#Spotify com pair

[spotifycompair001]

Navigating the Spectrum: Wired and Wireless Options for Spotify Pairing

In the dynamic realm of music streaming, Spotify stands out as a leader, continually enhancing user experiences. Among its features, Spotify pairing has gained prominence, allowing users to seamlessly connect their devices. The question at hand is whether Spotify pairing is restricted solely to wireless devices or if there are wired alternatives. In this article, we'll explore the nuances of Spotify pairing, examining both the convenience of wireless connections and the stability offered by wired options.

Understanding Spotify Pairing:

Before delving into wired alternatives, let's first gain a comprehensive understanding of Spotify pairing. This feature facilitates the connection of Spotify accounts with compatible devices like speakers, headphones, and smart TVs, aiming to provide a versatile and immersive listening experience across various platforms.

The Wireless Advantage:

The popularity of wireless Spotify com pair has surged due to its inherent convenience and adaptability. Users can effortlessly link their smartphones, tablets, or computers to Bluetooth-enabled devices, be it wireless headphones, smart speakers, or car audio systems. Spotify pairing in a wireless setting ensures a hassle-free and wire-free listening journey.

The Wired Frontier:

Contrary to common belief, Spotify pairing extends beyond the wireless domain. Spotify caters to users who prefer a more conventional setup or those seeking a stable and high-fidelity audio connection through various wired options.

Wired Headphones and Earphones: Spotify pairing supports wired headphones and earphones through the traditional headphone jack or USB connections, catering to those who prioritize audio quality without relying on wireless signals.

Auxiliary and RCA Connections: Devices like speakers and home theater systems can achieve Spotify pairing through wired connections such as auxiliary (3.5mm) or RCA cables, offering a direct and steadfast link between the device and the audio source.

USB and HDMI Connectivity: Spotify pairing extends to devices with USB or HDMI ports, enabling users to directly connect their smartphones or computers to compatible devices, broadening the array of choices for enjoying Spotify com pair content.

Benefits of Wired Spotify Pairing:

Consistent Audio Quality: Wired connections typically provide a more stable and superior audio experience compared to their wireless counterparts, making them the preferred choice for audiophiles.

No Dependency on Battery Life: Wired connections eliminate concerns about battery life, providing a reliable solution for extended listening sessions without the worry of running out of power.

Conclusion:

In summary, Spotify pairing is not confined to wireless devices; it encompasses robust options for wired connections as well. Whether users prioritize the ease of wireless or the dependability of wired setups, Spotify accommodates both preferences. Through experimentation with different devices and connections, users can discover the ideal combination for an unparalleled listening experience. Whether accessing Spotify through spotify.com/pair or the app, the choice between wired and wireless ultimately rests in the hands of the user.

[oliviaanderson808]

spotify.com/pair

A vast library of songs, albums, podcasts, and other audio content is available to millions of users worldwide on Spotify, one of the top music streaming services in the world. Pop, rock, hip-hop, classical, electronic, and other genres are just a few of the millions of songs available in Spotify's vast catalogue. Individuals can quickly make playlists by searching for their preferred musicians, records, or songs. Spotify com pair offers an extensive selection of spoken-word content, audiobooks, and podcasts in addition to music. The app has made significant investments in podcasting recently, partnering with celebrities and content creators to produce original content and obtaining the exclusive rights to well-known shows.

There are free and premium membership tiers available for Spotify. While the premium tier offers an ad-free experience, unlimited skips, offline listening, and higher audio quality, the free tier allows users to listen to music with occasional advertisements and limited features.

Spotify offers customized playlists, recommendations, and content curation based on user data and algorithms, taking into account each person's listening preferences. Features like Discover Weekly, Release Radar, and Daily Mixes are part of this.

Spotify can be accessed via its website, desktop applications for Windows and Mac, and mobile apps for iOS and Android devices. It is available in numerous countries worldwide. Additionally, it works with a variety of linked devices, smart speakers, and car audio systems.

All things considered, Spotify has emerged as a major player in the music streaming market by providing users with a streamlined and customized method to listen to their preferred tracks and audio files whenever and wherever they choose.

[thehabitatsys]

SAY IT BACK/LANA DAY

💛. ໑ ' . 𓂅 rarepair posting

YURI !!!! I made this for fun but the ship is honestly super cute to me ... cookies who hate all cookiekind but eachother

[987--11]

Unlock Smooth Playback: An All-Inclusive Guide to Spotify.com/pair

Spotify.com/pair is a powerful tool designed to enhance your music streaming experience by allowing you to connect multiple devices to your Spotify account effortlessly. This feature enables you to switch between devices without any interruptions, ensuring a continuous and high-quality listening experience. Whether you are using a smart TV, gaming console, or high-end speakers, Spotify.com/pair ensures that your favorite music follows you wherever you go, seamlessly integrating with your lifestyle.

How to Use Spotify.com/pair To start using Spotify.com/pair, navigate to spotify.com/pair in your web browser. Log in with your Spotify credentials; if you don’t have an account, you’ll need to create one. On the device you want to pair, such as a smart TV or speaker, open the Spotify app and find the pairing section to generate a unique code. Enter this code on the Spotify.com/pair page and follow the prompts to complete the pairing process. This simple setup allows your device to sync with your Spotify account, ready for seamless music streaming.

Spotify is a leading music streaming service that offers a vast library of songs, playlists, and podcasts. One of the convenient features of Spotify is the ability to pair your account with various devices for a seamless listening experience. This guide will walk you through the steps to pair your Spotify account using the Spotify.com/pair feature, ensuring smooth playback across all your devices.

Step-by-Step Guide to Using Spotify.com/pair

Open Spotify on Your Device First, make sure you have the Spotify app installed on the device you want to pair. This could be a smart TV, gaming console, or any other compatible device.

Navigate to the Pairing Option Open the Spotify app on your device and navigate to the settings menu. Look for the option that says “Pair Device” or something similar.

Access Spotify.com/pair On a separate device, such as your smartphone or computer, open your web browser and go to Spotify.com/pair.

Enter the Code Your device should display a unique code on the screen. Enter this code into the Spotify.com/pair webpage on your browser.

Confirm Pairing Once you’ve entered the code, confirm the pairing on both your device and the webpage. Your Spotify account should now be paired with the device, allowing you to control playback and enjoy your music seamlessly.

[metaphoricgibberish]

hi, hello - my name is sara and i write depraved things about pedro pascal characters. i'm not super into writing one-shots (love reading them tho) so all my stories are in series format. my DMs are always open, i love talking fics, pedro, tlou, narcos, and anything at all regarding men old enough to be my father.

happy reading, i appreciate you all tremendously <3

To the Light [ joel miller ]

"He was such a greedy fuck, when had that happened? What was it about her that had turned him into this… desperate, frenzied, fucking insatiable man that had stooped to the point of planning his entire day around getting a glimpse of her. It wasn’t just one thing, he knew that, rather it was an amalgamation of everything about her, everything he could see, everything he knew, and the large cavern of things he didn’t know, but wanted to so badly it ate away at him, like a virus, like fucking cordyceps, surging through his body and altering his brain chemistry, his ambitions and intent, so that it was just her, his sole focus was just her."

summary: Joel finds a young woman being held hostage by a group of men while he's out on patrol one day. He brings her back to Jackson, where she's given the opportunity to have something resembling a real life, for the first time. The two of them orbit around each other, destined to crash, if both of their reservations don't get in the way.

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 96.8k (completed)

see tags and warnings on ao3

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Joel finds the love of his life lost in the woods.

Read on AO3

Fic playlist on Spotify

Read insatiable (a To the Light one-shot) here.

Read hearth (a To the Light one-shot) here.

Dawn [ javier peña ]

"It had been wrong, back then, his feelings for her. He'd known that and that's why he'd never let anything happen between the two of them. But he'd always been weak. That first time he'd seen her after Richie had gone off to fight a war just as brutal and useless and the one he'd been fighting out in Colombia, that first time he'd really seen her— just a glimpse as she left the market, bag hoisted up on her hip, long, wavy hair bouncing behind her, shapely legs visible in that little yellow sundress that hugged her waist just right— he'd been a fucking goner."

summary: Javier Peña returns to his hometown after leaving the DEA. He doesn't want the undeserving praise everyone is trying to push on him, he doesn't really want anything at all, beyond a quiet life on his father's ranch, such a stark contrast to the atrocities he'd witnessed over the ten years away. But there's one familiar face that he can't seem to shake no matter how hard he tries.

pairing: javier peña x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 80.8k (completed) a.n. first chapter of my new Javi fic is up! each chapter will be named after a Lana Del Rey song with a corresponding lyric (idk Javi is Lana coded to me). I hope you enjoy <3

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Javier Peña falls for his best friend's little sister.

Read on AO3

Nights Like This One [ joel miller ]

"Joel couldn't resist the tug any longer, finally succumbing to the dull ache at the base of his spine as he turned around and locked eyes with her— bright fucking blue, twinkling animatedly when they met his. Most of the time her eyes looked hollow, devastatingly so, but he'd noticed that when they got into these bickering matches her eyes lightened, and so then how was he ever expected to stop?"

summary: Joel Miller is hired by an elderly woman to fix up her home. However, in the middle of the renovations, she dies and her daughter, Lily, moves from California to Austin to live in her mother's home. Joel continues to work on the house despite the two of them constantly butting heads. Tensions rise and the two are destined to crash whether they like it or not.

(Initially takes place pre-outbreak, story spans through outbreak day, all the way to 2023).

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 142.6k (completed) a.n. hi my friends! a few things: i did change sarah's age because i wanted to, i have creative liberty this is MY FUCKIN STORY!! lol. also i know nothing about construction, so i apologize, watch me make shit up with only google as my guide. please don't hate or be mean to my OC, she's going through some shit and the roles will be reversed later on after outbreak day, so let her be the emotionally unavailable, cold one for now. chapter length will be much shorter than most of my other fics solely because this has so many chapters. i'm writing it more in novel format than fic format, so forgive me. blame my useless, $120k creative writing degree. i hope you enjoy this. i'm having a lot of fun writing it.

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Joel Miller finds the love of his life right before the world ends.

Read on AO3

Fic playlist on Spotify

Amor Fati [ alpha!din djarin au ]

"Perhaps it was his own form of rebellion that he still had not had the Vision, at forty-five years old. Not that those things were controllable, but it did serve as some bit of flimsy vindication that Din did not have a mate, someone to fuck babies into for the satisfaction of the government. Of course, not every alpha had a true mate, but those that didn't still usually mated with one of the unmated omegas, they still served their purpose. Din had never fucked an omega, would never fuck an omega."

summary: Din lives in the lonesome world of unmated alphas. Ever since The Collapse he's hated this world, what it's become, what it's turned people into. Until he has The Vision, perhaps twenty years too late, he sees her face.

And then nothing, not even his flimsy morals, can keep him from finding her.

pairing: din djarin x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 64.4k (completed) a.n. hi my friends!!!! i've been cooking this one up since November, so i'm super excited to start sharing. i've never written ABO before, so please be gentle with me. i may break some rules, but i do hope you'll forgive me. FYI this will be real AU -- no helmet, no star wars, mostly modern world with some world building involved. i hope you enjoy!

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The Din Djarin A/B/O AU

Read on AO3

Spotify Playlist Here

The Human Condition [ therapist!joel miller au ]

"Joel passed his palm over his mouth, his eyes drifting over to the clock on his office wall for perhaps the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. He dreaded his one o'clock appointment, but not for the reasons that he should. He dreaded it because he looked forward to it far more than was appropriate, for reasons that would surely get him fired."

summary: Violet Wood is lost, thinks perhaps she's been lost since the day she was born.

Joel Miller is a psychiatrist who has experienced a tremendous loss of his own.

Neither of them are expecting each other.

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 53.1k (completed) warnings: extreme trigger warnings for suicidal behavior/attempts, mental health discussion, EDs, self-harm, depression, anxiety a.n. i have been thinking about this forever, and i'm really excited to start sharing, albeit slowly. hope you all enjoy <3

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The Joel Miller Therapist AU

Read on AO3

Spotify Playlist Here

The Age of Innocence [ joel miller]

"He didn't know what was coming over him, he'd always thought she was sweet, cute maybe, but never once had he noticed just how full her bottom lip was, how pert her ass was, how pretty it was when the apples of her cheeks filled with color."

summary: Nestled in the Sierra Nevada mountains is an old gold mining town— Twain Harte— named after the American authors Mark Twain and Bret Harte, both of which never lived there. A woman named Liliana does though, and when she was a little girl she was saved by a man, a man she has spent twenty years loving from afar.

Until something changes.

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 80.1k+ (completed) a.n. lmao i hate myself. i've been slowly adding to this idea for a while, and i'm too excited about it to wait until after i write Fate Forgone Virtue, so i guess i'm writing them simultaneously?? I used to live in Twain Harte, so i'm very excited about the setting of this one. each chapter will be named after a place within the town. also the playlist for this one is a little different, i wanted to compile a bunch of songs that remind me of my time living there, rather than ones that relate to the story per se. i'll shut up now! i hope you enjoy <3

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Joel Miller finds himself infatuated with a young woman who has loved him all her life.

Read on AO3

Spotify Playlist Here

Fate Forgone Virtue [ dark!joel miller ]

"Solitude forges in people a very specific kind of hurt. Not when that solitude is fleeting, or induced by situation, but solitude that is born, solitude that lends itself to a certain breed of man. It's a bone deep hurt, one that is drilled into the soul, it molds it into something misshapen and ugly. An unsocialized dog will bite the hand of a stranger out of fear. Fear bred from solitude."

summary: A man, gone brutal and cold, stalks through life with blood on his hands and violence in his head.

A woman, hopeless and desperate, seeks death’s embrace like a lover’s warmth. 

This is their story.

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 1.7k+ (ongoing - 1/13 chapters) warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, non-con, stockholm syndrome, violence, gore, bondage a.n. hello everyone!! welcome to hell! please take the tags seriously. this is not like my usual fics. i will not be adding a warning to every chapter, but everything is in the tags. no hard feelings if this one is not your cup of tea, but for those of you willing to come along for the ride, i'm really excited about this one! the first two chapters will be somewhat of a short introduction to the story, the following chapters will be longer. have fun! ;)

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Joel Miller gives a young woman a second chance at life, as his pet.

Read on AO3

Spotify Playlist Here

Sanctuary [ javier peña ]

"She glanced over at him, her lips hinting at a smile as his pretty brown eyes locked on hers. She wanted him to tell her something now, not that she had taken him here as a greedy means of give and take, even though that’s all their relationship was. Give and take. Just sex. If she couldn’t know his last name or why he had scars all over his chest, then she wanted to know what he thought was beautiful, what he thought was ugly, what existed in both spaces for him."

summary: Takes place after the third season-- Javier moves to San Francisco to escape what he'd witnessed in Colombia over the past several years. The DEA is desperate to get him down to Mexico to help take down the Guadalajara Cartel, but Javier isn't so sure he wants to continue down that path. His decision only becomes increasingly more difficult when he meets a bartender named Emma, whose commitment issues seem to mirror his own.

pairing: javier peña x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 93.4k (complete)

see tags and warnings on ao3

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Javier Peña meets his match in the form of a little bartender in San Francisco.

