#not to be charming or life-altering or deep

[itspileofgoodthings]

teaching is truly so good for my ego because yes i tell all my cute little stories on here and they do exist and yes there are students who think I am so Cool and probably want to be my friend and hear all my stories but that’s only, like, 10% of them which is about 3 kids per class of 30 and that’s being generous and it’s not like the other 90% all hate you because they’re little gremlin rats who hate everything and all authority, that’s only 5% of them. the other 85% just look to you to do your job in all their variety of moods and are frustrated when you don’t do it well and give you accurate feedback about how you’re doing not even through what they say about you but in how they’re succeeding and if they’re moving forward. and they don’t particularly care any more than they care about any person who’s in their life without their choice. and it is just a humbling and a leveling thing because it provides this constant opportunity for me, the performer, the people-pleased, the charmer, to check in with myself and see if I’m actually doing my job.

[pucksandpower]

Welcome to Miami

Lando Norris x Messi!Reader

Summary: a crazy weekend in Miami leaves Lando with his first Formula 1 win, one very pissed off football legend, and a baby-shaped surprise set to arrive in just about nine months

Warnings: 18+ content and unplanned pregnancy

Note: based on a request by @glitterquadricorn that I may have ended up going a little overboard with

You wake up with a pounding headache, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming through the hotel room window. As you blink your eyes into focus, you realize you’re not in your own bed. The sheets are unfamiliar, the decor is generic and impersonal.

Panic starts to set in as you try to reconstruct the previous night’s events.

The space next to you is still warm, indented from where someone else was recently lying. You glance down at your lack of clothes and tousled hair. Yep, definitely had a one-night stand.

Wracking your brain, you vaguely recall meeting a charming stranger at the club, letting him buy you drinks until everything became a blur of flirtatious banter and wandering hands.

Your phone is on the nightstand and you grab it, hoping for some clues. A new contact catches your eye: “Lando 🍆”. You snort at the stupid name and obvious (if cringey) innuendo. At least he has a sense of humor.

You wonder what kind of guy calls himself Lando these days.

As you get dressed and leave the hotel, already trying to put the awkward walk of shame behind you, fragments of the night come back in flashes. Lando’s warm blue-green eyes crinkling at the corners when he laughed. His skilled hands roaming over your body. The way he whispered filthy praises in your ear between searing kisses.

You shiver, feeling an unexpected pang of disappointment that you’ll never see him again. But a one-night stand is just that — one night. No need to dwell on the best sex you’ve had in … well, maybe ever.

When you arrive home in the early afternoon, your dad greets you at the door with a knowing smirk.

“Have a good night, mija?” Leo teases, taking in your mussed appearance.

You roll your eyes, not wanting to give him any details. “It was fine.”

He chuckles. “If you say so. I’m just glad you’re home safe.”

Over the next few weeks, you put Lando out of your mind completely. Your life goes on as normal — training with the University of Miami’s football team, doing promotional appearances, and spending time with family and friends.

But then one morning about a month later, you wake up feeling nauseous. You brush it off as a stomach bug at first.

When the queasiness persists for several days along with strange cravings and bouts of fatigue, a nagging suspicion forms in your mind. You dig through your bathroom cabinets until you find an old pregnancy test leftover from a scare last year.

Your hands are shaking as you wait for the result. This can’t be happening. You were so careful with Lando, you’re almost certain … but maybe not careful enough.

The little plastic wand displays two solid pink lines. Positive.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, feeling like the ground has dropped out from underneath you.

How could you have been so stupid? Getting knocked up from a drunken one-night stand with a guy you can’t even remember properly. What are you going to do? How will you tell your parents? What about your athletic career?

A million thoughts race through your panic-stricken mind as you try to process this massive, life-altering situation. You want to call your best friend and cry, but you’re almost too overwhelmed to formulate words.

Part of you wants to be furious at Lando, that reckless idiot who came inside you so carelessly. But you know you’re just as much to blame. You obviously consented, you just can’t recollect the exact circumstances.

God, why did you let yourself get so sloppy drunk and make such terrible decisions?

You take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself. Okay, first things first — you need to confirm this with a visit to the doctor. And if it’s still positive, you’ll have to figure out your next steps. Tell your family, decide whether to keep the baby or not. That’s still your choice, at least.

Your mind keeps drifting back to Lando, wishing you knew more about him than just a stupid contact name. Was that even his real name? What did he do for a living? Where was he from? Was he ready for the responsibility of being a father? Not that it mattered — you barely knew him. For all you knew, he could be married or secretly twisted.

No, you reason with yourself, trying to shut down that line of thinking, he seemed like a good guy. At least in the moment. Even through your tequila-soaked haze, you got a feeling of genuine warmth and kindness from him. Maybe you’re both just a couple of random people who made a reckless mistake after having too much fun together.

You take another breath and stand up, your mind made up. First, you’ll go to the doctor and get an official test. Then you’ll deal with everything else from there. There’s no use panicking until you confirm this is actually happening.

But deep down, you know this cheap little test is accurate. You’re pregnant with a virtual stranger’s baby. And in that moment, feeling so lost and overwhelmed and terrified, you can’t help but wonder — who the hell is Lando?

***

You sit on the couch, hands trembling as you clutch the results of your blood test. Tears stream down your face as the weight of the situation crushes down on you.

How could you have been so reckless? So stupid? You’re supposed to be a role model, setting an example for young girls. And now you’re pregnant from a one-night stand with some random guy.

The shame and fear swirl inside you until you can barely breathe. You need to tell your dad. He’ll be so disappointed in you. But you can’t keep this a secret, it will only get harder as your belly grows.

You hear the front door open and your dad’s familiar footsteps. Bracing yourself, you call out in a shaky voice, “Papa? Can you come here please?”

Leo wanders into the living room, his expression turning to immediate concern when he sees your tear-stained face. “Mija, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, bottom lip trembling as you try to find the words. “I … I’m pregnant,” you finally choke out.

His eyes go wide with shock. “Pregnant? How …” Realization dawns on his face. “Was this from that night you came home ...” He doesn’t need to finish the question.

You nod miserably, a fresh wave of tears falling. “I’m so sorry, Papa. I was drunk and stupid and … and I don’t even know who the father is, not really.” The words tumble out in a rush. “Just some guy I met at a club, his name was Lando or something. I barely remember anything!”

To your surprise, your dad’s expression softens into something like sympathy instead of the anger or disappointment you expected. He moves to sit beside you, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders.

“Shh, it’s alright mija. I’m not happy about this situation, but I’m not angry at you either. We all make mistakes.” He pauses, seeming to think something over. “This Lando guy … was it around the time of the Miami Grand Prix in early May?”

You nod again, not understanding the connection. “I think so, why?”

A look of recognition crosses your dad’s face. “There’s a young driver in Formula 1. I’m a bit of a fan actually, been following his career when I have the chance. It’s not the most common name.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the pieces fall into place. The drunk recollections of warm color-changing eyes and a charming smile. The weird name followed by that stupid eggplant emoji in your contacts.

It all fits.

“Oh my god … you think the father is Lando Norris? Like, the Formula 1 driver?” Part of you wants to dismiss the idea as ridiculous, but another part feels an undeniable certainty that your dad has hit the nail on the head.

Leo nods firmly. “I think it’s highly likely. He was in Miami for the race that weekend. Reckless kid probably went out partying after finally managing to win.”

There’s a hard edge to your dad’s voice at that last part. You can’t really blame his protectiveness — finding out your daughter is pregnant from a one-night stand, especially with a relative celebrity, can’t be easy for any father.

“What am I going to do?” You whisper, scared all over again at the massive upheaval your life is facing.

But your dad just pulls you into a tighter hug, his touch reassuring and strong. “We’ll figure it out together, mija. Don’t worry. If this Lando character is the father, he’ll damn well take responsibility. I’ll make sure of it.”

You let out a shaky breath, letting your dad’s words soothe you. He’s right — you’re not in this alone. And if Lando Norris really is the father, well, he signed up for this whether he knew it or not.

“Thank you, Papa. I was so scared to tell you, but I shouldn’t have been. I’m lucky to have you.” You hug him fiercely, fresh tears spilling but this time born of reassurance instead of fear.

Leo just holds you close, his embrace full of fatherly love and protection. “Always, mija. I’ve got your back, no matter what. We’ll get through this together.”

After a few moments, he pulls back, his expression turning more stern. “And as for this Lando kid, he better step up and be a man about this situation. Because if he tries to abandon you or this baby ...” He lets the implied threat hang in the air.

You can’t help but give a watery laugh. “I have a feeling he won’t want to mess with you. Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

Your dad allows a small smile at that. “Smart boy. Now, do you have a way to contact him? I’m sure someone can get us his information if not.”

You think for a moment, then remember — your phone contacts. You grab your cell and pull up the fateful entry.

“Here, just this number with the stupid eggplant emoji.” Your cheeks flush a little as you say it.

Leo arches an eyebrow at that but doesn’t comment. Instead, he takes out his own phone and dials the number, his expression hardening with determination.

“Right, listen up, Lando Norris ...” he begins, leaving no room for argument.

You take a steadying breath as your dad starts laying down the law to the man who knocked up his precious daughter. For the first time since staring at those two pink lines, you feel a tiny kernel of hope taking root.

No matter what happens, you’re not alone in this. Your dad has your back, and Lando — well, Lando better prepare himself. Because when Leo Messi demands you take responsibility for your actions, you don’t dare say no.

***

Lando jolts awake to the harsh buzz of his phone vibrating against the nightstand. He blinks blearily at the harsh red numbers of the alarm clock — 2:51 am. Who the hell is calling at this ungodly hour?

He fumbles for the phone, squinting at the unknown number with a +1 country code. Probably a spam call from across the pond. He’s tempted to just silence it, but something makes him swipe to answer with a groggy “Hello?”

“Lando Norris?” The deep voice on the other end is vaguely familiar, but Lando can’t quite place it in his sleep-addled state.

“Yeah, this is him. Who’s this?” He tries and fails to smoother a huge yawn.

“This is Lionel Messi.”

Lando’s eyes shoot wide open, any lingering drowsiness evaporating like he’s been doused with ice water. Leo freaking Messi is on the phone with him? His brain scrambles to comprehend what’s happening.

“I … uh … Mr. Messi, sir. This is … I mean … wow. What an honor!” He cringes at his own stammering, feeling very much like a star-struck fanboy rather than a fellow professional athlete.

Messi’s voice remains calm but firm. “I’ll get right to the point. Do you remember a young woman you slept with recently? The night of the Miami Grand Prix a few months ago?”

Lando feels his stomach drop out. Suddenly this phone call is taking on a very different context than just a casual chat with a sports legend. He racks his brain, trying to recall the handful of women he’d casually hooked up with around that time.

There was that petite blonde from the club after sprint qualifying … no, she was just a make-out in the back alley behind the valet. The pair of Brazilian bombshell twins he’d brought back to his hotel room on Saturday … no, they made him get tested after that escapade just to be safe.

Then it clicks into place — the gorgeous young woman with a killer smile that he’d met at the LIV Nightclub afterparty. They had danced and drank together all night until everything descended into a sweaty, semi-public grope fest in one of the VIP booths before he convinced her to come back to his suite.

He remembers her gasping and whimpering his name as he pounded into her from behind. Remembers the way her nails raked down his back when he made her come apart with his tongue. Remembers being too drunk and worked up to put on a condom before sinking back into her tight, wet heat and ...

Oh shit.

“I … yes, sir. I think I know who you’re referring to,” Lando forces out, his mouth incredibly dry.

“Good. Then you’ll remember getting my daughter pregnant that night as well.”

Lando actually feels the blood drain from his face, a rushing sound filling his ears. He must have misheard, right? There’s no way Leo freaking Messi just said Lando got his daughter pregnant!

“I … I’m sorry … your what?” He sputters out dumbly.

Messi’s tone takes on a steely edge. “My daughter. The young woman you slept with, she’s my daughter. And now she’s pregnant with your child.”

The room starts to spin. Lando tries to force air into his lungs, feeling like he might actually pass out. “Oh my god, I … I had no idea! We were both so drunk, I never would have … oh fuck, I’m so sorry, sir!”

“Sorry doesn’t really fix this, does it?” Messi’s voice is like sharpened steel. “You got my little girl pregnant from some drunken fling and now she has to deal with all of this.”

“I … yes, you’re right. Completely right.” Lando presses trembling fingers to his throbbing temples. This can’t actually be happening, right? “What … what do you want me to do? I’ll do anything, whatever you need!”

There’s a weighted pause on the line before Messi speaks again, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“First, you’re going to meet with me and my daughter in person so we can discuss this situation. Then you’re going to take responsibility and be a part of this child’s life, understood? Step up and be a man about it.”

“Yes! Yes, absolutely, of course!” Lando is nearly shouting into the phone, desperation and panic clawing at his throat. “Whatever you want, sir. I’ll be there. Just tell me when and where.”

“Good. I’ll have my people set it up and send the details to your team.” There’s a hint of grudging approval in Messi’s voice now, like he’s satisfied Lando appears to be taking this seriously. “I suggest you get some sleep, you’re going to need it.”

The line goes dead before Lando can respond. He stares dumbly at the silent phone in his hand for several long moments, trying to process everything.

Leo Messi’s daughter.

Pregnant.

With his baby.

Holy shit, what has he done? What is he going to do? How did one reckless, drunken night blow up into such a massive catastrophe?

His head is spinning and he can feel his overtaxed body starting to shut down from the shock and stress of the harrowing phone call. He tries to take a deep breath, pushing away the panic and leaning back against the pillows.

Sleep. Right. He needs sleep if he has any hope of dealing with … with all of this. But how can he possibly rest now?

Lando’s eyes start to drift closed despite his whirling thoughts. His body has other plans, sucking him under into blessed unconsciousness as he slumps fully back onto the mattress.

The last thing he’s dimly aware of is his phone slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor, followed by his own body going entirely limp.

When Lando finally does manage to sleep, it’s to the terrifying vision of Leo Messi’s furious face snarling “you got my daughter pregnant” over and over again behind his closed eyelids.

***

The flight from Nice to Miami feels like it takes an eternity, but also happens in a terrifying blur. Lando can barely remember booking the first available ticket, throwing some clothes into an overnight bag, or making his way to the airport in a daze. He runs on autopilot, his mind spinning in frantic circles.

He got Leo Messi’s daughter pregnant. How is this his life?

A private chauffeur is waiting at the baggage claim when Lando deplanes in Miami, holding up a printed sign with his name. Of course Messi would have people to handle something like this.

Lando swallows hard and approaches the stern-faced driver. “I’m Lando Norris. Uh, Mr. Messi is expecting me?”

The chauffeur gives him an appraising look but doesn’t respond beyond a curt nod. He turns on his heel, expecting Lando to follow.

The drive to the Messis’ palatial Miami mansion is silent and tense. Lando fights the urge to fidget anxiously, his knee bouncing until he forces himself still.

Get it together, man. This is it.

All too soon, they’re pulling through an immaculate gate onto perfectly manicured grounds surrounding the huge home. Lando takes a steadying breath as the driver gets his bag from the trunk.

Then the front door is swinging open and there’s Leo Messi himself, looking as intimidating as Lando has ever seen the football icon. His expression is stony, jaw clenched tight as he measures Lando up.

Before Lando can even open his mouth, Messi beats him to it, tone leaving no room for argument.

“I don’t like you.”

The words are like a kick to the gut. Lando forces himself to hold the steely gaze, giving a small nod.

“I understand, sir. I’ve made a terrible mistake and you have every right to be angry with me. I’ll accept whatever consequences I have to.” His voice is strong, despite the way his heart is jack-hammering in his chest.

Messi holds the intense eye contact a moment more before giving a short nod of what might be begrudging respect. He turns and heads inside, clearly expecting Lando to follow.

The foyer opens into an elegant living room where a familiar woman is sitting on one of the plush couches.

You.

Lando’s breath catches in his throat as memories from that hazy night come rushing back. Your skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat as you moved rhythmically to the music. Your throaty laugh and sparkling eyes as you flirted shamelessly over your fourth … no fifth … mojito. The velvet silk of your hair brushing his face as you ground down against his lap.

He swallows hard, trying not to stare. The situation is awkward enough without dwelling on the admittedly incredible sex that caused this whole mess. Though he can’t deny the sharp spike of pure physical want that hits his gut at the sight of you.

Your eyes are wide and nervous as you take him in. “Um … hi.”

“Hi,” he replies simply, feeling incredibly self-conscious under the weighty stare of your legendary father.

An agonizing beat of silence stretches between the three of you.

“Well?” Leo prompts impatiently, making you both jump. “You got my daughter pregnant. What do you plan to do about it?”

The blunt words make Lando’s face flush hot, but he forces himself to meet your father’s stern gaze head-on.

“Whatever I need to do, sir. I’ll take full responsibility. Financially, emotionally, being there for the child … anything you need from me.” He pauses, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. “That is … if the mother wants me to be involved as well?”

He looks at you then, trying to convey his sincerity. Despite the casual nature of your hook-up, he meant what he said — he will step up and do the right thing for this kid.

His kid.

You seem to consider his words for a long moment before giving a small nod. “Yes … yes, I’d like you to be involved if you’re willing. This is as much my responsibility as yours. We … we can figure this out. Together?”

The uncertain note in your voice tugs at something in Lando’s chest. For all your father’s bluster, you just sound like a young woman in a scary, overwhelming situation. Just like him.

“Together,” he agrees firmly, returning your nod. “We’ll, ah, we’ll be good co-parents. For the baby.”

The words feel strange leaving his lips, but also fill him with a sense of resolve and determination.

Leo watches the exchange between you both like a hawk, his expression unreadable. When he speaks again, his words are measured but dismissive.

“Get it sorted out then. Find a way to make this work. I don’t care about the details as long as you two take care of my grandchild properly.”

With that, he gives a curt nod and turns to exit the room, leaving you and Lando to your own devices. The sudden lack of his intimidating presence seems to deflate the tension somewhat.

You let out a long, shaky breath, shooting Lando a wry look. “He’s … taking this about as well as could be expected, all things considered.”

Lando can’t help but huff out a surprised laugh at that, some of the nervous knot in his stomach loosening slightly. “Yeah, I’ll say. Your dad is legitimately terrifying, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” you say with a small smile.

An odd sense of camaraderie falls over you both then — two young people bonding over how Lando quite literally knocked you up. It’s almost enough for him to relax a bit.

Then you glance down at your still-flat stomach and all humor drains away. “So … co-parents, huh? You really want to do this?”

Lando doesn’t even have to think about it. “Of course. It’s my kid too, yeah? My responsibility, like I said.” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s not exactly how I pictured becoming a father, but … I’m in this all the way. For the little one’s sake.”

Something in your expression softens at his words and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Thank you, Lando. That … that really means a lot to hear.”

Before he can think better of it, Lando closes the distance between you and pulls you into an impulsive hug. You stiffen for just a moment before relaxing against him.

“Hey, we’re gonna be okay, you and me,” he murmurs as he holds you close. “We’ve got this, baby mama.”

You stiffen again and pull back sharply at the words, a look of mortification on your face. Lando frowns in confusion until a familiar gravelly voice cuts through the room.

“Lando Norris, I swear if you ever call my daughter that again, they’ll never find your body.”

Leo Messi is back, leveling Lando with a look that would liquefy steel. The driver nearly swallows his tongue, flushing scarlet.

“Y-yes, sir! Of course, sir! It, ah, it won’t happen again!” He stammers out, mentally making a note to permanently delete those words from his vocabulary.

