#or it is in a series or from an author I really like

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Dreams of Love - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: Made it a Hughie and Annie baby. Named it Joel because I’m hilarious and Annie would sooner eat glass than name her son Billy.

Chapter Title from She’s Got A Way by Billy Joel

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary/Warnings: Request from my love @deansbbyx ! You and Ben have to babysit. Takes place ten months post-series.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, Ben being old, Dad Ben, pre-established relationship, so much horniness (would we expect anything less?)

“Where the hell did Annie get a baby from.”

You sigh, giving Ben a flat look. “Her vagina, Benjamin. That’s where most of them pop out, you know.” 

Ben scowls, shooting you a glare that really only makes your whole body warm and soft. “Shut the fuck up, brat, you know what I meant-“

“I don’t think I did, Pretty Boy. I think you need to start explaining where you think babies come from-“

You’re cut off as Ben pulls you right to his chest, dropping his brow to yours with a smirk.

“You know damn well that I know where babies come from, Sunshine.” He drawls, and he’s really warm, and he smells so good, and his muscles are flexing around you, and his keeping his mouth just far enough away that you can’t kiss him but God you want to-

Ben-

You need something, darling? Need me to fuck you dumb right here, fill you up with my cock and remind you how fucking good we are at baby making? 

You swallow, unable to tear your gaze away from his darkened, lust-blown eyes. He’s starving for you, and you can feel it everywhere—you can’t even tell where your own thirst for him begins and his hunger for you ends—but you cannot have sex right now. There just isn’t the time, and it’s not like Ben’s going anywhere, but fuck, he’s so handsome and he’ll taste like strawberries and maple syrup from breakfast, and you can feel how hard he is, pressing against your thigh-

“MM’s going to be here soon,” you whisper, fidgeting with the collar of Ben’s shirt to give your fingers something to do that isn’t wrapping around Ben’s dick. “And Ryan needs to go to school. I can drive him if you-“

Ben rolls his eyes, pressing a quick kiss to your brow before rising back up to his full height. “You’re not fucking driving. I’ll take Ryan, you get the Campbell baby.”

“But-“

He drawls your name, raising his brows. “You really fucking think MM is going to leave a fucking baby with me.”

“Yeah, I do.” You raise your chin slightly, holding Ben’s vaguely amused gaze. “He doesn’t hate you anymore-“

“Doesn’t matter if he still wanted to cut my fucking dick off or not, you’re the only one he’s leaving it with.”

 “It had a name, Ben.” You say, wrapping your arms around his torso and leaning your chin on his chest. “And I’m sure MM would leave Joel with you if I ask him to.”

“But you’re not going to ask,” Ben says your name with a shrug, half picking you off the floor and cradling your head with one hand. “I’m bringing Ryan to school, you’re taking the baby. That’s it.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “What if I promise you a blowjob to trade?”

He snorts, the radiance in his body bursting along your ribs. I’d get that blowjob anyway. 

What if I promise breeding kink sex?

His eyes narrow. You think you’re real fucking smart.

I do. You smile at him, playing with the hair on his beard as you sway slightly in his arms. You say I am all the time. You call me clever, and beautiful, and perfect. And if you like me now, imagine how amazing I’d be when you fucked me good enough for to put a baby-

You win. Ben’s hand tightens on your waist, his eyes flash, his hunger almost explodes through his body, and it’s all the warning you get before his mouth is crashing down to yours. Your silent words are cut off with a deep growl from Ben’s chest as he walks you backwards to the kitchen counter, his hand tugging at your hair to deepen the kiss. Your lips part with a moan that Ben swallows, and you’re scratching at his back as he shoves a knee between your legs, and fuck, he’s so good-

Such a needy fucking brat. He mutters in your head, and you can only grind against him. You are fucking perfect, you’re a goddamn miracle, but that smart fucking mouth, Ben hums against your lips, starting to kiss a wet, sloppy line down your neck. It’s a fucking marvel, Sunshine. Going to fucking kill me, how goddamn beautiful you are, all fucking dumb and pretty when I touch you-

Fuck- You whine when he starts to suck on that one spot near your throat, and he chuckles against your skin. God, Ben-

Words, darling, use that smart mouth to beg-

Please, Benjamin, you ass-

You squeak as his hand pins you against his knee, and he draws back, scanning over your open, desperate expression with a wide smirk. 

“Hi, Sunshine.” He drawls, tipping your chin back with a careful hand, and you might be drooling. 

He’s so fucking handsome. It’s really not fair. This life looks painfully good on him, where all his love is still hot and bloody and focused in your body, but the resolve to hold you is just to hold you. There are no threats that you’d need protection from, but Ben’s still shielding you just a little all the time because that’s what he does. He loves and cares about you so violently you’d be worried he offers you too much, but all he’s ever asked for in return is this. Is you, already a little dazed from his hand dragging circles on the skin of your hips, your mouth hanging open as you take in his messy hair and relaxed expression. Everything in him glows when he presses his thumb on your lower lip and you moan, and when he leaves a small, almost chaste kiss on the space between your eyes the fire under your skin starts to push up, and you’re smoking, and he’s just grinning at you like a dick-

“You’re so fucking perfect, beautiful.” He mutters, and you don’t know why he’s not just fucking you. “When I get you alone again, you’re going to cum on my hands, then my face, then my cock when I fill you up. You’re going to feel me for fucking days, darling, and everyone will know that I always fuck you properly when you sit down at a meeting and fucking whine like a goddamn brat.”

You have a small, breathless speech in your head that’s mostly a plea of you are alone, right now, and it’s not possible for Ben to make you feel it for days, but God, you’d like to see him try, but you don’t get the chance to say it. You stare at Ben’s smug grin for a long second, taking steady breaths to try and regain just a little bit of control over your brain—which right now seems to only remember how to say Benjamin, please—and Ryan walks into the kitchen with his backpack and nervous, quick words.

“Ben, I lost my notebook-“ Ryan’s eyes widen at the scene before him—Ben still holding you on his knee, your whole body slack under his touch and very obvious, slightly glowing smoke rising from your skin—and he freezes in the doorway. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to- I’ll just go wait in the car-“

“Stay here, kid.” Ben helps you down, pressing one last, gentle kiss to your brow before turning his attention to Ryan. “Car’s not started yet, and your notebook’s under the couch.”

Ryan frowns. “How did it-“

“Shoved it there last night.” Ben grunts. His voice is really deep. His arm is still around you. He smells like pine and coffee and that earthy, salty thing that’s just Ben-

“Oh.” Ryan nods slowly. “Was it- I’m-“

“Don’t fucking apologize. It wasn’t in the way, I just had to do all the damn baby proofing-“

That snaps you out of it.

“You were baby proofing?”

Ben frowns down at you, something slightly sore wrapping over his skin. “Of course I was fucking baby proofing, I’m not going to let the damn thing just fuck around the house and die-“

You let just a little bit of your own, raw and infinite love leak into Ben’s body, rising up to press a kiss right over his beard and humming against his skin. Thank you, Benjamin. That was sweet.

I am not fucking sweet-

Of course not, Pretty Boy. What was I thinking. Your smile is wide and unrestrained as you lean back, holding Ben’s face between your hands. I love you.

I love you too, Sunshine. He rolls his eyes, dragging one of your hands to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. “I’ll get your notebook, Ryan. Go put on your shoes.”

“Okay.” Ryan bounces on his feet, looking between you and Ben with an open, anxious expression. “Is- Are Hughie and Annie bringing Joey here?”

“They’re on their honeymoon,” you explain, Ben scowls, and you shoot him a flat look. “Which someone is being a grumpy asshole about.”

“It’s fucking bullshit.” Ben grumbles, guiding you out of the kitchen. “We’ve been married for ten goddamn month and haven’t gone on our honeymoon. Why the hell do those pussies get to go first.”

“They’re not going first, Ben, they just actually planned their wedding instead of doing it spontaneously in a field-“

Ben rolls his eyes. “If we do that proper wedding shit, will you finally take some time off so I can fuck you on a beach?”

You flush, whacking Ben’s chest as Ryan looks around absent-mindedly, pretending not to hear. Benjamin-

The kid is used to it, Sunshine-

He shouldn’t be- 

He’s fine. I think he’s got bigger fucking problems than me loving you like you deserve-

But-

“Ryan.” Ben grunts, tucking you a little further into his side and ignoring your death glare. He’s lucky you can’t burn his face off anymore. “You got an issue with me telling her I’m going to fuck her?”

“I, um- no?” Ryan shrugs, frowning at the air. “I guess I tune it out now, just because you do it kind of a lot and I- I dunno, I just expect it. Sorry-“

“Don’t say sorry, kid. You did good.” Ben shoots you a smug look, bright, hot pride inflating in his chest. You’re going to strangle him, then make out with his stupid, handsome, cocky face. “Shoes.”

Ryan nods and wanders to the door, and Ben looks so fucking proud of himself.

Benjamin William- 

You barely get out your shared last name before Ben’s squeezing your hips, pulling you up into a long, open-mouth kiss that makes you moan loud and soft, your body molding right into his. Never should’ve told you my middle name, brat. 

Could be worse. You mumble, smiling against his lips. I could tell Butcher. 

He pulls back with narrowed eyes. You won’t.

Test me, Benjamin-

You tell Butcher, I’ll… Ben trails off between your heads, and you can feel a wired spike in his heart when he realizes he doesn’t have any believable threats anymore. 

You’ll what? You raise your brows, giving him an overly sweet pout. Fuck me dumb? Make me beg? Throw me around until I’m a whiny, horny mess for your cock-

He slams back into you, hauling your body into his arms without even a stuttered breath and carrying you to the couch. 

Christ on a fucking cross, Ben mutters your name between your heads, lowering himself to his knees before you as he kisses you back into the cushions. You’re so fucking perfect.

His tone is entirely reverent, so sincere it might kill you, and the pure devotion and fervor of his love in your body is enough to drive you mad.

Ben- His hand trails up your thigh, and you’d be embarrassed by your loud moan if it didn’t make Ben groan into your mouth, everything in him sparking and flaring. Fuck-

Later, Sunshine. He tips your chin back slightly, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth right before he pulls away. “Stay here until I get home.”

You hum, taking his hand from your cheek and twisting his wedding ring around his finger with a small smile. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

He chuckles, leaning into one last, soft kiss before rising to his feet. “Wouldn’t fucking dream of it, darling. Tell me when MM drops off the kid.”

Tell you on the what, Benjamin?

I’m not fucking saying it.

Please?

You give him your sweetest smile, squeezing your hand on his knee and leaning into his touch, and he groans.

Smart fucking brat. He mutters, moving his hand back to tangle in your hair and tugging slightly, just enough to make your head tip back. Tell me on the Ben’o’phone, and I’ll fuck your mouth and cunt real good when I get home.

Deal. Thank you.

Don’t. He grumbles between your heads, but even as his hand leaves yours you can feel the power of his love, the rough affection that’s settled deeply and comfortably into his chest. “You think we’ve got all the shit-“

“MM’s going to bring most of it. And,” you nod to the floor, and Ben turns with a frown. “I bought a play pen. We can keep it after. For later. When I get that promised fucking.”

You see Ben’s hands curl into fists, he stands a little taller, and fuck, you’re right at eye level with his bulge but Ryan really does need to go to school-

“I can’t believe Annie and Hughie got a fucking baby before we did.” He mutters, glaring at the play pen. “It’s a goddamn travesty-“

“Travesty.” You hum, looking up at him with a wide, teasing smile. “Big word, Pretty Boy-“

“Shut up.” 

Ben turns back to you, taking your face between big, warm hands and scanning over your features with a narrowed gaze. You can feel something wound tightly in his chest—slightly molding and almost painful—so you grab his wrists to keep him against you, and give him your widest, realest smile. The smile that’s for Ben, and Ben only.

It’s always really just Ben.

You know I fucking adore you. He says between your heads, his voice low and rough. Love you more than the goddamn universe, Sunshine, you’re my whole goddamn life. You know that.

I think you’ve mentioned it. You hum, leaning into his touch. And I love you too, you massive cunt, so say what the fuck you mean.

Ben lets out a dry snort as you drop your voice into a mocking impression of him on those last words, shaking his head slightly. Christ, darling. You’re fucking-

Perfect, I’m aware. Please, Ben-

You don’t need to ever do anything you fucking hate with me. He grunts, his body suddenly made only of fervorish, protective stone. I got you and Ryan, and that can be my world for the rest of my goddamn life, and I’d be good. If that caped fucking pussy knocked the idea of a baby out of your head forever, I’m not going to-

Ben. You cut him off with soft but firm words, holding his gaze. We don’t lie to each other.

Of course we fucking don’t-

So when I say that one day soon, I want to do this, you nod to the play pen. With you, believe me. Please.

His jaw twitches, and the wrathful care in his body doesn’t vanish, but it never does. It only moves back peacefully into your bones as Ben slowly nods. You’re sure.

Positive. Go bring Ryan to school before I do.

Ben rolls his eyes, leans down to kiss the top of your head, and half-stomps out the door.

He’ll be back soon. And—though he’ll never get you to say it aloud—you’ll wait right here until he does. Where everything still smells like pine, and you’re molded into the couch right where Ben put you, and you can smile at the play pen like a dumbass until the doorbell rings. 

You know it MM before you open it, because Ben just walks in wherever he wants—including into offices he definitely should not be walking into and meetings you’re supposed to be focusing on—and everyone in the neighborhood seems to know that’s Soldier Boy and the Anomaly’s house, so after the Homeowners Association incident, nobody really bothers you that much. 

It would be lonely if you didn’t already have a Ben, a Ryan, a Butcher—friend was too generous for the asshole, but he was unfortunately an indisputable part of your life—and friends.

Because when you open the door, it is MM on the other side, and he looks tire and pissed but still happy to see you. You can feel it—during your brief, tight hug—that there’s a heavy exhaustion under his skin and over his muscles, but there’s nothing but relieved affection for you to be here. 

“This kid,” MM mutters as you pull apart. “Has fucking lungs.”

You smile, following him out to the still-running car. “I know, I’ve heard them. Annie told me to buy Ryan earplugs.”

“Smart.” MM leans into the car door, pulling out the car seat and probably saying more things, but you don’t really hear them because that’s a baby. A baby baby. A barely popped, wispy haired baby that looks so much like a shrunken down version of Hughie it’s a little disturbing.

And you’ve met him before. You were there when Annie had her pre-mature birth, doing what Ben had called more work than the damn nurses and stopping Annie’s bleeding with a press of your hand to her legs a brief rush of pain between your thighs. 

MM had told you Ben had doubled over with a roar in the lobby, and you’d seen the evidence of it when you’d rejoined him and there was a large hole in the wall. But Annie had been okay, Hughie had given you a tight hug that could’ve left a bruise if that was something your body could do, and the baby had been healthy. 

You hadn’t wanted to hold him, nerves building in your throat about what feeling the emotions of a baby could even do. Annie had told you that it would be fine, and half-shoved Joey into your arms.

And now—just like then—you can feel nothing but soft, humming peace from tiny Joel Campbell in your arms. There’s no bloodied pain or freezing fear, nothing rotten in his chest or throat or head. He’s just a little fuzzy because you’re not Annie, but it’s a brief distress that fades when you start to hum and the whole world grows perfectly warm.

They’re here. Your words are soft down your connection to Ben, and he flares slightly in your chest.

Good. Ryan’s off, I’ll be back soon. Don’t fucking move.

You smile to yourself, and MM must realize that you’ve moved yourself into a trance, because he doesn’t try to talk to you until you’re settled back inside with Joey carefully in your arms, and all of Annie’s baby supplies are piled near the door.

“You think your old motherfucker is ready for this?”

You snort. Ben’s so ready you’re probably going to spend the next month after this trying to pry him off of you. “He is. He baby-proofed the house.”

MM grunts, scanning around the living room. “I’m guessing the asshole wants one?”

You might be smiling like an idiot. “You have no idea.”

“I think I can live with that.” MM mutters, giving you an odd look. “And- If I’m out of line tell me to shut it and I will, but can you even do that?”

You sigh, trailing one finger softly over Joey’s cheek. There’s something in that silent, happy hum you feel from him that really seems like Annie.

You wonder if your baby would look like Ben and feel like you, or look like you and feel like Ben. 

“I can if I want.” You say, shaking your head at MM’s look of confusion. “Don’t ask.”

He raises his hands in agreement, nodding to Joey in your arms. “Do you? Want one?”

“I do.” You whisper. “I always did, before, and then Home-“ You swallow. You still don’t like saying his name. He doesn’t deserve for his name to be said, not where Joey can hear it. “Then he, he did everything, and it didn’t seem like a thing I could ever do. But now...”

You trail off, and MM nods.

“What changed?”

You look up with a soft smile. “Do you really want me to say it?”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. “That old asshole must have a fucking genie who owes him one or something.”

You only hum, because it’s not really useful to explain that Ben doesn’t need a genie. He’s just Ben, and he’s everything, and you love him. “Maybe. I think he’s going to be amazing at this.”

“Of course you do.” MM mutters. “Where the hell is he?”

“Dropping Ryan at school.” You say, lowering your voice to whisper to Joey. “He’s bringing us back chocolate.”

“How the hell do you know-“

“He always brings me back something. And he’s that way,” you wave a vague hand over your shoulder, where you can sense Ben moving around miles away. “So he’s getting chocolate.”

When you look up, MM’s gaping slightly. “He always brings you something?”

“Of course he does. He thinks it’s an apology for leaving me.”

“Leaving- Motherfucker.” MM sighs, shaking his head. “It’s a good thing you two idiots can’t die without each other. You’re already so goddamn annoying.”

You can’t disagree with that. Not when—a few hours after MM leaves—Ben pushes through the door with a box of those fancy fucking chocolates you love, Sunshine, and lowers to his knees before you, staring at Joey in your arms.

“Hughie makes a tiny fucking baby.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Don’t bully the infant, Ben-“

“I’m not bullying him, I’m bullying his father. Hughie’s a fucking adult, he’ll live.” Ben rises up to kiss your brow. “You look real damn good with a baby in your arms, darling.”

You smile at him, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. Keep it in your pants, old man.

For the damn baby I will, but I promised you a proper fucking, Ben drawls your name between your heads, shooting you a wink. Going to have you begging for my cum in your mouth, on your tits, in that pretty fucking pussy-

Benjamin. You give him a stern look, even as the deep sound of his voice in your mind, the sight of him grinning at you, and the hunger in his body settle deep in your stomach. Not when I’m actively holding the child.

He rolls his eyes, but drops at your side on the couch and kisses your temple. Fine.

Thank you. You lean your head on Ben’s shoulder, letting him tuck you against his side, his hand tracing slow patterns on your arm as you start to hum, soothing Joey fully to sleep.

And you could’ve stayed like this for a lifetime. Ben’s content—you can feel it, feel how deeply and easily settled he is at your side—this is so simply peaceful, and you have no desire to disturb the static, colorful feeling you get from Joey, so you could’ve died here.

But Joey shits his pants, because that’s what babies do.

And You really don’t want to move. 

MM left some things by the door, can you please-

You don’t need to finish the sentence before Ben’s moving, marching to the hall to grab the diapers and pushing the coffee table to your knees when he returns. You change Joey there—it’s a flat surface, you cleaned it that morning, and Ben had laid out a towel—before settling back onto the couch, and that’s most of the day. Joey’s hungry, Ben grabs the bottle and you feed him. Joey’s never cold—you and Ben are walking furnaces—but he seems a little uncomfortable, so Ben grabs a blanket Annie left and you swaddle. Joey shits himself again, and Ben marches upstairs to run a sink bath.

He hangs over your shoulder every second. And there are no grumbled suggestions or thoughts about Joey, only normal conversations about work and TV and Ryan and dinner. Nothing feels different, and the solid, pious care and love you feel from Ben is no stronger than normal. It’s aimed right at your heart and golden and warm in your body, but that’s just Ben. That’s how he loves you. 

The only change is something softer—lining over his head and lungs—that glows when you catch him glancing at Joey in your arms. When you settle back on the couch with a sleepy, clean baby, and Ben pulls you half into his lap, resting his chin on the top of your head. You waste the afternoon like this. Watching TV with Ben everywhere around you, Joey asleep in your arms and nothing really that worrying in the world.

When your phone rings, you almost don’t want to answer it. But it’s Butcher, and if you ignore him he’ll come to your house, so you sigh and pick up the call.

“Butcher,” you whisper, and Ben’s arms tighten around your body. “Please tell me this is important.”

“You wound me.” Butcher’s voice is filled with mock offense through the speaker as he says your name. “I ain’t ever bothered you for no reason-“

“One time you called me to say Ben lost his pen.”

“And he was tearin’ up the bloody office, so I needed you to work your fuckin’ sex magic on the Gov before he hurt ‘imself. Always got a reason, love, you should well fuckin’ know that.”

I can’t hurt myself. Ben grumbles in your ear, obviously eavesdropping. Only person who can hurt me is you-

Romantic, my love. Shut up. “Butcher, if this is a work thing you have to call MM, Ben and I both have the day off-“

“‘Fraid MM ain’t able to help with this one, love. I got Secretary Campbell ‘ere, and he ain’t leavin’ until he speaks to Mr. and Mrs. American Dream.”

“Stop calling us that, it doesn’t even make sense.” You sigh, glancing at Joey in your arms. “What does he want?”

Apparently, Singer’s Defense Secretary is trying to get you and Ben to donate some DNA again. And you’d send Ben to deal with him, but you’re pretty sure that would end with a dead Campbell and another year half on the lam for you. So you sigh, tell Butcher you’ll be there soon, and hang up.

Ben mutters your name, keeping you steady in his lap. “I can fucking handle this-“

“No, Ben, it’s okay.” You lean back on his shoulder, giving him a soft smile. “You watch Joey, and I’ll pick up Ryan on my way back.”

“You shouldn’t fucking drive-“

“I’ll go slow. And be careful-“

Ben scoffs. “You’re never fucking careful-“

“Yes, I am. I will be. Just take Joey-“

“No, I’ll fucking deal with Singer’s lapdog, and you’ll keep the baby-“

“Benjamin.” You snap, and he shuts his mouth with a glower. There’s something sore over his whole body, but it’s rooted in his hands. Itching and heavy and tense, tight around his throat-

You frown, tilting your head at him, and softening your voice between your heads.

Are you okay?

I-

And remember I can feel you, Ben. You raise your brows, shifting in his lap to fully face him. Are you worried about the baby?

I’m not fucking worried, he grunts your name, hands tightening on your body. I don’t want to you leave, Sunshine, is that a goddamn crime-

No. You kiss him, quick and sweet, and rise from his hold. But I do have to go. I’ll put Joey in the travel crib, and you can Ben’o’phone me if you need help.

Or you could fucking stay-

You’ll be fine, my love. I’ll be back soon.

——————

Ben wasn’t watching TV. It was on, in the background, but he couldn’t goddamn focus on it. 

There was a fucking baby in the room. It wasn’t bigger than his forearm, it kept making small baby sounds, and if Ben looked away from the crib for one goddamn second he was pretty fucking certain something would go wrong. The ceiling would fall and Ben wouldn’t be quick enough to throw his body over it. He would be quick enough, but he wouldn’t be careful and he’d crush the baby. The baby would shit, and he’d have to change the diaper. It would start throwing lightning bolts like its mother, and Ben would have to figure out what the fuck to do. It would be hungry, and Ben didn’t have tits. 

The ceiling would not fall. This whole house had been supe-proofed, because all of them still had nightmares that set off their powers, when Ryan and Ben it could—according to Her—cause permanent structural damage, and Ben needed to be able to fuck Her however he pleased without worrying about everything breaking around them.

Ben would not crush the baby. He wasn’t some weak fucking pussy who couldn’t control his strength after damn near 80 years.

If the baby took another shit, Ben could change a diaper. He wouldn’t fucking like it, but it was just shit and piss. He’d been covered in guts and blood and brains, shit and piss was nothing. Even if that thing took some of the biggest shits Ben had seen in his very long life.

According to Her and Frenchie, mainstreamed V wasn’t hereditary. It didn’t fundamentally change the users DNA or some shit, so Annie and Hughie’s baby would always just be a normal person. Ben wasn’t really sure, because somewhere in the conversation someone had said what if they had a baby and pointed to Her and Ben, and he’d gotten distracted. 

If it got hungry, She’d shown Ben how formula worked, and he’d figure it out. He’d do whatever the hell he needed to in order to prove to Her that they could have a baby. If they had a baby, Ben would fucking kill it.

Not the baby. He’d kill taking care of a baby. He’d feed and change and tend to it—just like he did with Her and Ryan—and it would be fucking disgusting and boring as shit, but he’d goddamn do it if he could have a baby. 

And he didn’t know exactly what the hell had changed in forty years that men were expected to change diapers, but he’d change a million diapers for Her. He’d throw himself into the Sun and bury himself alive for Her. He’d watch something called How to Train You Dragon for Her. He’d fucking cook for Her—she sure as hell couldn’t do it herself, and Ben would be damned if he let his wife starve—and he’d read a fucking book just to make Her smile. 

Changing a diaper—if that made Her happy as well—was fucking nothing.

So when Joey started wailing—about twenty minutes after She’d left—Ben was fucking ready. He’d been studying all the shit She’d been doing, and this kid wasn’t going to know what the fuck hit him. Annie and Hughie would get him back in better condition, and Ben would be a goddamn hero.

But the baby didn’t want food. And its diaper was clean. 

