#Made a whole spotify playlist and everything

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 16

Source for pic

Imperfect 16

Word Count: 6801

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: I'm going to have to apologize again for the delay! I know you guys don't mind, but my brain gets all angry at me when I don't fulfill the imaginary deadlines I set for myself! Anyway, this is a longer chapter than the previous, and we're starting Kid's redemption arc! Let's see if he can guarantee all of your forgiveness or not!

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

The sound of curtains drawing and windows opening rouses him from sleep. Kid never made it to the bed, just passed out on the couch, one leg out, one in, like badly folded origami. He groans, runs one hand over his face, and winces at the burn of his scrapes and bruises.

“Get up, sunshine,” Killer says, his chirpy voice an intruder in Kid’s usually gloomy mornings. 

Suddenly, last night’s events come crashing down on him, like a painful visit down memory lane. Each one more hurtful than the previous, each one dragging more grunts and groans from his battered body. The talk. The pit. The cry for help. 

“Ain’t ye the fuckin’ mornin’ fairy? What are ye doin’ here so early?” he rasps, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. Water. He needs water. 

“I spent the night, moron.” Sure enough, Kid smells coffee before hearing the banging of cabinets and a string of curses that could make a grown pirate blush. “I guess coffee is all we’re gonna have for breakfast, then,” Killer deadpans with a sigh, finding no edible food in the kitchen.

Kid gets up on wobbly feet and steadies himself, his eyes taking in the madness around him. Empty and broken bottles are scattered everywhere, furniture upturned, and clothes on the floor. In the kitchen, the cabinets are open - some broken - and dishes are piling up by the sink, crusted with God-knows-what. He spies a punch hole in the hallway and grimaces. 

Is this what his life has been like lately?

What a miserable, empty existence. 

“Sorry,” he mutters through clenched teeth as he heads towards the kitchen. His shoulders slump, and he clears his throat, trying to find a clean glass to quench his thirst and failing at the simple task. He opts to open the tap and drink directly from the running water. 

“Apologies will come later. That’s a whole ‘nother step, brother. We start by cleaning up your shit,” Killer states, shoving an empty black trash bag against Kid’s chest and opening another one. “You start here, I’ll take the living room.”

Kid closes the tap, his fingers curl around the plastic bag, and he stares at the dried blood on his knuckles. Something stirs in his chest, and he doesn’t want to look at that beast too closely. He knows what’s lurking beneath very well. 

Shame. Guilt. Failure. 

But then Killer places one hand on his shoulder and dips his chin in acknowledgment. “One step at a time, Kid. I won’t leave your side.”

Kid nods, swallowing down the lump that formed in his throat, trapping any word right there in his chest. And then he starts to bag empty cans and packages, ignoring the throbbing in his temples, the ache in his muscles, and the sorrow in his bones. 

There’s something else lurking inside him, and even though he’s more fearful of this tiny creature than the beast of disappointment he was trying to avoid before, he lets it lurk there, feasting on its surroundings. Lets it grow, hoping it will survive. 

It’s gratitude. 

And he’s about to feel a fuck-ton of it.

-*-

You spent the night tossing and turning at invisible ghosts. Kid’s face, his words, they all tangled up with memories of his touch, his kiss, his claim over you. 

Your head didn’t allow you to rest, and it took everything in you not to succumb to a full-blown panic attack when you realised you might’ve made a mistake by pushing him away. 

What if he doesn’t come back? What if he chooses not to fight? What if I was too harsh? What if it was too much?

Question after question, thought after thought. 

You rocked on the floor, hugging your knees and trying your damn hardest not to fall apart and wake Shanks with your sobbing. When sleep finally came, it wasn’t kind.

For once, you wake up before the call of the rooster. But you don’t get up. You let the brightness blind you, the rising sun making its slow ascent on the horizon, its unforgiving beauty hitting your eyes, drying the dampness on your face from tears you don’t even remember shedding anymore. 

You feel empty. A shell. Just when you were trying to get back on your feet, you’re thrown down again. Something insidious rots inside you, telling you that Kid will never fight for you, that you’re not worth that trouble. That you should’ve just accepted what he was willing to give, even if it was just intermissions of his life. Stolen moments that only ever brushed on intimacy, never fully blooming into companionship. 

Instead, you pushed him. And you know very well how he reacts when pushed - he flees or lashes out. 

But after what you told him last night, what kind of hypocrite would you be if you just went crawling back to him?

Shanks leaves you alone until lunchtime before he intervenes. Frankly, he’s held on for far longer than you might’ve expected. He knocks softly on the door and waits for your muffled reply before entering. 

“Morning, Bug. How are you feeling?” You sense weariness in his voice, and that alone shakes you from your stupor. You promised Killer you’d make an effort. You can’t let him and your dad down. Not again. 

“I had a rough night and a hard time falling asleep, but I’m rested enough now. I’ll be down for lunch in a sec, okay?” You force a smile onto your lips, hoping it will convince him.

You don’t think it does, but he nods and leaves you alone to get ready.

-*-

The third trip to the garbage bins ends up being the last of the day. There are no more cans, bottles, or out-of-date food lying around. They also manage to take care of the dirty laundry and clean the place. Kid’s house looks livable again.

Killer helped Kid empty all the alcohol he had in the house in a very cathartic moment. Watching the brown liquor run down the drain felt akin to a cleansing of his soul. At least for a moment. 

Then the doubts started. 

But Killer chased away the blues with a stupid joke about how funny it would be if they found drunk mice in the sewers after this purge, and Kid's doubts faded to the back of his mind. 

Afterwards, Kid comes out of the shower looking like death, but at least he’s clean and smells of soap instead of alcohol and regret. Killer looks at his watch and tosses a jacket to his friend.

“Let’s go.”

Kid doesn’t ask where they’re going. He was the one who reached out for help, and he will accept it in any way, shape, or form.

Except this.

After a few minutes of driving, Killer parks his truck in the middle of the town, and Kid immediately breaks into a sweat at the sight before him. 

On the outside, it looks like a plain building: four floors, worn red brick on the walls, a flower shop on the ground floor, and a sign next to the buzzers. It reads, ‘Dr. Crocus - Therapist’.

Kid’s stomach churns, and nausea kicks in immediately. Heat’s bitter laugh is the first thing he registers before the loud ‘pop’ from Bubblegum’s chewing gum.

“Kill…” Kid runs his hand over his face, shutting his eyes when Wire leans on the hood of Killer’s truck. “I-I can’t.”

Killer takes the key out of the ignition and faces the broken pieces of his best friend. “You don’t have to say much. Just try it out. Doc’s a great guy. No-nonsense, down-to-earth, knows how to break the ice. I made the appointment, he’s expecting you.”

“Talk about your feelings?” Quincy’s giggles echo inside Kid’s head. 

“Poor Captain! Go on, what are you waiting for? See how much good talking will do you,” Heat adds.

Kid looks at Killer, his mouth opens, and he’s ready to bail. He can’t face this, can’t face himself, he just… can’t. 

But Killer looks so hopeful.

So Kid gets out of the car, ignoring the tremors in his limbs or the way his breath comes in short, uneven huffs. Then he steadies his breathing, opens and closes the metal fist of his prosthetic as if getting ready for a fight, and grits his teeth. He climbs up the steps, pushes the buzzer, and goes inside the building once the door clicks open. 

His heart thrums loudly against his chest, rivulets of sweat rush down his temples, and his throat feels drier than the desert. Maybe this is what a heart attack looks like.

He enters the elevator and ascends to the right floor, even though every movement takes an extra amount of effort, like the earth's gravity has quietly increased its pull.

He faces the door that leads to Dr. Crocus’ office, and then, no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t take the next step to get inside.

-*-

“Well, you look like shit!” 

You don’t know whether to be offended or amused by Nami’s statement, so you opt to breathe out a noncommittal ‘hum’ and continue to organize Shanks’ clutter drawer in the kitchen meticulously.

When you don’t engage, Nami sighs impatiently, drags her hand over the counter to gather all the pens, half-open tape strips, bottle openers, and an assortment of other useless materials, and shoves them all back inside the almost empty drawer you’d been working on.

“Hey!”

“We’re going out,” she states confidently and closes the drawer, which bounces back because it's full to the brim. “Get dressed. Nothing fancy but—” she waves her hand in your general direction to indicate the clothes you’re currently wearing. “—a step up from whatever the hell that is, please.”

You fight with the contents of the drawer to close it, since it’s in even more disarray than it was before you started your little project, and growl at Nami. “It’s cozy!”

“It,” she says the word with as much distaste as she can muster, “has the face of Marvel heroes on it.”

“It’s Dad’s…” you mutter between your teeth as you give up on the drawer with another enraged growl and stomp your way upstairs to get changed, ignoring whatever reply she can think of. Once Nami gets something in her head, there’s no use trying to talk her out of it, so you will be going out tonight. No ifs, buts, or maybes. 

You meet Shanks at the top of the stairs as he’s heading down, and he smiles hopefully at you. “You’re going out, Bug?” At least he doesn’t pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping. 

“There’s no denying Nami. She’s relentless.”

“I heard that, babe! Tick, tock, come on!”

Shanks' smile broadens when you roll your eyes, because you make a face directed at Nami, and he can see a bit more light at the edge of your eyes, where the shadows have taken up residence lately. 

“By the way, I know you called her. Thanks, Dad.” You know this because the first thing Nami did was complain and berate you because she was somehow the ‘second choice’ as your friend. Why had your father called Killer first, and why wasn’t she called with emergency drinks when the heartbreak happened?

The fallout from that conversation took a while to sort out, even though she was half right. You could’ve used a little bit of girl solidarity while dealing with Kid, though you highly doubted anything would’ve been as effective as Killer’s support. 

After a few minutes, you meet Nami downstairs, and she gives you a grin of approval at your outfit of choice. “I called Vivi to let her know where we’re headed, and she says she’ll meet us later. We’ll need a ride. We’re going to get stupid drunk and make bad decisions today.”

“Where are we going anyway?” You can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. Maybe going out for a girls’ night isn’t such a bad idea, after all.

“Biker bar, just near the freeway.” You lift your brow at her statement, and she laughs. Nami doesn’t look like the kind of girl who would frequent biker bars. “Don’t look at me like that! Drinks are cheap, and if you flirt enough, you get them for free, most of the time. It’s not even a seedy bar. It’s tasteful. Don’t doubt my abilities to know what you need, babe!”

Okay. You won’t doubt her, then. Cheap drinks in a biker bar, it is.

-*-

The parking lot of the bar is nothing but an empty space of battered-up dirt and gravel. The neon sign atop the roof stands in faded red and blinks intermittently, like it requires a bulb change. 

The Red Force.

The name stirs some memory in the back of your mind. Maybe your dad used to visit? You’re still trying to connect the dots when Nami ushers you inside.

The place is dimly lit, and the battered dark wood floor groans and creaks as you and Nami make your way towards the bar. It reeks of beer and whiskey, motor oil and sweat. 

There is an old pool table sitting in a corner below a light fixture and a jukebox begging to be played. Old-school rock hits and ballads are featured on the covers of old records hanging above it, likely choices of music to play.

Behind the counter, a row of helmets hangs above the drinks. They’re all custom-painted with the symbol of the bar: a skull with two pirate swords. 

The buzz of chatter quiets down once you and Nami sit at the counter, and before she can flag the bartender, a mustached man with a nice smile sits by her side. 

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to show up and pay her debts!” 

You arch an eyebrow and stare at Nami, then back at the man, expecting trouble even though she said this was a nice place.

“Still sore from losing so badly, Lulu?” Nami grins. “It’s not my fault you can’t play pool if it was to save your life!”

“You cheated!” he counters.

Nami has the gall to look offended. “I would never!” Lulu guffaws, and Nami joins him. “Tell you what, buy me and my friend a drink and we’ll call it even.”

“How does that help me?” Lulu asks, but still flags the bartender. You’re in awe of Nami’s wiles. Not even one minute has gone by, and she’s already scoring a free drink. 

“Nami!” Another chirpy voice chimes in. 

“No, Foxy, I’m not single. I’m still happily hitched to Vivi, who’s a thousand times hotter than any of you here, by the way!” Nami raises her voice, and disappointed grumbles fill the air.

Foxy sighs and turns away dramatically. “It was still worth a shot.”

Nami smiles and adds, still speaking to the entire bar,  “But my friend here is single, and we’re happily accepting free drinks if any of your delusional asses think you can get her number!”

The chatter in the bar perks up, and you grit your teeth, feeling heat rush from your neck at all the attention. “Nami!”

“What? You gotta feed their egos a little bit. That’s how you win free drinks, babe!” You’re about to argue, but the bartender sees Lulu waving and starts approaching. “Okay! So Lulu’s got us covered for round one, Foxy will get us round two.” Nami ignores the indignant gasp from the short man and looks at the bottle selection behind the bar. “What will you want?”

Wait…

The bartender approaches with an easy smile on his lips, and you quirk your eyebrow up. He’s so familiar with his dirty blond hair, tied up in a low ponytail. But it’s the scar on his forehead that draws your attention and jogs your memory, finally making you connect all the dots.

“Hongo?” you say cautiously.

The man drops his smile, eyebrows scrunching together as he tries to find some memory of you. When he does, recognition fills his face, and his brows relax. 

“No way!” he says your name. “It can’t be you! Last time I saw you, you were about this big!” He gestures to his midriff, and you laugh.

“Well, I was twelve. Teenagers tend to grow up.”

He guffaws again and pours you and Nami a glass of something amber - probably whiskey. “Here, this one is on me, girls.”

“Score!” Nami singsongs. “Giddy up,” she mumbles before downing the liquid.

With a giggle, you follow her lead. Tonight’s all about forgetting, anyway. “So what have you been up to? I’ve been back in town for a while, but you haven’t shown up at Dad’s yet. Didn’t you guys used to have a poker night?” you ask Hongo.

Lulu orders another round for you and Nami and heads back to the pool table, challenging her for a game sometime later, before Hongo answers you. 

“We did. And that deadbeat dad of yours still owes me a couple of hundred berries. But I can’t seem to find anyone to work the night shift, especially on weekends, so I’ve been stuck here every day till closing time.”

You nod, and the conversation switches to what you studied at college, where you worked after, and why you came back. Nami collects free drinks like wildflowers at a country site, and your cheeks feel all warm and tingly. Kid is nowhere near your mind, and suddenly, the bar starts to feel homely and tasteful, just like Nami mentioned. 

Your past is full of bad and impulsive decisions, but maybe this one will actually turn out to be exactly what you need. 

“Say, Hongo. How about I come work the night shift? I could use a distraction…”

-*-

“It’s fine, man. It’s all good. You still took the steps. We’ll get there,” Killer says to reassure him, but Kid doesn’t believe him. He’ll never get there. He’s such a fucking coward. 

He only had to take one step.

One.

But Killer doesn’t give up on him. He pats him on the back and tells him he’ll try again another time. Even if it feels like one step forward and two back, Kid’s still trying. 

Killer drags him to the supermarket and forces him to buy food. Healthy stuff, especially. Kid grumbles and makes sure Killer promises to cook for them at least twice a week, so he can justify all the fresh produce instead of eating greasy takeout. 

When it’s nighttime, Kid feels restless. His knuckles itch for a fight, his ghosts lurk around in dark corners, laughing and taunting him. Then comes the burn at the back of his throat and the empty place where the bottle usually sits against his palm.

He starts to sweat and breathe heavily, but it’s just day one. Just one day. How can he be a better man for you - for himself - when he can’t even last a day?

His mood is shit, too, but Killer acts like Kid’s not spiraling out of control. He microwaves some popcorn, plops onto the couch, and turns on the TV. “If you don’t get your arse on the couch and help me choose a goddamned movie, I’ll play the cheesiest rom com I can find. And shit’ll get weird because we’re two grown ass men eating popcorn and watching fluff.”

Kid’s chest constricts, and the urge to drink, to fight, to rage, and to despair all disappear out the window. He wants to thank Killer from the bottom of his heart. Instead, he guffaws and jumps over the couch, sits down, and snatches the remote from his best friend’s hands. 

“Gimme that, man! We’re about to watch the manliest shit on TV right now.”

They end up watching ‘The Great American Baking Show.’

-*-

Killer spends the night on the couch, and when Kid wakes up, cursing and screaming from a ghost-fueled nightmare, he’s there with a glass of water and a couple of headache pills. 

How the fuck he knew Kid had a raging headache is beyond his comprehension. 

But he can’t stop feeling gratitude.

Even though saying thank you is much harder to do than it would seem. 

The next morning, Killer barely gives Kid time to shower and eat breakfast before he’s ushering him out the door again. Kid bets he’s taking him to see Dr. Crocus once more, but he’s still not sure he’s able to take that step. It seems like something that would warrant a heavy dose of alcohol in his system. Something to numb his pain. 

Instead, Killer parks his truck in front of the church and tells Kid to follow him. Kid’s eyebrow twitches up, and he scoffs. 

“I ain’t prayin’, man.”

“We ain’t going to mass, dumbass,” he deadpans and leads him to a smaller building behind the church. It’s just a little annex, something very inconspicuous with a door that opens to a hallway and two rooms on each side. Killer opens the door on the right and dips his chin at Kid. “C’mon.”

Kid enters without knowing what to expect, but whatever it was, it wasn’t this. The room feels cooler than the exterior, the AC buzzing slightly above his head. There’s a row of metal folding chairs arranged in a crooked circle in the middle of the room, and a small table at the back with a giant-sized coffee urn. Paper cups, sugar, and boxes of donuts litter the rest of the table, and the smell of burnt coffee and sweets fills the air. 

A group of people - men and women, old and new, broken and whole - talk softly by the coffee urn while a few loners are already sitting in the circle. Some are reading, others are scrolling aimlessly on their phones. 

“Group therapy?” Kid asks, his mind already racing while his ghosts have a blast, scoffing at him and scorning him for this. 

“Aye. Veterans support group. We come every Thursday.” Killer nudges him forward towards one of the chairs, and Kid runs his sweaty hand through his hair. 

“I-I… fuck. I can’t, Kill.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just sit and listen.” Killer grips his shoulders and stares at him. Unwavering and in solidarity. “You’re not the only person who came back broken and lost from war, Kid. You’ve just been too deep in your shit to realize that. It’s time to change.”

Kid’s thoughts devour him whole. They crawl from the inside out and make his skin burn and itch. He wants to hit something, to drink, to fucking forget. Therapy? What fucking use is therapy when he’s too far gone? Too fucking broken? Too damn lost. 

“I ain’t sure this is what I need…” he tries, taking a step back.

“You don’t know what the fuck you need. That’s exactly why you’re here.” Killer releases his shoulders and nudges him again towards the chairs. “Sit the fuck down, Kid.”

And Kid sits. 

After a few moments, Killer comes back with two cups of coffee in his hands and sits next to him. The rest of the veterans present all sit down, and Kid sips his coffee so he doesn’t stare. There is one man in a wheelchair and no legs; a woman with a cane and half of her face burnt; another, much like himself, doesn’t have one arm. Others bear wounds that aren’t visible to the naked eye. 

They’re all broken. One way or another. 

The facilitator greets them and starts to speak. Kid can’t listen to half of what he’s saying because the roaring in his ears is so loud. He hears the blood pumping through his veins, the loud beats of his heart, but mostly, he hears his former crew mocking him for even trying to become someone he’s not allowed to be. 

Then Killer starts talking. 

“Good morning,” he rasps, and the room answers him back. “It’s been a while since I shared, and since we have a new face…” his gaze flickers to Kid for a second, and Kid drinks more coffee to shove away the shame and awareness. “Well, here we go. Name’s Killer.” 

The room greets him back with ‘Hi, Killer’, and then silence hits. Kid watches his best friend fidget with the dog tags hanging on his neck, something he hasn’t seen him do since their army days, before he starts talking again. 

“I died in the war. Not figuratively. Literally. A full minute… and some change, according to the doctors.” He scratches his jaw behind the mask, dragging a deep sigh. “It happened because I jumped in front of a grenade. And I would do it all over again if I had to, because if I didn’t, my squad leader wouldn’t have survived.”

Kid swallows the lump in his throat. His eyes burn, and his fingers clutch the paper coffee cup so tightly it’s on the verge of bending. 

‘Your fault, your fault, your fault.’  His ghosts chant in unison, but Killer doesn’t accuse him; he doesn’t even look at him. 

“He’s always been a good man; honorable, prideful; cared for his team more than anything. I’ve known him since we were both kids. Followed him to war because we were inseparable.” Killer huffs a soft chuckle. “He saw a bunch of stragglers nobody from the other squads wanted because we were too reckless, and he turned us into a tight-knit unit.” Killer’s throat works as he swallows down a lump, and he fixes his gaze back on the tags. “We were ambushed on a mission; nobody was expecting what happened.” 

Killer’s gaze might be on the tags, but his mind is in the war. 

“When that fucking grenade came rolling towards us, I didn’t think. I just shoved him out of the way, shielding him from most of the blast. Because he always was the best of us. The glue that kept us all together. If he died… if I survived and he didn’t… what the fuck kind of life would that have been?”

Kid shuts his eyes and breathes slowly through his nose. He’s fighting the prickling in his eyes. He can’t fucking cry in front of people he doesn’t know or care about. 

Not that it matters to any of them. The blind woman next to Killer pats his friend’s back and wipes a few tears away; there are audible sniffs from across the circle, too. But Kid refuses to do it. He can’t.

He won’t.

Killer taps his chest. “Blast hit me right in the chest. Flames went up my neck, shoulder, and face.” A small chuckle leaves his lips. “Guess one can’t be too pretty.” The crowd lets out a few strained laughs, and Kid’s eyes bulge from their sockets. Killer never called himself pretty. It must be to relieve the tension. Too much heaviness all at once. 

“Anyway, next thing I know, I’m waking up in the field hospital, all my team’s dead except my squad leader.” The crowd erupts in soft words of comfort, and some just nod in understanding. Killer grips his coffee cup and continues, eyes glazed and fixed on his tags. 

“I think… I think dying was the easiest part, actually… the hard part… the hard part is surviving.” Kid gulps down the lump, but it’s an unmoving mass. He sips his coffee again, instead. “Trying to be a person again. Trying to look back and not break. To move on. To remember them and honor them without guilt. But with love.”

His gaze flickers to Kid and softens. Kid grinds his teeth so hard his jaw is trembling. 

“I don’t regret saving him one bit. But sometimes I regret not being able to save the rest of them. Sometimes I even think if it wasn’t better to have stayed dead.”

Silence fills the room, and the AC kicks in again, the only sound over the loud breathing and the coffee slurps. 

“Maybe… maybe the people that know me think I’ve got it together, that I overcame the damage,” he scoffs. “I’m fucked up ten times over and then some.” That drags another few chuckles. “But that’s why I come here. I’m a work in progress. Some days are easy and others are hell. Some days I have to remind myself why I get out of bed.” 

Killer’s gaze falls on Kid briefly again before he moves it back to the cup and the tags. “Some days, I wonder if all my chances burned away in that old warehouse. I was given a second chance, but am I doing what I’m supposed to with it? Or am I just getting by?”

Kid fully faces Killer now. He never told him any of this. He never said how he felt.

You never fucking asked.

Kid turns his gaze back to the cup. He’s been so selfish. Thinking only about himself, about what’s broken in him and how jagged his pieces are. So torn that they can no longer fit together. But Killer also survived the same thing he did. And Kid never had the fucking decency of asking his best friend how he was doing.

“Anyway, that’s me.” Killer huffs out a breath and rubs the back of his neck, nodding at the facilitator to let him know he’s done. The room thanks him for sharing, and then it’s Kid’s turn. 

His gaze is still on the cup. He has so much to share. 

But he can’t. 

Not yet. His head is too full, his throat too tight. 

“Pass,” he croaks out, and the room understands, moving along to the person next to him. Killer pats him twice on the shoulder.

And Kid lets out a single tear.

-*-

“Wait, wait, wait…” Shanks almost drops the mug of coffee he just filled for you before placing it on the table and sitting down. “At ‘The Red Force’? Hongo’s? Baby, are you sure? It’s a biker’s bar and… and it’s the night shift, and—”

“Relax, papa bear!” you say with a giggle, and your good mood actually makes Shanks relax a smidge. “I’m not made of glass! And I need the distraction.”

Shanks is still cautious, but you know it comes from a good place. From that place he couldn’t fill when you needed him with Ichiji, from the place he so desperately wants to fill now. 

The first nights are chaotic. You don’t know where anything is, and the bar has more quirks and whims than a spoiled frat girl. But Hongo is there to help you, and the man’s patience is infinite. 

It doesn’t take you long to realize that the cooler needs to be pressed shut, not just nudged; that the jukebox can’t be turned on at the same time as the dishwasher because they’re very finicky; and that the pool table has a slight inclination to the left, forcing you to break up more fights than you thought possible in one night.

Soon you’re serving beer from the tap like you’ve done it your whole life. The crowd is rowdy, loud, and uncaring, and the regulars welcome you like a long-lost cousin. They tip nicely, too. 

You should get off at 2 AM, but invariably leave at least half an hour later, trying to get the place spotless and clean, reviewing every closing step Hongo drilled into you on the first few nights. 

You’d like to say you haven’t been thinking about Kid, but you’d be lying. No matter how much of a distraction your work brings you, every rumble of a bike, every harsher guffaw, or a helmet still obscuring the patron’s head reminds you of him.

And your heart hasn’t stopped aching. 

The pain hasn’t even eased.

-*-

Killer brings Kid to see Dr. Crocus on two different occasions, but Kid still chickens out. On the third time, he reluctantly enters. 

The office is maritime-themed, and an old brown leather chair stands near the window facing its twin, where the doctor is sitting. Behind him hangs a painting of a giant whale, and on the bookshelves stand small knick-knacks: lighthouses, shells, a starfish…

Kid listens more than talks. The doctor gives him some advice to help with trauma, anxiety, and addictions, and when Kid does speak, it’s just the basics: that he’s been to war and that his entire squad got killed because of him. Dr. Crocus asks more questions, but Kid barely answers.

His ghosts are taunting him relentlessly, and he just needs to get out. Or get a drink. Or be punched. 

He doesn’t share that with the doctor. 

After the forty-five minutes are up, he commits to coming back next week. 

He’s fairly certain he’ll break that commitment. 

But he’ll try not to. For Killer. For you. 

Not for him. Not yet. 

Not yet. 

He relapses hard that night. Killer’s not there. He told Kid he had to go home and grab some more clothes, wash the dirty ones, and water the plants. 

Kid told him he’d be fine. 

He lied. 

As soon as Killer leaves, his house closes in on him. The shadows stretch, and the noises get louder. The buzzing in his ears turns relentless, and Heat’s laugh drives him insane. It doesn’t help when they all sit on the couch and laugh at him.

“It’s an intervention, Captain!” Quincy giggles. 

“Yeah! An intervention for you to stop being a wimp!” Bubblegum finishes.

“How’s therapy? How do you like revisiting that memory?” Wire inquires, curious. 

Heat laughs. They all laugh. They’re all right. 

What good does it do to him? Revisiting painful memories, digging up the past? Is that going to make him feel better? Because so far, it’s only bringing him more pain. 

Isn’t he supposed to start feeling good? When does the pain stop? When does the hurt end? When does he get better? Less broken? He’s just spiraling further.

Kid curses and opens his drink cabinet. Another loud curse leaves his lips once he realizes he has no alcohol in the house. So he grabs the bike’s keys.

He’s just going for a drive. 

He ends up at the Pit. 

When Killer finds him about three hours later, he’s already wasted, with a busted lip and a bleeding eyebrow. 

He tries to apologize to Killer when they’re back at his house and his best friend is patching him up, forcing him to drink black coffee to sober up. 

“Don’t ye ever get tired of fuckin’ fixin’ me?” Kid doesn’t look him in the eye as he asks this.

“I ain’t fixing you,” Killer deadpans, cleaning the blood from Kid’s eyebrow. “I’m just standing by your side as you’re fixing yourself.”

Kid has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to trap all the emotions back inside his chest.

Killer sighs and continues. “You’re gonna relapse, Kid. It happens. It always does, and it never gets easier. But that’s why I’m here, brother. What’s important is not how hard you fall, but that you manage to get up.”

The next morning, Kid writes down those words on a blank notepad. 

Dr. Crocus mentioned something about him writing his thoughts down, like a diary or some fucked up shit like that. Kid doesn’t have a pretty journal or notebook in his house. But he doesn’t let that stop him. 

He ends up writing two more sentences. 

‘Get up again.’

‘Do it for yourself.’

He stares at the words like they’re a living thing, and before he decides journaling is a stupid activity, he tosses the notepad inside a kitchen drawer. Then he finds Killer in the garage setting up a punching bag next to Victoria. 

“The fuck?” Kid rasps.

“Figured you might want one of these instead of punching people in the face. This one doesn’t fight back.”

Kid cracks a smile. 

His best friend might be onto something. 

-*-

“How are you?” Killer asks when you sit down next to him on Shanks’ porch. It’s your day off work, and you haven’t seen Killer in almost two weeks. You miss him. 

“I’m… I’m doing better,” you answer with a small, genuine smile. “I got a job!”

Killer raises his eyebrows, head turning slightly to the side as he takes in your happy smile. “You look too happy. Is it something illegal?”

You bump your shoulder against his playfully, and he chuckles, leaning a bit closer to you. 

“Not at all. You know ‘The Red Force’?”

“Hongo’s bar?” You nod at him. “You working there?” Another nod. “At a biker’s bar?”

“Yes, Kill! I work the night shift. And it’s fun and… you know… distracting! Nights are hard for me. Too much time alone with my thoughts. This is… this is good.”

You still wonder every day if you did the right thing with Kid. He hasn’t tried to reach you in any way. And even though you were the one who told him to stay away until he fixed himself, it still feels like rejection.

“As long as you’re happy… and safe.” Killer’s voice turns deeper. “Tell me the crowd there isn’t too much. That you’re safe.”

“I’m fine! Geez, you sound like Shanks. I’m a big girl! I know how to take care of myself.” Killer doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t elaborate. 

You both remain in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the farm in hues of orange and yellow. It’s beautiful. 

“How is he?” Your voice is barely a whisper. But you need to know. You need to. 

Killer takes a slow breath, his gaze never leaving the sunset as he weighs his words. You know he probably won’t share much. It’s Kid’s place to share, not his. But you still need to know.

“He’s… he’s trying. He’s not good, but he ain’t worse. He’s looking for all the broken pieces.”

Your lower lip trembles as you swallow down the lump in your throat. He’s doing what you asked. He’s trying. 

“He doesn’t mention it, but I know he misses you. I see the look on his face. Especially when we’re in the garage and he looks at Victoria.” Killer sighs again, long and deep. “He hasn’t touched her since it happened.”

You can’t stop a gasp from escaping your lips. Victoria is Kid’s prized possession. He was always working on her. Cleaning her up or fixing little things. That he hasn’t touched her… It’s huge. 

“I…” you start, chasing away a tear with the back of your hand. “I don’t know if I did the right thing, Kill. What if… what if I pushed him away for good?” You clamp down a hiccup with your teeth, your head shaking in denial. “What if—”

Killer turns and silences you with a hug. He pulls you against his chest as you sob and cry. You haven’t cried in a while, not since you took that job. And now it’s all pouring out of you. 

He holds you for as long as it takes, and you cling to him like you did that night Kid broke your heart for good. He doesn’t rush you or try to soothe you. He just lets you cry it out. And you do.

It’s not until the sun has set behind the trees, leaving the pale glow of dusk behind, and a symphony of crickets claims its place in the night orchestra, that you stop and pull away.

Killer still holds you, his hands cupping your cheeks, and his blue eyes so bright you think he might’ve been holding back some tears of his own. 

“You can’t blame yourself, and you especially can’t think of it as pushing him away, love. All you did was give him a reason to start trying.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and another stray tear falls down your cheek. Killer wipes it with his thumb and leans in for a fraction, pulling back immediately after, like the closeness of your faces burned him. 

“Otherwise, he’d still be drinking himself to death, drowning in misery, and getting into fights.” Killer sighs, wiping another tear and pulling away from you, brows scrunched like the movement hurts. “He’s not going to be better for a long time. But as I said, at least he’s trying. For himself. But because of you.”

Killer’s words bring out another bout of tears. 

“I hate that it hurts like a bitch,” you half-sob, half-laugh. 

“Yeah.” Killer chuckles with you but then turns serious. “That pain right there? That’s how you know something matters.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, and when he slings his arm over you, pulling you against him, his fingers grip you tightly before relaxing. 

“Thank you for being such a good friend, Killer.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he stays quiet and still for a moment.

And then he kisses your head in acknowledgment. 

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[rockabyedaisy]

Fanfic Idea: Ever After High Christianity Au

So I’ve been thinking alot about a possible Au where the all the characters were in a very christian/catholic setting.

I first got this idea like a year ago when I listened to this song. (Please listen, it’s so good!”

“Can we say goodbye to, to the lies you told.”

“I believed your stories, at least the blind in me, You gave my eyes what they wanted to see”

“You act like your god and you’re trying to hard, but I need it. I was supposed to believe her, now I’m back to believing.”

Apple is confronting her mother for all the lies she has been told. How if everyone remained pure, fair, and good, everyone will have a chance in heaven and God will love all. But things changed for apple, things she has witnessed has made her realize she put her faith in the wrong hands of her mother and older authorities in her church. She is finally putting a stand against them for her and her friends, while also re examining her relationship with god without denouncing herself as a christian.

What if that was a story. Apple, the most devoted of them all, realizing the toxic influence and chokehold not only her mother, but their church have on everyone and their children. Raven, an atheist, looking to expose the hyprocrisy and corruption of the church and show how it has harmed not only her and her mother, but also the children who she and Apple goes to school with. Milton, old fashioned and strict headmaster and priest of a prestigious and religious boarding school, battling with a teenager over the principles of what is right and wrong. Dexter, Ashlynn, Lizzie, and everyone else’s lives are about being manipulated, abused, and exploited as well as how they deal with it or rebel from it in their own ways.

This story will tackle subjects of religious trauma, femininity , early marriage/engagements, abuse, mental illness, christian family dynamics, generational trauma (Yeah I know it sound like a whole ass series, and it could be)

I saw how more people are talking about Apple and Raven having metaphoric religious trauma, and I was so motivated to move forward with this idea and wanted to say something like, “OK, but what if it was literal, …and worse.” :D✨

[diabolical-mangoes]

ive had a megop host club au living in my head rent free for the past three months and now i need to draw it

Like what if Orion Pax was like Haruhi in OHSHC, where he had to take up the role as a rookie host alongside his archiving job or something. And then I was like what if Megatron was one of the top hosts at the club, but this new sweet and shy rookie starts getting more popular and climbing up the ranks because of he's just so darn stinking cute. Sooo Megs and Orion get tangled in a rivalry on who can be the top host, but theY END UP DEVELOPING FEELINGS FROM RIVALRY TO LOVERS THIS IDEA IS SO STUPID BUT IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE AND I NEED TO DRAW IT NOWWW

[a-jumped-up-pantry-girl]

I thought the 0.5% was actually something good, but I saw online how you calculate this and I'm part of 70,000 other people 🥲🥲🥲

[peachlit]

so many people have told me to get a restraining order on my ex….

[hotdigitallegend]

astro observations that feel like dropping your phone on your face // neural downloads 🌬️

• aries can suprisingly be very monk-like, like i will not speak for three days but i will build a table without nails. they’re childlike but can be very wise. people get confused by this. the idea people have of them can make them feel smaller than they are. also this depends on where mercury is. if it’s in pisces, then they’re probably more on the silent side but with fantastical imaginations.

• pisces men are like that™ because the world bullies the softness out of them. deep down they want to do things like cry at sunset but then that becomes “get a job!!” they’re trying to merge with the divine but it translates as bad communication skills and spotify playlists.

• aquarius placements get their phone in hand, suddenly their brain goes into in orbit. they’re quite literally addicted to scrolling and watching. leo’s are also on their phone but mainly using the front camera or socializing. they just learned how to Shazam a song. and have like 7 apps.

• cardinal signs had a five year romance plan by the 10th grade. aries had an ideal type and didn’t budge until they found it. cancer was naming the kids first and foremost. capricorn scheduled the wedding. libra made a mood board for it, and an ideal traits note. they treat it like shopping.

• sag venus falls in love in 3 seconds and out in 2 - it’s like teleportation 🤣

• scorpio mercury says “i’m fine” with the same energy as a someone holding a loaded g*n. they’re lying!!

• gemini mars loves a verbal foreplay olympics. flirty texts, three side convos, and they love for you to guess what they meant.

• virgo risings idea of fun is fixing your life while ignoring their own mental breakdown. theyll load your dishwasher while trying not to cry

• taurus rising could sell you dirt and you’d be satisfied

• cancer mercury remembers everything especially that one thing you said in 2019 at brunch. and they forgave you…..or did they

• north node conjunct mercury means your destiny involves a lot of talking. like more than you probably want, but hey!!

• air signs fall in love after lurking on your google search history. earth signs love to see you working in your element. water signs want your birth time and for you to just…. sit on the ground with them. fire signs just want an unlimited pass to touch your face in public.

• sag moons/risings whole concept is basically i’m not avoiding my feelings i’m just traveling to a country where they can’t find me

• libra venus/moon flirt by asking deep questions and mirroring your exact personality. “do you like this?” **shifts entire identity to match**

[spearofheaven]

⋆˚࿔ TOKYO DRIFT — street racer! geto suguru

SUM. racing against one of tokyo’s most renowned underground racers, suguru geto. the stakes? a night with him.

CONTAINS. 5.6k words. mature content, MDNI. non canon compliant/au. x fem! reader. unsafe driving (that i do not condone 🤨). smut. unprotected p in v. car sex. smidge of boob play. tongue piercing geto. cunnilingus. fingering. riding. slapping (m receiving). pet names (pretty girl, baby, etc.) some aftercare.

you heard him before you saw him.

the overplayed spotify playlist (composed of majorly lucki and carti because what else could you really expect?) blaring off someone’s bose speaker wasn’t enough to tune out the telltale roar of geto suguru’s skyline r34, paired with headlights that nearly made you see the pearly white gates when he pulled up to the lot.

and because one couldn’t be seen without the other, gojo satoru’s aventador svj wasn’t left too far behind. he parked next to geto, the two cars contrasting one another like ying and yang. while geto’s skyline was wrapped in all black matte paint with white detailing and dark purple rims, gojo had opted for all white and cerulean detailing.

conversations continued like normal, the truck skidding tires and doing donuts in the middle of the lot continued, and yet their presence was ever prominent. a couple were discreet; giving them a side eye glance before whispering back to their friends while a couple others were more direct. coming up to them and striking up conversation.

"so, i'm trying to figure out how to get past 180 horsepower, and..." the rest became a warbled mess, suguru nodding along like he hadn't mentally checked out of the conversation from the moment the guy opened his mouth.

suguru looked around the lot before noticing you standing off to the side. the guy somehow managed to get the clue that suguru wasn’t listening to him anymore, following his gaze before letting out a groan. “don’t even bother. she smoked my ass last week.”

that only made him want to bother even more.

