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ladytanithia · 11 months

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Writing WIP Wednesday (10/18)

I shared a different snippet of this chapter a while back, and I'm about to post it sometime today, so it almost doesn't qualify as a WIP anymore (unless you're counting the whole unfinished story). This is from Chapter 27 of Out of the Ashes.

Tagging my talented writer friends: @dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness @thequeenofthewinter

Teldryn insisted on keeping his helmet on until Geldis had delivered their snack and Miranja had closed the door and locked it. She felt rather honored being given the key, even if only for a few moments. She sat down and laid the key on the table between them as he removed the helmet and fluffed out his sweaty hair with his fingers.

“Is it just me, or does Raven Rock feel weird now?” Miranja asked, taking a sip from the bottle Geldis had already uncorked for her.

“Raven Rock’s always been rather uncomfortable for me,” Teldryn admitted. “I’ve always felt something like an outlander myself here, despite being a Dunmer. In all the time I’ve been here, you’re the only one who’s seen my face. People don’t come right out and voice their suspicion, but they don’t go out of their way to talk to me, either.”

“Isn’t that lonely, Tel?”

“Yes, but I’ve felt it necessary. Especially knowing there are still MT assassins on Solstheim looking for you.”

“Which is about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of,” Miranja growled, shaking her head. “I visited the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary ONE TIME, helped myself to one of their sexy leather uniforms and one of their not-so-sexy mage uniforms, never took a single contract from them, and never went back. Yet the MT thinks I’m a member, and how they even got that information is beyond me.”

“Well, whether they’re misinformed or not, they still come here. As long as you’re living here, it’s not safe for me to reveal my identity.”

“I’m sorry, Tel. Perhaps I’ve overstayed my welcome here. I have plenty of properties in Skyrim I could move to.”

“Or, as I think you mentioned once, I could move to one of them. Or ask your steward if he’d be willing to sell his old cottage in Riverwood. Maybe we could both move to Skyrim.”

They looked at one another for a long moment, just considering their possibilities.

“I’ve made arrangements here, set up trade between Raven Rock and Skaal Village, rented some untainted land for a small crop to share, things like that. I’d have to either end that arrangement or find someone who can maintain it if I leave. I know that Argis has started a relationship with Bralsa and she nearly lives at Severin Manor now, but I don’t know if Argis would want to stay here if I left. He does have the advantage with the Skaal of being a full-blooded Nord, so they trust him.”

“If I left, you wouldn’t have to.” Tel stuffed a large chunk of cheese into his mouth.

“We don’t have to make this decision today,” Miranja said, taking a swig from her mead bottle. “But I will talk to Argis, probably tomorrow, and see how attached he is to Solstheim – and to Bralsa. I’d be happy to leave him in charge of the manor, maybe even sign it over to him eventually if I don’t see myself doing anything more than visiting here. Right now, though, my brain hurts. I might even forego dinner tonight and just go to bed early. Tomorrow is the first of the month, and I’ll need to accompany Argis to Skaal Village for our monthly trade.”

“Well, if nothing else, I can say that my curiosity has been well and fully satisfied.”

“And?”

“And I understand for myself why you’re so well-loved here – and in Skyrim. I can’t say you don’t have a dishonest bone in your body, but I can say that you do have a conscience about it when you do have to be dishonest. You care about people probably more than is good for you, you’re talented, and you’re unapologetic about sharing pleasure with whoever you choose. I’m very glad to have gotten to know you, Miranja.”

Miranja had looked down at the table modestly as Tel had listed off the things he appreciated about her. Now she looked up at him and smiled sincerely. “I’m glad to have gotten to know you better, too, Tel. Even if that isn’t really your name, I still feel like I’ve gotten to know the real you. I’d like to keep you in my life, one way or another.”

“Count on it, my dear.”

Once they’d eaten and drunk their fill, Tel stood with Miranja to hug and kiss her tenderly before escorting her to the door.

“I’ll see you soon, probably tomorrow afternoon,” Miranja promised.

“You know where to find me,” Tel replied with a wink and a crooked, saucy smile.

#skyrim #elder scrolls #tesblr #miranja #teldryn sero #fanfic #ao3 #dunmer #tes #solstheim #raven rock #retching netch

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knifefightscene · 1 year

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not entirely sure how this will be received but. Sometimes you are in your own way. To me that’s such a fucked yo and hard thing to hear, as someone who’s gone through abuse and other traumatic things. I didn’t want to admit that I have responsibility in my own mental well being (Which should be an empowering thing, if you think about it) I think for so long I felt as though I was a culmination of things that happened to me, and that I would always be. But the reality is that no one sees that when they see you. No one knows your pain but you. You’re a clean slate to everyone you know, and more importantly, people will just think you’re quite and that’s that. People have their own lines of rumination and lines of mental jargon going on to keep tabs about “What’s wrong/bad abt you”. Allow yourself to exist and let yourself be free of negative self thinking cycles if that’s what’s in your way. I’m in no way free of this myself but I’ve had time to actually realize my own part in staying in a mindset that does not serve me, or is remotely true. I use to not be able to leave my house and up until recently have a job where I was around anyone because I was so afraid of people and felt so horribly mentally that I thought that they MUST know that I was fuxked up and not someone they would want to talk to. But the reality was they didn’t know any of that, I was closing myself off to people and made myself unapproachable which fed into the “No one likes me/no one wants to talk to me” and it’s still so hard but changing how I behave and learning to ignore biased negative thoughts bout myself has really lessened the stress and depression that I had. Another thing is, that depression is symptom that can come from so many diff scenarios (In my case my depression was due to my extreme anxiety) but in other peoples cases it is genetic, (My boyfriends cousin has dealt w/ being severely suicidal most of her life and is now doing amazing by finding meds that work for her) and ofc evironmwntal factors/trauma. Whatever the case it’s horrible for someone to have to experience but what’s worse is believing that there’s no way it could get better, I honestly think this prolongs it but it’s hard to accept or see that type of reality if it’s not worked on. And this doesn’t magically happen. Once you begin to even try to think things can be better or that you could shape your behaviors differently than how you have been it’s going to feel fake. It’s going to feel uncomfortable and unreal and when I was told this advice by my therapist I just didn’t believe him and it made me angry to be honest. I was like. that just sounds like the stupidest fake shit I ever heard. And it did feel like that. I’m still dealing w/ a lot of things like housing insecurity + being post car accident but I can’t imagine how I would be doing if I hadn’t at least done these things. This isn’t supposed to be mean btw I know it might not be something you’d like to hear but seeing your posts transported me to before I had done these things and I just wanted to pass this on, I really believe you won’t feel this way forever. ok i’m fucking awf now

I feel like you’re telling me to be one of those manifestation girl and i am sorry it is not for me. Being delusional is more painful than depression and sadness can ever be.