Messi just grunts in response, apparently satisfied, before retreating from the room once more.

You’re staring at Lando with wide eyes and badly-suppressed laughter. He groans, dropping his face into his hands.

“Why did I say that? God, I’m an idiot.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, that smile breaking free. “This is just … all a bit surreal, isn’t it?”

Lando peeks through his fingers to meet your gaze, unable to stop the rueful grin that spreads across his own face.

“Just a bit, yeah.” He drops his hands with a defeated chuckle. “But your dad’s right — we’ve got to take this seriously for the little one.”

You nod, smile fading into a look of grim determination. “We do. Which means you can’t call me baby mama if you actually want to stay alive to see your child.”

“Deal,” Lando agrees readily, feeling lighter than he has since your father first called to drop that bomb on him.

Maybe co-parenting won’t be easy, but somehow he gets the sense you two just might be able to figure it out. And with the entire weight of Leo freaking Messi’s protective rage motivating him, Lando is damn sure going to try his best.

***

Ten Months Later

The vibrant Miami sun beams down on you as you carefully lift Maia out of her stroller, cradling the bundle of joy in your arms. Your daughter’s wide, curious eyes dart around, taking in all the sights and sounds of the paddock for the first time.

“There they are! My two favorite girls,” Lando’s voice rings out as he jogs over, already wearing his team gear in preparation for the drivers parade. He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek before turning his attention to Maia. “And how’s my little princess doing today?”

Maia lets out a delighted squeal and you can’t help but smile at the pure adoration on Lando’s face as he gently brushes a finger over her chubby cheek. “She’s been an angel all morning. I think she knows this is a big day for her first race.”

“That’s my girl,” Lando grins. “Going to be a little racer before we know it.”

“Lando! There you are, mate.” The Aussie accent cuts through the paddock as Lando’s teammate bounds over. “I’ve been looking everywhere for … oh wow, is that her?”

Oscar’s eyes go wide as they land on Maia, taking in her tiny features with an almost comical look of awe. “She’s … she’s so small,” he says dumbly.

“What did you expect, she’s a baby,” Lando scoffs with a roll of his eyes, though his tone is good-natured. “Do you want to hold her?”

“Can I?” Oscar asks eagerly, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an overexcited puppy.

You laugh and carefully transfer Maia into Oscar’s waiting arms, guiding his hands to properly support her head. “Just watch the grabby hands. She’s got a pretty strong grip these days.”

Oscar nods rapidly, looking a bit intimidated as he gingerly cradles Maia against his chest. But the instant she lets out a little gurgling coo, his face splits into the biggest, most boyish grin you’ve ever seen.

“Hey there, little Norris,” he murmurs softly, instantly transfixed. “I’m your favorite Uncle Oscar.”

“Oi, who said you get to be the favorite uncle?” Another voice cuts in as Carlos saunters over, immediately zeroing in on the form in Oscar’s arms. “Is that her? Dios mio, she’s gorgeous!”

Without hesitation, Carlos plucks Maia right out of Oscar’s hold, completely ignoring the other driver’s sputtering. “Well hello there, princesa. Don’t worry, your Tío Carlos has got you.”

Maia blinks up at the new face peering down at her, tiny fists waving as if to grab at the Spaniard’s perfectly coiffed hair. Carlos simply grins and nuzzles his nose against her cheek, seemingly not caring one bit about any damage the squirming infant in his arms can do.

“Are you seeing this?” Lando mock-whispers to you, looping an arm around your waist and leaning in conspiratorially. “How are we supposed to get her back now?”

You stifle a giggle behind your hand, watching in amusement as Carlos and Oscar descend into bickering over who Maia’s favorite uncle will be — only to be interrupted as another figure appears beside them.

“What do we have here?” Daniel Ricciardo pipes up with a wide grin, hands shoved casually in his pockets. “Don’t tell me you two are fighting over babysitting duties already?”

“Something like that, mate,” Lando chuckles, reaching out to clap Daniel on the shoulder in greeting. “Up for putting your name in the hat too?”

“You know it!” Daniel agrees easily, quickly sidestepping Carlos to peer down at Maia with a wide smile. “Hey there, little monkey. Look at you all bright-eyed and curious.”

Amazingly, Maia seems entirely unperturbed by all the fussing going on around her. She simply blinks placidly up at each new face, soaking it all in like a tiny sponge. At one point, she even lets out a delighted squeal and flails her arms — prompting a fresh round of cooing from the three drivers clustered around her.

“Aw, I think she likes me best already,” Daniel declares with a wink, gently booping Maia’s button nose and making her giggle.

You shake your head in fond exasperation even as Lando tugs you tighter against his side, completely content to bask in the scene. That is, until Daniel’s next words nearly make you choke.

“So just how old is this little angel?” He asks idly, eyes still trained on Maia’s sweet face. “Four months now?”

“Three months and one week,” Lando answers automatically — only to tense a split second later, mouth falling open in realization. “Oh. Oh.”

The smug grin that slowly spreads across Daniel’s face is borderline devlish as it clicks into place for everyone exactly when Maia would have been … well, conceived. A heavy silence falls over the group, disturbed only by Maia’s happy gurgling as she remains oblivious to the sudden shift.

“Well, well, well,” Daniel drawls, dark eyes dancing with mirth as he bounces Maia playfully in his arms. “I think someone got a little overexcited celebrating his win last year, didn’t he?”

The only response is a strangled squawk from Lando as his face flushes bright red — no doubt remembering exactly how the two of you celebrated his first time on top of the Formula 1 podium. Meanwhile, Carlos and Oscar openly gape at the revelation, eyes nearly bugging out of their skulls.

“Don’t you dare,” Lando manages to choke out, stabbing an accusatory finger in Daniel’s direction. “We are not having this conversation here.”

“Why not?” Daniel shrugs blithely, gently jostling Maia to the crook of his elbow in a way that has her giggling. “It’s a perfectly natural thing, nothing to be ashamed about. That must’ve been one hell of a victory lap!”

The innuendo hangs heavily in the air, made all the more mortifying by the lecherous waggle of Daniel’s eyebrows. Lando, meanwhile, looks like he’s two seconds away from spontaneously combusting on the spot.

“I’m going to kill you,” he mutters through gritted teeth, dragging a hand over his rapidly reddening face.

Before Daniel can respond with another quip, however, you quickly step in — scooping Maia out of his arms with a stern glare. “That’s enough of that, I think.”

Daniel wisely snaps his mouth shut at the warning in your tone, offering a cheeky salute instead. “I’ll lay off … for now.”

With a wink and a last jaunty grin towards a still-sputtering Lando, he bids the group farewell and heads off to prepare for the race. Oscar, seemingly remembering you’re all congregating in a very public place, manages to pick his jaw up off the ground long enough to clear his throat awkwardly.

“Right, well … I need to go, you know, do driver things,” he mumbles before beating a hasty retreat, stumbling over his own feet in his haste.

Carlos, for his part, has the audacity to start outright cackling the second Oscar is out of earshot.

“You never fail to entertain,” he manages between wheezing gasps, wiping away mirthful tears from the corners of his eyes.

Lando flushes even deeper, if possible, and shoots you a helpless look. You simply raise an eyebrow, letting him squirm for a moment before taking pity.

“Alright, that’s enough out of you,” you chide Carlos lightly, shifting Maia higher on your hip. “Unless you want to be the one explaining the birds and the bees to her when the time comes?”

That seems to sober Carlos up somewhat, his laughter trailing off into a few more chuckles as he waves a hand dismissively. “You wound me, amiga. As if I would corrupt the ears of such an innocent little one.”

You give him a pointed look and he holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m done.”

With a roguish wink, Carlos reaches out to gently pinch Maia’s cheek — earning a bright smile from the bubbly infant.

“You’ll learn soon enough that your papá can be un poco loco sometimes, princesa.”

“She really doesn’t need to learn that at all, thanks,” Lando grumbles, shooting his friend an exasperated glare.

You can’t help but shake your head fondly at the pair of them, even as Lando tucks you snugly against his side. For all their bickering, it’s abundantly clear just how enamored all the drivers are with Maia already.

The tender moment is interrupted, however, by a voice calling out for your boyfriend from across the paddock.

“Lando, we need you over in the garage. The parade will be starting any minute now,” a press officer arrives to herd him away.

Lando exhales a put-upon sigh, dropping a kiss to the top of Maia’s head before meeting your gaze apologetically. “Duty calls, I suppose. You’ll be okay here with my littlest fan club?”

You wave him off with a warm smile. “We’ll be fine. Just focus on having a good race, yeah? Maia and I will be cheering you on.”

The brilliant grin Lando flashes you is enough to make your heart flutter. “How could I do anything else with my two favorite cheerleaders?”

With one last lingering kiss, he tears himself away — offering a half-hearted wave to Carlos before disappearing through the paddock. An oddly serene quiet falls in his absence, the crowd breaking up to get settled before the race.

Carlos seems to sense your pensive mood, stepping up beside you to gently bump his shoulder against yours.

“You know, he really has changed since becoming a papá,” the older driver muses, casting a fond look down at Maia. “Far as I can tell, it’s done wonders for him.”

You smile softly, bouncing Maia gently as you watch Lando’s retreating back weave through the controlled chaos of the paddock. “He’s been … amazing. And he loves Maia more than life itself. My father complains that he has run out of things to threaten Lando over, which is the biggest compliment coming from him.”

Your daughter simply blinks at the two of you for a long moment before that sunny smile you’ve grown to adore stretches across her face, little fists waving happily in the air. You can’t help but chuckle at her antics, brushing a knuckle over her soft cheek.

As the bright Miami sun shines down and anticipation slowly builds in the background, you feel a surge of nearly overwhelming contentment. No matter what twists and turns life throws your way from here, you decide, you’ll always be able to find your way back to moments like this.

So much has changed in the course of a year, but you truly wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even if Lando still can’t quite look your father in the eye.

[celestialtarot11]

what placements would most likely signify working in the media & entertainment industry??

Leo sun/rising—Enthusiasm for acting, projecting themselves out there. Naturally attracts attention! Loves the world of dress up as well. Can play dramatics really well. May even want to own a band of their own.

Neptune 1h—Great at acting. Shifts like a chameleon and sucks in energy to deliver the image everyone wants. Tunes easily into the moment. May also go on to make great music. Great at photography because of their attention to detail.

Capricorn/saturn dom— Great at depressive roles, making more of an impact on the mass. Focused on terror, sublime horror, the gross truth of reality to deliver a message. Used fear as a way to draw viewers attention. In their music their words are deep and powerful, profound. Grips the people who are too comfortable with their life and throws them in for a disturbing ride.

Venus-pluto—Great at thriller acts, horror, comedy. Sets the scene for drama and terror and enacts it very well. Exudes a timeless charm and manages to sway the industry with their appeal. Can be controversial. Probably the kind where someone snaps a random picture of them and uploads it and sudden everyone wants to know their name.

Taurus stellium—may play in a lot of rom coms, is known for their stunning beauty as an actor. Plays the mean girl very well. Their visuals are breathtaking. Jessica Alba has a taurus stellium. Taps into stereotypes very well and uses it to their advantage.

Scorpio moon—Channels their pain into acting. May play obscene roles with hatred, terror, sadness. Betrayal. These signs are great at channeling their past into their work because their body remembers it all. Great at scenes of sobbing from the depths of their soul. Great at action movies, thriller, psychological thriller.

Pisces degrees, pisces placements, pisces-venus asp- Love for music and film industry. Mostly into aesthetics and atmospheric films. Focuses more on creating mood and setting the environment. Loves to capture scenes of utter rawness and chaos. Yet it’s romanticized, they have a poetic way of acting.

Pisces also has an idol they look up to and take a lot of inspiration from them!

Gemini placements—Great at analyzing moments and scenes to deliver a great performance. Some Gemini’s go on to play roles involving a government, FBI, NCIS, CIA, etc. Mostly men are into calculated, pressurized roles such as playing a single father, Agent, cop, firefighter. Gemini women also tend to do the same, they play roles in which it describes an “alter ego,” “hidden” persona, like Natalie Portman in Black Swan. That film falls under psychology horror. These placements are great at character arcs/redemption arcs.

5h stellium, 5h venus, 5h sun/mars—Great for channeling creativity/passion!

10h Venus/Libra/Taurus—Ruled by aesthetics, romanticism, and fame. Popular individuals! May get stunning roles and get popular easily. Success follows them.

Jupiter 10h—Supreme reputation in their acting/media career. Always maintains a good image regardless of scandals, issues.

MC in leo—Ultimate get famous placement! Great actors of their time, almost timeless. Brings back an era of newness yet nostalgia everyone misses. Whether it be in their music or acting! Stunning and motivational individuals.

Virgo rising—May be into modeling and climb their way to the top! Loves photography, fashion and aesthetics. Finds art absolutely beautiful.

[bbokicidal]

First Times The Charm? | OT8 [SKZ]

Notes : This was a Drabble request someone sent in, so it's short, to the point, and simple. Hope you enjoy! Genre : Smut Warnings : 18+ Content Req : Giving SKZ head for the first time. <- But I altered it so it's not just 'you giving skz head for the first time' and rather, it's 'you giving skz their first head experience EVER.'

Chris :

He's so... so vocal. Constantly groaning, his voice low in his throat and gravely as if he'd just woken up. He's in Heaven, his head tipped back on the office chair he sat in. He's death gripping the poor arms of the chair, knuckles bright red from the flush that had covered his entire body. He, politely, refuses to touch you - partially because he's a little scared to and partially because he doesn't think he can move.

Minho :

In shambles. His body has a habit of trembling each time you take him in your throat and he swears he's never felt anything so good in his life. He's laid back in his bed, one arm draped over his eyes while the other sticks by his side, fingers splayed in your hair; gently pushing your head down each time he needs a little more. You learn very quickly he's a bit of a head pusher.

Changbin :

Stiff as a rock, but also a little tense and unsure. He's so shy seeing you between his fucking thick ass thighs already, his ears bright red and his cheeks warm with excitement. He loves it, he really does, he's just - He's got a bad habit of being a bit jumpy when people touch him. So when you go all the way down on his dick and deep throat him? His thighs snap shut around your head and he nearly suffocates you, not realizing it had happened until you have to slap his stomach and make him let you go. Not that it was that bad of an experience. You'd die happy there.

Hyunjin :

All vocals. Moaning, whining - even chuckling as you slurp on his cock. He's a bit arrogant when it comes to you giving him head. Even though it's his first time getting head from anyone, he's cocky about his size as it bulges in your throat and makes you choke. When he gets closer to release though, he's all breathy and sucking in air, biting his bottom lip as his hand rests atop your head.

Jisung :

So wiggly, so squirmy. Full of the jitter bugs as you go down on him. He's whiney. Very very vocal, very loud - so loud in fact that Minho has to tell him to shut up from the next room over. He gets all embarrassed, sliding his sweater sleeve over his hand and pressing it to his mouth to muffle his whimpers that escape. Also Lowkey fucking up into your mouth because he just can't keep still. Will ask you to eat his ass afterwards.

Felix :

Extremely laid back. The master of acting like he's had it before but you can tell by the blush dusting over his freckles that he's never had it done to him before. (He also told you that, but.) He's lounging back in his gaming chair and he's adoring the sight of you sucking on him like a lollipop. He loves the sounds you make, the soft moans and the wet noises from your tongue dragging on his cock. And he's a bit vocal too - all low moans and huffs of breath escaping his lips. He's very chill about it, but by the time he's coming down your throat his hands are on the back of your neck and he's humping your face.

Seungmin :

Refuses to touch you because he's shaking so much. He's near silent most of the time but he can tell that when you pause to look up at him for a reaction, he'll nod as quick as he can so you know it's perfect. He's falling apart under your touch, lying in his bed and subtly rocking his hips up into your mouth because of how much he loves it.

Jeongin :

Tou.chy. Touchy!! He's all over you, can't keep his hands to himself. At first he's cupping your face, but then he feels like he's in the way of your work so he's just resting them on your shoulders then. But then he feels like he's pushing you, so instead he busies himself with gathering your hair and pulling it back - and he's got big enough hands so it's easy for him. And when he blows, he places a hand around your throat to gently push you away so he can paint your pretty face with his cum.

Perm Taglist: @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

[kittenintheden]

*dumps her random characterization and voice notes into your lap* here hope this helps

- Astarion speaks a little bit like a man removed from time and a little bit like an Upper City patriar, but not excessively so and not as a rule. Posh and embellished, but not completely avoidant of slang or casual swearing. Like a person who was once in a certain position in life, was ripped from it, and then spent a very long time in survival mode among people of lesser station/education. His mouth is often ahead of his brain. Many of his pricklier interactions are a direct result of trauma response. He longs to be in control, of his circumstances and of himself. His terms of endearment make subtle shifts from insincere and condescending to genuine and affectionate. When he feels threatened, he becomes distant and detached. He's funny, in both an awkward unintentional way and a very intentional witty way. He walks a razor's edge between a person who relies on his charms and an animal in a cage.

- Wyll is a deeply idealistic noble raised on tales of good knights and mighty heroes. His father was a soldier first, a noble second, and instilled in him a rigid moral code and high expectations for leadership. Those teachings led him to make a life-altering choice at seventeen years old that he was resoundly punished for due to manipulation and misunderstanding. Instead of becoming embittered, he cemented his dedication to his ideals and holds on to a sense of failure. He's eloquent and learned, with an abiding sense of chivalry and propriety. He's young, but not completely naive -- he has a firm personal code, but it's not immutable. Much of his conversation comes from stories he's heard or read that resonated with him. He is charismatic, friendly, and wants to believe in goodness. He's not above a cringe-worthy pun that he likely picked up from being around common folk.

- Lae'zel thinks non-githyanki beneath her, at least at first. Common is her second language and one she doesn't hold a lot of respect for -- she uses it to communicate and that's it. Her words are economic and blunt, but have a rich current of culture underneath. She is a soldier, but she is learned in the lore and ways of her people, and very proud of it. She does not deal in metaphor or hedging her opinions. She trusts her leadership and her queen implicitly. Her word is the truth (to her).

- Shadowheart is deeply mistrustful of people outside her cloister/belief system, which comes off as distance or aloofness. Her specific memories have been altered or removed, but all her core experiences and dedication remain. She's been raised in an environment that is very cult-like and spreads the idea that anyone unlike them is probably an enemy. Nothing is more important than proving herself to her parent-figure. Even so, she wants to connect. She wants to trust. Her communication is guarded and emotionally detached, until it isn't.

- Gale is extremely intelligent, but he's been removed from interacting with everyday people for a long time. His terminology tends to default to his book learning, which can come off as superiority. He has Gifted Kid Syndrome -- literally Chosen for his ability and knowledge, and experiencing a deep sense of, "Who am I if I'm not Chosen? What is my greater calling now?" He's used to his voice mattering, his expertise respected, but also internalized a sense of guilt and shame. He can err toward arrogance, but it comes from a place of wanting to make things better.

- Karlach was an Outer City street kid with what sounded like a reasonably happy home life and she ended up in the employ of a charming young entrepreneur who she completely trusted as hired muscle. That man betrayed her in an incredibly horrific way that she didn't see coming -- not because she's a fool, but because she wants to love people and he tricked her into loving him. She's spent a decade terribly lonely and literally untouchable by anyone but fire-immune fiends. She's cheery and optimistic, but it's largely a front to hide her hurt and sadness. Being a fighter is who she is, not only what she was forced to do. She believes her value is in her physical strength because she has no formal education or skills (she thinks). Her speech is casual, full of slang, blunt, crass, almost childlike (but she is NOT a child -- important distinction). There's a darkness in her she doesn't want to face, so she hides behind humor and affection. Still, when she loves, it is completely in earnest.

