart ached something fierce abd sharp in your chest.

Caged. Beaten. Bound but not broken- and drugged.

I should have been more rough, you mourn for a split second. An easy death was more mercy than what was deserved.

John’s head lifted first, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Love-?”

Then Simon, bloodied but breathing, his body sluggish with whatever chemicals they had pumped into him. Every part of him was covered in blood and cuts.

Johnny’s voice, then, hoarse and raw, full of disbelief and worry. “No. No, you’re not- this insnae real-“

And Kyle, whose breath hitched as you knelt beside him, gentle fingers brushing against his bruised face.

They thought they were dreaming; they thought you weren’t real.

And maybe that was a… mercy.

Because if they had been clear-headed, if they had seen what you had done to get here, if they had watched the way you had cut down anyone in your path with merciless efficiency-

They would have looked at you differently.

And you couldn’t bear that. To have their illusion of your gentleness shattered like that…

So you played along.

Whispered reassurances, pressed kisses to sweat-damp foreheads, untied their bindings with careful hands. You coaxed them to move, guided them through the corridors you’d emptied, wiped away the blood that dripped from their skinz

And when they sagged against you, too dazed to fight, too lost in the haze of their drugged delirium, you held them-

Kept them safe, and brought them home.

Later, they woke in a hospital, clean and stitched and safe.

You were already there, fussing over them, your voice soft and sweet, your fingers gentle as you pressed cool cloths to fever-warm skin, brushed stray curls from foreheads, adjusted pillows and blankets with quiet determination. Dressed in something white and pink, the colors of innocence, nails cleaned of blood even if your hands will never be truly clean.

You looked the same as ever.

Pretty and delicate, their lovely girl, their tender-hearted sweetheart.

And for all that had happened, all that they had suffered, all that you had done-

They never suspected a single thing, and you didn’t tell them; didn’t tell them that there had been no extraction team. That there had been no grand military rescue- not even from the the same military that had abandoned them.

(His name was General Shepherd. You will not forget it- you’d need to carve his name on the bullet you’ll save just for him, after all.)

That it had been you.

Only you.

Only Laswell knew the truth, and she would keep your secret because she understood what it meant to protect the people you loved.

And if you had to carry this weight alone to keep them from ever looking at you like you were something other-

So be it.

You sat beside John, pressing a kiss to his temple as his fingers curled weakly around yours.

You smiled at Simon when his hand brushed against your knee, seeking reassurance, seeking you, his eyes tired.

You let Johnny hold you, his arms tight around your waist as he mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder, still half-lost in the remnants of the drugs.

And when Kyle murmured: “At leas’ you’re safe, pretty.” His voice thick with sleep-

You just smiled and ran your fingers carefully through his hair, and held them the way you always had.

And pretended that everything was exactly the same.

[waynes-multiverse]

Lover – Part 1

Series Summary: Free from his past, Ben’s trying to move on and find a little drop of happiness in this new world. But when he finally holds everything he ever wanted in his hands, it threatens to slip through the cracks, and he has to fight one final time with everything he’s got to keep it.

🫡 Catch up here! Sequel to Rehab & Video Games.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female!Reader

Warnings: 18+ due to language & mature themes, established relationship, Soldier Boy x wife!reader, angst, discussions of divorce, Dad!Soldier Boy, human!Soldier Boy, SB trying to be an ally (trust me it's a warning lol), fluff, (the beginnings of) smut

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: Sid and Nancy are back to finally get their happy end for Valentine's 💕 The road might be a little bumpy until then, but we'll get there 😉

Disclaimer: This is a sequel story. The reader and Soldier Boy met at a rehab facility in 2025 after both being cured of Compound V. Reader became a supe again at the end of the series and is still currently a supe with acidic powers. Seriously guys, catch up with the links above. I can't explain everything... 😝

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 1: Lovelorn

The crystalline water of the small lake is peaceful, a calm Ben appreciates as he sits on the dock, his bow legs hanging down and feet almost touching the perfectly still surface. But underneath the serenity roars a thundering storm, his mind reeling like the fishing pole in his grasp without an end in sight.

“Fuck that! Fuck all of that shit, Y/N! I fucking love you. I’m sick and tired of those games. How many fucking times do I have to tell you that I miss you, huh? I don’t wanna do this anymore. I don’t wanna call you and hope you have time to pick up. I don’t wanna text you and wait hours for a fucking answer. I don’t wanna fuck you through a dumbass screen. I miss you. I miss my wife. I miss actual goddamn sex, for fuck’s sake!”

“I know. I miss all of that, too. Maybe it’s time. Maybe we should finally talk about it.”

“Talk about what?”

“Divorce.”

Remembering the word brings forth another surge of paralyzing anger. His jaw clenches, the grip around the pole tightening. He’s sure even the fish can feel his fury since they refuse to bite this evening. A flicker of sunlight that reflects on the water’s surface then hits his green eyes, flashes of the haunting night flowing freely into his mind.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You wanna fucking divorce me?!”

“Ben, just listen–“

“No, you fucking listen! You’re my fucking wife, and you’re not fucking leaving me! You understand? Till death do us part, sweetheart, and I fucking mean it.”

Ben’s heart twinges at the memory. He recalls how she startled at his threat, not knowing he regretted those words as soon as he said them. He remembers how her breath halted, how her hands jittered, and how the tears brimmed in her eyes.

“Ben, I just want you to be happy. You’re supposed to have a family. Everything you ever wanted…”

“So were you. You’re supposed to be fucking here. With me. And the kid. We’re supposed to do this fucking thing together. Remember?”

“But I can’t!”

“Can’t or don’t fucking want to, huh?”

“Ben, I don’t wanna keep you trapped. This way, you can find someone new. Someone who can give you want you want.”

“You don’t fucking get it, do you? No one can give me want I fucking want but you. I wanna fucking be with you!”

“Ben…”

“No, you know what? You wanna fucking leave me like all the others, go fucking right ahead!”

“Ben–“

“You want me to fuck someone else so badly? Be fucking happy? Fucking fine! Consider your wish granted, wifey. Guess, I’m going out tonight and fuck some other slut. Who knows, maybe I’ll fucking knock her up, too! Get a real fucking kid…”

“Ben!”

“Fuck you, my love!”

Ben doesn’t even remember if he hung up before he flung the phone against wall. All he knows is that he had to get a new one the next morning.

And moreover, he did go out that very same night. He called the neighbor, Mrs. Brooks – a fine, older widow in her 70s – and asked her to keep an eye on the kid while he went to the local watering hole. She was the kid’s usual babysitter and very fond of both him and the little slugger. She was also constantly flirting with him. It was only too bad Ben couldn’t get her pregnant…

At the bar, he then met Cynthia – a petite redhead with a huge rack, a perfectly shaped ass, and ideal child-bearing hips in a tight, glittery, emerald dress. It shone like a neon sign.

He bought her three drinks, and she constantly touched his arm as he whispered dirty things into her ear. He could’ve easily persuaded her to come to the dingy pub’s bathroom with him, where he’d rail her from behind till she saw fucking stars and was dripping his cum. But the scrape of her nails against his skin caused him to shudder over and over again – not in the good way – and he cursed himself for fucking missing his wife. He also remembered how shitty he'd felt the last time he had executed similar revenge plans…

This wouldn’t do, so he ditched the floozy there on the spot and returned to an empty house, angrier and more frustrated than before.

Ben fucking hates everything and everyone.

“Dad, look! I got it on by myself,” his six-year-old announces and holds up both hook and worm with a proud and wide grin to show him.

Ben forces a smile to his lips. “Good job, buddy.”

He tries his best to hide his envenomed mood from his son. He recalls how he always hated it when his own father took his personal shit out on him. Ben vows to do better, although the focus should really be on the term trying.

He fails more often than not.

Another regret of that night trickles into his mind then, one that haunts and tortures him more than the other hateful things he’s spewed.

“Who knows, maybe I’ll fucking knock her up, too! Get a real fucking kid…”

Sure, in the beginning, Ben thought he’d never really view the kid as his own flesh and blood, but he would’ve gone along with it for her. Y/N once called them a family of misfits – forgotten and lost souls cast out by the rest of society. But they’d always have each other and that was what counted.

Where the fuck is she now, though?

When she didn’t come with them to start their new life, Ben pretty much wrote the whole ‘found family’ bullshit off as a lost cause. He’d never get along with the kid, he was constantly frustrated by the little rascal’s shenanigans and outbursts, all the while his long-distance wife urged him to be patient over a fucking phone.

Ben’s felt fucking alone most days.

However, with a firm hand, a level head, and some old-school discipline, Ben’s managed the impossible and set the kid on the right track. Now, little Ben’s staying out of playground trouble, being nice to his teachers, and getting straight-As.

Alright, fine…

Out of sheer boredom and not because he was desperate, Ben might have read those stupid parenting books Y/N got him for Christmas: The Gentle Parenting Book, Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child, and Parenting from the Inside Out.

Bunch of sissy bullshit if you ask Ben. He wanted a fucking Rolex under the tree and not coded messages wrapped in nice paper. And moreover, he’ll never admit that hogwash has actually helped, even if the Russians take him and torture him for another forty years.

It’s been a fucking struggle, but the boy’s grown on him. And in all honesty, the kid probably resembles him more than the firstborn who shares his bloodline. Sometimes, Ben even (quietly) thinks it’s a fucking good thing the kid doesn’t have an ounce of his DNA.

So, now they go camping and fishing together. They go to the bowling alley, the arcade, and to local high school football games. Ben tries to teach the boy what he knows (to the best of his abilities). And a few weeks ago, the kid suddenly started to call him the D-word. Y/N, on the other hand, has received the M-word pretty instantly – and she’s a fucking great mother, even from afar.

And at first, Ben surely considered it fucking weird since the kid isn’t really his, but, well, the word’s grown on him as much as the boy himself.

Ben still feels fucking guilty for even merely suggesting he wasn’t his real son – because he is, and he hopes the kid never finds out he ever uttered those words in the first place.

The former supe sighs internally. What has she fucking done to him? He wouldn’t mind the change as much if he got to keep the reward…

His mind flickers with a glimmer of an idea when the fading sunlight hits the shimmering veil again. The solution to everything, one little blue vial, is hidden right underneath the wooden floorboards of his bedroom. He’s thought about it a lot.

He could be with her. She wouldn’t have to be scared to hurt him. He could be someone again. Nothing could break him anymore.

Sometimes, that shit was harder to quit than fucking drugs. No wonder they needed a whole-ass rehab for it.