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b0nfireheart · 3 years

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The time crowley (somewhat accidentally) created gender. Homeboy just wanted to torment souls quickly and efficiently but they somehow created a horrific social construct!

#this is the stupidest post i’ve ever made #inspired by my current gender crisis cause it is A STUPID STUPID SOCIAL CONSTRUCT!! curses on you crowley #ft my messy handwriting i’m so sorry #the clapping is all in his imagination....hell would never #digital art #good omens brain rot #art #good omens #faves #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #good omens fanart #crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #david tennant #michael sheen #good omemes

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nony-bear · 3 years

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Matched (Part I)

This blog and ALL posts are for people 18 + ONLY.

I do not give permission for my works to be re-uploaded or copied in any way or form including translations.

Photo Found Here // Banner Made By Me

Dividers Found Here & Here

Parings: Alpha Bucky Barnes X Omega Reader

Warnings: ABO dynamics, slight medical speak, doctors office, blood tests, therapists / therapy mentioned, angst maybe?

Word Count: 1562

Summary: This is part one of the series Matched. Bucky Barnes always dreamed of settling down with a mate but after decades of trauma leaving him a grumpy old man with a robotic arm he’s convinced no one could love an alpha like him. Begrudgingly he follows his therapist advice and enrolls in the Swan Program a mate matching program offered but the new aged bio-tech company Mate-Tech.

A/N: I cannot believe I actually am finally doing this. I have had this idea for a series since even before I started writing on Tumblr and it feels so surreal now that I am fully bringing it to life. I’m incredibly nervous about sharing it with everyone because of how close it is to my heart. If I am being honest at the time of posting this I am going through quite the rough patch but I’m hoping finally doing this will help me through. It has already brought me so much joy already and I hope it can bring some of you all a little bit of happiness too. Any likes and reblog or sharing of any kind would be greatly appreciated but as always this blog and all of its content is for people ages 18 and up and never do I ever give permission for my works to be re-uploaded or copied in any way or form including translations.

Series Masterlist

Part II

Bucky stares up at the building in disbelief. Was he really going to do this? Just last week, he thought this was the stupidest idea he had ever heard, committed to rejecting it the second his therapist brought it up.

"James, you want to find a mate, you've said so yourself, what's stopping you?" Dr. Douglas, who Bucky most commonly referred to as Marie, asked as she sat in her usual armchair, glasses sliding down her nose and right hand twirling her pen, no doubt about to write down notes about whatever his answer may be. Bucky didn't mind, though; he liked therapy oddly enough. After a whole life spent unable to talk about his feelings, there was something comforting in a specified time and place each week to do just that.

"I've already answered that question," Bucky grumbled, shoving his hands further down into his pockets.

Marie's lips pursed together, matching Bucky's annoyance. "Well, you must be holding back something because, to my knowledge, you have an excellent solution to all your worries, and yet you haven't taken it."

"Sorry if I'm a little hesitant about some 21st-century AI-technological-mate-matching-bullshit." He responded with a subtle eye roll.

"So you at least read some of the pamphlet I gave you?"

Bucky huffed. "Yeah, I read it."

"So what's the problem? Why are you… hesitant?" Marie asked, adding finger air quotes around Bucky's words.

"Stuff like this didn't exist in my day. There weren't places you could just go and be hooked up to some machines, answer a few questions, and then a compatible mate be hand-selected for you. You had to go out there like a real alpha and find your mate yourself."

"And how is that working out for you, James?" Marie asked skeptically. "You've been in here for months now lamenting over never finding a mate, whether it be due to your past, or your arm, or whatever may have you. You said you don't feel like an Alpha because you don't feel in control…. So take control.

Bucky now repeats those words in his head over and over again. Take control.

He nods to himself and walks into the building with a deep breath.

Inside the door, he is met with a large reception area, white, sterile, medical-looking, and doing absolutely nothing to calm his nerves.

He walks to the large desk in the back center of the room framed by elevators on either side, leading up to what looked like dozens of floors on the outside and two betas working behind it.

"Um, excuse me?" Bucky asks once he's approached the desk.

"Hi, is there something I can help you with, sir?" The taller of the two betas asks, standing up from her chair at her computer. She's pretty, all soft skin and bedroom eyes, but Bucky doesn't quite notice due to her overbearing scent filling the space between them.

During his time with Hydra, they did everything they could to prohibit him from smelling or being smelled and anything else that left him more than a weapon of flesh for them to use. Now even the tiniest bit of unpleasant notes within someone's scent slaps him in the face at first whiff.

"Uh yeah, I have a consultation for uh…." Bucky stumbles over his words, half embarrassed to admit what he's here for. "The swan program…."

The beta smiles almost as if she wants to comment on a man like Bucky seeking out such a service. "Of course, can I have your name please?" Of course, someone like her wouldn't understand. She looks perfect, like one of the women on the pamphlet Marie gave him. Bucky wonders if she would still be so confused if she saw his arm or realized who he was.

After getting checked in, the beta sends Bucky up to the 3rd floor to begin his consultation and officially start his matching journey.

"Okay, Miss Y/L/N, we have all the paperwork you submitted before coming into today, but I just need to double-check some things before we get started, okay?" The technician, Anne, asks you as she rolls her wheeled stool over to her computer.