Read on AO3

[thisismeracing]

Mó paz | LH44

SOCIAL MEDIA AU

― Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x brazilian!reader (she/her) ― Warnings: curse words, mentions of food, typos (not proofread). ― Summary: It's time for the Interlagos GP and fans are excited to see how Lewis' Portuguese sounds after becoming a citizen AND dating Yn. ― A/n: Shout out to @queenshikongo3 for suggesting this piece. 🤍 ― A/n:² none of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps. everything else is made up by me, and I do not allow it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

✷ my masterlist | my taglist here | patreon masterlist ✷ Support my writing by reblogging, and leaving me a message 🤍 ✷ Consider buying me a coffee if you liked it or subscribing to my patreon for exclusive content!

yn

liked by patriciaramos, danielricciardo, and others

yn México te amo, pero yo extrañé mi hogar! 💚 (Mexico, I love you, but I missed my home)

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carlossainzssy Charles is their kid, and in this essay I will- ☝🏻

ferrarifinesse Thank you for sharing the Charles pic, YN!!!!!

lewishamilton te quiero! 😘 (I love you!)

 ⤷ popyn the way he always say's he lovers her using the language of the week's Gran Prix, I- I wanna be loved like this!!!!!!!!!!!

mercgoldenyears not George following lewis like a lost puppy/lost kid, I actually love them sm omg 😂

 ⤷ yn but he is our grid kid! <3

 ⤷  charles_leclerc what about me???

 ⤷ oscarpiastri and me?

 ⤷ landonorris I don't exist???

 ⤷ yukitsunoda0511 I'm feeling betrayed

 ⤷ mickschumacher So am I!

 ⤷  yn lewishamilton please help me here, the kids are fighting

 ⤷ lewishamilton sebastianvettel help, seb!!!

 ⤷ redferrari16 this is so funny LMAO

mirrorballeclerc the matching yellow aesthetic pic, they're truly soulmates 😭💙

lewishamilton

liked by seujorge, charles_leclerc, and others

lewishamilton Mais uma volta para casa 🇧🇷 (Another homecoming 🇧🇷)

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brunamarquezine 💚💛 bem vindo de volta!!! (Welcome back!)

44brcitizen I am the happiest person, I actually never had a sad day in my life, I can't remember ever struggling, or whatever, life is beautiful! 🌷🌸🌻💐

monacoocon The Brazilian flag is actually so pretty, I'm always mesmerized

yn 😍😍

⤷ 1dformulaone yeah, babes, that's your man (I wish it was mine, with all due respect KJDSGKJDSG)

mercedesamgf1 💜💚💛🤍

georgerussell63 vamos! 🇧🇷 (let’s go!)

⤷ sassyrussell Carmen wrote this, I just know she did 😂🤍

*the first story says "She's writing new songs".

lewishamilton

liked by brunamarquezine, lilnasx, and others

lewishamilton mó paz! 💚

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badgalriri 😍😍😍❤️

linikeroficial amo amo amo! (I love love love)

missionfortyfourr mó paz means to be in peace, chilling, serene

⤷ mercmickie and the fact that the song talks about being at peace after he came into her life, that he's there to stay, that her life's different now?!!?!?!?!? I AM SOBBING

lewandyn she's so pretty, so smart, so talented, so perfect ughhh 🩷😭

⤷ lewishamilton yes, she is ❤️

⤷ norrizzlando your honor, he's in love!

interlagostrack LINDOS, PERFEITOS, DONOS DE MIM!

yn Te amo muito, vidinha 💗 (I love you sm, my life!)

⤷ lewishamilton te amo, meu amor

⤷ russellrain "meu amor" alguém por favor, me ajuda, eu desidratei de tanto chorar (“my love” someone pls help me, I just dehydrated from crying)

⤷ totolobo TE AMO, MEU AMOR DSKGJDSKJSKDHJ

roscoelovescoco I’s love’s you!

princessyn Stream Mó paz on spotify!!!!!!!!!!!!!

carmenmmundt 🩵🩵🩵

franciscac.gomes lindos! 🥰🤍

yn

liked by exudoblues, georgerussell63, and others

yn Que dia incrível cantando com os amigos em casa, e que noite perfeita celebrando com eles! Amo vocês 💘

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sunnysainz we all know who she was looking at in the first pic hehe

tsunodaangel Omg, I love them so so much 🥲

lewishamilton 🤩😍😍

lewishamilton caraca, foi incrível!!!

⤷ charleslehoe he's officially Brazilian now!!!!! LOL

patriciaramos a mulher mais linda do Brasil!!! (The most beautiful woman in Brazil!!!)

⤷ yn te amo, paty! (I love you, paty!)

swiftieyn why haven't we got a collab w xnda yet?

⤷ yn you sure you haven't? 👀

⤷ schumachersbike OMG OMGDKJSDKJG

seujorge 💛💛💛

ricciardosmile 🎶 bom que cê chegou pra ficar pra sempre, com você mó paz 🎶

carsgoingvroom the "existe amor em sp" reference *cries* (it means "there's love in SP, it's a reference to a song that says that there's no love in Sao Paulo)

⤷ braziliangp how about the quote??!?!!? I melted (if the sun doesn't shine tomorrow I'll use your smile to light my day")

⤷ mickcedes omg you guys thank you sm!! I was struggling with my A1 and translator LOL 😅

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you guys like this piece! Don’t forget to leave me a message/ask and follow me if you did *mwah*

Consider supporting me by buying me a coffee if you liked it or subscribing to my patreon for exclusive content!💘

©thisismeracing do not copy, steal, or translate my work. do not repost on a different media platform.

Taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @mishaandthebrits @iloveyou3000morgan @crimeshowjunkie @fdl305 @saintslewis @scorpiobleue @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss @f1kota @lunnnix @karmabyfernando @crashingwavesofeuphoria @schumacheer @callsign-scully @v1naco @dearxcherry @crystals-faith @peachiicherries @elliegrey2803 @he6rtshaker @therealcap @mehrmonga @the-depressed-fellow @soph1644 @cixrosie @darleneslane @itsmaytimetosaygoodbye @buckybarnessweetheart @nichmeddar @fastcarsandshit @goldenalbon @skepvids @balekanemohafe @jamie2305 @nzygftoji (quick reminder to enable visibility so I can tag all of you guys properly ❤️)

― reblogs, comments, and asks are extremely appreciated, make sure to leave yours *mwah*

[zepskies]

UNRAVEL ME - Part 4

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Afro-Latina!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Vought Tower finally falling, you find yourself crossing paths with Soldier Boy. Rogue, weakened, dangerous, and hunted, he needs a place to hide. You’re not about to offer up your own home to shelter a supe wanted by Homelander and the CIA…but he’s also not going to let you refuse.

AN: Here we go! Another big step in their adventure...

Song Inspo: “Mi Muchachita” by Luis Segura (English lyrics)

Word Count: 8.8K

Tags/Warnings: Fake dating (lol), meet the family, some old-school machismo, Dominican food, bachata, “North Cuba” (Miami), angst, rom-com vibes

💜 Series Masterlist

❤️ YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 4: Food & Family

After driving through the loops of highway along I-95, Ben grows frustrated at the thirty or so signs of exits that lead to different parts of the city. One wrong turn, and it could send you miles away from where you were—even over the bridge to Miami Beach.

You consult the GPS on your iPad, since your new “burner” phone is just an old-style flip phone. 

You’re able to point him where to go to get to the airport. He finally takes the right exit, but he pulls off the highway split, off the main road, and heads into the alley of a side street.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer you, just pulls to a stop and shifts the car into park.

“It’s been fun, sweetheart, but I think it’s time we part ways here. I’ve got a couple errands to run before I get the fuck out of here,” he says.

You consider him shrewdly. “Errands? What the hell do you mean? How’re you gonna even get a plane ticket? You don’t have any money…”

And it dawns on you. You suck in a breath, then you glare at him.

“What’re you going to do, Ben?”

“That’s my fucking business, all right?”

“What’re you gonna do, knock over a bank? Kill a few people on your way out?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, sweetheart,” he says. He looks at the darkening alley ahead rather than at you. He’s keeping an eye out for anyone that might spot you two in the car, until you lean over and lay a hand on his forearm.

“Ben,” you say. “Look, I’ll pay for your ticket.”

His brows crunch together. “I don’t want your fucking money, all right?”

You hesitate. Now that’s a first. But you still take your hand back to start digging into your purse for your wallet. He reaches out and stops you with a big, warm hand over yours. Firm.

“You hear what I fucking said?” he snaps.

You just sigh. “Ben, breaking into a bank—”

“Doesn’t have to be a fucking bank.”

“All right, a store! Either way, that might raise a few alarms, don’t you think?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Ben says. His gaze cuts away from you and toward the city behind you both.

Suddenly, it hits you. This is it. No more of this asshole being a human crater exploding into your life. 

But it’s also kind of hard to imagine him getting on that plane alone, fucking off to obscurity again. You bite your lip while considering him. It feels like a waste.

“What if…what if you stay and fight?” you say. “Fight off Homelander. Expose him for the piece of shit he is.”

Ben’s steely expression just hardens further. “I’m done talking about that frosted hole. Whatever formula they mixed him with in that fucking lab, it didn’t come out of my ball sack.” 

You roll your eyes. God, he’s so gross. “Ben. For God’s sake. Don’t deflect—”

“You do realize I have the FBI, the CIA, and the whole rest of the alphabet soup on my ass, right?” he says. Finally, he looks at you. “They don’t want me here. They didn’t even try to find me when the fucking Commies… So no. Fuck ‘em. I’ll make new somewhere else.”

It’s truly incredible, considering how damn angry you were at him yesterday. Angry and afraid.

Now, you begin to feel a twinge of…concern. Yes, he’s arrogant and vulgar, selfish, and more than a bit of a dick at times. He’s killed people, whether on accident or on purpose, even if it was partially for your sake. But after last night, getting just a glimpse of what he went through, you wonder if he really deserves to be run out of the country. 

I may regret this, but…

“Listen,” you begin. “It’s getting late. Do you want to have dinner with me and my family? You’ll get some good food, one more night States’ side.”

Ben looks just as surprised by your offer as you are to suggest it. His lips begin to quirk upward, albeit incredulously.

“You offering to be my tour guide?” he asks.

You give him a knowing look. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s just dinner. Nothing else.”

You raise a finger, gesturing at him to hold on a second, and you grab your phone to call your mom first. She’s easier to talk to than your father, who would probably bombard you with questions about the trip and why it was taking you so long to get home.

“Hello?” your mom answers.

“Hey, it’s me,” you reply.

“Why are you calling from this weird number? Did something happen to your phone? Is that why you haven’t been answering our calls?”

“Yeah, sorry, I lost my phone and had to get a replacement,” you lie on the fly. You’ve had to get good at it over the past week. “I made it to Miami though. I’m almost home.”

“Oh, that’s great! Meet at Mamá’s house though. We’re making dinner right now,” she says.

You smile. Looks like Ben is going to get to meet your grandma too. “Really? Oh, okay. We’ll meet you there then.”

“We? Who’s we?”

“Oh, I’m uh…bringing a friend,” you say, though your face begins to heat in a blush at the way Ben smirks at you.

“A friend, huh?” your mom asks, in a suspicious tone.

“Yeah, okay see you soon!” You hang up the phone before she can ask you any more questions. Sometimes she can be as bad as your dad. You shift your attention to Ben.

“Okay, let’s switch seats. I think it’ll be easier if I drive,” you say.

He raises a skeptical brow at you. “Where are we going?”

You offer him a smile. “Oh, just wait. You’re in for a good time.”

Homelander’s angry strides are heavy and unmistakable. Vought employees veer out of his way and give him a wide berth, keeping their heads down all the while. His heated steps bring him to the Surveillance team, where The Deep has been at the helm for the past couple of months.

And what the fuck does he have to show for it? He’s sipping a soda while flirting with one of the glorified interns trying to sort through the classified files on her screen. Deep perks up when he notices Homelander barging into the room.

“Oh! Hey, sir—”

“Where the fuck is my son?” Homelander snaps.

Ever since the incident last week, Ryan has been ducking out of his room more than usual. Despite him choosing the right side, Homelander’s side, Ryan hasn’t been working with the production team on his superhero image.

Nothing useful has come in about Soldier Boy, and now Butcher has disappeared from their sight as well. Though that one doesn’t matter so much. Homelander will be happy to see that bastard die of the cancer already eating his brain. There’s probably nothing Homelander could do that would be more fucking hilarious than that.

“Uhh, not sure, sir. But we do have something new on the Soldier Boy front,” Deep says. He cues a finger at the girl, Ashley or Annika or whatever the fuck her name is.

She presses a play button on her computer screen, and Homelander bends at the waist to scrutinize the footage. It captures an alleyway between the main building of Vought Tower and the garage.

“This is the day of the, um, the incident,” she adds.

Soldier Boy exits the building, stumbling out really. He eventually crosses paths with a young woman. To Homelander, she almost seems familiar.

Soldier Boy grabs her arm, says something to her that makes her eyes widen with fear, then drags her toward him so he can cover her mouth with his hand. They wait there against the wall for almost thirty seconds. Then, he pulls her into the garage with him.

“Who the fuck is that?” Homelander asks.

Allie chimes in. “Ah, she was a Vought employee, sir. She recently quit without prior notice.”

“See, we had Webweaver on this, but the police just found his body in Lake Marion, South Carolina,” Deep says. 

A slow smile spreads across Homelander’s face. “Fucking finally.”

“Uhh, what?” Deep says.

It’s a lead, Homelander thinks. A trail. One step closer to hunting down dear old Dad. 

Emphasis on fucking old.

Your grandmother lives south, west, and more west, almost right on the edge of the Everglades—a 1.5-million-acre wetlands protected by the state. When tourists and natives alike end up on the news for getting their limbs bit off by alligators or left half-dead by a cottonmouth snake, it’s usually because they were stupid enough to hike through the mangroves and jump into the swampy waters alone.

You pull up in front of your grandma’s house and park in the paved driveway. It’s a modest three-bedroom, Spanish-style home that your dad grew up in with his two brothers, your Uncle Felix and Uncle Luis. They re-painted the outer walls the color of a soft sunset in golden orange, the roof tiles a darker terracotta. A rod iron gate around the property meets at the front with a small arch Ben will later have to duck his head under.

You can already smell freshly cut grass as the sprinklers run in the front yard, but for the moment, you stay in the car to figure out the game plan.

“So,” Ben says, “what role am I playing for tonight, sweetheart? Your work friend, or your boyfriend? Both have their pros and cons, and potential benefits.”

His grin is far too cocksure not to irritate you on sight. You’re already regretting this lapse in your sanity that led you to try being nice to this asshole.