Ben’s keeping it for emergencies, though. In case he needs to protect her – or his family, his kid. In case that Neuman cunt turns on her because he surely doesn’t trust that booger-brain bitch. He keeps it in case he feels weak.

He also keeps a vial of the cure in case she changes her mind and takes it after all. But sometimes he’s scared to ask or push too hard because it very likely would kill her, and he couldn’t fucking live with that.

Because of what? Because he’s being a whiny pussy who wants to risk his wife’s life over a fucking kiss? A fuck?

It sounds insane. He doesn’t want this.

She’s more than his wife, too. She’s his fucking best friend and the only one he’s ever had. Maybe that’s why it hurts so fucking much. How could she even think for a second he’d rather fucking leave and do this with some fucking stranger?

Doesn’t she believe he’s changed? Not even her? Who else is there, then?

“Dad?” His son blinks at him with that look he can’t say no to. Why the fuck are children always doing that? “Can we order pizza? I don’t think the fish are biting.”

“I think you’re right. And hey, I can always go for pizza. Great idea, buddy,” Ben says and can see the kid brighten up at his words. He’d always wanted his father to call him “buddy” or “slugger” – or something other than a fucking disappointment.

What about the kid? pops into his mind. If he takes Compound V again, what happens to his son? What if he becomes one of the monsters Ben’s trying to protect him from? He knows all too well how that shit fucked with his mind the first time around. It’s not as easy.

“Hey.”

Ben’s heart stills like the water in front of him as the soft melody of her voice reaches his ears. He presses his eyes shut as the kid ditches his fishing pole on the dock and dives straight into her waiting arms.

“Mommy!”

“Hey, buddy, I missed you.” She smiles and tousles his hair, but her eyes drift to the far end of the dock where her husband still sits and doesn’t bother to even face her. “I got a surprise for you inside in the kitchen, Benny. You wanna go run ahead and check it out? Your dad and I will join you soon.”

“Cool! Awesome! See ya!”

Their son bolts so fast toward the house, Y/N’s surprised he doesn’t stumble in the grass once. She then lets out a sigh when her attention turns back to her sulking husband.

“You’re gonna acknowledge me at all or just ignore me for the rest of your life?” she prompts, a bit of venom on her tongue.

Yes, she knows her words hurt him, even though they were said with the best intentions. She knows she’s failing as a wife and mother. She knows they both deserve better. She just wanted him to have the option.

However, she can’t say his words haven’t hurt her, too. And it hurt even more when he ignored her for two weeks straight, kept her from their son, and never returned any of her calls or messages.

She knows Ben’s a big man-child, though. Rehab didn’t entirely fix that.

“Not sure yet,” he finally answers but still doesn’t even gift her a glance over his broad and brooding shoulder.

“Oh, it speaks.” She can’t help the bits of sarcasm but is aware she has to tread carefully now. “You’ve been ignoring me for two weeks.”

“Don’t have much to fucking say to you…” Ben grabs a bottle of beer from the cooler next to him, twists it open, and occupies his mouth with a gulp before he says something else he regrets. “‘Sides, my phone broke. Got a new one.”

“Something you usually tell your wife,” she mutters bitterly under her breath.

“Yeah, but not you’re fucking ex-wife,” he retorts.

“We’re still married.”

“Does it fucking matter?” Ben counters and takes another sip.

“I hope it does,” she mumbles and sighs once more, pocketing her hands in her jacket. It’s gotten cold outside – much like their marriage. “Guess that means you haven’t seen my press conference this morning?”

“Nope. Don’t fucking care,” Ben scoffs. He sounds more than a little bitter before his raspy voice ramps up with pettiness. “Already got a new piece of ass. Better fuck than you ever were. Sorry, doll.”

Y/N purses her lips, her head bobbing when he throws the dagger that aims for her heart. He could’ve still been Soldier Boy, and she would’ve believed him. And somehow, she isn’t surprised by his reaction, which really is the sad part. Her heart floods with hurt; her mind berates him and calls him every goddamn name in the book she’s ever learned from him.

Broken promises – that is the theme of their marriage.

Instead of pouring oil into the fire, however, she decides to stay calm. They’ve been through so much together. She’s already forgiven him once, she can do it again.

No one’s perfect. Not her. Not him. Especially him.

“I resigned this morning.”

Yup. Ben feels immediate regret for the lie he’s told.

He’s so stumped by her words, his head finally twists over his shoulder with wide eyes and a raised brow. Their gazes meet for the first time, and Ben is reminded why he had avoided eye contact.

She is breathtakingly beautiful.

“Look, uhm… I know this is my fault,” she starts and swallows thickly. Her eyes are so focused on the tips of her boots, she doesn’t even notice he has gotten up from his spot and is strolling closer to her. “I shouldn’t have said it. Not over the phone, not like this. I don’t wanna divorce you, okay? I don’t wanna fucking leave you. I love you, even when you drive me nuts, which you do quite a lot… But the point is – I want this with you. I’ve always wanted this with you… I’ve been working really hard to control my powers and doing meditations, and Vicky even got me a trainer… I want this to work, ok–“

She’s cut off by his lips on hers. His massive hands cup her entire face and hold her so close to him, she’s not sure they’re not melting into one person altogether. He kisses her so deeply as if he hasn’t done it in ages, which he hasn’t.

And sure, surprising her is probably not the smartest idea, considering she could accidentally kill him. But he’s always lived for a good adrenaline rush.

“Ben!” she gasps, eyes wide. But she doesn’t pull away like she usually does. She even keeps her palms placed on his beating heart. She giggles a little at his eagerness and is positively baffled by his reaction. It patches the wounds on her heart a bit.

“I fucking lied, okay? It’s not true. I didn’t-… There’s no one else, alright?” he assures her quickly, thumb brushing her glowing cheeks. “You believe me?”

He’s almost nervous that she won’t. He can’t even blame her, considering his track record. But to his relief, her lips rise to a soft smile.

“I do,” she replies, causing his heart to downright soar. “Don’t ask me why, because I have no fucking idea, but I do.”

Ben smacks his lips. There’s more weighing on his crumpled, old, and heavy heart. “Look, I’m sorry for what I said that night too, alright? I would never hurt you, I swear.”

She nods in his hands. “I know. Don’t worry, okay? Sometimes we say things we don’t mean. Doesn’t make them true. You know I’m kinda the queen of that,” she says and offers him a wry smile.

Ben then pulls her to his lips and kisses her – feverishly and fervently. This time, he even dares to slip his tongue inside her mouth, his hands graciously exploring her curves that mold perfectly to his frame. When he generously palms and squeezes her buttcheeks, she breaks from the kiss with a laugh.

“Slow down, Casanova,” she says, giggling, her cheeks blushing and hurting furiously. “Take it easy on me, alright? Baby steps.”

“Not even a little sorry.” He chuckles quite cheekily and reluctantly lets her go but stays close. “So, you quit? What about the deal? What did the bitch say?”

“Well, good things happen when you’re nice to people and actually make friends,” she says with a mischievous smile that’s supposed to hide the lecture. But Ben knows there’s one somewhere in there. “Vicky just wants me to be happy, so she reluctantly let me go because I’m still an awesome Chief of Staff. And granted, she doesn’t necessarily understand why my happiness includes you, but she’s a great friend, so…”

Ben frowns slightly at her words but tries not to take too much offense. His wife is here, and that’s all that counts. But: Fuck that cock-juggling thunder cunt…

“You’re staying? For good now?” he checks, not trusting the peace entirely. When could he ever?

“I’m staying for good,” she confirms, smiling brightly. “Unless you don’t want me t–“

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” He kisses her faster than her mouth can move, hot and rough. As he slowly draws back, his nose brushes hers, and he looks deeply into her eyes. “I’m gonna show you how much I want you tonight.”

“Ben, I told you – baby steps,” she reminds him gently but still giggles when he continues to tease her, beard tickling the spot behind her ear.

“I promise I steer clear of the home runs, but I will make it to third base, my love,” he all but swears and places a wet kiss on her forehead. “Now, let’s get inside before the kid burns the house down…”

Y/N laughs as she takes his hand, sauntering back to their home together as the sun sets behind them.

“Mom, you wanna come to a football game with us tonight?” her son asks as he eagerly shuffles his breakfast into his mouth.

The boy hasn’t left her side since she’s come home last night, even sneaking into their bed to cuddle with her – a little to Ben’s chagrin. But after a few scolding looks from his wife, he relented to sharing the attention.

She swears she has two children sometimes…

“Yeah, I’d love to,” she agrees with a wide smile. Little things like that are all she’s ever wanted.

Ben can tell she’s moved because there are tears stinging her eyes again. He thinks they might be a permanent addition at this point, considering they haven’t disappeared since she came home.

“Just a heads up, though, the football coach is a twink,” Ben informs her and actually believes it’s helpful.

Y/N furrows her brow and tilts her head. “Ben, what–“

“Look, I don’t mean any offense by it. The guy’s… alright,” Ben says and clearly struggles to get the words out. “His plays are good. I even think he can get the team to state this year.”

“Wow, high praise,” she comments and hides an amused smile behind her coffee mug. It might not seem like much, but it’s the most acceptance he’s ever shown someone from the LGBTQ community.

“Oh, yeah, I’m a full ally now.” He grins broadly. “Even the lesbians said so.”

“What lesbians?”

“Alec’s parents,” he replies as if it’s obvious, referring to their son’s best friend in school.

“You never said they were lesbians,” she points out, the wrinkles on her brow deepening.

“Sure, I did.”

“No, you said Alec’s parents were a ‘hot blonde’ and some ‘burly dude.’”

“Yeah.” He shrugs simply. “And the burly dude turned out to be a woman. Took me a while to realize, though. Was hard to find boobs under that flannel…”

“Alright, and I think that is enough grown-up talk around the kid for now,” she says, shaking her head in amusement.

“I don’t mind,” Benny quips from his chair and grins slyly at his parents.

“Uh-huh, keep eating your breakfast,” she says and ruffles his hair as she gets up from her seat by the island next to him.

They spend the whole day together, taking Benny to the batting cage at the park and the food court at the mall before attending a high school football game. As they return home late that night, the kid is so exhausted he falls right into his bed and passes out, and Ben hopes to God he goddamn stays there for the rest of the night.

He has great plans for his wife tonight.

“Alone at last,” Y/N says as she slings her arms around his neck and kisses him deeply as she sways in his embrace in the living room, his large hands resting perfeclty on her hips.

“You can say that again,” Ben huffs, but there’s amusement in his voice.

“Still want ten kids?” she teases. His brow raises comically at her words, making her giggle.

