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myladybelle · 26 days

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𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter thirteen

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.7k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, descriptions of anxiety, swearing, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hi my loves i’m back!! thank you all for your patience while i was sick and preparing for the new semester, i appreciate all your kind messages so much x 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐖𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒’ 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

“Newcomer on the professional tennis scene, Y/N Y/L/N surprised virtually everyone when she won the Ladies’ Semi Final two days ago,” an English-accented sports journalist said on TV as you waited for your cue to step onto the court for the finals. “She’s not only the most technically excellent player of her age, but she has the fastest serve on the WTA tour.”

“She’s a remarkable player,” the other journalist agreed. You watched them play back a clip from your most recent match, highlighting one of your aces. “But if she wants to win on Centre Court here at Wimbledon for the very first time, she’s going to have to start embracing her volleys. Maybe she should take a leaf out of her boyfriend’s book.”

“Patrick Zweig? He only made it to the second round!”

“Yes, but he played some very entertaining tennis this week. It was a joy to watch and very well suited to a grass court!”

“It’s true, Zweig plays a sneaky game of tennis. He keeps his opponent on his feet.”

“In any case, the whole world is sure to be watching Y/N Y/L/N tonight, eager to see her take on Anna Mueller.”

“Now, this isn’t the first time Y/L/N and Mueller have played. They faced off numerous times in junior tournaments, and Y/L/N already beat her at Indian Wells, Milan, Roland-Garros, and the US Open last year. They have yet to play each other in a final, though, and Y/L/N has no grand slam titles to Mueller’s two.”

“Will it be experience and longevity that give Mueller the win, or will new talent Y/L/N take the match with precision and speed?”

“We will soon see.”

You had never been this nervous before a match until your second time at Wimbledon.

For the first time in your professional career, just a year and a half after entering the tennis world, you made it to the final round of a grand slam tournament. The other tournaments you had won within the last year put your name on the map, allowing you to garner attention and recognition from your peers and spectators.

But a grand slam title meant you would be a part of history.

It was everything you wanted, everything you worked and struggled for. Your heart pounded so quickly that you thought it might leap out of your skin, and your quickening breath made spots appear in your vision. The pressure mounted, not just because your life goal was an arm’s length away, but from all the people who had their eyes on you. Some scrutinising, some rooting for you.

Bracing your hands on your thighs, you closed your eyes and tried to breathe deeply. It felt like you were losing control. Everything you did to maintain your anxiety felt like it was slipping through your fingers, just like your dream of becoming a grand slam winner.

Tashi’s voice rang in your ears. You’re going to be fucking miserable, and you’re going to hate your life just as much as your mother hates the fact that she had you. Art’s voice joined Tashi. Everyone knows that tennis is more of a mental game than a physical game. You have a lot of anxiety, and…

The sound of your phone getting a text message interrupted your tornado of negative thoughts.

PAT 💞: Don’t listen to any of those assholes, they don’t matter. I love you so much and I’m proud of you no matter what happens today. Hold your head up high and do your best, nothing else matters. Don’t forget to breathe, pretty girl. P x

As you stepped onto the court, the cheers of the crowd were deafening. You could feel the vibrations of their applause through the soles of your shoes; the energy was electric, and the buzzing of quiet chatter set you on edge. Remembering Patrick’s advice, you breathed deeply and waved to the crowd, smiling as you headed for your bench. Everyone on your team was sitting in the player’s box with Patrick and your dad, and it was a relief to see them there supporting you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this final round match. This match will be played as the best of three sets,” the umpire said. “To the left of the chair, from Switzerland, Anna Mueller. To the right of the chair, from the United States, Y/N Y/L/N. Y/L/N won the toss and elected to serve.”

From his seat in your box, Patrick chuckled. “I bet Anna Mueller’s terrified right now,” he commented. “Going into a match against Y/N and having her serve first would push me over the edge if I was playing her.”

Next to Patrick, your father happily declared, “If Mueller wasn’t nervous to play Y/N before, she will be once she realises how many aces she has up her sleeve.”

Mueller crouched behind the baseline, nervously twirling her racket between her hands. Her poker face wasn’t nearly as good as yours, betraying her fear as you bounced the ball and prepared to serve. Knowing that you had this effect on your opponent, even before the game had started, made you feel powerful.

With a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through your veins, you tossed the ball in the air and served it over the tennis net. Mueller ran in the wrong direction, expecting you to serve to her backhand, and cursed when she couldn’t change courses fast enough to return the ball.

Your first ace of the game. 15-love.

Mueller played nervously. She knew your baseline game was strong, but her mistake was assuming that you could only play from the baseline. You decided to play closer to the net, consistently hitting gently when Mueller expected you to go hard and fast, making it impossible for her to generate the power needed to return well.

When you took the first set 6-0, Mueller cursed and turned to her box to yell something at her coach. During the changeover, you could hear her muttering to herself, failing to compose her posture and expression. She looked panicked and angry. From experience, you knew that the right amount of anxiety could help you focus on the match, but anger would destroy a player’s self-control and concentration.

When you served an ace at the beginning of the next set, Mueller stomped her foot angrily and challenged the call. The call held up, declaring your serve was in and awarding you the point. You watched in shock as Mueller’s face twisted with fury, her eyes blazing as she smashed her racket against the ground. Over and over again, the crowd gasped and booed as the frame cracked and the strings bent out of shape.

“Code violation, racket abuse. Warning, Mueller.”

From his seat, Patrick smirked, applauding the action while you maintained professionalism. He was the type of player who occasionally broke his racket or committed other code violations, so Patrick admired your ability to hold back. There was something rewarding about watching your opponent fall apart as you waited for her to get it together so you could keep playing.

The atmosphere of the game changed after Mueller’s outburst. Releasing her anger had done Mueller well, and one of her backhands shot forth like a lightning bolt, making it impossible for you to return. She got a few points in, making you run for it. Sweat glistened on your brows, and your heart pounded, a steady drum beat that echoed the rhythm of your feet as you struggled to return some of Mueller’s balls. The crowd watched in awe as she started finding her rhythm, pushing through the fatigue with a newfound unwavering focus.

Mueller looked incredibly smug to have caught up with you. So, you let her win a little bit.

Your father frowned when you served into the net twice, giving Mueller the point. “What’s she doing?” he muttered quietly. “Are the nerves getting to her?”

Patrick shook his head, chuckling as he realised, “She’s throwing the set on purpose.” A smirk graced his lips when he remembered how you used to do the same thing when you played Tashi. “She wants Mueller to think she’s beating her.”

You let yourself enjoy it, toying with Mueller and never letting her know what you planned next. When you volleyed the ball back to her, she sprinted to the net. Just when she got used to playing close to the net, you hit a flat groundstroke past her. Once Mueller realised your pattern, she stayed closer to the baseline, and you hit her with your drop shots, far too close to the net for her to return.

Quickly, you caught up, 7-7. You needed one last game to win the match, and it was your turn to serve.

Two aces in a row. Mueller yelled in frustration and anger when she missed both serves, once to her forehand and once to her backhand. Your focus sharpened with each passing moment. Serving was your area of expertise. You had the match exactly where you wanted it.

With each point you won, your confidence grew. Your movements were fluid and instinctive; your racket felt like an extension of your arm, sending powerful, precise shots that left Mueller scrambling to return them. Like always, your serves were lightning fast, unerring and spectacular, kissing the line every time without fail.

Mueller chased down every ball, but exhaustion was setting in, and her anger had returned. She was irritated that you had let her win, annoyed that it had boosted her ego so much, and furious that she couldn’t get in your head the way you got in hers.

You were playing the best tennis of your life, each moment a testament to your skill and resilience over the years. The beauty of your game captivated the spectators, leaving the crowd in awe of your mesmerising strokes and masterful returns. The more points you won, the closer you got to winning the tournament. Tension and excitement were palpable, mounting in a crescendo of enthusiastic applause and standing ovations.

“Match point.”

The cacophony of cheers faded into the background as you bounced the ball in your hand. You were good at keeping the pressure of winning off your shoulders, but the enormity of this point pressed down on you heavily. With your stomach in knots, you adjusted your grip on your tennis racket. Amid all the stress, anxiety, and fear, you felt a spark of determination.

You didn’t just want to win; you deserved it.

You served her backhand, which Mueller anticipated and hit back with equal intensity. The ball hit the ground awkwardly on your side of the net, creating minimal bounce with little power. Regardless, you hit it hard. As the two of you rallied back and forth, you followed the sports journalist from earlier’s advice and used a trick shot Patrick had taught you. When Mueller hit your forehand, you pretended to miss the ball. She celebrated, prematurely stopping while you hit the ball back between your legs, surprising Mueller and making her trip as she tried to return the ball.

As Mueller landed on the floor, the ball bounced on her side of the net for a second time, earning you the point and the Wimbledon Ladies’ Singles title.

An overwhelming surge of triumph and disbelief hit you all at once. Your ears rang, drowning out the cacophony of the crowd’s ecstatic roars as you collapsed to your knees, dropping your racket. The weight of victory crashed upon you, and tears streamed down your face as you sobbed. Each teardrop released the intense pressure and emotion you had carried through the gruelling tournament.

You cried for your mother, who you no longer needed to please; for Tashi, your former best friend who would not be here to celebrate this moment with you; and you cried for yourself, the person who got through it all and made it to the other side.

When you wiped the tears from your cheeks and stood to shake your opponent’s hand, the world around you blurred back into focus. The cheers and applause of the crowd went from being a distant echo to a deafening roar. Mueller barely touched your hand before going to shake the umpire’s and—for a brief, solitary moment—you were enveloped by a profound sense of accomplishment.

You did it.

After waving to the crowd and thanking the umpire, you turned to your player’s box. There, Patrick stood applauding your victory. His heart swelled with immeasurable pride and love for you, feeling an overwhelming admiration for your strength and dedication. You laughed, running across the court towards the box and excusing yourself as you squeezed past ball boys and line judges. Stepping up on one of the nearby benches, you lifted yourself closer to your boyfriend, who leaned over the railing, giggling.

Up close, Patrick’s eyes were misty, and a broad, genuine smile spread across his face. Every sacrifice you made, every early morning and late night, came rushing back to him in a flood of memories. He could hardly contain his excitement.

“You just fucking won Wimbledon!” Patrick yelled. “You were incredible!”

“I love you,” you replied, equally breathless and giddy. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Pat.”

Pushing up on your toes, you hooked your arms around Patrick’s shoulders and kissed him. The crowd cheered even louder around you, but you didn’t care. Nothing and nobody else mattered at that moment. All you knew was that you had just achieved something incredible and Patrick was the only person you wanted to celebrate it with. He held your head carefully and kissed you hard, expressing his passionate pride with every press of his lips.

“Thank you. For reminding me to breathe,” you acknowledged when you parted, gazing up at your boyfriend with sparkling eyes. “And for teaching me your favourite trick shot.”

Patrick chuckled, taking one of your hands and pressing several kisses to the back of it. “That was all you, gorgeous. I had nothing to do with it. This win belongs to you,” he said sincerely. “Fuck, I love you, pretty girl.”

Art Donaldson stood in the crowd, his heart heavy with pride and melancholy as he watched you give Patrick a final kiss before returning to the court for your interview. It was a privilege to watch every powerful swing of your racket and every point you earned. Art was reminded of the countless hours you had poured into your practice, the determination that had always driven you while you were at Stanford. He had once been the one to share in those moments of victory with you, celebrating every win with the joy you now showed on the court.

But now, as Art saw the happiness in your eyes and heard the crowd’s cheers, a wave of sadness washed over him. He was no longer part of your triumphs. He was just another face in the sea of supporters, knowing your victory wouldn’t be shared with him.

Art’s gaze flickered between you standing on the court and Patrick sitting with your father in the player’s box. His former best friend looked happier than Art had ever seen him, and knowing that your memory of this day would always be intertwined with your relationship with Patrick filled Art with an ugly jealousy.

He knew he had no right to your life and joy, but Art wanted to celebrate with you. He wanted to tell you that he was proud of you and always knew you had the talent and perseverance to succeed. In fact, there were a lot of things Art wanted to say, including a sincere apology for what he said the night you broke up. But you had moved on, and you were happy, and the last thing Art wanted to do was ruin any of that for you.

So instead, Art got up and pushed through the crowd, making his way to the exit as he heard your voice thanking Patrick for his love and support over the loudspeakers.

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟏𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

It felt good.

Sitting in the booth with Tashi was almost like when Art used to sit in the dining hall with her at Stanford, back when you, Art, and Tashi were all attached at the hip.

A month ago, Art and Tashi graduated and began working in the professional tennis world, but it meant nothing to either of them without their best friends by their sides. Neither of them could have guessed that you and Patrick would leave behind such a huge hole when you stopped being friends with them.

“Maybe you wanna jump ship?” Art said, half-joking as he signed the bill and paid for their meal. “Come be my assistant coach?” When Tashi stared dumbfoundedly at him, he grinned. “Oh, I get it. You want to work with someone who has a little bit more potential.”

“No!” Tashi protested. “No. No, it’s not that. I mean, you have plenty of potential. It’s just–” she cut herself off, nervously observing the blond sitting in front of her. It had been years since you and Art broke up, but it felt like yesterday. “You think that would be a good idea?”

“Why not?” Art retorted. Tashi gestured vaguely, referencing their complex shared past. “That was a long time ago–”

“–It was not that long ago,” she disagreed, interrupting Art’s attempt at nonchalance.

“Well, it feels like a long time ago,” Art mumbled.

“So, you’re saying you’re not in love with her anymore?” Tashi argued, raising a questioning eyebrow at her old friend.

Art schooled his expression, not wanting to give his lingering emotions away. But Tashi saw through it, recognising the familiar signs that indicated his love for you still ran deep. His features softened at the mention of you, and there was a faraway look in his icy blue eyes.

Back when you were dating Art—and Tashi and Patrick were casually seeing each other—Patrick used to describe the look on his best friend’s face when he first laid eyes on you. That look of pure, absolute adoration and love never once faded from Art’s face at the mention or sight of you. Tashi knew with certainty that it would never fade.

“Well, I’m not holding my breath waiting for her,” Art retorted. “That ship has clearly sailed.”

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t clutching the hull for dear life,” Tashi remarked, using Art’s ship analogy against him. “Did you see her at Wimbledon?”

“Of course I did,” Art replied, fiddling anxiously with the napkin on the table.

“She was incredible, wasn’t she? I mean, I always knew she had it in her, but watching her win that final…” Tashi sighed.

If she was as good a friend to you as she always thought, she would have noticed that you used to hold back to help Tashi pursue her dreams of being the best tennis player in the world. Upon reflection, Tashi realised she would never be as good a friend to you as you were to her, and she should never have considered you to be less talented, hard-working, or capable than herself.

“It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Tashi said proudly.

Art agreed, “She’s officially a grand slam winner, the whole world was watching her that day.”

Tashi nodded. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” Her lips curved in a disappointed frown, recalling all the times you and Tashi promised you would always be there to celebrate each others’ accomplishments when you were teenagers. “All of a sudden, the whole world feels entitled to a part of her. Instead of going through this journey with her, we’re on the outside looking in, just like everybody else.”

“It was pretty surreal,” Art affirmed. “I mean, I always knew what she was capable of. I remember all those late nights, talking about what she would do if she ever won a grand slam. And now that she has, I can’t help but feel a little lost.”

“Like you should be there with her,” Tashi guessed. She gave Art a sympathetic smile, her eyes soft with understanding. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Art sighed, leaning back in his booth. “We used to be the people who knew her best in the world,” he recalled. “And now, we aren’t a part of her life anymore. It’s not just about tennis or success, it’s about her. She didn’t just hold us all together, she was seeped into the essence of everything I did and everything I dreamed.” The vulnerable honesty in Art’s voice made Tashi swallow harshly. “What am I supposed to do without her now? None of my plans ever accounted for me reaching this point in my life without her in it.”

Art’s words rendered them both silent.

You used to take up so much space in their lives, filling a void neither of them knew existed until you left them. Thinking about you and reflecting on your absence was always bittersweet. There was so much warmth and joy in their memories of you, but they were constantly paired with painful reminders of how much they hurt you. You, who only ever wanted to love and be loved.

“Maybe this is what we deserve for hurting her in the first place,” Tashi offered. “The things I said to her that day–” she inhaled sharply, pain filling her chest as she recalled the argument that ended your friendship– “I don’t blame her for wanting nothing to do with me.”

“The look on her face when I told her I went to see you the night you fought…” Art shook his head in disappointment, his jaw clenched tightly as the frustration simmered beneath the surface. “I should have told her I went to confront you for hurting her. I should have told her I was desperate to figure out why she was inconsolable, but I let her believe I went to you because I was on your side. I was so angry and frustrated during the break up that I told her things just because I knew they would hurt her. Who does that to someone they love?”

“Us, apparently,” Tashi said, grumbling like she couldn’t believe what they did to you. Reaching across the table, Tashi covered Art’s hand with hers, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “My mom says that Y/N was my life lesson,” she explained. “That losing her was supposed to teach me something.”

“Yeah?” Art met her eyes and frowned. “What did it teach you?”

“To hold on,” Tashi declared. “When you meet someone like her, someone who’s warm and loving and far kinder to you than you deserve, you hold on to her. Because going through life without her is unimaginably worse than when she’s by your side.”

It hurt to reflect on how much worse life was without you. You had been everything to Art for so long, and his eyes stung with tears every time he thought of you. The emptiness you left behind felt insurmountable, a constant ache he couldn’t escape. Every moment without you reminded him of what he’d lost, of how your presence had once filled his world with light and purpose.

Now, that light was gone, leaving him to navigate the shadows of what used to be; the pain of your absence was a relentless companion.

Art pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, staring at his lap. “This is really stupid, but, uh… After your injury… I couldn’t help but just think about what would have happened if I had beaten Patrick,” he confessed.

Tashi froze at the mention of how you met Art and Patrick.

She knew Art well enough to understand that everything he did led back to you and how he lost you. No matter how badly Art wanted to change the past, Tashi knew you would always love him and Patrick throughout your life.

In a way, Tashi, Art, and Patrick were the three great loves of your life.

One for a friendship that was supposed to last a lifetime, one for the boy who made you realise what it was like to be loved, and one for the man who would wait a lifetime just for a minute of happiness with you.

No matter how much you once loved Art, Tashi knew you would love Patrick in every life, too. It didn’t matter what order you met them in; you were the catalyst that changed each of their lives.

Tashi thought she was the only objective spectator to your relationships with Art and Patrick. She was your best friend at Stanford when you dated Art, and she was practically a stranger now that you were with Patrick. Watching your romantic relationship unfold on TV and in newspapers and magazines was entirely different from having a front-row seat back in college, but Tashi knew you well enough to see how deeply and genuinely you loved Patrick, just as you had loved Art.

“So you want me to join your team because you couldn’t win Y/N’s number that day?”

Art lifted his head to meet Tashi’s gaze. “No,” he denied. “I want you to join my team because I want to win.”

Tashi suppressed a grin. She should have known that if it wasn’t about you, it was about Patrick. “I think you’d beat him now if you guys played,” she commented, sipping her coffee. “Don’t you think?”

It was a challenge that Tashi knew Art would easily see through.

Perhaps Art could beat Patrick if their history wasn’t complicated by you entering their lives. If the two of them were just best friends trying to make it in the tennis world, Art had the skills, practice, and tenacity to win now. After all, he had dedicated himself to the sport at Stanford and had an excellent team supporting him, while Patrick continued to rely on raw talent. As Art steadily climbed the ranks with every game, Patrick floundered somewhere in the lower 200s.

But all of this was negated by one simple fact. Patrick had the one thing that Art truly wanted: you.

If Art and Patrick played a match tomorrow, you would be in Patrick’s player box, cheering his name and applauding his wins. Your presence at the match—and in Patrick’s life—would be more than enough for Art to lose every time he faced his former best friend, just as he lost you. The only thing that could give Art a chance to beat Patrick would be having you on his side.

“Don’t know,” Art replied cryptically. “We, uh… haven’t played professionally, and don’t keep in touch.” Tashi laughed, nearly choking on her coffee. “What?”

She cleared her throat. “Just… She never saw it,” Tashi explained. “The rivalry between you and Patrick. Ever since that night we first met, she always assumed the two of you were after me.” She shook her head, visibly entertained. “She used to say that I was the sun and she was the moon. But, God, wasn’t she just everything? The moon and the stars and everything in between, that was her.” Tashi and Art shared a soft, sentimental expression. “I never understood why she couldn’t see it. Everything was over the moment you and Patrick met her, and I knew none of us would ever be the same.”

A small smile stretched across Art’s lips. “Yeah…”

Tashi was right—you had been everything to him.

Art felt it the moment his eyes first met yours, an instant connection that went beyond mere attraction. It was as if something within him recognised you, a deep and undeniable pull that resonated in both his body and heart. It wasn’t just about your smile or how you moved; it was how your presence seemed to complete something in him, filling a void he hadn’t even known existed.

You became his anchor, the one person who made everything else make sense, and from that moment on, he knew his life would never be the same without you.

“We joked that we weren’t homewreckers the night we met you, but…” Tashi trailed off, sighing as she set her mug on the table and crossed her arms. “I never thought it would come between me and her. I always thought I was a better friend than that. And I hate it, but running into you today is the closest I’ve felt to her in years,” she confessed.

Sitting there opposite your former best friend, Art couldn’t help but agree. So many parts of you lived on in Tashi, remnants of your lifelong friendship that had shaped both of you in ways he could now see clearly. The way she tilted her head when deep in thought mirrored your own, a habit you’d both picked up during your countless late-night conversations. That amused, all-knowing expression on Tashi’s face when Art tried to lie to her was uncannily similar to yours.

Even her choice of words, the little phrases and inside jokes that only you two shared, brought you vividly to life at that moment, making it feel like a part of you was still there, sitting right across from Art.

“Yeah, me too,” Art agreed, trying to keep the sudden gust of sadness out of his tone.

To make matters worse, seeing Tashi was the closest Art had felt to you and Patrick in a very long time.