You also realize that you haven’t exactly thought this through. What if they recognize him from the news? 

…Well, your parents don’t like social media and your grandmother barely even knows how to text, let alone what Instagram is. 

“Let’s just play it by ear,” you say, resisting a sigh. “But for now…God, fine, you’re my boyfriend.”

“Okay,” he gamely nods. “How long’ve we been dating?”

“Long enough for me to bring you to see my parents, so let’s say a few months,” you say. Then, you grab his wrist. “Please, try to tone down the cursing and general pussy talk around my family. They’re Catholic and…conservative.”

Again, his lips twitch upward in a way you don’t really like.

“Sure,” he says, “I can turn on the charm.”

He turns his wrist under your grasp to bring your hand up to his lips. 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I can be very convincing.” 

A warm blush spreads across your cheeks, prickling down your neck.

Shit. You’re already regretting this. 

After slipping your hand from his grasp so you can look yourself over in the little car mirror, you get out of the car first. Ben follows your lead and walks up to the front door with you. 

You look over at him with a more critical eye, humming to yourself. You try to fix his wrinkled shirt, straighten his collar. Ben watches you do it with an amused gleam in his eyes. 

“My mom is the queen of snap judgments,” you explain. “One damn smudge or wrinkle and she’s gonna think you don’t bathe.”

You lean up and sort your fingers through his hair a little, sweeping the strands away from his brow. You have to ignore the way he’s watching you. 

When you turn and knock on the door, Ben settles a hand on the small of your back. You shoot him a raised brow. He winks at you. You don’t have time to comment or even push his hand away, because that’s when the door opens.

You greet your dad with a wide smile to cover up your nerves. Out of anyone that could’ve opened the door, why did it have to be him? He kisses your cheek when you lean in to hug him, but he eyes the man beside you with a note of appraisal. 

“Who’s this?” he asks. 

“Dad, this is Ben,” you say, choking out the second bit, “my boyfriend.” 

“Sir,” Ben greets. He offers the man a firm handshake. 

“Victor,” your dad replies, though he shoots you a look. “You didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend.”

“Is that her?” your mom says. She comes out to greet you and Ben, taking in his tall, handsome form with a pleased scrutiny. “My goodness, this is your friend, huh?” She gives you a teasing wink. “I didn’t buy that one for a minute, but it has been a long time since you’ve brought a man home.”

Ben’s smile takes on an amused glint when he casts you some side-eye. 

“It’s kinda new,” you confess, trying to ignore the hot blush in your cheeks. Your mom is already having way too much fun with this, but she immediately levels up her own brand of Cuban Mom Charm, taking Ben into the house by his arm. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ben. I’m Gloria. This is my husband Victor,” she says, gesturing at your dad, who stands stoically behind her. Ben gives him another nod, then hits your mom with a kind of suavecito that would put James Bond to shame. 

“Now I know who to thank for giving my girl her beautiful smile. We’ve got Miss Florida herself right here,” Ben flirts, squeezing her hand on his arm.

Gloria twitters a laugh, making you bite your lip against a snort. 

She leads him further into your grandmother’s house, while you and Victor follow behind. Ben takes note of all the pictures on the walls and housed in various frames on virtually every shelf and accent table: your parents’ wedding, your father and your uncles when they were young, and you at various ages—kindergarten through your high school graduation, followed by your college graduation. 

There are pictures of you with your parents, your ten first cousins and thirty second cousins, your aunts and uncles, and you with your grandmother—the woman who’s currently cooking up something that smells delicious in the kitchen. Garlic and onions and olive oil; the smells mingle together with the red and green bell peppers being sautéed in a pan with some kind of red sauce. 

Your grandma Sofia takes in Ben from head to toe with wide-eyed, blinking surprise, even a bit of wonder. She glances at you, at Ben’s hand once again resting on the small of your back. Slowly, she brightens.

“Ay, Diosito mio, who’s this handsome man in my house?” she says.

Ben smiles, but you step in before he can flirt with her too. 

“Mamá, this is Ben. Uh, my boyfriend,” you tell her while giving her a big, warm hug. You try to blink past the tears stinging your eyes. You’ve probably missed your grandma the most. 

She squeezes you tight, but she also smacks you on the ass. 

“Hey!” you protest, laughing in embarrassment.

“Oye, you couldn’t call to tell us you finally got another man?” she chides. “How long has this one being going on?”

“Um, a few months—”

The old woman gasps, as if you told her that her recorded episodes of Caso Cerrado, the Latino version of Judge Judy, had been erased. Taking another look at a highly amused Ben, she crosses herself and delivers a kiss to the heavens. 

“Ay, Padre Santísimo. Finally, a man who doesn’t dress como un niño malcreado—like Justin Bieber.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. Your mother snickers, while Ben chuckles deeply. He doesn’t know who the fuck Justin Bieber is, but he knows about at least one of the pussy man-boys you’ve dated in the past. He slides you a knowing smirk.

“No, ma’am. She’s got a real man now,” he adds.

You blow out a subtle breath, trying with all your might not to glare at him. You do shoot him a tight smile, a warning in your eyes.

But he just trails a strong hand across the small of your back. The sensation makes tingles travel down your spine. 

You bite your lip and return your attention to your mom, who grabs some cheese and salami for you and Ben to snack on. You sit with him at the kitchen island and help your grandmother peel potatoes for the meal. By now Victor has claimed his usual spot on the couch, no doubt to catch up on one of the ten new baseball games he always has recorded. If there’s one thing your dad is obsessed with, it’s baseball. 

Ben lingers with you though, casually resting a hand on the back of your chair while he leans back in his seat at the island. 

“What’s on the menu?” Ben asks. 

“Carne guisada, white rice, and tostones. Eh, fried plantains,” Sofia replies. “Have you ever had Dominican food before?”

“No, but it smells delicious.”

“Ay, mija, have you not been feeding him?” your grandma reproaches, to your long-suffering sigh. 

If she only fucking knew.

Your mom watches in amusement while taking over stirring the stew. Meanwhile, Sofia rounds the kitchen island so she can tug you down by your arm.

“What have I taught you, huh?” she whispers. “A man well-fed will stay in your bed.” 

Mortification burns hot in your cheeks. Your hand comes up to half cover your face. 

“Ay, Mamá,” you hiss. Inside, you’re dying a thousand deaths. 

You glance at Ben over your shoulder. He sips at his beer, but by the way he’s smirking, of fucking course he heard her. 

“You call her ‘mom’ too?” he asks.

“Yes, they all call me that because I am everyone’s mother here,” Sofia says. She wipes her hand free of parsley bits and pats Ben’s hand where it rests on the counter. “But you, young man, can call me Sofia.”

“Mamá!”

Ben eats dinner with gusto. Your grandmother is satisfied and pleased by how much he’s clearly enjoying the braised beef stew. She even loads him up with his third serving. You watch him in amusement, even though you shake your head.

He’s stuffing his face as if he’s never eaten real food before. Though you wonder when the last time he had a real home-cooked meal was…before you met him, that is.

Ben and Victor talk about baseball and the classic players they admire (with Ben having actually met a few of them). While the men are distracted with their conversation at the far end of the table, you have to endure your mother and grandmother’s grilling. 

Where is he from?

What does he do? 

How old is he? 

Spring weddings are just beautiful in Miami, you know. Your cousin Julissa had a spring wedding by the beach. Wasn’t it nice?

Needless to say, you should be winning an Oscar for your own improv performance tonight.  

“Where are you guys staying tonight?” Gloria asks.

Your grandma looks affronted. “Well, here of course.”

You laugh a bit nervously. “Actually, Ben can’t stay. He, um…he has a plane to catch in the morning, for a business trip.”

“Oh, what kind of business? You said he works at Vought too,” Gloria asks.

You nod, though you have to think quickly to come up with something plausible. You glance over at Ben, who briefly meets your gaze. The look in his eyes tells you that he’s caught the edges of your conversation and wants to know what you’ll say as well.

“Uh, Ben is in Vought’s Sales Division,” you say. “Sometimes they have him travel overseas.” 

“Oh, wow. Where are you going, Ben?” Gloria asks him.

“Buenos Aires,” Ben replies. “Vought’s trying to develop another Voughtland down there. They’ve been trying for years, but the locals figure they’ve got enough entertainment, what with the tourist traps and the drug cartels and all. So they’ve brought me on to seal the deal. Think of me as a…well, as a closer. ‘S why they pay me the big bucks.” 

You resist the urge to shake your head, but you do squeeze his thigh in warning under the table. He gives you a smile and a raise of his brows. Eying him pointedly, you shift the conversation. 

“So he’s planning on staying at the airport tonight, since it’s such an early flight,” you say. 

Sofia shakes her head, as well as a finger in the air. 

“No, no. You are a guest in my home, so you will stay here tonight. I won’t take no for an answer,” she says. 

Ben gives you a self-satisfied smile, before he answers her.

“Well, who am I to say no?”

It seems strategic, the way your mom corners Ben in the kitchen to try and fish more information out of him. Meanwhile, your dad pulls you aside into the living room.

“So tell me. What’s going on with that job of yours?” he asks. His brows have that telltale furrow of concentrated Dad Worry. On Victor, it looks just shy of being angry.

You cross your arms, debating with yourself for a moment. You’ve been lying a lot tonight, but this is something you know you have to come clean about, even if you know it’s a victory for your father.

“I quit, okay,” you admit.

His shoulders loosen in relief. His gaze raises heavenward while his hands rest on his hips.

“Thank God,” he says. But then, he concentrates back on you. “This mean you’re finally moving back home?”

“I didn’t say that,” you snap. “I’m gonna stay here with Mamá for a little while until I figure out what I’m gonna do. But I’m going to find something in New York. I have time now. Maybe I can finally start my own graphic design business.”

For the past year that you hadn’t been able to find other work to leave Vought, you’d begun to spin the idea in your mind. You have friends in the Marketing department who could help you build a website, run some ads across socials. You know how to create your own content, do your own marketing, even reach out to potential clients. All you need at this point is some time and money. You have one, and you can use some of what you have in savings to invest in the idea—to build something of your own. Something honest.

Victor’s jaw clenches. He swipes a hand of frustration over his face, his gait shifting with the effort of keeping his anger contained in his mother’s house.

“Why do you always have to be so damn stubborn?” he grits out.

“Why’re you always trying to control my life?” you counter, just at hotly. “I’m not a little girl. I’ve been doing what I have to do on my own—”

“But that’s it. You don’t have to,” he says. “You wanna get blown up in one of those buildings? Or run through in the street by one of those fucking supes, like that girl two years ago? You’re smart, mija. Use that brain for something besides selfish little ideas that don’t go anywhere.”

Your mouth falls open, but nothing else escapes. Your heart is in your throat, a painful lump as tears cling to your lashes.

“You went to NYU because the schools here somehow weren’t good enough. Now you’re in debt,” he continues, raising his hand up to his brows. “Hasta los ojitos. ¿Verdad? You tried to make it in that city because you wanted to be an artist. And where did you end up? At a corrupt fucking company that worked you like a dog, and nearly got you buried under a pile of rubble like it was 9/11 all over again.”

His words cut into you like so many knives. A familiar well of acid had been churning in your stomach; now it reaches up into the base of your throat where you’re already choked by embarrassment, resentment, shame.

“Okay, dessert!” your mom calls from the kitchen, this time unaware of her husband. She brings out the large pan of flan she made last night and sets it on the table while Ben begrudgingly brings out the smaller plates and spoons. The smell of Café Bustelo reaches you as the cafetera begins to steam and boil on the stove. Sofia lifts the top of it and nods when she finds that the espresso is done percolating.

“Quién quiere café?” she asks.

Heaving a sigh through his nose, Victor raises a finger. Ben notices you, sees whatever he sees in your face, no matter how you try to bury it down. You can tell that he’s heard every word, just by that look on his face. Ben approaches you and your dad, once again sliding a hand across the small of your back, but you speak before he has a chance to say anything.

“You want coffee, right?”

Ben nods slightly, letting you leave him to escape into the kitchen. He shifts his attention to your father. The man is shorter than Ben, but still a presence that commands respect in the house.

“You still work for Vought after everything that’s happened?” Victor asks him.

Ben’s brow turns wry. “Oh, I’ve got an exit strategy.”

Victor nods. That seems to mollify him a bit, even as he watches his daughter. Ruefulness enters his gaze, even if it’s still hard with his convictions. It just reminds Ben of his father’s blue-eyed stare—the kind that always pierced straight through his skin and saw every scrap of weakness underneath.

“She’d rather live in that fucking cesspool than listen to me,” Victor says. “Young, stubborn, thinks she knows it all.”

Ben’s lips tug at a smile. Yeah, that’s fucking you.

“She thinks she can handle it out there by herself, but take away all that attitude, and what?” Victor shakes his head. “She’s fucking soft.”

Ben glances over at him, then at the silver medals framed in glass on the wall. There’s a picture of a younger version of the man in front him, leaner, just as stoic, wearing an army green uniform and a captain’s insignia. If Victor looked to be in his mid-fifties now, that would’ve put him in his early 20s during the Vietnam War.

Other than a few photo ops after the Tet Offensive and a movie he did in the late ‘60s, Ben spent most of his time snorting coke and fucking the female cast of Bewitched. (Elizabeth Montgomery blamed her failed marriage on him, but that shit was wrecked long before he came into her picture. Literally.)

Ben’s gaze drifts away from the shiny wall of accomplishment, and back over to you across the room. You’re helping your mom set out the plates of flan after she cuts each slice. He sees how hard you try to bury everything you have boiling inside behind the task, swiping a stray curl out of your eyes as you go. He’s come to recognize that look, and the things you do to keep moving forward.

“She can be,” Ben nods at your father. “But maybe she’s stronger than you think.”

Victor’s brows furrow, but Ben doesn’t stick around for more. He joins you back at the dinner table and takes a small white espresso cup you offer him. Your fingers brush with his on the pass, but its his hand casually curling wily strands of your hair behind your ear that earns your attention, your slightly widening eyes.

He smirks down at you before taking a seat. Despite yourself, your lips tug at a smile, and you join him.

After dessert, your parents finally head back home. You finally allow yourself to confess to your grandmother that you quit your job. It’s easier to be honest with her than with your parents sometimes.

She’s sorry to hear the news, knowing you enjoyed your independence in New York. While you didn’t necessarily love your job, up until now it had allowed you to have the life you wanted.  

Since she has more room to spare in her house, she’s graciously agreed to have you stay with her for a little while. You know what you told your dad, but you wonder if you can even go back to New York after this. He might just win after all.

But of course, there’s also Ben.

“I still don’t know what the big fucking deal is,” he says, somewhat grumpily. 

You sigh and shove an extra blanket into his hands from the hallway closet. 

“Look, my grandma is fun, even a little mischievous, but she’s not actually going to let me share a bedroom with my ‘boyfriend’ under her roof. Conservative Catholics, remember?” 

You also hand him a towel to take a shower. “Besides, it’s not like I’d let you into my bed anyway. Can you please just remember our deal?” 