“Maybe three are enough,” he admits. Before, he never thought kids could be that much work. He also thought he wouldn’t be as involved in… well, raising them. “Or two. Maybe just one more…”

She laughs, throwing her head back. “Yeah, two sounds nice.”

“Wanna get working on one right now?” Ben suggests with his best flirty smile and a wag of his brows but can quickly see her reluctance and cups her cheeks, lifting her gaze to him. “We’ll go as slow as you need to, alright? But I believe in you. I know you got this shit under control.”

For a heartbeat, she licks her lips in contemplation, and Ben already thinks it’s a lost cause, but then she actually nods.

“Okay,” she agrees and stretches on tiptoes to tentatively catch his upper lip between her soft, plush pillows. Her fingers crawl up his jaw, card through his beard. “But you’re gonna have to let me be in control if you don’t want me to kill you.”

Ben only entertains it with a cheeky smile. “Well, might be fun for a change,” he says and lifts her back to his lips with a finger under her chin.

He takes her hand and leads her to the bedroom. He only turns on the small lamp by his bedside before his ravening eyes turn their full attention back to her. He marvels at her beauty in the soft, warm glow for a moment before lifting the t-shirt over her head and tossing it aside.

He kisses down the column of her throat, teeth biting skin and soothing it with his tongue as he works his way inside her bra. A hunger is spreading inside of him at her taste, her smell, her noises. He tries to tame it as best as he can on her behalf, but it’s fucking hard. He’s fucking hard.

She hums, moans the further he travels, the rougher he gets as he devours every free inch of her body. He tests the waters, sees where he can bite. Her skin is more durable now. Ben still remembers the feeling – the numbness.

Her fingers jitter nervously as they fumble with his belt buckle and zipper. Ben thinks it’s cute. He’s never seen her like this before. He’s almost sad he doesn’t have super-hearing anymore to listen to the wild beats of her heart.

But he wouldn’t trade what he’s feeling right now for the world. He has almost forgotten what it all felt like before the blue poison made him so indifferent and callous. He never thought he’d wish her to be human. And not out of petty, jealousy, or selfishness – out of love.

Ben wants her to feel exactly what he feels and knows she fucking can’t right now.

The rest of their clothes land in a pile on the floor as they peel off each item, carefully working their way to bare skin. Ben’s fingers almost twitch from holding back – he’d love to tear and rip it all off. Baby steps.

When she’s left only in a pair of delicate lace panties, she gently pushes against his chest, forcing him to sit down on the edge of the bed.

Ben can’t lie and say he isn’t a little nervous, too, rubbing his palms along his thick thighs in anticipation. She’s stronger than him now, which makes his heart flutter slightly. He feels a bit like he’s playing with matches, trying to set himself on fire.

Was this how his human lovers always felt when he was still Soldier Boy?

Little scary…

She straddles his thighs and takes a seat in his lap, teeth biting her bottom lip back and hiding half of the smile that graces her lips. Her hips rock against the achingly straining bulge in his boxers.

Ben’s been as hard as tungsten since she’s kissed him last night. Forty years imprisonment haven’t cost him this much restraint as one year without touching his wife, who was practically right underneath his nose the whole time. He figures it was the sheer temptation that constantly triggered his need for her. The Russians never were that fucking pretty.

She sucks the skin on his throat purple and blue and leaves bite marks behind. Ben knows she loves staking her claim on him, and he always enjoys inspecting her little art projects in the mornings. He’s gladly hers as much as she is his.

His massive hands wander her curves, squeeze taut flesh and perfectly frame her perky tits. Her skin feels smooth and soft and warm, hot even. Too hot…

“You’re hot,” he murmurs breathlessly against her lips.

She doesn’t understand what he means and smiles, although her brow furrows slightly as if she found the question at least a little odd. He was usually more direct, more racy. “Thank you. So are you?”

She tries to kiss him again, but he pulls back, his hands grabbing her upper arms and holding her at a distant as he inspects her closely. His brow knits deeper and deeper as he cups her scorching cheeks before his palm slides to her forehead.

“No…” He shakes his head, worry stirring his blood. His heartbeat accelerates, but not for the purpose he expected it to. “You’re burning up.”

As Ben looks closer at her face, he sees how pale she is, how hazy her eyes are. He worries more.

“I do feel a little warm, I guess,” she admits and then forces a weak smile. He could’ve almost mistaken it for lust. “But I’m fine, okay? Probably just nerves.”

Ben would love nothing more than to believe that, but he can’t. Something’s wrong. But it’s his job as her husband to not make her worry and take care of her.

“How about we postpone this to tomorrow, huh, my love?” Ben suggests and gently cards his hands through her hair.

“You sure?” She is surprised, considering how adamant and persistent he’s been to get her here. But she honestly feels too exhausted to argue for long.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says and lovingly pecks her temple. “Just get some rest, okay? It’s been a lot for you those past two days.”

Ben helps her gently into bed, ensures the blanket covers her thoroughly, and places a goodnight kiss to her hairline. She’s fast asleep by the time he leaves the bedroom.

His smile fades, though, once he’s out of view. He knows better than anyone Y/N shouldn’t be feeling sick. She’s a supe, so he knows something is off – and it’s more than nerves and exhaustion.

And then, fear sets in.

Part 2: Lovesick

*coughs a little angst* We might have a teeny-tiny virus going around... 👀

What did you guys think of this part? Did you expect him to postpone sexy times? Someone finally give that man his fucking Rolex for those heroics 😂🫶

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[slytherin-pen]

To Build A Home

pairing: Lucien x Nesta

word count: 1.2k

a/n: okayyy, you guys win. i stuck with Lucnes. written for day 4 “moving in” of @sjmromanceweek . i hope you enjoy the tooth rotting fluff

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The house was nestled at the edge of a rolling green meadow, where tall grass swayed in the breeze and the scent of roses and daffodils drifted through the air. It was on the smaller side with only three bedrooms but it was big enough for them, with cobblestone walls, ivy creeping up its sides, and wide windows that let in an abundance of sunlight.

Lucien stood beside Nesta on the dirt path leading to the white front door. “It’s ours,” he murmured.

Nesta glanced up at him, catching the moisture gathering in his eyes. “Ours,” she confirmed.

For so long, they had lived in houses. Houses riddled with abuse or poverty. Houses that belonged to someone else, somewhere they couldn’t be entirely themselves. But this? This was theirs to shape. No masks, no need to have their guards up.

Lucien exhaled, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips as he reached for her hand, squeezing once before he intertwined their fingers. “Shall we?”

Nesta nodded, and together, they stepped inside.

The house smelled of dust and a faint hint of jasmine, the wood floors creaked under their boots. Tamlin had gifted them the house as a gesture of gratitude, but it had been Lucien who had scoured the lands to find this specific place—a home that wasn’t tangled in painful memories, wasn’t a palace suffocating under the weight of expectations.

They had moved only a few of their things so far. Stacks of books were scattered around, boxes shoved in the corners, and furniture still waiting to be put in its proper place.

Nesta crossed her arms and tapped her fingers against her bicep. “We should start with the library.”

Lucien raised a brow. “Not the kitchen?”

She shot him a dry look, but he only grinned.

“I mean,” he continued, brushing past her to inspect the wooden shelves above the counters, “you strike me as someone who wouldn’t want to wake up tomorrow and realize there’s no tea.”

Nesta pursed her lips. “Fair point.”

They spent the afternoon unpacking, Nesta methodically organizing the kitchen while Lucien took a more haphazard approach, distracted by the discovery of little details about their home. How the late afternoon sun hit the kitchen windows just right, the small carved designs in the wooden support beams, the way the doors groaned slightly—as if the house itself was stretching awake.

When he found the tin of her favorite tea, he placed it on the counter next to the kettle, just as Nesta put his preferred spices in the cupboard next to the stove. They worked in quiet harmony, almost like it was a dance they’d practiced hundreds of times.

The next day, after they had unpacked the necessities, they started on the office that contained various reports and books sent by Tamlin.

Nesta hadn’t expected to take such an active role in rebuilding Spring, but when Lucien started sifting through plans and budgets, she had inevitably found herself seated beside him, pouring over figures and blueprints.

Tamlin had given him free rein to rebuild as he saw fit, and Lucien, for all his easy charm, had a sharp mind when it came to politics and structure.

“You’re missing an opportunity here,” Nesta said one evening, pointing to a line in the budget. “The Summer Court is also rebuilding after the war, and I’m sure High Lord Tarquin would be open to some compromises. Allow them to receive a discount on wine, game, and vegetables, and in turn, they can give us discounts on seafood, spices, and tropical fruits. That would allow you to redirect more revenue to the construction fund.“

Lucien leaned over her shoulder, studying the figures. His breath brushed her cheek, but Nesta didn’t move away.

“You’re a terrifyingly efficient female,” he mused.

She smirked. “You’re welcome.”

He grinned, but there was something softer beneath it, something grateful. Nesta wasn’t just helping him—she was invested in this. In their future here.

Nesta was also helping arrange donation drives for clothes, and household supplies, and had plans for charity balls in the future. She spoke with displaced families and workers who lost their jobs due to the building being destroyed or the employers too broke to pay wages. She hosted meetings in the villages, brainstorming with the citizens about how they could get things running again in a way that was manageable for everyone.

Lucien had always known Nesta was brilliant and clever, but watching her work never ceased to amaze him at just how well she could find a solution when the odds seemed impossible. She wasn’t just here because of him. She was here because she wanted to be. Because she cared. Just like when she demanded the human queens offer sanctuary to the very people who had cast her family out for being poor before the war with Hybern.

They found a rhythm in their days, falling into something that felt natural—waking up early, Nesta making tea while Lucien drafted documents for potential alliances, afternoons spent at council meetings or overseeing construction, evenings spent sprawled in their barely furnished living room, reading by the fireplace.

Nesta had claimed one of the armchairs as her own, curling up with a book as Lucien sat on the floor in front of her, one leg bent while he idly massaged her foot with one hand.

The magically lit fire, courtesy of Lucien, cast a warm glow over the room, their shadows reflected on the walls. Nesta had found a book on Spring Court history, hoping to find more ideas on how to restore the court to its former glory.

“You’re not listening,” Nesta accused, though there was no bite to it.

Lucien cracked open an eye. “I was resting my eyes while you told me the riveting history of—what was it again?”

Nesta huffed, snapping the book shut. “You are insufferable.”

Lucien grinned. “And yet, you love me anyway.”