[arcadia345]

Astro notes💋🥀

Just my observations :)🔞

♡ Scorpio mercury or degree is the definition of elephant in the room, it’s like they try their best to make you uncomfortable with their words , on the brighter side I love how deep their minds are

♡Saturn in the 6th/2nd could go a long time without eating and not even notice

♡ One of my friends had a baby today(Aries moon) and she’s already threatening people not to play with her child💀 cute tho

♡ I feel like the only Libra placement that doesn’t try to be likable is Libra moons, their personality is so lovely for the most part☺️ I’ve only met men with this placement and WHEW they are sooooooo charming🥴

♡ I’ve noticed guys with Venus conjunct their sun can come off a little ✨ even if they’re not they’re just in touch with their feminine side. Also guys with Venus conjunct moon could have this energy as well just more subtle

♡ Aquarius in 7th will always give black sheep energy, no matter how “popular” they are it’s always something that differentiates them from everyone else, could be known for doing questionable things

♡ Taurus season I see lots of people getting lip piercings but lots of new tats and piercings in general

♡ 11th house has to do with hopes and dreams, mars is your passion and drive, having mars in 11th synastry with someone with someone could mean having fantasy’s about them,being fwb, or being friends with someone but wanting to be more. Me and my friend both have this synastry and the tension is HIGH especially with her Jupiter conjunction to my mars🥴

♡It’s not surprise Saturn babies look soo good in slicked back hairstyles since it rules hair and restrictions

♡Also they weren’t joking when they said prominent Saturn placements could make you a pothead😳 I thought I was a smoker but whew they SMOKE 💨

♡ Aries moon moms are so PUSHY. They’re always trying to dictate your emotions like your not your own human then get insecure when you cut contact with them. And she never takes your emotions seriously till you act out of character, It’s like she never wants you to rest so draining. Also they can be intimidating/scary in a way especially from the stories the Aries moon child shares about them😅 did they lie tho?

♡ Scorpio moons could also resonate but I feel like with Aries moms(sidereal Pisces moon)there’s a innocence to it like they truly don’t recognize their toxic traits until you confront them about it but with Scorpio moon’s mom (sidereal Libra moon) they KNOW exactly what they’re doing when they manipulate. And other people could easily alter ur mother’s perception of you, very wishywashy. They type to be jealous of their kids especially if they have a daughter

♡ Chiron in 12th could get accused of things they didn’t do allll the time , it gets to a point where they don’t even try to defend themselves anymore cause it’s like no one listens why waste your energy 😭 a good example is Micheal Jackson

♡ Gemini moon children have moms that don’t hold back🥴 very blunt especially with some Aries energy added

♡ I giggle every time I remember Park Jimin has a Gemini moon I just know he has the best comebacks and inside jokes😂 (Jimin if you’re seeing this let’s be friends plz😆)

♡ I’ve noticed with Virgo moons children may see one parent more fit to be a parent than the other at some point in their life. Doesn’t mean the other is a shitty parent or anything but if they had to decide to live with one of them they’ll already know who😹

♡ Also Virgo placements why do y’all constantly complain about something you could easily solve? I see this more in undeveloped Virgo placements

♡ Leo moon children could have mothers that are selfish in one way or another, wheither it be their time, money, or love

♡Jupiter in 3rd (natal and transit) what is home? I’ve been to so many places in my city that I didn’t know existed, I also got a 🍕 delivery job so I’m on the go all the time, but since my natal Jupiter is in my 8th it’s kinda a darker transit for me- I literally hit and ran two people in counting 😭 (I’m not even a bad driver they happened on the same week!🙄) communication especially over the phone has been vile omg the amount of times I’ve been cussed out by strangers otp is crazy. Also I’ve lost old friends /gained new one

That’s all for now💋

[slmjaeyuns]

☼ kim sunwoo fics that altered my brain chemistry ☼

all time favourites ♡

(fics contain a combination of genres including fluff, angst, suggestiveness, smut)

♡ the boy ♡

♡ blurred lines ♡

♡ this is how we fall ♡

♡ heart shaped exhaust pipes ♡

fluffs ❀

❀ pose ❀

❀ odds ❀

❀ yūgen ❀

❀ rekindle ❀

❀ love sick ❀

❀ seat filler ❀

❀ safe place ❀

❀ you’re safe ❀

❀ hoodie talk ❀

❀ aquaphobia ❀

❀ when it’s right ❀

❀ goal: your heart ❀

❀ walking on sunshine ❀

❀ from my moon to yours ❀

sequel: ❀ under our stars ❀

❀ you look hideous on me ❀

❀ when the hydrangea bloom ❀

❀ what type of cheese are you? ❀

❀ what happens in vegas, stays in vegas ❀

angst ☽

☽ jeong ☽

sequel: ☽ commitment ☽

☽ clouds ☽

☽ daisies ☽

☽ die for you ☽

☽ going high ☽

☽ dandelions ☽

☽ spring snow ☽

☽ run with hell ☽

☽ take me back ☽

☽ dear stranger ☽

☽ stubborn love ☽

☽ bloom for you ☽

☽ come back home ☽

sequel: ☽ promised you the moon ☽

☽ today’s happiness ☽

☽ the girl i haven’t met ☽

☽ maybe in another life ☽

☽ a pink sweater in spring ☽

☽ rewind, revive (all that we are.) ☽

suggestive/smut ☁︎

☁︎ ridin’ ☁︎

☁︎ bbgg ☁︎

☁︎ insanity ☁︎

☁︎ attention ☁︎

☁︎ unnamed ☁︎

☁︎ consuming ☁︎

☁︎ lucky charm ☁︎

☁︎ plein d’amour ☁︎

☁︎ ditching plans ☁︎

☁︎ st. fratty’s day ☁︎

☁︎ relax, let’s do it ☁︎

☁︎ so much for self control ☁︎

☁︎ a little tmi between friends ☁︎

[in-my-feels-probably]

Home - Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Home

Request: Have you considered Benedict falling for a friend of Daphne's? Like if they're as close as Pen and Eloise but maybe with a little less drama? I think it would be funny for Benedict to ask for advice on how to talk to her and Daph being done. Just "you've known her for as long as I have."

Hi! Thank you again for the request, this is such a cute idea. I hope you don’t mind, but I made the reader a Featherington. I went a little off track too, it was easier for me to write that way. If this isn’t what you were looking for, I’m happy to take another request or alter this one. Sorry for the long wait on getting this out, but I hope you enjoy this :)

(Warnings: insecurity, middle child trauma, nothing else i think? idk, let me know if i missed anything)

—

Living in Grosvenor Square certainly had its ups and downs.

On one hand, you were mere steps away from your best friends. The Bridgertons lived right across the street, and you could visit them practically whenever you wanted. On the other hand—the not so nice hand—your family is the Featherington’s. Which isn’t an inherently bad thing. You loved your family, and could ignore most of the negatives. It just certainly has its pitfalls, being a Featherington daughter.

The Featherington’s—while rich and somewhat dignified—aren’t considered to be the most respectable of families. There wasn’t any one main reason why members of the ton didn’t much like your family, they just didn’t.

It wasn’t a personal grudge with you they had. In fact, you were quite liked by the ton.

More often than not, however, they didn’t pay much attention to you. It was easy to forget you were there when the rest of your family was the center of attention.

You were born soon after Phillipa but before Penelope, making you a middle child.

Your Mother seemed to connect with her eldest far more than her youngest, and that put a strain on your relationship. Not only that, you were much more akin to Penelope, having a lot more in common with her than your older sisters and your Mother combined. You were a bit of a wallflower, like Penelope, and it was a hard trait for your Mother to get past.

It wasn’t all negatives, though.

One of the biggest perks of being a Featherington was the fact that you lived directly across from the Bridgertons. You had spent most of your life over at their residence since the day you developed the ability to walk.

And, subsequently, the ability to walk across the street.

Violet Bridgerton’s first girl—Daphne—was born right around the same time as you were, and she decided Daphne was going to need a friend. Being the first girl born to a family of three brothers was a challenge, and Violet thought it best that Daphne should be able to socialize with a girl her age.

By the time you were both able to talk, you became inseparable. Just as your sister Penelope had come to develop a deep friendship with Eloise Bridgerton, you had come to develop your own with Daphne.

And by extension, you became good friends with her eldest brothers.

Anthony was the oldest, quite a bit older than you. He was already a handful of trouble by the time you showed up, and he already had plenty of practice teasing girls with his sisters as victims. In your first few years, he’d make it his mission each time you visited the house to fluster you, and annoy Daphne. It was harmless fun, and it never really bothered you, although he tried his hardest nonetheless. But as you got older, he became quite protective over you. It was like you were another sister to him, and you definitely bantered and squabbled like siblings do. As annoying as he could be, you loved him like a brother.

Colin was a similar story, although you saw something more to him. It was easy to, with the way Penelope talked about him endlessly. She could ramble for hours, making you listen to every painstaking detail. You definitely understood her affection for him, though. He’s charming and kind, much like his other brothers, but he’s also fun and witty. Daphne tended to favor him the most. They were closest in age, after all. Between her and Penelope, you spent quite a lot of time with him, and you certainly enjoyed his company.

But—besides Daphne—you enjoyed no other Bridgerton’s company like you did Benedict’s.

Benedict was different. He was more.

He was just as kind and charming as Anthony, and just as witty as Colin—certainly as annoyingly beautiful as Daphne—but he was more than that, too. He was sensitive and sweet, far more so than the rest of the Lords of the ton. He was passionate about art and love and valuing the little things. He didn’t care about marrying the prettiest girl for advantage, or inheriting her dowry. He cared about pursuing his dreams, and inspiring others to do the same.

Just the way he talked about his passions and values was enough to make any girl swoon, and yet he was still genuine with his words. It wasn’t for flattery or manipulation, he meant every word. Everything he did, he did for himself and the people he loves.

If it weren’t for Daphne currently holding the number one spot, you’d consider him your best friend.

He’d consider you the same.

You spend just as much time with him as you do with Daphne, and over the years, he’d come to cherish your company.

You saw him for him, not for his title. You listened to his endearing ramblings about his passions because you genuinely enjoyed hearing about them, not because you felt obligated to listen. You treated him like a person, not a prize to be won. It was all he could ask for in a best friend.

But that’s just it. That’s all you were to him. A best friend.

He was so sure that was all you’d ever be. Perhaps one day you’d be his sister in law, considering how close Penelope and Colin had gotten. You’d be family, and that was alright with him. It was what he expected. And then the unexpected happened.

He started falling.

—

The first time he noticed his feelings for you had shifted was the evening of a ball the Queen was throwing.

You’d come over early to get dressed with Daphne, wanting to help make sure she was perfect. She had finally revealed to you her ruse she was sharing with the Duke, you being the first person outside of their agreement to know. You were shocked at first, but as you listened to her speak, you gave her a knowing smile.

“You love him.”

Her eyes widened in shock, her cheeks blushing a rosy pink. “What? Why would you say that?”

“You love him,” you said again, smiling gently at her. “I’ve never seen you speak with such passion. With the way you talk about him, there’s no other possibility. One couldn’t possibly think that highly of another without feelings being involved—”

“You speak of my brother like that,” Daphne interrupted, chuckling when you swallowed your words.

You chose to ignore her statement, continuing to advise her on the best course of action for how to get through the remainder of her agreed upon days with the Duke. If the way he looked at her without her knowing was of any consequence, you were sure he felt the same way about her. All she had to do was make him see that.

When it was time to leave for the ball, all the Bridgerton’s piled into carriages. Daphne was hurried out the door, and she left with her Mother and Anthony, leaving you behind. When you tried to head back home to be escorted by your family, Benedict stopped you.

He had opened and closed his mouth a few times before he was able to choke out any words. Normally, he found it pretty easy to talk to you. But for some reason, the sight of you standing by his front door made his knees weak.

“I’m afraid they’ve already left,” he finally said, stopping you at the door. “They must have assumed you’d be accompanied by us.”

You groaned, feeling a pit form in your stomach. “I have no other way to get there. I promised Daphne I’d be there for her. Pen, too. She seemed quite nervous about attending tonight.”

“Not to worry,” he smiled, offering you his arm. “You can ride with me.”

You sighed in relief, thanking him profusely. “Well, aren’t you a lifesaver? Thank you, Benedict.”

“Of course,” he nodded, helping you into the carriage.

As you settled into your seat, a thought occurred to you. “Benedict…why are you still here? Not that I’m not grateful, but I don’t understand. You’ve been talking about going to the palace for days to see the Queen’s gallery. I would have expected you to be the first one out the door. But here you are.”

He was quiet for a moment as he took in your words, his eyes softening on you.

There were many things he could have said to you to easily explain it away. I’ll see the gallery soon anyways, or, I promised my Mother and yours that I’d make sure you got there safely. Numerous excuses he could have come up with to satisfy your curiosity, and yet, all that was coming to mind was, I can see the gallery another time, but I may never get to see you alone and sitting in front of me looking this beautiful with your undivided attention again, and I won’t pass up on the opportunity for anything.

“I don’t know,” he finally said as he shrugged his shoulders, feigning innocence. “But here I am.”

—

He didn’t truly acknowledge his feelings for you until months later, after attempting to ignore it for so long.

The second time he noticed was when he found out that the only reason he got into art school was because Anthony made a sizable donation to the Academy.

You had found him alone during yet another ton gathering, sulking on the edge of the party. Daphne had already gone home to Simon, and wouldn’t return for some time. Besides Penelope—and occasionally Eloise—Benedict was one of the only people you actually liked enough to be around. And seeing as both Penelope and Eloise were nowhere to be found, Benedict was your only hope.

You just hadn’t expected to find him nearly in tears, anxiously tugging at the cufflinks at the bottom of his sleeve.

It didn’t take much to get him to spill, and you found yourself pulling him inside to keep him away from prying eyes while he was in such a state. He told you all about Anthony’s meddling, and you knew it had crushed his heart to find out that he hadn’t actually achieved anything on his own.

“I know he did it out of the good of his heart…but I wish he hadn’t done it at all.”

He brought his hands up to cover his face, groaning into them. You reached for his wrists and tried to pull them away, but he wouldn’t budge. He finally relented when you said his name softly, letting you take his hands in yours.

“Benedict, it doesn’t matter how you got in. You’re an incredible artist, that’s all that matters,” you said softly, squeezing his hand in yours.

He shook his head, sighing in frustration. “I’m not. My work is child’s play compared to the other artists at the Academy. They all knew why I had even been given a spot in the first place. I’m an imposter, Y/N. A fraud. It was humiliating.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, darling,” you lightly chuckled, your smile fading when his defeated look didn’t waver.

“Alright, that’s it. Fess up. This can’t be all that’s bothering you. I know you, and I know you’re not one to give up that easily. You’ve been flustered all week, so what is it? You can tell me. Not that I have anyone to tell, but I won’t tell. I promise.”

His eyes softened on you as you spoke, and you could feel his grip on your hand get tighter. “I just…I’m tired.”

“Of what?”

“Of being second.”

You frowned, swiping your thumb across the back of his hand. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s just something Anthony said,” he murmured, keeping his eyes on your joined hands. “How I may be the second son, but that it doesn’t mean I am any less required to do my duties to the family. It’s rich coming from him. I’ve been second to him literally my entire life, and he’s only recently started taking his role seriously. I’ve played Father’s role since his passing. Isn’t it just my luck that he’s getting the credit for it?”

“You may be second to him in birth, but that is the only way you’re second. You’re every bit as good as him, Benedict,” you said firmly, but you weren’t sure if your words were sinking in.

He was uncharacteristically quiet, though his grip on your hands hadn’t wavered. His eyes were still on the floor, and his shoulders were shaking as he took uneven breaths.

“I know what that feels like, you know,” you finally said, making him glance up at you. “I’m a Featherington. A middle child at that, and it’s no secret my Mother favors my older sisters.”

Benedict let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “She’s wrong to. I don’t mean to be rude, but you and Pen are worlds more interesting and gracious than your sisters. The eldest, at least.”

“You don’t even know them,” you said in shock, but you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, too.

“I don’t need to. You’re the only one I’m interested in knowing. Middle child or not.”

You couldn’t help but smile, although his kind words weren’t enough. The more you thought about just how second to the world you were, the more your smile faded.

“It’s not just being the middle child,” you continued, speaking softly. “I love your sister more than almost anything in this whole world, but I have always been second to her, too. She was the diamond of the season the second she was let out of leading strings, and now she’s my Duchess. I’m so happy for her, but it does put a damper on your confidence. Watching your best friend grow into this person everyone loves, and it’s like she didn’t even try.”

“Y/N—”

“Sometimes I feel awful, thinking this way. I know she tried, I was there for her every time she’d get overwhelmed. But she made it look so easy. I don’t know how she did it,” you rambled, taking a shuddering breath as you stopped yourself from speaking.

Benedict’s eyes softened on you as you spoke, making you want to shrink away from his gaze. He was being kind, and you didn’t know if it was genuine or not. If he was faking it for your sake, that was much worse than his actual pity.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this about me, let’s get back to you—”

“Y/N,” he said again, this time effectively silencing you. “You can’t possibly feel that way.”

It was your turn to look at the floor. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s true.”

“That is the furthest thing from the truth,” he said gently, taking your hand. “You’re every bit as good as my sister. I know she makes things look easy, but she spoke just as highly of you as you do of her.”

You raised a brow. “Really?”

“Really. She used to tell me how kind you were to her, even after Lady Whistledown printed her supposed scandals. You were never judgemental.”

“I have no right to judge anyone, especially not her. She’s never said a bad thing about anyone, it isn’t right that people just took a scandal sheet as truth. And, if anything, she was kind to me. She, Eloise, Colin, and you are pretty much the only members of the ton that treat me like a normal person and not an outcast because of who my family is.”

Benedict smiled, squeezing your hand. “I would never dream of treating you any other way.”

You fought the flush that crept up to your cheeks, feeling the heat settle in them. You cleared your throat, shaking your head.

“Anyway,” you smiled, meeting his eyes. “I don’t mean to keep you away. Should we go back to the party? Someone may be looking for you. You’re quite popular, you know.”

Benedict couldn’t help but smile. And as he watched you look up at him through gentle eyes and an open heart, he couldn’t bring himself to move. It was like his feet were stuck to the floor, and he didn’t want to do anything to pull them up. He shook his head, keeping his hand in yours.

“No,” he finally answered, taking a seat. “Let them look. I’d much rather spend my evening with you. If you’ll allow me to, that is.”

You shook your head, taking a seat next to him. “I’ve got nowhere I’d rather be.”

—

The third time he noticed was when you, Daphne, and he accompanied Penelope and Colin to promenade throughout the square. She and Simon had come to visit, and she wanted to spend time with you and her family.

This time, he couldn’t ignore his feelings.

You followed behind Colin and Penelope, giving them enough room to speak privately without feeling like their older siblings were on their backs. You smiled as you watched Penelope look up at him, Colin being as gentlemanly as ever.

“It took him long enough,” you said, making Benedict chuckle.

“I thought he’d never figure it out.”

“Me either,” you agreed, grinning as you watched Colin smile down at your sister. “I should bash him over the head. I’ve listened to Pen spend countless hours rambling on about how utterly oblivious Colin can be. He owes me a debt.”

“He isn’t the only oblivious person I know,” Daphne piped in, making your eyes widen.

You had told her countless times about your feelings for Benedict, and how he never seemed to reciprocate them.

