#they hit their stride by the second movie though

[alien-enjoyer]

this one goes out to my non star wars mutuals which is most of you

star wars is bad. until it’s good

[lee-laurent]

Romeo and Juliet - Jack Hughes

Summary: Jack falls for the new owner of the Devils' daughter

content: reverse of a slowburn (they move really fast)

wc: 14k

notes: requested!! i'm sorry this took sooooo long! school is kicking my ass :(( but i really liked writing this! i rewrote it like twelve times until i finally found an angle i liked and i hope you guys enjoy it too! keep on sending in requests :))

Remi Bouchard stood awkwardly behind her dad, arms crossed and weight shifting from one foot to the other, as he talked to his new team, droning on and on about his expectations. She'd heard this speech before--different team, same lines. Discipline. Effort. Respect. Her dad always delivered it like he was audtioning for a role in a sports movie, with the same rehearsed authority and clipped tone.

Behind his back, she rolled her eyes. This time, though, she wasn't sitting in the bleachers or tucked away in the family section. No, this time, he'd insisted she stand behind him, a silent reminder to everyone in the room that he was not only their new coach, but also her father. Like she needed that.

Her gaze drifted lazily across the room. Players filled the chairs, leaning back like they'd heard their fair share of speeches too. A few were older, veterans whose faces she vaguely recognized from highlight reels. The rest were younger--fresh-faced rookies and players just hitting their stride.

Her eyes landed on a guy near the back, sitting with one ankle propped on his knee. His light brown hair was messy in a way that looked accidental but wasn't, and a lopsided grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he whispered something to the guy beside him. Whatever it was must've been funny, because the other guy was fighting to keep a straight face.

Interesting.

Remi tilted her head, letting her gaze linger a second longer than she should have. She'd always been good at reading people--better than her dad, anyway--and something about him stood out. He didn't look nervous or overly respectful like some of the others. He looked... comfortable. Like he knew exactly who he was and didn't feel the need to apologize for it.

Her dad's voice snapped her back to reality.

"And remember, gentlemen, this season isn't just about talent--it's about discipline. Off the ice as well as on. That's what wins cups."

She fought the urge to groan. Discipline was her dad's favourite word, and he'd wielded it like a weapon her entire life. No late nights. No parties. No distractions. Her curfew in high school had been earlier than the local diner closed. Even now, at 19, he still acted like he needed his permission to make a decision.

But that was the thing about being 19. She didn't need anyone's permission--not anymore.

When her dad finally wrapped up his speech, he turned to her with a rare, tight-lipped smile. "Remi, why don't you introduce yourself?"

Her stomach twisted. She'd spent most of her life being introduced as "Phil Bouchard's daughter," and it didn't look like that was changing anytime soon. Still, she managed a polite smile, the one she'd perfected after years of playing nice for her dad's sake.

"Hi," she said, her voice cutting through the murmurs in the room. "I'm Remi. My dad's the coach--obviously. But don't let him fool you; he's not that scary."

There was a ripple of polite laughter, but her eyes were fixed on the guy in the back. His lopsided grin had widened into a full-on smirk now, and for the first time, she felt her own smile shift into a real one.

~~

The players were filing out, some offering polite nods to her dad as they passed. Remi stayed in the corner, checking her phone out of habit, when a voice grabbed her attention.

"So, Coach's not that scary?"

She looked up to find the guy from earlier standing a few feet away, hands shoved in the pocket of his Devils branded sweatpants, the same smirk on his face. Up close, he was even more annoyingly attractive.

"Not unless you cross him," she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

"Good to know." He extended a hand. "Jack Hughes."

"Remi Bouchard," she replied, shaking it. His grip was confident and lingered long enough to make her heart skip.

"I figured," Jack said. "Your dad's been saying 'my daughter' every five minutes."

She laughed despite herself. "Yeah, he's good at that."

"Is he good at coaching too, or should I be worried?"

Remi hesitated for a beat, then leaned in slightly, her voice dropping low enough to make him lean in too. "Let's just say... don't expect to sleep in."

Jack's laugh was genuine, bright, and made her stomach flutter.

"Noted," he stood up straight. "Guess I'll see you around, Bouchard."

And with that, he was gone, leaving her standing there, slightly breathless and entirely annoyed at how much she'd enjoyed that.

The locker room emptied quickly after that. Remi stayed put, scrolling aimlessly through her phone as her dad exchanged a few last words with his assistant coaches. She didn't need to look up to know he was shooting her occasional glances, making sure she wasn't doing anything embarrassing.

When the other coaches finally left the room, her dad turned to her, his expression shifting into something softer, but no less authoritative.

"Thanks for sticking around today, kid," he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Didn't really have a choice, did I?" she replied, her tone just sharp enough to sting.

Phil frowned, his grip tightening slightly before he let go. "I just want you to understand what's at stake here. This team is a fresh start for me--and for us. I'm counting on you to make a good impression. That means no antics, Remi. No sneaking around, no hanging out with the players, no late nights."

Her jaw tightened. The rules. Always the rules. No matter where they moved or how many teams he coached, her dad never let up. She was 19 years old, a legal adult, and he still talked to her like she was a teenager that couldn't be trusted.

"Got it," she said flatly, shoving her phone into her pocket. "Are we done?"

Phil's frown deepened, but he nodded. "Go home. I'll meet you there after meetings."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out, her heart pounding with anger. The hallway leading out of the arena was dimly lit, her footsteps echoing loudly in the empty space. Her dad's words replayed in her mind, each one sharpening her resentment like a knife.

No antics. No hanging out with players.

The absurdity of it made her laugh under her breath. Like she couldn't handle herself. Like she wasn't already smarter, sharper, and more aware of the world than he gave her credit for.

The truth was, she'd been good for too long. For years, she'd followed his rules, played the perfect daughter, sat quietly by the sidelines of his career. And what had it gotten her? A suffocating shadow she couldn't escape.

She paused at the edge of the parking lot, looking back at the arena. Most of the players were gone by now, but a few stragglers were still lingering by their cars. Her eyes scanned the lot until they landed on him. Jack Hughes.

He was leaning against the driver's side door of his car, his stupid smirk still on his face. His posture was relaxed, lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

He's exactly the kind of guy Dad would hate me hanging out with.

The thought struck her with startling clarity. Jack wasn't just charming and attractive--he was off-limits. A walking, talking rebellion waiting to happen. And the best part? Her dad had basically handed her the idea on a silver platter.

She could hear the protests in his voice already. Stay away from him, Remi. You're going to embarrass me. You don't know what you're doing.

A slow, wicked grin spread across her face. Maybe she didn't know exactly what she was doing yet, but she knew enough. She wasn't going to sit around and let her dad dictate her life any longer. If he wanted her to stay away from Jack Hughes, well, that was exactly who she'd be spending her time with.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her attention. Her best friend, Talia, was texting her.

Talia: how's hockey prison? are you surviving?

Remi smirked, fingers flying across the screen.

Remi: barely. but i've got a plannnn. stay tuned

She glanced at Jack again. This wasn't just about pissing off her dad--it was about proving, to herself and to him, that she was in control of her own life. And Jack Hughes? He was going to help her do exactly that.

She walked over to him, smoothing down her hair and tugging at the hem of her jacket, wanting to look like she wasn't psyching herself up to do this.

Jack didn't notice her approach until she was a few feet away. He glanced up, his face shifting to surprise, then to a lazy grin that had her weak in the knees.

"Didn't think I'd see you again tonight," he said.

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Figured I'd say hi before you forgot about me."

"Not a chance. Coach's daughter isn't exactly forgettable."

Her laugh came easily, and she stepped closer, leaning against the car beside him. "Well, that's reassuring. So, what's the team's golden boy still doing here? Everyone else has cleared the fuck out."

Jack tilted his head. "Golden boy? That's a stretch."

"Come on," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his. "Don't play humble with me. I saw you back there, all comfortable and confident. You're not like the others."

"Is that a good thing?" he smirked.

"That depends. Do you live up to the hype?"

Jack chuckled, the sound warm and low. "Guess you'll have to stick around and find out."

For a split second, her resolve wavered. It would be so easy to fall into this, to let herself believe this wasn't just a game she was playing. But she couldn't afford that--not now. She had a point to prove, and he was the perfect way to do it.

"So," she said, smoothly changing the subject, "is this how you always spend your Friday nights? Hanging out in parking lots and scrolling through Instagram?"

Jack leaned back, crossing his arms. "Only when I'm waiting for someone interesting to show up."

"Oh?" she arched a brow. "And did they?"

"Yeah," he held her gaze. "They did."

The flutter in her chest was stronger this time, and she quickly buried it beneath a playful grin. "Well, I hate to disappoint, but I'm not that interesting."

"Not buying it," he shook his head. "I've got a feeling you're full of surprises."

"Maybe you'll find out."

Jack pushed off his car, standing just a little closer than before. "Guess I'll have to stick around, then," he teased.

Remi glanced up at him, her heart pounding. This is working. She didn't need to push too hard--just enough to keep him hooked, to let him think this was real. It almost felt real. And that was the dangerous part.

"Well," she stepped back just far enough to break the moment, "don't let me keep you here all night."

Jack hesitated, then pulled his car keys from his pocket. "Alright, Bouchard. But don't be a stranger, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied, her voice light and breezy as she turned and walked away.

When she reached her car, her phone buzzed with another text from Talia.

Talia: details. now.

Remi: step 1: complete. he's hooked

As she hit send, she glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Jack's car pulling out of the lot. This was just the beginning.

~~

Remi leaned against the railing of the bleachers in the practice rink, her legs crossed casually as she scrolled through Instagram to see what her friends back in Toronto were up to. The team was midway through drills, her dad barking instructions from the bench, his voice echoing through the room.

But when she was looking up, her attention wasn't on her dad. It was on him.

Jack was mid-drill, skating backward as he tracked a pass, his stick carrying the puck across the ice. He made it look so easy--like he was born to do this. The precision in his movements was almost hypnotic.

When the whistle blew, signaling a break, Jack skated toward the bench for water. He looked upward--just for a second--and locked eyes with her. Remi played it cool, offering him a small wave and a teasing smirk.

Jack raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a grin that was equal parts amused and intrigued. He didn't break their eye contact as he lifted the water bottle, taking a long sip like he was trying to show off to her in the oddest way.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. Subtlety clearly wasn't his strong suit.

As the players began to scatter for the next drill, Jack skated over to the boards near where she stood. Leaning his forearms casually on top of the plastic, he tilted his head up at her.

"Didn't realize this practice was open to spectators," he teased.

"It's not," she replied, moving down a couple rows. "I'm special."

"Special, huh?" He smirked. "Is that why you're standing up there, judging my every move?"

"Who says I was judging?" she shot back. "Maybe I was admiring."

Jack blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but quickly recovered. "Careful, Bouchard. Keep talking like that and I'll start thinking you're here just to see me."

She grinned, "Maybe I am."

The whistle blew again, cutting through their moment. Jack glanced back at the ice, where the rest of the team was already setting up for the next drill.

"Duty calls," he said, skating backward to keep his eyes on her. "But don't go anywhere. I'll be looking for you when we're done."

"I'll think about it," she sassed, turning to leave.

~~

The smell of sweat hit her as the players filtered into the locker room, chatting as they pulled off their gear. Remi stood near the wall, pretending not to notice the attention her presence was drawing.

Jack was one of the last to come off the ice, his jersey slung over one jersey and his sweat damp with sweat. When he spotted her, his pace slowed, his grin widening as he veered her way.

"You know," he said, stopping just a little to close, "if you keep showing up like this, people are going to start talking."

"Talking about what?" she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes.

"About how the coach's daughter has a thing for the team's centre," he replied, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Remi raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. "Who says I don't?"

Jack blinked, his confidence faltering for a fraction of a second before he let out a soft laugh. "You're dangerous, you know that?"

"Am I?" she deliberately took a step closer.

"Definitely," his voice dropped even lower.

Before he could say more, the sound of her dad's voice calling her name echoed down the hall. Jack immediately straightened, stepping back like a kid caught his hand in the cookie jar.

"Don't worry," she whispered, brushing past him. "I won't tell."

As she walked away, she glanced back over her shoulder just in time to catch the look on his face--amusement and exasperation. It sent a thrill racing through her, and for the first time, she realized how much she was enjoying this.

~~

Remi wandered through the small crowd, her dad occupied with his assistant coaches on the other side of the lounge. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on Jack, who was standing by the snack table with a few teammates.

When their eyes met, his face lit up, and he excused himself, weaving through the crowd to meet her halfway.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft and warm. "You didn't come down to congratulate me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she teased, crossing her arms. "Do you require special acknowledgment for doing your job?"

Jack laughed, shaking his head. "I thought you might be impressed."

She tilted her head, pretending to consider. "I guess you were okay."

"Okay?" he repeated, placing a hand over his heart like he'd been mortally wounded. "Tough crowd."

"Don't worry," she said, her smile turning mischievous. "I'll be sure to send you a participation ribbon."

Jack leaned in slightly, his grin becoming more genuine. "How about dinner instead?"

His tone, his expression--there was nothing calculated about it. He was just... sincere. And that made her next move feel all the more like a game.

"Maybe," she took a step back. "If you're lucky."

She walked away, leaving Jack standing there, shaking his head with a smile that said he was already hooked.

~~

Remi laughed softly as she collapsed onto Jack's couch, kicking off her sneakers and tucking her legs under herself. His apartment was a reflection of him--casual, but inviting, with a lingering smell of cologne that was distinctly Jack.

She'd finally taken him up on his dinner offer and it had been the most fun she'd had in a long time.

"You're way too good at losing track of time," Jack said, joining her with two beers in hand. He offered her one, his knee brushing against hers as he settled beside her.

"Time's a construct," she quipped, taking the bottle, glad he had already removed the cap. She leaned back, letting her head rest against the cushion. "And I was having fun."

Jack gave her a crooked smile. "Fun, huh? Is that all I am to you?"

"Oh, don't fish for compliments," she teased, knocking his shoulder with hers. "You're more than fun. You're..." She pretended to think, her smile widening as his expression grew mock-serious. "Moderately entertaining."

Jack rolled his eyes, setting his beer down on the coffee table. "Moderately entertaining? Guess I'll have to up my game."

Before she could reply, he leaned in, his hand sliding along her jaw as his lips found hers. The kiss was warm and confident, tasting of beer and italian food, deepening quickly as he tilted her head back. Remi melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair as he pressed closer, his weight shifting to pin her against the couch.

The outside world melted away, leaving only the heat of his hands as they pulled her shirt up and the intoxicating way he kissed her--like she was the only thing that mattered. His hands roamed over her waist, her thighs, pulling her against him with a hunger that made her heart beat faster. They quickly stripped down to their underwear, shifting to lay on the couch.

She pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, "I'm gonna ruin you, Hughes."

He laughed softly, his forehead resting against hers. "Pretty sure it's the other way around."

Remi reached into the pocket of her discarded jeans, pulling out a case containing a neatly rolled blunt. She held it up between them, her lip pulled between her teeth. "Wanna test that theory?"

Jack raised an eyebrow, but propped himself up on his elbows, watching as she lit the blunt with practiced ease. She took a slow drag, blowing the smoke out in a lazy swirl before handing it to him.

"D'you always carry these around?" he asked, taking it from her and mimicking her movements.

"Only when I'm feeling inspired," she replied, slipping out from under him and onto the floor, patting the space beside her. "Come on. The couch is overrated."

Jack joined her, body sprawling out beside hers as they passed the blunt back and forth. The room filled with the soft haze of smoke, and the tension that had been simmering between them shifted into something more intimate.

"What's your biggest secret?" she asked suddenly, her head turned to look at him.

Jack exhaled a puff of smoke, his brows furrowing as he thought. "Biggest secret? Probably that I suck at cooking."

Remi laughed, elbowing his side. "Come on, Hughes. You can do better than that."

"Alright... I hate how much I care about what people think of me. On the ice, off the ice. It's exhausting sometimes."

Remi blinked, surprised by the raw honesty in his voice. She handed him the blunt, her tone gentler. "Well, for what it's worth, I think you're doing just fine."

Jack smiled, taking a drag. "Your turn. Biggest secret."

"I don't think I've ever really been myself," she admitted. "Not around my dad, not around anyone. It's like... I'm always trying to be what people expect."

Jack reached over, his fingers brushing hers. "You're pretty damn great as you are."

The sincerity in his voice made her chest ache, and for the first time, she wondered if she'd underestimated him.

~~

Jack hovered nervously by the back door, his hoodie pulled low over his head, scanning the dark backyard like they were in a spy movie. "I still think this is a terrible idea."

"That's because you're boring," Remi whispered back, pulling her house key from her pocket. The lock clicked softly, and she pushed the door wide with a grin. "See? Easy."

Jack stepped inside hesitantly, wincing when the hinges creaked. "If he catches me--"

"He won't," she cut, turning to grab his hand. Her fingers were warm, steady, and the quick squeeze she gave his palm sent a shiver up his arm. "He's been passed out for hours. I'd know--I checked."

"That's reassuring," he muttered, letting her pull him forward.

The house was dark and still, the only sound the faint hum of the refridgerator in the kitchen. Jack couldn't help but glance around as they moved through the house, his grip on her hand tightening every time the floorboards creaked under their weight.

"This is ridiculous," he hissed when they reached the staircase. "Your dad's not just anyone, Remi. He's my coach. My fucking boss."

She paused mid-step, turning to look at him with a smirk that made his pulse quicken. "And yet you're the one who keeps following me."

He opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut when she tugged on his hand again, pulling him up the stairs. His heart hammered as they passed the closed door to what he could only assume was her dad's bedroom, the faint sound of snoring filtering through the wood.

When they finally reached her bedroom, Remi pushed him inside, locking the door behind them. Jack leaned back against it, exhaling hard as he ran a hand through his hair. "You're gonna get me benched."

She rolled her eyes, stepping closer until her body was pressed against his. "You're too good. He'd never bench you."

"You sure about that?" he mumbled, his voice dropping as his hands slid instinctively to her hips.

"Positive," she replied, tipping her head back to meet his gaze. "Besides, you'll be worth it."

His breath caught, her confidence making him forget how bad of an idea this was. She was dangerous, magnetic, and impossible to resist.

"God, you're reckless," his voice was rough as he leaned down to kiss her.

Her reply was lost against his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hoodie as they stumbled toward the bed.

~~

The room was quiet now, save for the sound of their heavy breathing. Remi lay sprawled across the sheets, her bare skin still warm from Jack's touch. His arm was draped lazily across her waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her ribs as he stared up at the ceiling.

"You okay?" he asked almost hesitantly.

She turned her head to look at him, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Better than okay."

Jack laughed under his breath, pulling her closer. "Good. 'Cause I don't think I'll survive your dad murdering me."

She shook her head, leaning up to press a kiss to the faint red marks she'd left along his collarbone. "Relax. He doesn't need to know."

But as her hand slid across his chest, his fingers gently caught her wrist. His gaze turned serious, searching hers. "You're sure about this? About us?"

For a split second, she hesitated. The way he looked at her--like she was something precious, something worth risking everything for--made her chest tighten in a way she wasn't used to. But she pushed the thought aside, flashing him a toothy grin. "I'm sure."

Jack smiled, leaning down to kiss her again, and the warmth of his hand on her waist made her forget everything else.

~~

Remi slipped into the kitchen the next morning, a slight ache in her muscles and a satisifed smirk on her lips. She was pouring a cup of coffee when her dad walked in, his expression already tense.

"Morning," she said lightly, leaning against the counter.

Phil frowned, eyes narrowing as he studied her. "What's on your neck?"

She instinctively lifted a hand to cover the faint bruise Jack had left just above her collarbone. "Nothing," she lied, turning to grab her mug.

"Don't 'nothing' me," he snapped, stepping closer. "That's a hickey. Who were you with?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," she said, her tone sharper than she intended.

Phil's jaw clenched, his frustration spilling over. "It is my fucking business, Remi. I know boys. Most of them are players who don't care about anything but themselves. I'm not letting you ruin your life for some--"

"I'm not ruining anything!" she snapped, slamming her mug onto the counter, coffee sloshing over the side. "God, Dad, I'm not a kid anymore! You can't control who I spend my time with."

~~

The parking lot was empty except for a few scattered cars. Jack leaned against the driver's side door of his car, his hockey bag tossed in the backseat.

"You waiting for me again?" Remi asked, stopping a few feet away.

"Maybe. Can you blame me?"

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing the edge of his jacket. "Not really."

The space between them disappeared as he pulled her in, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was hungry, insistent. Her hands slid up his chest, tangling in the collar of his coat as she pressed herself against him.

Jack groaned softly, his hands gripping her waist as he slid his tongue into her mouth. The cool night air was forgotten, replaced by the warmth of her body and the breathy sounds she made against his mouth.

But the sound of footsteps nearby made them both freeze. Jack pulled back, his heart hammering as he glanced over his shoulder. A security guard was walking along the far side of the lot, his flashlight swinging lazily across the pavement.

"Shit," Jack whispered, running a hand through his tangled hair. "We need to be more careful."

Remi smirked. "Scared, Hughesy?"

He shook his head, exhaling a shaky laugh. "No, just trying not to get caught."

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "Where's the fun in that?"

~~

Jack adjusted the collar of his jacket as he led Remi down the familiar hallway to his apartment. He'd suggested they grab dinner at his place after practice--a casual way for her to meet someone close to him. Remi had agreed, though the idea of meeting Luke like this had left a gnawing pit in her stomach.

"Relax," Jack said, glancing back at her as they stopped outside the door. "Luke's chill. He'll be excited to meet you."

"Oh, I'm sure," Remi replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your teammate-slash-brother who's seen me sulking around the rink for weeks? I bet he'll have no questions."

Jack smirked, unlocking the door. "You're overthinking it."

The door swung open, revealing Luke in a Devils hoodie and sweats, his hair damp like he'd just showered. His eyes flickered between Jack and Remi, surprise flashing across his face before he smiled.

"Hey. You actually did bring someone."

"Funny," Jack said, clapping his brother on the shoulder as he walked past. "Remi, this is Luke. Luke, Remi."

Remi extended a hand. "Nice to finally meet you outside of the rink."

Luke shook her hand. "You too. I, uh, I've seen you around a lot. Heard even more."

"Good things, I hope," she replied, shooting Jack a pointed look.

"All good," Luke said quickly, though his smile was tight. She could tell he was connecting the dots in his head.

Remi Bouchard. Coach's daughter. And now... whatever she was to Jack.

They moved into the living room, Jack dropping onto the couch and gesturing for Remi to join him. Luke disappeared into the kitchen, returning with beers. He handed one to Jack and set one on the table in front of Remi.

"So, how'd this happen?" he asked, sitting in the chair opposite them. His tone was casual, but his were sharp, darting between the two of them.

"What, you think I can't pull someone like her?" Jack teased.

"I didn't say that," Luke said quickly. "Just... isn't it... complicated?"

Remi stiffened slightly, but Jack just laughed, taking a swig of his beer. "Not as complicated as you'd think."

Luke's expression didn't change, and the weight of it made Remi shift uncomfortably. She could tell he wanted to ask more--probably about her dad, about how much he knew--but he held back, choosing to make small talk instead.

The evening passed with relative ease, though there was a tension lingering below the surface. Luke was polite, funny, but Remi couldn't shake the feeling that he was analyzing her every word. When they finally left, she let out a sigh she hadn't even realized she was holding.

On the car ride back to her place, Jack was unusually quiet, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. Remi glanced at him, the city lights casting soft shadows across his face.

"You okay?" she asked., s

He nodded. "Yeah. Just... I'm glad you properly met Luke."

"Why?" she asked, her voice light, though the question felt heavier than she intended.

Jack's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Because I really like you. And if this... if we're gonna be something, I want the people I care about to know you."

Guilt prickled at the edges of her thoughts. She forced a smile, reaching over to rest her hand on his thigh. "You're sweet, Hughes. You know that?"

He laughed softly, his shoulders relaxing as he placed a hand over hers. "Don't let it get around. Gotta protect my image."

Her smile didn't waver, but her stomach churned. She wasn't sure if it was guilt, the thrill of rebellion, or something else entirely. All she knew was that Jack Hughes was nothing like she'd expected--and that scared her more than she wanted to admit.

~~

Jack sat in his stall, sipping water as he wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. Across the room, Nico and Luke were talking about dinner plans, their voices blending into background noise.

The sound of Phil's sharp whistle cut through the chatter, snapping everyone to attention. Jack tensed, his eyes flickering to the entry where Phil stood, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"Alright, listen up," Phil began, his voice carrying the kind of authority that demanded silence. "I've been watching you guys these past few weeks, and while I'm mostly happy with what I've seen on the ice, I need to remind you all of something."

The room was silent, every pair of eyes fixed on the coach. Jack shifted uncomfortably, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine.

"This team has one goal: to win," Phil continued, pacing slowly in front of the group. "And that means focus. Discipline. No distractions--on the ice or off."

Jack's stomach twisted. Phil's tone was calm, measured, but the words hit like a warning shot. He couldn't help but glance toward Nico, who raised an eyebrow in silent confusion.

"I've been in this game a long time," Phil said, stopping to look directly at the group. "I know what happens when players lose sight of what's important. You think one bad decision won't cost you? Think again. Whether it's partying too much, chasing the wrong kind of attention, or getting involved with the wrong people--it will catch up with you."

Jack swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep a neutral expression. He told himself that Phil didn't know anything, that the speech was just a coincidence. But the way his coach's eyes swept over the room, lingering on him longer than anyone else, made his chest tight.

"That's all," Phil said finally. "Think about what kind of player you want to be--and act like it. See you tomorrow."

The room remained silent as Phil walked out, the door swinging shut behind him. It wasn't until he was gone that the players began to murmur, exchanging confused glances.

"What the hell was that about?" Dawson muttered, leaning toward Jack.

"No idea," he replied quickly. He stood up, grabbing his bag. "I'll catch you later."

As he left the locker room, Jack couldn't shake the feeling that Phil's warning had been aimed directly at him.

~~

Remi stood in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully brushing her hair into place when she heard her dad's voice call her name from the hallway. She sighed, setting the brush down as she turned to face the door.

"Yeah?" she called back, already bracing herself for whatever lecture was coming.

Phil appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression as story as she'd expected. His eyes flickered briefly to her neck, where the faint shadow of a hickey still lingered despite her best efforts to cover it with makeup.

"Who's the guy?" he asked bluntly, his tone clipped.

Remi's heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face neutral, crossing her arms to mirrow his stance. "What guy?"

"Don't play games with me, Remi," Phil snapped, stepping further into the room. "I'm not blind. You've been sneaking around, coming home late, and you've got another..." He gestured vaguely toward her neck. "You think I don't know what's going on?"

Remi arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a defiant smirk. "Maybe you don't."

Phil's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I don't have time for this, Remi. You're my daughter, and I'm trying to protect you."

"From what?" she shot back. "Living my life? Making my own decisions? God forbid I do anything you don't approve of."

"This isn't about approval!" he barked. "It's about respect--for yourself and for this family. You're running around with some guy who clearly doesn't care about you--"

"How would you know?" Remi interuppted, stepping closer. Her eyes flashed with anger. "You don't even know who he is."

Phil's face darkened. "And I don't want to know! Whoever he is, he's not worth it. Guys like that only think about themselves."

Remi laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "Wow, Dad. You're so sure you're right about everything, aren't you? Maybe the problem isn't who I'm seeing. Maybe the problem is you."

Phil stared at her, stunned into silence. For a moment, the only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

"You don't get it, do you?" he said finally, his voice lower but no less tense. "This isn't just about you. The choices you make reflect on me--and on this team. I won't let you ruin what we've worked for."

Remi's anger gave away to something colder. "You mean what you've worked for. God forbid I do anything for myself."

Without waiting for a reply, she pushed past him, her steps echoing down the hall as she headed for her room. She slammed the door shut behind her, leaning against it as her heart pounded in her chest.

Her dad didn't know. He couldn't know. But the weight of his words still lingered, settling like a stone in her stomach.

~~

The room was quiet, Jack lay sprawled across the bed, his body still covered in a sheen of sweat. The sheets were a tangled mess beneath him, and the scent of sex and Remi's perfume lingered in the air.

Remi had slipped into the bathroom a few minutes ago, the sound of running water muffled by the door. Jack stared at the ceiling, a smile tugging at his lips as he replayed the way she looked down at him--wild and unguarded, like he was the only person in the world that mattered.

His reverie was interrupted by the sharp buzz of her phone on the nighstand. It vibrated again, and again, lighting up the screen with notifications.

Jack hesitated, glancing toward the bathroom door. Don't man. Just leave it.

But the buzzing didn't stop, and before he could talk himself out of it, he reached over, turning the phone toward him. The messages were from a group labeled "Bad Bitches Only," the preview showing snippets of texts that made his brow furrow.

Talia: did you see him tonight?

Carmen: yeah, she's got him wrapped around her finger

Talia: rem is a mastermind. her dad's gonna lose it when he finds out

The words hit Jack like a slap to the face. He knew he shouldn't--but his curiosity was like an itch he couldn't ignore.

His thumb hovered over the screen, and then he guessed. Her passcode was simple--her birthday. His pulse quickened when the phone unlocked, revealing the full thread.

Talia: how's it feel to be breaking all daddy's rules?

Remi: better than i thought. he has noooo idea

Carmen: does jack know you're just using him or does he actually think you're like into him?

Remi: oh, he thinks it's real. poor guy's falling HARD

Talia: and when phil finds out?

Remi: that's the best part. let him stew

His chest felt like it had caved in, the air sucked from the room. The words blurred, but their meaning was crystal clear.

The bathroom door opened, and Remi walked out, wrapped in a towel, her damp hair framing her face. She stopped short when she saw him sitting up on the bed, her phone clutched in his hand.

"What are you doing with my phone?" she asked, her tone sharp, but there was a flicker of something else--panic--in her eyes.

Jack stood, his grip on the device tightening as he turned to face her. "What the hell is this, Remi?" His voice was low, dangerously quiet.

"What are you talking about?"

"This," he snapped, holding up the phone. "This whole... game you're playing. Using me to get back at your dad? To prove some point? Is that what all this was?"

Her eyes widened, and she stepped forward, hands raised. "Jack, it's not like that--"

"Don't," he interrupted, his voice cracking. "Don't even try to lie. I read the messages."

Remi's mouth opened, then closed like a fish, her face pale. "You shouldn't have done that," her voice trembled.

Jack let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "That's what you're worried about? That I invaded your privacy? Jesus Christ, Remi. I thought you actually cared about me."

"I do!" she blurted out. "Jack, I--"

"Don't," he cut her off again, backing away. "You don't get to say that. Not after this."

She reached for him, but he jerked his arm away. "Jack, please. Just let me explain."

"Explain what?" he snapped, his eyes blazing. "How you pretended to give a shit about me? How every kiss, every touch, was part of some sick plan to piss off your dad? Do you even know what you've done? How I--" His voice broke, and he turned away, running a hand through his hair.

"Jack," she whispered, her voice thick with desperation. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Bullshit," he spat, spinning to face her. "That's all this was. Hurting me, hurting him. None of it was real, was it?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. The truth was written all over her face.

Jack exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging. He tossed the phone onto the bed and grabbed his shirt, pulling it on with shaking hands. "You know what? You're just like him."

Her breath hitched. "What?"

"You manipulate people to get what you want," he said, his voice hollow. "You don't care about anyone but yourself."

Remi flinched like he'd slapped her, her eyes glassy. "That's not fair."

Jack's jaw clenched, but he didn't reply. He grabbed his keys and headed for the door, his steps heavy with anger and heartbreak.

"Jack, wait!" she called, her voice breaking. "Please, just--"

The door slammed behind him, cutting her off. The sound echoed through the silence, leaving Remi standing in the middle of her room, her chest heaving as tears spilled down her cheeks.

For the first time, the weight of what she'd done hit her with full force. She sank onto the bed, staring at her phone like it was a bomb that had just gone off.

~~

The silence in the room was deafening. Remi sat on the edge of her bed, her legs curled up to her chest as she stared at her phone lying on the crumpled sheets. The screen was dark, but the words Jack had read were burned into her mind. Her chest felt hollow, her breath shallow as her thoughts raced, tears spilling from her eyes.

I thought you actually cared about me.

His voice haunted her, raw and broken, the weight of his anger hitting her like a punch to the gut. She wrapped her arms around herself, the sting of his words cutting deeper and deeper. For someone who'd always prided herself on control, on being untouchable, she felt exposed--like every carefully constructed wall she'd built had come crashing down in an instant.

Her phone buzzed on the bed beside her, and she grabbed it, hoping--praying--it was Jack. But it was just a text from Talia.

Talia: what happened? you okay??

Remi's fingers hovered over the keyboard, but she couldn't bring herself to reply. Instead, she set the phone down again, her gaze drifting to the messy sheets, the imprint of where Jack had been laying not even half an hour before. She reached out, her fingers brushing the fabric, and a fresh wave of regret crashed over her.

None of it was real, was it?

The question hung in her mind, heavy and suffocating. And for the first time, she realized the answer wasn't as simple as she'd thought. At first, she'd convinced herself it was all part of the plan--a way to rebel, to defy her dad in the most calculated way possible. But somewhere along the line, something had shifted.

Her favourite moments with Jack began playing in her mind, uninvited.

They'd sprawled on the floor of his apartment, the faint haze of smoke curling in the air between them. Jack had been tracing patterns on the rug with his finger, his voice soft as he opened up about his fears--about letting people down, about never living up to expectations.

