#and then it was so good that i read every chapter

[nanamineedstherapy]

Your jjk caveman crack fics are literally the best thing ever 😂 do you think we could get a part 3???

Thank you for the ask, I was already gonna post this. Happy Valentine's Day!!!

Ooga Booga Sukuna gets Reverse Bonked

Previous Chapter 2: Ooga Booga Gojo tries to Court you (Tumblr/Ao3)

Summary: Prehistoric, period-accurate Neanderthal JJK daddies courting you with grunts, rocks, & zero verbal communication. Just prehistoric buffoonery.

A/N: Listen. I don’t know how we got here. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just know that prehistoric Sukuna is going through it, and honestly? Good for him. This chapter is dedicated to all the idiots in love who have the combined IQ of a rock & the tension of two angry stray cats fighting over a single chicken bone. As usual, => This is a different reader, but the same Sukuna—unfortunately for you. => Some bits are suggestive (in regards of mating), but nothing in detail, only in comedy. => This is Sukuna’s chapter, but don’t worry—the other guys are also getting their solo stories, with guest appearances in each other’s on a regular. So I recommend reading all of them, but I can’t force you to make good life choices. Now, let’s begin.

Sukuna, the undisputed apex predator of the prehistoric world, wakes up.

This is already unacceptable.

Sukuna does not wake up confused.

Sukuna does not wake up with a headache the size of a mammoth's behind.

Sukuna does not wake up in a cave that is not his.

Yet here he is.

His nose twitches—this place smells wrong. The fire is too small. The air lacks the familiar stench of victory. And worst of all, the pile of furs beneath him? Not his.

Then, he sees you.

The audacity.

The sheer, reckless audacity of you.

Sitting there, cross-legged, casually sharpening a rock, as if you didn’t just bonk the most dangerous being alive on the head and drag him here like a sack of mammoth dung.

Sukuna moves to sit up—except he doesn’t.

His brain short-circuits.

His wrists and ankles are tied.

Him. Sukuna. The strongest. Bound like a common prey animal.

His first instinct? Murder.

His second? Murder, but angrier.

You glance up. See him glaring. Raise a smug eyebrow.

Then, with the infuriating calm of someone who does not fear death, you reach out and pat his head.

Oh.

You will pay for this.

He—a god among men, the most dangerous being alive—has been bonked and dragged to a cave like a defenseless animal.

By you.

But Sukuna is smort so he will find a way to escape.

He gets an idea immediately.

Sukuna is also stronk. These flimsy ropes should be nothing.

He flexes. Twists. Yanks.

He will be free in mere seconds—

The rope does not budge.

You observe him silently.

Your expressions unreadable.

Then you slowly grab a stick from beside you—

AND BONK HIM ON THE FOREHEAD!!!

His entire being vibrates with rage.

This—this has never happened before.

A second bonk follows.

His eye twitches.

Fine. You want a fight? Sukuna will not even need his hands.

He leans forward, bares his teeth, flexes every muscle he owns. His glare alone has sent cavemen running.

He exudes menace.

You yawn.

Then. Without hesitation.

You reach out and grab his chin.

He stops breathing.

Your grip is firm, but what’s worse—you squeeze his cheeks.

…Like he is an adorable little animal.

Rage. Shame. Disbelief.

You boop his nose.

HUMILIATION!!!

He will try again. NOT BECAUSE THIS FEELS NICE, but because he’s exhausted.

---

The next morning, you leave the cave.

Sukuna, apex predator, descends into rabid, frantic gnawing.

His teeth work overtime. His dignity is irrelevant.

He is almost free—

Then.

You return.

Carrying food.

His stomach betrays him.

Loudly.

You know. You heard.

You smirk.

Then you feed him.

Not throw the food at him. Not let him grab it himself. No. You hold it up to his mouth.

You expect him to take a bite.

Like some helpless captive wife.

He contemplates death.

Then. With slow, soul-crushing defeat—

He takes a bite.

Disgraceful.

---

Now that you have secured the beast, you begin the ritual.

Sukuna, still bound, watches with narrowed, suspicious eyes as you approach—arms full of rocks.

You drop them in front of him like a sacrificial offering.

Not just any rocks.

Sharp ones. Deadly ones. The kind that could easily pierce flesh, shatter bone, and end lives. (Unlike a certain white-haired idiot who collects useless shiny ones.)

Sukuna blinks.

Stares at the pile.

Then at you.

What is this? A challenge? An insult? An attempt at trickery?

He grunts. (What is this nonsense?)

You grunt back. (Good rocks. Kill things. Useful.)

His fingers twitch. Even bound, he is a warrior. And a warrior recognizes quality weaponry when he sees it.

This is… acceptable.

You nod, satisfied.

Then, just because you can, you pat his head.

Sukuna’s entire body stiffens.

You leave again and return moments later, dragging an actual, freshly hunted animal carcass.

Bigger than you.

Not stolen. (Unlike certain white-haired idiot. Maybe you learned what-not-to-do by watching him.)

Not leftovers scavenged from some beast’s kill.

This is primal.

Earned.

Dominant.

Sukuna sniffs the air.

His instincts kick in.

This is real food. Warrior’s food.

You tear a chunk of meat, toss it into a flame, let it sizzle and cook—the rich aroma fills the cave.

His stomach makes that sound again.

You hear it.

He knows you hear it.

You smirk and bring some cooked bits to his mouth.

Sukuna scowls, looking anywhere but at you.

His entire existence is suffering.

Then, with murderous reluctance, he eats.

It is good.

Too good.

Too competent.

He hates it.

---

It is time.

Sukuna does not know it is time. But it is.

You grab him by the scruff like a misbehaving cave bear cub and drag him to the river.

He thrashes.

Snarls.

He is Sukuna. Apex predator. The most dangerous being alive. He does not need cleaning.

You grunt. (You stink.)

Sukuna snaps his teeth at you. (I will kill you for this insult.)

You dunk him in the river.

It is instant chaos.

He thrashes like a drowning bison.

Water explodes in all directions.

A fish gets yeeted into the sky.

Birds evacuate the trees.

Somewhere, in the distance, an elder caveman sees the commotion and rethinks his entire existence. (It was just Yaga.)

But Sukuna is still tied.

So, in the end, it is just dramatic splashing.

His pride? Destroyed.

His dignity? Evaporated.

His hair? Now suspiciously soft.

You grunt approvingly. (Worthy mate.)

Sukuna glares death.

You pat his head.

He roars in betrayal.

---

The moment of truth.

You drag him back to the cave.

The fire flickers. The air is thick with something tense.

You crouch down.

And, without hesitation—

You untie him.

Sukuna freezes.

Oh.

Oh no.

He is free.

He should run.

He should crush you, burn this place down, reclaim his pride, and remind the world why he is the strongest.

But…

He does not move.

Instead, he stares.

At you.

At the organized cave.

At the good food.

At the comfort.

At the competence.

His stomach does a weird thing.

Not hunger.

Something else.

…Oh.

OH.

He has been courted.

By you.

A woman smaller than him?

The realization is devastating.

You smirk.

And, one more time…

You pat his head.

Sukuna growls.

But he does not leave.

---

Sukuna is suffering.

It has been days.

He should be fine.

He should be thriving.

He has good food, a strong cave, sharp rocks, and the privilege of not being bonked daily. (Progress…?)

But there is a problem.

He wants you.

Physically.

Desperately.

Like a fever in his bones.

Like an itch behind his ribs that he can’t reach.

Like an unrelenting cave mosquito bite, but worse because it is YOU, and mosquitoes die easily, but you refuse to perish.

You glare at him across the fire.

He glares back.

The air is thick. Heavy. Crackling with something primal.

But there is one fatal flaw.

Neither of you know what you’re doing.

You move first.

Sukuna tenses as you grab his chin again, your grip rough, firm—like you’re inspecting game.

His stomach does that thing again.

He does not like this.

He likes this too much.

You shove him down.

His brain shatters.

He snarls, trying to flip you over—to dominate. To win. But your grip on his wrists tightens, and suddenly,

HE. IS. PINNED.

His vision goes red.

THE AUDACITY.

THE. AUDACITY. Again for emphasis.

But then…

You do nothing.

You just stare at him.

Waiting.

Sukuna stares back.

…Now what?

Sukuna, desperate to reclaim dominance, growls.

Flips you over.

You flip him back.

He flips you again.

You reverse.

This goes on for ten minutes.

At this point, it is not romantic.

It is not primal.

It looks like two prehistoric idiots trying to invent wrestling.

Somewhere outside, an elder caveman hears the commotion, shakes his head, and decides to write cave poetry instead of mating this year. (It’s Ijichi and he’s not an elder, just looks like one.)

Inside the cave, the match continues.

Grunts.

Snarls.

Dirt flying everywhere.

At some point, you both just stop.

Panting. Staring. Confused.

Sukuna frowns. (This should be instinctual. Why is it not happening?)

You squint. (Maybe… different approach?)

He grabs your toes.

You instinctively kick him.

He growls.

You growl louder.

The problem is, neither of you know where to put things.

Hands? Everywhere.

Mouth? Nowhere near the right spots.

At one point, Sukuna headbutts you by accident.

You elbow him in retaliation.

Then he chokes on his own spit.

This is not going very well.

You pull back.

Stare at each other.

Both of you look deeply disappointed in the other.

Sukuna exhales sharply and grunts. (What now?)

You grunt back. (We… thonk.)

A silent, wordless truce is reached.

For now.

But the tension remains.

You glare.

Sukuna glares back.

This is not over.

Sukuna is determined.

You are determined.

Neither of you will be defeated.

---

So, the next night, you and Sukuna do what any couple of prehistoric idiots would do.

You watch Nanami.

For research.

This is a flawless plan.

A foolproof plan.

A brilliant plan.

It is not.

You and Sukuna are in the bushes.

Close.

Too close.

Way too close.

You are practically inside Nanami’s cave.

Sukuna’s arm brushes against yours. His breath is hot against your neck.

The scent of raw violence and bad decisions lingers in the air.

Neither of you acknowledge it.

You are professionals.

Well.

You are Neanderthals.

Same thing.

The fire inside Nanami’s cave casts perfect shadows on the walls.

A masterclass performance.

A step-by-step tutorial.

A once-in-a-lifetime learning opportunity.

Your tiny prehistoric brains absorb the data.

You both squint.

Sukuna nudges you and grunts. (That look right?)

You tilt your head. (Maybe…?)

You lean in.

Then Sukuna leans in.

Then you lean in more.

Then Sukuna leans in more.

You are practically between Nanami’s legs.

And then—

Nanami notices.

Nanami stops mid-....

Turns his head.

Narrows his dead, exhausted, so-done-with-life eyes.

Sukuna freezes.

You freeze.

There is a moment of tense silence.

A life-defining moment.

A moment where you both reconsider your entire existence.

Then.

Nanami picks up a rock.

A very big rock.

You both start to back away.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Retreat.

Disengage.

Escape.

Nanami does not care.

He hurls the rock.

Hard.

(Because unlike you two and a certain white-haired tribe fool, Nanami has a concept of privacy. And money does not exist yet, so no, he will not be starting an adult site. No. Thank. You.)

The rock sails through the air.

The trajectory is perfect.

The angle is flawless.

The impact should be devastating.

It should crush one of you on sight.

But instead—

It misses.

And instead—

It hits Gojo.

Who was minding his own business.

(Also watching Nanami with his woman for research.)

Gojo collapses instantly.

Directly onto his woman’s chest.

His woman looks down.

Pauses.

Then just shrugs and drags his lanky ass back into their cave.

Like this happens often.

Like she is used to this.

Like she has accepted her fate.

Meanwhile, you and Sukuna, still recovering from near-death-by-rock, decide that maybe this particular research method is flawed.

And with whatever dignity you have left,

You. Retreat.

Nanami’s woman yanks his hair back.

Nanami sighs.

Shakes his head.

Goes back to it.

As if this is normal.

As if he is unbothered, unfazed, and entirely too used to it by now because Gojo exists.

But now, you both have studied.

The blueprint has been acquired.

The forbidden knowledge is yours.

It is time.

Back in your cave, you and Sukuna recreate the motions.

At first, it is awkward.

Very awkward.

There is fumbling.

Some miscalculations.

At one point, Sukuna forgets what legs do.

He just stands there, confused.

You overcorrect.

And by overcorrect, you mean you accidentally knee him in the stomach.

Hard.

He folds in half like a poorly constructed shrubbery tent.

This is not going well.

Then—

Something clicks.

Sukuna growls.

Pins you down.

His grip is tight.

His eyes are dark.

His muscles flex.

He grunts. (Submit.)

You flip him over.

Your grip is tighter around his throat.

Your eyes deadlier.

Your muscles flex harder.

You grunt back. (No, you submit.)

Silence.

Sukuna pauses.

Then—

He lets you.

His pupils dilate.

His breath hitches.

Oh.

OH.

He likes this.

You smirk.

Something clicks (aka Evolution in Real-Time).

Then finally, it happens.

It is violent.

It is chaotic.

It is not historically accurate.

But it works.

Afterwards, Sukuna.exe has crashed.

He is a mess.

Sprawled out.

Chest heaving.

Staring at the ceiling like he just witnessed the invention of the calendar.

His brain is fried.

His life has changed.

Meanwhile, you stretch.

Feeling accomplished.

Victorious.

Like a goddess.

Sukuna, however, is still processing his entire existence.

He has been tamed.

Fully.

You pat his head.

He glares.

Weakly.

Then you crawl onto his chest and fall asleep like a starfish.

He just sighs.

This is his life now.

A/N: Well. That happened. I don’t know whether to feel proud, concerned, or vaguely threatened. Sukuna has officially entered his “I don’t know what just happened but I liked it” era, & frankly? He deserves to suffer.

Vote wisely. Or don’t. Nothing is wise in this story. 💀

Next chapter will be out soon :)

All Works Masterlist

[inthelibrarybtw]

you're gonna go far | three - golf & parties

SERIES MASTERLIST pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

summary: where Rafe who hates pogues has a soft spot for one, who couldn't care less about him, she's too independent and too focused on graduating college and making it out of the Cut to pay attention to him or where they say they don't like each other yet for a reason they are always at the same place at the same time, him making time for her and her never pushing him away but again they don't like each other. word count: 5.2k content: angst! alcohol consumption, cursing, fluff authors note: happy valentines! longest chapter so far and I don't think they are getting shorter. Anyways, thank you for everyone who has been reading, liking, reblogging and commenting. enjoy! <3

He couldn’t stand your cold demeanor towards him for one more second. He was aware he wasn’t your favorite person, but you were never cold to him. Bitchy and a pain in his ass sometimes? Yes, but never cold. You had this warm presence he always claimed to hate, but that was a complete lie. That’s one of the reasons he liked you so much; no matter where you were or what you did, you always made things better, not only for him but for everyone around you. That was also why he felt jealous of how you were with the Pogues, even though he would never admit it out loud. He wanted to be the reason you were smiling, which usually wasn’t how things went, and he was aware it was his fault.  

During the next three days, Rafe avoided going to the Country Club on purpose because he wasn’t sure what was going to happen, and he’d rather not make things worse. He knew you hated him at the moment, so to avoid making things worse, he stayed home. He hated feeling that way; it was as if the thought of you was enough to make his brain short-circuit.  

He groaned for what felt like the millionth time that day. Since three days ago, you had been stuck in his mind. He had been uncharacteristically distracted and quiet; his dad had asked him to pull himself together a couple of times during work meetings and he had barely interacted when he got together with his friends.  

“Dude, what's wrong with you?” Topper asked, pausing the game they were playing.  

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his tone indicating he was anything but fine.

“Right, sure, that’s why you have been moping for the past few days like a little boy who lost his mom at the supermarket, because you’re fine… sure.”  

“Not moping, just a lot on my mind.”  

“Like Pogue girl or wor—?” Topper didn’t finish his question before Rafe cut him off.  

“Shut up,” he bites back.  

“Oh! So it is her, huh? What’s her name again?” Rafe shoots him a glare, and Topper lifts his arms in surrender. “Okay, damn! My bad… why don’t we go to the club? A bit of golf might help.”  

“Can’t, I have to help Sarah prepare things for the party.” Topper looks at him, not believing a word that came out of his mouth.  

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You never help her with anything; it’s her party, let her handle it.” Rafe sighs, annoyed. “Come on, man, to release some stress before the party.”  

He stalled for a bit but sighed, giving in. “Fine… one round, that’s it.”  

“Atta boy, I knew you would come through.”  

No, he didn’t forget you worked there and that he might see you, but he was trying his best not to think about that. They made it to the Country Club; Topper had this mischievous gleam in his eyes. He would be lying if he said he didn’t plan this, all to see if you and Rafe could interact again. He had fun watching his friend stumble over his words, but he also knew Rafe was in a better mood every time he saw you, so at the end of the day, it was for the greater good if he saw you.

They made their way to their first hole. Topper didn’t miss how Rafe looked around, giving subtle, constant glances at the trail as they started playing golf. He was struggling to avoid thinking about you, secretly hoping you would show up in your cart, wearing that uniform that fit you like a glove, and… Topper pulls him out of his thoughts by telling him it’s his turn to hit.

—

After your break, you returned to the golf course, ready to continue your round. After a few minutes, you spotted two guys. You prepared mentally to greet them. Over the years, you had learned how to overcome your shyness, but some days, you felt your skin crawl whenever you had to address a club member. When you got closer, you noticed who they were and sighed. You parked the cart, and Topper’s face immediately changed as he gave Rafe a knowing smirk. Rafe turned around and saw you, straightening up as he noticed you stepping out of the cart.  

"Do you ever go to other places?" You smiled but avoided Rafe’s gaze as best you could.  

"Yes, but we just can’t stay away from here." Topper chuckled softly and then turned to see Rafe, who was unusually quiet. It was as if his tongue didn’t work.  

"Will you buy something today, or will I have to beg for tips?" You asked, lifting a brow.  

"We will buy something today, no need to worry," Topper said. He had been there the last few days, and to your surprise, he was nice, unlike other kooks. You had talked briefly with him a couple of times before and could see yourself being friendly with him, not just because your job required you to be nice to them.  

"And we’ll make sure to tip you well too," Rafe said finally chiming in, making you turn to acknowledge him.  

"Okay, good." Topper noticed how you weren’t smiling at Rafe, and as much as he enjoyed the tension, he was curious about what led to this. Rafe, on the other hand, couldn’t stop looking at you.  

"So what’s the special today?" Topper spoke up.  

"We don’t have specials," you smiled. "But the Bloody Mary has been a bit popular today. Here’s the menu if you want to see what else we have." You extended the menu to them, and Rafe took it from your hand, doing anything but looking at the menu.  

"Yo Rafe, everything good?" Topper asked, noticing he was a bit distracted all this while trying not to laugh.  

"Yes, I'm just… deciding what I want." You stood there, trying to mind your business, but you stole a few glances at Rafe. He seemed different today, or maybe you were just imagining things.  

"Well, while he decides, I want a Bloody Mary and two shots," Topper requested nicely.  

"Bloody Mary, simple or double?"  

"Simple, don’t want to overdo it." You nodded.  

"I’ll just have a beer," Rafe asked quietly, noticing the familiarity with which you and Topper talked, and he hated every second of it.

“Okay,” you said as you walked to prepare the Bloody Mary and took out the shots and the beer they had asked for. During this whole time, Rafe couldn’t keep his eyes off you, even if he tried his best not to make it obvious.  

“Bloody Mary and shots,” you handed them to Topper, who grabbed them. “And the beer,” you gave it to Rafe, your fingers touching his slightly, sending a jolt through both your arms, but you ignored it.  

“It’s $30 for the Bloody Mary and the shots.” You turned to Topper, who handed you a fifty-dollar bill.  

“Keep the change,” Topper said, taking a sip. “Wow, this is good.”  

“Thanks,” you smiled, putting the bill away. “The beer is $10.” Rafe handed you the bill quietly, his eyes meeting yours; he could swear you had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. You looked away and put the bill away. “No tip this time?” you asked, trying to see if he would bite back. He had been uncharacteristically quiet, and that didn’t sit right with you.  

Rafe smirked. “Oh, you want one?”  

“I did an amazing job giving you that beer. I think I deserve it.” A small smile you couldn’t control formed on your lips. Rafe looked over at you before he dared to speak again. He wanted to make a snarky comment to tease you, but nothing came to mind; he only managed a soft grunt.  

“Yeah, you did a great job.” His voice was slightly strained, but Topper didn’t miss the opportunity to chime in.  

“Come on, Rafe, give her a tip. It’s the least you can do; after all, she’s been an amazing waitress.” Rafe shot him a glare, not finding his comment amusing.  

“I’m not a waitress,” you said, looking at them.  

“Bev cart girl, excuse me.” Topper lifted one hand. “Either way, you’ve been great, and I think Rafe here agrees, right, man?” He nudged Rafe, who just huffed quietly.  

“Yeah, you’ve been… great.” His voice was a bit gruff. He wanted to strangle Topper for making this all harder for him. “You deserve a… nice tip.”  

“There you go,” Topper continued teasing him. “Don’t hold back.” Rafe grabbed his wallet, not without giving another look to Topper, wishing he wasn’t there. Now he didn’t want to look cheap, especially not in front of you. He grabbed a fifty-dollar bill and gave it to you. You widened your eyes.  

“What?” Topper wanted to laugh at your reaction; your cold demeanor with him before was gone in an instant, and your eyes had softened. Rafe was a bit embarrassed, blushing, but it was barely noticeable thanks to the weather.  

“Take it as a…” he paused for a second, looking for the right words. “A token of appreciation… for the good service today and on the other days.” He nodded, knowing what he said sounded very stupid.  

“Uh… this is too much; it’s like five beers. It’s—” Before you could even finish, he shook his head.

“Take it. You deserve it.” But this time, the tone he uses makes you believe his words; he’s not playing, he’s not being an asshole. It was one of those moments where you could maybe see another side of him.  

“Thank you.” You give him a small, honest smile, and he softens at the sight of it, his irritation fading slightly. He smiles back, feeling like his heart might leap out of his chest; it’s genuinely embarrassing for him to feel like this around you.  

“No problem.” His voice comes out softer than usual, and you decide to ignore it, even if it’s noticeable.  

“Well… I should be going.” Topper nods and takes another sip of his Bloody Mary. Rafe, on the other hand, isn’t happy about you having to leave.  

“Wait,” he says, making you turn back to him. Even Topper, who was already walking back to his cart, turns to see what Rafe will do. “Uh… before you go,” he pauses to gather his thoughts, “I have a question.”  

“Yeah, what is it?” you ask, a bit confused about where this is going.  

“Do you work here every day?” He never breaks eye contact with you.  

"I usually don’t work on weekends unless they ask me, and my shifts during the week can vary too."  

“What’s the usual?”  

“Uh… 7 to 3. Sometimes I do overtime, and some days I work just half a shift.”  

“You do overtime today?”  

“No, I get off at 3.” Rafe’s eyes light up at your answer, an idea forming in his mind already.  

“Good. There’s a party at my house today at 7. Why don’t you come?”  

“Oh…” you stutter. This is not how you thought this conversation was going to go. In general, you didn’t know how it was going to go, but this was definitely not it. “I—I don’t think I can make it, but thanks.” You see the way his face drops, and for a second, you feel bad. Then you remember who you are dealing with and shrug it off.  

“Right…” he says, feeling very disappointed about it. You get back into the cart and drive away.  

“Look at you, actually trying this time,” Topper says, patting Rafe’s back.  

“Shut up.” Rafe’s soft demeanor is gone the second you’re not around.  

“Oh, okay, I see how it is. Pogue princess disappears, and you’re grumpy again—okay, okay.”  

“I will knock you out.” Rafe points a finger at Topper.  

“Let’s not do that, or who else will be here to help you with her?”  

“Help? I don’t need help.”  

“From where I was standing, you do need help, or did I imagine her saying no?” Rafe glares at Topper, and he takes a sip of his beer. “Fine… I will shut up.”

—

After your shift is over, Sarah and Kie pick you up from the Country Club and go to Kie’s house to relax. Even though you were probably going to end up going out, it was Friday, so it was a given. Probably another Boneyard party, you thought.

You were lying on Kie’s bed, eating the snacks she had brought while Sarah was talking. You weren’t paying too much attention until she spoke directly to you.

“Earth to Y/N, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just tired. Golfers can sometimes be a bit too annoying,” you said, thinking about Rafe. Even though he hadn’t been annoying this time around, there weren’t many other words you would openly use to describe him.

“Well, you will forget about those golfers tonight,” she said a bit too happily.

“What do you mean?”

“She didn’t read the group chat,” Kie spoke up and then turned to look at you. “Sarah is having a party tonight at Tannyhill.” You felt your stomach drop; it was the same party Rafe had invited you to, and you had said no because you had plans. You opened your mouth to say something, but Sarah spoke before you could even get a word out.

“No, you can’t say no; it’s mandatory. It’s time for you to unwind!” She wiggled her arms as you stared at her.