What you didn’t know is that he had done the same, on more than one occasion going to his siblings for advice on how to address them. Pushing them down until he couldn’t feel them seemed to be working, at least until now. And as far as he knew, you didn’t reciprocate his feelings either.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said nervously, silently pleading with her to drop the subject.

“Neither do I,” Benedict added, making Daphne chuckle.

She just grinned, ever so slightly raising a brow. “I mean Anthony, of course. It took him quite a while to realize that what he felt for Kate was much more than rivalry. I practically had to beg it out of him.”

“You’re a little matchmaker, aren’t you?” You asked, smiling at her. “Who’s next? Eloise, perhaps?”

“Perhaps…you?”

You immediately stilled, making them stop, too. “Me?”

“Don’t look so surprised, Y/N. You’ve been my best friend for ages, and I know what’s good for you. You’re lonely. And as awful as it is, the ton will start to talk. If the only people you talk to outside of your own family are Benedict and I, they’ll begin to notice.”

You frowned, nodding. She was right. Harsh, but right. The threat of becoming a spinster was looming over your head every season, and it had only gotten worse after Daphne married in her first season. Your second season came and went, and you were now in your third.

Without any prospects.

And it was looking like your baby sister was going to beat you to the punch as well. You were silent, a small frown on your face.

Thankfully, Benedict broke the silence. Just the thought of you marrying someone—especially someone who didn’t deserve you—made his skin crawl. He felt like he could keel over, and by the look on your face, he could tell you were feeling similarly. He couldn’t keep himself from turning you away from Daphne’s advice.

“Why settle?” He asked cautiously, giving you a sympathetic look. “Don’t let the ton pressure you. You’ll know when it’s the right time.”

You had fully made it around the square, now back in front of your house. Penelope was saying goodbye to Colin, at least for the moment. His Mother invited you and Penelope to dinner to welcome Simon and Daphne home, and so they’d see each other again in mere hours.

You gave Benedict a grateful smile, nodding. “You’re right. Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time to pull our siblings apart before they actually become attached at the hip. Mother wants us home before we join you later.”

Daphne chuckled, taking your hands in hers. “I think you’re right. I’ll see you soon, dearest.”

You squeezed her hands in yours, before going to gather your sister. You gave Colin a knowing smile, turning and heading inside with your sister in tow. The Bridgerton’s did the same, filing into their house one by one.

The second Benedict shut the door behind him, he collapsed against it, groaning. “What was all that for, Daph?”

“What? I was simply giving you both a little nudge. God knows you needed one. You’re even worse than Colin was, brother.”

“I don’t need a nudge. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Colin laughed, taking off his coat as he headed up the stairs. “I could hear your stuttering. It was laughable.”

“Oh, piss off,” Benedict pouted, waving away Colin as he chuckled the rest of the way up the stairs.

Daphne offered him a small smile, letting out a sigh. She took his arm, leading them to the sitting room. After promptly sitting down, she gave him an expectant look, and he reluctantly sat next to her.

“Out with it,” she urged. “Why did our conversation with Y/N bother you so?”

“I don’t know,” he huffed, shaking his head.

Daphne narrowed her eyes, speaking gently but firmly. “You do know, Benedict. Admit it. You feel something for her.”

“Does it matter? She doesn’t feel the same way.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Daphne exasperatedly asked, nearly bursting at the seams.

She knew of both your affections for each other, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to tell either of you about the other. It didn’t feel right, going behind the other’s back. She had decided the moment she knew of each of your feelings to let the matter run its own course. What she hadn’t anticipated was it taking this long.

It was getting near impossible to keep the secret, and she decided a little meddling was excusable.

“She’s never said anything to me that would allude to her feeling anything for me. What would you have me do? Ask her directly?”

“There’s an idea,” Daphne shrugged.

Benedict sighed, trying to shove down the anxiety he felt at the thought of confronting you. “You saw me out there. I wouldn’t even know where to start. How do I talk to her?”

“You’ve known her as long as I have, brother. She’s your best friend! Just talk to her. She’ll understand, I promise. She won’t hurt your feelings if that’s what you’re worried about. You know she won’t.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m going to be sick at the mere thought of talking to her about it?”

Daphne smiled, her eyes softening. “Because you love her.”

Benedict’s shoulders fell, like Daphne just saying it out loud was the first time he was admitting it to himself. Like his feelings hadn’t fully sunk in, and now they were hitting him all at once like a freight train. It was a realization for him, and it both excited and terrified him at the same time. His emotion was clear on his face as his mouth fell open, making Daphne’s smile widen.

“Don’t worry, brother,” she reassured him. “It will all work out. I truly believe that. Take the afternoon to yourself, and keep your mind off of it till dinner. You’ll know the right thing to say when it’s time.”

—

That evening, you returned to the Bridgerton’s residence with Penelope.

The family gathered in the sitting room before dinner was ready, but Daphne pulled you away before you could follow. She took you all the way to the backyard, sitting down on the swing. She motioned for you to follow, and you took a seat on the swing next to her.

“I wanted to apologize about earlier,” she said softly. “I saw your face, I know I upset you. That wasn’t my intention, and I hope you can forgive me.”

You shook your head. “Don’t apologize. I needed to hear it. I might not like it, but I needed to hear it.”

“It hurt, Y/N. You don’t have to minimize that to spare my feelings. It’s alright to admit it. Do you…do you want to talk about it? I think there’s something more to it that’s bothering you, love.”

She was right.

Of course she was, she was always right. You sighed, turning to look back through the window into the house. You could see Penelope standing with the rest of the family, laughing at something Colin was telling her. He was smiling down at her like she had hung every star in the sky, just so he could have the chance to watch them sparkle. It was beautiful.

And it was painful.

“I just,” you started, keeping your eyes on Penelope. “I’m happy for her. I’m so happy for her. But I’m feeling a bit left behind.”

Daphne took your hand, leaning closer. “What do you mean?”

“I feel so selfish saying this, but…it’s what I want. She’s getting all that I want. All my life, I’ve wanted what you and your family have. You’re all so loved, and you love each other so deeply. Pen deserves that, I want her to have that. And I have no doubt that by the end of the season, she’ll have it. She’ll marry Colin, and officially be a Bridgerton. Part of the family. But she won’t be mine anymore. And I won’t be hers.”

Daphne frowned, squeezing your hand in hers. She turned you to meet her eyes, giving you a knowing look.

“I have a feeling this has more to do with a certain brother of mine. And I don’t mean Colin.”

You frowned, and she knew she was right.

“This is about Benedict. With Penelope being with Colin, it’s a reminder that you’re not with him. And you want to be with him.”

You couldn’t deny your feelings any longer. “I do. God, I really do. But it’s more than that. I want to be his family. I want to be your family.”

“And you’ve had to silently watch Penelope get what you’ve been waiting for,” Daphne said in realization, her heart breaking when you nodded.

Daphne stood up, pulling you with her. She wrapped you into a tight hug, refusing to relent until you hugged her back. You sighed in frustration, letting her gently rock you back and forth.

“Y/N,” she said softly, pulling away. “You’re already my sister. Regardless of who you end up with, whether it’s my brother or not. Wherever you end up, it doesn’t matter. You will always be my sister. You never have to worry about that. Not ever.”

You smiled softly, squeezing her hands. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, a throat cleared behind you. You quickly turned to see Benedict standing at the door.

“Mother told me to come collect you both. Dinner will be soon. Daph, Simon is asking after you.”

Daphne nodded, turning back to you. “Come along, then.”

“Actually,” Benedict interrupted, his eyes falling on you. “Could I have a moment alone with Y/N, please? If it’s alright with you.”

“Of course,” you said nervously, nodding towards Daphne.

Daphne smiled, nodding back. She patted Benedict on the shoulder as she headed back inside, closing the door behind her.

When she was gone, Benedict gave you a sheepish smile. He motioned for you to sit down, and you took a seat on the swing. He sat on the swing next to you, turning his body so that he was facing you. His knees brushed yours as he settled.

“What is it?” You asked, giving him all your attention.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

Your eyes softened on him, and you laid your hand on his arm. “I’m alright, Ben. Better now, since you’ve arrived.”

“Cheesy,” he smiled, but his heart was fluttering in his chest. “You know how to make a man smile, don’t you?”

“I didn’t think I was doing anything in particular,” you shrugged.

Benedict’s smile widened, and he couldn’t help but ponder his feelings for you. From the moment he found you alone on his doorstep, to when you took care of him at his lowest. From the way you treated his family, to the selflessness you never failed to put before your own wishes. From the way you made him feel, to the way he so desperately hoped you felt. He couldn’t stop himself from confessing, hoping his words wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

“I have to tell you something,” he murmured, taking a shuddering breath after he realized what he said, and what he was about to do.

You nodded. “What is it?”

“I think—and in case this is a huge mistake on my part, please forgive me—but, I think…I think I’m in love with you.”

You stiffened, standing up from the swing. “What?”

“I,” he stuttered, standing up as well. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was—”

You cut him off, taking his hands in yours. “Say it again.”

Benedict’s eyes widened, and you had caught him at a loss for words. He felt like you had punched him in the gut, sending him to his knees. But he nodded, squeezing your hands in his.

“I love you,” he said again, softer this time as he looked at you through gentle eyes. “I’ve loved you from the moment you got into that carriage with me, and I’ve loved you every moment since. I love you.”

Your shoulders fell, and you could feel the tears welling in your eyes. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, clinging tightly to his hands. You felt like your knees could give out, and the only thing holding you up was him.

“You’re not lying? You’re serious?”

Benedict almost laughed, nodding. “Yes, Y/N. I’m serious. Do you really think I would jest about this?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as well, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth. “All that time. All that time, and you couldn’t tell me? You certainly waited long enough.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, darling,” he said, cocking his head in confusion.

You were starting to worry him now, concern written all over his face. It made your heart clench in your chest.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were so happy, you couldn’t help but hold him close, smiling wider when you felt his arms wrap around your waist, despite his confusion. You held him tight, standing up on your toes so he could hear you loud and clear.

“I love you too, Benedict.”

He instantly pulled away, holding you back at arms length. “You what?”

“I love you,” you said again, taking his hands. “And I’ve been waiting ages for the day you’d finally tell me you felt the same. I never thought I’d hear you say the words, but I am so happy that you did.”

It was his turn to ask. “You’re serious? This isn’t a joke?”

You shook your head, and he squeezed your hands. You brought one of your joined hands up to press a kiss to the back of his, smiling up at him.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my entire life.”

—

A/N - Hi! I’m so sorry this took so long, it took me a long time to figure out what I wanted to write. Not sure why this one was so difficult, but I finished it! I hope you enjoyed it :)

[firemenenthusiast]

—“till death do us apart”

farleigh start x fem! reader

summary: sometimes even fate can be altered

warnings: angst. read at your own risk. plot twist. grammar of a non native english speaker

a/n: am i in my angst era ? also this is for mon cheri @farleighlover 😋 revenge for writing ‘numbingly obsessed’. this fic idea was like a bazooka shooting into my face i had to write it down

“What if we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine. Nothing could keep us apart. You'd be the one I was meant to find”

the way the sun was shining brightly outside his window, soft amber glare richoceting off the balcony of his apartment told him that the even the universe was looking down upon them, blessing the entire day.-

it was cloudy, the sky hanging puffs of fluffy white, but not the type of cloudy that makes everyone moody, no. it was just nice, he thought, as he adjusted the gleaming links on his cuffs, black ribboned tux sitting perfectly on his broad shoulders. cocking his head slightly to the side, his tight dark brown curls bouncing out of his face making him shudder in anticipation. or was it nerves ? he couldnt really tell, too many staggering emotions filling into his head, fighting each other for a place behind those eyes. taking a last deep breath, he adjusted himself in the mirror before turning towards the door, pair of leather shoes carrying him away.

it’s been five years since your class graduated from oxford, or should you call it your alma mater now. it was probably the greatest day ever, being finally done with excruciatingly painful days of all nighters, pushing through everything else just to chase after submission dates. as much as you’re glad that it’s all over, the collection of memories with people there wrapping you like a fuzzy blanket. the only thing making oxford the best phase of your life is the people there. your friends, your dormmates, your classmates, felix, oliver, farleigh.

and farleigh.

everything was better because you got farleigh. he was always there for you, supporting you, making you feel like the luckiest person in the world that out of all the girls in oxford that he could easily get with, he chose you. and you chose him. i mean, it wouldn’t really be anything between the two of you if you didn’t give him a chance. as much as you liked him before the start of your relationship, you weren’t gonna let him in that easily. just thinking about how much you made him suffer to win you over made you let out a soft chuckle. you’d throw the bouquet of fresh flowers he’d left on your designated seat in class immediately after seeing them and god, was that humiliating for him. one thing farleigh absolutely couldn’t stand was being humiliated, or rejected. but he pushed through, he refused to give up because he liked you so much. he’s willing to fight through everything if it meant that you’d just give him a chance. he suprised himself with how much he was doing just to make you accept him, cuz he swore he would never be down so bad just for a girl. but for you, all that pride and need to maintain his reputation just got thrown out the window.

you and farleigh, it was like the two of you were made for each other, maybe it was your fault for not seeing that sooner but your relationship with him was everything to you after you gave in and give him a chance. it was like red blood, pumping oxygen to every part of your existence, he was like air to you. farleigh made you happy, made you feel all giddy whenever he’d wait outside of your class for you to finish so the two of you could grab lunch together, he was your yellow, your rock. at times you could feel your heart grow even fonder of him, slowly falling head over heels. his bright pearly smile fuelled your entire being, you catch yourself secretly grinning whenever you’d think of him. he was very charming, though sometimes so annoying and bratty. you didn’t care, if anything he was your annoying brat. whenever the two of you would spend the whole day wrapped in each other’s arms, you’d let out the biggest sigh of contentment after getting back to your dorm. farleigh protected you, shielding you from anything that was gonna hurt you, from physical dangers to the emotional ones when you’d struggle with your mental health. he knew everything about you, he knew the tricks and tweaks of winning over your heart. he was your guardian angel.

you’d also noticed how beautiful of a day it was outside, and you were thanking the universe for granting the both of you a chance for this day to be as beautiful as it could be. it was everything you’ve ever dreamed of, and it was exactly like how you’d imagine and daydreamed about it to be since you were a little girl. from the gorgeous white gown draped down your figure to the personally hand arranged bouquet of flower that you were gonna carry down the aisle. it was perfect, and so is the fact that you were gonna marry the love of your life. you couldn’t be more excited, scared and nervous. everyone had told you that it’s normal to be nervous, it’s probably the biggest moment in your life and you couldn’t risk it being even slightly ruined. everything had to be perfect, and they actually were. getting ready in the dressing room, you paced around to get your mind off things that you were overthinking about. what if you stumbled and ripped your gown ? what if you puked in the middle of the walk because you were too nervous ? in that moment you just wanted to tell your bridesmaid to go get your fiancé. you knew he could calm you down easily, he always did. little did you know that he was also taking deep breaths to cool himself down in another room.

the sleek black tux hugging farleigh nicely around his torso and his bust. the sleeves, perfectly tailored and not a single inch longer than it should be. he looked dashing, handsome even. but when is it that he doesn’t? stepping onto the venue, his chin tilted upwards, feasting his eyes upon the beautifully decorated hall. a small smile crept itself across his lips. it was just like how you always told him how you would like the place to look like when you get married. farleigh had always kept a mental note on the details, from the choice of flowers standing tall along the aisle, to the soft hue of innocent yellow dimly lighting up the whole place. you always had a vision when it comes to your wedding day, and he would listen to you talk about it, nodding away and even adding his own points on how he wanted his wedding to be. he had immaculate taste too, of course. chirping in to give you suggestions after suggestions just to make sure the vision of his and your wedding day was perfect. he didn’t really care, the only vivid thing he could imagine was the image of you standing in front of him, looking as pretty as always, smiling up at him as he vowed to take you as his lawfully wedded wife. it was innocent how the two of you would dream about this day.

guests were starting to fill up the venue, settling themselves down on their designated seats as few of them were seen chatting up with each other, smiles decorating their faces. both your families were moving around efficiently, making sure that everything was in order for the ceremony to move smoothly, while you waited in the dressing room, carefully adjusting and making sure that your make up and hair were put together flawlessly. “you nervous?” you heard venetia speak, as you turn your head towards her, smiling. your eyes trailed along the beautifully sewn hem of your gown. “of course i am, i would be lying if i said im not” letting out a soft sigh, your eyes glanced towards her. “how’s farleigh ?” you asked her, before she took both your hands in hers, firmly grabbing onto the palms as she cocked her head to the side, beaming at you. “he’ll be alright” she responded, shortly. “you ready ?” to which you nodded, offering her a quick smile.

the walk from the dressing room to the hall felt like forever, as steps after steps burned memories into your head, everything felt so surreal yet too real at the same time. as you carefully line your walk in the heels with the tail of your gown making it a sport, you began to notice familiar faces sitting at the back row, already beaming at you with their hands cupped against their chests. you offered them a warm smile, desperately using it to hide the all new emotions you were currently feeling. you were now already standing at the end of the aisle, in the middle of everyone, as all eyes were set on you. you tried your best to flash the prettiest smile, like you had practiced for only like since forever. farleigh’s eyes immediately set themselves on you, his eyebrows dropped as his dark orbs began to gloss, a small breath got caught in his throat as it seemed like he had forgotten how to breathe. he was getting lightheaded with how similar you looked with the vision he had of you being his bride. just when he thought you couldn’t get anymore beautiful, you began to walk down with the white veil over your head, fresh flowers neatly grasped in your hands. you looked pure, breathtakingly beautiful in white. it was almost like the angels had lent you their beauty for that exact moment, for you to wear as you slowly step towards the altar.

your eyes met farleigh’s, a knowing look being exchanged between the two of you. you almost laughed at how touched he looked, he would be caught dead first before this to even show that he had deep emotions for someone but for you, he didn’t care. anything for you. all the nervousness suddenly disappeared as you carefully step onto the elevated platform at the end of your slow walk, joining your fiancé before facing each other, huge smile plastered across your faces. all of that ruckus and chaos before your wedding day has led to this moment, as you take it all in that it was finally happening.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the love of these two as they come together in marriage.” the officiant started right as the two of you were ready. after exchanging rings, he started his vows first, which almost made you cry but happiness flooded through the feeling.