“you’re gonna wanna do some ecu tuning if you don’t wanna spend so much money getting a whole new engine,” suguru suggested, bringing the conversation back to what it was before you noticed the two of them staring like creeps. “you can do some cheap mods like a better air filter or a turbo too.”

the guy’s eyes sparkled up like suguru was speaking out of a religious book, pulling his phone to type out his word exactly. “thanks man.” he gave suguru a bow before retreating, leaving off to who knows where. he turned to look back over at you, watching you scroll through your phone.

“you’re not being sleek, suguruu,” gojo spoke up in a sing-song tone next to him, resting his chin on his shoulder. what a fucking pointy chin.

suguru reluctantly looked away from you to look over at satoru, raising a brow and ready to deny, “i have zero idea what you’re referring to.”

satoru let out a loud groan, right next to his ear and attracting a group of people passing by. getting a few questioning stares in response before he so non discreetly gestured over to where you were standing. looking like you wanted to be anywhere but here. “you’ve been staring at her for like, five minutes now, you’re so obsessed.”

suguru swore the man could’ve had six eyes with the way he picked up on nearly everything. he pushed his head off his shoulder, turning around to face gojo. “one,” he raised his finger for effect, “it hasn’t been nearly five minutes. two, i’m not obsessed. merely… intrigued.”

it sounded like bullshit even to his own ears.

gojo pointed him with a single unimpressed look. “yeah, yeah, go talk to the love of your life,” before suguru got a chance to protest any further, he pushed him off the car and in your direction.

suguru stumbled forward, turning to give gojo the dirtiest fucking glare he could muster before noticing the white haired freak had already gone to bother someone else. the worst you could say was no, right? he swallowed dryly, making his way over to where you were parked. at a distance from everyone else.

trying to avoid exactly what he was about to do just now.

“nice car.” suguru motioned over to your bright, shiny purple 2000 mitsubishi gts, leaning against it all too comfortably. as soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to facepalm immediately—he sounded just like every other dick at the meet.

and well, you, on the other hand, you actually found it kind of nice. he didn’t try to automatically assume the car was a boyfriend’s, that you had no idea of where the gas tank even was.

“thanks.” god, the look of sheer awkwardness on your face nearly made him ask you to run him over.

and despite that embarrassment gnawing deep in his mind, suguru continued. “this doesn’t really look like your scene,” he remarked, looking around at the lot. it resembled a high school cafeteria in a sense—everyone finding comfort in their own clique. well, everyone except for you apparently.

“it’s not,” you were quick to answer, nudging him off your car before leaning against it yourself.

“so why bother coming then?”

you gestured over to where your friend was standing next to ryomen sukuna, leaning against his hellcat where they were making up or arguing? you couldn’t really tell anymore with the two. “apparently it’s a waste of money to modify a car if you’re not bringing it out to meets.”

suguru shrugged, folding his arms across his chest. and you had to force yourself to look away, not wanting to ogle just how well his muscles strained against the leather of his jacket. “if you like it, it’s not a waste.”

you gave a small shrug of your own, seemingly happy with letting the conversation die out here and now. suguru, get out of there. is this how the people who came up to him felt?

“what kind of mods have you done?” again, suguru sounded like every dick at the meet. but he was pulling at scraps, trying to see what would get you to open up a bit.

just enough to continue a conversation with. why he needed to talk to you so bad, you weren’t sure.

“you asking to inflate your ego or out of curiosity?” you questioned, looking over at him with thinly veiled annoyance.

now that made suguru crack a barely there smile. at least he was starting to get more than two word answers. “curiosity.”

“you’re asking me that like you haven’t modded the shit out your own car.”

he leaned forward, meeting your gaze. neither of you broke eye contact. “and i don’t want to talk about my car. i’m asking about yours, pretty girl.”

a scoff left your lips, “what kind of self absorbed asshole doesn’t wanna talk about their car at these things?”

“this self absorbed asshole.”

“self aware too, how humble,” you muttered, letting out a quiet sigh before starting to get into what mods you’d worked on. from cosmetic: the paint, the rear wing, and the carbon hood to mechanical: a v8 engine that cost you nearly three months worth of savings (excluding the install) and a supercharger.

suguru’s attention didn’t falter once while you were talking, occasionally nodding along. it was the most animated he’d seen you throughout the night. he figured it wouldn’t hurt his luck to ask one more question, “so how’d you get into doing car mods, anyways?”

“my dad’s a mechanic. he worked on his own cars for a while, fixing them up and stuff to sell. but as corny as it is, i guess, i started getting involved after watching the fast and furious movies,” you explained, looking over at suguru, “how about you?”

now you were asking about him? he had this in the bag, for sure. he answered your question, talking about how he’d gotten inspired by some of the movies as well. it was surprisingly.. not the worst conversation you’d ever had. he was easy to talk to, great at listening and remembering.

and then he remembered what the guy said earlier. “race with me.” a simple suggestion, like he was asking you to go on a walk to the park with him.

“what’s the catch?”

suguru clicked his tongue, pressing a hand over the left side of his chest as if you’d made it your personal mission to wound him, “can’t a guy just ask for a friendly race without having any ulterior motives?”

you raised a brow, giving him an unimpressed look.

he folded in .2 seconds. “okay, okay, fine.”

suguru simply hummed, pretending to think. like he hadn’t been planning this for the last half hour. “if i win, i’d like to have you for the night, pretty girl.”

“what?” an incredulous scoff left your lips, your face doing absolutely nothing to hide your disbelief. you were half expecting to hear you had to drop a semester’s worth of cash in one night.

suguru had become notorious for scamming finessing thousands upon thousands (mostly to pay off his ever growing pile of speeding tickets) from other guys at the meet.

specifically those guys. those guys that yapped on and on about the importance of horsepower and maximum velocity like they weren’t driving a stock car. the ones overcompensating for a lack of personality.

he did have some semblance of morals, you know.

“i said that if i win,” suguru tilted his head down to whisper in your ear like it was a highly coveted secret, a shiver running down your spine from just how close he was, “i’d like for you to spend the night with me.”

you turned your head away, refusing to let him see just how much he affected you, “and what about if i win?”

suguru simply pulled back, an amused smile on his face that had his eyes crinkling at the edges, “name whatever you want in exchange.”

you didn’t feel a sense of mockery when he spoke those words—and yet it almost seemed like he wasn’t threatened by that possibility at all.

“when i win…” maybe you should’ve thought this out a bit further. you looked around, trying to see just what you could get in exchange before zeroing in on—“your jacket. when i win, i get your jacket.”

“it’s a bet.” suguru didn’t even show an ounce of hesitation when he agreed, extending his hand out. despite having your own share of doubts, you extended your hand out a couple seconds to shake his.

you definitely did not pay attention to how that handshake seemed to last a couple more moments than was necessary.

the conditions weren’t that bad you supposed. if you beat him—you got his prized ferrari jacket and to hold it over his head. and well, if you lost, maybe at least you’d get a good orgasm out of it. maybe.

“we’ll take the backroads since cops usually don’t lurk around at this hour. three laps?” you agreed to his suggestion, walking over to where your car was parked.

adrenaline coursed through your body and the race hadn’t even begun—your fingers twitching as you twisted the key into the ignition. deep breath in, deep breath out. not like it was the first race you’d done.

gojo strutted around the two of you like was one of the women announcing a wwe match, dramatically raising a checkered flag over his head, “on your marks! three, two…”

you turned to look over at suguru , barely making him out through the dark. he’d been easygoing and relaxed when he first agreed to this, but he looked more serious than you’d seen him throughout the night. his right hand gripped on the stick, his foot ready to go from break to gas.

“on- ah! not yet,” gojo prolonged it even further, keeping the flag up above his head. groans escaped from the people standing next to him, glaring over at his way.

“start the race already, dumbass!”

“c’mon, we don’t have all day!”

gojo gave them a groan in response, rolling his eyes. (which could very well serve as street lights on their own if these were to go out) “god forbid a man try to create suspense, fine!”

“… one, go!” he brought the flag down, indicating that the race had begun.

both engines roared to life as the two of you pulled off the makeshift starting point, the screech of tires rubbing against asphalt muffling any other noises from the sides. street lights blended together into a kaleidoscope of colors, each passing you through in a blur.

the cheers from the sidelines became background noise, your focus solely on the speedometer that couldn’t seem to go up fast enough. 60… 80…. 100… 150. and then came a sharp turn. forcing you to slow down.

suguru recovered faster than you did, speeding past you. deep breath in, deep breath out. you knew these streets, the familiar scent of rubber burning with each race, the rush of adrenaline—it was nothing foreign. you sped up, going from 45 to 70 in two seconds, catching up to him.

you nudged past suguru just the quarter of an inch, barely noticeable to anybody but you two. he moved past, more than just half an inch. it was a slow dance, speeding past one another before the other took the lead.

the first lap was over in 2:34:09 minutes, the two of you crossing over the line at nearly the same time.

the second lap was over in 2:34:06 minutes, neither of you letting up on your spot. if anything, you pushed your foot harder on the gas like it’d make the car go faster.

and just when you saw the familiar checkerboard flag waving up in the air, suguru pulled up next to you. you could win, you could practically feel the sense of victory reverberating through your veins.

and just as quick as the feeling came, it vanished.

in a final surge of speed, suguru floored the gas, leaving you in the proverbial dust. you tried—you really did try to catch up, keeping a steady foot on the gas and your grip on the steering wheel tight.

a cloud of smoke exuded from the gtr’s muffler covered your windshield for just a couple seconds as he passed you, the couple seconds that he needed to gain a leg up on you.

you drove past the finish mark at 2:34:15 minutes.

“suguru, my man, that might be your best time!”

“oh my god, you were going sooo fast!”

multiple people were talking over one another, just dying to know what recent mods he’d done to his car, and yet suguru could only look at you. watch as you made your way through the crowd before stepping right in front of him (conveniently ignoring the scowl a girl was sending your way.)

“congrats, you did pretty good with the turns,” you spoke up, extending your hand out. suguru wondered how badly that’d wounded your pride. he cleared his throat, shaking your hand.

he cut off the conversation about whether or not he’d be willing to race a cybertruck, unwilling to plague his mind with the image of that monstrosity. it was already bad enough seeing the occasional one around on the narrow roads for ‘display.’

suguru didn’t say anything, simply getting off his car and pushing his hands into his pocket. he heard footsteps behind him before they halted, the person seemingly changing their mind. good.

he stepped in front of you just the same way you’d done just a few seconds back. “i’ll see you later tonight, yeah?”

“if your adoring fans let you take a break to see lil ol’ me, sure,” you responded, driving back to the lot. leaving him to get eaten by the sharks.

✩ ✩ ✩

you wondered just how suspicious it would look if you were to disappear right now. no one would notice. probably. even your friend had left for the night, continuing to make up with sukuna if you had to guess.

a clean leave. you turned to get in your car before you heard, “you goin’ somewhere?”

a great escape worthy of rivaling dantès' prison break (ie. getting in your car and driving off the lot with the hope that nobody notices) fumbled before it even began.

you turned to look back at suguru, letting out a nervous laugh. he was not convinced. “psshhh, what? no, of course not, i was just getting my phone,” you shrugged him off, shutting the car door.

“the same phone that’s in your hand?”

you rubbed the back of your neck, you weren’t even sure why you were still trying to continue. “oh, that’s where it went.”

suguru let out a quiet hum, folding his arms. “you don’t have to spend the night with me if you don’t want to, y’know. you could chicken out of the bet.”

you both knew you weren’t going to do that. which is exactly how you found yourself in the backseat of suguru’s prized gtr. in an abandoned side of the lot, where not a single soul wandered about.

“you just go around asking people if they wanna race in exchange for a night with you?” you questioned, fiddling with the end of your skirt.

“should i have just tried to ask you on a date?” he responded, letting out a dramatic sigh, “and here i thought i was being swoon-worthy.”

you rolled your eyes. “what would a date consist of with you, anyways?”

“the pinnacle of modern romance, of course,” suguru responded, reaching over the center console to grab the aux cord before handing it over to you with a cheeky smile on his face, “boba and a view.”

you took the aux cord, blinking slowly before daring to ask, “you’re serious?” you wondered just how much of a chicken you would look like if you jumped out of his car right now.

suguru looked at you through the corner of his eye, a quiet laugh bubbling from his chest, “nah, i’m not that much of a slut.”

“you say that like you didn’t just make a bet to have me for one night,” you countered, giving him a pointed look.

“i never said what the night would consist of. for all you know, i could’ve invited you to read car manuals of all things.”

“did you?”

absolutely not. suguru’s throat bobbed. you were too close. even if the backseat wasn’t that big, it was still spacious enough. and you’d chosen to sit right next to him, your thigh pressed against his. he could feel every single shift and movement and it was absolutely killing him.

his fingers twitched against his sides, gaze locked onto your lips and the ungodly way they shimmered. like an invitation. how badly he wanted to taste you, have the taste of you lingering on his tongue and engraved into his brain. you leaned in, “you can kiss me.”

suguru pulled back before you got the chance to get too close, leaving you dazed and confused. no way you’d been reading that wrong all along. you blinked slowly before whispering, “did i do something wrong?”

“no! no, nothing like that,” he shook his head quickly, reaching out to take your hands in his own. you could see the gears whirring in his head—see just how much he was struggling to articulate his point. “i know we agreed on you spending a night with me. but i’m not going to force you into anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“i know you convinced yourself i was trying to leave earlier—” suguru only rolled his eyes, “—but i wouldn’t have agreed to the bet if i didn’t want anything to do with you.”

“so why did you try to leave?”

you buried your head in hands, letting out a groan. “because i got embarrassed. there was a crowd listening in when i was acting all cocky before the race.”

suguru reached over, gently prying your hands off your face. “they probably forgot it five minutes later. plus, you’re one of the more talented drivers i’ve seen.”

“you mean that?”

“yeah, of c-mmph, fuck—” you shut him up, pressing your lips against his. the kiss nearly made his brain short circuit. your lips were soft and tentative, testing out the waters, hands cupping his cheeks.

he hoisted you up onto his lap, his hands resting on your ass immediately and cock twitching underneath you. tenting in his pants, straining against the material. “you’re this hard already?” you asked innocently, running the tip of your nail down his shaft. like you weren’t dripping in your panties, the lace material sticking to your folds.

“so if i were to move my hand up—” he mused, relishing in the soft gasp you let out, “—i wouldn’t find you soaked?” his fingers trailed upwards slowly, pushing your skirt out of the way. you spread your legs apart just as he was getting closer to your pussy, but he completely pulled away.

“not yet, wanna enjoy this.” every movement was slow—like he was really taking the time to relish in this win.

suguru buried his head into the crook of your neck, immediately intoxicated with everything that smelt like you. from your body lotion to your perfume, he was practically high off it. a high that he didn’t even know if he wanted to come down from.

he nipped the side of your neck, kissing his way down. “you’re so pretty, taste so good,” he rambled breathlessly, latching his lips onto whatever inch of skin he could reach. he moved down to your exposed collarbone, sucking and biting onto the sensitive skin.

suguru looked too relaxed—leaning back against the leather while he let his gaze travel down your body. slowly, wanting to imprint every inch to memory, from the mole on your breast all the way to how you felt underneath his fingertips. “so beautiful,” he whispered, a quiet admission that almost seemed like it wasn’t meant to be uttered out loud.

he reached out, tracing the tip of his finger from your navel all the way to your pretty lace bra, following the pattern on the hem. tracing the tip of his fingers against your stiff nubs, rubbing and pinching through the material.

dexterous fingers reached behind you, unclasping the multiple hooks of your bra with relative ease. the flimsy material slid down from your shoulders to your elbows slowly before you shrugged it off completely, watching suguru’s eyes follow your bra falling on the car floor before coming back up to your tits.

he slipped the leather jacket off his body, slipping it over his shoulders. the scent of his cologne—a mix of sandalwood and amber immediately hitting your nose. “you’re giving me your jacket?”

“yeah, consider it a pity present. for being the loser and all,” suguru replied with a laugh, letting out a small ‘ow’ when you smacked the side of his arm.

“asshole.”

“so, you don’t want the ferrari jacket, is that right?”

you fought back a smile, “i guess i can take it.”

his lips trailed down from your collarbone down your body, his fingers still gripping onto your ass. peck. peck. peck. “good, it looks better on you than me,” he mumbled, suctioning and biting down into the valley of your tits. leaving behind a little mark that only you two would see.

his tongue swirled around your areola, his other hand cupping your breast while his fingers twisted and toyed with the other one. giving each his undivided attention. “o-oh fuck,” breathless gasps left your lips, your back arching against him. practically engulfing him in your tits. no complaints here.

“lay on your stomach for me,” he spoke up once he managed to find the willpower to let go of your tits.

it was a tight stretch but the two of you managed to maneuver your way around. or more so, he decided to leave you the back seat while he sat outside. his hands spread out of your thighs, and without even looking at him, you could feel his stare boring into your cunt.

suguru was quick in taking off your skirt, before remembering he was supposed to be relishing in this. his fingers hooked around the waistband of your thong, sliding it down inch by inch. moving at the speed of molasses. and when he was finished, you could’ve sworn lace being shoved into his pocket.

“you’re just gonna stare?”

“i’m appreciating my meal, hold on.”

after what seemed to be an eternity (five seconds), suguru finally leaned in. his lips pressed against the back of your thighs, kissing his way up to where you were leaking for him. he rubbed his pointer and middle against your folds, watching your slick glisten off them before deciding to feast.

suguru swiped his tongue up and up your slick folds up until he reached your clit, the warm metal ball of his piercing rolling around the throbbing bud. “o-ohh, fuck!” you let out a moan, digging into the leather seats and pushing your hips back against him.

and suguru, well suguru, couldn’t really give a shit about his leather. he spat onto your cunt, watching how you clenched around nothing, before smearing all over with his tongue. swiping his tongue back and forth, dipping the tip into your hole. “best prize ever, so good,” he groaned just as loudly as you were.

he slurped every single drop that your cunt had to give like it was something divine, moaning and rutting his hips into the air. he swiped his tongue like a credit card, moving his head back and forth, before latching his lips onto your swollen clit. sucking on it before letting the ball of his piercing roll around figure eights.

“d-don’t stop, fuck!” between your pussy and your moans, suguru was in paradise. your nails dug even further, leaving behind crescent shaped imprints on the seats. a small price to pay.

“how about you get these all nice and wet f’me, baby, please,” he leaned forward and pressed two fingers against your mouth. you wrapped your lips around the digits, sucking and swirling your tongue down to the knuckle. slobbering over the expensive rings adorning his fingers.

“ah fuck, just like that.” you looked up to meet his hungry gaze before releasing his fingers with a loud pop.

his fingers pushed inside, moving in a scissoring motion to spread you wider and wider. your walls clenched around his fingers, leaving them covered in a mix of your slick and your spit.

“get ‘er nice and open, just like that,” suguru mumbled, too drunk off the taste of you to try to make too sense. his mouth returned to its rightful place—your clit, where he started to roll his tongue again. suck. spit.

he added in a finger, curling them to hit that spongy spot inside of you. “so close, so close,” you whined like a broken record.

“cum for me, i got you, i got you ma,” he babbled against your clit, each vibration going up your spine like livewire. the tip of his tongue traced figures, letters, shapes onto your clit, treating it like his own whiteboard.

“f-fuck!” you threw your head back, letting out the loudest moan he’d heard so far before your release washed over you. coating over his fingers and his chin, leaving him completely soaked. and suguru still wasn’t satisfied.

“w-wait, ‘m sensiti- mm shit!” a moan ripped out from your throat when he went back for seconds, his tongue prodding into your cunt to taste every drop. to absorb as much of you as could, as much as you had left to give.

suguru pulled back once he’d gotten his fill, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. he shed off his clothes like a second skin, quickly kicking his pants off before getting situated in the car seat.

you got on top of him, wrapping your fingers around his cock before slowly starting to jerk your wrist. up and down, rubbing your thumb across the slit and smearing precum all over his reddened tip. “sooo good.” suguru bucked his hips into your hand, head thrown backwards.

taking that opportunity like a golden ticket, you leaned in to kiss down his neck just the same way he had. you felt him shiver underneath your touch, his hips moving erratically against your hand. “you don’t get to cum yet,” you whispered, pulling your hand away much to his dismay.

but he supposed he couldn’t complain too much.

you took hold of his shaft, aligning it with your slit before slowly starting to move down. “o-oh oh shit,” your lips parted into a ‘o’ shape, forehead pressed against his as you sunk down. his own lips were parted, shaky breaths exchanged between the two of you.

“f-fuck, there you go, that’s it,” suguru sucked in a harsh breath, chest heaving. and yet, that didn’t matter. he was too entranced by the way your pussy dripped over his cock, the way your walls stretched around him to mold to his shape perfectly. “use me, use my cock, it’s all yours, baby.”

you hadn’t even moved and he sworn he could’ve fallen in love with you and your cunt right there and then.

“all mine, huh?” your voice shook, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders where your nails dug into his skin in the most painstakingly pleasurable way imaginable. you started to move—inch by inch, you could feel the stretch as you tried to get accommodated.

“mhm, all yours,” suguru confirmed, leaning in and licking the warm drops rolling down your cheeks. you hadn’t realized when you started tearing up. his mouth was on yours in a span of seconds—no longer taking his time. no, this time, it was all a mixture of teeth and tongue.

like you’d disappear at any given moment.

your hips started gyrating and undulating down his cock, dripping over his thighs and onto the leather seats. “tryna kill me already, shiit, don’t stop,” suguru panted, digging his fingers into the fat of your ass. something to keep him grounded.

and somehow that just opened the watergates for him to keep babbling. completely pussydrunk babbles. “just like that, fuck, keep going,” suguru moaned unabashedly against your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on him. his hips rutted against you, matching the rhythm you set for yourself.

“s-sugu, you’re so big,” you whined out, practically feeling the man in your throat with each punishing thrust. his thighs clapped against your ass, your cunt squelched like you were a running faucet.

“y’know, maybe if you rode this fast, you would’ve beat me, pretty girl.” maybe he’d gotten a bit too cocky.

*SLAP*

your eyes widened in disbelief, either from the fact that you’d slapped him in the first place or that he’d moaned. you weren’t sure yet. a breathless laugh left his lips, his hips pummeling into your pussy like she owed him money. like he hadn’t nearly bust his load right then and there. “do it a little harder next time, yeah?”

“who said there’ll be a next time?” you countered in between shaky breaths, moaning out broken babbles of your own with each time his tip brushed against your g-spot.

“you’re right, you’re right,” he conceded, (despite already thinking about next time, maybe somewhere that wasn’t so crowded, maybe a date first), “so for now, you okay? you need me to do anything, baby?”

talking as if the slap had never happened in the first place.

“need your hand, sugu, please!”

“take my hand and put it where you want it, then.” you took hold of his hand, bringing it down your body down to your clit. “right here?”

“uh huh, right there, right there!” you nodded your head fervently, arching your back even further when he started to rub circles around the nub. your thighs ached. you pushed through it, bouncing and grinding down on his cock. feeling the bulbous tip almost touching your cervix the deeper he got.

“sugu, sugu,” it was the only sense of warning you could give him. you leaned forward, biting down on his shoulder to muffle your moans.

“i know, i know, give it to me.”

with that, you came harder than you did the last time. your toes curled as your orgasm washed over you, dripping and covering his shaft in your essence. suguru’s hips stuttered, barely thrusting inside in chase of his own orgasm.

your cunt clenched around his cock, milking him for every drop of cum. suguru groaned loudly, burying his head in the crook of your neck. shiver after shiver ran down his spine, cock twitching inside of you with his impending orgasm. “s-so tight, fuck!” he practically whined before ropes of cum shot inside of you.

suguru slumped back against the car seats, taking hold of your hips and gently guiding you off his cock. “here,” he whispered, taking a hold of a rag in the glovebox. he wiped off the globs of cum dripping down your twitching cunt.

he wasn’t winning aftercare of the year under these conditions, but his movements were still relatively gentle. “you’re okay?”

“i should be asking you that,” you countered, clearing your throat. and because suguru apparently kept himself prepared for every occasion, he passed over a water bottle in your direction. muttering out a quiet thanks, you began to gulp down the water.

he simply shrugged, starting to put his clothes back on. well, as best as he could while he was smushed. “i liked it. we’re good.”

finishing with getting dressed, you were about to hand him back the jacket but suguru quickly shook his head. “i told you, it looks better on you. keep it.”

you shoved your hands deep into the pockets of his jacket back when you got to your car, feeling a small slip of paper at the bottom. his number you realized—scrawled onto the sheet like he was a rush while remaining relatively neat.

maybe you’d call him again for a next time after all.

A/N. i’ve been meaning to write a street racer geto fic for a while (like a year now LOL) so i figured why not debut this acc with it ^.^

[explorevenus]

something permanent pt 14 ♡ yandere!leon kennedy x reader

nsfw (18+) - minors. i stg. do not interact or i will call the cops

reminder that this is a dark fic, if any of the following bothers/triggers you, do not read: yandere!leon kennedy, kidnapping, forced daddy kink, forced breeding, pregnancy, non/dubcon

in other words, dead dove: do not eat !!! u have been warned and u are responsible for ur own media consumption.

chapter index: pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10, pt. 11, pt. 12, pt. 13

'something permanent’: the spotify playlist

word count: 6.8k

description: leon and darling become parents at last.

tags/warnings: yandere!leon kennedy, fem/afab!reader, no use of (y/n), some gory descriptions cus darling goes into labor obvi, girl dad leon, corny dad leon, horny dad leon (no smut tho i'm sorry. she just gave birth idk what u want from me), medical setting, breastfeeding, manipulation, stockholm syndrome-ish implications, some angst but also fluff

a/n: !!! i hope this was worth the wait <33 big big big big BIG sexy thanks to @dollfacefantasy and @gigabyte-flare for beta reading <3 i don't really have anything else to say other than that i appreciate everyone's patience while i've been dealing with some pretty major life things and i just hope you like it. gentle reminder that the taglist has been moved to the bottom of the chapter to reduce clutter

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy !!

-venus ♡

It went without saying that Leon had seen a lot of gore in his life.

A whole lot of gore.

He'd witnessed gushing bullet wounds, gaping slices of undead flesh, pulverized bodies, genetically modified monstrosities exploding into even more horrific versions of themselves, only to be slain by his hand, often spraying back to douse him in the kind of fetid rot that couldn't be washed out, only burned, the kind that clung deep in his skin for days after... and yet nothing could have possibly prepared him for what it would be like to witness you going into premature childbirth.

Nothing.

You were in so much pain, you were hollering and crying so hard you could barely get a breath in, and apart from holding your hand, he was powerless to help you. It was gutting.

"Shh, shh... you're doing so good, baby, just breathe with me, just breathe," He said to you, trying to manage his tone to be as reassuring as possible, but the stress had long since become him.

How could it not? He was watching his own lover split apart while conscious, pleading with the universe to ease the pain, even with an 18-gauge needle in the spine. You were miserable, and you were terrified, and Leon was terrified too. Perhaps even more than he'd ever been, because this wasn't supposed to be happening yet. He was supposed to have at least another month and a half to pamper you and watch you grow, at least another month and a half to prepare for this. 

Not to mention he wasn't entirely fond of the swarm of nurses in your face and between your legs, the rotating door of doctors and specialists working on your exposed body with absolutely no capability of understanding how important you were to him, how special and sweet you were, how little you deserved this.

It did occur to him, in the midst of all the noise, that perhaps this was the wrong idea. That he shouldn't have forced the one person he loves the most in the world to suffer like this on his behalf. That maybe he'd made a grave mistake that he could never atone for, a mistake that would surpass anything he's ever experienced in its devastation.

But all of those fears crumbled to ash when he saw her for the first time.

Monday, December 21, 2015. Winter solstice. 3:36 a.m.

She was so pink. She was so, so small, so pink, and so angry to be alive, but she was alive and crying. She was alive.

In that moment, Leon experienced whatever the opposite of blacking out was, a shot of pure adrenaline down his spine that made everything shine a little brighter. He didn't even realize he was crying with relief until he turned and saw that you were, too. You were barely cognizant, what with the delightful cocktail of shock and panic and pain medication coursing through you, but you were conscious and aware— at least for now— limp with exhaustion aside from clutching Leon's hand for dear life while the professionals got to work sewing you up, and he couldn't help but swipe your slick hair away from your forehead to shower you in tearful kisses.

"My good girl... I'm so fucking proud of you," He spoke into your hair, pressing a heavy kiss to the crown of your head as his free hand cradled your cheek, holding you as close to him as he could physically manage. "I love you so much... I love you..."

You weren't really registering much other than the pure relief of it all, but Leon couldn't blame you. In his eyes, he just witnessed you creating his entire universe, and you deserved all the rest you could get. You'd certainly need it in the coming months.

And even just the coming weeks, as many as it might take for her to incubate and grow a bit.

She was alive, and she was as healthy as she could be, considering the circumstances, but Christ, she wasn't even done cooking yet. She was so little, weighing in at just three pounds, seven ounces, and she looked more like a gummy bear than a baby. She was hooked up to so many machines in the NICU that he could barely stand to even watch after a while, for his own peace of mind.

But he couldn't relax, either, so Leon just stayed at your bedside for most of the night, watching you sleep. Killing time. Occasionally he would wander off for a walk up and down the halls, or to the cafeteria for a bitter black coffee to jump his brain, or he would linger by the window into the NICU for a while to watch her sleep, to see her pink and yellow baby blanket just barely rise and fall with every tiny breath so he could know for sure she was really here. And then he'd repeat his rounds all over again.

The nurses promised him over and over again that she was healthy, that there was no cause for concern at this point, but that didn't really stop him from concerning himself quite severely. He wasn't even sure he understood his own metric for what it would take to get him to relax at this point, so he just stopped asking questions after a while.

Walk the halls. Bitter black coffee. Check on baby. Walk back. Check on you. Wash, rinse, repeat. Eventually the nurses were looking at him like they were debating offering him an Ambien under the table just to calm him down, and perhaps because he'd grown so used to avoiding drawing attention to himself, that was when he finally decided to just sit his ass down at your bedside and stay there.

In his boredom he found that the TV was perpetually stuck on the Hallmark channel, streaming from an endless well of corny, poorly written holiday movies that left more than enough to be desired, but it was better than nothing. Leon couldn’t stand the silence, and at least it kept his mind somewhat occupied while he thumbed through that heavy book of baby names.

He’d already found one he liked— Abigail— but that still left room for one more. He couldn’t even decide if he thought that should be her first name or her middle name. All he knew was what the book told him, flowery words describing the meaning of the name as that of my father’s joy, and that was quite true, wasn’t it? She was his firstborn, and more than that, her mommy was you. Nothing in the entire universe could possibly stand to make him happier or more joyous, and thus Abigail was fitting. But how was he supposed to find another name to describe her when he hadn’t even had the opportunity to get to know her yet?

Or was this secondary name his opportunity to start a thread of her destiny for her?

It’s not like he never asked you for your opinion, you had just chosen time and time again not to give it to him. You were almost completely impartial when it came to talking about the baby, so regardless of how badly he ached for your participation in planning for the life you’d created together, he had long since become bitterly used to making decisions like this on his own.

With a deep sigh Leon let the book rest in his lap, fingertips drumming on the wooden armrests of his chair in thought of the kind of life he wanted for his baby girl. All he could think was that he wanted her to run, play, and be happy. He wanted her to be good to the world and he wanted the world to treat her even better in return. He wanted to ensure she’d never have to worry about a thing, that she would grow up kind and quick and a much better woman than he ever was a man.

He wanted her to be gentle and sweet and protected, like a princess, his jubilant little baby princess.

Lifting the book once more, Leon opened it back up to its table of contents and skimmed over the lines for the millionth time, only now he actually had a vague idea of what he might be looking for. The book was structured in sections, the first being cultural and regional names, the second being historical and literary names, and the last section was an alphabetized glossary of them all in one. It was exhaustingly organized and comprehensive to the last detail, but hey, so was he.

Tracing the page with two fingertips, he found the historical section of the table and went down the line, skimmed over architects, artists, explorers, war heroes, religious figures… all the way down to royalty.

Leon’s hope wavered a little bit when he found most of the names under that section to be underwhelming or flat-out bad when paired with ‘Abigail,’ but his mind had been set on that for so long that he’d already decided he wasn’t budging on it. He was toying with the idea of taking a break from his search for the night, until an entry on the list of princess names caught his eye. In his exhaustion, he must have previously overlooked it.

Charlotte.

“Charlotte Abigail,” Leon mumbled aloud, testing the name on his tongue. “Charlotte Abigail Kennedy…”

It flowed from his lips like a beautiful waltz.

The enticing scent of Leon's umpteenth black coffee was the first thing you noticed when you woke up, followed by the dull, full body ache that weighed you down to the hospital bed. Your head was throbbing, your eyes and throat were stinging and dry from overexertion, but more than that, you felt something like relief.

Yes, it was definitely relief, because any amount of pain in that moment felt like reprieve in comparison to active labor. And maybe you were still a bit fuzzy from the meds, but you weren't complaining.

Slowly, you blinked awake and took in your surroundings, the room quiet aside from the occasional beep of electronic medical equipment, and the subtle, rhythmic rumble of... Leon snoring?

Tilting your head, you saw Leon right there at your bedside, coffee untouched and still steaming on the little tray next to him. His legs were outstretched, arms crossed at his chest, and he had his head tilted back with that comically large book of baby names split open to rest over his face, blocking the fluorescent lights and rising sun from his tired eyes. You just watched him for a moment, knowing he'd likely spent all night fretting over you until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

For as much as you would have loved to just lay there and enjoy the quiet for a moment, though, you knew it was probably wiser to let him know you were awake. At least that way you could talk him into forfeiting his coffee.

"Hey," you spoke up gently, your voice hushed with sleep and a bit hoarse, "I'm pretty sure the shop in the lobby sells bookmarks."

He jolted a little and then stirred, gravity pulling the heavy book down until his arm shot up to catch it and lift it from his face with an exhausted look of surprise. "Y-You're awake—”

"Gimme that," you interrupted, arm outstretched in a dramatic show of grabby-hands at the paper cup of coffee placed just outside your reach. You could barely even remember the last time you were allowed a sip of coffee, and having to lay here smelling it but not tasting it when you so sorely needed it was torture.

Leon blinked once or twice in confusion, clearing away the haze that clouded his frayed neurons, and as his eyes followed the path between your fingertips and the shitty cup of black coffee he'd fallen asleep before having the chance to drink, he couldn't help but puff out a little laugh, handing it off to you without hesitation. For fuck's sake, you'd earned it, hadn't you?

The cup had been sitting there idle for just long enough that its contents weren't blistering hot, but perfectly drinkable. You took a quick sip, and then another, nose scrunching up for a moment because it tasted more like a dirty ashtray than it did coffee, but somehow it still went down like liquid gold. At least the taste was enough to keep you from drinking it too fast.

"How do you feel, pup?" Leon asked, tracing the curve of your cheekbone with a delicate thumb. As joyful as it was to see you awake and in decent spirits, he had to ask, because it's not like you were just waking up from any old nap. He watched you split apart last night. He could still smell your blood. Surely you had more to concern yourself about than caffeine.

Setting aside the cup, you searched your mind for the right way to articulate how you felt right now, but found it exceptionally difficult to encapsulate what all was going on up there after giving birth for the first time. So, you decided to start with how your body felt and work your way through it from there.

"Sore, like a bowling ball went through me... but it's not unbearable. I think the pain meds are still working," you began, tilting your head to let your cheek squish into the palm of his hand. "I feel a little numb and groggy."

With a sympathetic hum, he nodded, leaning over you to smooth your messy hair back and press a kiss to your forehead. "I'm not surprised, baby, you do seem a bit silly. They drugged you up pretty good," he said, speaking from experience, "but at least you're not in too much pain."

A beat of surprisingly comfortable silence passed between you two as you finished waking up and Leon just stared at you, as he often did. While the air between the two of you felt thankfully free of tension, it wasn’t without anticipation, nor was it without the presence of that massive elephant.

You knew she was okay because if she wasn’t, Leon would be having a nuclear meltdown, but you barely even got to see her before you passed out, so you didn’t know how okay she was. 

“Where is she?” You asked gently, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“She’s in the little incubator, but they said they could bring her in here when you woke up, if you were feeling well enough,” he answered, looking up at you through his lashes like a pleading puppy as he asked, “are you?”

You felt a rush deep in your chest that you couldn’t explain, emotion, and you found that your head was bobbing up and down in a nod before you even thought about it. You didn’t need to think about it. Of course your feelings about your situation and this baby were… complicated, to put it kindly, but you spent seven-ish months cooking the damn thing, so you might as well take the chance to hold her and get to meet her, right?

Leon didn’t waste any time scrambling off to get a nurse, and as you sat there waiting, you couldn’t help but wonder what she was going to be like. You weren’t ignorant of the fact that newborn babies didn’t have strong features yet, but you wondered if she would have any hair on her head, or what she would feel like in your arms, or what little sounds she might make. The few short minutes it took for Leon to return with your baby and a couple of nurses felt like a million years.

The door opened, and your heart stopped beating for a second. Your mouth dried and your eyes burned with tears.

She was so little.

Even swaddled up in a blanket, her tiny body was barely the width of Leon's forearm, her little head rested in the crook of his elbow while her socked and blanketed feet were tucked in the palm of his hand. Everything you felt in this moment was truly overwhelming— fright, nerves, and perhaps even a bit of pride, because come on. You made that thing. Willingly or not, you made your own little human, and in a removed context, that was crazy.

She was so little that you were almost afraid to touch her, trembling as Leon lowered her into your arms, but right away there was something about having her near that felt familiar to you.

Like an old friend.

For a long few minutes, you just cried. Deep, ugly, open-mouth cries that made your entire body feel weak. You couldn’t possibly get ahold of yourself, or even begin to understand how you were meant to.

Stooping down to kiss the crown of your head, Leon spoke gently into your hair, voice thick with emotion, “I-I named her Charlotte. Charlotte Abigail.”

Oh, how pretty. Internally you had to admit that he chose well, whatever his reasoning was.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” you sniveled, thumb caressing the thin, tender skin of her cheek, your chest throbbing as she squirmed and poked the tip of her tiny tongue out. “I-Is she okay? Are there any issues?”

The nurses calmly explained to you that she seemed to be regulating her temperature well enough on her own, but that the incubator was a precaution that would allow you and Leon the opportunity to get some actual rest. Her blood tests didn’t show any concerns and her oxygen levels were okay, but other than that, it was too soon to tell if anything else might be off, and they spared you the anxiety of getting too specific about the potential complications just yet. She would likely be spending at least 30 days in the NICU for good measure.

You, on the other hand, would be well enough to be on your feet as soon as the numbness wore off. That wasn’t to say it would feel good if you did, just that it was possible and wouldn’t kill you, though Leon would probably need to help you around for a few days… as if he needed the doctor’s order to do that.

Once they were sure you were healthy and comfortable, the nurses stepped out and for the very first time, it was just you, Leon, and your child.

“I’m so proud of you,” Leon whispered, watching you reverently. The sun had risen enough now to drench you in a saintly glow, your skin radiant and dewy with motherhood, your eyes glittering with tears as you gazed down at the sleepy baby cradled in your arms. “You’ve come such a long way, puppy, and just look at what you made for me. Look at what a perfect little angel you made for daddy.”