He nods, albeit reluctantly. “Don’t you fucking worry. I’ll be out in the morning before God and everyone wakes up.” 

You hesitate, leaning your back against the doorway to your room. Ben will be staying in the second guest room down the hall.

“Well, you can still knock on my door before you leave,” you say, with a slight smile. “You know, if you wanna say goodbye.”

Ben eyes you, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Might as well get that outta the way now,” he says.

Your smile fades in confusion, but before you can react, he slips an arm around your waist and guides you in close. After a beat to gauge the look on your face—surprised, but not angry, by the way your eyes roam his face—he bows his head to claim your lips.

It’s a thorough kiss, and a little demanding as his lips move over yours, but it makes a tendril of heat lick down your spine as your fingers curl around his biceps. 

You find yourself at a loss when he breaks away. His eyes open to meet yours, smiling when he finds you breathless.

“Goodbye, sweetheart,” he says.

And he lets you go, allowing your hair to slip through his fingers. 

You’re tempted to smack that self-satisfied look off his face, but you shake your head with a smile. You guess you can give him one for the road. 

Butcher, Hughie, and the rest of the boys are tearing apart Webweaver’s disgusting apartment. Considering the supe’s phone is dead, and he hasn’t been seen in over 24 hours, Butcher is willing to bet that Soldier Boy killed the little prick. 

Unfortunately for Butcher, Webweaver was feeding him information. 

“There’s nothing here,” M.M. says in disgust, wiping his hands of a sticky substance. He’d rather not know what it is.

“He had to know something in order to pick up the cunt’s trail,” Butcher says. He points to Webweaver’s laptop, where Hughie is trying to hack the password.

Butcher’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Fishing it out and peering at the ID, he smiles slightly at the text. 

I’m close to your apartment. Can we talk?

Ryan. Finally, the kid is coming around. Butcher types out a reply.

Give me half an hour. 

Butcher considers his next words carefully, and he adds…

There are things we needa talk about.

There was too much shit he hadn’t told the kid, for fear of pushing him away. (Already done.)

Or fearing the kid wouldn’t believe him. (Ain’t got nothing left to lose now.)

Butcher only half suppresses a wheezing cough.

Oh, yeah, he’s still fucking dying. But if there’s one thing he’s going to do, it’s find Soldier Boy, so he can make good on their deal on snuffing Homelander.

He knows he’ll have to be even more creative with how he gets the supe to agree, seeing as Butcher double-crossed him once before. But this time, he has M.M. and Annie actually on board with the plan. Homelander plans to get V24 in the military with Victoria Neuman’s help.

So all the fucking Spice Girls finally agree: right now, Homelander’s the bigger threat. Then, they’ll somehow deal with Soldier Boy.

Or better yet, the two will kill each other. 

“Got it!” Hughie fist pumps the air. He’s been able to crack into Webweaver’s laptop, even though he balks at having to sort through a tremendous amount of disturbing pornography.

He finally finds a file labeled: Parking Lot, June 3, 5:34 p.m.

He presses play. The first thing he sees is your scared face come into frame, followed by Soldier Boy. 

​​“Oh my God,” you breathe. “Soldier Boy?” He glances up at you through furrowed brows. He looks ragged and soot-stained, his breathing labored as he leans against the wall. He focuses on you. “Uh, a-are you okay?” you ask shakily, clutching your messenger bag.

“All right,” Butcher drawls. “Who the fuck is that?” 

In the morning, you wake to the sun in your eyes through the windows. You get up and check the room across the hall. The door is open, and the bed is made, clear of Ben’s things. You feel disappointed that he didn’t wake you up before he left.

I guess the one goodbye was good enough for him, you think, not willing to wonder why that kind of upsets you. 

Whatever. It’s for the best. Soldier Boy is finally out of your life, and you can focus on what you need to do to pick up the threads of your life.

With that decision made, you go about starting your day. You don’t bother to change out of your pajamas. You just fluff out your curls and venture out to the kitchen, where the smell of Cuban coffee once again wafts stronger in the air. Your grandma might be Dominican, but she’s embraced her daughter-in-law’s Cuban-centric community with the little things, like espresso and pastries in the morning.

There you find something unexpected. You find Ben sipping coffee, chatting with your grandmother at the kitchen island while she makes breakfast. Her favorite radio station plays on the counter and masks the contents of their conversation, but they’re smiling and laughing, having a good ol’ fucking time.

Until Ben notices you standing there with your mouth hanging open. He grins.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, taking another sip of his coffee. Sofia smiles over at you too.

“Ben,” you say. Your voice strikes a higher pitch than usual. “What happened to your flight?”

“It got cancelled,” he claims, though he beckons you over. You remember then that this little play is still going on—meaning you force yourself to smile and go to him as if you’re so very happy to see him.

Why the hell did I ever think this was a good fucking idea?!

He takes full advantage of the boyfriend charade, laying a heavy hand on the small of your back. It travels around your waist and comes to rest on your hip. He brushes his thumb back and forth over the thin fabric of your pajama top, and even has the gall to eye you with a grin, likely noticing that you aren’t wearing a bra.

“I invited him to stay for a couple more days, get to know the family,” Sofia says while stirring some scrambled eggs. Bacon is also sizzling on another pan on the stove.

While her back is turned, you shoot Ben a knowing glare.

To think you were a little disappointed about being rid of him. Now, you’re just angry and irritated as good sense hits you upside the head. The longer he stays with you, the better chance of Homelander or the government finding him. 

You’re quiet throughout breakfast while Sofia asks Ben more questions about himself.

“Do you go to church?” she asks, with a raised brow.

You snort into your coffee, but Ben just rubs the back of his neck. 

“I’ll admit, I’ve skipped a few Sundays,” he says, somewhat dismissively.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. His skin would probably burn if he took one step inside of a sanctuary. 

“Well, what about kids. Do you like children?” Sofia asks.

Your eyes widen. “Mamá, seriously?”

“I always thought I’d have a few,” Ben replies. You turn to look at him, and the sincerity of his tone and the sudden thoughtful gleam in his eyes surprises you even more.

“Guess I’ve been waiting for the right time to settle down,” he says, glancing at you. It’s hard for you to read that look, but it makes you wonder what the fuck he’s thinking.

He goes back to eating.

After breakfast, you get up to help Sofia clear the table. While she’s putting the pastries away, you grab Ben’s arm and lead him closer to the living room. 

“You really need to go,” you whisper-hiss. “You promised me—”

He rolls his eyes. “All right, keep your fucking panties on. Just one more night of R&R and I’ll get gone.”

“You better be for real, because I can’t—”

“Ay, mi canción,” Sofia says. She comes over and tugs on your hand. “You remember this one, right?”

The song that plays on the radio is “Mi Muchachita” by Luis Segura, the song your mom would always wake you up with on Saturday mornings to get you up to help her clean the house. It was a tradition your grandma started when your dad and his brothers were kids. She later got your mom hooked on it when she came to stay with your family for a few years, shortly after you were born. Gloria had needed the help, and her parents had already passed away a few years back.

Now, Sofia leads you away from Ben so that you can dance with her. She pulls into the bachata—ironically, the dance that began in the bars and brothels of Santo Domingo. In the 1960s, it was the dance of the lower class, the degenerates, and the campesinos. Bolero rhythm was its heart, but the spirit of the common people was its soul.

You protest at first at being uprooted from your grumpy mood, but your grandma has a way of hooking you into almost anything. Eventually your tense shoulders relax, and you’re laughing and twirling under her hand while you let your body inhabit the song.

Ben watches the scene in amusement, becoming transfixed by the sway of your hips, to the quick and natural steps of your feet…until Sofia grabs his hand too. 

“Hey, no. I’m good,” he says. “I don’t dance…whatever this is.”

“So I teach you,” she insists, beckoning him closer. “Come, come! Watch me. Es fácil. Real easy.”

You step off to the side to give them room, and you giggle while watching Ben try to follow her instructions. Sofia is persistent though. She teaches him how to step in counts of two, how to lead her back and forth, then turn her around. She even sends you a cheeky look while she has the man’s hands trapped either in her hand, or on her waist.

You hide your laughter behind your espresso cup. Damn. She’s still got game.

After a few minutes, Sofia leads him over to join Ben’s hand with yours, claiming she needs a rest. She guides you into his arms, and you step in with a good-natured smile.

“This is a bit fucking much,” he mutters to you. “It’s too complicated.” 

“You’re actually doing well. Just feel it though. Don’t watch your feet,” you continue to instruct him, amused by his hesitance. 

He seems to be into this though, and he begins to gain some confidence the more he learns the flow of the steps. He holds your hand more assured as he moves from side to side in time with the beat. For a white boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he has some decent rhythm. 

Ben throws in a spin that’s not quite bachata-like. It feels more like the swing of the ‘40s, the stuff you’ve only seen in movies. Still, it thrills you when you end up even closer in his arms, his warm chest pressed to yours. He looks down on you with hooded eyes that slowly roam your face, stopping on your lips.

He begins to bow his head toward yours, but you clear your throat and smile, a little nervously. You place a hand on his chest and push him back subtly as the song comes to an end. 

“Oh! Before I forget,” Sofia says. 

You almost forgot she was there. Instinctively you freeze where you stand, still catching your breath all too close to Ben. 

“Can you pick up some things from the store for later? I’m making arroz con pollo,” she says. “But you know what, I’ll give you a list, ‘cause I’m out of some other things too.”

Glancing up at Ben once more, you take the excuse to step away from him. You agree to take your grandma’s list, and you head to your room to get changed. 

The man not only follows you to the car, but insists on “getting out of the house” and going with you to the local Cuban-owned grocery store and café. 

“Christ on a Cross, is this the price of steak nowadays?” he mutters, eying all the cuts behind the cold glass. “Used to be cheaper to order it at a fucking restaurant.”

You’ve stopped here to pick up a couple packages of ground beef. You shoot him a glance, wondering why he cares when he had enough money to buy the restaurant, once upon a time. Maybe it’s the principle of the matter with him.

“Welcome to the modern world,” you drawl. “It’s getting too expensive to live, and jobs don’t want to pay for shit.”

He raises a brow, but he follows you down the aisle.

Ben is kind of the worst to go shopping with. He sneaks things into the cart when he thinks you’re not looking. You tell him you’re not buying him three different cakes and a dirty magazine. Where the hell did he even find that? 

You stuff it all back on a shelf, behind some boxed novelty cakes imported from Mexico. Though you agree to buy him one dessert, after you throw in some peaches. 

“You may be a super soldier, but you should eat more fruits and veggies,” you quip. Stuffing himself full of takeout, booze, and weed all the time can’t be good for him.

Ben raises a wry brow at you. He sidles up close while you’re putting goods on the checkout counter. His hand molds to the curve of your waist as he speaks lowly in your ear.

“I’ve got all the peaches I need, sweetheart.”

You blush hotly and send him a wide-eyed look over your shoulder. His hand means to drift lower on your ass, but your lips purse, and you smack his hand away.

“Do you have no shame?” you whisper-hiss. Giving him one kiss was like feeding a stray dog. Now he thinks he can keep sniffing your ass for more. 

“Come on, Chiquita. Would it kill you to lighten the fuck up?” he teases. 

You roll your eyes heavenward, praying for strength. You manage to get through the rest of the transaction of the checkout line mostly in peace, and Ben does all the heavy lifting of putting the bags in the car. However, you’re giving him a bit of a cold shoulder as you get back into the car.  

“All right, what’s the matter now?” he asks. “For Christ’s sake, you don’t have to be so fucking frigid.”

“Why did you come anyway?” you ask, slamming the trunk closed. “Just to cop another feel? What, did you think I was gonna blow you in the alley behind the bodega?”

Ben hesitates with a frown. There’s a moment where you think he might give you an earnest answer, but ultimately, he just shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

You scoff, both incredulous and disgusted as you rip the driver’s side door open and get inside the car. You barely wait for Ben to do the same on the passenger side, before you’re turning the ignition and angrily shifting the car into reverse. 

You back out with more force than Ben would’ve recommended, but he flexes his fingers on his thigh. He doesn’t want to tell you that he hadn’t liked the idea of you going out alone. Not without a weapon, some protection.

But he also didn’t think you’d still be cockblocking him so much after last night. And this morning, he thought you were actually warming up to him…

Guess not, he thinks sardonically, with a roll of his eyes. Whatever. It’s not like he’ll be wanting for pussy when he gets to South America. Pretty soon, it’s going to be him fucking bitches on nude beaches, drowning himself in margaritas, blow, and pussy all day long. 

He doesn’t know what it is about you though. He knows you’re into him, even if you won’t admit it… 

It’s that challenge, that Latina fire that stokes his blood every time he looks at you. Gotta be.

He also knows that the moment he leaves, one of two things will happen. Either Vought finds you, or the CIA does. If it’s the latter, they’ll question you. Even if they don’t get the information they want, they could try to protect you and your family.

Regardless, Ben knows he can’t stay. That’ll just make things worse, for himself, and for you. All he can do is take advantage of the hours he has left here.

“Look, what’s your problem, huh?” he tries again. “Think I can’t show you a good time?”

You heave a sigh without looking at him. “It’s not about that, Ben.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“You’re leaving. You’re not going to stay and fight the deranged prick who’s on the verge of taking over the whole damn country,” you say sharply. “You’re gonna fuck off to who knows where, bury your head in the sand, and numb yourself for the rest of your life. So there’s no point in exploring you and me. I’m not gonna be some quick fuck and ‘Sayonara, sweetheart. Been a good time.’ No! None of that shit.”

That falls heavily between you two, even with the radio playing at a moderate volume.

Ben simmers in the near silence while you drive through the heavy traffic in Miami. You curse when you get stuck at an intersection. 

“This is taking fucking forever,” he grumbles.

You whip your head over at him again. “Okay, and? Should I part the Red Sea of Miami for you?”

“All right, Christ. Enough,” he says. He rubs at his forehead like you’re giving him a headache. 

Good, you think. The feeling’s mutual.

Ben crosses his arms in his seat and stares out ahead. Traffic is starting to easy up, allowing you to inch closer to the righthand turn. 

You blow out a sigh, contemplating the man riding shotgun. You’re not sure why he’s still here with you. Why he doesn’t want to just leave his old life behind and make new somewhere else. It’s obvious that he wants you, but does he care about you? 

There’s no point in exploring you and me.

You hadn’t meant to say that, but it left you with a sinking feeling in your chest afterward. You still feel its hold on you now, steely fingers gripping your heart.

It’s fucking crazy. You must be crazy…to want him to care.

But before you can let your mind devolve any further, Ben breaks you out of your thoughts when he points out a McDonald’s up ahead. 

“How about you pull over into the drive-thru there,” he says.

You raise a brow at him. “You’re hungry again? Already?”

He shrugs. You shake your head, but your lips begin to tug at a smile. This fucking bottomless pit.

“All right, I’ve got this.”