“…I promise to cherish you always, to honor and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us.” as you finish your vow, you could feel your feet starting to perform little jumps of excitement. turning your head towards the officiant, he could see that you were already getting impatient. smiling to himself, he looked over to the crowd before saying the magic words

“By the power vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife !” you almost squeak before leaning over to kiss your now husband, gently pressing your lips over his soft ones, your cold fingers cupping his cheeks as a roar of applause filled the hall. the crowd stood up to cheer, bright smiles complimenting the decorations in the hall.

it was exactly like you imagined, except this time it wasn’t farleigh that you were kissing.

as farleigh clapped for the both of you from his seat, he couldn’t help the proud smile pushing itself to form on his lips, as his eyes begin to water. he immediately reached up to wipe them off quickly, yet obvious tint of red could still be seen if one were to examine his face closely. but he wasn’t worried of that happening, because he wasn’t the main subject of today’s ceremony, no. he was just happy to be here, cheering for you and your husband. he would be lying if he didn’t think about how it would be if it was him instead on the altar, kissing you away from all the doubts that he had put you through over the last few years of your relationship. he knew that you and him, the two of you were supposed to be endgame. it was supposed to be him, slipping the ring onto your finger, before kissing over them. he knew all that, yet nothing could win over a fight with his own issues, nothing could beat his own mind in a game called love. he wanted to give up on love long ago but you showed him the bright end of the tunnel, and he will always be grateful for that. for now, he would have to make peace with the fact that you’re no longer his, and he no longer has a place in your heart. it’s not like he doesn’t want all of this, he really does. hell, he had thought about this exact day countless times when you were his, just that he imagined it to be him who will get to say his vows on how he was gonna love you till death do the both of you apart. everything else was pretty much just how he had imagined it to be, especially how beautiful you looked.

the two of you had promised that the relationship had to end with marriage, and that after graduation nothing was gonna change. but promises are meant to broken aren’t they ? he changed, a lot. you did too. farleigh struggled with himself after graduation, with the fact that he didn’t have anything left in the uk, him being done with oxford left him no reason to keep staying with the cattons. he didn’t want to leave, he begged for sir james to keep letting him stay, saying that he would do anything with the best he had, building a career over the estates in saltburn, anything. anything just for him to able to stay here, with you. he was afraid that if he left, everything will be different and he’d lose you. so he worked, really hard. struggling to make his own money to put them into his own little apartment. little did he know, he lost himself in the process, along with what he had with you. warm embraces and chuckles after laughters turned into hurtful arguments. your usual warm spot on his bed turned cold, as your dent on his mattress slowly disappeared. it’s not like you didn’t fight for him, you truly did. but you realised that what the two of you had, was only nice while it lasted. and you struggled to make peace with that, but not as much as he was. you were everything to him, and losing you just meant losing himself.

when you told him that you were getting married, he looked really happy, as he pulled you in a tight hug. it felt safe, and you could feel that he was genuinely happy for you. you’re glad that after all, you were still able to be close with him, only now as friends. he was happy to receive the wedding invitation, having set it up on his empty kitchen table so he wouldn’t miss it for the world. he still loved you, so much as he wouldn’t want to miss watching you on your happiest day, even if it wasn’t because of him. even if it wasn’t with him. seeing you happy was enough for him. knowing that you were happy, he forced himself to accept that fate couldn’t be rewritten. how he wished it is, because then he would get to write your name in his stars again and again, and again. as many times as he could as long as in the end, you’d end up in his arms.

as the getaway car began to roll its wheels, he looked at you flashing the prettiest smile ever, waving at him. he returned the smile, masking in the reasoned melancholy down his chest. the car started to drive away slowly before his smile slowly pressed itself away against his lips. it has now turned to a smile knowing that he once had you, and he would forever cherish that. the crowd began to dissipate, some gradually walking away to leave, some getting back inside to continue their chats, some even talking about how gorgeous of a wedding it was, and that they were happy for you and your husband. farleigh stepped down the stairs to a gravely ground, his leather shoes digging into the coarse pebbles as he leaned back onto the stone post at the end of the stairs, his hand reaching into the pocket of his slacks. noticing someone approaching his spot, he glanced to the person to see felix, his hands tucked into his pockets before he reached out, asking for a stick from farleigh. he lit the cigarette in his fingers before reaching over, cupping his hand over the flame to lit felix’s.

puffing his first drag, farleigh chuckled at felix at the situation. “how you holding up ?” he heard felix ask, his light brown hair flipping over as the soft wind grazed their skin. farleigh tilted his head down, quietly playing with the pebbles with the tip of his shoes with a burning cigarette dancing between his fingers. “i’m gonna be okay” nodding, he assured felix. “that’s good” he chirped back, he knew how bad farleigh was hurting, but he also knew that his cousin would be caught dead first before showing deep emotions to anyone. felix were also sure that the two of you were really gonna end up together. it was only right to him. he wasn’t sure about what happened, but he could feel how bad the pain was violently ripping farleigh apart. he could only pray that it gets easier, as he didn’t want to lose him too.

“i know you loved her mate” felix started

“i still do” farleigh responded, his head hanging low

“-just differently now”

shaking the burned bits of the cigarette from his fingers, ashes falling down onto the ground as they both sat in silence, quietly enjoying the gentle breeze of the wind, blowing away all of farleigh’s hope for you.

taglist: @farleighlover @r4vn @love-me-pls @radioloom @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @luckystrikerealness @juniperhasfallen @themoonchildwhofell @khxna @fuckshitslover @szapizzapanda

[capuccinodoll]

The Dream

Before the sun hits (chapter three)

Summary: Joel takes a trip to your dreams, and it doesn't take long for you to let him know.

Warning: this chapter contains smut!

DECEMBER 19TH

With your coffee cup half-finished, you found yourself sitting across from your mother in what was probably the coziest place in town. Café Ophelia seemed like a love letter to the classic and romantic. It was located on the main avenue, and its charm was impossible to ignore. People came and went constantly, carrying red and brown paper bags filled with delicacies, while many held disposable coffee cups in their gloved hands. Seasonal flowers and plants adorned the place, survivors of the relentless cold outside, remaining vibrant in every nook and cranny. 

To the left, an entire wall was covered with books, arranged in a built-in library. When you walked through the door, your mother told you that the café had originally belonged to one of her high school teachers, and that after his passing, his younger brother had inherited the place without altering its essence. There was something about the place that made it feel as if time had stood still, as if it were a warm haven where one could hide from outside life. 

You walked past the shelves, your fingers brushing the worn covers of the books. You spotted editions of Shakespeare, Keats, Chaucer and were even surprised to find a copy of Bocaccio. There was a moment when you thought about grabbing one, but you restrained yourself. The aroma of coffee and soft conversations filled the air, creating an atmosphere of comfort that was hard to leave.

Now, your mother was just finishing narrating an anecdote about how she had met your father, right on that very same street, decades before.  

“It was instantaneous,” she said, her gaze lost somewhere near the ceiling. “I don't know if I could call it love at first sight, it was more like something else. Like something shook both of us at once.”

A smile broke out on your face. You always admired the love between your parents, it seemed to be such a perfect thing, as if they were meant for each other. In your case, you never felt something so strong, so definite. It wasn't for lack of trying, you just had never experienced that kind of connection, never.

“You see people every day, unfamiliar faces that don't tell you anything, they're just there. But when I saw your father, it was different. It was as if my body needed a moment to process it. Our eyes met and something inside me knew that, from that instant on, things would no longer be the same,” she continued. “After that, I just hoped to see him again, but I didn't have the courage to say anything to him.”

“And how was it that you saw him again?” you asked, although you already knew the story well. However, there was something special in the way your mother told it, a light in her eyes that made every time you heard it feel like the first.

“The next day I opened the bookstore, waiting for him to return. I thought, well, if he felt the same way I did, he has to come back. And he did. He came in, asked me what my favorite book was, and bought it. Then, he told me that he would stay in town for another week and asked me to help him with his reading.”

And she did. They spent that week seeing each other every day. At first, reading together; at the end, well, not so much. You never knew if your father had finished reading that book, though most likely he did. It was your mother's favorite, and it all had deep meaning for him. 

“I think there's something very intimate about sharing a book with someone,” your mother commented, turning her gaze back to you. “It's like showing that person a very vulnerable part of yourself. What we read says a lot about who we are. And when you share that, when you invite someone into that space, it's like you're sharing a part of your soul.”

You thought about the books you had lent Liam. Crime and Punishment, The Divine Comedy, Persuasion, and the Kafka diaries. He never returned them to you, and you were certain that he hadn't even opened them. He asked for them every time you mentioned them to him, as if he was interested, but he always remained in the promise of maybe someday getting to know that side of you. But that day never came.

“What are you guys doing tomorrow?” your mother's voice softly broke into your thoughts, distracting you. 

“I'm not sure, what would you like to do?”

“I meant you and Joel. I was thinking you could go to the movies or do something together. He could use that to clear his head a little. He's not having a very good time.”

The last thing caught your attention more than you expected. He's not having a good time? But first, that surprised you in a different way.

“Me and Joel?” you asked, somewhat puzzled.

“Didn't your father tell you?” Your mother looked at you waiting for an answer, and when you shook your head in the negative, she continued, ”We're going to dinner at the restaurant where we had our first date. We met around this time, don't you remember?”

Of course you remembered. You just forgot to make that connection.

“Are you celebrating something? I didn't know it was a special occasion, if I had, I wouldn't have come...and I'm sure Joel wouldn't either.”

“No, honey. It was always a family trip, we planned it that way. We just thought it would be nice to recreate that moment.” Her tone was soft but clear. “Your father and I wanted you to come. We've missed you so much, did you know that? And Joel was invited the same way, too.”

“I missed you guys too, though maybe I didn't say it as much.” You felt a small twinge of guilt in your chest, but you quickly brushed it away. “Besides, I'm really enjoying Canmore.”

“I know, who knows? Maybe you'll find someone special around here, too.” 

You laughed, though you felt a slight cringe at the idea. “I'm not so sure about that,” you replied, noting a reluctance in your voice.

Your mother placed both hands on the table and stared at you, as if she had just heard the silliest thing.

“I think it's about time you put that boy you were hanging out with behind you.”

Her words sounded harsher than she probably intended. She didn't know everything; well, you told her Liam was just a guy you were casually dating and that, by mutual agreement, you stopped seeing each other. You didn't mentioned the betrayal, nor the sudden engagement. Your mother wouldn't have stood for that truth. She would have jumped on the first plane to New York on the look for him, and then, maybe after a little cry on her shoulder... Yes, she would be mad at you.

“I'm over it,” you lied, as if it were the obvious thing to do. ”It just doesn't make sense to fall in love in Canmore if I have to leave in a few days."

“Think about this: your father, who is from Austin, and I, from Canmore, fell in love. Things worked out later.”

You laughed, with your mother's simple solution floating in the air. For her, everything had been easier. When she met your father, she had no family in Canmore; her parents had passed away when she was a teenager, and there were no more ties to bind her to the place. Moving to another country with the man she loved made the most sense.

“I could bring my love to Austin,” you joked. “Just like Dad did.”

“No New York?” 

The question was innocent, almost naïve. But you stayed quiet, feeling the guilt creep back into you, infiltrating the serenity you had managed to find.

“Yes, maybe to New York too.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, both of you finishing your hot drinks, letting yourself be enveloped by the tranquility of the coffee.

Before leaving, you ran your fingers through the old books in the library. An edition of The Decameron caught your eye, probably from the 1920s. The pages were yellowed, and the smell of aged paper made your nose itch. Between the lines, you could see annotations made in pencil by some unknown reader. You leaned over to read some notes in the foreword, but your mother interrupted you.

“Your father and Joel are a couple of blocks away, what do you say we go shopping and then find a nice place for dinner?”

You nodded, but Joel's name kept hanging around in your mind, dragging with it that phrase you couldn't stop thinking.

He's not having a good time.

*

The market stretched the length of the avenue, with vendors lined up under colorful awnings, offering sweets and homemade foods that filled the air with a warm, spicy aroma. Local stores were beginning to turn off their lights, preparing to close as the sun slowly descended on the horizon, tinting the sky in shades of pink and orange. It was close to seven o'clock in the evening, the cool air was beginning to settle over the town.

Your dad appeared down the sidewalk with a smile lighting up his face, patting Joel's arm playfully. Joel returned a look that was somewhere between amused and distracted, while their conversation died down as the two of them approached you.

“My precious girls, how was your afternoon?” your father greeted enthusiastically, coming over to plant a kiss on your cheek before leaning in to kiss your mother on the lips. You could tell he was in a good, relaxed mood.

“It's been wonderful,” your mother replied with a smile that reflected her own satisfaction. “What about you guys?”

Your eyes found Joel, who was now standing in front of you, avoiding your gaze with a somewhat suspicious concentration on anything but your face. His indifference seemed calculated to you, and you took the opportunity to study him in more detail. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his black jacket, and the scent of his perfume wafted up to you, soft but noticeable. You were surprised by it, just a little: you had never noticed him wearing perfume. Not even for that formal dinner at your house.

Perfume for going out to a bar? That idea left you with a funny feeling.

“We needed something like that, didn't we, Joel?” your dad said, giving his friend a knowing nudge.

“Like you have no idea,” Joel muttered, his tone drier than usual.

“I can think of something delicious for dinner tonight...” your mother began to say as she latched onto your father's arm and began to walk, leaving the conversation to flow just between them. Joel and you were left behind, in an awkward silence that you could almost touch.

You stuck your hands in your coat pockets, mimicking him. There was something in the air, something between you that you couldn't quite identify, but you felt it clearly. Maybe it was what your mother had mentioned earlier, that something that had him uneasy. The beers he'd probably had at the bar might have loosened the emotions he was carrying around. Or maybe... no, you didn't want to think about that second possibility.

After his visit to your room, you hadn't seen him again until now. He and your father left to the bar before you and your mother left the house, so you hadn't had a chance to notice if anything was different. But a few hours ago, when he stood in your doorway, looking at you... He had to have sensed the change in your voice, the way your eyes looked at him. He couldn't have missed it. And now, you felt slightly guilty about it.

Joel, one of your father's best friends, who had listened to you and supported you in a vulnerable moment, did you really need to insinuate yourself, however subtly? Probably not. But it wasn't something planned either. It was something that came up in that moment, something you couldn't control. And you'd always been told that your eyes couldn't lie.

Maybe he was uncomfortable because of it. You wish he wasn't.

“What would you like for dinner?” you asked, trying to break the silence. Up ahead, your parents were still immersed in their own conversation, oblivious to what was going on between you.

Joel let out a sigh that condensed into the cold air. “I don't know, something hot.”

“What's on your mind?” you insisted, trying to keep the dialogue going.

Finally, he turned to you with a quick, impatient glance, brow barely furrowed before averting his gaze again.

“Pasta.”

“Pasta sounds good,” you nodded, waiting for him to continue. “What kind of pasta?”

His lips tightened for a second, his jaw ticking briefly before he loosened his expression and looked at you again, this time longer.

“Which type of pasta do you prefer?” 

“Bolognese,” you said without hesitation.

“Well,” he replied, somewhat curtly, ”that one then.”

He looked straight ahead again. Clearly, something was bothering him. You could sense it in the way he avoided looking at you, and when he did, it was with a kind of reproach in his eyes, as if he had something to say to you but couldn't find the words. It was almost as if he was angry.

“Joel,” you mentioned in a soft, slightly guarded tone of voice, ”can I ask you a question?”

“I have a feeling I don't have a choice,” he replied, his tone sarcastic and disinterested, but not loud enough for your parents to hear. They were still walking a few feet ahead, your father looking a little drunk, but just enough for happiness to overwhelm him. Your mother listened attentively, laughing from time to time, absorbed in her own world.

You looked back at Joel. His comment, though predictable, bothered you a little. 

“You could just say no, next time.” Your voice came out harsher than you had planned, not disguising your irritation.

You quickened your pace, trying to join your parents and get away from him. But Joel, with his long strides, caught up with you easily. He moved a little closer, close enough that you didn't have to raise your voice much when he asked:

“What's your question, then?”

“I don't have anything to ask you anymore.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Doesn't sound like it.”

“It doesn't?”

“That's what I said.”

“Whatever. You clearly don't feel like talking. So no, I don't have any more questions to ask you.”

Joel let out a low, somewhat mocking laugh, pulling away just inches. He didn't say anything else, which, oddly enough, irritated you even more. His silence letting you know that he was in control of the situation, and that made you feel like a wayward child, even if it bothered you to admit it.

“What's funny, Joel?” you said after a while, a belated and overthought response.

“Does it make you mad that I don't feel like talking to you?” he replied, a faint, almost undetectable smile forming on his face.

Your mind couldn't help but focus on the way he decided to phrase the sentence. He could have simply said “are you mad that I don't feel like talking?” but chose to add a with you, and it hadn't sounded random at all. You didn't know what that meant. Maybe you were overanalyzing it. Maybe you were.

“No, it angers me that you're not clear. I'm a grown woman, you know? I don't need you to act like you're talking to a chatty little girl,” your voice spoke firmly. “Just say you're not in the mood to talk and I won't bother you anymore.”

“I don't mind you talking to me,” he clarified, coming back up to your level; the scent of his perfume hitting you again. “Why do you think that?”

Several reasons, you thought. From his perspective, you were his best friend's daughter, the one who, almost without knowing him, forced him into a bathroom to listen to you cry and complain about your sorry life. Oh, you did it in the cabin that morning, too, with him looking at you pityingly, following you to your room to ask how you were doing. 

What an idiot. You sure had misunderstood everything. Joel was just concerned, surely from his place as what he was; your father's best friend, father of a female daughter, Sarah. 

You felt a little foolish for having diverted your thoughts that way. And worst of all, he had surely realized it. That was humiliating. 

“Because you don't have to, Joel,” you spoke almost in a whiny whisper. “I've bothered you enough by telling you my problems. I sure have looked like a stupid little girl, crying in the bathroom, making you promise things you don't have to. It's embarrassing.”

“It's not like that,” he began to say, his voice tinged with something akin to dismay. “And you're not stupid, much less a little girl. That much is clear to me.” 

“Sometimes it feels like that. A lot of times, lately.”

“Well,” he uttered at length, his eyes meeting yours and you noticed he was searching for words to say, ”if it makes you feel any better, I think you're a grown woman who knows exactly what she's doing, and what it's causing.”

There it was. Right there, in Joel's eyes, the proof that you hadn't imagined it. Or would you be misinterpreting his words? The idea sounded far-fetched. 

Joel smiled as if he knew exactly what he had just done, and without warning, he moved a few inches away from you, closer to your parents.

Your cheeks must have flushed, the heat on your face told.  

You hurriedly covered those few centimeters that distanced you from him and opened your mouth, ready to let out a meaningless retort. But just then, your mother turned, drawing your attention. The spell was suddenly broken.

To your luck (or bad luck) at dinner, he didn't sit across from you.

*

You arrived at the cabin around ten o'clock at night. Your parents, completely in their own world, had spent the time dragging Joel through a review of the last few years; “Remember this?”, “Remember that time when we...?”, “What happened to her, Joel?”. Most of the questions asked in an amusing way, some a little somber. But Joel had enjoyed it, or so you had gathered, for he had answered and extolled each of your father's anecdotes. 

Your gazes met from time to time, but the exchange was brief; as if you were doing something on the sly, as if no one could know you were looking at each other. And that was kinda the case. He would glance at you while one of your parents was talking, and just when you noticed and mimicked him, his gaze would drop to his plate, or to anything but you. 

For your part, you had eaten almost silently, listening attentively to everything that was said at the table. Everything was simpler if no one was asking you uncomfortable questions. 

Now, back at the cabin, your parents were laughing merrily in the kitchen as they reviewed the entire day and uncorked a bottle of merlot.

You plopped down on the living room couch and checked your phone as the background conversation revolved around a former schoolmate your mother had run into today while you two were shopping. It had been a somewhat awkward encounter, the kind where you don't know how to say goodbye without sounding completely avoidant. He told her he had two children and was in the middle of a divorce, and your mother made the big mistake of asking him a question about it. It held you up for thirty minutes. 

You had nothing interesting in your incoming texts, nor in your outgoing ones. Liam... you didn't check his profile and it wasn't like you could know either; you blocked him. Ally would be very happy about that. But curiosity stalked you gently.

The weight falling next to you took your eyes off the small screen. Joel had sat to your right, a safe distance away. His body relaxed, his broad frame stretched nonchalantly....

“Would you like a glass of wine, Miller?” your father asked, craning his neck from the kitchen island.

 

“M' fine. I think I'll go to bed,” he said with both palms pressed to his eyes, ”enough for today.”

“What about you, my love?” your mother's voice echoed through the wide space of the cabin. 

“I could make use of it,” you joked, joke masked for all of them.