“I’m tired, Sarah.” You looked at her and then at Kie, pleading for help. You didn’t want to see Rafe after saying you couldn’t go; it was a choice to see him outside your work hours—a choice you didn’t want to make.

“Sarah is right; you need to unwind. Come on,” Kie nudged you. “You can use my shower if you need to. We can go by your place if you want clothes, but you can use mine; they’ll fit you.” She pointed at her closet.

“You planned this, you evil people,” you pointed at them.

“Maybe, but if not, you were going to say no. And it’s at my house; what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Probably Rafe,” Kie said, almost like she had read your mind. You didn’t say anything.

“He's not going to be a problem; he’s going to be with his friends.”

“Oh yay, Topper and Kelce,” Kie says, rolling her eyes. “They are not the only friends he has, and Kelce is not invited.” At that, you perk up your ears; you want to ask why, but you busy yourself with your phone. “Oh, that’s new. Why?” 

“I said the same. He mentioned something about a fight they had over something he said, but didn’t give me many details, and it’s not like I care… but enough about my brother and his friends. You get ready,” she said, grabbing your shoulders. “And you,” she pointed at Kie, “make sure she gets there,” she said while walking to the door. “See you, my beautiful princesses!”

As Sarah exits Kie’s room, you sigh. “Do I really need to go?” 

“Look, I know you’re done seeing kooks every day, but we can ignore all of them today. Other people are going to the party, so it’s going to be fun. Now come on, let’s get dressed.” 

“I do need to shower first.” 

“Yeah, but first let’s see what you’re going to wear.” She opens her closet and starts taking things out. 

“Hey! This is mine,” I say when I see one of my dresses. 

“Well, look at that,” she jokes. “It’s a sign you need to wear that.” 

“It’s a sign that you robbed my closet.” You grab the mini black dress; it was one of your favorites. 

“Sue me, but this is your sign to use it and take it back to your house.” 

You spend a few more minutes looking at the options she threw at your face, picking what she would wear. After finally deciding, she gives you a towel so you can shower and start getting ready for the party you don’t want to attend. You take your time to shower and get ready, and when you both are set, Kie drives you to your house because you need to give something to your mother, allowing you to leave the things you won’t need and take only your essentials to the party. After that, you pick up the guys and Cleo.

—

When you arrived at the party, it was 7:30 p.m., and the music was blaring from inside. There were more people than you had expected to be there at that time, but again, it was Sarah’s party, so of course, there were going to be many people already there. You planned to stay at the party for a few hours, then say you had to wake up early the next day and leave. However, it was easier said than done.

As you walked inside, the music grew louder, and you saw some familiar faces smiling at you as they looked your way. As you and the Pogues searched for Sarah, you began to feel a bit anxious. You shouldn’t feel bad about saying no to Rafe and then showing up… but then why did you? You finally found her in the kitchen, where the snacks and cold drinks were.

“Y/N!!! You look so pretty!” she exclaimed happily as she hugged you first.

“What are we, chopped liver?” Cleo chimed in teasingly.

“Oh, please don’t say that. I’m happy to see you all here, but let’s be honest: when was the last time this girl actually got ready for something other than work?” Sarah stated again, and everyone silently agreed with her. You rolled your eyes.

“At least I work,” JJ chuckled quietly at your comment.

“Ouch?” Sarah feigned offense. “Enough about work. Grab a drink and make yourselves at home. John B is outside, so go. I’ll be there in a minute,” she said, disappearing again. JJ didn’t need to be told twice to grab a drink and went straight for a beer, and so did Cleo and Pope. Kie made herself a drink, and you did the same, but unlike Kie, yours had barely any alcohol; it was mostly just Sprite.

As you walked out of the kitchen, you caught a glimpse of Topper, who looked at you, scrunching his eyebrows together in confusion. You hurried away quickly, cursing internally. If he saw you, that meant he was going to tell Rafe whether you liked it or not, but just like Kie had told you, you were going to ignore everyone and stick to your friends.

One thing you hadn’t considered or even thought about was that maybe Rafe would be outside. You didn’t see him, but he saw you when you and the Pogues stepped out. His gaze would normally soften when he saw you, but at that moment, he felt betrayed. Did you hate him that much? He didn’t think you were the kind of person who would willingly lie just to make someone feel bad.

—

As the night went on, you focused on your friends and those who came to the group to talk instead of on where you were. Rafe, on the other hand, was drinking to distract himself from your presence. He had noticed you were chatting with a guy who had approached you. You thought this guy was nice, but Rafe didn’t; he would have done something about it but decided to drink instead. 

You caught glimpses of Rafe, each time with a new girl and always with a drink in hand. Why couldn’t he stick to just one girl? You found yourself caring too much about what he was doing and refocused on the guy in front of you. You weren’t really interested, but it was always nice to meet new people.

“Are you trying to burn a hole in the back of her head?” Topper asked when he noticed the intense gaze Rafe had on you. 

“What?” 

“You are staring.” Topper glanced at you too; he had to admit you looked good. 

“You are too.” 

“Don’t drag me into this, but in my defense, she looks really good.” Topper said with a teasing tone, wanting to mess with him. Rafe took a big sip of his drink, feeling the burning sensation slide down his throat. “Woah, slow down.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” 

“I get it; you’re jealous, but don’t take it out on the alcohol. Drink some water, or you will regret it.” 

“I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous of that? He’s…” Rafe trailed off. He didn’t know what to say. He was talking to you, and you were engaged in the conversation. You were interested, which you usually weren’t with him. So yeah, he was jealous. 

He downed the drink in his hand and kept staring at you as if it were his life’s purpose. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way; he had no power over you, but it was as if you held power over him. If you were his girl, he would make sure everyone knew, but you weren’t, so he had to let you be and let you talk to whoever you wanted, even if the guy wasn't good enough. You deserved someone who could give you everything. He could be… he stopped himself; he couldn’t keep thinking about this. So, more alcohol it was.

You went inside the house to grab a new drink and more ice. He saw you, and before his brain fully processed it, he was already following you. He was a man on a mission, though what that mission was, even he didn't know. He heard Topper saying something, but he ignored it; nothing was more important than getting to you. 

When you got to the kitchen, you felt a sense of relief—no one was there. You grabbed more ice and Sprite; you weren't really in the mood for an alcoholic drink. After pouring it into your red cup, you stayed there, and then Rafe showed up, interrupting your party break just like he had done at the Boneyard. You didn’t want to deal with him alone… again. 

Some might say you couldn't move on from what he said and that you resented him. Well, maybe you did, and you hated it because it felt like allowing him to dictate your feelings. Your thoughts were interrupted by his closeness. Oh, he was drunk; his eyes were different, and he seemed more relaxed than usual, but you noticed something was bothering him.

“So…” he cleared his throat. “Weren’t you busy tonight?”  

“I wasn’t going to come; your sister made me,” you answered.  

“Right…” he paused for a second. “Next time, don’t lie to my face,” he said with annoyance. You huffed at his tone.  

“I’m not wasting my time with you.” You turned away from him, not catching his comment.

“No… come on, I want to talk to you.” He stepped in front of you to stop you from leaving; he was set on talking to you.  

“I doubt it. I know I have nothing to talk to you about.”  

“Yes, you do. We have things to talk about.” The way he said it made it easy for you to know what he was referring to, and it made you angry. He had to be drunk to address it for the first time when he had seen you plenty of times before.  

“No, I’m not doing this today; in fact, I'd rather never do it.”  

“Y/N…” he spoke your name almost pleadingly and a bit slurred. “I know I messed up…” he started, but you quickly interrupted him.  

“Stop it.”  

“Let me talk! I’m trying to make things right, and you’re not letting me!”  

“Yes! Because you are drunk, Rafe! And I’m not having this conversation with you like this or ever. For all I know, you’re doing this just because you are drunk or high or both.” He knitted his eyebrows together at your words.  

“What? I’m not high. Who do you think I am?”  

“It’s common knowledge that the only reason you would ever step into the Cut is for drugs from Barry.”  

“According to who? Your pogue friends?” He felt the anger bubbling up, and you huffed.  

“Why do you always have to say it like that?”  

“Like what?”  

“Like you hate them, like you hate us.”  

“Bold statement coming from you,” he said, the alcohol making it harder for him to filter his words.  

“Excuse me?” You asked, genuinely confused at what he was hinting at.  

“Oh, what? Pogue girl get offended? At least I can say it without having to lie.” You scrunched your face; there was one thing you hated more than anything, and that was being called a liar.  

“I have never lied to you. Actually, I think I have been transparent enough to let you know I can’t stand you.”  

“Oh, I got that clear, pogue. You hate me, I know. You lied to prove your point; next time, just have the guts to say it upfront.”  

“What are you on about?”  

“This party! I invited you; I wanted you here, and you said no.” He grabbed a bottle of some liquor and took a swig of it, the burning sensation numbing, for a second, all that he was feeling at the moment. “You said to MY face you were busy and couldn’t come, and look at you here, having the time of your life, laughing with your friends and talking to other guys who don’t even deserve your attention.”

He took another swig from the bottle of what you now know is whiskey. You were confused, perhaps even in denial about his words.  

“I didn’t know!” you huffed. “I didn’t know this was the plan; I was going to go out with my friends, and I didn’t know this was the place.”  

“You want me to believe you didn’t know, huh? Your little nice act won’t work this time.”  

“No, no, I’ve gotten enough shit from you. I won’t put up with this,” you said, walking out of the kitchen. He stopped you in the middle of the hallway. “Rafe, stop it!”  

“No! You aren’t even listening to me!”  

“Why should I? I’m wasting my time here.”  

“Pardon me, your Majesty. I know there are other people more deserving of your attention than me,” his voice dripping with anger and sarcasm.  

“Leave me alone for once!” You pulled your arm away and walked out of the house, not even thinking twice about it. You thought it was over, but you were wrong.  

“Running away again? That’s all you seem to know how to do every time I say something you don’t like.”  

“You’re an even bigger asshole when you’re drunk,” you huffed.  

“Me? You’re the one lying when I’m trying to be nice to you.”  

“Nice? How? Talking down to me and my friends? Making me feel like I don’t belong here?”  

“Not all of us are natural rays of sunshine, princess.” He stopped. “I… It’s hard for some people. I—” he groaned, “I wanted you here! I’m sorry for—” you interrupted him.  

“You’re drunk.”  

“I know what I’m saying! Stop acting like I don’t. I mean this!”  

“No!”  

“STOP, Y/N! JUST… stop.” He sighed and walked closer to you, making you take a step back. 

“I’m trying here… but you’re being an asshole about it, and I’m TRYING to apologize for something I know I did wrong.”  

“You’re drunk…”  

“Stop saying that, as if it makes my words invalid! I know what I’m saying and I mean every word!”  

“I don’t believe them! Is that what you wanted to hear? I don’t believe drunk words; alcohol doesn’t allow you to think straight, and I told you I don’t want to talk about it.” You turned away, ready to walk.

“For someone who claims to always be kind, you are doing a terrible job right now.” You stop in your tracks but don’t look back. “I’m here being honest, and all you do is think the worst of me… you’re just like everyone else…” he said, slurring more as the alcohol finally caught up to him. “I’m actually sorry, princess…” 

You heard the moment he walked back inside, and you finally turned. You watched as he went in and disappeared into his house, leaving you with the silence of the night and your thoughts. Why did he always leave you like this? Always analyzing his words. He sounded sincere; you could feel that, but there were so many layers to the conversation you didn’t want to dissect, yet you knew you were going to.

“You're leaving?” Topper interrupted your thoughts.

“Uh… yeah, I’m tired.” 

“Who is taking you?” No one; you were going to walk. A stupid decision, probably. 

“My friends,” you lied. 'You’re the one lying,' Rafe’s words echoed in your head. 

“Liar, they’re still inside.” You sighed. “Come on, I’ll drop you off. I need to buy more ice, so let’s go.” You didn’t protest and followed him to his car. 

You got in, gave him the address, and he drove in silence. He stopped for a bit of ice at a small store he found when he was closer to the address you provided. 

“Here, it’s okay.” You made him stop beforehand. You didn’t give him the exact address of your house; you were a bit paranoid about sharing it unless it was someone close to you. Topper parked his car right where you told him. 

“Thanks… you didn’t have to do that.” 

“Rafe would’ve killed me if something happened to you.” He paused, debating whether to say something else. “He would’ve done it, but he was too drunk.” 

“Yeah…” you said quietly. “I promise I didn’t know I was going to end up at the party…” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said sincerely. “You don’t owe me or anyone an explanation.” You nodded; you knew that, but it was as if you needed to ensure someone understood. You said your goodbyes and walked to your house, which was just around the corner from where Topper had left you.

You went directly to your room to change clothes. It was supposed to be a good night, and yet here you were, with your feelings all over the place, but mainly feeling guilty.

12:55 AM - Pope “Where are you?”

12:55 AM - Pope “Please tell me you’re alive”

12:55 AM - You “I am, sorry for leaving without saying anything”

12:56 AM - Pope “Still didn’t answer me. Where are you”

12:56 AM - You “I’m home”

12:56 AM - Pope “How? Who? The guy you were talking to?!”

12:57 AM - You “No… Topper… he went to buy ice and dropped me off”

12:57 AM - Pope “Topper? As in Sarah’s ex? tf”

12:57 AM - You “As in Rafe’s friend”

12:57 AM - Pope “Oh…”

12:58 AM - Pope “Something happened again huh?”

12:58 AM - You  “I’m okay, I just need sleep.”

12:58 AM - You  “I’m exhausted, it was a long day”

12:59 AM - Pope “Whatever you need just let me know, fyi I will tell Cleo about this.”

12:59 AM - You “I didn’t expect less”

taglist: @starkeyvhs @oxpogues4lifexo @persiar9 @lenasvoid @angelicameron @purplerose291 @davinashifts333 if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :)

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

PREVIOUS NEXT

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

[kirain]

Part four of my appreciation project!

@iedistis A fic based on their wonderful art piece here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

Morning light streamed through the windows, painting the half-empty bed in molten gold. Dawn—Emmrich's favourite hour. Nothing compared to the thrill of waking beside his beloved, both of them messy and vulnerable from sleep's blessed embrace. It was an intimacy beyond words, a fragile moment reserved for them alone. As she stirred from her slumber, he stood before the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt, waiting—always waiting—for her.

Filomena. His anchor. His everything.

With a slow stretch, she slipped from the bed and stepped in front of him, her movements graceful, her gown ruffled and revealing. Raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulder as she reached for his neck pin, her fingers deft from weeks of practice. This small act of service had become something sacred between them, a silent devotion he anticipated each morning.

He ignored his reflection, instead watching her hands—her beautiful, delicate hands—as she fastened the chains, ensuring the skull clasp sat perfectly against his throat. The act was tender, seductive, and yet, unbearably distant. How he longed to reach for her, to caress her cheek, to break the quiet cadence of her gestures and return the devotion she so freely gave.

But as always, the moment she finished, she stepped away. And as always, he let her go.

It wasn't just him. She did this with everyone.

When Lucanis worried over Spite fleeing in the night, Filomena kept the spirit entertained until morning. When Bellara struggled to tune the artefact, Filomena listened, offering insights long past her own exhaustion. When Harding and Davrin doubted themselves, she was the first to lift them up. When Taash needed help appealing to their mother, she stood at their side. When Neve sought guidance on blood magic, Filomena answered every question, no matter how time-consuming or difficult.

But the worst was the battlefield. She was reckless—always throwing herself in front of others, always making sure no one else bore the brunt of the attacks. She carried everything.

Everything.

And today, as she finished with his pin, Emmrich saw it. In her hands—moving just a little slower. In her eyes—just a little heavier.

"Darling," he said softly. "Are you all right?"

Filomena blinked, the brief pause betraying her feelings before she mustered a well-worn smile. "Of course."

Emmrich winced. As she turned away, he caught her hand—not forcefully, but with quiet insistence.

"Truly?" he pushed, his voice gentle, persuasive. "I don't mean to pry. You've just seemed... distracted lately."

Filomena hesitated before slipping her fingers from his grasp, her gaze flicking away. Truly, he asked. A truth she couldn't speak to anyone, not even to him.

Truly, the weight of their looming battle against Ghilan'nain pressed down on her like a vice. The closer they drew to that moment, the more she feared not just failure, but leading them all to ruin.

"I'm just a little tired," she lied, forcing another placid smile. "Too much activity the last few days. It's been hell on my elegant features." Emmrich frowned at the obvious deflection, but she shrugged it off. "I'm going to read for a bit. Why don't you head downstairs and I'll meet you later?"

Emmrich sighed, concern knitting his brow as she moved towards the fireplace, feigning contentment. He could sense her pain, her facade, he just couldn't discern the cause.

"Filomena..."

"I'm fine, Emmrich," she stressed as she lowered herself onto the carpet in front of the divan, crossing her legs beneath her. "I'm sure Manfred probably put some tea on. Why don't you go wish him a good morning? I'll join you when I finish this chapter."

Filomena flinched at the unexpected touch, her head tilting slightly. "What are you doing?"

Emmrich watched as she grabbed the book of poetry that rested on the cushion behind her, left there from the night before. As she flipped it open, her fingers stilled over the pages, uninterested and unmoving. Even as she stared at the words, she wasn't reading. He could tell.

She wanted space, but he followed anyway, settling down on the divan and caging her within the warmth of his presence. Then, without a word, he reached forward, sweeping her silken hair behind her back.

"Your hair," he said, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "You like it braided, don't you?"

She froze, startled by the offer. "Yes, but I can do it myself."

His hands rushed to her shoulders, grasping them firmly yet gently. "I know you can," he hushed. "But I'd like to, if you'll let me."

A rare flush bloomed across her cheeks. "Do you... know how?"

"Of course. I learned during my years as a mortician."

She nearly laughed, but the weight on her heart smothered it before it could form. Instead, she simply scoffed, her gaze sinking into the fire's glow. With a weary nod, she set the book in her lap, an air of resignation in her tone.

"If you really want to," she relented.

"Thank you, darling."

He started carefully, his fingers weaving her thick, luscious strands with flawless precision. The sensation—his fingertips grazing her scalp, the steady pull and twist—was unexpectedly soothing.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, the thought unbearable.

"No. It's—" Nice. "No, you're not hurting me."

The room went silent, save for the occasional pop of burning wood and the rhythmic glide of his hands.

"I know something's wrong," he said after a while. Filomena tensed, but he squeezed his legs tighter around her arms, his body her sanctuary. "You can talk to me about anything. You know that, yes?"

She didn't respond, her heart clenching.

"Darling, please."

The sincerity in his voice, the way he begged—it shattered her defenses. She swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the hearth, the flames dancing with the freedom she yearned for.

For a long moment, she said nothing, until her voice emerged, low and abnormally diffident.

"I hate that I was put in charge."

Emmrich didn't react. He only listened, working her hair with patience.

"I didn't earn this," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Varric left me in charge, and everyone just... follows. Not because I deserve it, but because they think they have to. 'If we don't fight the gods, who will?' So they joined at my request, never once questioning my reasons or qualifications." Her hands tightened over the book in her lap. "But I wasn't trained for this, Emmrich. I worry that—"

She cut herself off, unwilling to confess the worst of it.

She worried about making a fatal mistake.

She worried about leading him, Harding, Davrin—all of them—to their deaths.

"Well," she exhaled, ready to dismiss it, "I just worry sometimes. It's not worth discussing."

In her mind, she'd shared enough. She may have been Emmrich's partner, but she was his leader as well. He wasn't there to alleviate her doubts and insecurities. She turned a page, acting as though the conversation never occurred.

"I see," Emmrich hummed, tying off the braid with a black ribbon.

He sounded... relieved?

"That," he said, bending down, his breath a balm against her ear, "is absolute nonsense."

"What?"

Before she could turn, his lips brushed the side of her neck. Filomena stiffened, her breath hitching, but Emmrich persisted, shamelessly revelling in her scent. In her fleeting astonishment. He kissed lower, skimming her sensitive skin, his voice an affectionate murmur.

"No one follows you out of obligation, my love." Another kiss. "They follow you because you're capable." Another. "Because you're brilliant." Another. "Because you care."

His kisses trailed lower—sucking, nibbling—then back up, his moustache tickling her jaw.

"Emmrich..." Filomena shuddered.

He smiled against her, pressing another sensual kiss to her neck before gently turning her to face him. Their eyes met, and for a moment there was nothing but quiet understanding between them.

Then, his lips met hers, strong yet humble, aching with devotion. He cradled her chin, holding her comfortably, possessively. Filomena tried to resist, but she moaned, the book slipping from her grasp as she surrendered to her desires.

With a swift motion, she turned on her knees and fisted his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him—and he answered with equal intensity, his fingers tracing the line of her wrist, his body bending despite the protest of his age. He endured it. For her, he would endure anything, so long as it meant he could taste and console her. She opened up so rarely—always giving, never taking. Always putting herself in harm's way. Always suffering in silence.

Today, he wouldn't allow it.

The sound of their coupling echoed through the room, the wet, harmonious sups like a melody, crude and sophisticated all at once. If not for the incessant calling of the world outside, helpless and waiting, they could have stayed that way forever.

As the sun crawled higher in the sky, however, eventually he had to pull away, leaving her breathless but sated.

"Varric was right to entrust his legacy to you," he said, his voice velvet as he brushed his thumb along her reddened cheek. "Whether you see it or not, we trust you. Not because we have to, but because you've earned it. Every second of everyday, you earn it."

Filomena sighed, averting her gaze. "And if I mess up?"

"You won't," he smiled, urging her to look at him, to see how much he believed in her. "We choose to follow you, my darling. We all know the risks, and we know you'll do right by us. No matter what happens."

"Emmrich..." Her voice trembled, a whimper escaping as his warm, hazel eyes rattled her walls, if only for a moment.

For the first time in weeks, the tightness in her chest seemed to loosen.

"You're more than our leader, you're our friend. And to me..." He pressed a final, lingering kiss to her forehead. "To me you're—you're—"

"I know, Emmrich. You don't need to say it."

And she didn't want him to say it. Not yet. Not aloud. She wasn't ready—not for those three words that would make everything undeniably real.

"Darling, it's all right to rely on us every once in a while. That's the whole point of a team. Being in charge doesn't mean you have to do everything alone. We're here for you, just as you're here for us. I'm here for you."

"Come here," he said, pulling her up and wrapping her in his arms.

Filomena withdrew into her thoughts, wrestling with the concept. Her entire life, she had been alone. She'd always had to adapt, to prove her worth, or risk being abandoned. But as she stared up at Emmrich, feeling the warmth of his love and adoration, a timid smile spread across her face.

Filomena gasped, melting into the embrace, her hands gripping his shirt. Maybe—just this once—she'd let herself lean on someone else.

[sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now]

(There’s not enough Cheated appreciation in the world so hiiiiii just gonna ramble about him a bit cause I’m revisiting the Thorn route via YouTube videos)

Alongside Broken he’s probably one of the most empathetic voices out of everyone (at least, in human standards). Despite being a voice who had successfully killed the Princess without getting killed in chapter one he has a distaste for violence. Mostly likely because you were going through it with the attitude of “let’s get this over with” instead of like how you get Cold where you push down every single doubt away from your head to get the job done successfully. It’s more likely that he’s fighting back out of spite and the desire to make things right instead of having actual bloodlust, like Stubborn for example.

Ultimately Cheated is not violent whatsoever. In fact, I’d say he’s a pretty fair person. Instead of being the “raging gamer guy” he’s more like the tired unlucky guy who just wants things to go smoothly for once. He’s actually pretty chill himself when he’s not screaming his heart out on how unfair everything is.

(Side note, I really enjoy @/phantasmatoucan ‘s portrayal of him. He’s just so tired-looking and attractive I mean what)

(Side-side note, read the Cheated x Broken fics written by @/writingdevil. She got me into the ship. They’re really good trust)

[helvegen-s]

point of no return | epilogue

index

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!OC

Summary: Love and rivalry collide on the Formula 1 circuit as Ferrari's star drivers, Astrid and Charles, push the limits of their relationship alongside the boundaries of speed. Can their love survive the pressure, or will their ambition become their downfall?

WC: 2.2k

A/N: And with this, it’s finished! I really hope you’ve enjoyed the story and the characters. Honestly, I’ve loved writing it. I’m thinking about writing some extras about Charles and Astrid, so if you have any requests, I’ll be reading them :)

Big hug xx

The press room was packed. Journalists, cameras, and microphones lined up like soldiers in a battle of questions. Astrid Whitmore sat in the center, the Ferrari emblem still on her chest for the last time.

She took a deep breath before speaking.

"After much thought, I've decided it's time to close this chapter of my career. I'm leaving Ferrari and will be joining Red Bull next season."

The murmurs were immediate. It wasn’t a secret that her relationship with the team had grown tense, but hearing it from her own lips gave it a different weight. Astrid answered a few questions with the composure that had always defined her, carefully avoiding what everyone truly wanted to know—how Charles Leclerc felt about it.

When it was over, she walked out of the room with steady steps. She knew he would be there.