You take him to a hole-in-the-wall Cuban bakery. The sign is half-scratched off, but you know it from memory. This place has been here for over 50 years, since waves of Cubans fled the iron fist of Fidel Castro’s communism in anything that would float those 90 miles—from pristine sands, and the home of guava fruit, plantains, and pure sugar cane, to the rough shores of the Florida Keys.

Ben polishes off a Cuban sandwich and three guava and cheese pastries, washing it all down with three beers and a cigar he got by talking shop with the locals playing dominoes in the dining area. The men are old enough to remember him as Soldier Boy. Even though they watch the news all day long, they have a healthy mistrust of everything they see.

They're more inclined to trust the supe they watched and admired when they were young men, the supe that (they thought) represented the ideals of the American dream; the same dream they themselves had fought for when they arrived in this country.

“Don’t worry, we’re not gonna out you to the press,” says the only one of them who speaks English. “I’ll just get to tell the wife that I shared a cigar with Soldier Boy. She don’t gotta know when.” 

The other men laugh, Ben included. You roll your eyes. 

They talk him into playing around of dominoes with them, offering to “teach” him how to play, as long as he bets $5 to start with. You lean over his shoulder and help him make the right moves. Your dad and your uncles taught you how to play when you were a kid.

With your help, he ends up winning $200 dollars off of the old men. They don't get mad about it, all too happy just to spend time with one of the only superheroes they respect. You realize then why Ben is getting along so well with these guys; the man himself is at least twenty years older than them. This is essentially a group of his peers.

And what does that make me? you wonder, not knowing whether to laugh or be icked out. The longer you stare at Ben's profile, the line of his jaw, the cut of his beard, the roguish sweep of his hair and the shape and broadness of his form all too casually sitting in a metal chair, the more that thought fades to the back of your mind.

You focus more on Ben, specifically the way he's all too smirky and cocky and proud of his winnings. You’re amused at the way he counts the bills to himself later in the car. You’d think he won the lotto at Atlantic City or something. 

“Hey,” he says, earning your attention. “Let me take you out before I go. Call it a thank you.”

You give him an incredulous look. “You haven’t tested fate enough today? You should be lying low. Me too for that matter.”

“Relax, Chiquita. Nobody fucking knows we’re here,” Ben says, continuing to count his bills. He glances over at you though. “Besides, you’ll be fine, long as you’re with me.”

You consider him with a tilt of your head. Long as you’re with me, huh?

He wants to actually do something for you. More than that, he wants to protect you.

You fight the small swell of butterflies in your stomach. Matter of fact, you hate those little shits. A small sigh escapes your lips.

This guy is fucking exhausting.

“How many goodbyes are we going to have, Ben?” you ask.

He quirks a smile. 

“Just humor me.”

AN: Did you like the little scene change? I had to give things a more tropical vibe for Miami. 😉 Plus, we got a bit of the fake dating trope sliding in there, meeting the parents, some disappointed father syndrome -- checking some rom-com boxes right? 😂

Next Time:

You lead him away from the tight crowd on the dance floor and around the bar, and into a dark hall near the bathrooms. It’s still loud though, that baseline dropping as the DJ’s sirens go off in the club. 

Ben stumbles, his left hand shooting out to smack heavily against the wall. He dents the plaster. You quickly move in front of him and rest your hands against his chest.

“Ben, you with me?” you say in a measured tone. “Hey, you okay? You hearing me?”

His brows furrow in answer, but you can tell he’s not all there. His breathing is growing ragged. You feel his chest getting warm, and then hot. 

Oh, fuck, your blood runs cold. Is this the strange new explosive power that nearly crumbled Vought Tower? Is this club about to get wiped off the map, like that building in Midtown? Are you about to get blown sky high along with it?

Fuck that. 

You grab his face in your hands. “Ben, you focus on me, okay? Before you blow your cover. Before you hurt someone.”

⋆˙⟡ Read Part 5 Now on Patreon!

⋆˙⟡ Coming to Tumblr/Ao3: 7/06

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Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy Tag List (Part 1):

@spnwoman @waynes-multiverse @luci-in-trenchcoats @rizlowwritessortof @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

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@foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @lacilou @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @winchestergirl2

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @my-stories-vault @spnbabe67 @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28

@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings

@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy

@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad

@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky

@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2

[mystic-writings]

remember the nights | newt [remastered]

PAIRING — newt x thomas’ step-sister!reader

SUMMARY — after her father’s engagement, y/n moves from new york city to the small town of woodstock, where she befriends her step-brother thomas’ group of friends, and easily finds a second home within them. among the crowd of rowdy teenagers is newt, an intriguing boy who seemed to catch y/n’s eye, and who quickly becomes the boy that would end up making her final year of high school unforgettable. 

WARNINGS — friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst, etc. — each chapter will have separate warnings

WORD COUNT — 31,989

NOTES — AHH ITS FINALLY HERE!! i've been waiting for so long to do something like this and honestly despite how cliche and trope-y this fic is i love it to death

EXTRAS — town map | reader's house | brenda's house | newt's house

PLAYLISTS — youtube | spotify | apple

read on Wattpad | read on Ao3

chapter one — new beginnings

chapter two — parking lot introductions

chapter three — mickey's diner

chapter four — the willow tree

chapter five — late night shenanigans

chapter six — stargazing

chapter seven — bright lights, big city

chapter eight — saturday

chapter nine — suspicion

chapter ten — the bonfire

chapter eleven — o, atlas, pt. i

chapter twelve — o, atlas, pt. ii

chapter thirteen — welcome distractions

chapter fourteen — a rom-com happy ending

taglist: @heliads @ghostofscarley @badbatch-simp24 @virginia-peters @third-broparcelicito @lamolaine @yes-fangirl-things (open!)

[zeroseuniverse]

Please write something for zb1 yujin 😭😭 yujin lovers get nothing

Word Count: 1.2K Summary: Pairing: Yujin X Reader

Taglist: @zaycie @sh0dor1 @tinyelfperson @lezleeferguson-120 @llunaticc13 @1daily2lele7 @etaernaluvv @hanninova

The first time they tried to play matchmaker, it was obvious.

Matthew, subtle as a fire alarm, cornered Yujin with the most suspicious grin imaginable. "Hey, random thought, but if you and Y/N ever ended up alone in the practice room, like say, accidentally locked in, would that be weird? Like, romantically weird?"

Yujin blinked. “You literally just told me the plan.”

“No I didn’t,” Matthew insisted, and jogged off to “not coordinate” with Ricky, Gyuvin, Hao, and Taerae.

Yujin checked his phone.

Yujin: Emergency. The clowns are circling. You: Again? Yujin: They’re locking us in the practice room. It’s like the 4th gen rom-com purge. You: Say less. I’ll bring the drama.

You walked right into the trap, wide-eyed and “clueless.” The door slammed behind you with all the subtlety of a sitcom, followed by the jingle of keys.

“Oops,” Taerae called. “Looks like you’re locked in! Nothing we can do!”

“They think we’re characters in a Wattpad slow burn,” you muttered under your breath.

Yujin was already sitting against the mirror, smirking. “Give it ten minutes. Then we stage the world’s most passive-aggressive fake argument.”

So you did.

“I’m just saying you’re kind of dramatic when you dance,” you snapped after a strategically long silence.

Yujin rolled his eyes. “And you look like you’re fighting invisible ghosts when you freestyle.”

You could hear the squeals through the wall.

"Do you think they’ll kiss?" Ricky whispered, not quietly.

You and Yujin fist-bumped in secret, shoulders shaking with laughter.

—

“It’s not a date,” Hao insisted, “It’s just the four of us hanging out. Me, Ricky, you, Yujin.” The messages caused both of you to snicker, Yujin having been reading over your shoulder. 

“Right,” you said dryly. “A group of four. Who then mysteriously cancels until it’s two.”

“I would never,” Hao responded, the text taking a moment like he was debating on the best response. 

As expected, Hao and Ricky suddenly “got stuck in traffic” even though they lived five minutes away.

You and Yujin sat at the little table by the window, sipping drinks as love songs played overhead.

“Should we look miserable or awkward?” you whispered.

Yujin stirred his straw. “Let’s start awkward. Build the tension. Then I’ll ‘accidentally’ knock over your drink.”

You chuckled. “The drama.”

Minutes later, as your iced latte spilled across the table, Ricky audibly gasped from behind a bush outside. Hao, trying to snap pictures, fell sideways into a potted plant.

Yujin grinned, wiping the mess with a napkin. “Do you think they’re having fun?”

“More than we are,” you deadpanned. Then, softer, “Actually, no. I don’t think anyone could be having more fun than I am. With you.”

Yujin’s ears turned a little red. He ducked his head and murmured, “Same.”

—

Gyuvin was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Let’s play that game where you ask deep questions!”

Matthew nodded eagerly. “Like, if you could date anyone in this room, who would it be?”

Hao smacked his forehead. “Subtle, guys. So subtle.”

You exchanged a look with Yujin. The slow, telepathic kind couples share.

“I think I’d date Ricky,” you said casually.

Ricky choked. “WHAT—?”

“Stable Spotify playlist. Good skincare routine. I could do worse.”

Yujin clapped. “Strong choice. Honestly, I was gonna say Matthew. His rice cakes are elite.”

Matthew looked betrayed. “You guys are messing with us.”

“We’re just answering the question,” you said innocently.

Taerae squinted. “No. Something’s off. This doesn’t feel like awkward flirting. This feels like... chaos.”

You smiled sweetly. “Aw, Taerae. Don’t overthink it.”

—

“Nothing brings people together like a duet,” Matthew said. “We load the queue with romantic songs, lower the lights—bam! They fall in love.”

“We’ve been dating for four months,” Yujin whispered to you backstage, arm casually around your waist where no one could see.

“They think we’re on episode two of a slow burn,” you replied. “Let’s give them the finale.”

You chose the most dramatic love song on the list. Yujin added his usual flair—singing off-key, spinning you like a Disney princess, even fake-tripping at the bridge.

By the time he dipped you and declared, “I have never loved like this!” in a fake sob, Gyuvin was halfway to a meltdown.

“WE’VE BROKEN THEM,” he cried. “WE TRIED TOO HARD.”

You both collapsed backstage, wheezing.

“You were so extra,” you told him.

“You kissed my hand like we were in a 2006 drama,” Yujin said between laughs. “You’re the problem.”

“We’re the problem.”

—

It was a suspiciously well-packed “spontaneous camping trip.”

“Crazy how we forgot all the tents except the one,” Hao said, tossing you a flashlight with a wink.

Ricky added, “And crazy how there’s no signal out here. You’ll just have to… make the best of it.”

Taerae lit the campfire like he was preparing for a romantic K-drama scene.

They disappeared soon after, pretending to go “look for more marshmallows” and leaving you and Yujin alone.

You settled inside the tent, your head on his shoulder, fingers laced with his.

“You ready?” you murmured.

Yujin smiled. “Time to break their hearts.”

Moments later, the bushes rustled.

Ricky, Gyuvin, and Matthew peeked in like wildlife researchers.

They froze.

There you were, tangled together under a blanket, faces calm, like this wasn’t new at all.

“Wait,” Matthew whispered. “Wait. No way.”

You lifted your head and waved. “Hey.”

Yujin grinned. “You dropped your fake ‘map’ out there. Also, this whole plan? Cute.”

Gyuvin fell over. “What?!”

“We’ve been dating,” you said casually. “For a while.”

“Since when?!”

“Since before you decided we were soulmates. Thanks for noticing.”

Ricky threw his arms in the air. “We made mood boards!”

Hao looked between the two of you, eyes narrowing. “So all that time you were sabotaging our plans…”

Yujin opened his backpack and pulled out a folder titled ‘Operation: Sabotage.’

Inside: Photos of the boys whispering, timestamps, printed group chat convos, and doodles of Yujin giving Ricky bunny ears.

“I made a scrapbook,” he said proudly.

“You absolute menaces,” Taerae groaned.

“Did you ever intend to tell us?” Matthew asked.

You and Yujin shared a look, then shrugged.

“Eventually,” you said.

“When we felt like it,” Yujin added.

—

The six of you lay under the stars, warmth radiating from the fire and from something softer, more honest.

“So you’ve really been together this whole time?” Ricky asked, resting his head on a log.

“Yeah,” Yujin said, quieter now. “We didn’t want it to be a thing. Not yet.”

“We weren’t hiding it to mess with you,” you added. “Well. Not only to mess with you.”

Matthew chuckled. “I feel like a proud dad and also a betrayed sibling.”

Taerae nodded. “Honestly? Respect. You played us.”

Hao was still shaking his head. “I’m just mad we didn’t catch on sooner. Yujin never smiles that much unless he’s with you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity.

Yujin didn’t say anything—he just reached for your hand under the blanket again, fingers intertwining like it was second nature.

And the boys… they didn’t plan anything else that night. No plots, no staged moments, no forced proximity.

Just stars, and laughter, and a quiet, settled feeling that maybe the best love stories are the ones that don’t need grand gestures—just a little privacy, a little rebellion, and a lot of love.

[blackbird-brewster]

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - NOW POSTED

It was a complicated situation, which Elle seemed totally uninterested in talking about, and although JJ wanted to be respectful of her boundaries, she'd also found herself surprisingly fascinated about Elle's gender fluidity. It had piqued her interest in ways she couldn't entirely explain. After kissing her, JJ realised she wasn't attracted to Elle in the ways she originally thought, but JJ was attracted to Leo. She couldn't make heads or tails of those feelings, because the fact was, Elle was Leo and he was Elle, so how was it possible for JJ to only be attracted to one without the other?

From JJ's confusing attraction, to her strange dreams, to the sexual fantasies she'd been envisioning recently, to how much she enjoyed Emily giving her a blowjob, JJ wasn't sure what was going on anymore. She assumed all of these things, these new feelings and turn-ons, were connected to each other, the question was -- how?

These feelings, which she'd been having since first realising who Leo was, were becoming more and more daunting. She'd never thought about her own gender at any great length, she never had a reason to previously. JJ knew she was a woman and she loved her body. She'd never felt dysphoric about it and she definitely never felt like she was a man, in the ways that Luke was man. She also didn't feel detached from her 'womanhood' in the same ways Penelope did. Back when Penelope first came out as nonbinary, the pair of them had plenty of in-depth discussions about gender, but to JJ's understanding, even Penelope's nonbinary identity was more of  static thing, unchanging and clearly defined. 

JJ couldn't relate to Luke's transness, nor Penelope's, but the way Elle described of her own experience made something deep down in JJ's subconscious flutter closer to the surface. Elle used the word 'fluid' when she explained how some days, she felt like a woman, other days like a man, but she'd also said, a lot of time, she felt detached from her gender completely.

JJ had never thought about gender as being something fluid, something that changed from day to day for some people, but the more time she spent trying to comprehend the concept, the more it terrified her. A lot of what Elle said seemed almost familiar to JJ in some ways, it had her reframing some of her own experiences, looking at her past through a new lens. The whole ordeal suddenly had JJ questioning whether she wanted to be with Leo -- or if she simply wanted to be Leo.