Nesta stilled. He hadn’t said it with the expectation of a confession, hadn’t said it like he was waiting for something in return. He just knew. The ways Nesta Archeron showed her love was quiet and through actions. And she had done so—in the way she meticulously organized his paperwork, in the way she followed him around the court listening to every word as he explained the culture as if it was the most riveting thing she’d ever heard.

Eventually, she murmured, “Unfortunately,” as she reached down, running her fingers through his hair.

Lucien let out a satisfied sigh, closing his eyes again.

Home. This was what it felt like.

One evening, Lucien found her outside, standing by the river that bordered their land. Fireflies danced above the shrubbery, the stars just beginning to peek through the deepening sky.

Without a word, he slipped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Nesta let herself lean back against him.

For a long moment, they stood in silence, listening to the sounds of nature, the gentle ripple of water, the distant hoot of an owl.

“I’m afraid,” she admitted softly. “Afraid this all just a dream.”

Lucien pressed a lingering kiss to her shoulder. “It’s real.”

She turned in his arms, looking up at him. “Promise?”

Lucien cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “I promise.”

taglist (comment to join!): @tele86

[soulventure91]

#ockiss25, prompt 4 - 'reunion'; featuring Seht Thorne

-

Months. Months of Emmrich searching and the others coordinating. Lucanis could barely dare to hope that there would be results, even with Spite clawing in an anxious frenzy.

[Find! Rook!] the demon demanded, a regular refrain that was the only thing that kept Lucanis moving, or at least attempting to do so. After dealing with Zara and Illario, Rook - Seht - was the only person Lucanis could find something that felt like normalcy.

And yet each time his eyes got too heavy to stay open Lucanis saw the vivid flash of the Fade opening, Solas emerging in the space that had only a moment before contained Seht leaning over him, her night-blue eyes fixed on him but also distant. And then she was gone, her salted-apple scent absent for the first time in months.

"Lucanis - you stand here, please," Emmrich requested, drawing Lucanis out of the twisting agony of memory and regret surrounding Seht's absence. "You and Spite will be the contact point once I begin the ritual; I believe this particular vergence in the Fade is exactly where she is."

"You said that the last three times," Taash huffed, their arms crossed from their position outside the traced runes and lines in the Lighthouse's courtyard. "At this rate we might as well let Solas win!"

"No," Lucanis growled, envisioning that smug face looking down at him in disdain when he replaced Seht in reality. "That is not happening."

"Quite right," Emmrich agreed as Lucanis took his position. "Taash, please be prepared in the event the ritual locates something else again."

"Like the last three times..."

"Not giving up!" Spite burst out of Lucanis, which Lucanis allowed with a measure of relief. "Find! Rook! Need Rook!"

Spite's outburst at least got Emmrich and Taash to focus on the ritual. Lucanis let Spite slip away to stew and fuss; the better to focus, on ensuring that, this time, Emmrich had found Seht and they would save her. Elgar'nan's coup over Minrathous was too pressing, and the one good thing of Solas being out of the Fade was the clear fact he was distracting Elgar'nan from accessing the full power of the Blight.

They needed Seht. The arguments early on had surrounded whether they separate and muster their own resistance alongside what little aid the Inquisition could possibly send, or search for Seht because she undoubtedly understood Solas's final aims better than any of them and rescuing her would give both Solas and Elgar'nan pause. But more selfishly...

[We tell her! Tell her truth! Want! ROOK!]

Lucanis huffed as he had to push Spite's demanding voice aside, just in time to hear Emmrich begin the ritual. Like the past three times they'd tried, Lucanis felt Spite's wings open as the demon lunged along the Fade-path Emmrich laid. Lucanis closed his eyes to let his sense of Seht direct Spite's search: the curl of her horns, the exact shade of warm brown in her hair, the way her eyes glinted with stars when she smiled. Like a slight breeze along the canals, Lucanis caught a scent, which Spite honed in on. Sea salt and apples, a hint of caramel.

Seht.

"That's it - just here, we're close now!" Emmrich reported. Lucanis kept his eyes shut but raised a hand towards where he was certain the portal was starting to form. Spite kept following the scent, and Lucanis felt his heart racing as Seht's smell got stronger. Spite hissed warily in Lucanis's ear as another scent itched Lucanis's nose: like rot and molasses.

[Regret,] Spite grumbled. [Tried to trap her, sticky chains -]

The mere thought of Seht imprisoned - like he'd been, tormented and alone - enraged Lucanis. She had fought to set him free, and now he had to return the favor.

"Seht!" Lucanis couldn't help shouting into the space in front of him before forcing his eyes open. The portal was forming, vivid white-blue with a thread of Spite's violet seeking through it. He squinted as a shadow-outline began to form through it, too hazy to be certain.

[Rook?!]

"Somethin's coming, get ready!" Taash warned, but Lucanis didn't reach for his blades. Instead, he kept his hand raised as he started walking towards the portal. Inhaled again, and Seht's scent was stronger through the regret-scent.

Maker, I have never prayed for anything, save for this - that she is on the other side and safe -

Lucanis watched as the shadow darkened - coming closer, certainly - and pressed against the portal. He barely needed to see the emerging dark bronze fingers, her hand wrapped in dark leather that held her Warden bracers in place. Lucanis grabbed tight, and could have wept as Seht's hand tightened around his.

"It's her! I have her!" Lucanis gasped before he dug in his heels to start pulling - Spite's wings tucking in support - as Taash rushed in to reach through themself, clearly getting a hold on Seht. Lucanis grunted as even Spite 'pulled', and with a final heave the shadow - Seht - fell through the portal. Taash moved out of her way, but Lucanis was all too glad to let Seht's body crash into him as they both collapsed onto the stone of the Lighthouse. The portal shut behind her, and Lucanis momentarily buried his head against hers - breathing in Seht's scent, present and here. He squeezed her hand tightly, and after a few moments Seht returned the squeeze before raising her head. Her night-blue eyes fixed on him, and Lucanis felt his heart skip as she scanned his face in relief.

"Lucanis...you're alive..." Seht breathed. Lucanis's free hand reached up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing just past the corner of her mouth. "I - I thought..."

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmured in reassurance. Lucanis ducked to press his lips to hers - soft, brief, but every fiber of him needing to know she was here and real. Lucanis nearly broke the kiss, if not for Seht returning it, arm curling around him. He sighed tenderly before Seht ended the kiss herself, and Lucanis was more than happy to tuck into her as Seht held him tight and close.

"I'm not going anywhere."

[chenlezip]

──★ ˙☕️ !! annoying customer | a na jaemin smau .

PART 6 : so so perfect..

warnings : mentions of alcohol, no other warnings i think?

annas note : thought i would add jaemins pov from the night of the party :3 it’s probably a little messy but i hope you guys like this !!🤍

last | next | masterlist

jaemin sat in the passenger seat, jeno was driving and the rest of the boys were squeezed together in the back of the car they hired for getting them to jackson’s party. what a mess this already was.

“stop kicking my damn leg, haechan!” renjun shouted as he shoved the younger male away. “how the hell can i stop when i’m shoved between you and this lanky bastard!” he gestured to jisung who just pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “what about me? i didn’t decide to sit here, you could’ve sat in the back with mark and chenle..”

“screw that, i’d rather enjoy the peace and quiet in the back here, thank you very much.” chenle responded as he leaned his legs over the spare seat in the back, sighing in relief, “it’s so nice to have space~”

“chenle, do me a favour and wrap the seatbelt tightly around your neck.” renjun glared at him as he turned back around, focusing on the views outside, drowning the other boys out. jeno sighed, “do they always have to argue everytime we get in this damn car? they’re lucky i can focus on driving otherwise we’d be off the road by now.”

jaemin just laughed in response, shaking his head, “no seriously.. i don’t know how you do it, i definitely would’ve been rolling down that hill by now. how long until we get to jacksons anyway?” the older male looked at the gps, “about 5 minutes.”

“5 minutes too long..” jaemin groaned as he leant his head against the backrest of the seat, “can’t wait to get there.”

a couple hours went by, the boys had all split up and done their own thing: mark and jeno went upstairs with two girls, renjun just kept to himself but ended up leaving early because the party was ‘boring’, haechan shamelessly flirting and it backfired on him and left him locked in the bathroom, chenle just hogging his expensive alcohol and not letting anyone near it when they asked to take a swig and jisung.. last but not least, stuck in the corner of the living room with cute girls surrounding him and calling him endless nicknames.

jaemin watched and grew tired of it quickly, grabbing yet another drink and chugging it down. he felt a hand on his shoulder, gripping tightly and he knew who it was. “hey brother! nice to see you here, finally, so how you finding it?” jackson smirked. “you know, the usual.” jaemin responds.

“ahhh come on, lighten up! i’ll get some more people drunk and we can see where the night takes us, huh? oh- and also, you know yn right?” “uhh yeah?” the younger male responded with a confused look on his face, where was jackson taking this?

“look after her for me, will you? she’s a mess right now and i don’t trust anyone in here with her apart from you. i’ve known you for ages. you’re a good kid.”

and look after you jaemin did - well kind of, from a distance. he kept a close eye on you and didn’t let you out of his sight, even following when you stepped outside. he saw you wobbling over to the side of the house, “suffering are we, yn?” he asked and he loved the look of surprise on your face. he heard you say you were fine but he paid attention to the way your knees buckled, your body trying to hold itself upright.

“yeah, you’re still a lil’ wobbly though, aren’t ya?” he asked as he moved his arm to yours, ignoring the slight electric feel he felt flowing through his body. he gulped, “careful.”

“you’ve got really pretty eyes..” you mumble softly which elicited a soft chuckle from him, “mhm, do i? well thank you gorgeous.” he couldn’t help that his heart did a little flip in his chest, he’s never been told this before.. not by a pretty girl no less.

“you’ve irritated me these past couple months coming in and ordering coffee around 11pm.. but i guess i don’t mind actually, i don’t know, it does annoy me but.. i’ve never paid much attention to you and while i am now, it doesn’t matter.. you’re very attractive and i’ll give you a pass..” he heard you ramble on, listening intently on to what you were saying. he knew it was annoying of him to be doing that. he did kind of like it though, but he never knew it was that bad.

“ah, and you’ve waited until now to tell me? well.. i’ll try and come in a little earlier if i do get coffee, will that satisfy you? if i’m getting pretty privilege, i might as well use that to my advantage.” he retorted to you. he took the time to admire your features as you were too busy thinking about his words. you’re so gorgeous, so so perfect, he thinks. he thought about the conversation you two had over text, how similar you two are yet so different at the same time. he couldn’t hold back his urge to just.. feel your lips on his. if anything went wrong - he knew he could just blame it on the alcohol. despite that, he’s never had a girl make him feel this way, ever in his life and he liked it. he liked the thrill you gave him, the lingering gazes at the coffee shop when you thought he wouldn’t notice.