Charles was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes said too much. Astrid stopped in front of him, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

"So, it's official," he murmured, a half-smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Yes," she replied, feeling her throat tighten.

Silence settled between them again. It was strange how, after everything they had lived through, there weren’t enough words to say goodbye.

"I hope you find what you're looking for," Charles finally said.

Astrid looked away for a second before meeting his gaze again.

"And I hope you keep fighting for what you deserve."

He let out a small laugh—bitter and sincere at the same time.

"We loved each other too much, but that's not enough, is it?"

Astrid shook her head.

"No," she whispered. "But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it."

Charles nodded, his eyes memorizing every detail of her, as if trying to capture her one last time.

"Take care, Astrid."

"You too, Charles."

And with that, she walked away.

The following years bore witness to her greatness.

Astrid Whitmore conquered two world titles with Red Bull, cementing her legacy in Formula 1. But one day, when she felt she had given everything she had, she decided to say goodbye to single-seaters for good.

Rally found her when she was no longer searching for glory—only pure adrenaline, the thrill without the weight of expectations. There, among dirt roads and wild landscapes, she discovered there was something beyond winning and winning.

There was freedom.

And in that freedom, Astrid Whitmore found herself again.

Meanwhile, Charles Leclerc had become much more than just a Formula 1 driver.

He was a legend. Five consecutive titles with Ferrari, records shattered, epic races forever etched into motorsport history. He had become the man Monaco idolized, his name echoing with the same weight as the greatest champions of the Scuderia.

But amidst all that success, something had always lingered. A ghost that never truly disappeared.

It was Astrid.

He couldn’t count how many times he had searched for her name online over the past five years, how many times he had read about her victories in Rally, how many times he had found himself smiling at the screen as she lifted another trophy. He had always loved watching Astrid win, even if she was no longer by his side.

What he didn’t like was the feeling that followed. That tightness in his chest, that sharp pang of nostalgia reminding him that no matter how much he moved forward, a part of him had never stopped wanting her.

The years had passed, the seasons had piled up, yet Astrid remained there—lingering in his mind, in his memories. In every race where his instincts told him to turn his head and look for her in the paddock, only to remember she wasn’t there.

Now, for the first time in a long while, the FIA was hosting its annual gala in Monaco. The night he would be crowned, once again, as world champion. And in an unexpected twist, Astrid had decided to attend.

He found out days before, when he saw her name on the guest list. His reaction was immediate—he felt the ground beneath him shift. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to see her after all this time. If he would still feel the same. If she would too.

The salty Mediterranean air mixed with the scent of freshly brewed coffee as Astrid walked through the streets of Monaco. It had been five years since she last set foot in this city, and yet, everything felt familiar. She had arrived a few days before the gala, taking the time to wander through streets filled with buried memories.

Monaco had been her home. She had loved living here, getting lost in its alleys, driving through its roads with the sea on one side and cliffs on the other. But what she remembered most was that, in every corner, there was a piece of Charles.

They had shared a life here. The memory of those years was imprinted on every restaurant they used to visit, every bench where they had sat talking about everything and nothing, every late-night stroll when the world’s noise faded, leaving only them.

Astrid didn’t regret moving on, finding her own path. But being here stirred something inside her she hadn’t expected.

She had no plan when she stepped into that café. She only wanted a break, a quiet moment before the gala.

What she didn’t expect was to find him there.

Charles.

He was sitting alone, a cup of coffee in his hand, a folded newspaper on the table. She hadn’t seen him in years, but the moment their eyes met, time collapsed in on itself.

He saw her too. And by the way his body tensed, she knew the surprise was mutual.

Astrid stood at the door, her heart a storm in her chest. She couldn’t help but take him in—the way the years had treated him. He looked older, more mature… and somehow even more handsome. But what hit her the hardest was the emotion in his eyes. The same one she had seen the last time they said goodbye.

Charles, on the other hand, felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs. There she was. So different, yet so much the same. Her hair a little longer, her posture more at ease, her eyes reflecting something new—peace.

She looked at peace.

Something inside him broke and healed at the same time.

"Hi," Astrid whispered.

Charles felt like a teenager again, words stuck in his throat, a foolish smile creeping onto his lips.

"Can I sit with you?" Astrid asked with a small smile, trying to ignore the avalanche of emotions crashing over her.

Charles nodded without thinking.

They sat across from each other, as if five years hadn’t passed.

At first, the conversation was light. They talked about racing, titles, how life had taken them down such different paths. Astrid told him about Rally, how much she enjoyed it, how she had found something in it she had never felt in Formula 1.

"It’s not just about winning, Charles. It’s not just about proving I’m the best. It’s… something more. I don’t know how to explain it."

He listened in silence, absorbing every word. He had always loved hearing her talk passionately about racing.

"You look happy," he finally said.

Astrid met his gaze and nodded.

"I am."

And it was true.

But then Charles lowered his eyes to his coffee and murmured,

"I always knew you’d find something to love as much as Formula 1. Though… I would have liked to be part of it."

Astrid felt her heart clench.

"We hurt each other… but we never stopped loving each other," she whispered.

Charles looked up at her, his gaze intense, stealing her breath.

"No," he answered. "And I don’t think we ever really stopped."

This time, the silence between them was different. Not uncomfortable, not painful. Just… full of possibilities.

Astrid leaned slightly forward, holding her cup with both hands.

"Are you scared?"

Charles let out a small laugh, a mix of disbelief and resignation.

"Yes."

"Me too."

And in that moment, they understood something they had perhaps always known: that what had once separated them no longer existed. That life had changed them, made them grow, and that maybe, just maybe, this time they could make it work.

Charles took a breath and, with a lopsided smile, said:

"Maybe this time..."

Astrid set her cup down on the saucer and held his gaze.

"Maybe."

And for the first time in seven years, the future no longer seemed uncertain.

Monaco had always had a special magic at night. The city lights reflected on the water, the echo of music floating in the air, the feeling that, in that small corner of the world, time stood still.

Astrid felt it that night more than ever.

The gala had been a whirlwind of greetings, conversations, and reunions. She was surprised by how much she had missed some people, how much affection she still felt for the family she had built in Formula 1. But even in the midst of it all, a part of her never stopped being aware of his presence.

Charles.

From across the room, in the middle of endless congratulations and impromptu interviews, he was looking for her too. Their eyes met so many times she lost count. At first, it was almost a game. A fleeting glance here, a lingering one there. But soon, it stopped being a game and became something more. A reminder that no matter how many years had passed, no matter how much their lives had changed… they still gravitated toward each other.

Now, back in her room, Astrid let out a sigh. She slipped off her heels, letting them drop to the floor with a soft thud, and collapsed onto the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

She couldn’t ignore it anymore.

She couldn’t ignore how her heart had raced when she saw him at the café. How her stomach tightened every time she caught him looking at her at the gala. How, despite everything, he was still Charles.

She turned on her phone and unlocked it without thinking too much. Her thumb hovered over the screen for a second before she finally typed:

To: Charles"Congratulations, champion. It’s been an incredible night for you."

It wasn’t enough. It was what anyone else would say. And Charles had never been just anyone to her.

She deleted the message.

She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes for a moment. Then she typed again.

To: Charles"I can’t remember the last time we spent a night in the same place without talking. It feels strange. Good night, Charles."

She hesitated for a moment, her thumb hovering over the send button. It wasn’t a groundbreaking message. It didn’t promise anything. It didn’t ask for anything.

But it was a first step.

A bridge between yesterday and tomorrow.

She sent it before she could regret it.

The phone vibrated on the nightstand. Charles wasn’t expecting any messages at that hour. His fingers, almost instinctively, reached for the device.

When he saw her name on the screen, his heart skipped a beat.

For a moment, he did nothing. He just stared at the message, allowing himself to feel everything that came with it.

"I can’t remember the last time we spent a night in the same place without talking. It feels strange. Good night, Charles."

He closed his eyes and let out a soft laugh. Of course it felt strange. All night, he had felt her close and, at the same time, out of reach. All night, his mind had drifted between the present and the past, between the urge to go to her and the fear of crossing a line they maybe shouldn’t cross.

But now, this.

A message.

Astrid had been the one to send it, the one to leave the door slightly open. And Charles wasn’t the kind of man to let an opportunity like that slip away.

He sat up in bed, leaning his back against the headboard. His fingers moved across the screen with more confidence than he actually felt.

To: Astrid"You’re right. It feels strange."

He paused. Then added:

"I don’t think we’ve ever avoided each other this much."

And he sent the message.

Just seconds later, his phone vibrated again.

Astrid:"I don’t think we’ve avoided it, Charles."

He frowned, his thumb tapping lightly against the screen.

Charles:"No? Then what have we done?"

Astrid took longer to reply this time. Charles imagined she was debating between many possible answers. And when it finally arrived, he knew he hadn’t been wrong.

Astrid:"We’ve been waiting."

Charles read it several times. His lips curled into a silent smile. Because yes, she was right.

They had waited.

To see if time would wear down what they felt. To see if the other would make the first move. To see if, after everything, there was still something left between them.

And the answer was obvious.

Charles:"And now?"

He waited. Seconds, then a minute. Until the screen lit up again.

Astrid:"Now I don’t want to wait anymore."

Charles let the phone fall onto the bed and ran a hand over his face. His smile widened, accompanied by a sigh he wasn’t sure was relief, excitement, or simple acceptance.

After years, after so many stolen glances and unspoken words, they had finally said what truly mattered.

And for the first time in a long time, the future felt like something they could write together.

[dolche-tejada]

"So you agree that if they're alive then they're still going to be put on sentences."

The villains ? Yeah that's kinda my point actually... They constantly suffer from consequences of what they did and even from undeserved shit (both before and after becoming criminals) when the heroes hardly ever does.

"Deku: LOSING OFA but become still a hero."

Firstly, yeah so he didn't really sacrifice anything if he can still be a hero through his super-suit granting him similar abilities to his previous set of quirks.

Secondly since Deku haven't even tried to talk with Shigaraki, it was either renouncing to OFA or dying alongside every other hero and overall the entirety of Japan so "sacrifice" is already arguable.

"significant personal sacrifice, altering his future as a hero. This isn't just about physical healing but about a life-changing choice, which does have consequences."

Lmao what ? It only happened because Deku is fucking lazy and didn't bother training to still be a hero (or even a policeman or firefighter) after losing his quirk. We saw through Aizawa, Shinso, Knuckleduster, Mandalay, Stein or even Nighteye that you can clearly be a hero through training. Yet Deku needed to wait 8 years for Bakugo and Mei to provide him some high-tech suit on a silver plate to keep playing heroes with his buddies instead of doing so by pulling his fingers out of his ass by working out.

"Hawks can no longer fly or use his feathers for combat, reconnaissance, or rescue operations."

I've already answered to that in my initial post, have you even bothered reading it ?

"He retired from become a hero. He lose his identity as a hero"

You mean almost as if it was treated as a good thing for him and not a sacrifice since he was groomed by the HPSC into becoming a child soldier super-hero ? His wings were even symbolically framed as his own cage, because it's through them that he was exploited his whole life. You can hardly do less subtle than that. Losing his quirk isn't a consequence, it's basically a reward from Horikoshi.

Besides, the argument I've made about Deku works here too. Hawks wasn't forced to give up being a hero after losing his quirk. Mirio didn't need a quirk to give Overhaul a ride for his money. Nighteye, Aizawa and Shinso are basically quirkless in a fight and are still able to work as functional heroes. A middle-aged man out of his prime like Knuckleduster can beat the shit out of powerful quirk users, Hawks has no excuses.

"and why can't he be forgiven too ?"

When did Hawks sought forgiveness to begin with ? He was confronted to his crime only twice : The first time he justified it in front of journalists and the second time, he just admitted he was wrong to a clone of Toga before she vanished.

"If the villain is redeemed in your eyes?"

When did I said that ?

"He's been a hero that saves countless lives."

A hero who didn't suffer from any personal consequences for murdering a villain running away.

"Endeavor: Loss of Arm: Endeavor indeed loses his right arm during his battle with All For One (AFO)."

And aside from that, Enji suffered no backlash for abusing the shit out of his family for years and still has his money + Hawks, Shoto, Fuyumi, Rei and his partners at his side.

"His fate was not revealed on chapter 431 but it seems like dubious."

So as I said in my initial post, the difficulties he will apparently have to endure are offscreened (assuming they really happened). From what we can actually see, he's fine despite being now disabled.

"You point out that while heroes suffer seemingly lesser consequences? Do you read manga and think mmm this people continue their lives and careers with little to no real change or punishment."

Because that's the case. The "consequences" you mentioned are either superficial or not even real ones since Hawks and Deku could have continue their hero career if they truly intended to.

"Contrastingly, you imply that the villains do not receive similar leniency or redemption, suggesting an imbalance in how the story handles character outcomes"

I'm not suggesting, I'm stating. Heroes like Hawks, Enji or Mirko can get scott free with the shit they did, meanwhile villains have to assume the consequences of each one of their crimes.

And if you want to talk about the more "physical" consequences, from the heroes' side, once again Gran Torino survived having his ribcage destroyed by Shigaraki, Bakugo his heart blown to bits and Enji to being ragdolled against buildings. From the villains' side, Toga died from a mere blood loss and Kurogiri from a random explosion of Bakugo...

Yes heroes do get a special treatment from Horikoshi, it's just ridiculous to deny it at that point.

"In mha the context might differ, where the societal structure, the nature of Quirks, and the scale of destruction might call for different resolutions."

Except at the exception of All For One, nearly all the time heroes have non-lethal options to neutralize criminals.

"However, the point stands that NOT ALL heroes need to resort to killing to be seen as just or effective."

Which evidence furthermore that Hawks allegedly needing to murder Twice in order to stop him is bullshit.

"Anyway. Twice and his involvement in villainous activities inherently puts innocent lives at risk."

Which still don't justify to murder him when :

Twice was running away.

Hawks could have subdue him at any moment without trying.

It's his fucking job to capture criminals putting innocent lives at risk without killing them. Again if he can't do that, then he's an incompetent.

He had prep time to plan his arrest and even the perfect quirk to counter Double.

"You're correct that modern justice systems aim for rehabilitation over retribution in many cases."

I didn't say that though, just that most modern societies aren't based on a childish principle like "an eye for an eye". Putting criminals in prison is still a form of retribution for their crimes and in most countries, rehabilitation isn't that much of a priority.

"However, within mha the discussion isn't just about justice."

Uh yes, it quite literally is. You can't write a story about super-heroes without treating notions like justice. Also this story has for prominent themes how unfairly treated some categories of people are, racism or government corruption, how can you read this manga and pretend that justice isn't the point ?

"The "eye for an eye" argument here not about endorsing that philosophy but discussing how stories sometimes use it to resolve conflicts."

In your first reply, you argued that the League dying was only karma, that they don't deserve a happy ending and that it doesn't matter if they were "pitiful before". As far as I can see, you were pretty determined to endorse this philosophy.

"Your point about wanting the League of Villains (LoV) to live might want characters to survive for more story or development"

It's not a matter of content or development, it's a question of consistency and good writing. As I've said before : If you promised something during your whole story, that everything you developed goes that way but that you suddenly chicken out at the last second by making a 180°, then your story is ass since your conclusion makes all these themes and development pointless.

There is no point in following Shoto and his family trying to save Toya because he will die in excruciating pain not even 8 years afterwards.

There is no point in following Deku trying to be "the greatest hero" by understanding villains and saving them because each time he got the opportunity to do that, he just resorted to violence at the first difficulty.

There is no point in trying to see Uraraka understand Toga and reaching her heart because Toga killed herself at the end.

There is no point in following this story overall since nothing really changed at the end despite what Horikoshi pretend.

And when some things did changed, it happened magically offscreen (like the heteromorph racism) so no point in following the story here again since we don't get to see how this issue was adressed.

"but within the story's logic, their death might serve a greater narrative purpose."

Except their death served zero purpose except maintaining a status quo repeatedly shown across the story to be blatantly unfair and creating more problems than it solves. And even on a more symbolic or thematic aspect, what does Toga killing herself actually brings ? Or Toya slowly dying after being reduced to a piece of charcoal ? Or Deku punching Shigaraki out of existence after a life of suffering ?

In addition to that, I could point out there's not much value in adding something to your story anyway if by doing so, you contradict everything you've been telling up to that point and convey fucked up messages as if they were good moral lessons.

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[keelt9]

Chapter 2

Masterlist

A/N: Ok I was planning to publish, like every Wednesday but I was so busy that I couldn't. Still it's San Valentines day and week, I won't let it pass. Also I have something planned for this day but well my days and my schedule didn't fit.

However! Happy Valentine's Day 😘

Thanks for reading! 🍒

To her surprise the next day Monet came running like every morning after finishing her two hour painting, of course with more breaks than painting from time to time. 

Just this time, he came with a strange fluffy toy.

“Monet!” She goes down taking the toy of his snout looking around expecting to find the owner of the toy. 

Instead the only one she found is Officer Lynch finish his shift. “Oh Y/N, leaving too?”

Y/N smiles; since she added painting in her morning routine Officer Lynch always make sure she stay safe, when Monet was include to the equation, he secure multiple eyes are on him.

“That’s what I’m trying but I’m afraid Monet took this from someone.” Y/N stands with the toy in her hands grabbing her bag and the canva. 

“No!, that’s his.” Officer Lynch smiles leaving more confuse Y/N. “Joey gives to him.” 

Y/N sees Monet tapping his paws for she gave him back his toy. “What?”

“Joey and he are…making a special friendship, he came the day before Christmas to give him this, but I guess you went out, then after New Year still you didn't come until today.”Officer Lynch smiles when Monet sniff his hand.

Y/N feel confused, her dog has a friend? “Yeah, we went with my father and then I had tons of work so I wasn’t able to come until today.” 

“That explained a lot of things.” The man patted Monet's head. “Don’t worry Y/N, Joey is such a good guy, I dare to say one of a kind.” He smiles at Y/N who keeps confused and intrigue. “Both of them are taking care of each other, trust me.”

“Ok?” 

Y/N can barely answer but her eyes back to the toy in her hands and the fact that actually could be one of the reasons, these days Monet just needs to perk out at their house for he starts to look around the block observing his surroundings like he was actually expecting someone.

Joe leaves the park with a wide smile on his face, he arrived there earlier than he does, doing his usual routine expecting that little spotted puppy came running. 

20 minutes later, Joe sees him appearing among the trees with his green bandanna over his neck moving the tail side to side. 

“Hey buddy!” Monet sits waiting for Joe's hands pat his head to stand on his two legs. “A few days and this cast will be history.” 

Monet sees the bump in his hoodie and smells it. “Right, Merry Christmas and happy New Year.” Joe giggles seeing the puppy smelling incessantly as he opens the package. 

Monet grabs it right away, biting it over the ground as Joe sits on the bench observing the dog, a few minutes later, Monet puts it over his lap, waiting as he sits.

“I can’t actually throw that far with the other one.” Monet tilted his head. “But what about short distances?”

That’s how they spend the time with Joe throwing the toy, then Monet searching for it walking back and repeating the action until both of them sit on the grass. 

“Water?” Officer Lynch asked in his last lap around the park. 

Joe sees the bottle and accepts it; the question is how Monet will drink? “I think I need a plate or something.”

Officer Lynch give him one. “Mrs. Howk always had one in case Monet visited her.” 

Mrs. Howk is a lady that used to come every morning to feed the doves or birds in the middle of the park.

The Officer Lynch couldn’t avoid smiling seeing that to boys drinking water worn-out even they just play for a short time. 

“That’s his present?” He saw the fluffy toy in front of Monet. 

“Yeah, I seriously start to believe he loves it.” Joe sees Monet laid on to his left, clearly tired. 

“I guess he does.” For the Officer Lynch is adorable the bond he’s abel to witness, increasing day by day, after all that’s the reason why people said dogs are the bestfriends of people.

“Morning.” Savannah enters her friend's house with her PJ's; Nora has a morning training that probably Savannah forgets.

Dragging her to the couch, she laid down, closing her eyes as Monet starts to sniff her, all he can reach.

Savannah laughs when Monet takes the pillow from her face so she can give her attention to him.

“Ok, sorry, sorry, hi boy.” Monet barks, laying his head on the top of her tummy.

Y/N smiles. “Breakfast?”

“And coffee.” Y/N turns around to get the coffee machine ready.

“Hey, that’s a fabulous toy.” Savannah said standing from the couch, her hair tossing in every possible direction. “Where did you find it?”

Y/N quickly sees the fluffy toy over Monet's bed. It’s been a couple of weeks since Monet has it and already looks like it’s had 3 years of use. 

The first day after he had it, Y/N was surprised by the fact Monet barks next to his bed where the toy was. It took her a couple of seconds to realize he wanted to take it for their morning in the park. The following weeks that toy was already in the bag next to the door, the one Y/N takes to the park every morning with her paintbrush and cans of paint along with a few snacks and water of Monet.

“You don’t need permission, huh?” Y/N sat kneeling in front of her dog who looks at her big shiny eyes, like she’s the only person he loves. 

Y/N giggles and kisses his head before putting his collar on. “I love you so much, you know that?”

Monet barks, liking the first part he has at the reach, her arm. 

 Y/N serves two plates, and cups of coffee before serving Monet’s food. “I don’t. Monet’s friend gave it to him.”

“What?” Savannah laughs. “Monte has a friend, ok, who?”

Y/N pat Monet’s head as he smells his food. “I don’t know.” 

Savannah choke with her coffee. It’s not a secret that Monet used to spend free time around the park; she already witness too, he goes first with the man of the coffee, who always has his small cart for selling coffee and with the wise recommendation of Y/N a small treat for him, then he spends time with the lady who feeds birds follow he taking his time with the officer before spend some time in the bench between the trees where you can see the strange conjunction among the old houses and clear big sky at the back. 

But Y/N knows them really well, she used to spend her days there when she was a kid, her grandparents not living so far away from there; after she decided to come back it’s like the time didn’t pass.

Savannah alarms ring when the dog she loves so deep, has a friend and she doesn't even know who it is.

“And you’re ok with that?!” Savannah sees her friend sitting in front of her calmly.

“Officer Lynch knows him, he calls him Joey.” Y/N lift her shoulders. “For the name probably it’s a kid that plays with him before going to school.” 

Y/N giggles seeing her friend that bewildered. “Come on Sav! I don’t want to scare a little boy saying, <Hey don’t play with my dog.>” Y/N remember who badly she wanted a dog when she was a kid but the resources and time weren't appropriate.

And she's reluctant to take that small connection with a kid that probably has been through the same.

“Monet is so happy every time he comes back with me after playing with his friends and probably the kid too. That’s what matters, right?”

Savannah observer at Monet, soon he will be 6 months older and he’s growing up so quickly and big, besides that’s what she works with him every weekend, training him for any unexpected event.

Savannah works in a physiotherapy for dogs and training them too, she knows for sure, if that Joey kid could be mean, Monet simply walks away.

“Happy and healthy dog.” Savannah said, as Y/N nods with a bite of her waffles in her mouth. 

Still the name keeps resembling something Nora mentions the time she took Monet for a walk.

For Ja’Marr it was equally impressive, every time he sees Joe these last weeks he’s so determined to recover and improve every day, along with the rehabilitation, the fact he’s taking piano classes and his new dog-friend makes Joe take things with calm but confidence.

“You play with the dog, he helps you to stay calm and relax, then you wait for the next day and do the same.”Ja’Marr jokes. 

They meet for dinner in Joe’s new home. “What does the dog and the owner have in exchange for that?”  

Joe chuckles, he already thinks about it, with the multiple things he could do to help her and Monet.

“Monet.” Ja’Marr giggles for his friend's correction. 

“Right, sorry, Monet.” Chase takes out the salad of the food they order. “I know a little bit  about dogs, but they eat, sleep, drink and need vet things.“ He points at his friend with the fork. “And that sounds expensive.”

Those words keep Joe’s mind busy all night and in the morning increasing when Monet and he start to play, seeing the fur of Monet shine with the sun and the fact he's always clean and healthy.

Monet brings the toy for Joe, takes it and throws, with more force than he wanted due to being immersed in his own thoughts, he knows it for the time Monet takes for coming back with nothing.

“Shoot.” Joe mumbles when he sees Monet smelling around the place, still finding nothing. 

They lose track of time until a text from his assistant announces they have been waiting for him for 20 minutes, he observes a Monet with regretful eyes as the dogs keep looking around the place with the hope of finding his toy. 

Officer Lynch appears in the path with worried eyes, it’s been tree times since Monet has been called; Y/N already called him knowing if Monet is with him or has been see him and with who. 

“Thank God!” He’s relieved to see Monet and Joe together. “Hey boy, time to go, they’re looking for you at the entrance.” 

Still Monet observers Joe begging for his toy, making his heart squeeze.

“Can I borrow one of these and a pen?” He has an idea, that will, if he's lucky enough to help him to have some type of contact with his owner.

“Shit!” Y/N was about to run to the back of the park with his heart almost coming out of her chest when Monet appears running up the path.