"You know," he'd said, glancing at her with a shy smile, "I don't think I've ever been this honest with anyone before."

Her chest had tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. "Maybe that's because you don't let people in."

He'd laughed, shaking his head. "And yet, here I am. Letting you in."

At the time, she'd brushed it off, teasing him about being sappy. But now the memory hit her differently, the weight of his trust making her throat feel raw.

Jack had taken her to a quiet overlook just outside the city, the twinkling lights stretching out before them like a sea of stars. He'd sat beside her on the hood of his car, their shoulders touching as they took in the scene in front of them.

"This is where I go when I need to clear my head," he'd said, his voice low. "Figured you might like it."

She'd turned to look at him, surprised by his soft expression. "Why'd you bring me here?"

He'd shrugged, but his eyes had been earnest. "Because you're different. You get me."

Then, she'd smiled, but now the memory felt bittersweet. You're different. His words had meant something then--something she'd ignored.

She'd always loved the way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the room. Whether they were stealing kisses in a quiet corner, or sharing laughs over takeout, his gaze had been steady, warm, and full of something she hadn't wanted to name.

But now, as she replayed those moments, she realized what it was. He'd looked at her like he loved her.

And the truth hit her like a freight train: She'd fallen for him, too.

She sucked in a shaky breath, pressing her palms to her eyes as tears spilled over. How had she let it get this far? How had she been so blind? The very thing she'd been trying to avoid--caring too much, being vulnerable--had happened anyway. And now she'd lost him.

The regret sat on her chest, suffocating her. She grabbed her phone, unlocking it with trembling hands, and opened her messages.

jack, i'm so sorry. please, let me explain

She stared at the screen, the cursor blinking accusingly. She hit send, her heart pounding, and followed it with another.

i never meant to hurt you. you mean more to me than you know

The texts went unanswered. She tried again, dialing his number. It rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail.

"Jack," she said, her voice cracking as she struggled to hold back tears. "Please. Just... call me back. I know I screwed up, but I need you to know that I--" She stopped, biting her lip to keep from sobbing. "I care about you. I care about you so much, and I-- I'm sorry. I'll explain everything. Just... please."

She ended the call, staring at the screen like it might magically light up with a reply. But nothing came.

The days passed into agonizing silence. Jack didn't respond to her texts or her voicemails, and each unanswered message felt like another nail in the coffin.

She barely slept, barely ate, her mind consumed with guilt and the aching emptiness he'd left behind. Her friends' attempts to cheer her up fell flat, and even her usual rebellious streak lost its spark.

She felt truly alone.

~~

Jack didn't feel like himself. Not on the ice, not in the locker room, not even at home.

The hurt and anger churned inside him like a storm he couldn't shake. He'd barely slept since the night at Remi's, and when he did, he woke up angry all over again. Her words, her actions, her texts--they played on a loop in his mind, taunting him.

You don't care about anyone but yourself.

His own voice echoed in his head, laced with the same bitterness that had been clawing at him ever since he stormed out of her room. He hated that he'd said it. But more than that, he hated that she'd made him feel that way.

The buzzer sounded, snapping him back to the present. He was at practice, the familiar hum of the arena doing little to calm the chaos in his mind. Jack skated hard, pushing himself past the point of exhaustion, but the frustration remained, clawing at him like a weight he couldn't shake.

During a drill, he lost the puck to Nico, who darted past him with ease. Normally, Jack would've shrugged it off, but today it felt like salt in the wound. He slammed his stick against the boards, muttering a curse loud enough for Nico to glance back in confusion.

"You good, man?" Nico skated closer.

Jack waved him off, not trusting himself to answer. The rest of practice passed in a blur of misplaced passes and uncharacteristic mistakes. He felt every set of eyes on him, but he didn't care.

~~

By the time the puck dropped for their next game, Jack's head was still far from clear. His anger simmered just beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

He started the game strong, channeling his frustration into speed and aggression. But as the minutes ticked by, his emotions got the better of him.

A harmless shove from an opposing player turned into a cross-check, earning him two minutes in the box.

When he returned to the ice, it happened again--a poorly timed hit that left his teammates scrambling to recover. This time, the refs weren't as forgiving.

"Two for boarding!" the ref barked, gesturing him off the ice.

Jack skated to the penalty box, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Luke caught his eye from the bench, his expression confused and concerned.

The final straw came in the third period. An opponent chirped him during a faceoff, something innocuous, but it set Jack off. Before he knew it, he was swinging, his gloves hitting the ice as he grabbed the guy by his jersey.

The refs blew the whistle, chaos breaking out around them. Jack barely felt the punches before they were pulling him away, ejecting him from the game.

~~

He sat alone in the locker room, his head in his hands. His knuckles throbbed, his chest heaving as he replayed the fight in his mind.

The door swung open, and Luke stepped in, his skates still on, his eyebrows furrowed.

"What the hell was that, Jack?" Luke demanded, dropping onto the bench across from him.

"Not now, Luke," Jack muttered, not looking up.

"No, now," Luke snapped, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "What's going on with you? You're acting like a complete idiot out there. First penalities, now getting tossed from a game? You're better than this."

Jack's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.

"Talk to me, Jack. Is it about Remi?"

The mention of her name felt like another insult to injury. Jack's head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "Stay out of it, Luke."

"Jack--"

"I said stay out of it!" Jack barked, slamming his fist against the bench. The sound echoed through the room, but Luke didn't flinch.

"I'll take that as a yes," Luke said quietly. "What happened?"

Jack stood abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. "Nothing. Just drop it."

"You're full of shit," Luke shot back, standing now too. "You haven't been yourself for like a week now. You're angry all the time, you're screwing up on the ice, and you can't even look me in the eye."

"Luke--"

"And you know what else?" the youngest Hughes interrupted. "I haven't seen her around the rink lately. She used to be here all the time, hanging out, waiting for you. But now? Nothing. So either you tell me what's going on, or I'm going to have to go Phil and tell him about whatever the hell's been going on between you two."

Jack froze. "You wouldn't."

"Try," Luke said, crossing his arms. "I'm not gonna let you self-destruct over some girl. So tell me the truth."

Jack exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he said nothing, letting the weight of Luke's words settle over him. Finally, he sank back onto the bench, his head in his hands.

"She was using me," he said quietly, his voice strained. "It was all some stupid plan to piss off Phil. I was just a pawn."

"Jack..."

"I thought she cared about me," Jack continued, his voice breaking. "But it was all fake. Every kiss, every--" He stopped, shaking his head. "God, I'm so fucking stupid."

"You're not stupid," Luke said firmly, getting up to sit beside him. "You just... cared about the wrong person."

Jack laughed bitterly. "Yeah. Well, it doesn't matter now."

Luke placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "You don't have to deal with this alone, you know. Whatever happens, I've got your back."

Jack nodded, though the ache in his chest remained.

~~

Every word that Remi texted Jack felt inadequate, like she was trying to patch up a sinking ship with duct tape. She knew she'd screwed up--more than screwed up. She'd hurt someone who didn't deserve it, someone who'd been nothing but good to her.

Her dad was downstairs on the phone, talking loudly about hockey. Probably complaining about something that had happened at the game that night. She hated hearing him talk about hockey even more now--it just made her think of Jack.

She opened her phone, scrolling through Instagram for any content that could help distract her. But it was useless, the Devils account was the first one that came up. It was a picture of the guys hugging after the win. She clicked on the comments and her heart stopped.

Jack had been ejected from the game. She had to find the clip. She turned to Twitter, scrolling until she found it. She watched as he started a pointless fight, throwing his gloves to the ice. The refs blew the whistle and a beyond pissed Jack was escorted off the ice.

"Damn it, Jack," she whispered, wiping the single tear that had fallen onto her phone screen.

~~

"Remi, you have to stop," Talia said through the phone, sitting criss-cross on her bed.

"I can't," Remi replied, pacing her room. "I can't just leave it like this. He--he means too much to me."

"Does he, though?" Talia raised a brow. "Because last time I checked, this was all about pissing your dad off."

Remi stopped, turning to glare at her friend through the screen. "That's how it started. It's not what it is now."

"Really?" Talia challenged, crossing her arms. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're just upset because you got caught."

"That's not true," Remi snapped, her voice rising. "You don't understand. He's--" She stopped, pulling at the roots of her hair. "I care about him, Talia. I--"

"You what?" Talia interrupted, her eyes wide.

Remi hesitated. The words felt too big, too raw, but they were there, clawing their way out.

"I love him," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

Talia just blinked, her mouth falling open.

"I didn't mean to," Remi continued, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "But I do. And now he hates me, and it's all my fault."

"Ugh, girl. I wish I could give you the biggest hug... but you really screwed this up, huh?"

"Yeah. Big time."

~~

She stood outside the apartment door, her hands trembling as she knocked. She'd rehearsed what she was going to say with Talia at least a dozen times, but now, standing there, her chest felt tight and her mind went blank.

It had been two weeks since she'd seen Jack, and the silence had been unbearable. She couldn't take it anymore. She had to talk to him, even if it meant facing his anger head-on.

The door opened after a few moments, and Luke appeared, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to immediate hostility when he saw her.

"Hell no," Luke said, his tone flat and unwavering. "He doesn't want to see you."

"Luke, please," Remi begged. "I just need five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

"No," Luke said firmly, stepping back like he intended to close the door in her face. "You've done enough. Go home, Remi."

"What's going on?" Jack's voice came from inside the apartment, faint but growing louder as he approached.

"It's nobody," Luke called back, throwing a glare in the girl's direction. "They've got the wrong place."

Remi's heart sank, but before she could say anything, Jack appeared behind his brother, his brow furrowing as he looked past Luke.

The moment their eyes met, Jack's face hardened, his jaw clenching. "You've got be fucking kidding me," he muttered, stepping past Luke to block the doorway.

"Jack," Remi said, her voice trembling. "Please. Just let me explain. I need to talk to you."

"There's nothing to talk about," Jack replied coldly, crossing his arms. "You made it pretty clear how you feel."

"Jack, come on," Luke interjected, his tone softer but still protective. "You don't have to do this."

Jack held up a hand to silence his brother, his eyes never leaving Remi's. "What could you possibly have to say that I'd want to hear?"

She swallowed hard, shrinking under the weight of his anger. "I know I hurt you," she said quietly. "I know I screwed up. But I need you to hear me out. Please."

Jack stared at her for what felt like hours, his expression unreadable. Finally, he stepped back, his voice sharp as he turned to Luke. "It's fine. I've got this."

Luke hesitated, his face screwing up as he looked between the two of them. "I'll be in my room," he said finally, walking off but not before shooting Remi one more death stare.

Jack stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound impossibly loud in the heavy silence that followed.

He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter with a posture that screamed frustration. "You've got five minutes," he said curtly.

Remi took a deep breath, searching her head to find the right words. "I don't even know where to start," she admitted, her voice shaking.

Jack let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "That's a great sign."

"Jack, please," she said. "I know I don't deserve it, but you have to know that I never meant for things to end up like this."

He raised an eyebrow, his anger simmering just below the surface. "Oh, so you accidentally used me to piss off your dad? Is that what you're saying?"

Remi winced. "That's how it started. But it's not what it became. I swear to you, Jack, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Didn't mean to?" he repeated. "Do you even hear yourself? You played me, Remi. You lied to me, over and over again. And for what? To prove a point?"

Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You're right. I lied. I was selfish. I was awful. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about my dad and started being about you."

Jack scoffed, turning away from her. "Yeah? And when exactly did that happen? Before or after you told your friends I was just a pawn?"

"I don't know!" she cried. "I don't know when it happened. But it did, Jack. I care about you. I--" She stopped, her throat closing up. "I love you."

Jack froze, his back still turned to her. The silence that followed was deafening, and Remi's chest heaved as she took deep breaths to calm herself.

"You don't get to say that," Jack said finally, his voice low and filled with pain. He turned to face her, his eyes now also glossy. "You don't get to use me, break me, then tell me you love me like it makes it all okay."

Remi took a shaky step forward, her hands clasped like she was begging. "I know it doesn't fix anything," she said. "But it's the truth. I love you, Jack. And I'll do whatever it takes to make this right."

He stared at her, his jaw ticking as he tried to process her words. Finally, he let out a long sigh.

"I can't do this right now."

Remi's heart sank, but she nodded, tears streaming down her face. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Jack turned away again, walking toward the hallway without another word. She stod there for a moment, her chest heaving with sobs, before letting herself out.

She'd said what she needed to say, but the bottomless pit in her stomach told her that it wasn't enough.

~~

Remi felt like she was at a school dance with the glittering lights, clinking glasses, and people huddled in groups. Players mingled with donors and fans, their tuxedos adding to the air of sosphistication surrounding the event. Remi stood near the edge of the room, her strapless black dress hugging her figure perfectly. She'd only come because her dad had insisted--demanded, really--after their most recent fight.

"Try not to embarrass me for once," he said, his words like a harsh slap.

So, there she was, a forced smile on her face, a flute of champagne in her hand. She didn't bother hiding her trips to the bar. No one noticed, and even if they did, they wouldn't dare say anything to Phil Bouchard's daughter.

The alcohol warmed her from the inside out, dulling the sharpness of her dad's disapproval. But even with the champagne flowing, she couldn't stop her gaze from darting across the room, searching for him.

She spotted Jack near the far corner, his dark suit fitting him perfectly, his tie slightly loosened as he laughed at something Nico said. Her chest tightened at the sight of him, her fingers gripping the stem of her glass.

She should leave him alone. But the pull was magnetic.

Jack noticed her before she reached him, his smile fading as their eyes met. His posture stiffened, but he didn't move, watching as she approached.

"Hey," she said softly, stopping a few feet away.

"Hey," he replied, his voice guarded.

"What are you drinking?" she gestured to his glass.

"Does it matter?" He looked down at the whiskey in his hand.

Remi winced at the edge in his tone but pressed on. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Yeah, well," he said, looking at her champagne flute, "I work for the team. I didn't know you'd be here."

She swallowed hard, her confidence faltering under his cool demeanor. But then she noticed the slight flush on his cheeks, the faint glassiness in his eyes. He wasn't completely sober either.

"I miss you," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Jack's grip on his glass visibly tightened. "Don't."

"I mean it," she insisted. "Jack, I--"

"I'm serious, Remi," he interrupted. "You don't get to prance over here, say you miss me, and expect everything to be okay."

Her chest ached, but the alcohol flowing through her veins made her bold. "I don't expect everything to be okay," she said. "I just--I needed to see you."

Jack sighed. "You think a few words are gonna fix what you did? We've already had this conversation. You think I'm just gonna forget--"

"I love you."

He stared at her, his lips pursed, letting her words hang in the air.

"Say something," she whispered.

Jack shook his head. "You're impossible."

And then he looked around to make sure nobody was watching... and he kissed her.

Their kiss was fiery, weeks of unresolved tension compressed into a single moment. Jack's hands gripped her waist, pulling her tight against him as she squeezed his forearms.

"Come with me," he mumbled against her lips, his voice rough.

The stumbled down a hallway, their steps hurried and uneven. Jack pushed open the door to the bathroom, pulling her inside before locking it behind them.

"Jack," she breathed, her back hitting the counter as his lips found her neck.

"Shut up," he muttered, hands roaming her body as he tried to make up for lost time.

Her dress slipped down her body, his pants hitting the floor as their kisses grew more frantic. All the hurt, all the anger, dissolved into urgency, their bodies together as if they'd been starved of each other.

~~

Remi woke up in her room, her head pounding from the champagne. She sat up, memories of the night flooding back in vivid detail. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of her bathroom rendezvous with Jack. She reached for her phone, and there was already a text waiting for her.

Jack: We need to talk. Call me when you're up

He'd never been one for small talk, and the tone of his text felt heavy, deliberate.

Her fingers hovered over the call button. He answered after two rings.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"About last night--"

"We need to have a serious conversation," he cut her off.

"Oh, um, okay."

"Is your dad home this afternoon? I'll come by later." Before she could even respond, the line went dead.

Whatever Jack had to say, she knew it wasn't going to be easy.

~~

Remi sat on the couch, staring at the clock on the wall. Jack had said he'd come by, and now every passing second felt like an eternity. Her mind raced with what he might say. As soon as there was a knock at the door, she bolted up, straightening her shirt as she walked to the door.

Jack was standing there, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweats, his expression serious. He walked past her into the living room, standing near the coffee table, his posture tense.

"About last night... I'm sorry if--"

"Don't," Jack held up his hand. "Don't start with sorry. I've heard that before."

Remi flinched, but she nodded. "Okay. Then... what do you want to say?"

"Last night... it happened so fast. And I don't regret it. But we can't just go back to how things were."

"I don't want that either. I want to fix this. Fix us."

Jack's eyes flashed with hope, but he kept his tone firm. "If we're going to do this, things have to change, Remi. You have to change."

"I know."

"No, I don't think you do. This isn't just about what happened. It's about everything. The games, the rebellion, the lying. You can't keep doing things just to piss off your dad or to prove a point."

Remi opened her mouth to respond, but he kept going. "Do you even know what that did to me? Knowing I was just some pawn in whatever battle you're fighting with him?"

"That's not what you are to me. Not anymore."

"Then prove it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean show me that you're serious. Show me that this isn't another game for you. Because I can't go through this again, Remi. I can't keep wondering if I'm enough or if you're just going to throw me under the bus when it's convenient."

Her chest ached at the pain in his voice, the vulnerability he was letting her see. "I'll do whatever it takes, Jack. I swear."

"Then start with being honest. Not just with me, but with your dad. Stop sneaking around, stop playing these games. If you want this to work, it has to be real--all of it."

The idea of facing her dad, of owning up to everything, sent a jolt of fear through her. But as she stared at the man she loved, the weight of his words sank in. If she didn't do this--if she didn't prove she was serious--she'd lose him for good.

"Okay... I'll tell him."

"And no more lies," he added. "No more excuses. If I'm in this, I need to know that you are too."

"I am. Jack, I am."

"Then we'll see."

Remi nodded, tears streaking her cheeks. "I'll prove it to you. I promise."

For the first time since he'd walked in, Jack smiled. "You better."

As he turned to leave, he paused at the door, glancing back at her. "One step at a time, Remi. We'll figure it out."

~~

Phil sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in hand as he scrolled through his tablet, his posture rigid as ever. Remi stood in the doorway, her palms clammy as she steeled herself. Her nerves felt like they were on fire, her hands shaking.

"Dad."

"Hm?"

"Dad."

"What is it, Remi?"

She took a deep breath, gripping the back of a chair for support. "I need to tell you something. And I need you to actually listen to me."

He frowned, setting down his tablet. "Go on."

"I'm seeing someone. And before you say anything, I know you're going to be mad, but--"

"Who?" Phil interrupted.

She hesitated, but there was no point in lying. "Jack."

Phil gripped his mug so tightly that Remi thought it might crack from the pressure. "Jack who?"

"You know who."

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You're joking."

"I'm not!" she stood up straight. "I love him."

"Love him? You've lost your goddamn mind, Remi. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I haven't done anything wrong," she retorted. "I'm not a kid, Dad. You don't get to control who I have feelings for."

"This isn't about control," he began to pace the kitchen. "This is about respect--something you clearly don't have for me or my job."

"This has nothing to do with your job!" she threw her hands up.

"It has everything to do with my job!" Phil barked, slamming his hand down on the table. "I trusted Jack. I treated him like a professional, and he goes behind my back to... to--"

"To care about your daughter? Yeah, real betrayal there."

Phil pointed a finger at her, his voice deadly calm now. "This ends today. You're done seeing him."

"You can't stop me," she said defiantly, though her voice wavered.

"Watch me. You're banned from games, practices, and anything to do with this team. And Jack--he's going to learn what happens when you cross a line."

Her stomach dropped. "You can't punish him for this," she panicked.

"Like hell I can't! If he wants to act like an amateur, he can work twice as hard to prove he still deserves his spot."

Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You're being unfair."

"I'm being a father. And you're too young to understand what that means."

"I'm not a child," she whispered.

"Then stop acting like one."

~~

True to his word, Phil enforced his ban swiftly. The next morning, security at the rink had a list with her name on it, and when she tried to text Jack about meeting him after practice, he replied curtly.

Jack: Can't

Remi: why not? :(

Jack: Your dad's got us running drills nonstop. I'm wiped

Remi: i'm sorry, j. this is all my fault

The three little bubbles appeared, then disappeared. No reply came.

Remi felt trapped, helpless. Her dad's wrath was affecting not just, but Jack as well. And that hurt almost as much as not being able to see him.

~~

Jack stood on the ice, his legs burning as Phil barked orders from the bench. It was their third round of line rushes, and he wasn't sure he had it in him to finish.

"Move faster, Hughes!" Phil yelled. "You think you're tired? You think the other team's gonna care? Again!"

Jack bit down hard on his tongue, forcing his body to keep moving. He could feel his teammates' eyes on him, some confused, others sympathetic. But none of them dared to ask what was happening.

"Want to tell me what that was about?" Luke asked, collapsing onto the bench next to his brother.

Jack shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. Why's Phil riding you harder than anyone else? What's going on?"

Jack didn't answer, staring at his shaking hands.

"It's about her, isn't it?"

Jack still didn't speak.

"Jack, I get it. You really like her. She's stunning and super sweet. But this thing with her and Phil? It's a disaster waiting to happen."

"You think I don't know that?" Jack snapped, finally looking up at him. "You think I'm not already dealing with it?"

Luke held up his hands in surrender. "Alright. Just... don't let him break you over her, okay?"

Silence.

~~

Phil had always been a disciplinarian, but lately, his need to control his daughter felt suffocating. She felt it in the way he scrutinized her every move, every conversation.

The final straw came one evening when he caught her lingering outside the rink after practice, talking to Luke.

"Hand it over," he demanded when they arrived home, his hand outstretched.

Remi frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Your phone. I'm not an idiot, Remi. You think I don't know you're still talking to him? You're done. Give it to me."

"Dad, this is ridiculous--"

"Now!"

Reluctantly, she handed him her phone, her stomach sinking as he walked away with it.

~~

Deprived of her usual means of communication, Remi turned to one of the few people who could help her: Luke.

It started with a simple note slipped into his car window, written hastily on a scrap of notebook paper.

Luke,

Please get this to Jack. I need him to know I'm not ghosting him.

Luke, initially hesitant, agreed after some convincing from Jack, who pleaded with his younger brother to help them stay in touch.

From then on, he became their unofficial carrier pigeon.

He delivered folded notes in his hockey bag. He passed them off casually after practice, muttering "You dropped this" to avoid suspicion. Once, he even hid a letter in a water bottle, smuggling it onto the bench during a game.

The notes became their lifeline, filled with promises, apologies, and small updates:

Remi, I miss you. Today was brutal. Your dad's riding me harder than ever, but thinking about your little notes makes it bearable.

Jack, I miss you too. I wish I could be there to make things easier. This is such bullshit.

~~

One evening, Phil barged into Remi's room unannounced, his expression stormy. "Why've you been talking to Luke?"

She barely had time to react before he noticed the small stack of papers peeking out from beneath her pillow.

"What's this?" he snatched them before she could stop him.

"Dad, don't--"

But it was too late. His face turned bright red as he read the letters, steam practically coming from his ears.

"Unbelievable! You've been sneaking around still! And using one of my other players to do it? Do you have any idea how fucking stupid this is?"

"It's not stupid! I care about him."

He held up one of the letters. "You care about him? Enough to sleep with him, apparently."

Her face flushed, her heart pounding.

"You didn't think I'd find out? I continue to give Jack a shot because I thought he had potential. That he's professional. Turns out, he's just as reckless as you are!"

~~

The next practice was brutal. Jack knew something was wrong the moment he stepped onto the ice. Phil barely looked at him, but his commands were clipped, his critiques harsher than ever.

When the starting lineup was announced, Jack's name was glaringly absent.

"Coach," he said after practice, jogging to catch up with Phil in the hallway. "What's going on? Why am I not playing?"

Phil turned to him, his expression cold. "Disciplinary reasons," he said like it was the simplest thing ever.

"I... I haven't done anything wrong."

"Oh, haven't you? I trusted you, Jack. You're an alternate captain. I'm here to help you, and this is how you repay me? By crosing every line I've set?"

"With all due respect, sir, my personal life doesn't affect my performance on the ice."

"It does when it distracts you and causes chaos within the team. You're lucky I haven't gone to the GM."

~~

That night, Remi was lying in her bed, when a faint tapping sound drew her attention. She frowned, pulling off her warm covers and walking to the window.

Jack was standing in the backyard, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Remi!" he hissed.

Her heart leapt to her throat, and she quickly opened the window. "What are you doing here?"

"Let me in," he said, gesturing toward the tree by her window.

She hesitated for a second before nodding. Jack climbed up with surprising ease, swinging himself onto the ledge before stepping into her room.

He was breathless, his hair a mess. "Your dad's lost his fucking mind. He's cutting my ice time, and he's blaming me for everything."

"Jack, I'm so sorry--"

"I don't care about me," his eyes searched hers. "I care about us. I don't know how much longer I can do this, Rem. He's making my life a living hell."

"We'll figure it out. I promise."

"Remi! Is there someone in there?"

She froze, the voice coming from the other side of her bedroom door, heavy with suspicion.

"Remi?" he asked again. "What's going on in there?"

"Under the bed," she whispered urgently, shoving him toward the narrow space.

"Seriously?" he hissed, his voice incredulous.

"Do you have a better idea?" she asked, already grabbing the edge of the duvet to shield the gap.

Jack didn't argue any further, dropping to his knees and sliding under the bed just as her doorknob jiggled.

The door creaked open, and her dad did a quick sweep of the room. "What's going on in here? Is everything okay?"

"Nothing," her voice was too quick, too high-pitched. "Why are you even in here?"

"I... I thought I heard voices."

"From the TV," she nodded to her laptop on her bed, where Netflix played quietly. She gestured toward it dramatically. "See? I couldn't sleep, so I turned something on."

Phil pulled her into a hug, smoothing down her messy bed hair. "You've been sneaking around, Remi. If you're hiding something--"

She pulled away. "I'm not. I'm trying to relax. You can't just barge in every time you get paranoid."

"Keep it down," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "And don't test me, kid. You're already on thin, thin ice."

The moment his footsteps retreated back down the hallway, she bent down to lift the duvet.

"Jack," she whispered. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, sliding out from under the bed. His face was flushed and his hair even messier than before. "That was fun."

She giggled. "Sorry, babe."

"You're good under pressure, I'll give you that."

"Not bad yourself," she scrunched up her face as he pressed a kiss to her nose.

"So..."

"What do we do next? Run away? Get me a burner phone and live off the grid?"

Jack laughed despite himself. "I don't know. I just... I'm not gonna lose you, Rem."

"You won't. I love you, Jack."

"I love you more."

"We've got this."

"I hope you're right."

~~

Another fight with Phil had left Remi rattled, and she'd stormed out of the house to clear her head. A walk through the neigbourhood usually helped, but the slippery sidewalk--coated with frost--proved to be dangerous when walking as fast as she was.

Her foot slipped from under her as she turned the corner, her arms flailing as she tried to keep her balance. Instead, she went down hard, her ankle twisting painfully beneath her as she hit the pavement.

"Shit," she hissed, clutching her leg. The sharp, stabbing pain told her something was wrong, and she felt like puking at the sight of her already swelling ankle.

She fumbled for her phone, but of course, it wasn't there. Her dad still had it, leaving her with no way to call for help.

The sound of a car engine approaching made her look up, and relief flooded her when she recognized Jack's car pulling to a stop.

"Remi?" his face screwed up as he cut the engine.

"Jack," she gasped, tears falling as he crouched beside her.

"What happened?" he asked, examining her ankle.

"I slipped. I think it's sprained? I'm... I'm not really sure."

Jack didn't hesitate. He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly. "I've got you, baby."

He stayed by her side the entire time, his hand never leaving hers as they waited for a doctor in the ER. He helped fill out paperwork, fetched water when she needed it, and even cracked a few horrible jokes to distract her from the pain.

When the doctor confirmed it was a pretty bad sprain, Jack insisted on picking up her medication and made sure she had crutches before they left. By the time they got back to her house, night had fallen. He helped her inside, careful with every step as he guided her to the couch.

"You don't have to say," she mumbled sleepily, though she didn't mean it.

"I'm not going anywhere," he replied firmly, adjusting the ice pack on her foot.

Their peace was broken by the door slamming shut. Phil's heavy footsteps entered the living room, his face scrunched up as soon as he saw Jack sitting there.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Remi winced, trying to push herself up straighter. "Dad, I--"

"You have some nerve," Phil snapped, his glare fixed on Jack. "I told you to stay away from her."

Jack stood, hands clenched at his sides. "She was hurt. She needed help."

"And that gave you the right to defy me? You've disrespected me and the team time and time again, Hughes."

"Dad, stop! He didn't do anything wrong! I fell, and he was there. If it wasn't for Jack, I'd probably still be sitting on the sidewalk."

Phil's gaze flickered to her, his face softening slightly, before he turned back to Jack. "You're off the team. Effective immediately."

"Dad, no!"

"Wait. You can bench me, cut my ice time, try to kick me off the team... but that's not going to change how I feel about her."

Phil narrowed his eyes, but Jack didn't falter.

"I care about her. More than anything. And I know you hate this, but I'm not going to walk away just because it's inconvenient for you. I love her too much for that."

Phil sighed, running a hand over his face. "You're not going anywhere tonight."

Jack blinked, caught completely off guard. "Sir?"

"She's injured," he said gruffly. "Someone has to keep an eye on her. You're already here--might as well make yourself useful."

"Dad--"

"I'm not saying I approve," he held up a hand. "But... maybe I've been a bit too harsh."

~~

Jack's days became a balancing act. Mornings were for practices, where he pushed himself harder than ever, determined to prove to Phil--and himself--that he could handle the demands of both his hockey career and his personal life. Evenings were for Remi, where he'd show up at the house with groceries, helping her navigate her life on crutches.

Phi, ever watchful, made his presence known whenever Jack was around.

"Door stays open," he'd said the second night Jack came to help. He leaned against the doorframe, looking between the two young adults. "And no funny business."

"Yes sir," Jack replied, biting back a smile as he helped Remi prop up her injured leg on a pillow.

"And I meant it. No going into the bathroom together, no sneaking around, no--"

"Dad, we get it," Remi rolled her eyes. "We're not thirteen."

Phil shot her a look, but didn't say anything more.

Jack leaned in with a grin. "Well, that went better than expected."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Don't get too comfortable. He's probably listening right now."

Jack chuckled but kept his hands firmly on the heating pad he was adjusting on her ankle.

~~

Phil observed them quietly for the next week or so. One evening, he sat in the living room, pretending to read a book while Jack and Remi played cards at the kitchen table. He glanced up occasionally, watching as they laughed and teased each other, the room filled with an ease he hadn't seen in his daughter in... years.

"Jack," she giggled. "You're terrible at this game."

"I'm letting you win because you're injured," Jack shot back with a smirk.

"Oh please," she scoffed, re-shuffling the deck. "You're just bad."

Phil watched as Jack leaned in, whispering something that made Remi burst into laughter, her cheeks glowing.

It hit him then--how much Jack truly scared for her. The way he looked at her, like she was the most important thing in the room. The way he balanced his career and her injury without a single complaint. The way Remi never stopped smiling around him.

He sighed, setting down his book. "Jack," he called, drawing their attention.

"Yes, sir?"

Phil cleared his throat, the words getting stuck halfway. "You... you've been good to her."

Jack's eyes widened, but he nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't make me regret saying that."

His acceptance just grew from there, marked by small moments of trust and understanding. Though he kept his rules in place--like the open door policy and no PDA--he began to soften, joining them for dinner occasionally or offering Jack advice after games.

One day, after a particularly good win, Phil even clapped Jack on the back, a rare gesture of approval. "You played well out there," he said, his tone almost warm.

Jack grinned. "Thanks, Coach."

And while it wasn't a happily-ever-after, it was a start.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: As we begin our first 5-digit word count chapter (I can’t be stopped, someone take away my keyboard) and I find a stride of about two chapters per week, I want to say that: A) I fully intend on finishing this story. I plotted out the whole thing before I started, have made a few adjustments given the pacing I’ve done so far, and with how it’s broken down right now we’ll reach the end in 2-3 months. B) Thank y’all from the bottom of my heart for reading! If you have theories or thoughts or feedback please don’t hesitate to share them! I love hearing what you think of the plot and the characters, and every interaction means the world to me. Whether you’re only reading or leaving comments as well, thank you so damn much. I’ll see you next chapter (it’s gonna be a doozy) <3

Chapter Title from Bells in Santa Fe by Halsey.

Word Count: 11.2k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You throw a punch, and Phase One: Operation Quick and Bald goes. Not well, but it goes. Contains usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst

Read on A03!

Chapter 5 - Chapter 7

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

Ben dodged the third punch in a row, grinning widely right up until the fourth one landed on his face.

“Ha!” She yelled, drawing back to shake her first out. “Take that, you weirdly fast man.”

Ben rolled his eyes, rubbing his face lightly. It hadn’t hurt—he’d barely even felt it—but She was being real fucking smug for someone who’d only just landed a hit after a damn week of attempting to do so.

“Yeah, sure, Sunshine. Keep it the fuck up, and at this rate it’ll only take you another couple thousand years to surpass Muhammad Ali.”