"Sure, of course." You agree, smiling but also nervously picking at the paper sheet between your body and the muted teal examination chair.

"Great!" Anne replies before going over our full name, age, date of birth, blood type, allergies, and the rest of your vital information. "Okay, and we have your designation as omega, and your preference for matches as alpha males unless there are stronger results for beta males, is that correct?" You nod, and she continues down the list inwardly, cringing at yourself, feeling quite vulnerable as you're broken down into a bulleted list. "And we have that you are available for the next available program, which is this weekend, is that correct?"

"Yes, this weekend works great." You nod.

"Great, thank you!" Anne says, typing something on her computer before standing up and putting on some examination gloves. "Okay, so now we can get to the more bio-med-tech part of the consultation. And don't worry, I promise to tell you everything I do before I do it, and none of it should hurt, except maybe a pinch when I take your blood."

"Sounds good." You smile, albeit slightly nervous, as she begins walking you through the process of taking your blood.

"So, do you have any questions about the program?" Anne asks, trying to distract you.

You look away from her and the procedure at hand. "A lot, actually. The program is a little secretive. I'm not really sure what to expect." You confess.

Anne chuckles and finishes, placing a bandage on you and turning to her medical equipment on the desk. "That's understandable, but don't worry. Once you get back here on Saturday, your program guides will tell you everything you need to know. The secrecy is only to prevent other companies from copying our program. It's not scary at all."

"Have you been through the program?"

"Not the Swan program exactly, but I was a volunteer in the trial runs. It's where I met my wife." She smiles. "Okay, now I'm just going to place these little pads attached to these wires on your temples and the scent glands on your neck and wrists, okay? Again it shouldn't hurt at all."

You allow her to place the sticky pieces of plastic onto your skin, calmed by her explanations of each step and openness about the program. "Wow," you smile, "That's wonderful."

"Thank you." She smiles. "Now lie back for me." She guides you to recline in the chair. "Perfect, now you just lay there for the next 15 minutes, and I will be back to unhook you and send you off with all your paperwork."

You lie there looking up at the clouds and scenery painted on the sky, purposefully placed for you to look at during this part of your consultation. You worry about the weekend and all that is to come for you. And after years and years of trying to look for a mate, being largely unsuccessful, and the glimmers of hope turning into hard, bitter memories, you hope this will be it.

At first, the thought of a mate matching program felt ridiculous, perhaps even pathetic, but the more you researched, the more you couldn't deny your interest. With scientific backing and thousands of 5-star reviews late one night, you took the plunge and submitted an application. And now, here you are at your consultation, your last step before entering the official program.

You've completed pages and pages of paperwork outlining your medical history, the details of your personality, and your hopes and dreams of the perfect mate. The consultation you were currently at was to check your vitals to match your profile and collect samples of your scent. Although you didn't know a ton about the actual program, you knew that the company prided itself on its scent technology and data analysis software. Not that you really knew what any of that stuff really meant.

After Anne comes back in and removes the pads from your skin, making sure to take all the sticky adhesive with them, she gives you all of your paperwork regarding what time to be back here on Saturday, where to go, what to bring, etc. before sending you on your way.

You walk out of the examination room and down the hall of the 3rd floor towards the elevator, pushing the button and waiting for the doors to open.

When they do, you step inside and press the down button. You can't help but to notice the lingering smell of an alpha in the small compartment and blush to yourself, thinking that if half the alpha's in the program smell this amazing, you'll have nothing to worry about.

Bucky, who just exited the elevator moments ago, sits patiently awaiting his turn for his consultation with a technician named Anne.

Are you looking for your true mate?

Consider Mate-Tech's newest mate matching program - The Swan Program!

In just one weekend, find the mate you've been searching for using our most successful techniques and cutting-edge technology.

A one of a kind program open to anyone 18 and older, all designations welcome!

Call XXX-XXX-SWAN or go to matetech.com/swan today for more information.

Mate-Tech: Where bonds begin.

No Pressure tags of some friends who might be interested (If you don’t want to be tagged no worries just let me know!): @dadplease // @lavendercitizen // @marc-rogers // @starksbabie // @honeychicana // @mianorth // @the-soulofdevil // @purple-babygirl // @sweet-dreams-steve // @slutforstevie // @stevesbestgirl // @donutloverxo // @hannahshattuck // @selfcarecap // @worksby-d // @saiyanprincessswanie // @tuiccim

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akitbeast · 2 years

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There were quite a few posts on social media in the last couple of years from Asian BL fans asking western fans (specially usamericans) to stop judging Asian dramas with Western eyes.

One of the longer threads was from someone who broke it down further. Many of their cultures had been open and accepting, then colonization came around and forced shame, misogyny and homophobia onto them until it became a part of their culture. The hypocrisy of Western viewers is how they judge Asian culture for things that the western colonizers planted in the first place. So many usamericans attempted to explain their own culture at them 🤦🏻‍♀️

I’m not Asian, and I cannot speak for them.

But I was born and raised in Mexico, which was under Spanish rule for centuries. I’m also of indigenous ancestry, and I know very well the racism ingrained in my culture, along with the shame, misogyny and homophobia that come with the standard colonizer package. The jokes made at the expense of indigenous people, designed to shame us about our ancestry. As a child in the 80s I would’ve never admitted to anyone that I was part indigenous because fingers would’ve been pointed at me, and I laughed along with the jokes. The jokes were wrong. But we all laughed because it’s what our culture had taught us to do. We were a product of colonization, and while I am working hard at rediscovering my roots, I can also look back at who I was and feel sadness that I ever made such mistakes against my own.

I’m not Thai. But I know from reading articles that r*pe culture is a big issue there. I also know homophobia is an issue, despite Thailand’s popularity as an lgbtq-friendly place.

I also know that in the years I’ve started following Thai dramas and following their actors, I have noticed more and more people have started talking about these issues.

In BL alone, plots have gone from toxic tropes to more accepting ones. Some have even used their plots as a way to raise awareness of the issues the country has and I applaud them.