Y/N collapsed on the floor hugging Monet so tight by the neck feeling all the air she's been containing finally out, taking the weight from her chest.

“God! I was so scared.” Monet breathes incessantly as he moves his head around.

What calls for her attention is a strange crunch around his neck under the bandanna; she lifted it carefully and saw a small roll of paper.

“What is this?” She observes her dog with narrow eyes as she unrolls a fine?

“YOU HAVE A FINE?!” Y/N sits on the ground chuckling at the funny situation of her dog carrying a fine. 

The scrappy writing helps her to understand.

 >I'm so sorry, I lost the toy of Monet and we're searching for it so he refused to go and… I'm so sorry to make you feel worried, I'll fix it I promise. 

     -JB

Y/N sees Monet thinking how bad the kid must be feeling for lost the toy and probably being search by Officer Lynch around the park.

“We will fix this later, now, I'm going to work late, let's go boy.” Monet barks as she puts the leash in his collar.

That's what she plans until the meeting that afternoon, things are going pretty well and the company has a last minute plan for Valentine's day, one more time she is stuck in her house for days.

Y/N loves her work, she never dreams about working in webtoons, however from the first second she was linked with the first writer she knew, she found her dream job.

“Y/N!” Savannah screams from the entrance letting go Monet for finding his owner. “We're here.”

Monet does his routine, the one he does every time he comes back home with her, before going to drink water.

“One minute!” Y/N mixing the colours properly makes the transition smoother.

“Pizza?” Savannah is tired, she loved cooking unless she's tired

“Sure.” 

Savannah perks to the room. “Hey, Nora couldn't take him to the park, but he's been my help dog these days.”

Y/N smirks, the last thing she could picture is Monet helping, he’s an amazing boy but with so much energy for helping dogs who are recovering. 

“Believe me, I bet some ladies are following him more than I expect.” Savannah said walking back with her phone in her hands ready for making the order.

Y/N takes a quick glimpse of the canva next to her, the park when the summer begins, and couldn't avoid worrying for the little kid who probably is expecting Monet every day.

She laid her down head on the chair. “Wait a little bit kid, but I'm stuck here.”

Two pizzas later, they crash on the carpet, Savannah jumps remembering something.

“Oh, I've been asking and nothing.” Savannah turns around her head to see Y/N “No one knows where we can find a toy like that.”

All these days Y/N has been searching on the internet, in her small runaways to the mall but nothing.

Y/N sighs, she hopes to be able to go to the park for Monet goes with his friend.

“You will take the fine with you?” For Savannah, it is still a hilarious story about small talk through a fine.

Y/N giggles. “How will communicate with him?” She keeps that fine in her bag. “I don't want to scare him going to him with Monet after disappearing for days.” 

Y/N feels already bad thinking probably the kid believes it's his fault and she's mad.

“I choose the notes over the talk.”

Joe feels awful he goes back searching for a new toy but they ran out of it. So he went to the park moving his hands against each other trying to find the words to introduce to Monet's owner but all seemed worse than the last one.

“Hey I'm Joe, I lost your dog's toy, besides he's been with me these days helping with the recovery and more than that.” 

He gets down his head, that definitely sounds awkward.

It only increases after the second day Monet didn't appear, and Officer Lynch said he hasn’t see him either.

She's mad, definitely mad.

Either way Joe continued going every morning hoping to find Monet but for two weeks he didn't come.

The following week he had things to do outside of Cincinnati but his mind couldn't avoid thinking about his furry friend. 

“Morning Joe.” Officer Lynch said founding him at the entrance after finishing his shift. “A little bit late, huh?”

It's around 9 am, by that time he's usually back at home having his breakfast, still he just goes there for a routine.

“A little friend has been waiting for you for a long time.” Joe opened his eyes running to the beach as he said thanks to the Officer who giggled; Joe looks like a kid running to see a lifetime friend.

Monet was the first one to hear him and smell him, by the time Joe was about to see the bench Monet was barking, running to him gasping as moves around him happy to see him.

Joe kneels and the long licks in his hand as the sniffing around him, is his clear show of love.

“I miss you too buddy.” Joe patted him from his head to his back before hugging him around his neck.

The crunchy sound calls for his attention, by Monet eager movements his bandanna moves and he sees the fine and his writing.

“Is it for me?” Monet sees him gasping.

He unties the fine around his collar.

 >We're not mad! I'm sorry I had tons of work these weeks. Don't worry I'll keep looking for the toy, it helps me if you tell me where you find it. 

  P.D. Monet loves freebies. 

 P.D 2 It's been a week, please Monet miss his friend, don't stop playing with him. 

         It's just a simple mistake.

   P.D 3 Why am I even writing this? 😂

The perfectly drawn emoji makes Joe giggles, as the first P.D where the ink is more dull helps him to understand in fact she’s been writing every week he wasn’t here.

“It's kind of witty your owner, huh?” Joe scratches the back of his head.

Monet carefully smells his hand still with a bandage on it.

“Oh, I'm getting better.” 

Joe takes another look at the note one more time, smirking at the fact she actually writes in blue or green tint.

“A frisbee, I can get more than one, you know.” He kisses Monet's head. “A colour in mind?”

Monte barks jumping over him in a clear sign of bliss.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag:@harryweeniee @hellsingalucard18

[th3mrskory]

Chapter 9: Across the Divide

Pairing: Original fem!Reader x Origins!Logan Warning: angst, fluff, 18+ MDNI, SMUT, explicit language, loss of virginity, handjob, fingering, oral (female receiving), unprotected p in v, missionary, creampie.

A/N: If Chapter 8 was a punch to the gut, this one is… well, let’s call it an attempt at first aid. Sort of. Have you ever watched two people try to fix something in the worst possible way, only for it to somehow work because they don’t know any other language but this? Yeah. That.

Consider this a little Valentine’s Day treat. Twisted, messy, and completely them. Read when you’re ready. And yes, my inbox is still open for any and all reactions.

Word count: 7 k

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The yard had grown quiet as the other workers moved further into the forest, leaving Logan to finish stacking the last of the wood alone. The sharp bite of winter hung in the air, his breath clouding in front of him with every exhale. The solitude was welcome—at least, that’s what he told himself.

But the silence didn’t stop the memories.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Logan clenched his fists, the words circling in his mind like a relentless echo. He grabbed a log from the pile and slammed it onto the stump, the impact reverberating through his arms. The ax swung down, splitting the wood clean in two.

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced.”

He knew better than to hope for steady ground, better than to let himself believe he could hold onto something good. With Evelyn, it had felt different—like maybe, just maybe, he could carve out a life that didn’t feel like running or regret.

Now, it felt like a mistake.

The kiss he’d seen replayed over and over in his head, each time cutting deeper. It wasn’t just her ex he was angry at, though the smugness on the bastard’s face made Logan’s blood boil. No, most of the anger was for himself—for being stupid enough to think he could be enough for her.

The crunch of boots on gravel pulled him from his thoughts. Pete and Rick approached from the truck, their faces drawn with concern.

“You alright, Howlett?” Pete asked, his voice cautious but probing.

Logan didn’t look up, hefting another log onto the stump. “I’m fine.”

Pete and Rick exchanged a glance, the kind that said he’s definitely not fine.

“Look,” Pete began, leaning on the tailgate. “You don’t want to talk about it. But you’ve been going at this woodpile like it owes you money. Maybe take a second to breathe?”

“I don’t need a breather,” Logan said flatly, his tone daring them to push further.

Rick, quieter but no less perceptive, stepped up beside Pete. “You don’t have to talk,” he said after a pause, his voice measured. “But if you keep bottling it up, it’s gonna come out sideways.”

Logan didn’t respond, his focus locked on the ax as he brought it down with enough force to split the log cleanly.

Pete let out a low whistle. “Man, whatever’s eating at you must be big. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

Logan finally stopped, leaning on the ax handle and leveling Pete with a glare. “I said I’m fine.”

“Sure, sure,” Pete said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But if you keep this up, there won’t be any wood left in the yard for the rest of us.”

Rick sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “Look, Logan. I don’t know what happened with Evelyn, but if she’s got you this twisted up, maybe she’s worth hearing out.”

Logan’s grip on the ax tightened, his jaw clenching as he stared at the ground. The truth in Rick’s words cut deeper than he cared to admit.

“Not my place to butt in,” Pete added, though his grin said otherwise. “But if you’re spending this much time stewing over it, she’s probably thinking about you, too.”

Logan shot them both a sharp look, then yanked the ax from the stump and turned toward the forest. “Leave it alone,” he muttered, stalking off into the trees without another word.

Pete waited until Logan was out of earshot before muttering, “Yeah, that went well.”

Rick shrugged, grabbing the thermos from the truck bed. “He’ll figure it out. He always does.”

During the course of the next couple of days the rhythm of the yard was the same, but Logan’s presence felt heavier. He worked harder than usual, his focus razor-sharp, but the tension in his frame was impossible to ignore.

Pete and Rick kept their distance this time, their occasional glances filled with concern.

By midday, Logan had thrown himself into another project, replacing a broken tool rack near the shed. His movements were precise, his jaw set in determination. But even as he worked, his mind wandered—back to the driveway, to Evelyn’s face when she saw him, and to the kiss that had shattered something inside him.

The guys noticed, but they didn’t say a word. Pete started a fire near the edge of the clearing, his usual jokes subdued. Rick passed by with a nod but left Logan to his thoughts.

By the time dusk fell, Logan was still at it, the hammer in his hand swinging with a force that bordered on reckless.

Tension seemed to follow him wherever he went, and his coworkers gave him a wide berth, exchanging knowing glances but keeping their distance.

The others gave him a wide berth, the tension in the yard thick enough to cut with a blade. Midday, the office phone rang, its shrill tone breaking the monotony of the worksite. Rick wiped his hands on a rag as he stepped inside to answer.

“Yeah, this is Rick,” he said, leaning against the desk.

“Hey, it’s Mary,” his wife’s voice came through the line, light but concerned. “Thought you’d want to know—I saw Evelyn back in town. She was at the general store this morning.”

Rick raised an eyebrow, glancing out the window toward Logan. “That right?”

“She looked... well, not great. Like she’s been through it. Thought Logan might want to know.”

Rick thanked her and hung up, stepping back outside with a purposeful stride. Pete caught his eye as he walked toward Logan, who was hunched over another stack of wood.

“What’s the news?” Pete asked.

Rick ignored him, stopping a few feet from Logan. “Hey, Howlett,” he called out, his tone even.

Logan didn’t look up. “What?”

Rick hesitated, then said, “Mary saw Evelyn in town this morning. Thought you’d want to know.”

Logan froze, his hands stilling on the axe handle. For a moment, it looked like he might respond, but then he shook his head and resumed working.

“Good for her,” he muttered, his voice flat.

Pete stepped forward, frustration evident in his expression. “Don’t be an idiot. You’re hurting, and so is she. Go talk to her.”

Logan’s grip on the axe tightened, his knuckles white. “I said I don’t care,” he snapped.

Pete sighed, throwing up his hands. “Alright, fine. Be stubborn. But don’t come crying to us when it’s too late.”

Rick shot Pete a warning look, but Logan didn’t seem to hear them anymore. He swung the axe down with a force that sent the wood flying, the conversation over.

When the day finally ended, Logan climbed into his truck, his body aching from the nonstop work. The drive home was quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound to fill the cab.

As he pulled onto the dirt road leading to his cottage, his headlights illuminated a familiar vehicle parked in his driveway. Logan’s chest tightened, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he slowed to a stop.

It was Evelyn’s truck.

For a long moment, he sat there, staring at it, his mind racing. A part of him wanted to get out, to see her, to hear whatever explanation she had to offer. But the memory of that kiss, of her ex standing so close to her, was a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding.

With a sharp exhale, Logan put the truck in reverse and backed down the road.

He didn’t look back.

The next day Logan was halfway to the kitchen when he noticed the Polaroid resting on the mantle—the one Evelyn had taken of herself.  

He stared at it for a long moment, his chest tightening as he reached out to pick it up. The sight of her smile—the carefree warmth in her eyes—brought a lump to his throat he couldn’t swallow.  

A sudden knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. He hesitated, his grip on the Polaroid tightening as he listened.  

“I know you’re there, Logan,” Evelyn’s voice called softly from the other side. “Are you done running away from me? Please... let me explain.”  

Logan’s jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the photo in his hand. He didn’t move.  

“Logan,” she tried again, her voice trembling. “I’m not leaving until you hear me out.”  

Still, he didn’t answer.  

The minutes stretched on, the silence heavy and suffocating. Eventually, Evelyn exhaled shakily, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry. For everything. For not stopping him, for not calling you first. I never wanted to hurt you. Please believe me.”  

When the sound of her footsteps receded, Logan finally let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He sat down heavily, the Polaroid still in his hand as the weight of the past few days pressed down on him like a boulder.  

They didn’t speak for a week after Evelyn’s return. The silence between them was deafening, but neither seemed willing to bridge the gap.

The logging yard was alive with the rhythmic sound of axes striking wood, the hum of engines, and the occasional crack of a tree falling in the distance. Evelyn’s truck rolled into the gravel lot, its tires crunching softly against the frozen ground. Her heart pounded as she parked near the edge of the clearing, unsure if she had made the right decision by coming here.

As she stepped out, the cold air nipped at her cheeks, her breath visible in the chill. Her gaze scanned the bustling yard until it landed on two familiar figures standing near the truck bed—Rick and Pete. They noticed her almost instantly, exchanging a quick glance before Pete raised a hand in greeting.

“Miss Evelyn!” Pete called, his tone warm but tinged with curiosity. He closed the distance between them, wiping his hands on his flannel shirt. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Everything alright?”

She hesitated, shifting on her feet as Rick joined them, his expression more reserved but just as welcoming.

“Is Logan here?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

Pete and Rick exchanged another look, this one heavier.

“He’s around,” Rick said carefully, his arms folding across his chest. “But this probably isn’t the place for whatever conversation you’re looking to have.”

Evelyn’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of the last few days catching up to her. “I’ve been trying to talk to him,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I went to his cabin, but... he wouldn’t see me.”

Pete winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s been... well, let’s just say he’s not exactly himself lately.”

“He’s hurt,” Rick added bluntly, his gaze steady on her. “You can see it in the way he’s working—pushing himself harder than he should. Whatever happened between you two, it’s eating him alive.”

Evelyn swallowed hard, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t even—” She stopped, her breath hitching as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I never wanted to hurt him.”

Rick’s expression softened slightly, and he nodded. “I believe you. But he’s got his walls up right now. It’s going to take more than just words to get through to him.”

Pete stepped closer, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We’ll talk to him. Try to get him to see reason. But you’ve got to give him a little time, alright? Let us handle it.”

Evelyn nodded reluctantly, the knot in her stomach tightening. “I don’t want him to think I don’t care,” she said softly.

“He knows,” Pete assured her, his voice surprisingly gentle. “He’s just too damn stubborn to admit it right now.”

The drive back to the cottage felt longer than usual, the winter landscape passing by in a blur. Evelyn’s mind raced, replaying her conversation with Pete and Rick. Their words had given her a small measure of hope, but the weight of uncertainty hung heavy in her chest.

By the time she reached home, the familiar sight of the cozy cottage brought a semblance of comfort. She slipped inside, the warmth of the woodstove embracing her as she shed her coat and boots. Her gaze drifted to the basket of unfinished crochet pieces sitting by the couch.

With a deep breath, Evelyn settled herself down, picking up the half-finished sweater she had started weeks ago. Her hands moved methodically, the repetitive motion of the hook and yarn soothing her frayed nerves.

Hours turned into days, and the rhythm of her life resumed, though it felt emptier than before. She spent her mornings tending to small chores around the cottage, her afternoons lost in her crafts, and her evenings staring at the quiet phone, willing it to ring.

She wanted to give Logan space, to let him come to her when he was ready, but the silence was agonizing. The weight of waiting gnawed at her, and though she tried to keep herself busy, the ache of missing him lingered.

“He knows,” Pete assured her, his voice surprisingly gentle. “He’s just too damn stubborn to admit it right now.”

The drive back to the cottage felt longer than usual, the winter landscape passing by in a blur. Evelyn’s mind raced, replaying her conversation with Pete and Rick. Their words had given her a small measure of hope, but the weight of uncertainty hung heavy in her chest.

By the time she reached home, the familiar sight of the cozy cottage brought a semblance of comfort. She slipped inside, the warmth of the woodstove embracing her as she shed her coat and boots. Her gaze drifted to the basket of unfinished crochet pieces sitting by the couch.

With a deep breath, Evelyn settled herself down, picking up the half-finished sweater she had started weeks ago. Her hands moved methodically, the repetitive motion of the hook and yarn soothing her frayed nerves.

Hours turned into days, and the rhythm of her life resumed, though it felt emptier than before. She spent her mornings tending to small chores around the cottage, her afternoons lost in her crafts, and her evenings staring at the quiet phone, willing it to ring.

She wanted to give Logan space, to let him come to her when he was ready, but the silence was agonizing. The weight of waiting gnawed at her, and though she tried to keep herself busy, the ache of missing him lingered.

It wasn’t until a rainy evening, as Evelyn was driving home from a fair out of town, that their paths crossed again. Logan’s truck was idling at an intersection, his expression unreadable as their eyes met through the windshield. Without thinking, she pulled over, her tires skidding slightly in the mud. She threw her truck into park and jumped out, the cold rain immediately soaking through her coat as she ran toward him.

“Logan,” she called, her voice barely audible over the downpour. 

Logan slammed on the brakes, his truck skidding slightly before halting. He stepped out, his gaze finally meeting hers, his eyes shadowed with a mix of anger and hurt. Rain plastered his hair to his forehead, drops clinging to his lashes as he looked at her.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growled, his voice low and sharp.

“I’m trying to fix this,” she said, her voice trembling. “I can’t stand how things are between us right now.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his hands clenching at his sides. “Maybe things are better this way.”

“No,” she said firmly. “They’re not. I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. I’m not letting you leave again. Not without hearing me out.”

“I’ve heard enough.”, he spits out.

Evelyn steps closer, her voice rising over the rain.“No, you haven’t! You think you know what happened, but you don’t! That kiss—it wasn’t me. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing.“Didn’t look like you were pulling away, either.”

“I froze! I didn’t know how to react. But the second I saw you, it was over. I didn’t care about him—I care about you.”, she said looking at him.

He let out a harsh breath, looking away. “Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change what I saw.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she admitted, tears mixing with the rain. “But it doesn’t mean I didn’t care about how it would hurt you. I love you, Logan. Do you hear me? I love you. And I’m not letting you push me away because of one stupid mistake.”

Logan’s breath catches, his usual walls crumbling under the weight of her words. For a moment, he just stares at her, the rain streaming down his face, a flicker of something raw crossing his face. “Don’t say that,” he muttered. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it,” she said, her voice breaking as tears mixed with the rain streaming down her face. “I love you, and I’m sorry for everything. For not stopping him, for not calling you first. I never wanted to hurt you, Logan. Please believe me.”

For a long moment, they stood there in the rain, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. Finally, Logan closed the distance, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her—desperate, hungry, and filled with all the emotions he’d kept bottled up.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting together, Logan exhaled softly. “I love you tooI’ve been alone a long time,” he murmured. “I don’t know if I know how to do this... but I can’t lose you.”

Evelyn smiled through her tears, her hands still cradling his face. “You’re not going to lose me, Logan. We’ll figure it out together.”

The rain continued to pour around them, but in that moment, it felt like the storm had finally passed.

Logan’s eyes searched hers, and without another word, he leaned in again, capturing her lips in a kiss that was deeper, hotter, and filled with all the longing he had tried to suppress. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

Evelyn responded with equal fervor, her fingers threading through his rain-soaked hair, her lips parting to meet his urgency. The rain continued to pour around them, but neither seemed to care. Each kiss was hungrier than the last, the heat between them undeniable despite the cold storm.

Logan’s hands slid up her back, strong and steady, anchoring her as their kiss deepened. When she pressed against him, he let out a low, guttural sound, his restraint slipping. His lips left hers, trailing along her jaw and down her neck, his breath hot against her skin as her head tilted back, exposing more of her to him.

“Maybe we should—” Logan murmured against her neck, his voice rough and uneven.

“Get out of the rain?” she finished breathlessly, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the tension crackling between them. “Yeah. Before we end up with pneumonia.”

They broke apart reluctantly, the air charged as they hurried to his truck. Once inside, the doors slammed shut, the rain pounding against the roof providing a steady rhythm to the silence that followed.

But the moment was far from over. As soon as the doors were locked, Logan reached for her again, pulling her onto his lap. Their lips collided once more, this time with an unrestrained passion that made her shiver. Her hands roamed over his chest, the damp flannel clinging to his broad frame as he held her tightly, his fingers gripping her hips as if he couldn’t bear to let her go.

Their movements grew more heated, her hips grinding down against him instinctively as their breathing quickened. Logan groaned, his head falling back against the seat as she moved again, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through both of them.

“Evelyn,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire. “If we don’t stop now…”

She paused, her forehead pressing to his as they both struggled to catch their breath. The weight of his words hung between them, but neither made a move to pull away.

“Then let’s go,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the flush rising to her cheeks. 

Logan’s hands tightened on her waist, his amber eyes dark with emotion and something deeper. “You sure?”

She nodded, brushing her lips against his once more, softer this time but no less certain. “I’ve never been more sure.”

Without another word, Logan gently lifted her off his lap, his touch lingering as they adjusted themselves. He started the truck, his hand finding hers as they drove through the rain, the tension between them simmering and unresolved—but not for much longer.

The rain hadn’t let up by the time Logan pulled the truck into the clearing by his cabin. The headlights cut through the downpour, illuminating the weathered wood of the small structure nestled among the trees.

Logan killed the engine, turning to glance at Evelyn. Her cheeks were flushed, her damp hair sticking to her neck and temples, but she was staring at him with an intensity that sent a pang through his chest.

“Come on,” he muttered, stepping out of the truck. The cold rain hit him immediately, but he barely noticed as he rounded the vehicle to her side.

Evelyn climbed out, wrapping her arms around herself as the chill seeped through her already soaked clothes. Logan’s hand pressed gently against her back, guiding her toward the cabin. The touch was firm but protective, his warmth cutting through the cold.

Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of pine and faint smoke. Logan flicked on a single lamp, its amber glow softening the shadows in the small space.

“Go shower,” he said gruffly, already shrugging off his wet flannel and hanging it on a hook near the door. His voice softened as he added, “Don’t want you catching a cold.”

Evelyn hesitated, watching as he bent to stoke the fireplace. The orange flames roared to life under his practiced touch, casting flickering light over his broad shoulders and damp hair.

“What about you?” she asked quietly.

“I’ll dry off,” he replied without looking at her. “Go on. Bathroom’s down the hall.”

She lingered for a moment longer, the warmth of his care sinking into her even if his tone was brusque. Then she nodded and disappeared down the hall.

By the time she returned, the cabin was bathed in a cozy glow. Logan had shed his wet clothes, now dressed in a clean pair of jeans and white t-shirt. He was seated on the couch, his head resting against the back, eyes half-closed as he warmed himself by the fire.

Evelyn paused in the doorway, her heart stuttering at the sight of him. He looked so unguarded, so human, a stark contrast to the stormy, gruff exterior he so often wore.

She was wearing one of his shirts—soft and slightly oversized, the sleeves pushed up over her elbows. Her hair was still damp, and her cheeks held a faint blush.

Logan’s eyes opened as she stepped into the room, and they darkened when they landed on her. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet between them carrying all the weight of what had happened that night.

She crossed the room and climbed onto his lap, straddling him without hesitation. Logan stiffened slightly, his hands instinctively resting on her thighs, but he didn’t pull away.

“Evelyn…” he began, his voice low, almost a warning.

“I just want to be close to you,” she whispered, her hands finding his shoulders. “Is that okay?”

Logan’s eyes softened, the tension in his body easing as he exhaled. “Yeah,” he murmured, his hands sliding up to rest on her waist. 

She leaned forward, her forehead pressing gently to his. They sat like that for a moment, the crackling fire filling the silence. Logan’s hands moved to the small of her back, pulling her closer, and she sighed softly, her fingers trailing along the curve of his jaw.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said, his voice rough but sincere.

“I know,” she replied, brushing her lips lightly against his. “But I want this. I want you.”

Logan’s breath hitched as her hands slid beneath his shirt, her fingers grazing his skin with the kind of deliberate, maddening slowness that made his muscles tighten. He caught her wrists, holding them still against his chest as his amber eyes locked onto hers, dark with a mixture of frustration and desire.

“Evelyn,” he rasped, his voice low, like gravel, as though her name alone was enough to unravel him. “Don’t push me unless you mean it.”

Her lips curved—not into a smile, but something softer, something steeped in the kind of certainty he wasn’t sure how to face. “I mean it,” she whispered, her words quiet but carrying the weight of all the times she hadn’t said them before.