Letting out a slow breath from your nose, you resisted the urge to react to that. He’d done a pretty decent job of acting normal since you went into labor, and you didn’t realize how badly you were hoping he would keep it up until he ruined it with a brisk return to form. Perhaps the blame was on you for getting too comfortable with your expectations that high in the first place.

What felt especially unfair about it, however, was that his phrasing got beneath your skin more than you thought it would. Telling you that you’d come such a long way, and all because you made a perfect baby for him.

For daddy.

You’d only just had the chance to allow yourself to feel some kind of a bond with her, and Leon was already claiming ownership over it without a second thought. You wanted to snap at him that not everything was about him, that it wasn’t your goal to please him even if something you did made him happy, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to say any of it.

Charlotte hadn’t even been born for 24 hours yet, you couldn’t start fighting in front of her already.

You stood in front of the window with Charlotte swaddled tightly in your arms, letting her watch the glittery, falling snow outside in an attempt to calm her. She was red in the face and hollering with all the power in her little lungs— which was a lot, you’d come to learn— quite cranky about the fact that your milk was taking its time to come in. In defense of your boobs, the girls thought they were going to have eight more weeks to prepare than they ended up getting.

But at a certain point you just had to wonder when enough might be enough. You knew it wasn’t your fault, that your difficulty producing breastmilk so soon after going into premature labor didn’t reflect negatively upon your ability to love and provide for your daughter, so why did it feel that way? You were trying to keep ahold of your emotions for the sake of your daughter while wondering somewhere in the back of your mind if you were even fit to care for her, if it was your fault that she was starving.

“It’s common for newborns to lose a little bit of their birth weight in the first few weeks, especially waiting for mama’s milk to come in,” the attending nurse calmly explained to you as she changed the sheets on the bed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, dear. There’s no guide to being a new mother.”

“Thank you,” you replied over the shrill cries of your daughter, letting some of the tension drop from your shoulders. Leon had told you nearly the same thing practically a thousand times over the past few days, but it was hard not to convince yourself that he didn’t know what he was talking about and was just spouting nonsense to make you feel better. It felt more legitimate coming from a professional.

Once she finished up changing the bedding, the nurse offered to take Charlotte for a while if you needed a break, but for right now, you didn’t really mind. Having her close was supposed to stimulate milk production, as you’d been told, and for lack of a better way to put it, you sort of enjoyed hogging her from Leon. He’d stepped out for the morning to check in at work and grab a few things from the house, so he wasn’t here to take her anyway, but you felt it was your responsibility to seize every available opportunity to bond with her. You needed her to know that you were there for her, that you weren’t budging, and that you never would.

Being alone with her was a treat. She really was so cute, just a teeny tiny little thing, and you could have already sworn she had your nose. She was pretty.

“Oh, Lottie, Lottie, Lottie,” you sighed affectionately, cupping the back of her head to cradle her close to your shoulder, gently swaying and bouncing on your feet. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

As expected, her only response was a continuation of shrill cries. Part of you worried that your presence wasn’t comforting her at all, but every time you slowed in rocking her or made any move that she perceived as you getting ready to put her down, she hollered louder and clung to you for dear life. Clearly she knew where her bread was buttered.

You crossed the room in slow, bouncing steps, trying to keep her distracted just long enough for you to sit down with her in the rocking chair. Little as she was, your arms were getting tired from holding her up, and you just needed a bit of a break from it. Pressing your lips to her soft forehead, you breathed in through your nose and began quietly singing to her.

“I’m… a lonely little petunia in an onion patch, an onion patch, an onion patch,” you hummed, “I’m a lonely little petunia in an onion patch, and all I do is cry all day… boo-hoo, boo-hoo…”

It was an old, old song, and you weren’t even really sure where you remembered it from, but Charlotte seemed to enjoy it, and it felt fitting enough right now. Dragging in a breath, Charlotte reached up to rub her eyes with her chubby little fists, wailing cries beginning to soften down to weepy whimpers. It was victorious moments like this that almost made you forget how you got here.

“Hey, sweetheart,” came Leon’s voice from behind, reminding you exactly how you got here, “how are my girls?”

Almost immediately, Charlotte started screaming again.

Sighing out an exhausted breath, you turned over your shoulder to watch Leon approach, trying not to let it show on your expression just how annoyed you were that he’d ruined her calming mood right after you managed to get her there.

“Cranky,” you answered him simply.

Leon clicked his tongue and moved to sit at the edge of the coffee table in front of you, reaching out to brush your hair away from your face with a sympathetic gleam in his eye. “No milk yet, huh?”

You shook your head.

“Oh, puppy… I’m sorry.”

The look on your face gutted him. He could tell you were blaming yourself in some way, feeling guilty for not being able to produce quite yet, but his mind wasn’t lingering anywhere near blaming you for this. You’d already been through so much just to deliver the baby— if anything, he’d be more surprised if these next few weeks were to proceed perfectly after that. You were a superhero to Leon right now, a goddess, and not even gods or heroes were exempt from hardship, from plain bad luck.

“It’s fine,” you said with a slow sigh, “the nurses swear we’re getting somewhere. There was some of this… I don’t know, like… clear, sappy stuff that came out this morning, and they said it’s good for her, so…”

Nodding gently, Leon took your hand and squeezed it, trying to get you to actually look at him. “Well, that’s a good sign, right?”

“I think so… I don’t know. I hope so.”

“I hope so, too, baby.”

A few moments of silence fell between you— aside from the screaming newborn, of course— and Leon continued to think about how proud he was of you. When he first brought you home with him, you were adamantly against the idea of having babies, let alone being pregnant at all. But you took it like such a champion, nourished and cared for your child anyway, his child, and even after going into labor unexpectedly early, your priorities and your focus still remained on her.

He couldn’t confidently say he’d have been as brave if it were him. That alone gave him a lot of reflecting to do.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Leon asked, squeezing your hand again. “Absolutely incredible.”

“I don’t know about that,” you puffed out a dry breath, finally looking up at him. “Women have been birthing babies for thousands of years. I’m no different from any of them, unless you count panic-attacking myself into early labor, and even then I’m not the first. And I definitely won’t be the last.”

Shaking his head in affectionate disagreement, Leon said, “As far as I’m concerned, you didn’t just hang the moon, you molded it with your bare hands. Just… take the compliment, pup. You deserve it.”

A slight smile graced your lips for just a second, like you briefly allowed yourself to believe what he was saying. As much as it pained him to think about, Leon knew you hadn’t been given a whole lot of incentive to take him at his word on anything, but when it came to the praise you’d earned for making him a father, for growing his baby in you, it was so important to him that you knew he wasn’t just talking out of his ass.

So he spoke up again, following his praises with a gentle, genuine question; “Why are you being so hard on yourself?”

This gave you pause. He wasn’t wrong by any means— you absolutely were being hard on yourself here, in every way you could think of. The ways you’d been talking about and carrying yourself since he came home from San Francisco were indicative enough of that. It was like you were cowering from yourself, avoiding every part of you that made you you, like a mouse in a lab finally recognizing which buttons would shock you.

“She needs me,” you finally muttered, cradling Charlotte closer to your chest, even as she screamed your eardrum out. “She depends on me, I can’t just… fail her.”

“Fail her?” Leon whispered, encouraging you to continue.

Swallowing back nerves, you suddenly found you were having a difficult time making sense of what you’d been feeling lately, let alone putting it into articulate words. Still, you replied to the best of your frazzled, tired ability, “She was supposed to have eight more weeks… she wasn’t ready to be born yet, and I freaked myself out so much that I put her at risk. I’m so grateful that she’s okay, that it didn’t end badly, but Leon… it could have. It really could have.”

“I know,” he soothed. “I know it could have, but it didn’t. It didn’t. Look at her, she’s here and she’s alive and she’s healthy. She’s got strong lungs. She’s got your nose. She’s perfect, sweetheart, she’s absolutely perfect, and that’s not in spite of you, it’s because of you. I’ll repeat that as many times as it takes for you to internalize it.”

That framing of the situation was surprisingly insightful, coming from Leon, though you supposed he’d had some practice in forgiving himself over the years.

Sniffling, you nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “T-Thank you… daddy.”

He leaned in to kiss your forehead, and Charlotte began to settle.

You were so confused when you woke up in the middle of the night to Charlotte crying again— not because of anything she was doing differently, but because of how you felt. Sitting up in bed, you briefly glanced over at Leon to find that the commotion had roused him too, stirring him from a light sleep.

“I can get her,” he was quick to rasp out, voice clouded with grogginess, but for once, you put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“No, no, wait,” you whispered, your other hand kneading at your sore chest in an attempt to soothe the discomfort, but this wasn’t the same kind of breast pain you’d grown used to by now. They were tender and full to the touch, nipples stinging under your nightgown.

And leaking.

Eyes widening, you shot out of bed with a quiet, excited exclamation of, “oh, shit,” not even taking the time to mull over how silly it seemed to be so ecstatic that your nipples were leaking milk through your favorite nightgown. All you could think about right now was her. You could finally sate her hunger.

Leon sat up too, rubbing his eyes and leaning over to turn the bedside lamp on, trying to wake himself up enough to understand what you were acting so urgently about. Only once Charlotte’s cries were silenced and replaced with a soft, greedy suckling sound did he realize what was happening.

“Oh,” he gasped, stunned, “shit.”

You just laughed, completely unable to wipe the stupid grin off your face. Feeding for the first time felt really fucking bizarre, but with how happy you were that your daughter was finally able to eat, you couldn’t bring yourself to care even slightly. That was far from the biggest thing on your mind.

“She’s eating,” you beamed, turning over your shoulder to look at Leon, desperate to share this moment with the only person who could truly understand your relief. “She’s eating, Leon, she’s— she’s perfect. Holy shit.”

“You’re perfect,” he smiled wide, crawling out of bed to join you where you stood by the crib, his strong arms slinking gently around your waist. Pressing a kiss to the highest point of your cheekbone, Leon whispered in your ear, “I knew you could do it, puppy. I love you, I love you both so much.”

And now you were crying. You couldn’t help it.

Charlotte fed for a good long while that night, gulping down every stray drop she could find, and you and Leon just watched her in complete awe. She could barely keep her eyes open in her satisfaction, long lashes fluttering angelically upon chubby cheeks, her squishy little lips bobbing back and forth with every suckle as you both cooed at her and cheered her on.

Wiping away a drop of milk from her chin, Leon preened, “Oh, little Lottie… such a good eater, princess, my goodness…”

“Such a good eater,” you echoed, adding playfully, “must’ve gotten that from your daddy. He gets grouchy without breakfast, too.”

“Hey now, it is the most important meal of the day,” he pointed out to his own defense, very much in on the joke, though he couldn’t help but add another cheeky point that was reserved only for your ears. “Well… the second most important meal of the day, right behind dessert.”

Groaning, you rolled your eyes at him, “Cornball. You’re a horny, horny cornball.”

He only smirked, “Guilty as charged, pup,” and kissed you again.

Your mood improved a lot over the next several days, and Leon was so grateful for it. The timing couldn’t have been better for squashing your insecurities about being able to care for Charlotte. Waking up to feed her wasn’t something that stressed you out anymore, it was something that made you feel useful and needed, which you always were, but now you truly believed it. Leon joked more than once that he’d never seen you happier to whip your boobs out at any given time.

You were eating well, you were laughing, you were getting lots of good rest, and you were actually talking to him. Like, talking talking, not just nodding your head and pretending to follow along. You told him about your day, you told him how you were feeling, you commentated on TV shows together. Your unanticipated stay in the NICU was turning out to feel a lot more like a dream than a nightmare, and as such, he was almost reluctant to see it end.

But time marches on, as it always does. Part of him worried you’d go right back to being difficult once you were home and the novelty of new parenthood wore off. Part of him wanted to trust that you wouldn’t, because you truly understood everything now. Didn’t you?

The final week of Charlotte’s monitoring was dwindling down, and now that he wasn’t so preoccupied with worrying himself sick about you both, he couldn’t stop thinking about what you said to him before you went into labor.

‘Daddy, I have to tell you something.’

Whatever it was, you never told him. In the chaos of everything that happened right after, he almost forgot you even mentioned it, but it’d just been gnawing at him since the dust settled.

Leon wasn’t sure how to approach this with you. Talking about it clearly distressed you last time, even though you brought it up on your own, and he didn’t want to risk setting you off, but the intensity of emotion it brought was undoubtedly indicative of its importance. By principle, you should tell him if there’s anything he needs to know, right?

Maybe it wasn’t all that important. Maybe your reaction at the time was just a product of your condition, the hormones and anxiety, and maybe you hadn’t even thought about it since that night. Maybe it really wasn’t a big deal.

So why had it been so obviously eating you alive during the final leg of your pregnancy?

“Baby?” Leon asked quietly, tilting his head to look at you. It was three in the morning and you were laying in bed together after Charlotte finally fell back asleep for the millionth time, partly trying to get some more rest and partly preparing yourselves to have to get up again at any moment. But it was peaceful, and he hoped that would mean you were calm and comfortable enough to have this conversation.

Humming in acknowledgment, your eyes met his. He had his arm around you, thumb caressing you at the waist, your cheek against his chest. It was now or never.

“I’ve just been thinking lately… the night Lottie was born, you said you had something to tell me,” he began, pouring all his effort into coming off as non-threatening as possible, careful not to spook you. “The little lady interrupted you and I never got to hear what it was. Do you remember, sweetheart?”

At first you couldn’t move, completely paralyzed in his arms. Your initial inclination was to panic, of course, but for once in your life, the nerves weren’t manifesting like they probably should have been.

Or, rather, like they definitely should have been.

You resumed breathing, biting your lip while you tried to organize your thoughts and come to a decision. It would be a tough shot to lie right now, you knew that, and while you would have usually tried to come up with a convoluted way to worm yourself out of this, for some reason, you didn’t even really feel the need to right now. Leon had been in a great mood. You were pretty sure he hadn’t stopped smiling since Charlotte was born, and even leading up to her birth, he had been acting so gentle and loving with you.

But you still needed to cover your bases if you were going to be honest with him.

“Do you remember saying that whatever it is, we’ll handle it? That I wouldn’t be in trouble?”

Uh oh, Leon thought to himself, but didn’t dare let it show on his expression. That’s not a great start.

“I do,” he nodded encouragingly, “and that still stands.”

All you had was his word, and that was going to have to do, wasn’t it? Taking a deep breath, you tightened your arms around his middle as if preemptively pleading for mercy, and then you quietly admitted, “I-I broke the rules while you were away on that mission.”

He figured as much while speculating on what it might have been, so this didn’t really floor him too much yet. “Okay. What rules did you break?”

You hesitated for a beat, looking away to collect your thoughts and then back again, hoping he could see the guilt in your eyes, the regret.

“I went outside,” you whispered, feeling an awkward and unpleasant heat burning at your ears— shame. “I-I went on a walk, a long walk, and…”

Now it was Leon who wasn’t breathing. “And?”

“And I tried to get h-help.”

There it was. You tried to get help. Help. As if you needed any fucking help when you had Leon.

But then again, he thought, she didn’t have me. I wasn’t there.

His bottom lip quivered until he bit it back, stooping his head down to bury his face in your hair, hiding, both arms holding you tightly to him. He wasn’t sure how to feel. He thought he was prepared for anything you might have to confess, but this… this was devastating. This felt awful.

“God fucking damn it, puppy,” he wept, “what were you thinking?”

The realization that he was crying made you tear up too. He wasn’t angry, he was anguished.

“I-I’m sorry… I know, I’m sorry—”

“Did anything happen? Did anyone see you? Did anyone touch you?”

“No, no, n-nothing happened, no one touched me, I promise—”

“Don’t you ever do that shit again,” he sobbed weakly into the crown of your hair, clutching you to him like you’d fall apart if he let go, or perhaps like he would fall apart. “Do you hear me?”

You just nodded, stifling your cries with a hand over your mouth to keep from waking the baby. She was sleeping so peacefully in the crib a mere few feet away.

“I hear you, I hear you, I promise I won’t ever do it again… it was freezing and I was so scared, I… I couldn’t get home fast enough…”

Home. Was that what it was to you now?

“Good,” Leon said firmly, but not apathetically, sighing out a deep, shaky breath. “You don’t just have yourself to worry about anymore.”

You and Leon were practically tangled with one another, stuck together like glue as you desperately tried to soothe each other. Silence fell around you again.

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[copper-16]

Remind Me That There’s A Room To Grow Part 3

Broken, rueful, and mended as it should have been.

(a/n: Part 3, here we come! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting on these, I'm so grateful! Reminder for anyone who likes a musical touch that you can find the Spotify playlist here, if you would like. Please enjoy this part, and I would love to hear your feedback about the note at the end!)

Alexia sat on that damn park bench for God knows how long. 

She didn’t care if she got no sleep or looked absolutely insane sitting there for hours on end. The things you had told her rattled around in her brain disconcertedly, unending every single thought that attempted to interrupt. The brunette had gone from feeling like she was the most stable and vindicated person on the planet to a feeling as though she were a shell of herself. 

This whole time, there had been so much more to the story than she ever could have imagined. And though she knew it really wasn’t their fault, resentment flared within her at how quick Eli and Alba were to blame you for everything. 

Everything in Alexia felt anguished. Just thinking about looking at your face made the Catalan feel nauseous, stuck on how distraught you had been. It wasn’t as though she could blame you either, not when she had been so irate. 

She had allowed herself to be influenced by every single person around her instead of trusting you, as she always had. She should have trusted herself, should have trusted the fact that she knew something was wrong. The last nine years had been spent giving you the benefit of the doubt, but when it came to it, she had treated you with such animosity. 

Never in a million years had she expected the reasoning behind all of this. 

Cancer. It seemed impossible for someone who was only eighteen years old, but it wasn’t as though stranger things hadn’t occurred. Now all Alexia managed to think of was how scared and alone you must have felt. She had lost you, but she did so when she was chasing her dreams. You had to watch her leave you behind because of a situation entirely out of your hands. 

All this time where she had felt abandoned, and in reality it was the other way around. 

What an absolutely fucked up situation. 

When the footballer finally stood, a chill wrapped around her and caused her to shiver violently. She didn’t remember it getting cold, but it wasn’t as though she cared about the temperature when her mind was a ruction of emotions. 

She booked it back to her car, driving herself toward her Mami’s house in what would have been considered a fury. The brunette knew that her sister was there as well, so she could kill two birds with one stone.  

When she arrived, the brunette barged through the door with no care at all for the hinges, her inner turmoil gathering and growing with each and every step she took. She found her family in the kitchen, enjoying some dessert with a glass of wine in each of their hands. 

“You were wrong,” Alexia seethed, almost heady with the amount of wrath she felt within her. Eli and Alba both turned to her in an instant, instantly confused at the animosity in her tone. It was so rare to hear the brunette truly upset in the way she was right now, and they glanced at each other for a second before they turned to Alexia fully. 

“What happened?” Alba asked, very confused as to what her sister was talking about. They had no idea that the pair of you had talked, but Alexia didn’t care to give them context. 

“You both blamed her for leaving me behind, you made her out to be the villain and she never was! This was all of your fault, how could you do this to me? How could you twist my mind in such a way?” Alexia snapped, her whole body tense with rage. 

“Alexia, what the hell are you talking about?” Alba demanded, understanding dawning on the subject her sister spoke about but still confused as to the circumstances. 

“She was fucking sick, you two. She let me go alone because she had cancer, and she didn’t want me to have to live through it when I was moving away. She broke up with me so I could go chase my dreams and build my career without being bogged down. She gave up her own happiness so that I could have my own,” the brunette spat, her face red with exertion. Whether it was to keep her anger inwards or to stop the tears that burned in the back of her eyes, the Catalan was unsure.   

“She did it to protect me, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt for her decision for a decade before you two got so defensive and twisted my mind. She was never the selfish person you made her out to be, she was always the most selfless, empathetic, compassionate of all of us!” Alexia argued, and she seemed only to be growing more and more in her anger. 

“Alexia–” Eli tried to interrupt, but she was quickly cut off. 

“No! I don’t even want to hear you two attempt to explain yourselves. I don’t want to hear it. I loved her, I love her now, and I’ve fucked it all up with your words in my mouth! She left the conversation in tears, she told me to leave her alone. If you two hadn’t been so horrible about the whole thing, I never would have been so skeptical in the first place!” Alexia was ready to burst at the seams, and she couldn’t handle it. 

“Now Ale, we only did that because we wanted to protect y–” Alba attempted to interject, failing just as her mother had. 

“I don’t even want to hear it! I am so angry at the two of you, especially considering that you hardly let me get a word in edgewise about her character. She grew up with us, she loves us, and she trusted you with her heart just as much as you trusted her with mine. So don’t sit there and say anything, but maybe think about your own actions!” Alexia finally demanded, her words fervent in manner. 

When her mother and sister said nothing but looked at her in shock, the brunette shook her head and chuckled austerely, not a trace of humor in her tone. 

“God, and now you don’t even have anything to say for yourselves,” she looked around at her mother’s kitchen as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. The midfielder was aware she was only redirecting her anger onto two people whose blame was minimal, but the affliction in her heart needed somewhere to go. 

“I have to go, I will talk to you two later,” Alexia said after a second, defeat heavy in her expression as the anger began to drain out of her. It was replaced by an excruciating misery that weighed on her shoulders exactingly, as though it knew that she was really the one to blame in all of this. 

She felt as though she had lead in her shoes as she walked out to her car. The drive back to her apartment was done in complete silence, the Catalan unable to deal with anything other than the chaos in her mind. 

She barely made it one step in the door before the first sob bubbled up her throat. She finally allowed herself to succumb to it, sobbing so hard that her ribs ached and her eyes swelled, and she had nobody to blame for everything except for herself. 

—

Every single person on the team could immediately tell something was wrong with Alexia when she showed up at training the next day. 

Alexia had always been the most dedicated of them all, relentless in her pursuit to be better. She was endlessly pushing herself and those around her to be their best selves, and it paid off. The team worked hard, and they looked better than ever. The Catalan had helped to lift them from relative obscurity into a team that people feared to play, and as much as Vicky was their fearless leader, every single player would tell you that the Catalan was their beating heart. 

But today? Well, today the brunette looked about two steps away from death as she walked into the changing room.  

Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Her hair was mildly unkempt, her skin sullen, the bags under her eyes endlessly listless. She kept her head down, and changed as though she wished she could curl up into a ball and never be seen again. The midfielder was usually a quiet person, but today she seemed…unobservant. 

Somehow, that made all of it seem worse. 

Jenni and Mariona were instantly alarmed because they knew what had happened, while the other girls were both confused and in a state of shock. Nobody had ever seen Alexia this clearly upset, considering the fact that she typically kept things close to her chest. 

To be this outwardly downtrodden was incomprehensible, to the point where the rest of the team wasn’t sure how to act toward her. They all seemed to avoid her as though she was radioactive, and she made no attempt to engage with any of them. 

Jenni, Mariona, and Vicky, however, had no problem marching over to the Catalan as they created a concerned cocoon around her. 

“What happened Alexia?” Vicky questioned gently, only to receive nothing short of the death glare back from Jenni and Mariona in response. 

“How did it go?” Mariona amended quietly, hopeful that they might have been able to draw out some sort of reaction from the midfielder. It was clear the conversation had not gone well, but they did not know why. 

And sure enough, Alexia’s entire face flashed into something nearly venomous, and she shook her head with what looked to be a clearly concerted effort to remain in control. 

“Nothing. I would appreciate it if everyone left me alone and we could conduct training as normal, like we are supposed to be doing,” she managed to grit out pointedly, her voice bolstered with hostility and malice. The three women looked around at each other, none of them in the least bit convinced, but the mutually agreed upon decision seemed to be that they clearly weren’t going to get anything out of the brunette right now. 

The midfielder was a monster at training that day, and not in a good way. 

Every single ball was launched with a lethal ferocity. Every single pass was too hard, every single first touch sloppy and heavy.  

None of the movements were reminiscent of the Alexia that everyone had come to know. It wasn’t great football, it wasn’t even good football. The midfielder was clearly angry at something, and the longer practice went on, the worse it got. The Catalan was frustrated with herself, bitter and enraged at how she seemed unable to play with any ounce of grace. 

It felt ironically similar to how she seemed unable to converse with you without accusation, a thought she was ruefully reminded of. 

It was when she sent a ball flying angled toward Caro’s head that Vicky and Marta finally pulled the midfielder aside brashly. The captain of the team had taken one look at their manager, whose expression agreed with her own, to know what needed to be done. 

“You’re done for the day,” Vicky stated without an ounce of discussion left in the conversation. Alexia certainly wasn’t in the mood to be ordered around as she decisively brushed them off. 

“I’m fine, we still have another half hou–” The brunette was cut off without even managing to finish her sentence. 

“No. You are done, you’re going to go back to the changing room and take a long shower. You’re going to get dressed and go home and process whatever you’re trying to avoid right now by almost murdering your teammates,” the Barcelona captain dictated with even greater finality, her eyebrow raised as though she dared the younger woman to argue with her. 

Alexia looked posed to respond, but when she caught Marta looking back at the Norwegian with worried eyes, she felt the fight drain out of her. The older Spaniard had always had a sweet spot for the nervous Wolfsburg transfer, and seeing it right in front of her eyes made her deflate like a balloon. 

She knew that look. 

She had lived that look before, when she hadn’t fucked all of this up seven ways to Sunday. 

With a reluctant, apologetic glance at Marta, the midfielder nodded her head. She turned on her heels, much to the surprise of her co-captains, who were honestly expecting more of a pushback. 

As they watched the midfielder walk off the pitch, they stared at the way her body seemed to curl in on herself, almost as though the brunette couldn’t bear to stand up straight as she stared down at her feet. 

“What the hell happened?” Marta asked Vicky as she looked over at her captain. But the Barcelona captain was unable to tear her eyes away from Alexia’s retreating form until it disappeared into the building. It was only then that she looked over at Jenni, who hovered a short distance away from them with a look of unease on her face. 

Vicky shook her head before she turned back to the pitch. 

“I honestly have no idea,” she replied curtly as she made direct eye contact with Jenni, who seemed to understand the silent request of her captain as she turned back toward practice. 

When the team filed in after training was done, Alexia and all of her stuff were gone, nowhere to be seen. 

—

Nine years. 

You had lived with the grief of losing her for nine years. You would never change your mind on the decision, but God did it feel as though you were sucking the blood out of your body. Even all of these years later, it still stung to think about how much you had lost in that moment. 

Alexia took every ounce of happiness and peace with her when she left. While you still had other friends, you were by no means alone, it was never the same without her there. You hardly had to speak a single word for the brunette to understand where your mind was at. There was a closeness to the two of you that was impossible to replace. It hadn’t been the same after she had left, no longer having a confidant who held space for you. 

Your father, while a lovely man, was never terribly involved in your life. He loved you, but having children was never his dream, and with how much he worked, you rarely saw him. It was a loss that you didn’t feel rather acutely, especially not when Jaume had swept you into his orbit through your friendship with Alexia. He had loved you like a daughter, and you cherished him for it in a way you had never managed with your own father. 

Your two younger brothers, Leo and Adan, had struggled when you had gotten sick. They always looked up to you as their protector and ring leader. Seeing you unable to help, organize, and work as you usually did was strange for them, especially considering the fact that they were only fifteen and fourteen at the time. And while you spent much of your childhood watching over them with a loving gaze, it was your mother who stepped up to take care of them more. 

Your mother Paula was a lovely, exuberant woman, if not a touch frazzled. She was a better entertainer than she was a mother, but there was no question she loved the three of you. The two of you had been a team in helping to raise the boys, because while your mother had wisdom you were steadfast in your ability to calm. You had been a significant help in raising the two boys, and your mother had come to rely on you as a result. It had all gotten thrown out of place when you had gotten sick. Your mother tried to pick up the slack, bless her, but she struggled. She did as best as she could until you were declared cancer free, and able to help pick up some of the slack that had been created. It helped that your brothers were compassionate and kind, never one to try and cause too much trouble. 

Your mother passed away just a few years ago because of a brain aneurysm, much to the devastation of your father. While you missed her terribly, you never needed her for stability and strength. That was found on your own. 

Chemo treatments were mostly done on your own, a book and a sick bag in hand. It was a tough three months, but you made it through with as big of a smile as you could muster. A friend would accompany you occasionally, but they never quite knew what to do when they were there with you. Not that you faulted them for it, but it only made you more exhausted having to entertain on top of feeling ill. 

After a grueling few months, the tumor had shrunk enough to be surgically removed, and a few rounds of radiation killed off the last of it. It had been less than a year to get rid of everything, though in your mind it had felt much longer. 

Overall, the treatment had gone well from a medical perspective. You had responded well and were declared to be in remission swiftly. You were young and otherwise healthy, making you the perfect candidate to respond to treatment. 

That didn’t seem to account for the ache that persisted deep in your chest, but it wasn’t as a result of your sickness. The sense of loss that pervaded your mind for years afterward was impossible to banish. You had not made a mistake, and yet your mind and body betrayed you with a wanton amount of unearned yearning.

There was a restlessness that existed within you, a restlessness that needed to be solved and yet had nowhere to go.  

You had begun university toward the end of your treatments and sped through a track in finance, turning heads each and every way you went. There was always a level of intelligence to you that you were aware of, but investment analysis and management came naturally to you it seemed. 

Though you had the opportunity to go earlier, you waited dutifully for your brothers to finish school and go off to university before you left your hometown. Leo ended up in Valencia for school, and a year later Adan made the decision to stay in Madrid for his degree. 

Once you were certain your brothers were settled, you began to dig for opportunities in your own career. The work you had put in paid off, and you had offers not only in Spain but France, Italy, the United States as well. 

You didn’t care about any of that, though. You took the one job that put you directly in Barcelona and decided to figure it out from there. 

There was a safety and security to being in the same city as Alexia, even if she had no clue you were there. You were thankful for the move, honestly, thankful for the opportunity to meet new friends and build your own life. The sun forever shined and the city was exciting and vibrant, devoid of the reminders that face you everywhere in Madrid. 

Both of your brothers ended up staying in or returning to Madrid, living near your mother until her death and trying to stay vaguely connected to your father. He had struggled immensely in the wake of her passing, but both Leo and Adan never seemed to mind stepping in to keep him on the right path. 

By all logical standards, you had a wonderful life. An amazing group of friends, a job you really enjoyed, hobbies you found interesting. It felt like the whole package of what someone would want in their life. 

But you found in the morning after your talk with Alexia, there was nothing you wanted to do with this life. You simply wanted to be left alone to rot, and you found that you didn’t care who disagreed. The longing in your heart threatened to swallow you whole, your hatred for your decisions every single day of the last nine years. 

You had finally been honest with Alexia, you had told her the truth…but was it worth it? 

Based on the feeling inside of you right now, it wasn’t worth it. 

You would have taken anger over devastation on her face any day. 

You loved her too much to care about your own peace of mind. 

And yet…

—

Alexia nearly jumped out of her skin when she unlocked the door of her apartment, only to find that Jenni was sitting on her couch with a glass of lemonade and a raised brow. The midfielder did a complete double take, confounded when she reminded herself that the door had in fact been locked before she came in here.  

“How the hell did you get in here?” The Catalan asked with confusion as her heart rate struggled to return to an acceptable level. She looked around her apartment with a perplexed glint to her expression, as though she expected to find the answer laying in front of her in the form of a crowbar or something. 

“Oh please, we’ve been friends for many years. We are both allowed to have our little secrets, no?” Jenni diverted, and Alexia shook her head instantly, looking toward the striker with a lost expression. 

“What – no?! That doesn’t mean you get to break into my apartment! How did you even get in her–” 

“This is not the point of this conversation, Alexia,” Jenni cut her friend off easily, ignoring how bewildered the brunette was as a result of her surprise appearance. The striker settled, a concerned look flashing across her features. “You fucked up that conversation, didn’t you?” 

“You’re not allowed to just barge in here whenever you want!” Alexia spat, a sudden rush of anger coursing through her at Jenni’s words. Defensiveness coursed through her veins with a fury, and nobody had managed to pin her down for long enough to have a real conversation with her. 

Until now, apparently. 

When the raven-haired woman leveled her with a disbelieving stare, the Catalan’s shoulders collapsed just slightly. When Jenni wanted something, she was like a dog with a bone. She would stop at absolutely nothing to get it, and the midfielder knew there was no way of getting out of this conversation with anger or deflections. She sighed forcefully, settling her keys down on her kitchen counter and pressing her head into her hands. 

“I did,” she conceded after a moment, her voice shaky and impossibly quiet. When she finally looked up, the torment inside her entire body seemed to reflect in her expression. Jenni felt horrible, seeing how torn up her friend was. 

“I fucked everything up Jenni, everything. I came into it with so much aggression and fear, and made all these accusations I don’t even really think I meant,” she admitted with a humorless chuckle, an echo of agony in her words. 

Silence cascaded around them, the air thick with regret and despondency. 

“She was sick,” Alexia revealed after a moment. She glanced up at Jenni, struggling to control herself. “She was sick, and so she broke things off because she couldn’t leave, but she wanted me to. She saved my career, made a sacrifice for my own happiness, and in return I screamed horrible things at her. What kind of person does that make me?” Alexia pleaded, her voice cracking over the last sentence. 

Jenni thought about the question for a moment before she shook her head and looked back at Alexia. There was a compassion in her expression, and the Catalan forced herself to look away in the face of it. She didn’t deserve it. 

“It makes you human, Alexia,” the raven-haired woman countered, her words soft and sympathetic, almost saccharine in their amount of sweetness. 

“No it doesn’t,” Alexia grumbled under her breath, but Jenni was quick to continue. 

“Yes it does. You did not have all the information at the time. And okay, you said some things you regret? Go apologize for them then! You made a mistake, and you feel remorse, Alexia. That in and of itself means that there is love and compassion in your heart.” 

“And if she doesn’t accept that apology?” Alexia shot back, fighting to be kind as she was gripped with fear. She looked over at Jenni with a flame in her eyes, anything to hide how upset she truly was. It was easier to mask it than it was to face it, after all. 

“Then she doesn’t accept the apology, and life moves on. But you won’t know if you don’t even bother to try,” Jenni offered as she walked over and placed a hand on her friend's shoulder comfortingly. 

“Forgive yourself enough to give her the opportunity to forgive you. If she was in your spot, you would do the same. If she cares as much about you as you say she does, I think you have a fighting chance,” the striker suggested, her voice gentle. The brunette remained deep in thought, thinking hard about Jenni’s words. The raven-haired woman let herself out before Alexia could even formulate a response. 

And while there were a lot of thoughts swirling around in Alexia’s mind, perhaps the top of the list was that she really, really needed to get a locksmith to her apartment. 

—

It was a thought that often consumed the brunette as her career began to take off. It had been a question, something that weighed on her mind in the dark of night when she lay alone. 

Was it worth it? 

The duty to herself, to her career pulled at her endlessly. Everyone around her was dedicated to their career, putting it above their family at nearly all cost. And she understood, she wanted to be the best. The pull to change the sport, to leave a legacy behind that made women’s football better than where she had started. 

But what was the cost? 

How many family dinners had she missed? How many birthdays? How many celebrations? 

How many moments had she missed, even just the mundane, small things in life. How many inside jokes and how much late night laughter had evaded her because of this choice? 

And she knew that her family loved her, and that they understood how important her career was to her. But it never took away from the fact that she was gone often. That unlike her teammates and peers, she spent the least amount of time with her family as the years had passed. Whereas many of her friends grew more committed to their families, getting married and even having children, football had become her sole focus in life.  

Other than you, she had never been in a committed relationship with anyone. Her friendships were from football, everything in her life had revolved around football. Protecting her image, embracing the game, doing whatever she could to advance the team and herself to perfection. 

It wasn’t until you had stumbled back into her life that suddenly she remembered what it had been like to live a life. And sure, she knew that her career was different now, much more intense. But the Catalan also knew that you never would have allowed her to become so overwhelmingly immersed into her career. 

It was less the time commitment and more the mindset she approached her career with that had changed in your absence. Alexia had always assumed that in order to be the best, she had to be so devoted to football in every aspect of her entire life. That there was no room outside of it for distractions. 

Her friends hadn’t become worse because they had loved ones, because they took a step back. They were still dedicated, but also well rested and prepared. 

The two of you had been together for so many years, and then football had been the thing to divide you. It was Alexia’s career that had been prioritized above you, a decision that you had made and believed in. 

Had you really ever thought you were more important than football? 

Had she done that? Had she felt that you were more important than football? 

All she could think of was how you were sick and alone, a burden to bear alone when you should have been loved and supported. 

Alexia was not angry that you hadn’t told her, not by a long shot. But she was furious with the circumstances, with her own choices, with everything else in the situation besides you. 

You had meant so much to her, and she had let you go without any recourse. She never even considered that there was so much depth to the decision you had made. 

And now here she stood, trying to pick up the pieces of something that had gone from broken to shattered entirely. 

Alexia knew that she loved you. 

That she still loves you, even after all this time. There were parts of a person that never changed, and she saw it in your expression. 

Even after all this time. 

Her career came first in every aspect of her life, but maybe just this once it didn’t have to. Maybe some personal happiness was deserved, maybe it could be her choice to try and fix this. 

Maybe she deserved a break, or some peace, or to undo all of the mistakes she had made in the last decade. Maybe the choice she made here would make her better, and not worse. 

The brunette had no idea if you still loved her anymore, not after the appalling things she had said, but she couldn’t let it go without at least trying to get you back. 

She had lost you once, and she wasn’t prepared to let it happen again without a fight. 

—

Alexia can’t bring herself to pick up the phone and dial, so she took the coward's way out and texted you to ask for your address. 

Much to her surprise, you answered her. It’s nothing more than the address rattled off, but it’s there. The brunette felt her heart constrict for a moment at the thought that it wasn’t really your address, that you had sent her a fake location. 

But at the same time, even if that were the case, a part of her would understand. For all the years that she had been hurt and alone and yearning desperately for you, it had been the same for you. 

The choice you had made was impossible, indescribable even, and Alexia knows in her heart that her career wouldn’t be where it was without your sacrifice. You had sacrificed your own dream so that she could live hers, and when it all came back to the two of you all these years later, she had completely desecrated that sacrifice without a second thought. 

She continued to be appalled with herself over that entire conversation. It was all she saw every time she closed her eyes, the words she had said rattling around in her brain all night long. 

The look on your face as she dug herself into a deeper hole, filled with disregard for how much care you had tried to give the situation. It was never going to be perfect, but you had tried to be perfect. And in that moment, she had acted as though it wasn’t enough. 

It was. 

You had always been more than enough for her, regardless of whether you two were together or not. 

Every single time she had laid in bed since, memories both good and bad of the two of you had pooled in her eyes, rolling down her cheek and escaping onto the pillow beneath her. 

She had lost her curiosity inside the ferocity of her own judgement, and she regretted it with every molecule inside of her. She regretted it so much that it made her feel physically ill, to the point where she no longer cared about being appropriate or saving face. 