She raised her brows at Ben, pausing with a tilt of her head. “You were a fan of Muhammad Ali?”

He nodded, giving her a scrunched look of annoyance. “I’m a fucking American, and there ain’t nothing more red-blooded American than punching commies like that son of a bitch did.”

“What?”

“When he fought the Russian, and won. That’s fucking American.”

“Ben, you’re thinking of the plot of Rocky IV.”

“No, Muhammad Ali fought that Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass.”

“No, Sylvester Stallone fought the Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass. In a movie.” She laughed to herself. “I’m shocked you even saw Rocky IV, let alone were so impacted by it to let the plot override your knowledge of a real life person.”

“Shut up,” Ben grunted, moving his hands back to a defensive stance. She fucking always won these stupid arguments, and Ben couldn’t actually prove it, but he knew She was changing the fucking internet she loved so damn much to match her claims. “Go again.”

“Someone missed nap time.” She muttered under her breath, even though she knew Ben could fucking hear her, but put her fists up anyways. “Can this be the last one? I’m hungry.”

Instead of answering, Ben just launched himself at her, and She jumped to the side with a yelp.

“What the fuck, Ben!”

He turned and threw another punch, feeling pleased at the smooth way she ducked away and met it with a punch of her own. Her face had lost the pissy shock, laser-sharp concentration replacing it. Her eyes were narrowed, darting across Ben as he moved, her bobbing and weaving wasn’t entirely shit, and her heart was controlled with her breathing. She landed her second punch, this one on his shoulder, and Ben laughed, delivering one of his own.

“Christ, Sunshine, you’re fucking weak.” He laughed, examining Her carefully for any loss of control.

“I’ll kill you with my bare hands, Bitch.” She growled, lunging forward and grunting in frustration as Ben dodged with ease.

“That’s my line.” He taunted. “And you couldn’t even kill a man with an assault rifle if he was a fucking foot away from you.”

“Blow me.”

“I’ve been fucking trying- Fuck!” She landed her third punch, and it burned. Ben reached to touch where she’d hit and felt the skin mending across his jaw.

She was grinning in a wide, toothy, satisfied way. “Suck on that, cunt.”

“Bitch,” he muttered, looking down at his hand to see it raw and red from the contact with his face, with some of his fucking hair stuck to it.

“Did you burn off my fucking beard!” His head shot up to see a half-sheepish, half-amused look on her face, lips curled and eyes wide.

“Oops.”

He yelled her name, and she had the fucking nerve to giggle. “We said no fucking powers!”

“I forgot.” She said lamely, her face less and less apologetic by the second, giggling again as she offered some of the most insincere comfort Ben had ever heard. “It’s not even that noticeable! You look just as good as before!”

His anger faded, and he gave Her a cocky smirk, raising his brows. “You think I look good, Sunshine?”

“I’m being nice. Don’t ruin it.” She muttered, her face adorably flushed, and Ben didn’t miss the skip of her heart.

“Whatever keeps you up at night.”

“That’s not the phrase.”

He winked. “I know.”

She scoffed and turned away, but not before Ben could see the slight smile on her lips. “I’m going to shower, I’ll meet you in the living room in fifteen. If you’re not there, with food, I’m eating the TV.”

Ben frowned, calling after Her figure moving down the hall. “Has the TV been edible this whole fucking time and you didn’t fucking tell me?!”

Her laughter echoed back down the hall. "You're real fucking gullible, grampa!"

“You know I can’t fucking tell when you’re joking about that shit, you bitch!”

“Fourteen minutes, cunt!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to make food in fourteen minutes?!”

“You’re a big boy, you’ll figure it out!”

Grumbling a string of cusses Ben hoped She could fucking feel, Ben grabbed a cup of instant noodles and threw them in the microwave, wondering if She would notice if he spit in hers. After pulling them out, grabbing two spoons from the counter that he almost immediately bent, spilling one of the cups as he noticed the damaged utensils, spilling the other when he noticed the first spill, and having to start the whole damned fucking thing over, Ben made his way to drop on the couch next to where She sat, wet hair clinging to her pretty face.

“Heard a lot of swearing, Pretty Boy, everything ok?”

He grunted, shoving Her noodles against her chest and letting go, not giving a fuck if she had a grip on them. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Just asking a question,” he could hear her shit-eating grin. “Thought it was a free country. Thought a patriot like you would appreciate me exercising my first amendment right.”

“That protects you from the government, not me.” Ben parroted back the words She had yelled at him after he’d made the apparently fucking fatal mistake of saying “first amendment right” in her presence.

She chuckled, her voice teasing. “Didn’t know you were capable of retaining information about something other than yourself.”

“Well, your tits were looking great while you were bitching. It helped.” He grabbed the remote, raising it to the TV. “I made food. I’m picking what we watch.”

“If you pick Game of Thrones so you can watch the sex scenes again, I’m figuring out a way to kill myself and doing it on your bed.”

“Whatever gets you in my bed, Sunshine.” He winked. “And I’m invested in the fucking plot, it’s not just the sex scenes.”

“It’s mostly the sex scenes.” She said, not even flinching at his flirtation. “Just go watch porn. See how fast you can break the fleshlights. If you do all three in ten minutes, Butcher owes me twenty dollars.”

Ben scowled, not enjoying that She’d apparently been making fucking bets with Butcher about his masturbation. “I can last longer than ten fucking minutes, I’m not a fucking pussy.”

“Prove it.”

He grinned widely at Her as her face flushed adorably, her own phrasing catching up with her head. “I’d be honored, Sunshine.”

“You’re like a fucking rabbit in heat.” She muttered. “And if you do last longer than ten, Hughie gets the money, so keep that in mind when you’re jerking it to dragon boobs after I go to bed.”

“The dragons don’t have any fucking boobs, dumbass, the fucking hot lady queens do.” Ben said smugly, ignoring her eye roll. “And I would ‘jerk it’ in the privacy of my room, but someone won’t give me a fucking phone.”

“Yeah, the CIA. I’d actually back you up with Mallory, Pretty Boy. I think giving you a phone would be really entertaining.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.” He snapped, and she laughed.

“Can’t rely on just a handsome face to convince her that you somehow deserve the internet.”

“Handsome face?” He grinned at her, and only the slight stutter of her heart told Ben she heard him.

She made a mock face of thought. “Maybe if we suggested parental controls…”

“I’ll kill you, bitch.”

“I’ll make you the most useless and sad eunuch to ever grace this sorry planet, cunt.”

Ben glared at Her, and she reached over his arm to press play on the remote.

Most of the days since the failed Sister Sage mission had been like this. She and Ben got up, trained, ate, trained more, and then watched TV with dinner until She retreated to her room and Ben fought sleep for the rest of the night, alone. Neither of them mentioned how he’d saved her, or how She had started a habit of slapping Ben awake—he was pretty fucking certain that at this point she had figured out another way to break through the nightmares but was purposely choosing to fucking hit him instead—before she’d sit next to him for an hour or two after. Ben liked this unspoken arrangement, and liked even more how She had silently agreed to it. Just because he didn’t actively hate Her right now didn’t mean he was about become a sniveling pussy mess about feelings. Even if the lack of active hatred had morphed into something pulsing in his chest that he didn’t understand, and didn't fucking want to. Making Her instant noodles and not killing her when she lied to him for fun or called him “Pretty Boy” was as far as Ben would bend.

It had been mostly radio silence from the Boys, though Butcher and Cocksucker had visited two days after they’d dropped Her and Ben back at the safe house, as Cocksucker had managed to break his arm. There had been a long, incredibly boring and poorly told story as to how the injury had occurred, involving a supe, Nikola Tesla and something called a Cybertruck, but Ben had pretty much tuned out the entire fucking conversation once he realized they weren’t here for him at all. The only thing that had kept him from retreating to his room for the duration of the visit was the small falter in Her heart when she touched Cocksucker, her jaw clenched as Ben and Butcher watched Cocksucker’s arm heal into place in a fucking disgusting manner.

When She’d let go, she’d given Ben a weird fucking look with tight lips and sad eyes that he'd only seen before on Cocksucker. It had passed quickly, her face returning to apathetic and bored, her eyes regaining the sharp amusement they usually held, but fuck it had confused him. She and Butcher had started talking about missions and planning and other mind-numbing shit, Cocksucker shaking out his arm as if he didn’t trust that it was healed, and Ben had needed to piss and gone to do just that. Before he’d left, he’d caught Her a look of where the hell are you’d going, he’d grinned back with a wink of why, you want to join me?, and she’d rolled her eyes and returned her attention to Butcher. When he’d returned, Butcher and Cocksucker had left and She was glaring at him, arms across her chest.

“Are you an idiot, or just a dick?” She’d snapped.

He’d frowned at Her, trying to figure out what had made her all fucking bitchy. As far as Ben was concerned, he’d been fucking amazing, only calling Butcher a pussy twice and managing to refrain from talking to Cocksucker at all. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Butcher told me we’re moving on operation Quick and Bald soon. He told me you knew. Why didn’t you fucking tell me?!”

“Oh,” Ben had rolled his eyes. “I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

He’d shrugged. “Well, you fucking know now, so get over it. And what kind of fucking shit codename is Quick and Bald?”

“Fuck you, it’s an accurate and descriptive name.”

“How the fuck could that be ‘accurate and descriptive’?”

“Because two key factors of this phase of my plan are the quick and the bald.”

“Your plan?”

“Yeah, my fucking plan. That I fucking deserved to know the status of.” She’d scowled. “Butcher says it’s almost ready. He’ll get us in two days once it’s in place.”

That had been five days ago. Starlight and Cocksucker had dropped in after two days, full of apologies and updates that Ben didn’t give a fuck about, and when he’d asked Her for more information about the plan, she’d told him to “suck her dick and shove his questions up his ass until they reached his brain.”

So Ben still had no fucking clue what Quick and Bald was about.

Aside from Her lingering anger at him for apparently having the fucking nerve to ask questions about the jobs he had to do—an opinion he had made the mistake of voicing, leading the unwelcome lesson on the first amendment—She was being impossibly easy to talk to, and Ben was getting dangerously close to not only enjoying her company, but finding her comfortable. Part of him was hoping she’d say something very, very soon that would allow him to grip onto hatred, or at least indifference, for the rest of his time in this stupid fucking situation.

Instead, in a way that made Ben think God himself was out to fucking get him, he’d started to tell her things. Fucking voluntarily.

One of those nights where sleep had gripped his head and pulled him under, struggling and roaring, he’d woken up once more from only the force and sting of her hand across his face. She’d sat next to him again, and he’d asked her more questions about before, all of which she’d answered with a faraway, insufferably sad look in her eyes.

“How many siblings did you fucking have again?” He’d pressed once.

“Four,” She’d responded, a wistful smile on her face. “Two brothers, two sisters. All younger.”

“Your parents had four more kids after you? What, were you that fucking annoying they needed to try again four fucking times?”

“No, I was just so adorable they needed to try and recreate my perfection. Once they realized that was impossible, they gave up.” She’d smirked, and Ben hated that somehow he didn’t doubt her words. “Well,” she’d mused to herself. “That and they fell violently out of love with each other.”

“Violently?” He’d made a face, and she’d nodded solemnly.

“I shielded my siblings from a lot of flying plates.”

Ben found another thing to hate. Her parents, and how fucking sad she looked. “You miss them?”

“My parents?” She’d snorted. “I miss my dad. I hope my mom gets her head popped.”

He’d coughed to cover a laugh. “No, you fucking smartass. Your siblings.”

Her answer was quick and soft. “Every fucking day.”

Ben had grunted, watching the distance return to her face, and before he could stop himself, he was talking. “I didn’t have any siblings.”

Before he could curse himself out and try to distract Her with something else, she had been looking back at him with wide, focused eyes. “Do you wish you did?”

“I never thought about it,” he’d muttered. “My father was such a fucking dick I’m surprised he even got my mother to marry him, let alone fucking have one kid. I think he hated me enough to never fucking risk it again.”

“Risk it?” She’d kept her voice impossibly gentle as she’d asked, and it made his skin crawl all weird.

“I was the biggest fucking regret of his life. If he could go back and stop me from happening in the first place, make my mother flush me out, he wouldn’t have fucking hesitated.”

She’d paused, and a very fucking stupid part of Ben had thought she was going to let the conversation go. Of course, he should’ve fucking known by now that She damn well wouldn’t.

“What was your mom like?”

He hadn’t fucking expected that, and it had shocked him enough to answer. “Kind. Too kind for my father, he saw it as fucking weakness and told her all the fucking time. But she was so fucking kind.” He took a heavy breath. “She was full of love, and I have no fucking clue how. It was fucking stupid, all her love, even for my piece of shit father. He’d yell at her and threaten her and mock her, but she still fucking loved him. She fucking loved everything.”

Her voice was still gentle from beside him. “Like what?”

“Animals. Cats specifically. My father had all these fucking hunting dogs he loved more than anything, certainly more than me, and the only good thing he ever fucking did was trade one to get her a cat. It was massive, fluffy and gray, and it was a fucking asshole to everyone but her. It ate like a fucking elephant, shed like a whore in summer, but she loved it so fucking much.” At this point Ben had really wished he would shut the fuck up, but he couldn’t, and he was going to have to figure out a way to blame Her for that later. “She loved art. Painting. She tried to get me to love it too, even though I could barely draw a fucking worm. But I’d try, and she’d frame all my stupid, shitty drawings and hang them around the house until my father saw them and threw them in the trash. She loved music but couldn’t carry a tune if her life fucking depended on it. They’d go to the opera because my father would donate a ton for the publicity, and she’d come back all damn giddy. I’d wait up, just because she was fucking contagious when she was that happy. Even my father felt it, enough to just go straight to bed and not kick my ass for still being awake. She was fucking smart, too. Real fucking smart. My father would joke he wished she was a man, because then her brain would be useful. She would’ve fucking jumped for joy if she saw the world now. Met a fucking woman doctor.” He paused, looking back down at Her beside him. She hadn’t looked away from him, and there was none of the pity he’d expected to see on her face. It was just open, listening intently to his words with no malice or trickery behind her eyes.

“She sounds amazing.” She’d said softly, a small smile he didn’t understand on her face. “And your dad sounds like a fucking cunt.”

Ben had chuckled in surprise. “Fucking understatement of the damn year, Sunshine. That pussy would’ve tried to pry your degree from your fucking hands.”

“Let him try, I’d burn his fucking face off and laugh while I did it.”

“What were you even going to fucking do with a PhD in archeology?" He’d asked, and she’d huffed a small laugh.

“Anthropology, Pretty Boy. But nice guess.” She corrected. “And I’m honestly not sure. I’d quite literarily only just actually received the degree before everything… changed.” She’d sighed. “I had a few job offers, but mostly in academia and business. What I wanted was to work with nonprofits to help people.”

“Help people?” He’d given her a disbelieving stare. “With a prissy fucking degree?”

“Yeah, dickwad. Help people. I was a cultural anthropologist. I specialized in the evolution of cultures and ways to combat systemic cultural oppression.”

He’d stared at Her blankly. “You’re going to have to take down the fucking fancy talk by seven, Sunshine.”

“I studied how the government and culture is mean to people on purpose, and how to make them stop being mean.” She’d said flatly.

“Oh.” He’d rolled his eyes at the dirty look she was giving him. “Oh, fuck off. It wasn’t that painful to say.”

“Yes, it was.” She’d mumbled, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re not going to argue with me?”

“What’s there to fucking argue about?”

“I just called your beloved country an ‘oppressive system’.” She’d watched him wearily, but her heart remained steady. “Doesn’t it mar your refined American nationalism?”

“Do you fucking want me to be mad?” Ben had asked, raising his brows at her. “I can definitely find it in me, that’s not a fucking issue. But usually when we fight about this shit, you get all bitchy and don’t talk to me for way too fucking long.”

“I mean, no, I don’t want you to get mad…” She’d frowned, examining him with yet another fucking confusing look. “Does it really bother you when I ignore you?”

“No.” He’d snapped quickly. “It’s just annoying, and I don’t like having to fucking deal with it.”

She’d hummed with an amused smile on her face, and the conversation had moved on to something else. Ben had shoved down the way it had been so easy to talk about his mother with her, until it was somewhere in his gut and he didn’t have to think about the way the feeling rolled around inside him.

And he refused to even acknowledge how when She would smile now, he’d have to fight himself to not do the same.

———-

It had been a week since the Sage incident, a week since Ben had saved your life—you'd locked everything about that particular action from what you thought of it to how it made you feel somewhere deep in your chest—and you were starting to lose your mind a little bit. When Annie and Hughie had stopped by with nervous words about delays in your meticulously prepared and incredibly well-detailed plan, you’d been willing to wait another day, maybe two, before executing operation Quick and Bald. Now it had been three days, burgeoning on four, and you were worryingly close to leaving the safe house just to yell at Butcher. Ben could stay here, or follow you and help you beat Butcher up for all you cared. Which was, admittedly, worrying within itself. Especially because the whole point of operation Quick and Bald was to take preventative measures against Ben’s needless brutality.

Over a month ago, right after you’d moved into the safe house and when you had been ready to throttle Ben’s neck every waking moment—an urge that hadn’t entirely waned, but was now undercut with a weirder, stronger urge to be near him without any murderous intent—you’d spent the hours quarantined in your room perfecting your plan to get Ryan Butcher the fuck out of dodge. When they’d come to pick you and Ben up for the whole Neuman test, you’d left it in the van for Butcher to find, and had been waiting since for him to set up the dominoes so you could knock them over.

At this point, you’d be happy with not even “dominos to knock over” and just “one singular domino to throw at someone." You had begun to develop a habit of staring down the hall from the living room, trying to will someone to appear with at least a fucking update. So far this strategy was not working, and had apparently started to garner attention.

Sitting on the couch, the TV white noise in the background and noodles in your hand cold and forgotten, you felt a foreign rush of oddly tight concern run through your body. You frowned, heard your name from next to you, and turned to find that Ben had been poking your arm.

“Are you fucking alive?” He grunted, watching you with a frown.

“Literally? Yes.” You answered with a tight smile. “You have noodles on your face.”

He reached up to feel for them, not looking away from you. “What the fuck do you mean literally? How can you be fucking metaphorically alive?”

“Mind-body problem, Pretty Boy. And it’s not metaphorically, it’s philosophically.” You lean back, grinning.

“You’re a real fucking pretentious bitch sometimes.” He grumbled, still trying to find the food stuck to his beard.

“If you made me a shirt that said that, I’d wear it.”

“I’m not going to fucking make you a shirt, Sunshine. You couldn’t make me learn to fucking sow with a gun to my head.”

“Because the gun wouldn’t affect you at all?” You pointed to your own chin, mirroring where the noodle was caught.

He sneered. “Because I’m not a pussy.” His hand found the stray piece of his dinner, and he pulled it from his jaw.

“Big words from the man who took two tries to make me instant ramen- hey!” A wet noodle hits you in the face.

“Ramen your ungrateful ass didn’t even fucking eat.” Ben gave a pointed look at the abandoned cup in your hands, the food inside having long lost any heat. “Don’t fucking test me, or I’ll actually spit in your food next time.”

“Drama queen,” you muttered, peeking back at the door. “Like you don’t already do that.”

“I fight the urge to be a fucking bitch, unlike certain women.”

You nod absentmindedly. “Butcher.”

Ben snorted behind you, and a smile you hoped he didn’t see crept onto your face.

“Yeah, sure Sunshine.” His attention returned to the TV, and you did your best to not stare down the hall, trying to ignore the hope that the door now shrouded in darkness would open.

A successful effort that made you jump out of your seat when it did just that with an aggressive bang.

Ben was faster than you, practically launching himself over the sofa and bolting down the hall, a dangerous look of alarm the last thing you saw on his face before he was gone from the room.

“Shit, no! It’s me!” You heard a high-pitched shout from the shadows of the entrance. “It’s Hughie!”

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You heard Ben’s growl of a response.

Butcher’s voice drawled from the shadows. “Oi, take a deep fucking breath and put the bloody kid down.” 

“Someone fucking answer me first.”

“Put him down, Soldier Boy, before we knock your ancient ass the fuck out.” The impatient, clipped words of MM responded, almost drowned out by Frenchie's shout.

“Can someone turn on the fucking lights? It is as dark as Monsieur Butcher’s heart and asshole!” 

“I- I don’t feel good.” Hughie’s voice stuttered.

“Ben!” You flicked on the hallway sconces, illuminating a scene of Ben’s full body weight pressing Hughie to the wall, Butcher and MM trying with practically negative success to pry him off, and Kimiko gripping one of Frenchie’s arms as his other groped around for direction. You let out a very long, very loud sigh. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s fucking late,” he snapped, not letting Hughie go. “They shouldn’t be here so fucking late.”

“This ain’t your real house, Mate.” Butcher grunted, still trying to move Ben. “We can be here whenever we bloody well please.”

Hughie wheezed out your name in a pleading tone. “Your plan is ready. We’re here to- fuck- we’re here to get you.”

That got you moving, crossing to the end of the hall in quick, frantic steps. “It’s ready? Are you sure?” Hughie gave a weak nod, and you rolled your eyes, shoving Ben shoulder. “Put him down, dumbass. He’s not a threat, and honestly, probably the worst one to have gone after. Just, like, strategically.”

Ben glared at you, but let go. He glanced at where MM and Butcher were still grabbing him, and gave them a venomous look that got them both to let go and take hasty steps back. He shot a glowering look of they could’ve fucking waited until the morning in your direction.

You wrinkled your nose at him. No. Shut the fuck up. You turned to Hughie, not even bothering to hide the desperation you felt in your imploring stare. “It’s all ready? All of it? A-Train agreed to help? We’re sure Ashley has the information? We’re sure neither one is going to tell Homelander, and we’re not about to walk into a fucking trap?”

“Yes, yes, yes, kind of, and yes.” Butcher counted off on his fingers as he answered. “But we’ve got to go right fucking now.”

“Kind of?” Anxious energy rushed through you—that still-strange feeling lighting under your skin—and you ignored the weird look Ben shot you as it did. “What do you mean, kind of? If you fucked this up, Butcher, I swear to God-"

“Calm the fuck down, Love.” Butcher snapped. “It’s going to be fine, we’ll explain on the way. But we need to go fucking now if you want this to work.”

You gave a sharp nod, starting to pull on your boot, glancing up with a pause when you heard Hughie say your name behind you.

“Do you, uh, do you want to get dressed first?” His voice was still slightly weak as he recovered from Ben’s force.

You glanced down at your body, and decided that the oversized shirt and cloth shorts would be fine. They were from the CIA spring fire-proof collection, and that was more than enough. “Nope. Let’s fucking move.”

You were halfway to the door when a crash sounded behind you, and you whirled around to see MM firmly blocking Ben’s path, the crash seeming to have been Hughie stumbling into the wall in an attempt to get away from the standoff.

“You’re not coming, Soldier Boy. This is a goddamn delicate operation, and you’re the fucking reason we have to do it in the first place. We can’t afford you throwing a tantrum and screwing us.”

“I’m fucking coming, and it’s not up for fucking debate.”

Off to the side, Frenchie snickered as Kimiko signed how many times do you think he’s said that before?

Ben shot them an annoyed look, his fists clenching. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“Nothing,” Frenchie snickered, and his tone was so remarkably unconvincing that even if you hadn’t understood Kimiko, you wouldn’t have believed him.

Ben grunted and tried to move past MM, again to no avail.

He glared down at the firmly planted man, a familiar violent glint in his eyes. “You better fucking move now, before I make you.”

“Do your fucking worst, we’ll put you right back in the box. You’re not coming with us.”

“MM,” you said firmly, watching Ben's fists clench as the dangerous glint returns to his eyes. “We need to go.”

MM looks back at you, but remains in his place. “Are you fucking serious? You’re siding with him?”

“I’m not siding with him.” You keep your voice level, ignoring Ben’s smug face and grin. “We can’t leave him. The I go where he goes thing unfortunately goes both ways.”

“The safe house will hold him for five hours.” MM pushed, and before you could even shake your head, Ben cut in.=

"No, it won’t.”

You shoot him a look that says you’re being unhelpful, and he just returns it with his own of fuck off, you know you fucking want me there.

“Please, MM. He’ll stay quiet in the background, or I’ll burn his dick off. Right?” You direct your last words at Ben, giving him a pointed agree with me or I’m knocking you out and leaving you here look.

“Yeah, whatever. But I’m not staying in the fucking van like a pussy. And you’d better explain what the fuck is happening on the way, Sunshine.”

“Deal. But first they,” You narrowed your eyes at Butcher. “Have some explaining of their own to do.”

“Don’t lose your bloody mind, Love, it’s all in order.” Butcher said breezily, shoving past you to open the door. He gave a dramatic wave of his arm for you to exit, and with a look of doubt, you did.

The car ride was already poised to be uncomfortable. Butcher’s car was not equipped for seven people, let alone seven people where three were very large men, three were supes, and nobody wanted to have physical contact with two. As such, Butcher drove, MM sat in the front, you found yourself squished against one window with Ben between you and a remarkably uncomfortable Hughie, as Kimiko sat, slightly elevated onto their laps, between Frenchie at the other window, and Hughie. It was overall an unideal situation, made worse as your own frustration was amplified by Ben’s, and by Hughie revealing that it was, in fact, not all in order.

Your phase one, the original operation Quick and Bald had called for Ashley Barrett’s complete cooperation. You’d even painstakingly outlined all the potential ways to flip her—most involving something along the lines of hey, wouldn’t a job that didn’t make you so stressed you rip out all your hair and have to buy a bunch of wigs be nice?—and different ways to keep Homelander from finding out about her betrayal—Spain was lovely this time of year, and had a thriving BDSM community Ashley would love. While MM had managed to take care of your instructions for A-Train, the half of the plan you’d incorrectly anticipated to be more difficult, the Ashley situation was, in Butcher’s words, very fucking delicate, but we’ve adapted and everything will be bloody fine, so trust me and don’t be a fucking cunt about it.

You did not trust him. I didn’t help that you’d asked for any other possible details, and he’d pretended he couldn’t hear you. This suspicion was confirmed when, despite your incredible clarity that you would never step foot there again, Butcher seemed to be driving right to Vought Tower.

Your eyes had been steadily widening, panic starting to run through you the closer and closer you got, and you flinched when you felt Ben’s roughly shoulder nudge your own.

“What’s fucking wrong with you?” He’d asked in a low voice, barely audible over Hughie’s rambling explanation.

“You should listen,” you mutter back, trying to shut out the confusing concern he always seemed to feel at you, how it felt remarkably genuine, but was laced with anger that felt like it was trying to push out of your body. “Hughie’s explaining the plan.”

“Yeah, but all I have to fucking do is stay quiet, and I get to keep my dick. You’re being fucking twitchy and silent, and your heart is beating faster than it has all damn day, so don’t even try to fucking lie and tell me it’s fine.”

“It is fine, I’m fine-“ You paused as his words sank in. “Wait, what do you mean my heart-“

“Alright, here we go.” Butcher cut off both you and Hughie with a clap of his hands. “Everyone bloody out, let’s get this shitshow on the road.”

“Butcher,” you said, looking around to see you’d parked directly across from the tower entrance. “What the fuck are we doing here?”

“We’re meeting them right there.” MM answered for Butcher, pointing out of his window to something you couldn’t see. “It’s almost midnight, and Annie’s been making sure nobody gets inside but us.”

“But why?” You protest, even as MM leaves the car. “This,” you give a wide, general wave that hits Ben in the nose. “Cannot be the only option.”

“Both of them still have their trackers,” Hughie leans forward with an apologetic look as Frenchie and Kimiko exit the car. “This will look like they’re just getting a midnight snack, and hopefully Homelander won’t get suspicious.”

“Hopefully?!” You feel a rush of anger—not yours—and a twist of fear deep within your gut—absolutely yours. “Hopefully fucking Homelander won’t get suspicious?!”

Hughie gave an uncertain nod before very quickly scrambling to get out of the car. You take a long, deep breath, trying to steel yourself. A rush of what was becoming a familiar fuming and brittle concern ran through you. You look at Ben, to find his eyes locked firmly onto yours.

“Sorry about hitting-“

“I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You blink at him, taken aback by the firmness of his voice. “What?”

His hand moved to grip your thigh, his gaze not wavering. “I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You give him a flat look. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. Why are you telling me that?”

His frustration leaked into you. “Because say the word, I’ll steal Butcher’s car, and we’ll fucking leave.”

“What? Are you insane?”

“You look like you’re either going to start fucking crying or burst into flames, and this is a stupid fucking idea.”

“This was my plan.” You snap. “And I’m not stealing Butcher’s car. Why do you even know how to hot-wire a car anyway?”

Ben’s grip tightened. “No, your plan was stupidly well fucking thought out.”

“That’s an oxymoron.” You mutter, and he ignores you.

“And even if they haven’t completely fucking blown the execution, they completely squashed any chance of safety.”

“It’ll be fine,” you say, the words sounding fake even as you say them. “It’s late. He’s probably asleep.”

“What if he’s not?” His concern was starting to move to your throat, and there was something else, something sitting far deeper in your chest, beating and beating against you. Against you.

“Ben.” You place your hand over his. “I’ve worked too hard on this. This is the only way, and it will be fine.” You say the last words firmly and clearly, trying to make them sink into you. “Now take your fucking hand off of me, and get out of the damn car.”

He pulls himself from you, and even as his touch leaves, the concern and beat linger until he’s gone from the car. You drag yourself across the seats and ignore Hughie’s offer of a hand as you duck out of the car and onto the curb. You notice the 24 hour diner MM must have been pointing out almost immediately, half because—aside from an incredibly sketchy looking deli a few doors down—it’s the only building with its lights still on, and half because two very flustered teenagers are sulking away from the entrance, where Annie stands with her arms crossed. She’s already spotted your group, and has angeled her head in a signal to join her.

“You’re late.” She chides as you approach.

“Well, Starlight, I’d apologize, but it was those two fuckheads,” Ben and MM both receive a jabbed thumb over Butcher’s shoulder. “Who decided to draw out the bloody carpool process.”

“I told you not to call me Starlight anymore, Butcher.” Annie snaps, not giving him a chance to respond before she turns to you. “A-Train is, somehow, running behind as well. Hopefully Ashley’s just being resistant to getting food with him, but they’ll be here.”

“Isn’t running that pussy’s whole fucking thing?” Ben muttered, quiet enough for only you to hear. You step as hard as you can on his foot.

“Shut it, Pretty Boy.” You whisper over his grunt of what probably is more emotional pain than physical.

“Bitch.” He hisses back.

“Cunt.” You raise your voice so the others can hear you. “We should go inside, it’s risky to just… stand here.”

With nervous looks around and stuttered agreements, you all make your way into the diner. The lights are flickering, and it’s eerily empty with only a very nervous-looking blonde waitress at the counter. She makes a very big show of asking how many are in your party, leading you to a large, round table, and laying out the menus with shaky hands. Kimiko, Hughie, Annie, and MM try and offer her comforting smiles, though MM’s is strained as he keeps a vigilant glare on Ben. The waitress is staring at Ben herself, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, glacing back as she leaves to get your and Butcher’s coffee, Annie and MM’s tea, Kimiko and Hughie’s milkshakes, and Ben and Frenchie’s orders of “the strongest alcohol you’ve fucking got.” Your personal bet was it was going to just be very old beer.

“Why is she fucking staring at me?” Ben muttered to you, watching the waitress as she walked away. “Did you fuck up my beard that bad?”

“Your beard looks literally the same.” You dismiss. “And it’s because, as far as the public knows, Maeve killed you in a heroic act of self-sacrifice to stop your evil, anti-American attacks. That, or she wants to fuck you.”

“Hm,” he looks back at you, settling down into his seat. “Am I allowed to bring guests into the safe house?”

“No.” You say, a little more curtly than you intended. Seeing his wide, cocky grin, you clairfy. “It’s a breach of security. She would need to pass a CIA vetting and be approved by, like, twenty people. I don’t think she’d do that just to fuck you.”

Ben shrugs, his smirk only growing. “You did.”

“I’m going to cut off your balls and feed them to you-“

“Hey,” MM cuts you off, saying your name in a brisk, hard tone from across the table. “They’re here.”

You snap your head to the door, where A-Train is practically pushing Ashley into the diner.

You hear her voice clearly over the recession pop humming from the speakers. “Why can’t we just go to the fucking deli? They make these amazing meatball subs and supes eat free, so you could order for both of us- oh fuck no.”

“Oh, shit.” MM mutters, jumping to his feet with Butcher and Annie as Ashley notices them, and promptly tries to dash for the exit.

You don’t entirely blame her. You’d probably do the same. You had done the same, an unhelpful voice reminds you.

“I- Am- Not-“ Ashley is trying to get past A-Train, who hasn’t given up trying to herd her further into the diner. “Fuck- this-“

“Ashley, just listen to them, I fucking swear-“

“Why should I trust you?!” Ashley doubles over, out of breath. “You fucking tricked me! Midnight snack my fucking ass- Fuck no!” She raises a crooked finger at Annie, who has stopped in front of her. “Get the fuck away from me, you bitch.”

“Ashley, please listen to A-Train-“

“No! Just leave me the fuck alone! I don’t want to be a part of your weird fucking eye for an eye justice shit-“

“You kind of already are.” MM says as he locks the door behind her. “You work for Vought, your it’s motherfucking CEO. That makes you a part of this, like it or not.”