Logan’s grip on her wrists loosened, his hands sliding up her arms and pulling her closer as if he couldn’t help himself. He lowered his head, his forehead pressing to hers, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the faint storm still raging outside.

“Do you know what you’re asking for?” he murmured, his voice raw, thick with the effort it took to hold himself back.

Her response was immediate, her fingers curling into his shoulders as she tugged him closer. “I’ve waited long enough,” she said, her voice steady despite the way her heart was racing. “Haven’t you?”

The question landed like a punch to his chest. Of course he had. Every glance, every touch, every moment she’d been close enough to feel but not touch—it had all been building to this, wearing him down piece by piece. And now, here she was, not just asking but demanding, her presence overwhelming in a way that left him powerless to resist.

“Damn it, Evelyn,” he growled, his voice barely a whisper as his hands slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him. His lips captured hers with a ferocity that surprised even him, the kiss deep and unrelenting, years of restraint and denial crumbling in an instant.

She responded in kind, her hands threading into his hair as if she couldn’t get him close enough. Her hips shifted instinctively against his, drawing a low groan from deep in his chest that sent a shiver racing through her.

When he pulled back, it was only far enough to press his forehead to hers, his breath ragged as his hands tightened on her waist. “If we keep going…” His voice was strained, his words a warning that came too late.

Her gaze locked onto his, unwavering. “Then we keep going,” she said simply, her voice soft but resolute. Her hands drifted down to the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward in one fluid motion.

Logan let her strip it away, his chest rising and falling heavily as he studied her. His hands hovered at her sides, hesitant, even now. “You sure?” he asked, the question a bare whisper, almost lost in the space between them.

Her answer was to close the gap, her lips brushing his with a gentleness that sent his control spiraling. “I’ve never been more sure,” she murmured, her voice steady even as her fingers traced the faint scars across his chest.

Logan groaned softly, his hands finally moving, sliding up her sides with a reverence that made her heart ache. When he kissed her again, it wasn’t hurried—it was slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to commit every second to memory.

Without a word, he shifted, lifting her effortlessly and carrying her the short distance to the bedroom. He set her down carefully, his hands lingering at her hips as he stood over her, his chest rising and falling with the effort of restraint.

Her hands reached for him again, pulling him down until he was hovering above her, the weight of him grounding her as much as it electrified her. His lips found hers, his kiss deepening as his hands explored her body with a mix of hunger and care.

When her hips rolled against him again, drawing another guttural sound from his throat, Logan pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “If we’re doing this,” he said, his voice a growl softened by something deeper, “I’m not letting you go.”

Her lips curved, her fingers threading into his hair and tugging just enough to make him groan. “Good,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion and desire. “Because I don’t want you to.”

Logan’s eyes locked onto hers, the raw heat in his gaze making her pulse race. He crushed his lips to hers, the kiss no longer gentle but searing, desperate, as though he couldn’t get enough of her.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he pressed her back into the bed. The weight of him was intoxicating, his strength overwhelming yet controlled, as if he were holding himself back by sheer will alone. She wasn’t having it. Her fingers slid down his chest, nails skimming the taut muscles before finding the button of his jeans. With a flick of her wrist, she popped it open, dragging the zipper down with deliberate slowness, savoring the sharp inhale he couldn’t suppress.

Logan growled against her mouth, his breath hot and uneven as he broke the kiss to bury his face in her neck. His teeth scraped against the sensitive skin, a teasing bite that made her gasp and arch into him.

Logan’s hands, large and rough, gripped the hem of her shirt and yanked it upward, pulling it over her head in one fluid motion. The garment fluttered to the floor, forgotten, as his eyes roamed over her, dark with hunger.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, tempered with a tenderness that made her chest tighten.

Her cheeks burned, her nerves tangling with her desire. “I… I want to,” she whispered, her fingers gripping the edge of his waistband, but her voice trembled despite her conviction. “I just—”

Logan silenced her with a kiss, this one slower, deliberate, as if he were savoring her. When he pulled away, his thumb brushed over her cheek, his expression a mixture of hunger and restraint. “You don’t have to rush anything,” he said softly, his forehead pressing against hers. 

Her heart thudded at his words, and she nodded, her fingers trailing up to his chest, where his heartbeat was steady and strong beneath her touch. 

Logan’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, his hands moving to her waist, steady and sure. 

Her hands trembled as she reached for him, sliding over his chest and down to the waistband of his jeans. “I want to see you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Logan grinned, the expression almost feral, but there was a softness in his gaze as he stood to strip off his jeans and boxers in one smooth motion. When he returned to her, he moved slower, his body warm and solid as he pressed against her.

“Touch me,” he encouraged, his hand guiding hers to explore the ridges of his chest and the lines of his muscles. The heat in his voice was laced with reassurance, and the way he watched her, patient and unhurried, made her boldness grow.

Her fingers mapped his skin, her touch tentative at first, but when he groaned, low and deep, she felt a thrill she couldn’t ignore. “Like that,” he murmured, his hand sliding down her thigh to pull her closer, his touch igniting sparks along her skin.

She tentatively grabbed hold of his thick and veiny penis, wrapping her fingers around him. Logan inhaled sharply at her touch, his jaw tightening momentarily before his expression softened. He placed his hand gently over hers, guiding her movements with slow precision.

"Just like that," he murmured, his voice low and husky. 

Evelyn’s blush deepened, but she didn’t pull away, her curiosity outweighing her hesitation. She watched his face, captivated by the way his brows furrowed slightly, his lips parting as she followed his lead. Her movements were clumsy at first, uncertain, but Logan’s patience never wavered.

"Good," he whispered, his voice laced with encouragement. "You're perfect."

The praise sent a shiver through her, and she felt a growing confidence in her actions. Logan leaned down, kissing her deeply, his hand sliding from hers to cup her cheek once more, anchoring her in the moment.

“Logan,” she breathed, her voice shaky but filled with trust.

"May I?" he asked, his fingers toying with the delicate fabric of her panties.

Evelyn nodded, her breath catching as he began to slide the garment down her legs. His eyes never left hers, even as he rid her of the last barrier between them. Once she was bare beneath him, Logan took a moment to simply look at her, his gaze reverent.

Logan let his hands smooth over her thighs slowly opening them up, her arousal glistening in the low light of the room.

“Don’t be scared”, he whispered as he lowered himself coming face to face with her sex. “You smell so good.”, he said, nuzzling the skin of her inner thigh.

Logan peppered kisses over her mound and inner thigh’s, whie his hand snaked up to grab hold of her right breast and gave it a good squeeze.

Logan gave a kiss to her clit eliciting a moan to erupt from deep within. He took that as a sign to keep going, the hand that was on her breast trailed down her belly and stopped when it came in contact with her pussy. His index and pointer finger lowered down to her glistening hole collecting her arousal and spreading it around. Evelyn gasped and his tongue ran a single long line across her slit to her bud,making her shiver at the foreigner feeling.

“Logan…” she moaned.

“Tell me what you want.” he answered, his breath fanning over her hole.

“More of that, please.” 

He took her plea as an incentive to keep going. His tongue replaced his thumb, slowly circling her clit  and occasionally dipping it to her hole.

Evelyn's legs closed instinctively around his head as her moans became incrinsingly louder.

“Feel good?” he asked rhetorically.

She nodded looking down at him and biting her lip.

His index finger started to circle her hole as his tongue remained focused on her clit, carefully dipping it in, until his hand came in full contact with her pussy.

Evelyn moaned at the intrusion but welcomed it. Logan started to slowly pump it in and out, creating a steady rhythm.

Evelyn started to moan softly, and at that Logan decided to add another finger. 

“Oh God…”she moaned as his fingers pumped easily in and out of her. 

Her hand clasped around his arm as he began opening her hole “Logan…”

He positioned himself above her, continuing to pump his fingers. He licked her lips and gently bit her bottom lip pulling it slowly.

Evelyn, taken over by the overwhelming feeling, grabbed hold of his arm.”Logan…”, she moaned.

Logan could feel her walls tightening around his fingers and incresead the spead,making sure to stimulate her clit with his thumb.

A loud moan erupted from Evelyn as she came hard.

Content with this work, Logan retrieved his fingers from her hole and, staring at her eyes, sucked his fingers clean.

“So good,” he said as he laid between her legs.

Evelyn blushed at his words and pulled him in for a kiss. Logan laid his hips over hers, allowing for his manhood to come in direct contact with her pussy. As the kiss grew hungrier, their hips started to move, creating friction, allowing for moans to erupt on both ends.

Logan, without breaking the kiss, pulled his hips back, allowing for him to line himself with Evelyn's entry. He began to slowly push in, feeling the resistance slowly ease.

Evelyn gasped in his mouth, as she felt him bottom out.

Logan rested his forehead on hers and intertwined their fingers above her head.

“How are you feeling?”he asked, looking for any sign of discomfort.

“Full,” she said breathlessly.

He shifted his hips slightly, giving her time to adjust, his hand caressing the curve of her waist to steady her. Evelyn gasped again, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips as her body adjusted to the stretch and fullness.  

“Let me know if it’s too much,” Logan said softly, his voice carrying both reassurance and patience.  

“I just… I need a moment.”she replied breathlessly, her cheeks flushed.  

Logan nodded, leaning down to kiss her forehead, his lips lingering there. He stayed still, allowing her to acclimate to the new sensation. His fingers remained intertwined with hers, their grip grounding her in the moment.  

When Evelyn shifted her hips experimentally, a soft sigh escaping her lips, Logan took it as a sign to move. Slowly, he began to withdraw before easing back in, his movements controlled and deliberate. He watched her face closely, his sharp eyes scanning for any trace of discomfort, but all he found was awe and the growing haze of pleasure.  

Evelyn’s breaths came in short gasps, her lips parting as she met his thrusts tentatively at first, then with increasing confidence. The connection between them deepened with every movement, the air heavy with shared vulnerability and trust.  

“You’re doing so good,” Logan praised, his voice rough yet tender as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his lips brushing her skin.  

Her hands tightened around his, her head tilting back into the pillows as soft moans spilled from her lips. “Logan… oh, Logan…” she whispered, her voice carrying a mix of astonishment and need.  

He groaned at the sound of his name on her lips, his pace quickening slightly as he felt her relax around him. Their bodies moved together, finding a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. The heat between them built steadily, the tension mounting as every thrust brought them closer to the edge.  

“You're so tight and wet- Fuck” he rasped, his voice thick as he pressed his forehead to hers once more.  

Logan's hand left hers to brush a strand of damp hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her flushed cheek. “I got you baby,” he whispered, his tone reverent.  

One of his hands made its way down, and Logan began circling her bundle of nerves.

“Yes! Oh, my God, yes!” Evelyn cried as her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders for stability, as she felt herself overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

He smiled looking at her. “Look… Look at how good we fit together - shit” he moaned.

Evelyn looked down, and was amazed at the sight, his thick and veiny member covered in her slick going in and out of her, the motion creacting a creamy white ring at the base of his manhood. 

“Logan,” she said moaned.

Logan speed up, the sound of slapping skin feeling the room.

“It's okay baby, let it happen.” He leaned down and kissed her with a bruising force.

Evelyn moans filled the room.

She looked deep in his eyes and took hold of his hair. 

Oh

Oh

She tugged on his hair as she came hard around him, the bed beneath her shaking.

Logan growled as his tip bumped into her cervix, the extra lubrication helped him dive even deeper. 

“Sh-it!” He cursed as he felt her walls contracting around him urging his release.

Logan moaned deeply as his penis throbbed, spilling his seed deep inside of Evelyn’s velvety walls.

The new sensation made her eyes roll to the back of her head. It was something so deeply intimate and messy.

Logan collapsed on top of her. They were still both breathless as he lifted his head and looked at her.

“You okay?” He asked breathlessly as placed a soft kiss on her lips.

Evelyn smiled against his mouth, her arms still wrapped loosely around his shoulders. “More than okay,” she murmured, her voice carrying a mix of awe and teasing.

He smiled gently, lifting himself off her, to pull out his member from her.  He growled at the sight of their conjoined release coming out of her achy hole.

Logan laid beside her, his chest rising and falling in time with her soft breaths. Evelyn rested her head against him, her hand splayed over his heart as though it belonged there. The warmth of her body pressed into his, and he tightened his arm around her, pulling her impossibly closer.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her breathing evening out as sleep began to claim her. Logan let his fingers trail lightly along her back, his touch lingering, savoring the moment.

For a long while, he simply stayed there, listening to her breathe, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. 

Eventually, his own eyes began to grow heavy, his mind and body at ease in a way he’d never thought possible. With Evelyn tucked safely against him, he let himself give in, falling into the pull of sleep.

Together, they drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber, tangled in each other’s arms, exactly where they were meant to be.

Chapter 8

______________________________________________________________--tagging some amazing people that showed interest on my previous post (if you don't want to be tagged please let me know):

@coocoocachewgotscrewed @latinapiscess @littlebunnybigheartfics @themareverine @pandapetals @logansbaby @the-quick-red-fox @throwmethroughawindow @ifyouseethisnoyoudont22 @galacticglitterglue @whos-nin1

@thisismajortom21 @may-vol-6 @Oh-basic @sarahbarbosa22 @luvpalepinkjazz @irish-pooka @yologans @equilight @lxrxvsp @h4nluv @uncannywolverine @thesecretlifeofmo @mystifiesjdmtcw @socisse @thickynicky547 @peculiarpiscess @tezooks @greenturtlegirl @greenbearplaidbow @eummm @benispunk @th8mz @jounal3sports @alsoprettyinpink @softepiloguemylove @manicandobsessive @b-y-3-n @blahkateisdone @karencaribou @sidkneeeee @theworstwolvie @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @lunellas-library @pedroscurls @britttzy267 @aliensfeltmyjoy @steviebbboi

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[annagaw]

the medical significance of Draco Malfoy Holding A Baby™: a micro-trope reading list

I am at a very particular point in my hormonal cycle and god damn it once again I have been asking the sub to rescue me in my time of need. It is at present biologically necessary for me to absorb content featuring Draco Malfoy Holding A Baby™.

In case anybody else suffers from the same health condition (called "having a uterus and dipping one toe into my 30s" - it is extremely serious and requires constant intervention), please allow me to share the fics that I have so far read and awarded this tag. I shall endeavour to update the list as I add to it.

For science, you understand.

NB: I have hidden fics for which baby content might be considered spoilers, but have not done so for fics in which the primary focus is pregnancy/childbirth. If you find the appearance of a baby at the end of your HEA pregnancy fic shocking, fair enough, but I refuse to hide the truth from you. Also there are a great many more wonderful fics that feature this trope than the ones on this list - this is merely a curated selection and not my definitive statement on which are Good.

-

Two Idiots and a Baby by ellemenno (M, 27k) - One could be forgiven for thinking that the sole motivation for writing this fic was to find an excuse to get Draco and that baby in the same room and let the magic happen - because my god does the magic happen! But ellemenno has the audacity to deliver it to us with as much style and humour as possible. The fact that this baby situation is occurring within a genuinely intriguing murder mystery and a hilarious idiots-in-denial, colleagues-in-love plot (reminiscent of Bad Omens and Scary Partner Privilege) is especially impressive. It contains another favourite micro-trope of mine: the Very Professional Business Sleepover.

Love and Other Historical Accidents by PacificRimbaud (M, 154k) - I know for a fact that this fic was the beginning of this particular fixation for me. It was one of the first fics I read when I discovered Dramione, and it lured me in by my need for regency romance, keeping me all distracted, before slapping me in the face with this perfect baby scene that I still think about constantly. Draco? Draco Malfoy? Having a one-sided conversation with a baby while staring out a window in a regency suit? Fetch the smelling salts, drag the bloody fainting couch over here, I am destined to swoon!

Cave, [Redacted] (E, 31k) / An Auror’s Guide to Horizontal Dueling (E, 16k) by Accio_Funky_Pants - Now, if Draco Malfoy merely holding a baby does funny things to your reproductive organs, let me tell you, you are not even ready for Draco Malfoy delivering a baby! (Hermione's baby, to be exact.) I used to struggle to read childbirth scenes, but the first fic is multiple chapters of...well, exactly that, and it is magnificent. Intimate, cathartic, warms every last cockle of your heart - truly not a cold cockle nor a dry eye left in the house (and no babies left in wombs either). The sequel fic is an extended epilogue in which, yes, you guessed it, Draco interacts yet again with a baby (and then gets laid after everyone demonstrates an extremely thorough understanding of consent). Good for him!

Witching Hour by neilistic (E, 12k) - This one is so overwhelmingly tender, I skimmed it a moment ago to make sure I remembered the plot and that alone nearly succeeded in wringing tears from me. Nice try, neilistic! (No, really, a masterful effort.) There's nothing like two people bonding over their trauma, their loneliness...but (gently) toss some tiny newborn babies into the mix? A dirty trick, designed to undo me, specifically. Ungentlemanly. (But neither half of Dramione have the energy here to be gentlemen. Oh, and did I mention? There's only one bed.)

The Phoenix Potion by FedonCiadale (T, 237k) - The whole cast of OC Granger-Malfoy offspring in this are completely charming. They're all distinct from each other, kind of weirdos in their own way, and I respect the hell out of it - they really do feel like the children of this particular iteration of Dramione. Hermione works a lot, Draco is a very hands-on father, and everything about their dynamic here feels so lived-in and safe, even when the rest of the world is not: their inside jokes and shorthand, their domestic routines, the way their kids make fun of them, all of it! And then there's just copious amounts of Draco handling babies. I rest my case.

epiphanies by HawthorneWhisperer (M, 31k) - single dad Draco gets a lot of page time in this fandom, and deservedly so. Yes, he is a father, but - more importantly - he is Daddy, and this fic wants you to know that it knows that. It is a perfect bite-sized distillation of everything enjoyable about this trope. Special shout-out to baby Scorpius' chubby little limbs, the real MVPs.

Mind the Bump by Soap1 (E, 84k) - There are an overwhelming amount of unplanned pregnancy fics out there - and believe me that could not be further from a complaint (for you see I need my delicious trope soups, their fertile broths sustain me) (I do hate that I typed that). This one has every ingredient necessary for a balanced diet - lots of lovely gentle caretaking and medically-enforced proximity, small bite-size pieces of drama to keep things a little spicy (please, soup metaphor, let me die). Oh! And...what's this? I won't name names, but did two people bring along all of their emotional baggage from their previous relationships with them? Well, I suppose we have room to store it all somewhere in the Manor.

Pros and Cons by ChaosAndCrumpets (E, 48k) - An unplanned pregnancy fic where everything happens in the run up to an election, a famously relaxing time, especially when you are the present M-oh-M! This fic gives you a political strategist Draco of such dazzling competence that it begs the question: is Draco holding a baby merely a matter of perspective? Perhaps anyone held by such a man is rendered a baby in comparison? But don't worry there's a literal baby too (eventually), and before that there's a disgusting slimy baby-man: Cormac McLaggen! (Though, unlike a baby, McLaggen is never held by anyone willingly, or Draco ever.)

The Pureblood Society of Stay-At-Home Dads by PurpleSugarQuills (E, 2k) - I feel like all the information you really need about this one can be contained in one exceptionally powerful sentence: it begins with Draco getting up to do the night feed with a sleepy little four month old. Hush, little one. Domesticated Draco has come to take care of you. Daddy's home. (Which makes sense because he works here.)

Wait And Hope (M, 95k) / Beginning and End (E, 242k) by mightbewriting - Although I do of course love Draco interacting with his own homemade organic babies, my actual favourite iteration of this trope is the moment that Hermione sees Draco with literally any generic brand baby for the first time, and is like, "oh. I see. I had not considered this. I did not know this would feel this way." And that is captured so very beautifully in both of these fics, at different moments, in different ways (and literally remarked upon by Ginny in the former).

Entries below the break contain mild to moderate plot spoilers for final chapters/epilogues of the fics in question

BLOODY, SLUTTY, AND PATHETIC by WhatMurdah (E, 195k) - You would think that the ceaseless emotional and literal carnage of this fic would prepare me for how unhinged Draco would be as a father and how much it would Affect Me Personally. Alas, apparently fucking not. Draco striding into the pub with his baby that nobody else is allowed to hold? Draco napping with his baby? Don't touch that baby! That baby is His Baby. (And that Draco is My Blorbo.)

I Love You Always Forever by EvergreenTuesdays (E, 13k) - This is a somewhat unhinged addition to the list, because yes, that is a baby Draco has in one arm, but in the other hand I'm pretty sure I'm clocking the remains of a dead dove. Distinctly un-chic. Yet undoubtedly compelling. This one has forced marriage, domestic abuse, murder, gore, a gorgeous (but graphic) illustration...and is also tagged "MILF Hermione". So something for everyone, really!

[goldengamer2500]

I absolutely love how silly Meru is but I feel like this is a good chance to talk about the infodump on this specific chapter because I have a personal story related to it that made it kinda special to me

This scene where Meru was trying to convert everyone into "fairytaleism" unlocked a core memory deep inside of my brain, because when I was a child I remember that my mom had this huge book that had a different fairy tale for every day of the year and she would often read them to me and my brother before heading to sleep. But out of every fairy tale in that book "The happy prince" was the one that made me bawl my eyes out every single time no matter how many times I had read it before.

Since I was so young at the time I had entirely forgotten about that book and that fairy tale until a few months ago when I went through that chapter for the first time, which made the memories flood back to me in a big emotional flashback (think of that scene in Ratatouille where Ego is reminded of his mom's cooking, kinda like that) and I pretty much projected myself into Karane for that scene because she reacted almost the same way as I did.

So, umm, yeah. In this one chapter Meru managed to successfully convert everyone in Rentaro's family to fairytaleism and also me as well through the emotional power of fairy tales. I love her and I would die for her.

I love when Meru does the "um, actually" pose when she infodumps about fairytales. She's just like me fr

(These are all from one chapter)

[maxdibert]

Omg Sansa Starkk!!!! The TV show did her so dirty. Holy shit, they took a complicated layered character (every character of asoiaf is complicated and layered actually) and gave her the most dismissive interpretation possible.

Fuck, when I heard the criticism against game of thrones, it being sexist and the depiction of violence against women, teenager me dismissed it. Then I read the books, and I agree with every criticism 😭

Sansa irritated me in the first couple episodes of season 1, until everything turned and it became a helish nightmare for her and then I felt immense sympathy for her. In the books, she became my instant favorite.

Even Arya had more layers and complexity in the books. Arya was much more human in the books, loved it.

The show assassinated several characters—it didn’t just simplify some, like Sansa, but outright destroyed others. For example, they turned Arya into a complete psychopath, period. The Arya from the last three or four seasons had literally zero personality; she was just a badass who killed people, that’s it. She would put on her psycho killer face, and that was her entire character. She was only there so the male audience could jerk off.

And then there’s Daenerys’ character assassination. And listen, this is coming from someone who can’t stand Daenerys and found her chapters in the books unbearably boring. But even so, I can’t stand it when characters are disrespected in certain ways, and what they did to Daenerys at the end was a complete disgrace. She went from being one of the main characters, always framed as good, positive, and revolutionary by the narrative, to literally a crazy, sociopathic, genocidal maniac—it made zero sense. I’m not saying it couldn’t have happened. Sure, you could spend two more seasons showing how she descends into madness. But don’t do it in three episodes—that’s just pure nonsense. Plain and simple.

And well, WELL—I won’t even get into the rant that is, for me, the biggest crime of the entire trash show: THE CHARACTER ASSASSINATION OF JAIME LANNISTER. Jaime is one of my absolute favorite characters in the saga, and his redemption arc is one of the best I’ve ever seen. It’s truly a masterpiece of storytelling. I can accept that the show’s Jaime was more meh and had less charisma, but what I can’t accept is that after setting up a redemption arc so well, they ended it like that. Like, WHAT. They should have just killed him off during the Long Night—seriously, I wish they had done that. It would have been less painful. What a complete disaster.

Anyway, back to Sansa. She has always been my favorite character from the very beginning, in both the books and the show. I also think she’s a particularly interesting character when it comes to analyzing misogyny within fandoms. Both book Sansa and show Sansa get endless hate for one simple reason: she’s a normal girl. Sansa isn’t a dragon queen, she isn’t a ruler, she isn’t a rebel like her sister. Sansa is just a regular aristocratic girl with regular dreams for a girl of her age and status—someone who has always lived in a bubble. And her reactions, her doubts, and her fears are exactly what any normal person in her situation would have.

And that’s what audiences can’t stand—first, because she’s a reflection of themselves, since most people would act and react like Sansa, not like Arya. And second, because in a patriarchal view of women, a female character is only acceptable if she has traditionally masculine traits (she leads like a man, fights like a man, speaks like a man). A female character with flaws, whose personality isn’t masculine but also doesn’t cater to male fantasies, is unacceptable—so she becomes a constant target.

So yeah, as I’ve been saying for over ten years: hating Sansa Stark is misogyny, and I will not elaborate on this because I don’t do free education for misogynists.

[haveihitanerve]

The Book Game: Slugs and Chinese-

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T READ CHINESE?!?!?!