It was late in the evening when she drove over to your apartment. She had a plan to go on Sunday morning, but it was Friday night and her self restraint had ground away until it no longer existed. 

The Catalan took the steps two at a time up to the third floor, knowing that each moment likely brought her closer to you. She hoped it did, at least. It was highly possible that you were out with friends or doing something fun, as you should be. 

But still hope gripped her with a strength she was unaware she ever had. Loving you was never the detractor she had spent the last decade convincing herself it was, but was where she got her strength. 

Loving you had breathed life into her and she was silly to have ever thought differently. 

She knocked on the door to your apartment before she could stop herself from overthinking every single one of her life choices. Her knuckles struck against the wooden door exactly three times, each one more forceful than the lost. 

The brunette waited with everything in her for the sound of anything in the wake of knocking. Any movement, any sign of life, anything. The seconds felt like hours and years as her heart rammed its way into her throat. 

And then she heard it, the softness of your voice as you called out that you were coming. 

Alexia was known for being a stoic person, never one to overly show emotion. She kept everything close to her chest, and rarely did she express how she was feeling. It took hours of knowing her, and even then she was still hesitant to show weakness. 

But the tears were pooling in her eyes even before you opened the door. 

And there you were. 

Standing in your pajamas, a book in your hand and an expression of mild surprise at the sight of Alexia nearly in tears at your door. It certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, though you knew the footballer had your address.  

“Ale?” You questioned softly, your voice barely there. The brunette swallowed thickly, trying and failing to conjure an apologetic smile. 

“I am sorry…I meant to come later but I couldn’t…wait,” she finished lamely, rather breathless as she fought to keep the pressure in her throat from turning into full blown sobs. You stared at her for a second, at how tense she was, at the anxiety written across her face. After you had tucked some of the hair away from your face, you stepped back into your apartment and widened the opening of the door. 

“Would you like to come in?” You proposed, and the footballer took your offer up with a shaky nod of her head. 

The brunette trailed after you further into the apartment. It was a large apartment, but it felt cozy and lived in. Half-burned candles and ear-marked books were strewn around the space, and a throw blanket could be found on every surface. 

She remembered that you had always run cold. When the two of you were young and in love, she would whisper to you about the warmth Barcelona would offer, even as she provided you plenty of her own body heat as she laid curled around you. 

“Alexia?” You probed lightly, and she shook her head as she glanced up, realizing that she had let her mind wander. Concern and compassion stared right back at her. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she replied harshly, trying and failing to be discreet as she wiped at her eyes. 

“You don’t have to be,” you said delicately, gesturing toward the couch. “Why don’t we sit down?” 

You couldn’t help but realize that right now with just one look at Alexia, you already forgave her. Every line etched into her skin was written with devastation and contrition. Somewhere deep within you knew how she felt, and knew that she did not mean the things she had said. 

There was so much information to process, so much confusion and chaos, that you had both lost yourselves. 

Maybe there was an opportunity to be found again. 

You weren’t going to let the weakness of one moment detract from the opportunity that lay in front of you. 

You led her over to the couch, and the pair of you settled down across from one another. You sat with your back against one arm of the couch, while Alexia was across from you, her hands on her knees. Her knuckles were nearly white, and you wished in that moment to reach out and soothe the ache in her heart, even if you knew that you couldn’t. When the midfielder turned toward you, all you found facing you was suppliance. 

“I cannot explain to you how sorry I am,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I had no idea the sacrifice you had made for me, I had no idea that there was so much more behind all of this. I was foolish to believe that you broke up with me over something selfish or petty.” 

She seemed to bite her words back, as though her self-loathing was simply too great of a burden to contain for a moment. When she settled, the Catalan continued. 

“I never should have spoken to you that way. The truth is that I’ve spent the last nine years missing you, thinking about you, unable to get myself over the years we spent together. It feels as though you’ve been out of my life as long as you were in it, and I hate that. I hate that I haven’t been able to grow with you. I hate that when I lay awake at night I miss you with an ache I cannot even begin to describe to you. I hate that I wasn’t able to be there for you when you needed me. I hate that your sacrifice probably saved my career, even though I wish with everything in me that I was there for you when you needed me,” Alexia finally admitted, deciding to be nothing but brutally honest. 

“And I won’t lie to you and say there haven’t been other women in the years without you, but God it never compared to you. I didn’t give a shit about any of them, and I never really expected to. You’re intertwined within my soul in a way I don’t even fully understand, and living without you feels like walking around missing a limb. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over you, and I tried to force football down my throat because if it was the reason I lost you, it had to be worth it.” 

“I miss your smile and your laugh. I miss the way you roll your eyes at me when I do something ridiculous, or how patient you are with me when I get frustrated. I still find myself looking for you in every crowd, at every family gathering, everywhere. When I finally did see you again, it felt like a fever dream. The one thing I’ve wanted for the last nine years was granted to me, and there you were.” 

“You were standing there so perfectly and in one piece, and inexplicably, you seem to care about me still. I never could have imagined that happening, even if I dreamt about it every single night of my life that you haven’t been in,” Alexia continued, allowing herself to take a deep breath and center herself. Frustration passed over her face for a moment, entirely  

“I fucked this up royally, I know. I let the fear in my heart and the fear that those around me held get in the way of seeing the truth, and I need you to know how sorry I am. I never should have treated you that way. I never should have acted toward you with such hostility. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know that everything I said, I don’t believe. You are brave and wonderful and empathetic, and so, so, extraordinary. Please do not let anyone else ever say that you are not,” Alexia urged, looking at you with such clear intent you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

“I still love you, Flori. I think that I always will. My heart knows what it means to love and be loved by you, and nothing will ever compare to that feeling. My heart was always yours to break, and I don’t care if you do it once or twice or a million times. All I know is that even if you don’t feel the same way, I need you to know that I love you,” Alexia said with finality, barely able to see against the blur of tears that swarmed in her eyes. 

You stood up from your end of the couch slowly while her eyes tracked every single one of your movements. You walked closer to her, settling down next to her as closely as you could while you reached over to place your shaking hands against the frame of her face. 

“You big, blithering idiot, of course I still love you,” you whispered fiercely, your face scrunched up somewhere between disbelief and teasing. Alexia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was even holding, the entire upper half of her body collapsing into you. 

It was easy for you to catch the brunette, cradling her against you as she sobbed without restraint against you. It was easy to rock her back and forth softly, while you whispered sweet nothings into her ears. And it was just as easy to pull her away from you and utter the words she never thought she would hear. 

“I forgive you, and of course I still love you Ale. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and you still are. I’m right here, and I don’t plan on going anywhere, if you’ll have me. We might have lost our chance when we were young, but maybe we can have another one?” You proposed hopefully, almost with disbelief. Neither of you ever expected for this to be anywhere near possible, but here you both were. 

The Catalan’s expression broke entirely, silent tears rolling down her cheeks in defiance as she placed a hand on your arm and held it tightly. 

“I’m here,” was all she could manage, but it was enough. 

You leaned into her slowly as you glanced down at her lips, giving her time to pull away. It was a concern you needn't be worried about when she met you halfway, the feeling one of muscle memory even after all this time. You could taste the salt from her tears and yours as you kissed her. 

“Please stay,” you murmured through the ball in your throat as you pulled away just a touch, and Alexia gripped you impossibly tighter as she pulled you into a hug. 

For the first time in nine years, you fell asleep that night with the footballer’s body curled around your own, the feel of her chest breathing steadily against your back as she held you in her arms with content. 

It was the first time in a long while that you had felt warm enough when going to sleep, and hope ballooned inside you fervently. 

[httpknjoon]

the princess and the rockstar | jjk [1]

plot | Once upon a time, there was a crowd-favorite crown princess who found herself romantically involved with a famous rockstar. See how they will try to navigate the world and maybe live happily ever after.

w.c | 3.3k

genres | angst, fluff, modern royalty!au, celebrity!au, established relationship!au

pairing | rockstar!jungkook x princess!reader

note | oh my god, finally. i'm here, it's here. almost took me years to finally write the chapters. this is the first chapter, I just broadened the spotted drabble. but I hope you'll enjoy reading it :)

main masterlist | series masterlist | spotify playlist

[AN EXCERPT FROM THE INTERVIEW]

Growing up in a palace may seem like a fairy tale for most people, but for Queen YN, the Sapphire Palace is home. Born a year after her father was crowned as the king, Queen YN of Zafiro was introduced to the royal lifestyle before she could even learn how to talk.

“I think I learned the royalty’s etiquette first before saying my first words,” she quipped with a small smile. “This might come off as unexpected, but my mother is much stricter than my dad when it comes to our behavior. She was my first teacher in everything and made sure that we followed every rule in the book.”

With her mother’s strict upbringing, Queen YN was already aware from a very young age that she was not just like any other kids in her old preparatory school. She shared how her mother will teach her about royal traditions and responsibility, while her father will balance everything out by organizing a weekly family event like a movie marathon night, where they would just watch films Queen YN and Princess Astrid chose until they fall asleep on their unusually large couch.

“Maybe it was because they grew up in different status of life. Mom always wanted me to be a great example and do no wrong since I am the model for young Zafiroans… But now that I’m older, I thought of it as a result of the scrutiny she got as a young commoner who suddenly got everyone’s attention after marrying one of the world’s most eligible bachelors back then.”

“Isn’t this whole outfit a little too inappropriate?”

Looking up from your sketchpad, you see Astrid standing before you, rocking a themed outfit with her favorite platform boots. She looked amazing and prepared for tonight’s concert, the one she begged you to chaperone her in. But based on your mother’s tone through the video call, your sister might have to change her clothes later. She always does outfit checks whenever someone in the family has somewhere to be, wanting to make sure everyone is well-dressed.

“Sweetheart, I think it’s very much appropriate. They are going to a rock concert for Pete’s sake, everyone who’s coming will be sporting that style.” 

Your father comes on the screen, saving his princesses as usual. You and Astrid shared a knowing glance as you knew what your father was doing. Even though they are a million miles away from their royal duties, you two can still sense the awkward air between your parents’ differences.

“But not everyone is a royal princess, sweetie,” your mother replied, not wanting to back down from her initial opinion.

Now this is where you step in, “Hi, Papa!”

“Hello, my princess.” Your dad waved. “And what are you wearing tonight?”

You stood up from Astrid’s bed, the one you have been lying on ever since the call started, and distanced yourself from the camera to show them the Prada dress you have on. In your mother’s standards, it’s perfectly appropriate. Covered shoulders? Check! Almost knee-length? Check! Classy and graceful? Check! 

Although the dress fits your mother’s standards, you did not wear it specifically because of that. It’s just that you wouldn’t know what to wear to a rock concert, you've never been to one. Your closet lacks the style of clothes Astrid has, and even though your sister is wonderful in what she’s wearing, you don’t think you can wear something like that comfortably. It’s something new, and new is always uncomfortable to you. And the Prada dress is something familiar to you. It’s better.

“See! That’s how I want you to dress up as a princess, Astrid. Very elegant,” your mother told your sister, who’s standing next to you.

Knowing how the comment might make your little sister feel, you gave her a side hug, “Mooom, this is my style, and I think Astrid looks exceptional with her outfit. She’s so much more stylish than I am. I’m sure Vogue will write her an article as soon as they see her outfit later.”

Your mom hummed for a few seconds, “Okay. But don’t take the jacket off when you’re out of the venue.”

You felt your sister perk up beside you, “How about during the concert?”

“Fine, but no taking pictures with the leather jacket off,” she said sternly, but you and Astrid were already smiling from ear to ear.

“Thank you, Mom!”

“Okay, my loves. We have to go now, and I think you two should too. Don’t make your Uncle Eddie wait, you should be ready before 7,” your father reminded you.

No matter how high his position is in Zafiro, he makes sure that his family doesn’t cause any unnecessary inconvenience to his staff members, including his courtier, whom you and Astrid always called Uncle Eddie. He has been your father’s best friend ever since middle school, where they met. They were so close that you and Astrid, the royal princesses, attended his wedding as flower girls, which was the first time that considered to be a commoner’s wedding was considered.

“We’re just going to touch up our hair and makeup. Then, we’re good,” you smiled. “Please take care there.”

“And please get me one of their wool scarves, Papa!” your younger sister exclaimed.

“We will keep that in mind, Dee-dee.” Your father smiled, calling Astrid by her childhood nickname. “Enjoy your night, okay? Listen to Eddie’s instructions—”

Your mother cuts him off, “And Astrid, listen to YN. Okay?”

“Yes, Mommy,” she nods.

After some goodbyes and ending the call, you and Astrid found yourself finishing your looks in her room. Loud music, which you assumed to be by the band you’re about to see tonight, played in Astrid’s speakers while you looked through her closet to find something that could make you fit in even a little.

“Does this go with this?” You turned around, holding her black knee-high boots next to your dress.

Astrid looked back, holding her eyeliner just above her right eye, “Yes.” She grinned, “But this isn’t a country concert, YN.”

You sighed, “Come on, I’m trying. I don’t want to look like a sore thumb in the crowd.” 

“As if being the crown princess of this country is not enough for you to stand out,” she teased, making you roll your eyes. “Wear it! It goes with your dress, and I swear no one will bat an eyelash at your outfit. Everyone there will focus on the sweaty guys playing on stage.”

Sweaty guys playing on stage. The thought somehow made you cringe. What does this band do on stage anyway? You barely have any idea about Sweet September, even though they fill Astrid’s playlist in almost a hundred percent. You only read their name before in a news article about their work with the UN against cyberbullying. But other than that, nothing. Boy bands (Astrid claims they are a man-band, like, based on her words, they play real rock music.) rarely interest you. Starting when you were younger up to now, the only type of concerts you’ve been to were orchestral and jazz concerts, which are more tranquil than a rock concert.

“Do you think it will piss Mom off if I go with a black lipstick?” Astrid breaks out of your stream of thoughts.

“Definitely.”

“Perfect,” she laughed before swiping the jet-black lipstick over her lips.

You chuckled, shaking your head, as you sat on the edge of her bed to zip up the boots, “Can you, like, give me a quick briefing about this band before we go there?”

“Hmm, okay.” Astrid remained focused on the mirror. “So, Sweet September is a four-member pop-rock band that was formed two years ago. Carter is their drummer and the oldest member of the band. He’s usually the more chill and caring one, like an old grandpa,” she laughed. “Then, we have Woosung, who’s the sarcastic one. He plays the bass guitar and also produces and writes most of their songs. There’s Mingyu, their lead guitarist. He’s the funniest one and like the co-founder of the group. His sister was dating Carter, who’s now like his brother-in-law.”

“And who’s the other founder? Carter?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

Astrid shook her head, “No. That would be Jungkook.”

“And what about him?” you asked after the sparkles in her eyes got brighter.

She had to pause and look at you. “He’s the lead vocalist. Also, their frontman. Really, really talented, but one of his main skills is like pulling new fans into the group. So be careful out there.”

You chuckled, figuring that she was probably just exaggerating over the guy, “Is he that good?”

“Oh my god, YN. You have no idea. He’s the face and the voice of the band! I personally love Mingyu, but man, Jungkook can easily make me switch lanes if he wants me to. That face? With that voice?! He’s God’s favorite.” Astrid went on before squinting her eyes at you. “I swear, if you see him perform tonight, you’ll get me. You might even fall in love tonight.”

“Yeah, right.” You stood up with her heavy boots and checked yourself out in her full-length mirror. 

The boots feel different, but you’ll get used to them. Hopefully.  You don’t have a pair since you usually opt for shoes and sandals that complement your dresses and other formal wear. For tonight, for the sake of fitting in, you wanted to mix Astrid’s fashion style with yours. Even a little.

“Your Royal Highnesses, Sir Edward asked me to tell you that your ride’s waiting outside,” a royal servant knocked on the door.

Astrid picked up her leather jacket while you reached for your purse. Smiling at her,  you asked, “Let’s go?”

A thin sheet of smoke almost veiled the ‘No Smoking’ sign in the green room as Jungkook took a hit from the freshly lit cigarette stick between his fingers. He exhaled slowly, hoping that every drag would calm down his nerves. 

“Hey, that’s not allowed here,” Carter comes in with his drumsticks in his hands. “Tara will kill you if she knew you’re doing that.”

Jungkook shrugged nonchalantly, “Just one.” 

Carter, being the big brother he is, picked up something in their youngest’s behavior. He knew Jungkook did not smoke regularly. The last time he saw him smoke was earlier this year during the launch of their second album. Twirling his drumstick between his fingers, Carter sat back on the sofa.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook shook his head. “It’s just it’s a first show for this tour, and my heart’s already exploding.”

“Alright, that’s okay. But the moment you hit the stage, whatever you’re feeling will be gone anyway,” the older smiled, tapping his shoulder.

Jungkook smiled, but his shoulders remained tensed. When the door swung open, he immediately soaked the cigarette in the soda can on the table. He quietly hoped the air diffuser in the room would clear out the cigarette smell to avoid their manager’s reprimands. But it was Mingyu who came in, unaware. He has his eyes glued to his phone.

“Do you think they’re coming?” he suddenly asked, looking up at Jungkook as he sat next to him.

Jungkook raised a brow, “Who?”

“Zafiro’s royal family.”

That made the lead vocalist and the drummer chuckle, which offended Mingyu, who got defensive, “Okay, I am not being delusional here. But I think we all know that the younger princess is a big fan.”

“Doesn’t mean she’ll drag the whole family here,” Carter laughs, shaking his head.

“You never know… And you,” Mingyu points his finger at his best friend, “Don’t act like you will not be delighted if Princess YN shows up here tonight.”

The name is not new in Jungkook’s ears. Hell, even in his head, Princess YN is not a new visitor. He knew a few facts about her than a normal person would, but he can justify that by saying that she was (or is) basically his recent fascination. Is four years ago still considered recent?

He knew you were the same age as him. You have been in the limelight so much longer than him, and probably handle the attention much better than he does. He is aware of the royal protocols. Or that one Vogue article you wrote to raise awareness about Zafiro’s rising jewelry exports. You have your advocacy, just like any other royal family member, but something about you stuck with him the first time he saw you in a magazine interview clip years ago.

He remembered replaying that short six-minute interview over and over again, where you talk about things that Jungkook usually finds boring. But the smile that glows on your face as you tell stories pulled him in.

“She won’t,” Jungkook mumbled confidently, but he could feel his fingers itching for another stick of cigarette.

“You two will have your own entrance and exit spots. Ronnie and Ben would accompany you two to the entrance and would meet you at the same gate after the concert.”

Your father’s trusty courtier, Eddie, guided you and your sister on what you’re supposed to do. There were rules you had to remember, so you listened carefully to make sure you won’t forget a thing. Especially since Astrid practically begged your parents not to have bodyguards with her for tonight, wanting to feel that sense of normalcy for once.

“Is that all, Uncle?”

Astrid already had her arms crossed as she asked that. It’s been fifteen minutes since your car arrived in front of this secret entrance to the concert. But because of the King’s instructions, you two were held up.

Eddie smiled, noticing your sister’s tone, “I know you are excited about this concert, Your Royal Highness. But His Majesty still has one last message… and this is a very important one, so listen.” Your sister sighed, you leaned forward to hear whatever his about to say, “Please remind my lovely girls to enjoy the night amidst my tiring instructions. Take pictures and sing along. I would love to hear stories from them about this very important concert, based on what my Astrid said, when my queen and I get back from our short trip to Scotland. Follow what your Uncle Eddie says.”

A small smile formed on your lips with that. Finally, Eddie lets you two go with your bodyguards until the gate. Then, a nice concert staff welcomed you into the venue and led you and your sister to your seats.

“Oh, my god. I cannot believe Papa let us come here alone,” your sister said as she slipped the Xyloband into her wrist.

“I know…” Your voice trailed off when you heard the people singing along to the song playing not too far away. You turned to the staff,  “Excuse me, is the concert starting already?”

“No, Ma’am. We’re just playing the band’s music videos before they perform on stage. But they will be performing in a few minutes.”

You nodded with that. It didn’t take long for you to get into your seats. The seats are not that close or far from the main stage, and it’s in the center. For safety purposes, your father and the security team agreed not to put you two in the floor area where you can see the band better and closer. Nonetheless, you knew Astrid would love any seat she would get in this place.

Since you heard from Astrid that the tickets were sold out as soon as it’s started selling, you assumed your father pulled some strings to make this possible. It made you wonder even more what’s good in Sweet September. Other than Astrid's introduction earlier, you made an effort to read a couple of articles about them, and you later learned that tonight is the start of their world tour. You learned that they have a huge following in your country, and fans petitioned for them to visit Zafiro, which resulted in tonight.

“Oh, look at that! Look at those signs!”

Your sister was laughing while she pointed her finger all over the crowded arena. The joy on her face was enough for you to smile. But still, your eyes followed where she was pointing. Each sign has big, bold, easily noticeable letters and words. They were aggressive and funny, with one of them asking to put oil on the lead vocalist’s body. 

What was that supposed to mean? 

You wanted to ask Astrid, but she was already talking to another fan who was sitting beside her. The fan seemed surprised and delighted at the same time when she locked eyes with you for a second. You just smiled. As a highly-regarded crown princess, you know that they least expect you to show up at a rock concert next to them. You then turned to your other side, where you immediately locked eyes with a lady who seemed a bit older than you. She instantly looked away and slowly looked back after a few seconds, thinking that you were not looking at her anymore. But you are. And you can tell who she is by her awkward aura and stiff movements.

As part of showing respect to a royal, a commoner cannot talk to you unless you speak to them first. So you decided to say something in a mumble, “Did the King hire you?”

You don’t want your sister to hear it. You want her to focus on the fact that she is free from your parents’ overprotectiveness tonight. You can read the hesitation on the woman’s face, but you can already tell that she is a secret security agent Eddie hired.

“It’s fine. I understand,” you gave her a reassuring smile. “Please, enjoy the concert too.”

The woman nods and bows subtly. Turning away, you see, Astrid had already made new friends. They were taking pictures and talking about their excitement for tonight until one of the girls told her,

“It’s a surprise to see you in here, Your Royal Highness.”

“Please, just call me Astrid, or you can add that princess title if you’re uncomfortable with calling me by name,” she quipped, and they laughed. “Actually, the King only let me come here when Princess YN agreed to accompany me.”

Her friends’ mouths all formed into a small o. You waved at them, and they bowed their heads. Suddenly, the lights slowly dimmed down, and everyone began screaming– including Astrid. To say that your sister is excited was an understatement. It’s like she slept with a hanger in her mouth with how wide she’s smiling. Your cheeks hurt for her. But you’re happy to see her happy.

Taps on the microphone can be heard before someone clears their throat, building up everyone’s excitement. You stood there, just listening to them and observing.

“Everyone, welcome to the denim jungle!”

Someone began playing a good riff on a bass guitar. The band’s silhouette is recognizable on stage over the thick, white smoke. In the first beat of the drum, the lights snapped open. There, your eyes spotted the lead vocalist. His hair is damp for some reason, yet it goes perfectly with his mostly dark outfit.

“Zafiro, let me hear you scream!” he growled into the microphone.

A fucking growl. A growl that basically popped everyone’s balloon, releasing a thousand screams and cheers from everyone in the Crystalline Stadium. Everything is so loud. You’re finding it hard to breathe. You can’t breathe, but you are enjoying it. It’s confusing. The screams. The instruments are playing. Your heartbeats thumping. 

“I swear, if you see him perform tonight, you’ll get me.” You clutched your chest as you heard Astrid’s statement from earlier in your head. “You might even fall in love tonight.”

Oh, no.

additional note: i understand if some of y'all want to be removed from the taglist, it has been so long! feel free to reach out if u want to be removed <3

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[bearforcecaptions]

It started with a dumb wish. Not even a real wish — more like an irritated thought muttered into a cup of late-night ramen while I stood barefoot in the kitchen, trying to ignore my roommate’s latest rant about being single.

Kyle had been in a mood all week. Something about all his friends being coupled up, his Grindr dates flaking, and how “love just isn’t built for guys like me.” And I, being the caring, patient friend that I am, had finally snapped with, “God, I hope you find someone already. Maybe then you’ll shut up for five minutes.”

Yeah. That’s what I said. And I meant it with all the sincerity of someone yelling at a toaster.

Apparently, that was enough.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of a deep laugh in the kitchen. Not Kyle’s — Jonah’s. My brother. My straight brother. Or so I thought.

I walked out, groggy, rubbing my eyes, and there they were. Kyle and Jonah. Shirtless. Cooking breakfast together. Jonah standing behind him, arms wrapped around Kyle’s thick middle, whispering something that made Kyle blush, and for some reason they were both barefoot and there were two coffee mugs with little cartoon bears on them on the counter.

I think I just blinked and walked back to my room.

Took me two whole weeks to realize this wasn’t a fling. They weren’t new. They’d been together for years. Years. I didn’t figure that out because anyone told me — oh no. It was little things. Their shared Spotify playlists labeled “Our Hikes <3.” The matching bear paw tattoos I spotted when they were horsing around in the living room. The blanket with their faces photoshopped onto two grinning cartoon lumberjacks that I found in the dryer.

The kicker? A Facebook post from four years ago that read: “Happy 1-year anniversary to the best damn man I’ve ever met. Here’s to many more, cub.” From Kyle. To Jonah. Liked by 176 people. Commented on by my mom with a heart emoji.

That was the moment I realized I was well and truly in a different reality.

And they are so in love. Loudly, shamelessly, constantly in love. It’s like living in a Hallmark movie directed by a bear bar owner. I’m not even sure they realize I’m in the room half the time. Or maybe they just don’t care.

I mean, look at them right now — no, really, look at them. They’re sprawled across our couch in the den, deep into one of their marathon make-out sessions. Kyle’s got his hand halfway under Jonah’s gut, and Jonah’s purring like some kind of fuzzy furnace. The TV’s on, but neither of them’s watching it. I am, though. Or trying to. Can’t exactly focus on Planet Earth with the grizzly bears mating next to me.

That’s my brother. That’s my roommate. I’m just the guy trapped between their chests, metaphorically speaking, screaming into a throw pillow.

They don’t just stop at cuddling on the couch, either. Oh no. They’re domestically obscene. I’ve walked in on bubble baths, shirtless apron cooking, a full-on bear massage chain on the back porch, and one time — one time — I came home to find them napping belly-to-belly on the living room rug with “Whale Sounds for Deep Lovers” playing on loop. There was incense. There were candles.

Every time I so much as sigh in their direction, they glance over like I’m the one being weird. Sorry, am I interrupting the pre-hibernation cuddle ritual? Should I come back in spring?

But here's the messed-up part: I can’t even leave. The rent’s too good. The house is big — three bedrooms, a finished basement, fenced yard, walking distance to everything. We split the bills three ways. Kyle and I had a great deal before the universe decided to rearrange my personal life like a Sims cheat code, and Jonah moved in after “their anniversary trip to Portland” (ugh), and now it’s just… this.

Also, he’s my brother. Jonah may be a hairy, handsy, loud-as-hell bear of a boyfriend now, but he’s still family. He still makes killer chili. Still beats me at Mario Kart and talks me down when I spiral. We’ve been through a lot. I can’t just walk away from that. Even if he now insists on calling Kyle “Cubby” in the mornings and I have to hear that term of endearment while brushing my teeth.

So I sit. I stew. I eat my microwaved mac and cheese while my brother and his boyfriend — my former roommate — turn the living room into a PG-13 nature documentary. I go to bed with headphones on. I’ve stopped using the shared laundry machine during the weekends because I kept pulling out towels that smelled like sandalwood and testosterone.

Sometimes I catch myself wishing it could go back to the way it was. Simple. Predictable. Quiet.

But then I look over and see them sharing a blanket, giggling over some dumb in-joke, Kyle planting a kiss on Jonah’s cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I see the way Jonah glows when Kyle pulls him in for a hug. The way Kyle watches Jonah like he hung the stars.

They’re loud. They’re weird. They’re half-naked 80% of the time. But… they’re happy.

At least they’re happy.

[valeisaslut]

★₊˚┊POPSTAR READER'S 3RD ALBUM.ᐟ

Spotify playlist – Click to hear COMPLETE .ᐟ

credits to @mayfldss for the helping me edit the BEAUTIFUL outstanding covers, LOVE YOU BABE.

FIRST PART: DEAD

Spotify playlist – Click to hear DEAD .ᐟ

ıllı1 THE GREATEST

ıllı2 MY EVERYTHING

ıllı3 THE SUBWAY

ıllı4 PAPER BAG

ıllı5 SPRING INTO SUMMER

ıllı6 FADE INTO YOU

ıllı7 J'S LULLABY (DARLIN' I'D WAIT FOR YOU)

ıllı8 LOML

ıllı9 COOL ABOUT IT

ıllı10 FREE NOW

ıllı11 I KNOW

ıllı12 BLUE

ıllı13 I LOVE YOU

ıllı14 I WISH I HATED YOU

ıllı15 BIGGER THAN THE WHOLE SKY

(click on each song to hear it)

SECOND PART: STAR

Spotify playlist – Click to hear STAR .ᐟ

ıllı1 KILL THE LIGHTS

ıllı2 HARD OUT HERE

ıllı3 LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO

ıllı4 GREEN LIGHT

ıllı5 PARTY 4 U

ıllı6 PRIMADONNA

ıllı7 GLITTER AND VIOLENCE

ıllı8 PIECE OF ME

ıllı9 APPLAUSE

ıllı10 BREAK THE ICE

ıllı11 PURPLE LACE BRA

ıllı12 TEENAGE DREAM

ıllı13 SKINNY

ıllı14 I CAN DO IT WITH A BROKEN HEART

ıllı15 NO TEARS LEFT TO CRY

(click on each song to hear it)

taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag  @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez @catrapplesauces @livvietalks @furtherrawayy @thatchosen1 @kanadadryer @littlerosiesthings @eriiwaiii2 @firefly-ace @redlightellie @elliepoems @sabrinathewitchh982 @shady-lemur @jubileexoxo @l0velylace @look-me @adoringanakin @daughterofthemoons-stuff

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 15: I Don't Know What You Did To Me!

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (IT'S TIME BABY!), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 22K (Hear Me Out... It's Wonderful)

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Denial, A little bit of self-deprecating thoughts, Jealousy, Anger, Rage, A WHOLE LOT OF SHOUTING, Stan Edgar Being A Jerk, Sexist comments, Illusions to Sex, Heavy Petting? Making Out (It's ABOUT time), Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

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

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Spotify Playlist 🪴

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: Alright, hear me out... I know this is a long one, but I got so excited and the sun was in my eyes, and I forgot where I parked my car and... well... I got tired of the cliffhangers. 😂 But seriously y'all I am SO excited 😉🥰

The apartment was cold and dark when you walked through the front door, but the plants called out to you, filling the silence of the early morning, rustling and turning towards you as you enter. The curtains on the windows in the living room were closed, but the sunlight that dripped beneath the fabric was sufficient to see that Ben wasn't there.

It had been exactly seven days since you'd walked out of this apartment with Ben beside you, arguing with him about finally letting you go to work, seven days since you'd killed your brother, and seven days since Ben had tried to call you and you hadn't answered.

You wished you had. The guilt stirred in the pit of your stomach from not picking up the phone and to remedy it, you'd tried to call Ben, but he hadn't picked up.

And before you could talk yourself out of it, you'd sent an awkward text with the one word that you could think to say:

"Hi."

I'm such an idiot.

You really didn't know what else to say, not after everything that had happened. Not to mention you didn't want to tell him how much you'd wanted him there with you, how you'd imagined him riding on the bus alongside you while the wooded forests quickly shifted into farmland. You didn't know how Ben would react to that, especially since you weren't sure how that seemed like a friend-thing and you still weren't sure why you wanted him with you when your entire life fell apart.

But Ben hadn't answered the text, and he hadn't tried to call you again, which only made you feel worse for not answering his call a week ago.

You had been expecting him to at least try to call one more time or text you, but he hadn't, and there was a gaping hole inside that continued to open wider and wider with each passing day that you didn't speak to him.

He's probably out on a date or something. Has more important things to do than listen to my soap opera or help me pick up the pieces of my life.

It did still feel like it was in pieces. Everything you knew had changed within the course of a few hours, but you were glad to have your grandmother with you.

You had stayed with her instead of going back to NYC, allowing her to cook for you and soothe you the best she could with cups of tea and the love that she'd always had in abundance for you. It was still a little weird to think of her as a supe, but it was getting easier to swallow, and it felt like you were seeing her for the first time.

Since you'd talked about her time as a supe, she'd been opening up more about the past and you loved hearing all her stories. It also was making you see Ben in a new light. 

Your grandmother knew more about his childhood than Ben had ever mentioned to you. He never seemed to be forthcoming with any information about himself, but the things that she'd told you about his father and the way he treated Ben made your blood boil.

It made you want to raise his father from the dead just to put him back in the grave all over again.

Of course, knowing all of this now made you feel worse for not picking up his call. A part of you thought that it was odd that someone who was so concerned for you at the hospital after everything happened with Elijah had gone radio silent.

And it made a part of you worry about him. Yes, as your grandmother had put it, Ben was more indestructible than you were, but you couldn't deny the fact that you were worried about him.

But as much as the last seven days had been soothing, there were still some odd moments.

For example, you'd woken up earlier one morning and followed your nose into the kitchen where your grandmother was making breakfast only to hear her muttering "what a fucking idiot" under her breath. Weirder still was another time you'd come back from the bathroom only to hear her cursing while she aggressively knit something that looked like a sweater and heard her whisper "I'm going to kill him. Could I have been any clearer?"

You hadn't asked her what she meant, but you'd assumed she meant her next door neighbor Mr. Filbert who was about the same age as your grandmother and was the bane of her existence. Each day she would have a new complaint that made her march over there and yell at him about something.

Personally, you thought he liked it when she yelled at him. Not to mention every Christmas he always brought over a large bottle of Brandy, your grandmother's favorite, and she made a chess pie specifically for him at the annual Christmas party she threw.

Annie and you had been shipping them harder than the post office the week before Christmas for years, but nothing ever came of it. In fact, the two of you had a yearly bet to see if this was the year that Mr. Filbert would finally do something about it or if it would be your grandmother who stopped being so stubborn and blind to what was in front of her face.

You couldn't imagine being that way if you saw how much someone liked you or went out of their way to care for you.

But being at home for a week made you feel better.

Everything that happened was settling over you, the newfound strength of your powers, your connection to nature, and there was the other thing you'd noticed, but were afraid to think about.

The thing you realized after you stepped out of the creaky shower and looked at yourself in the mirror without being covered in dirt. 

At first you thought it was a trick of the light, but turning your face this way and that had confirmed it. The small wrinkles on the top of your forehead had faded, your laugh lines weren't as pronounced, and even the few gray hairs that you'd had since you pushed yourself too hard in high school and your first, and only, year of college, were gone. You were visibly younger and the only thing that you could think of that changed it was how you felt when you absorbed the energy of the plants. You remembered how it felt to absorb their life force, to have the energy flooding through your body taking away your pain, and healing what was broken. It felt like the best kind of high there was, your body melding with the tangled vines and unfurling leaves, feeling connected to everything in that shop while it made you whole again.

Standing there and looking at yourself, but not yourself in the mirror was weird and a little overwhelming.

There was also a part of you that didn't want to become an creepy old lady who sang to glowing flowers in the middle of the woods in the dead of night.

Annie had noticed it the moment that she'd seen you, and the two of you had discussed it over a Alien movie marathon, what it would be like if you could take the life of plants to make yourself younger and if it meant that you could live longer.

You figured that it was as good as true.

But to get back in tune with your powers you had sat outside in the back garden meditating. It seemed to work. Sitting out in the warmth of the day, with the breeze wicking the sweat at the back of your neck, the grass brushing against your worn jeans, and the call of nature all around you, it made you feel at peace for the first time in a long time.

It was nice to have a few moments to yourself, but that also meant that the thought of what came next seemed to hover over you. You knew that you had a long way to go before you fully got in control of your powers again, but you also knew that you couldn't hide in Illinois forever.

It felt like you were running from everything that happened, and you knew the longer you stayed away the harder it would be to go back to NYC, face the aftermath of Darren's death, and see Ben.

Although, he hadn't showed up, Annie had. She came on the second day and spent the next four days with you the same way the two of you spent your weekends growing up: with nostalgic movies, junk food, pizza, and copious amounts of wine, while bundled under plush blankets and pillows on the living room floor.

But the more days that passed when you were in Illinois, the more you were aware that something was missing, and now standing in your apartment you felt the same way.

Why?

Bean comes shooting out of your open bedroom and down the hallway in a frenzy, practically knocking into your ankles in his haste to brush his dark gray coat against your legs. He purrs loudly to get your attention, and you drop to your knees to pet him, staring into his luminous orange eyes.

"Hey Bean, did you miss me?" You smile at your cat, rubbing along the curve of his back the way you know he likes before you work your fingers under his chin.

The creature, now named "Rex" was perched on your shoulder like a bird of prey watching Bean with curiosity. The name was chosen due to how it looked like a T-rex with longer forearms whenever it stood up on it's back legs, but not from ferocity. He was a bit of a cuddler, more so than Bean. You also thought that Ben would appreciate the name given how much grief he'd given you when you told him your cat's name.

Bean glances up and hisses at Rex, who curls into your neck as if he's afraid.

"Oh, so you’re fine ripping someone apart, but you draw the line at meeting your brother?” You smile reaching up to scratch along his neck.

Annie had been terrified of him at first. She’d heard from Butcher exactly what he had done to Darren and was wary that Rex could grow into a maneater at any moment.

But Rex didn't seem to have man eating tendencies, at least now he didn't.

And when it came to Annie you figured that she was angrier that she hadn't gotten a shot at Darren.

She's waited a hell of a long time.

Bean narrows his eyes and raises his paw to swat at Rex, the claws scraping off his smooth leaf-like coat and leaving behind no damage. Rex cowers further into your neck.

"Stop acting like a jealous, only child." You chide the cat. "I love both of you the same way. And you've got to get along."

Bean makes a low noise in the back of his throat but leans into your hand asking for more rubs.

You indulge him for another minute, before looking up down the dark hallway. "Ben?"

The name echoes through the apartment, but Ben doesn't appear in the hallway.

I wonder where he is. Maybe he's at Butcher's.

You had spoken to Butcher once, who'd assured you that he, Frenchie, MM, and Hughie were cleaning everything up and that there wasn't anything for you to worry about.

You trusted Butcher to handle it. The last thing you wanted was to be unable to walk down the street because everyone was running for their lives and screaming while hoping you didn't unleash Rex on Manhattan.

One of the vines on the opposing wall flicks the light switch on, bathing your living room in artificial light. You pause, your hand frozen on Bean's back as you look over the living room and kitchen.

The apartment is spotless. There are no empty bottles of scotch, no half smoked blunts in the ashtray on the coffee table, no empty pizza boxes stacked next to your couch, and no dirty clothes and socks strewn around the room. In fact, there aren't any clothes at all or shoes.

Everything that belongs to Ben that was once scattered over your small living room is gone, leaving the room almost uncomfortably bare.

Is he doing laundry?

You strain your ears to hear the tell-tale sound of the sink or the shower in the bathroom, but don't hear anything.

Maybe he cleaned up because I was gone?