The only thing that seemed to make it stop was when Ben held it. Cradled it in his arms and rocked it back and forth, sitting back on the couch because every time he tried to put the little fucker down, it would start screaming again. 

Ben didn’t remember the last time he’d been this close to a real baby. He’d seen this one in the hospital after Annie popped it, and a few times after, but he’d never really held it. Annie had offered once, and he’d taken it, but it hadn’t been like this. Where Joey was curled into Ben’s chest and Annie wasn’t bouncing on her feet to take it back. 

This was peaceful. Quiet. The TV humming in the background and Ben just fucking holding a baby. A baby that was happy to be in his arms, and didn’t fit perfectly because it wasn’t Ben’s baby, but was still a damn baby.

Happy. With him holding it.

Something became clear in his head. It had never been fogged or covered, but it was sharp now. Right in reach and touchable, more than just a fantasy or daydream. 

Ben fucking wanted this. And he could really fucking have it. He’d seen Her look at Joey, and She’d sworn she’d want this as well. She’d said She’d want it with Ben.

And he could see it. Ben could almost physically fucking see a baby that had Her eyes and hair and whole perfect face, and would grab Ben’s nose and fucking break it. Any kid She and Ben had would be a supe—as far as Ben understood it—and they would be the strongest one yet. Ryan would help them learn to control the strength, and he’d never fucking worry about being loved less, because as far as the baby would know, Ryan would be their damn brother.

It would be smart like Her and Ryan. The kid would be talking in three months—or something, Ben didn’t know when babies usually started talking—and do all the fucking school shit, then chose to do good things because they would be Her kid, and everything She did and touched became fucking good.

And She’d be the best goddamn mother. She already was, with Ryan, and this would just be more. More annoying parents for Her to threaten, another person for Her to teach shit to, and another piece of evidence for Her to have that Ben couldn’t love Her more if he tried. Another way for Ben to show Her that She, Ryan, and now the baby were the only things in the whole damn universe that mattered.

He could see it. Her padding around the house in Ben’s shirt, holding their baby in one arm and a phone in the other. Hissing incredibly graphic threats at a congressman while smiling at the baby, sometimes dropping Her voice to coo to the kid when She was between calls.

“You know.” She said, swaying slightly in place as she mumbled to the child. Their child. That was Ben’s fucking child. “If that asshole doesn’t listen to Mommy, she’s going to let Daddy yell at them. And Daddy can be scary.”

Ben frowned, but he couldn’t quite move or speak, She didn’t see him there, and when She kept talking any protests of him being ‘scary’ vanished into the air.

“I know that crazy to you, because Daddy isn’t scary.” She set Her phone down on the counter, devoting Her entire attention to the infant in her arms. “He’s just big and grumpy. Like an ancient teddy bear.”

The kid made a soft, babbling sound, and Ben really wanted to hear it again. Especially as a tiny fist shot up, wrapped around Her finger, and she smiled as it babbled again.

“You’re right, he can be a bit of an asshole. Isn’t that right, my love?” 

Ben could suddenly move, and he was walking forwards. Moving to Her side and pressing a kiss to Her brow. “Smart fucking mouth, brat.”

“You love it.” She hummed, leaning into him as She kept speaking to the baby. “He loves it.”

Ben did love it. He loved how fucking happy She was, how easy this felt, and how—when Ryan called from upstairs for homework help—She passed the baby into Ben’s arms without a thought and walked away. 

And that was their fucking kid. And it had sharp eyes that were scanning over Ben’s face a little hazily, realizing that Ben wasn’t Her, and then almost squealing as it realized that he was Ben.

It reached up for him, and fucking Christ, the thing was happy to see him. It was making cute fucking sounds and squeezing his finger, and not a single fucking pussy would ever be allowed to hurt it. Ben would do whatever the hell it took to keep the kid this peaceful, to make it always this happy to see him, to make it so that She and Ryan would have the family they deserved, and Ben could just fucking love them for the rest of goddamn time-

“Ben. Wake up.” A gentle, perfect hand trailed over his face, and he’d fallen asleep. 

He blinked his eyes open to find Her standing between his knees above him, and soft smile playing on Her lips.

“Good dream?”

Ben caught Her hand in his own, pressing a kiss to Her knuckles as he blinked away a little more sleep. “You don’t have a fucking clue.”

She hummed, glancing at Joey, still in his arms. “I think he likes you.”

“He likes that I’m warm-“

“The blanket was warm.” She shrugs. “He likes you.”

Ben grunted. He wouldn’t win this argument, and he knew better than to try. “Where’s Ryan?”

“In his room.” She said, dropping at Ben’s side and smiling at Joey. “We’ve been home for a few hours.”

“A few- You’ve been home hours-“

“Voice down, Benjamin.” She mumbled, leaning Her head against his arm. “And you both looked peaceful. I liked it.”

Ben smirked. Were you watching me sleep, Sunshine-

Yes, I was. And you watch me sleep all the fucking time, Pretty Boy, so shut it.

He chuckled, kissing the side of Her head, and they stayed there until Ryan shuffled down the stairs, stopping behind the couch and staring at Joey in Ben’s arms.

“He’s really small.” Ryan whispered, and Ben coughed to cover his laugh.

“He’s a baby, Ry.” She said, kicking Ben’s shin as She smiled up at Ryan. “We were all that small once.”

“I was never this small.” Ben muttered. “I was a big fucking baby, and you probably were as well, kid.”

Ryan’s eyes widened, and She scoffed.

“How big were you, Benjamin.” She narrowed Her eyes. And don’t say you’re still big now.

Don’t need to say it, Sunshine, you know better than damn anyone that I’m big. Ben winked at Her, smirking at her pretty flush as he continued.  “I don’t fucking remember exactly, brat, it was a hundred goddamn years ago-“

She snorted. “So you might have been this tiny-“

“I fucking wasn’t-“

“You could’ve been.” She stuck Her tongue out at him, light dancing in Her eyes. “We’ll never know.”

Ben rolled his eyes, brat, and pulled Her into a long, slow kiss with his free hand, going until She was sighing into his mouth and slumping over his body-

She pushed off Ben’s chest, and something was radiant and zealous in his chest when She leaned back to look at Ryan, and there was an almost drunken smile on Her face.

“Do you need help with more homework-“

“No,” Ryan shook his head, glancing back to Joey. “I- I’m just hungry, but if you’re busy-“

Ben’s brow furrowed. “We look fucking busy, kid?”

“Uh, no?”

“Then it’s dinner.” Ben grunted Her name. “You want ravioli.”

She gave him a wide, toothy smile, Her voice oddly soft. “Yes, please.”

“Ryan-“

“That sounds good.” Ryan nodded slowly, taking a nervous step back. “I- I’ll go wait in my room- And-“

Ben frowned. “You finished your homework?”

Ryan nodded again, and Ben moved to his feet with Joey still carefully in his arms. 

“Stay in here, kid. It’ll be easier to get you.”

“No- I- It’s okay-“

“Ryan?” She twisted fully in Her seat, a gentle frown on Her face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, I just- I don’t-“ Ryan swallowed, bowing his head slightly. “Joey looks really fragile. I don’t- What if I break him?”

She tensed at Ben’s side, and Ben could fucking feel Her aching distress. Feel the presence of Her around his head tightening and spinning, see the sadness all over Her pretty face—almost perfectly matching Ryan’s—and Ben needed to fucking fix this.

“Hold the baby.” 

Ben walked around the couch to put Joey into Ryan’s arms, and the kid just fucking gaped at him.

“But- But I could-“

“You won’t.” Ben snapped, and Ryan shook his head.

“He’s so small, Ben.” He whispered. “And I- I could hurt him.”

“When was the last time you broke something.”

Ryan blinked at him. “What?”

“The last thing you broke on accident, kid.” Ben raised his brows. “When did you break it.”

“I-“ Ryan glanced at Her, but she was just leaning over the back of the couch, tapping Her fingers on the pillows as she watched. “I don’t remember-“

“November.” Ben grunted. “You freaked out during a team dinner and snapped Butcher’s table in half. You’ve had a fuck ton of freak-outs since then, holding shit a lot more delicate than a table, and not a single damn thing has broken. Hold the baby.”

Ryan still didn’t move, only staring between Ben and Joey, and Ben let out a long breath.

“Ryan, do you really fucking think I’d hand you a damn baby if I thought you’d hurt it.”

“N- No-“

“You trust me, kid?”

Ryan’s eyes widened. “Of course I do-“

“Take the fucking baby.”

Ryan finally got it, and took Joey from Ben’s arms with slow, careful hands.

Nothing exploded. The sky didn’t fall. 

And Ryan smiled, his voice filled with awe. “He looks like Hughie.”

Ben smirked. “He really fucking does. Poor kid.”

She frowned from the couch. “Benjamin-“

“Sunshine.” Ben mocked Her tone as he bent down, picking Her up with a grin and laughing when she squeaked. “You’re hungry, beautiful.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, whacking his chest. “Don’t fucking do that, you asshole-“

I didn’t do a fucking thing. Ben drawled Her name between their heads, his eyes never leaving Her’s as he moved them out of the room. “We’ll be in the kitchen if you need us, kid.”

“Okay!” Ryan called after them. “I’ll stay with Joey!”

All the mock anger in Her eyes dissolved in a second, Ben leaned down to kiss Her—long and sloppy and heavy—as he set Her on the counter, and when he pulled away, Her smile was fucking perfect.

She was hanging off of Ben’s arm the entire time he made dinner, smiling at Ben like he’d handed Her the fucking moon when it was only damn pasta.

What-

I love you, Benjamin. She whispered between their minds. So much.

Ben kissed Her brow, tracing his thumb over Her cheekbone. Love you too, Sunshine.

You’re really good at this. With Ryan and Joey.

He shrugged. I’ll be even fucking better with Ryan and our kid.

And that was the damn truth. Because Ben could finish dinner and help Her serve, and he could eat around the table with Her and Ryan, but when the baby cried it wasn’t his baby. And there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with Joey—he was adorable, seemed alright for a baby, and Ben would never fucking tell Her, but while She’d been gone Joey had been chewing toothlessly on Ben’s finger and it had been the cutest thing he’d seen in his fucking life—but Ben wanted the kid to be theirs. 

He wanted to set up the TV while She and Ryan cleared the plates, let Ryan chose what they were watching for family movie, and have Her sitting on Ben’s lap with their kid in Her arms. Ben wanted to lean over Her shoulder and see sharp eyes blinking up at him, to hear the baby make a bubbly little noise and for it to sound like Her voice.

He wanted Ryan to help put his sibling to bed before shuffling off to his own room, and he wanted to be standing here with Her over the crib—wrapping his arms around Her stomach and swaying back and forth in the dark—as they looked at their baby.

Joey looked so fucking peaceful in there, and Ben could see it again. A future where She’d be just like this, and the baby was really fucking theirs. It’s in a sturdier, bomb-proof crib built by Frenchie, and reaching for Her—because who fucking wouldn’t—and when it made a noise, Ben’s whole fucking world would get a little bigger.

I want one. Ben muttered between their heads, pressing a kiss to the side of Her head, and She hummed.

I know, my love. She smiled up at him, and Ben was going to fucking explode. In the dim light—with sleepy eyes and raw fucking love written all over Her perfect features—She’s was always the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. I’m sure I can find one for you.

End Note: Finally gave Ben a middle name. I don’t care what kripke and any future spinoffs say. That’s his middle name now, because it’s the funniest possible option.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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Taglist

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@lyarr24 @deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28

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[requiemforthepoets]

the proposal ⟢ FA14

⟢ part four of this time, i’ll love you much better

𖤓 series masterlist ⟢ playlist ⟢ part five ☽

PAIRINGS: fernando alonso x ex-wife!reader

SUMMARY: the twins thought that they have all the time in the world to devise a plan on how they would get you and fernando back together. that is until fernando had told the news to jullianna, prompting to put their plan in motion.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, named character (except for reader), parent trap inspired fic + plot, google translated spanish and french, single dad!nando and single mom!reader (for the time being), evil fiancé, twin switching, inaccuracies with information, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: part four of the series!! i have a lot of things going on, so that’s why it always takes a long time for me to update my series/post new parts to fics. as always, this series is open for taglist, so just comment or message me if you wanted to be tagged, and your comments/reblogs are highly appreciated, i hope you’ll enjoy this new part of the series! :)

The sunlight filtered through the curtains as Jullianna pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail, already dressed in a crisp white tennis outfit. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, adjusting the collar of the polo shirt she wore. Jullianna’s focus, however, was more on the bubbling frustration in her chest. It was not just about the day ahead or the tennis session with Fernando—it was about everything Sofia had dropped into her lap without any warning.

As if on cue, Jullianna’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. She picked it up and saw Sofia’s caller ID flashed on the screen. Narrowing her eyes, she swiped to answer, voice immediately sharp.

“Well, it’s about damn time,” Jullianna began, tone clipped. “I’ve been waiting for you to call, and now you finally do.”

Sofia’s tone was light, almost too casual. “Why good morning to you too, Disney princess. How’s it going?”

“How’s it going? How’s it going?” Jullianna repeated incredulously. “Comment ça va? Vraiment? Tu es sérieusement en train de te moquer de moi?! Sofia, do you have any idea of what you’ve put me through?”

There was a pause on the other end. “What are you even talking about? You know how I can’t understand any of what you’re saying, right?”

“Oh don’t you play innocent with me,” Jullianna snapped. “Karting, Sofia. Karting! You didn’t even bother to tell me how to drive the freaking damn thing! I had to watch youtube videos just to figure out what I was supposed to do. Do you know how embarrassing that was?”

Sofia chuckled nervously. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would be a big deal, papá would’ve helped you.”

“He did,” Jullianna admitted begrudgingly. “But that’s not the point! You could’ve warned me!”

“Fine, I’ll make it up to you,” Sofia said, tone placating. “But seriously, Jules, it’s only karting. You survived, right?”

“Barely,” Jullianna muttered, crossing her arms. “And you’re lucky I did, because I would’ve switched back and made you deal with the mess.”

The line went quiet for a moment, and then Sofia’s voice softened. “I’m sorry, Jules. I didn’t really mean to make things harder for you. I’ll give you all the details next time, okay?”

Jullianna exhaled, some of her frustration easing. “Fine. Alright. But that’s not all we need to talk about.”

“Oh?” Sofia sounded wary. “What now?”

“Stephanie.”

“Stepha-who now?”

“Exactly,” Jullianna said, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “She’s some woman papá had apparently been seeing, and she keeps on coming over to the house like she owns the place. I had to deal with her the other day, and let me tell you, she’s awful.”

Sofia’s voice hardened. “I haven’t heard of her before. When did this start?”

“Eh, probably while we're at camp,” Jullianna said bitterly. “Alejandra told me this woman had been coming around, and from what I’ve seen, she’s trouble. Fake, loud, annoying—you name it, she got it. The worst part? Papá seems completely oblivious to it.”

“Well that doesn’t sound good,” Sofia said. “Keep an eye on that woman. If she’s really as bad as you say, we’ll figure something out. But don’t let that woman get to you, okay? She’s not worth your energy.”

“Easier said than done,” Jullianna muttered.

The twins were so engrossed in their conversation that Jullianna barely registered Fernando calling out for her downstairs. “Sofia! ¡Vamos! It’s time to go!

Jullianna jumped up, glancing at the clock. “I’ve got to go, papá’s waiting for me. We’re going to play a few rounds of tennis.”

“Alrighty. Good luck, Sofia,” Sofia teased.

“Oh shut up.” Jullianna rolled her eyes.

“But seriously though, keep me updated about Stanley.”

“Fia, it’s Stephanie,” Jullianna replied, and Sofia just blew raspberries at her. “And will do. Talk to you later, ugly.”

“Hey! We look just th—” Jullianna ended the call before Sofia could even respond.

Jullianna stuffed her phone into the tennis bag and grabbed Sofia’s tennis racket from where it leaned against the wall, and headed downstairs. Fernando was waiting by the front door, dressed in an equally sporty outfit like Jullianna and holding his own tennis racket.

“Finally,” he said with a smile. “You ready?”

Jullianna nodded with a smile. “Ready.”

The sun was high overhead when Jullianna and Fernando stepped onto the private tennis court—air was warm but pleasant, with a light breeze that rustled the nearby trees. Jullianna adjusted the grip on the racket, movements fluid and confident. Playing tennis was her forté, and it was surely worlds away from the stress and confusion of karting or dealing with unwelcome houseguests like Stephanie.

Fernando took his place on the opposite side of the court, bouncing the tennis ball a couple of times before looking up at Jullianna with a grin. “You ready, chiquita?”

Jullianna smirked. “Yup!”

Fernando laughed, tossing the ball into the and served with precision. The ball zipped over the net, and Jullianna moved quickly, her racket connecting with a satisfying thwack! as she returned the shot.

The rally began, and for the first few minutes, the only sounds were the rhythmic hits of the ball against the racket, quick and hurried footsteps against the clay surface, and the occasional grunt of effort. Jullianna found herself smiling as she played, thoughts drifting briefly to when her and Sofia had shared a match back at camp walden. It was an intense match, filled with playful trash-talking and endless determination to outdo each other.

But then, Fernando broke the silence, tone casual yet curious. “So,” he began, returning a particularly fast shot, “what do you think of Stephanie?”

Jullianna hesitated, her focus briefly faltering before she sent the ball back over the net. “Stephanie?” she repeated, trying to buy herself some time.

“Yes, Stephanie,” Fernando said, voice light but persistent. “You’ve spent some time with her now. I just want to know what you think of her.”

Jullianna tightened her grip on the racket, her mind racing. She couldn’t very well tell him the truth—that she finds Stephanie insufferable, fake, and most certainly not the right woman for Fernando. Instead, she decided to tread carefully, masking her irritation with forced politeness.

“Well,” she began, returning another shot, “she’s…very put-together. Always dressed nicely, very stylish.” she paused, muttering just loudly enough for herself, not my style, though. Mamá’s much better.

Fernando chuckled, clearly amused by Jullianna’s side comment. “So, you think she’s stylish. That’s good to hear, and it seems like you two are getting along.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jullianna murmured, keeping her tone neutral. She didn’t elaborate further, focusing instead on the ball.

Just when Jullianna thought that the conversation about Stephanie is done, turns out that it’s not. Fernando wasn’t done. As the rally continued, his tone shifted slightly, becoming more serious.

“Sofia,” Fernando said, eyes following the ball as it sailed over the net, “I’ve been thinking about the future, and you know that I’m not getting any younger. Sooner or later I’m about to retire soon from Formula 1, and I want to know what you think about Stephanie joining the family.”

Jullianna froze for a split second, the racket nearly slipping from her hands. The words hung in the air, heavy and unmistakable. She knew exactly what he meant, but she decided to play dumb, her voice laced with forced confusion.

“Joining the family? What do you mean, papá? Are you planning to adopt her or something?” Jullianna said jokingly.

Fernando let out a hearty laugh, clearly amused by Jullianna’s sarcasm. “No, chiquita. Not adoption.” he hesitated for a moment before continuing, tone filled with quiet excitement. “What I mean is that I proposed to her.”

The words hit Jullianna like a freight train. For a brief moment, she stood frozen in place, staring at her father as if she had not heard him correctly. Then, as the reality of his statement sank in, something inside her snapped. Jullianna’s next hit was ferocious, with the ball rocketing past Fernando so fast that he barely had time to react. He turned to watch it bounce out of bounds, a look of surprise on his face.

“Wow,” Fernando said with a laugh, jogging to retrieve the ball. “That was quite the shot, eh?”

But Jullianna was not done. Her hits became more aggressive, each one more powerful than the last. She was not just playing tennis anymore, she was channeling all of her anger and frustration into every swing. Fernando was struggling to keep up, missing shot after shot as the intensity of the game escalated.

“Sofia, mi vida,” he called out, tone now tinged with concern. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Jullianna didn’t answer, her jaw clenched, and eyes burning with a mix of anger and betrayal. Finally, after one last blistering shot that Fernando couldn’t even attempt to return, she threw the racket with force—destroying it in the process and turned on her heel.

“Sofia!” Fernando called after her, voice filled with confusion as to why his daughter was acting up. “Where are you going?”

But Jullianna didn’t look back. She walked briskly off the court, chest heaving with unspoken words, and tears of frustration stinging her eyes. When Jullianna reached the front door of the house—still angry and frustrated, she grabbed the handle and turned it open, but in her haste and anger, she twisted it the wrong way. The door didn’t budge.

“¡Por favor!” she hissed, shaking the handle violently.

When it still refused to open, Jullianna growled in frustration, yanking the door with all her strength. Finally, it gave way, and she stumbled inside, muttering to herself. She glanced at the door handle, relieved to see it hadn’t broken. Once inside, she marched into the living room, pacing back and forth, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor.

“Comment peut-il penser que c’est une bonne idée?” she muttered, throwing her hands in the air. “Who even is she? Elle est insupportable!”

Jullianna’s rant alternated between languages—English, French, and Spanish, as her thoughts tumbled out uncontrollably. “He proposed? To her? ¡Dios mío, papá, estás loco!”

She stopped pacing momentarily, pressing her hands to her forehead. “This is not happening. This cannot be happening. I can’t handle this alone, I’m only one kid.”

Lost in her tirade, Alejandra peeks around the corner of the armchair she’s been sitting in with a cup of coffee in her hands. Alejandra initially assumed Sofia was in one of her usual moods, but the erratic pacing and the odd blend of languages caught Alejandra’s attention.

When Jullianna finally turned around, Alejandra cleared her throat gently. “¿Tienes algo que quieras compartir con la clase, mi chica?”

Jullianna froze mid-step, head snapping up—to which she immediately regretted because of the strain of her action. Her eyes widened in shock, the usually composed façade already slipping. Her heart was racing so fast, and quickly straightened her posture, smoothing her tennis skirt and forcing a smile.

“Alejandra! I didn’t see you there, you gave me a fright!” she said, tone overly bright.

Alejandra sat her coffee cup down at the side table, her eyes narrowing slightly as she stood up from the armchair and slowly approached Jullianna.

“You didn’t see me? Gave you a fright? I’ve been sitting here the whole time, chica. You were so lost in your own thoughts, or rather, in frustration, that you didn’t notice.” Alejandra folded her arms, studying Jullianna closely. “¿Qué está pasando? En serio.”

“Nothing, I swear!” Jullianna replied too quickly, smile tightening. “Just…a lot on my mind lately.”

Alejandra tilted her head, gaze sharpening. “¿Seguro que no hay nada de lo que quieras hablarme?” she asked for the second time. “You’ve been acting strange, mi niña.”

“Strange?” Jullianna echoed nervously, the forced smile on her face faltering. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Alejandra took a step closer, expression skeptical. “Sí, extraño. For one, you’re acting too proper—using expressions like you gave me a fright, the way you eat—you barely touch your food now, and even the way you speak sometimes, it’s different. I didn’t even know you speak French.”

Jullianna opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a loss for words. She tried to come up with some silly excuse, anything to divert Alejandra’s growing suspicion, but her mind went completely blank.

“Alejandra,” she trailed off, “I changed a lot over the summer, that’s all.”

Alejandra’s gaze softened, though her tone remained firm. “Si no lo supiera, diría que es casi como si estuvieras…” she paused for a little bit, “Ay dios mío, no importa, eso es demasiado imposible.”

Jullianna hesitated, the weight of the secret she had been carrying threatening to crush her. “Almost as if I were who, Alejandra?”

“Nadie, nadie. Chica tonta, olvida que lo mencioné.” Alejandra chuckled. “Why don’t I make your favorite food, huh? I think that tennis session with your papá had made you hungry.”

Finally, Jullianna sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She couldn’t take it any longer, so she’ll take the chance now. “¿Casi como si fuera Jullianna?”

Alejandra’s eyes widened. “What?” her breath hitched. “You know about Jullianna?”

“I am Jullianna.” Jullianna breathed out.

For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Alejandra stared at her, mouth opening and closing as she’s trying to process what was happening. Then, tears welled up in Alejandra’s eyes.

“¿De verdad eres Jullianna?” Alejandra asked, voice trembling.

Jullianna nodded, her own eyes glistening. “Yes, it’s me.”

Alejandra’s hands flew to her mouth as a sob escaped her. “¡Mi niña!” she cried, rushing forward to embrace Jullianna.

The hug was tight, almost crushing, but Jullianna didn’t mind. She wrapped her arms around Alejandra, feeling an unexpected wave of comfort.

“No puedo creerlo!” Alejandra said through her tears. “The last time I saw and held you, you were just a baby—barely a year old. You and your mother left for France after the divorce. I thought that I would never see you again.”

Jullianna blinked back tears. “I’ve missed you too, Alejandra.”

Alejandra pulled back slightly, cupping Jullianna’s face in her hands. “¡Oh, mírate!” she said, voice filled with awe. “All grown up, but still the same little girl that I used to hold in my arms. But why are you here in Spain? Where is Sofí?”

Jullianna hesitated, unsure how much to more of her and Sofia’s plan she could reveal. “It’s…complicated,” she said finally.

Alejandra nodded, sensing that Jullianna wasn’t ready to share everything just yet. “Alright,” she said gently. “But you have to be careful, mi niña. If your papá finds out—”

“I know,” Jullianna interrupted, voice firm. “That’s why I need you to keep this between us. Please, Alejandra.”

“Of course,” Alejandra nodded. “Haría cualquier cosa por ti.”

Fernando stepped inside of the house, chest heaving as he called out, “Sofia! ¿Dónde estás?” his voice echoed through the house with urgency.