I don’t know Build Jakapan from the KinnPorsche cast.

But when the news broke about the things he’d said in the past, I took a step aside so I could see them in context, as so many Asian fans have asked of us westerners in the past.

The place Thai culture was in 8 years ago, his age. He’s not the first Asian artist to have been dragged for comments they made, and many supporters have used Thai culture as the reason behind their mistakes. Many of them have done heartfelt, honest apologies. Some fans have accepted them, some have continued demanding their pound of flesh, denying these artists growth.

As an SA survivor, I can understand the comments being triggering. Triggers are very personal and what affects me, won’t affect others and viceversa. As a 🏳️‍🌈 person who has to live in the closet offline due to my environment, I can understand the anger.

At the same time, I can see his comments as the product of his culture at that time.

Were they wrong? Of course.

Should he be dragged for them 8 years later? No. People grow. He’s acknowledged the comments, his company has acknowledged them, apologies have been made. Let the matter rest and allow him to grow. He is not the same person he was when he made those comments.

A few things that pick at me:

1. People saying that he was 19-20 and should’ve known better. I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but the late teens/early 20s are a crazy time. Suddenly you’re legally old enough to do a lot of things that you couldn’t do as a teen, and for many, it’s the first time leaving home to go into the world (college, military, etc). We are not mature enough, want others to see us as “grown ups” and will say/do the stupidest shit imaginable. There’s a reason you can’t rent a car in the US until you’re 25, and young cis-gender men make a big percentage of physical rehabilitation patients. And before anyone shakes a finger at me, I'm talking about stupid choices, not acts of violence/terrorism. I'm talking about the type of mentality where diving into a pool from a 2nd/3rd floor balcony is a totally awesome plan, and nothing could go possibly wrong.

2. The fact that someone dug through 8 years of his social media posts until they found negative ones. Whoever this was really wanted their minutes of fame by dragging someone else. How convenient, that when Build's character arc develops, and with it being a less than usual relationship onscreen, suddenly things he said when he was a kid come up. With KP having been on such a long production timeline, the timing of this felt like more of a planned hit than a need for social justice.

And if it hasn't been made clear: I support Build Jakapan.

#build jakapan #KinnPorsche #coconuts mafia

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angelasscribbles · 2 years

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Star Crossed Chapter 9: All Out of Love

Series: Star Crossed

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Drake (mostly), Riley x Liam (sort of)

Rating: MA

Warnings: none

Song Inspiration: All Out of Love by Air Supply

Word Count: 2,659

A/N: The C-130 troop and cargo transport, affectionally referred to as a "Herc" by military personnel, if anyone is interested.

My other stuff: Master List.

He’d known it was a mistake before he even made it back to his duty station. But it was too late, he was on his way back to Rivala. He tossed his rucksack in the pile with everyone else’s and took his seat in the C-130, regret crashing through him.

He was running toward danger, back into the line of fire, but he'd never felt more like a coward. He’d let his feelings of rejection and his damaged pride get in his way. It was the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

He couldn’t sleep and he didn’t want to drink. He had an early wake up in the morning and needed to be sober when he reported for duty. So, he walked.

It was a habit he’d formed as a teenager, after his father’s death. After his mother and Savannah had cried themselves to sleep, he’d found himself slipping away, roaming the grounds, the gardens, the woods behind the palace, the rolling expanses of open lawn. Just wandering, often times until morning, only able to fall into an exhausted sleep after the sun rose. The reds and oranges streaking the sky, the bright, happy sound of bird sound, the softness of a new day, the beauty of it lost to exhaustion and grief.

Over the years it had become his go to when he was stressed or struggling with a major decision. He suffered from insomnia and the physical activity helped.

He found himself in the hedge maze, at the clearing with the wishing well. He slumped down on the bench, memories of the night they’d met there running through his mind.

“Drake?”

He looked up, startled. “Ren. What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She told him, “Can I sit?”

He scooted over immediately, “Of course!”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me….”

“Of course I do! I….I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me!”

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you?”

“I outed us, you, to Liam. I wasn’t trying to throw you under the bus, I just-“

She waved a hand in the air dismissively, “You were right, though. He had a right to know. I’m sorry I ever asked you to keep it from him. I just thought that, if it turned out to be nothing more than that one night, what was the point of telling him?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

They sat in silence for a long while.

“Well, I guess I should get back to my room.” She said finally, as she rose from the bench.

“Oh, yeah, probably.” He looked up. The moonlight shimmered in her hair, and she took his breath away. He was an idiot.

She stopped and turned back toward him, “Do you….want to come?”

“What?”

“I mean, I know you’re leaving in the morning, but we still have tonight….”

He was pulled out of his musings when they landed in Rivala. He found the general in charge and accepted his new command post. He’d be leading a team into the forest. Roughly thirty percent of the area they were there to protect and defend was forested, requiring regular patrols and lots of recon. It meant he’d be completely incommunicado with everyone outside the military for a while. No cell phone reception in the bush and no way to charge one, and even if there had been, there was no way the military was risking a cell phone notification alerting the enemy to their position. Cell phones were left behind at base.

“Everything ok, Captain?”

“Everything is fine. I just need to make a call before we ruck up in the morning.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. Just turn your phone in to the duty sergeant before you leave.”

An hour later he stood fidgeting nervously willing her to pick up her phone.

“Hello?” Her voice was tentative.

“Oh, thank God you answered! I wasn’t sure you would want to talk to me!”

“Of course I want to talk to you! I’ve been waiting by my phone all day!”

“You were expecting me to call?”

“Hoping was more like it.” Her tone was cautious. She was still hurt. He didn’t blame her.

“Hey.” He leaned over and kissed the side of her neck.

“What?” She mumbled as she rolled toward him. They hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. They hadn’t talked much either, letting physical touch say everything instead.

“I have to go now. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

“Shit.” She sat up in bed and blinked at him. He was fully dressed. “You went back to your room?”

“Yes, to shower and pack. My bag is ready to go.”

“I don’t want you to go.” She whispered.

“I know. But it’s for the best, really.”