It seems a little out in left field, but you reason to yourself that Ben had tried to clean up while you were gone, just like he did when you got back from the hospital two weeks ago.

But as you walk down the hallway towards your bedroom you notice that the hall closet when Ben keeps his other things is empty. Every article of clothing, every shoe, every sock, and the small box of personal items that Ben had never let you see into was completely gone.

Something inside your chest begins to crack, you're not sure what, but all you know is that it doesn't feel good. There's an odd foreboding feeling that sends alarm bells off in your head.

Did he leave?

The thought is like a punch in the gut and your chest tightens, making it difficult to breathe.

Why would he leave without telling me?

You pull your phone out of your back pocket and scroll through to find Ben's number. This time you don't hesitate to hit the call button.

Each time it rings you can feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper into something that you can't describe. You didn't understand why he left, and why he wasn't here when you got back.

Was it because I didn't pick up the phone when he called? Was it because he finally figured that I wasn't going to sleep with him and he decided to leave?

He doesn't answer, but this time you leave him a voicemail.

"Hey Ben, it's me. I just got back to the apartment and all your stuff is gone, which means either we got robbed or you got kidnapped by your evil brother." You laugh awkwardly. "But I'm back in town so you should call me and let me know if your stuff should be here or whatever-um-" You clear your throat trying to keep your voice from shaking a little. "Just call me back okay?"

When the final beep sounds whatever it was you were feeling was lodged deep into the back of your throat and this time, as you look out over the pristine living room and kitchen you allow yourself to notice just how empty it looks without Ben in it.

"Babe!" Annie calls waving her hand from where she sits at one of the artisanal wrought iron tables at Calamity Coffee Co to catch your attention.

The inside of the shop was identical to the last time the two of you were here. There's still a collection of best-selling author's to be lining the wooden bar along the front windows, still a much too happy barista who grins when you walk through the door, and still a group of people sitting on the plush velvet couch talking about absolutely nothing at all while sipping colorful coffee mugs

It was surreal, as if the past two weeks hadn't happened and you were the same person that you were then.

Annie had left about two days before you came back to the city after she got a phone call from someone at Vought demanding that she come back for some "big emergency."

You still had no idea what the "big emergency" was, but you figured that you were about to find out. Annie hadn't been able to send you more than a handful of errant texts in which you planned this coffee shop meet.

Truthfully you weren't sure that you could share any of her enthusiasm or her excitement over what the "big emergency" was. You were still swimming in whatever the feeling was at Ben's sudden disappearance and his radio silence.

You'd thought that the feeling would have passed and tried to think about all the positives about him not living in your apartment would be, but the list was shorter than you expected, and the negatives were mounting higher with every passing minute since you'd called him and left the awkward voicemail. It was odd, especially after how hard you'd fought for him to not live with you, and how hard you'd tried to convince him that he didn’t want to live with you, but the feeling was still there.

Maybe he didn't move out and maybe he's been kidnapped and taken back to Russia!

That thought was distressing, but you thought that if Ben had been kidnapped your apartment would have looked like a train ran through it. Not to mention there wouldn't have been fresh water or fresh food laid out for Bean, almost as if Ben had been back to feed him.

But if he had voluntarily left, you still didn't understand why he had. You racked your brain trying to come up with something, some reason why Ben wouldn't be there, some little detail that you missed in the week that led up to the big explosion that was Darren's death and the destruction of "Please Don't Die," but you couldn't remember anything.

If anything, Ben and you were getting along better than you had in the days that lead up to it. He had been more attentive, had taken care of you in his own way, had sat with you on the couch and watched his ridiculously cheesy old films and pouted whenever you laughed at the lines he had delivered in all seriousness.

And the only reason you could come up with was that Ben genuinely didn't care about living with you or being around you as much as you thought he did and that he was tired of pretending to be a nicer person.

So basically, you were back to square one and you were trying to shake off the feelings that had started to bloom whenever you spent time with him and Ben acted like someone who you could love, someone that you could see yourself with. The same feelings that you had fought to push down and ignore because you didn't want to feel that way about someone like him.

The rays of the mid-day sun stream through the large windows catching the glints of gold in Annie's hair. The steam from her latte swirls and tangles out from her cup, crawling across the table to where the iced latte she ordered for you sits. The condensation has already started to drip down the plastic outside to the white napkin beneath, smudging the purple script of the coffee shop's name printed on the paper.

"Hey." You smile and embrace your friend.

It was good to see her again, but she looked more tired than usual. Her makeup was smudged beneath her eyes and her hair wasn't tied up in her usual high ponytail, but instead was thrown over her shoulders and finger combed.

"I missed you." She sighs into your shoulder. "Work is killing me. Ashley is going to be my thirteenth reason I swear." Annie rolls her eyes.

The wilted wildflowers in the center of the table perk up in your presence without you focusing on them.

"I missed you too." You reach into the front pocket of your overalls and extract Rex, who is now about the size of a coke can, and who crawls across the table to say hi to Annie.

She gently scratches under his little chin the way she knows he likes. "You're not going to eat me are you?"

"He already ate-"

Annie's eyes widen. "Not Bean!"

"Are you crazy? Do you think that I'd let him eat Bean? No. He had some cat food. Surprisingly he likes it so I guess that's what I'm gonna feed him and-"

"What is that thing?" A barista asks as he passes Annie and your table on the way back to the counter, toting a large tray of dirty mugs.

"Oh it's a-" You clear your throat thinking of something to call Rex. "It's an Aconitum Napellus." You reply saying the only name that could come to mind and hoping that the barista didn't know the scientific name for wolfsbane.

"Wow I've heard about those I think!" The barista replies leaning towards where Rex is stretching out in the sunlight on the tabletop. "Aren't they super rare?"

"Yep." Annie nods her head, the picture of seriousness. "My friend saved him from a guy who was practically part beast." She shoots you a wink, understanding exactly what Aconitum Napellus is.

"Can I pet him?" The barista's hand is already halfway to Rex, but you reach Rex first and pull him to you.

Honestly, you didn’t think that Rex would bite his finger off, but you didn't want to take that chance.

"Um. No. He's kind of finicky about other people." You laugh awkwardly.

"Bummer." The barista shrugs and walks back to the counter.

"You really think that it's a good idea bringing Godzilla out like that?" Annie takes a sip from the steaming cup in front of her.

"I don't think he's vicious unless I tell him to be." You look down at where Rex is curling into your arms. He's grown maybe another inch or two, but not enough to attract unwanted attention.

"And are you going to tell him to be?"

"Now?"

"I need to know, just in case I have to start running for my life."

"I'll keep you posted, just try not to piss me off today." You snort reaching for the latte on top of the table. "So, what was the 'big emergency.'"

"Oh my fuck! You're not going to believe this!" Annie leans across the table. "But it's kinda a big secret so you can't tell anyone, at least until not after tonight."

"Why tonight?"

"Because tonight is the big official announcement/celebration." She braces her elbow on the table and extends her pinky. "Special pinky swear me."

"Special pinky swear? What are we ten?" You roll your eyes at her.

The special pinky swear was the secret handshake that Annie and you had come up with when you were eight after Annie got kissed by Matthew Colson in second grade behind the giant oak tree in the schoolyard. The "special pinky swear" was only used in moments of complete seriousness. The same handshake had seen juicy secrets the two of you had shared over the years with no one else. When Annie lost her virginity to Drummer Boy, when the two of you got high in Esther Masterson's family cornfield, when you stole a bright red thong on a dare from Victoria's Secret, and when Newton and you had sex for the first time in the backseat of his dad's pickup truck senior year at Look Out Point. All of these moments had involved the "special pinky swear," so for her to bring it up, meant that this was big.

You hesitate. You don’t know why, but there's an odd feeling tugging in the back of your mind, almost as if you know what she's going to say before she says it.

"Babe." Annie wiggles her pinky over the table and you take it.

"Okay, what is it?"

She's still leaning on the table towards you, her blonde hair falling forward over her shoulders, and her eyes bright with her secret. "Ben is joining The Seven."

You sit there for a moment, her words not quite comprehending in your mind. And when it does, you feel the same tightness in your chest when you realized that all of Ben's stuff wasn't in your apartment anymore. You forget how to breathe, how to act normal, because you didn’t understand why Ben would do that, not after everything that happened with Payback.

"What?" You choke out.

"Honestly, I'm kind of surprised that he didn't tell you since the two of you are so close." She tilts her head to the side as if examining you for a minute.

"But why? Everything with Payback was so fucked up and that means he'd have to be around Stan again and-" You couldn’t finish the sentence, it felt like you were running out of air, a vice clamping down on your throat, because if Ben was going back to The Seven it meant that you'd probably never see him again.

Before the possibility of him being kidnapped or all his stuff being stolen meant that you'd run into him at least at some point, but this no way. You never saw anyone on The Seven save for Annie and that was because she still ran ops with Butcher and she was your best friend, but Ben and you were… nothing.

And standing in your apartment with all his things gone made that almost chillingly true. You and Ben were nothing more than roommates, and now he’d made that very clear by not telling you that he was moving out and taking another job. Nothing about that was the friendship that you thought the two of you were achieving.

Maybe it's a good thing, because I was beginning to feel things for him that I didn't want to and now he's gone I don't have to worry about it.

The thought didn't make you feel any better. Something inside felt like it was shriveling up and dying, something that you didn't know had grown and bloomed within you the moment Ben moved in.

"I know!" Annie exclaims. "But Hughie told me that while we were gone, Ben stormed into the apartment and confronted Butcher, said that he 'didn't feel appreciated' and that he was 'sick of all the bullshit' and that he was 'fucking done.' Hughie said that Butcher was pissed, but Ben must've gone to talk to Stan because they're officially announcing Ben or rather Soldier Boy's glorious return to Vought as the leader of The Seven."

"Wow the leader that's-" You swallow, voice hollow. "That's good for him."

"More than good. They're throwing him one of those ridiculous over the top parties tonight to celebrate and re-introduce him to the press." Annie takes another sip of her coffee, practically shaking with the excitement over the news. "And holy fucking shit!"

"What?" You breathe. Suddenly the room is spinning and you're not sure that you're getting enough air to your brain. You feel like you've been punched in the gut and at the same time feel like everything inside of you is spilling out.

You couldn't understand any of it, couldn't understand why it felt like Ben had broken up with you or why it felt like your heart was breaking, not over Ben of all people.

Why? I don't love him or like him. He's my friend or… I thought we were becoming friends.

"Stan is literally just falling at his feet. He's been busing in these slutty looking women that all go up to Ben's apartment, and you have no idea what I can sometimes hear through the walls. Those women are so loud."  Annie makes a disgusted face, and you could only imagine what she was hearing.

It was the reason why you hadn't let Ben bring women back to the apartment, because your walls were thin and you didn't want to be subject to hearing his live action porn shoots. You knew the exact kind of person that Ben was when he moved in with you, but the week you'd spent with him before you killed Darren was different. He was kinder, softer, more patient with you, and willing to help you. Not to mention overprotective because he didn't want you to leave the apartment or even lift a finger with your broken arm.

You think about how Ben hadn't been on a date that entire week, that he stayed at the apartment with you and how he didn't act like he saw the woman in the grocery store hitting on him. Your jaw tightens as you fight the urge to cry, not quite comprehending why you were feeling this way.

What did I expect? He's the same way he's always been. And maybe he really was pretending to be different around me so that I'd sleep with him. Ben is Ben he's…

You think about what your grandmother said to you, about Ben acting differently than the one she knew. How Ben cared for you at the apartment and in the hospital was so different than the person she'd been friends with in the 80's. But now you weren't sure.

I don't need him anyway. He was just my roommate and now I have the couch all to myself.

You think, but it doesn’t bring any comfort

Annie's eyes focus back on you. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

"No actually I'm not feeling that great all of a sudden." It wasn't a lie, you felt like you were going to throw up with all the memories you had with Ben swirling around your head. You didn't understand why this was happening.

In the past Annie and you would have giggled and laughed about something like this, but you didn’t feel like laughing at all.

"Oh no. Was it the latte? I'll come with you-" She starts to get up, but you hold up one hand while using the other to put Rex into your front pocket again.

"No, it's okay. I've just got a headache, and I don't think I'm ready to be around so many people, after Darren, you know?" It was a lame excuse, but you knew that it was the only thing to say that would make Annie leave you alone. "I think I took it too fast or something."

"Oh. Okay." She looks at you sympathetically. "Well text me when you get home? I want to make sure that you're okay."

"I will. I love you Ann."

"Love you too babe."

You rush from the coffee shop, trying to put as much distance between everything Annie said and you, but it's still all there in your head making it spin.

Why did he just leave without saying anything? Why didn't he tell me that he was being offered a place on The Seven?

You think to yourself, gaze on the sidewalk as you go, following the cracks and the blackened lumps of gum that have been smooshed against the concrete.

And why the fuck do I care so much? It's his life, he can do whatever the fuck he wants to!

The flowers in the black circular bins outside the florist shop wither and die as you pass, spilling multicolored petals at your feet that you trample underfoot.

He never said that he wanted to be friends. It was me that said it at that ridiculous fundraiser. Me that told him countless times that I didn't want to sleep with him.

The trees that are planted sporadically along the sidewalk shed their leaves when you walk underneath.

And I don't want to sleep with him. I want a relationship, I want love, I don't want just a one-night stand with someone like Ben. I deserve more I-

The thoughts were the same ones that you told yourself whenever you felt yourself considering falling into bed with Ben. The ones that usually brought the memory of your parents dancing to "Gonna Sing You My Love Song" by candlelight in the kitchen when they looked at each other like there was no one else in the world. You wanted that kind of love so badly that you could feel it in your bones.

But this time when you think those thoughts, it's not your parents that appear, it's Ben and you sitting on the couch in your living room with him reading the newspaper and you reading a book.

Stop it. Ben doesn't want that. He's made it perfectly clear that he doesn't want a relationship. And I guess he doesn't want a friendship because he just up and left without telling me!

"Excuse me!" You hear a voice say followed by your name, but you ignore it, and continue down the sidewalk.

The tears were close to falling and you didn't fully understand what it was that you were feeling or why you were so upset about Ben leaving when it meant that you could get your apartment completely to yourself again.

"Excuse me!" The voice says again and this time someone grabs on to your left shoulder yanking you backward.

You'd only seen Ashley once.

The first time Annie invited you to Vought Tower to look at her ridiculous apartment, Ashley had made you sign an NDA before you did. What exactly she thought you’d see you weren’t sure. It wasn’t like you were as oblivious as everyone else to the way the heroes of The Seven acted when the cameras weren’t flashing.

But Ashley looks the same as she did the last time you saw her, thinning red hair, sharp black suit that's buttoned over her chest giving the illusion that she doesn't have anything on underneath, tacky necklaces, crimson lipstick, and just like last time, she's not looking at you. She's typing something furiously on her phone as if she couldn't be bothered to acknowledge your existence with her eyes.

You hated when people did that.

“Hi." Ashley says with false sweetness, drawing it out too long to be natural. "Can you get in the car please?” She asks, still not looking up from the phone in front of her and gesturing with her head towards a gigantic black SUV that idles on the curb. It's easily bigger than your grandmother's truck and has windows so dark you can't see into the backseat.

Probably something Vought gets custom done to hide what goes on with their fucking heroes.

“Why?” You ask.

Did she hear Annie tell me about Ben? Wow, she works fast, I’ll give her that.

Your gaze shifts to where your building is just a few steps down the sidewalk. You were thinking about ignoring her, and continuing to walk down the street, but a part of you was intrigued.

“I don’t have time for this, get in the car.” This time Ashley looks up from the phone with a forced smile.

It's the forced smile that makes you decide to keep walking. You were tired of people trying to manipulate you with false sweetness to get what they wanted.

“I heard you the first time. No.” You reply before turning to walk down the sidewalk.

She moves so fast that you'd think she was A-train, putting herself directly in your way.

Ashley lowers her voice to a whisper. You didn't know why she was doing that. "Look, if you don't get in the car it's my ass. And I'm not going to be fired because one of Soldier Boy's sluts is acting like a little bitch and refuses to get in the car."

One of Soldier Boy's sults? Soldier Boy’s SLUT?!

"I don't know where you're getting your information, but I am not one of his sluts." You spit.

"Well, the only people I've been picking up for him all damn week have been." Her mouth twitches up into a smirk. "So, the options are you either get in the fucking car or Javier is going to put you in the car." She gestures to the behemoth of a man sitting in the driver's seat of the SUV, who smirks at you.

"Oh, is he?"

"Yes."

All the emotions that you'd been feeling about Ben begin to reach a peak in your chest and something finally snaps. You didn't want to deal with any of this, all you wanted was to go home to your bed, and yet here Ashley was treating you like you were some weak-willed little girl who would do everything you were told. It's the same thing that Darren used to do with you, and like hell you were going to let anyone do that to you again.

"I’d love to see him try." Your eyes shift to bright green and the entire world begins to tremble. You could feel the trees that lined the streets turning to watch, the roots that pushed and tangled through new earth stirred beneath the streets and sidewalks, the flowers in the florist shop two doors down that had wilted and lost petals twist together and burst with new life before spilling out onto the sidewalks, and Rex who was sleeping soundlessly in the front pocket of your favorite overalls drops to the ground at your feet, snarling as he grows to the size of a microwave.

"Holy fuck!" Ashley shrieks and takes a step back from Rex who snaps his jaws at her feet. His pointed stick-like teeth now the length of a pencil, clicking together.

"You should be more careful who you threaten." You say, your voice lowering. The energy of nature around you was thrumming through your veins, electrified by your anger. "It might be the last thing you do."

Just as Rex takes another step towards Ashley, who is quickly running out of sidewalk, the backseat window rolls down, and you see Ben sitting there with an annoyed expression.

"Just get in the fucking car Petals." He says with a sigh.

Has he really been back there the whole time?

"Are you shitting me Ben?  You’ve been in the backseat this whole time? Why didn’t you get out to ask me to get into the car yourself?" You shout, eyes still a bright green.

I guess that's why she was whispering, didn’t want Ben to hear her call me one of his "sluts."

The thought made a surprising wave of anger and frustration crash over you when you remembered what Annie had said about Vought busing in women for Ben. You didn’t understand why you were upset; you knew the kind of person he was, knew that was what he went on dates to do, but for some reason the thought of him having a non-stop orgy at Vought tower after he had taken care of you and acted like a completely different person made you livid. It made you think again that he had just been putting on a big show to trick you into sleeping with him.

"That’s what that bitch is for!" He gestures to Ashley who is practically cowering against the car while Rex snarls between the two of you, now the size of a post office box.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "I can’t do this with you. I’m going inside."

“Wait.”

“I don’t want to wait Ben.” You reach down and scoop up Rex who shrinks in your arms back to the size of the coke can before he hisses at Ashley one last time. She looked like she was going to faint, but you didn't feel guilty.

"Are you really going to make me get out of the fucking car? Ben shouts above the sound of traffic.

Honestly, you really didn't feel like talking to him, not when you weren't sure why you were upset with him.

All he did was move on with his life. Why do I care so much about that? He was going to move out eventually and I didn't want him to live with me anyway. He was crashing on my couch; it wasn't a permanent situation and-

The thought of your couch makes an odd feeling rise in your chest for a second as the memory of him and you picking it out at IKEA come floating back. Despite how much Ben annoyed you, you’d had fun with him at IKEA trying out the different couches and getting coffee. It always surprised you how you could enjoy spending time with him, even when he annoyed you without end. But you had enjoyed yourself. Just as you'd enjoyed yourself when the two of you watched tv on the couch and when he walked with you to the shop and picked you up at the end of the day.

“You don’t have to get out of the car. I’m going inside.” You turn and walk away from where the SUV is idling on the curb, weaving through the foot traffic.

I don't want to talk to him. I just want to go into my apartment and forget everything Annie told me and forget that Ben doesn't live with me anymore.

“For fucks sake.” You hear Ben grumble under his breath when you turn away, but you don't stop walking. "Petals!"

You can see the glass double doors and brick steps that lead up into your apartment building up ahead, but even with how fast you're walking Ben catches you easily.

"Wait." Ben moves to block your path just as Ashley had.

He looks different than the last time you saw him standing in the street asking you to let him make sure you were okay and asking you to let him take you home. And if you were acknowledging it, Ben looked better than you remembered.

He's still wearing the same jeans and t-shirt combo, except now you can see that they're made of nicer material, designer, and he's wearing a large golden Rolex on his left hand that you're sure someone at Vought bought for him. Ben's dark hair isn't falling into his face, it's a little shorter, more controlled. You liked it better the other way, but you weren't going to admit that to yourself.

Even his beard is trimmed, and you wonder if Ashley got him a stylist and a hair/makeup team to spruce him up before his big debut.

Oh yeah. The debut he's making after he moved out of our apartment and didn't tell me, and after he's been fucking whatever comes across his path all week.

The thought makes your jaw clench together.

That's the way Ben is! He's been going through women since he got back from Russia. That's not new!

You thought it to make yourself feel better, but you can still feel the tightening in your chest that you'd been feeling since Annie told you the "big news" and you realized that Ben moved out.

Then why does it kind of hurt?

"What?" You sigh.

"I want to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Can you get in the fucking car first?"

"No. I don't want to get in the fucking car, nor do I know why I need to get in the car!"

"Because I want to talk to you!"

"And we can't do that here?"

"No!"

You cross your arms over your chest and refuse to budge. You knew that it would only annoy Ben that you were being stubborn, his stubbornness also drove you to the point of insanity as did his taunts, so the two of you were at a stalemate and you refused to give in.

"Fine." He seethes. "I'm joining The Seven."

“I heard. Congratulations. You’re getting everything you want." You clip.

“Just about.” He mumbles under his breath so low that you don’t think you heard him right.

"I don't see why that involves me."

"If you'd shut up and fucking listen to me for a minute I'll tell you!" He snaps.

"Don't tell me to shut up Ben! Who fucking disappears without so much as a note? Who up and leaves without telling their frie-," You clear your throat to change the word. "Their roommate that they're moving out!?"

"You didn’t want me to live with you!”

"Maybe at the beginning but-" Your cheeks redden for a second and something flashes through his eyes that you've never seen. "I mean, it's not that bad. And after everything I thought that you'd still be here when I got back."

"Well if I recall, you left without telling me where the fuck you were going and didn't pick up my damn phone call!"

"I called you back! And I texted you! It's not like I was completely radio silent!" You stamp your foot in frustration. "And why are you going back to Vought? They got your team to stab you in the back and took your genetic material to make a psychotic freak!"

"Because Stan Edgar called me and he said he wanted me to be the new leader of The Seven!"

"Oh please, you believe that guy? He only looks out for himself. If you trust him again, he's gonna give you another one-way ticket back to Russia."

"He's not going to fucking-"

"Yes he is! And if you thought things through instead of jumping in feet first, maybe you wouldn’t land into a pile of shit! Now if you'll excuse me. I have to do some laundry, but whoopdie fucking do! It seems like all your dreams are coming true." You try to step around him, but Ben shifts his body to block you.

"Just fucking listen to me." He snaps, green eyes flashing in the sunlight.

"What? What do you have to tell me that's so important you had that red-headed bitch try to shove me in an SUV for?"

"They're throwing me a damn party tonight and I want you to come with me." Ben shouts back at you, eyes blazing in anger.

Your mouth drops open. It was the last thing that you were expecting him to say. If anything, you thought that he was going to try to get you to come with him to Vought to make a pass at you, not invite you to probably one of the most exclusive events of the entire year.

"What?"

Ben still looks angry but uncrosses his arms from his chest. "I want you to come with me to the party."

You clear your throat to dissipate the shock, your anger coming back. "Why me? Why not any of those other women that Stan's been bringing to the tower for you?" You snap. “They certainly seem to be more your type. Probably look a lot more impressive than I do on your arm."

You hadn't seen them, but you could only imagine what they all looked like. Ben's matches on tinder he often bragged about and had shown you photos as if he needed to prove how attractive they were to someone else. Of course, then you'd told him to just stuff it in a tube sock like everyone else rather than risk the venereal disease.

"What did I tell you about saying shit like that about yourself in front of me?" He looks angry again.

You think back to the day the two of you shopped for a couch at IKEA and Ben had yelled at you for making a self-deprecating joke about being "useless."

An odd look crosses Ben's face for a split second when he realizes what he said, before he smirks to hide it. "Are you jealous Petals?"

"No."

"Because you're acting like you are." He smirks wider. "Kinda sounds like you've been having Annie spy on me for you."

"I didn’t have her spy on you! She can hear everything that you're doing, and she told me because we got coffee today and she wanted to tell me your oh so wonderful news. That you’re the leader of the Seven and that means you have an endless parade of women willing to fuck you.”

"All women are willing to fuck me Petals."

"Not me."

Something flashes through his eyes that you can't place.

You chew on the inside of your cheek for a minute, before you sigh. "Ben, I don't think that I should-"

"I want you to come with me because none of them are supes and I want you to understand what being a supe is supposed to look like." He interrupts, but it doesn't sound convincing enough.

"I don't think any of that is real or how it's supposed to be!"

"How would you know anything about it? This is the Seven. The most powerful supe team in the world-"

"Just because it's the most popular doesn't mean that it's the most powerful. And I'm not sure I want to be a part of this. My grandmother told me what it was like for her and-"

"But you've never experienced it!"

"Well, no."

"Exactly. So just come with me tonight."

"I don't know Ben. I'm not sure that I'm up for being around that many people after everything, you know? I-" You swallow. All the feelings of frustration, confusion, and anger were slowly dissipating, and it was leaving behind something you didn't want to think about. "I stayed in Illinois because I needed a few days to get away from all of this and I don’t think that I can rush into it all over again the day I get back." You could feel the memories of the day you killed Darren beginning to come surging back, followed by the realization of how out of control your powers could get.

Not to mention that standing here and looking at Ben was making the tightness in your chest worse.

Then Ben does something he never has, he reaches out and takes your hand. “Come on Petals, just one night.”

He was saying Petals in the soft way he had two weeks ago when he had been taking care of you after the hospital, and it made warmth pool in the pit of your stomach.

"But-"

"And I won't leave you alone at the party with any of those boring fucks. Or with that octopus fucker.” He interrupts, trying to convince you.

"One night?"

"Yes."

Your eyes drop to where he's holding your hand gently between the two of you. It was odd for him, especially because he'd never done that before, even when you had nightmares, Ben never held your hand like this. It was always an awkward cradle, but for him to fully entwine his fingertips with yours it between the two of you was shocking. You raise your gaze to his unblinking green eyes. "Do you promise?" You whisper.

"Yes. I promise, one night and if you hate it, I'll take you back to your shitty apartment building." Ben smiles as if it's a joke, but it stings a little bit.

It was the first time that Ben had ever referred to the apartment as just "yours." You'd gotten so accustomed to him calling it "our apartment" and to hear it that way made your chest tighten more. Maybe it was because it was settling in that Ben wasn't coming back, that he wasn't going to move back in or be a part of your life anymore.

"Okay. One night." You nod and let Ben lead you back to the car holding on to your hand.

Why is he doing this if he's been fucking his way through New York's female population this week? Why does he care so much that I be the one to go with him to this ridiculous party? Any one of those women would be ecstatic to go. And why is he holding my hand?

"Talk to her like that again and I’ll make sure that the next job you have is cleaning Stan Edgar’s fucking balls.” He growls to Ashley as he opens the door of the SUV for you.

And as you slide into the plush leather seats in the backseat, you begin to wonder exactly why Ben was so adamant about you "experiencing" what it was like to be a supe.

"So, what do you think?" Ben's voice echoes through the large living room/sitting room, vibrating against the floor to ceiling glass walls that stand at the back of the room and give a spectacular view of New York City that lays below Vought Tower.

From up here the rest of the world looks so small and out of focus, and you wonder if that's why so many supes lose their morals, because they're worshiped and put in places like this to look down on the people below.

Treat them like gods and that's what they'll think they are.

Annie's apartment at the tower was impressive, but Ben's is practically another planet. The entire place is filled with mid-century modern furniture, supple leather couches so soft it feels like you're sliding through butter, beautifully crafted wooden credenzas, and modern art pieces that you'd only ever seen prints of online.

The high lofted ceilings are so tall that you're sure the first three floors of your apartment building could fit inside, and there's an odd echo that follows everything Ben and you say. There is a tv so large it might as well be a billboard that sits on top of a wooden credenza and holds a speaker system that must be more expensive that a yearly car payment.  It looks so intricate that you're afraid to touch it, let alone breathe next to it. The entire room screams wealth and not one piece of it is homey. It feels like a museum, as if someone tried to create something that felt like a home, but it turned into a time capsule of a time everyone else forgot.

You wondered if Ben ever felt that way and that way why he was really joining The Seven. If it wasn't just because Stan Edgar called, but because Ben felt like the world had forgotten who he was and he needed to prove it to everyone.

If that were true, you didn’t like that he thought that way. Yes, Ben annoyed you, but you liked who he was when he was with you. He never seemed like an old fossil that someone decided to shove into a box at the back of the Smithsonian, you liked the way he was, didn't think that he needed to prove himself to anyone.

Ben is standing behind you, leaning against one of the dark wood walls with a smile. You didn't know why he cared so much about your opinion of where he lived, not if you were just coming here for the party and then going back home to your apartment.

Your mind stutters on the word "home," because it hadn't felt like home when you got there, and Ben wasn't there. You didn’t want to admit that to yourself, but you knew it was true.

"It’s big." You say half-heartedly.

The apartment only made you think that Ben wasn't going to be living with you, a concept that you were confused as to why you were still saddened by, especially now that he'd had ample time to say goodbye. Before you’d been angry that he’d left without a note, but now you felt like you should be okay with what was happening.

You weren’t.

"Mhmm. Like it should be. Oh, you should have seen the good old days Petals. All the apartments, the hotel rooms, the houses they rented for us were like this. Not to mention everyone doing whatever the fuck you asked without hesitation, bringing me exactly what I wanted without argument. Fuck it takes me back." Ben sighs at the memory. "That’s how it’s supposed to be when you’re a supe. Not all of this squatting in small apartments and taking 500 jobs because you can't make enough money."

"I kind of like my 500 jobs." You say. "I've learned how to do a lot of things, and most of them are kind of fun-"

"Come on Petals." Ben rolls off the wall to get closer to you. "You're a bad liar and you know it."

"Fine. I don't like all of them, but I really like  working at the senior center and at the plant shop-“

As soon as the words come out of your mouth, you're reminded of exactly why you're not working in the shop anymore and everything that happened with Darren. You hadn't called Jake yet or texted him. Again, you didn’t know what to say.

Honestly, you didn't even know if he was alive and the thought that you'd killed your friend hurt you.

"He's okay." Ben murmurs quietly anticipating what you’re thinking. "Saw someone helping him from the rubble before I got out of there."

"Good. I was worried that I-." You let out a breath and shake your head feeling relief stir in the pit of your stomach. “I didn’t mean to lost control like that and I-“

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. That asshole deserved it.” You can hear the anger begin to drip into Ben’s voice.

“I know.” You look around the room again at the fancy furniture and high ceilings to distract yourself. "This apartment is definitely big enough to manspread in. But it seems kind of empty though for one person."

"What?"

"I just mean- all this space.” You gesture to the vaulted ceilings. “What person needs this much space? At least in my one bedroom it’s a bit cozier.”

“You don’t like it?” For a second you think that he looks disappointed, but you think you imagined it.

“Nope. Not really my style.”  You walk through the large living room exploring the apartment with Ben following behind you.

And you miss the way his shoulders slump just a little and the frown that pulls at the end of his mouth.

The bedroom is bigger than your whole apartment, with a giant four poster bed made of dark wood swaddled in gold and black bedding. The floors are made of black marble and there’s a giant fireplace that is so wide that a city bus could drive through no problem. The view out the floor to ceiling windows is even more breathtaking than the one in the living room.

“What no bearskin rug?” You snort at your joke, but for some reason it doesn’t make you smile.

All you're aware of is how weird this is, that Ben wanted you to come here and show you the way you "should" be living as a supe, and weirder still it was almost as if he wanted you to like his apartment.

Since when does Ben care what I think?

“Do you want a bearskin rug?” Ben asks, not sensing your sarcasm. "Because I can tell that bitch to bring one in here."

“No I was just-“ You sigh, but stop talking when you notice something green on the bedside table.

There’s a small pothos plant sitting there, it’s vines dangling over the sides of the table towards the floor a shock of green in an otherwise black and gold room. Ben didn’t like plants as much as you did. You knew that.

“Why do you have a plant?”

“It’s-“ He pauses as if embarrassed. “For you.”

“But you didn’t know I was coming?” You look over your shoulder. “And I told you that I was only staying one night.”

“I know.” Ben shrugs. “I got it earlier just in case.”

“In case?”

“You decided that you wanted to be a part of The Seven, or I don’t fucking know, just live here at Vought Tower.” He sounds angry, but you don't let it get to you.

“Well if I wanted to be a part of The Seven wouldn’t I get my own apartment? And if I stayed here, where would I sleep Ben? There’s only one bed.”

He bought me a plant? Did he think that I was going to sleep in here with him? Did he think that I was going to sleep with him?

“I mean we’ve shared before and you didn’t seem opposed to it.” He smirks, but when he notices that you don’t smile, he frowns. “I can sleep on the couch. It’s almost as comfy as the one we picked out.”

“Oh.”

“And actually if you want I can have them bring that one here too-“

The thought of the couch the two of you had fitting in with any of these outrageous displays of wealth was laughable, but again it confused you, because Ben was acting like he wanted you to move out of your apartment and into this one with him. Which, given how you heard he spent his week seemed ridiculous.

This is so weird. I have no idea what’s going on.

"So, um-" Ben clears his throat awkwardly. "How are you?"

"What?" You turn around to look away from the bedroom that looks a little bit like it belongs in a supervillain's penthouse apartment.

"Well, I mean-" He clears his throat again. Ben looks like it's difficult for him to say what he's about to, as if it's difficult for him to carry on a normal conversation. "Diana said that you were having a hard time."

"You talked to my grandmother?"

"Once. Before Stan called."

"Oh." You bite your lip. "I mean finding out that my brother killed my parents and tried to kill me wasn't exactly a walk in the park. But-" You shrug. "I'm dealing with it."

Ben nods as if he's unsure what to say. You noticed that when conversations got a little too personal Ben looked out of his element and you supposed that was what was happening right now. Sometimes it made you feel bad for him, as if he didn’t know how to act in a normal situation.

"Do I look different to you?" You blurt to clear out some of the awkward tension.

"What?"

"I mean, do I look younger? I thought that I was imagining things, but Annie pointed it out and I-"

"A little." He swallows.

"Great." You sigh.

"You don't want to look young?" Ben chuckles to himself. "Petals I swear every time you open that perfect mouth of yours you say the most outrageous shit I've ever heard."

"No, I mean I-" You wave your hand as if looking for the right words. "I guess I can make myself younger, but I don't think that I want to."

"Why not?"

"I mean if you live forever or longer than the average person you see everyone you love die. That doesn't exactly seem healthy."

"Not if the people you love don't die either." Ben says it quietly, almost to himself.

You snort. “My grandmother doesn’t live extra years, neither does Annie.” You hesitate to think of something that you never asked Ben. “Did you ever think about that?”

“Think about what?"

“When you and Countess were together. Didn’t you ever think about what would happen when she aged and you were well, you?”

Ben hesitates as if considering something. “Not really.”

“Why not?"

"You're full of questions today, Petals."

"And you're full of cryptic answers." You reply. "Come on Ben, you didn't think about that? I think that if I was with someone who didn't age that I would-"

"Someone like Jake you mean." Ben is frowning again, just as he always does whenever you bring him up.

"Why are you always so focused on him?"

"I'm not. Why are you so focused on Countess?"

"Stop answering my questions with a question!"

"I'm not!"

"You don't really have to worry about Jake. I think I blew my chances with him the minute that I destroyed his plant shop." You frown, reaching to touch the pothos plant that sits on the bedside table to get it to perk up.

Ben stands there for a minute watching you. "He's a fucking idiot if he lets that stand in the way of being with you."

Shock hits you like a bolt of lightning, and you turn to look at Ben, who suddenly looks very uncomfortable, as if he didn't mean to say that.

"Thanks."

He shrugs.

"And I think Countess was a fucking idiot and a Bitch for stabbing you in the back and making you love her."

"Thanks."

You shrug.

The odd silence is back, floating in the air between the two of you, something that you've never noticed before. You're not sure where it came from or what it's supposed to represent, but you wonder if Ben can feel it too.

“I-um- I’m sorry that I didn’t pick up the phone when you called. I didn’t know what to say.” You begin quietly. You wanted him to know that you had thought about picking it up, that you did want to talk to him.

“You don’t have to apologize for that Petals.”

“No I want to. And I’m sorry that I left you in the street like that. I should have stayed. I wanted-“ You stop talking, considering what you’re about to admit. “I wanted to stay with you.”

It seemed stupid to admit that out loud especially after you’d heard from Annie exactly what Ben had been doing all week, but you were so confused. You didn’t understand what you were feeling, didn’t understand why Ben asked you to come here, didn’t understand why he bought you a plant if you were only staying here for the party, and didn’t understand why you were so upset at the thought of going back home to your empty apartment.

Ben was confusing you again. He was being sweet and asking you how you were and he held your hand and he was genuinely asking you what you thought about the apartment and he bought you a plant to make you feel more at home. Not to mention he was acting as if the past week hadn’t happened, and it was still just the two of you back in your apartment.

And you could feel a cold chill of fear squishing your stomach into mush. You didn’t know what the fear was. Maybe it was because you were slowly realizing just how much you wanted Ben to be the man that he embraced when it was only the two of you. Maybe it was because you were realizing how much you liked being around him. Maybe it was because you were still cursing yourself because you didn’t want to fall for the wrong man. Or maybe it was because when Ben did things like this it was difficult for you to think that he was the wrong man.

He doesn’t want a relationship.

The thought doesn’t hold as much weight as it once did.

Ben’s hand gently touches the small of your back, turning you to look at him and making the thoughts evaporate. His green eyes search your face before he responds. “I wanted to come see you, but I thought you’d want to be left alone.”

“Why?”

“You didn’t want me to touch you in the street or check if you were okay and I wasn’t sure that I should-“ He clenches his jaw as if it’s difficult for him to admit this. “I didn’t think you wanted me there.”

“I did.” You whisper before you can stop yourself and his eyes widen in surprise. “Annie came to see me, but I wanted you. I-“

Ben gently traces your cheek with his rough fingertips, something warming in his gaze. The air between you is charging with electricity and you see his eyes dip to look at your mouth, before raising to your eyes once more. You know what he's silently asking you, and you want him to kiss you.

The memory of the two of you pressed against one another on your couch after the night Darren stayed in your apartment surfaces, the ghost of how it felt to be pressed against his body with your hands planted against the warm ridges of his muscles. You inhale a soft breath and it's full of Ben, enticing you forward, begging you to close the distance between the two of you.

Ben's thumb falls to the pillow of your lips, and they part in anticipation. Your body subconsciously moving closer to him so that your hands are resting against the soft fabric of his dark t-shirt. You can feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric soaking into the palms of your hands, a comfort in the chill of the marble covered room.