It brought back memories of his former best friend, who had once been his world. There was a time when the four of you felt inseparable, and now, sitting there, Art could almost hear the echoes of those days. The way Tashi absentmindedly rubbed her forearm was like Patrick used to, a nervous habit that always surfaced during serious conversations. Tashi’s honest recount of how much she missed you felt like a mirror image of how much Art missed Patrick. Being with Tashi now, it was impossible not to feel the empty space left by the absence of the friendships that had once defined them both.

That night, as Tashi stepped into Art’s hotel room, the invisible string that still bound them both to you seemed to tighten, pulling them a little closer to where you slept just a few floors away.

𝟐 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

“I just got off the phone with Elora,” you declared, stepping into your shared hotel room with Patrick and finding your boyfriend lounging on the bed with the TV on. “I’ve been asked to play an exhibition match tomorrow. Just something quick and fun before the first round to boost ticket sales for the qualifiers. A bunch of American players from the tour will be there.”

You dropped onto the bed beside Patrick, kicking off your shoes and curling up in his awaiting arms. The two of you had been travelling together for over a year, sharing rooms while on tour and cohabitating in every aspect of your lives. It was like a reward after enduring a long-distance relationship during your final year at Stanford. Instead of just talking on the phone and occasionally getting surprise visits from Patrick, you went everywhere together and supported each other at every match and tournament you attended.

The two of you had slipped into an easy routine. Having the same profession meant that you were constantly going to the same places, and it made travelling and sightseeing so much more special. After working hard for over two weeks at each tournament, exploring new cities with Patrick was the ideal way to wind down and relax. There was something incredibly special and romantic about doing every day of your life with him.

Your relationship had been grabbing headlines ever since the press caught on to the fact that you were together over a year ago, but the attention ramped up exponentially after you won Wimbledon.

What used to be short articles about an up-and-coming, attractive couple in the tennis world had snowballed into detailed timelines of your dates and public appearances with Patrick. Luckily, the public adored you, and there was very little criticism or negativity surrounding your relationship. Other players on the WTA and ATP tour often teased you about being real celebrities, pointing out how rare it was to win public favour as much as you and Patrick did.

Even though this shift was odd, and you had yet to get used to the constant eyes on you, there were perks to having your picture taken professionally every time you went on a date with your boyfriend. You had framed your favourite newspaper clipping, a beautiful picture of you kissing Patrick after winning Wimbledon, with the heading The Darlings of the Tennis World written above it in a large, bold font.

“Great,” Patrick drawled, blinking lazily as he wrapped his arms around you. His hands gravitated under your shirt to draw circles on the bare skin of your midriff, immediately sending butterflies to your stomach. “Which unlucky girl’s getting her ass handed to her while you beat her in straight sets?” he joked, knowing any match you played would end in a crushing defeat for the other player.

“Actually…” you trailed off, sending him your best smile as Patrick drew his head back to meet your gaze.

He observed your innocent expression with quizzical, unsure eyes. Even though you were giving him your sweetest look, there was something mischievous about the glint in your eyes. When realisation hit him, Patrick sighed and said, “I’m the unlucky girl, aren’t I?” His distraught tone made laughter bubble from your lips.

“Smart and handsome? I really hit the jackpot,” you teased, buttering him up with compliments so that he would agree more readily. “Come on, Pat, it’ll be fun!”

“Oh yeah, really fun!” Patrick agreed sarcastically, matching your energetic tone. “Like how a lion treats a lamb during slaughter!”

You rolled your eyes, stifling your laughter at your boyfriend’s dramatics. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I’ll go easy on you,” you said, imitating his voice and tone. He had never used those exact words about playing tennis, but Patrick’s tone was always thick with the same arrogant confidence. “Think about it! If you play against me, you’ll get to see that winning serve of mine up close and personal.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been on the opposing end of your winning serve plenty of times during practice,” Patrick defended. “I always knew you were better than me, gorgeous, but I don’t remember agreeing to public humiliation when we started dating!”

“Drama queen,” you accused. “It really will be fun! We’ll be mic’d up and we can talk and joke the entire time. It’s the best of three sets and it’ll be just like practising together. Come on, what do you say?” At Patrick’s uncertain expression, you sat up in bed and swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. The fire that instantaneously burned in his gaze made you smirk triumphantly. “I’ll be really grateful if you do it,” you said suggestively, placing your hands on his chest and grinning. “Pretty please?”

“Well, since you said pretty please,” Patrick joked, unable to keep the wide smile off his face when you tilted your head at him. “Sure. What’s one more event where everyone thinks you’re out of my league?”

Happily, you exclaimed, “That’s the spirit!”

“Wait–” Patrick frowned when you got up from his lap and began scurrying around the room looking for your phone– “I thought you were going to show me how grateful you are?”

You snorted. “Nice try. You can have your reward after the exhibition match,” you declared, chuckling quietly.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Patrick complained.

“Don’t act like you don’t love the chase,” you retorted, winking as you texted Elora that you and Patrick were happy to participate in the exhibition match.

From his place on your shared bed, Patrick rolled onto his stomach and observed you. It was hard to imagine that he had only known you for four years. Your participation in his life felt so insurmountably important that it was like he had known you his entire life. You had seamlessly woven yourself into the fabric of Patrick’s daily existence, shaping his world with a depth and significance that defied the brevity of time.

Unlike Tashi and Art, Patrick realised early on that you were someone he should hold on to. His life before you had been filled with disappointment from his family, and Patrick recognised what a rarity you were. Having already lost you before when his relationships with Tashi and Art ended, Patrick knew losing you meant losing something irreplaceable. Your presence filled gaps he hadn’t noticed before he met you, making it obvious that you were someone worth cherishing.

As you picked up a phone call from your coach, Patrick went on his laptop and checked how much money was in his savings account. He won enough matches to pay for plane tickets, tennis equipment, and other daily necessities, saving an immense amount of money because the fat cheque you got from Nike every month more than covered your shared accommodations. Over the last year, in particular, Patrick had started saving for something very special.

An engagement ring.

As much as Patrick wanted you to have the very best, an engagement ring from Harry Winston or Bulgari just wasn’t within his budget. He was entitled to a family heirloom ring, but Patrick didn’t want to give you something from his family. Any engagement ring he chose had to represent you and your relationship with him, rather than the generations of unhappy, reluctant marriages his family seemed destined to repeat.

After carefully perusing different stores and comparing the cost and quality of various rings, Patrick found the perfect one at Cartier. It was simple and classic, exactly the style you had mentioned you preferred offhandedly on several occasions. To his surprise, it didn’t cost an arm and a leg, and he had almost saved enough to get you the exact ring he wanted you to have.

After Wimbledon, you noticed and commented on the fact that Patrick was training harder than ever. To you, it seemed like he was finally starting to take himself more seriously. Instead of coasting on his natural talent, Patrick began seeing your physical trainer with you and even quit smoking to improve his stamina. What you didn’t know was that he was doing all of this to increase his chances of winning more matches at the US Open, where a significant amount of prize money was on the line.

In Patrick’s mind, the more matches he won, the more money he could take home, and the nicer your engagement ring could be.

“Hey, do you know what ring size you are?” Patrick asked as casually as he could when your phone call was over. “Jess got a bunch of rings that don’t fit her and she was wondering if you want them instead?”

“That’s so sweet, I can’t believe she thought of me,” you acknowledged, grinning. Ever since you met Patrick and his extended family last year, you were constantly invited to spend time with his cousins Jess and Alex. While Patrick wasn’t best friends with them, they were the closest family he had, so you had accepted several invitations over the past year. “I would love that, Jess has amazing taste in jewellery! Tell her I’m an eight in ring size, but I’ll squeeze into anything she wants to give me,” you joked, not thinking much of Patrick’s question.

With shaking hands, Patrick sent a text with your ring size to the sales associate at the Cartier store in New York, who had been keeping him updated on when the exact ring he wanted was available. Once the US Open was over, all Patrick had to do was head to Manhattan and pick up the ring. It had taken him almost four months to find the perfect one for you, and then it was just a matter of winning enough prize money to afford it. As long as Patrick won two rounds at the US Open next week, he’d have enough to buy your engagement ring.

Then he would have to decide how and when to propose to you.

#challengers x reader #challengers fanfic #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson imagine #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig x you #art donaldson x you #challengers fanfiction #mike faist x reader #josh o connor x reader #tashi duncan #fic: guilty as sin?

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delusionalwings · 2 years

Text

― synopsis -> when you struggle against him

― characters -> lucifer, mammon, beelzebub, belphegor

― gender neutral reader

― headcanons

― warnings -> yandere content, mentions of punishment (lucifer), hints of kidnapping (all), mentions of abandonment for hours (belphie), mentions of clinginess despite reader's unwillingness (mammon)

LUCIFER

Disobedient humans need to be trained. Punishments inflicted on the body are temporary and for a human, he might go just a little overboard when he's in one of his moods. So, he settles for psychological horror.

Any sense of pride you have in yourself creeps away from under your skin never to be found again. The one aspect you can be proud of now is being well mannered around him. For that, you're rewarded with a word of praise. Surely, you have not become accustomed to degradation to such an extent that you'd still wish to rebel?

MAMMON

It’s intoxicating to see you dressed in dazzling gold from head to toe only for him. He hates it when the same pieces of jewelry lie on the floor after a fight. No, he doesn't get physical with you. As if!

It just so happens that during the heated argument, you can't help but tear away all his gifts. You want to get away from it all, from him for the time being. However, he won't let you. Wrapping his arms around you, he holds you close as his grasp breaks the golden chains around your body and they come undone on the floor. It's unintentional and portrays his fear of losing you if he lets go. His nails dig into your skin in want and your voice gets lost because you feel suffocated against his skin.

BEELZEBUB

You’re so fragile that he’s scared of breaking you. Why do you try to run away? Isn't he your family? It makes him sad when he realises that you're scared of him. Despite his appearance, he won't hurt you. Never intentionally. Human beings are weak so he can't risk you dying on him, can he? He'll be very careful to be fed well before he comes in your vicinity. When you smell so nice, maybe even taste heavenly, he may lose his mind someday. But you have nothing to worry, no need to fear. He won't lose you. Not again.

Be a good human and stay quiet. Let him feed you, clean your bruises, and tuck you into bed. Belphie hates it when you struggle and when Belphie doesn't like something, bad things happen…

BELPHEGOR

Do you really think that he has the time for your whining? Think again. Time is the one commodity you have in abundance where he leaves you for hours to get his sleep. In a dark room where nobody takes care of your basic needs of food and clothing, you really don't have any choice but to sit down with your arms around your knees and... think.

He's not even punishing you but it feels so... so depressing to look at the prison walls and wonder what you did wrong to end up like this. Maybe even the pillow he holds during sleep is luckier than you because it gets to touch another living being. How miserable everything feels... Your mind feels like a broken dream.

#obey me #yandere obey me #yandere headcanons #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #x mc #x reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral mc #yandere #male yandere #forbidden path #yandere lucifer #yandere mammon #yandere beelzebub #yandere belphegor

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finelinevogue · 3 years

Note

the fact that Y/N has post natal depression Is somewhat refreshing idk I just don't see it talked about much on here and if it is it's like Hella angsty and the partner doesn't understand what it is but I was wondering if u could touch on it a bit more cause it's something I'm really scared about happening to me and I just want harry to hold me and tell me it's going be okay 😚😚😚😚

P.s. if u don't wanna it's understandable

anon: can u write about harry helping y/n through her ppd maybe like the 3rd time was so bad that h decide that he won’t be having more children

so this was requested twice so i would love to be able to write this for you both, hope this is okay - mind it’s heavily angsty!;

tw: vomiting, ppd and od

oli - 4, felix - 3, belle - 12 weeks

Motherhood was really fucking hard.

The birth of your newly born daughter, Isabella, had really taken a back pedal on your mental health. You had suffered with post natal depression after the birth of your two sons, but nothing as bad as this.

It had hit you around the 7 week mark after giving birth. The pregnancy itself was okay, even though she was slightly premature, but it was after you’d taken her home that it’d all spiralled downhill. It started with complications with her breastfeeding - like she was rejecting the milk that you had produced. It hurt to see her reject you and your body, finding more comfort in drinking from a pre-made milk bottle as her dad rocked her to sleep. You recall the evening so clearly and felt like an utter failure as you watched her drink a bottle of formula for the first time.

“Ssh ssh,” Harry cooed to your 7 week old daughter as he rocked her in his arms on the rocking chair in her nursery. She was whining because she was hungry, but the problem was that she wasn’t accepting your milk. She hadn’t been accepting your milk all day and now it was becoming dangerous for you to keep on saying ‘Oh i’ll just try later.’ Harry had told you to make a formula bottle for her. “Mummy’s coming.”

As much as you didn’t want to, you were walking back to the nursery with a warm bottle in your hands. You’d tested it on your hand to make sure it wasn’t too hot and then taken a sip to taste it, out of jealousy, and you thought that it didn’t taste any different to you. Then again you’re not a 7 week old human whose only date is milk.

“Look here’s mummy with your yummy milk, okay? Look Belles!” Harry cooed at his darling angel and you only wished he wasn’t as happy for her as he was.

“Yeah.” You spoke softly, handing him the bottle and standing nearby, part of you hoping that she would reject this too and she wasn’t just rejecting you.

But no, she drank the formula like it was her last meal.

“Such a sweet girl, aren’t you?” Harry praised her, watching her in awe as she kept on drinking the formula. Watching as she was drinking to become the strong girl you knew she’d become. It just hurt that it wasn’t you that could help her become that.

You felt powerless. Worthless, even. The one thing that you had carried the weight of your breasts around to do and you couldn’t even do it. Your nipples were so sore and your breasts ached so badly and it was all for nothing. Perhaps it was punishment for being such a bad mum. Perhaps you’d never been good enough for this job and it was your bodies way of shutting you down forever. You wouldn’t need the ability to produce milk anymore, because you weren’t worth the title of becoming one again. You wanted to be happy for your little one, seeing her happy but all you felt was rejection and sadness. She didn’t think you were good enough to be her mum and that really hurt.

Along with the breastmilk problem, Belle also became very stubborn when you wanted to change her nappy. Anytime you tried to change and help her she put up a fuss, kicking her legs and sometimes she would bite or hit you away. It was just a reminder that you weren’t a good enough mum for her and that she didn’t feel safe enough around you. She didn’t find comfort in your presence and she was so fussy about what you did around her. With Harry, though, she was an angel. She loved him so much and obviously he made her feel so loved and safe - something you’d clearly never be able to give her.

There was also the chores of being a mother to your other two sons too. Oli and Felix were old enough to understand that they had a baby sister, but they weren’t old enough to understand how miserable you were. Harry wasn’t even able to figure it out yet. You tried your best to put on your bravest face, knowing that your family needed you to be strong but the truth was that you were crumbling on the inside. You were feeling less and less like yourself and you were waiting for the moment when you’d completely fall apart. Nothing felt right anymore. Everything was just numb.

“You two boys okay?”

You walked into the children’s playroom see that they were sat at the little table colouring in. Felix’s little legs dangled slightly, whereas Oli’s legs touched the floor and it made your heart swell at how big they were both getting.

“Yep!” Oli cheered, scribbling with his left hand as his tiny tongue stuck out from his lips as he concentrated - a habit passed onto him from his father.

“What are you both drawing?” You asked, coming over and kneeling on the floor beside them and having a peek at their drawings.

“We’re colouring for daddy.” Felix answered, some of the words not being pronounced properly due to his young lisp and lack of being taught how to say things correctly yet.

His words stung though. You appreciated that he was only a toddler and he meant nothing evil or malicious by it, but it hurt to think that maybe, just maybe, your sons were doing this for their dad because he did so much more for them than you did. Of course you tried to be the best mum you could, but maybe you weren’t doing enough. Maybe you weren’t meant to be a mum after all, or at least not a good one.

“O-oh,” you tried to hold back the tears in your eyes because your boys looked so proud at their artwork - and you should be too. “Tell me about them then, my loves.”

Oli went first, “So this is me and this is Oli and this is dad. It’s us playing football like we did the other day, mummy.” He pointed out to each of the figures, some looking actually quite terrifying but you’d never have the heart to tell him that. The figures were all holding hands though and it hurt to think that you weren’t a part of that.

“Oh that’s so good Ols!” you rubbed his head of hair and then turned to Felix’s, “What about you Fix?”

“I drew daddy as the best.” He pointed to a trophy that the figure - more like a stick-man-slenderman - was holding, which was decorated with the award of ‘my hero’.

“I told him to write hero, mummy.” Oli added, and you smiled at both of them.

“Well done. Good job both of you. Daddy will love these!” You only wished that they would draw something for you. You hated to think that you were being petty, but honestly you just wanted to feel loved. “Shall I go cut up some apple for a snack, hey?” You asked, trying to feel useful.

“Daddy is making us smoothies!” Felix answered and you had to stand up, up and away from their heigh, so they didn’t catch the tears in your eyes.

“Okay! Don’t forget to give him those pictures - he’ll love those.” You praised them and they both giggled to each other.

The sight of your sons laughing should’ve made you so happy, but it only reminded you that you weren’t the source of their happiness. You weren’t on their mind enough to be their inspiration for drawings. You definitely weren’t their hero. You were just a woman to them, not a mum. You wanted to be so much more but it was clear that they didn’t need you. They were loved by their dad and each other, not in need of your heart.

Eventually Belle settled down and was sleeping better through the night, leaving you and Harry to much more peaceful nights sleep. Well, just Harry.

You had found it near impossible to get to sleep now. You lay awake at night wondering when Belle would next wake up, wondering when she’d next need you. Harry was always quick out of bed though, even if he actually was sleeping, to help her ordering you to stay in bed and rest yourself. You couldn’t help feel like he was telling you to stay put because he knew you wouldn’t be able to do your job properly - and you started to believe him.

You’d found yourself getting jealous of those that could get to sleep. When you were walking down the road you’d judge a person by how much sleep they looked like they got last night. You definitely looked like you only had 2 hours - even when you’d only had 37 minutes but who’s counting? Your dark circles were heavily noticeable, but no one cared enough to ask. Even Harry stayed clear of you more and more often; spending more time with the kids than you and sleeping on his side of the bed instead of yours at nighttime.

There had been one evening where you had been so restless that Harry had gotten so frustrated and left the room, with a blanket and a pillow, and slept on the couch. You’d never felt so much like a burden than that night. Your family was rejecting you and you felt like a failure. You were a success at failing in everything. The meals you cooked went half eaten by everyone because you would’ve forgotten to add a key ingredient. The children preferred to spend more time playing with their dad because you weren’t energised enough to play the games they wanted to. Your daughter still rejected your milk. It was all too much and you just wanted one nights peace for it to change.

Last night had been that night.

Fuck these were so addicting. You were finally getting the sleep that you so badly craved, only with the help of tablets.

You wanted the sleep because that was the one place you could escape to. You needed that escape to help you get out of bed the next morning. Life was too hard for you to not dream, and without dreaming you didn’t want life.

It started off with taking one every night before bed, but then they stopped working again, so you started taking two, then three. Four was obviously where your body hit its limit.

“Mummy? Can you come tuck me in please?” Oli asked, little toy giraffe in hand and shaking you in hopes of waking you up to send him peacefully off to sleep.

You’d gone to bed a bit earlier tonight, lying saying that you were extremely exhausted. Harry said he would be able to handle things and that’s when you excitedly ran upstairs to take your pills; 4 of them. You’d made it into your bed, feeling slightly drowsy after completing your nighttime routine, but then you started to feel unwell and really ill. Before you’d passed out you’d stuck your fingers down your throat in hopes to make the feeling in your stomach disappear, but it ended up you throwing up all over the bed and pass out right there.

“Mummy! Wake up!” Oli rattled your back, but you were still unresponsive.

Oli padded out of the room and down to his sisters room where he knew his dad was. Belle was being extra fussy this evening and Harry suspected it had everything to do with you retiring early. He heard Oli come into the room just as he’d gotten Belle down.

“Y’alright buddy?” Harry whispered, tip-toeing out of Belle’s room, leaving the door open slightly, and crouched down in front of him.

“No. Mummy’s not waking up.” Oli pouted, rubbing a tired fist over his eye.

“She’s probably in dreamland, bud. She was really tired today.”

“She’s really tired all of the times.”

“I know, Ol.” Because Harry did know, but he was too much of a coward to face up to the problem. The doctors had said that post natal depression can strengthen with every birthed child, but he was too blind sighted by the fact that you’d overcome the first birthed post natal depression so quickly, and was so in love with his baby girl, that he didn’t truly see how bad things had gotten. Harry had tried giving you some space, distancing himself from you in bed and spending more time with the kids so you could relax and rest up, but nothing seemed to be working. He was surprised, actually, that you’d been having better sleep recently and so was hopeful that maybe the worst of the depression was over.

Hell, was he so wrong.

“Go to bed, bud okay? I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Wake mummy up so she can give me a kiss.”

“I’ll try little man, alright?” Harry scuffed his sons hair and then watched him walk off to his room.

Harry walked into your dark room, the air smelling slightly sour, and walked around to your side of the bed. He sat down next to you sighed heavily. He needed to speak to you, no matter how tired or angry you’d be with him. He was losing you as a wife and a mother and a soulmate and a lover. He was just losing you, just as you were losing yourself and he was doing tip-toeing around the problem any longer. He was going to try and make this better. He was going to better understand how you were feeling in order to help you.

“Baby?” He spoke softly, nudging you gently, “Baby wake up.” No response. “Y/N, my love? Wake up for me darling, need to speak with you.” Normally you would’ve stirred by now but there was still nothing. “Y/N?” Harry shook you a bit more urgently now - one that would surely wake even the deepest of sleepers. “Y/N!” He shouted, perhaps a bit too loudly for the comfort of his children.

He turned you over and that’s when he knew this was very, very, bad.

Your face was pale grey and your mouth was covered in the remains of vomit, and he suddenly understood the gross sour smell from before. Your hair was greasy and stuck all in the wet sick all over your face. Your eyes were puffy from the remains of tears. You looked dead.