“I don’t see how.”

He sighed as he ran a hand down his face, “You’re married, Ren. Both of you seem committed to staying that way.”

“Drake, I told you why!”

He held a hand up, “It’s ok, I know, I get it. I don’t want to argue, but the fact is, for whatever reason, you’re staying married. I’m just in the way of that.”

She reached for his hand, “Drake, you’re not-“

He interrupted her, “It’s ok, really. I hope you figure it out. Liam is a good guy. Give him a chance, I think you’ll like him. I want you to be happy. I’m sorry that can’t be with me.”

He realized as he closed the door behind him that he hadn’t told her he loved her. He hadn’t given her any hope for the future. He hesitated, turned back toward the door then stopped himself. What was the point? They didn’t have a future together. It was why he was leaving. He grabbed his bag from the floor outside his room and hurried down the hallway, glancing at Liam’s door as he passed. Guilt pinged through him as he made the conscious choice not to say goodbye. He had no idea what to say, so he did what he did best and said nothing at all.

He sighed, “Listen. I have limited time before I’ll be out of pocket for weeks, if not months and I don’t want to waste it, so I’ll get right to the point. I’m a fucking idiot and I’m sorry. You were right. I do understand the political ramifications. I got in my feelings and had a knee jerk reaction. I love you! I’m sorry I ran away like a coward!”

Soft sobs came from the other end of the line.

“Shit! I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m sorry!”

“No, it’s fine. You’re fine. I’m just emotional. It’s been a hell of a day.”

“Yeah. No shit. And that’s on me. I just wanted to make sure you knew how I felt before I go out in the field tomorrow. There won’t be any way for me to contact you for a while.”

“For how long?”

“I….don’t know. The mission takes however long the mission takes.”

“I miss you already.”

“I miss you too, baby. And I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed and figured this all out, together!”

“How long did you reenlist for? You never told me.”

“Two years.” He croaked out.

“Two years?”

“Yeah, I know….I’m sorry. I don’t expect you wait around on me though.” She was married after all. By the time his deployment was over, she and Liam would probably be in love with a baby on the way. He closed his eyes against the thought, but he wouldn’t blame her if that’s what happened. It was exactly why he’d left, so they could give their marriage a fighting chance.

He laid awake in the dark with his phone for a long while after they hung up, thoughts of her pouring through his mind. Every memory, every moment, every laugh, every flirtatious remark. The pain twisting in his chest was amplified by the knowledge that his actions had inflicted that same pain on her. But really, what else could he have done?

He had no idea if there was any future for them. He knew there shouldn’t be, but he selfishly hoped for one.

Three months into his tour, that pattern hadn’t changed. She was always at the back of his mind. He lay awake at night staring up at the stars wondering if she was looking up at them too, maybe from their bench in the middle of the hedge maze. He wondered how the honeymoon had gone and if she was carrying the royal heir yet. He wondered if she still thought about him. He wondered if she was still as in love with him as he was with her. He was afraid of the answer.

He was surrounded by people all day, he was never actually alone, but he felt more alone than he ever had in his life. He had thought it would get easier as time went by, but it hadn’t, it had only gotten harder. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep going through the motions like he wasn’t broken inside.

Then one day as they made their way back from patrol, a small detachment of soldiers materialized in their campsite.

“What are you doing here, Novack?” Drake asked the other captain.

“Here to take over your command and send you back to basecamp.” The other man replied.

“Why?”

Novack shrugged, “I just follow the orders, Walker, I don’t question them. Now, the Lieutenant and his men are here to make sure you get to the landing zone in one piece.”

“Alright. I’ll go pack my shit.” He threw his stuff into his rucksack as quickly as possible, fear tightening a cord around his heart. There were only so many reasons a solider gets pulled in the middle of a mission and none of them were good.

When he arrived at basecamp, he found that his commanding officer didn’t have much information for him either. “Don’t unpack. You’re on the next flight back to Cordonia.”

“What? Why? I have twenty one months left on my contract!”

“You’ve been transferred to the Cordonian Royal Guard effectively immediately.”

“I didn’t request a transfer.”

“It wasn’t a transfer request, Captain, it was a reassignment.”

“On whose authority?”

“The crown prince.”

Drake was stunned. Liam did not throw his weight around casually or frivolously and he was aware that Drake had made a conscious decision to stay with the regular military as opposed to the royal guard. He had turned down Liam’s offer to join the royal guard several times. “Does this reassignment say why?”

“No. But I guess the prince will explain it to you. Your orders have you reporting directly to him.”

With no further explanation forthcoming, Drake retrieved his cell phone from the duty sergeant and headed for the C-130. He’d be making the flight back in a mostly empty plane. He was headed back to Cordonia with a few injured soldiers, and some broken down jeeps. His cell phone was, of course, dead. He’d have to wait to see Liam in person to find out what was going on.

He was filled with equal parts anger, excitement and dread as he took his seat in the belly of the transport plane. Anger that Liam would transfer him without his input or consent, excitement because he was going to see her again and dread because he had no idea why Liam had transferred him. What if something was wrong? Liam wasn’t a heavy handed person, and he had always respected Drake’s wishes about his career choices. Why was he pulling rank now?

The flight back to Cordonia was filled with trepidation that alternated with unbridled glee. He couldn’t help the images that filtered through his mind, her under the moonlight in the hedge maze, the two of them on the beach at the Forgotten Falls, her legs wrapped around him in the palace swimming pool, his body wrapped around hers late at night after he’d dropped down onto her balcony from above and snuck into her room.

His memories were interspersed with panic that he fought hard to suppress. What if something had happened to her? But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Why would Liam call him home for that? And it wasn’t a summons home, it wasn’t an emergency leave which told him Savannah and his mother were fine. It was a reassignment of duty station, and he had no idea what to make of it.

It was late when he arrived at the palace. He strode through the empty hallways shooting surreptitious glances here and there. He was looking for her. Not that he expected her to be waiting for him. Still, the small trickle of hope that had flowed through him as he boarded the C-130 had become a flood and he felt jittery and anxious as the adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream.