“Not!” Ashley shouts. “I don’t care what you have to say! Homelander’s going to fucking kill me, oh my god.” She starts to hyperventilate. “If he finds out I was here, he’ll kill you-“ She points a shaky finger at A-Train. “And then make me go on fucking TV to explain why you’re missing, and then fucking kill me-“

Butcher scoffs. “Bloody hell, lady. Calm the fuck down, Homelander ain’t gonna find out.”

“You don’t know that!” She shrieked. “He knows fucking everything! Especially since fucking Sage joined!” She spins around frantically, and her wild eyes lock onto yours. “He knows about them!” A shaking finger jumps between you and Ben. “Fuck! He’s supposed to be fucking asleep and now he’s fucking not! And he was so fucking angry about her, I’ve never seen him so fucking angry-“

Whatever else Ashley stutters about Homelander’s anger is lost to you as the world freezes. The feeling isn’t just under your skin, it’s up your spine, in your blood, circling around your brain. It’s fucking everywhere and you can’t fucking breathe, her words looping around you.

He knows. He’s angry. He fucking knows. He’s fucking angry. He fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and he fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and-

A white hot, impossibly calm feeling crashes over you. It’s angry, hungry and angry, but it’s grounding, sharpening everything around you. Suddenly the world is back in complete focus, Ashley’s shrill rambling scraping at your ears, and in the distance that weird fucking rhythm is sounding. As the feeling in your body returns fully, you realize Ben’s hand is back on your thigh. You bounce it, looking up to give him a glare, and find he’s not even looking at you. Instead, his eyes are trained on Ashley, narrowed and cold. You give a small cough, and when he glances down at you, the feeling of anger stutters with something lighter, though only for a second.

You give another bounce of your leg, a look of move your damn hand or lose it taking over your face.

No, not until you calm the fuck down his scowl responds.

You huff, standing abruptly, and his hand falls off at the force of your movement. Suddenly you feel a lot less solid, but reason that your legs are shaky from the Homelander of it all, and if any situation calls for fractured nerves, it’s this one.

“Ashley.” You call across the diner, trying not to stutter or chew off your lip as her protests falters and attention turns to you. “If you know who I am, you know I wouldn’t be anywhere near here if we weren’t certain it was safe. Just have some food with us, listen, and then you can go.”

Ashley gives you a scowl that might surpass Ben’s but nods tightly, yanking her arm from where A-Train had been trying to hold her in place. You sit back down as the group at the door returns to their seats, the poor waitress pressing herself against the bar as they pass. Letting out a shaky, unsteady breath, you try and still yourself as you look out the diner window. City lights. Music.

City lights.

Music.

It was safe. He knows and he’s angry but was safe and there were city lights and music.

Your breathing was no longer coming in short, distressed bursts, but getting air in and out of yourself still felt like an act of labor, and you needed to get it the fuck together before Ashley sat down.

City lights. Music.

You can’t hear the song the diner is playing, instead letting your whole mind turn inward, allowing the ghost of music you can no longer sing to wash over you.

Ashley sits across from you right when you regain control, and from the corner of your eye, you see Ben pulling his hand from where it had been inching towards yours.

Her eyes flit, nerves poorly hidden, from you to Ben to Butcher to Annie and back to you, and her voice is high and shaky when she speaks. “Well?”

“Ashley, we need your help.” Annie leans forward, palms flat on the table.

“Well, then we’re done. I can’t help you. They don’t tell me anything, not really.” Ashley tries to stand, but her arm is caught by A-Train. “Really?” A-Train hisses as he pulls her back into her seat beside him. “They don’t tell you anything my ass, we sit in on all the same meetings. And I pulled these files-“ He pulls out a thumb drive from absolutely nowhere and drops it on the table. “Using your name, so you clearly have access to them.”

“What?!” Ashley looks at the thumb drive like it’s going to either explode or start jizzing on her blouse. “Why would you fucking do that?”

“Insurance.” A-Train answers smugly, the thumbdrive clearly having his intended. “I can’t open it, so you’re going to tell them how, and then I’ll erase the records of you taking the files from the system.”

Ashley looks around at your group, shaking her head. “No.”

“Sorry, Mate. We ain’t really asking.” Butcher leans across A-Train, shoving the thumb drive closer to Ashley. “Do us this solid, and A-Train won’t go right up to Homelander and tell him about how he saw you also cuddly and tight with me, Soldier Boy, and his favorite missing person.”

Your heart jumps right into your throat. City lights. Music.

Suddenly, Ben’s elbow is planted against yours, and you’re pulled back down to earth just in time to hear Ashley yell, “This is fucking blackmail! I’ll fucking sue!”

“You cannot sue government officials, madame.” Frenchie says smugly, and Hughie shakes his head.

“That’s- Frenchie, that’s not even kind of true.”

“You’re also not a government official.” Annie adds.

Frenchie looks genuinely perplexed at this and gives Kimiko a confused frown, receiving a shrug in return.

“But,” you pipe up, your voice somehow bored and casual. “I’m legally dead. He’s-“ You jab Ben in the chest, and Ashley’s eyes widen. “Legally dead and an enemy of the state. You can’t sue either of us, not without admitting some Vought secrets that will be very bad PR.” You give her a twisted smile, leering across the table. “Help us, or, even if Homelander believes you, which we both know he won’t, you’ll get fired. And I’m sure they’ll be very understanding and normal about how they do it.”

You feel a flash of weird pride and realize you can see Ben fighting a smile in your periphery.

Ashley has a fearful expression, looking at where your elbow is still connected with Ben’s. “What- what's even on it?”

“Becca Butcher files.” You say, not taking your gaze from her, but you didn’t need to look around to see the sudden, rigidness with which everyone sat. You even felt Ben’s own shock run through you.

You’d be lying if you said hiding the exact contents of the file hadn’t been a very purposeful choice that you and Butcher had made. He’d cornered you, demanding to know what you planned on doing should Soldier Boy go after Ryan, and you’d told him that it wouldn’t be an issue. Ryan looked up to Homelander, that was why he stayed. He’d lost his mother, he didn’t trust Butcher, all the poor kid had was his insane, sociopathic father. Some part of you—small and sad and tired, still sitting on a staircase in Boston—understood that. But with Becca gone, gone forever, Ryan didn’t have a place to run like you’d had. Homelander was the default, and just kind enough to his son that Ryan could force himself to forgive Homelander again and again. Homelander was safe for Ryan.

You were going to make sure Ryan never saw Homelander as safe again. And that started with Becca Butcher and would end with you. So you and Butcher had agreed with a tight handshaked that he'd ripped his hand from right after, everyone was only going to know what they needed to. That was the only way it would work.

“Becca Butcher files?” MM repeats in a slow, incredulous tone. “You,” he turns with a look of shock to Butcher. “You knew about this? You’re fuckin okay with this?”

“I’m doing what has to be done, Mate.” Butcher answers flatly, then says your name. “Tell ‘em the plan, Love.”

“We need to get Ryan away from Homelander. Ryan needs to know about his mother.”

“No,” Ashley was emerging from the shock to try and stand from the table, but A-Train’s arm shot out, pulling her back down once more. “No,” she says again, looking around desperately. “Ryan, Ryan is all he has. All he cares about. You take Ryan he’ll lose his mind-“

“He’s already lost his mind.” Something snaps in your chest—a cruel feeling waking up as you watch Ashley fret about Homelander. “And I couldn’t give less fucks about what he cares about.” The feeling is crawling across your skin. “If this hurts him, good. It could never hurt him enough to make it right.” You hear drums and still can’t place where they’re coming from. “Now listen to the last fucking strand of your morality on your scalp and fucking help us.”

Ashley shakes her head again, this time with less certainty. “It’s- no- He-“ she pulls in a deep, unsteady breath. “He won’t stop until he gets Ryan back. He already is going insane about you and him and how he needs to get you back safe and put him back down, and if Ryan goes to then nothing will stop him-“

The drums are loud now, and something that’s usually there on Ben’s face is missing. Your own body doesn’t feel entirely normal anymore, but it’s not paralyzed or running. You can feel something in Ben caving, falling inward in a growing rhythm, moving in time as something in you grows. It's not in you now, it’s across you, coating your skin and singing with glee.

“Ashley,” the sound of your voice is a little far away, but you can hear it echo through you. It’s wired, hot, a warning.

“I- I can’t.”

“Yes, you fucking can.” You sneer. “You’re just too much of a pussy to do it.” Ben coughs in the way that you know means he wants to laugh, just as the drums stutter and move farther away.

“Please, I don’t-“

“Do not make me stab you.”

Ashley falters, looking you up and down. “You won’t.”

“Trust me, she will.” Ben smirks, giving you a nudge. “She’s surprisingly violent.”

“I, I won’t. I can’t. He’ll kill me-“

“You think we won’t?” Ben growls, any amusement in him gone as you feel something unbreakable and resolved through your body.

Ashley tries to run again, this time actually managing to get up from the table, but is knocked flat on her ass by A-Train before she can take two steps. You stand and give the itch, now under your tongue and your nails, a small scratch.

“Oh, fuck no.” You hear scrambling as you walk around the table and stop, staring down at Ashley.

She’s crawling back from you, back from the fire curling from your whole body, and disgust curls in your gut. For the first time you feel anger—insatiable and gory anger—all of your own. No city lights flash around you, no hollow music dances around your head. You don’t fear Ashley. She’s weak and spineless. She’s willing to cover her hands in Ryan’s blood, in your blood, to keep herself safe from Homelander. She’s staring at you, terrified, and you don’t need to touch her to know it isn’t even a fraction of all the fear you felt in that white room. That white room she knows about, may have seen, and is still trying to keep Homelander happy.

You bend down, letting all your hatred for Vought, for her, cover your features. When you speak, your words are clear and low.

“You are going to tell Butcher how to access the thumbdrive. A-Train and you are going to take some food with you, and walk back to the tower. You aren’t going to tell Homelander about this, and if he asks, offer him some leftovers. A-Train will erase your activity from the files, and you’re going to pretend the whole night never happened. If you tell Homelander about either me or Be-“ You correct yourself smoothly. “Soldier Boy, the last thing I will do before he locks me away again is kill you. Do I make myself clear?”

Ashley nods frantically, flinching when you raise your hand.

“Say it. Say that I made myself clear.”

“You-“ Ashley stutters, hiccuping. “You made yourself clear.”

You draw yourself back up. “Good. Butcher, I’m leaving. You can drive me and come back, or Ben can steal your car, but I’m leaving.”

When you turn, when you see the looks on your team’s face, all the anger is gone, and suddenly there is a crushing, painful weight of shame on your chest. They’re looking at you like Ashley had been, like you’re no better than Homelander. Like maybe you should go back in the room, it would be safer for them, it would be safer for everyone if you were far, far away-

“You heard the lady.” Ben is standing, walking around to your side. “It’s late. We’re leaving. Sunshine?” He offers you his arm, and you stare between it and your own, still covered in flame. Looking up, his face looks bored, as if this is just another Tuesday, and he offers his arm to women who are actively ablaze on a regular basis.

Your face feels slack, and all you can manage is to blink at him. I’ll burn you, Pretty Boy. It’ll hurt.

His brows subtly knit, and he doesn’t move. I’ll live, Sunshine. Don’t let them see you break. We’re going home.

You look back at your team, a wide circle of berth having formed around you and Ben. Butcher is looking between the two of you, and you recognize that glint in his eyes. You’d seen it before, but it’s only been really, truly directed at you once. In a graveyard in Boston, gravestones and bushes around you burning in the dead of winter, holding a bucket of ice that steamed off your skin. Under it, fear begins to creep back into you, exhaustion pushing it forward. Butcher reaches behind him, and your knees feel weak.

But you don’t fall. Zealous anger, strong and raw, spreads through you and Butcher’s movements still. You look down and find Ben’s arm unflinchingly looped through yours, his body at its full height as his eyes rake coldly over Butcher.

The silence hangs in the air, cut through only by Ashley’s quick, sobbed breaths. For a second you think the smoke seeping from you will overtake the room before anyone moves, but Butcher slowly reaches into his pockets, eyes not leaving Ben’s, and throws the keys at Hughie.

“Drop them off, Mate, then come right back. No bloody detours.”

Hughie stares at the keys, looking like he’s going to protest, but Kimiko grabs them before he can.

She turns to you, completely composed, no fear wavering as she locks your eyes with hers. I’ll take you.

Before you can thank her, Frenchie steps forward, signing as he speaks. “Mon Coeur, you cannot drive.”

She frowns. Yes I can.

“No, Mon Coeur, not legally.” Frenchie says, exasperated, and you have a feeling this is not first time they've had this debate.

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you. Fine. She signs back at Frenchie, throwing the keys at him. You’ll do it.

Frenchie stumbles as he catches them, giving Kimiko a shocked look, which she pretends not to see as she walks to the door, signing at you as she passes.

Let’s go before Butcher’s brain starts working.

A small smile threatens your face, and you move, tugging Ben’s arm only once before he falls into pace with you, Frenchie scrambling behind you both.

The car ride back feels longer. The moment you’d stepped out of the diner, your body had extinguished, and you had a worrying sense that the only thing keeping you from collapsing on the sidewalk was Ben’s arm firm through yours. No words were said for the entirety of the drive, you and Ben in the backseat as Frenchie drove and Kimiko lounged in shotgun, and your brain raced. Ben hadn’t let go, and the drums were fading in and out of your chest as he stared ahead into the night.

You arrived at the safe house, only a street lamp casting a dull glow across the street. The chill of the wind cutting against you as Kimiko walked you to the door, Frenchie mumbling something about keeping the car safe from Hooligans. Ben made to step inside, but halted, still not releasing your arm, as you stayed at the doorstep.

At his questioning glare, you tried to wiggle his arm from yours. “Go inside, Ben. I’ll be right there.”

He looked down at where he was still connected with you, and you felt reluctance in time with the drums, but he let go with a scowl. “Be fast,” he grunted, and stomped into the house.

You watched until he’d disappeared fully down the hall, turning to Kimiko only once his back was shrouded in the darkness of the house.

“Thank you,” you give her a soft smile, signing as you speak. “I- I don’t know what happened, I just-“

She shakes her head, and you trail off. I understand. I get angry too. She pauses, hands hovering for only a second. We are not like them. She points down the street, in the direction of the tower, and then past you, into the house. We get to be angry.

“I don’t want to be angry.” You say softly. “He wins when I get angry.”

Kimiko gives you a sad look, placing a hand on your arm. Her own frustration, her fear of Homelander, all the anger at the world, sinks into you. She holds your gaze for a second before drawing back to sign once more. He doesn’t win when you’re angry. He wins when you’re scared. You’re not Soldier Boy. Your anger is good.

You glance back into the house. “I think he- Ben- Soldier Boy- is scared. Or something. His emotions are really fucking confusing.”

You let him touch you. She signs. Does he know?

“He said he didn’t care, because he’s, and I quote, ‘not a pussy with something to hide’.”

But he’s scared? She gives you a questioning frown. Do you think it’s because of Russia? Could you fix it, like you offered for me?

“I’m not sure, but-“ you’re cut off as Frenchie honks the horn, leaning out the window.

“Mon Coeur!” His odd position makes his signing almost unintelligible, which he seems to realize, and raises his voice. “Monsieur Butcher says to get back ‘like a hare with a bomb up it’s arse'.”

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you, but signs a goodbye, giving your hand a small squeeze before returning to the car. As the engine rumbles, Frenchie pulling out the driveway, Kimiko’s calm faith lingers in you, and you walk back into the house, shutting the door behind you.

Almost all the lamps and ceiling lights of the house are off, the TV glowing from where you had abandoned it several hours ago. From the bottom of the stairs, you can see the upstairs hall is washed in a soft yellow, and when you reach the top Ben’s door is open, the light from within filling the hall. You stop at the entrance to his room, his back to you as he pulls a cotton shirt over his head.

You let out a small cough in a weak attempt to alert him to your presence.

“You’re allowed to just come in, Sunshine.” He grunts, still facing away. “I’m not a shy little virgin you need to pussyfoot around.”

You let out a small hum, walking over the threshold and stopping a few feet behind him. “Thank you.” You say softly, and he turns around to look at you.

His eyes are tired. Pained. Something looks like it’s pulling at him and it scares you. You’ve seen that expression before, when you’d woken him up that first day, at the Neuman mission, when you pulled him from nightmares with sharp hits, but never just there. It was always with something. This was like an island, just him and you, nothing pulling it out of him.

“Don’t thank me.” He says gruffly. Even his voice is drained. “You mostly held your own.”

“But-“

“And stop feeling bad about that Ashley bitch. She fucking deserved it.”

You stare at him. “You really believe that?”

He lets out a hollow laugh. “She was fucking pathetic. A fucking pussy. Fucking eating out Homelander’s fucking hand, brown-nosing him until he fucking cums and pays her, letting him take you-“ His jaw clenches. “I fucking meant it when I said we’re not going back Sunshine. I’m not a goddamn pussy liar.”

“I didn’t think you were. But, you…” Your voice fades as you try to find the words. “I could feel you. At the diner.”

“I fucking know, that was the goddamn point. I wasn’t going to let you start crying in front of those self-righteous pussies.”

“No, Ben.” You shake your head. “I could feel you. I could feel it.” You place a hand over your chest. “It was building. There was something beating against you, inside you. And you looked…” You watch him carefully. “Scared.”

“Fucking watch it.” He growls. “I don’t get fucking scared. I’m not-“

“A fucking pussy. I know.” You sigh. “I don’t want to, I can’t, fight right now. I’m so fucking tired. You can scream at me in the morning, but not right now, please.”

He stares at you, and just when you think he’s going to start yelling, he nods. “You’re…” He sounds strange. “You’re ok.”

Just like the last time he said it, the words aren’t phrased like a question. They don’t feel like a question. It feels like he’s just telling you again. But there’s something under it this time, something that makes his words almost unsure. Something that makes up your mind faster than you thought you would.

“Are you?” You ask quietly.

“Of course I fucking am.”

“Ben.” You tilt your head at him. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to respond now.”

“You’re being fucking weird, Sunshine.”

“Please.”

He relents with a grunt. “Fucking fine. What.”

“I can fix it.” It’s so hard to keep his gaze as you speak. “It will take time, but I can fix it.”

“Fix what.” He scowls. “There’s nothing to fucking fix.”

“Your PTSD.”

“I don’t fucking have-“

“Ben, I could feel it. It’s dangerous. I could fix it.” You take a deep breath. “I can fix internal injuries as well. I offered to fix Kimiko’s muteness, but she didn’t want me to do it.”

“Then what fucking makes you think-“

“Muteness isn’t dangerous. And it would’ve been harder for me, I might have ended up mute myself. You’re dangerous like this. You can’t fucking control it, and don’t try and lie and say it’s under control. Ashley mentioned putting you back under, and you looked like someone was drowning you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sunshine.” He leers at you. “You don’t fucking know me, know what it was like-“

“I do. You know I do.” You whisper, and the anger on his face breaks. “More than anyone else, I know. I can fix it, but you’ll have to let me. Just-“ You search his eyes, not sure what you’re looking for. “Just think about it. I won’t mention it again, I won’t even touch you, but my offer will stay on the table. Please, just think about it.”

Before you can leave, he grabs your hand. A rush of painful exhaustion runs through you, and there’s anger, but it’s not full of the fervor you’ve come to expect from him. It’s not even at you. It’s wide and almost consuming, leaving room for only a small kernel of something fragile and warm.

“I don’t care if you keep touching me, Sunshine. I've go nothing to hide from you, and that’s not going to change. But there’s nothing in me you need to fucking fix, so don’t fucking bother.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Ben,” You murmur. "But remember, you burn, I burn. Please don't burn." Your last words are soft, and the kernel pulses.

“Good,” he grunts, releasing your arm. A small smirk crawls onto his face. “Now I don’t care if it’s here or in your room, Sunshine, but you need to go the fuck to bed. You look like shit.”

Just as he says it, the full weight of your fatigue hits you. You give a mumbled acknowledgement of his words, and try to leave the room, but all the adrenaline is gone from your system and nothing is left to stop the failure of your legs or droop of your eyes. The last thing you feel is something pulling you up before your knees hit the carpet, the last thing you see is green eyes on your own, and you hear an amused snort from above you.

“Goodnight, Sunshine. Try not to dream about me.”

You try to object, but sleep pulls you under before you can even remember why you need to.

[rip-quizilla]

Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 1

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: An enemies to friends to enemies to lovers story. Slow-burn love story based on the film "When Harry Met Sally"

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags for Entire Fic (from AO3): Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Inspired by When Harry Met Sally (1989), Slow Burn, Romantic Fluff, eventual smut, Good Friend Robin Buckley, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Eddie Munson Lives, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, no one dies, Reader-Insert

Divider was created by the lovely and talented @hellfire--cult❤️

“The first time we met, we hated each other.”

“No, you didn’t hate me, I hated you.”

“The second time we met, you didn’t remember me-”

“I did too, I remembered you!”

“The third time we met, we became friends.”

“We were friends for a long time.”

“And then we weren’t.”

“And then we fell in love.”

Part 1

The first time you met Eddie Munson, he was dressed as Jason Voorhees.

It was Halloween, so the mask wasn’t completely out of the blue. He was 13, his hair was buzzed, and you had never (to your knowledge) spoken a single word to the boy.

The year was 1979. You and your best friend, Robin, had made the executive decision that you were too old for trick-or-treating, opting to stay home and watch scary movies in your bedroom instead. Deaf to the rest of the world, the two of you had holed yourselves up in the darkness of your room, huddled together in front of your TV set under a patchwork quilt your grandmother had made as you watched Carrie go on a blood-soaked killing spree. 

Both of you swore up and down that you weren’t scared, but that didn’t stop either of you from screaming like banshees when a tap at your window revealed Jason’s hockey mask and a plastic knife. 

Though you were only 13 yourself, you’d furiously thrown open your window, jammed your bare feet into a pair of sneakers and launched yourself into a high-speed chase after the stupid, stupid soul who had tried to make a fool out of the wrong girl.

It hadn’t taken you long to catch up to him; the masked menace had slowed down once he’d thought he was far enough from your house. You could see him up ahead, laughing with his friends and reenacting your terrified screams as he waved the prop knife in the air. 

You never stopped running, waiting until you were just about thirty feet from pint-sized Jason before yelling, “You’re dead, dipshit!”

Even though he was wearing a mask, your adversary’s body language spoke for itself- from the way he froze, then turned in the direction of your voice, then took off running- you could tell that he hadn’t expected you to race after him. His friends watched, dazed as you shoved them aside in pursuit of the punk in a mask that you were gaining on with every stride. When you finally caught up to him in the grassy field beside the neighborhood playground, you grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked as hard as you could. 

The kid hit the ground with a loud “Oof”, throwing up his hands in surrender as you stood over him and took the lapels of his denim jacket in your two clenched fists. You could see his big brown eyes behind the mask, wide with terror that matched the shrillness in his voice. 

“Whoa whoa whoa, hey hold- HOLD ON!” He raised his hands out defensively in front of his face. “I’m sorry, okay? Jeez, you caught me, I’m caught, I surrender!”

You paused, glaring at the little heathen for a second before shoving him back on the ground. As soon as you let go, you heard a muffled sigh of release behind the mask as the terror before you unmasked himself. You recognized the kid’s face, but couldn’t quite place where you knew him from.

“Do I know you?” you asked, hands placed on your hips. You took a couple of steps back, allowing him room to push himself off the ground.

The kid looked at his feet, avoiding your eye contact as he huffed out a humorless laugh. “Of course.” he muttered to himself before answering your question at normal volume. “Yeah, uh, Eddie Munson. We have history together.” 

You watched him, unmoving, raising an eyebrow. When he looked up and saw your skeptical expression, his eyes widened and he practically hopped up off the ground. “Class! History class!” He brushed his hands on his jeans before shoving them in his pockets and looking back down at the grass between his sneakers. “We’re in the same history class.”

You nodded slowly, still struggling to place him in your memory. “Cool.” you replied, face expressionless. “So you snuck over to my window in a Jason mask… why? Exactly?” Your tone was sharp and accusing.

The kid- Eddie- looked at you confused, as if he hadn’t heard you right. He looked around, gesturing vaguely to the various trick-or-treaters, plastic pumpkin heads and candy-filled pillow cases held in each sticky little fist. 

“It’s Halloween,” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m going to everyone’s windows.” 

“Just to scare people?” You asked, the accusatory tone of your voice impossible to miss. “You have nothing better to do?” 

He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest as he defensively avoided your eyes. You waited a moment in silence before huffing out a breath and stomping past him. Robin was still sitting in your bedroom, undoubtedly on the verge of a nervous breakdown after being scared half to death and abandoned soon thereafter. 

“Whatever. Stay away from me.” you left him with those parting words and marched back to your house, Ready to go back to school on Monday and thoroughly ignore him in history class. 

The second time you met Eddie Munson, you were at the Hawkins High Winter Formal, circa 1982.

You were clip-clopping angrily in your satin heels and ignoring the obnoxious way they echoed in the eerily empty tiled hallway. “Tyler, hold on.” you bit out, struggling to keep the desperation in your chest from seeping into your tone. “Tyler, wait!” You reached out and managed to grab your date by the crook of his elbow, but he shrugged you off. 

“Forget it, I’m going.” he grunted, not even bothering to face you. “I never wanted to go to this dumb dance anyway.” 

The cool chill of December night air hit you hard as he launched the exit doors open. Your arms flew up to shield your bare shoulders from the icy breeze, heels crunching against the uneven concrete as you stepped through the open doorway.

“Tyler, this is so stupid! Just come back inside, it’s freezing!” 

He just shook his head, making a beeline for his beat-up baby blue pickup. You’d matched your dress to that pickup. You had searched every boutique in Hawkins to find the perfect shade of baby blue… and now he was leaving you to drive away in it. 

Tyler continued to ignore you as he opened the driver-side door, hopped in, stuck his key in the ignition, and pulled out of the parking lot. That left you standing in the cold, shivering in silence- completely alone.

Or so you’d thought.

“Trouble in paradise?”

The taunting question came from behind you, some twenty feet or so down the wall. You turned to see who had witnessed your embarrassingly loud spat with your date, and immediately gave a sigh and an eye roll when you saw who it was. 

Eddie’s hair had grown long over the years, dark curls now coiled past his earlobes, just shy of brushing the shoulders of his black leather jacket. The way it framed his face in the warm lamplight- it struck you that Eddie Munson was actually kind of pretty. Certainly easier on the eyes than he had been with that ridiculous buzzcut. You were surprised to see him here- dances didn’t seem like his thing. Obviously, he didn’t know the meaning of the word formal, judging by the absence of any clothing items that might deserve the word. He leaned casually against the dimly-lit brick wall, hands in his pockets and eyeing you curiously.

“Mind your business, Munson.” You scowled, turning to grasp the handle of the door- and felt your heart plummet when you realized the door was locked. 

“All the doors but the ones by the front office are set to lock from the outside.” Eddie supplied you with an answer to a question you hadn’t needed to ask. “You’ll have to go all the way around.” 

You huffed out a frustrated, humorless chuckle. “I wouldn’t say I’m all too eager to go back in there in the first place.”

Silence hung in the air between the two of you. Weighing your options for a moment, you settled on postponing your inevitable embarrassment by joining Eddie Munson in leaning against the painted brick wall. You knew the way your friends talked about Tyler; how they’d tell you he was always an asshole and they’d told you such since the beginning of your relationship. 

You’d rather deal with the school outcast right now.

Eddie’s eyebrows stayed raised on his forehead for nearly a full minute once you took up your spot next to him on the wall. You didn’t say anything, not for a while. Finally, the silence was broken when you let out a loud, involuntary shiver, hands clutching your shoulders and rubbing up and down your upper arms in a desperate attempt to warm up.

Eddie glanced over at you, rolling his eyes at how pointedly you were avoiding his eye contact. Letting out a heavy sigh, he asked with the least amount of enthusiasm possible-

“Do you want my jacket?”

You looked up at him, a look that mixed incredulity and disgust painted across your expression. “Well not when you ask like that.”

Eddie scrunched up his nose, dropping one eyebrow while the other stood its ground. “Like what?”

“Like it’s an obligation.”

“Like what’s an obligation?”

You huffed, “Offering me your jacket!”

Eddie chuckled humorlessly, “Now why,” he spoke your first and last name as if it were a pompous title like ‘Grand Duchess’ or ‘Queen of Sheba’,  “-would I feel obligated to offer you my jacket?”

You huffed. Again. The sound of your heels crunching once more over the pavement as you turned to face him tore through the silent winter air. You couldn’t believe you were explaining this to him, as if he didn’t already know. 

“When a girl is cold, and she doesn't have a jacket, boys are taught that they’re supposed to offer that girl their jacket.”

Eddie nodded as you spoke, as if he were an eager student learning something life-changing from his favorite professor. “Fascinating, fascinating… and who teaches this to boys?” 

You crossed your arms over your chest defensively, wishing he would just give up the bit and hand over his jacket. “Seriously?” 

He waited, smiling eagerly. You couldn’t stand this guy.

 “Ugh, I don’t know, fathers, I guess?”

“Ahh, well you see-” Eddie muttered, waving his pointer finger in the air as if he were about to shout ‘eureka’. “-I didn’t grow up with a father, so where did I learn it then?”

You knew he was trying to make you feel bad. Trying to make you uncomfortable so you left him alone. You wouldn’t play his game, though. 

Giving him a haughty smile and shaking your head slightly, you replied, “Well maybe your mother knew to teach you anyways and you learned it from her.”

Eddie sucked his teeth, making a sympathetic hiss to accompany the wince on his face. “That’s the thing, my mom’s dead so I don’t have one of those either.” 

You came up short after that one. Remorse weighed heavy in your chest, realizing that the game you were playing may not be worth winning.

You were both silent for nearly a minute before you spoke-

“Does the offer to take your jacket still stand?”

“What if it doesn’t?” His retort was bitter and immediate. 

You sighed heavily, closing your eyes and hanging your head in defeat. “Then I would understand completely, due to my being a bitch.” 

He looked at you, took in your pitiful, shivering form, and rolled his eyes again. “Jesus Christ, here-”

Eddie shrugged off his leather jacket and placed it over your shoulders. You immediately felt yourself relax into it, feeling the warm satiny lining melt like butter onto your gooseflesh skin. You tugged it tight around yourself and slipped your arms into the sleeves. 

“Thank you.” you said warmly, giving him a grateful and apologetic smile. 

Silence settled over the two of you again, and you were curious if he felt the elephant in the room trumpeting as loudly as you did. You decided to test the waters. 

“So… what did you do this Halloween?”

You nearly jumped when Eddie clapped loudly, spinning in a circle and grinning at you like a kid who’d just beat their high score at the arcade. 

“You remember!” He laughed, elated and grinning at you so largely that you couldn’t help but grin in return. 

“Remember what? The heart attack you almost gave me, or the look on your face when I tackled you to the ground?” You were laughing with him, pride and nostalgia painting your smile with colors that matched the glee in his eyes. He’d remembered that night for years, he couldn’t get it out of his head if he tried. 

“How about the way it made you remember my name?” His eyes sparkled, cockiness written on every inch of his face.

You gawked, a little bit impressed by his forwardness. Was Eddie Munson flirting with you? That was the last thing you’d expected out of tonight. You decided to play along. 

“Well yeah, how else was I going to report you to the police for public disturbance?” 

“You could’ve just given them a physical description and they’d’ve known it was me, disturbing the public is a favorite pastime of mine.”

“It was dark, I couldn’t see you well enough to give a thorough description.” 

“You can see me now, what would you tell them?” 

Eddie was quiet, patient…waiting for you to take the bait. You were just about to, before you were interrupted by the rev of an engine at the end of the parking lot. It snapped you out of your trance. 

Glancing up toward the source of the sound, you felt a wash of relief when you identified it as Tyler’s pickup truck. Quickly, you slipped out of Eddie’s jacket, shoving it into his arms and rushing to meet Tyler at the curb. You stopped after a few steps to look back at Eddie. 

“That’s Tyler, I need to go talk to him. Thanks for letting me wear your jacket, and I’m sorry about-”

Eddie hissed out a sharp laugh, digging into his pockets and retrieving a cigarette and lighter. He shook his head ruefully, muttering a “Just go. Have fun at the dance.” and that was that. You were dismissed, conversation over. 

Which was a good thing, right? Tyler wouldn’t like you hanging out with “The Freak”…  This was better. You took a few more steps forward, stopped, then looked over your shoulder one more time at Eddie. 

He was staring straight at you. Your heart rate accelerated exponentially. 

BEEP BEEEEEP!

Tyler was parked at the curb. 

Plastering a forgiving smile on your face you rushed to the truck. “Coming, I’m coming!”

Eddie watched you climb into the car. He looked away when Tyler the asshat glared daggers at him. He pretended to be more interested in his cigarette than the fact that this guy treated you like garbage, yet you still ran to him like a lost puppy. He ignored the wishful thinking that someone might ever look at him the way you’d just looked when that truck pulled up to the curb. 

Your dress matched his car. Had you done that on purpose? If he had asked a girl to the dance, would she have found a dress to match his van? That would be a horrible idea, his van was dingleberry brown and laminate countertop yellow. Eddie was pretty sure those weren’t going to be colors featured in the latest Gunne Sax catalog. 

Tyler’s baby blue pickup parked in the back of the lot. Eddie watched the lights shut off. Neither of you got out of the truck.

He took another drag from his cigarette.

The third time you met Eddie Munson was in the theater department during your junior year. 