“No, no, no. Y/N! No you don’t.” Harry’s eyes starting weeping and he couldn’t think straight. He checked your pulse on your wrist and timed it - it was unhealthily faint. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were in your last beats of your heart. His tears and sobs were uncontrollable, but he had to be both strong for you and his children, as well as for him. “Fuck sake pull yourself together Harry. Okay, baby hold on please. Okay? You don’t get to leave me like this, you hear me? I love you so much, baby. Fuck i’m so sorry.” He gently placed your head back down on the pillow and pulled out his phone.

999

“What’s your emergency?”

“I need a-an ambulance p-please. I-I think my wife i-is dying.”

The rest of it was a blur for Harry. Him trying to wake you up. The ambulance arriving. Oli and Felix crying when they saw you being carried away on a stretcher. Belle’s deafening screams. Harry’s heart beating for the both of you.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It was the rhythmic beeping sounds that woke you up.

Your whole body felt achey and sore, your head a pounding mess. You opened your eyes slowly, adjusting them to the light of the room. You expected to see the family photo on the wall opposite you and the white of your curtains, but you were met with a heart-monitor machine and a hospital bed instead. You looked down at your body and noticed a cannula in your arm, making you squirm because you hated stuff like that so much. Your nose had a tube running inside it too, feeding you the oxygen your lungs weren’t receiving properly.

It then dawned on you how you weren’t in the room alone. You saw a sleeping Anne and Gemma on the chairs in the far corner, with Felix and Oli tucked against their sides - Anne with Oli and Felix with Gemma. It was so cute to see them so cuddled up close. They looked peaceful. You took note of the baby pram that was at the end of your bed, most likely playing bed to your beautiful daughter. Your mind felt lost. You can’t really remember what had happened, apart from taking four of those sleeping pills. You fully remember the weight of feeling worthless and useless as both a mum and a wife, though, and that feeling was still very prominent.

Your eyes lastly landed to the side of you, where Harry was sat but also laid on your bed. The top of half of his body laid upon the bed, his head buried onto this arm deep within the bed, whilst his bottom stayed rooted to the chair. His hand was holding yours tightly, which was a sign that he wasn’t asleep. You were so scared to face him though. You had failed him, again and again and you weren’t sure whether you could be enough for him anymore. Enough for your family anymore.

You squeezed his hand three times saying ‘I love you.’

“Y/N,” He whispered so hoarsely, but you were so focused on him to even catch it. He looked ruined, and you’d done that to him. His eyes were dark and tired, but also red and puffy from where he’d been crying. His hair was a mess and you could tell it hadn’t been washed in a while. How long had you been out for? You felt rested in your sleep, but not in your mind or your heart.

“I—” Your breathe got caught in your throat, but you persevered to finish your words. He deserved to here them. “I’m sorry.” You were whispering so you didn’t disturb anyone else in the room.

“No, stop it. I’m sorry baby.”

“Harry don’t, you don’t have anyt—”

“Stop yes I do I—”

“Harry please you don’t owe—”

“Y/N listen!” He cut the little volley-conversation and ordered you to just stop. You started crying when you saw that he was too. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. Whatever you’re thinking, stop it right now. Because I love you. Fuck, I do. I love you so much that when I found you unconscious in a pile of your own sick thinking you were dead, my only thought was that I wished it were me instead”.

“Harry, you don’t mean—”

“My god Y/N! You don’t get it, do you? I would do anything to switch places with you right now. I would suffer a thousand times over if it meant you were okay. I’d suffer in hell for you. Nobody else but you has ever made me feel like this. I married you because I love you and I want to wake up next to you every day of my beating hearts life. I chose to have children with you, because I knew how great of a mum you’d be and what beautiful people you’d help bring up into the world—”

“But i’m not.” You cut Harry short, trying to pull your hand away from him but he didn’t let you - only tightening his grip and pulling himself closer towards you. He was so close you could kiss him.

“Not what?” He asked, although he already knew the answer. You’d both had this conversation before, but you were both tired of it and were ready for it to be your last now.

“A good mum. I’m- i’m not a good mum or wife, Harry and i’m sorry.”

“I told you not say it and stop thinking it, because you’re completely wrong Y/N. You’re a good mother and a good wife, because you are a good person.”

“But i’m not great.” You whimpered, thinking back to the drawings your Oli and Felix had done. “I’m not the best.”

“But you don’t have to be, baby. You see our beautiful, healthy, happy and safe babies over there?” Harry turned to look at them, love in his eyes as in yours. “They wouldn’t be all those things, no matter how you feel about yourself, without you. I could never have brought them up to be half the people they are without you by my side, the way you make me a better person. You claim you don’t got this, but baby you’re already doing it and have been doing it for 5 years with our children and so much longer with me.”

“I’m just so fucked up Harry.” Your head tilted back on the pillow as you got heavily emotional over the situation.

Harry shook his head and moved his hand to cup the back of your neck, moving your head forwards until it met his. The touch of his skin against yours, no matter where and how small, made you feel alive and you’d missed him and that feeling so much. You missed loving him so much.

“Listen to me.” He ordered, keeping you still. “You are strong and you are brave Y/N Styles. No matter what you tell yourself I will be here every goddamn day of my life, if I have to, to remind you that you are worth more than your fucking weight in gold. You are my heart. You are my soul and the mother to my greatest achievements. I know they are yours too, just as I know I am your heart.

“You are.” You whispered so quietly under your breathe, but Harrys heart warmed when he caught you saying it. He knew though.

“Just let me love you. Let me be there for you. If you want medication then let’s do it, and i’ll be there for every step of the way. If you want to go to a rehabilitation centre for a bit, that’s okay we can—”

You shook your head and licked the tears away from your face. You were both such tearful messes, but the love between you was undeniable. “No, no please, no.”

“Okay, okay, love. We won’t. See, you’re okay. I promise, you’re okay. Stay with me, yeah? I’ll love you and keep you safe, just as you will me.”

“Promise.” You told him sincerely. He brought his lips to yours with that single word. He was so proud of your for being so brave and strong. He wishes he was half the person you were. His lips conveyed those thoughts of his and you could taste the love and passion burning through his heart and out on to his lips. He tasted like home. z he was home. Your lips smacked together messily, but you didn’t care because you loved each other too much and had kissed each other even more. Once you pulled back he stayed close to you, smiling at you with such awe. “I think.. I think I want to try medication please.”

Harry didn’t say ‘okay’ or ‘sure thing’, no. He said four words that meant more to you in that moment that any others in the universe. More than saying ‘I love you.’ Words that reminded you that not everything is okay and that sucks really bad, but you’re doing your best to get through it. It was a reminder that you had so many people who loved you and cared for you. It was a gun at the starting line symbolising that the journey ahead wasn’t going to be easy, but worth it.

“I’m proud of you.”

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purple-babygirl · 3 years

Note

What about Bucky dealing with a Little that's very picky about food and nervous about trying new foods so Bucky does things like eating the new food first and then asks if the little would want some, and maybe something to do with the fact that the little eats the same few foods nearly everyday? You can ignore this if you want!!

Word count: 2,613

Warnings: ddlg dynamics, it's all fluff.

A/N: Hi! I loved this so much and I loved writing it and I really hope you like reading it just as much💜 Thank you for sharing this idea with me; it was awesome💜 Also, it might take me some time to get to your guys' asks, but I will never ignore you. Please enjoy xx💜💜 I know I said I was trying to write them shorter but they keep getting longer idk I like to make food so🤷

chef daddy adventures

Bucky was a democratic daddy. He had rules and they were agreed upon and followed, but there were still certain things his girl got to choose to her own liking. Bucky would schedule a play date and she would decide what to wear. Bucky would say it's bath time and she'd point to the bath bomb she wanted to drop in the tub. Bucky would cook and she'd pick what she wanted to eat.

The thing was, though, that she picked almost the same things every single time. She ate the same things every week. And not only that, but there were stuff she would refuse to eat or even taste. Her doctor assured Bucky it wasn't something physical: no sensitive palate and no allergies. She was just a picky eater; always nervous about trying anything new.

This left Bucky with limited options both when he was cooking or ordering food. He wanted to make his girl comfortable, but that didn't mean he wanted her to miss out on all the benefits other foods offered because mushrooms were tasteless, seafood tasted ocean-rancid or the texture of cooked zucchinis was weird.

“Hey, bubba, what do you think we try something different today?” Bucky proposed after she picked fried chicken again when asked about what she wanted for dinner.

“Different?” She tilted her head, dropping her colouring pencil, letting Bucky carry her outside of the playroom.

“Mhm, maybe we could try a new recipe for chicken? You know daddy only makes you tasty stuff, right?” Bucky said as he sat her up on the kitchen counter.

“I don' know, dada..” she trailed off unsurely, the thought alone making her nervous.

“You're doubting daddy's cooking skills?” Bucky gasped, closing his eyes and clutching his heart.

“No, no, dada, no!” She assured him quickly, wrapping her limbs around him like a baby koala, arms and legs hugging his torso.

“You like daddy’s cooking then?” He asked her playfully.

“Yes, daddy, I like it a lot.”

“So you're gonna help daddy with our newest recipe?” Bucky opened one eye, smiling mischievously at the girl wrapped around him.

“Yes, daddy.” She meekly nodded in his chest.

“And you're gonna give it a try? Eat it with daddy?” He opened the other eye, his big hand rubbing her back.

“Yes, daddy,” she repeated, looking up at him.

“Such a good girl.” Bucky kissed her forehead and she smiled at the praise.

A few minutes later, Bucky had the needed ingredients on the spacious counter beside his girl: chicken breasts, shallot onions, a couple garlic cloves, cream, some shredded mozzarella and parmesan and mushrooms. Now, she did object to the addition of mushrooms to the dish, but Bucky convinced her it won't affect it because it had no taste. She couldn't argue against her own words.

Bucky could see the slight sadness on her face because she actually liked everything he put in that pan except for the sliced button mushrooms. But he needed her to give the fungi a chance.

“Bubba, you wanna sprinkle the cheese?” That should cheer her up.

“Baby doll, you wanna try some?” Bucky asked before scooping her a portion, though he knew what she was about to say.

“Only cream, no mushrooms, please, dada.” Exactly that.

“But, bubba- just give it a try.”

She stayed silent, her fingers pinching the tablecloth.

“For me?” Bucky pleaded with her gently.

“Dada..” she didn't want to say no but she didn't want to eat the mushrooms still.

“Here, look, daddy will try them first and I'll tell you if they don't taste good, okay? Promise,” Bucky said, scooping some cream and mushrooms on his spoon.

“Okay, daddy,” she agreed quietly, his promise making her feel less nervous. She trusted her Daddy's judgment.

“Bub, you're missing out,” Bucky told her as soon as he chewed his food, licking his spoon in emphasis, “those mushrooms are delicious.”

“They have a taste?” She asked with wide eyes, making Bucky smile big.

“Yup, taste like the cheesy cream sauce we made. You want one?” He picked one slice of mushroom, rubbing it in the white sauce.

She nodded, opening her mouth.

“Good girl.” Bucky slid the fork in her mouth, watching her face as she chewed.

“How does it taste, bub?”

“Like cream,” she confirmed with a smile.

“Wait till you try it with chicken in the same bite, hold on.” Bucky excitedly started preparing the next bite on her fork, internally sighing in relief that he was able to get her to try something new.

When he tried to do that again with zucchini though, Bucky miserably failed. The second she saw the tall vegetables through the plastic shopping bags, she asked Bucky if they could order pizza for dinner that night, not even giving him a chance to cook them for her. The same thing happened when he attempted to sneak shrimps into their linguine. She wasn't near as compliant as she was when they cooked the mushrooms. Maybe it was because mushrooms didn’t have a strong, distinct taste or texture for her to remember and complain about. Whatever the reason, she made one thing clear: she did not want her teeth anywhere near that green vegetable or that shellfish.

Bucky almost gave up on zucchinis and shrimps until one day when they were watching Ratatouille, a lamp lit above his head. He saw his girl mesmerized by the dish Remy made Ego so much that she constantly kept talking about it: how colorful it was, how she wished she could taste it and how she wondered what was in it. Bucky being Bucky, he knew the recipe. And he knew it essentially contained zucchinis. So the next day when grocery shopping, Bucky made sure to get all the ingredients needed to make one, delicious, authentic ratatouille for his girl.

Only problem was, she was a smart little one. She knew zucchinis when she saw them and she saw Bucky thin-slicing a few. So she refused to eat when dinner was on the table, asking if she could have noodles instead. It would be the fifth time that she'd wanted noodles for dinner that week. Bucky made her noodles anyway so she wouldn't feel left out on the dinner table, but he still had to convince her.

“Mmmm, it tastes so good, baby doll. I bet it's better than the one Remy made,” Bucky said, exaggeratingly savoring the bite he took.

“Remy is the best chef ever, dada,” she mumbled, fingers playing with the tablecloth.

“Exactly, so what does that tell ya?” His question made her gaze on the full pan in subtle contemplation.

“That daddy is a better chef?” She bit down.

“That's right. You want a taste, bub?” Bucky asked her softly.

“Dada, I don't like zucchinis,” she said in subtle frustration, her feet almost kicking air under the table. She wanted a taste, she just didn't want a taste of zucchini.

“Too bad; tastes delicious,” Bucky shrugged apologetically, watching her as he took another fork between his lips.

“Does it really taste good?” She wondered curiously, eyeing the tomato sauce-smeared plate.

He successfully had her attention.

“Mhm.”

“So good?”

“Yeah, so so good,” Bucky promised, “you wanna try?” He offered her the next loaded fork with a hopeful smile.

She stared at Bucky, hesitation clear in her eyes despite her mouth-watering at the sight and smell of the dish, the sweetness of basil filling the air.

“But just a li'l bite?” She negotiated, still trying to get out of having to eat zucchini.

“Just a little bite; see if you like it?” Bucky dropped the food back on the plate, getting her a smaller portion on the fork instead.

She nodded, “yes, please, dada.”

“Good girl. One little bite coming up. Open up, bub.” Bucky smiled, positioning the fork before her mouth.

She faintly pouted at the thought of zucchinis but opened up and let herself taste the food. The more she chewed the more her eyes widened, making Bucky chuckle.

Bucky didn't put any zucchini on the first fork, not wanting her to feel betrayed. He wanted her to warm up to the meal bit by bit, so he only gave her eggplant and tomato.

“You like it, baby doll?”

“Yes, dada. 'S delicious.” She nodded, tongue licking the side of her lips.

“Told ya.” Bucky grinned wider, reloading the fork for her.

“No, dada, that's too much zucchini,” she whined when she saw the bite he was preparing on the fork.

“Tell you what, did you like the sauce?” Bucky asked and she nodded in confirmation.

“Yeah? Okay, we'll dip it in lots of sauce, cover it up real good and you won't even know zucchini is there.” He promised, rolling the zucchini on the fork around in the bottom of the casserole pan.

“But I saw it.” She continued to whine.

“Trust me, bub, just like we did with the mushrooms, yeah? Open up.”

She obeyed and let Bucky feed her the sauced veggies and he was right, all she tasted was the amazing sauce and the slight crunch of the onions hid the weird texture of the zucchinis.

“Dada, wan' more please,” she requested with a sheepish smile after swallowing, her feet now swinging under the table.

Bucky was just staring at her, proud of himself that he got her to enjoy a food she would've continued to claim to hate minutes ago. He was more than happy to be the Remy to her Ego.

“Of course, baby doll.” He smiled wide, scooping another serving on the plate for her, “tell me I'm a better chef than Remy first,” Bucky teased, keeping the fork at a distance from her mouth.

“Dada's better.” She blushed, opening her mouth, making Bucky chuckle at her cuteness.

She was finally eating zucchinis and she was relishing them. That was amazing progress; Bucky just had to find a good movie for every food she refused to eat…

It was two weeks after Bucky made them ratatouille that he tried to sneak in another recipe containing something she didn't like to eat. Bucky had done his movie research.

And so on movie night, Bucky put on The Princess and The Frog for them to watch and made sure his baby had her eyes on the screen when Tiana's father was stirring the pot of gumbo.

“Oh, look how tasty that gumbo's looking, bubba.”

“It's a movie, dada. Real shrimps taste like-” She shook her head as her smart mouth ran.

“The ocean, yeah, I know, bub.” Bucky sighed, kissing her temple. The hardheadedness he'd encouraged on her before was coming back to bite him in the butt.

But Bucky wasn't a daddy to give up. He set up his ingredients the next day and invited his baby doll to the kitchen to assist. She was always happy when they were doing stuff together, and Bucky wanted her to see how everything was made so she knew what she was presented when it was time to eat.

Bucky did the dangerous stuff: peeled and deveined the shrimps, cut up the sausages and vegetables, minced the garlic, and simmered the sauce while she did the safer stuff like handing him the salt and pepper, tasting the warm broth a couple of times before Bucky dropped in the shrimps, and occasionally giggling when he would peck her nose or cheek.

“You wanna put in the last magic ingredient, baby doll?” Bucky suggested, pointing to the Tabasco sauce bottle.

“Yes, dada.” She nodded, happy that she gets to play Tiana's part.

She let Bucky open the bottle for her and hand it over, his hand on hers to make sure she didn't spill too much into the pot.

She was pleased to be cooking with her daddy, but she wasn't exactly as pleased about the thought that she might have to eat shrimps or something that tasted of it for dinner.

When they were seated, she didn't let Bucky scoop any shrimps for her. She only agreed to try the veggies and the sausages and maybe get a couple of warm broth spoons. But Bucky wasn't going to have it be like this.

“Oh my god! Who made these amazing shrimps that taste nothing like the ocean and everything like Tiana's gumbo; they are yummy!” Bucky announced loudly, making her giggle as she chewed her beef sausage slice. She was thankful the shrimps didn't ruin the whole dish for her.

“Baby doll, you've got to try this. It's too delicious!”

She shook her head stubbornly, trying not to gag as she watched Bucky bite into another shrimp.

“Bub, I promise it doesn't taste like the ocean.”

“I don't know, dada..” she replied, nervously picking at the tablecloth again.

Bucky frowned, disheartened, as his shoulders drooped. She didn't like that look on daddy. She wanted to make him smile.

“One bite?” She asked in her small voice, eyes becoming curious again.

“One bite.” Bucky cut her a small piece of the shrimp and carefully neared the fork to her mouth.

She pulled away before it touched her lips “but.. if I don't like it daddy eats the rest? Please?”

“Okay, baby doll, whatever you want.” He smiled in agreement.

She sniffed at the fork, surprised to find that it smelled of herbs instead of the ocean. She locked eyes with an expectant Bucky as she closed her lips around the fork. She pulled back and started chewing slowly, Bucky anxiously anticipating her wanting to spit the food out.

She chewed for a minute before swallowing and smiling. She actually smiled at the taste, “'S good, dada.”

“Really? You like it?” Bucky asked cheerfully and she nodded.

“Yeah, daddy didn’ lie to me. It doesn’t taste like the ocean.” She beamed gratefully.

“You want more?” He offered with a grin and she nodded harder.

“Yes, please, dada.”

Bucky was so contented with himself he could write it in the papers. His girl was eating stuff he cooked that she'd refused to eat from the hands of certified chefs before. And she is liking them! No spitting, no throwing up, no disgusted, grimacing facial expressions made. He was really succeeding!

“Dada? Thank you,” she whispered shyly to Bucky as she sat on the kitchen counter, watching him do the dishes.

“For what, baby doll?”

“For cookin' me all the delicious food in the world.”

Bucky turned the water off and dried his hands before walking to her and engulfing her in his arms, her face finding its hiding place in the crook of his neck, “you're welcome, bubba,” Bucky sighed, kissing her hair, “thank you for trying it.”

She pecked his jaw in reply. She was so precious and adorable and she didn’t even know it.

“And I also like it when daddy tastes the food for me first,” she added, pressing her nose further into his neck.

“Yeah? Why's that?” Bucky smiled at the thought of her feeling safe eating aft-

“'Cause then if it tastes bad daddy could eat it alone and I don't have to eat it.” She mumbled, making Bucky fake another gasp.

“An' because I trust daddy too,” she peeked at him, biting back a smile.

“Oh no, too late, young lady, my heart has already been broken.” Bucky shook his head dramatically, playfully trying to pull away from the hug.

“No, no, dada, I love you,” she giggled and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, not wanting him to stop holding her.

Bucky laughed, “I love you too, bub.” Bucky kissed her forehead, nose and cheek, “I'll taste every food first for you.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

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unhealthyfanobsession · 3 years

Note

would u ever write a canon divergence piece of acosf where cassian actually hears (bc he didn’t and still doesn’t know) what mor says to nesta when she comes to pick them up from the training camp and gets pissed and confronts her and nesta maybe sort of kind of overhearrrrssss, or anything along these lines???? THANK U QUEEN WE STAN U WE LUV U

First of all this is so nice!! Thank you so much for the kind words. And I love this request! It actually fills in some gaps for me re why Mor suddenly helped Nesta with dancing instead of hating her. Hope you enjoy.

“You know that’s not fucking helpful, Mor.” Cassian crossed his arms over his chest and stared down his friend the second Nesta retreated into the House of Wind. Not quite ready to pick Mor up into his arms and fly to the River House while he was so pissed.

“What’s not helpful?” She probably didn’t even realize he’d been listening to their conversation while he finished his exercises.

Cassian rolled his eyes. “It’s one thing when you spew that shit about Nesta to me, which I already asked you to stop doing. But to actually say it to her? Are you trying to turn her against us forever?”

Mor scoffed, “I think that ship has sailed, Cass.”

“Bullshit.” The siphons on the top of Cassian’s hands flashed along with his anger. Bright enough that the light reflected off the carved glass doors.

“Oh I’m the one who is bullshit?” Mor moved to lean over the balcony, voice more exhausted than angry. “I think this whole plan is bullshit. You and Rhys and Feyre are bullshit for being stupid enough to get your hopes up that she can be fixed.”

“She isn’t broken,” Cassian growled.