“i know we hardly know each other, but can i.. kiss you?” jaemin asked you. he couldn’t hold back from your whine and the way you pleaded with him to kiss you. he smashed his lips onto yours, a hand placed on your cheek to deepen the kiss, his other hand running through your hair and moving to the side of your hip. he didn’t mean to be so rough but he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. he heard you moan into it and if he could swallow it.. even replay it, oh he so would. how perfect could you get?

and then, jaemin heard someone shouting that there’s a fight currently going on. you both broke away and stared at one another for a second before jaemin smirked, “can’t help myself wanting to watch a fight, you comin’?”

he watched as you shook your head, saying it wasn’t your thing. he was in two minds but.. just decided that curiosity was overtaking him. “see you around?” he says before dashing off to the scene. it wasn’t that exciting as he thought it would be but as he turned around and walked back to where he left you, you were already gone. “damn it..” he ran a hand through his hair.

well, he had an excuse to see you tomorrow, he could tell you were going to deal with a bad hangover so.. why not go to the shop and buy you some painkillers now? he did that and headed home, smiling to himself, he had it all planned out.

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[bikefuckersoftheworldunite]

«Pironi seeks victory to dedicate to Villeneuve»

[Notes: I used image to text converter to convert the scans to text but since the issue is from 1982 i had to clean up the text by adding the missing letters and stuff like that manually. so, there might be some mistakes. I also don’t speak Italian so this is google translated, but I attached the text version in Italian under the cut. The article is from La Stampa Sera; date: 12/06/1982; link to the original issue scans in source]

MONTREAL — Yesterday afternoon, during a moving ceremony, the Notre Dame Island circuit was officially named after Gilles Villeneuve. It was the mayor of Montreal himself, Jean Drapeau, who presented the official resolution of the municipality that renamed the track in memory of the late driver. The ceremony was attended by almost all the drivers and also by a large crowd that applauded the decision of Canadian politicians for a long time.

It is in this atmosphere that tomorrow, in memory of Villeneuve, the drivers will battle to the limit of their possibilities for the eighth round of the F.1 world championship. Yesterday the official tests were disturbed by the rain but there were still some indications of what could happen during the test.

And it is Didier Pironi himself who promises a fiery attack in tomorrow's race. "If the weather conditions allow it, that is, if it doesn't rain," says the Frenchman, "I won't do a race like the one in Detroit, on the defensive. I hope the tires work well and that I can make the most of the Ferrari's power. It would be the greatest joy of my life to get a victory on this circuit. It goes without saying: I would dedicate it to my late teammate. We argued, it's true, but that didn't mean I considered a friendship that had lasted a long time over. I'm sure Gilles would have liked to see me, him, winner, or in any case, see a Ferrari in first place. There are many pitfalls, many opponents, but I'm optimistic given how the last races have ended."

Pironi's statements are quite demanding. However, many drivers believe that the Ferrari "driver" is one of the favourites for the Canadian Grand Prix. The series of placings obtained so far, the excellent performances of the car that is growing day by day and is increasingly competitive, constitute a demonstration of quality that has never failed so far. Ferrari also has some small technical secrets with innovations that have been introduced in recent times. One of these, for a special type of cooling of the air that is expelled from the turbo, constitutes an authentic secret of the 126 C2. Many are now copying the system that evidently uses a pump that nebulises the liquid, i.e. water, in the air and allows it to be cooled and obtain significantly lower temperatures for the engine. In this way, the turbo engine prepared in Maranello almost never breaks down and offers very high level performance.

The Ferrari driver's main rivals should be Prost and Arnoux, Patrese with Brabham, Lauda and Watson with McLaren and, obviously, the Alfa Romeos of De Cesaris and Giacomelli. The driver from Brescia is trying to 'fine-tune' his car which yesterday did not provide excellent performances and relegated him far back in the grid. "I also want to have a good race - said the Italian driver - because I'm tired of hearing only accusations against me. If I'm not given a fine-tuned car, what can I do? It's just a matter of finding a balanced solution in the preparation of the car and then I'll show that I'm always a top-place man".

A race, therefore, that looks very heated. There are many contenders for victory and it must not be forgotten that the points up for grabs will also be decisive for the world standings. This year, as in the past, the standings will be drawn up on the basis of 11 results, that is, half of the scheduled races in the World Championship plus three. When this limit is reached, the discards will begin and then the best placings will be good. However, no one has yet reached an acceptable quota (Pironi has the highest number of placings in percentage with 4 results, among the first six in seven races disputed) while Watson is still the leader of the world standings. Even the Irishman, quietly, has begun to raise some hopes. But yesterday he was clearly inferior to his teammate Niki Lauda.

MONTREAL — Ieri pomeriggio, nel corso di una cerimonia commovente, il circuito dell'isola di Notre Dame è stato ufficialmente intitolato a Giles Villeneuve. E’ stato lo stesso sindaco di Montreal, Jean Drapeau a presentare la risoluzione ufficiale della municipalità che ha ribattezzato la pista in memoria al pilota scomparso. Alla cerimonia hanno preso parte quasi tutti i piloti e anche una numerosa folla che ha applaudito a lungo la decisione dei politici canadesi.

E' in questa atmosfera che domani, nel ricordo di Villeneute, i piloti si daranno battaglia al limite delle loro possibilità per l'ottava prova del campionato mondiale di F.1 Ieri le prove ufficiali sono state disturbate dalla pioggia ma si sono avute comunque alcune indicazioni per ciò che si potrà verificare nel corso della prova.

Oggi si tenterà di cambiare le posizioni anche perché se il tempo rimarrà bello tutti potranno scendere sotto i tempi ottenuti ieri. Molto attesa alla prova è la Renault turbo che su un tracciato da oltre 180 km all'ora non avrà difficoltà a mettere in fila le macchine ‘avversarie. La pole position è contestata sia dall'Alfa Romeo, che ieri è stata la vettura più rapida con Andrea De Cesaris, che dalla Ferrari ieri terza nella graduatoria finale.

Ed è lo stesso Didier Pironi a promettere un attacco focoso nella gara di domani. «Se le condizioni meteorologiche lo consentiranno, cioè se non pioverà — afferma il francese — non farò una corsa come quella di Detroit, in difesa. Mi auguro che le gomme vadano bene e che io possa sfruttare al massimo la potenza della Ferrari. Sarebbe la più grande gioia della mia vita ottenere una vittoria su questo circuito. Non c'è neppure da dirlo: la dedicherei al mio compagno scomparso. Abbiamo litigato, è vero, ma non per questo avevo considerato chiusa un'amicizia che durava da tanto tempo. Sono sicuro che Gilles avrebbe voluto vedermi, lui, vincitore, o comunque, vedere una Ferrari al primo posto. Le insidie sono molte, gli avversari tanti, ma sono ottimista visto come sono finite le ultime gare».

Le dichiarazioni di Pironi sono abbastanza impegnative. Tuttavia sono molti i piloti a credere che il «driver» della Ferrari sia no dei favoriti del Gran Premio del Canada. La serie di piazzamenti ottenuti sinora, le ottime pertormances della macchina che cresce di giorno in giorno ed è :sempre più competitiva, costitui scono una dimostrazione di qualità che sinora non è mai venuta meno. La Ferrari ha anche qualche piccolo segreto tecnico con delle innovazioni che sono state apportate negli ultimi tempi. Uno di questi, per uno speciale tipo di rof‘freddemento dell'aria che viene espulsa dal turbo, costituisce un autentico segreto della 126 C2. Sono in molti ora a co‘piare il sistema che si avvale evidentemente di una pompa che nebulizza il liquido, cioè l'acqua, nell'aria e consente di raffreddare la stessa e ottenere delle temperature nettamente inferiori per il motore. In questo modo il propulsore turbo preparato a Maranello non si rompe quasi più ed offre presatazioni di altissimo livello.

I maggiori rivali per il pilota della Ferrari dovrebbero essere Prost e Arnoux, Patrese con la Brabham, Lauda e Watson con le McLaren e, ovviamente, le Alfa Romeo di De Cesaris e Giacomelli. Il pilota bresciano sta tentando di ‘mettere a punto la sua vettura che ieri non ha fornito delle ottime performances e lo ha relegato molto indietro nello schieramento. «Voglio fare anch'io una buona corsa — ha dichiarato il pilota italiano — perché sono stufo di sentire soltanto accuse nei miei confronti. Se non mi sì dà una macchina a punto, come posso fare? Si tratta soltanto di trovare una soluzione equilbrata nella preparazione della vettura e poi dimostrerò che sono sempre un uomo da primi posti».

Una gara, dunque, che si presenta accesissima. Sono molti i pretendenti alla vittoria e non bisogna dimenticare che i punti in palio saranno determinanti anche per la classifica mondiale. Quest'anno, come già nel passato, la classifica sarà stilata sulla base di 11 risultati, cioè la metà delle prove in programma nel Campionato mondiale più tre. Quando sarà raggiunto tale limite cominceranno gli scarti ed allora saranno buoni i piazzamenti migliori. Nessuno comunque ha raggiunto ancora una quota accettabile (è Pironi ad avere il maggior numero di piazzamenti in per‘centuale con 4 risultati, fra i primi sei in sette corse disputate) mentre Watson è sempre il leader della classifica iridata. Anche l'irlandese, quatto quatto, ha cominciato ad alimentare qualche speranza. Ma ieri è stato nettamente inferiore al compagno di squadra Niki Lauda.

[maudie-duan]

Series Summary: Harry has been fighting to keep his relationship with Olivia afloat for nearly two years. At what point do you choose to either endure or let the strain of the world defeat his ambitious hopes of a lasting relationship? Or will a single night and a fleeting encounter be enough to change the projection of Harry’s path? Maybe our ‘Mystery Girl,’ Shiloh, will just happen to be in the right place at the right time. 

All Chapters Here <-

A/N: Harry's always in his feels! Hope you guys are having a wonderful week, enjoy the update!!

Tag List: @howling-wolf97 @sassamanda77 @babegoalsreads @palmettogal508 @indierockgirrl

@lizsogolden @sexymfharriet @pologoonies

Word Count: 3.4K

Warning: Strong Language, Major Angst, Eventual Smut, Emotional.

Hi

That was all she sent. I’ve waited months to hear a single word from Shiloh, and that was it. It made me laugh, the universe poking fun, a literal manifestation sent in a text, so I really couldn’t complain, right?