[Read the Full Chapter on AO3]

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

Fooled Around (and Fell in Love) is a queer rom-com AU that celebrates coming out at any age or stage, polyamory, found family, and above all else, the love shared between JJ/Emily/Tara.

Read the whole series: [PART 1] || [PART 2] || [PART 3]

Listen to the series soundtrack on Spotify: Fooled Around (and Fell in Love) OST

[spotifycompair001]

Playlist Showdown: Comparing Spotify's Music Curation to the Competition

In the domain of music real time features, where a huge number of tunes are only a tick away, the significance of viable music curation couldn't possibly be more significant. The arranged playlists frequently act as the passage for clients to find new craftsmen, sorts, and tunes that impact them. Among the a large number in this field, Spotify stands tall as a trailblazer, eminent for its refined calculations and human-organized playlists. Nonetheless, the competition is savage, with stages like Apple Music, Amazon Music, and Pandora competing for clients' focus. In this article, we'll dig into the universe of music curation, zeroing in on Spotify, and compare it with its competitors to perceive how it piles up.

Spotify's Curation Wizardry

Spotify's outcome in the music streaming industry can be credited to some extent to its extraordinary curation capacities. The stage utilizes a mix of AI calculations and human curation to fit playlists to individual preferences. One of Spotify com pair leader highlights is its customized playlists, for example, Find Week by week and Delivery Radar. These playlists influence information investigation to recommend tracks in view of clients' listening history, inclinations, and ways of behaving. This customized approach frequently prompts fortunate disclosures, where clients coincidentally find melodies they probably won't have viewed as in any case.

Additionally, Spotify brags a broad library arranged playlists taking special care of different mind-sets, exercises, and classes. Whether you're in the temperament for peppy exercise tracks, calming acoustic tunes, or nostalgic legacies, Spotify has a playlist for each event. The stage additionally teams up with powerful craftsmen, tastemakers, and brands to arrange elite playlists, further improving its list.

The Competition's Counterplay

While Spotify rules the music streaming scene, competitors like Apple Music, Amazon Music, and Pandora offer compelling other options, each with its own one of a kind way to deal with music curation.

Apple Music, for example, underscores human curation through its "For You" segment, where editors handpick playlists and collections custom fitted to clients' inclinations. This organized methodology is especially obvious in Apple Music's lead playlists like "New Music Everyday" and "Fundamental Collections," which highlight a mix of well known hits and unlikely treasures.

Amazon Music adopts a marginally unique strategy by utilizing its huge environment and client information from Amazon Prime. The stage's customized playlists, fueled by Amazon's recommendation motor, intend to consistently incorporate music into clients' everyday schedules. Moreover, Amazon Music offers select elements like "Alexa, play something I haven't heard previously," taking care of clients looking for novel music encounters.

Pandora, known for its radio-style streaming, depends on its Music Genome Task — a complex calculation that examines melodies in view of many credits — to organize customized radio broadcasts. While Pandora comes up short on same degree of on-request access as Spotify or Apple Music, its attention on customized radio and disclosure situated highlights separates it in the jam-packed streaming scene.

Spotify.com Pair: A Flexible Curation Device

In the midst of the competition, Spotify keeps on improving, presenting highlights like "Spotify.com Pair" to upgrade the music curation experience. This component permits clients to pair their Spotify accounts with compatible gadgets, like brilliant speakers or televisions, empowering consistent control and curation of music playlists.

With Spotify.com Pair, clients can undoubtedly progress from their cell phones to bigger screens, keeping up with full command over their music playback and curation inclinations. Whether facilitating a get-together or unwinding at home, the capacity to pair Spotify with different gadgets improves the general listening experience, giving clients more prominent adaptability and comfort.

Besides, Spotify.com Pair works with cooperative playlist curation, permitting various clients to add to a common playlist progressively. This cooperative angle cultivates social communication and innovativeness, as loved ones can organize playlists together, adding their #1 tracks and finding new music cooperatively.

The Decision: Spotify Rules

In the skirmish of music curation, Spotify arises as the undisputed boss, because of its creative mix of AI calculations, human curation, and easy to use highlights like Spotify.com Pair. While competitors offer compelling other options, Spotify's broad library of arranged playlists, customized recommendations, and consistent coordination across gadgets put it aside from the rest.

At last, whether you're a relaxed audience looking for new music revelations or a no-nonsense fan with diverse preferences, Spotify's comprehensive curation capacities pursue it the go-to decision for a large number of music darlings around the world.

In conclusion, as the streaming conflicts keep on unfurling, Spotify stays at the front, setting the norm for music curation and altering the manner in which we find, investigate, and appreciate music in the advanced age.

[foreverinadais]

ex: m.s

summary: you see your ex in the grocery store. 

warnings: angst (with a sad ending) only slight fluff, awkwardness

pairings: predominantly marc x reader but jake and steven are mentioned 

word count: 2.7k :)

ex! mk series: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

It was Marc.

You could tell immediately by the slight quip in his eyebrow and the downturn of his mouth. He hated shopping, especially for groceries. You wondered how he drew the short straw. Perhaps the other two had forced him because they’d done it enough. Or maybe he liked it now. 

The thought of not quite knowing who he was anymore made your stomach churn in a way it hadn’t for months. He wasn’t your Marc anymore. The one who also seemed stoic. The one who always cracked unexpected jokes. The one who you shared every moment with. The one who hated grocery shopping.

You suddenly felt overwhelmed. Because there he was. So close yet so far.

You certainly hadn’t expected this when you left your flat this morning. It had been 4 months. 4 months of failed dates, 4 months of crappy rom coms, 4 months of Spotify’s best ‘break-up mixes’. You had only just felt the strength to say you were moving on, though how can anyone really move on from the loves of their life?

You hadn’t heard from him for those months. Steven had called you once at 2 am but no sooner than he had, you got a ‘sorry, accident’ message. You swore you’d seen Jake’s cab loitering in the midst of a busy street once but convinced yourself it was your brain playing tricks on you. 

Because they had moved on, too. You’d heard about Steven’s big promotion at work. You almost sent him a congratulations message, overcome with forgotten happiness at your boyfr- ex- boyfriend’s success but stopped yourself. He isn’t yours to congratulate anymore. 

Marc was the only one who was radio silent. You didn’t know anything about him now. But he was wearing the same jacket. The one you once stole off his back and wore all night on a memorable but blurry night in a London pub. Perhaps he wasn’t much different. The thought scared you even more. 

Maybe he didn’t need to move on because he didn’t need you. Not then, not now.

You jumped when your mind came back to the present and those eyes were boring into yours. You had almost forgotten that he could also see you, that you weren’t looking through binoculars to peek into his life, that he was here, now.

He wasn’t smiling. That didn’t surprise you. It was rare he’d smile in public, let alone doing something he hated. And though it wasn’t rare that he’d show you his smile, after everything, he certainly wouldn’t now. 

Should you say hi? Ask how he is? How they all are? 

You were stuck. Stuck staring at your past who you once thought was your future. 

How can you condense that feeling into words? You couldn’t. You were left with actions as you offered a small smile, going as far as a wave. Marc’s tough demeanour didn’t falter as he eventually gave a single nod of acknowledgment. Your stomach flipped, heart beating undoubtedly faster. 

Though it had felt like an eternity had passed, it had really been less than a minute. There was a bustle of people around you, surrounding the bubble you’d created in your mind, and time was moving on, just like it had been for all these months. 

“Excuse me,” You apologised to the lady who was trying to move by you, stepping into the space in front of you to allow her access in the aisle. You quickly realised you were closer to Marc, so close it almost made you jump when you looked back up to see him still stood there, zoned out, no doubt in deep conversation with his alters and you other ex’s. You could imagine the commotion; Steven panicking, Jake acting nonchalant. But Marc… Marc was near impossible to read, always had been.

You’d like to think you had mastered it. But now, staring at him, it was as if he was a stranger. A stranger with memories. 

“Hey.” The voice surprised you. Yes, this was the first time hearing it after radio silence but… you certainly didn’t anticipate him speaking first, if at all. You cleared your throat, once, twice, fearful words would fail. 

But they didn’t as you got out a small, “hi.” A small silence followed, both trying to look for words to say, anything that would be appropriate in a situation like this. “So, do you come here often?” You hadn’t meant to sound quite so awkward, and you quickly tried to add something to make it seem less so. “I mean like you, I figured Steven would do the food shopping more. I mean, no offence or anything.” 

Marc said nothing as you rambled, just rose an eyebrow like he always did when slightly bemused. “Was my turn. Your right, though, this isn’t my usual scene.” 

“Yeah, I remember.” The simple phrase felt heavy, a reminder of the love you once had together. And just like that, it all came flooding back; every touch, every kiss, every movie you’d watched together or walk you’d been on. But so did every argument, every cold shoulder, every reason you’d broken up in the first place. 

You remembered all too well the sound of the door slamming, the heat of the room after an argument, the flat feeling huge whilst you felt tiny, alone. But you also remembered the feeling of his soft kisses up your arm, the glide of his huge hands along your skin, the husky tone of his voice whispering apologies as your back hit the mattress.

Your chest suddenly felt heavy. As if your heart had remembered it’s purpose, had woken up again.

Marc coughed slightly as if to break you from your train of thought. You startled, rubbing the spot on the side of your face to regain a sense of reality. “Anyway…” You began, looking everywhere but at him, “How’s everything?” He knew what you meant by that. How were the others who had a piece of you?

Marc hesitated. You knew why, could almost see the inner conversation they were surely having. You could only imagine what Steven was saying, the worry and desperation in his voice. Or Jake. You wondered if he was still angry. And not just at you.

Marc seemed to break away, remerging into the conversation with a simple, “Good.” When he realised you expected more, he continued, “Steven, he got promoted. Hasn’t stopped talking about it.” You wondered if the last sentence was directed to his alter, and you couldn’t help but smile.

That’s incredible, I knew he would, I’m so proud of him, is what you wanted to say, but you settled with, “That’s great news.” Marc nodded, and you knew he felt the same. “And Jake?” Another moment of silence followed, shorter this time, as he replied,

“He’s alive. Picked up some shifts in a bar now he has more time off.” They felt so far from you. The growing absence you felt in your chest as you realised they had been living their lives just as you had, without each other.

“That sounds right up his alley,” You cringed at your words. You felt like an acquaintance or a colleague, like you should ask about the weather or ask what aisle the shampoo was down.

“Yeah.” You looked at him. Not just a glance, but a real look. At his curls. At the scar just above his eyebrow. At his lips.

“And you?” And he looked back. Shrugged slightly after a moment of hesitation, as if he had not anticipated you asking about him. As if he never expected to hear those words again.

“I’m surviving.” You waited a minute. But he said nothing more.

You remembered all too well the sound of the door slamming, the heat of the room after an argument, the flat feeling huge whilst you felt tiny, alone. But you also remembered the feeling of his soft kisses up your arm, the glide of his huge hands along your skin, the husky tone of his voice whispering apologies as your back hit the mattress.

Your chest suddenly felt heavy. As if your heart had remembered it’s purpose, had woken up again.

Marc coughed slightly as if to break you from your train of thought. You startled, rubbing the spot on the side of your face to regain a sense of reality. “Anyway…” You began, looking everywhere but at him, “How’s everything?” He knew what you meant by that. How were the others who had a piece of you?

Marc hesitated. You knew why, could almost see the inner conversation they were surely having. You could only imagine what Steven was saying, the worry and desperation in his voice. Or Jake. You wondered if he was still angry. And not just at you.

Marc seemed to break away, remerging into the conversation with a simple, “Good.” When he realised you expected more, he continued, “Steven, he got promoted. Hasn’t stopped talking about it.” You wondered if the last sentence was directed to his alter, and you couldn’t help but smile.

That’s incredible, I knew he would, I’m so proud of him, is what you wanted to say, but you settled with, “That’s great news.” Marc nodded, and you knew he felt the same. “And Jake?” Another moment of silence followed, shorter this time, as he replied,

“He’s alive. Picked up some shifts in a bar now he has more time off.” They felt so far from you. The growing absence you felt in your chest as you realised they had been living their lives just as you had, without each other.

“That sounds right up his alley,” You cringed at your words. You felt like an acquaintance or a colleague, like you should ask about the weather or ask what aisle the shampoo was down.

“Yeah.” You looked at him. Not just a glance, but a real look. At his curls. At the scar just above his eyebrow. At his lips.

“And you?” And he looked back. Shrugged slightly after a moment of hesitation, as if he had not anticipated you asking about him. As if he never expected to hear those words again.

“I’m surviving.” You waited a minute. But he said nothing more. You muttered a small ‘good’, though you didn’t mean it. You almost wanted something worse. Something that showed he was struggling as much as you were. “How’s everything for you?”

Sometimes you wake up in cold sweats and reach out for them. Sometimes, when you’ve had a bit too much to drink, your thumb hovers over their contact purely by muscle memory. Sometimes, when your feeling particularly desperate, you call out to Konshu, as if he could turn back the time to when you were happy, to when were with them and the other side of your bed wasn’t empty and cold.

“ ‘m surviving, too.” He nodded as if he believed you and you were worried he did.

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. You wanted to leave but you knew that if you did, you might never see him again. What if this moment was your forever? Stuck in aisle 5, avoiding eye contact, rocking slightly on your feet? The thought terrified you. To avoid the thoughts, and the next minute that approached, you began to ask another meaningless question. Marc obviously had the same idea, both of you saying a word, then retracting it.

“You go,” You said, heart skipping a beat.

“No, no, you first.”

“It’s fine-”

“Hey, I insist.” His tone always made your stomach flutter.

“Was nothing important, just… wondered what you were buying.” You wondered if he wanted it to be something more by the way his face slightly dropped.

“Right. Steven wanted to start baking, so had to get some of that shit. And we’re out of… well, everything, so had to get that too.” You smiled, eyebrows rising as you repeated,

“Baking?”

“God don’t ask. He’s been tryin’ new stuff lately. I bet he’ll drop this by next week and move onto the next thing.” You chuckled, and so did he.

“At least you get something out of his hobby.”

“Yeah, probably homeless. You remember when he insisted on making banana bread and nearly burnt the whole fuckin’ flat down?”

“How could I ever forget?” The laugh you shared felt familiar, but distant, like a dream. You relished in it for a moment, a happiness you didn’t expect to ever feel again. When it died down, you were left with a new, comfortable silence, one that lingered as you met eyes once again. “So, what were you going to say?”

Marc shrugged, “Was gonna ask how the project was goin’.” Your heart warmed. You remembered, you wanted to say, you remembered what I was working on. You felt your lips pull into a natural smile, felt your eyes widen slightly.

“Oh! Yeah, it’s good, nearly done now, just adding the finishing touches. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever be done with it, but looks like there’s an end in sight now which is, yeah, a relief.” You rambled, distracting from the soft look on his face by taking an interest in the label of a jar.

“Well, you’ve worked so hard on it, can’t imagine it’ll be anythin’ less than perfect when you’re done.”