He eyed her bedroom door as he passed it to get to his own. A quick shower and shave later, he was standing at Liam’s bedroom door. Better find out why he had been transferred and what was going on before knocking on the door he was both desperate and a little terrified of knocking on.

“Drake! You made it!” Liam pulled him into a hug.

“Yeah, but I’m really confused about why I’m here.” He turned toward his lifelong best friend with an expectant gaze, “You know I turned down your offer to join the royal guard.”

“I’m aware,” Liam responded drily as he turned to the drink cart and started pouring, “and I am sorry for violating your wishes on this matter, however I have a top secret mission that, for many reasons, I can only entrust to you!”

“Ok….” Drake took the drink Liam held out to him and lowered himself into an overstuffed armchair, “Color me intrigued.”

Drake inhaled the scent of the whiskey deeply before tipping the glass up and letting the fiery warmth fill his mouth and slide down his throat. He closed his eyes and sighed in contentment. It had been three months since his last drink and Liam always stocked his favorite.

Liam took the chair across from him and studied him carefully over the rim of his own glass. “I understand you and my wife got close in the weeks right after our wedding.”

“Li, I’m sorry!” Drake sat upright in his chair, guilt plunging through him at the change of subject.

Liam waved him off, “It’s fine. I understand. This wasn’t a love match for either of us. I’ve been….preoccupied, it’s understandable that she looked for companionship elsewhere.”

“But still-“

“Really, Drake, it’s ok, you don’t have to keep apologizing. I know you left so that Riley and I could try and make our marriage work, make it real.”

Drake nodded as his eyes focused on the glass in his hand.

“It’s not though.”

“What?” Drake’s head snapped up to find Liam’s eyes.

“Our marriage. It isn’t working.”

“What do you mean?” Drake’s mouth was suddenly dry as panic and hope both surged through him.

“I mean….” Liam paused as he took a sip of the bourbon in his grasp, “I’ve tried spending more time with her, tried building a friendship, a true partnership and that has been successful to some extent.”

“Okay….”

“We rescheduled the honeymoon because she wasn’t, ah,” Liam cleared his throat, “Well, it seemed best to postpone.”

Drake fought against the pure elation that lit up his entire being at that knowledge, “So you haven’t….”

“No.”

But they would. Eventually.

“When is it rescheduled for?” Drake asked carefully.

“Next week.” Liam answered.

“Oh.” His heart plummeted to the bottom of his soul.

“That’s why you’re here.”

Drake detected a note of anxiety in Liam’s tone. His brows drew together in confusion. “I’m here….why?”

“Because my wife has run away and you’re the only person I can trust to bring her back.”

#star crossed #angelasscribbles #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #drake walker #choices stories you play #liam rys #the royal romance fanfic #choices #drake x mc #the royal romance #trr #angst #angst with a happy ending

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fortheloveofwonderland · 3 years

Text

Oh Baby! [Spencer Reid x fem! reader]

Send me a I wish you would write a fic where…

Find my masterlist here. Click here to join my taglist.

From this Anon prompt - “you're drunk, you have sex, the only problem is that you hate each other, and you think you're pregnant so you have to deal with it (you're not, it's just late)”

Not me posting two fics in one day! I like to think of this as a prelude to Odd Socks which I posted earlier. Mild hints at smut, drinking and bad language. Enemies to lovers.

WC: 3.8k

—————————————————————

Spencer Reid was not your favorite person. He wasn’t even in your top twenty. Or fifty. Or even a hundred.

Working with him was a chore. He was constantly correcting you, always had to be right and you found it exhausting. After four years of working with him you’d all but reached the end of your tether.

You just tried to distance yourself from him the best you could which was easy in the field but not so easy when Penelope insisted everyone go out for drinks. Everyone. Including the anti-social Doctor Reid.

Even with copious amounts of wine in your system, he was no less annoying.

“Statistically speaking, one in five American’s-“

You cut him off when you started to make a high pitched squeaking noise. Spencer and the rest of the team turned to look at you with frowns on their faces.

“What was that?” Spencer asked in confusion.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you sipped your wine. “That’s just the sound my brain makes whenever you speak.”

You saw Spencer’s jaw clench the way it always did when you insulted him; it was his way of trying to bite his tongue and not rise to it.

But he’d also had a few glasses of wine and try as he might, he couldn’t hold back this time.

“It surprises me to know you have a brain.” He scoffed.

You growled at him, literally growled like a dog before you threw back your wine and got up from the table.

“I need another drink.” You spat before storming away.

You ordered a drink and were waiting to pay when he sidled up next to you.

“What’s the matter Y/N? You can dish it but can’t take it?” He was smirking at you and you wanted to slap that stupid look off of his face.

“Just leave me alone Reid.” You rolled your eyes. You didn't want to get into a fight with him, not here.

“I find it funny that I’m expected to just take the insults you throw my way but the second I bite back you go running.” He folded his arms, his expression telling you he found it anything but funny.

“I’m ducking smart.” You growled again. “I have a higher than average IQ but you are always belittling me and making me feel like the stupidest person in the goddamn room!”

“That’s what this is about?” He frowned a little, his arms falling back to his sides. “I’m not trying to belittle you Y/N. I’m trying to challenge you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I’ve never met anyone who can keep up with me. I’ve never met anyone who can give me a run for money. It’s nice having someone almost as smart as me around.” He smirked a little, accentuating the word almost.

“You were so close to saying something nice.” You scoffed, tossing a note on the bar before grabbing your drink and turning your back on him.

You started back to your table but he was quick to catch up with you and you felt his large hand on your shoulder.

“Does it always have to be like this?” He asked when you turned back to face him.

You contemplated this for a moment before you stepped out of his grasp.

“Yes.” You spat and then you continued back to the table.

***

You groaned loudly as you peeled your eyes open and the sunlight hit your retinas. Clearly in your state last night you’d forgotten to close the curtains.

You’d had more than your fair share of booze last night and your head was pounding. At least today was your day off. God you hoped you didn’t get called in on a case.