“You are the best of us all,” Mor sighed, “if you actually believe that.”

“It doesn’t matter what you believe.” Cassian let his wings unfurl. “It just matters that you keep your mouth shut. Making her think everyone is waiting for her to fail will just make a self fulfilling prophecy.”

“I hate seeing you like this,” Mor sighed, lifting her hand to brush Cassian’s shoulder. He wretched his shoulder back.

“I’m fine.”

“You haven’t been fine since that-” Mor cut herself off, cursing under her breath, “since she walked into our lives,” Mor scoffed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cassian was dangerously close to snapping the tiny thread that held his temper back

“No one else will say it. So I am going to. You need to get a grip.”

“I told you I didn’t want to talk about this with you.” Cassian physically took a step back from his friend. “I’ve told you that so many times now but you just keep pushing! Stay out of it!”

“I’m pushing because you normally talk to me about everything!” Mor cried, “You’re the one who changed, Cassian, not me. You’re the one who stopped talking to me. I can see you hurting and it HURTS me! It fucking hurts, Cass, to watch you so miserable, especially when you won’t even talk to me.”

“You don’t get to cry.” Cassian’s voice was low, a tone he wasn’t sure if he had ever used with Mor. But as her brown eyes started to fill with tears, he felt that thread snap. “You know why I don’t talk to you about this Mor. You know and you have no interest in changing your opinion. You… I want to get her back,” Cassian’s voice cracked at the top. “That is why I’m here. That means everything to me, and you know that! And you’re trying to make me give up because you didn’t like her even before the war. I want her BACK! I have never wanted to change her. I like Nesta’s bite. I like her strength and her unyielding personality. I like that she stares Devlon in the face and calls herself a witch because he’s a idiot. I like who she was. I want that woman back. That strong, brilliant, proud, stubborn as hell woman. Someone nice would bore me in two seconds and you KNOW that! And I don’t talk to you because you already know all of this and you think that you know better than me. You think you’re protecting me and it’s fucking insulting Mor! I’m not a child. And I am not yours to protect.”

“Cass,” Mor whispered, quiet and horrified. “Cass don’t say that. How can you… how can you say that? Of course we are each other’s. You’re like a brother to me. I…”

“I can’t belong to both of you as long as you carry on like this.” Cassian lowered his voice, wrenching a hand through wind-knotted hair. “And I can’t help belonging to her,” he whispered. “But you know that, too.”

“You can help it.” Mor stared directly at him.

“Maybe,” Cassian nodded once. “But I don’t want to. I know who Nesta is. I know what is inside of her. I can see it and feel it and I… if it takes a century to bring her back to that woman she was before the war, then I’ll live in this house for a century. A millennium. I’m not giving up. And if you keep trying to tell me to give up. If you keep antagonizing her, then you’re going to lose a lot more than me confiding in you.”

“And she’s worth it?” Mor crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s worth all of this? Worth fighting with your best friend? Worth-”

“Yes.” Cassian’s answer left no room for response. For questions. It was his heart, bloody and gripped in his hands, and for once, it was not being offered to any member of the Inner Circle.

It was just out in the open. Waiting to be claimed by someone who might never want it.

“I think I should go to the River House alone tonight.” Mor looked out over Velaris. Cassian just nodded, flying her above the wards. She winnowed away and Cassian landed back on the balcony.

He took a deep, hard breath in. Unfurled his wings and let the air ripple through them. Some of the tendons still got sore from the healing if he didn’t stretch them enough. Lately, he’d been tucking them in too often. Trying not to frighten Nesta.

“I always forget how big they are,” a voice rasped behind him. Cassian’s wings stretched out even further, his body responding to her on instinct. As if it was trying to impress her.

“What do you want, Nesta?” Cassian wished his voice was harsher, wished he sounded angry instead of broken. He didn’t have it in him to fight with her again. This wasn’t the kind of fighting with Nesta that he liked.

“I-“ she took a step forward. Cassian turned to face her. Caught immediately in her blue-grey stare like he always was.

She’d heard. That was what her expression said. She wasn’t glaring. She wasn’t angry. She had up a thick wall of icy indifference that he could always see through. Flecks of sky blue bursting through the storm cloud grey wall she was determined to hide behind. It was in those tiny, shifting, spots of blue that he could see she had heard.

She heard and she didn’t know how to handle it.

But she didn’t run away. And she wasn’t yelling at him. And she wasn’t denying anything he said. So that was something. It was more than he had hoped for, if he was being honest.

Cassian knew the mission he signed up for. The entirely new kind of opponent he was facing.

But there was hope.

Hope that one day Nesta would see they were a team. That it wasn’t him against her. It was both of them against her demons. Her trauma. If only that was an enemy that Cassian could battle in an open field.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #nesta and cassian #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #acotar

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

i've been keeping a list of possible prompts for you and there's one i have no memory of adding that just says "courtesan nmj????" so i guess that's the prompt you're getting lmao

What Does the Fox Say - ao3

“Second Madame Nie!” a disciple shouted, rushing into her little garden. She didn’t recognize him, but he was solidly built and well-muscled like most of the others – truly, the Unclean Realm was a rapturous feast for one with eyes to see it. Yum, yum. “Second Madame Nie, I have bad news!”

Boo. She hated bad news: bad news meant she’d have to do something, usually, and right now she was seated very comfortably in a pleasant piece of sun in the garden path that’d been made up just for her and to her preferences, with her feet up on a chair and a full plate of fruit from the kitchen on the table in front of her just begging to be devoured, morsel by delicious morsel.

Her schedule was packed!

“I regret to tell you, but your husband has been killed!”

“Oh,” she said, frowning slightly. “Has he? How obnoxious of him.”

How unreliable. Men.

She sighed.

“Second Madame – Second Madame – you don’t understand!” The disciple was all red-eyed and weepy, which was a look she liked, especially in big, stout men like this. The salt added a bit of spice to the whole thing. “You must flee at once! He was killed by Sect Leader Wen in an act of outright aggression – Sect Leader Wen has declared war – the Wen sect is invading!”

She nodded and picked up another lychee to start peeling it. She’d get around to fleeing in her own time. As long as this Wen sect or whatnot was being led by a man, she wasn’t terribly concerned.

“They intend to wipe out the inheritance of Qinghe Nie! They will rip out the child in your belly!”

She hummed noncommittally. Really, how attached was she to having a child of her own? Really?

“They will slaughter civilians – execute Nie-gongzi –”

Her hands stilled.

“What,” she said, and the disciple took a step back automatically, proving that he, at least, had something more of a survival instinct than her late husband did. “Hurt my little meat bun? My darling rice roll? My savory zongzi?”

She stood up, diminutive height and over-large belly and frilly clothing doing absolutely nothing to diminish the vaguely menacing aura that darkened the sky around her. She bared her teeth.

“Who does this upstart Wen dog think he is?!”

The disciple blinked owlishly, but nodded, seeming relieved that she’d finally accepted his concern, though she could see on his face that he was thinking that her reasoning was – characteristically – a little strange. But then again, and she could see this thought process on his far too honest face, it was well known that the second Madame Nie been quite strange ever since Sect Leader Nie had found her in some lonesome place with no family or background and brought her back to be his new wife nevertheless.

Such a charming man. Pity about his loss, really.

“You have to flee at once, we can’t possibly fight so many people,” the disciple said once more, and this time she nodded in agreement. “We can escort you to a hidden exit –”

“No!” a little voice called. “We can’t go.”

She turned to look, and there was the little pork-and-shrimp dumpling himself, chubby-cheeked and earnest-eyed, looking as delicious as always.

“What do you mean, fish cake?” she asked. “Of course we have to go. Didn’t you hear what this strapping young man said? This Wen person wants to kill you!”

“If Father is dead, then I’m the sect leader,” her stepson said. He was serious and solemn in a way that made her want to pinch his cheeks and bury her face into his belly to blow raspberries, and also possibly to eat him right up, flesh and marrow and gristle and all. “That means it’s my responsibility to preserve the Nie sect.”

“Nie-gongzi, no!” the disciple cried, throwing himself to his knees in a dramatic display of loyalty. “You would only die – far better for you to run, and live!”

“Then isn’t the same true for everyone else?” the tasty little dish asked, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. Possibly he was trying to put on a fierce expression, maybe, she couldn’t quite tell sometimes. He was so cute. “Why should I live, and them not? I refuse to buy my life with their deaths!”

“But – Nie-gongzi –”

Her charming little honey cake shook his head and held up a hand to stop the disciple, turning to look at her instead.

“Second Mother,” he said, and he had that wholesome trusting expression again that was such a perfect little one-shot-kill to the heart, ugh. “You always said you’re the best at hiding. The best in the world, no one better among all the gods or demons!”

She was, too. She couldn’t help but preen a little, proud.

“– can’t you do something?”

“Oh, darling cabbage bun,” she said, not without fondness. “I can hide myself from even the net of Heaven itself if I so choose, from gods and demons alike, and I can most certainly hide a small group from any mortal eyes that dare to look, if you don’t mind being a little tiny bit dishonorable about the business. But an entire sect? That’s a bit much, even for someone as talented and skilled as me.”

Her stepson looked up at her, all straight-steel sincerity and upright righteousness wrapped into a perfectly edible little snack-sized package. “If we split them up, the sect could be small groups,” he said eagerly. “Couldn’t you do something then?”

He was so cute, and he trusted her. He trusted her, believed in her, felt that she could perform miracles with a wave of her sleeve if only she so wished.

It was awful.

She couldn’t bear it.

“Oh all right, you nummy little slice of roast pork belly,” she said, yielding. “But I’m telling you now, it won’t be the least bit honorable! There’s only so many excuses you can come up with for having a lot of strong men with wide shoulders and women with thick thighs hanging around, and not a single one of them has the slightest bit to do with what you people consider to be appropriate.”

“That’s all right. Preserving human life comes first, always.”

The disciple looked between them, clearly completely confused. Clearly all his effort had been spent on developing the muscles in his arms (quite nice) rather than his brain (quite slow).

“What?” he said. “What’s happening?”

“We’re saving the sect,” Nie Mingjue announced happily, clapping his hands together. Too precious, too precious entirely; she’d have to make sure no one else even thought about going near her darling little snackling. “Tell everyone to prepare to evacuate.”

“That will take too long,” she said, and smiled, with teeth. “Let me call some friends to help.”

When the Wen sect arrived at the Unclean Realm, they found the gate open.

That was unexpected enough, but when they entered, they found that the entire place had emptied out – not just of people, but of everything else, too. There wasn’t a single intact chair or table in the entire place, not a scrap of cloth nor a bit of food, like it’d been swept clean by locusts or wild monkeys come to pilfer whatever they could.

Even the paving stones where arrays had been laid out by the Nie sect’s ancestors had been pried up and carted away.

Sect Leader Wen ordered a search, but there wasn’t any trace of it – of the people, of the stuff, anything.

No one ever found out what happened.

Jin Guangyao despised social events, he’d found.

It was one thing when it was something he’d planned himself, where the work was interesting enough to distract him, but when he was an honored guest for someone else…miserable. Utterly miserable.

The only thing more miserable was when the host was his erstwhile father, from whom he’d forcefully extracted recognition. With Wen Ruohan as his backer, indulging his favorite torturer as if a beloved pet, there wasn’t much Jin Guangshan could do to refuse, and neither could he force Jin Guangyao to do anything on his behalf, either. And so Jin Guangyao, sitting as always by Wen Ruohan’s side, right beneath his sons, was now an honored guest at his father’s house, getting offered his pick of prostitutes as if the man had no notion of the irony.

Maybe he didn’t. Jin Guangyao couldn’t quite tell if his father had just forgotten his origins, thinking his bastard son too unimportant to remember the details of, or whether it was meant as a deliberate insult – who could tell?

“Oh, right,” the simpering idiot in front of him, a nephew or cousin of some sort to the sect leader, said. “Our dear Jin Guangyao is known not to like the gentle flower queens, even when they come from the finest houses in Lanling. Isn’t that right, cousin?”

Jin Guangyao’s fists clenched. A deliberate insult, then.

Despite that, his face remained neutral. Instead, he chuckled and said, “The appeal is limited. After all, I have seen the best of them.”

Beside him, Wen Ruohan nodded and smirked. He appreciated Jin Guangyao’s devotion to his mother, though Jin Guangyao suspected it was because he thought it funny that Jin Guangyao would bother to honor such a lowly woman – but what he thought didn’t matter, not really. All that mattered was that he let Jin Guangyao pay his respects to her to his heart’s content.

“Well, you’re in luck!” the idiot Jin Zixun said, looking absurdly smug. “We have something of a different flavor than the usual tonight – we’ve invited entertainment from the local branch of Splendid Spring.”

Jin Guangyao barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes.

The Splendid Spring Palace was a series of brothels that had popped up fully formed just about everywhere some years back, with madams and girls and musicians and bodyguards of all sorts. It was so patently a political move that Jin Guangyao had barely bothered to pay attention to it once he’d become actually powerful, and Wen Ruohan hadn’t paid attention to it at all. After all, in the unlikely event that the business really was backed by a cultivation sect that didn’t care about its face any longer, anyone who needed to use such a façade to gather power was clearly beneath notice.

Jin Guangyao had paid only very little attention, but to different and unusual aspects of the place: by all accounts, they were surprisingly decent employers as far as places like that went. They didn’t steal girls or accept unwilling goods – they had some connection with the merchant caravans, or at least one of the companies that helped coordinate routes and provide protection to such things, and they were as meticulous about checking things over as they were about seeking refunds if they were dissatisfied – and they did accept married girls fleeing unhappy marriages, which not everyone did. They did buy up all the girls in the local markets wherever they were, but they swept them away and brought them back transformed, even the ones that wouldn’t sell because they were too ugly; Jin Guangyao assumed that meant they had people who were talented in make-up and clothing, since the usual rumors of the girls being blessed with a yao’s enchantment were obviously ridiculous and nothing more than the usual marketing gimmicks that brothels since time immemorial had tried.

Even once they had the girls in hand, the places were pretty decent: they had physicians on staff to help with the usual side effects of the business, made sure their girls were clean and healthy, and were said to even limit the number of customers a girl would be obliged to take on in a given evening…honestly, knowing as he did the brothel business, Jin Guangyao sometimes wondered how they’d managed to bespell enough people to even make money in the early days. At any rate, whatever they’d done, it’d worked, because by now they had a solid enough reputation to trade on.

In short: a decent enough place, far better than the usual run of the mill. Once he’d had the ability to do so, he’d even pulled a few strings and arranged for the better of his mother’s old compatriots to end up there, since he couldn’t convince them to leave their old professions behind entirely.

Anyway, if they also seemed to have a sideline in information brokering and assassinations, well, let them. In the cultivation world, where the only thing that mattered was strength, real strength.

A little thing like that wouldn’t make any real difference.

Or so Jin Guangyao had thought.

He found himself re-thinking that, though, when the entertainment in question came out. There were the usual set of attractive (albeit in a wider variety of shapes and sizes than usually seen) dancers, dressed up in silks that seemed actually high quality, and plenty of strapping young men carrying sabers – dancers as well, once assumed, to provide some spice to the entertainment, and implicitly on the offer for men who cut their sleeves or women with more flexibility, like widows or ones with especially permissive husbands. Wen Ruohan’s wives were in that latter category, and they were already whispering to each other excitedly, looking at them.

They’d even brought in the local madame, who was…

Well, she was actually breathtaking, even by Jin Guangyao’s extremely jaded standards. She had hair that fell almost all the way to her ankles, shimmering in the light, and dark eyes shining with liveliness, a smooth and ageless face that simultaneously suggested youth and health but also winked at knowable experience, the features characteristic of what his mother’s employers had called the ‘fox-face’. As if to emphasize that, the lady was wrapped in fox-fur and draped in embroidered brocade, with little stylized foxes running up and down the hems of her clothing and along the gazy silk draped on her shoulders.

It ought to have looked absurd, looked gaudy and overwrought and overdone, but it didn’t.

She was a thousand dreams of wealth and beauty and power and sex appeal all wrapped up in one, and even Jin Guangyao – who was in his personal preferences quite firmly a cutsleeve – couldn’t help but intrigued by her, wondering what it might be like to touch the hem of such a glorious creature.

And next to her…

The lady was accompanied by two men that seemed completely different from each other. One was a slender and winsome young man, fluttering his eyelashes from behind a fan with a charming smile, emanating the appeal of softness and weakness, ready to be indulged. While the other…

Jin Guangyao swallowed.

He was the exact opposite of the first man. Clearly strong, muscular and powerful, and tall to the point of towering, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, a chest that you could lean your head against and an ass that begged to have someone’s hands on it – and there were his hands, big and broad, perfect for holding someone down or up if they so wished and of a size that was very promising as to what was only hinted at under his clothes. His face was hidden behind a veil as if he were a woman, marking him, like his comrade, as one of the available courtesans of the Splendid Spring, but his body was visible under clothing clearly cut to put it to the best advantage.

And oh, what advantages it had…!

“It seems we found something to the tastes of dear cousin Guangyao after all,” the idiot said mockingly, sniggering and snorting like the pig he was, and for once Jin Guangyao didn’t even care.

“Who’s the woman in front?” Wen Ruohan asked, ignoring their interplay. He seemed utterly fascinated, almost spellbound, and Jin Guangyao couldn’t blame him one bit. If this woman had been at the same brothel as his mother, there wouldn’t have even been room for jealousy or shame; his mother would have gone straight up to her to ask for some tips. “She seems…familiar, somehow.”

“That’s the madame of the Splendid Spring,” Jin Zixun said proudly, as if he’d done anything at all in relation to this – nonsense, of course. Everyone know which brothels were backed by the Jin sect, and Splendid Spring wasn’t one of them. He was acting as if he deserve a pat on the back just for the introduction! “That means she’s not for sale.”

His smile faded a little, twisting in a small bit of bitterness. “Or so she told my uncle, anyway…although I’m sure if it were Sect Leader Wen asking, the answer would undoubtedly be different.”

Probably because Jin Guangshan couldn’t slaughter prostitutes with impunity if they said no to him, whereas no one could stop Wen Ruohan from doing any damn thing he pleased.

Wen Ruohan grunted, pleased by the answer – he was a possessive man, in the rare events that he did exert himself in the realm of women, and there had been more than one instance where he’d stolen away some girl his sons had been eyeing first just for the joy of having had her first – and raised a hand, catching the lady’s eye and gesturing for her to come over, which she did.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She laughed. “You can call me Hu Jiuwei. With the ‘Hu’ being the character for fox.”

Jin Guangyao tried not to choke. There were false names and then there were false names – the lady’s theme was already clearly related to foxes, given her fox-face and fox-fur lining and the foxes embroidered onto her robes. Was the over-the-top name really necessary?

“It’s a fake name,” she added, unnecessarily.

“I see,” Wen Ruohan said, sounding a little choked himself. Possibly it was the woman calling herself ‘Foxy Ninetails’ and then kindly reassuring them all that the name was false as if she thought them too dumb to figure it out that was tripping him up a little. Jin Guangyao couldn’t tell if she was doing it deliberately in order to make her frankly inhuman beauty a little less frightening, or maybe she was blessed with so much beauty that she hadn’t bothered to cultivate her brain at all. “Are you our entertainment for the evening?”

She smiled, and any complaints Jin Guangyao (or indeed Wen Ruohan) might have had about her intelligence faded away at once.

It was that type of smile.

You could wreck nations with that type of smile. Jin Guangyao couldn’t help but wonder: how had a woman this extraordinary ended up in a brothel, of all places? How had no one snatched her up to keep her all for himself before now?

“My sons and I –” she gestured at the two behind her, “– would be more than happy to provide you with all the entertainment you could possibly want.”

Her smile widened.

“We’ve been hoping for an opportunity like this for a long time.”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #second madame nie #jin guangyao #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #what does the fox say

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randomshyperson · 3 years

Text

Attraction and Reaction - Wanda Maximoff x Dom!Reader - Part 2

Prompt based “ WandaXReader where they're always arguing and being sarcastic to eachother but it's just sexual tension. Maybe smth with the lines "why are u laghing did I tell a joke?" "why don't u look inside my head and find out". I think it would be pretty cool. It doesn't have to be smutt though, only If u fell like it (also a dom!reader would be nice)" > Link for part One

Notes: Some people asked me to write a part 2 of this one, and i took me a while but I finally did it. Nobody specified whether they wanted part two for the smut or for the story so I put a little of both.

Warnings> 18+, Smut, language, mentions of past abuse.

Words: 6.243 (Complete)

Marks (I keep forgetting to put this but hope people don’t hate me haha) > @mionemymind @wandamaximoffpuppy

AO3 (Complete / Two Parts)

Maybe you guys had been in the room for a long time.

But you didn't care about the time as you had Wanda riding on your face, and you were licking and sucking her, while she moaned loudly with her mouth open as she forced her hips down and held on to the headboard.

- Fuck! Right there. - She said breathlessly - Don't stop.

A few strokes later and she came apart in your mouth, for the fourth time in a row. The taste only seemed to get better.

And then she was throwing herself on the bed trying to normalize her breathing, and you leaned over to rest your head on her belly while your fingers trailed up her thigh.

But a knock at the door caught your attention next.

- Wanda, is everything all right? - That was Bucky on the other end. - I made dinner, I was wondering if you would like some.

- No, Bucky, thank you. - Wanda shouted back a moment later, disguising her current state well. You let out a giggle, and ran your fingers down her skin, penetrating her pussy afterwards, and she bit back a sigh.

- That's fine. Do you know where Y/N is? I haven't seen her since this morning, and she's not in her room. - He then said and you chuckled softly, as Wanda held back a moan at having you inside her.

- No. - She answered half breathlessly, and forced herself to sound less affected in the next sentence. - I have no idea.

But then you began to rotate your finger against her clit and she sank her face into the bed, gasping for breath. It took a moment, then Bucky spoke again.

- You guys are fucking, aren't you?

- Trying to! - you retorted impatiently, beginning to kiss Wanda's skin.