She sent the message at seven in the morning, which made it even more random. I felt like I needed context; was this the door opening? I ended up locking myself in my hotel room for hours, staring at that one word until my phone died, switching between apps on my phone. Trying to figure out what she was up to, sitting there at a loss of how to reply because what did she want? Could it really be that simple?

All day, I never messaged her back. That night, we had our NYC movie premiere, so I switched into “go mode” and put all thoughts of Shiloh on the back burner, thinking I just needed to make it through the evening, then she could have all my time. I could reach out tomorrow; maybe we could unpack everything and have a fresh start, but what did I tell you about the universe?

There I was, trying to bail out of the after-party, making a list of faces I needed to say my goodbyes to, and just as I turned my head to plot my escape, in walks Shiloah and Timothee. I kid you not—Shiloh was the last person I expected to show up. There I was, thinking I had a better chance of running into her in LA than in New York City, thinking I had more time, and what a fucking site to behold. 

Silly me for thinking we didn’t run in the same circle these days. It was crazy how impenetrable Shiloh was becoming in such a short time, and yes, I know a lot of it was my own doing because maybe she had always been there, but I was too caught up in my own world to pay attention. Isn’t it funny how the things we avoid seem to find us no matter what…and in seeps the regret of my avoidance, the universe laughing in my face?

I watched as she spotted Florence standing idle at the end of the bar. She must have been waiting for them because she already had drinks, shoving drinks into their empty hands while they gave their greetings and god, Shiloh looked amazing. She looked like she had just walked off a 90’s runway—sexy silver knee-high boots that reflected the light every time she moved an inch, her Gucci back tights a second skin, flush against her toned legs that looked like they went for miles, under a tight black mini skirt. I don’t know how she did it—Make her short stature stretch like that, but it was nothing short of impressive; she had me choking on my drink, disoriented as soon as we locked eyes, finding me in seconds, intuitively searching the room for my gaze, her green eyes shooting a spark down my spine as all the noise in the crowded bar overwhelmed my senses.

She saw me, but did she see me? It was the same question I would ask myself the rest of the night. The whole interaction reminded me of the first time we crossed paths, the way her eyes moved past me without a second thought. This time, our eyes met, and without hesitation, she was turning to look over her shoulder. Catching Timothee’s eyes, who turned my way, his stare lingering longer than Shiloh’s, and when he met her eyes again. I swear he gave the slightest nod; something about the gesture left me unsettled—the two of them sharing a communicative look that made me desperate for even a semblance of the bond they so clearly had.

What would my next move be? When now, I looked like a complete idiot for not texting back, behaving like I haven’t just spent months in therapy trying to get my shit together, and then I ordered another drink. I stood there at the bar, knowing that someone was bound to approach me if I just waited long enough, and to my dismay, of course, it would be Olivia:

“Negroni, please…” She says, lifting a hand to get the bartender’s attention. I already know what this is about; the gull this woman has sometimes really is beside me. Maybe this is what I liked about her at one point, but I’ve lost patience for it altogether, and now she feels like a stray cat trying to mark her territory, except that ship has long sailed, and I don’t have the energy for it. I truly am over it this time; I swear I’ve learned my lesson, and there will be no more weak-hearted temptation on my behalf—Vinece was embarrassing enough.

“I don’t want to do this with you, Olivia…” I tell her, not even looking her way as I bring my drink to my mouth. 

She laughs, fainting innocence, and I can tell it’s all an act, “Oh, please, get over yourself…I’m just ordering a drink—”

“Yeah—I’m sure…” 

“I see your bell of the ball just walked through the doors,” She laughs, “And is she with Timothee Chalamet? I’ve heard he has a way of charming the masses…” 

I laugh, “It’s none of my business…and it’s definitely not yours…” and I grab my drink and walk off, not giving her the satisfaction of me just on the cusp of groveling because I think I would do it. If Shiloh waved me over, I have a feeling I would say and do anything, and that’s just too fucking messy right now, so what do I do?

When I look back over, Shiloh is propped against a stool, Timothee beside her, his arm stretched behind her, resting on the bar. It’s very buddy, buddy, very hmmmm….is there something more there? But is there? And really, it isn’t my business, but if there was, why would she send me that message?

I listened to her Howard Stern interview on my way over from Italy. She has a way of talking about him, not nervous or dodging very many questions; they know each other. I’m practically a stranger in her eyes, so if there were something there, it would be perfectly understandable, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m jealous, that I wish it were me standing there, and as I get caught up in a conversation with one of my cast mates it doesn’t stop me from watching, from observing their progression.

At one point, I spotted her chatting it up with Chris Pine, honestly, longer than expected, long enough for him to order her a drink. What were they even talking about? Was this another one of those mysterious connections, or was it just her networking? 

Everything about her was perplexing; was it all an act, or would I ever have the chance to find out for myself? Then she crossed her long legs in front of her, lifting her glass to Chris’s—that’s when I thought I would lose it—the power she held over me was mystifying, a gravitational pull I could feel from every corner of the room. When she stood from the bar stool to excuse herself, she pulled at the hem of her tiny black skirt, I saw Chris’s eyes drop for a split second, and I had to excuse myself from the room because what the fuck am I doing?

And then I’m literally forcing myself to hide.

I’ve been on the verge of making a fool of myself all night, unable to hold a basic conversation for more than five minutes without my wondering eye getting the best of me. Maybe this is turning into a problem because I’m losing focus, losing sight of my life. She is all too consuming, and there seems to be no running, so what do I do? How long could I stay here, locked in this stall? If I leave without saying goodbye or making an attempt to be polite, am I an asshole? Does she already think I’m an asshole? Was she mad at me earlier, that passive glance? I can see why she’s avoiding me, but can’t she just understand? Is this a game? Did she come here with Timothee just to prove that she can, fuck, what is wrong with me? 

We’re both grown-ups. I can do this: march out there and say Hi. I can be casual, I can play it cool, I can play whatever game this is because my end game is Shiloh, and if I have to wait around for her and Timothee to play out whatever it is that is happening, the best I can hope that it’s quick, and of course, I’m assuming the worst. I need to get over myself, and as I walk out of the stall, there’s Timothee, washing his hands, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror, and there’s that smile, that sweet, innocent grin of his, and how does he do it?

“If it isn’t Harry freaking Styles…What’s up, dude…” He laughs, “I’ve been rocking your nail polish… I love it, man.” then he holds up a wet hand, his green-painted nails speckled with water spots.

And I nod my head with approval, his gesture making me laugh. “I thought that was you…”

“You’re nails look great.” I tell him, “That’s probably my favorite collection so far…” This comment makes Timothee shy away, smirking at the ground as he shoves his hands in his pockets. 

“Mmmm…” Timothes hums, eyes flicking to mine, and I smile. This time, I’m the one shying away as I finish rinsing the soap from my hands.

Timothee clears his throat, the echo sounding around us, “I’m here with a friend. I’m pretty sure you guys know each other…would you want to join us for a drink?” 

“Oh—like join you guys for a drink?” I ask, feeling caught off-guard. The thought of being that close to Shiloh is stirring my thoughts already.

He laughs, “Well yeah…”

“Mmm…” I nod, staring back at Timothee, confused, thinking maybe he has no idea, “I wouldn’t want to impose…” I tell him, searching his face for any clues.

“I’m not normally a name dropper, but is there ever a time that Harry Styles’s presence is an imposition?” He asks, placing a hand on my shoulder. I’ve never been this close to him before, seen his face this close and personal as I take in the details that probably draw Shiloh in. 

And all I can do is smile, “I could think of a few times…trust me…” I answer, and this makes Timothee laugh, his eyes flitting over my face, and when he realizes his hand is still on my shoulder, he drops it. 

“Sorry…I’m not gunna lie…I’m a little drunk—” Timothee confesses, pinching two fingers together. 

I laugh, feeling my drinks catching up as Timothee’s close proximity makes me light-head, his closeness meaning Shiloh is even closer.

“Come on—” and he nudges his head toward the door, and without thought, I’m following, my feet treading lightly like air collecting under my feet, and I’m sailing, my feet moving in stride with Timothee, my thoughts moving closer and closer to Shiloh. 

My head is spinning on a new high, a birds-eye view, and when we finally make our way to Florence, Shiloah is nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Shi?” Timothee asks, gutting me, a nickname, god what else will slice me open?

Florence looks around, “I think…” and I follow her line of sight, “Ah…yes, she still there…” She points over at Shiloh, who is awkwardly sandwiched between Oliva and Chris, and when she meets my eyes from across the room, they linger as she brings her glass to her mouth. Then Olivia places a hand on Shiloh’s forearm, trying to hold her attention, and I see what she’s doing.

My hands break into a cold sweat, my heart thudding against my sternum. Olivia has my blood boiling, pissed because she knows she’s crossing the line. It’s not like I have any claim to Shiloh, but I know she’s only talking to her to make me mad, and it’s fucking working. I take one last glance and turn away to order another drink; that’s when Timothee puts an arm around my shoulder, asking me to take a shot with him.

Florence joins in, the two of them keeping my attention, even though a piece of me wants to look over my shoulder any chance I get, wondering how long Shiloh could end up being held hostage. If there’s anything Olivia is best at, it’s fucking talking, and I’m sure Shiloh is kind enough to stick it out: One shot goes down and I swipe my drink off the bar top, needing something to hold, something to distract me and I risk another glance, catching Shiloh mid smile as she nods her head, a look on her face like she’s actually enjoying the conversation, and the thought makes my stomach stir, a knot of nerves tightening as I take a drink. 

 It’s like Shiloh can detect my stare because her eyes sweep to mine, and I turn away quickly, downing the rest of my drink, like a dummy, afraid of getting caught, but maybe I don’t care anymore, and I look again, watching as Shiloh excuses herself. Then she’s moving through the crowd, her eyes trained on me, and it’s too much, my heart pounding, the excitement racing through every limb in my body, and when she smiles, I have to look away, smiling down at my lap, all-knowing, and I wait.

I can’t look as she closes the gap between us, knowing she’s mere seconds away from being here, right next to me, a foot, maybe inches apart because how many times have I daydreamed about this moment, the chance to look into those eyes again, capture her smile again, refresh the tiny details that seem to be slipping—slipping away with every negative thought, every self-doubt because she just smiled, that smile was for me, that smile making my whole body tingle, a chill humming down my spine, just waiting for her to pass behind me, and I’m listening, waiting for Timothee or Florence to yell out her name, to hear the sound of her familiar voice.