The sounds of Fernando’s footsteps grew louder as he entered the living room, and Jullianna stiffened, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest. Alejandra had sensed the tension, so she placed a comforting hand on Jullianna’s shoulder.

“Está bien,” Alejandra whispered gently. “I’ll leave you two to talk, I’ll be at the kitchen and prepare you some snacks.”

Jullianna nodded, watching as Alejandra quietly exited the living room and headed towards the kitchen. She barely had a moment to collect her thoughts before Fernando appeared in the doorway of the living room, looking left and right for Jullianna. When he saw her, he paused, hands on his hips, exhaling deeply as though trying to steady himself.

“Sofí,” he said softly, tone coaxing. “Come, sit with me, princesa.” Fernando gestured to the couch.

She hesitated but eventually walked over and perched on the edge of the couch, arms crossed defensively over her chest. Jullianna’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor, refusing to meet her father’s eyes.

Fernando sat beside her, leaving a careful distance between them. “Why did you run off like that mi vida?” he asked, voice gentler now.

Jullianna did not respond, jaw tightening.

“Sofía,” Fernando pressed, leaning forward slightly. “I proposed to Stephanie the other night. It was a very special moment for us—”

“Stop. I’m gonna stop you right there,” Jullianna cut in sharply, standing abruptly. The words struck a huge nerve within her, and she could not hold back any longer. “Just stop, papá, please.”

Fernando blinked, surprised by her sudden outburst. “¿Qué te pasa? Why are you acting like this?”

Jullianna turned to face Fernando, eyes blazing with nothing but anger. “Because it is outrageous!” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re marrying her? That woman? Marrying Stephanie?”

He frowned. “And what is so outrageous about that?”

“Oh my god, papá! That woman’s practically young enough to be my sister!” Jullianna shot back, pacing back and forth as her emotions spilled over. “Do you not see how absurd this is? All of it!”

“I never knew you would be reacting like this,” Fernando stood, hands raised in a placating gesture. “Sofía, calm down, por favor. There’s no need to—”

“Je suis calme!” Jullianna shouted like a maniac, clearly not calm at all. She began to switch to French again without even realizing it, her words tumbling out in a torrent. “Comment peux-tu faire ça? As-tu même pensé à ce que cela signifierait pour nous? C’est insensé! Je ne peux pas croire que tu ferais ça. Elle n’est pas la bonne pour toi, papa. Pas du tout!”

Fernando furrowed his eyebrows, stepping in closer towards Jullianna. “What…French? Desde cuándo hablas francés?”

Jullianna stopped pacing, momentarily caught off guard. “I-I um, uh, learned it at camp,” she said quickly, brushing past the question. “But that’s not the point!”

She faced Fernando. Taking a deep breath, she began, voice softening slightly. “I’m sorry for my outburst,” she said, brushing her hair back from her face. “But we need to talk about this rationally.”

Fernando nodded, motioning for her to sit again, but Jullianna preferred standing. “Alright, alright,” he said. “Let’s talk. But in a language we can both understand, por favor mi vida.”

He sighed, patience already visibly thinning. “Sofía, I don’t understand why this is upsetting you so much. Stephanie has been kind to you, hasn’t she? She’s made every effort to—”

“Kind?” Jullianna scoffed, cutting him off. “That’s not the issue, papá. This isn’t about her being nice, this is about you thinking you can just bring someone into our lives and marry them without even considering how it affects everything!”

Feenando’s brows furrowed deeply. “I have considered it. Stephanie is someone I care about, and I thought you would—”

“Well you thought wrong!” Jullianna interrupted, voice rising again. She felt the heat of tears threatening to spill but blinked them back furiously. “You can’t do this, papa. You can’t marry her—or anyone else! It will ruin everything!”

He opened his mouth to respond, but before Fernando could even say a word, Jullianna already turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her tennis shoes squeaking against the floor.

“Sofía!” Fernando called after her, voice tinged with frustration and confusion. But she didn’t stop despite how many times Fernando called out for her.

Jullianna slumped into the St. Anthony’s face-to-face swing, letting her head fall back against the smooth wood. She exhaled sharply, crossing her arms over her chest, still reeling from what she had just learned. Fernando had proposed to Stephanie. Proposed. The word itself made her stomach churn.

This was worse than she and Sofia had imagined. They had time, or so they thought. But now, with a ring on Stephanie’s finger, the entire course of action had been changed—everything was moving too fast. Jullianna and Sofia had to quickly put their plan into motion if they even want to stop this wedding from happening, they need to act now. But there was only one viable solution: they had to get you and Fernando back together.

Jullianna was deep in thought, brainstorming ways to subtly, but not-so-subtly, bring you to Spain or maybe one of his races so that she and Sofia can just push you both back towards each other, when a sudden knock against the wooden frame of the swing had startled Jullianna. Her head snapped up, and saw Stephanie.

“Mind if I join you?” Stephanie asked, voice light and airy, as if she had just wandered into the garden without a care in the world.

Before Jullianna could even answer, Stephanie lowered herself onto the vacant seat of the swing, facing her directly. Jullianna barely stopped herself from grimacing, just looking at Stephanie made her want to barf.

Stephanie clasped her hands together, tilting her head slightly. “I can imagine how surprised you must have been by the engagement news.”

Jullianna forced a tight-lipped smile, words laced with passive aggression. “Oh, shock doesn’t even begin to cover it, honestly.”

Stephanie just chuckled, completely oblivious to the sharp edge in Jullianna’s tone. She relaxed herself on the seat, movements elegant and poised, as if this were just another casual afternoon chat. Forcing herself not to groan, Jullianna braced herself for whatever nonsense Stephanie was about to spew.

“You know,” Stephanie began, leaning slightly forward, “eleven is such a very wonderful age.”

Jullianna arched an eyebrow. What in the actual world does that have to do with any of this?

Stephanie smiled wistfully, as if she was reminiscing about something so precious. “When I was eleven, I had my first beau.” She let out a soft laugh, eyes sparkling with nostalgia.

“It was the first time I really started to feel like a woman.” she sighed dramatically. “That’s when I realized love was this fantastic, exhilarating mystery, one that takes a man and a woman on the most magical journey.”

Jullianna’s hand was tightly gripping the armrest of the swing, jaw now clenched, and resisting the great force of rolling her eyes. Oh, for the love of all things holy. She kept her expression neutral, pretending to listen, but internally, Jullianna was already pulling her hair out and screaming.

Stephanie continued, completely unaware of Jullianna’s growing irritation. “And believe it or not, you’ll understand that feeling soon,” she said with a knowing smile.

Jullianna just stared at Stephanie, fingers curled slightly now against her arms. She was not sure what was more annoying—Stephanie’s patronizing tone, or the fact that she spoke as if she had somehow unlocked the secrets of the universe. She certainly did not want to sit there, listening to this woman yap on about love like she was some kind of modern day Aristotle.

Before Stephanie could continue her sickly sweet monologue about love and magical journeys, Jullianna lifted a hand slightly, cutting Stephanie off.

“You know, I don’t want to sound all jerky or anything, because, from what I can tell, you’re trying really hard to be all mushy and sentimental.” she tilted her head slightly, letting her eyes linger on Stephanie’s with something close to amusement. “And I think I finally got it.”

Stephanie blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Get what, exactly?”

Jullianna leaned forward slightly, lips curling into a knowing smile. “What my papá sees in you.” she continued, voice still laced with that same passive aggressiveness, but now there was something else woven into it—a challenge. “You’re a beautiful woman. Sexy, even, and my papá? Well, he’s only human, after all.”

Stephanie’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out just yet. Jullianna’s smile widened just a little, though her eyes were sharp.

“But if you ask me, marriage is supposed to be based on something more, don’t you agree?” Jullianna let the question hang in the air for a moment before her smile turned almost innocent. “Something more than just…fornication. If you don’t know what fornication is, it means sex.”

Stephanie’s entire expression shifted. Gone was the light, airy persona. Her posture stiffened just slightly, and the sweetness in her eyes dimmed, now replaced with something sharper, something calculated. Jullianna didn’t flinch though, in fact, she was thoroughly enjoying every bit of it.

She smiled, but it was a whole lot different now. “Oh boy, your papá really underestimates you, doesn’t he?”

Jullianna let out a small, breathy chuckle. “Oh?” she mused, cocking her head slightly, as if intrigued. “And you don’t?”

Stephanie studied her closely, lips still curved, but her eyes darkened. Jullianna could feel it now—she was starting to get on Stephanie’s nerves. It was a beautiful sight and symphony for Jullianna. Good. People always tend to overlook her, underestimated her. People would assume that she was just a kid who did not know any better. She liked it that way. Because nothing thrilled Jullianna more than a good challenge, and judging by the way Stephanie was staring her down, she had just found herself a new one.

She then let out a light laugh, though there was no real humor behind it. Stephanie tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just a bit as she studied Jullianna with thinly veiled annoyance.

“So what if I’m young and beautiful?” Stephanie mused, voice airy but carrying an undertone of sharpness. “Last time I checked, being young and beautiful isn’t a crime.”

Jullianna simply raised an eyebrow, keeping her smirk firmly in place, which only seemed to annoy the hell out of Stephanie even more.

“And for the record, I know what fornication means, thank you very much. I love your father, I adore him. Your father is exactly the kind of man I’ve always envisioned myself marrying. This—” she gestured between herself and Jullianna as if making some kind of grand declaration, “is the real deal, honey. Nothing, and I say nothing, is going to come between us.”

Jullianna barely blinked at Stephanie’s words. She just leaned back against the wooden swing, one arm lazily draped over the armrest, completely unbothered, and yawning out of boredom to piss off Stephanie more.

While Stephanie, on the other hand, was growing impatient. She leaned forward slightly, gaze piercing as she said, “you need to understand something, sweetheart. This is the reality now, you have to accept the fact that you’re no longer the only girl in Fernando Alonso’s life. You need to get over it.”

That did it. Jullianna’s lips curled into an even bigger smirk, one that was almost too smug, too knowing. It made Stephanie’s fingers twitch slightly, as if she were resisting the urge to wipe the expression right off her face. She leaned in slightly as well, resting her elbows on her knees as she stared Stephanie down.

“Oh? That’s the reality, huh?” she drawled, voice dripping with amusement.

Jullianna continued, her smirk never wavering. “So, just to be clear that we’re on the same page here, papá’s money has nothing to do with any of this? No part of you thinks that marrying him just so happens to come with a very very comfortable lifestyle?”

Stephanie’s expressions had immediately tightened, but she quickly schooled her features back into something neutral. “Are you insinuating that I’m marrying your father for his money?” she asked, feigning offense, though her voice was just a little too even to be genuine.

Jullianna simply shrugged, the smirk on her face never fading. “I’m not insinuating anything, but if that’s what you think, then feel free to think of such things,” she said innocently, though her eyes were gleaming with mischief. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen this in a film before. I mean, come on, I’ve watched cinderella more times than I can count.”

Stephanie’s brows furrowed slightly, unsure of where this was going. Jullianna sighed dramatically and shook her head. “And if this whole shazam isn’t about money, then great! But personally? I’d rather not end up scrubbing the floors and befriending the neighborhood birds while you have breakfast in bed, smiling down at me from your throne in papá’s house.”

Her entire face stiffened at what Jullianna just said, lips pressing together tightly as the words settled between them. For the first time in their entire conversation, Stephanie had no response at all, and that? That brought nothing but pure, unadulterated joy.

However, Stephanie’s entire demeanor changed the moment Jullianna’s words sank in. Her perfectly poised expression faltered, just for a second, before her brows furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. It was the exact reaction that Jullianna had been hoping for. She had successfully gotten under Stephanie’s skin, and now? Now she was really starting to see the cracks in the woman her father wanted to marry.

Stephanie inhaled sharply, composing herself before leaning forward again, but this time, her face was mere inches from Jullianna’s. She locked eyes with her, the intensity of her gaze enough to make most people shrink under the pressure. But not Jullianna.

“You are unbelievably out of line, jovencita,” Stephanie said in a low voice, tone dripping with controlled frustration.

Jullianna simply blinked up at her, her smirk never faltering. Stephanie exhaled through her nose, clearly trying to keep herself from snapping. Then, with slow precision, she spoke, enunciating each word carefully.

“Listen to me, and you listen good,” she began, voice dangerously soft. “I’m marrying your father whether you like it or not. So if I were you, I’d quit playing whatever little game you think you’re playing and stay out of my way.”

Jullianna raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly as if contemplating Stephanie’s words, but said nothing. Stephanie leaned more closer, voice dropping even more lower.

“You are way in over your head, sweetheart,” she continued, tone carrying a hint of condescension. “So I suggest you don’t tangle yourself up in things you clearly don’t understand.”

There was a heavy pause. Stephanie studied Jullianna’s face, waiting for some kind of reaction, for her to look intimidated, or at least acknowledge the warning, and Stephanie took Jullianna’s silence as an agreement, she leaned back on the swing, arm draping over the armrest.

Instead, Jullianna just smiled. Not a polite smile, not a nervous smile. But a slow, teasing, infuriating smirk. Then, she shrugged, Stephanie’s eye twitching. Before the woman could say another word, Jullianna stood up, stretching slightly as if this whole conversation had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience for her. Without a warning, she bent down so that she was now the one at Stephanie’s eye level.

“Je comprends parfaitement, Cruella.” she said smoothly. Stephanie blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

Jullianna smiled again, that same mischievous, knowing grin that had been pushing all of Stephanie’s buttons. Then, because Jullianna was still eleven after all, and feeling particularly childish, she blew raspberries right in Stephanie’s face, wherein the woman recoiled, visibly appalled. Jullianna giggled, straightening up before giving her soon-to-be stepmother a playful wink.

“Au revoir, Stéphanie,” she said cheerfully.

Jullianna turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the woman completely dumbfounded.

taglist : @qghosty , @seonghwaexile , @linnygirl09 , @tallrock35 , @madnesstaking0ver , @akulici , @scopeiguess , @ferakillia , @exactlycoralfox , @iambored24601 , @mx13sworld , @tibadi , @chainsawangel

[sworeidnevercompromise]

ꨄ︎ pillow talk: a drew starkey smau part one > series masterlist

divider creds: @adornedwithlight

filmupdates

liked by lucaguadagninoarchive and others filmupdates It was announced a few months ago that Y/N Y/L/N and Drew Starkey are set to star in the upcoming "Pillow Talk" remake directed by Luca Guadagnino. The trio will be discussing the film at the 81st annual Venice Film festival this Wednesday.

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y/nweloveyou agh yay my girl's going to venice!

youruser 💚 ・ ♥️ by author

drewstarkeyfan !!!!! venice venice venice!

y/narchive Currently leaping for joy right now!

reputation1389 umm...who was asking for a remake of this movie & also why the hell would they cast y/n to play jan lmfao

officialmikeymadison_ !!!!

madelyncline yes yes yes

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youruser

liked by y/narchive and others youruser venice! ti amo moltissimo! 💚

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bestfrienduser venice film festival TOMORROW how are you feeling queen

youruser @/bestfrienduser so so excited

lucaguadagninoarchive 💚💚💚 ・♥️ by author

allabouty/n ohh ur gonna serve w ur red carpet look i just know it

taliaryder bellissima

alexademie need to see you soon

youruser yes let's grab a slice 🍕

drewstarkey press tour t minus 1 week ・♥️ by author

alexanderludwig Can't wait!

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ynarchive

liked by allabouty/n and others y/narchive y/n has arrived at the venice film festival!

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allabouty/n GOD she looks good wtf! ・ ♥️ by author

timotheechalametpapsmear y/n y/l/n it seems I’ve grown quite fond of you tho there are no sexual urges or desires you come to me as a long lost friend whom I once picked apples with in papa’s orchard

quietquitting @/timotheechalametpapsmear "no sexual urges or desires" is insane bc she's literally the most gorgeous woman alive. i simply cannot relate to ur statement timotheechalametpapsmear @/quietquitting i'm crying LMFAOOO

sallythecinephile yeah she ate ・♥️ by author

samanthasnarkington it's giving cunty tissue paper

allabouty/n @/samanthasnarkington 💀

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drewstarkeypics

liked by drewstarkeyfan and others drewstarkeypics Drew has arrived at the 81st annual Venice Film Festival!

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drewstarkeyfan the outfits & the posing r kinda killing me lowkey it's giving 🧍‍♂️

supercargo @/drewstarkeyfan the way y/n was serving looks & poses on the red carpet and drews lowkey just standing there is so funny. go girl give us nothing

reputation1389 he looks so gorgeous now all i have to do is get y/n away from him

supercargo @/reputation1389 oh that's not... samanthasnarkington @/reputation1389 shut the fuck up

drewstarkeyfan he's blowing a kiss to me in the last slide btw

rafeyswife33 @/drewstarkeyfan hey girl i hate to tell you this but he's actually my man drewstarkeyfan @/rafeyswife33 i will fight you to the death.

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allabouty/n

liked by reina115 and others allabouty/n pics of y/n during her press interview for luca guadagnino's pillow talk.

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reputation1389 this look is BORING!

y/nssangels wow this hair really suits her she's so cute

drewy/nthinker Y/N I LOVE YOU!

lovely232 她有一张人们过去常常为之去打仗的脸。・♥️ by author

y/nitalia ciao bella

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drewstarkeypics

liked by drewstarkeynation and others drewstarkeypics ✨NEW✨ Drew at the Venice Film Festival, discussing Pillow Talk

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drewstarkeynation His eyes are the same shade of blue as the background 😍

supercargo i'm salivating

jmeade123 smash next question

reputation1389 slide 2 is him when he sees people shipping him with y/n

y/nssangels @/reputation1389 i am in your walls.

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youruser

liked by drewstarkey and others youruser sick of teaser trailers, i know. pillow talk's full trailer releases tomorrow. movie comes out in just 2 months. i have never loved a project more. luca - adapting such a classic film can be challenging, but you knocked it out of the park. drew, sweet drew, i couldn't have asked for a better costar. & to my fans: i hope you all love this movie as much as i do. see you @ the movies november 7th. 💚

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drewstarkey november can't come soon enough

youruser @/drewstarkey counting down every second

caring1spunk slide 6. smash. ・♥️ by author

a24 💚

y/nweloveyou will you be posting for every press tour stop?

youruser @/y/nweloveyou most likely! brace yourselves for spam LMFAO

drewy/nthinker "drew, sweet drew" is insane just kiss already ・ ♥️ by author

samanthasnarkington @/drewy/nthinker OMFG SHE LIKED THIS IS CRAZY drewy/nthinker @/samanthasnarkington i literally almost passed out guys is drew x y/n coming true ?!?!?!?!?!?!

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drewstarkey

liked by youruser and others drewstarkey director's cut

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alexanderludwig Excited to be on this press tour with you, man!

drewstarkey @/alexanderludwig can't wait brother youruser @/alexanderludwig @/drewstarkey 🎶 2 heads 2gether can b better than 1 🎶

madelyncline proud of u bud ・ ♥️ by author

dstarkeynews I’m so proud of you, never stop. ❤️

a24 !!!!

obx they grow up so fast 😥 ・♥️ by author

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y/nupdates

liked by explqin and others y/nupdates Y/N serving gelato at a shop in Venice

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singkirbysing So so happy that my song Kool Aid has been put over a video of this gorgeous girl @/youruser. Can't wait to see the new movie! ・♥️ by author

youruser @/singkirbysing i love you wtf!!!

youruser slinging gelato is kind of my calling ngl ・ ♥️ by author

youruser tbh had no idea this video was being taken. why'd i serve so hard ・♥️ by author

y/nweloveyou she looks good in every single frame she's so photogenic i feel physically ill

y/nssangels this is right near my house i'm scared

left4rat i would pay one million dollars to have y/n hand me gelato

drewstarkeyfan all that gelato and she's still somehow the sweetest thing in there

fairylights2222 mother served (literally)

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y/nweloveyou

liked by y/narchive and others y/nweloveyou day 1 of the pillow talk press tour complete!

y/nitalia

liked by y/narchive and others y/nitalia Y/N servizio per gelati a Venezia. È così bella, questo vestito e il trucco le stanno così bene. 😌 (Y/N serving gelato in Venice. She is so beautiful, this dress and makeup look so good on her. 😌)

bestfrienduser

liked by youruser and others bestfrienduser @/youruser press tour brought her to me in greece

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youruser see you again soon beautiful ♥️ by author

youruser why r u literally radiant

bestfrienduser @/youruser all you gorgeous youruser @/bestfrienduser stop i'm going to kiss you

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youruser 10m

drewstarkey 10m

[wholemeallbread]

... april's secret ᝰ itoshi rin

fluff, angst, hurt, comfort, slice of life

itoshi rin x gn!reader, highschool au, friends to lovers, slow burn, eventual mutual pining, arguments, pianos, miscommunication, representations of mental illness (warnings will be more specific depending on the chapter)

graduation is a year away. the past two years of school have felt like a haze. expressions blur into anonymity, opinions of him drift away like whispers in the wind; none significant enough to leave a lasting mark. nobody had a face. for him, it’s been an empty, simple path that he alone walks down, driven by his own ambitions.

in a moment of weakness, the music room was his only escape. the keys weren't only barely familiar, but provided comfort. a melody flowed through the gap between the doors, eventually leading you towards him, obviously curious about who's playing the tune. rin was close to walking out as always, not wanting to be disturbed, but something makes you different from the rest. he could see your eyes.

it all started in april.

prologue | playing... love you twice - huh yunjin

calendar... can he get it done before graduation?

april.

may.

june.

july.

august.

september.

october.

november.

december.

january.

february.

march.

graduation.

???

author's note: congratulating my first series before i ever write my first actual oneshot/fic 👏👏👏 i plan on making these long chapters.. hopefully........ aiming for 5k+ but 5k a month is CRAZY so it really depends on how this goes (we dont plan storylines around here) also can u tell its inspired by a silent voice? 😁 and maybe horimiya a bit........ idk about u guys but im trying to make this as realistic as possible so dont be surprised if its taking long to get to some ACTUAL romance

[deadpcnned]

Sealed by the Storm (jj.m)

chapter six

pairing: jj maybank x reader; marriage of convenience

content warning(s): references to abuse (luke)

author's note: i don't really love how this chapter came out, but it was needed to keep the story progressing :/ on a happier note, i've been getting more fun asks about sealed and i got one that i loved smmmm. i basically made an unofficial playlist for this series, if you wanna read that post

join the taglist | series masterlist

previous chapter | next chapter

To you, the lapping of waves against the hull of the boat is like the rock of a cradle for a nursing child. You had spent a large chunk of your formative years on ships where nautical turbulence was the norm. You can still remember those first few months when you’d joined Terrance’s crew, thinking there would never come a time you would accept it, let alone find comfort in it. 

It comforts you now, too. The surrounding water has much less impact, considering you’re floating over a lake, not an ocean– waves replaced by ripples– but you can still feel that subtle shift in movement when you focus on it. You’re focusing on it now, trying to pass the time while you're cooped up in the cabin bedroom. 

One ground rule you and JJ set was that during the day, you’d either stay on the boat or off until sunset to avoid getting caught. It has been a week since the night he brought you here, and your recent status of being unemployed has made your lack of a schedule painfully obvious. You spend most of your hours texting Cleo, but her responses come slow since she’s been taking shifts at Heyward’s shop. 

You’ve been awake for over an hour but haven’t left the bedroom in fear of running into JJ. After the two of you had unpacked your backpacks that first night, the air between you had changed. The awkward energy between you was palpable as you tried to learn how to exist in each other’s space. With the limited square footage and your fractured relationship, you worry that any misstep could end with you stepping on his toes. You know it’s no way to live– hiding in the bedroom and wasting your morning– but it’s comfortable. 

You sigh as you get up, accepting your fate and preparing to face it. After you’ve made your bed and brushed your teeth in the detached restroom, you take a few more steps and enter the lounge area. JJ’s there, lying face-down on the leather couch, and while you can’t believe he’s knocked out at half past noon, you also feel an immense amount of pity wash over you. He’s curled into himself– trying to make himself smaller to fit on the narrow cushion that curves around a table– but his legs are still too long to fit. His arm is bent under his head as a makeshift pillow. You don’t need to imagine how wildly uncomfortable he must be. 

Trying to be quiet, you reach for an apple and a knife, which Sarah had kindly dropped off along with a few other essentials. You can tell the knife is from the set Rafe keeps in the apartment, but you appreciate it the same. Cringing at the taps of the knife against the counter, you try your best to complete the task more quietly. You slow your actions, but it’s to no avail because you hear a groaning sound behind you after a moment. 

“Mmm,” Placing the knife on the black granite, you turn to see JJ stretching, his face set in a displeased expression. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” you reply, returning your attention to the apple. “You sleep alright?”

“Uh,” You can tell from the sound of shuffling and his voice he’s coming closer. “Yeah, slept good.” You know he’s lying. There’s no way a man of his height and build could sleep comfortably on what is essentially a glorified rock. You let him lie.

JJ clears his throat, indicating that you should make space before he reaches his arm out in front of you to grab one of the two glasses in the corner. The limited counter space makes his hip rub against yours as he moves, the warmth of his touch bleeding into you. He flicks the sink faucet, filling his cup with water– downing it in two gulps. He goes to fill the glass again, and you’re about to snap at him to let you finish cutting your apple when he extends the glass out towards you. 

“Drink up,” He instructs, his tone casual. You pause, looking up at him to see what he’s getting at, but his expression is so neutral you can’t make heads or tails of it. You take the glass from his hands while he remains silent. Without any gloating or taunting, he heads to the restroom. 