You can hear Bucky let out a chuckle before his footsteps move away. But your attention was focused on Wanda, coming on your fingers again.

- Fuck. - She mumbled breathlessly, running her hands through her hair. - I don't think I can go on. - She commented with a smile, her gaze lazing on you.

You smiled as you lifted your face to meet hers, and kissed her slowly and sensually, but she really looked tired, even though her hips moved toward you.

- Get some sleep, dear. - You whispered to her, trying not to be startled by how easily the nickname slipped out of your mouth. Wanda smiled, closing her eyes. When her breathing became deep, you pulled back the blankets to cover her naked body, then stood up.

You picked up your clothes from the floor, and when you finished dressing, you left the room.

Bucky was reading something when you entered the room, and you went around the counter to get some coffee.

- Sorry for getting in the way of your conflict resolution. - He said ironically, his eyes still on the paper. You giggled.

- No problem, Barnes. - You replied before taking a sip of coffee.

You walked over to the couch where Bucky was sitting and looked curiously at the papers on the table as you sat down in the armchair next to him.

- What are you working on anyway? - you asked, crossing your legs. Bucky let out a sigh.

- On you guys, actually. - He said, and you frowned in confusion. But he didn't look angry, just busy. - Steve worries that the team works as a whole. He asked me to study your training results and try to find a way to solve your problems.

- I think that's been taken care of. - You sneer, but Bucky keeps a serious expression.

- Sex doesn't solve your problems. - He says and you blink in surprise. - It's just an escape valve.

You laugh ruefully, putting your coffee cup on the table.

- What are you talking about? Wanda and I just needed to vent our anger somehow. There is nothing to work out.

Bucky shook his head in denial, placing the pages he had in his hand on the table.

- Look, do you remember how it used to be with me and Sam? - He asked, and you rolled your eyes, nodding in agreement.

- We're not like....

- Listen first. - he asked with a smile, and you sighed, nodding. - Sam and I used to fight because we couldn't accept the nature of our relationship. - He explains. - And we both looked up to Steve and wanted him to be proud of us. And then we would fight to see who got his attention.

- That's very gay. - You comment humorously and Bucky chuckles lightly before continuing.

- The relevant thing is that when Sam and I first started having sex, we weren't communicating. - He says and you blink in surprise. - Angry sex is no substitute for conversation. It took a while, but we managed to talk about how we really felt, and now we are doing just fine.

You sighed thoughtfully, leaning your back against the chair as you entwined your hands in your lap.

- I don't know what to tell you, comrade. - You say. - I have no quarrel with Wanda. We're fine.

Bucky looked at you for a few seconds, and then shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention back to his papers. You began to think that you were repeating that things were fine for yourself and not for him.

//-//

Everything was fine.

The day after the events of the past morning and afternoon, you only met Wanda over breakfast. She smiled and waved you good morning, and you did the same.

And when you two got up to leave the dishes in the sink, she enjoyed being put on the countertop while you stayed on your knees with your head between her legs. Or at least you understood that she did, when she came in your mouth and moaned your name.

Everything was fine. Until it wasn't.

Bucky requested another therapy session with you two, and at the moment you were sitting in an armchair facing Wanda in an empty room, waiting for the soldier.

You were trying not to let your mind wander to the image of the redhead squirming with pleasure beneath you as you looked at her but you were failing miserably.

You cleared your throat, looking away and then Bucky entered, apologizing for the delay and saying that the rest of the team should be back in the tower soon.

- Can we try talking today, girls? - He said as he sat down, and you crossed your arms, shrugging. Wanda twiddled her fingers slightly. - I'd like to try the questions again.

You and Wanda exchanged a look before nodding, and Bucky smiled, pulling his small notepad from his pocket and reading briefly before speaking.

- Y/N let's start with you today. - He says. - Can you tell me something you like about Wanda?

You bite your lip.

- The way she moans my name.

Bucky blinks in surprise and discomfort but lets out a giggle, Wanda blushes softly looking away.

- Great, we've gone from immense hatred to unrestrained horniness. - He wryly chuckles. - Please girls, let's try to make this work.

You let out a sigh, getting thoughtful for a moment.

- All right, Bucky. - You say. - I... I like how caring Wanda always is.

Wanda blinks in surprise, and Bucky looks happy.

- That's nice. - He comments with a smile. - And you Wanda, can you tell us what you like about Y/N?

Wanda looks at you for a moment, and then looks away from you to Bucky.

- I like how protective she is of everyone here. - She confesses and you look at her attentively. - Even with me, and even when we are fighting, when we are in the field, she cares about everyone.

You swallow dryly as you look away from Wanda, wanting to ignore the feeling in your stomach.

- That's great, girls. - Bucky comments and you almost forget that he was there. - I would like to ask how this conflict started.

And then you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Because you remember it so well. Clearing your throat, you stand up.

- I don't want to do this anymore. - You say, looking at Bucky, who looks very surprised. He closes his notepad, but before he can say anything, Wanda says.

- So you're just going to run away again?

- Yeah, Wanda, I'm just going to run away. - You retort angrily as you move your feet out of the room, slamming the door on your way out.

//-//

You had been training for a few hours, your muscles ached and your body begged for a rest, but you kept punching the bag in front of you.

- Someone is angry. - sneered Natasha as you entered the gym. You blinked in surprise.

- I didn't know you were back. - You retorted without stopping your punching.

And then Natasha was climbing onto the mat, smiling at you.

- A little bird told me that you resolved your conflicts in the best possible way. - She teased, coming closer and tapping your fists to make you stop. You sighed breathlessly, your body reacting immediately to the lack of movement.

- I don't want to talk about it. - You retorted as you took off your boxing gloves, and walked away.

- I figured as much. - She said, following you around the gym as you left the ring and looked for a bottle of water. - But you need it, so we''ll talk.

You let out an impatient grumble, and then Nat was touching your shoulder and you turned away abruptly.

- No. - You warned with clenched fists, but Nat was not intimidated.

- I know what happened to you. - She said and you closed your eyes tightly, trying to control the boiling anger rising in your chest. - I know because I saw the red room when she was in my head. But you have to understand that Wanda is on our side now and…

- I know that! - you retorted angrily. - I know that she's just a victim in this whole thing, okay? I just... I don't... - You paused, trying to normalize your breathing, and control your tears. - I haven't seen my family in twenty years. And I don't think about them, I can't remember their faces. I wasn't ready to see them that day, and I can hardly breathe when I remember. I just need time.

- You can't take out on Wanda the anger you had for them. - Nat replies seriously, and you sigh, sitting down on the bench next to you, your face buried in your hands.

- I know. - You say. - I just... God, she is probably the only person who knows everything. I wasn't ready to tell anyone, or deal with it alone, and she just came in and she just knows everything.

Nat sat down next to you and put her hand on your thigh.

- You need to talk to someone about this. - She said. - Not with me, not with Wanda. With a professional who can help you.

You nod, squeezing her hand.

- I know. - You say with a sad smile. - I will, I just... It all seems so recent.

- You've been burying your traumas pretty well, that's all. - She jokes, and you laugh weakly.

You stood for a moment in silence before standing up. Nat let go of your hand to give your shoulder a squeeze before she left the gym. You sighed, deciding that you should call that contact Sam had told you about.

//-//

When you returned to your room, you had an appointment. You went into the shower, and took too long, trying to calm your nerves under the hot water.

And then you were startled to get out and find Wanda waiting for you.

- I want to talk to you. - She declared as soon as you came out of the bathroom, sitting on your bed.

You let out a sigh, moving toward your closet. You didn't mind being naked in front of Wanda, it was nothing she hadn't seen before. And then you threw the towel on the bed and put on a loose T-shirt.

- You can talk. - You retorted, turning to her, and bit your lip when you noticed Wanda's gaze and flushed cheeks. - Earth to Wanda?

Wanda grumbled at your teasing and looked away, you smiled as you picked up the towel from the bed to take it to dry off.

- I don't know what's bothering you. - She says after a moment, and you swallow the discomfort in the pit of your stomach. - But I've talked to Bucky, and he doesn't think it's healthy for us to continue with, well, whatever it is, before you can talk about your feelings.

You hang up your towel and then turn to Wanda with an impassive face.

- Okay, then. Good night. - You tell her sharply, and Wanda blinks in confusion.

- That's all you're going to say? - she asks incredulously, and you let out a dry laugh.

- You're the one who came here to say that you don't want us to happen anymore.

- I didn't say that.

- What difference does it make? - You retort. - It's not going anywhere anyway.

Your statement leaves your mouth bitter, and Wanda stares at you for a long second before turning and leaving the room. You feel your body boil with anger, but you're tired. So you just throw yourself on the bed and hope to sleep soon.

//-//

Your fights with Wanda stop, mostly because you just don't talk to each other anymore. But Bucky seems to accept this as progress, and releases you from the sessions. And then you are seeing the psychologist that Sam recommended, and things are getting better for you.

She asks about your family, and teaches you to control your anger attacks with breathing exercises and focus. It is enough for weeks, until you have to really face your memories as you use Tony's technology to remember what your parents did to you. Of how they gave you your abilities.

It is suffocating, and painful, but you survive. And it feels good to breathe normally again.

You want to ignore the feeling that there is something missing, mainly because you believed that once you were healing, you wouldn't think about Wanda anymore. But now that the anger is gone, you just miss her.

Many weeks after your discussion, you are in the Caribbean, trying to investigate an abandoned Hydra base, and you have Wanda as an exploration partner.

- Did you find anything? - you asked as you two walked together into yet another empty room of an abandoned compound. Wanda was going through some drawers, going through their contents.

- Nothing that Tony hasn't already hacked. - She said, and then you turned around when you heard a noise at the door behind you. Raising your pistol in the direction of the sound, you let out an exclamation of surprise when the door suddenly opened, and a man jumped at you. Clearly a soldier, judging by his clothing. You fought back his blows, and were ready to fight, but Wanda simply used her magic to throw him across the room and he blacked out. You looked at her, and she shrugged. - Sorry, did I step on your moment?

- That sentence is mine. - You heard Natasha's voice interrupt, probably joining you as soon as she heard the sound of conflict. You shook your head, laughing lightly as you stood up. - I'm taking our friend in for interrogation, so finish up here. - She said before dragging the man across the room and out. You were dusting off your clothes as you walked toward Wanda.

- Since we can't find anything around here, I guess we can go. - You grumble, and then let out an exclamation of discomfort, which attracts the attention of Wanda, who raises her eyes in your direction.

- Are you all right? - She asked, coming closer and raising her hands to where you were pressing yours, above your shoulder.

- Yes. - You retorted with mild surprise at her concern. - It was just the impact.

You watched as Wanda's eyes ran quickly to your mouth, and you felt your heart race in anticipation.

- Okay, then. - She grumbled, lowering her hands and placing them behind her back, looking everywhere but at you. You bit your lip, bringing your bodies closer together, as Wanda attempted to move away, but slammed her back against a cabinet, and let out a gasp.

- Are you nervous? - you ask quietly as you approach, watching Wanda's chest rise and fall out of rhythm. - I just want to thank you for helping me in the fight. - You whisper as you lift a finger to caress her cheek, Wanda holds her breath. Then you let your mouth come up to her ear. - Thank you, Wanda. You've been a good girl.

Wanda closes her eyes tightly, and her hips thrust forward. You smile smugly, as you turn your face to kiss her deeply. She moans against your tongue, and you push your body against her, pressing her into the cabinets.

Your hands move down her thighs, and as you kiss her hard, you push up the fabric of her skirt, and let your fingers run over her skin. When you push the fabric of her panties aside and penetrate her, she breaks the kiss with a loud moan, and you sigh as you feel her all wet.

- Wanda, you're dripping, baby. - You whisper against her lips as you move your fingers across her swollen clitoris. - How long have you been waiting for me to touch you?

Wanda whimpers, burying her head in your neck. You swallow dryly, trying not to be carried away by the feeling of having her so hot, and concentrate on keeping the movements steady. And then you pull out of her only to insert another finger, and she bites your shoulder.

She is making delicious sounds as her hips push against your fingers, and you want to kiss her again, so you use your free hand to hold her neck and make her look at you. Wanda gasps in surprise, but matches your tongue in her mouth, moaning against you.

A moment later, she begins to quiver in spasms against you, whimpering as she tries to stand upright. You take your hand from her neck to hold her waist and keep her steady as you increase the speed of your fingers, and then Wanda comes, a loud moan with her mouth open as she digs her nails into your arm.

- What the hell is taking you guys so long? - You hear Steve's question on your communicator, and let out an impatient grumble.

- We're coming. - You say raising your hand to the device in your ear and look at Wanda trying to normalize her breathing. - Wanda already did actually.

Wanda slaps your arm as you laugh lightly, but Steve doesn't seem to understand. And then you are hurrying out of the room. You like it when she kisses you deeply on the stairs, before you join the team.

//-//

When you all return home, Steve requests a meeting with you. After showering and putting on comfortable clothes, you go to the room where he is waiting.

- Hey, Y/N, what's up? - he asks, sitting in one of the chairs. You smile, nodding.

- Why did you want to talk to me? - You ask, and he lets out a chuckle at your impatience.

- I'd like to know how your appointments have been. - he says after a moment. - You have shown progress in your training. And it's been over two months since you've had any anger episodes.

You shift the weight on your feet, slightly embarrassed.

- It's all right, I guess. - You say. - I've learned to deal with things in a healthier way.

- I'm glad to hear that. - He smiles, and then he hesitates for the next second. - And how is your relationship with Wanda?

- We don't have a relationship. - You retorted snidely, your heart racing slightly. But Steve let out a little laugh.

- Bucky told me that you two have found a way to resolve your conflicts. - He said, getting up. - And you two are not fighting anymore.

- That's what you wanted, isn't it? - You say impatiently and Steve frowns at your hostility. - I don't know what else you want us to do.

- What's going on anyway? - he asks tenderly. - You seem upset about something.

You let out a humorless laugh, running your hands through your hair.

- I am great! Fucking spectacular. - You retort impatiently.

- Y/N...

- Can I go now, Rogers? - You interrupt and he sighs, nodding, and you turn, quickly leaving the room.

As you are crossing the hallway, you bump into Wanda. She looks at you in surprise, ready to apologize, but then you are moving forward and kissing her hard.

Wanda sighs, responding as you press her to the wall. But you slow the kiss and let your foreheads rest against each other.

- I'm sorry. - You say breathlessly. - I can't keep doing this.

And then you pull away, and Wanda calls out to you as you walk away, trying to breathe.

//-//

Wanda catches up with you outside. You are trying not to punch anything, while focusing on your breathing.

- Why won't you talk to me? - she shouts as she reaches you. - Tell me what's going on.

You let out a dry laugh, and turn sharply and walk toward her.

- Do you want to know what is going on? Great! - you retort angrily. - This is all happening because of you!

Wanda has a confused expression when you stop in front of her.

- If you had just stayed out of my head, I would be fine! - You accuse angrily, but don't let her interrupt. - And if you'd stayed out of my bed, I wouldn't be in love with you!

You sigh breathlessly as you sit on the floor, your face wet with tears. Wanda is in shock, and remains standing. You feel terrible.

- Damn it, Wanda, I'm sorry! - you mumble, wiping away your tears, trying to remember your breathing exercises. - It's not your fault what happened to me. I'm being an idiot.

- You are in love with me? - She repeats, staring straight ahead without moving. She seems to be talking more to herself than to you. You let out a humorless laugh.

- Yeah, I... I have been for a while actually. - You tell. - I guess I didn't want it to be true.

But then Wanda is kneeling beside you, and she looks at you with watery eyes.

- You are a stubborn idiot. - She says, laughing lightly, and you frown. But then she moves in and kisses you on the mouth, and you think nothing more of it. When she separates your mouths, she's as breathless as you are. - We'll make it work, okay? I'm in love with you too.

You smile, and then you are hugging each other. It takes a moment for the rest of the team to get to you two.

- Does this mean we will now hear them having sex instead of fighting? - Tony comments wryly, and you watch as Wanda raises her fingers and casts magic at him that pushes him back slightly.

You laugh, letting your happiness replace your anger completely.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wandaxreader #wandaxyou #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoffxreader #wandamaximoffxreader #wandamaximoffxyou #wanda maximoff x dom!reader #wanda x dom!reader #Attraction and Reaction

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writtenonreceipts · 3 years

Note

a prompt?

single parent trope for feysand, pretty please?

more prompts for this would be great, otherwise you get my rambling mind and we all know how that goes...

Find my main masterlist here

An Intimate Display of Insecurities and Hopelessness

The air-conditioning was out. Again. And Feyre had already stripped down to a tank-top and shorts. The heat was miserable.

“Sweet mercy,” she muttered as she stood in front of the large fan she’d bought yesterday to try and keep things cool. It wasn’t working.

Feyre brushed her hair from her sweaty brow and bit back a curse. This day was not going at all the way she’d wanted it to. It had taken her far to long to get anything started, not to mention coordinating with Elain on how she wanted to participate in the shop.

It was only three days to her deadline to get her shop up and running. Three days to get pallets made, canvases designed, and interior design finished. All in one-hundred-degree weather and boob sweat.

She turned back to the mess of her shop. This was going to take more work than she had time for. Or sanity.

The front door opened behind her with a clatter. Feyre wasn’t that concerned about it, knowing she was getting some things delivered.

“Just leave the deliveries on the floor,” she said, not looking back. She was trying to have a vision of what she was going to accomplish, a vision that would be epic and glorious.

“Excuse me?”

Feyre spun at the smooth voice and nearly stumbled. The most attractive man she’d ever seen was standing in her shop. His black pants were crisp and cleanly lined and his black shirt was rolled up to the elbows, displaying his tanned skin. He was tall, lean, and with his black hair swept neatly back.

Feyre felt sweat roll between her breasts. Oh hell.

“Feyre Archeron?” He asked and took a step forward while holding out his hand. “Rhysand Avitas. I’m the new building manager.”

A dozen curses ran through her head as she did her best to wipe her sweaty hand on her shorts inconspicuously. Because of course she knew who Rhysand Avitas was. Everyone in their small town did. He was the son of the police chief and now the youngest elected mayor in Valeris history.

He had also been just a year ahead of Feyre in school. So she knew the kind of person her was. At least, she thought she did.

“Rhysand, of course,” she said as she took his hand. The heat didn’t seem to effecting him. Jackass. “Sorry, I guess I lost track of time.”

Indeed, it was half-past two right when she’d told his assistant that he could come by the shop. And see that everything was in order for her opening deadline. Except she hadn’t really expected him to show up.

“Not a problem.” He smiled in such a charming way that Feyre found herself wanting to hate him.

But Feyre already did hate him. He had bought the building just two days after her father’s death. Just two days after the building was up for sale. She hadn’t even had the time to get funds together to convince the bank that she could buy the lease herself. Now, she was going to have to open her shop under him.

In school he had been captain of the football team, president of the ASB club. He had been the kind of person Feyre had never wanted to interact with. High and mighty, proud and cruel. He’d worn a mask of indifference to anyone beneath him, she was convinced.

Feyre cleared her throat. “Things are a little messy right now, but it’ll be ready for opening day on Monday.”

Rhysand nodded as he walked around the shop. Bits of wood crunched under his too fancy shoes and dust clung to his pants when he brushed up against one of the pallets that Feyre was still trying to decide how to convert into a display case.

“You’re a painter, correct?” he asked. He looked over his shoulder at her and Feyre was taken aback by his eyes. Bright blue—so bright that she could have sworn they were violet. And damn her if she didn’t want to at least try and draw them.

“Yes,” she replied. “My sister does some gardening and does floral arrangements and I’m planning on having her sell some of her work here as well.”

“I remember,” he said, “Mrs. Ellis always made sure all of her classes knew about her protegee.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. The high school art teacher had been someone no one really liked. Aside from her. Maybe it was just because Feyre had wanted someone to pay attention to her, but the woman had always been nice to Feyre.

“My work wasn’t that good back then,” she said. And it was true, it had taken years of study and experimentation to get to where she was now. Ten years after those miserable high school years and here she was, finally maybe a little bit confident with what she could do.

Rhysand said nothing, only observed. “And you’re sure you’ll be ready by Monday? No offense Miss Archeron, but it seems like a lot needs to be taken care of. You assured the bank, and my assistant, that your shop was worth allowing in the complex.”

Feyre’s mouth pursed as she watched his man before her. With his impeccable clothing, that silver watch on his wrist, it was hard to imagine that he’d had any hardships in his life.

“Yes, and I keep my word,” she said, her voice cold enough to rival any a/c. “What I would like to know is why the air conditioning still isn’t fixed. It’s been this way for a week now.”

“It’s being looked into,” Rhysand said.

His gaze turned sharp as he looked her over again. Something passed over his face that Feyre didn’t care to try and understand. She just wanted this man out of her shop so she could get back to work.

“Was there something in specific that you wanted to discuss?” she asked, “or were just interested in questioning my ability to run a shop?”

He smirked at her and shook his head. “You always did have that fire in you, didn’t you?”

Feyre was ready to tell him to get out when a soft cry caught her attention. She held up a finger to silence him as she listened. Maybe she’d imagined it. Hell, she hoped he’d imagined it. Unfortunately the cry came again.

“Just a minute,” she said.

She hurried to the back of the shop where a door led into what would be used for the breakroom. It was a few degrees cooler back there, which was why she’d set it up for it’s current use.

Sitting up in the pack-and-play was her daughter. Seren with her golden hair and large blue eyes looked up at her and cried again.

“Momma!”

Immediately, Feyre scooped her daughter up. Seren latched on with a snake-like grip. Her arms wound around Feyre’s neck tightly.

“Hi baby,” Feyre murmured. “Why are you awake?”

It had only been a half hour since Feyre’d put her down, she’d been hoping for at least one hour of uninterrupted work.

Seren said nothing and only whimpered into Feyre’s neck. As Feyre whispered to her daughter to sooth her, she went back out into the main part of the store to find the diaper bag she’d packed that morning. In one of the insulated pockets, she found a bottle of apple juice.