You wriggled yourself up against your pillows and ran your fingers through your tangled hair.

At around the same time you realised you were naked was almost the exact moment a small grumbled startled you.

You practically screamed, turning over to see the other body in what you assumed was your otherwise empty bed. He had his back to you, his head buried under the pillow.

You didn’t remember meeting anyone last night, let alone bringing someone home.

“What the fuck?” You raised your voice making your head throb.

The man grumbled again and when he spoke his voice was muffled under the pillow.

“Jeez Y/N keep it down, my head is pounding.”

You froze. You would know that voice anywhere. That voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you.

You grabbed the pillow and lifted it from his head. As expected you were met with messy, brown curls.

“Reid?” you yelled even louder than before. “What the fuck are you doing in my bed?”

“Please, keep your voice down.” his voice was low and croaky. He rolled onto his back and you could see his eyes were bloodshot, probably from all the alcohol. He was also shirtless too and you would be willing to bet he was wearing as many clothes as you were.

“What. Are. You. Doing. In. My. Bed.” you slowed down, pausing between each word.

Spencer sat up a little, ruffling his hair.

“Well I’m naked.” he croaked. “And I can only assume you are too, which would lead one to believe we had sex.” he spoke casually as though it wasn’t the most ludicrous thing in the world.

“No.” you shook your head. “No way. There is no way I would have sex with you.”

“The current situation begs to differ.” he smirked at you.

“Nuh uh. Nope. No way.” you shook your head again. “Absolutely not. There must be another explanation. You are the last person I would ever sleep with.”

“Well trust me, you did.”

“You remember?” you frowned.

“Eidetic memory.” he smirked again, looking proud of himself. “Even when drunk. We most certainly had sex and you most defintely enjoyed the mulitple orgasms I gave you.”

“No.” you shook your head again. “No, that didn’t happen.” you swung your legs out of the bed, making sure to keep the bed sheet wrapped around your naked body.

Your clothes were just out of reach. You would have to get up to reach them.

You looked back at Spencer over your shoulder and he was staring at you.

“I need to get up, don’t look.” you spat at him.

“I’ve seen it all already Y/N, it’s all up here.” he smirked once more, tapping his head with his index finger. “I’ve got it all memorised. The swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips. The small red wine coloured birthmark on your inner thigh. The way you smell. The way you taste. The way you screamed my-”

“Stop it!” you cut him off. “Stop it for christ sake.” you needed to distance yourself from him so despite knowing he was watching you, you stood up and keeping your back to him made a grab for your dress.

You pulled it over your head and covered yourself before turning back to him.

“Why are you just sitting there?”

“I was hoping you’d maybe have the decency to make me some coffee? After all I did for you last night.” he winked at you and you hated that it sent a twinge between your legs.

You had never seen this side of Reid, this confidence. You always assumed he was probably a virgin but you supposed it was always the quiet ones.

“Well you know hope leads to disappointment. Get up and get out of my apartment.” you wrapped your arms around yourself, as though protecting yourself from something.

“Now that’s just rude.”

“Reid, this was clearly a huge mistake. We were both extremely drunk otherwise there is no way we would have ended up in bed together. So let’s just agree to pretend this never happened and never speak of it again.”

Spencer chewed his lip looking as though he was contemplating this. Then he smirked again.

“Or,” he had a mischievous look in his eyes. “You can come back to bed and we can have a repeat of last night. Last night I made you come four times. I think I can beat that.”

You felt your cheeks burning with embarrassment and more worryingly, arousal. You hoped he didn’t notice what his words were doing to you.

You liked this confident side of him. There was something so hot about the way he was looking at you and talking to you. If this was how he had talked to you last night you were surprised you ended up here.

“Get out!” you forced yourself to say. The thought of getting back into bed with him was too tempting. But at least you could blame last night on the wine. If you got back into bed with him now you had no one to blame but yourself. And you knew he would hold it over you forever.

“If you insist.” he shrugged, slipping out from under the covers. He stood up and faced you, stark naked. He was hard and you had to force your eyes away from his erection up to the ceiling. He clearly noticed because he laughed.

“I don’t know why you’re fighting this.” he chuckled.

“Because you are an ass and I can’t stand you.”

“But I’m an ass who can show you a good time.”

“Good god Reid just please...please get out of my apartment.” It was taking every ounce of your strength to keep your eyes away from him. You knew if you looked back at him it would be game over. You would pounce on him and throw him back on the bed and he would win.

You kept your eyes fixed on the ceiling while he reluctantly dressed in last night clothes. Once he was fully clothed you finally allowed yourself to look back at him.

He looked so different from how you were used to seeing him. His shirt was wrinkled and he kept the top couple of buttons undone. His tie was slung open around his neck and he dangled his blazer from his finger. He almost looked normal.

“Are you sure you want me to leave?” he asked with another small smirk and you swore you were actually going to smack that look off his face in a minute.

“Very.” you folded your arms in defiance.

“Fine.” he shrugged. “See you tomorrow Y/N. Thanks for a great night.” he gave you another wink before he headed to the bedroom door.

You forced yourself to stay rooted to the spot and not go after him. You stayed put until you heard the apartment door open and close behind him.

Once you were sure he was gone, you fell back to the bed with a sigh.

What had you done? Why on earth would you sleep with Spencer Reid?

Little did you know, it was about to get a whole lot worse.

***

Three Weeks Later

“Nope. No. No way. Not possible.” you paced your apartment, muttering under your breath. “Nuh uh. Nope. Nada. Not a fucking chance.”

The knock on the door startled you, making you physically jump. You’d been expecting him, you’d invited him, but you’d been so wrapped up in your thoughts you’d momentarily forgotten.

You took a few deep breaths to try and calm your breathing before you made your way to the door.

You flung it open, he was standing on the other side looking a little frustrated that you had dragged him across town on your day off.

“Yes?” he scoffed.

You were regretting this immediately.

“Come in, come in.” you motioned Spencer hurriedly inside.

“If this is some kind of booty call Y/N, I am not interested.”