You drop the knife on the counter too harshly, your fingers curling tightly around the glass. It’s irrational how deep those simple words bury themselves under your skin. You can’t be mad at him for being in your shared space. You can’t be mad at him for using the cups you share. Yet, you are.  

“Drink up,” you mimic in a much higher pitch than JJ had spoken. You down the water in quick gulps, not registering the sound of the restroom door opening and closing. 

“That supposed to be me?” The only reason you don’t jump at JJ’s voice is years of practice hiding your surprise. You remain silent, turning back to face your half-cut apples. You feel him then, inching closer. The minimal space highlights how close he really is with each step he takes. When his fingers pull at your forearm, you don’t respond, making him apply just a little more pressure to get you to face him.

He towers over you, his face mere inches from yours and an ever-growing smirk coloring his lips. “You know,” he starts, and his drawled words crawl further under your skin. “For someone who hates being told what to do,” his eyes shift to the blue glass for only a second before returning to yours. “You sure took that water without a fight.” 

You’re holding your breath as he reaches past you to grab a slice of the apple, chewing on it slowly as he studies you. His bites twist around a smirk as his blue eyes study something intently. 

“Interesting,” He hums, reaching for another slice and stepping back. That does it. That single, seemingly innocent word infuriates you because what could he possibly be putting together that you aren’t? 

JJ sits on the lounge couch, resting his arms against the table as he swipes through his phone. An empty table. Because there’s no money to put food on it. Just like that, you find your jackpot. 

“You need to get a job,” You all but bark at him. JJ looks up from his device, his brows furrowing. You walk closer to him, abandoning your breakfast, and cross your arms across your chest. “Waking up in the afternoon and sitting on your phone isn’t going to keep us out of any more trouble.”

JJ just watches you quietly as if he’s deciding how serious you are. His expression shifts, and then a despondent sigh escapes between his lips. You watch as he shakes his head, casting his eyes down at the table, making you both more angry and want to hide. 

“Did you hear me?” You ask.

“I heard you just fine,” JJ’s voice is as sharp as yours, but he doesn’t raise it. “What job have you got, again?”

“I’ve been looking for one,” You tell him. You have. You’ve been calling numbers on listings in the paper– like this is the 1900s– for jobs you may be a good fit for, but the paper you’ve been using is a little outdated, and every job you’ve called for has been filled. “You’re not even trying.” 

“Who said I’m not trying?” There’s an unreadable look in JJ’s eyes. He gets up, walks through the cabin door, and leaves you alone. You’re fuming at his audacity to leave you in the middle of what you’d consider a conversation when he returns, his fist tightly wound around a paper. He drops it on the table and leaves again. This time, you wait a few minutes, and when he doesn’t return, you lean over the table to look at what he’s left there. 

JJ closes his eyes and lets himself slip back in time. He’s sixteen again. The HMS Pogue is rocking gently, the air thick with salt and laughter. He sees Kie sitting at the boat's bow, teasing Pope about his meager alcohol intake in the name of a history test. Pope reminds her – as he always does – that he plans to make it out of this town. John B is sitting behind JJ at the wheel. His mind’s only half on the task at hand, a palm resting lazily against the wheel, too focused on finding the perfect opportunity to add his own quips to Kie and Pope’s argument. The argument has branched into a tangent about whether college is necessary, and Kie calls Pope classist while Pope argues he can’t be because he’s the working class. 

JJ’s lying smack dab in the middle of it all, his head propped against the edge of the boat, rolling a blunt between his fingers. The sun’s harsh against his skin, and he doesn’t have sunscreen on, but he likes to think his skin has grown accustomed to the UV rays the island offers at this time of year. He can hear birds in the background, their choice of music today since Pope forgot the speaker he got for Christmas four years ago. 

JJ isn’t thinking about the problems waiting for him on land. The chaos of home and the weight of never having enough are forgotten on this sacred vessel. He knows his life outside the HMS Pogue is waiting patiently for him to return and deal with reality, but he’s not worried about that. His biggest concern is whether Kie will agree to bake them some special brownies since her parents have a fancy ass oven (‘the bigger the oven, the bigger the batch, Kie!’). 

In his mind’s eye, nothing happens next. They become frozen like this – sixteen, careless, clueless, even after everything they’ve already seen. They don’t move forward. They don’t break.

JJ didn’t used to think he was happy. He was always searching for the key to that emotion, thinking it was locked away with a shitload of money. He’d been so eager to find the gold and leave that life behind, but he guesses what they say is true– hindsight really is 20/20. Because he’d already been the closest to happiness he was ever going to get and hadn’t even realized it.

Sarah and Cleo aren’t in his mental image. He doesn’t mean for it to be that way. The sentimental part of him he usually tucks away around the others likes to think that you’d all have found your way to each other somehow. 

You aren’t there either. You’re here. Behind the door that he’s slumped against to remain hidden from wandering eyes. When he opens his blue eyes, it’s dizzying that the surroundings all look the same as the fond memory, but the people aren’t there. 

Those times of never going a day without seeing each other are gone. Somehow, he’s gotten lucky and stretched that lifestyle a few years longer than most childhood friends. College didn’t tear them apart like he used to hold his breath for. Neither did getting his ass thrown in jail. 

Nothing was keeping you guys apart. It’s a choice. Sarah and John B are choosing to prioritize the start of their family. Pope is prioritizing polishing his now muddied resume for a chance at college admissions. Cleo is prioritizing learning the ropes of running a business from Heyward. Kie is (suddenly) prioritizing her relationship with her parents. 

You’re the only one who doesn’t have something that takes precedence over JJ. The remaining piece of the puzzle that’s been undone. The problem is, you can’t stand to be around him. He hasn’t missed how you run off to the bedroom each time you’re in the lounge together or how you hold your breath when he passes by you closely, an inevitable byproduct of the size of your “home.”

 He thought you were making progress, starting to get along after the months-long drought your friendship endured. You were laughing at his jokes again, trusting him with secrets. Trusting him with the boat. The boat was huge. It was the first time JJ felt you’d put aside his mistakes and were willing to move forward. Now, it all felt like a trick of the light, and with one step to the left, the illusion vanished. He should be used to it; people not wanting to stick around. 

His entire life has been about people not wanting to stick around. Luke, Groff. God, he really should be the poster child for Daddy Issues. 

He figures he should be grateful Groff didn’t stick around this time either, but his absence does nothing to put his worries to rest. JJ hadn’t seen Groff around, and he’d heard through Sarah that Groff had apparently been a part of some pyramid scheme Rafe fell victim to and skipped town. If that intel is correct, Groff must be furthering his search for the crown, which means he’d be distracted from returning for JJ. JJ doesn’t know if Groff will come back after finding the crown, but Groff has to know the police found the body, so maybe that means he’ll never come back to the Outer Banks. JJ — maybe for the first time in his life — really hopes Groff will be one of the people who doesn’t come back. The further away Groff stays from the island, the further away the stench of Lightner's body will be from you. And him. 

Throughout his life, JJ has tended to compare himself to Luke. He was so entranced by the concept of nature vs. nurture. He’d thought Luke was his blood, half his DNA. At the end of every internal debate, he’d come to the conclusion that it didn’t matter whether nature outweighed nurture in making a person who they were or not because all he’d ever known was Luke. If Luke’s blood was in his veins and Luke’s hand was the one that raised him, he had no choice but to turn into his father eventually. 

That all is changing now. Luke’s genetics hadn’t played any part in creating him, but he had raised him — raised maybe wasn’t how most would describe it, but it was Luke all the same. So, now, what won? Nature or Nurture? Was he Groff, or was he Luke? Was he both? 

Was his future going to be him constantly jumping between being a drunk and a con artist? Maybe he and Groff aren’t all that different. He’d known he was lying that day on the back road. JJ noticed how Groff talked faster when he told JJ he had locked JJ in to protect his son. He’d helped Groff anyway. Did that make him just as bad? 

 JJ, at sixteen, had been willing to go to any length to get any treasure they could. He’d been at the forefront of it all, leading the Pogues into this nightmare. He’d convinced Pope to abandon his academic dreams, which JJ knew were his only chance at stability. He’d let Kiara’s already contentious relationship with her parents worsen instead of letting them figure out their way over the bump of teenagehood. He’d let John B lose his father again. That rapacity seemed just as strong in Groff. 

Could JJ ever kill for money? He hadn’t thought he could. He’d tried being that man. The one who totes around guns and threatens dangerous men. In the end, he couldn’t follow through. But maybe there’d been a teenage version of Groff who hadn’t been able to follow through either. Then, somewhere along the way, maybe Groff had placed his finger against the trigger and finally pulled it. That could be JJ one day. 

Would life on The Cut, always in trouble and always full of want, turn him into a murderer. Could JJ kill his wife for money? JJ had pieced it together by now. The fact that Larissa Genrette’s death wasn’t the tragic but faultless result of a bad storm. His mother had been murdered. By his father. JJ used to wonder what his mom was like – the girlfriend Luke claimed skipped town when it got too much to take care of him. Now, the truth was settling into his bones, weighing him down more than ever. She hadn’t gotten tired of caring for him. She hadn’t looked at his face one last time and decided she’d had enough. 

She was taken from him by the man who was supposed to love him and love her but loved money more. JJ felt sick every time he thought of it, every time he imagined his mother’s decaying body in that tomb. Had she been in love with Groff? JJ has never been in love but wonders if he will someday be. Would he hurt that woman like Groff hurt his mother? 

A shiver runs up his spine as he realizes that you are his wife despite the unusual circumstances that have brought him to this point. It’s a borrowed title, not his to keep for you, but his for now. He doesn’t think he could put money above you. He’d promised you he was done with the treasure. After three years of being led by his thirst for more, he finally put down the glass, and it was in your name. In part, it’s because the reality of how dangerous this was was catching up to him, even if it was a few years too late. But mostly, it’s because that day, after he’d burned the knife, he’d been moved by the look on your face. Never in the past two years had he seen you so… rattled, helpless. Destroying the weapon Groff used had brought something out or maybe suppressed something in you, and you’d been turning to him for comfort. He can’t explain what it is that’s put a deep-seated desire to grant you that comfort, but he finds himself letting it take over. He let that need to protect you take him to the metaphorical altar, and he let it cause a rift between him and his best friend since kindergarten. 

Even now, when he’s having one of those rare moments where his anger is justified, he wants to go back in and keep the job search going. He wants to put your mind at ease. Be the kind of man who protects, provides, and does all the other domestic bullshit he knows he’s not cut out for. It terrifies him how easily he could slip into this part – the part of a doting husband – if he let himself. 

Realistically, he knows you both need jobs. He’s been trying to land something, but his reputation on the island’s never been too good, and the past few years have only made that worse. Every call he makes is met with the line being cut before he can say his last name or hesitant apologies – the latter are few and far between. He hasn’t even been able to lock down lawn-mowing gigs. Embarrassingly, he’d called the one listing searching for a dog walker and had also been rejected for that. It didn’t look like he could find a job, and he didn’t know how to tell you. 

Sighing, JJ takes out his phone from its spot in his back pocket to check the time. He’d been out here for an hour and a half without realizing it. He decides it’s time to bite the bullet and stands — careful not to stand to his full height in case anyone passes by the dock. When he enters through the door, he doesn’t expect you to still be sitting in the lounge area. But there you are — sitting on the rounded couch, your finger trailing down the page of the paper he’d left for you to find. You’re holding your phone in your right hand — an old iPhone 7 Kiara had lying around and had given you to use when you’d moved here. 

When he closes the door behind him, you flick your head up. Your eyes greet him with a flood of questions and something softer that he can’t place. 

JJ lifts his hands. “I was just outside the door. No one saw.” 

He watches your face fall a bit and wants to make his tone a little less irritated, but he’s always had a hard time not wearing his heart on his sleeve. Whatever he feels, always makes itself known. 

“Okay,” you reply quietly. You avert your gaze from JJ and return to the list in front of you. You don't say anything else, and JJ decides he should go wash up — anything to avoid being in this cage of awkward tension with you. 

Just as he’s turning, he hears you speak again, “JJ?”

JJ waits wordlessly for you to continue. 

“Do you want to go through these listings with me?” It’s not an apology. It’s not even an acknowledgment. It’s your emotionally suppressed version of an olive branch, though, and he wants to take it. If you’re stuck in this living arrangement for the unforeseeable future, you’ll have to be able to get along, or it’s going to be hell. 

JJ sits across from you, the table between you feeling like a safety net for potential fallout. You push the paper between you as you say, “I called the first five, and they’ve already been filled. Isn’t it weird that people actually respond to these listings?” 

JJ shrugs, knitting his brows together. “Not really. Pogues kinda survive off these things.”

“Oh,” you mumble. “Well, that explains why I’ve had no luck.” 

You and JJ start splitting up the listings, alternating between who takes each one unless you find one that seems like a perfect fit for the other. The process leaves you both in silence longer, only the occasional sound of the paper being pushed between you. But you break the stillness when you find an opening for a private surf instructor. 

You scoot around the couch, closing the space between JJ and you until your arm presses into his. You speak with your hands moving in a flurry, excitement seeping into your voice. 

“This is perfect for you,” You say, nudging your knee against his and tapping a spot on the paper. Your voice holds a note of confidence in him that almost makes him believe it, too. Almost. 

JJ hasn’t mentioned that he’s gone through almost the entire list and got turned away from this position the second they heard his name.

JJ doesn’t want to burst your bubble and watch your expression change if he tells you now. He’s worried it’ll only prove to you that JJ is poisonous and his reputation has not been left unscathed. Before he can explain why that position may not be the best fit, you’re already dialing the number and putting the phone on speaker. When the voice rings through the opposite end of the line, you look at him expectantly, waiting for him to introduce himself. You jostle his shoulder when he doesn’t say anything before giving him a funny look and speaking on his behalf. 

“Hi! My name is Y/N, and I was calling for your ad in the paper. The one for the private surfing instructor? Is it still open?”

He watches as you wait with bated breath like this one might be the one that sticks. Your anticipation makes his chest feel tight. He’d told you once, in passing, that he used to win free surfing competitions the OBX hosted when he was a kid. It was the only thing the Kooks who knew him ever gave him credit for. It never made them care about the boy behind the borrowed and battered board, but the brief applause he’d received made him feel like he was on top of the world. It’s why he still loved to surf as often as he could. It was one of the few things he knew he was good at. He was a great surfer, if not the greatest on the island. That just wasn’t enough right now.

“Ah, yes. Yes, it is. Are you interested?” The voice on the other end of the line belongs to a woman JJ’s never met but apparently knows him far too well. “My son Eric's in a bit of a phase but refuses to attend group lessons. If you’re willing, we can arrange a meeting and discuss everything.” 

“I am interested!” You remark and then correct, “Well, not for me. I have a friend who would be perfect for the job. You may have heard of him. JJ May—” 

“Absolutely not.” 

You pull the phone back from you, looking up at him with a confused pout that he tries not to pay too much attention to amid this chaos. “JJ Maybank? He’s a really great surfer. Won multiple competitions—”

“I already told your friend I will not give him this position. If he tries to reach me again, I will call the police.” With that, the line cuts, and you look up at him, your eyes full of confusion and a hint of something like remorse. JJ can’t look at you, so he turns back to the paper and clears his throat. He’s dialing another number, not sure exactly what it’s for, when your hand rests against his, pushing the phone out of the way. 

“How many of these people have you already called?” You ask. JJ considers lying and claiming the woman has no idea what she’s talking about, but he knows he’s lost any footing to make it believable. 

“Um,” JJ clears his throat again, shrugging. “All of them except the last three.” 

You’re quiet, then. He keeps his eyes trained on the table, still too ashamed to meet your eye. He wonders if you’ll be pissed he made you waste all this time. 

“Gross, why would you willingly talk to those assholes again?” JJ’s head snaps up, and your face is morphed into a comical expression of disgust. 

“Need a job,” JJ shrugs, not ready to test the waters of humor you seem to be threading, just in case he says the wrong thing. 

You nod then, “Not with people like that.” 

JJ’s never heard that before. As Pogues, there’s no being picky. There’s no sticking up for yourself. He’s always been taught to keep his head down and do as he’s told. He’s horrible at it, but that’s the advice he’s always been given. You’re the last person he’d expect to go against that type of thinking. Not only because you’re a Pogue like him but because you place survival above everything else. It’s like the mode you're permanently set to. There’s no place for pride and principles when a person’s just trying to get to the next day. 

“What choice do we have?” JJ lets his head fall back against the stiff leather of the couch, getting reminders of how uncomfortably he’s slept the past couple of nights. You mirror his actions, resting your head against the unforgiving surface only to pull your head back up with a wince. That makes JJ smile.  

“What’d you wanna be when you were younger?” You catch JJ off guard with your question. His fingers, which had been idly tapping against the table, still as he raises a brow at you. You’re waiting for an answer, your attention entirely on him, and he takes a moment to consider his reply. 

“Not really sure, if I’m honest. Never really had the chance to dream like that,” JJ tells you.

“Oh, come on,” You push, not buying his answer. You tilt your head as if that’ll do something to make him reconsider. “Every kid has dreams.”

There’s an earnestness in your eyes that reaches out towards JJ and squeezes his heart. He’s never admitted this to anyone, not flat out, but he finds himself wanting to tell you. “The shop, I guess. Since I was twelve. I used to sketch out pictures of how it would look in my textbooks and everything.” 

Your eyes gloss over, a film of sorrow that he knows matches his own, replacing the playful glint in your eyes. It still doesn’t feel real that you’ve lost the land. He watches as you reach out, and he squeezes it when you take hold of his hand. Despite any animosity, this pain is yours to share. 

“It was one hell of a dream.”

“Yeah,” JJ nods, shooting you a sad smile. “It was.”

A moment passes with the two of you sitting just like that, gazing at each other. Then, JJ asks, “What about you? What’s your dream?”

You look down, your lips bashfully turning up at the sides as if embarrassed by your answer. “I wanted to be a CEO.”

JJ lets out a laugh before he can stop himself, and your smile mirrors his, though you add an unimpressed roll of your eyes. “I’m being serious!”

“Oh, I’m sure. Making money off bossing people around? Checks out,” You scoff, but don’t deny it, and JJ knows you couldn’t even if you tried. “What kind of company would you run? I can’t see you in, like, fashion.”

You scoff again, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you say,  “Cause that’s the only thing girls can be in charge of?” 

“I don’t know. What else do little girls dream of?” 

“Oil and gas.” JJ stills at that, his mouth falling agape slightly. 

“What? Oil and gas? That’s some Kook shit if I’ve ever heard it. How’d you land on that?” JJ’s too caught up in how unlikely your answer is to catch when your expression shifts back to serious, but he sees the moment you try to pretend it didn’t happen. You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“Family business,” You say. JJ stills then, not exactly understanding what to make of your words. Family business, as in your family’s business? The one JJ knew nothing about. If your family was in an industry like that, that would make you… not the kind of Pogue he’d thought. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, breaking the silence he’s letting stretch over you two.

JJ shakes his head, “Like what?”

“Like, I’m not who you thought I was.” Your voice is more melancholic than JJ has ever heard, more than he ever thought it could be. You’ve never opened up about your past with JJ, not anything before you met Cleo. Your stories revolved strictly around that time, and he hadn’t even considered what came before that. It’s hard not to let it catch him off guard, but he doesn’t want to lose this moment to learn more about you. To learn you. 

“I, uh, it's just surprising, is all,” JJ clarifies. Then, in an effort to keep you talking, he asks, “Your parents were in oil and gas?”

“Y-yeah,” You hesitate, your fingers fussing with the edge of your shirt, a nervous habit JJ’s picked up on. “My dad’s side. It was a generational thing. My great grandfather, I think.” You chuckle, though it’s entirely humorless. “I used to say I’d be the first girl to take over the company.”

“How…” JJ wants to ask you how someone goes from that to this. How’d you end up with Terrance? Why didn’t you take over the company? But you're begging with your eyes for him not to finish that question, and he doesn’t want to see that forlorn look any longer. Instead, he settles on, “I can’t believe you’re a Kook.”

You give a half-hearted laugh. JJ searches his mind for anything else he can say, but he’s drawing a blank. The best he can come up with is, “So, like, were you the country club kind of Kook?”

You sigh and bite your lip. “Worse. So much worse.”

JJ shifts towards you, leaning in and genuinely interested in what you have to say. “Give it to me. I can handle it.” 

“I…” You give him a side eye that makes him want to laugh in this moment of faux seriousness. “I was in training to be the next season’s most sought-after debutant.” 

JJ blinks slowly, then lets out a disbelieving laugh, and you shove your shoulder against his. “No way. You?” Without thinking, he throws his arm out and rests it against the cushioned seat behind you. He’s still laughing at your displeasure as he says, “I’m sorry. I just can’t imagine it. I mean, I’ve seen you punch grown men. I can’t line that up with dresses and tiaras.” 

Your laugh is soft, but JJ catches the way your eyes flicker like you’re shuffling through those memories. He’s watching you, trying to find the puzzle pieces he’s been missing. He always thought that if he had a life like that – full of money and stability – he’d never know what worrying meant. But you had that, and now you’re sitting here, sharing this cramped space with him. Something had to have gone horribly wrong for you to give up a life like that and end up here. 

“So, tell me, what were you like then? Did you actually enjoy that stuff?” JJ asks.

“Mmm, some of it. I liked wearing the dresses. Thought they made me look like a princess.” Your nose crinkles, like you feel silly admitting it. JJ had never seen you in a dress until the day of the wedding. Your style isn’t exactly edgy – mostly just plain, cropped shirts and well-fitted jeans – but it also didn’t scream hyper-feminine in a way JJ associated dresses with. “The other stuff… It's complicated.”

“How so?” JJ ventures to ask. He’s not sure you’ll answer with how evasive you’re being, but he still tries. 

“I guess,” You stop for a moment, and he can see you analyzing every possible choice of words before you speak them. Then you shake your head and say, “The dresses could get itchy sometimes.”

You’re deflecting, using humor to throw him off the scent of what you want to say. You’re not as okay as you’re trying to present yourself to be in this moment, but he won’t push. He won’t make you relive something you’ve clearly tried so hard to forget. For now, he’ll give you a little piece of him that he’s scared to let go of. A piece of honesty that he’s trying to bury. 

“You know, uh,” JJ starts, his fingers tapping against the cushion. “I’ve been thinking about it recently. What my life would’ve been like if I'd grown up a Genrette. Or, Groff, I guess.” 

You tilt your head as you say, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” JJ nods. “Like, would I have met John B? I can’t imagine my life not being defined by him. It’s always kind of been like before him and after him.” 

“Wow,” you say, breathlessly. “That’s like really fucking beautiful, JJ.” 

JJ gives you a lopsided grin because he knows it sounds dramatic, but it’s also what he truly feels. Before John B, JJ was a seven-year-old left to his own devices too often for them to be considered safe. After John B, safety still wasn’t a facet of his life, but at least he wasn’t wandering alone. 

“I kind of feel that way about Cleo,” you offer. “I know what was before her, but after that, everything’s defined by her. I would’ve never followed Sarah and John B if she hadn’t decided it was best for us.”

“How can you find it in yourself to trust her so much?” 

You lean the side of your head against the cushion, but JJ hasn’t moved his arm, so you’re resting against him. You don’t move your head away, and JJ doesn’t move his arm away. JJ’s feet are firm against the boat floor, but his torso is twisted towards you. Sometime in the midst of this conversation, you’ve brought your legs up and tucked them beneath you, making your knees brush against his upper thighs. The two of you are so close to each other, wholly invested in what the other has to say, as the baton of vulnerability passes from one to the other. 

“Easy. I realized one day that her choices never ended badly for us. I trust her because she doesn’t give me the chance not to.”

JJ swallows thickly, his hand, which was resting against the cushion, now brushing against the top of your hair. He’s unsure where he gets the audacity, but he doesn’t take away his touch. 

“That’s kind of a high bar,” he says, trying to keep his vulnerability at bay and away from his voice. “Only trusting someone who gets it right every time.” 

“It’s the best I can do. I can’t afford to make mistakes.” 

There’s a thread of hope that JJ didn’t realize he had left that frays at that moment. Any chance of you ever learning to trust him seems to go out the small rectangular window above the lounge table. As long as JJ is precisely who he’s always been, you’ll never be able to trust him. 

Even with this reminder, he doesn’t find it in himself to want to pull back and put some distance between you. Instead, he stays right there, his fingers still deftly playing with the hair at the crown of your head. 

You shake your head, making your hair tickle JJ’s palm. “It’s not about getting it right every time.”

“No?” JJ asks. 

You shake your head again. “It’s about knowing that the mistakes won't ruin everything. That we’ll still be here after. Together.”

Your voice breaks at the last word, and JJ feels the crack extend into his heart. He doesn’t know if you’re doing it on purpose or if you’re so caught up in being honest that you don’t realize, but you explain exactly why you haven’t been able to tolerate JJ. Until the property hearing, all of this felt like his fault. Bidding all that money at the auction and then betting the rest at the enduro? It was exactly what had proven to you that he didn’t deserve your trust. 

But you’re still together. Even if it’s just you two on this boat, it’s still a part of your family that hasn’t been taken away from you yet. He might be the last one you want. Maybe you don’t want him at all. But he could be the one to bring the rest of the pieces together. He doesn’t know what he can do, but he decides at this moment that he’ll figure it out and do whatever it takes. 