“Here, honey,” Feyre said. Seren snatched the bottle and began drinking, tears still rolling down her cheeks. “Okay, there we go. Momma need to talk to Mr. Avitas okay, can you let me do that?”

Seren nodded and the almost two-year-old tucked herself right against Feyre’s neck.

Pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, Feyre turned back to Rhysand who stood right where she’d left him. The hard look in his eyes was gone and whatever hard-ass talk he was no doubt going to deliver evaporated.

“It seems I was wrong,” Rhysand said, “you do have some help, don’t you?”

Seren wiggled in Feyre’s arms to get a better look at the man, her bottle sticking in one cheek.

“Momma,” Seren said, her voice just slightly muffled.

“Yes, you are my big helper,” Feyre agreed, “even when you get into my paints.”

Seren beamed up at her. “I help.”

Feyre snorted a bit of laughter. Help. Sure. There were some painted handprints on the wall that aid otherwise.

“Did you have any other concerns you needed to address, Mr. Avitas?” Feyre asked.

He seemed so taken aback that Feyre had had her daughter in the back room napping that it took him a moment to speak again. It would have been amusing if the man hadn’t been so annoying to begin with.

“She looks just like you,” Rhysand said.

That was the last thing Feyre’d expected. She quirked a brow at the man. She knew it was true. Seren, thank the heavens, looked like an Archeron. There was barely a trace of her father. Something Feyre would give thanks for every day.

Feyre heart gave a painful squeeze. Of course that was what he meant.

She met his gaze, holding it for a long moment. Her hold on Seren tightened automatically, something she always did when she remembered her baby’s father.

“Yes, she does,” she whispered. Feyre wondered what Rhysand could possibly know. When she’d moved back to Valeris two years ago, just after she’d found out she was pregnant, she scrubbed her life clean of that man. Rhysand couldn’t possibly know who the father was. Even if he did, he shouldn’t care.

“Right,” he muttered and ran a hand through his hair. Once again, an un definable look flashed over his features, and disappeared just as quickly. “I’ll see what I can do about the air-conditioning.”

“Good,” Feyre said, “I’d hate to have to delay opening.”

And much to her surprise, Rhysand laughed. “Of course not. That would be rather inconvenient, wouldn’t it?”

He turned back to the door and looked as though he would leave without saying anything else, until he paused. He seemed to be having an internal dilemma when he looked back to Feyre.

“If there is anything I can help with, let me know.”

The words were halting and careful. Feyre wasn’t sure how to read them, how to respond. So she only nodded.

i wanted to add more to this for the first part, but well here we are...

tags

@aelinchocolatelover // @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx // @bamchickawowow // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @courtofjurdan // @sassys-world // @sleeping-and-books // @superspiritfestival // @chieflemming // @julemmaes // @lysandra-ghost-leopard // @firestarsandseneschals // @emikadreams // @rapunzel1523 // @booksofthemoon // @highladysith // @fangirlprincess09 // @rowaelinismyotp // @vanzetanze // @jlinez // @cassianscool // @stardelia // @my-fan-side // @sjmships // @tillyrubes10 // @acourtofsjmtrash // @hellasblessed // @rhysandswhore // @story-scribbler // @post-it-notes33 // @live-the-fangirl-life // @strangevil321 // @whythefuckdoiexist // @pastasiren // @beanco8 // @lemonade-coolattas @foreverfallingforthestars // @surielandiareendgame // @feysand-loml

#feysand #feysand au #single parent au #acotar fics #acotar au #acotar #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #rhysand

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sockablock · 3 years

Link

When Essek's old alter ego is suddenly asked by Da'leth to work at Soltryce Academy, nine semi-retired adventurers are thrust back into a web of danger, intrigue, and wizardly shenanigans. (Surprise, surprise! I’m back with another Shadowgast WIP)

Chapter 1: The Worst-Case Scenario

Caleb watched Essek hover back and forth like a miniature, panicked storm cloud.

“This is ridiculous! It must be some kind of joke. We haven't had any contact for years, and now he expects me to believe him? What is he playing at?”

“Breathe, Essek, breathe. You will not solve this mystery by wearing a hole in—above—the carpet.”

“What?” Essek looked down, then stopped floating. “Oh. My apologies. I’m a bit…well, you know.”

“I would be too.” There was urging in Caleb’s voice. “Take a seat, Schatz. Let me see the letter.”

Essek obliged, handing over a crumpled scroll right before collapsing heavily into his chair. The fire of a cold late-autumn evening cast their den in gold and orange light.

“Does he explain himself?” Caleb turned the scroll the right way around. “Does he say why?”

“Has Da’leth ever done that?” Essek snorted. “All he wrote was that I—rather, that Thain, had been selected. And I only have two days to respond.”

Caleb waved his hand, and a glowing orb appeared. He brought it closer to the parchment. “May I?”

“Please.”

“To the esteemed Lord Dezran Thain of Nicodranas—good grief. He really isn’t subtle.”

“Tell me about it,” Essek said.

“Perhaps,” Caleb continued, “you are aware of the ongoing investigations into the Cerberus Assembly. If so, then perhaps you have also heard that Archmage Tversky and Archmage Margolin will be leaving our ranks by the end of the week—ah yes, Beau was quite proud of that.”

“She should be,” Essek said miserably. “It’s about time. Read the next part.”

“And so it falls on the surviving members of our organization to fill these vacant roles. We believe, for the safety and stability of our country, that the next Archmages of Conscription and Dysology should come from within the Empire; however, it has been brought to our attention that adding a Nicodranian mage to our ranks could be quite valuable. Such an alliance would strengthen our ties to the Menagerie Coast, as well as assuage any concerns that the Empire is isolationist or inflexible. Therefore, as we have been friends for some time—really?”

Essek made a face. “I would not have called him my ‘friend’ in any form, but we have known each other for a few decades. Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately,” Caleb commiserated. He smoothed out the letter and found his place again. “—I wished to have the pleasure of informing you that on behalf of the Cerberus Assembly, you, Lord Dezran Thain of Nicodranas, have been extended the honor of replacing Archmage Margolin in his secondary capacity—as the distinguished and peerless Headmaster of the Soltryce Academy. Oh. My gods.”

Essek groaned. He had his head buried in his hands.

“You Identified this already?” Caleb managed eventually.

Essek nodded. “I wish I hadn’t.”

Caleb continued to stare at the letters. The fluid, curving script seemed to blur all together. “That’s…gods,” he said again.

“Agreed.”

“I…can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now.”

Essek snorted. “Actually, if anyone could, it would be you.” Then something occurred to him. Suddenly, the hearth shone an odd color in his eyes. “This was delivered to our home. To this house, in Rexxentrum. Yours. That…bastard.”

Caleb was quick to understand. He took a deep breath, then reached over for Essek’s hand.

“Maybe it was just enchanted to find you wherever you are. Like a Sending spell.”

“I’d hate to think otherwise. That would mean—”

Caleb interrupted him out of mercy. “Every inch of our tower is warded from divination. Besides, you’ve adopted an endless array of personas. I don’t even think we’ve been seen together with you as Thain, not since the party years ago.”

“Still.” Essek rubbed his eyes. “The timing makes me think he knows something. That, and the fact that it’s for Thain, I mean—what has Thain accomplished? I don’t even remember telling anyone I was a mage!”

“That, ah…that might have been Jester’s fault. She really enjoyed adding to your personas. You needed a past, after all, otherwise you would have just appeared from nowhere.”

“So she told everyone that Thain was a famous wizard?”

“The best lies are often true,” Caleb shrugged. “Though I admit that she might have gone a little overboard. You know how much she likes to praise her friends.”

It was a testament to Essek’s troubled mood that he barely acknowledged this. Caleb squeezed his fingers. “They said…they did say you could reject them. And their political reasoning is not unsound. Maybe that is all there is to it—the Assembly needs someone to be the Headmaster, and they thought of you.”

Even after so many years of trying, Caleb’s reassuring voice still left some things desired. Essek shut his eyes.

“My love, the very idea that the Cerberus Assembly is even thinking of me is a nightmare.”

“Fair enough.”

“I just want to know why,” Essek muttered. “Why now? Why me? What is he after?”

“I don’t know,” Caleb said. “I wish I did.”

Essek suddenly turned toward him. “I—I hate to ask this, but can you find out? You know…ask our old friend the newest Archmage.”

“Ah.” Caleb’s face gave a complicated shuffle, one common these days when Astrid was mentioned.

“If you don’t want to—” Essek hurried.

“No, no, I can…try.” He scratched his chin. “She’s just been less open, lately. She’s not…pleased by how thorough the Soul is being. Beauregard is relentless.”

“It has been seven years. That’s a lot for your kind, but probably just enough for Da’leth to finally realize they mean business—” Essek blinked. “Do you think that’s why he picked me?”

“We don’t know that he’s behind this,” Caleb said lamely. At Essek’s expression, he relented. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop suggesting otherwise.”

“It’s not unappreciated, I just prefer to be direct. It is clear that Da’leth is trying to use me again. This time, in order to hurt you and the Cobalt Soul. There is no point in believing otherwise.”

Caleb brushed Essek’s face. “No, that would require him to think he could use you in the first place. But that is impossible, because Thain does not know Widogast.”

“He does, though.”

“Yes, but is Da’leth aware of that? He cannot be.”

“I thought we put an end to that.”

“Only to statements of idle hope, not facts.” Caleb was now holding both his hands. “The truth of the matter is that…yes, perhaps the Martinet does want you for some devious plan—”

“Oh, lovely—”

“—however, any plan he has cannot be based on our connection. We have been doing this…being us, for seven years now, Essek. If he were going to play against that hand, he would have done so already. This must be something else.”

Essek huffed. “What, though? What reason does he have? I haven’t been important to the Kryn for years. I resigned, I’m virtually a stranger there, and I certainly don’t have any more secrets for sale.” He paused. “Well, ones that Ludinus would desire. I’m useless to him.”

“I highly doubt that,” Caleb said. And his voice, while kind, had a faint edge to it. “You are right in that there probably is some motivation here. It might be related to the investigation in other ways—after all, two members of the Assembly are leaving. That makes four upheavals in under a decade. And if the Soul and the crown are both pushing for the appointment of more partial Archmages, then it might very well be the case that Da’leth just wants someone he can control. In your case, through blackmail.”

“Hooray for me.”

“He probably wouldn’t, though,” Caleb said. “Since, as you said, this is a situation of mutually assured destruction.”

Essek grimaced. “I have been somewhat wishful in that department. Even with your support, it is still my word against the Martinet.”

“Our word. That includes the Cobalt Soul.”

Essek shook his head. “You’ve seen how well he’s stood up to them so far. Can you honestly say that my safety is a sure thing? Don’t lie to me, Caleb.”

There was a pause.

“Essek, I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

"I know." He patted Caleb on the hand.

Outside their tower, far away, the evening bells of the Rexxentrum began to ring. One, and then two, and then almost a dozen, loud and bronze across the dimming sky.

“There is one way to find out for sure what Da’leth is planning.”

Essek sighed. “I know. But I don’t like it.”

Caleb leaned back in his seat. “Neither do I.”

The cry of the great bells waned. In their den, all around the wall, points of magelight flared to life—flickering and purple harbingers of night.

“Will you do it?” Caleb said.

“I don’t know if I have a choice.”

“You do,” Caleb said. “The worst-case scenario is that Da’leth tries to talk, and we…deal with that.”

“We’ve been trying to deal with him for years,” Essek said. “And…maybe this is bold of me to say, but the worst-case scenario isn’t that—it’s not knowing. Maybe I can…maybe I can find the answers here. If Da’leth thinks he is controlling me, if he trusts me to do his bidding, maybe I can finally learn something to break his hold.”

“As long as he never truly controls you,” Caleb said. “That is a risk I cannot accept.”

This time, Essek was the one to offer assurance. He gently pressed a kiss to Caleb’s hand.

“You forget,” he said wryly. “I am a powerful wizard. Haven’t you heard my title?”

“Shadowhand?” Caleb said. He did not look fully mollified, but he managed a chuckle. “I thought you were retired.”

Essek smiled. “I was, my love, but now it seems that I have a new role. Starting soon...you will be sharing your home with the next Headmaster of the Soltryce Academy.”

—

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN :3

#critical role #critrole #critfic #shadowgast #fic #thanks so much for reading!!#i'm really hoping to keep up this story consistently and any feedback is very appreciated <3 #jay writes #long post #fanfiction #text #fanfic #that 'keep reading' had better work i s2g #without fear or favor

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typical-simplelove · 3 years

Text

Since We Were Three (J. Oleksiak)

Summary: What happens when you go work for the Dallas Stars and your childhood enemy plays for them, too?

A/n: Here is a fun enemies to lovers I wrote. This is the first time I've ever written for that trope, but I want to write more so buckle up! Enjoy this!!

Warnings: people doing things enemies do (sorry, that's really vague), mentions of sex, breaking/spraining ankles

Word Count: 12.1k

You didn’t expect to move to Dallas; it wasn’t even on your radar. All you really remember is sitting at your parents' house back home and you got an email from your Linkedin saying that there was a position open for something you were qualified for. You didn’t even bother to look at where it was; you opened the application, read the prerequisites, and filled it out. You were desperate to get a job, so it didn’t matter. Only after you emailed your application did you realize where it was - Dallas. It didn’t even register in your mind at the time that your former neighbor and lifelong enemy lives in Dallas or plays for the Dallas Stars, the organization you just sent an application for. They were looking for someone to work in their marketing department. If you knew that your former neighbor and lifetime enemy was working for the Dallas Stars, then you’d probably not have submitted the application. You decided, however, that the pros greatly outweighed the cons, and you doubted that you’d ever need to interact with the players unless they had a marketing issue. You doubt they would, right?

You got an email three days later asking for an interview. You emailed them back saying that you lived in Canada and weren’t sure if you could make it down for an interview. Thankfully, they said that they’d be willing to have a virtual interview; however, you’d have to be willing to move to Dallas for the job. You knew for a fact that you’d be more than willing to move to Dallas. That wasn’t the problem. So, you and the Dallas Stars’ representative set a time for your virtual meeting. You had the interview, and it seemed like they liked you. You got an email three days later that you got the job; you moved to Dallas three days after that and started four days later.

You completely forgot about the fact that your enemy slash former neighbor was in Dallas until your mother brought it up.

“Hey, yn, you know, you don’t not know anyone in Dallas.” You were confused. You literally moved to a country in which you knew no one.

“Mom, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Jamie, remember him? Jamie Oleksiak. You hated him growing up. Well, remember, he plays for the Dallas Stars. You should contact him.”

The normal warmth in your face immediately drained. Yeah, now you remember. The only reason you had the slightest inkling as to what Jamie was up to was because your mother and his mother were good friends. You don’t care for him at all.

You knew that you couldn’t just outright and tell your mother “no”, so you pivoted. “Maybe,” you said and your mother seemed to think that meant that you’d be reaching out to Jamie. You weren’t. You were going to do everything in your power to try to avoid him. There was no way that someone who worked in marketing would ever come in contact with any of the players, right? You didn’t work in media that was in constant contact with the team, and you didn’t work in anything to do with the contracts or paychecks. As long as you keep a quiet profile, you expect you should be fine, right?

This worked for your first season working with Stars. You were new and a few years out of college, so your more experienced colleagues made sure to observe what you were doing. You were happy with this. Before working in Dallas, you only worked for one small company and you were one of two people in the marketing department. The reason you were looking for a new job was that this company went bankrupt. Yeah, you were grateful for the oversight you received. You made it one year without seeing, hearing, talking to, or being around Jamie. The fact that the two of you were in the same city made your blood boil. You hated Jamie Oleksiak with your entire being, and you hoped to avoid him as much as possible.

You went into the second season thinking that you’d have the ability to remain anonymous to the team and stay in your lane. This, unfortunately, did not work. You went to work on the morning that training camp started. You sat at your desk and noticed that everyone was quite angsty. You turned to a friend and asked what was going on. She told you that someone from management was coming to find people to work for the GM, specifically, someone in marketing. You knew that you’d be the last one selected considering your lack of experience. You were wrong.

The minute the representative from the GM’s offices walked in and saw your application, you were swept up and taken to their offices. Happy with the new promotion, you didn’t realize that you’d be closer to Jamie.

The notion hit you nine days after you were promoted when Tyler Seguin walked into the office and walked over to you.

“Yn, right?” he says and you nod. “We need someone to fill in with media personnel and they asked for you.”

“Oh!” you say; you had experience in media but not that much to get a recommendation.

“Yeah, they said to be there at 1:30pm.”

“Thanks,” you tell Tyler; he smiles at you and waves.

So you were going to be getting closer to the team than you thought.

. . .

As you walked down the hall towards the locker room, you ran right into the wall. Except it wasn’t a wall.

“Oh, you’re not a wall,” you say mostly to yourself. It was a very hard and firm person.

“So, you’re telling me you would have walked into me also if I were a wall?” You look up and see none other than Jamie Oleksiak looking back at you.

His beautiful eyes made you want to throw up. There was no word to express how much you hated him. Literally just staring at him for a second made you want to run away and scream.

“I, no, I just thought I had more time before I had to turn the corner.”

“Sure,” he says in a voice that makes you want to punch him; however, looking at him, you know it wouldn’t hurt at all and do the damage you wanted. Since when did he get so big? “Hey, Yn. I heard you started working for the Stars organization. Welcome to Dallas.”

“Yeah, no, you’re not my welcome party. And I’ve been in Dallas for almost a year.” You immediately back up but trip over your feet. Jamie instantly reaches out and helps you balance. You feel your face suddenly grow warm. Why did Jamie’s enormously large hands have this effect on you?

“You always were quite clumsy growing up. Tripping and falling for me, I mean in front of me.” Jamie’s joke didn’t go past you. It infuriated you. He liked to think that you were in love with him. You weren’t.

“You know, the only reason I kept on falling was because you kept tripping me. It’s your fault.” You storm away angrily and head to where you need to be.

Jamie smiles after you. “That’s the feistiness that I remember.”

You turn around and glare at him. Yeah, this wasn’t going to be fun.

. . .

You’ve hated Jamie Oleksiak since he tripped you in daycare when you were three years old. The first three years of your life, you didn’t mind Jamie. Your mothers were best friends, and you were both neighbors. Your parents were both ER surgeons and sometimes they had to go in for emergency surgery. This was one of those days. Your father was already working and your mother was called in for emergency surgery, so Jamie’s mother was going to pick you up from preschool. You put on your small, sparkly light purple backpack and followed Jamie and his mother out the door. The minute you were about to cross the parking lot, Jamie stuck his foot out and you tripped and fell on your face. You didn’t immediately feel the pain until Jamie’s mother helped you up and mentioned that your face was bleeding. You touched your face and began to cry. Jamie tripped you purposefully and now your face was bleeding. From that day forward, you hated Jamie Oleksiak with your entire being. How could someone who was supposed to be your friend and care for you purposefully hurt you? Where was the logic in that? Why could Jamie purposefully hurt you unless he didn’t like you? He must hate you to want to hurt you.

It wasn’t just because he tripped you; Jamie began to make your life miserable. From taunting you on the playground to tripping you all the time. It continued into kindergarten and elementary school. Middle school was terrible. He taunted you and made fun of you. He always found ways to make anything you were enthusiastic about a reason to taunt you. He joined clubs because you were in them and so he could bring his stupid with him who would the experience unenjoyable for you. You remember your parents telling you to ignore him and Jamie probably had a crush on you. He didn’t. He just out of nowhere opted to make your life miserable.

It only got worse in high school. As his popularity grew in high school as a result of hockey, he only became more cocky and unbearable. He always found a way to make you miserable. Whenever you had any remote crush or boyfriend, Jamie always swept in and ruined it for you. By the time you graduated and went to college, you were ready to leave the horrors that Jamie brought on to you. You were quite proud of the fact that despite your mothers being friends, you had no idea about anything to do with Jamie’s life. You went to college and built a life that was the exact opposite of the misery that Jamie brought into your life.

. . .

You walk into the locker room and Carrie, one of the other media execs, greets you. “Yn, right?”

You nod. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“We need you to fill in for a few weeks with our media team because one of the media personnel had to leave for a family emergency. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m not sure how good I’ll be at it, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Carrie laughs. “It’s not too hard. You just have to take photos and videos of the team during warmups, practices, and stuff like that. If you know how to use Instagram, then you should be great.”

“Well, then, I think I should be good.”

“We’re going to give you a separate phone to use that you can just keep at your desk in the GM’s offices.”

“Perfect, that sounds great.” You and Carrie continue to talk and work out the little details about your new temporary position. You walked back to your desk in the GM’s offices with a smile on your face. You were happy to have this new position. At first, I didn’t recall to you that you’d have to be in contact with the team. When you heard Jamie’s voice echoing through the halls, your blood began to boil. You definitely weren’t looking forward to having to have to work with him.

. . .

The day after you got the word that you were filling in with the Media Department, you started right away. You were told to sit in the practice arena ready to take photos and videos of the team. As the practice was ending, Carrie asked you to head to the locker room and take one-minute interviews with the players. She gave you the list of players: Tyler Seguin, John Klingberg, Esa Lindell, Roope Hintz, and, much to your disappointment, Jamie Oleksiak. You sighed. You really didn’t want to have to talk to him, but you were going to be professional and try not to let him get to you.

You walk towards the locker room and Carrie tells you to wait a moment; the players aren’t ready. After fifteen minutes of small talk, you and Carrie walk into the locker room. The players that you and Carrie were going to interview were sitting on the bench waiting. You glance around the room and Jamie is looking at you with a curious eye.

“This is yn; she’s filling in for a few weeks as media personnel whilst Tristain is out with a family emergency,” Carrie explains. “Be nice to her please.”

Jamie meets your eye again and smirks. You roll your eyes and some of the players notice with confusion.

“Yn, why don’t you start with Tyler and I’ll start with John and we’ll work our way around?” Carrie explains.

You nod. You glance around the room and take note of who you’d be interviewing. You were going to be interviewing Jamie Oleksiak much to your disappointment. You get through the interview with Tyler, but he stops you before you can move on.