(I am working on Toby’s Pocket commentary I swear) I saw this one yesterday and its too fucking funny and also shorter so here you all are :) hope you enjoy

Tom: did anyone come to a comedy show- Audience member: *my time has come* Tom: *wait I wasn’t done with my epic monologue, its really funny I swear :(*worried that it would be boring as hell- Sam: *laughing maniacally* AJ: jesus

Aj: *opens book, stares, shock, turns to audience*

I love how the second the audience starts laughing at AJ’s shock, Tom immediately knows its because of him and cuts off to look at him. They’re so fucking cute

Luke going to inspect the book, finding nothing amiss in the title, and then exploding when he sees the writing inside- I’m having flashbacks to Lonely Planet When Europe

Luke so delighted he has to cross the stage and almost falls into Tom 🫠😭

Tom having to inspect the book too because ok now Luke has been laughing for too long and he’s curious lol

“Yeah tom you bigot!” Sam needed an excuse to join the chaos and of course, insulting tom is the way to go XD

Tom’s resigned sigh and drop of the book as AJ and Luke lose it. They delight each other so much its absolutely wonderful to see

“So lukes gonna introduce this game now-” Tom wants to be a part of the chaos XD

“Make sure its not racist okay?” Tom had to shift the attention to someone else lmaoo

I just adore how they did not, in fact, think to return the book and get one they understand because, for the bit, they know this book is best, and that they specifically made AJ keep it, because he is the chaos king and would do best by it XD

“A little knowledge…” Luke: *waiting expectantly for him to finish the sentence, then finishes it for him because the sentence in the book is not that* i love them so much omg

“OH! BAD TEMPERED THOUGHT!” LMFAOOO WHAT???

“Ooh… ohhh malice!” Sam i adore you XD

Here comes aj XD

“What does that say?” YESS AJ!!! SNEAKY CLEVER BOI!!! YES!!!

“YOU MEAN YOU DON’T READ CHINESE??!??!” BETRAYED AJ HELPPPP- his life is flashing before his eyes dude is panicking

Audience member: *frantic* my dad does! AJ: *quickly scoots further* oh!

Aj having to break for a second and just lay still as a dying slug because what even is his life XD

“Play hateful, this.” His face helpppp-

Also love how that actually worked really well in the scene???

Tom: *introducing himself into the scene, literally* Sam: *reciprocating* AJ: [desperately] does anybody else speak chinese?!?!

“It goes with high heels.” AJ needing to fold his head into his arms to laugh, Tom pausing the scene because he heard that and what, Luke laughing at AJ’s pain, and Sam trying to keep them focused XD

AJ’s little leg kicks im crying

“MAKE NO MISTAKES!!!” Tom sounds genuinely distressed lmaoo

“OOOOHHHH!” *frantically trying to find a good line comeback*

“Variation in your tactics!” Confirmed that all that matters while speaking is proper tone because that sounds withering coming from Tom, but is actually a very mild sentence lol

Aj standing and Tom genuinely surprised while Luke and Sam fake surprise XD

“THAts not FAir!” Tom’s hands shooting up in surrender and his little grin at AJ that makes AJ smile back 🫠😭

Sam: “Troublemaker!” it is true 🤷‍♂️ AJ: *flipping open his book, forgetting he doesn't speak chinese* chapter four. Brilliant words, truly eloquent aj🤧

Aj and Sam doing “and scene” in unison, every time they do it it kills me for no reason

AND SCENE

Ahhhhh that was fucking glorious. Loved every single second of it, and this means that when I finally get to go to one of their shows, I’m bringing a German book, it has been decided lol. 

Anyway hope you guys found as much enjoyment in AJ’s distress and the other guy’s mutual delight as I did, and I shall return as quickly as possible with Toby’s Secret Pocket and Jingle Boys commentary :) 

BYEBYE!!!

@snek-of-eden @dawn-speckled

[emperor-kumquat]

Hiiiiii!

I’ve read your fic Mercy before and just read it again bc I think it’s so good. MAJOR kudos to you for finishing so much, doing all the different parts. For the other ones too!

By golly, I can’t imagine how much time it took to write every single one of those stories and then order them by “Go to section 3 xyz” then “Go to section 51 xyz”

I also noticed that there’s art now in the first three chapters!! Which is amazing. Haven’t read four yet, maybe there’s art for that too. But is that what you’re commissioning artists to do? I’m curious!

🇨🇦 to 🇨🇦 :)

Hello-Bonjour fellow Canadian! Thank you for enjoying my work :) Mercy is a huuuuuge project that I work on every day!

I'm still adding in all the key pictures and concept art in AO3 because I just learned that I could do that. So far Reformed Predator has all the art I could add right now with a few chapters or moments that are bare (that will change in the future). I am stuffing images into Space Adventure too so that will be done soon (I am also editing Space Adventure every day because it's my oldest story and could do with a quality boost). Discovery only has pictures in Part 1-2 but I will stuff the story with pictures as soon as I have done all I could with Space Adventure.

Yes, three fanfictions with accompanying pictures for every chapter coming soon! Monstrous Heart will get the odd scene and concept art but right now, the first three stories are my priority. I am concentrating my art efforts into them so that I can at least start adapting some of the stories into videos. I have a very ambitious goal of obtaining all Part 2 images for Space Adventure, Reformed Predator, and Discovery so I can complete their videos. Oh and all brand new Part 1 images for them as well to relaunch the videos of Part 1 for these paths (much has changed and improved since the demo of 2021)! Right now, I have something like 1000 pieces of art for Mercy. Haha but of course, I don't cram everything into the fanfictions. For example, "Predaking Gets Therapy" is the adaptation of Reformed Predator Part 3 chapter 2 and has about 50 images in it. The AO3 chapter just shows a couple of images. I would love to have at least one picture per chapter on AO3 and all concept arts for the first three stories. For the fourth story, just the concept arts is my goal for now. All this is very costly because many artists are paid! Yes, commissions are key to bringing my stories to life. I am thankful to them and to the volunteer artists who really save my butt.

Still looking for paid and volunteer Transformers artists! Haha I have been scouting actually. If I see some good Transformers art on Tumblr, I check the poster's bio to see if they do commissions. I've been randomly DMing artists. Sometimes they know exactly what my project is already! But hey anyone reading this is welcome to come to me, no need to be shy! I had an artist tell me they were waiting for me to reach out to them XD

Transformers: Mercy is going to be very unique as first, fanfictions with a 100 pictures inside them, then secondly as videos with 1000s (visual novel type TV show?!)

I invite all to take a look at what is happening to the AO3 fanfictions here! The new pictures and text edits are elevating the experience!

And everyone, please see this amazing adaptation of one of the longest Mercy chapters into video form! It doesn't spoil anything, just know that this storyline is specifically the result of the player choosing to eat Starscream. I am happy to say that people have been praising the therapy session for how it is written :)

[orchidyoonkook]

LASTONELASTONE!! I did it! and within the promised time frame too, look at me go! (Im taking any wins atm, please dont mind me)

ONTO!

why am i sobbing right now 😭😭😭😭 this was so fluffy this hang out ahhhhhh yoon it was adorable 😩😩🥺🥺🥹😭🥹😭🥹😭🥹

I love them i love them i love them. I LOVE THEM. I love how easy they are with one another, how effortless and thoughtless and easy.

oc and jungkook literally have my heart at this point i mean i am speechless the fact that she made this so special for him and he was looking out for her during the exams and the freaking gift i can't stop sobbing 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

One thing about OC is that if she can create some solstice magic for somebody, she absolutely will. She's like me in the sense that she thinks holidays should be celebrated for their true intentions, and that no one should be denied that magic.

I love that he can't help it either, like it physically pains him to see her like that so he's compelled to help. He's such a good man, that JK.

THE GIFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTT. OH I WAS SO STOKED FOR THAT. I love that he did it, I love the thought that went into it. That he noticed she has older brushes, 'lower' (but still good) quality brushes, brushes that look like theyve been used to much, and he used that information and just automatically decided that her passions and talent deserved the best instead of the best she could get herself. That he didn't think twice about the price of the gift because money has never been an issue for him, but he thought about the gifts impact and how it could help her achieve her dreams.

i think about his gift versus her unintentional on and their contrast a lot. I really enjoyed writing them.

so it was a mix of sobs turns blushes because of that muscle use talk hey (what a switch up)

sobbing and blushing with you!

And I like a lil spice with my fluff, what can I say. Balance is nice. I also like the natual growth of conversation, in a way that's expressed with a game of wits that turns into more trust and respect by the end of it. That's a complicated sentence, I hope that makes sense. XD

but omg the tree and the star (yoon how adorable you actually make those i love it that little add you did there)

I did! second year of college yoon wanted a christmas tree in her dorm real bad, so she went to her local dollarstore and got a little one and little baubles to match. But they didnt have tree toppers! So i took a cereal box out of my recycling bin, cut out a star, glued tin foil to the bitch and put'er on top of my baby tree. I still have and use it to this day. She remains super cute and festive.

and they are hugging now look it's one step closer to a kiss i will take it

I personally find hugs to be more intimate and passionate then kissing when done within the right context. A kiss? you can kiss anyone and have it mean nothing. But a hug? To be held? An embrace where you just hold another person because of the emotions your feeling can only be expressed tactiley like that? Hits different for me.

i can't get over how fluffy and homey this was and with the bodyguard too it just captured my heart i love this chapter it's definitely in my top 10 PJK moments (basically it's every interaction they have that's why it's 10 you get it) 🥹

THE GUARDS. MY BABIES. I love the guards, I love their positive masculine energy, I love that JK has them, and I love that they like OC. He's a little brother almost to most of them, they're the kind of older brothers who clearly aren't afraid to give their little bro shit, but are also his biggest cheerleaders when it counts. I just. I love my guards. I was so excited to introduce them finally.

holy shit top ten!!!!!! I'm honoured, flattered and in dire need of that list in ranked order so we can geek out together. (also so i can compare the current list to the list when the series if finished.)

(also also that is of course, not a request, only a "if you ever wanted to do so, I would be more than willing to read and geek")

and now they won't see each other over solstice i wonder how that's going to go i just know the texts are not gonna stop flowing i can not wait to see why happens in chapter 10

Chapter ten is currently 13.1k. :)

And in a slightly different format. But only slightly. You'll see what I mean when it's released <3

yoon please give a spoiler like a minor one okay give us a line a quote something please 🥹🖤

👀👀👀👀

Picasso [3:24pm]: Hey, if I wanted to mail you something while ur home, how would I do that??

👀👀👀👀

yoon you know i adore you and seeing how you have grown as a writer is the most beautiful thing and i just know you are going to do so many more great things i want you know i am here always and i adore you, your happiness means the world to me and i hope you are smiling and your days are filled with happiness - kiki 🖤

You know? I thought it was raining from how wet my face and clothes were, but it was actually just the ocean of tears this just made me shed in a downpour.

I can never, and will never be able to tell you how important reviews and humans like you are to me in particular, but to writers and creatives out there who do what I do. There is no us without you. I will say it in every. single. review. you write me, but you and folks like you are the reason fic and fic community stays alive, and I can never thank you enough for it. I'm so thankful and grateful for your constant and unwavering support, and for being on this wild writing ride with me as I grow with it.

I hope I can keep up the consistency of the writing style, and only improve as I go, as well as not screw up this story you love so dearly. I promise to try my best.

I am absolutely smilling and filled with happiness. I hope you are the same <3

Xo, Yoon

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 9

Title: Sugar Cookies and Devious Confessions

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Exams season and Solstice? Consider YN locked in, loaded, ready to go, hangry, and sentimental. Jungkook is just along for the ride with a hefty side of acts of service, quality time and physical touch are his love languages. Who'da thunk?

Warnings: T, language, fluff, so much fluff actually, I've surprised myself, semi-sexual conversations, JK is a menace but Reader can keep up...mostly, touch of angst tbh, reader gets hangry and is bad at taking care of herself sometimes, but apologises and makes up for it, mostly just wholesome this time. And fun!

Word Count: 6,675

Release Date: December 8, 2024. 12:30PM

A/N 1: Hiiiiiiiiiiii. It's here, thank you to those who reminded me. I literally would have forgotten for the third week in a row without them. I love you all.

A/N 1.5: Chapter ten will be coming sometime between Dec 20th-30th as it is festive and that's all I will say about it.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Jungkook’s learned many things about you since your friendship started. 

From your favourite colours to your favourite brush to paint with. He learned that you are always team morally gray love interest in the books you read in your limited spare time, although that one was learned a little against your will. 

He’d wanted to know why you always went for them, and very begrudgingly you admitted you found it appealing when they’d do anything to protect the main character. That they always did what they thought was best or what needed to be done despite their sad backstory, because for some reason, they all had sad backstories.

Every. Single. One of them. 

And you claimed it suckered you in every time. 

But through all of your time spent together—specifically during midterms—Jungkook learned just how much you ignore all of your basic needs as a human being when it comes to exams season. 

How you’ll forget to eat all day in favour of studying, or staying up late to finish your practical exam projects, making absolutely sure they’re up to your impossibly high standards, disregarding sleep.

So it doesn’t surprise him when he turns the corner to the greenhouse cafe to see you, thinner than normal with bags under your eyes, slaving away at something on your computer. 

He hates that he can tell you’ve lost weight through your winter clothing.

You look up, briefly smiling in greeting. He can tell just from how long it took you to notice him that you need a break, a good healthy meal and some sleep.

He smiles back, but bypasses you and walks straight into the cafe. You don’t think twice about it, already knowing what he’s doing.

“Hey Vivian,” he says to the barista.

“Hey JK, the regular?” She's restocking some cups and lids to the counter.

“Please, but tag on a hot chocolate for YN and some tarts.” Vivian nods, typing the order into the cashing system, very much used to either of you adding on each other's order to your own at this point.

“Machines ready for you,” she says, already prepping the first drink—his by the looks of it.

Jungkook pays and waits patiently, watching you from the window. 

“How long’s she been here?” he asks over the currently frothing milk—that’s for your hot chocolate.

“Since seven. She grabbed a tea and hasn’t moved since.” 

It’s almost 1:30 now, and Viv looks at him knowingly. She’s watched you do this to yourself every mid-term and exam season since you started. 

“Ah. I see.” He purses his lips.

It’s only a few minutes before the drinks and tarts are ready. Jungkook grabs them and heads out the door, calling a thank you over his shoulder.

“Okay look,” he says to grab your attention as he stands directly in front of you. The act of walking to the front of you alone clearly not enough to gain it. 

Looking up, your eyes widen in glee at the treats he carries. You attempt to reach for them but he pulls them back.

“Nuh uh, you need food.” 

You look at him confused. “Those are food.”

“No, these are the reward. You need a meal.” 

You try to interrupt him. Most likely to say you do eat meals, but instant ramen or a box of mac'n'cheese do not count, and he cuts you off before you can. “A healthy meal, Picasso, something to give your body nourishment and energy. One that fills you up.”

You scowl at him. 

“But–”

“No buts,” he cuts you off again. “Healthy food. Full, happy belly food,” he says, gently patting his stomach so not as to spill his drink. “Pack up, we’re going to the cafeteria and getting you some.”

“But–”

“Y/N,” he says sternly, giving you a look that says he will not be budging on this, and that if you refuse, he’s going to throw you over his shoulder to ensure it happens. 

It was the voice of a future King, he thinks. Then internally shudders. That’s not who he is with you, but he can admit that sometimes this side of him comes in handy during times like these. 

“Fine.” You snip, very clearly not happy about this.

Fortunately, you don’t seem to have any art supplies with you today, just your computer, a notepad and pencil case. You gather them quickly, throwing them into your backpack with an annoyed look because you don’t want to stop, but he’s forcing your hand.

He doesn’t care. You need this, and it’s clear as hell you were not going to do it on your own.

You were so fucking stubborn sometimes. 

His mask, hat and baggy shirt combo mixed with some large combat boots and a slight slouch in posture has worked wonders disguising him from the public so far. In fact, he’s pretty sure it intimidates some people seeing as how they nearly jump out of his way. You’ve joked about it before, calling it his ‘scary dog privilege’…whatever that meant. 

Jungkook doesn’t mind, though. Despite being four months into the school year, and his speech at the beginning, people still fawn and stare at him. Trying to get his attention, his approval. Anything to get something from him, even if it’s just a look in their direction. 

He wonders if it will ever die down, if it'll ever go away. Or if with new freshmen every year, a new horde of people will seek him out. 

So, he’s grateful that with this little disguise on, no one bats an eye at him as you two walk the fifteen minutes it takes to get across campus to the cafeteria. He knows you’re more than mentally drained, because you’re not checking over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one realizes you’re with him like you usually do. 

You enter the main building, luckily the cafeteria on the ground floor, just near the back. Once there, you walk straight to the fridge of premade to-go foods. Grabbing a fruit cup, a chicken caesar salad, and a container of mixed vegetables with dip, you turn to him.

“Is this good enough for you?” you snark.

“Yep, great choices,” he says, ignoring your tone. “Very healthy and nutritious. Plus you nearly have all the food groups.”

“I do have all the food groups,” you say back, deadpan.

Wow…

You really need some sleep, he’s never heard you sound so lifeless. Or mean. You’re only ever truly mean when you’re beyond exhausted, too tired to care. 

He’d say your mood and overall vibe is like a mixture of brown and gray, but he knows if he said it out loud you’d make him specify which specific shades of brown and gray, so he keeps the thought to himself. Both not to provoke you and to be polite.  

“You’re missing dairy and grain,” he says.

You point to his hands holding the tarts and drink.

“Fair point,” he concedes, and trails you to the register, grabbing a protein shake from a nearby fridge on the way. His card is out and paying before you can reach for your wallet and you accept it, even too worn out to yell at him for buying you something. 

Hot chocolate and the occasional bag of tarts you're fine with, because half the time you’re also buying him his coffee and sharing your tarts, so you see it as a fair trade. But anything outside those and you damn near throw a fit, claiming you don’t need him to spend his money on you. 

You never want anything from him, so unlike everyone else in his life.

He leads you to a more private booth in the corner, scary dog privilege in full effect as no one dares stand in his way, and you very unceremoniously plop down, sluggishly shucking off your bag and coat. 

Definitely a brownish-gray. 

You two eat and drink in silence; you, slowly picking away at your food, him, finishing his drink then eating the vegetables from the container you don’t like. It’s a peaceful silence, contented as your mood gradually improves and some colour returns to your face the more you get into your system. 

The sight relieves him. 

“Sorry,” you say, eyes glued to the table, unable to look at him. And he knows it’s for the way you treated him pre-food.

“No worries,” he replies. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That's good.”

Jungkook wasn’t going to push, but now that your mood’s improving, he hopes it’s safe to.

“Hey,” you look up at him, the bags under your eyes more evident under the artificial light and his heart breaks a little at the sight. “Promise me you’ll get some sleep tonight?”

A small close lipped smile finds your face, eyes soft, appreciative. The corner of his own lifts to match. 

“I promise I’ll try.”

You fall asleep early that night, 9pm. 

You don’t know what allows you to, but your exam worries fade and assignment anxiety slips from your mind the heavier your eyes grow. In the back of your head however, a thought slips through your defenses; you know it’s because of the look in Jungkook's eyes when he’d asked you too. 

The one of worry—genuine worry—for you. 

You hate yourself for causing it. You never want him to have to worry about you, god…he already has so much on his plate, you don’t want to add to it. 

But mostly…

But mostly you let yourself succumb to slumber because you don’t want to disappoint him. 

He asked you so kindly, and you know he had your best interests at heart when he did. He always does. 

You don’t have it in you to deny him that simple favour. To take care of yourself a little better.

So you sleep, just this once. For him. To help relieve him of the stress you caused.

And you know that that thought is what lets you until 10am the next day.

You feel better than you have in weeks.

You have everything you could possibly need to make all the recipes you have planned for today. Eggs, flour, sugar, soju, cutters, extracts, ginger, honey, chocolate chips, food colouring, some fruit concentrates and more are stuffed into the bags that dangle from your now struggling arms. There’s also another much lighter bag filled with a surprise for him that sits near the crook of your elbow. 

 Jungkook’s not going to know what hit him.

The door clicks open and you watch his eyes nearly leave his skull before he reaches to take them from you.

“Oh wow, you really weren’t kidding were you,” he says as he takes them to the kitchen with ease. 

Stupid muscles, you think, but the thought doesn’t hold for too long, glad at having your arm circulation back. 

“Solstice cookies are no joke in my house,” you say, following him.

“Clearly.”

He starts taking things out of the bags and you grab the one with the surprise in it before he can get to it.

“Won’t we need that?” he asks.

“Yes, but it’s not for cookies,” you start backing away towards the living room, bag behind your back. “It’s a surprise.”

Jungkook has a goofy grin plastered on his face as he follows you, and you put one on to match.

You stand in front of the coffee table and order him to sit and close his eyes, a sarcastic ‘yes ma’am’ comes from his lips, but he does as told. 

You set the contents of the bag on the coffee table; a small fake tree with built in lights, some tiny baubles in a box, a star, a polaroid camera and a custom, empty ornament.

“Okay, open!”

Jungkook opens his eyes and the same goofy grin returns, but this time there’s a sparkle in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

His voice is gentle and lovely when he asks, “What’s all this Picasso?”

“Your very own tree to decorate. We have lights, decorations, even a star for the top,” you say as he leans and picks up the star. “You said you didn’t really celebrate anymore so I wanted to bring some celebration back to you—if you wanted to, that is.”

He twirls the star in his hand, smile never leaving, as he inspects it closer. “Did you make this?”

You turn sheepish. “Ah… yeah. They don’t really sell mini toppers for the mini trees, just the baubles, so that guy’s made from the finest cereal box cardboard and tinfoil on the market.”

He just stares, at the star, at the tree, then to you. You can’t tell if you screwed up or not. Did he hate this?

But then he’s standing and you’re in his arms as he hugs you. 

You freeze, unsure of what to do for a second, before you let your arms go around him, hugging him back. 

He’s solid, you can feel the strength in him as he breathes, and the weight in his arms as they hold you. 

But also warm. So warm your cheeks start to heat to match the rest of your body that seems to be on fire. 

It ends before it barely started, and you find yourself missing him the second he’s gone. 

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head as if not realizing what he’d just done until after he stopped. You want to tell him it was okay, but he says, “thank you,” immediately after, and squats down to open the baubles. 

“You’re welcome,” you say as you watch, sitting down on the couch. He looks like a kid, the brightest of smiles on his face as he goes to place the first one, but pauses, and hands it to you. 

“You know better than me where to start.”

You giggle, placing the red sphere near the middle, and gesture for him to put on the next one. It continues like this until the box is empty, you then him, then you then him. He places the last ornament and looks to you, star in hand. 

“You do it,” you say. You’ve done this a million times with your mum, you doubt he’s done the same.

He carefully grabs the top branch that sticks up, placing the star over it. Your heart swells at how gentle he is with your handmade decoration. 

“Now the last step,” you say, as you reach for the camera. This was your favourite tradition with your mother, the yearly solstice picture. You have one from every single year after you were born, and even one with you in your mum’s belly. 

“Turn around,” you say, spinning your finger and he does, you follow.

You’re both on the ground in front of the tree, and you lift the camera, leaning into him. Still so warm. He leans right back. 

“Say 'Solstice!'” you call out, and smile.

“Solstice,” he says with you as you snap the picture.

You pause for a moment, making sure the image is done capturing before leaning away again. 

The image prints out, and you take hold of it, shaking so it develops faster. 

“Can you get some scissors, and a permanent marker?” you ask Jungkook. He leaves for only a moment, returning from the kitchen, scissors and marker in hand. 

You reach for the empty, custom ornament. It’s a camera, and where the lens would be is a spot for a picture. Cutting the polaroid to fit, you slide it in, and write solstice followed by the year on the back of the ornament.  You put it in the middle of the tree, letting the baubles frame it.

You don’t see Jungkook watching you do all of this, a look in his eye that would melt you if you saw. 

“And now for the magic,” you say, turning on the built-in lights. The tree twinkles as the little LEDs reflect off baubles, like stars on a clear night winking at one another.

You're too busy looking at the tree when you hear a click. Following the sound you see Jungkook, polaroid camera in hand, lens facing you. The image pops out and he grabs it, placing it on the coffee table beside the tree.

“Aren't you supposed to shake it?” you ask.

He looks purely serene as he responds. “Nah, polaroids have chemicals and dyes layered in them, so if you shake them you can get microbubbles or marks on them.”

You didn’t know that, but it doesn’t surprise you in the slightest that he does. His talent for photography, a result of years of study and practice. 

“Oh, good to know,” you say as you take the camera from him, and direct him to look at the tree. You snap a picture to match your own, placing it on the table beside the one he took. 

He stays sat there, staring at the tree for a while, the occasional flit towards you before the tree once again.

“It’s perfect,” Jungkook says, breaking the comfortable silence. He clears his throat before adding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You don’t know what else to say besides that, but you can see the happiness in his eyes. Their glow. Their warmth. 

You don’t think you need to say more. 