You’d joined theater because you needed the fine arts credit. Thus far in your high school career, you hadn’t signed up for choir (your voice sucked), band (you didn’t have time to practice with your part time job at Scoops Ahoy), or drawing & painting (you couldn’t draw for shit). Ergo, theater was your only option. Unfortunately for you- and for the theater director, Mr. Chavez- you soon discovered that you have horrible stage fright. 

In lieu of forcing you to play a part onstage, Mr. Chavez said he would award you credit for the class if you agreed to be stage manager for this year’s spring play. That was why you were in the theater department late into the afternoon on a Friday, gluing fake moss to a fake tree.

You’d been warned that the Dungeons &Dragons club had their sessions in the theater on Friday nights, so you weren’t surprised when Eddie Munson and his band of merry nerds waltzed into the auditorium. 

Eddie, however, was surprised to see you.

He paused mid-sentence when he was greeted by the sight of you, hot glue gun in hand, bent over a long piece of cardboard cut to resemble a cartoonish-looking tree.

“Uhh,” he started, “Hellfire has the auditorium on Fridays.” 

You nodded, glancing up at him as if you’d just noticed his presence. “Yeah, I’ll stay out of your way, just working on set pieces for the play. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing you suspiciously. “I doubt that.” he muttered, but it was loud enough for you to hear. You took the high road and chose to ignore it. 

You stayed focused on your half-finished cardboard tree while Eddie and his cronies began setting up for whatever Dungeons & Dragons was. You were pretty sure it was a board game or something, you hadn’t heard much about it other than it was another thing that everyone made fun of Eddie for. 

Time passed. You held true to your word- as more Hellfire members showed up and sat down to begin their game, you continued to mind your business and silently work on your set pieces. You remained quiet as a mouse, but as time continued to tick on, you couldn’t help but catch bits and pieces of Eddie’s narration as the game progressed. You’d finished your work about forty-five minutes after the game began, but you’d become so engrossed in the story that Eddie was spinning for his friends that you pretended to be busy until their playing drew to a close for the night. You could see why these kids loved the game when they had someone like Eddie leading them through the storyline- he was a very immersive storyteller, unafraid to use a different voice for every character, transforming every aspect of himself to suit the needs of the story. 

When they all began to pack up, you did the same and busied yourself with gathering your belongings into your backpack. To your surprise, you noticed a pair of Chuck Taylors out of your peripheral walking toward you. 

“You uhh…” Eddie said, bending a knee to help you gather your things. “...you get all of your work done?” 

You gratefully accepted your composition notebook from him. “Um, everything I needed to finish tonight, yeah.” You replied, offering him a smile. “That game actually seems cool, you’re a good storyteller.”

That seemed to flatter him enough to elicit a genuine smile. “Yeah? You liked it?” you nodded, grin slipping further until it showed your teeth. Eddie tucked his head down shyly, but still unable to hide the obvious satisfaction on his face. “So when’s the play?”

You sighed. “Not for about three weeks. I’m the stage manager, so I’ve got my work cut out for me… pretty sure I’ll need to keep staying late on Fridays until then if I’m going to be ready in time-”

“You can’t work on it any other day of the week?” He interrupted.

You balked. Well, at least he isn’t beating around the bush… but still, rude. 

Eddie, who winced the moment he’d spoken, seemed to read your mind. “Shit, that came across ruder than I’d meant- I just meant that I didn’t realize you were so busy every other day.” 

You eyed him suspiciously. Yeah, sure. Nice save. 

“Well,” you sigh, “I tutor on Mondays and Tuesdays, work on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, and-”

“Where do you work?” Eddie interrupted… again. 

You tried not to let your frustration seep into your tone. “I, uhh, I work at that ice cream shop at the mall, Scoops Ahoy.” 

Eddie’s smug smile was slow as it crept across his face. “Wait… is that the place with the little sailor outfits?”

You rolled your eyes; you’d walked right into this one. “Yes, it is.” 

He bit his lip, like he wanted to say something but was holding it back. “Geez, they better pay you well if you have to wear that monstrosity.”

You chuckled, zipping up your backpack and pulling it over your shoulder as you stood up. “Yeah, pay’s not too bad. It’s enough that I should be able to pay to get my car fixed by the end of the school year, so that-”

“What happened to your car?”

You huffed, annoyed. “God, Munson, you ever heard someone finish a sentence before?”

Eddie’s eyes widened, his open mouth clamping shut. Your angry eyes softened- your tone had been a bit harsh. 

“Sorry-”

“Sorry-”

You both apologized simultaneously, followed by a chuckle from the both of you. After a beat of silence, Eddie smiled tightly and gestured for you to go first. 

“I drive an old car, and it needs a few parts replaced before I can take it back out on the road safely… so until then, I’m a perpetual pedestrian.” 

Eddie frowned, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re walking home?”

You nodded, not seeing the problem. “I don’t live far, it’s only a ten minute walk.” 

He didn’t seem satisfied by that reply. “It’s pretty dark out, you want me to just drive you home?” 

You opened your mouth to decline his offer, but no sound came out. He had a point- the path home wasn’t very well-lit; some might even consider it dangerous, since there wasn’t a sidewalk for most of your route. You gave him a slightly apologetic smile. 

“You’re sure it won’t be any trouble?”

He shook his head, eyebrows scrunching as if it were ludicrous for you to even ask the question. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” Gesturing to the table- which was now deserted by the other members (when had they all left?)- Eddie said, “Just let me get all my stuff together and we’ll head out, cool?”

You nodded, smiling gratefully. “Yeah, cool. Thanks, Eddie.”

He waved you off, busying himself with the multitudes of papers and little plastic figures strewn across the table.

Once you were both ready to leave, you followed Eddie out to his car- er, van. It was a very large van. Once inside, the smell of weed was unmistakable. Eddie realized this the moment you sat down. 

“Sorry about the, uh…” he began, wincing and gesturing to the air around him. 

“...weed smell?” you supplied, smirking.

He barked out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Didn’t know if you’d recognize it.”

You feigned offense, placing a dramatic hand over your heart as he turned the key in the ignition. “Edward Munson, are you drawing the conclusion that I’m a prude who can’t place the smell of marijuana?” 

He laughed- a real laugh, haughty and unbridled. “Well for starters, people who smoke marijuana don’t call it marijuana.” You felt the shocks working beneath your seat as he shifted the car from park to drive, pulling out of his parking space and exiting the lot. 

“Okay, you blew my cover.” You giggled. “What do you call it, then?” 

Eddie made a show of thinking it over. “Oh, lots of things- weed, mary jane, grass- the devil’s lettuce is my personal favorite.” 

You snorted. “That’s one I haven’t heard before.” 

“I love teaching people new  things.” Eddie smiled, taking his eyes off the road a moment to flash another smile in your direction. 

A comfortable quiet settled over the van, breaking only for you to advise Eddie on which turns to take on the way to your house. 

After a few moments of silence, Eddie spoke up.

“So are you still dating that guy… Timmy, Tucker…?”

“You mean Tyler?” you supplied.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “God, don’t remind me I ever dated that asshole.” smiling ruefully, you shook your head. “No, he was bad news. A whole three months of my life wasted that I’ll never get back.”

Eddie whistled. “Damn, guy really did a number on you, huh?”

You shrugged. “I think I was so obsessed with the idea of being with someone like him that I missed all the red flags that were so obvious to everyone else. It hurt for a while after I finally broke up with him, but I got over it.”

He was quiet, contemplative as he nodded to your words. You turned to face Eddie completely. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I’ve never heard about you going out with anyone.”

Eddie snorted. “Even if I was going out with someone, I doubt you’d hear about it.”

Your brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean my love life- nonexistent as it is- isn’t exactly the hot gossip of Hawkins High.” Eddie’s eyes never wavered from the road ahead as he turned into your neighborhood. 

You raised your eyebrows at that. “Actually, if you dated someone I think a lot of people would talk about it.”

Eddie looked at you, confused, almost like he didn’t believe you. 

“Seriously,” you confirmed, “When somebody dates all the time, no one really cares who the next person they date is. But when somebody who never dates starts dating somebody, everybody talks about it.”

His expression remained unchanged as he digested that information. After a moment, he sighed, replying, “In that case, I’m never dating anyone until I’m out of Hawkins.” 

“What? Why?” you pointed out your house at the end of the street.

“Because I wouldn’t wish school-wide gossip on anyone, it’s taken me a lifetime to get used to it.” He gave you a snarky smile and shook his head. “Most people aren’t as strong as I am, they’d crack under the weight of infamy.”

You countered his snark with disbelief, but couldn’t hide a smile at his reply. “Well I’m glad you have such a high opinion of yourself, Eddie, but I think you need to give people more credit. The right person wouldn’t care about the gossip, they’d care about you more.”

The van jolted as it came to a stop in front of your house. “Well if I ever find someone who fits that description, I’ll let you know,” Eddie replied, “but until then, I think I’ll let people keep gossiping about me for the normal reasons.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt, hauling your heavy backpack onto your lap. “Such as…?”

“Devil worshiper, white trash, spawn of satan…” Eddie made a show of counting them out on his fingers. You giggled. He grinned. 

“Well, in all seriousness-” you said softly, “I think you’re selling yourself short. I mean don’t get me wrong, you can be annoying as all hell,” You gave him a pointed glance, silently laughing a bit at his wry side-eye, “but from what I can tell, there’s a nice guy hiding underneath all that rockstar hair.”

“Rockstar hair, huh?” You nodded and his grin grew wider, now accompanied by a blush that Eddie hoped you wouldn't see if he looked down at his lap and let his ‘rockstar hair’ form a curtain around his face. You caught it anyway. “While calling me ‘nice’ is very… generous of you, you don’t really know shit about me so I’m not sure that you’re a qualified source-”

“I know you’re the kind of guy who gives his jacket to girls whose dates leave them at dances, and doesn’t embarrass them with questions about why the date is leaving.” It was your turn to interrupt him now. “And now I know you’re also the kind of guy who cares enough to give someone a ride home because it’s dark enough outside for him to fear for their safety.”

 Eddie was quiet, smiling tightly but refusing to meet your eyes. “Well…” he drew the word out until it was three-syllables long. Shyly, he looked up at you through his dark brown curls. “...that’s what friends do, right?”

The smile that bloomed across your face was so sudden, it surprised even you. “We’re friends now, huh?”

He mirrored your smile, back to his devil-may-care brashness that you’d come to expect from him. “I said no such thing, now get out of my van.” His words did nothing to dampen the joy evident on his face.

You laughed in response, pulling the handle of your door to do just that. “Don’t lie to yourself, Munson, I know what I heard!” Your smile was kind, but your eyes said something along the lines of na-na na-na na na.

He said nothing for a moment, just smiled back at you before shaking his head. 

“Bye, friend.” 

Your shoulders shook in a gentle laugh, and you replied, “Bye, friend.” before closing the car door and walking up the concrete walkway to your front porch. Eddie waited until you were inside before driving away. 

That day, four years and five months after you’d initially met Eddie Munson, was the first day of one of the strongest friendships of your life.

That friendship would last for about one year.

Part 2

[fruitcoops]

Bedsheets and Broomsticks

Day 7: the journey continues! Characters inspired by @lumosinlove's Sweater Weather, header by @noots-fic-fests.

Halloween movie #6: Jennifer's Body (2009), because who wouldn't want to hear Finn drop the "I go both ways" line next?

“It makes no sense.” Lily knelt and laid the map out, smoothing the creases with a few careful passes of her hands. The new angle did nothing. Patterns, clues…mystery, inked in dark lines.

The floor creaked beside her. “I dunno,” Remus said nervously. “Maybe that’s the point.”

The middling green of his shirt made him look sickly in the dank, low light of the house. James was still traipsing about the attic above them, no doubt. She had outright refused to even look at the ramshackle stairs leading up. The living room would be just fine, even if wool and tiny hardwood splinters threatened her knees through her thick stockings. She didn’t want to think about how long it had been since this carpet was cleaned.

The map was some sort of parchment, thin and brittle. Remus crouched beside her; Lily drew the candlestick closer, though she was hesitant to bring it near enough to risk any damage.

“I’m just not seeing it,” she murmured. Defeat was bitter and dry in her mouth. “There has to be something I’m missing.”

“The front door is here.” Remus tapped his index finger on the line-break closest to them. “And we’re here.”

“There’s no basement, just the second floor and the attic.”

“And the attic’s marked on the back,” he confirmed, finally sitting with a huff of breath. His knees and elbows cast spider-shadows on the far wall. The cuffs of his khakis were ragged and stained from trudging through the overgrown yard, where tall grass snuck in through the empty first-floor windows.

Lily chewed the inside of her cheek and pushed her headband back to clear her periphery. “Right. Okay. We’re missing the second floor, then.”

“Mhm.”

“So it’s lost.”

Something shifted. A faint mist of plaster puffed down from the ceiling, too close to be movement from the attic. Remus swallowed thickly. “Or it got taken.”

A shout split the gentle groaning of the house.

Lily flinched herself to standing, already reaching for Remus with both hands by the time the first drop of beeswax hit the map’s east corner and bled over the ink. “James!” Remus called as he backpedaled toward the front door. Footsteps pounded overhead—Lily dove for the map, abandoning the candle to its dead wick and wax oozing into the carpet’s tassels.

“Holy shit!” James’ voice echoed down the stairs. He was coming closer, closer, and Sirius was right behind him paws pattering bodies hitting the old walls they were running, coming full tilt at Lily and Remus.

“What is it?” Lily couldn’t breathe, could hardly speak. They tore through the house in a tumbling pile, through the dining room and kitchen and a parlor that stank of water damage.

“I don’t know!” James answered, equally frantic. “Something—it was white, it was near the stairs!”

“I told you not to go up there!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

His eyes were massive and blown dark behind his glasses. His hair was a mess. Lily let him grip her elbow and pull her down the hall after the others, past closets and the pitch-black sunroom.

The front door was still open. They just had to make it there.

In and around and out and down—she hopped over miniature staircases that she hadn’t even known were there, over thresholds to rooms that blurred into one another until it felt as if they were running in circles. Secret passages that would have fascinated her an hour ago only sent plaguing terror into her belly. She kept ahold of Remus’ knobbly wrist and tore after them, cursing the light heel of her shoes.

“The yard!” Remus hollered over his shoulder. The dark shadow of Sirius bounded ahead in two long strides, shoving a fallen chair out of their path with a scrabble of paws and a push from one massive shoulder.

The dog vanished out the door, cutting a path through the overgrowth with his body. Lily’s pulse muted any other sound but the one-two-one-two-one-two of her feet searching for purchase on the slanting floor of this endless hall.

One-two-one-two-one-two—

One. Two. Onetwoonetwoonetwoonetwo.

Sirius barked. Her heart tripped over itself. Footsteps, growing loud and close.

Lily planted her heel and wheeled around, already reaching out. For what, she didn’t know.

James was right—the thing was white.

And cottony, when she grabbed it by the face and yanked with every ounce of her strength.

The sheet billowed outward with a startled yelp and a burst of dust. Lily wanted to choke on it, but her lungs refused to do anything but suck in desperate gulps of air.

Severus’ grab for the sheet was futile. He froze. Lily stared.

“Lily!” he wheezed. “It was a joke, I’m sorry, I—”

She dropped the fabric and swung.

Severus hit the ground harder and faster than his stupid fucking bedsheet.

Sirius was sitting in the doorway when she turned again, his head cocked to the side and ears pricked up. He was the perfect height for Remus to bury both hands deep in the dark fur around his neck and hang on against his shock-wobbled legs. Lily narrowed her eyes at him. He blinked big silver eyes at her and whined softly. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to smell the difference between a ghost and a human?”

“You’re amazing,” James breathed.

Lily gave him a quick up-and-down look. “Nice costume, Potter. What are you going as? A dusty corner?”

James’ lopsided smile made her chest tight all over again. “Maybe.”

“You have cobwebs in your hair.”

“Sure.”

“And dust on your nose.”

“Whatever you say, Evans.”

He was ridiculous. And warm, when she threw her arms around his neck and let him dip her back for a kiss that stole her breath away more than any false ghost or skipped step. She twisted one hand in the front of his thick white sweater and the other in the orange cloth tied around his neck. He tilted his chin; the kiss deepened. Lily sighed and let herself melt.

--

Far away, curled up in her bed, Lily rolled onto her other side and buried her nose in the soft place of her husband’s jaw. No dreams could hurt her here.

[dontnoticemelol]

Neteyam x Reader– Angsty Oneshot

Warnings: Mentions of death, does not follow the movie's plot. Majority of this is angst with a sprinkle of fluff only✨.

Word Count : 7, 8k words, oops

____________________________________

He had never liked the future awaiting him. From his childhood, he knew exactly what was expected of him in the near future : three simple things.

Become Olo'eyktan, lead the village– these, he had come to terms with. As long as it made his family happy, he was also happy to go along with it.

The third and final however, warranted quite the opposite reaction from him. Finding a mate.

It was not in his interests to settle down and build a family. Since, he had basically sworn his life to serving as a warrior in his village. He often felt as though it was his whole life, his only identity. A sad identity, at that.

On that fateful night he stood guard, not far out the village. Although his body wanted to plunge into a deep slumber, he stayed put unwilling to let it overcome him.

He adjusted his given rifle, the cold metal brushed up against his chest. His hands firmly held the gun and his finger hovered over the trigger, instinctively.

Tense shoulders slightly bobbing up and down, following his breathing pace. He rolled them backwards, neck tilting to the right to relieve the ever-growing tension.

The dark forest was unusually silent– too silent, the exact words he had previously radioed over to his father. His concerns were brushed over by Jake, who accused him of lying to abandon his post.

Even the animals within a radius could not be heard. Not. One. Sound.

Suddenly, a rustling of leaves alerted him. He charged into the appropriate stance and aimed his gun at the bush. With squinted focused eyes, his heart beat picked up its pace.

His face frowned as a drop of sweat was pulled by gravity. It slid in between his eyebrows and kept going. Seconds passed, until, the source sprung out of the foliage in one swift movement.

An arrowdeer– a harmless arrowdeer. A sigh of relief left his lips and he eased up, braids swaying about when he retracted from the stance.

The animal's glossy orbs stared him down and he stared back. With his upper lip curled in annoyance from the false alarm. Strangely enough he thought it was mocking him, but his thoughts were rationalized upon thinking of how exhausted he was.

It blinked and slowly turned its head to the forestry, before trotting away. He had to admit– he was slowly succumbing to the nerves. Whether it was the deafening silence or the humans threatening to ambush at any moment. It was making him skittish.

His lips pursed and his chest rose up and down in slow deep breaths. A calming exercise to convince himself that nothing bad would come of tonight.

What he didn't know, was that in the same moment his fellow warriors lay unconscious on the ground. All with fresh wounds of impact on the back of their heads.

You silently treaded closer behind the guard. At once, the barrel of your gun struck his head. You moved quickly to catch him and prevent him from hitting the floor. This was the last of them– the twelve guards positioned around the village.

You got out of your crouch, after lowering him to the ground. Inspecting your good work, you saw his braids splayed out around his head.

You breathed in a shallow pace with your arms by your sides. Unfortunately, the gun accidentally touched your black cargo pants. This action left a trace of blood behind. 'Bummer' You thought to yourself. You actually liked these pants.

You made your way over to recheck the guard points, your gun now tucked deeply into your holster. This mission was proving to be easier than you had expected it to be.

You took large strides around the dark forest with a confused expression, recalling the information from the briefing.

They had informed you of the natives' otherworldly senses and fighting skills– yet, you had knocked out the entire guard team. Their "otherworldly" senses had not once picked up your dangerous presence.

His ears twitched when they caught the approaching footsteps. Only, they sounded loud enough to be one of his own kind. Yet, soft enough to ensure that he wouldn't be aware as they advanced towards him.

He thought he was surely paranoid– it could have only been another warrior coming to take over the next shift. Or it could have been his father.

He shifted slightly with the intention to turn around, half-expecting Jake. Perhaps trying to teaching him a lesson on using his senses to his best ability.

"Don't move." The voice pulsated throughout his eardrums, stopping him in his tracks.

'A female voice?' He thought himself. He felt a gun's muzzle touch the back of his head, alerting him of the inevitable danger he was in.

He swallowed hard but to no avail, his throat becoming dry shortly after. He had to make sure not to panic– or this would end badly.

Behind him, her breath and hands were both shaky. She had to improvise with her mission now ruined. Taking a life was something she had never done before, so she silently wished it wouldn't have to come down to that.

With his assault rifle still in hand, he thought of a plan. A risky plan— but a plan nevertheless. He moved as slowly as he could almost at a tortoise's pace. Completely unbeknownst to the female.

Your hands secured tightly around the gun and your frantic eyes took in as many features of him, as they could. That's when you noticed the beads on one of his braids. You thought back to the images shown during the briefing. The target displayed the very same beads– toruk makto's son.

'Improvise' The colonel's voice rang through your mind. 'If a mission does not go as planned– you improvise.'

This actually made your job easier because the target was brought straight to you, but still, the mission had gone wrong. The original plan wouldn't work anymore. Therefore, you had to improvise.

"Drop your weapon, and put your hands up!" You ordered harshly. The last thing you needed was his loud rifle alerting the rest of the clan.

His head turned slightly to the left and he got a small glance at your face. His features were visibly defiant, you thought perhaps he was contemplating. However, he obliged fairly quickly to your command and looked back in front.

The gun fell to the forest floor with a small thud, no more than a few centimeters from his feet. His arms raised slowly next to his head.

With your target now defenseless, you moved closer. Gun still pointed at him, you reached into the belt bag with your left hand. The sedative came out with no resistance and you pushed the cap off with your thumb.

You took note of his ears twitching insistently in the midst of lowering your hand. Before you could jab the needle into his neck, he turned around earning a gasp of surprise from you.

Your left arm was yanked towards the ground by his right one. You fired the silenced gun in your right hand. A muffled gun shot sounded, aimed at his chest. He hissed at the sound which clearly caused his eardrums pain.

Your eyes widened when you realised he dodged it, as he came to stand behind you. Your left arm was pulled behind your back and painfully twisted. You thought of firing again, but obviously, he also knew you would try this.

A small yelp escaped your lips when he punched the gun out of your hand, injuring your wrist in the process.

A deep groan of pain left your throat as both arms were subdued behind your back, twisted by his strong hands. A sore, stinging sensation coursed through your shoulders. You were almost certain your left shoulder was dislocated, but the pain wasn't harsh due to the overwhelming adrenaline.

Without a moment to catch your breath, his knee collided with your lower back and you fell to the floor. amount of pain. Your lip was bruised upon impact with the ground and the metallic scent filled your nostrils.

Your fast heartbeat sounded throughout your ears. His breathy pants reached your ears as he moved around you, also tired from this encounter.

You squirmed in pain when your upper body was lifted by your arms. Your wrists forced together over your lower back.

You were in shock. He was all but too good in combat, even better than most of your colleagues. Your wrists came into contact with a rough texture. You figured it was rope of some kind, once he started twisting it around your bruised joints.

Face contorting in discomfort as your shoulders pulled backwards more. He worked fast, but apprehensively and not quite rough once he noticed the amount of pain you were in. You found yourself in a rare predicament– captured by the one you had been sent to abduct.

Out of the corner of your eye, the guns lay atop the dirt– mocking you. You huffed in mild annoyance. The grip of the rope tightened as he finished tying a tight knot.

Suddenly, you felt a sharp prick on your arm, your eyebrows raised in alarm. You recognized this as the same sedative you were going to give him. Your body began feeling limp, dark swirls filling your eyesight and thought process turning muddy.

You saw his presence crouching down next to you through your eyelashes. He was inspecting you and assessing the effect of the liquid. His head tilted to one side slowly.

Your eyelids became heavy. They fought with all their might to stay open, but alas, they couldn't hold any longer.

A high-pitched beep attacked your sensitive ears, followed by a short static. "Sir, we have a problem." His voice reached your ears. Eventually turning into an incoherent speech as it too, faded into the darkness.

As you came to, your eyes slowly fluttered. Struggling in a fight against exhaustion and gravity. A sliver of light burned your retinas, passing through the barely open eyelids. Senses came back into focus, your hearing was graced by a smooth hum. Lulling you back to sleep and covering you as a shield of comfort.

'Am I dead?' You thought. Expecting a response, but what you only got from yourself was silence. Your mind was simply too tired to deliver your inside voice.

Next, came your sense of touch and feeling. Arms laid peacefully over your stomach, you felt a cold sensation around your wrists that extended towards your slightly exposed belly. Your nostrils flared impulsively after picking up a scent of herbs and spices. Although it wasn't the time, the aromas reminded you of food, making you feel hungry.

Barely audible crunching filled your left ear. Sounding in a tedious rhythm of 'on then off' . It wasn't like something being chewed. More like... gravel being crushed under boots.

A small sting passed over your left shoulder, you jolted upwards slightly at the uncomfortable sensation. The humming seemed to be moving around from behind you.

Confusion filled you. 'What happened? Where am I? How did I get here? ' This was the final nail in the coffin that tempted you to open your eyes.

You scrunched your face in the process of peeling your eyelids open, the muscles stung. Possibly indicating that you had been out for a while. At first– yellow blinding light was all you saw.

As a few seconds went by the light was replaced with blurry colours of dark red, brown and deep orange. With squinted eyes, your eyebrows raised upward, as if to dial the focus into your eyeballs.

A small groan of mild pain left your mouth once your eyes slowly focused.

'How long was I out?'

Fabric hung far over your head, held up by a large log. Your neck turned slowly to the right, a plethora of pots and baskets filled to the brim with herbs. 'Well that accounts for the smell.' The same fabric stretched from the ground to the log which you had previously seen.

You turned your gaze down your body and noticed the rug laid under you, intricately woven with arrays of warm toned colours. You looked past your chest moving up and down, and saw chains around your wrists. A small glint of light reflected into your eyes as they continued trailing ahead of your body.

There was an opening in the tent. Outside, soft sunlight glazed over the ground and casted tree shadows onto the tent's fabric. Unfortunately, you couldn't see more in the position you were in.

You turned your head to the left. Of course, as you had expected more pots came into view. What was unexpected, however– was the na'vi crouched with a mortar in hand, grinding something with a pestle. Their dark red coat moving about on each minor movement.

'The mission...' You thought, as the memories came rushing back to you. Remembering the instructions, the target, knocking out the guards, the mission going wrong, until finally– the sedative jabbed into your arm.

They must have heard your moment of panic because their movement stopped and they turned to you. She eyed you for mere seconds before she stood up, and came to kneel down next to you.

Your body tried to move away on instinct, from uncertainty of their character. Your eyes a tad wider than usual. Their observant eyes followed you.

"I see you are awake... And confused?" She spoke up, her voice laced with a sense of care yet, refined.

You stared at her, until it clicked that she was waiting for a response. You gave a small nod. It only seemed like the safer option in this situation.

"I am Mo'at, healer of this clan—" Her words were filled with grace and knowledge of her importance. Unsure of what to reply with, you nodded again. "You were brought to my tent during the night, with a broken shoulder. I healed you." She said, relishing in her good work.

Another memory came to mind. The moment your face was pushed towards the ground and the most excruciating pain you've ever felt engulfed your shoulder.

With a scratchy throat, you managed to push out barely audible words, "Thank you." You swallowed hard after.

You moved your arms to your lap and were reminded of the strong chain trapping your painful joints.

She looked at you in silence, then replied with a firm nod. You watched her, thinking she would address the attack you had carried out the previous night. Not another word came from her mouth though, instead she stood up and exited the tent. Leaving you with furrowed brows and confusion written over your face.

Her voice was slightly incoherent from outside, but you could have sworn you heard her call out the name 'Jake'. You didn't worry about it, preferring to relax your exhausted mind.

'Why did she help me? Surely she knows about what happened...' Your eyes closed slowly, tiredness pulling you back into the dreamworld.

Minutes later, the tent's fabric was thrown to the side in an aggressive manner. The sound it made alerted you and your eyes flew open. Walking in, was Jake Sully.

Panic overrode you. You knew of his disdain for the RDA and as luck goes— you happened to be one of them. To make matters worse, you also attacked his son. You sat up, ignoring the stinging and reached for something. Anything to get the upper hand on him. Your fast assassin instincts came in handy when your body lurched upwards with a high velocity.

You got into an attack stance with a sharp stick in hand as he walked closer. 'Why on earth, would they leave a sharp stick right next to me.' You thought to yourself.

His face was etched with a mixture of seriousness and hardness. He slowly raised his arms, his hands flat in the air facing your form. "Hey, woah!" He called out calmly, but loudly. "There's no need for that." His eyebrows raised up.

In response, you ignored his small protest. Unwilling to let your guard down. You face was complemented with ferociousness and downcast eyebrows with pursed lips. The stick shook in your weak hand, afterall you were still weak from being unconscious for... however long.

He took an apprehensive small step closer, knees slightly bent to reach your eye level. "Look— I'm not gonna hurt you." He held his calm exterior, as opposed to your noticeable panic. Your stance had turned sloppy, sure to be ineffective if he were to attack . Your wobbly legs shook like jello.

Your breathing got more riled up with slight dizziness and nausea clouding your senses. "I'm not an idiot! I know you will attack as soon as I drop this stick! " You spit back. Holding the weapon as if your life depended on it. Well, technically– it did.

You heard him let out a small frustrated sigh, "I won't. I promise." He placed his palm over his chest.

"No! You're lying. I attacked your guards and your son." You shook your head denyingly. Your eyes felt as though they were going to pop out of your skull from how wide they were. Too cautious to blink, they were increasingly turning more bloodshot by the second.

He took another small step. At this, you jabbed the stick into the air. Aimed at nothing in particular, more as a warning. Or as you had hoped–a telling threat that you were not playing around.

"I know what you did, but– I just wanna talk." He countered, tilting his head a bit.

You didn't know what you were thinking, but in your ears it sounded like a true statement. You lowered the stick and stepped back to stand up straight. It remained enclosed in your hand though, just as a safety measure. He stood back to his full height as well, looking intimidating and determined.

He huffed loudly, "Okay, now that the situation has been deescalated. Who are you?" He stared dead straight at you.

Silence. You weren't in the mood to face the repercussions of giving away vital information.

He glanced to the side for a brief moment, annoyance visible. "You know, this is gonna go a lot faster if you actually cooperate– " He remarked and crossed his arms. You looked challengingly ahead at him. "So, I'll ask again. Who the hell are you?"

You contemplated, but gave in. "My name is Y/N L/N, I'm from the RDA." You practically forced the words out of your throat.

He nodded before speaking, "Okay. See, now we're getting somewhere." You twisted the stick in your hand. "Why did you attack us last night?" He continued. You knew this question was coming. Furthermore, you also knew if you revealed the RDA's master plan– they would torture you until you died.

"I can't tell you that. It's classified." You kept your voice as hard as you could and your face as cold. Not keen on getting your face read. A deep fear resonated inside you for the organization you were forced to work for.

He sighed. "Fine. At least tell me if there were more of you last night. Is it possible they're already looking for you?"

You thought for a second. As protocol, if an agent didn't check in after a mission, they are assumed as dead or captured. In such a case, if a report of their livelihood is known then a special team is sent out to assassinate them. A precaution taken to stop the spread of crucial information.

You shifted uncomfortably on your heels, an action surely not missed by Jake. "No. It was only me last night." You blurted out, and looked to the side. "I'm not too sure about today though. Another team could've been sent here already." You looked back ahead.

He nodded, about to open his mouth to say something. "So— am I free to go?" You interjected, unsure of their future plans with you. Kill you? Keep you locked up for more information? You didn't have a clue and it was killing you inside.

He had an 'are you serious' face as he debating on whether or not you were joking. "No. Not until you tell me why you were going to sedate Neteyam." He pestered on, motioning with his hands.

You brought you palm up to your forehead, already tired of this interrogation. "I already told you, I can't. It's— " You let out in exasperation and threw your arms in the air.

"Classified. Yeah, I heard you loud and clear the first damn time." He sneered and lodged his arms on his hips. "Better get used to being in this village then."

He was about say something else, but was interrupted by another voice. One which you oddly recognised. Which, made no sense to you.

"Sir!" They called out. You both looked towards the opening in search of the voice. The light reached inside as the fabric was thrown to the side. In walked your target with confident strides.

He frowned at you before continuing his speech, you could sworn a look of curiosity was in his eyes. You turned your sight downwards.

"There's a disturbance at the East guard post. It could be a serious threat– I'm not sure." He blurted out as he panted softly. Indicating that he was out of breath. Most likely from running, you guessed.

Jake nodded at his son. "Okay, I'll go check it out." He turned around and spared a look of distrust towards you. "Make sure she doesn't escape."

You crossed your arms over your chest at this statement. Neteyam glanced at you then back at his father, "Yes sir."

At that, he walked out in a hurried pace. The fabric sent a slight breeze your way.

It was now the two of you left alone. As expected, an awkwardness fell. You stared at him with squinted eyes and he did the same. With different intentions though, since— he was studying you. Trying to see under your false layer of fearlessness. His expression of scrutiny made a cold chill run down your spine in a tingly motion.

A bead of sweat fell down your forehead as you felt judged under his gaze. You had found Jake Sully to be intimidating, but Neteyam was intimidating on a whole other level.

Tired of his watchful gaze, you cleared your throat and looked away. "Are you... going to stare at me this whole time?" You looked back up and raised one eyebrow. All he did was stay silent.

Relief filled your senses when you finally, got a reaction out of him. Only– it wasn't one you had expected.