“What’s with you and Big Rig?” Tyler asks.

You smile at him trying to hide your disdain for your former friend. “Nothing, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Tyler laughs. “If you say so.”

You move on and interview Roope next. His interview made you giggle like a maniac behind the camera, and you didn’t notice the glares that Jamie gave his teammate and you.

You finish your interview with Roope and get ready to interview Jamie.

“Hi Jamie, ready for your interview?” you ask professionally.

“Yeah, I am,” he says in a tone that you can’t quite decipher but it’s already got your blood boiling. This wasn’t going to be fun.

“So, Jamie, tell me, what’s been the best part of the start of the new season?”

He puts a smirk on his face and you know exactly what he’s thinking - you’re not going to get an answer you like. “Uh, I’ve liked that I’ve been able to rekindle our companionship.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s not what this is, and you have to give me a different answer.”

Jamie’s answer didn’t go unnoticed by his teammates and they were begging, no yearning, to ask more.

“Fine,” Jamie pauses briefly to think of another question. “I would say just being back with the team and skating with everyone again is probably the best part about the start of the new season.”

You nod and glance down at your list of questions. “What do you hope to get out of this new season?”

“Hopefully a Stanley Cup?” he says and quirks his eyebrows in a way that sends warmth to your face but also infuriates you. You nod in a sign of acknowledgment and Jamie can’t pass up the opportunity to get a rise out of you. “Maybe you, too.”

You instantly drop your notepad and glare up at him. What was his problem? Why was he like this? Jamie should know you hate him, so why does he suddenly think that you two were going to fix the hatred that’s been building for years? Your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by everyone in the room. “Can you please stop? Just so you know, I hate you, so whatever fantasy you’re playing out in your mind? It’s not happening, Jamie. Can you please stop making it harder for me to do my job?”

Jamie smirks. He knows he should stop, but he won’t. “I always liked watching you get frustrated at me.”

“Jamie! Just cut it out!”

“Is everything okay over here?” Carrie says, trying to calm the situation.

“Yeah, we’re fine. Jamie’s just rehashing things from our childhoods.” You explain.

“Wait, you two know each other?” John asks comically.

Jamie nods. “Know is not quite it, but yes.”

“What does that mean?” John asks

“That means that Yn hates me.”

“You hate me too, Jamie; don’t just put this on me. You’ve only ever made my life more difficult throughout every part of it.”

“Yn, why don’t you interview Esa, and I’ll finish with Jamie, that good?” Carrie suggests

“Yes, that works,” you walk over to Esa and breathe out a sigh of relief. Yeah, you knew that this was exactly what was going to happen.

You finished your interview with Esa, and you and Carrie walked out of the locker room to prep the videos to be posted.

“Dude, what did you do to make her so angry at you?” Esa asks. “It seems like your mere presence pisses her off.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it does,” Jamie admits. “I can’t remember why; all I remember is that one day we started hating each other.”

“I’d hate to be in your shoes,” Tyler tells his teammate. “A pretty girl hates you, and you very obviously like her.”

Jamie pales. He didn’t think it was that obvious to anyone, ever. “What?”

Everyone laughs.

“It’s obvious,” Roope agrees. “You like her. Just the way you looked at her and acted around her. You’ve got it bad.”

“No, I don’t,” Jamie grumbles.

“Dude, you were staring at her the entire time she was interviewing Roope. All the giggling made you jealous, didn’t it?” Esa states.

“I’m not jealous, and I don’t care. There is nothing but hate between us.” Jamie tries to defend himself. It’s useless; Jamie knows for a fact that he was jealous that Roope got to be on the receiving end of your giggles.

“Whatever, this is going to be fun,” John says.

It truly will be.

. . .

When you got home from work that day, you immediately called your best friend, Lisa, to tell her all about your day with Jamie.

“You know?” you being. “He’s just as infuriating as when we were children. He had the audacity to believe that we could possibly be friends. I mean, come on, the antipathy and rancor between us can be felt for miles and miles. He drives me crazy so much.”

Lisa was glad that you weren’t doing a video call because the smile on her face was wide. Deep down, she knows that there are other feelings besides this hate between you and Jamie; she just wasn’t sure if it would ever come out. “Maybe he wants to be nice again.”

“No, that’s not what this is. If he wanted to be nice and try to be friends again, then he wouldn’t have done exactly what he knew would drive me insane. It’s probably like caffeine to him; driving me insane is the coffee that wakes him up in the morning. You know, now, probably, he wakes up and hatches a plan to try to drive me insane.”

Lisa laughs. “Aren’t you taking this a bit far?”

“Absolutely not, I think I’m acting appropriately. You didn’t see his smirk; I wanted to punch him in the face so badly. Obviously, it wouldn’t have done anything to hurt him as he’s huge now.”

“Oh? Down there too?”

Your face warms suddenly, and you’re glad Lisa can’t see your face. “That’s not what I meant. He’s giant and super muscular. I guess you could assume that he’s packing quite a bit.”

“You know, yn, maybe this is just pent-up sexual tension and frustration. Maybe you just need to get laid and get laid by someone in particular.”

“You’re telling me that when we were seven when Jamie broke my ankle, that was pent-up sexual frustration?”

Lisa laughs. “Okay, maybe not your entire relationship was pent-up sexual tension. Maybe just now and parts of high school? You have to admit, Jamie is quite hot, now, right? Maybe the past few years of hate has led to the dire need to just sleep with each other.”

“Thank you for your take, but these past few days is the first time I’ve spoken to Jamie in almost five years. I just don’t know what to do.”

“Just talk to him. Maybe tell him that you want this to be as professional as possible and try to move past the hate. Yn, before you argue, just think of what working for the Dallas Stars could do to your career. That’s a high-profile job. Maybe if you try to be professional and polite, then maybe he will too?”

You wanted to contradict everything Lisa said, but you knew she was right. For your job to go smoothly, it was important for you to keep a professional attitude and any hate you have for Jamie on the backburner. “You’re right; however, I’m not promising that it’s going to work. I’ll try my best to be professional, but if he starts to aggravate me, I’m not sure if I can keep up that facade.”

“That’s why you talk to him. Maybe set up a time to meet up or something and just discuss what you have to say.”

“That would require me to unblock him on literally everything, even Facebook.”

“Does he still even have that?”

“He does; it’s not even his real name. It’s an alias. He only made it to try to talk to me and bother me. I doubt he uses it and it may be deactivated now.”

“This is besides the point. Yn, Jamie is obviously not going to try to be professional with you, so it’s up to you to make that clear.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

The only lingering thought you had was whether or not this would work. Surely, Jamie could be a decent human being to you, right?

. . .

The next day, you went and sat in the practice arena ready to take the photos that your job required you to take. Today, you decided was going to be the day that you had that all too important conversation with Jamie. You really didn’t want to have that conversation, but you knew that it was important in having a not chaotic working environment for everyone, not just you and Jamie.

When practice was over, you waited outside the locker room for Jamie. He walked out on his own and smirked when he saw you waiting. He didn’t know for sure you were waiting for him; however, when he saw that your phone was off, he assumed you weren’t there for work.

“Hey, ynn,” Jamie says to you and your blood instantly begins to boil. Jamie knew that you never gave him the jurisdiction to call you that, yet he still used it. You wanted to call him out on it but thought better of it. You were here to try to be professional and rehashing this would contradict your objective.

“Hey, Jamie, can we talk? It’s about something important.”

Jamie’s smirk instantly left his face and worry washed over his face. You didn’t know that Jamie could be sympathetic towards anything you said. “Yeah, is everything okay?”

His response shocked you and it took you a moment to regroup. “Oh, yeah. I just want to talk about our relationship, well, lack thereof of one. I think that when we’re here at work, we should be professional. We should put any hate that we have for each other on the side while here so that we can have a better working environment.”

Jamie laughs. “This is what you wanted to talk about? This couldn’t have been a text? You had me so worried, yn.”

“It’s important to me, Jamie,” you protest. You didn’t want to get angry at him, so you calmed yourself down. “I think it’s better for both of us if we can just keep our history and past behind us while we are doing anything to do with the Dallas Stars.”

“If I were to take you out on a date, then we could hate each other as normal?”

“What?” you falter.

“You heard me, yn. You never had a hard time hearing what I had to say.”

“No, absolutely not. You will not be taking me out on a date, ever.”

“Come on, really?”

“Jamie, this is beside the point. I’m trying to move on from our pasts and you aren’t really making this any easier. Isn’t this what you said the other day? You were hoping for a rekindling? Well, this is the first part. Trying to put behind us any hate.” You were raising your voice now. “I’m trying to make my job easier, but you’re making it incredibly difficult. Jamie, all I want is to come to work and not have to worry about whether or not an outburst I make at you will cost me my job.”

Jamie doesn’t have anything to say. “Yn.”

“No, don’t do that. You know, the reason we hate each other is your fault, so you should be the one fixing things, not me.”

“What?”

“You tripped me purposefully when we were three and laughed at me.”

“Wait, this is what this is about?”

“No, that’s the first time you treated me terribly. It was the start of you belittling me and making me feel terrible. I hated going to school because I was always worried about you and your stupid antics.” Tears are forming at the corners of your eyes, and you try to will them away.

Jamie feels terrible now. “I’m sorry, ynn. I didn’t know.”

“Firstly, don’t call me ynn; you don’t get to do that. Secondly, seriously? You’re telling me that you didn’t know you were being a total ass to me? No, I don’t believe that because I know for a fact that your mother talked to you. Do you want to know how I know that? Because she apologized to me time and time again for what you did to me. Don’t you dare say that you had no idea.”

Jamie looks down at you and extends his left leg so it’s jutting out. “You’re right. I was a total ass.”

“Only took you twenty-plus years to finally admit that.”

“Come on, ynn,” Jamie says and you glare at him. “Yn, I’m trying here, and you’re not making it any easier.”

“Oh my goodness, Jamie. Literally, that’s what I’ve been trying to do! You not willing to accept my proposition is the whole reason we’re rehashing this stuff.”

“Yn, I’m sorry. What can I do?”

You look at him and are shocked to see that he has remorse in his eyes. “Nothing, just let me be.” You take a step to the right and begin to walk away. Unfortunately, because Jamie extended his leg, you tripped over it and went crashing to the floor hurting your ankle in the process. You screamed out in pain; you always had weak ankles after breaking them in elementary school. Your cry out in pain brought some people out of the locker room.

Jamie’s eyes go wide in fear. “Yn! Are you okay?”

“Does it look like I’m okay? Jamie, did you really have to trip me?”

“Really? I didn’t mean to! My leg was just there, and you tripped.”

“It doesn’t matter; let me just get up.” You put your hands flat on the ground to help yourself up. The minute your leg is stable enough to be stood up on, you get up but fall immediately. You cry out in pain again.

“You might have sprained your ankle,” Roope says. He was one of the people who rushed out of the locker room when you first fell.

“No, I don’t think so. I just have very weak ankles after Jamie broke, I mean, I broke my ankles in elementary school.” Your correction of Jamie breaking your ankles does not go unnoticed by him. He wants to ask why but feels it’s not the right moment.

“Here, let me help you,” Jamie reaches for your arms and you move them away. “Really, yn? Just let me help you.”

Jamie and Roope help you up and put you on the bench in the locker room, and Roope goes to find a trainer to check on your ankle.

“I’m sorry, yn, really,” Jamie says with a soft voice. You begin to put your foot on the ground but Jamie stops you gently. “Put it on the bench. It’s important to keep it elevated.”

“It’s cold, though,” you pout.

Jamie laughs. “Here, put it on my lap then, okay?”

You look at Jamie hesitantly.

“This isn’t a trick, yn. I think I’ve hurt you enough over the years. Just put your leg on my lap.”

You do as he says and Jamie rests his hands on top of your ankle. Your face grows warm at the touch and you suddenly don’t hate Jamie. “So, you’re finally admitting that you made me miserable?”

“I don’t think I made you miserable,” Jamie says and you scoff. “Wait, let me finish. I think I didn’t make your life any easier. I’m not relenting any more than that, babe.”

You flinch at the pet name, but your face grows warm. Do you address it?

Jamie makes the decision for you. “Yn, I have a question for you.”

You nod, signaling him to continue.

“You were saying something about how you have weak ankles and then said something about me. This isn’t me trying to be self-centered or whatever. I just genuinely want to know. I don’t remember what happened.”

“Well, we were in elementary school and you once, I’m pretty sure it was accidental, put your hand out and it hit me while I was walking down the stairs and I fell. I landed weirdly on my ankle and broke it.”

“So you blame me?”

“Yes, absolutely. Do you blame me? You had a way of hurting me and making it seem like an accident.”

Jamie laughs and you giggle along; he’s about to comment when a trainer walks in.

“Let’s see what’s the matter here,” he says. You are suddenly extremely aware that your leg is sitting on Jamie’s lap and his hands are on your lap. The trainer examines your ankle. “It’s nothing too terrible; just a small sprain. I think if you keep it elevated as much as possible then it should be healed in a few days. Can you try walking on it?”

You nod and put your foot on the ground gently. Jamie puts his hands on your waist as you try to stand, and your skin is burning beneath his touch. “I think I’m good to get back to work.”

“You sure?” Jamie asks, concerned.

You nod. “Yeah, I think so,” you walk away from Jamie’s embrace. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Just ice it and keep it elevated once you get home tonight,” the trainer tells you. You nod and walk out of the locker room.

“What did you do to her?” Roope asks Jamie.

“Too much damage to ever fix,” Jamie says with a sigh. There was no way that your relationship with Jamie would ever go past professional acquaintances after what you revealed to him today. If Jamie knew one thing about you it was that you were strong and steadfast with your opinions and rarely changed them, especially when it came to people. Jamie doubted that he’d be an exception considering all of the past history there.

. . .

The days that followed your fall, you avoided Jamie as much as possible. You could proudly say that you didn’t hate him anymore. That’s not true. You still hated Jamie; however, when you heard his name, you didn’t immediately roll your eyes and get angry. Sometimes, you’d smile and other times you’d have no reaction. This shocked everyone because they all knew about the hatred you had for the Dallas Stars hockey player.

Shortly after, you were taken off of the media job and went back to your marketing job. The night of the home opener, however, Carrie comes up to your office with a request. “Tristain can be back at work but not for games at the moment. Do you think that you could fill in tonight? We had her on the schedule and no one else can be there.”

You hesitate; the only thing holding you back was the fact that you’d be seeing Jamie again.

“Sure, of course!”

You sort out the details with Carrie and are set to be available as part of the media team tonight for the home opener.

Later that day, you’re standing outside of the locker room filming the boys get ready for warmups. Once the video was taken and posted, you put the phone in your pocket and begin to head to the place you were supposed to be. However, someone grabs onto your arm gently and stops you.

“How’s your ankle?” Jamie asks softly.

This should infuriate you; however, his concern has you touched. You don’t show it though. “Better. I think I’d be better, though, if I didn’t have to worry about my ankles but oh well.”

Jamie shakes his head; he wasn’t sure why he was expecting anything else from you.

“I have to go, good luck tonight, Jamie,” you tell him and walk away. You’ll admit, your comment was quite snarky and unneeded. You feel bad for what you said, and Jamie was only trying to be nice. You had to keep up familiarities, right? You hated Jamie Oleksiak for the majority of your life, so why did you suddenly feel bad for what you said to him?

. . .

“Are you coming out with us tonight, Yn?” Denis asks. The team won and wanted to go out and celebrate.

You shake your head. “No, thanks for the invite though.”

“Oh, come on, why not, Ynn?” Jamie asks. Why was he asking you that? Did he not remember that the two of you have hated each other since birth? “Don’t not go because of me.”

“Funny. You think that I care about what you do or think. I just have a few things I have to do.” you lied; you weren’t going to admit that Jamie was the reason you weren’t going out.

Jamie smirks. “Fine, if you say so, but I will continue to think in my head that the reason you’re not coming out with us is because of me and the animosity we have for each other.”

“Well, look at you. Did you finally begin to remember the vocabulary we learned in high school?”

Jamie’s face turns red. Yes, he asked his sister to send photos of his old stuff from high school to try to impress you. He wasn’t going to admit it, however. Ever since that heart to heart in the locker room, Jamie wanted nothing more than to impress you. You went back to bantering and driving each other crazy; however, this was a lighter teasing and driving each other crazy. Some would even call it flirting. Would Jamie say he was flirting with you? Yes, absolutely. Would Jamie say you were flirting back with him? No, absolutely not. You hated him, so Jamie knew that whatever he thought you felt was obviously in his head.

“No,” he grumbles and some of his teammates laugh at him. The one thing that was sticking out to Jamie was that you didn’t correct him when he called you by your nickname. You went along with it. Was there some progress being made? “Enjoy whatever you have to do tonight, yn.”

You smile at him softly that has Jamie’s heart beating fast and walk away.

“Dude, you’re in deep with her,” someone says as they clap Jamie on the back. He didn’t have the energy to determine who was talking to him or contradict what they were saying. They were right; Jamie was in deep and he had no idea what to do about it.

After taking the video you needed for the Stars Instagram of the boys playing soccer at the next home game, you wave goodbye and head to the media offices; you once again had to fill in for the media team. You take five steps and hear a loud “ow!” from the one voice you despised. You turn around to see Jamie rubbing his head and staring down at his teammates. You can’t help but smile.

“Stop staring at her, you idiot,” Roope calls out and this gets a laugh out of all the boys. “Just ask her out instead of staring,” someone else yells. A deep red blush overtakes Jamie’s face and you can’t help but smile. You walk away with a giant smile on your face. You immediately shake it off. Why was Jamie getting flustered making you smile? You hated Oleksiak, right?

. . .

When you got home from work after a long day, all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep. You had a minor sinus infection and the day was exhausting. You had a massive headache and felt nauseous all day. There was nothing more you wanted to do was take a hot shower, curl up in warm clothing, and call it a night. You weren’t expecting to come home and see a DoorDash bag sitting outside your door. You knew for a fact that you didn’t order anything. You picked up the bag and noticed there was a note attached.

Yn,

I heard that you were feeling sick, so I bought you some soup.

Enjoy,

Jamie

Jamie bought you soup? Jamie was asking about you? Where did this come from? Why would Jamie extend any kindness towards you? Isn’t he supposed to hate you? Isn’t Jamie supposed to be making your life miserable? You’ll admit, after the incident where you sprained your ankle slightly, you and Jamie have been cordial. Whenever you both talked to each other, mean words were being passed around. However, it was more of a teasing and flirting meanness. Does this mean that you and Jamie were friends now? No, right?

You walk into your apartment and open the bag - it was Italian Wedding Soup, your favorite. Your heart warmed at the fact that Jamie remembered your favorite soup. Growing up, your grandmother always made this for you when you were sick. Sometimes, she’d bring some over to the Oleksiak house if anyone was sick there, too. You grabbed a bowl and ladle and put some soup in a bowl. The minute you took the first bite, you sighed in content. It wasn’t quite like home, but it was close. You started to immediately feel better. How did Jamie know this was exactly what you needed? You wanted to text him to thank him; however, you didn’t have his phone number and didn’t feel comfortable sending him a text through Instagram quite yet. You opted to write him and note and were going to leave it in his stall the next morning.

You finished the soup and began to feel better. You were happy and thankful for the soup, but you had one lingering thought. Why would Jamie do something like this for you?

The next morning, when Jamie got to his stall, he noticed that there was a gift bag sitting on the bench. He looked around to see if maybe one of his teammates left it there. It wasn't his birthday and there was no big milestone coming up. What was the message behind it, then?

“It was here when I got here,” John tells Jamie.

“He wanted to open it, but we told him that it wouldn’t be nice,” Roope says.

“I didn’t want to open it; I wanted to see who it was from. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever, Jamie, just open it.”

Jamie grabs the bag and looks for a card or maybe a note. He removes a piece of tissue paper and sees a note. He smiles as he sees your familiar handwriting that always got Jamie’s heart racing back in high school.

Jamie,

Thank you so much for the soup last night. How did you know it was my favorite? I didn’t have your phone number, so I am leaving this for you. Enjoy a small treat from home! Again, thank you.

Jamie smiles and peers into the bag. Inside, Jamie finds a bag of snacks that are endemic to the Toronto area. Only, you would know what his favorites were. “It’s from Yn,” Jamie tells his curious teammates.

This gets a few raised eyebrows and snickers from the people that were currently in the locker room.

“Why did she leave you a gift?” Roope asks.

“I bought her some soup and had it delivered to her house yesterday because I heard she was sick. This is her thank you.” Jamie blushes with these words and can’t meet anyone’s eye.

“You got her soup?” John asks curiously. What did this mean? “Are you trying to date her?”

Jamie pales. “What? No. She just wasn’t feeling well, so I tried to make her feel better.”

John smirks. “How did you know exactly what she would want?”

Jamie, not realizing that his teammates were setting him up, answered obliviously. “It was always her favorite growing up.”

“And how do you know this?”

“Because I loved her, still do.”

This was not the answer that everyone was expecting. “What?” someone asks.

“What?” Jamie looks up from the note to see everyone staring at him.

“You love Yn? The girl who hates you? The girl who you treated like absolute shit your entire life?” Roope confirms.

“I, yeah, I loved her. In middle school and elementary school, I just messed with her because she was a girl and, you know when you have a crush on a girl that young, you tease her.”

“No, you don’t,” Miro says.

Jamie glares at his teammate. “Whatever, not the point. I thought I was being obvious, and then in high school, I realized I was in love with her.”

“You wanted to treat her right, but you knew she’d find it suspicious.”

“I forgot about my feelings when she went to college and my career picked up, but when I saw her that first time I, just,” Jamie stops talking because he isn’t sure how to continue.

“Realized your feelings.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe just talk to her? Tell her how you feel?” John suggests.

“That probably won’t work. How do I tell her that I’ve been in love with her since we were three and I treated her terribly because I was scared of my feelings? Oh, and I ruined any possibility of her dating anyone in high school because I was a jealous idiot who couldn’t figure anything out.”