You got up and walked to the kitchen, where your mother extended the full cup in just the right way. 

You didn't make too much conversation either. The talk between them was interesting enough that you were just listening to their voices. That was something you had always liked about your parents; their conversations were dynamic and fun, always. Every single thing they talked about turned into the coolest thing in the world, as if they were your own audiobook, always with something entertaining to say. 

When you were a child, you would lie in the middle of them in bed, listening to them talk about different things; movies, gossip, novels, whatever. They used to say you were nosy, and maybe that was true from time to time. 

Joel was still on the couch, only now a faint sound was coming out of his mouth. Soft tired snores were moving his chest up and down. You watched him from your spot until you finished your drink and your eyes felt heavy and stinging. You rubbed them for a while, until the action became futile.

“I'm going to bed,” you said to your parents. Your mother pulled you closer to her and rested your head on her chest. Your father, a little more affectionate, squeezed you in his arms in an exaggerated manner. 

“Wake him up,” he told you, almost in a whisper. 

You nodded and walked away from his side, leaving the empty cup in the sink before crossing the kitchen and heading towards the living room. You couldn't help but pause for a second in front of him, watching his face, the soft, relaxed lines of one who is sound asleep. His calm expression, so peaceful, almost fragile, awakened in you an unbearable tenderness. The dark locks, some already intermingled with gray, fell messily over his forehead, while his lips, still stained with the red wine from dinner, remained half-open, and the beard began to unalign, just a little. You felt a sudden impulse to touch him.

“Joel,” you whispered as your fingers sank gently but firmly into his arm. “Joel, wake up.”

He stirred barely, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. A light laugh escaped your lips, small and private. Even asleep, Joel clung to that essence so much his own.

“Come on, Joel,” you repeated, this time with a little more intent in your voice.

You put your hand back on his arm and shook him gently. Finally, his heavy eyelids lifted with effort, and he straightened up, standing still for a few seconds, elbows resting on his knees, hands covering his face as he tried to clear his head. 

You stood by his side, silently, watching him sigh with visible fatigue. When he looked up and found you, you smiled at him, and he responded with a brief smile before looking back down at the floor. After a few seconds, he rose from the couch leisurely, glancing back towards the kitchen, where your parents were still chatting about something that was already irrelevant to you.

“See you tomorrow,” Joel muttered, approaching them and, as he passed you, heading for the stairs. You followed him, without much thought.

“See you, Joel. Get well,” you heard your father tease, his voice slurring as you walked after Joel up the stairs.

He was big. You'd always known he was big, of course, but now that you saw him from behind, his back moved with a particular cadence that gave you a curious mix of excitement and nervousness. The back of his neck, visible between the tufts of hair, seemed warm, inviting a caress or, perhaps, the brush of your lips. You caught yourself imagining it, wondering what it would be like to kiss that part of him, to kiss Joel.

You entered the hallway that led to your rooms, and the distance between you shortened almost unnoticed. Joel had his back turned, about to open the door to his room, when he turned to you with an expression on his face that you couldn't quite decipher.

“Your dad told me to take care of you tomorrow,” he commented, with a tone that made you smile.

“What a coincidence, my mom told me the same thing about you.”

He smiled too, and the gesture brightened his eyes, still heavy with sleep. “She said that?”

“Yes, that's what she said,” you reaffirmed, the smile still on your face.

“Sounds like them,” Joel murmured affectionately.

You let out a sigh you didn't even know you'd been holding in since the morning, a quiet but satisfying release. You nodded, resting your hand on your doorknob, mirroring his posture.

“Yeah, it does,” you said, finally, opening the door. “Good night, Joel.”

“Good night, sweetheart,” you heard him say, his voice low and soft, before he dissappeared as he entered his room.

You closed your door tighter than necessary, surprised by how much those simple words had affected you, by the echo of his voice reverberating in your mind. The way his eyes had closed slightly as he smiled kept replaying in your memory. Maybe it had been your parents' merlot or the malbec at dinner, but later, in the shower, you found yourself fighting the urge to drag his name with your fingertips across your entire body. You fought with the idea of giving him that space, that power, without him knowing, because if you did, you'd have to acknowledge what you'd been repressing since the first time you saw him (actually saw him) sitting on your parents' couch, watching you with those dark eyes that pierced you without even trying.

No. Joel Miller hadn't the slightest idea what he had brought upon you, but somehow, you thought, he would have to pay for it.

The last thing that crossed your mind before you fell asleep, was his name.

*

A soft sound woke you. A barely perceptible thump. You closed your eyes again, convinced it would be someone going to the bathroom. Probably your dad. But then, you felt him. His weight sinking the mattress slowly behind you, his body approaching with a familiarity that quickened your pulse. A warm hand slid around your waist, squeezing you gently, his fingers sneaking under the hem of your shirt. You lay still, feeling his breath brush against the back of your neck.

You turned your head, just enough to feel his lips touch your earlobe.

“Joel...” You tried to say, but your breath caught the words in your throat.

“What do you want, huh? Staring at me like that during dinner, with your parents right there. Did you think I wouldn't notice?” His voice, a warm whisper against your skin, made a liquid sensation form in your belly.

His hand moved away from your waist, slowly sliding down, just below your navel, pressing firmly against the soft flesh. You felt his body completely pressed against yours, his heat radiating into you. Your back wedged against his chest, your ass touching his hardness. You closed your eyes and his mouth found your neck, leaving small, scattered kisses across your sensitive skin.

A moan escaped your lips as his fingers reached your center, stroking your swollen clit in slow, circular motions, wrenching a devastating sensation from you.

“Joel, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“What do you want, baby? Tell me. Use your words.”

Your teary eyes widened as you felt him slide a finger inside you, the rhythm of his hand increasing in intensity, making the sensation become unbearable. 

“Are you going to be a good girl and tell me what you want?” he insisted, as another finger was added, moving inside you with a precision that made you shudder.

“Fuck me, Joel. Please,” you managed to say in a weak voice, broken by urgency.

You felt him move behind you, and in an instant, his firm hand pulled down your underwear with a swiftness that took your breath away. He pulled you to him by the hips, his erection pressing against your lower back.

“Now, behave yourself and be quiet,” he murmured, caressing your thighs as he gently spread your legs. “Can you do that?”

A faint “yes” came out of your mouth as you pushed your ass towards him, seeking contact, with unfamiliar desperation. Joel placed his hand on your neck, squeezing gently as he pushed his erection inside you, each movement making you moan. But this time, the sound was caught by his hand, covering your lips.

“Quiet,” his voice, agitated and breathy, made you shiver. He pressed even harder against you, his thusts increasing in speed and depth. The sound of his hips crashing against yours became a heady melody, and your whole body felt like it was on the verge of exploding. 

His fingers in your mouth tasted of salt and yourself, and that turned you on even more. Joel gasped, the sound so intimate it made you throb inside, right where his body touched you with each thrust. The sensation became unbearable, more intense, until your legs shook with the built up tension.

You brought your hand to his, trying to hold on to something as your body convulsed in an orgasm that swept over you like an uncontrollable wave. Your hands clutched at the sheets, trying to process the tide of pleasure that washed through you.

The climax slowly subsided, and your eyes opened to find the room engulfed in darkness. Your thighs pressed together in an attempt to calm down, and your breathing hitched... It was still dark. 

The clock on your phone read three in the morning.

How had that been possible? Joel, in your dream, it was as if he had been there, beside you. You felt him, you had felt him. And it had been so much better than almost any of your real experiences. 

You were fucked, completely fucked. And, oh, God, how much you wished you were really fucked by Joel Miller. 

You sighed, sitting up in bed, your body still tender, your mind in chaos. Your mouth was dry, a thirst that only heightened the desire you'd been feeling. You turned on the lamp on the bedside table and reached under the bed for your slippers. 

As you stood up, you felt the wetness between your legs, testimony to the dream you had just had. You cursed Joel silently.

You stepped out into the hallway, your footsteps soft, and couldn't help but stare at his closed door. Just imagining he was on the other side sent an electric tingle through your belly. You decided to ignore it, forcing yourself not to think about it anymore, and walked down the stairs in silence.

When you got downstairs, you noticed the kitchen light still on and prayed it wasn't one of your parents. You walked cautiously, approaching the light, and saw him... Joel, leaning against the counter, a glass of water in his hand, the other resting in the pocket of his gray pants. His gaze was lost on the floor, his hair disheveled and his face showing the marks of recent sleep.

You thought about going back to your room, but then he saw you, startled.

“Jesus, you're quiet,” he said, ironically making you remember him  in your dream. “You scared me to death, what are you doing?”

“I need a glass of water,” you replied, approaching cautiously.

Joel moved, taking a glass out of the cabinet and setting it on the kitchen island. He opened the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water and slowly pouring it into the glass. You watched him, and soon realized you were looking at him a little too obviously.

He handed you the glass and leaned back on the counter, his eyes fixed on you as you drank.

“Your cheeks are pink,” he observed, which only made them redden more. “Are you okay?”

Yeah, sure. I just dreamed you fucked me, nothing major.

“I... yeah, I'm fine. I had a dream...” you started to say, slowing down for some reason. Your eyes darted down and up his body, too obvious. For some reason, when it came to him, you couldn't shut up. 

Joel looked at you a little confused, reading your countenance, and an idea seemed to pop into his mind. 

“A strange dream,” you finished, trying to play it down, though you both knew there was much more behind those words.

“A strange dream?” he said, his voice groping for your reaction. “About what?”

“I'm not sure,” you replied as you approached the sink, setting the glass down with an almost careless gesture. As you walked past him, your hand brushed his, barely, a split second that made your skin electrify. “But it woke me up.”

Joel was watching you intently, but the confusion that used to be read on his face was gone. Now, it was something else. You moved a little closer, close enough to feel his warmth. Your fingers rested on the edge of the sink, right next to his, and instead of pulling away, you stood there, caught in the proximity.

“Did it woke you up?” he murmured, his voice deep, almost a whisper, as his eyes slowly descended to your lips. “Why?”

“Because I felt it. It was so real,” you confessed, fighting the disbelief of what you were about to admit. Everything in you screamed for you to stop, but you kept going. “So real, Joel, has that ever happened to you?”

His eyes darkened, as if your words had ignited something in him. The intensity of his gaze was crushing, and the air between you grew thick, charged. Your heart pounded with a force that surprised you, as if it were possible that he could hear the frantic rhythm of your pulsing, echoing in the small space of the cabin. An exquisite panic enveloped you, a strange mixture of desire and vertigo.

“Be more specific,” he murmured, his voice rough, charged with the same tension that lit his gaze.

A smile, small and defiant, began to creep onto your lips as you prepared to follow. You couldn't help yourself. Not with him.

“It felt as real as it does now, you and me, here,” you said slowly, savoring every word. “I could feel it: the touches, the whispers, the ragged breathing, the sweat, the taste...” His eyes wouldn't leave yours. “When I woke up, I could still feel it. I can be more specific, if you want.”

His scent enveloped you, something raw and visceral that called to you in an almost primal way. It wasn't the smell of perfume, but his, pure and authentic. As if everything about him was an invitation you found hard to refuse.

You noticed how he swallowed saliva, his lips parted for an instant. A lopsided smile appeared on his face, a gesture that made something in your stomach contract. Slowly, he tilted his head toward you, until his lips were inches from yours, and you felt his warm breath caressing you.

“No,” he said in a whisper, his words barely grazing your mouth. “I can picture it perfectly.”

“I know you can.”

A chuckle caught in his throat, and he turned away from you only long enough to shake his head gently, as if he were trying to resist something. But not for long. As soon as he looked at you again, his gaze swept over your face, from your eyes to your mouth, and kept moving down, lingering on every inch of you, as if he was recording every detail in his memory. The slow, deliberate pace of his analysis made your knees go weak. The control you had felt in the conversation vanished in that instant, displaced by the intensity of his gaze, which now completely dominated the situation.

“You must be exhausted,” he finally said, his voice low and steady, eyes meeting yours again. “Go back to bed, sweetheart. It's going to be a long day tomorrow.”

Unconsciously, you ran your tongue over your lips, and nodded, obediently, almost without thinking. Something in his expression showed he was satisfied with your answer.

“Sleep well, Joel,” you murmured, slowly peeling yourself off the kitchen counter, your steps heavier than usual as you walked away.

When you reached the stairs, you almost swore you heard him sigh, a soft echo echoing in the stillness of the night.

[hmar177]

DALLAS WINSTON ONE SHOT <3

******SMUTTTTTTTYYYYY******

I'm not sure when I stopped loving Jack, but I know it crept out of the subconscious of my mind the second I saw that damn photo. I know I shouldn't feel this way, Jack is perfect. He comes from a good family, he's sweet and charming, he gets along with my friends and brings my mom flowers everytime he comes over. He was everything I could have dreamed for myself. He is who I should want. But that damn picture of Dallas Winston.

I wish he had just stayed on his side like he was supposed to.

My predicament started a few months ago when I was walking home from school. I had to stay late after my final class to run over a few plans with the committee for the dance coming up. It was my first dance that I was fully running myself and I was over the moon about it. I loved planning big events like this. My brain worked meticulously over every detail and it was so satisfying watching it all come together.

After I had finished my meeting with Sally and Davis, I found myself taking my normal walk home. It was a beautiful day out. The sun was just low enough in the sky to cast a gentle, warm glow on my face, the leaves left a quiet hum in my ears, and I found myself inhaling the glorious scent of the freshly landscaped houses as if the scent would live forever in my lungs if I breathed deep enough.

As I rounded the last corner before my street, I heard loud screeching coming from behind me. A car full of what seemed to be 4 or 5 rowdy boys came barreling down the street. Blasting loud rock music and howling like a pack of wolves, the boys came up fast. I stopped in place and watched as they came closer. They slowed up ever so slightly as they passed me, giving me a good chance to glance into the vehicle. I didn't recognize them, but I did recognize the driver. Dallas Winston.

With his sunglasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose and a cigarette hanging lazily out of his mouth, he held my eyes as he cruised by. I can't tell if I imagined it or not, but I thought I caught a hint of a smirk on his face before he punched the accelerator once more and took off before I could even register the entire exchange. It almost felt like I had just hallucinated that whole sequence.

What were a bunch of greasers doing over here on the west side? Not that I ever had anything against them, I just figured they would want to stay clear of a bunch of privileged, snotty folks who are constantly after their demise.

I had never met Dallas before, but I knew bits and pieces about him. Grew up with a rough homelife, dropped out of school, and even wound up in prison for a while. Everyone in this town saw Dallas and all the greasers as less than. I saw them as kids who just had shit luck when it came to the parents department.

I knew some greasers. There were quite a few in my grade, like Sodapop Curtis. He was one of the sweetest kids I ever met. Had a heart of gold, and a boatload of love for some girl Sandy he always seemed to mention. Soda dropped out a few months ago though after his parents both died tragically in a car accident. Another example of kids with shit luck and no ones around this town to sympathize for them.

Later that night, I found myself sitting at my desk trying to work on my short story. I was assigned by my English teacher to write a short story loosely based on a truly exciting and invigorating time in my life that made me feel alive. The only problem was I have never had an experience in my life that could remotely be described as such.

Everyday, I wake up, go to school, go to event committee meetings, or to my internship at the local newspaper, The Tulsa Chronicles. After all that, I either come home and do homework, or just hangout at the drive in with my friends and my boyfriend Jack. Nothing about my routine is special or interesting. It never changes and I don't see it altering anytime soon. In a town with so little to do, it is quite the tall order to ask us to find something interesting to write about.

I want to be a writer some day, so when I can't complete a simple short story for school, it horrifies me that I may be chasing after a hopeless dream. I intern at the Tulsa Chronicles in hope of it being a good addition to my college applications, but for now I am just helping with the printing and shipping of the papers. One of the editors told me if I had a writing piece that I was proud of, I could pass it along to them and they could give it a read and see if there were any opportunities for me to write something for the paper soon. I was hoping this short story could be that piece that I was proud of, but that is looking like a pipe dream now.

After staring at my blank paper for what feels like hours, I decide tonight is not the night that I am going to find any inspiration, so I turn out the lights and climb into bed. Maybe my dreams will inspire me. Maybe I'll dream of those greasers, flying through neighborhoods and screaming, sounding like they are high on the freedom that life has to offer. I want a taste of what they are having.

The next day is the same as all the other ones, not to anyone's surprise. I woke up, went to school, and made my way over to the Tulsa Chronicles. When I walked in, the newsroom was buzzing much more than normal. In a town as boring as Tulsa, there is not a ton of news to report, so when the newsroom was like this, something major must have happened.

“Rose, get to the printer stat. We need to start loading up these boxes now!” my boss Susan yelled from across the room.

“On it!” I let her know.

As I made my way to the printer, pages were flying out faster than I have ever seen before. This must be a big story if they have the printers working this hard.

Page after page, I watched them stack into a nice pile until the cover page finally flew out.

It read, “Delinquent youths turn heroes after daring fire rescue”

Right next to the title, I saw their faces, Ponyboy Curtis, Johnny Caid, and Dallas Winston.

Pony and Johnny's pictures didn't shock me. Cherry Valance told me a few days ago how sweet and kind they had been to her at the drive in and they always seemed like kind approachable kids. But cherry had also mentioned that Pony and Johnny had protected her from, Dallas Winston

Dallas had always seemed so cold and foreboding. Even his smirk from yesterday's drive by left a chill down my spine. It wasnt that I was afraid of him, but Dallas Winston wasn't someone you just assumed you could become fast friends with. You had to earn his loyalty to be seen with him. His picture being tagged alongside this story seemed extremely out of character. Dallas had his family of greasers and he had himself. There wasn't much else he was looking after. Especially not strangers in some random church fire.

I picked up the front page and looked at it very closely. Part of me didn't want to assume like the rest of this town that this was a mistake, but a bigger part of me couldn't help but think this wasn't true. Dallas Winston saving children he didn't know? Dallas didn't walk by a child in the street without trying to terrify them in some way. Something isn't adding up. Were we all utterly wrong about him? I couldn't help but just stare at his picture, trying to see him run into that burning church. Coming out covered in ash, carrying a couple kids in his arms and placing them down gently before rushing back inside to save more. I felt a twinge in my chest. Something I haven't felt before.

“Rose! Quit daydreaming and pack up those papers. The delivery service will be here in 20 to take those boxes out. They better be filled!” Susan yelled.

“Yes of course.” I replied, suddenly taken out of my temporary, and odd trance.

As I loaded each paper into the boxes, my eyes lingered a little too long on Dallas’s face as each paper piled onto the next. After what must have been hundreds of papers, I “accidentally” misplaced one in my bag sitting next to me. I don't know why I took it. I would surely be getting one of these papers delivered to my house within the next day or so, but part of me wanted to just have this for me. I also didn't want to explain to my dad why I needed his morning paper, the one I had helped package and ship out and have had access to for over a day.

After loading the last box and as a sudden calmness came over the newsroom, it was finally time to head home. I grabbed my bag, making sure the paper was tucked in enough so that it wouldn't be seen, said goodnight to the staff, and made my way out.

As I walked out of the building, I looked up to see Jack leaned up against his shiny new sports car that his parents just bought him as a good job for making the basketball team present. It sounds ridiculous and it is ridiculous. When you come from money like Jack's family, there are very few occasions that don't involve an illustrious gift such as the sports car he now leans against.

I say all this with complete understanding that I come from a family very similar to Jacks. I am privileged and I know that, but I don't see that as a reason to act any differently towards others. Why should the number that's on my fathers paychecks determine whether I am a better person than others? It doesn't. But people like Jack feel that it does. But Jack makes me smile, and my mother hasn't shut up about those lilies he brought her this past weekend when he was over for dinner. Who could hate Jack, right?