"I should have been there." He whispers. "But I-" Ben swallows, his voice no more than a murmur over the dull buzz of electricity that runs through the apartment.

The afternoon sun that shines through the glass windows behind you illuminates the flecks of gold in his eyes, making them a piercing green, and giving the illusion that they can see through you. Sometimes you thought that Ben noticed more about you than he was letting on, just as you noticed things about him that you were sure he tried to hide.

"It's okay." You murmur, leaning towards him, and letting your hands slowly move up the expanse of his chest.

“Sorry to interrupt.” A calm voice says from behind where Ben and you are standing.

The man standing in the doorway you'd, never seen in person, only on TV, but Stan Edgar is just as intimidating as he looks on the news. He's wearing a black pinstriped suit, a light blue shirt and a black tie. Not a piece of his outfit is out of shape. He looks calm and collected, not the frazzled out of control chaos that is Ashley when interacting with Ben.

And you hated him.

This was the man that had told Ben's team to stab him in the back and gave him to the Russians, and the man who gave Vogelbaum the okay to take Ben's genetic material and create Homelander. If Ben hadn't accepted the job with Stan, you probably would have ripped him to shreds.

Rex turns back from looking out the window and begins to skulk towards where Stan is, his beady black eyes narrowed up at the man. Stan looks down at the creature, who is about the size of a toaster now, in distaste.

“You don’t fucking knock?” Ben spits, turning around to face him, your hands falling from his chest.

“I did. I also called but you didn’t pick up your phone.” Stan says, undisturbed by Ben’s obvious anger. “Is she the new one that you made Ashley pick up?”

The new one?

His words settle in the pit of your stomach like an anchor making you remember exactly how Ben had spent his first week here at Vought. It made whatever the hell you'd just been feeling dissipate.

“Ashley was right, she certainly seems different than the others you’ve brought here. At least she’s wearing more clothes-“ Stan purses his lips looking you up and down. “Are you sure that you want her with you tonight? It is a big debut and-“

Stan was talking as if you weren’t there, as if what he was saying wasn’t insulting.

“What the fuck do you want?” Ben interrupts in a growl.

“We need to talk about how tonight is going to go. Not to mention Ashley has been waiting outside the door trying to muscle up the courage to knock so she can dress your date.”

“I can dress myself.” You say.

“Not for this.” Stan presses his lips together in a tight line, again looking you up and down as if you're a stain on his perfect suit.

Ben’s anger burns hot in the air, and you’re not sure if it’s because Stan interrupted the two of you or if it’s because he insulted you or if it’s because Stan just reminded you that you’re not special to Ben.

Because I’m not. No one who goes through women like that cares about them. What was I thinking? Ben’s probably using all of this in his grand plan of trying to sleep with me.

“Fine. Give me a minute and I’ll meet you outside.” Ben replies through gritted teeth..

“Don’t keep me waiting.” Stan gives you one more disappointed glance before he walks out the bedroom door.

Ben sighs as he turns back to you. “I-“

“It’s okay just go.” You take a step back from him. It was easier to clear your head when you couldn’t smell his shampoo or feel how wonderfully warm he is. “I’ll see you tonight. I guess.”

Ben hesitates as if there’s something he wants to say, but finally he sighs. “I’ll come pick you up. I think they're gonna fucking dress me somewhere else”

“Okay.” You nod once.

And as he walks out another uncomfortable thought begins to squeeze at your insides

What if this is Ben’s big move? Showing a woman a fancy apartment with a sprawling view of the city while inviting them to an exclusive party and acting like a completely different person, just to finally get me to sleep with him?

The flashing of the cameras and loud voices of the reporters shouting question after question made you dizzy. The brilliant lights blinding you as flash after flash barraged your senses from all sides. The lights were uncomfortably warm and the cameras that pointed at you made you feel like you were under a microscope.

It had taken an entire make up team and the four hours before the event to make sure that you were ready, with Ashley barking orders over the mad scramble of hands that touched every part of your body with no sense of shame. They had forced you to take a shower, and scrubbed your body so hard that you were sure there were skin cells missing, before yanking you out from under the warm water to dry you and tug and pull your hair in all different directions, trying to figure out exactly how you should have it done.

Whenever you tried to protest, someone would tell you how "fucking hot" you looked or how "sexy" you were. It didn’t make you feel any better and all you could think about was you hoped Ben was being subjected to such torture in another room of the Tower somewhere.

The team had rubbed you in creams from plastic containers and shiny body scrub so that you glittered under the lights and then slathered your face with more make up than you'd ever worn in your entire life. You felt like a doll being abused by a four-year-old who got her hands on a new make-up kit on Christmas morning.

When you'd finally thought it was over, Ashley had brought over a velvet box that held a diamond and emerald pendant that was bigger than the size of your thumb and made you feel sick to your stomach to think about how many groceries you could buy with the money it cost.  When she tried to put it on you, you'd waved your hand and said that you didn't want it, but then she'd said that "Soldier Boy bought it especially for you and she'd be damned if she got killed over a fucking necklace." The drop emerald and diamond earrings that matched could have easily bought your grandmother's house in Illinois, but Ashley again refused to listen to your protests.

You didn't know why he'd bought you something so extravagant, especially if you were only going to be there for one night. The memory of what Stan called you followed the entire dressing process: “the new one.”

All it did was remind you that Ben didn’t want a relationship, and it was stupid to consider anything else despite how gentle he had been acting moments before Stan showed up.

The dress that Ashley had shoved you into was the same dark green of Ben’s supe suit, but made of a shimmery fabric that caught in the light. It was surprisingly close to the same style of the red one you wore to infiltrate the fundraiser weeks ago.

It hugged your body, clinging to the natural dips and curves, accentuating them and leaving nothing to the imagination.  It was completely backless, held together by thin criss-crossing dark green fabric straps across the back that were so fragile you thought that any moment they would break. The front of the dress was plain and strapless, arching over the top of your breasts and cinched at the waist so tight you’re not sure how you’re breathing.

And it wasn't you, none of it was. The dress, the expensive jewelry, the party- it made you feel like you were five years old again and playing dress up with Annie in your grandmother's attic.

In the past whenever Annie did your makeup for you, at least she made you look like you, but after one look in the mirror, you didn't see you.

You wondered if this was what Ben wanted women to look like, so far from how they naturally looked, almost as if they were a shadow of themselves and plastered to be a perfect version of what an "ideal woman" should be.

But there was one piece of this outfit that seemed like you. There was a gardenia corsage on your right wrist, something that Ben had given you when you met up privately before your big entrance on the red carpet.

It had made you smile, something old fashioned he'd thought of and yet he knew you would like it because he knew that you loved gardenias. You were flattered that he'd remembered. He'd looked a little uncomfortable when he gave it to you, the same way that he always looked a little uncomfortable when things got a bit too personal, but he'd grunted out a "you like it?" and you couldn't help but smile up at him and nod, because you did.

And it seemed to tear you apart inside, because you wished you knew why Ben was doing all of this for you, why it was so imperative for you to see what this kind of life was like.

"Soldier Boy, is it true that you were overseas for 40 years?" A reporter screams from the sidelines into a microphone.

"Soldier Boy, who is she? Is she your new girlfriend? What's your name honey?" Another screams at you, but you don't answer.

"Are you a supe?"

"Show us your powers honey!"

It felt like you were on display and your words were caught in the back of your throat. Ben was next to you smiling and waving his hand, the epitome of cool, but you knew that you didn't look it. Your smile felt tight, and you were sure that the make-up plastered on your face was moments away from melting off your face.

His hair was slicked back in a very un-Ben way, his tailored suit was a dark green, so dark that it almost looked black except in the flashes of the camera, and he was wearing a black tie that shimmered whenever he turned.

You didn't think that Ben looked like Ben either, and something tightened around your throat when you looked at him, because all you could think was that this was the Ben he was becoming again to re-emerge into the public, the Ben you'd seen clips of in music videos, pictures, and old movies that donned the Soldier Boy uniform.

A little piece of your heart broke to see him like that, so different than the Ben who had gone to IKEA with you, the Ben who had checked on you when you had a nightmare, and the Ben who had slept in the hospital to make sure that you were okay.

And now that he was coming back to all of this, you thought that it meant you were losing him, and it hurt more than you'd realized.

The spotlights were blazing hot, your stilettoed black sandals were stuck in the red carpet, and you could feel the prickle of anxiety in the center of your chest crackling to life and spreading through the rest of your body. The urge to run was settling on your limbs, your body tenses, preparing to bolt-

Ben's arm comes around your waist and he pulls you against his chest, still smiling at the reporters, his hand now resting on the small of your back, and your hand goes to the front of his suit to steady yourself. He brushes his lips against your ear.

"It's okay Petals, I'm right here." He whispers, but you catch it.

His touch calms you, grounds you to the moment, and for a second the smile you have is genuine when the cameras continue to flash, your heart rate slowing with the warmth of his hand against your back.

"Thank you! That's enough photos." Ben flashes a winning smile and leads you past the paparazzi and into where the party is. He rolls his eyes with a sigh. "Fucking vultures."

You don't answer, instead you look around at all the other elegantly dressed people at the party, supes and non supes, and waiters who weave through the crowds with trays of food. You hadn't eaten anything all day, the only thing you'd had was a few sips of that latte, but you weren’t hungry

You felt so out of your element, so completely out of place, and the way you were dressed made you feel like a fraud. Annie had told you that she sometimes felt that way, but it passed. You knew that it wouldn’t for you.

She was here with Hughie. You'd seen her for a second and she'd looked at you in surprise. You hadn't been able to tell her that you were coming to this thing, because Ashley had confiscated your phone, stating that you didn't have enough of an "online presence" to post anything of worth.

You were living for the moment that Annie found you and you could collapse into her and hug her. Being here was just solidifying the fact that you weren't what Ben wanted, that Ben wanted this life, women, drugs, fame, and all you had was a crappy one-bedroom apartment in a shitty neighborhood.

And all you were was a hopeless romantic searching for something in someone that would never exist.

"Are you okay?" Ben asks you, and you snap back into reality. He's raising an eyebrow at you, looking almost concerned.

You hate that he was doing that, acting like he cared, when all it did was give you the false hope that he would turn into someone different, someone who wanted to have a relationship.

"Yeah, it was just a lot."

Ben clocks your frown and the scrunch between your eyebrows that he knows is you tell for when you lie. You hope that he doesn't point it out. 

"Ben look, I know that you think that all of this is-" You wave a hand. "But it's not me. I'm not this girl I'm not-" Your voice catches for just a second. "The party, this dress, the jewelry I-"

"You don't like the necklace?" Ben frowns.

"I mean it's pretty, but all I can think about is how much it cost. And how expensive the insurance policy must be for it." Ben's lip quirks up in a smile. "I think you're the first person to ever think that when I got them jewelry."

"Exactly Ben. I don't know why you want me here. Stan said you should have brought a date-date, you know like them." You point at the twins hanging on Deep's arm who laugh and jump with whatever he says, both wearing identical dresses that look like they were rigged with fishnet and seaweed.

"I don't give a fuck what Stan Edgar thinks, and I wanted you to come to this with me. Just give it a chance, we've only been here a few minutes." Ben replies, but for a moment you think you see something that looks a little bit like disappointment in his eyes.

You bite your cheek and search his gaze, hoping to catch another glimpse of it, but you don't. "Okay." You relent, nodding your head.  

Ben stands there for another minute surveying the room, watching the couples begin to dance on the dance floor, and others wobbling their way to the bar. He looks a little lost in thought, so you don't interrupt him.

"Wait here. I'll be right back." He squeezes your forearm before he vanishes into the crowd without another word.

"But-" You begin to say, but he'd already gone. You audibly sigh and begin to sway back and forth to the song, something that you're not sure the name of, but the words are melancholic, a man singing about a woman who thinks falling in love with him is madness.

Someone taps you on the shoulder and you expect it to be Annie, but when you turn you see Jake. He's smiling at you, his shaggy blondish brown hair falling forward into his tortoiseshell glasses, and he's wearing a charcoal-colored suit. There's a bandage on the left side of his face hiding a cut you can't see, but you knew what it was from. You'd never seen him in a suit and maybe the old you would have noted how good he looks, but you can't, not when seeing him is a shocking reminder of everything that happened with your brother.

"Jake? What are you doing here?" You sputter.

"My dad is one of Vought's lawyers." He shrugs. "Invited me to this. I think he thought it would cheer me up after well… you know."

"Fuck, Jake I am so sorry for what happened. I really didn't mean to drag you into all of that or-" Before you can finish your sentence, he pulls you into a tight hug.

"You don't have to apologize." Jake says not stopping the hug. "What happened wasn't your fault. Annie told me what happened."

"But I destroyed your shop. And your face! I-"

He pulls back with a wide smile, the same one that he'd had all the years that you'd worked for him. "It's okay. Honestly it could have been a lot worse, but Ben pulled from the wreckage. Guy saved my life. I owe him big."

"He what?" You ask confused. You remember that Ben said he'd seen someone else helping Jake from the rubble.

Why would he lie about that?

"He saved my life." Jake smiles wider. "Not to mention he called today, said that he's going to bankroll me for a whole new shop. For a guy who acts like he hates me, he's sure putting in a lot of money."

"He's going to pay for a new shop?"

"Yep. Good thing too. Thought I was going to have to be a lawyer again."

"You weren't too good at that." You snort.

"Don't remind me." He groans. "So you're a supe. And Ben is Soldier Boy?"

"Yeah, it's a long story."

"I guess I should have known you were a supe. No one can make plants grown that fast." Jake jokes, his glasses catching the lights. "And Ben's intimidating so, that tracks.”

"Guess so."

It was weird to talk to him again. You'd been avoiding it for the better part of a week, but the two of you were falling into the same patterns you had in the past, and it was nice.

But for the first time since you'd started working for Jake, you don't see the appeal of dating him. It was odd. All the qualities in a man that you were looking for was right in front of you and you felt… nothing. Sure Jake was cute in a puppy sort of way but-

"Ben hey." Jake smiles at where Ben appears over your shoulder, back from whatever mysterious location he had been in moments ago.

"Jake." He grunts his name and you can only imagine Ben's frown.

Jake looks back at you. "It was good to see you. We should meet up to talk about where I should put the shop and what I should name it. Ben had this great idea about adding fresh produce and fruit, and maybe doing a farmer's market on the weekend. I know how much you like that sort of thing." Jake looks up at Ben and extends his hand. "Thanks again Ben, you saved my ass, and I think this new shop is going to be great."

Ben takes it. "Don't mention it. Really." His voice lowers like it's a threat. "Don't fucking mention it to anyone."

"Sure." Jake winks at you before he walks away through the crowd in the direction of the bar.

There's an awkward moment of silence as you turn to look at Ben.

"Didn't take you long to find that pussy did it?" Ben's jaw is clenched tight and you notice that he looks a little angry.

"He found me." You find yourself feeling guilty, and maybe you were because you were technically here with Ben, but it wasn't a date. He was just showing you what all of this was like.

"Sure. Bet you were just waiting for me to fucking leave so you could get your hands on the perfect man." Ben shakes his head and begins to turn away.

"Careful there Gramps, someone might think you're jealous." You tease, scooting around him to stand in his way.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I am not fucking jealous of him and-“

Before Ben can finish his sentence, you pull him in for a hug. You know that he was angry for some unknown reason, but you didn't want to be angry with him, not when he saved Jake's life, and not when Ben told Jake to add fresh produce, fruit, and a farmer's market because he'd remembered that it was your dream.

"Thank you Ben." You whisper into his chest, his body tenses in surprise just the way it was the last time you hugged him.

"You're welcome." He's not hugging you back, he's more resting his hands on your waist, and slowly very slowly you feel his right arm begin to raise enough to hold you for just a few precious seconds more against him. It made your heart beat stutter, because it was the closest thing that Ben had ever done to hug you back.

When you pull away your cheeks are flushed bright red, and the gardenia on your wrist now has a second bloom that Ben notices. He touches the delicate petals with a wide understanding smirk, his eyes catching yours.

"Guess you're having a good time now." Ben breathes.

"I might be." You whisper back. "Why didn't you tell me that you saved him?"

"Who?"

"Jake."

Ben frowns at the mention of Jake's name, his fingertips still tracing the petals where they barely kiss your skin. "It didn't matter."

"You saved his life. It does."

"I didn't want you to think that I did it because I gave a shit about him."

"What?"

Ben's frown deepens. "I'm not a good person Petals, I don't give a shit about him."

"Then why did you save him?"

He doesn't answer.

"Ben." You say softly, touching the front of his suit and he widens his eyes at your boldness. "Talk to me."

"I saved him because I didn't want you to find out that you killed him. I knew that you were going through a lot and I know you think that he's so fucking perfect and he's the man you love or whatever." Ben says it bitterly and it was the first time you think that you'd ever heard him sound that way.

"I don't love him."

"You will." Ben grits his teeth. "Because he's everything you want."

"Is that why you're giving him money for the plant shop? Because you think that I-"

"No, I did that because I know how much you love that fucking place and how much you hate all of this and being here with me and-"

"I don’t hate being here with you Ben." You admit before you can stop yourself. "I mean all of this isn't my favorite, but… you're my friend."

It hurt you a bit to say friend, but you didn’t want Ben to think that you hated him, not after he had saved Jake because he knew that it would have crushed you if you'd killed him, and not when he told Jake to add produce, fruits, and a weekend farmer's market just for you.

Ben stands there for a minute, the cameras flashing in the corner of your eye, and the longer you stand there, you're suddenly aware that "Gonna Sing You My Love Song" By ABBA was playing in the background, an odd choice for a party like this.

You look up at him in confusion, and Ben is smiling sheepishly, before you realize that was why Ben walked away before Jake showed up, to tell them to play it for you. Ben's hand lands against the small of your back and he begins to lead you towards the dance floor.

"What where are we going?"

"We're going to dance."

"Oh no. Ben I don't know how to dance and-"

"Just follow my lead Petals." He pulls you against him, putting your left hand on his right shoulder while his right hand finds the small of your back and his left hand catches your right.

You know that you must look ridiculous as you try to wobble along following Ben's lead.

"It's okay Petals, it's just us." Ben whispers with a smile, pulling you just a little tighter against him as the two of you begin to sway to the music.

And the longer you sway to the music, the more comfortable you feel being there with Ben. The warmth of his hand warming your body, his green eyes only focused on you, and the soft smile on his lips so unlike the Ben you saw smiling for the cameras a few minutes ago.

"Ben?"

"Hmm?"

"Why is it so important to you that I experience all of this?"

"Because everything you know about supes is from Billy Fucking Butcher. It's not always the way he says."

"But that doesn't really answer my question. Why is it important to you?"

Ben doesn't answer for a few seconds, measuring what he says. "Because I want you to like it."

"Why?"

“Because-“

And this time, instead of finishing his sentence, Ben leans forward and kisses you. His lips move with a softness that you never knew that he possessed, the hand he had on the small of your back holding you tighter against him, as your body molds into his.

This kiss is different than the one that the two of you shared outside of your apartment the first night he stayed with you, it’s filled with something unspoken that makes the weight in your chest lighten, that makes you feel as if you're floating above the dance-floor, but then something clamps down tight on your ankle and drags you back down to earth.

The song continues to play, the soft notes and words bringing back the memory of your parents dancing in a darkened kitchen lit only by candlelight, with your father looking at your mother as if she was his whole world. Their love and your grandparent's love had infused your childhood with something magical, a romance that seemed to transcend time and space, you knew how much you wanted it.

And standing here with Ben kissing you only reminded you that he didn't want that, that he didn't want a relationship, that all he wanted was to sweep you off your feet and make you his for only one night when you wanted a lifetime.

You suddenly heard Stan Edgar's words ringing in your ears when he called you the "new one." Just another in a sea of women who threw themselves at Ben for this exact reason, for his suave attitude, extravagant gifts, and lavish parties where he brought them to cling to his arm.

You remember what Annie said about how Ben spent his entire week in the apartment upstairs, how he spent a whole week fucking his way through whatever came his way instead of calling you or texting you back, and how he didn't seem to care that you wanted to reach him.

And it snaps you out of it.

You pull back from Ben's kiss and out of his arms, your head swimming with emotion. The urge to cry comes up in the back of your throat like vomit, but you shove it down.

Ben looks surprised and you figure that he is, because it hadn't worked, you hadn't fallen for it the way the others had.

He says your name for the first time in a long time, but you shake your head and take another step back from him.

"I can't do this Ben." You turn and flee through the crowds, feeling everyone's eyes on you as you stumble on shaky legs towards the elevator.

You can hear Ben saying your name again and then hear Annie, but you ignore them. You can't be here, you can't go back to the prying eyes of the reporters, and you can't look at Ben, not when he was pretending to give you everything you wanted and you could feel your heart breaking.

The doors of the elevator close just as before Ben reaches them, and your eyes lock with his through the thin opening. He looks the way he did the day you left him standing in the street the day you killed Darren. The same look flashes in his eyes, shock, worry, and maybe just a little bit of fear, but you can't look at him anymore.

The numbers on top of the elevator passes in a blur, the tears finally bubbling up and spilling over your cheeks, the make-up that was so meticulously applied smudging, but you don't care.

You want to get out of this dress, get Rex, and go home. Your real home, where Bean is waiting for you, curled up on the couch, where your plants are, where you could crawl into bed under the covers and forget that this entire night ever happened.

But then you remember how cold it felt when you left this morning to get coffee with Annie, when you were aware of how empty it was when Ben wasn't there.

No. Please just let me get through this.

You practically shoot from a cannon when the elevator opens onto Ben's floor.

Rex greets you at the door with a toothy grin, now the size of a Labrador, jumping from where he was curled on the plush leather couch to come say hello.

You scratch him under the chin, your tears still falling and you knew that they wouldn't stop anytime soon. Everything was crashing down on you again, everything you were realizing that you felt about Ben.

You stumble through the large apartment towards the bedroom hoping to find your clothes where Ashley had wadded them into a plastic garbage bag as if she couldn't look at denim overalls without vomiting. 

And as you reach the bedroom door, you hear the door of the apartment open and Ben shout your name.

For a second you think about locking the bedroom door, but you figure that he'll only break it down. Ben’s track record with locked doors wasn't the best and you didn’t want this one to suffer.

You snag the plastic bag from the corner of the room just as he opens the bedroom door.

"Petals, what the fuck is going on? Why did you-" Ben begins to say, shutting the door on Rex who was sitting just outside.

"I can't do this Ben." You interrupt him.

"Do what?"

"Any of this!" You wave your hand around the room for emphasis. "I'm not this girl. And I'm not some bimbo that you can wine and dine and fuck and then throw away."

"What in the actual fuck are you talking about?"

“I can’t do this." You repeat with a sob, tears curling down your cheeks. You couldn't quite look at him, not without feeling like your heart was burning up. "So, whatever fucked up science experiment this is I want out. I can’t be here.”

“I thought we were having a good time? That you were enjoying yourself?” Ben says. "We were dancing and then I-"

“Why? Because you were pretending to be the man that I’ve always wanted, the one that keep telling me you aren’t? By making me fall in love with a version of you that doesn’t exist? So after you get what you want you just leave me?” You spit.

It hurt you to say the words to him, but it was how you felt. You felt like Ben was yanking you around on an emotional chain, trying to manipulate you by doing kind things, by acting like he cared, just so that you'd finally give in to him after saying no to him since the moment the two of you met.

It made you feel stupid to think that there was a part of you that believed he could be the man you fell in love with.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you down there changing tactics to manipulate me!”

“What?” Ben shouts looking utterly confused.

“Manipulate my emotions by playing that song, saving Jake, telling him to open a fucking farmer's market, and holding me like you actually care with the reporters and kissing me the way I want!"

“I wasn’t trying to fucking manipulate you-“

“Don’t try to lie. I know when you’re lying.” You point a finger at him, ripping the gardenia corsage from your wrist and tossing it across the room at him.

It hits him square in the chest and falls to the floor.

“I never fucking lie to you.”

"Oh please." You could feel the anger, frustration, and the feelings you had for Ben that you pushed down coming to a head. "You do. And I refuse to be 'the new one.'"

Ben's eyes widen in realization. "Are you talking about what that piece of shit Stan said when he saw you earlier today?"

"What else?! Annie told me exactly how you spent your glorious and masterful return to Vought. How you had Stan Edgar bus in women for you all week long!" You reach around to remove the necklace and the ears, fearful that you’ll break them in your anger.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"IT HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING!" You scream so loud you were sure that the words were vibrating against the windows. "It's how I know you're manipulating me! Because if you really did care about me, and care what I like, and want to be the man who I saw downstairs or the man that came to check on me when I was having a nightmare or the man who sat in the hospital for days you wouldn't have been doing that all week. You would have been in Illinois with me!"

"I told you why I wasn't fucking there!" Ben shouts back just as loud.

"Oh sure. Mr. "I didn't think you'd want me there" What a great fucking excuse, just let me swoon!" You snarl back. The tears were falling faster now and showed no signs of stopping.

Ben's teeth grit together and he looks close to exploding, but you see him gain control. "Just shut up for one fucking second and let me explain."

But you're already past all of this. You were so tired emotionally and physically, so out of touch with everything that by now you could feel yourself slipping into insanity.

"No Ben, because you know what?" By now you're so frustrated that you're almost laughing. "Congratulations! Your big plan paid off!"

"What?"

"You've done it! You've won. You finally wore me down Ben. You finally did everything that I wanted, so come on let's do it! Let's fuck! Because who cares about all the fucking romantic pussy shit right?" Your hands scramble against the dress, the delicate material tearing off in your hands easily and leaving you in the lacy black bra and underwear that Ashley had forced you into.  You advance on Ben, throwing away the ruined dress. "This is what you wanted right? Me naked and completely yours? So let's go! No emotions no nothing. Who needs any of that as long as you get laid? You'll get your five to ten minutes, and then you'll throw me away. Just like you throw away all those other women!"

Ben looks at you stunned as if he thinks you've lost your mind and maybe you have. Because you were so sick of this, of all of this, for trying so hard to refuse him, for trying to hold out for someone who you didn’t think you’d ever meet.

"But it's fine. Throw me away! People have manipulated me and thrown me away my whole life, but whatever you want Ben. Because it’s all about you! Oh wait do you want me to call you Soldier Boy? Would that make all of this better for you?"

Ben still hasn't moved and by now you're standing just a few inches away from you, the expression on his face unreadable.

You grip the front of his suit. "Come on. Take off your clothes!"

He says your name in a low tone, but you don’t listen to him.

"Oh what? Were you expecting something different? You want to pretend that you're going to make love to me? You think that’ll help?”

He says your name again.

"Oh you don't want me now? Is that it? Because I'm finally giving you everything you want?" You rip the suit jacket off of him, and reach to grab his shirt, tearing it and sending buttons flying everywhere.

"Petals." Ben growls, his jaw tight.

“No! Come on. You pretended to be everything I want, you deserve a good fuck. Come on!” You tug at what's left of his shirt, losing the fight to the emotions that continue to crash over you, sobs shaking your shoulders. You beat your fists against his chest, and you know that he probably doesn't feel it, but it feels so damn good to hit him to release whatever the hell all of this was.

Ben's hands come up to grip your wrists the best he can to stop you, but by now you can't form words. Uncontrollable sobs are shaking your body, tears blurring your vision, your breath coming in savage gasps that do little to bring oxygen into your lungs. The makeup is smeared over your cheeks and you know that you look like a drowned raccoon by now, but you don’t care.

He whispers your name in a soft tone, in a way that you've never heard him say before, and it only makes you cry harder.

You collapse into his chest, shaking uncontrollably. You couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything except cling to the tatters of his dress shirt and sob into his chest.

Ben picks you up, scooping under your knees as if you weight absolutely nothing and places you on his bed, but instead of staying there with you he walks away and it breaks something inside, because all you can think is that you'd finally done it, you'd finally proven to him that you wouldn’t be one of the women who gave in and he really no longer would pretend to care about you.

You grab for one of the pillows, smearing your make-up onto the fabric and clutching it to your chest like a lifeline. You could hear Rex outside the door scratching because he wanted to check in on you, but you can't get up.

The bed dips and when you look up Ben is sitting there with a wash-cloth in his hand.

"What?" You sniffle.

"Close your eyes." He says.

You do as he says, sitting up so he can see you better. The washcloth drags over your cheeks, wiping away the makeup that was smudged and caked over your red cheeks.

“I never really liked makeup. When I was younger all the women used to look natural didn’t wear all this shit on their faces.” He rumbles. "I kind of like that you don't wear it as much."

The pressure of the cloth is surprisingly gentle against your cheeks far gentler than you would have thought possible. He adjusts his left hand to cup your cheeks, and as another tear falls you feel his thumb brush it away. The methodical stroking of the washcloth against your skin is calming your racing heart and Ben is quiet for another few minutes, focusing on his task.

Finally, he withdraws his washcloth and sets it down on the bedside table, next to the pothos. You feel his weight shift away from you.

“Put this on. Because you in my bed in your fucking underwear is really testing my restraint.”

You open your eyes and see that he's holding his dark t-shirt, the one from earlier that he wore when he came to pick you up. You raise your eyes to look at him, trying to gauge what he's feeling, but he's keeping his cards close to his chest.

You slip the shirt over your head and as soon as you do, Ben tucks it under you.

Ben was being more gentle than usual. Gentler than you'd ever seen him be. It was making you dizzy. Because again, he was acting like a completely different person. The person that you wanted him to be, the person that he could be to make you fall in love with him.

He swallows.

“I didn’t bring you to Vought because I thought I could manipulate you into sleeping with me.” Ben pauses to readjust. “I mean the thought crossed my mind, that maybe you would be more open to sleeping with me. I'm not perfect Petals, I'm just a fucking man."

You're clutching the pillow to your chest still, trying to understand what he was saying. His thigh is brushing against yours from where he sits on the edge of the bed.

“And you’re right I do want you. I’ve always wanted you, since the moment I saw you.”

“I know that-“

“Let me fucking finish.” He snaps

You sigh and rub your cheeks with the back of your hand.  The expression on his face is almost pained, frustration shines behind his eyes as if he hates what he's about to admit.

“I’m such a fucking pussy.” Ben shakes his head, saying it more to himself than to you.

What?

“I wanted to have you. And you kept saying no. Which normally I wouldn’t care, I would just move on, but you fucking did something to me. Whenever I was fucking someone else all I thought about was you. You yelling at me, or going off about some stupid shit that I did, when I know that I did it the right way." He huffs. "And it-shit- It made me guilty."

"Guilty?"

"Yes!" He snaps.

"Why?"

"I don't fucking know! It just did!"

Your eyes widen in shock. It was the last thing that you were expecting Ben to say.

"I've never, never cared about anyone other than me. ME. I'm Soldier Boy. I'm not supposed to have any kind of weakness especially not for someone like you." Ben spits the word 'you' like a curse.

"Like me?" You whisper with a sniffle. By now the tears are about to start falling again. You didn’t know what he thought this was, but it just seemed like he was insulting you. "Ben I don't understand what you're saying."

“Yes like you! You’re-“ He gestures to you as if he can’t really find the words. “You’re fucking annoying , you crochet those ridiculous sweaters, you like plants, you get people presents for their birthdays, you sing in the shower, you care about other people-“

“So I act like a person?” You wipe away the tears with the back of your hand.

“No! You-“ He roars in frustration and rises from the bed, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

You can see the glow in the center of his chest burning hot as if he's about to explode, but he gets it under control.

“When Diana called me and told me that you wanted me there I-“ Ben's jaw tightens. “I wanted to come, but I hate how much I care about you because I fucking shouldn’t!”

“You hate how much you care about me?”

"I knew that I was in too deep, so when Stan called I jumped at the chance to get out of Butcher's shitty little outfit! I came here and I had him bus in all those women so I could fuck it out of my system, fuck you out of my system but I can't!" His eyes flash around the room with anger and frustration. "Because when I moved out I realized it meant I wouldn’t see you. It meant that I wouldn’t hear you bitch about me doing something wrong, I wouldn’t see your cheeks get fucking red right before you tell me off, I wouldn't smell that damn grapefruit shampoo that follows you around.” By now he almost looks angry, shouting more at himself than at you. "I wouldn't see you sitting on that stupid fucking couch in those sweatpants that drive me crazy while you crochet like a fucking old person. And I wouldn't see the way all the plants in your apartment turn towards you when you walk in or how they all fucking bloom when you smile."

Wait a minute, is he saying that he misses me when I'm gone? That he missed seeing me as much as I missed seeing him when he didn't come to Illinois?

"And I fucking saved that pussy's life because I knew it would destroy you if you found out he died. And I wanted to fund his new plant shop with a damn farmer's market because you said that was your dream and yeah maybe I wanted you to like all of this-" Ben waves his arms around the room. "But I want you to be happy Petals! I fucking hate it when you cry and I hate what happened with your brother and everything that happened with that piece of shit Elijah. I wanted you to have a choice to leave it all, because the shit that Butcher puts you through every damn week isn't for you! I've known that since the day we fucking met."

You felt your chest tighten with his confession, because you suddenly realize that Ben was trying to give you a way out, he was trying to pull you away from Butcher's line of work because he knew it wasn't for you.

It was the conversation the two of you had the first night he stayed with you, when he said that you didn't quite "fit." It was true. You didn't love working for Butcher and you only stuck around to be with Annie, but the fact that Ben cared enough to try and give you an out, something that not even Butcher had done, made you feel like crying all over again. By now he was pacing the room, talking more to himself than to you, almost as if he didn't really want to tell you what he was feeling.

And despite never telling Ben, he figured out that you felt more like you at the plant shop.

"I don't know what you fucking did to me. I've never felt any of this shit before! Even with that bitch Countess this was different! It wasn't like this! I can't sleep without hearing you breathing, I can't eat without knowing that you ate- because you always fucking forget to eat some shit, and I can't survive without seeing you. So are you happy? You've turned me into a pussy. Because yeah I'd still like to fuck your brains out, but now I don't want to do that with anyone else I just want to do it with you." He shouts it pointing a finger at you as if he's accusing you of being a witch. 

He is in love with me. Soldier Boy is in love with me. BEN IS IN LOVE WITH ME.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks to the chest, that even though Ben tried to distance himself from you, he had fallen, he had done the one thing that he swore than he never was going to.

"Ben-" You start to say in a whisper, but he keeps going.

"So no at the party I wasn't trying to manipulate you. I held you close in the photos because I knew you were scared. That’s why I made the cunts stop taking pictures. I kissed you like that because you were looking up at me with that look in your eyes that makes me fucking burn. I had them play that damn song because I wanted you to be happy to be there with me, especially after that fucking pussy Jake came over and touched you. Do you have any idea what it does to me when he touches you? Or when he makes you fucking smile about some shit? Or when he looks at you? Or the way you look at him?" His chest is glowing again. The tatters of his shirt are still hanging off his body from where you ripped it open.

"Ben-"

"And yeah, maybe I'm not some wimp who likes fucking plants. And maybe you're right, maybe I'm not the guy you bring home to meet your parents, but all I fucking want is for you to look at me the way you look at him!" He snarls and your mouth drops open in shock. "Do you have any idea how fucking ridiculous that is? I don't get jealous! I have fucked so many women and never given a shit if they had someone else, but I'm not even fucking you and the thought of you with him makes me want to-"

"Ben!" You shout over his monologue.

"What?" Ben snaps face contorted with rage.

You swallow. "I love you too."

And you know it's the truth, you know that it's exactly what you've been ignoring and what you've been fighting tooth and nail to avoid admitting to yourself because you were afraid that you were going to get hurt. You were afraid to have those kinds of feelings for Ben, because you thought he would only break your heart and push you away.

You can hear your grandmother's words ringing in your ears:

"There's something else that you refuse to admit to yourself because you're scared. You should though, because when you embrace it, what comes after is really beautiful."

You had been so afraid to fall for the wrong man, but looking at Ben now and listening to everything he said to you, everything he admitted didn't make you think that he was the wrong man anymore. It made you realize that he was the right man, but only for you.

Ben is still staring at you, face contorted with his rage and frustration, eyes burning with the jealousy that he's never allowed himself to admit aloud.

But you refuse to take it back. It was true, maybe the truest thing that you have ever admitted in your entire life, and you didn't regret it.

You knew you loved him even when he made a disgusting joke or teased you or drove you to the point of insanity. You knew that it was why Ben was able to push all your buttons just the right way in a way no one ever had. You knew that was why your apartment was so empty and why you kept thinking that something was missing when he wasn’t there.

Because you loved Ben, and nothing else in your life seemed to matter.

His entire body is pulled tense, the glow in his chest dimming until it's completely gone. And for just a moment you think that Ben is going to start yelling at you again and accusing you of bewitching him, but he doesn't.

Ben crosses the room in two powerful strides and practically tackles you back onto the bed. His mouth fits against yours, urgent, demanding, but also filled with things unsaid. The feelings that both of you had for so long colliding, like a supernova, making your body ignite. You melt into him, feeling the comforting weight of his body settle on top of yours like a heated blanket as you sink into the blankets beneath you.

You hate that you denied yourself this indulgence for so long, not when it feels like Ben was made for you. Not when every single twist of his tongue sends you further into overdrive and makes something at the back of your mind scream “MORE!” at the top of its lungs.

Ben’s body fits perfectly over yours, his hands holding on to your cheeks so tight as if he’s afraid you’re going to pull away from him again as if he thinks you’ll run like you did.

A part of you knows that you’ll always feel guilty for that, for running from Ben when he kissed you on the dance floor. But you won’t feel guilty for this.

The world falls silent and you’re left with Ben.

The man who seemed to be wrong for you in every way, the one who told you that he didn’t believe in romance, and the man who you can’t live without.

“Ben-“ You moan into his mouth your arms wrapped under his arms to hold him close to you, afraid that he’s going to cut and run. “Ben wait-“

“What?” He smiles down at you the same way he did the morning you woke up next to him. And it’s the same way you wanted to make him smile for the rest of your life. Not the cocky smirk,but the soft smile that you felt Ben only reserved for you.

But before you can answer, Ben dips his mouth down and kisses you again. It’s not with the same burning intensity as before, but this time it’s with the gentle movement of his lips against yours, the soft nudge of his nose while his scruff rubs against your cheeks in a way that makes you sigh into his mouth.

“What is it Petals?” He whispers pulling back.

You gently shuffle your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, loving the way the strands fall between your fingertips and scrunching it out of the slicked back style it was earlier. He looks more like himself now. “Can we go back to the apartment?”

“You want to leave?” Ben frowns. “You don’t want to stay with me?” The way his voice shifts just a little, breaks your heart and you pull his face back down so you can kiss him again.

How can he think that I don't want to stay with him if I just admitted that I loved him? Is that how it was with Countess? That she promised him those little things and then left him?

“Of course I want to stay with you Ben. I just like the apartment more."

“Then why?”

“Because it’s cold here. There’s no warmth and nothing familiar. It’s like a museum. And I miss Bean.”

“But-“

“I know that you’re used to this and that you like all of this, but I don’t. I’m not this girl. I’m not the parties and the jewelry and the millions of screaming fans and the ridiculous dresses. I like my little crappy apartment and my five hundred jobs and just staying in to watch movies and eat pizza or read a book and I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” His hand cups your cheek.