“Look, I—” JJ’s attempt at making you a promise he thinks you need to hear is cut short by the melodic ring of your phone. Your heads snap to the phone that lies forgotten on the table. You're getting a FaceTime call, Cleo’s name written in bold text across the top. 

As you pick up your phone, JJ expects you to get up and take the call in your room like you have every other day this week. Instead, you shift your body to face the table and pick up the call, but don’t move from your spot next to him. You swipe the answer button to the right, pushing the phone back so you’re both in the frame, and Cleo pops up on the screen. 

Cleo is lying her head against a red shirt he recognizes as Pope’s, and when she registers that JJ's there, too, she pulls back the screen so Pope is visible. 

“Woah-ho-ho,” Cleo sings. “Rudeboy, what’s up, man?” 

Despite the tense moment that JJ is still coming off of, he smiles at the nickname Cleo gave him. He’ll admit he kind of loves it. 

“Nothin’ much,” JJ replies. “What’s up with y’all?” 

“Just chillin’,” Pope adds, resting his head atop Cleo’s. “Didn’t think we’d catch you both in the same room.” 

You scoff next to him. “We live together. Why would we not be in the same room?”

Pope just hums and says,  “Y’all look cozy.” 

A warm flush of embarrassment creeps up JJ’s neck as he registers Pope’s words and your position. JJ badly wants to reach through the screen and slap the smirk off Pope's face. He considers moving his arm from behind you but then decides against it. Instead, he relaxes further into the seat, relishing how you press further into his touch just the slightest bit. It’s not enough for Pope and Cleo to notice through the camera, but he notices how your skin pushes further into his palm. 

“We were looking through job listings,” You tell them. 

“Hm, sounds boring,” Cleo says. 

“But necessary.”

“And necessary.”

You and Pope laugh at your synchronized speech. JJ’s head falls back with a dramatic sigh. 

“Great,” He groans. “Now, I’m stuck with two Popes.”

“How's the boat been?” Pope asks, his tone a little more serious.

“It’s been… manageable,” You say, looking up at JJ. “I’m glad we found it.”

 JJ easily understands the real meaning of your words. It’s your way of saying thank you. He gives you a gentle smile, and you return it with a subtler one. 

“Ooo, Kiara is pissed, by the way,” Cleo’s quip catches JJ’s attention pulling it away from you. He gathers she’s said something she isn’t supposed to by the way Pope quietly whispers ‘babe’ through the side of his mouth.  “What, it’s true!”

JJ doesn’t have to ask what she’s referring to because he already knows. You, on the other hand, likely have no clue why Kie’s upset. 

“At me? Why? What happened?” You ask, and JJ feels at fault yet again for something going wrong in your life. 

“Oh…” Cleo trails off. “Cause JJ said he didn’t want to stay on the boat? When she suggested it for the two of them?”  Cleo has always been a bit too blunt, but right now it’s really bothering JJ. 

“Huh?” You ask, but your attention is trained on JJ. “She wanted to come with us?”

“Uh, not exactly,” JJ mumbles, side-eyeing Pope and Cleo on the video call. “ That’s not what happened.” 

“Alright, well, I’m exhausted.” Pope is clearly finding an excuse to leave because it’s only five in the evening, but JJ lets it go, bidding the couple goodbye. Once the line clicks, JJ gets up from the couch, suddenly wanting to move his legs. 

“JJ?”

“Hm,” He hums.

“Why’s Kiara mad?” 

JJ sighs because he genuinely does not want to hash this out with you or anyone for that matter. Kiara’s anger – whether justified or not – has been something he’s been trying to ignore for the past week. He pushed it to the further corner of his mind, and it was easy until now. Everyone was so busy settling into their new places that he hadn’t seen her since the day she’d walked away from him. She’d suggested something he couldn’t bring himself to do, and his inability to follow through had severed something between them. Whatever existed between them, he felt it snap and morph into something much uglier at that moment outside their old house.  

“She…” JJ huffs out a breath of annoyance. At what he’s not sure. Himself, maybe.  “She suggested that we come to this boat. Like, just me and her. Before we found out about Sarah.” 

Your brows furrow as you consider this. “Like, instead of you going to Sarah’s?”

“Yeah.” JJ stops his pacing – the three-step shuffle he's been doing because the walls of this boat are so damn close. “She said it’d be… simpler.”

“Ah.”

“But I said no because… I don't know,” JJ lies.

 He told Kie that day, in the shadow of their old house, that he didn’t want to come back to this boat. The boat wasn’t just a way he made a quick buck when he was younger, but it’s where he’d seek refuge when things got especially bad with Luke. When the drunken insults were too much to swallow or the beatings seemed endless, he’d run away and seek shelter here. It was where he’d hide when the Chateau wasn’t an option—when Big John and John B were out of town or when the damage was so bad he couldn’t let anyone see him. Kie knew about it because sometimes, her or John B would find him here after he went AWOL for a couple days. 

But when he’d found out Sarah was pregnant, this was the first place he thought of. He thought he’d put the days of hiding out in this boat behind him, but for you he didn’t think twice about returning to this haunted cabin. 

“Ah,” You murmur again. You stand up but lean against the table, maintaining the distance he’s put between you two. “She can still come.”

JJ just looks at you in disbelief at your impossible suggestion. The boat is hard to manage between the two of you; adding a third person would be unmanageable.

“I can take the couch–”

“Y/N.”

“And you guys can–”

“There’s no–”

“Take the room. Then, when we start working–”

After you've thrown enough nonsense out, JJ crosses the space between you in one swift step, takes hold of your hands, and pulls you towards him. The sudden motion throws you off balance, and your eyes widen in surprise.

“Would you shut up?” Your look of shock from his abruptness changes to an indignant expression.

“Excuse me–”

“Kie’s not coming to stay with us,” JJ says firmly, unwilling to go down this line of thinking with you. 

“I don’t want to come between you both,” You say, your eyes shifting away from him awkwardly. It’s a conversation you both haven’t had yet. One he's been actively avoiding like he usually does with most challenging stuff. JJ’s not sure what he’d say if you did. He doesn’t exactly know where he stands with Kie or where he wants to stand with her, so he wouldn’t know where to begin explaining the situation to you. “She’s my friend.” 

“She’s my friend, too, " he concurs. "But our space isn’t big enough, and right now, I need to keep my focus on you.” 

The second the words leave his mouth, JJ wants to take them back. This isn't the first time he's expressed that he has your back in all of this, but this time it feels different. Heavier and bigger in a way than he's ready for. He can't describe the tug in his chest when he's looking at you like this - eyes tilted up at him in wait. It's different from the panicked knot he gets when spiraling, which usually makes him unravel. This tug feels like a call to action. And it's telling him to not let anything bad happen to you anymore.   

JJ knows he should say something to make his words seem like they mean less, but his brain short-circuits. For some reason, he doesn't feel as afraid as he should about wanting to be the one who keeps you safe. 

"Okay," you say, sparing him from finding the right words. 

"Okay." He repeats. He's not sure exactly what you're agreeing on. That Kie can't come? Or the fact that he needs you in his line of sight? But he knows he'll have to have that dreadful conversation with Kie soon. After that he'll have to figure out why when you step away from him, taking your touch with you, it feels wrong. 

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[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Series

day three: the morning after

ᰔ pairing: oberyn martell x reader

ᰔ summary: everyone talks about their night in oberyn's bed, but they seem to leave out what happens the morning after.

ᰔ author's note: i could write about oberyn martell every day for the rest of my life and feel fulfilled. he's one of my favorite pedro boys and i'll never get over the end of his story. ouch ouch ouch. also i don't write a lot of smut so please let me know how i can improve! i'd like to get better at it :)

ᰔ content warning: 18+ / MDNI!!! it's oberyn, all bets are off. actually he's really sweet in this one, in his own way. afab!reader. fingering. very loose GoT lore here and there.

Many had warned you of the Prince's bed and what a night with him entailed. It was no secret that Oberyn was not shy, not one to hold back when in the throws of passion. If you had heard one thing about his bedchambers, you had heard a thousand.

You stirred at the sound of the sea as it wafted through the quiet room. As you came to your senses, you felt two strong arms wrapped around you. One hand was settled beneath your breasts, the pad of his thumb pressed into the soft flesh between your sternum. The other cradled your thigh, his arm across your hips.

A soft squeak slipped from you as you stretched in Oberyn's hold. Even after your rest, your body still ached with pleasure. The few you had taken to bed before had never left you feeling how you did now. When you slunk out of their rooms, a tight knot sat in the pit of your stomach— dissatisfaction and a sense of disgust washed over you.

Here, you felt loose and limber, pliable pressed against the chest of your lover. As you shifted again, you felt Oberyn's hand squeeze you. His hold was gentle but firm as the pads of his fingers left marks in your flesh. You felt his lips press against the back of your neck and trailed along your shoulder.

"Good morning, my darling," Oberyn muttered against your bare skin. It sent a shiver down your spine, hazy memories of the night before slowly coming back to you. While it was a night you'd never forget, Dornish wine left some details muddled.

"Good morning," you murmured. You turned your head to catch his sleepy gaze. Part of you wondered if Oberyn ever looked bad— who managed to look handsome moments after waking up?

As his lips brushed against a mark he left last night, you shivered. Even after how spent he left you last night, you still felt that simmer inside you. A hunger in you that only Oberyn seemed to satiate. You thought you'd had your fill last night, but with his lips all over you...

"Oberyn," you breathed out. You lost track of what had been on your lips, some throw away comment about how nice his bed was. Instead, all you thought of was his hand on your hips and how it dipped between your thighs.

It was no secret that Oberyn was good with his hands, the way he wielded every weapon in his armory. His fingers? You believed they were crafted by the Gods above, a divine gift the Dornish prince knew how to use well. How you had been so lucky to receive their treatment, you still had yet to wrap your head around it. Not that you had time to figure out, the way they teased against your lips.

"Use your words. You had no issues doing so last night." Oberyn's low voice in your ear, his middle finger drew slow, agonizing circles against your clit. That simmer in your stomach bubbled as his other hand shifted from beneath your breast. He twisted your nipple, a smirk on his lips as you gasped under your breath. Every little sound that slipped out of you only brought him more pleasure.

"Oberyn—" You arched your back into his chest as desperation grew within you. You had your share of experience with the Dornish shores, sailed on them between fortnights, yet they were nothing compared to the divine pleasure that washed over you with every lazy circle of Oberyn's finger.

"More, my darling. Don't let yourself grow distracted." Even the way he spoke had that growing heat stretch up your spine. It battled the beating sun that began to spill into the room, the humidity thick in the air.

"Ah– Harder, please," you pleaded. Oberyn pressed a second finger down, his fingers followed your command as they moved faster. He was willing to give you whatever you wanted if it meant he heard those pathetic little sounds you couldn't hold back. The murmurs and the soft moans that he had enjoyed the night before, had hoped to hear again.

"So obedient," Oberyn praised. His other hand moved from one breast to the other, giving your pert nipple the attention it deserved.

"Need you inside me. Want to feel you," you managed to get out. It was hard to string together words, piece together cohesive thoughts as he touched you. Whatever had been left in your mind was moot as his hand abandoned your breast to fill your cunt.

As one finger filled your cunt, your own hands grabbed for his arms. Not to stop him, but to brace yourself– his back had seen what your own hands were capable of last night. His finger curled and found the point of pleasure few- if any other lover had found. How he made such quick work, you weren't sure, and you were in no position to question it as he slipped a second finger in.

"Gods!" You cried out as both hands worked in tandem. Oberyn's name slipped from your lips between begs and please for more, more. Of those who had seen the inside of his personal bedchamber, you were his favorite. The way your voice drifted through the room, how soft you were in his hands. He wondered if you had been crafted by the Gods for his own sake.

"That's it, my darling," he murmured in your ear. "Let yourself go." It was all you needed to let yourself fall over the edge, your own fingers dug into the flesh of his arms as you released all over his hands. Oberyn's hands worked you through the pleasure until you were slump against his chest again.

You felt the ache of emptiness as his hands moved away, away from your body. Your eyes were trained on Oberyn as he brought his fingers to his lips, his eyes met yours as he licked them clean. Even as you recovered from your orgasm, you felt that simmer return as it settled in the pit of your stomach.

"Sweet," Oberyn muttered to himself as his fingers slipped out of his mouth. You shifted in his hold to face him, your arms around his neck as you kissed him. The taste of you still lingered on his tongue.

Of all the things you had heard about Oberyn's bedchambers, none had prepared you for this. Had you been the only one to receive such treatment, to be pleasured by the Dornish prince with care as the sun rose? Were others blessed by the Gods by way of a man such as him?

Whether they were or not, it didn't matter to you. Not when you were the one who kept his bed warm in the moment, the one with your name on Oberyn's lips and his cock inside you.

[thyras]

→ of unspoken truths

PAIRING → annatar | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 7.1k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → mild abuse (he chokes her), arguments, angst, manipulation

SUMMARY → when the truth comes to light it brings with it great sorrow and tragedy, and it would seem all is lost.

AUTHORS NOTE → this chapter broke me, like i'm gonna need a few days to recover. i really had not meant for this to go this way but the characters have a mind of their own and i went with it.

masterlist // series playlist // mood board

His index finger traced slow, circular patterns below your navel as you gazed up at him, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Moonlight poured through the balcony doors, bathing him in a silver glow, casting shadows along the sharp planes of his face. His sapphire eyes shimmered in the dim light, half-lidded with quiet reverence. Propped up on one elbow, he watched you with a lazy, indulgent smile, taking in the love-lorn expression that softened your features.

There was something so right about this—this moment, this union—that neither of you dared to speak, afraid that the illusion would shatter with a single breath.

Annatar leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss, his fingers flattening against your stomach in a tender caress. You smiled into the kiss, threading your fingers through his silken strands. He deepened it, his tongue gliding sensually against yours as his hand continued to trace over your womb with quiet reverence. The intimate contact sent shivers of pleasure rippling through you, your body alive under his touch.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your cheeks warmed with the afterglow of his affection.

"I still can't quite believe it," he murmured, his voice edged with awe as his gaze drifted down to where his hand rested possessively over your stomach. "A child. Our child."

You smiled, your own hand coming to rest over his, fingers intertwining. "I know. It feels like a dream."

And in many ways, it was. After centuries of love and loss, of separation and reunion, the idea that you now carried a piece of both of you—a tangible embodiment of your unbreakable bond—seemed too wondrous to be real.

You shifted into your pillow, your hand reaching up to trace the line of his cheekbone, down along his jaw, before cupping his chin. Your fingers rested there as you took him in—your husband. In all the forms your elven eyes had known him, this one felt the closest to the first, the one you had fallen for so long ago.

Yet, even as you stared at him now, you could not help but wonder. His human form seemed the most natural to him, almost as if it was the one he had worn the longest. As Halbrand, he had carried himself with ease, his movements fluid in a way they had never quite been in his elven guises. There was a quiet confidence in the way he walked as a man, as though it had been his truest self all along.

But deep down, you knew the truth. The form you had first fallen in love with was the one you held dearest in your heart—the one he had fashioned for your eyes alone.

You mourned its loss.

If only, just for one night, you could see it again—to feel the gentle caress of that form, to run your fingers through fiery strands that shimmered like molten copper in the moonlight, to drown once more in seafoam-green eyes that had once held the light of the world within them.

Would he ever take that form again, if only for you?

Would he understand how much you longed for it?

Or was it truly lost, a relic of a past that neither of you could ever reclaim?

As if he had plucked the thought straight from your mind, he spoke, his voice low and intimate.

“I can take that form for you and only you, my love,” he murmured, his gaze searching yours for the answer he already knew lay within your heart. His breath was warm against your lips, his presence anchoring you to this moment.

You cupped his cheek once more, your fingers brushing over the familiar planes of his face. He leaned into your touch instinctively, his eyes half-lidded with devotion.

“I thought it was lost as well,” he admitted after a moment of silence. “But now that I am stronger… and now that I have your memories—I could take it again if that is what you desire.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, quick and uneven, as if it could barely contain the weight of the moment. Warmth spread through you, a mixture of anticipation and longing. The thought of seeing him once more as he had been—of slipping back into a time when the world was brighter, simpler—was intoxicating.

And yet…

You smiled, slow and tender, giving him your answer.

“Let my memories and my dreams be where that form lies, love,” you whispered, your voice carrying the bittersweet certainty of your decision. “Let it be hers alone—the one who loved you then, the one who lived in those days.”

You paused, letting your thumb trace the sharp edge of his cheekbone before sweeping down to the curve of his jaw. His breath hitched, just barely, at your touch.

“But this…” you continued, gazing into the depths of his eyes—the eyes of the being who had walked countless paths, who had changed and endured, who had loved you through it all. “Let this be the form of the one I love now, the one who stands before me.”

His lips parted slightly, as if he might argue, as if he might offer again, but something in your gaze stopped him. Understanding flickered across his face, followed by something deeper—something more profound than longing.

He lifted his hand to cover yours where it rested against his cheek, pressing it close. Then, with a reverence that sent a shiver down your spine, he turned his head, brushing a kiss against the center of your palm.

“As you wish, my love,” he murmured, the words a vow as much as a promise.

Annatar's lips lingered against your palm, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. When he finally pulled back, his eyes shone with a depth of emotion that stole your breath—love, awe, and a quiet reverence that humbled you to your core.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with feeling. "For loving me as I am now. For seeing beyond the shadows of the past."

Your heart swelled at his words, at the raw vulnerability in his gaze. You knew what this meant to him—to be accepted, to be loved, not for who he had been, but for who he was now. With all his flaws, all his scars, all the darkness he still carried within.

Slowly, you reached for him, drawing him close until your foreheads touched, your breaths mingling in the scant space between you. Your fingers curled against the nape of his neck, grounding him, anchoring him in the moment.

"I will always love you, Mairon," you whispered fiercely. "In every form, through every trial. That will never change."

Annatar’s eyes fluttered closed, a shuddering breath escaping him as he absorbed your words, letting them wash over him like a balm. A muscle in his jaw tensed as he fought to contain the storm of emotions within him. When he opened his eyes again, they gleamed with unshed tears, reflecting the moonlight that bathed you both.

"Mori," he breathed, the single word carrying the weight of centuries—of love and loss, hope and heartbreak. His fingers ghosted along your cheek, reverent, hesitant, as if afraid you might fade like a dream. "My divine. My everything."

Then he captured your lips once more, the kiss deep and consuming, filled with a desperation that spoke of long years of separation, of an ache that had never truly faded. His hands tightened at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, as if to imprint your very essence into his soul.

You melted into his kiss, surrendering to the desperate hunger of his touch. Your fingers threaded through his hair, holding him close as you poured every ounce of love, every shred of devotion, into the meeting of your lips. In this moment, nothing existed but him—his warmth, his scent, the steady beat of his heart against yours.

When you finally parted, breathless and flushed, Annatar’s eyes were dark with desire, his pupils blown wide. His hand slid down, fingers splaying possessively across your stomach, his touch searing through the thin fabric of your nightgown. A shiver coursed through you, not from cold, but from the raw intensity in his gaze.

"Every day, I am in awe of you," he murmured, his voice low and rough, as if the weight of his emotions threatened to consume him. "Of the strength you carry, the light you bring to my world. And now..." His fingers flexed against your belly, reverence and something almost fragile warring in his tone. “I finally feel complete.”

Your heart ached with tenderness as you gazed up at him, your fingers lifting to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, eyes searching yours, as if committing this moment to memory. A quiet beat passed, the night air thick with unspoken emotions, before he spoke again, softer this time.

"I wish we had done this sooner."

A giggle bubbled past your lips, light and teasing, as you brushed your nose against his. “If it had been up to me, we would have,” you murmured, a playful smile dancing across your lips. You let the moment stretch, reveling in the warmth of his hold before adding, “But it has always been your choice, my love. You had to want it, not I.”

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against your skin, and in his eyes, you saw it—the understanding, the unspoken gratitude, and the love that ran deeper than words could ever express.

And when he kissed you again, it was slow, reverent, a silent promise written in the language of his touch: I have always wanted you. I will always want you.

As your lips parted, you caught a flicker of something in his eyes—an emotion buried beneath his adoration, fleeting yet undeniable. Concern. Doubt. Something unspoken.

You ran your finger across his bottom lip before nipping at it playfully, a mischievous glint in your eyes, hoping to draw him back to the present, to chase away whatever shadowed his thoughts. But the worry lingered, stubborn and unresolved.

“What’s the matter, love?” you asked softly, settling back against your pillows. You pulled the linen sheets up over yourself, cocooning in their warmth as the night air whispered through the open balcony. Annatar’s gaze drifted past you, out into the darkness beyond, his eyes distant, lost in thought.

For a moment, you wondered if he would answer at all. But then, he turned back to you, offering a smile—pleasant, practiced, but not quite reaching his eyes.

“Nothing I wish to burden you with,” he murmured, his voice gentle yet evasive. He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

Your heart clenched.

Reaching up, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, stilling him, holding his gaze for a moment longer. "Mairon," you murmured, your tone a quiet plea, an unspoken invitation to share what troubled him.

His lips parted as if to speak, but instead, he exhaled slowly, his thumb tracing absent circles against your skin. The weight of his silence pressed against you, thick with meaning, with hesitation.

And yet, you did not push—only waited. Because you knew, eventually, he would let you in.

“I am worried that Lord Celebrimbor no longer wishes to continue in this venture,” Annatar admitted, his voice quiet but laced with tension.

You frowned, confusion flickering across your face. “And what makes you think that?”

His jaw tightened slightly. “He refuses to aid me in forging the Rings for Men.”

A weight settled in your chest at his words. You swallowed hard, the action small yet unmistakable, and Annatar’s sharp eyes did not miss it. The warmth of his touch left your skin as he shifted, sitting up against the headboard, his fingers pressing against his temples. A long sigh escaped him, weary and edged with frustration.

“And now you are refusing,” he murmured, half to himself, his voice tinged with something dangerously close to disappointment.

Your breath caught. “Mairon,” you said, disbelief threading through your tone. You sat up beside him, searching his face, but his eyes remained closed. “I am not refusing. I only wish to understand—why does Lord Celebrimbor object? What are his reasons?”

A silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken things. Annatar’s fingers stilled against his brow, and when he finally opened his eyes, they burned with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I do not need his reasoning,” he said, voice low, measured. “I need his obedience.”

The words hung between you like a blade’s edge, their weight settling uncomfortably in the space you shared. And for the first time in months, you saw the light dim from his face, fading like the last embers of a dying fire.

Mairon.

This was not something he would have said before—not unless he was slipping back into the darker recesses of his mind, the shadows he had fought so hard to escape.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself, then reached for him, seeking the warmth of his hand in yours. But before your fingers could close around his, he pulled away—subtle, yet deliberate.

Your heart clenched.

“Mairon,” you whispered, the ache in your voice betraying the sting of his rejection. It was rare for him to deny your touch, rare for him to shut you out like this. And yet, he did not so much as glance at you, his gaze locked on some distant point, lost in the tangled threads of his thoughts.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, a quiet chasm between you that you weren’t sure how to bridge. You swallowed hard, the weight of the silence pressing against your chest like an unseen force. Without another word, you slipped out of bed, the cool air brushing against your skin as you reached for your silk dressing gown draped over the back of your dressing table’s chair.

The rustling of fabric caught Annatar’s attention, and for the first time since the conversation had turned, his gaze lifted to you. His brow furrowed, his expression puzzled by your sudden movement.

You turned to face him, meeting his gaze with quiet resolve. The silence between you stretched for another beat before you finally broke it.

“I am going to see what this is all about,” you said, your tone measured but firm. “If you wish to come, then so be it. But I will not stand idly by while you let this consume you.”

His lips parted slightly, but no words came.

You took a breath, gathering your thoughts before continuing, softer this time. “You have worked too hard these past few months to fall back into old habits, Mairon. Do not let this undo everything.”

His expression shifted—something unreadable flickering across his features. Guilt? Frustration? Perhaps both.

But still, he said nothing.

You tightened the belt of your gown and turned toward the door, determined to find the truth for yourself. Whether he followed or not, you would not let this fester in silence.

You strode down the dimly lit corridors with determined steps, the soft rustle of your silken dressing gown trailing behind you. The cool night air whispered against your skin, but you paid it no mind, your focus set on a single purpose—to uncover the truth behind Lord Celebrimbor’s reluctance and Annatar’s growing frustration.

The halls were silent at this hour, save for the distant crackle of torches lining the walls. You moved with purpose, your thoughts a storm of questions, doubts, and the lingering ache of Annatar’s retreat into himself.

As you neared the forge, the familiar scent of molten metal and parchment filled your senses. You hesitated only briefly before pushing the door open with deliberate care, trying to remain as quiet as possible.

Inside, the forge’s fire had long since dimmed, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. And there, hunched over his workbench, was Celebrimbor. His brow furrowed in deep concentration as he scribbled across a sheet of parchment, utterly absorbed in his work.

The moment you stepped inside, a strange sensation rippled through you—a pull at your very core. The ring on your finger pulsed, subtle yet insistent, a warning whispering through your blood.

Something was amiss.

Before you could dwell on it, Celebrimbor’s voice broke the silence.

“Thilwen?” His head lifted, eyes widening slightly in surprise as he took you in. “It is late. I thought you would be sleeping.”

You exhaled softly, schooling your features into a pleasant smile as you stepped forward, the phantom pulse of the ring fading as you willed it away.

“I could say the same of you, my lord,” you mused, ascending the steps that led to his small study. The glow of the fireplace cast deep shadows across his face, accentuating the lines of exhaustion that marred his otherwise noble features.