“Thank you, Marc.” His name. You hadn’t said it aloud, you realised, in a long time. It felt so natural coming from your lips, as if the word was made just for you. By the look on Marc’s face, he was just as struck by this revelation.

It belongs to you, he wanted to say, I belong to you.

But he didn’t. No, he couldn’t. Not anymore. Not ever again.

He needed to leave. “Anyway… I should really get going,” he started, and your face fell slightly. His heart throbbed.

“Right! Yeah, no, so should I. It was-” what do you even say? “It was nice seeing you.”

“Back at you.” You felt a sting at the sudden shift in tone, the blatant end to the conversation, a stop to whatever memories were re-emerging.

Will I see you again? You have my number, you could call me, you know. Could get some coffee? Oat milk, of course. I miss you. I miss all of you. I don’t wanna be like this. I hate not knowing you. I hate being a stranger to you. Can we see each other again? Please?

Is what you wanted, needed, to say. But instead, you settled on, “Goodbye, Marc.”

Don’t leave. I’m sorry about what happened, we all are- fuck what if this is it? Can’t lose you, not again. Please.

“Goodbye.”

And then, you were turning. Trying to recount the next item on your list. Trying to forget them all over again. Marc watched, ignoring what his alters were saying. Right, flour, sugar…

You couldn’t help but turn back before you reached the till. His features had returned to their usual state, the usual stance that showed you the Marc the world got too see. And now, you were them. You were the stranger, watching him like the next person would, remembering every moment, the good and the bad, simultaneously, eternally.

He must have felt your gaze again, for he turned. You smiled. He smiled back. You stayed. Endorsed in each other for what felt like the last time. Analysing every crevice of his face with your eyes, and he seemed to be doing the same back.

And then you were pulled back into reality by the person at the till handing you your receipt. You jolted, thanking them quickly, and gathering your bags.

Marc was still watching as you made your way to the door. You stole a final glance, trying to remember everything surrounding you; the sound of the bell, the click of the till, aisle 5, the lady trying to bribe her kid with sweets to get them to stop crying. You wanted to remember it all just in case this was it. This was all you had left of him. This moment. 

A last smile. It felt finite.

You took a mental picture of his face before you turned away, heart as heavy as the bags in your hand.

And then you were leaving.

so i got a request agessss ago for a break-up fic with marc which ends in angst and, whilst i haven’t written it yet still (super sorry) , maybe that could be a little prequel to this? we’ll see :)

[fayes-fics]

It Had To Be You: Chapter 4 - You've Got A Friend

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Set a couple of months after Chapter 3, Benedict and you are becoming best friends.

artwork credit @colettebronte

Warnings: discussions of sex, swearing, publically faked orgasm

Word Count: 3.1k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. A multi-chapter modern rom-com retelling of When Harry Met Sally. In this chapter, we see vignettes of Benedict and reader's growing friendship. And well... this ends with a twist on the famous scene. Yep. You know the one. Enjoy <3

21 months ago (3 months later)

Benedict Bridgerton is one of your best friends. 

If you had uttered that sentence to yourself ten, even five, years ago, you would have laughed your head off. But it's funny how life turns out. In the months after you reconnect, you start to meet up regularly, at least once a week, sometimes more, and you text almost constantly. Becoming each other’s crutch as you rebuild your lives as single people. 

On the surface, you couldn’t be more opposites, but he’s matured, and you find his company the most soothing and the most fun. Be it while having dim sum in Chinatown, wandering Victoria Park or helping him set up his new warehouse flat. There's always a tiny frisson, an undercurrent of something between you that, to be honest, makes it more appealing. A pilot light of heat that could, maybe one day, become a bonfire if the timing were right. You are not sure it ever would be, but it would be stupid to deny to yourself that it's there. There is certainly no one you like to verbally spar with more.

He FaceTimes you as you lay in bed on a regular Tuesday in September; it's become a habit. Just jabbering away until one of you falls asleep. Talking about everything, anything, and something nothing, watching a show or film together in digital silence. A comforting presence. 

“What are you watching?” he hums, scratching his beard.

“Don't judge me,” is your instant response, and he chuckles.

“Tell me,” his voice drops an octave in a way you are sure he knows has an effect on you. Physically. A little shiver down your spine. Bastard.

“Titanic,” you mutter as he bursts out laughing.

“You hate that film!” he exclaims, and you wish you could throw a pillow through the screen.

“That doesn’t sound like not judging!” you bemoan but concede he is right.

“Channel?” he asks, still giggling.

“Four… wait, are you going to watch too?” 

“Of course, then we can argue about it in real-time,” something in that offer makes you feel comforted. “It's near the end!” he decries after briefly pausing to change channels.

“How would you know?” you lobby, and he fixes you with a pointed stare.

“Please. This was Gen’s favourite; I had to sit through it five bloody times.”

“How is she?”

“No idea. She didn't speak to me after the breakup. Besides, wasn't she your friend?!”

“Yeah, but we lost touch,” you sigh, “sometime about seven or eight years ago, she moved to Bristol, and then we sort of drifted.”

He hums noncommittally, watching the movie, “So you’re saying Rose should not have saved him by sharing that door,” he states as the final scenes unfold onscreen before you both.

“I never said that!” you argue.

“Yes, you did! In the car on the way from uni!” he smirks.

“No, I didn’t!” you volley back indignantly.

“Fine, okay, you didn’t.” He rolls his eyes.

“I mean, that dick was so good, they fucked one time, and she returned to the ocean to say goodbye to it 70 years later,” you point out drolly.

He tosses his head back and laughs so hard you can’t help but join in. 

“Fuck that’s the funniest take on this film I’ve ever heard,” he wheezes.

“Right?! I can’t take credit; it's a comedy routine; I’ll send you a Spotify link,” you offer.

“Look forward to it,” he giggles.

The urge to ask him if he’s ever had sex so good he’d go to the spot it happened to commemorate it is on the tip of your tongue. You’re almost surprised he doesn’t use the opportunity himself. He’s definitely grown up.

“Are you sleeping okay?” he asks, rubbing his eye wearily.

“Doing better,” you admit, “not completely there, but better than I was.”

“Do you still sleep on ‘your’ side of the bed?” he inquires with air quotes.

“No. I’ve taken to sleeping wherever now,” you answer truthfully.

“Wow, you’re doing so well,” he sighs. “I feel weird if even a leg wanders over to ‘her’ side… and this isn’t even a bed we shared.” 

“Yours was a marriage, mine merely a long-term relationship,” you try to justify why he might still be more impacted than you.

“Same difference, except you don’t have a lawyer bleeding you dry arguing about shit…. Urghh, I need a drink.”

“No, you don’t,” you argue, “stay in bed and drink your water.”

“You can be very bossy sometimes, you know?” he opines but reaches for his glass of water on his bedside table as he says it, doing exactly what you suggest.

“It’s for your own good,” you point out.

“I know, I know. I suppose I should thank you. You’d be surprised how little men give a shit about their friends' well-being, even their best friends.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” you fire back. “You’re all clueless idiots with the EQ of a shrimp.”

“Wowwww, okay,” he mimes being shot in the chest, “please don’t take out your Dr Tom issues on the rest of us unsuspecting shrimps.” It’s in jest, but you can hear the underlying argument and know he’s right.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. You don’t have the EQ of a shrimp. I’ll give you, hmmm, a crawfish,” you offer with a giggle.

“Oh great, thanks,” he deadpans, “Could you not at least give me lobster?”

“Okay, fine. I hear lobsters are very smart, so you flatter yourself there, but yes, okay, lobster Ben. Please go get some sleep.”

“Alright,” he yawns, “can I call you my lobster too?”

“Why?” you frown sleepily, bemused.

“Some lobster thought it could predict the World Cup winning team—always thought it was right. That’s very you,” he stares pointedly down the phone camera at you.

“Fine, I’m your lobster too,” you stick out your tongue a little.

He chuckles as you settle deeper into your pillow, flicking off the TV as the credits scroll. Even you can acknowledge having a person to talk to is so comforting right before sleep. 

“Goodnight, lobster Ben,” you yawn, your eyes drooping.

“Goodnight, my little blue lobster,” he murmurs.

“Why blue? Cos I’m sad?” you hum, eyes closed.

“No,” he chuckles gently, “I have my reasons,” he says quietly, and you pass out as the call drops off. 

——

“So I had that dream again,” you mention offhand as you wander down the Southbank from Waterloo a few weeks later. It’s a crisp October day; you’ve taken the afternoon off work to visit the Tate Modern—there’s some exhibit he wants to see.

“The sex dream?” he verifies, weaving around an old lady who shoots him a disapproving look.

“Yup,” you confirm, kicking through the colourful pile of leaves under one of the trees. “So we are going at it up on this roof terrace, and this time he flies away just before I orgasm. I mean, what the fuck is that!?”

“Let me get this straight: you’re having sex with some mythical half-man half-dragon creature?” he seems completely bamboozled by the idea. “And just before you can come, he flies off?” 

“Yeah. What do you think it means?” you ponder.

“I think it means you need to get laid,” he laughs.

“Great fucking insight Sherlock Holmes,” body-checking him with your shoulder. “What about you? What’s your latest sex dream?”

“It’s always the same one. There’s this woman. She walks in, just wordlessly strips off my jeans and climbs onboard,” his cheeks have a high dot of pink that looks adorable, almost as if he’s embarrassed to say it.

“What does she look like? Are we talking Halle Berry? Helen Mirren? Florence Pugh?”

“I dunno… she’s just sort of faceless,” he gestures vaguely.

“Hmmm. Unusual. So then what happens?”

“I always wake up,” he sighs, staring into the middle distance, over to the Millennium Bridge.

“Wait….,” you stop walking and grab his arm, “...a faceless woman strips off your jeans and sits on you, and that’s the only sex dream you’ve had… ever?!” You can scarcely believe it.

“Yeah, it’s ridiculous, I know. I’d like to state for the record that I’ve had a much more varied actual sex life. And daydreams? Top fucking notch. But my unconscious, sleeping dreams? Very not sexy or just this one recurring one.”

“Does it ever change? At all?”

“I mean, sometimes I’m wearing trousers, not jeans?” he offers, looking nonplussed as to what else to add.

You cannot think of anything to say to that, so you just shoot him an exasperated look and walk away towards the entrance. How on earth can he get to sleep at night if that’s all he’s got to look forward to?

“Dinner after this?” he offers as you stare up at the giant sculpture suspended in the main Turbine Hall. It's been a fun few hours of wandering the exhibits.

“Oh, I’d love to, but I can’t,” you obfuscate, feeling sheepish as you bring your gaze to him.

“Hooking up?” he inquires with a comedy eyebrow wiggle.

“Maybe,” you deflect, tucking your hair behind an ear, somehow bashful to talk with him about your first date in six years. “I’ll have to see how the date goes first.”

“A date? That’s wonderful!” He seems genuinely enthused, a big smile claiming his whole face.

“Yeah, I mean… I hope so? Let’s see. It’s been a bloody long time,” and saying that, nerves flare in your belly. “Not sure what I should wear, to be honest,” you admit, glancing down, self-conscious of your jeans and simple black top. “You think this is okay?”

“Of course it is,” he dismisses casually. “You look as beautiful as you always do,” the compliment just falls from his lips as if you asked about the weather. It still gives you that slightly gooey sensation under your ribs. Bastard.

——

The next evening you’re three cocktails down at Bar Americain on a night out with some work friends when your phone buzzes. 

BB: How was the date?

Y/N: He cried about his custody arrangement at the table.

BB: Divorced dad, eh? How fast did you scarper?!

BB: Guess it will be a while until you can get that orgasm, lol.

Y/N: ... I err, didn't?

Y/N: Oh, I got one.

BB: You slept with him?!? 

You always love to push it with him when you are tipsy, be a little daring with what you say. So you have your tongue in your cheek, wishing you could see his face when he reads what you are about to reply.

Y/N: Yeah, I mean, to be clear, the crying didn't turn me on. Not one of my kinks. But he had these nice hands, and I could tell from his jeans something good was going on down there. I was right. 8 out of 10, very nice. 

Y/N: And he didn't grow wings to fly off before I had an orgasm, either…  so win!

BB: How does one hang up on a text….?

Y/N: 😜

Five minutes later, your phone buzzes again.

BB: Wait. Do all women rate the dicks of the men they sleep with?

Y/N: I don't know all the women in the world, Ben…

BB: How is that an answer?

Y/N: 🤷‍♀️

“Ant…” Benedict calls, tossing his phone aside on his kitchen island and going to consult his brother across the room. He’s pretty sure that can't be all women, can it?

——

“I don't understand this at all,” Kate frowns, resting her weapon on her shoulder like a lumberjack.

“What don’t you understand?” you reply, staring at the target at the other end of the cage. You've decided this is an excellent cathartic way to do girls' night—just flinging axes at Whistle Punks after a hard work day in early November.

“You think he's attractive?” she pauses to applaud your throw as it smacks just below the bullseye.

“Yup.”

“You get on really well and Facetime and text every day?”

“Yup.”

“He’s straight?”

“Yup.”

“But you’re NOT fucking?” Kate quizzes, shooting you a look as she steps up to the plate.

“Nope.”

“I literally don't understand,” brow creasing as she takes her aim.

“Why can't you be proud of me? Not just crawling into bed with him on the rebound. He’s become a really close friend. Plus, I get the straight man’s perspective on things. It's really helpful now that I’m back on the market again. I can talk to him about sex stuff, and he's honest,” you argue.

“Sounds wrong to me…”

“Kate, you are fucking a married man,” you point out her hypocrisy archly.

“Yeah… and that's the point! I'm actually fucking him. What sort of Bert and Ernie shit do you and this Ben have going on?!”

“Please. Bert and Ernie are lovers,” you answer scornfully.

“Well, if they were, all the more reason you guys should be?!” she practically yells, hurling her axe with such gusto the manager comes to check on you.

——

Benedict takes you for dinner in the run-up to Christmas at some place so trendy it doesn't even appear to have a name. It's also where something transpires that haunts your spicier dreams for weeks. 

As usual, it starts with you both squabbling.

“Oh please, women fake them all the time,” you dismiss, stirring your soup.

“I don't doubt it,” he agrees, “but men can do it too.”

You shoot him a withering look. “Please. Half of men can't even fake enthusiasm; there's no way a man could fake an orgasm,” you argue with finality.

His eyebrows shoot up briefly as you take a triumphant sip. He puts his fork down and wipes his face with a napkin. Then he makes a low rumbling noise. Perhaps the food doesn't agree with him. When he does it again a second later, you get concerned.

“You okay?” 

He doesn't answer; he just makes the noise again. It's a low growl that almost reverberates around in his chest cavity, and something about it makes every hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Is your food bad?” you ask, a frown flitting over your face.

Again no answer. Benedict just makes another noise, louder this time. It’s definitely closer to a moan, and he takes a deep breath rolling his head to one side as if he's stretching his neck and really enjoying the sensation. Somehow you can't look away; you just stare at him, spoon in hand. Wondering what the hell he is doing, but captivated at the same time.