“Because this is what you like. The fans, the parties, the apartment on the top floor of Vought tower-“

“I don’t care about any of it if you’re not with me.” Ben winces as if it physically hurt him to say that. “Fuck. Forget I said that-“

Your lips meet his, gently pulling him further on top of you. “No.” You whisper, pressing another kiss to the tip of his nose. “Because it’s not weak for you to admit that you like having me around. Would you hate it if I said that I hate not being around you?”

“No.” He mutters, but he doesn’t look any less disgusted with himself and you’re not convinced.

"We're going to have to work on that Gramps." You smile kissing him once more. Ben's hands travel from your face down to your hips griping your body even tighter against where he lies in the cradle of your thighs and bringing your legs up to wrap around his waist. "Ben?"

"Hmm?"

"I also don't want to have sex with you in this bed."

"Why not?" He smirks. "It's pretty comfortable."

"Because I don't know when the last time you cleaned the sheets was and I don’t want to think about all the women that have been in here this week."

Ben frowns. "Probably good that you don’t." But then he smirks again, pushing the cotton t-shirt you’re wearing up over your thighs, brushing his fingertips against the soft skin gets closer to everywhere you want him to be, his eyes glinting mischievously. "But you're finally admitting you want to have sex with me?"

"I guess so."

“Good.” He smirks. “Because I think I’ve been patient long enough. And I can’t wait to show you just what you’ve been missing out on.”

“You are so full of-“

Ben cuts you off again, his tongue slipping between your lips while his fingers search even higher to a place that makes you gasp and moan into his mouth.

“You were saying?” You can feel his smirk against your lips and fuck if it’s not the sexiest thing you’ve ever felt.

“I was saying, let’s get out of here.”

The car drive from Vought Tower to your apartment was ten minutes, and you were very much appreciating the tinted windows and private backseat from the driver. Ben hadn't been able to take his hands off you since the two of you left and you also were enjoying learning how much Ben liked it when you touched him.

You didn't know how you were ever going to stop. Everywhere inside and out of you felt like it was on fire. It had never been this way with any of the men that you'd dated in the past.

Even your first boyfriend, Newton, never made you feel as beautiful and sexy as Ben did, but it felt pointless to compare them. Not when Ben touching you made you feel like you were radioactive and burning from the inside out.

By the time you get to your apartment door, your lips are already swollen and red, and there’s a collection of marks on your neck that Ben was more than happy to place.

“Ben-“ You moan softly trying to fit your key into the lock of your front door.

He was pressed against you, his hands roaming up and down while he sucked another mark into the shadow of your jaw, his beard burning against your delicate skin in a way that made you want to lose yourself in him.

“I’m a little busy at the moment Petals.”

“We’re in public.” You giggle as you try to fit your key in the door again, but Ben pushes you up against it, his large hand reaches low to squeeze your butt and possessively roams his other one over your chest in a way that makes you flush bright red at the thought of anyone seeing the two of you.

Rex was sitting patiently at your feet for the door to open, while looking up and down the hallway for a potential meal.

“So?” Ben rumbles against your throat, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. “I want everyone to know you’re my girl.”

“Everyone or Jake? Because I don’t see him and-“

Ben moves so fast you think you imagine it. Your arms are suddenly wrapped around the back of his neck, and he has your legs tangled around his waist, bracing your back against the door.

“Don’t say his name in front of me.” Ben all but growls, eyes so dark that it sends a shudder down your spine. “Not now.”

“Please don’t be jealous of him.” You whisper, nudging your nose against his, before you kiss him once more. “I stopped noticing him the day you moved in.”

“Oh really?”

You nod.

“Good thing too.” He murmurs with a smirk. “Because I’m about to make you forget him and everything else.”

A shudder goes through your body that Ben notices and the smirk that curves over his lips makes it difficult to breathe.

“Your heart is racing.”  The hand that he has placed under your leg to support you against the door brushes against the soft fabric of the sweatpants he let you borrow moving back to hold on to your ass. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re excited.” He kisses you again, long and drawn out in a way that makes you feel like you’re going to melt into a puddle. “That I excite you.”

He’s going to be the death of me.

“You excite me too.” Ben says kissing the slope of your neck to suck a new mark there, before you can stop him.

“You’re very sure of yourself.” You say out of breath.

“Mhmm.” He moans, but he puts you down to let you open the door.

Your hand finds his as you cross the threshold of the apartment, giving it a gentle squeeze to reassure him.

Bean is lounging on the couch, a lazy smirk on his lips as if he knew exactly what the two of you were about to do, and Rex scuttles over to sit on the other side of the couch, jostling Bean who gives an angry hiss, that Rex ignores.

The air in the apartment is different now that Ben is with you. It’s not cold or dark anymore or empty, it’s warm and light and filled with something that you’re not sure what it is yet, but you can’t wait to find out. And it makes you happy, happier than you’ve ever felt in your entire life.

“So… yours or mine?” Ben murmurs with a smile, his eyes shifting to the couch in your living room before flicking above your head to the darkened hallway where your bedroom is.

“Hmm.” You bite the inside of your cheek as if contemplating something. “Well I was thinking-“ You begin to walk backwards, tugging him in the direction of the bedroom. “What about ours?”

You didn’t think you’d ever seen Ben smile so wide, his eyes softening in the gentle light coming from the lamps in your living room.

“You asking me to move back in?”

“No. I’m asking you to come home.” You whisper because you knew that it was home, that no matter how many times Ben had said it in passing, the word home had changed into something wonderful. 

“I like the sound of that Petals.”

You continue to pull him down the hallway, but before you get to the bedroom, Ben stops.

“Petals?”

“Yeah?” You look up at him suddenly worried.

“I’m not going to lie to you I’m not really that gentle, but I know that’s you want that. That you want someone who’ll make love to you, but I-“ He grimaces when he says the words ‘make love.’ “I don’t know if I can.”

“It’s okay.” You whisper, cupping his bearded cheek. “As long as I have you it doesn’t matter.”

“You do. And I’m going to try.” Ben murmurs. “I want to show you how much you mean to me.”

“I know.” You kiss him again and wonder if he’s ever said that to anyone else. “I trust you Ben.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Let me decide that.”

And it was true. You knew that Ben wasn’t gentle, but he was with you. And you trusted him. And sure, maybe it wouldn’t look the same way that you’d always imagined when you read those romance books, but it was your love story, your romance, and you didn’t care how it looked as long as Ben was there with you.

A/N: Well the two idiots finally figured it out in the most dramatic way possible lol. I will say that writing that confession scene might be my favorite thing that I've ever written, goodness it was so fun and I've had it written for AGES 😂😭. I'm not quite done with them yet, I see maybe another chapter or two, but we are quickly nearing the end of this story. Again thank you so much everyone for all the love and support, I really couldn't do it without all the wonderful feedback and love that everyone has shown me. ❤️🥰

If you'd like to ask me about my WIPs for WIP game my asks are open! And my WIPs are listed on this post!

As Always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes, and comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

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[missmaymay13]

home is with you - j.hughes

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

j.hughes x fem!oc | 13k

summary: jack was a patient person, and he was willing to wait as long as everlyn briar needed to realize that he was there for her.

masterlist

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Quinn Hughes knew a lot about hockey.

Ask him about any game in the last decade—NHL or juniors—and he could give you a detailed play-by-play, rattle off stats like they were embedded in his DNA, and even tell you the name of the ref who made that terrible call in the second period. Hockey ran through his blood. It was his language, his rhythm, his safe place.

Academics, though? That was a different story.

It wasn't that he wasn't smart. He was just... uninterested. Unmotivated. The kind of kid who could get through most classes on charm and bare-minimum effort, skating by (pun intended) with a shrug and a smile. But junior year hit different. The coursework was harder, his travel schedule was crazier, and even Ellen—his endlessly patient, fiercely supportive mom—was starting to worry.

So she did what any mom would do: she found him help. Enter Everlyn Briar.

She was a sophomore, which at first felt weird to Quinn. A younger student tutoring him? But it took less than five minutes into their first session for him to realize Everlyn wasn't just smart—she was brilliant. The kind of person who didn't just know the answers, but understood them. Who explained things like it was no big deal, casually dropping SAT vocab like it was regular slang. She was taking AP classes in everything and somehow managing to be the captain of the school's volleyball team.

And not just on the volleyball team—she ran it. Confident, poised, competitive as hell.

Quinn didn't know people like her existed in real life.

He also didn't expect to like her.

At first, he resented the whole tutoring setup. It made him feel dumb, and if there was one thing Quinn Hughes hated, it was feeling dumb. But Everlyn had this way of making you feel like you were capable. Like you could be just as smart as her if you tried. She had an addicting personality—effortlessly cool, quick-witted, with a sense of humor that caught him off guard more than once.

And then there was her smile.

God, that smile. Bright and full of mischief, like she was constantly in on a secret she might let you in on if you were lucky enough. It was the kind of smile you couldn't forget, even if you tried.

Their tutoring sessions slowly evolved into something else. Something casual, something natural. They'd meet in the library or the back corner of the local coffee shop, but more often than not, their study sessions would end with them laughing over inside jokes, sharing stories about their teammates, or mock-roasting each other over their wildly different Spotify playlists.

Within a few months, they were inseparable.

It wasn't long before their social circles started to blur. Everlyn met Quinn's friends from the team, and he got introduced to her volleyball crew. Weekend hangouts became group events—bonfires, house parties, late-night diner runs. It was all fun and games until people started dating each other and everything got predictably messy.

Typical high school chaos.

There were breakups that forced the group to awkwardly take sides, dramatic friend group rifts, and one infamous party where someone tried to stage an "intervention" for a relationship that wasn't even official. Through it all, though, Quinn and Everlyn stayed solid. He'd show up to her games, she'd come to his. They were always seen together—heads tilted close in conversation, sharing drinks, stealing fries off each other's plates without asking.

Years would pass before either of them realized just how much those years mattered—how foundational they were. Before either of them would understand that what they built back then, in classrooms and crowded kitchens and half-lit basements, was going to follow them far beyond high school.

Because this isn't just Quinn's story.

It's Jack's too.

And for Jack Hughes, Everlyn Briar wasn't just some girl his brother used to hang out with.

She was the girl.

The one he was never supposed to fall for.

⸻ It started small.

At first, Everlyn would stay a few minutes after her tutoring sessions—just long enough to chat with Quinn before he got dragged off to practice or dinner. Then she'd linger a little longer, helping him pack up his notes, maybe sneaking in a few teasing jabs about his handwriting or his inability to remember historical dates. Eventually, Quinn started inviting her over for actual study sessions at his house.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Everlyn Briar became a regular fixture at the Hughes household.

It was Ellen's idea, really. She was over the moon about Quinn's sudden improvement in school—how he seemed lighter, less tense. His grades had gone up, but more importantly, so had his confidence. And she noticed it wasn't just the academics. Her son was happier. There was a spark in him again.

So of course, Ellen wanted to meet the girl responsible for that.

That first invitation came wrapped in the form of a casual offer: "Why don't you just stay for supper, sweetheart?" And Everlyn, who had only meant to drop off a study guide, hesitated just long enough for Ellen to smile and wave her into the kitchen like she'd already been part of the family for years.

It was so simple. So easy. So warm.

Everlyn didn't realize how much she needed that warmth until she felt it.

The Hughes house was nestled at the top of a long driveway, the kind of home that looked like it had history—scuffed baseboards, picture frames lining the hall, cleats piled by the door. It smelled like home-cooked meals and dryer sheets, and the moment she stepped inside, she could feel something shift in her chest.

There was life here. Real life.

Trophies filled the shelves—some polished and gleaming, others dusty with age. Framed photos covered the walls, capturing every phase of childhood: first goals, missing teeth, family vacations. Hockey sticks leaned against corners. A dog barked from the backyard. Laughter echoed from upstairs.

It was messy in the way that made your chest ache with comfort.

She could've cried.

Because back at her own house, it wasn't like this. Not anymore. The silence there was deafening, broken only by the sound of raised voices behind closed doors or the slam of a front door that never quite shut all the way. Her parents were in the middle of what could only be described as a war disguised as a divorce—ugly, drawn-out, venomous. And lately, Everlyn had become the easiest target.

It wasn't physical. Not exactly. But the emotional toll? That was harder to explain.

The tension followed her like smoke. Her mom was sharp with her words, her dad cold with his distance. The house was split in invisible lines—rooms she couldn't go into without a fight, conversations that ended in tears, meals that were eaten in silence. And she, caught in the middle, found herself suffocating more and more with each passing day.

So she escaped. Any chance she got.

Practice. Study halls. Library sessions that lasted until closing. Couch cushions at friends' houses. Empty locker rooms. Anywhere but home.

Which made the Hughes' house feel like a gift from the universe. An oasis.

The first person to greet her that day—besides Quinn—was a thirteen-year-old Luke Hughes, peeking cautiously from behind his older brother's shoulder. He had that awkward middle-school lankiness, all limbs and big eyes, his dark hair a little messy like he'd been running around all day. Shy but clearly curious, he gave her a wary glance, unsure of what to make of the girl standing at his front door with a backpack and a too-kind smile.

"Hey," Everlyn said softly, crouching down just a little to his height. "You must be the famous Luke. I've heard you've got a killer slapshot."

Luke blinked, then gave the tiniest, bashful nod—cheeks already a bit pink. And just like that, she'd won him over.

From then on, he was her shadow anytime she visited. Offering her cookies, showing off his hockey cards, even once letting her watch him play NHL on the Xbox. Luke Hughes was a soft, sweet soul—and he, like the rest of the family, made space for Everlyn without asking for anything in return.

Next came Ellen and Jim.

They met her with hugs, no hesitation, like she was already part of something. Ellen's warmth was maternal and immediate—offering her water, asking if she was hungry, complimenting her necklace. Jim's was quieter but genuine, his handshake firm, his smile kind. And both of them went on and on about how grateful they were to her for helping Quinn—not just with school, but with his peace of mind.

"You've brought such a light to him," Ellen had said, eyes crinkling. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

Everlyn had smiled and said thank you, but the words clung to her like armor. A light. She didn't feel like a light lately. Not with everything going on at home. But maybe, just maybe, here... she could be.

She was still soaking it all in—memorizing the faces in the photos on the walls, the way the floor creaked in certain spots, the steady hum of a home that felt alive—when the front door opened again.

And in walked Jack Hughes.

He was fifteen then. Already taller than most of the guys at school, with dark, boyish hair that curled a little at the ends and those unmistakable Hughes eyes—sharp, expressive, like they could see straight through you if he wanted to. His backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder, cheeks a bit flushed from biking home, and there was a faint scowl on his face until he rounded the corner and saw her.

Everlyn.

His brother's friend.

The one he wasn't expecting to look like that.

Jack froze for half a second, and it was only noticeable if you were really paying attention. His mouth opened just slightly, like he was about to say something and forgot the words. His eyes did a quick sweep—face, hair, eyes, outfit. And then he recovered, tossing on that signature smirk he wore like a badge.

"Hey," he said coolly. "You must be Everlyn."

She looked up from the couch, smile blooming. "And you must be Jack. I've heard a lot about you."

"Only the good stuff, I hope."

"That depends on your definition of 'good.'"

Quinn snorted from the kitchen, and Jack rolled his eyes. But his gaze didn't leave her. Something about her pulled at him—a softness behind her confidence, something that made his usual smoothness falter just a little.

And when she smiled at him—really smiled, all teeth and light—Jack Hughes, the confident, cocky middle brother, felt his heartbeat do something stupid.

Like skip.

He'd seen her before, sure. In the hallways at school. At volleyball games he'd gone to half-heartedly with Quinn, back when she was just a name he'd heard in passing. But seeing her now, in his home, on his couch, laughing with his brothers?

She wasn't just a name anymore.

And he didn't know it yet—but this girl, this friend of his brother's with the soft voice and the sharp mind, was about to change everything.

⸻

It was subtle at first.

A lingering glance here. A too-long laugh there. The way Jack's eyes would flick toward her in a crowded room, like his brain was hardwired to track her presence no matter what else was happening.

Jack Hughes had a crush.

A real one. The kind that made your chest tighten and your thoughts trip over themselves. But this wasn't just any girl. This was Everlyn Briar. The girl who tutored his older brother. The girl who had somehow woven herself into the fabric of the Hughes home like she'd always belonged there. The girl who showed up with a smile and stayed with a purpose.

And Jack—who usually had no trouble flirting, who could talk circles around most girls his age—suddenly found himself stammering or going completely silent anytime she looked at him for too long.

He hated it.

Well, no. He didn't hate her. God, no. He hated the situation.

Because she was Quinn's friend. His tutor. His person. And there were unspoken rules about that kind of thing—lines that brothers just didn't cross. So Jack kept it cool. He played the role of younger brother, occasional background comic relief, the charming but harmless kid who just so happened to stare a little too long when she wasn't looking.

But all of that restraint unraveled a little the night Quinn decided to throw a party.

Their parents were out of town for the weekend—a rare escape for Ellen and Jim to have a weekend to themselves—and Quinn, being a senior with a newly found sense of confidence and freedom, took full advantage.

The guest list was mostly hockey friends and volleyball players, a mix of athletes and classmates that made the house feel loud and alive by 9 p.m. Jack got the nod to invite some of his own people too, a gesture from Quinn that meant more than it seemed.

Jack wasn't exactly part of the "cool" senior crowd yet, but he could hold his own. And when he found out Everlyn would be there—of course she'd be there—he felt this strange mix of nerves and excitement hum beneath his skin all day.

He played it off well. Showed up in a backwards hat and his best hoodie, dapped up his friends, cracked jokes in the kitchen while snagging handfuls of chips. But all of it—every last bit—was background noise.

Because the second Everlyn walked through the door, it was like gravity shifted.

She was wearing a soft, oversized crewneck and jeans with a rip in the knee, nothing overly flashy or dramatic. Her hair was half up, half down, effortlessly undone, and she wore that familiar look of ease and lightheartedness that made her glow in every room.

Jack could barely breathe.

She looked beautiful. Not in the "done-up for a party" way, but in the "this is just who I am" way. She laughed with her whole body, tossing her head back when one of her friends made a joke, squealing when she missed her last cup in beer pong by a half inch. Every reaction was real—genuine, unfiltered, and full of life.

And Jack?

Jack was down bad.

He nursed a red solo cup and watched her from across the room, his gaze drifting back to her like a reflex. He tried to distract himself—mingled, played a game of flip cup, even tried talking to a girl from his grade who'd clearly been waiting for him to notice her. But none of it landed.

His attention was elsewhere. Always.

And then, at some point in the night—around 1:30 a.m., when the music had dipped into mellow territory and some people had already started crashing on couches—he realized he hadn't seen Everlyn in a while.

Like, a while.

It wasn't like her to just disappear without a word, especially not from a party like this. And something about that silence scratched at the back of his brain.

So Jack set his cup down and started looking.

He did a quick sweep of the main floor—kitchen, basement, backyard. Nothing. He passed by groups of people talking, laughing, someone snoring softly under a blanket on the recliner, but no sign of her. His steps grew quieter as he crept upstairs, the noise from below fading into a dull hum.

And that's when he found her.

The door to Luke's room was cracked slightly, soft light filtering out into the hallway. Jack pushed it open just enough to peek inside—and his heart stilled.

Everlyn was curled up on the far side of Luke's twin bed, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other resting gently across Luke's chest. The youngest Hughes was sound asleep, face relaxed in that vulnerable way only kids have when they're completely safe. A "Fast and the Furious" movie played quietly on the TV, Vin Diesel's voice barely audible over the low rumble of cars on screen.

Jack stood frozen in the doorway.

There she was. Not at the center of the party, not surrounded by friends or attention or lights—but here. With Luke. Tucked into a quiet room, keeping him company, protecting him in the smallest, softest way.

His throat tightened.

Behind him, he heard quiet footsteps and turned to find Quinn standing there, eyes a little glassy from a few drinks but still focused.

"She's been checking on him all night," Quinn said, voice low. "Kept sneaking upstairs just to make sure he was okay. I think he was a little overwhelmed with all the noise, and she didn't want him to feel left out. Ended up tucking him in about half an hour ago, I guess."

Jack didn't say anything at first. He just watched her for a moment longer, taking in the way her brow was slightly furrowed in sleep, how her fingers were still gently curled around the blanket like she didn't even realize she'd nodded off.

"She's got a big heart," Quinn added, clapping Jack softly on the back before heading downstairs again. "We're lucky to have her around."

Yeah, Jack thought, his pulse thudding. He really was.

Because in that moment, standing in the hallway with the light from Luke's room casting a soft glow over Everlyn's sleeping face, Jack Hughes fell just a little deeper into something he couldn't name.

It wasn't just the way she looked tonight. It was the way she was. The way she made herself small to protect others. The way she made herself present when no one else remembered to be.

The way she already cared for his family like it was her own.

And for Jack Hughes, there was nothing more important than family.

So yeah. His crush? It wasn't going anywhere.

Not now.

Not ever.

⸻

If Everlyn Briar had to make a list of the best days of her life, two moments would sit at the very top: Quinn's high school graduation, and the day he got drafted to the NHL.

Both days were drenched in joy, but for different reasons. Graduation felt like the end of a chapter, the beautiful culmination of everything they'd built together—study sessions, long nights, practice runs, pep talks in the hallway, inside jokes exchanged during fire drills. Draft day, though? That felt like the beginning of something. The launch of a dream.

And she was there for all of it.

She still remembered Quinn's graduation day like it was etched in sun. The weather was perfect—clear skies, a breeze just strong enough to ruffle the sea of navy blue gowns lined up in rows on the football field. Ellen was crying before the ceremony even started. Jim pretended not to be emotional, but she caught him wiping at his eyes with his sleeve more than once. Luke was the only one trying to play it cool, muttering about how boring the speeches were while secretly filming every second on his phone.

Everlyn sat with the Hughes family, sandwiched between Ellen and Luke, and beamed like it was her son crossing the stage. Her hands were sore from clapping, her cheeks aching from smiling, but she didn't care. Seeing Quinn walk across that stage, cap tilted slightly, grinning ear to ear as his name was called? That was her best friend. And she couldn't have been more proud.

That night, they went to prom together.

It wasn't romantic—not exactly. It was one of those things they'd decided months in advance, a casual promise made in between chemistry notes and late-night FaceTimes. But when the day came, and Everlyn stepped out of her car in a pastel yellow silk dress that caught the light like liquid sunshine, Jack had nearly dropped the bowl of cereal he was holding.

She was glowing. Absolutely glowing.

Quinn, to his credit, played it cool. He met her at the top of the driveway in a navy suit that matched her dress perfectly, his tie just slightly crooked, which she fixed with a teasing smile and a soft touch. Ellen took so many photos, shouting at them to get "just one more!" while Jim muttered something about missing the days when prom meant sitting on the couch with cartoons and juice boxes.

At prom, Everlyn and Quinn were the couple everyone pointed to—even if they weren't a couple at all. They danced to every song, even the slow ones. They laughed until their sides hurt, took blurry selfies, and snuck out early to get milkshakes at the diner down the street. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Quinn managed to snag a make-out session with a senior volleyball player (thanks to a little not-so-subtle wingwoman energy from Everlyn), and he spent the rest of the night grinning like he'd just scored the game-winning goal.

But the real crown jewel came a few weeks later: draft day.

Everlyn still remembered how tightly Quinn had gripped her hand that morning. They'd flown out west with the whole Hughes crew—Ellen, Jim, Jack, and Luke—and even though the energy was pure chaos, it felt like magic. The kind of day you knew would change everything.

The venue buzzed with anticipation. Reporters hovered like hawks, camera flashes strobing across the crowd. Families in tailored suits and perfectly curled hair. Players fiddling with their ties, bouncing their knees, checking their phones every five seconds.

But Quinn? He was steady. Calm. Like he'd been waiting for this moment his whole life.

Because he had.

And when Vancouver called his name—Quinn Hughes, selected seventh overall by the Vancouver Canucks—the room erupted. Ellen gasped. Jim clapped hard enough to sting. Jack yelled something indistinct, probably profane, over the roar of applause.

Everlyn?

She stood up so fast she knocked over her chair.

She threw her arms around him, and the hug they shared was the kind of thing you felt in your soul. Tight. Breathless. The kind of hug that said, we did it. That all the long nights and frustrations and growing pains were worth it. She buried her face in his shoulder and whispered, "I'm so proud of you," more times than she could count.

He hugged her back just as fiercely. "Couldn't have done it without you, Eve."

He meant it.

The hours that followed were a blur of interviews, handshakes, smiles, and congratulations. Quinn was passed around from one media outlet to the next, pulled into rooms with cameras and sponsors and flashbulbs. And in the swirl of it all, Everlyn found herself drifting toward the one person who felt just as out of place as she did.

Luke.

He was quieter than usual, maybe overwhelmed by the spotlight or just missing the familiarity of home. Either way, he stuck close to Everlyn's side, and she didn't mind one bit.

They wandered the venue together, sipping soda from plastic cups, taking photos with cardboard cutouts, watching the draft board update in real time. At one point, she let him lean his head on her shoulder, his hair slightly messy from his button-down shirt collar.

"You okay, bud?" she asked gently.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Just... a lot."

She nodded. "I get it."

They didn't need to say much after that. Sometimes, comfort was just existing beside someone who didn't need you to explain how you were feeling. And Luke, in many ways, felt like the little brother she never had.

He'd called her "Evie" for the first time that day. Just once, slipping it in casually when she handed him a packet of Skittles from her purse.

It stuck.

And she didn't realize it then—but Jack had noticed.

He'd been across the room, getting a bottle of water, and he'd looked up just in time to see her crouched next to Luke, laughing at something he said. Her hand resting on his shoulder, eyes soft, her entire posture folded into care.

Jack hadn't said a word. Just watched.

And felt that same tight pull in his chest that had started months ago. The one that always showed up when she was near.

Because Everlyn wasn't just a part of their lives anymore.

She was their life.

And Jack Hughes was starting to wonder if he'd ever be able to untangle his heart from hers.

⸻

When Quinn left for Michigan, everything shifted.

It wasn't abrupt. More like the slow fade of background music when a scene ends. His absence was a quiet hum in the Hughes house, a space that felt too big without his voice filling it. His name was still spoken daily—on calls, in casual conversation, mentioned when Luke would repeat something funny his oldest brother used to say—but the energy had changed.

And with Quinn gone, so too was Everlyn's usual reason to be around.

She didn't disappear, not completely. Luke wouldn't let her. He texted her almost every day, sent her TikToks and memes, even guilt-tripped her with sad selfies captioned "you abandoned me" until she agreed to come by. Saturday mornings and Sunday afternoons became their thing—quick visits that turned into full-day hangouts, movies on the couch, post-practice runs to the smoothie shop.

But it wasn't the same. Not like it used to be.

Until Jack had an idea.

Jack Hughes had always been the sharpest of the three brothers. His brain worked fast, calculated odds like a chess master on a sugar high. And when he realized Everlyn's visits were becoming fewer and farther between, he knew he had to do something.

So, naturally, he tanked a math exam.

Not completely—just enough to raise a few parental eyebrows. He followed it up with a lazy English quiz and a conveniently "forgotten" science worksheet. By the end of the week, Ellen was concerned, Luke was suspicious, and Jack was already plotting his next move.

"I think I need help," he told his mom with carefully rehearsed sincerity. "Like... tutoring help."

Ellen blinked. "You? You've had straight A's since third grade."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling. "Maybe I peaked early."

Ellen didn't question it further. Within an hour, she was on the phone with Everlyn, practically begging her to step in.

And when she agreed? Jack almost jumped out of his seat in joy. Almost.

The first tutoring session was a masterclass in subtlety.

He showed up with his notebook wide open, pencil twirling between his fingers, and an expression that screamed I'm totally lost. Everlyn raised a brow the moment she saw his notes—color-coded, flawlessly organized, every assignment completed with precision.

"Okay, Einstein," she said, smirking as she slid into the chair across from him. "What exactly do you need help with?"

Jack scratched the back of his neck, doing his best impression of a sheepish student. "Literally everything."

But Everlyn wasn't just smart—she was Everlyn. She saw through him within the first ten minutes.

Especially when he started "accidentally" getting easy questions wrong, or pretending to mix up formulas he clearly had memorized. At one point, she gave him a pop quiz on vocabulary and he aced it in under a minute. His face turned the lightest shade of pink when she smiled at him afterward, tilting her head like she was onto something.

She never called him out.

Not once.

She just played along. Grinned when he fumbled a fake answer. Rolled her eyes when he exaggerated his confusion. And when the session ended, she leaned in with that same mischievous spark in her eyes and said, "By the way... we've got a home game Friday. You should come."

Jack blinked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, grabbing her bag. "I'll save you a seat."

He went.

And he didn't stop going after that.

Watching her play was... something else. She was electric on the court. All 5'6 of her moving with fire and finesse, jumping higher than anyone expected, hitting balls with a precision that made the crowd gasp. Jack sat in the stands with Luke, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, trying to look nonchalant while fighting the urge to stand every time she scored.

She was fierce. Fearless. Unstoppable.

It did things to him.

After her games, she'd find him outside the gym, sweaty and glowing and absolutely radiant. Sometimes she'd toss him a teasing smile, asking, "Did I impress?" like she didn't already know the answer. And he'd say something dumb like, "You were okay," just to make her roll her eyes.

He loved when she rolled her eyes at him.

In return, she started showing up to his games. Sometimes she'd sit beside Luke, sometimes she'd bring one of her friends. Once, she even wore his NTDP jersey over her sweatshirt—completely nonchalant, like it meant nothing.

It meant everything. Seeing her in the stands with his name and number on her back sent shivers down his spine. 

Jack played like he had something to prove when she was in the crowd. Moved faster. Sharper. Pushed harder. His coaches noticed, his teammates noticed. He noticed.

And God, she was really starting to know his world too. She could match Trevor's chaotic energy beat for beat, holding her own against his wildest banter. Cole Caufield called her "the team MVP" after she roasted three of them during a team dinner. They adored her. Everyone adored her.

Jack wasn't even jealous. Just in awe.

He watched her laugh with his friends, toss popcorn at Luke, joke with his mom, and still somehow make time for him—quiet moments in the car, shared glances across the room, inside jokes exchanged through nothing but a look.

They were becoming close. Real friends.

And maybe that should've been enough.

But it wasn't.

Because somewhere between the tutoring sessions and the post-game fries, Jack's feelings had spiraled into something he couldn't hide anymore. Not from himself. Not from the way his stomach flipped when she touched his arm. Not from the way his pulse picked up when she said his name a little too softly.

He was falling for her. Fast.

And it scared the hell out of him.

Because she was leaving soon. Graduation was around the corner. College applications were already in, and she'd been talking about campuses in other states. Other coasts. Her life was about to expand in ways his couldn't touch yet.

And Jack?

He was just starting to feel like she saw him as more than Quinn's little brother.

So now, every laugh they shared felt a little too short. Every hug a little too brief. Every goodbye a little too heavy.

He knew the clock was ticking.

But God, if he could just freeze time for a little while longer... just a few more "tutoring"sessions, a few more late-night texts, a few more games where she wore his name on her back...

Maybe he could find the courage to tell her how he felt.

Before it was too late.

⸻

She was gone now.

Off chasing sunshine in California, trading small-town hallways for sprawling palm trees and crowded lecture halls. UCLA looked good on Everlyn—of course it did. Top volleyball program. Dream business school. A campus that buzzed with potential. It was everything she had worked for, everything she deserved.

But for Jack Hughes?

It felt like something had been hollowed out of him the moment she left.

He didn't say goodbye like he should have. Not really. He gave her one last hug, half-sincere, half-guarded, a little too quick. He told her to have fun. She promised to keep in touch. She didn't look back when she got in the car.

And then she was gone.

Jack tried to pretend it didn't affect him. He threw himself into hockey, training harder than ever in preparation for his draft year. He focused on speed, strength, footwork—anything to keep his mind off the ache that curled around his ribs every time he caught a glimpse of her old volleyball hoodie in the laundry room.

But autopilot only lasted so long.

Luke was quieter too. Less sunshine, more shadow. He didn't say it out loud, but Jack could feel it—Everlyn's absence hung in the Hughes house like a missing puzzle piece. Meals were quieter. Weekend movie nights didn't feel the same. Even Ellen had made a comment once, half-joking, "I miss our fourth child."

Jack missed her in ways he didn't have words for. Missed the way she used to steal fries off his plate. The way her laugh bounced down the stairs before she did. The way she made everything—everyone—feel lighter.

And then came Thanksgiving.

Quinn was coming home from Michigan. That was expected. The house had been buzzing with preparations all week—Ellen bustling through the kitchen, Jim dusting off the leaf for the dining room table, Luke threatening to eat the pie before it was even baked. Jack was looking forward to it, sure. But even the idea of a full Hughes reunion couldn't quite lift the haze that had settled in his chest since September.

Until the door opened.

And everything stopped.

It was Quinn standing there, his suitcase by his side, a trimmed beard on his jaw that made him look more like a man than a teenager. He grinned wide, stepping into the warmth of the house, pulling Luke into a one-armed hug.

But Jack barely registered his brother's return.

Because behind Quinn, suitcase in hand, stood Everlyn.

Her hair was longer now, sun-kissed and wavy in a way that only California could do. She wore an oversized hoodie with her school's logo on the sleeve and that same soft expression she always had when she was trying not to cry from happiness.

Time froze.

And then it crashed into motion.

Quinn stepped aside just in time for Everlyn to drop her bag and launch herself into Jack's arms.

"You're here," he whispered into her shoulder, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

"Of course I'm here," she murmured back. "Where else would I be?"

She smelled like vanilla and travel and something achingly familiar. Jack didn't let himself hold her for more than a second too long—but God, did he want to.

Then came Luke, barreling down the stairs like he'd been summoned by fate itself. "EVE!"

She barely had time to turn before he was lifting her off the ground, arms wrapped tight around her waist.

"Missed you so much," he blurted, voice muffled against her hoodie. "You're not allowed to leave again. I'm serious. I'll hide your passport. I'll chain your suitcase to the water heater."

She laughed, and something in the house shifted back into place.

Home.

That's what she was. What she had always been.

Jack stood back and watched her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. She still looked at him the same way—fond, soft, maybe a little amused. And he'd gotten better at hiding how her gaze lit a fire under his skin. Better at swallowing the lump that rose in his throat when she was near.

She knew, of course.

Of course she knew.

She was Everlyn Briar. Too observant. Too intuitive. She could solve calculus in her head and read body language like a second language. Jack's not-so-subtle stares. The way he hovered near her but never quite reached. The way he smiled too hard when she was around.

And Quinn? He knew too. Jack could feel it in the sideways glances, the way his older brother's smirk would twitch upward anytime Jack so much as offered to get Eve a drink.

But no one said anything.

Because Jack never said anything.

And maybe that's why nothing ever happened.

The weekend was a blur of traditions and warmth. They ran the annual turkey trot that morning—Jack and Luke sprinting ahead like maniacs, Everlyn laughing breathlessly as she tried to keep up. They came home to Ellen's legendary spread: turkey so tender it fell apart, stuffing soaked in butter, mashed potatoes Jack would defend with his life.

It was loud. It was chaotic. It was perfect.

And when the night wound down, it felt almost scripted.

Just like old times, Everlyn slipped upstairs after dessert, claiming she was "just checking on Luke." And just like always, no one questioned it. She found him curled up in bed with the newest Fast and Furious playing, already half-asleep.

She climbed in beside him without a second thought.

Jack found them later, lights dimmed, movie credits rolling. Luke snoring softly. Everlyn curled against him, one hand draped protectively over her like Luke was afraid she would disappear if he let go. 

It made his heart ache in ways he didn't know how to name.

Because for the first time in months, everyone was home.

Everyone.

And still, something about her felt impossibly far away.

⸻

Time had a strange way of looping in on itself.

One minute, she was cheering for Quinn on his draft day, wiping away tears in between interviews and snapshots, her dress wrinkled from hugging everyone in sight. And then—just like that—it was years later, and she was back in that familiar whirlwind. Only this time, it wasn't Quinn's name echoing through the arena.

It was Luke's.

She had promised herself she wouldn't cry. Really, she had. She made it halfway through the morning with dry eyes and a steady smile. But the second his name was called—Luke Hughes, drafted to the New Jersey Devils—it was over.

A mess. A disaster, honestly.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, breath catching in her throat, trying desperately not to smudge the mascara she'd put on with care. Josh Norris had leaned over halfway through the ceremony, gently tapping her shoulder with a tissue and whispering, "Don't worry, he's the last Hughes to be drafted so you won't have to do this all over again next year."

She laughed through her tears.

Because this moment—this—was sacred.

Luke was beaming next to his buzzing brothers up front, his hands shaking just slightly as he held up his new jersey. And her heart swelled with something fierce and maternal, the same way it had when he was thirteen and scared to come downstairs to a party, when she tucked him in during Fast & Furious marathons, when he looked at her like she hung the stars just for him.

He was grown now. Taller. Broader. More confident. He was mature. Luke Hughes was no longer the little boy she once met. 

He was a man now.

But he'd still held her hand before the draft started.

Still leaned into her shoulder when the nerves kicked in.

Still whispered, "I'm glad you're here," like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She had always been a safe space for him. And she always would be.

⸻

Jack had changed too.

Not overnight. Not all at once. But the slow kind of change that creeps in between seasons. Years had passed. His name had been called. His life had launched in ways most people only dreamed about.

And with every new city, every new headline, every new spotlight—he still thought about her.

They stayed in touch. Little messages. Summer meet-ups. Inside jokes exchanged over text. But distance made it easier to push those feelings away. He had flings, distractions, moments of temporary interest. He convinced himself it had passed.

That what he felt for her was just nostalgia.

Until she came back.

She graduated from UCLA in 2022—business degree, communications minor, a resumé that practically glittered. And then, in the kind of twist only the universe could write, she landed her first job in New Jersey. A start-up company. PR and account management. Fast-paced. Groundbreaking. Local.

Jack didn't find out until a week after she moved in.

He meant to message her first. He really did. But time slipped, and she was adjusting, and he didn't want to seem overeager.

Until she received a package at her new apartment. No note. No message. Just a red New Jersey Devils jersey—his jersey—and two tickets to their home opener.

He knew she'd understand.

And she did.

⸻

That night, she walked into the Prudential Center and it felt like the world had hit rewind. Only this time, the crowd was bigger. Louder. Older. And Jack? Jack wasn't a boy anymore.

He was Jack Hughes now.

Franchise face. Highlight reel superstar.

And the second she saw him skate out onto the ice, she felt her heart stop for a beat.

Because he wasn't the lanky, backwards-hat-wearing teenager who used to fake bad grades just to sit beside her. He was taller now. Broader. His movements were sharp, calculated. Every stride held purpose. The crowd roared and chanted his name when he touched the puck. He didn't just play hockey. He commanded it.

She couldn't take her eyes off him.

And he?

He felt her the second she stepped into the arena.

Didn't see her at first. But he felt her. Like gravity.

After the win, he found her in the tunnel. Same smile. Same soft eyes. But different now. Grown. Glowing.

"Hey, stranger," she said, tugging lightly at the jersey he'd sent.