He chuckled softly. "I'm trying to see under your fake exterior." He taunted you. "You're obviously scared. I can tell since your hands are shaking and your forehead is sweating." He took a step forward.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You challenged back. Closing in on the distance in between, you also took a step forward.

The sound of him sucking air through his teeth made its way to your ears. "Sure you don't." He replied with complete sarcasm.

Your teeth clenched together in anger. Mostly from... being captured— but also his extensive reading of you. His eyes flicked over your face with the ghost of a smirk tracing over his lips. You knew he was aware about the fact that his assessment on you, was correct.

He took a few steps around the tent and stopped infront of some pots or jars- you weren't quite sure what to call them. He reached for some herbs, and grabbed the mortar and pestle.

You watched him in anticipation over what he was doing. A wave of dizziness caught up to you again. You neared the rug and lowered yourself down, your now adrenaline-dry body getting the best of you.

Your arms wrapped around your knees and you buried your face in them after. The stick now discarded on the floor.

A slow grinding sound began flooding into your ears. Your eyes were closing slowly, about to drift you off to sleep.

"Why exactly were you planning to kidnap me?" He asked daringly.

You took your head out from your knees, eyes instantly snapping towards him . He sat not far from you, which you found odd. You had tried to abduct him just the previous night. Yet, here he was acting all nonchalant as though you were acquaintances.

Your eyes wandered over him as he calmly ground up the herbs. His signature braids swaying about– just as they did, the previous night. You were sure his braids had a mind of their own, always moving elegantly and... enticingly?

The gravel-like sound stopped when he peeked up at you. "Did you not hear me?" His voice took you out of a trance you weren't aware of.

You thought back to the question. "I can't tell you. " You stated simply. His acknowledgement was a small tut, barely loud enough to spot. The gravel sound picked up again.

You returned to your protective position, but a thought was still lingering in your mind. It itched to make itself known. "What's going happen to me?" You asked. He stopped again and looked up at you. "Am I about to be killed?" You sighed in mild frustration at the level of vulnerability you had displayed to him.

His eyes showed a tinge of pity, it carefully peeled out from under his cold demeanor. "No." All at once, it vanished. Quickly replaced by the usual coldness. He turned his attention back to the grinding and added in some liquid. 

Your eyes stared him over, studying his hardworking figure. You were left confused at the pity he had shown you and the swift change he exihibited.

"They'll torture me if I tell you any more information." He ignored your statement. "I didn't want to do any of this— I was forced to work for them." You said with glossy eyes. He looked up at you and kept his thoughts hidden, but his face displayed some sympathy. That, he couldn't keep hidden.

You turned your head towards the outside when you heard two voices approaching. The flap opened with such fierceness and speed that you couldn't stop the chill that ran down your spine. In walked Neytiri and Jake.

She glared at you with a hard intensity. If this was a cartoon, she would have been boiling red with steam escaping her ears. "How dare you!" She lunged at you.

Jake's hand immediately pulled her arm and held her back. Neteyam carefully watched the scene as it unfolded. Your reaction not only shocked him– but it shocked you as well when you recoiled back in fear. This was the first time you felt unprecedented fear since you had been apprehended. Out of all the Na'vi you had encountered, Neytiri was the most threatening of all.

Of course, back at the base you had read her profile and learnt of her disdain towards humans. In your opinion it was completely justified, but being on the receiving end of it was spine-chilling.

"Neytiri, calm down. We won't get any info outta her if she's dead." Jake's hands wrapped comfortingly around her own pair.

A few tears fell from her eyes. Neteyam looked worringly at his mother. He had never seen her this emotional– her usually brave personality had chipped away leaving behind the rage and hurt of a mother.

You felt strange inside. Though, you weren't sure what the feeling was. Guilt? Remorse? Empathy? You figured it was all three nestling deeply inside your heart. Amongst all the people you had hurt, this was the only time you had felt these emotions.

"Maybe you should go lay down– cool off a bit." Jake guided his mate out of the tent with an arm around her shoulders. "I'll come tell you once..." His voice faded as they furthered.

Your hand flew to your chest to bestill your pounding heart. It didn't go unnoticed by Neteyam. Tears stinged the corners of your eyes as the emotions threatened to emerge.

He wanted to say something but he stopped himself. Why should he care whether you're crying? Afterall, you had tried to abduct him— and you were part of the RDA. Essentially, their mortal enemies. Still, he felt conflicted after what you had confessed to him. It's not like you had a choice– it was kill or be killed for you.

The toruk makto returned shortly after. He informed you about what was to happen to you. You would stay with the na'vi, under two conditions– you would inform them of everything you knew about the RDA and not hurt anyone else. Otherwise, your life would be taken, wasted as just another "bad guy" who got what they deserved.

This was a no brainer. On one hand, you were terrified of what the RDA would do to you once they knew of your loyalty shift. However, this was the best opportunity to finally be able to leave the organization.

Besides, you knew that a team would be sent after you anyways. So, why not?

You had felt no guilt about this job, yet a part of you still knew that it was wrong. You were like a puppet always following orders. Unable to make decisions as your own being.

A chance to escape had never once presented itself to you, but this— this was it.

—Few Months Later—

"How about this one?" His voice pierced through the silent night's air. You smiled back at him.

"Yeah, it looks good. It's beautiful..." You looked at him tenderly. You tried to seem focused, but he could sense your facade. The flower returned to its natural position when he let go of it.

He sighed softly and came closer. "I can feel your sadness. A perk of being mates– remember?" He teased you slightly and smiled.

His arms instinctively came to rest around your waist. Your fake display fell immediately, "What if something goes wrong at tomorrow's ceremony?"

"Like what?" His eyes glossed over your face. Solicitude splayed out on his features.

"What if they ambush us or something?" You replied as you shrugged defeatedly.

His soft hand caressed your cheek reassuringly. "That won't happen. But, if does– I know you will kick their asses."

You snickered at his humour. Despite the worst of situations, your mate always found a way to make it much better.

There was something bothering you though. 'What are they waiting for?' Certainly, they had sent agents to spy on you. So, the question at hand— why had they not assassinated you yet? You did your best to subside your anxiety and buried the thoughts in the depths of your mind.

You pushed yourself up and pecked his lips softly. To which, he returned the endearing action. Your hands became soft touches on his shoulder and torso.

"I love you." His soft breath fanned over your lips.

"I love you too, Neteyam."

Not in your wildest dreams did you predict this of ever happening— falling in love with an alien and one you had once tried to abduct. He also never predicted this of happening.

—Flashback—

The clan had given you a second chance, to learn their ways, to love like one of them, and to become one of them.

Your initial reaction to this was bewilderment. Why would they give you a second chance after hurting so many of their brethren on that night? Nevertheless though, you had no choice but to do this.

The first few weeks were full of hardship, adjusting to this new lifestyle was not easy. Everything was different: the food, the societal expectations, and the people. Most especially– the people. The looks they gave you were full of judgment and wariness.

It didn't take a genius to see that. You were used to noticing all of it, until one day they faded into the background. Long forgotten and replaced with your new interest. Beforehand, one of the clan's warriors had been assigned to show you their ways, and accompany you to the forest. But, on that day she had an emergency to attend to– so, Neytiri and Jake were forced to find another.

Only problem being, no other clan members had volunteered, they were far too afraid to even come near you. All but one— their son. Against Neytiri's better judgement, he offered to do it. Initially, Jake was also adamant on Neytiri's opinion. However, his hand was forced by his son's reassuring that nothing would go wrong.

You were shocked when he told you that he would be the one helping you that day.

Henceforth, there you were, walking alongside Neteyam in a drawn-out silence on the forest pathway. You couldn't quite make out what emotion was etched onto his face this time.

He wasn't sure why he had even offered to do it. It felt like a gut feeling that wouldn't go away, he felt compelled to talk to you. Regardless of your previous failed attempt to attack him.

The day was going quite smoothly. The sun's rays shined brightly over the trees, some managing to spill onto the grass. The lesson for that day was hunting, one of his specialities. Your first few tries at the bow were pathetic to say the least. It was seeming to be futile, accompanied by your frustrated sighs that you unconsciously released each time.

He could feel the annoyance radiating off you, so, he suggested you took a break. With this, a conversation about the art of firing an arrow began. Slowly it delved into other topics, such as your childhoods and what your personalities were truly like. Each speaking with lingering curiosity about the other.

"You know, you're not that bad actually." He chuckled after. You stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say.

You scoffed softly, "Aside from the fact I was literally an assassin?" You shook your head slightly. "I've done horrible things to a lot of people, Neteyam." The grass beneath you tickled the undersides of your thighs.

He responded with a faint 'hm'. Seconds later, he spoke. "I know but, it was against your will and you have been given a second chance."

You stared down at your lap in shame of your previous actions. "At first, my parents were planning on keeping you locked up." At this reveal, you looked up at him with wide eyes.

He nodded and continued, "Yeah, but I managed to convince them not to. I told them the truth— that you were forced into the organization."

You huffed quietly in disbelief. He helped you.

"I..." You tried to speak but was at a loss for words. A sigh came out followed by words of pure gratefulness. "Thank you."

As the day came to an end, you successfully hit the target courtesy to his useful advice. Your chest was filled with rejoice, such was his. Not only had you learned how to use a bow, but also the fact that you enjoyed each other's company.

The walk back wasn't a stranger to a conversation either.

Something you would never forget was the look of utter disbelief on his parents' faces. He had asked for permission to fully take over and show you their ways.

This time they argued back, reminding him of what you intended to do to him. "Neteyam, she is dangerous!"His mother's voice shouted authoritatively.

She shook her head in an angry manner. "Son, why would you even want to be near her?" Jake asked him confused, but with a less angry tone than Neytiri.

Though— Neteyam held on strong. He was very persuasive and made up a silly excuse of how he had better knowledge of the forest. It was true, but it didn't come from a place of wanting to help.

He wanted to get to know you better, he almost felt intrigued by you. You weren't any better either and shared the same sentiment.

You could only stand near them awkwardly as they argued back and forth. Unsure of what to do in that situation.

Alas, with his persistence they came to somewhat of an agreement. He would help you navigate the na'vi lifestyle, but you had to swear that you wouldn't hurt him in any way.

Over the next few weeks, you enjoyed each other's company, delightfully indulging in deep conversations. You also learnt many things about the way of the forest.

Whilst your guide was patrolling and performing other tasks expected of him, you got busy with other business. You would learn about herbs and healing remedies with Mo'at in her tent. It was beautiful how their remedies of herbs were able to fix such dire injuries. A change of heart began taking place within you. Your assassin nature was still present, but you now saw the beauty in the foliage and animals– and the beauty of life on Pandora.

He found it interesting talking to someone who was technically an outsider. It felt new, refreshing— exciting, and hearing about your stories on Earth peaked his interest. Soon enough, talking to you became the highlight of his day after he finished his patrolling.

On one particular night, you laid next each other staring at the stars. Your conversations were light, simply enjoying each other's presence. It was a beautiful night and as you took his features you saw the beauty in them. His personality also being as lovable as his exterior.

You were dangerous— he knew this all too well. Yet, he was attracted to it. It brought a certain thrill he had never felt before.

The conversations brought forth a blossoming friendship that continued to grow, as the weeks went on. A few sparks of requited romance lay hidden beneath said friendship.

The clan's attitude towards you changed quite drastically. Most of them eased up as they saw your dedication to becoming one of them. More so, as they began seeing your empathy for others make an appearance and develop.

This helped greatly in speaking to them and forming friendships. You spoke to Neteyam's siblings on a regular basis, finding solace in their fun speeches and jokes. With you and Kiri even becoming close friends, during the occasions of spending the day in Mo'at's tent.

His parents mostly remained wary of you. Though, you couldn't blame them. You were glad that Neytiri's grudge against you dissipated overtime, but she still kept her cold shoulder. Jake would greet you when he saw you walking about, since he understood your situation with the RDA. He wasn't as cold as his mate, however. Perhaps because he was once human too.

Thankfully, they learned to trust you overtime. Evident as you were sometimes invited over for supper sometimes. You were beginning to feel comfortable in this clan as one of them.

Time seemed to pass quickly and before you knew it, you and Neteyam stood before one another confessing your love. Your unbridled love for each other was full of tenderness and understanding. There was this... unspoken connection.

It only amplified on the night your souls became intertwined together. Under beautiful trees of purples and pinks, glistening in the light of bioluminescent insects. The air was chilly, yet full of love that overpowered all senses.

—End of Flashback—

The day was finally here, you were nervous to say the least. A ceremony was being held to officially welcome Neteyam and you as mates. It was a tradition for all na'vi who would become the future Olo'eyktan and Tsa'hik.

The revealing part of your bodies were painted in stripes of white and black. You remember Mo'at telling you that it signified something important. You just couldn't remember her exact words.

Wanting a moment to yourself to gather your thoughts, you told him to go ahead and you'd follow. He left shortly after a loving hug and kiss.

Your nerves were rising by the second but you did your best to calm them. You sat in your shared tent, astonished with the amount of change which had taken place in only a few months.

Your old life almost forgotten, except for the lingering fear that they would capture you again. Fortunately, you mate's previously spoken words sounded in your head 'That won't happen–'

And so, you sauntered on. You were met with different expressions, some excited and curious, a few were indifferent as they looked at you.

However, you cared not as you had built a resilience to the judgement. The clearing was adorned with green grass and vibrant trees that provided shade. There were flowers decorating the ground in many colours.

You locked your arm over his and together, made your way to the center of the gathering. You looked over at Neteyam' s family. His siblings waved and smiled at you. Their loud cheers made it apparent they were  happy for their older brother.

Neytiri and Jake on the other hand were smiling, but not too ecstatic. They didn't exactly flat out deny your relationship, but they also weren't the happiest about their son's choice for a mate. Still– it was his life, therefore they did their best to support his decision.

You both turned to face each other, a slight blush was on his face accompanied by a shy smile. He knew you'd tease him later as soon as he saw your sly smirk and teasing gaze.

Your hands were holding onto each other's as watchful eyes stared at the two of you in anticipation. With the bowl in your hand, you scooped up a bit of black paste and smeared it over his cheek. He did the same with his own paste.

The ritual was almost complete, all that was left was for him to smear it over your forehead. His hand reached into his bowl and raised up towards your head. You shut your eyes as true joy bubbled inside of you.

Before he could make contact with your skin, he gasped suddenly with hitched breathing. You opened your eyes in confusion. Nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.

The dark red liquid seeped out of his mouth as he slowly looked down. You mirrored his action and followed his gaze to his lower abomen. He removed his hand from his skin and underneath was a patch of blood. The source being a small hole in his abdomen.

It dripped insistently onto the grass.

Your mouth was ajar as you tried to process what you saw. A scream of pure terror sounded through the air. It was one of the clan members, having just seen the blood.

More screaming could be heard as they too witnessed the scene unfolding. The Sully's were confused as they hadn't seen anything yet.

Jake and Neytiri came closer to investigate and what they saw made them stop in their tracks. You were frozen in place, unable to do anything to help their bleeding son. His breathing picked up its pace, swiftly turning laboured.

His falling figure alerted you and you held out your arms to lower him, with the help of Jake. Neytiri fell to her knees next to her son as she cried out hysterically. His body trembled under your hands when you brought them to his abdomen.

You felt another presence besides his parents, next to you. "N– Neteyam..."

Your heart stung painfully as you registered the soft voice as tuk'tu'rey's. Your vision now blurry, you looked up at her getting whisked away by a distraught Kiri.

Lo'ak took his place next to his father, with his braids flying at high speed. Their pained faces could only watch as your mate struggled to breathe.

The effort to stop the bleeding was useless as it continued seeping from the spaces in between your fingers. By this time, majority of the clan had dispersed as soon as they saw the blood. They were afraid of becoming the next one to lie on the floor.

Loak and Jake's cries became muffled by the pounding in your ears. You watched in heartbreak as he tried to speak, but the blood only choked him further. It only shortened his time left on this plane of existence.

His skin felt warm under your touch, hand cupped over his cheek as you leaned in to his chest. You couldn't do anything to stop this– nor to stop the tears and wails that escaped you. The one person you had truly loved in your life was dying, and there was nothing you could do. Absolutely nothing.

You knew exactly who had done this— Colonel Quaritch. His intention to hurt Jake Sully had finally been enacted. Quaritch had been dreaming of killing Jake Sully's first born son, as he watched.

You were under the false presumption that they wouldn't be able to kill him if he wasn't their hostage. However, you were wrong, terribly wrong.

You pressed a feather kiss to his cheek, salty tears staining his beautiful skin. "I love you–" You reassured him and caressed his skin. This was the only thing you could have done for him in this moment. His death was imminent.

"No— No. No..." Jake final words to his son pained him further. He felt as though he had failed his son. The tears that came from him were uncontrollable at this point. He removed his hands from under Neteyam's head.

"Come on— do something!" Lo'ak screamed out to his father. His usually humorous character had fallen away to be replaced by a desperate brother.

A tear fell from your mate's eye and you saw his hand reaching for yours— but before he could hold you. His eyes closed.

His last breath tickled the side of your face. You looked at his now lifeless body, the feeling of emptiness soon filling you.

You sat back on your knees, feeling utterly hopeless. "He's...gone." You whispered loud enough for the two males to hear. Jake held his youngest son, this being one of the only affections they had shared since he was a child.

It's strange how such terror can bring people together.

Your hand covered your mouth as the tears fell one after another, relentlessly. Mo'at embraced her daughter in her arms to keep her calm, but nothing could stop the wails of a mother's loss.

You could see Kiri crying while she hugged her younger sister, careful to hide her away from the traumatizing sight. They stood a meter away, but the weight of what had happened still followed them.

You felt numb. Empty. Hopeless. Heartbroken. The only being you had ever loved with all your mind, heart and soul was gone.

No longer would you hear his beautiful voice and laugh again, or pepper him in kisses when he felt sad. His kind soul would be long forgotten as a thing of the past. The memories of you together would never feel like safe place anymore. They would only remind you of his painful death.

The leaves shook in the breeze, blissfully unaware of the tragedy that had befallen this enchanting forest. It made you think— perhaps being sentient was the problem in life.

____________________________________

If you actually made it to the end, then wowwww I'm honoured🤭. Thank you for reading! ❤️❤️

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Nobody's Girl - Chapter Twelve.

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,107

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Dead. She was dead.  

Emily might not have liked the woman, but the shock still hit her like a steam train going at full speed, gasping as she covered her mouth with her hands, reaching then to pull Luca into her arms.  

His body slumped against her, hugging her back tightly, ever muscle corded tight. “How... how the fuck do I tell my kids, Emily? How do I tell ‘em their mother fuckin’ killed herself?”  

She was at a loss to know how to answer that, Luca pushing from her embrace and striding out of the room, heading in a direction she followed. She found him at the drink's cabinet, pouring a large measure of whiskey, a second he then passed to her upon sensing her behind him. Turning to her, his eyes were glassy, blinking a few tears he wiped away on the back of his hand.  

It had to have hit him hard, because of course he’d never, ever want her to end up dead, no matter how difficult she’d been, or how her behaviour had spiralled so much after the last two months. If he hadn’t cared, he’d have simply left her there in her own pool of vomit that afternoon.  

He’d quietly told her of what he’d done, when the children had gone to the concessions stand at the movie theatre, Emily bursting with pride that he’d been so tender with Filomena as to carry her upstairs and bathe her, but saddened that the woman was in such a state that he couldn’t trust her to do so unsupervised.  

Sinking another whiskey, he began to pace, slamming the glass down on the mahogany sideboard, raking his fingers through his hair repeatedly. It made her heart thrum with cool waves, seeing him unravel like that. He was the strong one, the man who was always unquestionably held together, reinforced by steel.  

“How could she do it? How could she leave those children without a mother, for the love of Christ! What the hell was she thinkin’?” He paced a little more, agitation coursing through his lithe muscles, swinging his arms as he began gesticulating wildly. “I shouldn’t have left her. It’s my fault. I left a broken woman, didn’t even think to call her mother either, I just called somebody I could fuckin’ pay and got outta there. Like she was a fuckin’ job, not a person on the edge!”  

Sipping her drink, Emily stood tall, taking a deep breath as she halted him. “Luca, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t, don’t you dare even think it, let alone speak those words. Anything could have happened, you don’t know! She... she might have had more booze there stashed away, and drunkenly decided to go stand up there, for whatever reason. It could have been an accident. Or it could have just been a snap decision. She wasn’t well, and that wasn’t your fault. She might have had sickness of the mind.” 

He stopped, the weight of it all tugging on his shoulders, the gravitas painful, swallowing hard as he closed his eyes. “I dunno. Still on me though, ain’t it, if she was cuckoo. Shouldda seen it and gotten her in an asylum, where they have people who know how to deal with that.”  

It was a little far a swing, but Emily knew he was still dealing with the shock colliding within, not thinking straight. Hell, nobody could have seen this coming, in such a short time space of her beginning to drink like a fish and then flinging herself from the roof. Five months. Whereas they had been together for almost nine at that point, he’d only told his ex about her five months prior. 

“Sickness of the mind isn’t all screaming and drooling. She could have been hiding it under the drunkenness, or maybe that was her way of trying to cope. But I will not stand idly by why you blame yourself, love. No. No way. It wasn’t your fault. You are not your ex-wife's keeper, any more than I was my mother’s.”  

Taking his arms, she halted him, squeezing, reaching to hold his face in her hands. “We’re going to have three heartbroken children to get through this. You can’t go into consoling them through such an eclipsing grief while you’re blaming yourself. “ 

She was right, Emily the tethering moon to his surging sea, pulling his waves back from crashing mercilessly against the rocks. He’d had his moment to crumble a little under the weight of it, squaring his shoulders as he raised up to his full height again, nodding, pulling her close.  

“We’ll tell them in the morning, let them have one more night of normality before their world gets blown apart.”  

Neither of them slept well that night, both lying awake her and there, curling up together, breaking apart again, Emily eventually rising at six and heading downstairs to fetch a copy of the morning paper. The man at the kiosk gave her his usual bright smile, also selling her a few candy bars for the kids and a pack of cigarettes, wishing her a good day.  

Crossing the road, she went and stood at the edge of the park, watching the sun climbing higher in the sky, casting the boating pond in a beautiful peach shimmer as it illuminated the many tall buildings surrounding the massive, green space.  

“Wherever you are, Filomena, I hope you’re not in pain any longer. I’m sorry, too. I know I was part of the cause. I’ll love him forever, though. I’ll look after him, too. And the little ones.”  

It hit her then, as she watched the rays breaking through the trees onto the winding path ahead, that she’d just become a mother figure to three children. It was daunting. In truth, she didn’t know how equipped she was to deal with it. Lighting herself a cigarette, she moved to sit upon the wall, wishing she could simply kick off her shoes and go running into the park, escape the looming emotional day she was about to have.  

“Don’t be so fucking silly!” she then castigated herself with, banishing those thoughts. “Those children lost their mother, and you’re sitting here in your Prada dress, thousands of dollars' worth of diamonds on your finger, a man who adores you, and you want to run away from today?”  

Nixing her little slither of selfishness in the bud, she finished her cigarette and went back upstairs, letting herself into the apartment quietly. She moved into the kitchen, Luca sitting there quietly at the table, sliding into the seat next to him.  

“Hey, baby. You alright?” 

She shrugged, placing the newspaper down. “Yeah, yeah. Just sad for the kids and what we have to tell them. Do you want breakfast?” 

“Nah,” he sniffed, opening the paper, “ain’t hungry.” 

“Me neither.” She leaned against his arm, Luca shrugging her away softly to then wrap that arm around her, placing a kiss atop her head. They sat there in silence, reading the paper together, waiting, waiting... 

“Morning, daddy. Morning, Emily. Are we still going to the park today? Oh, and my new bed is so nice, I had such a good sleep,” Milania spoke as she walked into the kitchen, still in her nightgown and little slippers. “Hey, why’d you guys look sad?”  

“Are your brothers awake yet, sweetheart?” Luca asked. 

“Guiseppe is, but Alessio is still out. You know how he is.”  

That might’ve been better, actually, telling them separately. There would need to be severe toning down for six-year-old ears, Luca knowing of course that his elder children would naturally demand to know how their mother had passed away. He wasn’t sure Alessio would truly understand the concept of suicide. An accident. That’s how he had to explain it to his youngest.  

Rising from the table, he reached for her hand. “Come on, let’s go sit in the lounge.” 

“Daddy,” she spoke pensively, “what’s going on?” 

“Guiseppe, hurry up, son.” he called, Milania taking a seat on the couch, Luca dragging the heavy coffee table nearer to sit himself right in front of her, Emily taking the couch, too. Guiseppe slipped into the gap between her and his sister, wondering why the hell his father looked so drained. It was a strange thing to behold, their daddy not carrying himself with his usual pride and strength.  

“Kids, last night after you guys had gone to bed, we had a phone call from Catherine. There’s no easy way to tell you this, but your mother, she passed away at a little after eleven last night.”  

The shock in their faces hit him in the chest like a blade, bewilderment, unwillingness to believe their ears, their little hearts shattered that they’d lost their precious mommy. They fell apart, screaming for it not to be true, floods of tears falling, Luca pulling them both into his arms as he comforted their grief.  

“How? How did she die?” Milania managed to stop sobbing for long enough to ask, her breathing erratic, Guiseppe moving to wrap himself around Emily when he felt her hand smooth down his back.  

Luca took a deep breath, knowing that this part would shatter them both even more. “She took her own life. Threw herself from the roof. It wouldda been quick, like that. Instant. She wouldn’t have felt any pain.”  

“No,” Milania gritted, her eyes fixing to Emily, “just the pain you caused her before she died. This is your fault! You did this! Mommy killed herself because you wouldn’t let daddy go back to her.”  

Oh god. Oh, god. 

“Milania, no. That ain’t true, honey. Wasn’t Emily’s fault at all. Your mommy, she was sick,” Luca began, trying to take hold of her shoulders, the child shaking herself free of his grasp.  

“No, no! It’s her fault! Mommy was only sad after she came along!” 

“Milania, stop it!” her brother cried, emerging from Emily’s arms. “Emily didn’t do nothing wrong!” 

“Yes, she did! She stopped our parents from getting back together! She made mommy sad! I curse you, Emily! I’ll never forgive you for this!”  

She fled from the room in a sea of tears and screams, Luca making a start to go after her, Emily reaching to grip his forearm. “Leave her be a little while, let her calm down.”  

“Are you gonna tell Alessio?” Guiseppe asked, still crying, but trying so hard to hold himself together. Emily’s heart went out to him for such bravery. He was a practical, pragmatic kid. A smaller version of his father in that respect. 

“Yeah, as soon as he wakes up, son,” Luca confirmed, reaching to smooth his hair from his face. “Ain’t gonna tell him in as much detail as I did you and your sister, though. He’s too little to understand.”  

Just then, the child running in, teddy bear still in his grasp, a big grin upon his face as he scrambled into his father’s lap. “Daddy, can you help me clean my teeth. I can’t reach the new sink, it’s too big.”  

“Sure can, little guy.” Picking him up, he carried his son down to the bathroom, Emily’s heart shattering all over again, knowing he’d likely get his teeth sorted and then relay the awful news to him. 

Wrapping Guiseppe in a tighter hug, she stroked his hair lovingly, kissing his forehead. “Whatever you want to do today, it’s fine by me and daddy. If that just means hanging out in your pyjamas and listen to the radio, or reading your comics, then that’s what you can do, okay?”  

Down the hallway, she heard the sounds of tiny cries filtering from the bathroom, her eyes welling with tears. It was horrible, and she would have done anything to take away their pain, bear the burden herself so they didn’t have to.  

The boy she hugged didn’t reply, shaking with his silent crying, sniffing hard as he curled into his soon to be stepmother’s embrace a little more, assuming somewhat of a foetal position, but never letting go of her.  

“I-I d-don't get it,” he finally stammered, looking up at her with wounded, hazel eyes. “Why d-did s-she wanna l-leave us? Did we d-do something wrong?” 

Her heart. Oh, god. “You did absolutely nothing wrong, sweetie,” she spoke, stroking his arm comfortingly. “Mommy had some problems, and I don’t think the drink made them better. I think she hid a lot of how she felt, and just got herself stuck in a moment. That’s just me guessing, though. Ultimately, only one person knows, and she isn’t here to ask why. I just know it was nothing to do with you kids, though. She adored you all to your bones.”  

He nodded, his tears not abating. Lying with his head in her lap, crying and crying, Emily became vaguely aware of the phone trilling out in the hallway, making a start to get up but then hearing Luca answer. He came in after a few minutes, a wide eyed, teary Alessio clung onto him.  

“That was Rocco, Fil’s father. He and Allegra are on their way over from New Jersey. They’re comin’ by here, and then arranging for her body to be taken to the funeral home,” he spoke, grimacing slightly as he scratched his jaw. “That’ll be interesting. Rocco and I get on great, always have, even since the divorce. Allegra... not so much.”  

“Nona said she wanted to use your face as a dart board,” Guiseppe suddenly came out with, temporarily pulled from his grief, smiling a tiny little smirk.  

“Trust me, son,” Luca began, widening his eyes a little, “she said much worse to my face, but she ain’t really comin’ here for me. It’s to see you guys.”  

While they waited for the arrival from New Jersey, Alessio finally let go of his father, running to curl into Emily, his and his brother finally ceased on the tear front. At least for then. While Luca went to go and check on Milania, Emily left the boys listening to the radio, busying herself with cleaning the kitchen. They had a housekeeper who came three times a week, so she didn’t truly need to, but working a sponge heaving with a thick barrage of suds over the counters and table did feel somewhat soothing.  

Not much worked in taking her mind off the matter at hand when she heard Milania’s out of control, emotional screaming, though. It made her feel sad, that the little truce they’d carved out the previous day had been cut so abruptly short, but this wasn’t about her at all. It was about the heartbroken children, Milania especially as a teenage girl, her hormones going wild enough as it was, and now having to negotiate her entire future without her beloved mother there.  

God, how she wished she could go to her, offer comfort, tell her that while there was no way she was looking to replace Filomena, that she would be there for her day and night. Such a token would not be accepted well by any means, though. Not now, and probably not for a long time either. She could hear Luca patiently trying to drum it through her head that Emily was not the cause of this, hearing it in his voice he was losing patience with being screamed at with such blind fury.  

When he finally appeared in the kitchen, he looked how any man would after a full half hour of being yelled at by an irate and heartbroken teenage girl. “I’m surprised she didn’t scream herself hoarse,” he spoke, running his hand over his face with a deep sigh. “My fuckin’ eardrums are ringing.”  

Moving from where she’d been wiping the table dry with a clean towel, Emily reached for him, Luca happily being pulled down to her level, resting his head against her shoulder with an annoyed grunt. “I’m so fuckin’ angry with her for doing this. She left her babies, and all this mess behind for us to clear up for her. Fuckin’ coward of a puttana.”  

She didn’t look to correct or chastise him for that. He was perfectly within his rights to feel anger towards Filomena, whether she’d been in her right mind or not at the time of her death. While he’d swung between blaming her and himself when they’d first found it, now he’d seen the impact it had upon his children, that blame had firmly and solely shifted to her.  

He straightened, kissing her on the way back up, hands resting either side of her neck as his thumbs stroked. “I’m sorry. We should be nothing but happy right now, just gettin’ engaged. I was gonna take you up to the Catskills for a few days, just us, but now that’s shot to shit.”  

Smoothing her hands down his chest, feeling the alluring hardness of lithe muscles beneath her fingers, she let herself get lost in that dream for a few moments. Him and her, likely undressing as soon as they crossed the threshold and not bothering to dress again until they left.�� 

It would have been idyllic. All she knew had been broken apart by Filomena’s decision, but the charity in Emily’s heart still couldn’t allow room to hate the poor woman. It had blown the life she knew with Luca, just him and her, to utter smithereens. There now wouldn’t be a time when there weren’t children around, unless they were left in the care of a nanny. Children she was now responsible for, too.  

“It can wait,” she assured him, both moving to sit at the table. “We need to prioritise the children above anything else right now.” 

The unselfishness of her spoke volumes to him. In all of this, such a steady woman at his side truly was what he needed. She’d come so far from the scared, timid little scrap he’d lifted off the street a broken and bloodied mess the previous winter. “You’re right, we do. Milania is gonna be the toughest, going forward. That kid, she’s so much like her mother. She needs to point her anger at somebody, and I’m sorry, baby. It’s gonna be you for the foreseeable.” 

Him seeming like he would be accepting of that made her feel uncomfortable, but she stuffed it down, knowing that it wasn’t about her. It truly wasn’t. “I know, and I’ll let it roll off my back as best I can.” 

He took her hand, kissing it a few times while shaking his head. “She can say it as much as she likes, but it don’t make it true. I told her that back there in her room,” he began, jerking his head in the direction of the hallway, “but of course, she wasn’t ready to hear it.” He thought for a few moments, thumb stroking the back of her hand. “She is right, but not that it’s your fault. It was the news of us being engaged that - for the lack of a less morbidly apt analogy – was the final nail in the coffin.” 

That was an uncomfortable truth they both had to deal with, that their happiness at making such a commitment to one another had been the straw to break the camel’s back, and sent Filomena off a rooftop to her death. It coiled through Emily’s belly like a serpent, spiny and cold slithering against her.  

“If you wanna escape, head over to Brooklyn and see Maggie or go visit Greta, you go, alright?” 