“Hey there honey. How was the journalism world today?” Jack says with a smile as he opens the passenger side door for me to get in. Jack picks me up whenever he's in the area and he knows I'm here. It's very sweet of him. Another reason to love him, right?

“Busy. There was a big story today so there were a lot more papers to print and ship.” I told him.

“Really! What was the story?” He asked.

I hesitated for a second.

“Oh I don't remember. I didn't really get a chance to read it. Too busy getting them into boxes.” I explained. I don't know why I lied. I think a part of me felt guilty about the things I felt and thought as I looked at Dallas’s picture the past few hours and another part of me wanted to keep Dallas to myself for a bit longer because by morning everyone would be talking about him. More people would be picturing him as this grand hero, and I still wanted to be the only one who saw him that way.

The rest of the ride, we sat in comfortable silence. That was the best way to describe me and Jack's relationship. Comfortable. Our parents set us up freshman year of highschool and we fell into the narrative with ease. He was cute and popular. It made sense why I should want him, so I convinced myself I did. And it worked for a while. A long while now. But as we come towards the midway point of Junior year, I'm not too sure how much longer I can convince myself that Jack is what I want. But what would be my reason for leaving him? He was too nice to my parents? He made one too many jokes that made all my friends laugh? He was too popular? Too athletic? On paper he was perfect. Trying to tell anyone that my time with Jack was coming to an end would make me sound like the biggest fool. So I just stayed. There was no reason to leave, even though I wanted there to be so badly.

We pulled up to the front of my house and he came around and opened my door. I thanked him and looked up to my house. The big, beautiful white home sat on top of the hill at the top of my street with a huge porch that wrapped around the whole house, and perfectly painted blue shutters. It was truly out of a magazine and I was eternally grateful for being able to be raised in a home as beautiful as this one. The dining room light shined bright and I knew my parents were in there waiting for me to arrive so we could have dinner as a family. Jack took my hand and walked me to the door. My mother opened it as we took the final step onto the porch.

“Jack!’ My mother said, “How kind of you to bring Rose home. Won't you come in and join us for dinner.”

A pit immediately formed in my stomach.

“I'd love-” Jack started before I cut him off.

“I'm actually not feeling very well so I think I am just gonna go to bed.” I quickly sputtered out. Facing Jack I said, “Maybe another night.”

I gave him a quick peck on the cheek before rushing up the stairs and straight into my room before anyone else could say anything. That was definitely rude of me, but the thought of having to sit next to Jack for the next hour, knowing I smuggled home a paper with the only intention of staring at the man on the cover made me extremely nauseous. I may not feel for Jack the way I used to, but I wouldn't be disrespectful, and if I was gonna be disrespectful, I wasn't gonna allow him to eat dinner with me and my family as if everything was fine and dandy.

I sat down on my bed and immediately removed the paper from my bag. It wasn't often that I had strange outbursts such as the one I just had downstairs, so I knew my parents would leave me be for a while. I took the paper, and got comfortable. Reading the entire article front and back and learning that what the title states was indeed true, I took the cover and discarded the rest of the pages. Holding Dallas’s picture up, I thought about the words in the article and how they described the man I was looking at. Bold. Courageous. Brave. Not words I would initially think of when I heard the name Dallas Winston.

His face held hard lines in his jaw and forehead. He had strong dark features and striking eyes. He was beautiful in a rugged and tired way. A way that you never see here in the west side neighborhoods. I was mesmerized by his stern stare. I wanted to know everything about him and I wanted to know it now. I wanted to spend a day with him and learn what it took to earn his trust. To earn a glance from those haunting eyes. The way he looked at me as he rode past me in his car yesterday felt like a shot of espresso. It jolted something awake inside of me. I needed another hit. I craved it.

Before I could comprehend what I was doing, my body was up and at my desk. I was opening my drawer and pulling out a pair of scissors. I slowly and carefully cut around his face making sure not to accidentally trim anything important off, because truthfully it was all important. He was important and I needed to know why.

I held the small picture of Dallas Winston between my fingers, holding as close to the edge as possible, with fear I might smudge it, and I grabbed a piece of tape. Walking over to my bed, I taped the picture on my wall right next to where my head lays when I sleep. I could hide it during the day behind my pillows when I made my bed. It was just for me. He was my new interest. He was my excitement that I had been looking for, I just had to find a way to make these little daydreams something real. As I crawled into bed with the image of dark raven eyes flashing through my mind, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, Jack, my parents, and Tulsa all feeling like a distant memory rather than my reality.

It could have been 3 hours or 3 minutes, but before I knew it, I was woken up by the sound of my desk lamp falling to the ground and a soft breeze coming from my window that I was sure was closed when I got into bed. I shot up like an arrow and reached for the lamp on my bedside table, flicking it on as fast as I could. As the light flooded the room, I was immediately met with the eyes I saw as I lulled myself to sleep. I had to be imagining him right? Dallas Winston stood right there in the middle of my bedroom, standing at least 6 foot 2, drowning in his leather jacket, with his signature blue jeans, and a black eye that was shining through even in the dim lighting.

“Dallas?” I began before he ran over to my bed and clasped his hand around my mouth and the other one slid behind my head keeping me quiet and still.

Slowly he shook his head as if to tell me, now is not a time for talking. I assumed he was scared my parents would hear him, which I am now realizing never even crossed my mind. My parents would lose their minds if they strolled into my room right now to find a greaser, Dallas Winston worst of all, standing in my bedroom at, I flashed my eyes to my clock, 2am. But my parents never even entered my head, nothing really entered my head. Not fear, not my parents, not jack. All I could think about was that incredible shot of adrenaline I felt when I saw him, and coming up with a plan to make him stay as long as possible so I didn't have to stop this feeling.

All of a sudden I heard sirens, and red and blue lights flash past the house at a high speed. I looked up at Dallas who was looking out the window to make sure the coast was clear. His hands were still firmly placed around my head. I studied his face while he wasn't paying attention to me, just as I was doing last night. But this was ten times better. The picture didn't do him justice. He was gorgeous. A light sheen of sweat coated his forehead from running I assumed, and his hair drooped gently in front of his eyes, giving him a rugged elvis look. I could stare at him for hours and not get bored for a second.

Once he saw that he was in the clear, he slowly brought his attention back to me. He studied my face for a second, a small shimmer of something in his eyes but I don't know what it was. After a moment he brought his eyes around my room, studying the pictures and posters on my walls that I'm sure I'll be embarrassed about later, to the books on my nightstand, and with another flick of his gaze, he was locked in on something behind me. He stared long and hard and I couldn't think of what it could be. He slowly came inclose, his lips right next to my ear.

“Well I'll be damned. Looks like I have a fan.” He whispered, his warm breath hitting my neck.

My eyes widened, the picture. Dallas WInston was looking at the picture of him I cut out and taped next to my bed.

“Now tell me darling, if I remove my hands, can you stay quiet and not let anyone know I am here? Because I do have a few questions about this I'd like to ask.” He said quietly with a shit eating grin on his face, so good, that it could seduce the Queen of England.

I slowly nod. Why am I not terrified right now? A known felon is standing in my room right now in the middle of the night. He snuck in my window in an attempt to run from the cops. I am harboring a criminal right now as we speak and all I can think about is how I can end things with Jack so that this lasts forever.

“Good Girl.” He says softly, then slowly takes his hands off my mouth, immediately missing the feel of his touch. God I was so fucked.

He pulled over my desk chair and took a seat right in front of me, our knees almost touching. He held the picture between his fingers looking at it, then up to me.

“So tell me, what's a nice girl like you doing hanging up pictures of bad Dallas Winston on her pretty pink bedroom walls?” He asks.

I think I stopped breathing. What was I supposed to say? There was no real explanation for why I hung up the picture other than I was chasing a feeling I couldn't even name. I stared blankly trying to say anything, trying to think of something to say that would make him as interested in me as I was in him.

“Well?” He pushed after I sat there stunned for I don't even know how long.

“Uhh, I, Uh….. I think I want to feel what you feel.” I said. Shit. That didn't even make any sense. He for sure thought I was crazy. He looked at me puzzled.

“Honey, the last thing you want is to feel what I feel.” He gave a small laugh that created small needles in the back of my throat and moved to get up.

“I want to feel alive. I want to be reckless and have fun. You have fun, don't you?” I said quickly, anything coming out of my mouth was just a hidden plea for him to stay.

He stopped in his tracks, and looked back over to me. The moon casting a soft glow on his hard features. The shimmer in his eyes came back for a second. He slowly sat back down.

“Oh, I have fun. But the kind of fun I have would give a soc like you nightmares.” He said with venom on his tongue. I couldn't tell if he was threatening me or daring me to push him more.

“Show me.” I whispered. Dally smirked at me pondering my dare for a split second, before he slid his switchblade knife out of his pocket and softly dragged the blade from my fingertips, up my arm, and across my collar bone. Every hair on my body stood straight up. My breath hitched ever so slightly and he moved the blade to my neck and held it there.

Part of me was truly scared, and another part of me felt that there was something a bit performative too. Dallas Winston wasn't going to hurt me. I knew that for a fact. He leaned in close, taking a strand of my hair in his other hand, and brought his lips to my ear.

“Are you having fun yet?” He said. I couldn't see his face, but I could hear the smirk in his words.

I backed away so I could meet his eyes. A fire raged behind them. I would give anything to look inside his brain, even for just a moment. I smiled at him and I could see the excitement grow. I don't know why, but I liked what was happening. I liked the uncertainty of what he was going to say and do, and I liked that I trusted him for no reason at all.

“I think I like you more than I should.” I say. I don't know why I said that. I wasn't even embarrassed that I did. It was like being close to him unlocked a new version of myself that I didn't know existed. A version of myself that had confidence and a desire to push the limits. I felt alive.

“Do you like me more than your boyfriend?” He grinned.

“Do you want me to?” I challenged. He grinned and his gaze flicked down to my lips for a moment before it returned to my eyes. The knife at my throat is all but forgotten.

“Let's make a deal. If I can kiss better than a soc, you have to go out with me.” He said.

“And if you can't?” I said, barely a whisper.

“Oh honey, there are very few things I can't do.” He said leaning in and attaching his lips to mine. I felt the knife hit the bed next to me as I melted into his kiss and his hands wrapping around my face.

It was soft and slow for all but a moment, before I knew it he was laying me down on the bed and forcing his tongue into my mouth. I guess it wasn't forcing it, more like me waiting for it and craving it.

My hands roamed his body, feeling his toned muscles through his thin black tee shirt. I slid his leather jacket off, as his hands found their way under my shirt. He planted his hand on my stomach and pushed me down to the mattress keeping me in place. A breeze gently floated in from the window, and it made me hyper aware of the slickness that was now coating my thighs.

His mouth moved to my cheek and then to my neck. I clasp one of my hands over my mouth to muffle my moans. He placed his thigh between my legs allowing me to move my hips to get some relief.

God what was I doing? How did it come to me grinding on Dallas Winston in my bed at 2 in the morning. I couldn't bring myself to stop though. It was all too much. Too good.

“How am I doing sweetheart?” He said in my ear before he brought his face back up to look me in the eyes. “I think the tears in your eyes are telling me that I'm gonna see you tomorrow night.”

I moaned into his shoulder, as I felt his hand trail down my abdomen and underneath my waistband. He teased there for a moment, smirking down at me waiting for me to stop him, but there was no way in hell I wanted this to ever end. I gave him a quick nod before he cupped me over my underwear. He quickly covered my mouth with his own as he knew I was about to moan. He chuckled softly into the kiss.

“My God Dallas. Oh my god” I moaned into his mouth.

“I am a God, aren't I?” He growled before sliding his fingers underneath my underwear and inside of me. The pleasure was so overwhelming, that I bit into his shoulder to stop myself from crying out. He groaned from the pain, but I knew he liked it.

As his fingers pumped in and out of me, he slowly started to grind himself into my hip. He was hard. I felt him poking through his tight jeans, begging to be let out.

“Dallas. I want you.” I begged. I need more of him. I need him closer.

He removed his fingers from me, leaving me feeling empty. I looked up at him and he immediately placed his fingers into his mouth, sucking me off of them. I let out a moan. He was trailing kisses down my chest, then my stomach, never taking his eyes off of me.

“I know baby, I know. Not yet though.” He assured me. “I just need a little taste first.”

He grabbed the waistband of my shorts and my underwear and slowly pulled them down, never stopping his trail of kisses that now led down my leg.

“So beautiful.” He whispered to himself as he was now eye level with my core. “Spread your legs for me baby.” I do what I'm told. “That's it. Good Girl. Now lay back and let me worship you.”

Dallas wastes absolutely no time diving right in and taking all of me into his mouth. He licks from top to bottom and back again before taking my clit into his mouth and sucking. “So sweet.” He moans into me.

I have to grab the pillow on my bed and cover my face because the scream I almost let out would have surely woken up the entire neighborhood. Dallas’s name on the tip of my tongue. The name about to escape with every moan that shoots through me, which would not only let the town know I was in the middle of the most erotic moment of my life, but also it was Dallas Winston that was buried between my legs.

I feel one of Dallas’s hands remove from my thigh and I look down to see what he was doing. I look down to see Dallas’s mouth still attached to my clit, but his eyes boring into mine with the most seductive look I have ever seen in my life. Without ever looking away from me, Dallas removes his mouth, now just an inch away from me, and takes a little gold foil packet out of his pocket and takes it straight to his mouth. He rips the foil open with his teeth and slides the condom out.

He stands up. His 6 foot 2, god-like stance, looming over me, made me feel so small and helpless on my bed. God, I wish I could be a fly on the wall right now, wanting to see what I might look like. My shirt pushed up, shorts and underwear thrown about the room somewhere, My hair probably a mess, and tears staining my face as Dallas Winston stands over me, slowly unbuckling his belt.

He smirks down at me and he pulls his pants and boxers down, revealing his erection and my god it was big. I honestly didn't know if it was gonna fit inside of me. Right on cue, as if he could read my mind, Dallas says, “Don't be scared darling, you can handle it.”

He goes to put on the condom, but I sit up quickly, grabbing his hand, stopping him. “Can I do it?” I ask him. He looks down at me with hooded eyes and a smirk that could kill.

“Fuck yeah you can.” he says in a breathy tone as he hands me the condom. I take the condom out of his hand and hesitantly grab his dick. A low grumble comes from his throat as I give it a little pump before rolling on the condom.

The second it's on, he pushes me on my back, and comes down on top of me. He starts to position himself at my entrance and looks me in the eyes. “Baby, as much as I want this to last forever, I'm not gonna last very long.” He leans in kissing me hard and chuckles against my lips and I smile at his words. Yeah, me neither.

I take a deep breath and he thrusts inside of me. I clasp my arms around his neck and hug him as close to me as possible. He is big and it hurts so good. I bite into his shoulder again trying to distract myself from the pain, but also from the fact that my orgasm is seconds away and he just got inside of me.

He whimpers in my ear as I kiss his neck profusely. He finds a steady pace that has me borderline drooling. “God Dallas, don't stop. It feels so good.” I barely get out because I can barely catch my breath. I shoot one of my hands out and feel something sharp hit my finger. I look down to see Dallas’s knife still sitting next to us on the bed. It must have nicked my finger. Before I can register what's happened, Dallas takes my bloodied finger and sucks it into his mouth while holding my gaze. His eyes were hooded, and looking drunk off sex.

“Come for me baby. Come on. I know you're there. Show me how good I make you feel.” He begs me. Between his words, and my finger in his mouth, I'm there in a second. Burying my face into his neck, my orgasm rips through me harder than it ever has before. My nails digging into his bicep and a drip of sweat going down my forehead. Dallas still thrusts into me hard and fast for a moment more before he takes my lips into his and I feel his dick twitch as he spills into the condom.

He lays on top of me, breathing heavily in my ear for what feels like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes. He slowly removed himself from me, then pushed up so he was hovering over me again. He smiled down at me as I grabbed his face with my hands, pulling him down to kiss me. His kiss was so gentle, the word love flew through my head, but it was only a fraction of a thought.

I brushed my finger over his cheek bone, before noticing my finger was still bleeding. I brought it to my face, inspecting the cut. It wasn't deep at all. Just a knick. Dallas took my finger to his lips and planted a soft kiss to the cut. Adab of blood coating his lip, only for a second before he licked it off.

“What time are you free tomorrow?” He asks as he nuzzles his face into my neck, no doubt leaving more hickeys.

“Maybe around 7?” I told him. “I just have to go break up with Jack, and then I'm all yours.” I giggled lightly. He came back up and looked at me with the most serious expression I saw all night.

“All mine.” He smiled.

***hope you enjoyed!!!!!!!!! DALLAS WINSTON I LOVE YOU***

[dwellordream]

Books Recs of 2024

The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett. Mystery/fantasy centered around Din, a young assistant investigator assigned to help an eccentric and infamous detective, Ana Dolabra, solve a series of murders. Din is an engraver, his brain altered so he has a photographic memory. However, no one is quite sure how he got his current position, since he failed every single one of his final exams except the combat portion. Ana is an exceedingly odd woman who refuses to go to any crime scene in person and often performs mad science experiments in her spare time. As Din struggles to keep up with the case, which revolves around a bioweapon being unleashed on a series of the empire's best engineers, he also worries what will happen when Ana finally uncovers his secrets.

Highfire by Eoin Colfer. Urban fantasy (very comedic fantasy) about a dragon called Vern (short for Wyvern), who teams up with a juvenile delinquent named Squib (real name Everett Moreau) to take down a corrupt sheriff who is plaguing the Lousiana bayou. Vern is a very small (seven feet long) dragon who is the last of his kind (as far as he knows). When he is spotted by a local troubled teen, his first instinct is to hunt Squib down and kill him, but he quickly realizes the two of them have a common enemy- the murderous sheriff who is running drugs through their territory.

The Last Tale of the Flower Bride by Roshani Chokshi. Magical realism about a romantic-minded art historian who is swept off his feet by a mysterious and charming heiress. After a whirlwind courtship, the happy couple return to her childhood home; a Gothic manor on a lonely island. The more time our narrator spends around his wife's past, the more questions are raised- increasingly sinister ones about who she is and what exactly she is capable of. Once upon a time, she was best friends with an equally odd and dreamy little girl named Indigo. But no one has seen Indigo for many years now- and the Flower Bride may be behind her disappearance.

Chlorine by Jade Song. Horror/magical realism. Since childhood, Ren's entire identity has been wrapped up in swimming. If she can be strong enough, fast enough, special enough, success is sure to come her way. As the end of high school approaches, Ren's passion for swimming becomes less about her future, and more about past legends of mermaids and sirens dragging sailors into the deep. School, friends, and her parents' expectations all fall away- Ren will make her home in the water, no matter what she has to do.

We Are Not Like Them by Christine Pride & Jo Piazza. Realistic fiction. Jen and Riley have been best friends for as long as they can remember, despite their vastly different childhoods. Riley is from a middle class Black family; Jen was raised by an impoverished white single mother. After twenty years of doing almost everything together, their lives are at a crossroads- Riley is a news anchor about to take Philadelphia by storm, while Jen is expecting her first child with her police officer husband. When Jen's husband is involved in the murder of a Black teenage boy by a fellow officer, Riley finds herself expected to cover the story- and Jen finds herself expected to answer for her husband's actions- and her own beliefs about what racism looks like.