And then there’s nothing, and when I look over at Timothee and Florence, they’re still caught up in their conversation, no Shiloh, and when I look back in Shiloh’s direction, someone’s drawing her into another conversation, my heart dropping when she looks over, her eyes shifting past me and calls out for Timothee, gaining his attention. She waves him over, turning her back to me as soon as Timothee joins them, shutting me out, and I’m ordering another drink, sinking into the disappointment. 

“I’ll see you in California, Harry,” Florance tells me, placing a hand on my back as she pushes past me to join Shiloh and Timothee. 

When Florence ventures over, it’s clear that she’s making her exit, taking with her the guests she so graciously invited, and I force my eyes away, guessing by their actions that they’re forming a game plan for the rest of their night because it’s obvious that it isn’t over. I can feel their excitement from here, from where I’m sitting all alone. 

I don’t even watch them leave. I just finish my drink and call my car service, giving them a head start because, at the rate in which I’m falling under, descending into the pity party that I know awaits me back at my hotel, I don’t want to risk running into them. When I finally collect myself, I slip out, my bodyguard waiting for me just outside the doors, and slide into the back seat, exhaling a long breath until I feel my body decompress, my lungs emptying as I stare out the window, the New York nightscape passing me by, the city alive, even though I’m slowly fading.

The car stops at a red light at the corner of an empty block, my eyes barely grazing over the three people standing on the corner until I see the silver boots. Then Timothee’s face comes into focus, snapping me out of my haze. Florence parts ways with them, laughing about something over her shoulder, then runs up the stairs into the brownstone, so random building, and it must be where she’s staying.

“Can you pull over, maybe across the street over there?” I ask the driver, and he flicks the blinker, slowly turning onto the street and parks. 

He parks a few cars down, and I turn to peer through the back window; Shiloh and Timothee lit up under the street light hanging tall above their heads, the two of them going back and forth, a pleading look on Timothee’s face—and before I continue. I want you to know this wasn’t my finest hour—I just had to see it for myself. Know what they were when the world wasn’t watching. 

I couldn’t tell if it was an argument or just a discussion. It seemed private by the way they didn’t follow Florence into the building. So they wanted to be alone, but what were they talking about, and why did it seem like Timothee was trying to convince her of something? His mouth moved a mile a minute, talking with his hand like he was trying to stress a point, his face giving him away the entire time, and then Shiloh shifted her body, giving me the perfect view of their side profiles, a better idea of her reaction in all of this.

Timothee says something, signaling a pause between them both, his eyes trained on her face, and it has to be a question because Shiloh is just there standing there, gazing up at him, her arms hugging tight around to her body. I can’t read her expression, but when her eyes dart to the ground, and she shakes her head, Timothee throws his hands up in the air, a fit of frustration sweeping between them both. 

That’s when Shiloh reaches for his arm, mouthing the word, “Please,” because I see it plain as day, my heart sinking with the plea because she’s pleading with him now, both hands wrapped around his forearm, trying to keep him there. Timothee readying himself to walk away from whatever this was because it was obviously something, and then Shiloh is grabbing his shirt, her eyes seeking his, that same pleading look that Timothee had now taking Shiloah’s features, and I’m sick with it, that last drink churning in my stomach realizing he’s about to get my girl, she’s about to be his, because it couldn’t be more evident what this conversation is about.

Timothee turns back to face her, Shiloh pulling at his shirt, drawing him closer as a warm smile plays on her lips—it’s like watching a movie—a tale as old as time, who will get the girl. It’s like a strange sense of Deja Vu because maybe deep down, I always knew I would never get the girl because I never deserved her. Then Timothee is cupping her cheek, Shiloh’s hand coming up to his, and they both laugh as Timothee utters the words that I know are about to be my ending.

And it’s devastatingly beautiful, the smile that spreads on her face, because this is it, because when she nods her head, “Yes,” gripping his wrist as he slowly leans in to press his lips to hers, she wants it. After all, she’s grabbing his face, coming up to the tips of her toes as Timothee wraps his arms around her body, closing the gap between them, a gasp leaving my mouth when I realize I’m witnessing their first kiss.

Devastating doesn’t even begin to describe the depth to which I’ve fallen, the sinking feeling that I may never have my chance or that any chance I would have had in the past was completely ruined. Tell me to beg. I’ll do it; tell me to grovel, to crawl on my knees and plead for it because I’m burning for it, on fire for a love I know is mine. Tell me to reason; I’ll find reasons to fight, lay claim to a person I barely even know, but my soul knows because I’m not a godly man, but I’ve been praying, I’ve been praying ever since New York.

A/N: Honestly, I laughed out loud when I wrote that very last line with no intention of doing it, and then I just couldn't help myself! So then it had to become the title.

[emsdevs]

No Strings? pt 2

a/n: surprise!! i took a break from the celly prompts (i have sooo many more to go through i promise I'm still working on them) to work on part 2 of No Strings?! i had wayyy too much fun with this one! hope you guys enjoy!

ps: keep an eye out for our guy eliis!

masterlist | NFL Masterlists | Justin Herbert Masterlist | No Strings?

It had been two weeks since you saw Justin in that cafe, and slowly but surely, you’d been getting better. It took a while, but you finally realized you were worth more than getting pushed aside. You realized Justin had been lying the whole time. His career wasn’t what was keeping the two of you from being together officially. It was the fact that he didn’t actually feel anything for you because if he did, you’d be the girl tabloids are currently writing about. Every online gossip page you’ve seen over the past week has been about nothing but the girl who has “locked down” the Chargers’ star quarterback. After getting over the initial nausea that it caused, you decided you shouldn’t sit around waiting for someone who obviously didn’t care about you, so you got dressed up and went out for the first time in a long time.

While at a bar you used to frequent, you met a guy named Ellis. He was nice enough, and he spent the night buying you drinks, which you loved. However, when the night came to an end, you couldn’t let yourself go home with him. You just weren’t in the right place for that, and as much as you hate to admit it, you weren’t over Justin. Tonight, though, you were ready to move on, to give yourself another shot at finding someone you could love, love openly.

You decided to go out again, putting on your favorite dress. You put on some makeup and curled your hair, and after blasting some music and taking a couple of shots to hype you up, you were with your girls headed for a fun night out. Soon enough, your group had completely let loose, and you were on the prowl for someone you’d let take you home. After looking for what feels like forever, you call it quits and let one of your girls drag you out to the dancefloor. It’s while you’re there that he finds you.

You feel a gentle hand on your waist, so you turn to meet one of the most attractive guys you might have ever seen. He’s giving you an easy smile, and in that second, any thought you might have had about Justin flew from your mind.

“Hey, pretty lady. You alone tonight?” he asks in a silly voice that somehow makes you want to laugh and swoon simultaneously.

“Yes! She’s completely free!” your friend chimes in for you. 

“Mind if I steal her from you then?” his attention is directed toward her now, and you begin to think you want it to always be on you. 

“Go right ahead!” she gives him a cheery smile before turning her attention to you, “We won’t wait up! But please keep us updated!”

“Promise!” you assure her before she walks off to find the rest of your group and most likely tell them about your suitor.

“I was gonna ask you if you wanted to dance some more, but I’m thinking it might be a better idea to find some place quieter?” he makes the statement sound like a question, leaving the ball in your court. 

“I’m down for that,” you’re pretty sure you’d be down for almost anything he wanted to do right now.

“Perfect! C’mon, I know this great little diner down the street,” he grabs your hand pulling you outside with him. Once you’re right outside the doors of the bar, he comes to an abrupt stop, “I’m so sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Trevor,” that easy smile is back and brighter than ever.

After sharing your name with him, he begins guiding you toward the diner. The two of you shared nice conversation on the way, getting the typical small talk out of the way then. When you get to the diner, Trevor orders a side of fries for you both to share, and you each get a milkshake. The two of you talk back and forth for a while, just chatting about recent events in both of your lives. That leads to Trevor asking what brought you to the bar tonight after telling you he needed a break from the stress his work brings him.

“Oh, god,” you sigh, leaning back in your seat and throwing your head back a little, “You probably don’t wanna know.” You laugh a little, playing off your nervousness.

“C’mon, I won’t judge. You getting over an ex or something?” he sends an easy smile your way.

“Yeah, actually. I am.”

“Oh. Well, please, share with the class.”

“You sure you wanna hear it?”

“Yep. I’m all ears,” his eyes meet yours as he pops a fry in his mouth.

“Well,” you lean toward him, ready to share your sob story. “So basically, I went on a few dates with this guy, and when we were about to hook up for the first time, he told me he couldn’t be in a relationship because of his job. So I was a little delusional and agreed to no strings attached, but eventually, I caught feelings for him.”

“Oooh,” Trevor grimaces.

“Just wait. There’s more,” your tone says everything he needs to know, so he gestures for you to continue. “So I end up telling him, right? Of course, he tells me we can’t see each other anymore, so I leave his house literally sobbing. And to beat it all, just a few months later, I saw him out on a date at a coffee shop we used to regular. Obviously, that sent me reeling, and now all I see online is the girl that ‘tamed’ him,” you finish your story with a roll of your eyes.

“Hold up. I have a few questions,” Trevor raises his hands a little and closes his eyes.

“Shoot.”

“Okay, so you’re seeing his girlfriend in the headlines? I might be overstepping, so you definitely don’t have to answer, but who is this guy?”

“Justin Herbert,” you’re grimacing once again.

“The Chargers’ quarterback?” he’s whisper-shouting in your face.

“Trevor!” you match his tone.

“Sorry. Sorry. I just didn’t peg him as that kinda guy, ya know?”

“Oh, trust me. I know.”

“Okay, yeah. Good point. Okay, so next question. He really lied to you about not being able to have a girlfriend just to hard launch one a few months later?” “It’s insane, right? Like he literally told me that it would be better that way anyway because he just wouldn’t have the time to fully commit. Turns out, he just didn’t wanna commit to me.”

“Well, he’s an idiot. I mean, I’ve known you for like an hour, and I’m ready to commit right now.”

“Smooth, Trevor,” you roll your eyes again.

“I’m being so serious, right now. Go on a date with me. I’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated,” he lays his hand out on the table, giving you a physical offer as well.

You look at him for a moment, deciding how much you trust him. After finding nothing but earnestness in his eyes, you move your hand to lay in his before he wraps it up. “Okay. I’m holding you to that, Trev.”

“Ooh, nicknames already? You’re moving fast. Am I that irresistible?” that beautiful bright smile is back, and you’re thinking you want to see it every day from now on.