Getting up, she moved to sit herself on his lap, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m not leaving any of you. Wouldn’t be right.” Placing a kiss upon the side of his head, she felt his arms tighten around her in a silent thank you. “My place is here, not swanning off to be with my friends because things are difficult. That isn’t the woman I am.” 

“I know.” He kissed her neck, rubbing circles at her hip. “And I thank god for you every fuckin’ day, being the selfless woman you are. If you do wanna, though, s’okay with me, baby.” He’d never admit that being locked in a house of such mourning by himself was the last thing he wanted, but he felt a little of her selfless nature rub off on him. If she needed to get out of there for a little breathing space, he wasn’t about to stop her. 

She didn’t, though, hovering close by to his boys for the rest of the day, being on hand for cuddles and comfort when they had bursts of tears and need. They seemed to brighten a little when their grandparents visited, but as soon as they left, the children returned to sullen and quiet.  

He knew it was to be expected, leaving them to their thoughts for the most part, his heart warmed by the sight of Emily curled up on the couch napping with Alessio for an hour in the late afternoon. He kept checking on Milania, too, but couldn’t coax her out of her room no matter what he tried. Her statement was the same each time. “I don’t want to be around her.” 

He knew pressing would likely lead to nothing good, kissing her head each time and telling her she knew where he was if she needed him. It was a tough parenting impasse to be at. She was hurting hugely, heartbroken at the loss of her mother so therefore he didn’t want to come down on her too heavily for her lack of respect, but at the same time he knew he couldn’t pander to her dislike of his fiancée.  

He had to credit Emily, though. She went about it with nothing but a practical approach.  

“Milania?” she called, knocking her door before poking her head around. “I’m going to the place down the block you guys like to pick up some dinner. What do you want?” 

“I want you to get the hell out of my room.”  

Breathe, keep calm, try again. “Sweetheart, I know you’re angry at me, I know this. You have to try and eat something, though. Even if it’s just a sandwich.”  

Nothing. Just a face stuffed into her pillow, kicking her feet back and forth in annoyance. “Shall I get you a chicken club? It’ll keep in the icebox if you don’t want it right away?” 

“Don’t you listen? I said I wanted you to get out of my room, so get out!”  

She nodded sadly, drumming her nails against the door. “Okay, honey.”  

“I’m not your honey. I fucking hate you.”  

“Milania!” Oh, yes. Luca and his hearing akin to a bat had heard her cuss, moving past Emily in a nanosecond. “You watch your mouth, you hear me? No cussing.”  

“Why?” she spat, “you do all the time.” 

“Not around you kids, I don’t. You’ll remember your manners. You don’t wanna eat? Fine, you say no thanks and you leave it there. I know you’re hurting, kid, but you ain’t speakin’ like that to Emily. Not on my watch.”  

They left her alone, both sighing, Emily putting her feet into her shoes while Luca peeled off a few notes to go and buy the food.  

“Emily?” Guiseppe called, getting up from where he’d been lying on the floor, his nose in his comic books. “Can I come too?” 

“Sure, you can.” she smiled, waiting for him to put his shoes on, waiting for him at the front door. Once in the elevator, she felt him slip his hand into hers, his fingers curling around in a tight grasp as he leaned into her, looking up at her with sad eyes.  

“Milania might hate you, but I don’t. I’m glad you’re here. It feels bad, really bad, but I think it would be worse if my pop didn’t have a nice lady like you.”  

The size of the lump that balled hard in her throat... 

“I love you, little man. I’m going to be there for you whenever you need me, okay?” she reassured him, Guiseppe smiling, letting go of her hand to hug her waist instead. 

“I know. Love you too, Em.”  

In a time of very black, cloudy skies, the little moment they shared there in the gold gilt elevator was like a rainbow shining through the gloom. It was a moment she knew she’d remember fondly, too. It was both the evening she’d first heard her future stepson tell her he loved her, and the evening she’d counted as the fifth day that has passed without her monthlies showing up.  

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev chapter

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The alarm drills straight into his ears, shrillness hooking the inside of his head and yanking him out of sleep so fast he screams when he’s finally conscious. He tumbles straight out of bed, armour on and out the door before he opens his eyes. 

It’s not the emergency alarm. This one is three short blips repeating, rather than one long and loud one, so it’s a mission alarm. It doesn’t freak Keith out any less, though. He hates all the alarms. They’re so loud they’re painful, digging into his head so intensely they push out any room for thought. They remind him of fire alarms, too, which only makes everything worse. 

He’s first to stumble onto the bridge, nodding at Allura and Coran and collapsing into his seat. He hunches his shoulders up to his ears, knowing it won’t make a difference but doing it anyway. God, he really hates the stupid alarm. He wishes the rest of the team would hurry up. 

As if his thoughts summoned them, they pop in one after the other. Shiro first, unsurprisingly, armour polished and perfect, strides even. Then Hunk, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, dragging a bitching Pidge by her ankle. 

And, of course, no Lance. Keith has done everything he can to try to train Lance to be on time. He’s tried to goading, which didn’t do anything but make them both late once Lance somehow managed to drag them into an argument that made them both lose track of time. Then he tried dragging Lance out of bed early in the mornings to get him on track, which did nothing but make him half-deaf from all the angry Spanish hurled his way and bruised from a surprisingly hardy pillow to the face. Finally he tried one of Hunk’s suggestions, which was to give Lance a sticker every time he was on time or close to it. 

That, despite it being the number one strategy of kindergarten teachers across the globe, worked really well. Lance actually managed to be on time more than once, which was insane. They ran out of stickers, but Lance did manage to get much closer to getting on time every day. Now he rarely goes past five minutes of making everyone else wait. 

Keith checks his watch, shaking his head fondly as the hand ticks right past the five minute mark. Can’t win them all, he supposes. Some days Lance will be tardier than others. He’s at least on time occasionally, now, so –

The realisation hits him like an anvil over the head, like in one of the old movies. The shrillness of the alarm suddenly seems a thousand times louder, swelling up in the room, drowning Keith in the incessantness of it.

Lance is not coming in late. 

Lance isn’t coming in at all. 

Lance is dead.

The admission in his own head stings, somehow, like pinpricks all over his skin. His throat is dry, completely evaporated of moisture, painful to swallow. Never again is Lance going to strategically goad Keith into an argument to distract him from everything and anything. Never again is Lance going to smack the shit out of Keith with a pillow in the mornings. Never again is he going to show up three seconds before he’s supposed to be somewhere, cheeky smile on his face, and ask Keith for his gold star. 

He’s gone. 

“Fuck, sorry, guys! I forgot to sleep last night ‘cause I was painting something on the ceiling, so the alarm scared the shit outta me enough to hit the ground, and unfortunately I dislocated my shoulder a little, but it’s all good ‘cause I fixed it. That’s why I was late, actually, had to pull a Gloria Delgado and slam it into the wall! Anyways, that’s why –”

“Lance,” Shiro interrupts, amused. “Are you okay?”

“Yep!” he says, beaming brightly. Keith gasps when he sees it, the sound punched out of him, choked and pained and strangled. He’s shocked no one looks his way. “I can still shoot, don’t worry.” 

“Alright, kid. Go sit down, we’ll go over the briefing.”

“What?!” Pidge explodes. “He’s ten minutes late! Where’s his punishment? He needs to be grounded! I get grounded when I’m ten minutes late! That’s not fair!”

“Lance is grown, Pidge. You’re under my guardianship. I reserve the right to ground you when you do dumb things. Also, Lance is my favourite.”

“That is a bold-faced lie! Allura is your favourite! You just said that to make me mad!”

“Nope. It’s the truth. In fact –”

“Hey,” Lance whispers, startling Keith when he pops up next to him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I have. In fact, he’s sitting right in front of me.

“I’m good,” Keith chokes out. 

Lance tilts his head, brown eyes soft and concerned. He places a gentle hand on Keith’s arm. “You don’t look good.”

Keith swallows roughly. “Nightmare.”

It must have been a nightmare. Somehow, yesterday’s mission must have been some elaborate, horrible nightmare, straight from the cruellest parts of his subconscious. It’s the only thing that explains it – Lance, here, safe and whole and unharmed, the rest of the team not shocked to see him, proceeding as normal. None of them look like they’ve been shaking, like they’ve lost the only light in their life. Everyone looks as well as they usually do, considering their circumstances. 

There are no blood splatters on Allura’s armour from the carnage yesterday. No missing shoulder pad on Shiro. Even Keith’s own armour is free of the hole that was ripped into it from the hit he got, distracted by Lance’s sharp inhale when he fell. 

And Lance, obviously. Keith glances up at his head, just to make sure, and he’s fine. There’s no perfectly cauterised blaster hole going straight to his brain. No leg that’s bent the wrong way. 

He’s fine. 

“Nightmares, huh?” Lance asks, smiling slightly, kind and understanding and not fucking dead. “Must have been horrible to have our fearless leader so shaken.”

Keith shudders slightly, chill zapping down his bones, blood freezing in his veins. His words are barely audible. “You have no idea.”

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next chapter

[quickspinner]

Some Other Timeline

Since my eyes are working properly again (mostly) I thought I'd take another stab at the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers minific challenge. I used the LBSC Smooch Roulette prompt generator and came out with "desperate kiss," "train station," and Viperbug, so here you go.

No editing, just brain dump, and I ended up at about 700 words after a fifteen minute sprint and some finishing up.

“Are you sure about this?” Viperion demanded, his normally calm voice strained as he caught Ladybug’s elbow. “I don’t like this plan, it’s too dangerous. Those tunnels aren’t like the movies, they—” 

“I know that,” she snapped, jerking her arm free, and then winced, softening her voice. “It’s not the first time. I know what I’m doing. If you’ve got any other ideas, I’m all ears.” 

Viperion ground his teeth, letting out a frustrated sigh through his nose. He really didn’t. And if she didn’t either, then there probably wasn’t any other solution. She always saw the possibilities. It was something he’d always admired about her, on a professional level. 

It just…wasn’t easy to be professional with her anymore. “Are you sure?” he asked again, but she was already walking to the platform, and he could feel the vibration of the oncoming, akuma-powered train hurtling down the tunnel towards them.

“You know what to do,” she tossed over her shoulder, with a fake cheerfulness that made him ache. 

He wished that were true. He really didn’t know what to do anymore. 

He knew what was expected, though, so he flicked back the slide on his bracelet, the words “Second Chance,” coming out tight and frustrated. 

Ladybug was taking her yoyo from her hip and suddenly Viperion was moving. In two long strides he caught her, jerking her back to him. It was stupid, he knew that even as he jammed his mouth against hers. It was stupid, and possibly wrong, definitely hypocritical, and he did it anyway, his heart pounding in his chest. She gasped against his mouth and pressed for just a moment against his hold. The train came screaming through one tunnel opening and into the other, and she stopped pushing. Her arms came tight around his neck and she kissed him back, just as hard. It was rushed and messy and rough enough that he thought she was probably angry, but her hands were in his hair and her tongue was in his mouth and he could only drag her closer and try to keep up. 

The sudden silence of the station, the sudden loudness of gasped air between hungry lips and a whine he hadn’t known he was making, brought them back to reality, and when she dropped her hands to press his shoulders, he let her slide down him, though he kept his mouth on hers until her feet hit the floor. 

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Viperion swallowed, and Ladybug’s lips pursed tight together. She blinked quickly, and he saw the glitter of tears. “You ass,” she whispered. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

She held up a warning finger practically in front of his nose. “Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” he promised, and then hesitated. “It’s just…hard to watch you do these things. Now that I know it’s you.”

Ladybug scowled. “I knew it. Damnit, Luka, this is why you weren’t supposed to know!”

He had nothing to say to that. It wasn’t as if he had asked for this. She hadn’t wanted him to know, so he hadn’t tried to know. It had just…happened. 

Ladybug sighed. “Just…do it. I can’t deal with this right now. Some other time.” 

Some other timeline.

Viperion let out another quiet sigh through his nose as he pushed the slide back. A familiar flash of disorientation, and she was walking away from him. 

“Are you sure,” he asked one more time, and she just looked over her shoulder and winked. The train came screaming through, her yoyo zinged out towards it, and then she was gone before he could even blink. Viperion ran to the edge of the platform to look down the tunnel, heart in his throat, and he got the slightest glimpse of red—not the red he was afraid of, but red in a familiar shape, clinging to the back of the train, before it whipped around the next curve and was out of sight.

He cursed under his breath, and turned and ran, his legs shaky as he pounded up the subway steps to get in place for the next step of the plan.

[01zfan]

not a request but i wanted to know what your creative process is when it comes to writing fics?

love your work btw :)

first thank you for loving my work! i really appreciate it!

my creative process when writing fics is pretty simple i would say. it either starts off with a prompt (like a request or just an idea that pops into my head) then i imagine a specific scene i want to happen in the fic and it snowballs from there.

like for example in third i had a very specific image in my mind of sungchan perched at the end of his girlfriend's bed rubbing her feet. after getting that image i flesh it out to make it a scene. like what time of day is it? why is he rubbing his girlfriend's feet? what does the room look like around them? are they watching television? are they alone? then from there once i get that i kind of just keep writing from that point on.

i'm very much screenwriting driven in my fics. i want to set the scene and have the reading play out for you like a movie, the same it does in my head. usually my mind is running through the story like a movie and my fingers are working overtime to keep up. like in savior i had the image of a dark rundown church in the middle of nowhere with leaky ceilings and a statue thats face is hidden in the darkness. or the scene where wonbin is outside of the church doors asking to be let in, i imagined him looking to either side of him in paranoia of being alone in the stormy night while rain fell hard past the porch of the church and the night sky glowing blue behind him as lightening touched down near him. i sometimes see myself as the omniscient viewer in the scenes that play out in my head. like the part in savior when the reader looks through the crack of her bedroom door/storage closet to get a glimpse of wonbin changing. i saw myself behind her trying to describe what she sees. (i really like savior LMFAO)

i want to get better at setting descriptions and incorporating more feelings into my work. sometimes my writing feels choppy because it's very action based, especially the sex part lol.

i really liked the way i was able to set the scene in this shotaro wip called first snow though

“can i have one more present?” shotaro asks quietly.

“anything.” you say, nodding your head.

shotaro suddenly stands up from the couch and grabs your hand. you have no time to react as he pulls you up, running towards the front door of his house. you barely have time to grab your jacket off the back of the couch before a gust of wind and snow hits you. the sudden cold doesn’t stop shotaro, he takes it in stride as he runs through his door with you behind him.

shotaro runs down his steps and launches his body into the soft snow. you don’t give your hesitant body a second to think before you follow after him.

shotaro giggles at how shocked you are next to him. white puffs of vaporized air come out of your mouth in gasps as you to try to adjust to the sudden cold. your mouth is open just wide enough for snowflakes to fall past your lips, melting on your warm tongue. you’re still on the ground when shotaro stands next to you, bending down to move your hands and feet to make a snow angel. even though you are cold and you are sure you’ll become frostbitten, you let him move your body. you eventually start moving your limbs on your own, and shotaro looks down at you with a smile on his face. he starts running around you in circles while you trace out the snow angel, just like he used to do when you were kids. snow continues to fall on your face as you follow shotaro’s body that runs circles around you. 

when shotaro finally tires himself, he purposely falls on top of you. he knocks the air out of you and you giggle underneath his weight and his puffer jacket he haphazardly threw on before throwing his body into the snow. when shotaro looks down at you, the light post that stands tall behind you two lines up perfectly with his head, illuminating the snowy night sky like shotaro is the sun. you focus on him and the tiny shadows of the snow that falls around you both. you can see the flakes in his eyes, in his hair, and on his lips as he leans down to kiss you.

you reciprocate the kiss, soft and gentle like the snow you lay on top of. you bring a hand to shotaro’s face and touch his surprisngly warm cheeks. when shotaro pulls away to look at you, snow from his eyelashes fall on your face.

“would you run away with me?” shotaro asks.

thank you for asking the question about my work! i really appreciate the curiosity!

[pb-dot]

Film Friday: A formal apology to Last Night In Soho

People who have followed me for a while, or done some serious backreading may remember an early essay I wrote about the Edgar Wright film Last Night In Soho and how I couldn't make myself to watch the thing again. I've been trying to dig the thing up again so I could do a good follow-up, but Tumblr's search function continues to be Like That, so I'll just have to go by my memory of the thing for now. Last Night In Soho spoilers and some dreaded nuance below the cut!

In short, I struggled with how mean-spirited the film felt to me. Protagonist Eloise Turner gets chewed up and spitten out by a London that is sleazy, cruel and unforgiven even in the genre of "country mouse goes to the Big City and has a Terrible Time of Things" stories. It's a morally messy and gray kind of tale, where our hero narrowly evades a victim turned villain by the cruelty of the world around her by confronting her with the cruelties she herself indulged in. It's a real Bad Vs. Evil kind of situation, and just thinking of how much of an exhausting, terrifying experience the story would turn to for young Eloise made her early scrappy, if naive, enthusiasm turn to ash in my mouth.

The thing is, upon actually watching the thing again, and through explaining what's going on to my parents that, bless 'em, weren't quite following along on the plot, I came to realize something. All of the things mentioned above are true, that is what happens in the movie, and that's ok.

Eloise gets the utter shit kicked out of her by the plot. She falls down the tree of Moving to the Big City and hits just about every branch on the way down. Her natural empathy gets hijacked by a tale more sordid and violent than she's ready for, and there's no pot of golden rectification at the end of that rainbow, just a sad, twisted murderous grandmother dying in a house fire surrounded by the ghosts of her murdered abusers. It didn't have to end this way, Sandie didn't have to try killing Eloise to cover everything up. If she wasn't so warped from the abuse she suffered she might've even understood that Eloise has a lot in common with her, even when you ignore that she has, through her paranormal powers, Eloise has literally BEEN her. Eloise has literally felt her pain, her fear, her desperation. There is nobody in the world, maybe not even Sandie herself that has as good of a reason to be charitable and kind fo Sadie. It's no good, though, Sandie is too far gone to even consider empathy a possibility.

This is, of course, bleak as shit, and how bleak it is kind of blinded me to the point the movie was making. Upon a rewatch it seems almost absurd to me that I missed it in the first place, but the movie actually has a pretty clever thesis on Nostalgia built into it. Eloise goes to london, expecting it to be as magical of a place as she imagine it being in the late 60's. It is not, of course, even if the 60's was a stylish wonderland like she imagines it, the wear and tear of time and several generation-defining economic crisises (and entirely too many Tory governments if you permit me to talk politics for a hot second) have changed the place up. That is, however, just the starting conditions, the base camp from which Eloise's nostalgic dreams get confronted with the nastiness of reality.

Sadie is in many ways the perfect person for Eloise to project onto. She strides into the world of late 60's Soho with the effortless confidence of youth. She's not from around here, but she is going to make her dreams come true withher gumption and her beautfy and her unflinching confidence. Sounds a lot like Eloise, except Sadie is more of a girlboss than Ellie ever gets to. Of course, Sadie also falls out of the tree of moving to the Big City and hits a whole ton of branches on the way down, but that's not all there is to it. See, if the takeaway of the whole thing was "the protagonist thinks Before was better, but she learns that Before Was Pretty Terrible Actually," Last Night would truly be too cynical, full of pain and suffering, signifying nothing.

That's not what's happening though, if it did, Eloise would take half a look at what Sadie's life turned into and gotten the fuck out of dodge. It'd be a tale of the depravity of the city that a good soul narrowly escaped. That's not the movie Last Night In Soho is, and it's not even close. If anything, Eloise's obsession with South London and the sad life and assumed death of Sadie only deepens as she learns of just how bad things get for the doomed starlet.

It's one of those plot things that effectively illustrates that the difference between a character strength and a character weakness is highly dependent on context. Eloise is an emphatetic person, mirroring her openness to ghostly visions by her openness to other living people. It does her no favors in most interractions with her new classmates, but Eloise can no more stop feeling sympathy and openness to experience and feelings any more than a tiger can change its stripes.

So, Eloise is an admirable character because she can not stop being kind, even when it's a disadvantage. She could no more fire back at her queen bee bitchy roomate than she could walk on water, and so she choses to resolve the solution by moving out entirely. It's that kind of "too nice by half" personality that's mostly present in fictional characters to give them a place to grow out of, to learn to stand up to themselves and so on. That's not the angle Last Night goes for though, I'd argue what it does is a much more nuanced take on such a character.

I would argue, though, that throughout Last Night In Soho, Eloise's empathy is in fact her most grievous character flaw. She almost ruins her life and her future by actively seeking out Sadie's tragedy, soaking in it like she can redeem the time period she is so enamored by absorbing Sadie's misery and quote-unquote saving her from her ignoble end. The world does not require this of Eloise, she puts this unreasonably huge demand on herself because it's the only way her unquestioning love for the time and place of Sadie's life can remain unexamined. Sadie's tragedy can only be an emergent flaw in the system of that time and place. If late 60's Soho chewed up and spat out young ambitious women like her and Sadie as a matter of course, how could it be the magical place of the movies and music that Eloise loves so much?

It's with this in mind that the ending scene where Eloise displays her new clothes designs goes from being a "oh, nice for her I guess" kind of denoument into a pretty powerful thesis statement. Eloise still loves the things she loved about the 60's, she still loves the music, the aesthetics of it, the style of the clothing, but it is tempered by a distinctive and conscious sense of anachronism. This isn't the 60's coming back, this is Eloise, a modern young woman, showing the world what she loved about those bygone times filtered through her own experiences. This is, the movie says, what Nostalgia should be, an ongoing conversation with and about the aesthetics of the past without attempting to restore some sort of prelapsarian way of things that never existed in the first place.

In a world where an increasing amount of people start looking at the 50's with a worrying level of fondness, I think a movie like Last Night In Soho is important. It's ok to like rockabilly, it's ok to like stepford housewife chic, it's ok to like three-piece work suits, the movie all but says, but don't try to make today like the times when these styles arose. They weren't the Good Old Days the way it's tempting to think of them. They were Days, and depending on who you were they could be the farthest thing from good. Love the things and looks you love, but let the thoughts patterns and politics that informed them remain in the past where they belong.

So in short, I fear that in my initial piece on this movie, I did the Classical Tumblr Mistake of reading ill, conservative, will into a nuanced work that deals with complex topics in a surprisingly elegant way. So, that's my bad, and I'm glad that actually getting off my ass and giving it a second look has opened up my eyes to a lot of beautifully shot, artfully presented nuance. Last Night In Soho is a great move y'all. Go see it. Hell, if you've only seen it once, maybe see it again?

[canarydarity]

📓 😏

hello thank you for sending this because it means I actually get to share the plot of the baseball au rather than try and fail at keeping my cool and then yell to every single person I know and in random posts mwuahahaha my plan all along !!!!!

Are you ready to be made to care more about baseball than you ever thought you would in your entire life? No? excellent, click below <3

It's May, the year is 1961.

Jimmy is in the start of his second season as a right fielder for the New York Yankees and his fourth in major league baseball overall. Not a particularly impressive player with a rather normal batting average, he's managed to skate by without too much notice. No one's going to be wearing a jersey with his name on it when they come to fill out the stands, but that's alright, Jimmy is doing the only thing he has ever wanted to do—play ball.

Maybe his second season starts off pretty good—nothing to write home about, but for a while he's really hit his stride. And maybe some reporter isn't happy about the page time that they've been getting recently and decides to publish something reactionary just to get their foot jammed stubbornly in the door. They look at Jimmy on the bottom of the Yankees roster, they look at his not-insignificant amount of home-runs so far this season, and they write some crude article like "nobody Yank takes a crack at the Babe's record—as if!"

Everyone knows that Babe Ruth is just about the most famous and well-respected name in baseball, so it doesn't matter whether or not Jimmy intends on chasing any records (he doesn't), the press takes it and runs, and now the public thinks he does.

Jimmy ends up in a race against the clock: he has to hit at least 61 home runs by the end of the season in September; worse than that almost is the race against the ghost of baseballs most famous player and the fans he doesn't have; worse than that definitely is the race against his crippling lack of self confidence and his will to hold up under the pressure.

Of course, on top of all of that there's also homesickness, losing himself and the kid who fell in love with the game somewhere along the way, and an unexpected romance with the teams resident analyst.

---

I must disclose that Jimmy's plot IS mostly based on a real ballplayer named Roger Maris. I got a job recently in a museum that currently has a history of baseball exhibit and I read one plaque about this guys story went Jimmy and then learned every single thing that I could about him in the matter of one weekend, as any sane person would do. If anyone would like to know more about him and what happened in the summer of '61 please....please ask this is currently the only topic that I am capable of talking about and I love sharing knowledge. Or I can recommend movies to watch and articles to read <3

When the fic itself is posted there will be an entire work up on Roger Maris and his story and the situation vs what I did instead in the au in the notes, though!

[ask game]

[watchoutforthefanfics]

achievement unlocked 🔓 (part twenty) || Streamer AU! Reddie (IT)

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: this prompt + BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Billie Eilish

Summary: Richie liked to play video games, and by some stroke of luck, it became his job. Being primarily known as Trashmouth on stream, he found his own little group of streamer friends and they became intertwined: The Losers Club. It never did feel quite complete, though. Well, until, he got his very own backseat gamer in chat.

TWs: cursing, talk of sex, and shameless flirting.

[[A/N: okay so like technically this is the last chapter BUT... I have an epilogue shit in mind (different events that I want to write within this universe). So, no worries!!! I didn't intend this to be the end at all, but like I was writing it and was like.... oh shit. So epilogues to come lovelies!!! Don't you worry!!! Enjoy :))]]

Richie wasn't exactly sure why it started, but it did. There could be a myriad of reasons, honestly (all of which Richie had debated thoroughly at this point), but it did start happening. Not that Richie was complaining.

It was the day after Bev started helping, and she had said she couldn't do much more (with her stream schedule), but she'd do what she could. Richie had actually posted that he'd be back on stream by next week (which was fittingly flushed with '🍝' because his fans seemed to be obsessed with Eddie just a little less than he was), so, they weren't exactly on a timer, per se, but they did kinda have a deadline. Technically.

Richie was currently pulling out some of Eddie’s personal shit. Mostly because a lot of the stuff Eddie intended to do himself, like clothes, for example, he had to color code them -so, it was essentially no use for Richie to hang them up. But things like his toothbrush, his hair products, shampoo, conditioner, and plates (shit that already had a spot essentially) were fair game. So, that's what Richie was doing.

That being said, he was sitting -rifling through a box in the living room (DVDs and games -that he never had the console for but Richie did), and Eddie was in the kitchen. Organizing the pantry. Well, he thinks anyway, Eddie was doing a lot in the kitchen, so he really could be on any task at this point.

This, this was when it started.

"Hey, Richie, honey, where do you keep the canned shit?"

He answered naturally -thoughtlessly, "In the cabinet to the right of the fridge, Eds."

He chimed a sweet little thank you, that made Richie grin a little. And nearly instantly, Richie went back to shuffling -on a mission.

It took a minute to process, and he was pulling out a movie (a Garfield cartoon that Eddie had most certainly bought for him) when it hit him.

"Honey?" He questioned, mostly to himself -laughing a little.

Slipping the DVD into the cabinet (Richie already had them alphabetized, thankfully), he stood and slowly pattered over to the kitchen.

Eddie was staring at the pantry in intense focus (bingo), brown deadset on them like if he looked away they'd unsort themself somehow. Richie loved him so much he might explode. He figured they both could use the break anyway, so he spoke.

"Did you just call me honey?" Richie asking, teasingly.

Eddie jumped, spinning to him before flushing a red that Richie knew well, "Yes, why, dickweed?"

"I should be asking you that, Spaghetti," Richie slowly made his way to Eddie's side -his big brown eyes were soft on him (betraying his pinched frown).

"I'm your boyfriend," Eddie offered, frustrated, "-Am I not fucking allowed to call you pet names?"

"You're allowed," Richie laughed, now right in front of him (long strides are really helpful sometimes), "-but you've literally never done that before."

"Well," Eddie actually fucking pouted, and Richie near immediately kissed him (like it was a fucking Pavlovian response and you know, maybe it was) -Eddie's frown quirked up for a second, "-you have all this shit for me, I wanted to... try some out."

Richie grinned big and bright, pinching his cheek, "Awe, Eds loves me-"

"Shut up," Eddie shoved at him, "-of course, I do. You're lucky I don't call you fucking 'goose egg' or some shit."

Richie snorted, "Goose egg?"

"It's better than fucking Spaghetti," Eddie pointed out.

"First off, maybe later," Richie winked (Eddie's frown set even deeper), "-but secondly, there's nuance to it, Eddie my love. It's a nickname of another nickname that I've given you. There's layers, like an onion-"

"Cool it, ogre," Eddie retorted, "-Aren't you supposed to be sorting shit?"

"Ogre?" Richie hummed -playfully acting thoughtfully, "-Now that's a thinker, Eds. Totally could be a winner."

"Shut up," Eddie repeated, shoving him (but not before kissing him solidly once), "-Go do your fucking job, Tozier. Make yourself useful."

"I can think of a few ways I can make myself useful," Richie hummed, moving his eyebrows -suggestively.

Eddie rolled his eyes, but did in fact say, "Maybe later, dickweed."

And that was the end of that. Well, technically the start of something (more than one something but you didn't hear it from Richie).

It didn't stop there. Eddie kept trying them.

'Love' when they woke up in the morning -wrapped into each other (it was cute, but Eddie definitely didn't like it when he said it), 'darling' when he didn't want to move off the couch to get the remote (Richie had straight-up burst into laughter at that one, it just wasn't right), 'babe' as he rambled about different things putting up his clothes (that one actually sounded pretty good, but it didn't quite achieve his goal of flustering Richie), 'sweetheart' when Richie had given him his homemade dinner (that one was cute, but again there was a prerogative), 'lovebug' when Richie was being a little too clingy -not that Eddie was complaining (that one just didn't sound right in his mouth), 'dear' just saying it to see if it worked (Richie pointed out his bit and Eddie had promptly dropped it), 'bae' in a similar way as babe but much more purposeful (Richie and Eddie started at each other for a moment before simultaneously bursting into laughter).

All that to say, Eddie was trying. Richie personally thought it was the cutest thing in the world. He wanted it to maybe go on forever, and maybe he thought maybe it could go on forever-

Well, until Eddie found the perfect one.

They'd done it, every box unpacked -Eddie was totally and completely moved in. Richie was fucking ecstatic, personally, (although... he would miss the way Eddie's arms flexed when he was carrying a particularly heavy box) because Eddie was officially living with him. Eddie could wake up in the morning, get his toothbrush and toothpaste, go to fucking... his closet and get his clothes. God, Richie was over the fucking moon-

That being said, they were physically letting themselves rest (at Eddie’s insistence, naturally). In a similar position to how they slept, actually, Richie as a human blanket with their legs intertwined. The only thing different, now, was that Eddie was partially sort of sat up. It made it so Richie was a touch lower than he'd usually be, and his arms circled his lower waist instead of around his ribs. It did mean, however, that Eddie could smooth one hand mindlessly up and down Richie's back and the other thread gently through his hair.

It was probably the best fucking cuddling Richie had ever been a part of. It was no wonder he was getting tired, Eddie was safe and warm and comfortable and his fingertips were gentle and soft. Richie should've been knocked out as soon as he'd laid onto Eddie's chest-

"You ready to go to bed, lover?" Eddie hummed, soft and gentle -affectionately teasing.

Richie blinked. Lover?

"Rich," Eddie continued, more persistent. At no response, he moved his hands to pull Richie's face up to match his eyes.

He must've looked some sort of cute because Eddie's face softened considerably -brown eyes shiny and soft. It made Richie's head swim that he was looking at fucking him like that.

"You tired, lover?"

Richie was not sure if it was the name (lover? what the fuck-), the tone, or maybe his eyes, but it made some splotchy red climb up his collar. Eddie's eyes hinged on it for a second, eyebrows furrowing for a second -before something settled across his face, a glint in his eyes.

Was this what it felt like with 'Eddie baby'?

"You like that one?" Eddie asked, smiling -thumbs brushing against Richie's face (he kinda wanted to lean into it), before teasing, "-Lover?"

Richie pressed his lips together.

"Or maybe," Eddie added, still smiling and moving to peck his lips once (Richie kinda felt like he was in paradise), "-loverboy?"

He blinked, red shooting up his cheeks, Eddie grinned. It made Richie's heart skip a beat, even now. But at the moment, he felt a little speechless.

Richie just shoved his head forward into the crook of Eddie's neck -drowning in strawberries. Eddie laughed and it rattled through Richie's head.

"Really?" Eddie hummed, pressing a kiss to his temple, and moving a freehand to thread through his curls again "-Those are the ones that get you?"

"I dunno," Richie breathed out against the skin of Eddie's neck, "-there's just something about the teasing of loverboy. And the fucking... sincerity of lover. Because, yeah, you do fucking love me. And that's sick as fuck-"

Eddie laughed again, before humming -softly, "You do still get pretty fucking affected when I say 'I love you'."

As if on cue, his skin burned brighter, "Well, yeah, because you fucking... love me."

Eddie giggled, and tugged his face up again -brown matching his own, "You're so fucking cute when you're tired, loverboy."

Richie frowned, cheeks pink, "This is not fair, I'm tired and vulnerable and you're so pretty it makes my brain hurt-"

Eddie pulled him forward and kissed him, effectively shutting him up. Slow and sweet, fingers sliding back to push curls behind his ears and palms on his cheeks to keep him there. Richie felt like he might physically faint, being treated so preciously. He always felt that shit when Eddie was like this, all soft and sweet and genuine. The times where he just genuinely showed Richie he loved him, without the poking and the prodding.