He knows. 

Time is quickly passing, and you have five recipes to get through today. So as much as you find yourself not wanting to move, perfectly happy sitting here with him for the rest of the day in this beautiful silence, you can’t. The tree is only the beginning of your day together.

“Cookie time?” you ask. 

Jungkook looks to you and takes a deep breath, as if he was also content to stay where you were for the day.

Just you, him and the tree.

“Cookie time.”

“You bitch!” you say as flour flies from his hand to your cheek. 

You were three and a half recipes in, having made two easier recipes first to ease him into a more difficult one. Shortbread, maejakgwa, and gingerbread now sit around in tupperware and cooling sheets around the apartment. 

But because of that, Jungkook is slowly losing all seriousness as you retrieve the sugar cookie dough from his fridge. It was actually the first thing you’d made, knowing it had to chill for a while beforehand, hence the three and a half. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, all knowing smirk plastered on his face like a neon billboard. 

You refuse to sink to his childish levels, and remove the beautifully chilled dough from its refrigerator bowl. Wiping your face with a cloth to clean yourself of the flour, you order him over.

“Come use all your unnecessary muscles to roll this out, quarter inch thick,” holding out the rolling pin to him. The smirk lessons only slightly, but he does as told. 

“All my muscles are unnecessary, huh?” he says after a minute of rolling. You’re by the sink washing some dishes as he does and you can all but physically see the egging in his voice. 

“Yes.”

“And why’s that?” He asks as he finishes rolling out the dough and begins on his cookie cutter decisions. You’ve learned he’s particular about which one’s he wants to use for which type of cookie. 

“Because you have like a million eight foot tall, 450 pound security guards following your every move at all times,” you say, as if this was obvious. In reality, it was a solid team of six guards who were at their tallest 6 '4, and maybe 285 at their heaviest. 

Admittedly, they were all really nice guys, having met them numerous times over the months. And you were planning on stealing some of the cookies from today to give them little solstice bags. 

Jungkook’s never going to be able to eat them all by himself  anyway…you think. And even if he could, he really shouldn’t.

“So, because I have security guards,” he looks at you unbelievingly, “my muscles are unnecessary?” 

“Yes. Why have them if you don’t need them?” At this point you’re just teasing him.

“Lots of reasons,” and he starts listing as you continue to clean. “They look nice, but that's obvious.”

“I’m sure your groupies don’t mind that at all,” you sneak in under your breath, referring to his enormous, and rather lewd mouthed female following on social media. 

“Hey, you leave my groupies out of this, they’re nice people,” he says, pointing a white powdered finger. You scoff and go back to the dishes mumbling something about how they feed his ego. 

“There’s also the fact that I like being strong. I like that I don’t get winded from jogging up the stairs, and I like that I have the ability to help damsels who show up at my place with their arms full of far too many heavy bags.”

You shoot him a glare and he laughs. “You can’t say I’m wrong.”

You also don’t have to acknowledge that comment.

He takes it as a win in your ever ongoing battle of wits. And just to try and even out the playing field a little more, as you are currently winning by a landslide, he adds on a little more to his answer, hopefully one you’re not expecting, and therefore winning by shock factor.

“There’s other reasons too, but those are a lot less PG, to say the least.”

He—

Your hands pause their ministrations for mere seconds before continuing.

How did he say it so…casually!?

Like he didn’t essentially just tell you he likes being strong for bedroom purposes. A topic you’ve never been anywhere near speaking to him about, and he just… brings it up like that? So cryptically as if he wants you to ask for clarification. 

And you do want clarification, damn him!

You hate that it makes you curious. Hate. It.

You like knowing things, not to be nosey, but because you like the mental safety it brings. When you and Nel first started having sex you did a deep dive on everything you could, to make sure nothing was a surprise and that you didn’t hurt yourself or him if you tried anything new. 

Little did you know half of the research was for nothing. Nel has never been the most sexually adventurous person, whereas you wanted to try out new things, explore, see what you like via trial and error, he was fine with good ole missionary and a handful of other basic positions. 

What you two do now works though. And that’s what counts. Compromise. Overcome. Enjoy and respect each other's boundaries. 

But it makes you wonder if Jungkook knows anything you don’t. 

That reason alone is apparently enough for you to hear, “Like what?” leave your lips before you can stop it. And you internally freak.

What the fuck! You did not just ask him that. 

That did not just come out of your mouth.

You did not jus-

“You really wanna know?” he asks, eyeing you over his shoulder with a single quirked brow, like he can’t believe you said it either, but he’ll dish you if you want him too. 

How interesting. You don’t remember gaining this level of trust from him, to be honest about something so personal. So private. 

You wonder when that happened. 

No, you say in your mind. But your head is gingerly nodding yes. 

Stop that! You think to your body, betraying you once again.

Jungkook hums before picking up a cutter, a simple circle. 

“Well,” he punctuates the word with a cutter punch. “Uhh…there’s a certain level of—” a punch, “—power dynamic I prefer having, and they definitely help with that,” another cutter punch. “I also like being able to lift my partner with relative ease, or carry them if need be. Legs around my hips is a personal favourite.”

Your dishwashing slows as he continues, unable to stop the images that flood your mind thanks to your visual thinking. 

Stupid art brain.

A small pool of heat starts to form low in your stomach. Stupid art brain.

After some more circular cutter punches, you think he’s finished and you’re relieved, but then he switches to a spikier one and continues. 

“I’ve also learned that finger strength seems to be a fan favourite,” he jokes and you gulp, forcing that thought out of your head as soon as it enters like a slingshot.  “And most of my previous partners seemed to enjoy the fact that I could, uhm…well, that I could hold them in place while I did… that is…whatever I wanted to them.” 

You ignore the wetness in forming your underwear. This conversation, regardless of who it was with, was not helping you and your complete and utter lack of sex. 

Another enormous downside to long distance, your libido and its easily excitable nature due to lack of use. Maybe an appointment with your vibrator is due soon, if you’re this affected by these attempts at sterile descriptions of sexual-like encounters. He isn’t even saying anything expressly dirty. He’s trying to be as respectful and informative in his answers as he can.

Plus, you did this to yourself. 

“But if I had to pick, I think there’s a tie for my favourite part about having unnecessary muscles for non PG purposes,” he says, and looks at you with another quirked brow, seeing if he’s allowed to proceed.

You’ve entirely stopped washing the dishes. Too focused on not focusing on the growing need blooming inside you. 

Oh yes, you’re penciling it in right now: Vibrator appointment. Tonight. 10:30pm. 

Sharp.

Time to accept the consequences of your actions.

“Consider it a potential learning opportunity. Academically speaking, of course,” you say, as a way to make this educational. That’s all this is anyway right? To see if he knows anything you don’t. 

Right?

Right.

“If you say so Picasso.” He tears the leftover dough from the neatly cut cookies, and starts laying them on a baking pan. “First, I like that I’m strong enough to flip my partner over whether they’re, uhm...” he struggles for an ‘academic’ sounding word, but settles for, “restrained, or not.”

Heat. Everywhere. There's heat everywhere and you immediately go back to the dishes, changing the flowing water to ice cold and ignoring the throbbing of your core. You’re pretty sure if you slipped your hands down your pants right now, they’d be just as wet as they are cleaning the mixing bowls. 

Maybe you should reschedule to 10. Or even 9:30. Hell, why not 9 while you’re thinking about it.

“Secondly, I like the muscles because they help me make great use of walls.”

You nearly drop the bowl in the sink, not having nearly enough time to recover before he’s looking at you again, sugar cookie filled baking pan in hand.

“You ever done something like that?” he asks, sly smirk visible. He’s trying to make light of the situation, make it a joke for the sake of comfortability.

He’s spilling ‘all’ his secrets, why shouldn’t you spill one.

The oven dings, signaling the preheating is complete and it’s ready for use. He comes closer to you, only because the oven is opposite the sink, puts them in and sets the oven’s timer for 12 minutes. Turning back around, he’s not two feet from you.

You force your voice to be as smooth and cool as possible as you face him, your own smirk plastered. 

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

Yes, yes he would.

“Call your goons in, I have their bags ready.”

“They’re not my goons,” Jungkook says, texting Shen, head of his security detail. “They’re my guards.”

You’re both finishing up cleaning the kitchen, all of the ingredients are put away, the dishes are cleaned, and Jungkook is washing down the counterspace as you write the names of everyone on the little bags filled with the results of your combined labours.

The coffee table is covered in little polaroids from today, all still resting from when they developed. Half of them have some form of baking related mess on them, be it some flour or a small lump of dough. 

You look at one he took after throwing more flour on you, your nose is scrunched and it looks like half your face is white with the stuff. It’s cute. There’s another beside it, Jungkook is pretending to lick raw batter from the whisk, eyes wide, tongue outstretched. It’s chaotic.

They’re perfect.

Shen, Dae-Seong, Asa, Rowan, Micah and Hikari are Jungkook’s security detail. They all have shared apartments in the same building. Never too far away. Shen and Asa are stationed on his floor, Mikah and Rowan are on the floor below and Dae-Seong and Hikari are on the one above. 

“Guards, goons, same difference,” you say, but you hear knocking not seconds later, no doubt Shen and Asa. 

You go and open the door, welcoming them in.

“Hey Y/N,” Asa says, scooping you up for a hug, your feet dangling. Asa’s one of the guards who’s super tall, and he’s always been very affectionate towards you. Come to think of it, a lot of them are. 

“Hey Asa, how’s Natalie?” you chuckle, hugging him back lightly. Natalie is his wife, who's still back in the capital.

“She’s good, excited to have me home soon.”

“No doubt, say hi for me.”

“Yeah, will do.”

He sets you down just in time for another knock. 

Rowan, Micah, Hikari and Dae-Seong all make their way in too, giving high fives, light hugs or happy greetings to you as they do. Soon, you’re being towered over by men, feeling very small, but never scared as they are always so lovely to you.

You suspect you’re quickly becoming their favourite. 

Jungkook they’re used to seeing, they’ve known him for years, protected him for years. They give him shit, a nod or grab him by the neck with their arms as they play wrestle to greet him. No hugs or high fives to be seen with him, only laughter. Mostly at Jungkook. 

When they’re around, Jungkook is the most at ease you’ve ever seen him at. 

“So what’s up?” Shen asks. He’s the least affectionate out of everyone, stoic even, but that doesn’t surprise you. He’s responsible for the safety of the future monarch, that’s a stressful job.

You look to Jungkook, who’s now sitting on the couch. He signals with a hand that this is all you.

“I don’t know if you all celebrate, but just in case you do, Jungkook and I spent the day baking,” Rowan snorts at that, and you ignore it, motioning for them to follow you to the kitchen. The island carrying their individually labeled goody bags comes into their view.

“And this is just a little thank you for all you do from the jackass in the other room,” you point with a thumb to the wall the couch is on the other side of. The men snicker. 

“I heard that,” Jungkook calls.

“You were supposed to,” you call back, then to the group once more, “and it’s also a Happy Solstice from me.”

Rowan and Asa are still laughing at your less than kind words about their charge as you begin to hand them their bags. Each one says thank you as you do, and Asa gives you another hug. He may be 6’4 and god knows how many pounds, but really, he was just a big teddy bear—a lethal one— but cuddly nonetheless.

“We’ve got a decent selection, but feel free to trade,” you say, giving Shen his bag last. He has a thing with going last, you have no idea why, but you respect it. You whisper to him that he has an extra of each cookie, and not to tell the others, including Jungkook. He gives you the absolute smallest of small smiles, followed by a hushed ‘thank you.’

It’s the most tender you’ve ever seen him.

Micah pipes up. “What’s this one?” he asks, holding up a cookie.

“So, we’ve got gingerbread, maejakgwa, sugar cookies, shortbread and that, my dearest Micah,” the mountain of a man blushes at that, and you laugh, “is a yakgwa cookie. Think chewy honey and ginger.”

He pops it into his mouth instantly and you swear if he could, he’d melt into a puddle. 

“There’s no way King Pain in the Ass over there made these, they’re way too good,” Hikari says, on his third one. He seems to be trying one of each, seeing which he likes. So far? Apparently it’s all of them.

“Cross my heart,” you say, “it was a gallant team effort.”

“Thanks kid,” he calls to the prince, currently entering the room to see his guards happier than he has in a very long time. He will never admit it out loud, for fear of endless mocking, but the sight warms his heart.

Dae-Seong comes up to you, and very politely asks, “Could I get the recipe you used for the maejakgwa? My wife would love these.”

“Of course, Dae-Seong,” you place a kind hand on his forearm. “Give Minji my best will you?”

The man nods, grateful. 

All the recipes today were from your memory, so you get your phone, and start typing it out. 

You have him text it to himself from your phone when you’re finished, and use that as your que to grab the camera.

“Everyone,” you call out, and immediately seven pairs of eyes, with seven full mouths beneath them, are looking at you. Jungkook’s eating some from his own stash, or so you hope. “Crowd your favourite royal on the couch please, it’s picture time.” You shake the camera gently in your hand.

“My favourite royal’s back at the pala–” Hikari tries, but a punch to the shoulder from Jungkook has him laughing in favour of completing the sentence. 

You love the relationship he has with them. Like brothers.

Quickly, Jungkook is squished between the six men, one on either side and four on the floor in front of him. They tried to fit more on the couch but they're all so big that they couldn’t.

“Everyone needs to smile, and if they don't, I'm taking more until they do,” you say pointedly, eyeing up Shen. He only nods that he understands.

“Say Solstice!”

A chorus of deep voiced ‘solstice's' ring your eyes as you look through the eyepiece and snap the picture. It prints out and you leave it with all the others on the coffee table. You see that everyone is smiling in the picture as it develops. 

Perfect. Everything about today has been perfect.

After a few more minutes of chatting, the guards have to get back to their posts, and you’re at the door, wishing everyone a happy break as they leave. 

Shen, as usual, hangs back, wanting to be the last to leave. He’s standing beside Jungkook, both watching you as you bid the others farewell. 

“I like her,” Shen says to Jungkook quietly. 

“Me too,” Jungkook says back. 

Shen can see the prince means that in more than one way.

“Keep her around.”

“I'm trying my best to.”

It’s nearing 7:30, you’re both full after ordering dinner in, not wanting to be anywhere near a kitchen until next week, and working on assignments. Jungkook’s editing some photos, and you’re writing part of an essay from your phone, having completely forgotten to bring your computer in all the excitement. 

“Hey,” you say, sitting in your spot on the couch. You nudge him with a socked foot, he has headphones on so he can focus.

He doesn’t look to you, but removes a headphone. “Yeah?”

You lock your phone, brain mush for the night. “Can we move movie night to tonight? I have an exam at 8am on Monday and I want to use tomorrow to study.”

You’ve been thinking about it for a while, deciding that today would let you know if you needed to make the switch or not. And given that you’ve spent the day on your feet and partially socializing, you doubt you’ll be able to focus for the rest of the night, exhausted. But the good kind of exhausted.

You’ve been taking better care of yourself since that day with Jungkook. Not drastically, but you’re starting to listen to your body’s signals a little more, and right now it’s telling you you need TV and sleep. 

Appointment be damned. You’ll reschedule.

Jungkook hits the space bar and removes his headphones before closing the computer. 

“Yeah, of course. But–” he cuts himself off, looking at the tree in front of him. The lights are low in the apartment and it’s dark out, so the tree shines, glowing from within. The picture of you two still sits in the middle, and the now multiple stacks of polaroids sit around its base like presents. 

“But?”

“But that means I won’t see you after today. I only have two exams left, Monday afternoon and Tuesday morning, then I’m back at the palace.”

Oh. 

Right.

“We don’t have to, I can just study earlier in the d-”

“No! No, it’s okay. It just…it changes a few things,” he bites his lip as he thinks, and places his computer on the coffee table. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes Picasso, please?”

You’re very confused but comply, closing your eyes and waiting. You hear him get up and then him walking, then a door opens. There’s some rummaging before the door closes and his footsteps near again.

The couch dips right beside you.

“Hold out your hands.”

You hold them both out, palms up, and something bumpy and cylindrical is placed in them. 

“Okay, open.”

In your hands is a leather rolling brush case, held shut by not only matching leather strings, but a red ribbon and bow. 

“Oh,” you didn’t know you were doing gifts. “Jungkook. It’s—it’s beautiful.”

“Open it.”

You untie the ribbon, setting it to the side as you also untie the leather strings, and unroll. The case is filled with brushes from Olliveri and Schultz, the best brush makers in the realm. And a small, very surprised gasp escapes you. 

You’ve never once owned any of their products. Their brushes go for $50 at the lowest, for the smallest of brushes.  

Exquisite craftsmanship goes into each and every brush, hand carved wooden handles, the best bristles you can buy, and rust resistant ferrule. You’ve always dreamed of having one of their brushes, and now here you are, with a whole set.

They’re the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

“Jungkook I—I don’t know what to say. I couldn’t possibly acce-”

“Yes you can. You can and you will. Please. I even made sure they put in an extra fan brush cuz it’s your favourite.” 

You notice the two brushes on the end, identical. 

He remembered. 

A lump is forming in your throat, overwhelmed with gratitude.

“I haven’t—I don’t—,” you take a breath, “I didn’t get you a gift, though.”

“Today was gift enough,” he says, and you can see in his eyes he means every word. “I haven't had a solstice like this in…a really long time, and the memories from today are enough, more than enough. I promise.”

You don’t know what to say, you haven’t been at this much of a loss for words since…ever. You can only think of one thing to convey how thankful you are.

Throwing your arms around his shoulders, you squeeze, his arms immediately around your waist. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, “I love them.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath too, savouring this moment for as long as he can. The feel of your arms around him, squeezing. The soft curve of your body up against his. His hands on your waist, you’re warmth under his touch, or maybe that was him, he can’t tell. And he doesn’t care. 

 It’s the first time you’ve ever initiated physical contact that was more than a nudge or playful shove. 

“You’re welcome, YN. Happy Solstice.” 

Chapter Ten: TBR

A/N 2: Fun fact! The tree and tin foil star are based on what I do irl. I have a dollarstore tree with little baubles and lights, but I made the star from a cereal box and tin foil because there weren't any toppers when I bought it.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[ripdragonbeans]

Love In The Darkest Of Places // modern!Aemond x Reader

Chapter 9: Healing is a Process

Summary: Focusing on bringing Alys down, you and Aemond get caught up in the rush of it all, causing you two to burn out. What better way to help that than therapy?

A/N: Love my @exitpursuedbyavulcan lol

Masterlist

Chapter 8 // Chapter 10

Curled up next to Aemond, you gently played with his beautiful long hair as you both faced the computer monitor. Every time either of you looked at Aemond’s draft to the head of the university, you would freeze. Both of you wanted Alys out of your lives, out of the university, so why were you hesitating?

“We should gather more evidence if we can,” you offered. “Maybe find some of the other guys she's gone after?”

Aemond shook his head. “I doubt any of them would want to call her out. They probably didn't even realize she was manipulating them. I didn't see it until I talked to you.” He sighed. “She's good at this game.”

“Are you going to send the report anonymously?” It was the first time you asked him.

“I'll send the report anonymously, but I'm not going to erase my name from the texts. They need to see every step she does, including calling me by my name.” He took a breath. “But if you want me to go completely anonymous, I will, and I understand. I don’t mind pulling myself through the mud, but I don’t want you to get dragged as well.”

You moved to sit in Aemond’s lap and faced him. Holding his gaze, you told him, “I am never leaving you again. You go through hell, I go through hell. Together forever.”

He nodded. “Okay, then. I'm not going to hide.”

Moving off his lap, you stayed close and watched as he began typing vigorously. 

To whom it may concern, he typed. I write to you to inform you that one of your staff members, Professor Alys Rivers, has engaged in inappropriate conduct with students. Attached to this email are screenshots of conversations between her and me, Aemond Targaryen. 

I trust that appropriate action will be taken in this matter, and I am happy to cooperate with any further investigation you require.

Sincerely, 

Aemond Targaryen

Taking a big breath, Aemond sent the email. When he looked to you, you gave him a reassuring smile, took his hand, brought it up to your lips, and gently kissed the back of it. 

“I'm so proud of you,” you whispered. “She will not get away with this, not anymore.” As you looked at him, you noticed how exhausted he looked. You knew it must have taken a lot out of him. It was one thing to admit all that has happened to you, but to go public with it is another story. “Come on,” you tugged on his hand as you stood up. “Let's go somewhere.”

As you pulled up to the building and got out of the car you gave Aemond a small smile. 

“The library?” He asked.

“You always feel better after you've been to the library,” you shrugged. “So I figured why not take a quick trip.”

Aemond pulled you into a hug. “Thank you,” he whispered.

When you broke away from the hug, you took his hand and pulled him over to the library, not that he needed any goading; you just enjoyed pulling him around sometimes. As you entered the library the smell of books immediately surrounded you. It was a warm and cozy feeling. Hand in hand, you wandered the isles of many books until you each found a few to borrow for the month. Before checking out, however, you found yourself in a cozy alcove upstairs where the two of you could begin reading one of your books.

The quietness of the library was a welcome reprieve from the loud noise going on in your head and you figured it was the same with Aemond. With so much going on in life it was important to you that you and Aemond both find ways to settle all that noise and take a breather every now and then.

You closed your book, a good fourth in already. “Ready to head out?” you whispered to Aemond.

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” he closed his book. When he stood up from the very pillowed chair he stretched his arms high, revealing a little bit of skin as he did so.

You smiled seeing that little glimpse of his stomach. Instead of being a menace, you walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. Pressing your face against his body, you inhaled his scent and took the moment in. For the first time in a while, you and Aemond were at peace. 

Aemond wrapped his arms around you. He tilted your head up by lifting your chin and pressed his forehead against yours. “This is nice,” he said quietly.

You murmured your agreement.

Within the peace and quiet of the library, you and Aemond were both able to find yourselves again and plant your feet well into the ground again.

“How do you feel about therapy?” you asked him the next day. It had been on your mind for a while, and you thought it would be good for both of you. You fixed your breakfast as you waited for his answer.

“Like talking to someone about everything?” Aemond paused. “It's crossed my mind a few times, yeah.”

Crossing across to the couch, you sat down next to him. “I think it would be a good idea,” you offered. “Maybe couples counseling, too.”

Aemond turned to you quickly. “Do you think we need help? I can do better. We can work it out.” His eye widened in horror.

“No, Aemond, we're okay,” you reassured him, then shrugged. “I just think it would be healthy for us, especially after all that's happened.” 

“I think therapy is a good idea,” he said after a while. “I still haven't fully comprehended everything that's happened and,” Aemond sighed, “I want to feel better. I want to be better, for you and for me.”

“Then let's do it.” You nodded your head and kissed his cheek. “Couples therapy it is. Do you want to go on your own, too?”

“I think I will. It'll probably be for the best.”

You smiled. “I agree.” Wrapping your arms around him, you held Aemond close to you—close to your heart. You would never let him go, not anymore, and you would never let someone make him feel so inferior ever again.

The waiting room in the therapy center was painted a dull brown, creating a neutral-esque environment. It was all brown. Different shades of brown. The chairs and benches, however, weren’t brown; they were black. It was a very boring sitting room, you thought, but it was better than being overstimulating.

As you sat with Aemond, you noticed he was bouncing his leg. “Nervous?” 

Aemond continued to bounce his leg. “On edge, I would say.”

On this day, Aemond donned his usual eye patch and pulled his hair up in a bun. He was dressed casually, but being Aemond, he looked like he had an important interview to attend.

You placed a hand on his knee. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

You looked around. There was no one else in the waiting room, and granted, it was later in the day as well. After a few minutes of silence, a door opened, and a man called out your name and Aemond’s. As you two stood up, Aemond nervously wiped his hands on his pants. Instinctively, you reached out and took his hand.

“We'll be right over here,” said the man you assumed to be the therapist. “Sit anywhere you like, and please make yourselves comfortable.” He smiled warmly before going behind his desk. “Hello, I will be your therapist, Dr. Simon Strong. A lot goes into this, so let's start at the very beginning. How did you two meet?”

Aemond, hesitant, didn't say anything, so you took it upon yourself to begin the conversation. 

“We met when we were children. Our mothers were, emphasis on “were,” close, and when they drifted apart, we stayed friends. We were neighbors, actually.”

“And how did that help build your relationship?” Dr. Strong asked.

“It brought us closer together,” you shrugged.

“She was my only friend,” Aemond said carefully. “She would visit a lot and wasn't scared of my brother or off-put by my sister, like some other people who had tried to be friends with me.”

Dr. Strong raised his eyebrows. “Your only friend?”

Aemond shuffled his feet. “Yeah, I didn't have many friends growing up; it was more of just her and my siblings.” He looked at you. “But she's the best person that's ever walked into my life, and for that, I'm grateful.”

The therapist nodded. “Now, I would like you two to tell me why you want to do couple's therapy.”

You answered without hesitation. “We want to have a healthy relationship.”

“I had an …issue with a past relationship, and I don't want that again,” Aemond added.