~~

You and Trevor had been going out for about two months now, and you’d officially been his girlfriend for just over a month. Everything had been going so wonderfully, and you can’t believe how lucky you are to have found him. Tonight, he decided to come hang out at your place after practice. You two had ordered some takeout and put on a movie while you ate. Your food was all gone, and you and Trevor had been cuddled up on the couch for a while now, content to keep the movies playing while you enjoyed each other’s company.

Both of you jumped a little when you heard a knock on the door, neither of you expecting it. After sharing a confused look with Trevor, you get up and make your way to the door. When you pull it open, you freeze. The last person you expected to see on the other side was Justin Herbert.

“Justin?” his name falls from your mouth quickly, like it’s not supposed to be there. Really, it’s not anymore.

“I really need to talk with you,” his eyes are pleading, but it won’t work on you. Not now.

“Now is seriously not a good time,” you pull the door closer to you, trying to get your point across.

“Please. I just- I messed up,” he steps closer, but you hold your ground.

“Justin, no. You had your chance, okay?”

“Please, baby, you have to hear me out, okay?” tears are brimming his eyes now.

“No. No. You don’t get to do that. I’m happy now, Justin. Go back home.”

“No, please! I messed up letting you go. I thought I wasn’t ready to commit and that I wouldn’t have time, but when you left I felt this hole in my heart. It won’t go away, no matter what I do. I got a girlfriend to convince myself I was fine, but she’s not you. Please, baby, just give me one more chance,” he’s begging at this point, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. 

Just as you’re about to tell Justin to leave again, you feel a hand on your waist and hear Trevor’s voice behind you, “Who’s this, babe?” He presses a kiss to the top of your head when he finishes his sentence, and if you had to bet, he probably looked at Justin while he did it. He knows exactly who Justin is. He could just tell he wasn’t gonna leave anytime soon and figured he’d come to help you out a little. He’d never minded being a little messy sometimes. “Hey, man I’m the boyfriend, Trevor,” he’s shooting Justin a wicked grin, not caring at all about whatever Justin might be feeling after how he made you feel.

“Boyfriend?” Justin is only looking at you now.

“What? You can move on, but I can’t?” your words have a bite to them.

“I just told you I never moved on?” his statement is formed like a question.

“Well, I did, and the only reason that was able to happen is because you let me go. I’m sorry you regret that, but actions have consequences, Justin. If you wanted me so badly, you should’ve kept me around when you had a chance.”

“But-”

“No, man,” Trevor pushes the door open a little more and steps around you. He begins to usher Justin away from your doorstep, “She’s said her peace. She’s moved on. It’s time you do too. Okay, bud? Scurry on back to whatever model you were using to distract yourself from my girl, alright?” 

When he deems Justin is far enough away, he turns back around to head back to you. He urges you inside before slamming and locking the door, being sure Justin knew he wasn’t welcome. 

“C’mon, baby. Let’s go make out in front of the window, so he knows what he’s missing,” he has that same bright grin on his face, and suddenly, any negative feelings you had are gone. You laugh with your head tipped back as he drags you along, content to go along with whatever antic he thinks up.

a/n: guess i should fix the banner huh? sorry to any justin girlies! i just made him too much of a jerk in pt 1 :( reader deserved better! so um crossover episode i guess! banner fixed below

taglist: @heartsforjh @irishmanwhore @heartforherbert @jusaints @one-sweet-gubler @dancerbailey3 @fofiquierellorar @devilinpradaheels @macklin-celbrini-71 @puckmedude @pickedapuck @alexxavicry 

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[cantfightmoonlight]

"More like I was desperate to try to find a silver a good in a really fucked up situation?" She admitted quietly after a prolonged breath. "When they had been appalled at what had happened to me, they made me feel seen and maybe a little validated," She let out a small sigh as she pivoted from where she was sitting to face her cousin. "When I came back, I really did think it would all be okay, you know? Like if I just found you and Luna then everything would go back to the way it should be. It might not have been the plan, but we could pivot? I could adjust. I could be adjustable. I know I never really had a good track record of that in the past, but we'd figure it out. Only, Luna never really cared about me like that. I was just a chapter in her book. A mistake she had no problem moving on from and this place, filled with people I thought would be my friends and neighbors, were kind of awful. I never had people outwardly hate me before or be mean, which I know makes me sound privileged as fuck and I probably was. But, whenever everyone seemed to just expect me to get over it, move on and figure out all this vampire stuff all on my own, Lo and Dilan had been the ones who said hey, it's okay to take a moment for yourself. Grieve or something? So, that's what's this was supposed to be is all. Less fun as much as making space I suppose? As cliché as that sounds now that everyone is doing it for the lyrics of Defying Gravity. But, it was supposed to be something. You know, if they hadn't forgotten about it and all," Her shoulders lifted and fell into a small shrug.

She didn't say anything when he told her that she deserved a lot. She had a feeling whatever she could say wouldn't exactly be the best contribution. Not when the idea of hope, a mentality she once had clung so strongly to, felt almost toxic now. "They do. But, it's okay. I'm sort of used to it now," She admitted with another small shrug. "Jonah, it's okay," Her brow eyes met his as she gave him a genuine and reassuring smile. "Jake started his speech with 'I’d tell you it starts with F' and there might not have been a 'U'- his speech was actually kind of nice despite it sort of sounding like some political advisor's stance on civility. But, I'm pretty sure I'm still one of his least favorite people in this room. Aaliyah told me when I first turned to eat oranges to stop me from burning in the sun and I was nearly fried to a crisp, so I'm sure that will come up at some point too. My own best friend, last year on my birthday, told me she was scared of me, when I lost empathy. Ken's told me to my face that just because I'm friends with Leyla doesn't mean that he has to be mine, and the list goes on and on. The people here don't like me and it's okay." She didn't particularly like herself either, so at least they had something in common. The corner of her lips itched up into a hint of a smile, however deprecating, at the thought.

"You didn't make me cry, Jonah. I cried because I realized that another year has gone by. Another birthday and, despite being back for three years, I still can't shake this feeling that I should have stayed dead. I'm not trying to freak you out by admitting that, by the way. It's just my life seemed better before. I was better before. At least I liked me better and the majority of people I knew seemed to too for that matter. And that's not to say that I don't have good things going. I love Ben, so much so, and I would have never had the chance to fall in love with him if I hadn't come back. But, I also wish I came back as a human and not this." Not as some freak of nature. It was ironic really, how as a human she used to see vampires as beautiful. She had been in complete and utter awe of them, only to realize, that she might have been one of the few people who had genuinely felt that way after turning. "I cried because three birthdays have gone by and not much has changed for me. I still don't know what the fuck I'm doing. My body still seems to be rejecting what I've become and, even if it wasn't, it's not like I have a lot of guidance when it comes to figuring it out. People are still calling me a monster, a bitch and a whole other slew of names. And, while Dilan and you came to check on me, no one defended me. Not when I was called an 'entitled asshole'. That's not me criticizing you either, I hope you know, even though I know you might take it as another way you messed up, when its not. I didn't ask you to come to my defense and I probably was being an entitled asshole. But, I cried because I was upset with my life and, in part, myself. While, I'm hiding because this was about the place I could find to have a moment to do what this whole party was supposed to be about to begin with- grieve the death of the girl I lost and get over myself," She shrugged once more.

"So," She reached out and gave his hand another small squeeze. "Don't feel bad, okay? Or feel like you can't participate in White Elephant anymore. It was never about a silly game to begin with."

.

That, her not contesting or declining the offer to drink without a glass, gave away a lot into how Bri was feeling, and all it did was make Jonah slump lower into the seat. "You were thinking it could be fun. There's no way to predict the mess before that would led to this day not meeting your expectations. They did have the right idea, to close that chapter and celebrate your life, you should be celebrated, now and always, have a good birthday for once. You deserve a lot. People don't hate you Bri, there's a lot of love here for you tonight and always," he said softly. But he couldn't help the heavy feeling that sat on his chest, to know that he couldn't help make this different for her, that he lacked something or failed at expressing he cared for her, and perhaps in a way he did fail her. In a lot of way even. He certainly couldn't make anything better no matter how hard he tried to do so.

"I'll take that as a good thing. That's something I'm doing right tonight. Drinking. Maybe it'll help me to not be so…me." He laughed and took another long swig. While her tone indicated to that being sincere, he found it a little difficult to believe, given she was hiding was a prime indicator. But he nodded all the same, "Yeah, okay. We can stay here, I don't want to leave." Her question made him scoff, "What didn't I mess up?" he answered, "I know I made you cry, there's that. I think-" he said with a nod, solidifying it within himself as he spoke, "- I think I'm not gonna participate in White Elephant anymore. Does a resolution count if you make it before the new year? Whatever. I'm not doing it again. It's not worth to see you upset."

[youremyonlyhope]

Who gave Sondheim the right to write a song as bittersweetly perfect as Sorry-Grateful?

[meat-wentz]

honestly yeah. i cheated on my ex-partner with friends just to fuck myself up during a year long mental breakdown. i don't even know who i was.

it haunts me a decade later, and it was small scale drama. i am a boring guy.

can't imagine people not being able to have some fucking privacy (confined to people affected and close-ish circle) during that.

right exactly, and especially considering that many of the people i’ve known who have cheated legitimately did not know at the time what else they could do, as the cheating was usually a desperate plea for help and understanding or a way to cope with their needs not being met (either in the relationship they were in and/or in life in general). i understand being hurt by cheating, absolutely, but i also understand that the messiness of life and our messiness in dealing with it are just par for the course and we are not going to do it perfectly nor are we going to do it without hurting people or being hurt. as people i think we have a right to our fair share of empathy and understanding even and especially when we are not acting our “best.”

[bluestjayy]

Maybe I'm just cursed 🤪

[irgendwiepoetisch]

why is there so little going on in my life that a simple crush on a person i barely know takes up so much space in my brain...why

[dr-gaytorius]

Very awesome that my night was ruined because other people can't act like adults in ways that result in majorly divisive schisms in our community despite the fact that is entirely counterproductive to having any chance of surviving the next 4+ years. I'm just going to have to play my cards right and try to reach these people because they're all my friends but have decided they're each other's mortal enemies. For frankly stupid reasons. Terrifyingly flippant and fickle and honestly I just think some people take for granted the bonds they have because they don't know what it's like to have them suddenly taken away by death, or be betrayed, or left behind. They don't know how good what they have is because theyve never experienced just how bad it can be. And so they don't have the perspective of that loss and loneliness and hurt to fully comprehend the value of what they have. It's sad to say the very least. What a harmful waste.

[minnieposting]

dumping

[kavehayati]

Stop ……. Rodrick from diary of a wimpy kid …