He laughed, that same dopey grin breaking across his face. "Looks better on you."

They hugged—longer than they should have. He smelled like ice and sweat and home. And when they pulled back, something unspoken lingered in the air between them. A pause. A beat. Something that had never quite gone away.

They went out for drinks after, just the two of them. A quiet bar, warm lights, quiet music humming in the background. He looked different here too. Not just older—steadier. The way he carried himself, the way he ordered her drink without asking, the way he leaned back and watched her talk like he was cataloging every word.

He wasn't cocky. Just... sure of himself.

It was attractive. She wouldn't lie.

And Jack? Jack felt like he had been punched in the chest.

Because she was even more beautiful now. Effortlessly radiant. Still that same warmth, still that same grace. But there was something new too—something confident, something grown.

He kept staring at her. In the flicker of candlelight, with her hand curled around her glass and her lips curved in that same soft smile, Jack felt like he was sixteen all over again.

Breathless.

Totally wrecked.

Totally in love.

And it scared the hell out of him.

⸻

They made it a tradition—weekly coffee runs, dinner or drinks after games, late-night walks through the city. She fit into his world like she always had. Seamlessly.

She met the team. Jesper pulled her into a bear hug like they hadn't missed a day. Dawson was polite and immediately impressed. And Nico? Nico looked like he was about to make a move—until he caught Jack watching her.

Just one look.

That's all it took.

No one made a move after that. No one had to.

Because it was obvious.

She was Jack's girl.

Maybe not officially.

Maybe not yet.

But everyone knew.

Especially him.

⸻

It started the way it always did—with a ticket.

Every home game, like clockwork, Jack left two tickets for Everlyn at will call. No message. No pressure. Just a quiet gesture, a ritual of theirs that said you're welcome here. Always. And she'd used the first one nearly every time.

But the second?

She never had. Until now.

Jack's world tilted the second he saw her walk through the tunnel with someone else by her side.

He was tall. Blonde. Crisp linen shirt. One of those designer watches that practically screamed my dad plays golf with your CEO. The kind of guy you'd expect to see ordering a $19 martini and not blinking. His name was Jordan, and he shook Jack's hand with the kind of over-firm grip that tried too hard to say something.

Jack didn't flinch, but God, he wanted to.

Jordan asked questions like he was running an interview—"How's the ice this season? Do you ever get recognized on the street?"—and Jack answered through clenched teeth, polite but cold. He watched as Jordan rested a hand on Everlyn's back, too casual, too familiar. She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Still, Jack put on the happy face.

Because that's what he did. He wasn't going to ruin anything for her—not now, not ever. She looked happy. And if that was real... well, then Jack could deal with it. He'd spent years pushing those feelings to the back of his mind. What was a few more months?

But it was a few more months.

And Jordan didn't go anywhere.

He became a fixture. At games. At dinners. Tagging along to post-game drinks, always ordering for the table like he knew what everyone wanted. Everlyn still made time for Jack, but it was different now. Tighter. More filtered. Coffee dates became his favorite part of the week—not because they were exciting, but because they were just her. No Jordan. No compromise.

Just them.

Just how he liked it.

⸻

The lake house in Michigan was supposed to be a sanctuary.

It always had been. A safe haven carved into the summers. A place where the Hughes brothers could take a breath, train hard, play harder, and be surrounded by the people who made the noise feel quiet.

It was Quinn's idea to bring everyone together that summer—an annual tradition, their own off-season camp that just so happened to include boats, beers, and more competitive tubing than anyone should legally survive.

The house buzzed with energy. Quinn had his old teammates in town—Josh and Dalton Norris, all heart and chaos. Luke brought his crew from Michigan—Dylan Duke, Mark Estapa, Ethan Edwards, each of them slipping seamlessly into the rhythm of the house. Jack, of course, had Trevor and Turcs, whose personalities were basically caffeine personified.

And Everlyn?

She brought Jordan.

The mood shifted the second they arrived. Jordan barely greeted anyone before making a beeline for the deck, muttering something about needing to "take it easy" after the drive. The Hughes boys watched Eve with subtle worry, noting the way her shoulders tensed, the way she scanned the room like she was looking for permission to be herself again.

They tried to bring her in. Quinn cracked a beer and started loading up the boat. Jack blasted a playlist of her favorite cheesy country songs. Luke ran to get the rope for tubing.

"Come on," Quinn called out, tossing her a life jacket with a grin. "Let's get out there."

She smiled—small, tight—but before she could step forward, Jordan touched her wrist.

"You don't have to go, babe. I was hoping we could chill here, have a drink or two. You've been talking about relaxing all week."

The way he said it wasn't cruel. Just expectant.

And Everlyn, as always, folded.

"Yeah," she said, her voice barely above the waves. "That sounds nice."

She took the jacket off. Handed it back to Quinn. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

The brothers all exchanged a look.

Jordan hadn't just dimmed her light—he was stomping it out, slowly.

⸻

Quinn didn't wait long.

As soon as Jordan disappeared back to Jersey, he pulled Everlyn aside. They slipped down the dock together, away from the buzz of the house and the music, until it was just the lapping of the water and the heaviness of unspoken words.

He didn't sugarcoat it.

"You're not okay," he said.

She froze. "Quinn..."

"You don't laugh the same. You don't light up the way you used to. I watched you talk yourself out of joining the boat like you were doing him a favor for existing."

She blinked hard. "It's complicated."

"No, it's not. He's not your partner, Eve. He's your leash."

That broke her.

Her lip trembled. She turned away for a second like she could hide it, but Quinn stepped forward, pulled her into a hug, and the truth spilled out like water over a dam.

It was like this in Jersey. Jordan always had a reason why she shouldn't go out. Why she should stay in. He didn't trust the hockey scene. Didn't like her independence. The lake house made him uncomfortable. Her made him uncomfortable.

Quinn listened, jaw clenched.

"You don't deserve this," he said firmly. "You never did. You're allowed to be loved out loud, Everlyn. Not hidden. Not controlled."

She cried. God, she cried.

But when she went to bed that night, her decision was already made.

⸻

The next morning, she called Jordan.

She ended it. Direct. No stalling. No soft exit.

He didn't take it well.

He accused her—accused her of having feelings for one of the Hughes boys. "It's always been one of them, hasn't it? I should've known the second you made me come to this dumb lake house."

He hung up before she could say anything back.

And it hurt. It did. She was human, after all.

But she walked out onto the dock not five minutes later, barefoot, hoodie over her bikini, and looked out at the water where Jack and Trevor were laughing on the boat. The sun was shining. The breeze was warm. Luke waved at her from the deck, and Quinn handed her a beer with a proud smirk.

She was home.

And this time, there was no one telling her she couldn't enjoy it.

⸻

Jack couldn't stand it anymore.

Everlyn was smiling again, sure—but not the way she used to. Her laugh was a little quieter, her jokes a little softer, like she was afraid to take up too much space. She still had that spark, but it flickered instead of burned, like someone had dimmed her and walked away.

And Jack? Jack wanted to reignite her.

So he made it his mission to bring her back to life—one small act at a time.

He started with breakfast.

She always loved pancakes. He remembered that. Waffles were fine, but pancakes? Pancakes made her eyes light up. So every morning, when someone inevitably asked what to make for the house, Jack was the first to say it:

"Pancakes. Definitely."

He'd sneak her the last piece of bacon when no one was looking, tucking it onto her plate with a smirk. He'd always save her a seat next to him. And when the kitchen got too loud or crowded, he'd silently pass her the syrup like it was their secret language.

He got up early now, before the sun even stretched across the lake, because he knew she liked her morning runs. He'd tie his shoes and jog beside her, matching her pace, letting her pick the music. They didn't talk much—didn't need to. Just ran side by side, feet hitting the dirt road in quiet rhythm, breaths syncing up like clockwork.

He volunteered for errands now too. Grocery runs. Beer pick-ups. Ice refills.

"I'll go," he'd say casually. "Eve, wanna come?"

She always did.

They'd play music too loud in the car. Race to find the weirdest flavor of chips in the store. Argue over the right ratio of peanut butter to chocolate. He'd lean into her cart, throw in random things just to make her laugh. Her smile was starting to come back, slowly, piece by piece.

And Jack? Jack was falling all over again.

⸻

The fire crackled as the night crept in.

They'd spent all day out on the boat—tubing, flipping off docks, laughing until their stomachs hurt. By the time the sun dipped below the trees, everyone was sun-drenched, half-tipsy, and high on that unbeatable summer haze.

So naturally, they circled the fire pit.

Everyone gathered on the chairs or sprawled out on blankets, drinks in hand, cheeks still flushed from the sun. The playlist was low in the background, country twang giving way to soft indie beats. Someone tossed another log onto the fire, and the stories began.

First came the classics—Quinn's worst playoff beard attempts, Trevor's infamous grocery store prank, Jack's rookie year mishaps. Then came Luke's awkward high school phase, complete with dramatic reenactments of him failing to talk to girls at school dances.

Luke rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Yeah? Well you did the exact same thing when you first met Eve."

Everyone paused.

"You couldn't even sit next to her at dinner for months," Luke went on, completely unbothered. "Because you had such a massive crush on her."

Jack felt the color drain from his face, then immediately return with a vengeance.

The fire masked most of it, but the way his ears burned gave him away.

"OHHHH," Turc and Zegras chorused at the same time. "NO WAY."

Jack laughed a little too hard, trying to brush it off. "That's such a lie, Luke. C'mon."

But then Eve turned toward him, eyes soft, a smile creeping onto her lips. She looked at Quinn first—he gave a knowing nod—and then gently placed her hand on Jack's back.

"It's okay, Jack," she said sweetly. "I thought it was cute. But you were really bad at hiding it."

Dead. He was dead.

"You knew?" Jack asked, face frozen in panic.

"Of course I knew," she said with a small laugh. "I've always known."

And as if that wasn't enough to end him entirely, Ellen strolled out of the house with a tray of cookies and chimed in with perfect timing:

"Oh, Jack. Everyone knew."

The chorus of "OOOOHHHHH!" exploded around the fire.

Trevor nearly fell off his chair. Quinn tossed a marshmallow at Jack's head. Luke looked smug as hell. Jack buried his face in his hands, muttering something about never showing his face again.

It was harmless. All in good fun.

But the second the teasing died down and the yawns started, people began peeling off into bedrooms, one by one. The lake grew quieter, the fire dimming to embers.

And Jack stayed behind.

⸻

He sat there alone, elbows on knees, head tilted back to watch the stars. The air was still warm, but the night felt heavy in a way that pressed on his chest.

She knew. This whole time. He'd spent years hiding feelings he thought would ruin everything—only to find out that she'd seen them from the start.

And she hadn't run. She hadn't pushed him away.

She thought it was cute.

"God," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'm such an idiot."

Then came the soft sound of feet on grass.

A blanket settled across his shoulders. A familiar head rested gently against his own.

He looked down and saw her—Everlyn, curled into his side, wrapped in the same blanket, her cheek against his shoulder. Barefaced, makeup long gone, hoodie pulled over her knees.

"Don't worry about it, Jacky," she whispered. "I thought it was adorable. I thought you were adorable."

His heart flat-out stopped.

She thought he was cute too.

He blinked, eyes wide, trying to process what those words meant. What this meant. Her voice was low and sleepy, but there was no mistaking the sincerity in it.

She hadn't said it to tease him. She meant it.

Without thinking, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, letting her warmth melt into his side. She didn't flinch. Didn't move. Just sighed and settled in.

His hand rested at the small of her back, thumb brushing the fabric of her hoodie. His heart was racing.

She always took care of them—of everyone. Always made sure Luke had what he needed, that Quinn had someone to ground him, that Jack didn't feel invisible. She was the glue, the safety net, the one who never let herself fall until she knew they were all okay.

And the thought that she had spent so long dimming herself for someone who couldn't see her? Who wouldn't see her?

It made Jack's jaw clench.

He'd been there. Right there. And he hadn't stepped in. Hadn't spoken up. He'd let her walk through that alone because he was too scared of what it would mean for him.

Never again.

Not after this.

⸻

Things had found their rhythm again.

Back in Jersey, back in their bubble, back in that comfortable hum of familiarity that made every day feel like a deep breath. But this time, there was something more. Something better.

Because now Luke was here too.

Everlyn had 2 out of 3 Hughes boys back under one roof, and it was like someone had finally returned the missing pieces of her soul. She hadn't realized how lonely she'd been until her days were filled again—trips to the rink, late-night Mario Kart tournaments, homemade pasta nights where Jack burned the garlic bread and Luke put entirely too much cheese in the sauce.

It was chaos. It was home.

They shared a three-bedroom apartment in Hoboken with a view of the skyline and a couch that had seen more naps than conversations. When they signed the lease, Luke had casually mentioned the third room being for "hockey gear or guests," but they all knew the truth.

That room was hers.

She didn't officially live there. Not on paper. But she might as well have. Her stuff was in the drawers. Her favorite cereal was on the shelf. Her slippers were by the door. Half her wardrobe was draped across the back of the desk chair. She came and went freely, sometimes staying a night, sometimes staying a week, no one ever asking when she'd be back—because they already knew.

That room would always be waiting.

It was one of the few places in the world where she never had to ask if she belonged.

⸻

One night, she was actually home in her own apartment—a rare occurrence, considering how often she found herself curled up on the Hughes' couch with a blanket and a mug of something warm. She had just gotten out of the shower, wrapped in her comfiest robe, hair twisted up in a towel, when her phone rang.

Quinn.

It started with the usual—how was your day, did you eat, how's the new campaign going, tell Luke to call his mother. But somewhere between casual updates and light teasing, the conversation shifted. Deepened. As it always did with Quinn, eventually.

"I've been thinking about... Jordan," she admitted quietly, eyes focused on the ceiling.

Quinn didn't interrupt. Just waited.

"I just—I feel stupid," she said. "I let him control so much. I let him talk me out of things I loved. I let him make me feel small. And I knew better. I always knew better."

"Evie."

His voice was soft. Steady.

"You're not stupid. You're human. And you left. That's the hard part. You did it."

She swallowed. "It still makes me feel like I lost a year of myself."

"You didn't lose it," he said. "You reclaimed it. One day at a time."

There was a long silence.

Then, like it was nothing at all, Quinn added: "It was nice of Jack to make you smiling his top priority this summer."

Her heart paused.

She sat up a little straighter, eyebrows tugging together. "What?"

"Jack," Quinn repeated. "It was nice of him. To make sure you smiled again."

She opened her mouth, but no words came. Her thoughts were caught in a whirl—memories of pancakes, early morning runs, gas station trips, firelight laughter. The way Jack always showed up in exactly the way she needed.

Quinn continued, voice low and casual.

"He's a nice guy."

Everlyn narrowed her eyes. "I know that, Quinn. I grew up with him."

"No," Quinn said, and this time, his voice had a different weight to it. A quiet emphasis.

"I mean... he's nice."

She stilled.

It was such a simple word. But the way he said it—the subtle dip in tone, the almost affectionate cadence—shifted the meaning entirely.

It wasn't just about kindness. It was about care. The kind of nice that went deeper than polite gestures and well-mannered smiles. It was the kind that showed up when you needed it. The kind that held space without asking for anything in return.

Jack was nice.

He was thoughtful in a way most people weren't. Protective without being possessive. Gentle in a way that made you feel safe. He was the kind of man who made sure everyone else had what they needed before taking anything for himself. He remembered your favorite things and brought them home without saying a word. He loved quietly—but completely.

And suddenly, it hit her:

Jack had always been like that.

With her.

She hung up the call shortly after, claiming she was tired. But sleep never came easy that night.

She laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, Quinn's words echoing like ripples in her chest.

He's nice.

Jack, who always made sure her coffee was right.

Jack, who checked her tires when it snowed.

Jack, who gave her space when she needed it, and warmth when she didn't know she did.

Jack, who never stopped showing up.

She turned her head, looking at the empty side of her bed.

And she thought: Am I crazy?

Was she insane for even considering it? For letting her thoughts wander into dangerous territory? For entertaining the possibility that maybe—just maybe—the boy she'd grown up with, the one who had waited and waited without ever saying it out loud, could be the one she was supposed to see all along?

She rolled onto her side, clutching the pillow to her chest, eyes heavy with questions.

What if she ruined it?

What if she broke the family that saved her?

And worse... what if he didn't feel the same anymore?

What if she had waited too long?

⸻

The annual charity gala had always been part of the routine.

One of those must-attend events on the Devils' calendar. Glitz, glam, donors, handshakes, perfectly staged photo ops—and beneath all that, a chance to raise money for good causes. Jack had done a few now. Eve had come with him to the last one, and the arrangement had always been easy. Casual. Fun.

This year? Different.

She could feel it. In her chest. In her stomach. In the way she stood a little too long in front of the mirror trying to decide between earrings. It had started subtly—just a thought, a whisper of a feeling—but after that conversation with Quinn, it was like a switch had flipped.

She was aware now. Hyper-aware. Of how Jack looked at her. Of how he always waited for her to walk through the door first. Of how he always held her things, brought her snacks, fixed her laces when she wore shoes with ties. Things he'd always done... but things that now screamed louder.

He was nice. But not just that. Not anymore.

He was steady. Thoughtful. Quietly romantic in ways that weren't about flowers or fanfare—but about presence. Constant, unwavering presence.

And for the first time, she wondered what it meant that he never expected anything in return.

⸻

They were supposed to go as a trio—her, Jack, and Luke. But then Luke had the audacity to fall in love and get himself a girlfriend, leaving Everlyn to go solo with Jack. She'd teased him about it for a full week, but truthfully... it made her nervous.

This wasn't just another event. Not this time.

The lead-up felt different. More intimate. Jack had taken her shopping, trailing behind her in boutiques, giving honest feedback with that same crooked grin. He didn't complain once, even when she tried on twelve different dresses and only narrowed it down to two. He just watched. Waited. Carried her purse and snacks and made sure she didn't talk herself out of something she loved.

They picked her gown together.

A maroon silk number that hugged her curves and dipped just low enough to be elegant without being too much. It made her skin glow. It made his mouth go dry.

She said yes to it when he whispered, "That's the one," with a look in his eyes that stayed with her all night.

⸻

The day of the gala, Everlyn turned their shared space into her own personal glam studio. She spread her makeup across the bathroom counter, curled her hair in sections, and took deep, grounding breaths every few minutes to keep from spiraling into full-on nerves.

It didn't help that Jack was being Jack.

Bringing her little snacks every hour like clockwork.

A granola bar. A handful of grapes. A pack of those crackers she loved from the bodega.

He kept her water bottle full, placing it within reach like it was part of the process. "Drink," he'd remind her with a little tap on the shoulder. "No dehydration meltdowns today."

She couldn't help but smile at him. He was in sweats and a hoodie, hair tousled, lounging on the couch while she transformed herself into someone worthy of red carpets.

She didn't know it, but Jack was suffering.

He kept stealing glances through the half-open door, catching flashes of her bare shoulders, the soft shape of her face under golden bathroom light. She was already stunning, and she wasn't even done yet.

When she finally stepped out—hair swept into a soft updo, makeup glowing, maroon gown clinging in all the right places—Jack stopped breathing.

No exaggeration.

She walked into the living room and time froze.

Luke was the first to recover, standing up with a big smile. "Whoa. You look incredible, Eve."

She smiled, smoothing her dress down nervously. "Thanks, Lukey."

Jack?

He was just standing there, mouth slightly open, staring like he'd never seen a woman before.

Because he hadn't. Not like this.

This wasn't just Everlyn, his best friend, the girl who made pancakes and knew how he liked his coffee. This was Everlyn, the woman. Powerful. Elegant. Ethereal.

Maroon and gold and glowing from the inside out.

He stepped forward slowly, all black tux hugging him perfectly—hair freshly cut and styled, thanks to her insistence, and now gelled into something polished but still him.

"You..." he finally managed, voice rough. "You look unreal."

Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment they just stood there, looking at each other, the noise of the apartment fading into silence.

"I had help," she said softly, nodding toward him. "You picked the dress, remember?"

"Still," he murmured. "Doesn't feel real."

And the way he looked at her then?

It was reverent.

Not hungry. Not lustful. Just... soft. In awe.

Like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

And maybe she was.

⸻

The gala started the same as every other year.

Bright lights. Sparkling gowns. Clinking glasses. Jack and Everlyn moved through the crowd like they always had—effortlessly side by side. He guided her gently through the sea of donors and sponsors, a hand resting on the small of her back like he'd always belonged there.

But this time... that simple touch felt different.

It was warm. Steady. Firm in a way that made her feel held—not just escorted. Not just shown off.

Protected.

And Everlyn couldn't stop thinking about it.

Jack chatted easily, charming everyone as usual, but her body was attuned to him. The whisper of his palm. The careful way he shifted her gently toward conversations. The pride in his voice when he introduced her as his date—even if it was unspoken, unofficial.

She didn't say anything. Couldn't.

Because every time she looked at him tonight, all she could hear was Quinn's voice in her head.

He's nice.

Not just nice. Jack Hughes nice. The kind of nice that meant pancakes in the morning and water bottles filled without asking. The kind that stood beside you silently until you were ready to speak.

And right now, he was looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time—even though he'd always seen her.

⸻

The DJ opened the floor for slow dances, and Jack didn't hesitate.

He turned to her with a soft, crooked smile. "Come on."

They'd danced together before. Plenty of times. It had never meant anything before. But now? As they found their spot on the dance floor, facing each other, hands tentatively finding their place—it meant everything.

The music hummed low, a soft melody that wrapped around them like a secret. Her hand slipped into his, the other resting on his shoulder. Jack's free arm slid around her waist with quiet confidence.

And then... stillness.

They were swaying. They were dancing. But all Jack could focus on was the way Everlyn was looking at him.

Intensely. Softly. Like she was searching for something and finding it in his face.

He studied her—tried to decode it. Her eyes were locked on his like she couldn't look away. And for the first time in all the years he'd known her, he realized she was finally seeing him back.

"What's on your mind, Evie?" he asked, voice just above a whisper.

She didn't answer.

She just kept looking at him. Drinking him in. Her mind was running wild—flashing through every moment that had led them here.

The shy dinners when he couldn't look her in the eye. The fake bad grades. The way he always showed up. Every summer spent putting her first. Every little thing she'd brushed off as "just Jack being Jack."

But now she understood.

He'd been in love with her this whole time.

And she'd missed it.

She swallowed, breath hitching. "You," she said softly.

Jack blinked. "Me?"

"I can't stop thinking about you."

He stared, stunned. Heart leaping. Breath catching. He scanned her face again and again, like he needed confirmation that this was real—that she was real.

And then it hit him.

The look in her eyes.

The one he'd been wearing for years.

She had it now. That open, unfiltered, aching gaze that he used to hide behind smirks and excuses. She was seeing him—really, truly seeing him—and God, it made his chest burn.

The song ended, but Jack didn't hear the music stop. The room disappeared. His grip on her hand tightened as the MC's voice faded into the background.

They returned to their table, but Jack couldn't focus. Couldn't breathe.

He was spinning.

Eve sat beside him, her hand resting on top of his. It wasn't new. Not really. But tonight, it was loaded. Charged. Different.

Jack needed air.

⸻

He slipped out without a word and found himself on the rooftop.

The city stretched beneath him, lights flickering, the hum of cars far below. He paced, hand tugging at the collar of his tux, heart pounding out of rhythm.

He was scared. Not of her—but of hope.

Because this was everything he wanted.

And that's when he heard it.

The door opened with a soft click.

He turned—and there she was.

Glistening in moonlight. Her maroon gown catching the breeze. Her updo slightly loosened from the night. Her eyes... locked on his.

They didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

The air between them was thick with unsaid things. It wasn't silence. It was a conversation without words. A thousand unspoken truths floating between them like stars.

Jack looked at her like she held the answers to questions he hadn't dared ask. And Everlyn looked at him like she finally, finally understood what was right in front of her.

And then—they ran.

No hesitation. No overthinking. Just gravity.

They met in the middle. Arms around each other. Breathless. Shaking.

Their foreheads pressed together. Their hands clung tight.

"Jack..." she whispered, barely breathing.

He closed his eyes, voice cracking. "I know, Everlyn... I know."

And then—he kissed her.

Years of waiting, of wondering, of almosts and maybes—gone.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't polished. But it was everything. His hands clung to her waist like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. Her hands framed his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks like she was memorizing the feel of him.

The city roared beneath them.

But up there, on that rooftop, it was silent.

Just two hearts, finally meeting in the middle.

Just two souls, saying what words never could.

⸻

It had been over a year since that night on the rooftop.

Since the city went quiet, and Everlyn stopped running, and Jack finally stopped waiting.

Since the moment their hearts collided in the most certain kind of way—the kind that didn't need promises made with words, because it was all written in the way they looked at each other.

Since then, nothing had been the same.

And yet—everything felt like home.

Every morning, Jack woke up with that same quiet awe he'd had since he was fifteen. The way she hummed while brushing her teeth. The way she'd press her forehead to his before leaving for work. The way she poured her love into everything around her without hesitation or fear.

Every day, he fell harder. Every day, he chose her again.

And Everlyn? She felt like she'd finally exhaled.

Jack Hughes was steady. Warm. Deeply kind in the ways no one else got to see. And he loved her in a way that didn't demand attention—but deserved every bit of it. There was no show, no need for validation. Just him. Quietly hers.

They had made a life together. Not flashy. Not perfect. But theirs.

⸻

It was summer again.

Which meant one thing: the Hughes Lake House was alive.

It was tradition at this point. Offseason hit, and the boys flocked to Michigan like it was a pilgrimage. Quinn was already there, helping Ellen prep bedrooms. Luke had brought a handful of friends from around the league—Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith had become the wide-eyed younger brothers of the group overnight. The Tkachuk brothers had showed up in full chaos mode. And Jack had pulled together the old NTDP gang, making it feel like high school and the NHL were blending into one summer-long sleepover.

The lake house was laughter. Inside jokes. The smell of sunscreen and grilled food and dock water. The soundtrack was country music, clinking beers, and the occasional "WHO let Matthew drive the boat?!"

For the rookies, it was a dream. For the veterans, it was therapy.

And for Everlyn?

It was heaven.

She had her hands full—braiding wet hair, making sure no one left without sunscreen, yelling across the dock to make sure Macklin and Will weren't about to snap their necks trying new wakeboard tricks.

She was the same Eve she'd always been—loving and giving, with open arms and no limit to the space in her heart. She even tucked the rookies in like she had done for Luke all those years ago. Whispering reminders in the dark like,

"You don't have to lose who you are to belong here." "If you can't be yourself with someone, that's not someone worth staying for."

Words she'd once needed herself.

⸻

Jack stood at the door that night, watching her speak to Macklin and Will.

She was seated cross-legged on the living room floor, her maroon hoodie slipping off one shoulder, still in her swimsuit from earlier. Her voice was soft. Reassuring. Patient.

Jack felt his chest ache.

Because God, he loved her.

More than he'd ever loved anything in his life.

She was light. She was grace. And somehow—she was his.

⸻

He found Quinn on the back deck not long after. The moonlight danced across the lake in silver ripples. The sound of crickets filled the quiet. Jack stepped beside him, hands in his pockets, heart full.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

Until Jack broke the silence.

"She's... she's really..."

"I know," Quinn interrupted, smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I know, Jack."

He turned toward him, eyes warm. "I'm so happy for you two. I always knew. But seeing it? It's different. It's real."

Jack laughed softly, almost shy.

"I have it picked out, you know..."

Quinn blinked. "What?"

Jack looked down. Kicked the toe of his shoe against the deck.

"The ring. I got it. Not for now. I want to wait a little longer, but... I just know. She's it. She's always been it. And I got it early as a promise. A vow. For when I'm ready. For when she's ready."

Quinn just stared at him. Then stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

It wasn't long. Wasn't loud.

But it was everything.

Two brothers, standing under a sky they grew up beneath, holding the future in their arms.

Inside, Eve stood in the kitchen, sipping from a mug of tea. She looked around at the house filled with laughter, light, and people she loved.

And her eyes found Jack through the window.

He was looking back at her.

And somehow, she knew.

[hy6erion]

reader moves in bbno$ apartment after having trouble paying bills, they get closer and eventually he starts noticing the reader in different ways (romantically & sexually) !

Couch Surfer, Heart Stealer — Alex Gumuchian (bbno$)

synopsis: after struggling to pay rent, you move into your friend alex’s apartment “just for a while.” what starts as a casual, friendly arrangement slowly deepens into something intimate. you fall into a rhythm — shared meals, late-night laughs, movie marathons — and without meaning to, you both start to feel things

cw: fem! reader, suggestive at SOME parts (mainly fluff), accidental arousal / awkward boner panic, jerking off thinking abt you (not described but mentioned)

You didn’t mean to cry on the bus.

But sitting there with your last box crammed between your knees and your whole life packed into a busted duffel bag and an Uber ride you couldn’t afford, the weight of it all finally hit. Rent had skyrocketed. Your part-time jobs weren’t cutting it. And when your roommate ditched you to move in with her boyfriend, she’d taken the furniture, Wi-Fi router, and half the pantry. You were one notice away from living in your car — until Alex had texted you out of nowhere:

“yo i heard u need a place?? my roommate dipped. cheap rent. i got good snacks. pls respond.”

You hadn’t seen him since that music festival last summer — shirtless, high off adrenaline and sun, rapping on top of a folding table and passing out popsicles to strangers. He was wild and weird and strangely sweet, and though you’d only hung out a few times in person, you’d always vibed online. DMs turned into memes, memes turned into midnight Discord calls and somehow, here you were.

Moving into bbno$’s apartment.

The front door swung open just as you lugged your bag up the stairs. Alex stood there barefoot in pajama pants and a “MILF Hunter” shirt, hair sleep-mussed, eyes blinking against the afternoon light.

“You look like a drowned possum. Come in.”

You snorted despite yourself. “Nice to see you too.”

The apartment was…chaotic. Clean, but cluttered. LED lights along the baseboards. Sneakers stacked like Jenga towers. A monitor setup that looked like it belonged in a NASA lab. The couch had seen better days, and there was a half-eaten bag of pizza-flavored Goldfish on the counter.

But it was warm. Lived-in. And best of all — rent was barely a third of what you’d been paying.

“You can take the second bedroom” he said, already dragging your bag inside. “It’s mostly just boxes and one of those weird yoga chairs that’s shaped like a peanut. You’ll love it.”

You didn’t expect to fall asleep that first night curled up on the weird peanut chair — or to wake up with a blanket tossed over your shoulders, the scent of minty shampoo and cologne lingering faintly on it.

⸻

Living with Alex was…a trip.

He was ridiculous — always wandering around half-dressed, singing weird freestyles to the cat, making waffles at 2 a.m. and offering you bites straight off the spatula. But he was also surprisingly chill. Respectful. He never pushed. Never made things weird.

“Bathroom’s all yours@ he’d mumble every morning, toothbrush hanging from his lips. “I left the hot water on like a good lil housewife.”

You fell into an easy rhythm. You cleaned, he cooked. He edited music late at night, you studied on the couch in his oversized hoodies. There were grocery trips, inside jokes, movie nights where he dozed off with his head on your thigh and woke up mumbling about ice cream.

Somewhere between breakfast burritos and shared Spotify playlists, something started to shift.

You caught him watching you longer. Laughing softer. Lingering in doorways after saying goodnight.

And you…you started noticing everything. The way his voice dipped when he was tired. The way he always smelled like cedarwood and cinnamon gum. The way he’d say your name when you made him laugh — like it meant something more than just your name.

You were both pretending not to notice.

But it was there.

Simmering.

⸻

He couldn’t really say when it started.

Maybe it was the night you beat him at Mario Kart for the first time — sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, cheeks flushed with laughter, controller in your lap and a slice of cold pizza balanced on your knee. You’d thrown your arms up in victory, hoodie sleeves slipping down your wrists, hair messy from the fight for first place. He remembered staring at you a beat too long, the curve of your grin, the way you nudged his thigh with yours, like it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing.

Or maybe it was the morning he walked into the kitchen and saw you dancing barefoot to some 2000s pop song — baggy T-shirt, no bra, his damn pajama shorts hanging low on your hips. You hadn’t seen him yet, earbuds in, singing into a spoon while you flipped pancakes. He’d frozen in the hallway, heart skipping, some part of his brain screaming: Don’t be weird. Don’t be that guy. But it was already happening.

He saw the softness in your legs. The curve of your waist. The way you moved when you thought no one was watching. And he wanted to keep watching.

It wasn’t just about sex.

It was how safe you made the place feel. The way your laughter filled the empty spaces. How you folded his laundry when he forgot. How you’d leave little sticky notes on the fridge — “don’t forget to drink water, you‘re REALLY dehydrated” — or how you’d curl next to him on the couch without asking, like your body already knew where it fit.

That was dangerous.

That was the kind of comfort that cracked open a man’s chest.

⸻

The night it really hit him, though — really hit him — was the night you came home from a bad date.

He hadn’t even known you’d gone out until you stormed through the door in a leather jacket and lip gloss half-smudged, looking pissed.

“Hey—?” he started, standing from the couch.

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice tight, fingers fumbling with your keys. “Just—don’t.“

He stood there blinking. You weren’t mad at him. You were mad at someone else. A guy, probably. Some shitty Tinder date who couldn’t keep his hands to himself or made a weird joke or didn’t listen when you said no.

He knew that look on your face. He’d seen it on friends. On relatives. On strangers in club bathrooms clutching each other’s hands.

So he said nothing. Just walked to the kitchen, grabbed a glass, filled it with ice water and handed it to you.

You took it, exhaled like your lungs were collapsing. “Thanks.”

He nodded once. “Want to talk about it?”

“No” you said. Then, softer: “…but also yes.”

You ended up on the couch, legs curled under you, him listening while you vented. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t judge. Just nodded in the right places, muttered “what a fool” at the right time, and let you fall apart in little pieces.

When your voice cracked and your eyes brimmed, he didn’t think — he just reached out and pulled you into a hug.

And you clung to him.

Your face pressed into his chest. Your hands in the back of his hoodie. Your whole body soft and vulnerable and open against his. And he held you like that, steady and warm, his heart hammering so hard he was sure you could feel it.

That was the moment.

Not the dancing, not the hoodie, not the game.

This. You, raw and real in his arms, trusting him with your mess.

His chest tightened. His throat ached.

He wanted to kiss your forehead.

He wanted to carry you to bed and just hold you.

He wanted to undo you, slowly, reverently, like a prayer he wasn’t sure he deserved to say out loud.

And then—God help him—he got hard.

Just like that. No warning. No fantasy. Just your body on his, warm and perfect and so close, and something in him snapped. It wasn’t even about sex — it was about need. About you.

He shifted subtly, trying to give you space. Tried to will it down. Tried to think about baseball or taxes or anything that wasn’t your breath on his neck.

But then you looked up — eyes glassy, lashes damp — and whispered, “You’re really good at this. The…comfort thing.”

He wanted to kiss you.

He wanted to say, I’d be good at all of it. Loving you. Touching you. Keeping you safe.

Instead, he laughed. Too loud. Too awkward.

“I’m just a human weighted blanket“ he joked, trying to mask the tremor in his voice.

You smiled. Tucked your head back into his chest.

And he sat there, holding you, rock hard and quietly panicking, falling like a man with no parachute.

⸻

From then on, everything was worse.

Or better. Or both.

You started wearing his hoodies to bed — and he had to stop himself from imagining how warm you’d be underneath. You’d lean into him on the couch, and he’d go still, breathing shallow, pretending your weight didn’t unravel something low in his stomach.

And the little things? Forget about it.

The way you bit your straw when you were thinking. The way you said his name when you were sleepy. The fact that you’d moan — just a little — whenever you took a bite of something really good.

He was going insane.

And the worst part? You had no idea.

You touched him so casually. Laughed with your whole body. Walked around in tiny shorts, hair messy from the shower, face dewy with moisturizer — and he had to pretend he didn’t want to worship you.

He jerked off three times that week.

Once in the shower.

Once after you fell asleep next to him watching Netflix.

And once after you left a bra hanging on the bathroom doorknob and he stood there like a creep for ten whole seconds just staring at the curve of the cup and imagining what you looked like filling it.

He was in trouble.

Because it wasn’t just lust.

It wasn’t just tension.

It was everything.

The comfort. The friendship. The late-night convos and deep-belly laughs. The trust. The domesticity. The way you fit into his world like you’d always belonged.

And now every time he looked at you, every cell in his body screamed:

Touch her.

Kiss her.

Tell her.

Please tell her before it’s too late.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

He just waited. Bit his tongue. Tried not to burn every time you smiled at him like he wasn’t quietly dying inside.

⸻

It all unraveled one Thursday night.

You came home late from a rough shift — soaked from the rain, exhausted, clutching a bag of discounted sushi and half a broken umbrella.

Alex was in the kitchen, shirtless, eating cereal out of a mixing bowl.

He looked up. “Holy shit. What happened to you?”

“I got in a fight with a cloud” you deadpanned, kicking your shoes off.

“Cloud won” he said softly, stepping closer. “C’mere.”

You expected a towel. Maybe a dumb joke.

Instead, he reached for your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye where a tear had mixed with the rain.

“You’ve been trying so hard“ he murmured. “I’ve seen it.”

You stood there, stunned, heart hammering. He was close. Warm. Smelling like laundry detergent and almond milk.

“Alex…” your voice cracked.

He pulled back, but not far. “I wasn’t gonna say anything. I was trying to be cool, respectful, whatever. But it’s getting kinda hard to pretend I don’t wanna kiss you every time you walk into the room.”

Your breath hitched.

Then, so softly it barely counted as a kiss — you leaned in.

It was slow. Like syrup.

His lips moved gently over yours, one hand cupping your jaw, the other gripping the counter like he needed to keep himself grounded. He tasted like honey and oat milk. He kissed like he cared.

When you pulled back, you were both breathless.

“Are we…?” you whispered.

He nodded once. “Yeah. We are.”

From then on, everything changed and yet nothing did.

He still made weird jokes and sang in the shower. You still wore his hoodies and stole his cereal. But now there were kisses behind closed doors. Sleepy morning cuddles. His hand on your thigh when you watched TV.

Sex came softly, eventually — not rushed, not wild.

Just one night, you were curled against him in bed, half-asleep, and you whispered, “Can I…?”

He turned to you, pupils wide, face open. “Please.”

He made love like he made music — with focus, with fun, with rhythm. Soft moans. Sloppy kisses. Fingers tangled in sheets. Laughter between gasps. Praise whispered against skin.

When you came, it was with his name on your tongue and his hands anchoring you down like a lifeline.

After, he kissed your shoulder. Your neck. Your nose.

⸻

Weeks passed. The world spun on. But everything felt brighter.

You woke up to him singing love songs into your hair. You kissed him behind studio doors. He wrote lyrics about the way you laugh when you’re half-asleep, and you danced barefoot in the living room to every new beat.

He told his friends. You told yours. Nobody was surprised.

You were still broke, still figuring things out — but for once, you weren’t alone.

You had him.

You had love.

And every night, when you crawled into bed next to him, he’d pull you close, kiss your cheek, and whisper:

“From roommate to soulmate. Who knew?”