Dr. Simon Strong leaned forward with interest. “Ah. We’ll get that later. Here is my question: has your relationship always been romantic?

You shook your head and laughed, “No, it was never like that. We were children; we didn’t know what love was. We knew we cared about each other, but that was it.” You tried to push away some of your very first feelings for him.

“I think I was always in love with you,” whispered Aemond.

“Aemond…” you paused to take a breath. “Now that I think about it, I think I was always in love with you, too.” You turned to Dr. Strong. “I think we both fell in love early on but didn’t quite know what it was,” you cleared up.

“That’s fair. Many do not understand the deep and abstract concept of love outside of caring for others when they are young children.”

“All I knew then is that I cared about her. There wasn’t exactly any love between my mother and father,” Aemond said. “I had no real example of what love was supposed to look like.”

“And there is no one-fits-all all when it comes to love,” Dr. Strong added. “Every couple looks different. What matters is that both parties are happy and healthy. Are there any moments in your history as children that stick out to you?”

“When I was sick once he brought me soup,” you offered. “It wasn’t much, it was very simple, but I remember feeling cared for.”

Aemond cocked his head to the side. “I remember that. You were running a high fever and were suffering from body chills.” He looked at you. “I knew even then I wanted to take care of you. I didn’t like it when you got sick or hurt, but I’m glad you always came to us when something happened.”

“It wasn’t like I could go to my mother or father,” you scoffed. Turning to Dr. Strong, you explained to him, “My family was never the most supportive of me. I know for a fact they never wanted me, and they weren’t eager to hide it.”

“That must have been very traumatic for you,” Dr. Strong replied.

You shrugged. “It’s something I grew up with. It’s more like background noise at this point.”

“It still follows you?”

“I guess it kinda hangs over me.”

“I see…” Dr. Strong scribbled something down. “What about you, Aemond? How is your relationship with your family?”

“My birth dad is nonexistent. I don’t want him around. My mother and my siblings care about me, and I care about them. I know there is love and support between us all.”

Dr. Strong addressed both you and Aemond with his next question. “Have either of you had previous relationships?”

Silence enveloped the room. 

“Not me,” you said, breaking the silence. Well, Aemond thought I was in a relationship with someone else, but I wasn’t.”

Dr. Strong straightened his back. “Oh?”

“It was this double date she and I were practically forced into when we were in high school,” Aemond explained. “We didn’t go on the double date as a couple but as a part of the other’s date. It was a mess. I got jealous, and I tried to make her jealous and it ended up with both of us getting hurt.”

“Has that event shaped how you two are now as a couple?”

“Not that one specifically, but…” you trailed off to let Aemond bring her up. She had to be talked about. She was the elephant in the room.

“My professor. One of my university professors coerced me into a relationship with her,” said Aemond. His face had gone blank and devoid of emotion.

“Was there anything that led you to be in a relationship with this person? From what you have told me, the two of you are very close.”

You hesitated. “I told him I couldn’t be with him. We kissed, a heat of the moment thing, and I freaked out and ran away and told him I couldn’t let myself be with him.”

“And how did that make you feel, Aemond?”

“I was… heartbroken, I guess. I didn’t know what to do.”

“And how did this professor coerce you into a relationship?”

“She flirted with me. A lot, actually.”

Hearing this made your blood boil but you kept your anger and jealousy down to let Aemond tell his story.

“She would call me to her office, and we would talk. She would make leading comments and ask questions bordering on inappropriate. At first, I hated it, but then I started to want that; that feeling of someone wanting me.”

Your heart dropped as though it was attached to a rock and then thrown into a lake to drown.

“The day she kissed me…I felt wanted, and that’s what I was looking for, what I so desperately needed.” Aemond turned to you. “I never initiated any of our intimate moments, including kisses or hugs. Everything was started by her.” He turned back to Dr. Strong. “I was just going through the motions. There was maybe a time I felt like I actually cared for her; I did care for her in a way, but not in the way I care about my…” he trailed off and looked back at you. “You. I never cared for her the same way I care for you. Alys was all physical, not even always wanted. I let her do whatever to me just so I could feel like I was wanted by someone.”

Tears were streaming down your face. “Oh, Aemond, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged off the apology. “It was my choice to follow her and I regret it every day.”

“Well,” Dr. Strong started, “that is certainly a lot to hop into.” He made sure to look at both of you. “You did really well, you both did. You should be proud of yourselves for opening up not just to me, but to each other. I can tell you two care about each other a lot and want this to work. That’s good.”

“Do you have any suggestions for us as a couple?” you asked.

“As a couple, not really. I do encourage you to continue talking openly with each other. That does wonders in a relationship. Communication is key. Individually,” Dr. Strong looked at you, “you should try reaching out to your family, maybe they’ve grown, maybe not. If you would not like to reach out to them, that is up to you, but I think you may find some closure. As for you, Aemond,” he turned to face him, “I would consider a companion to have around when your significant other is unable to be with you. A dog, perhaps? A cat is easy to take care of, not a fish, someone you could find comfort in when things are too hard. Both of you taking care of an animal would be beneficial to you as a couple as well.”

The two of you nodded. 

As the session went on, Aemond talked about Alys and their relationship and how it has formed who he was now. Hearing him talk about her made you uncomfortable but hearing how uncomfortable she made him made you mad.You thought back to the first time Aemond had told you about Alys and when you had caught them in the hallway. It was her that initiated it; not him. It made you feel better, in a way, but you were still not a fan of it. But then he had seemed so…besotted with her. Knowing now that it had been more infatuation and physical than anything helped how you felt about the whole situation. However, it had you wondering about the dinner you had with them as well. Aemond seemed so out of it and now you knew why. 

During the session, you touched on your family a bit more and how they treated you and how that shaped who you were now. It was…difficult to talk about them. When you had your last conversation with Jace you thought that would be the last of it. That may not be the case anymore. 

 Aemond began speaking. “There… there is one other thing I’d like to talk about before leaving: my eye.”

“Ah, yes, I was wondering if you were going to bring it up. What would you like to say about it.”

“I won’t give all the gruesome details, but if anyone’s ever been there for me, it’s her.” Aemond reached out and grabbed your hand. “She was the one who gave me the sapphire in my eye, actually.”

“I have a matching necklace,” you added.

“If it weren’t for her always being there for me, I honestly don’t know where I would be now. I can’t imagine my life without her.”

You squeezed Aemond’s hand and looked at him. “I don’t know where I’d be, either, Aemond.”

When you and Aemond finally broke your gaze and looked back at Dr. Simon Strong, you found him smiling at the pair of you. “You two will do well in therapy. You have already done a good job of communicating and this is only the first session. We’ll see you in a week? I normally see my patients every week and then we slowly start to add more and more time in between sessions.”

“Yeah, in a week is good,” you said.

“Wonderful,” Dr. Simon Strong smiled at you. “Now it is time for Aemond’s session by himself. You can wait in the waiting room.”

“Thank you again, Dr. Strong,” you shook his hand and then turned to give Aemond a kiss on the forehead before leaving the room.

The drive back to Aemond’s apartment after the therapy sessions that day was quiet, but in a good way. Both of you have been carrying baggage and now that it was all out in the open the air felt cleaner. You glanced at Aemond through your peripheral vision and smiled. He was gazing out the window.

“Everything all right?” you asked him.

Your question apparently startled him. “Hm? Oh, yeah. Just thinking.”

“We did a lot today. I’m proud of us but I’m mostly proud of you, Aemond.”

He let out a breath that sounded like a chuckle. “I’m glad I can make you proud, my dear.”

“Oh? Have we graduated to pet names now?” You said with a joking edge knowing that using pet names and nicknames were a bit of a sore spot for him after her.

Aemond took a beat. “Yeah, I think we have.” He moved a hand onto your thigh and gave it a squeeze. “I’m honored to have you as mine, my love.”

If you could have, you would have pulled over to the side of the road and kissed him right then and there, but you couldn’t. Instead, without taking your eyes off the road, you brought his hand to your lips and gently brushed them against his knuckle. “As am I.”

Despite living with Helaena, you found yourself spending more and more time with Aemond. A few days later, you found yourself curled against Aemond’s body in bed. While you were awake, Aemond was softly snoring, still asleep. His arm was draped around you and held you close, your back pressed against his stomach. You turned to look at him and take in his beauty. With his eyepatch discarded on the bedside table, his sapphire shined in the morning light. His long hair was sprawled out on his pillow as his head was turned towards you, as though the last thing he saw before falling asleep was you. Smiling to yourself, you basked in the moment. It was peaceful.

After a few minutes of beautiful silence, you gently roused Aemond from his sleep. “Wake up, my dear.”

Aemond mumbled something and simply pulled you closer, burying his 

“Aemond,” you groaned, “it's time to get up.”

“It’s too early.”

“No, it's not. Come on, let's get going.”

“Fine,” said Aemond, dragging out the word.

You finally shimmied out of his grasp and sat up in bed. Gently pulling up Aemond to a sitting position, you laughed as he pretended to resist you. Once you got him sitting up, he immediately fell on top of you, completely limp.

“Help, I've fallen and I can't get up,” he said half heartedly.

You had to wiggle him off of you to be able to get off the bed. When you were able to actually get up, Aemond relented and did so as well. With his hair all messy, he muttered something about being tired then flipped his hair out of his face. Lumbering over to his closet he pulled out his clothes for the day. You watched him as he changed, unmoved from your spot in the room. As if he felt your eyes on him he turned around. 

“Like what you see?” he playfully asked.

You took a few steps closer to him. “Of course I do, my love.”

Aemond hummed contently as you hugged him. He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. “It’s time for you to change out of your pajamas as well.”

“What? You don’t like my shorts paired with one of your shirts?” you teased.

“Honestly, I love it, but where we’re going may require a change of clothes,” Aemond said.

With his words, you remembered the goal of the day. You were going to begin the process of adopting a dog.

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twenty Five

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Previous | Masterlist | Next]

Warnings: Strong Language, Angst, Smut, Violence, Depictions of War, Mentions of Death, Depictions of PTSD, Injury Detail, Era typical Sexism, Era typical Homophobia, Era typical racism, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Domestic Abuse (very brief), Depictions of Reproductive Health, Suicidal Thoughts, World on Fire Spoilers.

Words: 3.2K

Notes: Tom! Letters! Norman’s back! I’m back!

Dear Bess,

Thanks for your letter, and the photograph of Vera.

I’m glad Harry’s camera is coming in handy. Tell Cora to keep Vera for the day next time and take some of yourself that you couldn’t get done at the picture parlour. One in the nurse’s uniform? I’m on my fourth ship and the girls’ have got a wall on every one. Now, you know I’ve got an eye for a pretty face and a flash of rouge, but my girl you’re the bombshell of every boat. The boys didn’t believe me when I put one of your pictures up with the others, thought I’d stolen your photograph from cig packet. Told them that Rita Hayworth’s lucky you aren’t in show business or she’d be out of pocket. You’ll be getting that angry blush that I love right about now as you read this, but it’s true. Even caught one of the new ordinaries trying to sneak it off the wall and into his pocket.

Life on board is the same as it always is. The top brass are all ski-nosed and silver-spooned, but Thornton, the commodore, isn’t too bad. Plays cards with us sometimes in the mess. He’s not supposed to but I reckon we’re more fun than the captain and the vice-admiral. They’re fair men and sound in charge but they don’t get much time allowing, being in charge, and we never see them on the chance they take an hour or two.

I even see Norman on occasion. We were in port a few weeks back and I heard someone shouting my name. For half a moment I had the urge to run. Father Michael caught me kissing Sarah Brown behind the pews back in ’34 and the shout of my name was almost as loud as the smack he gave my arse with the altar bible. Still hear the echoes now, the old codger. Well, I turned around and there was Norman running towards me. Was in that skirmish with the Bismark back in May. Reckon we’re the luckiest bastards in the Royal navy. He’s got a dirty great scar on his chin from the shrapnel that I know Dot will love. I haven’t forgotten that I promised to bring her back a sailor. Well, now he’s on one of the other battleships we’re in fleet with. Can’t tell you the names, or whereabouts, but one day I’ll bring you here. Never known heat like it in Longsight. Almost Christmas and I’m as tanned as your tights. Best not think about your legs too long or I’ll never finish this letter.

I’ve been knocked down a post again, but there’s rumour it’s temporary and I’ll be back to artificer by the end if the day. Cooke, the captain, was making the rounds and came by to tell us of a change to the day’s manoeuvres. Well, he caught me hiding a bag of change under my roommate’s bunk. Asked where I got it from and I said I’d won it in a hand of poker with some of the other lads. Reports of one of the ordinaries having their first pay packet stolen were greatly overexaggerated – he’d bet it on a bluff and lost, and so I was stripped of my new stripes as quick as I’d got them. What Cooke doesn’t know is that the aforementioned Commodore Thornton was playing a round that night, and so was Davies, the ship’s chaplain. He’s got a nose for poker and can’t help it if eighteen year old ordinaries bet their first packet on a hand of poker to fit in with the regulars. Of course, he won the hand and it’s doesn’t look too good if a man of the church is gambling on a ship of His Majesty’s Navy, does it? So he asked me to hide the earnings until he could collect them later in the day. Just so happened the captain caught me first and thought I’d won the hand. I wasn’t going to let the chaplain get in trouble now was I? So, my love, I’ve been demoted. But the distinguished service medal and a chaplain in your debt works wonders. It won’t last long.

We left the coast yesterday and have been sailing on open water today. We’ve two other battleships with us, and a few smaller boats. Heard rumour that one has a crew on from Pathé. You might see me on the silver screen next time you’re down the picture house! The air is warm, the sky is clear, the drink here is stronger than any I’ve had and there’s nothing surrounding us but sea. I’ll be home sooner than you know it, and God I can’t wait to be down the Palais again. The girls here aren’t like they are in France or Manchester. No dancing, no music, no fun. But I suppose I wouldn’t feel like dancing, with what they’ve seen. I’ll try and write when we’re homebound, will you girls meet me at the station with rouge and a hamper? God knows the Vaughns can put a smile on a fella’s face. Give Dot and Cora a kiss from me, and Roger a handshake. If he’s got no best man yet, tell him to wait until the Elizabeth’s are back – he’ll know what I mean. Sing Vera a lullaby and tell her Uncle Tom will be home soon. As for you, chin up and eyes straight. You’re magic and I’ll have you smiling again soon.

Yours, eagerly,

Tom.

Tom Bennett hastily folded the letter and stuffed it inside an envelope.

“D’you know, you had a dopey smile on your face all half hour as you was writing that,”

Tom smirked, jumped down from his bunk and good-naturedly tapped the envelope on his cabin-mate’s nose. “Least I got someone to write to,”

The other man whistled lowly and gestured to the letter. “Your girl got any sisters?”

“Two,” Tom said as he straightened his cap atop his carefully combed hair and made to open the door. “But one’s spoken for, engaged to a fella from the RAF, and I’ve promised a friend to the other. Sorry mate,”

“Shame.” The sullenness of the word was belied by the smile that accompanied it. Arthur Slade was a tall and rangy man of about thirty from the west country. Prior to the war he had been a fisherman and had taken to the navy as a duck to water, excepting the fact he preferred close quarters with a gutting knife to at-range combat. Tanned from years at sea, his brown hair was bleaching at the tip, and his sun-reddened nose and cheeks combined with his loping grace gave him the air of one just back from holiday. A few worn tattoos lined his left knuckles and arm, owing to the fact he had done them himself with a sharpened goose quill. Despite this outward appearance of labour hewn, inky sinew, however, he was something of a rarity. Not prone to outbursts of anger or joy, he sat somewhere comfortably in the middle; a man of whom you could happily spend an afternoon in companionable silence, watching the world go by.

“Your ‘chief ‘s up at the back,” he said, indicating slowly to Tom’s neck. Tom fixed the bowed scarf of his uniform and, with a wink to Slade, snuck from the room.

The walk towards the great cabin from the below deck took Tom through the mess hall. As always, seamen were at various posts enjoying their downtime before the bell rang to signal a change of shift. Many were crouched over a table or else an upturned bucket, crafting letters to home. One sat with a dwindling cigarette between his lips, reading over his words under his breath. He nodded to Tom as he passed. A scattering of midshipmen chattered self-importantly; we not merely seaman, we’re officers in the making. The gunners and artificers of Tom’s rotation were at the centre of the low-ceiling room, leant against the water pipe that split the room and was bedecked in photographs of women. The eldest stood with his leg propped against a chair, tuning a left-handed guitar. The others were playing cards.

“Looking sharp, Bennett.” An artificer looked up from his cards at Tom’s starched uniform.

“Heard you got a debt to pay in,” The other said, winking.

“Wish me luck, lads.” Tom doffed his cap as he strode by. A few of the new recruits watched on admiringly, looking away as Tom passed them. That’s the one who survived River Plate and Dunkirk.

Tom supposed he should have been nervous. Supposed that a year ago, he would have been. Perhaps he should have put that in his letter, didn’t Bess love it when he told her that on those rare occasions, he was human too? But now, on his way to the captain’s cabin with a commodore counted amongst friends, a gambling chaplain in his debt, snivelling ordinary seamen awed by his very presence and the Mediterranean sun awaiting him above deck, it was hard to feel tense.

One of the boat’s few marines was stood sentinel at the great cabin when Tom arrived. An imperious man the size of a barn door, he looked stiffly down his broken nose at Tom, scanning his low-ranking uniform from shining boot to gleaming cap.

“Second time this week.”

“I’d say it’s the last but I’m too fucking scared of you to lie.” They stared at each other a moment, before the marine’s face broke into a smile.  

“Best of luck, Bennett.” The marine rapped on the door and a lofty sound of ascent came from the other side. Standing upright and thinking of Douglas, Tom entered.

“Bennett,” Cooke, in all his regalia, sat upright behind his desk. Tom anticipated as much. What he hadn’t expected was for him to be flanked by Thornton and Davies. Tom raised his arm in salute to the captain, though his eyes flicked between the commodore and the chaplain with glee. Thornton, with his public-school good looks, smiled slyly at Tom. Davies was wringing his hands uncomfortably. “This is only the second time you have been in the great cabin this week.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the fourth since you boarded this ship.”

“Yes, sir.”

At this, Cooke set down the maps he was looking at and directed his gaze at Tom. “You’re a fine sailor, Bennett. And the crew seem to like you. All the makings of a leader. But God willing, if you are to see out this war in the navy, you surely don’t want to spend your whole time as an able seaman?”

“No, sir.”

“I was doubtful when you first joined, but Dunkirk was a hell of an operation. You joined the resistance in France for a while to evade capture, is that right?”

Tom smiled, thinking of his time there. He was Monsieur Laurent Proulx then. And what of Claudette, as was? Was she still alive? He hoped so. That girl could have run the resistance on her own. “Yes, sir. Though for my part, I did very little. Without the French and Spanish I’d never have made it back to Manchester.”

“Mm,” Cooke kept his gaze steady. “A humble man too.” Behind him, the commodore smirked. Tom bowed his head to hide his own smile. “Of course, River Plate and the distinguished service medal add a great deal to your short-” he emphasised the word. “-career in the navy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“But this constant yo-yoing between positions cannot stand, Bennett. Making ordinary to able is of course expected from your record, but the trust we have placed in you must be reflected. Commodore Thornton here vouched for your position as an artificer. You understand, this position is equal to a petty officer?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And there are many men who would do well in your position. Envy your position.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you must stop this nonsense. The Barham is an Elizabeth-class battleship and we expect the best service from all our men. You were first stripped of artificer, 4th class, due to a ‘prank’, we shall call it, involving the sequestration of all forks from the canteen over a period of two weeks.”

“An ill-advised way to pass the time,” Tom added with a laugh. “Sir,” he corrected himself. It was true. Enlisting Arthur and a few other gunners, they had slowly begun stashing them in their pockets and hiding them in the control room. Of course, when the cook discovered the dwindling supply and announced to the mess that the auxiliary had messed up the numbers, people began keeping their own. And so, the forks continued to disappear. The next day, Tom and Arthur drafted a note from the captain.

“All hands beware! Renegade forks have escaped from the mess decks and are reported to be at large. Do not apprehend. These forks should be considered disobedient and unruly. If seen, any confrontation should be avoided and the Fork Apprehension Rehabilitation Team (FART) alerted immediately. Captain G Cooke.”

Captain Cooke ignored Tom’s outburst of un-navy-like before and continued. “The first time you were in this cabin was due to fighting, and the last demotion, was due to the stealing of a new ordinary’s shore leave packet.” At this, Davies shifted uncomfortably. “Now the good chaplain here has told me that this wasn’t quite the case.”

Tom answered with more uncertainty. “No, sir?”

“Please tell me, Bennett, in your own words, what truly happened.”

Fuck. It’s all good and well when the chaplain owed you a favour, but not when he’s forgotten to tell you how he’s fixed them mess he put you in in the first place.

“A few of the boys and I were playing cards, sir. And one of the young lads bet his shore leave packet, as you know,” he looked to Davies, who nodded imperceptibly. “Well, it was won by a sailor on a different rotation than mine, don’t know his name.”

The captain raised his eyebrows. How convenient. Davies shuffled again. Tom continued.

“The bell was rung for change of rotation, so he left pretty sharpish, leaving the money on the table also. I took it and was hiding it under my bunk for safe keeping.”

“And why didn’t you tell me this when I caught you, Bennett?” said Cooke.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I didn’t want anyone getting in any trouble.”

“Indeed,” the captain murmured. “Indeed. Well, that is certainly what the dear chaplain has told me. Another one, Bennett, who has vouched for you.”

“I’m very grateful, sir.”

“Very well, Bennett. Your rank is being noted in the log as artificer, 4th class, once more. Let it be known that if I see you in my cabin again, you will be spending your sea-going days as the cook’s mate. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Tom saluted to the captain and the commodore and made a swift exit with the chaplain.

“Jammy git,” said the marine.

“Never did nothing wrong, mate,” Tom said. “And by the way-” he turned to Davies. “Sixty percent of those winnings better be on my bunk by next rotation or you’ll be kissing the plank, never mind walking it.”

The light of the forecastle was bright when Tom surfaced from below deck. He checked his watch. Five minutes to three. Five minutes until he was due in the gunroom. Tom moved to port and looked out towards the Valiant, cruising steadily alongside them. A string of men were polishing the vessel, among them a certain sailor with a shrapnel scar. From his position on the Barham, Tom saw him check his watch and look up.

A giddy beam dimpled Tom’s cheeks as he raised his arm to wave. On the Valiant, Norman vigorously waved back. Every day, just before three, they went onto the upper decks of their ships to see each other. They’d done it first a few weeks back, when Norman had been on watch and saw Tom strolling the deck through his binoculars. It had become a strange sort of tradition. In the wake of Douglas’ death and Lois’ departure to Africa, Vera, Bess and the rest of the Vaughns were Tom’s only family now. Back in England. Here, they had to make their family. They’d seen so much in the two years of the war and lost so many people both here and at home. Tom wondered if the war ever ended; would Norman still be family? He’d never had a brother. Albie was the closest he’d ever had, and now he was gone too. He really would have to introduce Norman to Dot. They’d be bonded by real family then, not the navy. He paused in his waving at the thought.

That would mean marrying Bess.

Marry Bess.

Sure, he’d thought about it. Long before that night in the ginnel on new year’s eve. Many times after. Especially since Vera came along. But that had been married life, not a marriage. Now, there he was somewhere off the coast between Egypt and Crete, imaging Bess in a poky old church lit with sunlight, walking towards him in a white dress, jewelled with the colour of stained glass. The peel of the church bells and Vera scattering petals.

The bell rang.

Then the wailing of the alarm.

On the Valiant, Norman and his comrades were hurrying to their stations. Around Tom, sailors were doing the same. Mutters of “U-boat” and “the Jerries, they’ve found us”.

Cooke and Thornton swept passed him on their way to the bridge.

“Battle stations, Bennett.”

Notes: This is dry and I know it but I had to set the scene for the next two chapters. Reunion soon! Cooke was the real captain of the HMS Barham, the other names I just made up. The story of the missing forks is also true, based on a naval prank. You all know that my grandmothers served as the inspiration for this story, but there’s a picture of my grandfather playing a left-handed guitar during his time in the war, so I had to put that in 😊

I’m sorry it’s been so long. One of my goals is to write more and Mr H is encouraging me to do more of what I love. I live with a chronic illness and last year was my first in a full-time job since I got ill, so much of my spare time was spent exhausted. Hopefully, that’s behind me and there’ll be more room for writing!

This is a short one, to keep the pace light and to make me feel less daunted. The next will be longer, I promise. See you soon!

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @heimtathurs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @allthefandomtherapy @reblogedworks @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @adragonprinceswhore @notasockpuppetaccount @houseofdupree @marysucks-blog @chattylurker @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @nolongereviliwantlove @juse-emmaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @xo-arcie @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring @fangirlninja67 @evita-shelby @schmexie @blairfox04 @theoneeyedprince @targaryenrealnessdarling @cherievictore @helaenaluvr @cyeco13