Queenpin by Megan Abbott. Crime thriller/noir. Our nameless heroine lives a mousy existence working as a bookkeeper for a rundown local night club, but her life is turned upside down when the infamous Gloria Denton, a gun moll and smuggler, takes her under her wing. Gloria transforms her young protege from a timid girl to a sophisticated, cunning woman capable of handling gangsters, conmen, thieves, and bookies, but when she falls for the wrong man, her relationship with Gloria is strained, and they must decide just how far they can trust one another.

Everyone Knows Your Mother is a Witch by Rivka Galchen. Historical fiction. Based on the real life trial of Katharina Kepler, mother of the famed Johannes Kepler, Imperial Mathematician to the Holy Roman Empire. Katharina is a busybody, a domineering and devilishly clever woman with a particular talent for healing. She is also a fiercely loyal mother to her adult children, but when an old neighborhood grudge flares into accusations of poison and witchcraft, Katharina is determined not to meekly confess and beg pardon. The more she lashes out at her neighbors and the authorities, the more charges begin to pile up against her- despite her son's desperate attempts to save her from torture and execution.

Bury Me Deep by Megan Abbott. Crime thriller/noir. Based on a real life murder case in 1931 Phoenix Arizona. Naive and sheltered Marion Seeley is deposited in Phoenix by her disgraced doctor husband, who is forced to take a job with a mining company in South America after his medical license is revoked. Marion befriends the vivacious Louise and Ginny, two fellow nurses, who introduce her to the underground party scene in Phoenix. Politicians and businessmen flock to the secret parties held by them, and it's a quick way to make money on the side. Drawn in by the luxury and thrills, Marion falls in love with Joe Lanigan, a powerful local politician, but as their affair intensifies, her friendship with the other women fractures, culminating in a gruesome crime.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Hi there! I'm a huge fan of your work, and I was wondering if you could help flesh out a vilain idea I had? I have a basic setup, but no idea how to make him a rounder character.

The gist of it is a fey king whose queen died, so, driven mad with grief and incredibly deep in denial, he reaches out into the Material Plane and kidnaps women who resemble his queen, forcibly altering their minds and bodies through fell magic to transform them into reincarnations of his queen. He keeps failing as the magic instead transforms them into horribly broken and mutated horrors, driving him to more desperate measures.

Other than that, I have no idea how to develop him further or devise an end to his evil :(( so any tips on villain development would be greatly appreciated :))

Adventure: A Covetous Love

Friend, you don't need to make your villain a rounder character, you just need to refocus your narrative onto the genuinely horrific scenario you've created where a series of women have their identities torn away piece by piece. How does it feel to go through it? What must it be like for their friends and family to watch as the woman they knew is replaced by some cruel parody in line with a stranger’s lusts?  Refocusing the story on the current victim likewise gives the story human stakes, and allows the party a good entrypoint into this ongoing tragedy with the chance of possibly preventing it from repeating. 

Before we get into the story itself, here’s a few more ideas I’m going to suggest: 

Rather than kidnapping outright, the fey lord visits his victims in disguise courting them as if he were a wealthy, charming suitor. He offers jewelry and trinkets and other fine things, all infused with the essence of his beloved, and as each of them is accepted the victim becomes a little bit more and more like his queen. A silver comb that turns her hair into HER hair, a cup of wine that fills her dreams with memories of their pramanades through faerie together, makeup that not only wipes out any flaws but transforms the face into a mask of bloodless porcelain perfection. 

Likewise, the transformation process specifically fails because the fey’s expectations are too much. If he were willing to settle for someone who only reminded him of his bride, or gods help him strike out on some new course, he could theoretically be happy… but because he keeps trying to make his victims MORE he ends up with an idea that collapses in on itself, something too perfect to live or even maintain a coherent form. 

To really drive home the tragedy of the horror, I’m going to suggest that the current victim is a woman trapped in either a political marriage or one that’s long gone cold. The fey will exploit her genuine desire for romance and affection, as well as her longing to escape the cage of her life, making the offer of becoming someone else (even if it means dying in the process) all the more tempting. This makes it so that the hinge point of the adventure isn’t just a “rescue the princess” matter of getting her away from the fey, but confronting her as a person and trying to persuade her that there’s some other path to freedom than letting herself be eaten by some otherworldly waifu. 

This setup also gives the party a great secondary antagonist to clash against: the jealous mortal husband, someone who technically WANTS the same thing as the party and has the resources at his back, but will actively drive the victim into the fey’s arms every time he gets involved. He wants to save the victim, but doesn’t care about her happiness, in fact he may be intent on punishing her for her infidelity. He’s there to show why the victim wants to leave. 

Adventure Hooks: 

The party first encounter Lady Melanie Kerridell while out in the wilderness when a stag she’s hunting blunders into their path/camp, on horseback, weapon in hand and her fine clothes streaked with mud. She’ll berate them if they let the beast escape or steal the kill for themselves, but half way through will stagger and lose track of where she is. Just about then a group of her friends and servants will crash through the foliage in a desperate state, as Melanie was out with them having a country luncheon when she spotted the stag, grabbed a weapon from the guards, and took off after it.  This is not the first time this has happened, Lady Kerridell is about half way transformed into the Green-Eyed-Queen and she’s letting herself slip more and more. A concerned friend will invite the party back with them to the estate, and then politely broach the topic about how they might “look in” on Melanie and what might be causing her to act this way. 

The party receive a letter from Lady Kerridell, begging for their help ridding her manor of a haunting, of a monster that has been wandering her home at night wearing her face. When they seek her out however they find her beautiful and cruel and with no idea whatsoever who sent them the letter, despite it bearing her seal.

Lord Edrick Kerridell catches the party snooping around and offers to pay them if they can track down the young dandy he’s seen his wife sneaking off into the gardens to neck with. He wants to know just who the man is before he decides what to do with him, just incase these pricy gifts are from the vault of some other great family. When the party do find the dandy,  he’ll lead them on a merry chase through the town, dragging them all into the feywild if they manage to corner him. 

The local jeweler needs some help investigating a robbery, a few pieces were stolen, but the prize of the take was a staggeringly beautiful necklace of gold and jade, which he was in the middle of repairing. Strangeness surrounds the case: the dandy who delivered the necklace made no secret that it was for a married woman and as the jeweler worked on it he couldn’t shake the feeling of some kind of presence skirting around the edge of his workshop.  When the party find the thief they’ll find her in a bit of a state, having put on the necklace and been influenced by the fey-bride’s mind, she now finds herself driven to heist the home of Lady Berridale. Ostensibly this is for more riches, but the shard of the green eyed queen seeks to complete herself, which will likely result in one of the two womens’ deaths. 

Art

[straxxberrypunki]

Hii so I have a request would it be possible to write Headcanons about Valeria Garza who is an evil queen etc but that her fiancée is the sweetest woman she has ever met? I hope it won't bother you too much, kisses kisses 💋💃

YESS ofc!! My very first ask/request 😼

( The Queen’s Obsession: Loving Valeria Garza )

Ruthless evil queen Valeria Garza w/ a sweet hearted fiancée reader. ~

- Valeria’s affection is not soft or gentle. She shows her love in grand, sometimes overwhelming gestures. Expensive gifts, luxurious trips, and extravagant dinners are all part of how she expresses her feelings. But don’t mistake her generosity for submission. Valeria is always in control, and she makes it clear that in her world, she’s the one who calls the shots.

- As much as you try to bring out the softer side of Valeria, don’t expect her to change her ways. She is unapologetically ruthless, and no amount of kindness from you will alter her cold, calculated nature. She might adore your compassion, but Valeria is firm: she is who she is, and she won’t bend—not even for you.

- Valeria’s love is protective, sometimes to a suffocating degree. She won’t tolerate anyone being a threat to you, and if someone crosses the line, she’ll handle it swiftly and without hesitation. Her protectiveness comes from a deep place of devotion, but it often leaves you feeling like you’re under her watchful eye 24/7.

- Valeria thrives on control, both in her cartel empire and in your relationship. She often decides things for you—what’s best for your safety, what’s best for your future. While it can feel overbearing, it stems from her genuine care. In her own way, she believes she’s protecting you from the dangers of her world.

- To the world, Valeria is a cold, ruthless queen, but with you, she’s different. When it’s just the two of you, she shows rare moments of tenderness. She craves the softness you bring to her life, allowing herself to be vulnerable in your presence, though these moments are fleeting. You are her escape from the brutality of her everyday life.

- Valeria’s devotion to you is absolute, but it’s also dangerous. She’ll go to extreme lengths to protect you, sometimes crossing lines that make you uncomfortable. You are her treasure, her soft spot, and she would do anything—even commit acts you’d rather not know about—to keep you safe. It’s both a comforting and terrifying reality.

- Valeria knows how to manipulate, and that doesn’t stop with you. While she loves you deeply, she’s used to getting her way and will often use her charm to sway you into agreeing with her. Whether it’s steering you away from her darker dealings or convincing you not to question her violent lifestyle, Valeria knows how to keep you in line.

- Despite her hardened exterior, Valeria truly loves you. You’re the kindness and sweetness she rarely sees in her world, and that’s why she’s so drawn to you. To her, you’re a breath of fresh air—a glimpse of the good she doesn’t often encounter. It’s your gentle heart that makes her feel alive in ways she hadn’t felt in years, even if she can’t fully embrace your softness herself.

- Valeria is intensely possessive of you. She doesn’t like to share your attention and has no problem cutting people out of your life if she feels they don’t have your best interest at heart. But this possessiveness comes with fiery passion. When things are good, they’re intoxicating, and Valeria makes sure you feel adored and desired.

- The moment Valeria proposed, she promised you the most perfect wedding, and you know she means it. She’s already planning every detail, from the venue to the security. She’ll make sure your big day is flawless, not just because it’s what you deserve, but because she wants the world to see that even in her dark, dangerous life, she’s capable of creating something beautiful with you.

- Being Valeria’s fiancée means living in the shadow of her empire. While she protects and loves you fiercely, her world of violence and crime will always be a part of your life. There’s no escaping the darkness she’s built, and while she’ll shield you from its worst aspects, you’ll always feel the weight of it hanging over your relationship.

[dinarosie]

For the Severus Snape Among Us:

I read this heartbreaking news a few month ago, and it deeply saddened me. It reminded me of Snape and the suffering he endured as a child at Hogwarts, making me realize that it’s precisely such tragic events that drive me to defend Severus Snape.

I want people to know him and others like him—to know his childhood, his bullies, his loneliness, and his poverty. I want them to understand his pain, hear the mockery and humiliation he endured, analyze his mistakes, feel sorrow for him, and empathize with him. I defend Severus Snape and write for him because I think he and children like him deserve to be understood.

I want people to understand that:

The capacity for psychological resilience varies from person to person. Not everyone has the strength to withstand life’s hardships and make the best choices.

Individuals respond differently to trauma, humiliation, and injury.

The wounds a child receives from their environment can alter their destiny forever.

Wounds that seem small to others can be so deep that they make a child prefer death to life.

No child deserves to be bullied, harmed, or die because of their flaws and differences.

The bullies of this child may change, grow up, fall in love, and get married, but what difference does it make to that child? He has long since ceased to live.

I truly hope that one day people will realize that Severus Snapes don’t just exist in stories; they are among us, suffering in silence.

I hope that one day people will respect the stories of Severus Snapes and their pain and not dismiss them in favor of more charming and wealthy bullies.

I hope that one day, children like Severus, despite their flaws and differences, can still experience a childhood filled with love, joy, and as adults, they will be free to live, grow, and experience life without being held back by their past.

I hope that one day, people will see Severus Snapes beyond their flaws and mistakes, and realize that even in adulthood, they remain hidden behind their wounds and scars, but deep down, they are still undeveloped and immature children who need kindness, love, and healing.

Finally, I hope people remember that a small act of empathy, a bit of attention, or a sincere kindness from us can sometimes pull a Severus Snape out of the darkest paths and help bring them back to life.

[kaimeioneclipse]

A Dark Wedding of Misery

Pairing: Wednesday x Male Reader

Summary: They said you two would never make it this far but you did. Y/N and Wednesday Addams are getting married. From Nevermore Academy to the Alter

WordCount: 1.3k words

WARNINGS: Kissing

The moon hung low in the midnight sky, casting an ethereal glow over the sprawling grounds of the Addams mansion. It was a night of foreboding, yet one tinged with an unusual excitement. Wednesday Addams, the somber and enigmatic daughter of the Addams family, was on the precipice of a life-altering event—an unholy matrimony that would defy the boundaries of the living and the dead.

The mansion, with its ivy-clad walls and twisted spires, exuded an otherworldly charm as Morticia, the epitome of Gothic elegance, supervised the final touches of her daughter's wedding gown. The dress, a masterpiece of darkness and grace, clung to Wednesday like a second skin, its midnight-black fabric cascading around her like a shroud.

"I will need some more black ash for the rest of your dress, Possibly your grandmothers would suffice. I shall return" Morticia says as he scurries out the room.

Wednesday scoots herself over to the dusty mirror in the Library that the family turned into a fitting room for the occasion. She looked at the black dress and felt it unsettling that her time was coming.

Wednesday looked at THING who was working on some dead flower arrangements and for the bridesmaids to hand out to them later.

"Thing" she called to him

Thing stopped his task and moved his hand body in her direction

"Find Enid, I wish to speak to her" Wednesday requested

Thing saluted and scurried off.

Wednesday waited for a few moments and then went towards the door and checked if the coast was clear. She picked up her black dress and began to run down the eerie hallways of the Addams Mansion towards the other wing.

_____________________________________

In a distant wing of the Addams mansion, where shadows played upon the walls like phantoms in the night, Y/N prepared for the unholy union. The air hung heavy with a sense of anticipation, and the dimly lit room seemed to echo with the echoes of centuries past.

Y/N, adorned in a suit as black as the void itself, stood before the ornate mirror. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he adjusted his tie, and his eyes, a mix of excitement and nervousness, reflected in the polished glass.

Ajax Petropolus, a towering figure with a beanie on his head stood behind Y/N checking themselves to make sure they looked good. He observed Y/N with a subtle nod, understanding the gravity of the moment. Eugene Ottinger, with his mop of unruly hair and penchant for the bizarre, fidgeted with the boutonnière, offering a lopsided grin. Beside them, Xavier Thorpe, with his piercing gaze and enigmatic aura, stood as the voice of reason.

Ajax: (In his deep, resonant voice) You'll do just fine, Y/N. It's not every day you get to marry into the Addams clan.

Eugene: (With a mischievous smirk) Remember, weddings are just like funerals, only with better food!

Xavier: (In his calm, soothing tone) Relax, Y/N. Tonight is a celebration of the unusual, and you, my friend, are stepping into a realm where the extraordinary is the norm.

As the trio provided reassurance and prepared Y/N for his impending union with Wednesday, the mansion's eerie silence served as a stark contrast to the bustling emotions within.

Once the boys left, Y/N stood alone in the room, the weight of the moment settling upon him like a heavy shroud. He looked at his reflection, contemplating the path that had led him to this peculiar crossroads.

As he ran his fingers through his hair, a knock echoed through the room. Y/N turned, expecting one of the boys to return with some last-minute advice. However, when he opened the door, there stood Wednesday—a vision of darkness and mystery and soon Y/N Wife.

Wednesday: (Expressionless) Y/N, the time is nigh.

Y/N: (Nervously) Yea it is, Wednesday. The boys were just helping me gather my composure.

Wednesday: (Observing him) Composure is overrated.

Without another word, Wednesday took Y/N's hand, leading him through the labyrinthine corridors of the mansion. The moonlit hallway cast an eerie glow as they approached the entrance to the backyard—a gateway to the dark forest that concealed secrets untold.

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

The forest, with its twisted branches and shadowy depths, beckoned them into its enigmatic embrace. The rustling leaves and the distant hooting of an owl added to the mystical ambiance as Wednesday and Y/N ventured into the heart of the darkness.

Wednesday: (Stopping at the forest's edge) We stand on the precipice of eternity, Y/N. Tonight, we embark on a journey that transcends the mortal coil.

Y/N: (Nervously) Yes, Wednesday. I…

Wednesday: (Interrupting) Nervousness becomes you, Y/N. It is an emotion as genuine as the shadows that cloak our existence.

Y/N's gaze met Wednesday's, and in that moment, the moonlight revealed a vulnerability beneath her stoic exterior—a vulnerability mirrored in Y/N's own eyes.

Y/N: (Softly) I never thought I'd find someone as extraordinary as you.

Wednesday: (Expressionless) Extraordinary is subjective. Tonight, we become a tapestry of darkness and peculiarity, woven together in the moonlit dance of fate.....But I'm content that I've met you

Y/N, captivated by the haunting beauty of the dress, stood in awe of the enigmatic figure before him. The moonlight played upon the black fabric, casting an ethereal glow that accentuated the mysterious allure of Wednesday's presence.

Y/N: (Breathless) Wednesday, you're… breathtaking.

Wednesday: (Expressionless) Brevity suits the moment.

As those words hung in the air, Wednesday reached for Y/N's face with a gentle grace that belied her typically stoic demeanor. Her cool fingers traced a delicate path along his jawline, an intimate touch that transcended the shadows around them. In the dim moonlight, her left hand emerged, adorned with a striking black obsidian ring—a gem as dark as the night sky.

The ring, an exquisite piece of craftsmanship, held an otherworldly allure. A seamless integration of black obsidian and silver, it seemed to absorb the moonlight, casting a subtle, mesmerizing glow. Etched into the obsidian was an intricate pattern reminiscent of ancient symbols—a visual ode to the peculiar legacy they were about to deepen.

As Wednesday caressed Y/N's face, their eyes locked, and in that shared gaze, they found solace and understanding. Their intertwined fingers, now adorned with the weight of the black obsidian ring, rose together, and they turned their attention to the moon, hanging high in the velvet expanse of the night sky.

The moon, a silent witness to their journey, bathed them in its silvery glow. In that moment of quiet reflection, they let their minds drift back to their time at Nevermore Academy—the place where their paths first crossed.

Y/N: (Softly) Remember the nights we spent beneath the moon at Nevermore? The laughter, the secrets shared?

Wednesday: (Nodding) Nevermore was a chapter, and tonight, under the same moon, we begin a new one.

Y/N: (Smiling) I never thought this would be my ending.

Wednesday: (With a hint of mystery) Endings are illusions, Y/N. This is but the beginning.

Their hands tightened in a silent agreement, and in the tranquil moonlit glade, they kissed—a union of darkness and passion that spoke of a love destined to defy the ordinary. As they embraced, the moon bore witness to the promise of their unholy matrimony.

With the moon as their guide, they turned away from the clearing, fingers still entwined, and made their way back to the Addams family mansion. The shadows welcomed them like old friends, and as they crossed the threshold, the doors creaked shut behind them, sealing the pact of an eternal love that echoed through the haunted halls of the Addams legacy.

And so, beneath the watchful gaze of the moon and within the enigmatic embrace of the Addams mansion, Wednesday and Y/N embarked on a journey that defied the boundaries of time and tradition—an odyssey into the unknown, where each step marked a new beginning in the tapestry of their peculiar love. They walked hand in hand, ready to be officially married and embrace the darkness that awaited them—a love story destined to be inscribed in the annals of the Addams family's peculiar history.

(Author Notes)

Hey Everyone it's been a while. I know I've been away and I haven't finished ALOT of stories. I kinda fell off with writing, especially with content creation and work. Life be LIFEING! But we are back and I got inspired to write again due to the picture above. It was nice to write more Wednesday fanfics hopefully the fandom isn't dead but if you enjoyed it let me know and we can work on more stories.

Check out my MASTER LIST!