You came to stand beside him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder as your gaze flickered down to the parchment beneath his hand.

“What is keeping you awake?” you asked, voice laced with quiet curiosity.

You felt the subtle tension beneath your palm, the way his shoulders stiffened ever so slightly before he let out a slow breath.

“Many things,” he admitted, though there was something guarded in his tone. His fingers tightened briefly around his quill before he set it down. “But I suspect you already know that.”

Your stomach tightened.

So he was troubled.

“I do,” you breathed, shifting to sit beside him on the bench. “Would you care to tell me?”

Celebrimbor turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he studied you.

“He sent you, didn’t he?”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the suspicion in his tone. Shaking your head, you met his gaze with quiet honesty.

“I came of my own accord,” you assured him. “He mentioned you were troubled, and I realized I have been remiss in my duties as your faithful partner.”

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he turned back to his work. “It feels as though Lord Annatar has replaced me in that sense.” you finished.

But before you could say anything further, Celebrimbor reached for your hands, enclosing them gently within his own. His touch was warm, steady, reassuring.

“No, my lady,” he murmured, his voice rich with sincerity. “There is no one who could ever replace your wisdom—not even an emissary of the Valar.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest at his words, and a soft heat crept to your cheeks. You glanced down at your entwined hands, momentarily lost for words.

“You are too kind, my lord,” you whispered, then hesitated before continuing. “Can I offer you any of that wisdom to ease what troubles you?”

A heavy sigh escaped him as he withdrew his hands, turning back to his parchment. “I dare not burden you with that.”

A light laugh bubbled from your lips, though there was an edge of exasperation beneath it. “You know,” you mused, reaching up to touch his cheek, gently guiding his gaze back to yours, “you are the second person to say that to me tonight.”

He blinked at you, something shifting behind his eyes as you smiled softly.

“So tell me, mellon,” you urged, your voice dipping into something quieter, more intimate. “I do not wish for you to be burdened by whatever weighs so heavily upon you.”

For a moment, he only looked at you, his lips parting as if to speak. Then, at last, he exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for you to know that he would tell you—if only you were willing to listen.

“I feel as if he is not willing to listen to reason,” Celebrimbor began, his voice edged with frustration.

You bit back a knowing smile, amusement flickering in your chest despite the weight of the conversation. Mairon, unwilling to listen to reason? That was a tale as old as time. He had never been one to accept resistance, nor did he take the word no particularly well. It seemed that, even after all these ages, some things had not changed.

Celebrimbor exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “He wishes to craft something for those who are so easily swayed—so easily corruptible. Do you not see the danger in that? These rings would not be a gift; they would be a temptation. A power that many would wield not for good, but for malice.”

His words carried a quiet urgency, a deep-seated concern that weighed on his every syllable.

You studied him, the flickering forge light casting sharp shadows across his face. There was no doubt in his mind, no hesitation in his belief.

And yet, there was doubt in yours.

You had seen the best in Mairon, had known the warmth beneath the steel, the brilliance behind the ambition. He had changed—or at least, you had believed he had.

But had he truly?

Or had you simply wished so desperately for it to be true?

Had the cloud of joy—the miracle of carrying life within you, the warmth of being back in your husband’s arms—made you so blind to what was unfolding right before your very eyes? Had love softened your vigilance, dulled the instincts that once warned you of the dangers lurking beneath the surface?

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself before speaking.

“I agree with you,” you admitted, choosing your words carefully. “I think it would be a terrible idea. I have never lived among Men, but I know enough to understand what they are capable of when given power. And I remember well the ruin they can bring upon this world.”

Celebrimbor released a slow breath, relief flickering in his eyes as a small, weary smile touched his lips.

“I am glad we see eye to eye on this,” he murmured.

You nodded, reaching out to brush your thumb against his cheek, a small gesture of comfort, of familiarity. He leaned into the touch for the briefest of moments before reaching up to take your hand once more, his fingers curling around yours with quiet reassurance.

“We have always seen eye to eye, my lord,” you reminded him, your voice soft, steady. “It is why we have accomplished so much together.”

His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his expression unreadable. And yet, beneath the warmth of his touch, beneath the quiet understanding that had always bound you, you could not shake the lingering unease that settled in your chest.

Because for all the certainty in his words, for all the trust between you—there was another bond, one just as strong, just as deep.

And you were not sure how long you could stand between them before you were forced to choose.

When you returned to your chambers, you found Annatar exactly where you had left him—sitting against the headboard, unmoving, lost in thought. The dim candlelight cast flickering shadows across his face, deepening the furrow in his brow, the tension in his jaw.

His gaze lifted as you entered, tracking your every movement as you crossed the room. You shrugged off your dressing gown, draping it over the back of the chair by your dressing table, and let out a slow breath, exhaustion settling into your bones. The weight of the conversation with Celebrimbor still clung to you, and you could feel Annatar’s silent scrutiny pressing against your back as you slipped beneath the sheets.

The silence between you was thick, suffocating.

Then, at last, he spoke.

“So… will he do it?” His voice was calm, but you could hear the tension coiled beneath it, like a blade pressed too tightly against its sheath.

You did not face him. Instead, you turned toward the open balcony doors, watching as the night wind stirred the gossamer curtains. You knew what was about to come out of your mouth would not go over well. But it had to be said. And coming from you—perhaps it would wound him less.

“No.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before. You could feel it stretching between you, fraying at the edges. Then, suddenly, the bed shifted violently as Annatar rose in a swift, almost volatile motion.

You let out a slow breath, steadying yourself before turning to face him.

His eyes burned.

It was not the smoldering warmth you had grown accustomed to over the past months—not the quiet intensity of devotion or longing. No, this was something else. Something dangerous.

Something you had not seen in a long time.

And it frightened you.

“I agree with him,” you murmured, voice steady despite the way your heart pounded against your ribs. “You should not be giving power to them. They will only use it to hurt, Mairon.”

His name fell from your lips—a plea, a warning.

But the fire in his gaze did not wane. If anything, it burned brighter, sharper, flickering with something dark and unreadable.

And in that moment, you realized—this was not a conversation.

This was a battle.

One that neither of you could afford to lose.

“So you wish to turn your back on me as well?” Annatar’s voice was low, but there was an accusation woven into it, sharp as a dagger’s edge.

Your chest tightened.

“No,” you countered firmly, sitting up as the sheets pooled around your waist. “That is not what I am trying to do at all.”

But he was not listening—not truly. His stance was rigid, his gaze burning with something raw and unyielding.

Frustration bubbled up inside you, tightening your throat. “I am trying to make you see that you are pressuring someone into something they do not want to do. You are manipulating them, ignoring their warnings, dismissing their concerns as if they mean nothing.”

Your voice wavered with rising agitation, your emotions spilling over like a dam beginning to crack.

“The Dwarves needed our help,” you pressed, eyes locking onto his. “Men do not.”

The words left your lips with finality, each syllable deliberate, pointed.

Annatar stared at you, his expression unreadable, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

For the first time in a long time, you wondered if he even heard you at all—or if he had already made up his mind.

What came out of his mouth next sent a tremor down your spine.

“I never thought you to be so prejudiced, Mori,” he said, his voice low, measured—dangerous. “You think like every other Elf.”

Your breath hitched, but your glare did not waver. Anger still churned hot in your chest.

“You feel you are better than them,” he continued, eyes burning into yours, “but as I see it, you are afraid of them.”

Your hands clenched against the sheets, nails biting into your palms.

“Why do you care so much?” you shot back, your voice laced with frustration. “You are not one of them.” Your gaze narrowed, sharp and unyielding. “You hardly seem to care what your Elven wife thinks these days, so why are they so much more important than me? Than our baby?”

The moment the words left your lips, you knew you had gone too far.

A flicker of something dark crossed his face, his anger boiling over, raw and unchecked.

A crack of thunder rumbled in the distance, as if the very air had sensed the shift between you.

The silence stretched, suffocating.

And for the first time, you were not sure whether the heat in his gaze was born of fury—or something far more dangerous.

“Get out.”

Your voice was low, a warning, a plea wrapped in trembling restraint. You needed space. You needed him to leave before this spiraled into something you could not control.

“Get out of my rooms.”

His eyes darkened further, shifting into the fathomless void of black that once haunted your worst nightmares. Your pulse pounded in your ears, sharp and unrelenting. But then—a chime.

The ring on your finger hummed with warmth, its presence grounding you, wrapping around your senses like a shield. Whatever he wished to do, it would protect you.

Annatar moved before you could react, closing the distance in a single, fluid motion. His fingers wrapped tightly around your neck, the pressure firm enough to cut air, though not entirely. A low growl rumbled from his chest as another clap of thunder echoed in the distance, the storm outside mirroring the one within.

“I am doing this for you,” he snarled, his grip steady, his breath warm against your skin. “For our child.”

Your hands flew up, grasping at his wrist, struggling against the strength that once felt so safe, so sacred. But now, it terrified you.

“As I always have,” he continued, voice laced with a desperate conviction that sent a shudder through you. “This has always been for you. I endured centuries of torture, of agony, so I could heal you—so I could give you the world you longed for.”

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring his face as you searched those black voids for something—anything—that remained of the man you loved.

The soft patter of rain began, the first drops whispering against the stone balcony as your tears slipped free, rolling down your cheeks.

“This isn’t love,” you choked out, your voice raw, breathless. “This is an obsession—an obsession to right a wrong you could never fix.”

His grip trembled for just a moment. Just long enough for you to see it—doubt. Pain. The ghost of something human.

And then it was gone.

The rain began to pour, heavy and unrelenting, mirroring the storm that raged between you. Your tears fell just as freely, unchecked and wild, carving silent paths down your cheeks.

“I have the power now to fix it,” Annatar growled, his voice filled with something between desperation and conviction. “And with these—”

“No,” you gasped, choking on the word as his fingers tightened just a fraction more.

Your vision blurred, a mix of tears and the pressure against your throat, but you forced yourself to speak, to reach him.

“I do not want it,” you rasped, each breath a battle. “I want my husband—the man I wish to welcome a child into this world with.”

Your chest heaved as you fought to keep your composure, licking your lips in a desperate attempt to steady your voice, to push past the sobs that clawed at your throat—not just from fear, but from the sheer, aching grief of what was slipping through your fingers.

“The man my very fëa sings for every single day.”

Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before you could grasp it. The moment hung between you, heavy, fragile.

And then—

“He’s dead, Mori.”

His voice was quiet, but the weight of those words crashed over you, drowning you in something colder than the rain that drenched the world outside.

“It’s about time you realized that.”

Your breath stilled.

Not from his grip.

Not from fear.

But because in that moment, you understood.

The man you loved—the man you had fought for, the man who had cradled your face with reverence and whispered your name like a prayer—

Was already gone.

The realization shattered something deep within you, a truth you had refused to accept for so long. The flicker of warmth in his gaze, the tender caress of his hands, the quiet promises whispered in the dark—they had all been an illusion. A fragile, desperate attempt to hold on to a memory, to a dream of what once was, of what could have been.

But now, as you stared into the fathomless void of his eyes, you saw it with painful, unrelenting clarity.

The man before you was not your husband.

Not anymore.

He was a shadow, a hollow echo of the being you had once loved with every fiber of your soul. He stood before you, flesh and form changed, but his fëa—his essence—had unraveled into something unrecognizable.

And no matter how desperately you wished it, no matter how fiercely you fought to bring him back—

He was lost to you.

Forever.

A sob tore from your throat, raw and aching, as the weight of that truth crashed over you, suffocating in its finality.

Annatar’s grip faltered for the barest moment, his fingers trembling against your throat, as if even he had not been prepared for the depth of your anguish.

But it was fleeting.

His jaw tightened, the storm within his eyes raging, though whether in frustration or something else—something weaker, something human—you could not tell.

You no longer knew him.

And that broke you more than anything ever could.

The cold, harsh reality of Annatar’s words settled over you like a leaden shroud, smothering the last embers of hope that had stubbornly flickered in your heart. The aching void his loss carved within you yawned wider than ever before, a chasm so deep, so vast, it threatened to swallow you whole.

You had spent so long believing in him, believing in change, in the quiet redemption you had sworn you glimpsed in the softness of his touch, in the reverence of his whispered vows. But it had been nothing more than a mirage—a cruel trick of the fading light.

Annatar’s grip on your throat finally loosened, his fingers slipping away as he pulled back. His face was an impassive mask once more, cold and unreadable, as if the firestorm of a moment ago had never existed.

But you hardly noticed the relief of air flooding your lungs, the easing of pressure against your windpipe.

All you could feel was the shattering pain radiating from your very core, splintering through you like fractured glass, sharp and unforgiving.

Your body buckled beneath the weight of it, and you sank onto the bed, your shoulders trembling as silent, wracking sobs overtook you.

Tears streamed down your face, unchecked, unstoppable, as you curled in on yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your middle—protecting, shielding, as if you could hold together the pieces of yourself that were breaking apart.

But nothing could stop it now.

Nothing could undo what had already been lost.

Annatar watched you crumple, his gaze unreadable, a flicker of something—hesitation? Regret?—passing across his features before it was swiftly buried beneath impassive coldness. He stood motionless for a long moment, his presence looming, the silence between you broken only by the harsh rasp of your uneven breaths and the relentless patter of rain against stone.

Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and strode from the room. The door shut behind him with a dull, final thud—an ending, a severing, a wound that could never be stitched back together.

But you barely registered his departure.

You were lost in the storm of your own grief, in the cruel, crushing realization that everything you had believed, everything you had hoped for, had been nothing more than a beautiful lie.

Your mind reeled, memories of tender moments and whispered endearments twisting like thorns in your heart, mocking you with their falseness. The warmth of his touch, the devotion in his gaze, the soft murmurs of love in the dead of night—had any of it been real? Or had you simply wanted it to be?

How could you have been so blind?

How could you have deluded yourself for so long?

A strangled sob escaped your lips as you curled further into yourself, clutching at the ache in your chest as if you could physically hold yourself together.

But you couldn’t.

You were breaking.

And this time, there was no one left to save you. Or the child that now grew in you.

The harsh, cold wind howled through the open balcony doors, carrying the scent of rain and the bitter sting of betrayal. It curled around you like a phantom’s touch, seeping into your skin, chilling you to the bone. You shivered, curling tighter into yourself, your body wracked with silent sobs. Each gasping breath felt jagged, each shuddering exhale a cruel reminder of how utterly alone you were.

Alone.

The word echoed in your mind, hollow and unforgiving.

After everything you had endured—centuries of longing and heartache, of hope and despair—you had somehow ended up right back where you started.

Bereft. Abandoned. Shattered beyond repair.

And now, there was no illusion left to cling to, no lingering dream to convince yourself that the man you loved was still somewhere beneath the ruin.

He was gone. Once more.

Yet, even as the realization tore through you, another truth settled over you like a second, heavier weight—a life stirred within you, a fragile ember in the darkness. A piece of him. A reminder of everything you had lost.

Your breath hitched, your trembling hands drifting to your stomach as the crushing reality pressed down upon you.

How could you do this alone?

How could you bring a child into a world where their father—their true father—would never brighten their skies?

A fresh sob tore from your throat, raw and aching, as the storm outside raged on.

And deep in your soul, you felt it—the quiet, suffocating certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.

The rain continued to fall outside, its steady patter a mournful requiem to your grief. The world beyond the open balcony blurred into darkness, the storm swallowing the distant lights of the city, leaving only the sound of the wind and the hollow ache in your chest.

Time itself seemed to still as you lay there, cocooned in anguish, your breath coming in slow, uneven shudders. The cold reality of Annatar’s words sank deeper into your bones with each passing second, anchoring you in a truth you had refused to accept.

He was gone.

The man you had loved, the man you had fought so desperately to save—he was nothing more than a memory now, a fading dream slipping through your fingers like smoke. Every whispered vow, every tender touch, every quiet moment of warmth had been built on a fragile hope that had shattered beyond repair.

And in his place stood a shadow.

A twisted reflection of the brilliance that had once burned so brightly within him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if doing so could erase the image of his void-black gaze, of the fire that had flickered into something cruel and unrecognizable. But it was too late. It had already seared itself into you, a wound that would never fully heal.

And you were alone.

Truly, utterly alone.

Left to shoulder the weight of the life growing inside you without the warmth and strength of the one who had helped create it. The thought sent a fresh wave of despair crashing over you, suffocating, relentless.

You pressed a trembling hand to your stomach, feeling the faintest swell beneath your palm. A new life. A fragile ember in the midst of ruin.

How could you protect them?

How could you bring them into a world where their father—the man who should have been their guide, their protector, their light—had become something unrecognizable?

A sob broke past your lips, raw and aching, as the storm raged on outside.

His feet carried him away from you, the fire of his anger still burning, an inferno raging unchecked within his chest. Annatar strode through the darkened halls, his jaw clenched tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides. The storm outside roared in tandem with his fury, thunder shaking the foundations of stone, rain lashing against the walls like a relentless assault.

Each step took him further from you, from the sound of your broken sobs echoing in his ears, from the raw devastation etched across your face. The weight of your words clung to him like chains, an accusation, a wound he had not been prepared to receive.

For the briefest of moments, something inside him wavered.

He could still turn back. Could still return to you, take you into his arms, murmur soft reassurances until the pain ebbed away. The instinct to protect you, to keep you, still thrummed beneath the anger, an old and stubborn part of him that refused to die.

But no.

He forced himself forward, pushing past that flicker of weakness, burying it beneath layers of steel and ice. He could not afford it. Not now.

He had meant what he said.

The man you loved, the man you clung to with such desperate hope—he was dead.

Long lost to the ages.

Everything he had shown you over the past months—every lingering touch, every whispered vow, every tender look—had been nothing more than an illusion. A reflection of something that no longer existed.

And if you could not accept that, if you still clung to the past as though it could be salvaged—then you would be left behind, just like the rest of them.

His footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, each one a hollow reverberation of his bitter thoughts. Annatar moved with single-minded purpose, his robes billowing slightly as he strode forward, his eyes as dark and tumultuous as the storm raging outside.

He would not be deterred.

Not by Celebrimbor’s hesitation.

Not by your pleas.

Not even by the fragile life growing within you—the child he had sworn to protect and cherish above all else.

That promise, once sacred, now felt like a distant echo of another life. Another man.

It was as if something deep inside him had fractured beyond repair, a vital piece that had once tethered him to who he had been. The warmth, the compassion, the love that had softened his edges and guided his actions for so long—it had drained away, slipping through his fingers like sand, leaving behind only an aching void.

A void he filled with cold, unyielding resolve.

This would not be another failure.

This would not be another loss.

The world did not change through hesitation, through softness, through fear. It changed through will. Through fire. Through power.

And so he would see this through.

He would forge the rings, with or without Celebrimbor’s aid.

Let the world resist.

Let you resist.

It would not change what had already been set in motion.

[azriaann]

so fairy tail 178........

first of all... I will always HATE the dumbass-ification of natsu's character. og natsu would actually be rolling in his grave listening to the hyq version yap about "needing to be the one to defeat ignia" and feeling threatened because the fire cat wants to go talk to ignia instead??? wdym happy is the voice of reason... of course a part of natsu's character has always been comedic relief and he is supposed to be dumb (to an EXTENT) but it is just so genuinely difficult to enjoy his screen time in hyq... like pls don't make me hate my boy...

I do also wonder how this little fire cat knows about natsu's supposed "power". tbh I haven't paid attention to the manga in a long time because nalu haven't had any screen time but the cat saying that natsu needs to "eat those [special flames] ... [to] awaken [his] power" is certainly interesting. like I'm really trying to not be hopeful here because hyq almost never delivers (💀) but come on... they're FINALLY referencing the first (and only) interesting part of this series (natsu's loss of control over his power in literally like chapter 20 or something LMAO). I don't really understand what "the power to make a prison of flames" means or how it's ... relevant? but they are speaking my language with "...that will burn everything up" (hyq 178.. yes im citing my sources!).

anyways so in ft og, natsu's initial transformation into end is followed by his flashback to Lucy being 'dead', to which he says "nobody can stop me now" (ft 504). the only time we have been shown (supposedly???) demon (?????) natsu in hyq was in chapter 22, which can only be argued based on his appearance and behaviour being the same as it was in ft 504, seeing as his demonic state was never mentioned by any other character after or during chapter 22. obviously the language in the chapters mirrors each other, as he states "I have to burn every single thing... until they all turn to ash" in ch. 22, so this HAS to be leading up to natsu losing it again lol... and the supporting language from 504 (see prev. citation), along with Lucy's position as (somehow) the only person who was scared of natsu's fire in ch. 22 implies that she SHOULD have an imperative role in the finale as the only person who can "stop" natsu should he turn into a demon again (504).

tldr surely this shit is leading up to a nalu + end!natsu finale and im going to be confused if it doesn't!

I also wanna talk about Lucy's new magical role because? what????

I really don't understand Why an entity known as a "dragon god" that has been around for hundreds of years just fuckign doing his own thing would have a key?? that allows some random chick (sorry Lucy xoxo) to summon him whenever??? make it make sense? does this imply that every single dragon god (and even maybe dragon?) would have a key? I feel like this bs is antithetical to the entire purpose of dragons in the series as creatures that have not only ended humankind like 3 times, but also as monsters that humans had to develop special magic to defeat? I don't feel like finding a source for it but like majority of the plot lines of fairy tail revolve around the incredible power of dragons and their unwillingness to bend to human authority (eg. Irene, igneel+co as the exception, zeref+natsu's family's demise, the dragon festival, AND SO ON). why on EARTH would a dragon, let alone a dragon GOD, allow a human to have control over his agency? it makes 0 sense... even if this dude is a good guy.

moving on... I think that it is funny for the writers to have Lucy be a celestial spirit wizard for 700+ chapters and then randomly change her role into a "summoner" in a small, anticlimactic blurb in a chapter that does not even revolve around her (178). regardless of how I feel about that, shouldn't that be a much bigger deal?? shouldn't there be a lot more unpacking of her new power (which I guess isn't really new but still)? this dude says "wizards who have keys and get their powers from gates ... are collectively known as 'summoners'"... which still implies that there are different versions, so like why should Lucy be able to just summon who ever? "collectively" places the term "summoner" as an umbrella term, like I don't understand how that is supposed to just explain that she suddenly is more than a celestial spirit wizard??!! fuckass "im sure you can summon a dragon" like okay. wrap it up. I just feel like this isn't necessary and I can't even understand why they're doing this? bro just like expand on celestial spirit magic instead😭 ffs just have her get the key of Draco or something good lord LIKE THAT WOULD MAKE SO MUCH MORE SENSE. IT WOULD BE UNDERSTANDABLE FOR THAT GUY TO HAVE THAT KEY AND IT WOULD MAKE SENSE FOR HER MAGIC'S PURPOSE😭 sorry guys this series actually pisses me off so bad LMAO...

tldr being able to summon a dragon god is antithetical to the entire existence/purpose of dragons in the series and also having Lucy not "just" be a celestial spirit wizard is dumb as hell because they could've just expanded her magic and/or given her the key of Draco.

wait I feel like I need to say that Lucy is my fav character ever and I love her so much and she is kick ass... the reason why I don't like the random power up is because (in my mind) it undermines the power that she has already worked for herself by giving her this random ability to summon a dragon for no reason instead of expanding on her fundamental talents. like she has the power of the STARS how is it possible that they can't work with that instead of giving her random abilities???? maybe im biased because star power is awesome in my head but STILL

... fuckass yukino is gonna come on screen and immediately be able to summon a dragon too... just watch.......

[kacievvbbbb]

i do love how one of the main themes of spy family is motherhood, and the emphasis that there’s no wrong way as long as you show love. i also love how it treats its more “feminine” characters like becky, it doesn’t feel to me like the series is laughing at her for being girly, the humour is from the juxtaposition of her and anya, or because she takes it way too far (her thirsting for loid)

it’s a low bar, but spy family is good at having women who feel like people lol

Yes! I completely agree with this! I like how the series expands on what it means to be feminine even within the tight constraints of the society they live in. Most of the female characters are infact just people. even the less "hyper-feminine" ones like Martha and Yor and even Anya still have very feminine hobbies and such they just arent constrained to them. And I agree about Becky it feels like the joke is less haha she's a girly girl and that's lame and more she 6 but she's trying to pretend she's this high society woman and that's adorable not because of the things she cares about like romance and fashion are intrinsically ridiculous but because she speaks with so much authority on them and is trying to educate a gremlin and she's six. Anya doesn't necessarily like the same things as Becky but that's never stopped them from having fun. A big part of Becky is that she always stands up for herself, her beliefs, and Anya. She is literally a day 1 you can't speak badly about Anya in her presence. I love her I love their friendship it's great. But yeah the strength of mothers does seem to be a recurring theme in the manga and I like that. It's in Loid's memories of his mother, Yor trying to be a good one and, Melinda Desmond trying to overcome her own fears for the sake of her children, the handler and her yet-to-be-revealed past. Spy x Family focuses a lot on the connections we form with people and just how those connections give us strength and its really beautiful and fitting that the threat always on the horizon is war because nothing else tears apart family and connections like war and how every character in their own way is fighting for the right for people (not just the ones they love) to make those connections freely even if it means they are excluded. It's a really good story.

[thomamaru]

Hierarchy of Intimacy (Chapter Chigiri)

Synopsis: With Chigiri's keen observation skills, nothing gets past him. You don't realize how much he has studied from you. From your habits to clothing, once when he notices a break in the pattern, he is sure to bring it up.