“Mmmm, that's it, baby,” he groans, and your insides are suddenly aflame. You've never heard his voice go into that register, it's low and throaty, and you feel a flush creeping up your chest. 

“Don't stop,” he moans and throws his head back with a gasp, his Adam’s Apple bobbing hard, and it's then you realise what he is doing. He is faking an orgasm. Right here. In public. In a bloody restaurant.

“Okay, Ben,” you hiss, “fine, you win the argument,” attempting to get him to stop.

But it doesn't work. His head tips back down, and two dilated pupils bore into yours, a hazy ring of blue around black.

“Do you like that?” He’s staring you down as he says it, panting slightly, his jaw firm, challenging, goading.

You want to crawl into a ball and disappear. How much of that is because your fellow diners are starting to look over versus how much your body is rioting is undetermined.

“Yesssss,” he hisses, closing his eyes and biting his lip. 

“Ben,” you warn, but again it falls on deaf ears. There is nothing you can do to stop this. Mortification routes you to the spot—that and the pounding in your ears and the little frisson of static running down your spine.

“You feel so good, baby,” he groans with a tiny tilt of his body; it's enough to make your imagination run wild—places it shouldn't. Dear god, this isn't right. He is your friend, one of your best friends; you can't be thinking such things.

To distract yourself, you look around at your fellow diners apologetically, shrugging as if you don't understand what he is doing. Thankful there are no kids in sight.

“Look at me,” he commands gruffly, and without thought, you obey; your eyes tear back to his. He is doing this deliberately, goading a response from you, from your body. And something in your snaps, you won't let him win like this.

“Go ahead, do it,” you mutter through slightly clenched teeth, so quiet only he can hear it. If he is going to do this, damn him, let him. 

His hands wrap around the edges of the small table separating you, long fingers splaying out, and then his short blunt nails scratch down the wood. You don't think about those big, shapely hands doing the same thing on your body, no, definitely not. He is groaning and panting hard now, and it's utterly convincing. You can just picture him on top of….. STOP IT! You screech your mind to a halt. Don't go there.

“Come with me,” he snarls softly, just for you, and part of you wants to whisper back: yes, please, but instead, you bite the corner of your tongue to prevent a sound from escaping.

Then he turns theatrical, open hands thumping the table, grunting hard and rhythmically, and you just have to sit there and take it, so to speak. Just endure this weird mix of utter embarrassment and confusing arousal. Knowing you are flushed from head to toe. You daren't look around at the rest of the place, the buzz of conversation mostly dying out as they watch this formidable reenactment.

“Yessss, yesss, yessss,” he chants, and with a few convulsive body jerks and a long groan, his head lolls back, and he exhales a ragged breath loudly. 

There are a few seconds of silence, and then he clears his throat, straightens up in his chair, shoots you a shit-eating grin, picks up his forks and jubilantly takes a bite of his dinner. He doesn't even bother to say anything; he knows he has won that argument, fair and square. You are still too shocked and disconcerted to speak.

“Sir, Ma’am,” the maître d' is suddenly at your table, “we would like you to leave, please.” his tone is decidedly stern. After a brief exchange of glances, you both burst into spontaneous giggles.

As you are bundled out of the door unceremoniously, not even being asked to pay, you hear a man ask a waiter a question that makes you laugh even louder.

“Did he have the daily special?”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau

[careofmagicalshippers]

🎙New Podcast Episode! 👓🪵

34 | Versy Weasley, Lover of Wood w/ Geoff ( @dreamquaffle )

We are joined again by Geoff this week to discuss one of our favourite Nerd x Jock pairings, Perciver! And once again, the talented DreamQuaffle wrote us a DELICIOUS fic! Join us for all the spice and giggles you expect from CoMS!

This episode is enthusiastically sponsored by Bertie Butts Every Flavour Lubricant™️ 😋

Episode Links

@perceptual-prompts - a Percy Weasley Prompt Challenge running through the month of August!

"My Life as a Background Slytherin" etc. by Emily McGovern ( @emilyscartoons )

Listen NOW!

Connect with us!

website • spotify • apple podcasts • twitter • instagram • leave us a voice message!

[madswonders]

A Lesson In Romance #11: Actions

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: A little ✨spice✨ and a little ✨action✨

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, brief mentions of alcohol consumption, gun violence, mild (???) dirty talk

Word Count: 2.3k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they pretend to be married.

A/N: I would like to dedicate this chapter to the Classy Restaurant Music playlist on Spotify for capturing the fancy restaurant vibes I needed hahahah

Masterlist | All chapters here!

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"You know, this is not how I imagined coming back here." You said quietly. Next to you, Spencer smiled.

Your eyes were still adjusting to the warm light, a stark contrast to the blue winter evening outside. This was your second time here, technically, but the sensation of his hand on your waist and the cool metal on your left hand made it all feel brand new.

"Table for Mr. and Mrs. Reid." He said to the hostess, calmer than you'd ever seen him before. You didn't miss the way he tugged you closer when he said "Mrs." and despite the truth of the matter, giddy smiles tugged on both your lips.

But it was the hostess' reaction that gave it away for you. When she glanced at your intertwined hands and matching rings with a soft smile, you began to realise why the two of you were chosen for this in the first place. The effect you had on each other was hypnotising.

Sending you and Spencer undercover as newlyweds was probably the easiest decision Hotch has ever had to make. His reasoning came from basic human psychology; people are drawn to extreme events, and while this generally applied to accidents and tragedy, it also applied to marriage and child birth.

In this case, few things would stand out more in a crowded restaurant than a pair of shiny new wedding rings, a large bouquet of flowers, and a bottle of champagne for two. And to top it all off, he had the two of you. Everything else came secondary.

Still, it was strange. Being isolated from the operation only made you more in awe of your team. Even under the duress of three hours, they operated like clockwork; devising a comprehensive undercover mission, building a profile for an unsub they didn't even know, and training an entire restaurant's staff in a handful of hours.

By the time the final pieces fell into place, all that was left was for you and Spencer to carry out the final stage of the plan.

Maybe it was the pressure of having the entire team rest on your shoulders, or this new "character" you had to play, but something felt different tonight. It was like electricity crackled in the air; you felt it when his hand lingered on your back, low enough that you felt a growing warmth in your belly, making you yearn for his touch long after he let go.

Maybe it was the stress from going undercover for the first time that made you trail your gaze down his suited figure, muscled and lean as a side effect of this job. Maybe that's why the image of him standing at the foot of your bed in this very suit couldn't leave your mind, until the physical action of squirming in your seat jolted you out of your own imagination.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Spencer locked eyes with you, his hazel eyes dark under the dim restaurant lighting.

"Just thinking about you." You admitted, placing your hand across the table. He took your hand in his instantly, his thumb tentatively resting on the jewel on your ring finger.

"All good things, I hope?"

"Nothing but good things."

"Well, perhaps I can add to that. You look beautiful." He pressed a soft kiss to your hand, his eyes crinkling playfully when your cheeks turned pink in response.

"How do I know you're not just saying that for our audience?" You whispered, eyes darting to his tie where the mic was hidden.

"If it weren't for our audience, I'd be saying a lot more, love." He replied lowly, and you bit back a thought you didn't want any of your colleagues to hear. You could already imagine them cringing as they listened in on your conversation, and the image made you giggle.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Dr. Spencer Reid?" You accused jokingly.

"When love is not madness, it is not love." He answered simply.

You thought for a moment, before the reference clicked in your head. "Pedro Calderon de la Barca. Interesting choice. You weren't lying about your education in classic literature, doctor." You looked impressed.

"I'm hurt that you even doubted it." He mocked insult, and you grinned.

"No, I'm just surprised."

"Wait until you see my actual surprise." He smiled, gesturing behind you as a waiter appeared carrying two plates in your direction.

"I took the liberty of ordering our food in advance." He explained. When you looked at him in surprise, he simply shrugged. “I figured I should expand my theory beyond breakfast.”

"And here I thought tonight couldn't get anymore exciting." You said, marvelling at the appetisers as they were placed in front of you two.

“You can reserve your compliments for when I guess everything correct, and I will.” He mock bowed.

“You're on." You giggled. "Now, can we finally have some of this champagne?"

Dinner went by smoother than you thought it would, and thankfully for your team listening in, your conversations steered away from thinly veiled flirting to classic films as the food appeared.

Not that it was any easier for you talk about Billy Wilder and Francis Ford Coppola with what was happening in front of you. Spencer had taken to playing with the ring on your finger while you talked, and each time his long fingers brushed against yours, it sent chills down your spine.

But it was when his leg brushed against yours underneath the clothed table that you felt yourself lose grip of your facade. The first time it happened, you even thought it might be a mistake. But after the second and third time, it was clear that Spencer knew exactly what he was doing, even if the innocent expression on his face didn't betray anything.

If you didn't know him better, you would even think that he liked it, teasing you underneath the restaurant table on case, where you couldn't act on it. Instead, you pushed away the thought and allowed your skin to prick with every touch; all the while you sipped on your champagne, taking the chance to observe the patrons around you through the rim of your glass.

Unfortunately, your luck was a little worse in the unsub department, and your concern only continued to grow as your entrées made way for dessert.

Before you entered the restaurant, the team had discussed the best-case-scenario for tonight — identifying and apprehending the unsub quietly before the dinner shift was up. But if you ran out of time, there was always one back-up plan, something that would definitely force the unsub's hand.

The good thing about having two unsubs now was that victimology became incredibly simple to decipher. What you and Spencer had considered inconsistencies at first, were now clear patterns distinguishing each one.

The first one was impulsive but experienced, driven purely by a compulsion to complete his pattern as fast as possible. Despite that, he had the sense to stick to high-risk victims and secluded locations, which made him so hard to catch in the first place.

It was the second unsub that was interesting. He seemed more controlled and calculating, choosing low-risk victims and public locations. The team profiled him as the narcissistic component of the original profile. The more high profile the victims, the more they attracted him.

And now that you’d spent the entire night drawing attention to yourselves, all you had to do was present an easy opportunity for the unsub to pounce — right into the BAU’s trap.

The moment Spencer beckoned you to come closer, you knew something was up. "Listen carefully, love. I'm going to call for the bill, and we're going to go outside. If I'm right about my guess, the unsub is going to be right behind us. Do you understand me?" He whispered into your ear, low and calm.

You made an obvious move to cup his cheek as you leaned back. "Can we go home now, baby?" You cooed. Yeah, you got him.

As you walked out of the restaurant, you intentionally stumbled as you clung onto his arm, letting out a loud giggle. Your gaze fixed adoringly on your date, even as Emily and Hotch called for their bill on your left, Derek and Rossi no doubt already rounding to the front of the restaurant from the back exit.

"Trust me." Spencer murmured as he opened the door for you, and when you nodded, he pulled you into one final kiss for the public. What you didn't expect was for him to move his hand down and squeeze your ass, causing you to let out a loud squeak at the doorway.

If anybody was looking at the two of you before, they were certainly staring now, and the doctor confirmed this with a low whisper. "He's coming."

When he finally caged you against his car, you had to remember not to go overboard for your listening colleagues, but you couldn't help but let out a quiet moan into his mouth as he pushed his leg lightly against your core.

"Sp— Spencer—" You breathed, locking your fingers behind his neck.

"Just hold on a little bit more, love." He muttered, cupping your cheeks with his large hands and stroking your hair. "Just a bit mor—"

You heard the sound of a gun cocking next to you as you broke apart, lightly gasping. A middle-aged man stood in the shadows, waving his gun aggressively. Bingo.

"Get into the car."

The two of you raised your arms warily. "Who are you?" Spencer shouted, moving to shield you from the unsub.

"I said, get into the car!" He yelled. "Starting with you."

"Okay, okay." The doctor conceded, unlocking the car and slowly getting in the backseat. He left some room for you to get in next, but the unsub trained his gun on you.

"Not you, sweetheart. I'm going to finish you right here." He narrowed his eyes at you. "Drop your bag on the ground."

Everything seemed to fall silent as you slowly lowered your bag, and your hidden gun, to the ground. When you stood back up with your hands in the air, the unsub slammed you into the side of the car and you groaned at the sudden impact.

You didn't need to gather your senses to know that his gun was pointed right at you.

"Leave her alone, James." Spencer threatened, already out of the car and levelling his gun at the unsub. All around you, the team moved into the light.

"FBI! James Luther — put the gun down." Hotch ordered.

The unsub looked shocked for a moment as he looked around, finally realising the situation he was in. His expression was unusually calm, and it chilled you to the bone.

"Very, very interesting. Are you a fed too?" He sneered down at you.

"It's over, James. Either you put the gun down, or you don't walk out of here alive." Spencer warned, but the unsub only laughed.

"I should have known that it was too good to be true. It's not often I get such a perfect couple, much less one with a wife this pretty." He drawled, waving the gun in your face.

"Spencer. I'm okay." You ordered through gritted teeth, already knowing what the genius was about to do.

"Look at her, so brave. Are the two of you even married? Or is everything about this fake?"

"I won't say this a second time. Put the gun down." Spencer repeated, cocking his gun straight at the unsub's head.

"T-think about this, James." You reasoned. "If you kill me, they'll kill you, and you won't be able to hear what the press will say about your murders after we expose you. Isn't that what you want? Don't you want to stop living in somebody else's shadow?"

The unsub's grip on his gun slackened. "They're not going to run a story on me. Why would they unless I keep killing?"

"They will if you give us the names and descriptions of all your victims, and we will make sure your face is front and centre for every single one." Spencer added. The unsub looked into both your eyes, seemingly searching for a hint of a lie, but there was none.

"Fine. Looks like the lady lives, this time." He gave up, dropping his gun to the floor and putting both hands on his head.

"James Luther, you are under arrest for the murders of Lucy Patt..." Derek recited his rights while dragging him away. You braced yourself against the car, catching your breath.

"Are you okay?" Spencer rushed over, sweeping you into a hug before you could even reply. You buried your face into his shoulder, tears welling up in your eyes involuntarily as you inhaled the familiar scent of paperbacks and coffee.

"I-I'm okay, baby. I'm okay." You mumbled, not sure if you were reassuring your boyfriend or yourself in that moment.

"It's okay, just let it out. You're safe now. I'm here. You're safe." He repeated, stroking your back as he kissed the top of your head again and again and again until you lost count.

You'd never been so relieved to arrive back at the BAU. Penelope was the first to give the two of you a big hug when you returned, fussing over the small cut on your face and the bruises on your arms, while you reassured her that you'd been cleared by the medics to go home.

"Good work today, both of you." Hotch called out from behind, shooting a small smile at you and Spencer. "Reid, take her home, and take a day off tomorrow. The two of you deserve it."

"You wouldn't be able to drag me into work tomorrow if you tried." You joked, and Spencer chuckled. For the first time, he wasn't about to argue with an order to take a break.

Nor was he about to argue when you asked him to come in to your apartment, or when you asked him to stay the night.

The only thing he wanted after tonight, was you.

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