Don't get him wrong, he lives for the poking and the prodding, but these moments? They are right fucking there with them. Richie wanted them to feel this way forever, to never lose the warmth twisted around his heart, the bursting love in his chest any time he looked at him.

God. He was so fucked.

Richie woke up to two things that next morning, the thrum of Eddie's heartbeat under his chest, and the buzz of his phone vibrating against the nightstand.

He blinked, leaning up slightly. With a breath, he moved to press a kiss to the hinge of Eddie's jaw -soft and sweet, and pulled himself off of Eddie. It took a few seconds, but he did it eventually, slipping on his glasses.

'Staniel 🐦😤😠 is calling'

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, eyeing the time: 9:37. What the fuck-

Before he could think anything of it, Eddie stirred a little, and Richie felt the need (instinctive) to soothe him.

"Just a sec, Eddie baby," he hummed, leaning over and kissing his forehead.

Eddie shifted, rubbing at his eyes, "Where are you going?"

"Stanny's calling," Richie hummed, voice scratchy, "-if I don't answer, he'll kick my fucking ass."

"Stanley?" Eddie sat up, and Richie frowned.

"Eds, you can go back to sleep," he motioned dismissively, "-I'll figure out what he needs, and-"

"No, I don't want to," Eddie echoed out, yawning -stretching slightly (Richie's eyes unwillingly hitched on the skin of Eddie's stomach for a moment), "-it fucking sucks without you, and I want to talk to Stanley and Patty-"

Richie blinked.

"-Now c'mon, asshole," he pat the bed, "-answer the fucking phone."

Richie did as told -scooting in close to Eddie and throwing an arm around his shoulders (Eddie snuggled into him, naturally).

"Stan?" Richie called out, putting him on speaker.

"Richie, I've called you like three fucking times," Stanley spoke up through the phone.

"It's 9:37 am here, Stanley," Richie argued, yawning within the sentence, "-I just woke up to your call. Well, we just woke up to your call, actually-"

"Oh my god, Eddie!" Patty piped up, and Richie could physically hear the grin on her face, "-Hi, sweetheart. How's California?"

Eddie laughed, maybe a little nervous (Richie squeezed him closer to his side), "It's still fucking polluted, but-"

Patty laughed, and Eddie's eyes hung on Richie for a second -Richie wanted to bathe in it like it was fucking sunlight.

"-it's a lot fucking better. I'm happy as shit."

Richie grinned, turning to kiss his cheek (Eddie swatted at him but didn't push him too far away). So fucking cute.

"I'm really glad," Stanley added, softly. It was unusual but not unfamiliar.

Something flickered along Eddie's face, taken aback a little, Richie could tell.

"Alright, Stanthony," Richie hummed, "-to what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Actually," Stanley hummed, "-I wanted to talk to Eddie."

Richie blinked, and eyed Eddie for a second -his eyes widened in response (maybe nervous, Richie itched to soothe).

He squeezed Eddie again, fingertips dragging along his arm -in a comforting motion.

"You gonna put him through the wringer again, Stanthony? Really?" Richie laughed.

"No," Stanley answered flatly, "-You guys are stupid in love with each other, I could see that from like 1000s of miles away. It's disgusting."

Richie rolled his eyes, teasing, "Sometimes I worry for Patty."

Patty snickered over the phone.

"Very funny, Richie," Stanley continued, unphased, "-Look, I want to talk about my wedding."

Shit, right, it was maybe two months away. He and Eddie had talked about it a little bit, and Eddie wasn't sure if Stanley would want him there. Richie disagreed, strongly, and told him that every time they talked about it. Because it was just so fucking obvious to him. Stanley, at the least, loved Richie and Richie loved Eddie. So, by proxy, he was going to the wedding.

"Yeah?" Eddie asked, curiously.

"Well, I have a big ass wedding party, already but-"

Eddie's eyes grew wide, and Richie watched him for a second with a baited breath.

"-you're a Loser now. Not even just because of Richie. You're one of us. So, I wanted to ask if you'd be one of my groomsmen?"

Eddie blinked, his mouth screwing up into something Richie recognized -something a little teary. Richie kissed his cheek again, and Eddie leaned closer to him this time.

"What the fuck," Eddie laughed, a little teary, "-Yeah, of course, Stanley. What the fuck-"

Richie laughed, rubbing his hand up and down his back. Eddie was grinning, smooth against his side, and Richie thought that's where he was meant to be. That they fit perfectly together, that it was always supposed to be this way in the end-

Patty hummed, soft and sweet, "It just wasn't right without you in our wedding, Eddie."

"Shit," he sniffled, and Richie wiped at his tears with his freehand -before his breath started to pick up, "-thank you. Are you... Do you have a suit for me? Or should I fucking get on that? What are your wedding colors-"

"Eddie baby, relax," Richie interrupted -trying to catch his eye (keyed in on the Eddie-ism), "-let 'em speak, yeah? Don't worry about hypothetical shit."

Eddie took a breath, brown eyes focused on Richie. He watched him for a second, making sure his breaths slowed and the tension slid out of his body-

"You guys are disgusting," Stanley interrupted, promptly, and it made Richie snort out a laugh.

"Shut up," Eddie huffed out, and moved to wrap his arms around Richie’s middle.

Richie laughed even harder.

"To answer your question," Patty spoke, sternly, maybe to the both of them, "-just send us your suit size, honey. We'll get it. We still have time. No need to worry."

"Okay," Eddie paused, "-if you guys need anything else, let me know. I'm great at planning-"

"I bet," Stanley snickered, Richie physically heard the smack on his chest (love ya, Patts), "-honestly, just wish you were here before we paid for a wedding planner."

Eddie laughed then too.

"That's why we called," Patty confirmed, "-but if I don't get to talk to Eddie for a while, I will fly out and kick your ass, Richie."

"What the fuck, why me?"

"Please," Stanley leveled, "-she'd never kick Eddie's ass. He's her favorite."

"What?" Richie let out a faux gasp, dramatically leaning back against the headboard, "-My dearest Patricia, I swore we had something special-"

"Don't worry, Richie," Patty hummed over the phone, "-I think you're a package deal. I just don't have the years of Eddie that I do with you."

Richie pouted, as if she could see him, and Eddie laughed at it and even just the noise made the act falter.

"Yeah, whatever," Richie huffed out -playfully.

Eddie was on the phone (he’d switched to his own) for about an hour and a half, he'd turned it off of speaker (for whatever reason), and because Richie was a clingy motherfucker, he stayed close to him. Like didn't move a single limb, fingers brushing through his hair or trailing along his skin. It was a little like he was memorizing him, understanding that he was right fucking there. Eddie, right there with him, his boyfriend.

It was easy to forget sometimes that Eddie was here with him, that he'd found Eddie at all. Because he'd gotten used to life without him, without someone, but now... fuck, he can't even remember what it was like before Eddie. And he doesn't fucking want to. Ever. He'd do everything in his power to keep him. Everything-

Wait.

Richie paused, switching on his phone as Eddie mindlessly talked to Patty -he dove into one conversation in particular.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

best way to make a date about seeing the golden gate bridge

go

Richie paused for a moment, drumming his fingers along Eddie's skin -right under his shirt sleeve. Even now, it still made his head spin to get to fucking touch him.

reddy.bevvy ✔️

this your idea or his ?

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

his

he wants to see the bridge but like we should do some other shit

shouldn't we?

reddy.bevvy ✔️

you know you don't have to do huge fucking gestures right?

eddie will probably love it either way

Richie smiled, and pressed a kiss into Eddie’s temple, Eddie nuzzled further into him in response. Jesus fuck, Richie loved the shit out of him-

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

yeah I know

it's just like some of his first dates ever

I want to do right by him

he deserves the fucking best

reddy.bevvy ✔️

you know it might just be 'the best' to him if it's with you right?

Richie paused, pressing his lips together, eyes darting to Eddie who was sunken into his side. Completely wrapped up in him, playing with one of Richie's hands as he mindlessly spoke to Patty. Casual affection (because he loves me). Something in Richie wanted to cry, and the other part wanted to kiss Eddie until he couldn't breathe.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

yeah I know

I just want it to be perfect

I love him so much bev

reddy.bevvy ✔️

I know, Rich

let me look around for you

we're gonna make this shit amazing

Richie laughed, softly, moving his head to come through Eddie’s hair. His Eddie. My Eddie. Jesus.

Bev eventually got back to him, with a slew of answers. The best places to see the Golden Gate Bridge, the best places physically by it. Restaurants and cafés and stores, she'd had it all covered. And then finished it with:

reddy.bevvy ✔️

enjoy yourself rich xoxo

So, that brought him to now, watching Eddie get ready. It was the cutest thing in the world.

He pulled out a shirt on the hanger, eyed it, and then another, and physically moved them back and forth. Richie had the spare thought that any other person would probably rush him, but he just wanted to pull up a fucking chair, lean his head on his hands with big-ass heart eyes. Partially because Eddie was LIVING here, and partially because he loved him so much he might explode-

"What do you think?" Eddie suddenly turned to him, holding out a short-sleeved baby blue button-up with a white tanktop underneath it and a simple brown polo.

Richie hummed, curiously, "Isn't red your favorite color, Eds?"

"Well," Eddie pursed up his lips, "-yeah, but-"

"Would wearing red make you happy?" Richie interrupted, tilting his head.

Eddie pulled the two shirts back to himself, gnawing at his lips, "I... I guess so."

"Then wear red, Eddie baby," Richie offered.

"I don't even think I fucking have red," Eddie pointed out, sliding his shirts back into their spots.

"Well, lucky for you, my dearest Spaghetti," Richie hummed, tugging him by the wrist to his own closet, "-You are dating a man made up of literal fucking color vomit-"

"Ew," Eddie scrunched up his nose, Richie leaned forward and kissed it (Eddie's frown quirked up for a split second).

Opening his closet, he motioned toward the assortment as if he were unveiling a new exhibit at a museum, arms open and wide.

"Take your pick, Eddie my love."

Eddie laughed only a little, before stepping past him into his closet.

On the surface, it was overwhelming, Richie could acknowledge that. Even after Eddie sorted it by color (because he wanted to, and Richie would give him the world if he could). But he could definitely say he has every color in his wardrobe, which is fun. Good, probably.

Red is actually more in Richie's wardrobe than expected. Mostly because there we a lot of strange button ups in red, but also because Bev had told him he looked good in fucking... 'maroon'. So, she'd typically get him something on the red spectrum.

Eddie fingered through the fabric, thoughtfully. Richie watched him again. If there was a career in watching Eddie Kaspbrak, he'd probably be the fucking CEO. He'd be the best of the best because he could just watch him. Which was weird as fuck, because normal Richie couldn't even wait for a loading screen in a game without chattering about fucking any and everything (great for streaming, but still). But with Eddie... he could just watch. And he could listen. Richie was usually fucking talking his ass off but when Eddie was talking, god all Richie wanted to fucking do was listen. Even about the most mundane shit in the world, Richie would never be bored. He could watch his mouth curve around the words, the way his eyes glinted differently depending on how he was feeling, the way his nose scrunched up when he was disgusted. Eddie was the most expressive person in the fucking world, and Richie wanted to know all of his expressions so bad it ached.

Fuck, he was so fucked.

Eddie pulled out a simple t-shirt with the champion logo in blue on the front, toward the right side. He showed it to Richie.

"Is this too fucking simple?" Eddie pursed his lips, "-This is like our first official date, and I know you fucking put effort into it, and I'm just gonna wear a fucking sports t-shirt? That feels so shitty-"

"I really fucking love you," Richie interrupted, smiling -affection bubbling up his throat (I wanna keep him forever).

Eddie's lips snapped shut, and a red bloomed onto his cheeks (like it was the first time Richie had ever said it, which it decidedly was not). His big brown eyes flicked between quite a few different things, some that Richie could name and others he'd learn to.

Finally, he spoke, soft, "I love you too, Richie."

"That one's nice," Richie hummed, leaning forward and pinching the fabric between his fingers, "-I think it'll be fucking great for today."

"But-"

"It's gonna be hot, Eddie baby," Richie moved forward, smoothing his hands down his arms, "-and you really don't have to fucking try hard for me. Just be comfortable and happy. I'll still makeout with you later, your shirt won't-"

Eddie shoved at him, "Shut up."

Even still, he pulled it off the hanger without hesitating. After quickly changing his shirt (and Richie maybe being a little distracted by the shown skin), they were on the streets of San Francisco.

Richie had suggested they walk, and Eddie had promptly pulled out some sunscreen. Richie wasn't going to complain, Eddie's hands all over him? Yes, please-

"Where are we going?" Eddie interrupted the thought process, thankfully.

Richie grinned, and poked his nose, "Wouldn't you like to know, weatherboy?"

Eddie scrunched of his nose, "A vine, really?"

"Uh, yeah, really," Richie enunciated, swinging his arm over Eddie's shoulder and tugging him close (Eddie didn't even hesitate with the motion, tucked against his side), "-that shit shaped a whole generations humor, it should be in fucking textbooks-"

Eddie interrupted him, pouting, "Are you seriously not going to tell me where we're going?"

Richie laughed at the expression, pulling him close and kissing his temple, "Don't worry Eds, you'll figure it out."

Eddie rolled his eyes, but stayed tight to Richie's side, hand moving up to grab his that was hanging off his shoulder -effectively pulling them closer. Richie felt like he'd never loved someone more in his life.

"Hey, Eddie my love?"

Eddie hummed, in response, eyes wandering along all the buildings.

"What are you willing to eat from a food truck?" Richie asked curiously, eyeing the upcoming section of food, "-If the answer is nothing, that's fine, but we could probably fond somewhere eat-in-"

"You'd-" Eddie started, "-You'd do that? Find somewhere else?"

Richie paused in his step, moving his arm to face Eddie fully -big brown eyes on his own.

"Eddie baby," he started, leveled but still somehow through laughs, "-I am balls deep in love with you-"

Eddie scrunched up his nose and shoved him, "You're fucking disgusting."

"-picking a different restaurant doesn't mean shit to me. As long as you're happy and comfortable, I'll find shit I like."

Eddie eyed him, flickering over his face -hinging on his facial features, like he was trying to memorize them. Richie did it a lot when Eddie was still asleep (if he woke up before him), and he could tilt his head up and count the freckles across his nose (which the sun, in fact, brought out more). It was 13, 6 on one side and 7 on the other (Eddie would despise it), if you were wondering-

"I think you might be the love of my life."

Richie blinked.

"Like forever kinda shit," Eddie added less eloquently, "-Like I don't think I ever get past you. I think... I think this is it. I think you're it."

Richie blinked again, mind running 100 miles per hour.

"I just, um-" Eddie continued, nervously, "-You should know that. And I know we've only really been dating a few months, but I just... It makes sense. You, Richie, you make sense. You've... always made sense."

Richie heart felt like it might literally explode. And he had half an idea that Eddie might fucking pull out a ring, but he knew better than that. Eddie, if he was proposing, he'd be stressing over the words, trying to recite them. Be perfect. And Richie would force him to break it, to be imperfect-

Fuck, if he asked, he'd say yes. What the fuck does that mean-

"Jesus, Eds," Richie laughed a little teary, "-Where the fuck did that come from? What the fuck-"

Eddie shrugged, completely certain in his words -not a shred of him embarrassed, as he moved his hands to cup Richie's face naturally (thumbs brushing away any tears), "I just really fucking love you."

"God," Richie laughed, teary, "-I love you too, you little shit. What the fuck? You can't just say that shit out on the street, while I'm trying to fucking figure out if you'd eat from a shitty taco truck-"

Eddie giggled, still cradling his face.

"-I'm not fucking ready for that. I might need days in preparation, honestly. Fuck, man."

Richie tried to wipe at his own eyes, laughing lightly, "It goes without saying, Eds, I think you're it for me too. Just fyi."

Eddie grinned brighter, a teasing twinkle in his eye, "Yeah, I kinda figured."

"Oh, fuck you, Kaspbrak," Richie laughed harder, pulling himself out of his grip, "-You're such a little asshole. The fucking whiplash I get from dating you, you should start paying my medical bills-"

"Shut up," Eddie chased him back, moving to cradle his face and kiss him. A soft and sweet one, the kind that Richie wanted to curl up under and absorb like a cat in the sunlight. He could fucking kiss Eddie forever. He'd suffocate, yeah, but what a way to go-

Richie pulled back, but held their foreheads together, grinning. God, he was so happy. So, so happy. Eddie grinned right back at him (like maybe he was so, so happy too).

"God," Richie let him go, intertwining their hands, "-fucking Eddie Kaspbrak-"

Eddie laughed, following Richie's guide as he navigated to a little sandwich shop that Bev had pointed out. They were still a little ways to being at The Golden Gate Bridge, but it was definitely pretty big on their horizon. They ended up getting sandwiches, both relatively light, nothing too heavy for the evening (Eddie wanted them to eat an actual meal later like you were 'fucking supposed to'). Richie would do literally anything he asked.

"Favorite season?" Richie asked, sandwich in one hand, and Eddie's hand in the other. They were tossing through 20 questions again, it was just nice -getting to know each other more (Richie wanted to know everything about Eddie so badly it burned).

Eddie hummed, chewing a bite (no way in hell he was talking with food in his mouth) and swallowing, "Maybe fall."

"Why?" Richie asked, following.

"Not as much to worry about," Eddie leveled, "-no fucking allergies as bad as spring's, no severe chance of hypothermia like in winter, and no stupid fucking sunburn and heat stroke chance like summer."

Richie hummed, thoughtfully.

"You?" Eddie's eyes flickered to Richie.

"Summer," Richie answered, "-obviously."

"Obviously?" Eddie raised an eyebrow.

"Eddie, my love," Richie laughed, "-look at me. I'm just... It's summer. I can't explain it. Although, I fucking love Halloween-"

"Now, that is fucking obvious-"

Eddie faltered off, then, as Richie guided him to the bridge, stopping as his steps did. The sun was just beginning to set, and Richie literally thanked god that it had lined up that perfectly-

"The bridge," Eddie spoke, a little lost.

"Yup," Richie popped the 'p', disconnecting their hands to throw an arm around his shoulders, "-per your request."

Eddie paused, eyes stuck on the setting of the sun, "I don't think this would be as cool without the sunset."

Richie snorted, "Which is why I am converting to Christianity in a few hours and thanking Jesus personally-"

"Shut up," Eddie elbowed him, and Richie jumped slightly, "-you're ruining it, dickwad."

"Yeah, yeah," Richie rolled his eyes, but still stopped talking.

His eyes hung on the setting sun and the bridge. It was kinda beautiful. Okay, no kinda, it was beautiful, the shine of the metal, the slightly cloudy skyline, the oranges. It was all beautiful. Very beautiful. Richie hadn't felt that way about San Francisco in awhile, but Eddie... Eddie brought it out of him-

Eddie leaned onto his shoulder, interrupting his thought process. And a fondness that only Eddie had ever achieved swam over Richie's skin.

He peeked at Eddie out of the corner of his eye.

And fuck, he was beautiful. Forget the fucking bridge-

His eyes were glittering in the golden hour way (Richie was looking at it in person now), and the setting orange highlighted the features of his face -the tip of his nose, his jawline, the individual curls (waves kinda) of his hair, even his fucking eyelashes. And he was so close that Richie could individually count his freckles, while his whole face was washed in a glow. An evening glow. He wanted to commit this to memory, this fucking vision of Eddie. And this whole day. These fucking feelings, ever since he'd gotten Eddie, he wanted to memorize how he felt every stage of the way. Remember it until he was old and fucking grey.

Richie let the thought settle in his head for a second.

In a year, he could buy a ring. Perfect for Eddie, maybe engraved with something unbelievably stupid. Gold maybe because of this moment now, because of the way he fucking simmered in the sun. Golden. And then finding the perfect time, the perfect moment, and maybe fucking it up. Maybe tripping up on his words, or crying too much to speak, or dropping the fucking box. But he'd still ask. And maybe...

Maybe Eddie would say yes.

Richie quietly leaned his head on top of Eddie's, and held him as close as physically possible -warmth against his entire side. He reveled in the fact that Eddie didn't even flinch at it, just nuzzled closer. Like he fit. Like he was always meant to be there.

And you know what? Richie thinks he was.

Yeah, okay, his mind hummed, one day. We can do it one day.

[los-ninos-tortugas]

Alright so I ended up watching both episodes three and four of Tales before I went to sleep last night (although honestly I was tempted to stay up later and just keep watching but I'm trying to maintain some semblance of a sleep schedule). I'm going to talk about just episode three here. episode four may not get it's own individual post because I kinda feel like a lot of what I have to say about it will sorta overlap with what I have to say about the arc of the first four episodes overall, which most likely will be it's own detailed analysis (I say. maybe. I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants here and I don't exactly have a set format for when I do these watch-throughs.) I also kind of just want to get on with watching the rest of the show since I am thoroughly enjoying it so far. so as I go through it i'll probably just make shorter little comments and save these longer sorts of posts for a little more after the fact when I've maybe watched it a couple more times and had more time to kinda mull it over.

I feel like the series really hits its stride with episode three. honestly I was a little on the fence about each of these episodes starting off in medias res and giving a roshomon style flashback for each turtle, but Raphael's episode really hits the ground running. truly it doesn't stop either. of the four opening episodes that reacquaint us with the turtles I feel like Raphael's is the strongest, with some really excellent pacing and tight writing.

I also kinda found myself being a bit taken aback by just how violent (both explicitly and implicitly) this episode is. and then I was taken aback by the fact that I was taken aback. because by nature TMNT is just kind of a violent franchise, that's just kinda how superhero media works and they're, you know, ninjas. and it's not as though previous iterations haven't gone to dark places. 03 and 2012 particularly come to mind with their pretty frequent use of body horror as a go-to storytelling device. Rise has a bit more of a "Steven Universe" approach where violence is kinda hidden under a thin layer of cartoon logic, where the line is kinda blurred about whether certain things will have consequences or not; sometimes characters shake off an injury with relative easy (usually turning it into a visual gag) or then there's... the movie. (movie notwithstanding rise does a lot to kinda soften the blows a bit) but I think the difference comes from the fact that the violence and horror from previous series is always firmly in the realm of the fantastic. the prime example is what happens to Stockman over time in the 03 series but it's a kind of horror that is strictly sci-fi. but Kitsune coming up to Raph and point blank saying "I am going to sell you on the black market to be experimented on and also I am going to cut off pieces of you for the same purpose" hits a little too real. (i'm sure the angst lovers are enjoying their juice) I'm going to suspend my suspension of disbelief for a second to say obviously I know how this goes, Raph escapes with all his fingers intact. He's the hero, that's just how it goes. but in the moment of watching this happen, with my suspension of disbelief fully engaged, the presentation of this threat makes me believe in its credibility.

Now Mutant Mayhem did a lot to set up the kind of stakes we deal with in this iteration in particular, we know Superfly has blood on his hands, and now the payoff is Tales staying committed to that more grounded sense of danger and Raph really is the perfect character to do this setup and payoff with, since he himself is so tied up with violence as a character in any given iteration.

It's probably also why the purple dragons really shine in this episode.

Being used to Rise I initially thought the the leader was going to be a new version of Kendra (and there seems to be a little bit of a callback to Kendra's design in her) but I was really excited when she was revealed to be Angel. Same for Hun as well. He and Raphael kind of develop a bit of a frenemies dynamic by the end, and if this show gets more seasons it'd be pretty interesting to see where that goes.

this episode doesn't just test Raph's wits but also his moral compass in a really interesting way. Out of the arc of the first four episodes I think this one in particular is shaping up to be my favorite (favorite episode of the series overall tbd).

[minijenn]

Jen Tortures Herself With Every Dreamworks Animated Movie Ever: Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa

So I believe I've already mentioned the reoccuring trend with Dreamworks franchises where the second movie of any given franchise of theirs is usually on par with quality of the first movie or even better, and I would say that certainly rings true for good ol Madagascar 2 here. In that it's on par with the first movie, though I'm not sure I'd call it better... Let's get into it.

We pick up with our squad of lovable animals leaving Madagascar, only to crash land in the African Savannah. There, Alex reunites with his parents, Marty finds a whole flock of zebras just like him, and Melman and Gloria start to realize they have feelings for each other. Meanwhile we have the Penguins trying to fix up their plane and King Julian being, well King Julian. There are a lot of subplots floating around here, but I think they're all pretty engaging! Alex is clearly the focus this time around, while the first movie focused more on Marty, and the arc Alex goes through here is actually really engaging (and wow, another Dreamworks protagonist with some daddy issues, another trend we really get in this era of Dreamworks imo)

All of our favorites from last time around are back and just as funny as they were in the first movie. There aren't too many new characters, though the ones who are here are pretty fun, such as Alex's parents. Unlike the last movie, this one actually has a genuine antagonist in Makunga, and well, he's just Scar. Like, there's a lot of elements from this movie lifted from Lion King and Makunga is really just a lamer version of Scar. He's ok. Nowhere near as based as our other standout "antagonist" here, the crazy old lady from the first movie.

The comedy is once again exceptionally on point. Lots of fast-paced physical humor mixed with whitty jokes and humor that comes naturally out of the characters strong personalities and how they interact with each other. I would say that the emotions ring a little stronger in this movie than the first one actually, with the heavy focus on Alex reconnecting with his family and on Gloria and Melman's surprisingly well done romance. Marty has the weakest arc out of our main four, but we still get some decent moments of friendship between him and Alex, which is a nice way to harken back to the first movie.

The animation here is also very smooth, again focused on that fast-paced brand of humor this series is known for, with a solid score that works to carry both the emotions and comedy through very nicely. Dreamworks has really hit their stride in this era of their existance, and this movie, despite its status as a sequel, is a pretty good testament to that.

So yeah, Escape 2 Africa is pretty great! I had a blast watching it again after all these years, and I really do enjoy watching this zany band of characters and their wacky adventures. Granted, I've never seen the third installment of this franchise, so I guess we'll have to wait and see if it maintains that level of quality moving forward. But as for this one, it's well worth watching.

Overall Rating: 8/10

Verdict: Moto Moto is comin' for you

Previous Review (Kung Fu Panda)

Next Review (Monsters vs Aliens)

[80s4life]

Denial and Anger"

Word Count: 1,518

Status: Requested!

Ask: Some anons were suggesting more Martin Riggs content, I happily obliged.

@: multiple anons!

A/N: This oneshot is based off of "Family Line" by Conan Gray (x)

A/N #2: This is gonna be a long a grueling one guys, I'm sorry. Probably going to be 2-3 parts tbh.

Relationship: Martin Riggs x GN!Reader (however I always default to female, but this can apply to everyone)

Fandom: Lethal Weapon Movie Series

Summary: When push comes to shove and your sister is taken out from under you, you find an unexpected solace in the one Martin Riggs. In a test to get your sister back in time, though, you start to consider whether she may be better off taken than placed back into that house of horrors you'd ran away from a long time ago.

Warnings: angst, mentions of past horrors/abuse, family issues, trust issues, domestic abuse, crime, kidnapping, blood, NO MARTIN YET

Masterlist Lethal Weapon Masterlist

{moodboard is not mine, credits go to @soulofevil found from pillowfort.com (don't know if tagged account actually owns this, I just got it from somewhere else)}

"My father never talked a lot

He just took a walk around the block

'Til his anger took a hold of him

And then he'd hit"

He was furious. About what, you couldn't tell; it didn't take much to anger him as you both grow older. You'd think, as the time goes and the years amount to decades, this man would learn to be more calm and wise. Quite frankly, you'd at least hoped that he would become more rational.

You stand tall despite his menacing frame and vicious tone. You weren't going to let her stand by another second of this. The screaming, yelling, punching, broken shards in your feet as your feet hit the pavement; begging to be anywhere but the place you'd call home.

Your sister was too young to know how to cope. You didn't want her to, though - to compromise. It wasn't a choice she had to make, it wasn't a sacrifice. It shouldn't be.

If she were to be forced to become tough and cold-hearted as the man that had stormed out of the house, the known chain of events to happen in a course of a few hours, she'd be just that: cold-hearted.

She doesn't have to grow up the way you did.

She doesn't have to watch her young, naive doe eyes turn to stone cold orbs that reflect no light; no happiness or love.

You watched as the man who gave you life smashed the front door open, storming through it and down the street. He hadn't said anything, or even gave you a slight hint in his expression. He just had to flip a switch.

In the same quick fashion as he'd left, he returned. You experienced this whiplash before like a slap in the face, though the sting faded the more you'd grown to become accustomed to it.

He was a drinker, a gambler, an abuser, a father.

He lost that sense a long time ago.

"My mother never cried a lot

She just took the punches, but she never fought"

His eyes were set on you, white-hot rage fueling his every move as his long strides carried behind you to the couch in the living room. The stand-off was anything but loving - not as a child would be chased around the couch by her father in a game of tag. It was all a matter of calculation and persistence; a predator unrelenting his devotion to the prey.

"No! Stop! They did nothing wrong!" you mother screams helplessly, trying to dissuade your father from you as you go to grab your sister's hand, standing before her on the opposite end of the couch.

Then there was the switch again, his eyes now set on her.

"'Til she said, 'I'm leaving, and I'll take the kids"

He didn't like that. He came for her, just as he had in the passed ten years. You lunge for him, grabbing the kitchen stool as he chased her into the kitchen. Now you stood before her, your eyes revealing nothing.

He laughs. A cold, sinister laugh - a familiar laugh.

"Go," you tell the girls.

"Y/N, no. Stop. Please," she pleaded, looking between you and your father, your knuckles white from the tension in your hands still wrapped around the stool held over your shoulder for defense. "Stop," she all but begged the man.

He didn't look at her, his eyes were glued to your E/C ones. The ones you shared.

"Mom," was all you said, not allowing your eyes to stray to her in this moment. You heard her whimper, but she had given up, taking a step back.

"So she did"

Driving over the endless roads and highways, you crossed two state lines, charging as far away as you could. It didn't take much time until she was convinced she'd made a mistake, wanting to go back to the man that lived in your nightmares.

It was only temporary, only a certain amount of time before she'd return to that monster. You couldn't make her decisions for her - you wouldn't.

She made her bed; a woman well over her thirties that chose to bring two bundles of life into the world she had created for you. This wasn't your decision or your obligation to go back to him.

Except for one thing: your sister.

///

She was only 12 then, and you 20. You were only there to comfort your sister, the awareness of the horrors in the house not allowing you to leave her behind in your early adulthood.

Your mother went back to that monster, but you never allowed your sister to. You couldn't let her fade away, too.

It had been 8 years since you left that house in Wyoming to Los Angeles, California. You joined the armed forces as a police officer there.

It was a 180 from the world you were accustomed to and hoped as the time went, all the good you've done would return the little girl you once were; the one who believed the world was a grand and spacious place that would provide dreams and comfort.

You had set a nice life for your sister, and for a while you had felt a sense of hope.

Until tonight.

"I say they're just the ones that gave me life

But I truly am my parents' child"

You were working late on a patrol. You were told that in the morning, due to your high resilience, strength, and education, you were going to be relocated to a higher position on the force in the center of the city.

What was supposed to be a normal patrol was soon lead to a tour around the city of where you'd be newly focused on by one of your peers. It wasn't supposed to be this long.

Cursing as you look down at your wristwatch, you find the time glaring back at you. 3 am. You can feel the exhaustion in your bones, the only thing you wanted right now was to be home with your sister and safely secured in your comfy bed.

Pulling into the driveway, you park your patrol car and lock it, leaving all remnants of today's activities in your car to be cleaned out later on in the morning.

Trekking to the door, your back stiffens and you stop dead in your tracks.

The door is slightly off on one of the hinges. The shattered glass panes that decorated the door gives way to the sight inside the house, finding both of the deadbolts you had set up broken and out of place.

You quickly reach for your gun, holding it up with your dominant hand as the other brings a flashlight over top of it. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and your blood rushes, enabling you to step into your house.

You call out to your sister in the eerily quiet, increasing your nerves. You call out once more to no answer. Quickly, you search the perimeter, glass shards decorating the floor and furniture tipped over, things misplaced and haphazard remnants of what was thrown.

You can feel your throat start to close up, finally taking the search upstairs. You call out for her one last time, praying there would be a response somewhere in the dark.

Your vision starts to adjust to the darkness, still blurry as the tears start to cloud the world you'd built around you. If only you could've lived life like this, unable to see and feel the destruction and ruin.

You check the bathroom, your room, the guest room, until finally, her room.

The first thing that catches your eyes are the blood stains of the floor. There is signs of struggle everywhere given the messiness of the room. You feel your blood go cold, taking a deep breath in to analyze the blood splatters by her windowsill.

There are no puddles, which instantly nixes the assumption of being killed or having laid in one spot for a long period of time. So they didn't kill her.

The droplets are almost spray-like, as if someone was either hit, slashed, or cut in an unorganized way. An indication of even more struggle. Your eyebrows furrow as hollowness fills your core. You search her windowsill for any other signs, but only find more sprayed droplets of blood.

Following your way around the house, you look closely now, examining for more blood, the trail leading down the stairs and through the backdoor of the house.

Whoever was here is gone now. The blood is dried in some places by the door, meaning it has been a good amount of time, but still fresh.

You drop to your knees as you let out a loud sob in the chilling darkness of your house - a carbon copy of the home that was. Shakily, your hands reach for the walkie talkie on your chest, unclasping it from the padding to call it in.

Just like your parents, you were unable to protect your sister - your little girl.

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