Tags: Chigiri Hyoma x gn!reader, fluff, lots of teasing from chigiri, bathing together but not in a suggestive way, petname "love"

Author notes: this is a series based on a trend of tiktok. characters that will be included is nagi, yukimiya, rin, chigiri, isagi, reo, kunigami, sae, and bachira. If you want to add a character, you can request with a prompt :)

Work had been relentless lately, the constant demands weighing heavily on your shoulders.

It felt like no matter how hard you worked, there was always something else to tackle—another deadline, another email, another meeting.

You couldn’t remember the last time you truly took a moment to relax, but as you pushed through yet another long day, you sighed deeply, a sound you didn’t even realize escaped your lips.

Across the room, Chigiri noticed immediately.

He always had a knack for sensing when something was off with you.

Whether it was a slight change in your expression, the way you moved, or even the energy you carried, nothing ever seemed to go past his sharp, observant eyes.

And right now, he could tell you were exhausted, even though you tried to mask it.

“Are you okay, love?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern. He walked over to where you sat at the dining table, your laptop open, and papers spread around you. “You look more tired than usual.”

You looked up, startled for a moment, before smiling faintly. “I’m fine, really,” you replied, waving your hand dismissively, though it was clear the words didn’t match the truth.

But Chigiri didn’t buy it. He crouched slightly to look you in the eyes, his lips tugging into a small smile that was both teasing and affectionate. “You don’t think I notice your back’s slouching more than usual?”

You gasped, sitting up straighter out of reflex. “Hey! My back isn’t that slouched!"

A soft laugh escaped him, and his crimson eyes sparkled with a teasing glint. “And you forgot to put on the necklace I got you,” he added, gesturing to your bare neck.

You instinctively touched the spot where the necklace would usually sit, your eyes widening in realization. “Oh no! I was in such a rush this morning, I completely forgot—”

Before you could finish, Chigiri reached out and placed a hand gently on your shoulder, cutting off your frantic apology. “It’s okay,” he said warmly, his thumb brushing over your shoulder in a calming motion.

You’ve got a lot on your plate, but just remember—whatever it is, I’m always here for you.”

His sincerity caught you off guard, and for a moment, you felt the tension in your chest loosen.

He always knew exactly what to say to make you feel supported, no matter how chaotic things seemed.

---

By the time you both made it back to your shared apartment that evening, the weight of the day had finally caught up to you.

The second you walked in, you kicked off your shoes and made a beeline for the couch.

Without even taking your bag off, you flopped face-first onto the cushions and immediately drifted off into a deep sleep.

Chigiri trailed in after you, and upon seeing your crumpled form on the couch, a soft laugh escaped his lips. “I guess today really got to you, huh?” he murmured to himself.

Walking over, he sat down next to you and reached out to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

He let his fingers gently thread through your hair, his movements slow and soothing.

Leaning down, he pressed a light kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “You work too hard,” he whispered, even though you couldn’t hear him.

He stayed there for a while, just watching over you as you slept peacefully, the stress etched on your face beginning to ease away.

When you eventually stirred awake, a comforting floral aroma greeted your senses.

It was faint at first, but as you sat up, it grew stronger, drawing you in. Curious, you followed the scent to the bathroom.

There you found Chigiri, sleeves rolled up and hair loosely tied back, pouring rose-scented oil into the warm water of the tub.

Steam rose around him, curling like soft ribbons, and he hummed softly to himself, seemingly unaware of your presence until you stepped closer.

He turned at the sound of your footsteps, his crimson eyes widening slightly before softening with a sheepish smile. “Guess you caught me,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s all this for?” you asked, looking between the bathtub and the various bath salts and candles he’d set up.

“It’s for you, dummy,” he replied with an easy smile. “I figured you could use a break after the week you’ve had."

He walked over to you, tilting your chin up with his fingers to meet his gaze. “Let’s bathe together, and after that, I’ll make us dinner. Sound good?”

Your exhaustion seemed to melt away at his words, replaced with a warmth that spread through your chest.

“That sounds amazing,” you said softly, a grateful smile spreading across your lips.

The excitement in your eyes was unmistakable, and you wasted no time preparing for the bath.

Moments later, the two of you were submerged in the warm, fragrant water.

You leaned back against Chigiri, letting the soothing heat work out the knots in your muscles.

As the water lapped gently around you, you let your guard down, venting about your demanding boss and the never-ending pile of work on your desk.

“Honestly, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to meet all these deadlines. It’s like they’re just throwing things at me to see how much I can handle.”

Chigiri listened intently, nodding in understanding even though corporate life was far from his world.

“That sounds rough. But, you know, they wouldn’t give you all that work if they didn’t think you could handle it. You’re incredible at what you do,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring.

You turned your head slightly, smiling softly. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“I mean, I do try,” he teased lightly. “Now, let me wash your hair.”

You shifted, turning your back to him and nestling between his legs. His fingers worked shampoo into your hair with practiced care, the rhythmic motions calming your frayed nerves.

“Your hair’s so soft,” he mused, chuckling when you let out a few giggles at the ticklish sensation.

“Wait a second,” you said, catching a hint of a new scent. “Is this shampoo different from my usual one?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s the one I’ve been using lately. Thought you might like it.”

“It smells amazing,” you replied, relaxing further into his touch.

The two of you spent the rest of the bath talking about everything and nothing—your work stress, his experiences in Blue Lock, and dreams for the future.

It was as though the world outside ceased to exist, leaving just the two of you and the quiet intimacy of the moment.

When the water had cooled and you stepped out, Chigiri wrapped you in a fluffy towel, kissing your damp forehead.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. “For everything.”

He smiled, brushing his fingers over your cheek. “You never have to thank me. Taking care of you is my favorite thing to do.”

You laughed softly, warmth blooming in your chest as you leaned into his touch. In moments like these, you realized just how much Chigiri’s quiet, unwavering love meant to you. With him, even the heaviest burdens felt a little lighter.

[notforpenance]

Hey! This is for the askgame, because I’m sure that I’d love any recommendation from you :)

💖 a fic you recently read, loved and why!

💗 a fic you’ve reread again and again and why!

my tastes can be a little all over the place, so i hope some of these interest you C: i wanted to do one carcar and one lestappen for each but then i found like five lestappen fics i wanted to say so you get a few more than one.

💖 a fic you recently read, loved and why!

You'll Just Have to Remind Me by the_e_sea (t, carcar, memory loss) this fic is still in progress, but so far, I'm loving it. carlos has antiretrograde amnesia which means he wakes up every day thinking it is the same as the day before, and he keeps going to the convenience store every night where oscar works to buy dryer sheets. oscar begins to realize that there's something a little strange about the same guy buying dryer sheets every single night and engaging him in the exact same conversation each time. when i first started it i was a little confused as to how it could be carcar if carlos never remembers what has happened during his day but the dynamic is carried out so well and it feels really natural and lifelike. definitely recommend it, i'm excited to see more of this one.

blood chem by @sediciii (e, lestappen, vampire, roommates) i'm a sucker for vampire fics (pun intended). this one is probably my favorite i have ever read. it's a lestappen oneshot. max is a vampire, and charles is his all-too-willing-to-help roommate. max looks forward to charles coming back to the room so that he can feed, and charles looks forward to letting max feed for... other reasons. it's very sexy and a little soft, and i love the dynamic between the two of them

💗 a fic you’ve reread again and again and why!

purpose in you by @charlescoded (e, lestappen, arranged marriage, dune au) it's a lestappen dune au oneshot. if you know about dune, charles is a member of the benegesserit and max takes on like a feyd-rautha-type role, and they have an arranged marriage. it got posted right when i was watching the second dune movie for the first time, so it was perfect timing to hook me in. i wish there were more fics in dune au because i feel like that universe has a lot to offer. i cannot express enough how much i am absolutely obsessed with this piece. it is written at a level of writing quality i can only aspire to ever write in my lifetime. the whole piece is entirely enthralling. it is the second part of the series, but this is the one i always reread. the first part is breeding grounds

Ruckus by @tylersayscool (e, lestappen, dystopian battle royale) let me start by saying that everything I've read from this author is so good, i highly recommend checking her out if you haven't already. this one is my favorite, here's the description because i don't think i can do it justice. "The students are taken to a deserted island, fitted with explosive collars, and given random weapons. They are instructed to kill each other until only one survivor remains. If no one is killed within a set time period, the collars will detonate, killing everyone." this fic has such a chokehold on me that i literally was quoting sections in my journal and dissecting them in like essay length entries LOL. the writing is so high quality and the plot is so interesting and unique.

Open my mouth, on my knees (for you) by @lovelylotusf1 (e, carcar) a little less than a year ago i was scrolling through the second round of F1 Kinkmeme submissions looking for oneshots to read and i found this one. funfact: my one fic "you're too sweet for me" was originally supposed to be a lestappen fic and then i read this piece and i was like 'damn i wanna write carcar' and i switched it to that instead. this is a carcar oneshot. here's the description: "Oscar has to deal with the consequences of a drunken confession he sent to Carlos. He gets more than he bargained for." i keep coming back to it because it has such a special place in my heart.

okay i will stop rambling now! there are a few more i would've thrown in but this is already super long i feel like, so i hope some of these are fresh for you to enjoy C:

[yeonmuse]

ᥫ᭡ f!reader x Park Jongseong ── 𝒢enre. Uni au. fluff, non idol enha. feats. ot7 [reqs are closed until previous reqs are fulfilled] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary 🎸

⍣ ೋ AUTHORS NOTES . This is part of admins Enhypen University Special Event. This series also has slight connections to every series in said event so occasionally characters from the other members chapters may appear in this series as well.

˗ˏˋSUMMARY ´ˎ˗ Jays favorite guitar gets stolen, breaking his heart and forcing him to to buy a new guitar from the music store downtown. While on a search for a new set of strings he has a chance encounter with one of the stores employees and finds there’s more to her that meets the eye. Eventually his visits to the store become more frequent as he now spends most of his time trying to convince her to join his band. Though things only grow complicated when old flames return and drive a distance between the two of them once he finally gets closer to her heart.

Join taglist here

MOTHERS LEAVING

The following day it had been Jay's first day returning to work with a new guitar in his hands. He entered Sacrifice with a newfound stride, whistling a cheerful tune as he was immediately greeted by his bandmates.

Jay had worked at Club Sacrifice for two years now, having started the job his freshman year at UA. Though it started as an easy job to make quick bucks he slowly found himself falling in love with the job. Getting to play shows every night, making money doing something that he absolutely loved to do. He was quick to become friends with the other members of the band, each of them having their own reasons for having decided to take the Job. The band's popularity had grown pretty quickly, the members consisting of seven members including Jay himself. Soyoon, Jay, Jungsu, Wonbin, Masami, Leedo and Sohee Or at least it had been the seven of them until a week ago. Soyoon, who happened to be their lead singer, had decided to pursue other endeavors, leaving them without a lead.

“You found your guitar?”

“Unfortunately no, I had to get a new one.” The others watch as he sits his case on a nearby table. Each of them gathered around to see the guitar that now replaced Jay's beloved guitar. The very guitar that every single one of them had been sad to see him depart with.

“So this is your new jewel.”

“It suits you.”

“Yeah we can get into all of that after we figure out what the fuck we’re gonna do about Soyoon?”

“So she’s really gone huh?”

“Yup, she left two days ago.”

“So in other words we have to find another lead singer in two weeks?”

“Yup. Next saturday is the reopening so unless we find someone by then we’re pretty much all we got.” The group looks around at one another as if waiting for someone to suggest something that gets them out of their dilemma.

“Should we put up some flyers downtown? And Jay goes to UA right so he could also put some up around campus?” Wonbin suggests, being the first of the group to actually come up with some sort of solution

“I mean it’s our best bet, it's not exactly a terrible idea?” Leedos the first to agree, making the others give in almost instantaneously knowing neither of them had a better plan.

“I can maybe take some to the music store too? The girl that works there seemed pretty cool so I’m sure she won’t mind us hanging up a few flyers there.”

“Looks like we’re having Auditions then.” Leedo sits back in his seat twirling the drumstick between his fingertips

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

🏷️ @jwonistic @bubblytaetae @pkjay @heesallure @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @lillotus17 @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @sol3chu @st4rryst4r @firstclassjaylee @right-person-wrong-time @gaytron3000 @enaile23 @riribelle @sugarikiz @ivyvioletcarson @academiq @claumbeju

[marythequeen]

hello guys, i'm here to talk about leah toole's fictional book on mary i of england's. it's called the saddest princess.

at first, i want to clarify that i am highly aware that this book is fictional and not a biography. so you don't need to say "hey but it's fictional"

also, before reading her book, leah toole was someone i really liked. i used to follow her on tiktok and was really excited to read her book. however as you can understand, i am very, very disappointed.

let's start.

just after i had read the prologue i knew that many things would piss me off throughout the book because it was horrendous.

the vilification of queen mary is outdated now and seeing even the people that claim to like her doing this, made me feel awful. according to countless reports, in her death bed, she was peaceful and her conscience clean. the people that she had executed were mainly guilty of treason and many others were executed without her knowledge. i don't think that feeling guilty about this would be her main concern.

but do you know who was rather frightened and surrounded by guilt? her half sister elizabeth.

apart from this, if you ever saw a video of leah toole's, you probably know that she's a great hater of the spanish princess because of its inaccurate portrayals. mind you, the spanish princess tv show never ever claimed that it was historically accurate or something like that but leah toole was MAD (and rightfully so!! i totally agreed with her.) about it anyway. so imagine my disappointment when i started to read her book eagerly then realized that it, in many aspects, was a cheap copy of the tv show.

"there was no lone for this useless baby girl." i mean, really? that scene and almost everything about it was in the spanish princess. AND this whole scene could be proved wrong with countless reports. do i think katharine of aragon suffered from a kind of postpartum depression? i absolutely do. but do i think she HATED her own daughter for years? no because that's not what happened in reality.

again, this is a historical fiction book and it doesn't have to be historically accurate but it's called a hypocrisy when you criticize another material because of the same thing you did yourself.

(ps. katharine of aragon had blue eyes, not dark brown.)

mary's birth scene was AWFUL. henry saying mary is a useless girl was highly inaccurate. writing such things while mary's reputation is STILL unfairly blackened is very unnecessary.

"katherine had tried to love her daughter. but no matter how hard she tried, nothing the girl did held any meaning in katherine's eyes." are you kidding me??

also having mary curse constantly? this woman didn't know the meaning of whore until she was forty something. i can't even imagine her saying words such as bastard, harlot, whore etc. (in the book she called anne boleyn names when in reality she simply called her that woman. which is respectful enough.) especially when she used the word bastard when she was nine? now c'mon! throughout the book, the author is obviously influenced by the spanish princess tv show, even though she'd been very critical about the show. there's a pretty word for situations like this :) and it's called hypocrisy.

and *that* scene with duke philip? even the most passionate mary hater wouldn't write something like this. that was worse than wattpad, worse than ao3. (if you didn't read the book, take a deep breath, she had sex with him. again, did not happen in reality.)

apart from all of this, the only thing that i've liked about this book is clearly seeing that mary wasn't as forgiving as her mother was. because that's what actually happened. long story short, i was eager to read the other books of this series but i don't think that i'll be reading the rest. i am so very disappointed with this. it was such a waste of time. and i have to tell you that i am also incredibly sad because i used to enjoy her content a lot.

there are many more issues about this book but unfortunately i don't have enough time or will to live to write a detailed review but i think this'll do anyway.

lastly, at least there are very few quotes that i've liked and would want you to see.

—chapuys shrugged, "it would seem the king himself is struggling to separate the two religions," he said, "and his newest testaments have received mixed reactions from his council. i believe that in his heart he remains a catholic, but he does not wish to be told by anyone whether it be the pope or his best advisor - what he can and cannot do."

—"of all the women in my father's life, i have survived him the longest. and that alone is a great achievement."

—"i survived my father's tyranny for all my thirty-three years. this edward seymour could not scare me if he turned up at my doorstep dressed up as the devil himself."

[itsnesss]

𝐏.𝐒. 𝐈'𝐦 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬; minho moon ( series ) O1

pairing ; minho moon x female!reader

content ; fluff, romantic tension, angst, personal conflicts, rivalry, enemies to lovers

summary ; you never imagined your life would change so much with a simple exchange. in canada, everything was predictable, but when the chance to study in seoul came, you took it. you met minho. a tall, serious guy with a cold attitude who made you feel even more out of place. from the very beginning, you hated each other. every encounter was filled with disdainful looks and harsh words. your first meeting was so uncomfortable that all you wanted was to escape his indifference. but as time went on, you realized that minho wasn’t just an obstacle—he was the beginning of something unexpected. what started with hatred and a simple fall led to a connection that made you feel more alive than ever

status ; ongoing !!

— navigation ; OO1.

author's note | if the story is to your liking donde forget to like, comment, and reblog to continue part two, thanks ᡣ𐭩

ONE ; P.S. This Isn’t the Start I Imagined

You arrived in South Korea with a mix of excitement and nervousness. From Canada, the idea of a student exchange in Seoul had always seemed exciting, but now that you were here, the reality hit you hard. The city was vast, bustling, and despite the beauty of its modern buildings and small gardens, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were really ready for this change.

The campus stretched out before you, imposing and full of students who seemed to move with a clear purpose. You walked with determination, trying not to look too disoriented, but the truth was, your head was full of questions. What would it be like to live with strangers? You knew you’d be sharing a room with three girls, but you hadn’t met them in person yet. With a sigh, you stopped in front of the door to your dorm. Before you could push it open, a sudden bump jolted you out of your thoughts.

A guy walked past you, hitting your shoulder without even bothering to apologize. You stood still, surprised by his rudeness. You watched him as he walked away with firm steps, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead. His serious expression left no room for apologies or explanations. Who walks into someone without even looking back? you thought, frowning. But you shook your head and decided not to give it more thought. You hadn’t come here to be distracted by rude strangers.

You took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The shared space was more cozy than you had imagined: a small, well-lit living room, a simple kitchen, and several suitcases scattered around. Three girls were inside, and as soon as you crossed the threshold, they all turned their attention to you.

"Hi!" one of them said, looking up from her phone. Her tone was neutral, but her smile was friendly.

"Hello, I'm Juliana," added the brunette, walking up with a relaxed attitude. "Looks like you'll be our new roommate, right?"

The third girl, who was by the window, nodded slightly without much enthusiasm. "I'm Stella. Welcome."

You felt a slight relief seeing that, although a bit distant, they didn’t seem hostile.

"Yes, I’m T/N," you introduced yourself, trying to sound relaxed. "I’m from Canada. It’s a little... different here."

The girls laughed softly, sharing a knowing look.

"Don’t worry," Juliana said. "At first, it’s tough, but you get used to it."

Yuri just nodded, still focused on her phone, while Stella gave you a neutral look. There was a slight tension in the air, though you weren’t sure if it was because of your arrival or if it had existed before you entered.

Before you could think too much about it, the door to the dorm suddenly swung open. A girl burst into the room with vibrant energy, smiling confidently before frowning when she saw everyone there.

"What are you doing here? I asked for a room alone!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms.

Silence took over the room for a second.

"Seriously?" Yuri replied, looking at her with an expression that seemed to hide something more.

You watched the brief interaction between them and felt a spark of tension in the air. Kitty, as you had heard she was called, seemed sure of herself, but she was not happy with the situation.

"Yeah, I asked for a room alone because... you know, I need some space for my chaos," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Stella looked at her without saying anything, while Yuri frowned.

"But... there should only be four girls here," Yuri said, her tone dry.

You felt that the situation could get awkward, so you intervened before it escalated.

"I think I’ll go to the administration to register for classes," you announced, using the best excuse you could think of. "I’m sure I can sort out the room situation later."

Stella, who had stayed on the sidelines until then, nodded. "I need to do the same. I can accompany you."

You silently thanked her for the support. You didn’t want to face the campus confusion alone.

"I’ll go too," Kitty said determinedly. "If you don’t hurry, you’ll end up with the worst professors, and I don’t want that for anyone."

Apparently, her discontent with the room didn’t stop her from helping when it came to school.

As you walked together across campus, Kitty filled the silence with her natural enthusiasm.

"I’m from Portland," she told you. "I came here because this school is amazing, but also because I want to learn more about my mom and my family’s history."

You nodded, intrigued by her story, though you also noticed Stella was keeping quiet.

"And you, T/N?" Kitty asked, turning to you. "What brought you to Seoul?"

You took a moment to think about your answer.

"Since I was little, I wanted to study abroad, and when the opportunity came up, I didn’t hesitate," you said sincerely. "My family has always supported my dreams, and I thought this would be an incredible experience."

Kitty nodded enthusiastically, while Stella finally spoke.

"I came for an exchange program through my church," she said quietly. "They encouraged me to come because they thought it would be a growth opportunity."

You listened with curiosity, impressed by her determination.

"It seems like we all have our reasons for being here," you commented, smiling.

Kitty laughed. "Yeah, though mine is definitely more chaotic."

You arrived at the auditorium for the welcome assembly, where the director was giving his opening semester speech. You listened carefully until he mentioned something about new curfew rules.

You frowned. Curfew? You hadn’t expected the rules to be so strict. However, before you could think too much about it, the lights in the auditorium suddenly began to dim.

A man appeared on stage, accompanied by a group of dancers. The vibrant music filled the space, and the girls began to move with impressive precision.

The auditorium, which had been silent, was now filled with excited murmurs. You watched the performance in awe, unsure if this was part of the event or if someone had decided to give a surprise show.

Seoul was already proving to be a place full of surprises.

The assembly had been longer than you had anticipated, and despite everything, you felt exhausted. But just when you thought you could relax a bit, something stopped you. At the door of the auditorium, a guy was standing, leaning against the frame. He didn’t seem to be doing anything in particular, just staring down the hallway with an indifferent expression.

You didn’t see it coming, but as soon as you noticed him, something inside you tensed. He had an arrogant attitude, almost as if he owned the place. He was blocking the entrance without caring that others might need to pass. His arms were crossed, and his posture was challenging yet casual, like everyone else had to wait for him to decide to move.

When you saw that he wasn’t stepping aside, you walked up to him with determination, thinking maybe he just hadn’t noticed you. But that wasn’t the case. As soon as you were in front of him, he looked at you, but didn’t even flinch.

You sighed in annoyance, stopping in front of him and locking your gaze with his. At first, you thought he would apologize or at least step aside so you could pass, but he didn’t. Instead, he let out a low, mocking laugh.

"Are you going to stand there all day, or can you move your butt?" you spat, your tone stronger than you intended. It’s not like you were scared of him, but his attitude had already made you lose your patience.

The guy raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk appearing on his face. "Why don’t you move instead? I don’t see why we should follow the rules of courtesy if you can’t even wait."

You looked at him, confused by his attitude. Really? Was it that hard to be a little polite?

"Don’t you know how to let people through?" you reprimanded, raising your voice, completely frustrated. "Is it really that hard for you to move?"

He kept his indifferent expression, as if he couldn’t care less. "You’re the one complaining. If it bothers you so much, why don’t you do what you need to and move on? I don’t have time for this."

Your patience ran out. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Without thinking twice, you pushed his arm with your shoulder, forcing him to move so you could pass. But he didn’t even budge. Not an inch.

"What’s the deal? Is it so hard for you to move?" you muttered, furious.

He just let out a small, mocking laugh. "If it makes you feel better, go ahead," he said with complete disinterest. "I don’t care."

You glared at him and turned your back. "You’re an idiot," you muttered as you walked away.

He didn’t even bother responding. You walked quickly toward the bathroom, trying to calm yourself down. You were furious, but the worst part was that you didn’t even know his name. What kind of person is so rude for no reason? His attitude really irritated you.

When you finally reached the bathroom, you leaned against the sink, trying to breathe deeply and let the anger dissipate. What did you do to deserve that attitude? You were convinced this encounter wouldn’t be the last, and the thought of seeing him again made you even more irritated.

After what happened with the guy from the auditorium, you tried not to think about him. Things with the girls in your dorm seemed to be improving, and you were starting to adjust to the rhythm of the exchange. However, that night, something unexpected happened.

Yuri, who had been calmer during the day, invited everyone to dinner. You accepted the invitation without thinking too much. A nice meal seemed like the perfect distraction after such a long day.

The atmosphere of the restaurant was warmer than you imagined. The soft lights and white tablecloths gave it a cozy feel, and the conversation began to flow quickly among the girls. But suddenly, something caught your attention.

At a nearby table, at the back of the restaurant, you saw a familiar figure: it was him. The guy from the auditorium. Minho. He was sitting there, talking animatedly with some friends. A feeling of irritation coursed through your body again, but you tried to ignore it.

However, Kitty noticed your gaze and followed it.

"Oh, he’s over there," she said with a playful smile.

You furrowed your brow. "Who is that?"

Kitty looked at you with a somewhat evasive expression before answering. "He’s one of my friends. Nothing to worry about."

Before you could ask more, Kitty stood up and walked toward his table, with you following her without wanting to miss the opportunity to better understand the situation.

As she approached, Minho looked up. When he saw Kitty, his expression lit up with recognition and a slight smile. However, when he noticed you, his gaze shifted subtly. He looked at you with that calculating expression that irritated you so much.

Kitty, sensing the tension, spoke first.

"Guys, let me introduce you to T/N. T/N, this is Minho."

Minho barely nodded, as if it were a favor to introduce himself. "T/N, huh? How… interesting," he said, sarcasm clear in his voice. "I thought someone with more class wouldn’t be here."