Jamie’s words get a few pitiful glances, “that sucks”, and pats on the shoulder. No one knows what to say or do. Jamie was in love with the one person who might never love him back.

. . .

Walking into the ballroom, you were trying to find your boss so that you could tell her that you were here. Tonight was the annual Casino Night and you were working behind the scenes to make sure the night went smoothly. This was the first time you were attending because last year, the marketing team didn’t need you to work it, and you also caught a cold right before.

“Oh, hey, yn’s here,” Carrie calls out and crosses your name off the list. “Perfect, you’re going to be sitting at the table in the front welcoming guests and stuff. You are going to ask for their name, ID, and ticket. Once you do that, you’ll tell them their table number and give them a gift bag. A few of the players will be serving as ushers tonight, so they’ll bring the guests to their tables.”

You nod. You want to ask who the players are, but you don’t want to sound eager.

“The organization assigned Roope Hintz, Denis Gurianov, and Jason Dickinson as ushers. They also put Jamie Oleksiak. I know the two of you have some hardcore animosity between you two, so if you don’t want him there, then we can get someone else.”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll be okay,” you tell Carrie. For the first time in your life, you were serious. Things between you and Jamie were cordial and professional. You still hated him like crazy but significantly less than when you were growing up. You weren’t even sure that you and Jamie would be at this point, but here you two both were.”

“Okay, great, why don’t I bring you to your station and show you how the software works,” Carrie says and leads you to the entrance of the ballroom. The next ten minutes pass, and you think you’ve got the software and system figured out pretty well that you should be okay. Carrie told you to organize the table in any way that’s fitting to your needs, so you begin to reorganize based on how you think you’ll be able to work more efficiently.

Walking to the front entrance from the back entrance are the ushers. Leading the pack is Jamie and Roope. They were walking and talking casually when Jamie suddenly stopped in his tracks.

“Keep walking,” Jason says and smacks Jamie over the head.

“What are you staring at - oh,” Roope follows Jamie’s eye line and spots you organizing the table.

“She’s so beautiful,” Jamie says with heart eyes. You were wearing a dark green dress that fell just above your knees and matching green stilettos. Your hair was done in the way that you knew looked best. Jamie recognized it as the same way you did your hair for Senior Prom and graduation.

“You know, maybe tonight you should tell her?” Denis suggests.

“I don’t think so,” Jamie says with reluctance. “I know she doesn’t feel the same.”

“Then try not to stare or gape too much, then.”

Jamie nods. “We should head to where we need to be, right?”

The four boys continue walking to where you were. “Hey, yn,” Roope greets you.

You look up and smile. “Hi, well, you guys clean up nicely.”

“As do you,” Jamie tells you, and the heat rushes to your face. So, Jamie was complimenting you now.

“Um, so, I’ll be greeting guests and taking their ticket information,” you explain. “Your job, which you've probably been briefed on, is to escort them to their table numbers.”

“‘Briefed on’?” Jason begins. “Are we in some kind of spy or FBI movie?”

“Very funny,” you say sarcastically. “Not the point, but that’s it basically. I think Ryan from marketing will be here to help me with the tickets. Carrie told me that two of you will be on my side of the table and two on Ryan’s side.”

Ryan suddenly appears and greets you with a hug. “You look nice, yn.”

“Thanks, Ryan, you clean up well, too,” you say back to him. You don’t catch the glare that Jamie was giving to Ryan. “I was just explaining what we’re going to be doing tonight to the boys. Two will be working with you and two with me.”

“Perfect, thanks for briefing them; you four can talk amongst yourselves as to who you’re going to be working with. I don’t care either way.”

“See?” you look pointedly at Jason. “Ryan used ‘brief’, too. Oh, I also don’t care. Actually, I’m going to head to the washroom quickly before people start to arrive.”

You get up and walk away, but you don’t notice Jamie watching you leave. He was incredibly captivated with you and wants nothing more than to sweep you up and kiss you. He wants to profess his love to you and love you forever. Sadly, you would never feel the same way as a result of how he treated you growing up. Jamie is drawn out of his thoughts by Jason smacking his arm.

“Dude, you have to stop staring,” Jason says.

“Oh, you like her?” Ryan asks. “She’s quite a catch.”

“Oh, no, I don’t,” Jamie denies. He gets stares from his teammates. Jamie isn’t sure why he denied having feelings for you. You weren’t even here to hear them anyways.

“Good, I like her, and I think I’m going to ask her out. I wasn’t going to say anything if you liked her, but since you don’t, I should be okay to do so.”

Jamie nods but locks his jaw. “Excuse me, I have to go to the washroom, too.” Jamie walks to the bathroom angrily. Of course, Ryan likes you, who wouldn’t? Why couldn’t Jamie just tell Ryan he likes you? That way, Ryan won’t be asking you out. Too entranced in his thoughts, he runs right into you, again.

“Oof, wow, hi Jamie,” you say to him giggly after regaining your composure. “I should stop doing this, you know, running into you. Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah, why?”

“You look really angry and pissed off.”

“Oh, well, I’m not, so, don’t worry,” Jamie says in a voice that doesn’t express what he just said.

You laugh softly.

“What?” Jamie asks.

“You say you’re not angry, but your tone says anything but,” you explain with an amused smile. You look up to meet Jamie’s eyes, and you see the fury going on in his head. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Jamie brushes you off and walks away toward the washroom.

You want to yell after him, but you don’t feel it’s your place to do so.

“Oh good, you’re back,” Ryan says to you. “Jamie and Jason are going to be your ushers and Roope and Denis will be mine.”

You nod and sit down. So, Jamie was going to be closer to you than you thought. “Perfect.”

When Jamie gets back from the washroom and sees you talking to Ryan in a much too friendly manner for his liking, Jamie sulks again. This was going to be a long night.

Somehow, despite his anger and frustration, Jamie was able to put that all aside as he was working as an usher for the Casino Night. Just being near you and around you was enough to calm him down. Watching you interact with the guests made Jamie’s heart warm. He always knew that you were incredibly caring to everyone you met; he just didn’t know that your actions would make him melt and fall more in love with you. After about an hour and a half of welcoming guests, Carrie walks over and says that one group can go and get something to eat. She walks away and the six of you talk amongst yourselves as to who should go. The decision is made for you when two guests walk up to you and begin pulling out their IDs. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Ryan, Roope, and Denis head into the ballroom to have dinner. After welcoming them in, Denis ushers the guests to their table. You take a breath of releasing exhaustion and Jamie smiles at you.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s a lot of people to talk to; when I took this job, I thought it would just be marketing, not the rest of this, too,” you tell him. “It’s a very versatile job.”

“Well, if it weren’t versatile, then we wouldn’t have ever come into contact with each other, right?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing yet.”

Jamie looks you in the eye. “Well, I think it’s a good thing. A very good thing.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Oh yeah?” you say to Jamie, and he nods. “I’ll take that into consideration as I make my decision.”

Jamie chuckles deeply, and you feel the shivers go up your spine.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you ask Jamie.

“Sure,” he tells you.

“Why were you, actually never mind,” you stop asking, seeing Denis walking back to the table.

Jamie was about to question why, but he sees Denis and another guest approaching. He takes this as the reason that you stopped talking. You put on a bright smile and begin talking to the guests and welcoming them. Jamie ushers them into the ballroom after you talk and gives you a wink. You feel the warmth reach your face; you see Denis shaking his head and you question him.

“Just give him a chance,” he replies to you.

“What?” you ask confused.

“I’m serious, just give him a chance.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You will, just give him a chance when you realize you know what I’m talking about.”

You nod. What in the world could he be talking about?

Three hours after the event starts, Carrie comes over to the six of you and tells her that you were all relieved of your duties and were free to enjoy the event. You weren’t sure what to do now.

“Where are you headed?” Jamie asks.

“I’m not sure, you?”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“I’ve never been to one of these before, and most of my friends are working or have their own dates. I don’t have a table to sit at and don’t want to intrude.”

Jamie nods. He extends his arm for you, and you look at him skeptically.

“What?” you ask.

“Dance with me,” he tells you.

You want to tell him he’s crazy and that there was no way in hell that you were going to dance with him. However, you wanted to. You wanted to dance with Jamie, so you loop your arm through his and he leads you into the ballroom. The two of you find a spot on the dance floor and maneuver yourselves into a dancing position. Jamie rests his two hands on your waist and you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. You giggle softly; your hands don’t reach because Jamie is too tall.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re too tall; I can’t get my arms to go around your neck,” you tell him.

“Oh,” Jamie says. His eyes suddenly light up. He removes one of his hands from your waist and takes your hand. “Now, you put one of your hands on my back. This work?”

You do as he says and nods. “Yeah, and now we dance!”

“That we do.”

You and Jamie begin swaying with the music. You remember that you had a question you wanted to ask Jamie, so you decide to prompt him with it now. “Hey, Jamie?”

“Yes, ynn?”

“Why were you so upset earlier?” you ask.

Jamie suddenly stiffens, and you begin tracing patterns on his back with your hand to try to calm him down. “No reason.”

“So, you mean to tell me that you just get angry for no apparent reason?”

“No, I did get angry for a certain reason.”

“Care to share? A penny for your thoughts?”

What about a kiss for my thoughts. “It’s stupid. Ryan just said something I didn’t like, so I got angry.”

“Oh, okay.”

Jamie smiles at you, and you both continue to dance to the song. When the song ends, you begin to release your grasp of Jamie, but he doesn’t do the same.

“Jamie, the song's over.”

“I know, one more?” he asks. You want to say yes, but you aren’t sure why you don’t want to. You aren’t sure what this shift in your relationship is, but you need some time to figure it out on your own.

“I’m sorry, my feet hurt, I think I’m going to head to the back with staff and just rest, okay?” you pivot.

Jamie nods and releases his hold on you. “I probably have to do some sucking up to the donors and stuff.”

“Oh yeah, probably,” you tease. “See you later?”

“Absolutely, yes,” Jamie says to you, and the two of you go your separate ways. You head to the back to find Carrie, and Jamie heads to his teammates.

“So, did you finally tell her?” Denis asks excitedly.

“No,” Jamie says glumly.

The team gathered at this certain location all shook their heads in annoyance. When will the two of you finally realize these things?

You’re sitting in the back kitchen with a piece of chocolate cake as the event wraps up. Carrie told you that you could just sit in the back if you didn’t want to go out. Yeah, that’s what you did. You didn’t want to see Jamie again because you didn’t know what the shift in your guys’ relationship was. You needed to talk to Lisa as soon as you could before you saw Jamie again. Sadly, the universe didn’t care that much about what you felt.

“Is this the pity party?” Jamie asks as he sits across from you. He grabs the fork in your hand and takes a bite out of your cake.

“Hey!” you jokingly scold. “And no, this isn’t a pity party. I just don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You could have come and found me, you know.”

You open your mouth to say something but close it right away.

“What?” Jamie asks with his mouth full of cake.

“Stop eating my cake,” you tell him and take your fork out of his hand. “Should you really be eating this anyway?”

“It’s cake.”

“Yeah, and you’re a professional athlete.”

“I don’t follow.”

You sigh. “Aren’t you supposed to be eating only healthy things?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“But you’re eating cake.”

“Oh, now I get what you're saying,” Jamie says to you. “Just don’t tell the nutrition staff.”

“Then maybe you should wipe that chocolate icing off your face,” you joke.

“Oops, my bad,” Jamie begins wiping the icing off his face but misses.

“Here, let me,” you say and scoot your chair closer to him. You use your thumb and wipe the icing off your face. “Better.”

“Thank you,” Jamie says to you, and his face gets closer to yours so close that your foreheads are touching. “Yn, can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you say to him, realizing how close your face is to his.

“You know how you asked me earlier today about why I was mad?” Jamie asks, and you nod. “Well, I wasn’t entirely telling you the truth. Yes, Ryan said something I didn’t like. When you walked to the washroom, I was staring at you because you were so beautiful. One of the guys told me to stop staring at you, and Ryan asked if I liked you. I don’t know why, but I told him no even though I’m so in love with you. Ryan then said that he was going to ask you out, and I got mad. I got mad because I want to be the one to love you, and I think Ryan might be the one to get that first.”

You pull back slightly, shocked. “What?”

“I’m in love with you; I always was.”

There’s no way you feel the same way. Where did that come from? “What? No, Jamie. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve treated me like shit our entire life. There is no way you’re in love with me. No, you’re not. I’m sorry, I have to go.” You get up abruptly and walk out of the kitchen.

You walk to go find Carrie, so you could tell her you were going to head home. You were going to tell her you feel sick, which you do. You find Carrie and tell her you’re going to head home. She says it’s fine, and you head to the exit.

“Yn, wait, don’t leave because of me,” Jamie says to you as you’re about to leave. Somehow, he found you and was following you.

“No, Jamie, if you didn’t want me to leave, you shouldn’t have said those things to me. Why? Do you hate me that much that you want to mess with me so badly?”

“What? No, of course not. I don’t hate you, yn!”

“That’s rich; I’m leaving. Goodnight, Jamie.”

You don’t see the fallen look on Jamie’s face as you walk away, but his teammates do. Jamie goes back to his table but doesn’t say anything. Why did he think you’d ever feel the same way? Because he was nice for a few months? No, he should have known better. This was his fault, and he had to live what he did.

You held in your tears until you got to your car. The minute your door closed, you broke down. How dare he do this to you? How dare Jamie say something like that to mess with you? What was his problem? Why would he do that?

You and Jamie both went home miserable that night. Jamie went home heartbroken, and you went home angry and annoyed. What happens next?

. . .

You called in sick the Monday after Casino Night. You weren’t ready to face Jamie even though you knew that you’d probably not see him. You weren’t sure what to think. Jamie was always someone that you knew would be in your life. However, you always thought he’d be there as your lifelong enemy who you happened to still be in semi-contact with because your parents were friends. As of late, though, you’ve been seeing Jamie as a friend. You weren’t going to lie, you found Jamie ridiculously attractive, and ever since the accident you had where you and Jamie finally talked, you began to see him in a different light. Instead of your first thought being how much you hated him, you thought about the good things he had to himself. You saw how friendly he was to everyone, and he always asked how you were. He had a selflessness to himself that you were starting to love about him.

“Why are you telling me all this, yn?” Lisa asks you exasperated. “I always thought that the two of you were perfect for each other, even in high school. Don’t lie, you thought about it, too.”

You pause for a moment carefully thinking about what you were going to say. “I guess you’re right. I did have a small crush on him in high school because, for almost six months, he was mostly nice to me.”

“And what about now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to know what I think?”

“Yes, please, Lisa.”

“I think you’re in love with him, too. I think you always have been; I think he’s one of those people that is always going to be in your life whether or not you like it. At first, everyone thought you two were going to be the best of friends and take over the world. That all changed when he tripped you and the rest is history, but I think it’s different now. This time around, you both are mature adults who, I think, subconsciously realized that the way they dealt with the crushes they had on each other was by absolutely hating each other. You both didn’t know what to do, so you’re coping mechanism? Hate each other senselessly because you didn’t know what else. Now, Jamie realized how he feels and wants that with you. He said it first, right? Maybe he wants to show you he’s changed and truly loves you now.”

“I guess you’re kind of right,” you tell Lisa. “I just, I don’t know how I feel.”

“Do you find him attractive?”

“Yes, of course, he’s gorgeous.”

“Did you always think that?”

“Yes, because he’s always been gorgeous.”

“Was one of the reasons you hated him because he was so gorgeous?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Lisa,” you tell your best friend skeptically.

“My point is that if you truly hated him, you wouldn’t have called him gorgeous so quickly. I think you would have just denied finding him attractive and that’s that. Now that you know what nice and kind Jamie is like, I think you want more. You want to have more with him because you’ve seen what a great person Jamie is. Because you’ve seen the goodness, you want more and all of it. Can you say that you currently hate Jamie Oleksiak with your entire being?”

“No, I cannot say that I hate Jamie Oleksiak with my entire being.”

“Your first reaction to him telling you how he feels was not to punch him or to hurt him, was it?”

“No, I guess it wasn’t,” you say calmly.

“What was it then, yn?”

“In my head, and I don’t know why I said it, but it was ‘there’s no way you feel the same way', and I was surprised those words even formed in my head.”

“Don’t you see, yn? You feel the same way! You just didn’t know it! Your head and heart have been trying to tell you how you feel by spreading warmth to your face, making you feel shy, or just wanting to be around him. Yn, you’re in love with Jamie Oleksiak.”

“Holy shit, I’m in love with Jamie Oleksiak.”

“You’re in love with Jamie Oleksiak, yn.”

“Oh dear goodness, what do I do now, Lisa?”

“Apologize and tell him.”

You take a deep breath. “Yeah, I can do that, right?”

“If you want to be with him, then yeah.”

“Okay, I can do that, it shouldn’t be too hard, right? What could possibly go wrong?”

. . .

Believe it or not, a lot. The next day, you were set to go back to work, but you woke up with a massive migraine, an aching cough, and a debilitating stomach ache. You couldn’t go to work feeling like this, so you called in sick for real this time. You finally had the courage to go see a doctor, and they told you it was just a bug. They gave you some antibiotics, and you were back to work in three days.

On the Saturday after Casino Night, Carrie asked if you could fill in for the media team, and you agreed enthusiastically. Maybe you’d finally be able to see Jamie and talk to him?

Unfortunately, that was not the case. You weren’t outright trying to talk to Jamie or get his attention, but you weren’t not doing that. You tried to act normal, but Jamie wouldn’t even acknowledge you. You were able to catch him alone after the game, but when you called out to him, he didn’t respond. You went home that night crying thinking you ruined something great without knowing you had something great at the tip of your fingers.

The following Monday, you were sitting in the GM’s offices when Jamie walked in looking for one of the team managers. You were the one of two sitting in the room, and Jamie walked to the other person who was on the far side of the room to ask if the manager was there. You’ll admit, that hurt.

You saw Jamie a few days later on your way to the locker room to give some paperwork to the coaching staff. You were about to turn the corner when your foot got stuck in a loose floorboard, and you went tumbling to the ground.

“Are you okay?” someone asks you as you try to get up.

“I mean, considering I just fell to the ground, no, but thanks for asking,” you answer and lookup. “Jamie.”

“Yn,” he replies back to you. “I’m going to go.”

“Jamie, wait, please.”

“What, yn? Are you going to reject me again because I don’t want to have that conversation with you, then.”

“When we both aren’t at work and in a public place, can we please talk?”

“Why should I agree to that, yn? Because, for your information, you’re breaking my heart. I can’t do this if you’re just going to make me feel terrible.”

You falter slightly when Jamie tells you that you’re breaking his heart. “I’m really sorry, can we just please pick a time and place to talk?”

“Sure, right here, right now.”

“Jamie, that’s not what I --”

“No, if you want to talk, then right here. I don’t want to have this conversation later if you’re going to reject me again.”

You’re getting kind of sick and tired of Jamie insisting that you’re going to reject him again because you’re not. “Jamie! I’m not going to reject you again! Do you think I’m some kind of heartless monster who loves to see you suffer? Guess what, I don’t! I hate that my words made you hurt and put you in a terrible mood. I apologize for that. You know you got to speak your mind, isn’t it time for me to be able to speak mine?”

Jamie is about to say something, but you stop him.

“No, I’m not going to break your heart, I promise. Just listen, okay?”

Jamie nods and takes one step towards you.

“Casino Night? You caught me off guard. My entire life, I hated you and that was all I knew. Wake up? Hate Jamie. Go to bed? Hate Jamie. You have to admit, though, you didn’t make it hard, but that’s beside the point. When I literally ran into you all those months ago, I picked up where we left off because that was all I knew. Then, come to find out, I didn’t like that. When I tripped over your foot and we talked? That was the shift inside of me. I didn’t know what I was feeling. The next few things I’m going to say I didn’t makeup on my own, Lisa helped me with it. She told me that I got to experience nice and kind Jamie, and I loved it. I did, I loved being on the receiving end of it. She was saying how I wanted more, all of the love and kindness you have to offer. She’s not wrong. I want everything you have to offer because I’m in love with you.”

“What?”

“Casino Night? I didn’t know what I was feeling. If you gave me a bit more time, on my own, then I think I would have realized it soon. I’m not sure if you know this, but in sophomore year of high school, I had a crush on you because, for once, you were quite nice to me. I like nice Jamie because he makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Jamie Oleksiak, I’m in love with you even though I spent almost twenty years hating you. And, that’s all I have to say, so I’m going to go now.”

You begin to turn around, but Jamie’s next words leave you stunned. “I’ve had a crush on you since we were three.”

“What?”

“When we were three years old, I realized I had a crush on you. I wouldn’t have called it a crush, but I always saw how in love my parents were and one day wanted that with you. You know how children get ‘married’? Well, I wanted to marry you. I didn’t know how to process how I felt so I treated you like shit and for that, I’m sorry. I realized I was in love with you in high school, but at that point, too much damage was created for me to go back and change things. When I saw you again a few months back, I realized that I never really got over you, and I wanted more with you.”

You take a step forward. “So.”

“So?”

“So, we’re two idiots who are in love with each other, then?”

“So we are,” Jamie says to you with a smile.

“Now what do we do?” you ask.

“Well, I’d like to take you out for dinner and maybe kiss you? Then, take you out for dinner again and call you my girlfriend. What do you think?”

“I think you should kiss me now and we can just jump to the ‘I’m your girlfriend’ part.”

“That’s a deal,” Jamie says and leans down to kiss you. He places a gentle kiss on your lips before leaning back to take a breath. He leans in again, and you both deepen the kiss he places on your lips. All of five seconds pass when you hear cheering behind you. “I guess this is why you wanted to talk in private, right?”

You laugh. “Yeah, it was. Maybe you should listen to me more often.”

“Well, now that you’re my girlfriend, I guess I have more of a reason to.”

“And why’s that?”

“So I get to keep you and love you forever?”

You smile and say, “that I can do.” You perch upon your tippy-toes and kiss Jamie again. Who knew that two childhood enemies could one day learn to love each other?

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