You gritted your teeth and crossed your arms. "I thought someone so… full of himself would be somewhere else."

Minho raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Don’t bother me, seriously. I’m just trying not to be as… annoying as some people."

You laughed without humor. "And who told you I needed to be ‘bothered’?"

The conversation stalled at that point. Kitty, aware of the tension, changed the subject. You, though uncomfortable, had made your point clear: this guy wouldn’t be someone you’d get along with easily. But part of you couldn’t help but wonder what lay behind that dismissive attitude.

After dinner, you stood up from the table feeling a bit lighter. But as you walked toward the exit of the restaurant, you ran into something unexpected.

There, right at the entrance, was Minho. He seemed to be waiting for someone, and when he saw you arrive, his eyes met yours for a second.

"Well, what a coincidence," he said with a smile that seemed less sincere than ever. "Do you really keep crossing my path, or is it just a coincidence?"

You looked at him with disdain. "It’s just a restaurant, and you’re friends with Kitty. I don’t think this is anything more than that."

Minho took a step toward you, challenging. "Does it bother you to see me? Because I swear I’m not trying to ruin your night."

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "It doesn’t bother me to see you; I just don’t care for anything you have to offer. So, if you don’t mind, I’d rather leave without having to listen to your comments."

Minho looked at you with a mixture of surprise and amusement, as if this was all a game to him.

"Oh, really? Looks like someone doesn’t know how to handle it when they run into someone like me."

You gave him a defiant smile. "Maybe not, but I don’t have to be like you to know how to be polite and not be a complete jerk."

Without waiting for his response, you kept walking. You didn’t offer an apology, but you made your boundaries clear. Minho might be an arrogant kid, but you weren’t interested in dealing with it.

tags ; @snowyblossomsx @awhrin @rkivesfilm @dangelnleif

[winterdaphne2]

I've also thought a lot about the differences between pre-S3 fics and post-S3 fics, so I was very excited to see this post! I love your point about how fic authors were responding to a dynamic and contingent canon and how you explain that this was just one reason (but a big reason) why the corpus of fics out there changed over time.

I read a bit of Sherlock fic back in 2013-2014 or so, but it was really in February/March 2024 that I started reading Johnlock fics in earnest. Over the past year, I've had such a great time reading Johnlock fics that were published during all eras of the fandom, from 2010 to the present. And in reading fics that were written at different points along the release of the BBC Sherlock canon, I've found that there seem to be certain patterns, things that really stand out and tie together fics from certain periods and differentiate them from fics that were written and published at other moments. I find it really interesting and fun to think about how the body of fics out there transformed as new series were released, so I wanted to take you up on your invitation to add a couple of my own thoughts onto what you've said!

I completely agree that S3 represents a significant break. Of course, for Johnlock writers, S3 left people with a lot of new challenges to address. Suddenly, Johnlock writers were dealing with a canon where Sherlock and John no longer lived together, John was married to an assassin who shot Sherlock, and John had a baby on the way. But there's even more to it than that. For one thing, the tone of S3 is very different from that of S1-S2, and I think that's something you can feel when you read S1-S2 era fics and post-S3 fics alongside each other. After S3, Sherlock and John's love story turned more tragic. And I think that in S1-S2 era fics, there are often fewer emotional barriers to Sherlock and John getting together, whereas after S3, there's often more of an emphasis on their inability to really communicate with each other about how they feel and more of an emphasis on the need to get them to overcome that in some way.

To me, though, one of the things that divides pre-S3 and post-S3 fics most clearly is Sherlock's characterization. I've often seen it said that S1 and S2 are told mostly from John's perspective, while S3 shifts to telling the story more from Sherlock's. I think there's a lot of truth to that, and it made an enormous difference in how we, as viewers, started to see Sherlock's character once all of S1-S3 were out. Once we started getting the story from Sherlock's point of view instead of from John's, we started to see more and more of Sherlock's vulnerability, his gentleness, his loneliness, and, of course, his deep, intense love for and longing for John. All of that had already been there in S1-S2, but it seems to me that after S3 came out, it became much easier for viewers to see past the careful façade that Sherlock so often keeps in place to protect himself and to see these other sides of his character, too. I also think it's true that Sherlock changed during his time away from John post-Reichenbach and upon returning to London. In S3, Sherlock seems to have matured in some ways, and, to me, he also seems more willing to show these other sides of himself and to reveal a little more of his heart. Of course, the actual events of S3 also served to spotlight Sherlock's deep love for John and all the pain that he experienced as he pined for him, which also made all of this much easier for us to see as the audience.

In reading fics published before and after S3, I think it's quite noticeable that there was a significant shift in how a lot of authors perceived Sherlock's character after S3. In fics written before S3, we were more likely to see a version of Sherlock who could be a bit cold, who was almost always extremely confident, and who was perhaps not very attuned to his own emotions and/or a bit unprepared to understand John's. In some S1-S2 fics, Sherlock can even border on the sociopathic (for example, The Paradox Series by wordstrings is definitely a S1-S2 era series in my mind). But I think that post-S3, authors started writing versions of Sherlock who were more empathetic, much more vulnerable, and much more insecure. It also seems that pre-S3, there were a lot of John POV fics where John was hopelessly pining after Sherlock and feared Sherlock could never feel the same for him, while post-S3, there were a lot more Sherlock POV fics where Sherlock was hopelessly pining after John and feared John could never feel the same for him.

In some fics, there also seems to have been a shift in how authors started writing John after S3, too. After S3, authors seemed more likely to pick up on John's darker side and to take it seriously, and less likely to portray John as "the sane one." To me, though, this wasn't quite as sharp of a switch as the change in how Sherlock was largely portrayed pre- and post-S3.

I really love it when you can see some of this in the evolution of a specific author's writing. In particular, this is one of the many, many things that I absolutely love about Chryse as a Johnlock writer. Chryse has written a handful of really amazing, thoughtfully-constructed Johnlock case fics that are just incredible. A River Without Banks and Another Country are my favorite Johnlock fics ever, and The Ground Beneath Your Feet and A Waste of Breath are also fantastic. A Waste of Breath was published in 2013, post-S2, but A River Without Banks, The Ground Beneath Your Feet, and Another Country all came after S3 in 2015-2016. And while Chryse certainly picked up on Sherlock's vulnerability, his empathy, and his deep longing for John in S1-S2 and wrote all of that into A Waste of Breath, I think that when you read these fics, you can really see that Chryse's characterization of Sherlock changed between A Waste of Breath and their later fics written after S3 aired. Personally, I think Chryse absolutely nails Sherlock's character in A River Without Banks and Another Country, and to me it is just so cool to see that they were willing and able to adjust their interpretation of a character based on new canon material and that they ran with it so skillfully. This is something that I just really admire about Chryse's writing.

And I don't think Chryse is the only one! For example, I think there's also a shift in how @earlgreytea68 characterizes Sherlock in Nature and Nurture, an absolute fandom classic that they started publishing in 2013 and finished in May 2014, and their lovely S3 fix-it fic, The Adventures of a Single Girl in London (Plus a Consulting Detective), finished in March 2014. I love how earlgreytea68 writes Sherlock in Nature and Nurture, but I also think it's so cool that there's still this slight shift in Sherlock's characterization between Nature and Nurture and Adventures (even when the posting periods for these two fics actually overlapped a bit) because Adventures was set and written entirely after S3.

On a related note, I also think it's also interesting that a lot of authors' approaches to Sherlock's sexuality changed significantly after S3 came out. This is so interesting to me because the show started hinting that Sherlock is a virgin in ASIB in S2, but it was really after S3 that fic authors suddenly seemed to take this idea much more seriously. Pre-S3, tons of fics seemed to portray Sherlock as sexually experienced and also very confident when it came to sex. After S3, people seemed much more inclined to write Sherlock as a virgin. (Comparing Nature and Nurture and Adventures gives such a great example of this. Nature and Nurture literally has a line from John's POV that says "...Sherlock Holmes was some kind of wanton sex god or something and if John had known that he would have done this a long time ago. Possibly." But in Adventures, we get a Sherlock POV scene where Sherlock is honestly worried that John won't want to have sex with him if he realizes that Sherlock hasn't done it before. !!)

Finally, I ALSO think it's really interesting to think about how the fics that @swissmissficrecs calls "retro" Johnlock fics might fit into all of this. These are fics that were written after S3 or S4, but that basically ignore the events of S3/S4 to bring us back to a universe that's more in the style of S1-S2. Great examples that I can think of would be @arwamachine's You Might Just as Well Be Blind (2020) or @raina-at's Guess Who's Coming for Christmas Dinner (2024). I think these two fics in particular do a wonderful job of capturing the more lighthearted tone that seemed to predominate in a lot of earlier, pre-S3 Johnlock fics while also featuring versions of Sherlock that seem informed by what we learned about his character in S3. I think You Might Just as Well Be Blind in particular really fits in nicely with the tone of a lot of pre-S3 fics, but it's hard for me to imagine the version of Sherlock that we see in that fic being written before S3 aired.

Anyway, that was a lot! If anyone read this until the end, I would be so very happy to hear your thoughts on this, too. I've read a lot of Johnlock fics, but I certainly haven't read everything! Perhaps my perception is skewed, and perhaps some of what I've said is biased towards the sorts of fics that I tend to enjoy reading. I'd be really curious to hear what other people think about how Johnlock fics have changed over time.

Also, @thegildedbee, I will also say that I love reading and writing meta, so I really hope we're still doing meta as a fandom. If you ever have ideas for metas that you'd like to write, I hope you'll go for it (and feel free to tag me)!

{S1/S2} & {S3/S4} Fics: [Questions] .......................................................................

[well, instead of a few thoughts about the "whys" for the Parentlock fic recs that were the point of starting this post, and then a list of and comments about the recs, this turned into a longer meta -- which, we don't really do meta any more, do we, except in passing? fwiw, then, a throwback post, I guess?]

........................................................................................................... I've been thinking some about differences in Sherlockian fic treatments, when comparing the S1/S2 period to the S3/S4 period - in general, this means 2014 as a dividing line, although that's not a hard-and-fast cut-off point: for example, there were fics that were conceptualized or well-along-the-wip-road prior to S3 that carried on from within the earlier canon-space even if they were completed a year or so later; and there were fic authors who were publishing circa 2015 who had shrugged off S3 when it was being aired, and couldn't have cared less about post-S3 [often disputatious] meta discussions/ speculations.* So, by my figuring, 2014-2015 is a transitional phase, with my guess being that it would be late in 2015 when fics written by authors engaging with S3 canon began merging into a critical mass, creating a second, S1/2/3-transformed foundational reference point for many fics going forward -- and, the later in time one ventures, the reference point for most fics.

It's not that I've been wondering/pondering about the differences because I think pre- or post-S3 fics are better or worse -- to say the least :-) I feel positively about fic from both time periods! It's partly curiosity about the writing of fic in the two different creative contexts: in the "before time" or the "after time" of BBCS' post-Reichenbach canon decisions. And it's also partly curiosity about the differences in length that now exist for the two periods: about 4 years for pre-S3 fic -- which will always remain so, along with the amount of fic it contains [minus deletions and disappearances of specific fic] -- and going on 11 years now (and always stretching further, with increasing content) for post-S3 fic.

I think that one impulse prompting my curiosity is the fact that, realistically, at this point in time [the start of 2025] new canon is unlikely to appear. When BBCS was still in motion as an evolving source for its own canon (in actuality and in potentia), fics were brought to life within a contingent canonical landscape (whether authors were adapting to it or subverting it or anticipating it or transforming it or appropriating it or moving at tangents to it). Of course, the canonical landscape was rendered static when BBCS pulled over to the side of the motorway and killed the engine.

What I'm not saying is that fic is in stasis -- it can't ever be, for lots of reasons! One reason is that, as time passes, the world changes, and we change, and what we see when we look at traditional canon changes . . . and so the fandom dynamic of fic evolution continues :-) A second reason is that new people come along to write fic and to comment on fic, and to meta about fic, and their contributions augment and reshape the cumulative corpus . . . and so the fandom dynamic of fic evolution continues :-) A third reason is that, through our encounters with other imaginative realms, old and new (novels and films and series and other enthusiasms) and then with each other, there's a continuous glamouring that shimmers the atmosphere . . . and so (say it again :-) the fandom dynamic of fic evolution continues :-) Even so, I've been a bit wistful these days about experiencing Sherlockian canon-in-the-making . . . which is maybe what's prompted me (?) to return to the ur-source, which, because it's been so long since I've visited there, can conjure up that kind of magic :-) And so I've been doing some weekly mini-wanderings through ACD canon, and reading between the lines in a kind of what's-old-is-new-again-familiar-unfamiliarity that's been rewarding :-) But more on point for this post (ha! if you've read this far you've been wondering, is there a point? . . . ) is a sense I have that re-visiting S1/S2 fic is another way of accessing a bit of a present-day sense of canon-in-the-making, because it is far enough in the past now, and because of the post-S3's-interpolated-foundation-for-fic has itself extended outward so far, that pre-S3 fic can be visited in a what's-old-is-new-again kind of way (S1/S2 has familiar beats to it, but when visiting I somehow feel whisperings of a mrs. hudson-like smile of "but we see things somewhat differently here, dear" :-)

Okay, enough with all the preliminaries! All that being said: So, what's an example? Here's one I've come back to many times: One major shift is in fics where Sherlock is a parent, or is interacting with a child of John's, because pre-S3 means pre-Mary [at least the "Mary the (former?) assassin" of BBC Sherlock] and pre-"Rosie." [It is the case that some pre-S3 authors have a "Mary," but it's a version that's drawn from ACD canon, and, as such, is usually a much more understated presence; re kids from ACD canon, that's a null consideration.]

There are an overwhelming number of post-S3 fics where Sherlock-with-a-child means Sherlock&John-and-Mary's-Rosie under various scenarios. And while there are lots of different Rosie personalities, Rosie plots, and Sherlockian encounters with Rosie, a majority (or very nearly all?) post-S3 Parentlock fics share in this background rationale (more or less, to be sure) even as they play out from there in a gazillion different inventive ways. Pre-S3 Parentlock fics don't have that raison d'etre, of course, and the child characters and plottings that feature in the S1/S2 period have a generally wilder set of imaginings, and their S1/S2 fic Sherlocks have a balance of characteristics that have some subtle differences that I've always found intriguing, and keep coming back to (this can hold for Johns as well, although the emphasis is more pronounced with Sherlocks). Being pulled back into pre-S3 fic and re-visiting it through categories like Parentlock has been another way that I've re-experienced a kind of anticipatory canon-in-the-making . . . ambience? aesthetic? aura? which I've found to be intriguing. I'm not sure that looking backwards has much appeal for others -- maybe (?) In any case, I guess I thought I'd try and puzzle it out for myself by writing it down and not just having it float about in wisps in my mind palace :-)

Well, hey now, as this is an epic amount of wandering about, I think it's time to come to a rather inelegant galumphing of an endpoint! Writing up the fic recs will have to maybe happen somewhere down the road...

(For anyone who has wandered along this far as well: if you have any thoughts you'd like to share about S1/S2 and S3/S4 fic partitioning, or [the futility of?] attempts to re-surface a canon-in-the-making-vibe -- feel free to add them in! If so, borrowing these would allow this post a much more inspiriting way to finish :-)

........................................................................................

*(. . . and of course there were a significant number of authors who left the fandom after S3 -- but that's a fic trend reflection for another day :-)

.......................................................................................

@calaisreno  @totallysilvergirl  @friday411  @peanitbear  @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels  @a-victorian-girl  @keirgreeneyes  @starrla89  @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely  @lisbeth-kk  @raina-at  @jobooksncoffee  @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat  @bluebellofbakerstreet  @dragonnan  @safedistancefrombeingsmart  @jolieblack

@msladysmith  @ninasnakie  @riversong912  @dapetty .............................................................................................

[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day four: a blind date

ᰔ pairing: agent whiskey x reader

ᰔ summary: your best friend told you to show up in your best dive bar attire on a friday night, only for her to bail. by luck— or something else— you find a handsome cowboy looking for some company.

ᰔ author's note: agent whiskey was my gateway into the ppcu when it came out. my first on the list of many of pedro boys. agent whiskey i know you fucked around and found out but the light is on and the door is open 🙂‍↕️

ᰔ content warning: dive bar setting. non-canon/au agent whiskey. alcohol consumption. flirting. vague suggestive ending. no description of reader/use of y/n. my hatred of the song free bird by lynyrd skynyrd.

For a dive bar, you expected shittier music. Well, maybe the music was shitty— your friends gave you enough grief when you were on the aux cord. It wasn't your fault you had a wide range in your liked songs.

As you looked around, the sound of Free Bird caught your attention. A grimace washed over your face and you weaved your way to the jukebox. It had seen better days in the last few decades, and the song selection had nothing from the last ten years. Just how you liked it, along with every other patron in the bar.

You glanced over your shoulder as you looked for your friend, only to be met with the same crowd you've been surrounded by. The only newcomer looked to be an older gentleman leaned against the bar. His broad shoulders shifted as he reached for a glass in front of him. As he glanced around, he caught your gaze. He gave a polite smile and tipped his hat before he took a long swig of his drink.

Before you moved towards the bar, you slipped a few coins in the jukebox and chose the song you had been eyeing. Once Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac began to play, you finally tore yourself away. You slipped between the man and an empty seat, arms barely brushed against one another.

"Got something against Lynyrd Skynyrd?" The man asked as he placed his glass back down on the bar. You chuckled, one elbow on the bar as you turned to face him.

"Only Free Bird. We get it, the bird's free. Been free longer than this bar's been standin'." Your cheeks flushed as he laughed. Part of you wished your friend would show up, just so she could get a look at the man.

"I suppose you've got a point," he smirked. "But it's Lynyrd Skynyrd. They're as good as it gets, darlin'." He looked you up and down without even trying to hide it.

"Look, Simple Man will always be one of my top five songs but you lose me with the bird." You ordered a Jack and Coke when the bartender passed by. As you handed her the bill, you heard the man beside you chuckle.

"Name's Jack Daniels, ma'am."

You raised an eyebrow. It was hard to discern if he was just jesting, or if that was the truth. You leaned in a bit closer, unable to deny yourself the draw he had. Even if it wasn't true, you weren't sure you cared.

"You bullshittin' me?" When he shook his head, you smiled again. You thanked the bartender for the drink and sipped on it. The drink warmed you, but it was nothing compared to whatever Jack's gaze did. Something warm settled in your chest, all the way down to the pit of your stomach.

"God's honest truth, ma'am," Jack reached for his wallet. He pulled out his license, and it confirmed that his name was, in fact, Jack Daniels. You ran a thumb over it before you handed it back to him.

"What brings you to this spot on a Friday night? All by yourself?" You felt yourself loosen up as you sipped on your drink. Partially, at least.

"Friend said he'd meet me here, but seems he's caught in traffic," Jack shrugged. He leaned on the bar, closing some of the space between the two of you. Between the music and the gaggles of loud patrons around, it made for easier conversation.

"Really? You know, I'm in the same boat. One of my girlfriends was supposed to meet me here tonight, but I haven't heard from her," you sighed. While a small part of you was disappointed, you didn't mind having your company kept by Jack. He was kind enough, and good to look at.

"Shame," Jack shook his head. "Guess we'll have to keep each other company instead." His smile felt like a blow to the chest, the air in your lungs all but disappeared. Your head felt woozy, but you couldn't blame it on the drink in your hand.

"If we must," you chuckled. "So, Jack Daniels, what's with the cowboy getup? Not that it's not doing you any favors." You pressed your arm against his as you finished off your drink. Even out of the corner of your eye, you saw the smirk on his lips.

Before Jack answered, he ordered another round for both of you. His fingers, the one near your arm, tapped against your elbow. Everything he did seemed so effortless, from the way he held himself to the way his hands moved as he spoke.

"I work at a distillery, of sorts. Got some other tricks of the trade, but that's the long and short." Jack watched your expression, watched the way your eyes followed his lips and studied his face. Not that he'd admit it out loud, but your gaze made his skin feel electric.

"A man named Jack Daniels who works at a distillery?" You smiled, your cheeks flush from both your drink and the look on his eyes.

"I'm full of surprises," Jack huffed a laugh.

"I'm starting to think you're too good to be true, Mr. Daniels." You nudged his elbow, winking at him before you took a seat in the empty bar stool. As you moved away, he followed. His arm still pressed against yours, a hand on the back of the chair as he boxed you in. Not that you minded.

"You flatter me, darlin'."

The two of you continued to fall into an easy conversation. Jack made you laugh, did anything to see that smile on yours. If his friend had been here, he was sure he would've teased him for the way he acted.

"You play darts?" You asked after you finished off your third drink. You glanced up from your glass to look at Jack. He'd taken off the hat, a few strands of his hair fell in front of his forehead. It took everything in you to not run a hand through his hair. Instead, you busied yourself with ordering another drink for yourself and Jack.

"I do. Think you got it in you to play a coupla rounds?" Jack thanked the bartender as she handed him another beer. He watched as you hopped off the chair, only to sway a bit. His hand settled on the small of your back as he guided you towards the dart board.

"I'm so good at darts," you assured him. While it was true, the drinks were starting to get to you and your vision. Still though, you were determined to impress the tall, handsome cowboy holding you.

"Wanna put your money where your mouth is?" Jack asked as the two of you stood before the board. He let go of you to grab the basket of darts, mismatched and as beat up at the jukebox. He held it to you as he let you pick your darts.

"I can think of a few things I'd put in my mouth." You winked before you finished off the last of your drink. He bit his bottom lip, looking you up and down as you turned to put the glass down.

"Twenty dollars that I'll beat you." You reached into your purse and pulled out a crisp twenty. Without a word, you reached over and placed it in the pocket of his jean jacket.

"I'll take that bet," Jack cleared his throat. As you queued up for your first toss, he felt his phone buzz. He fished it out of his pocket to read whatever the text was.

Teq: Sorry I couldn't make it. Hope you're enjoying your time at the bar ;)

Jack glanced up from his phone, the dots connected as you hit the twenty. Of course it was a setup. Tequila had been on him about entering the dating scene again— he went on and on about how 'lonely' he seemed. What would his luck be that you also got stood up by your friend on a Friday night in the same bar, around the same time?

What irked him was that he was having fun. Jack hadn't been out in months, at least for his own sake. Being out with you reminded him of something he had missed, though he wasn't sure what that was.

You cheered as you hit a bullseye. That pulled Jack back to the present, his phone shoved in his pocket and his words for Tequila saved for a different time. He'd save it for Monday. For now, he has a beauty standing right in front of him, all smiles and oblivious to the plan her friend had orchestrated.

"Well I'll be damned," Jack chuckled. He sipped on his beer and stepped towards the dart board. Low and behold, you had knocked a clean 75 off your score.

"Show me what you're workin' with. Hope you can put those hands to good use," you hummed. You shot him a wink as you stepped away from the faded piece of tape on the floor. With your arms crossed over your chest, you watched his expression shift from impressed to calculated.

Jack threw it, only for it to hit one of the numbers and clatter to the ground. He was decent at darts, but his mission to impress you was off to a rocky start. The only thing that eased his nerves was your sweet laughter, followed by you grabbing the dart for him.

"Looks like it'll be an easy twenty bucks." You handed him the dart.

An easy twenty bucks, it was. You left him in the dust and ended the game without breaking a sweat. It was all worth it to see the look on his face as you returned from the board with your darts in hand. He looked you up and down, both in awe and something simmering beneath the surface.

"I'll be damned. You a professional or somethin'?" Jack asked as he took the darts and put them in the basket. You shook your head, leaned against one of the tall tables nearby.

"One of my party tricks," you tilted your head. "Think I could make it in the big leagues?" Jack stood next to you, only a few inches separating the two of you. He smelled divine between his cologne and whatever he had used to wash up before he went out.

"If you throw like that with four drinks knocked back? Darlin', you'd be the reigning champion." Jack leaned in a bit closer, a smile on his lips. You tried to not make it obvious how handsome you found him, but when he had his undivided attention on you, it made your heart hammer in your chest. While you wanted to blame it on the alcohol, you knew well enough that even a buzz couldn't make you feel like this.

"You think?" You asked. You leaned in as well, your bodies near flush against each other. There were so many thoughts that rushed through your head, yet they all went silent as Jack's nose brushed against yours.

"I know it."

You weren't sure who made the first move, but his lips on yours made your eyes flutter closed. Everything fell to the wayside— the music, the rowdy patrons, whatever else surrounded you in the dive bar. Jack filled your senses, his presence demanded without a word exchanged. His hands settled at your sides, polite even as his fingers suck into your flesh. It elicited a soft gasp between kisses; electricity settled under your skin as a zip shot down your spine.

You pulled away, the air from your lungs all but gone as you looked at him. Jack looked you over. From what you could tell, he was just as breathless as you were. You only hoped he felt even a sliver of what you did

"I know this may be improper, but I was wondering if you had any other plans for the night." Jack hadn't taken his hands off of you as he searched your expression for an answer. He'd be an idiot to not take you home, to not kindle whatever had sparked between you.

"My only plans involve a man who's ass I can kick when it comes to darts," you teased. Jack smirked as he let a chuckle, rolling his eyes. He squeezed your side before he stood up straight. He grabbed for his hat and started to put it back on. Before he put it back on, you took it out of his hand and put it on top of your head.

"Come on, cowboy. Let's get out of here." You leaned into Jack's side as he led you out of the bar.