You closed the door behind him rolling your eyes.

Since your stupid drunken night spent together things had been even worse between the two of you. Spencer barely spoke to you anymore, not that you were really complaining but it was odd. He gave you the cold shoulder after you’d told him to forget all about the night you spent together.

What you didn’t realise was your words had hurt Spencer. He had been waiting four years to make a move on you but had always been too scared of the ultimate rejection. When you had come on to him that night he had been elated. It had been the best night of Spencer’s life and you’d just wanted to act like nothing had happened. It hurt, so he’d had to distance himself from you as much as possible.

“Booty call? You really think that’s what this is?” you frowned at him.

“No of course not, how could I be so stupid.” he rolled his eyes now. “God forbid you would want to sleep with me.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Just forget it.” he grumbled. “What did you drag all the way over here for?”

Oh yes, that.

You sighed loudly, feeling sick just thinking about the words you needed to utter.

“I...I uhm...fuck. We fucked up. We made a big fucking mistake.”

“Excuse me?” He spat. “First you tell me to forget anything happened but now you are telling me it was a complete mistake? Wow, that makes me feel fucking great thanks. You know what Y/N you-”

“Shut up!” you cut him off. “That’s not what I...not like that. We just...fuck this is fucked up.” you started pacing again.

“What the fuck are you talking about Y/N?” he grabbed your wrist to stop you pacing and pulled you to a stop to look at him. He saw tears behind your eyes. “What is this about?”

You had to just say it, blurt it out. Just like ripping off a bandaid.

“I t-think...I m-might be...I’m not sure...but I’m late and I’m n-never late…” a few tears escaped your eyes. “Fuck Spencer!” you sniffed, you had never called him by his first name before. “I think I might be pregnant.”

Spencer felt the air leave his lungs, as though your words had just punched him in the gut.

The words hung in the air between you like stale smoke in a bar. Time stood still. His head was spinning.

“P-pregnant.” he choked out. “With a b-baby.”

“Yes genius.” you dried your eyes on the back of your hand.

“And it’s m-mine?”

“Do you think I would be telling you this if it wasn’t?” you spat. “Fuck Reid, say something useful!”

“I don’t know w-what to say.” he swallowed hard, struggling to grasp at a coherent thought. “Are you s-sure?”

“No.” you shook your head. “I said I think I might be. I haven’t taken a test yet, it’s probably too early. But I was due five days ago and that is not normal for me. I am like clockwork.”

He could tell how much this clearly pained you to admit to him so he knew if you were telling him this you were pretty damn certain.

“Pregnant.” He repeated, still trying to wrap his head around it.

“What the fuck are we going to do Spencer?” You started sobbing then and Spencer couldn’t help but come to you and throw his arms around you.

You tried to resist at first but then you gave in and buried your head into his chest while you cried.

He ran his large hands up and down your back and placed soft kisses to your head. It was a very strange situation for the two of you.

“Y/N I am going to be here for you every step of the way.” He used his finger to guide your chin up so you were looking at him. “You and our baby will not be alone in this ok?”

You chewed your lip trying to sniff back your tears.

“You don’t have to. You don’t have to be involved.”

“I want to be.” He stroked your cheek. “The truth is Y/N, I’m crazy about you and I have been for a really long time. I want this. Us, this baby. I want it all.” He brushed away your tears and placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Spencer Reid has feelings, who would have thought.” You teased him.

He laughed a little.

“You can say something nice every once in a while you know?”

“I hope our baby has your eyes.” You smiled softly at him. “And your smile.”

“I hope they have your everything.” He replied.

He bowed his head a little to meet you and he let his lips brush cautiously over yours as though testing the waters. When he went to pull away, you gripped the back of his neck and kept him close, your mouth opening and allowing his tongue access.

It felt right. It felt like you should have always been doing this. It felt like the stars and planets aligning.

But of course, it couldn’t last. You should have known better.

***

Over the next few weeks things changed dramatically between you and Spencer. It was amazing how this had brought the two of you together and seemingly washed away four years of contempt you held towards each other.

Despite the pregnancy the two of you decided to take things slow, you went on dates, held hands and had the occasional make out session but that was as far as it went, despite being desperate for each other.

This was the time to get to know each other, really get to know each other. You were going to be parents after all.

Or so you thought.

The day before you were going to take your first pregnancy test Spencer found you in the bathroom at Quantico, on the floor in tears.

You’d been away from your desk for a little while so he’d gone looking for you. He had never expected to find you like this.

He ran to your side and fell to the floor next to you, instinctively wrapping his arms around you.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You pushed him away.

“Don’t touch me.” You sobbed.

“I-I...what’s happened Y/N? Please talk to me.”

“What’s wrong?” You spat. “What’s wrong is that I just came on my period, that's what’s wrong!” You raised your voice.

“You...you’re not…” he croaked, unable to form a sentence.

“I’m not pregnant Reid.” He finished for him. Hearing you call him Reid again was weird and it didn’t sit right with him.

His own eyes welled with tears. He’d already gotten so used to the idea of having a child with you he felt his heart shatter in his chest.

“Oh.” He croaked. He had no idea what to say.

“Just go Reid.” You wiping your eyes on the sleeve of your blouse.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He sniffed.

“We don’t have to do this anymore. I’m not pregnant, I’m not having your baby. You’re free. You don’t have to pretend this was any more than what it was.”

“And what was it?” He chewed his lip with a frown.

“We were trying to force feelings that weren’t really there. We were just trying to pretend for the sake of the baby. But there is no baby. So we don’t need to bother anymore.”

Spencer’s frown deepened.

“Pretending?” he scoffed. “Y-you thought I was pretending?”

“We both were Reid and it’s ok. We just wanted to make it work because we thought we were having a child. But we aren’t so let’s just go back to normal and pretend nothing happened.”

“You expect me to pretend nothing happened?” he swallowed, his mouth feeling suddenly dry. “You want me to pretend I wasn’t excited at the thought of being a father? You want me to pretend I hadn’t started thinking of baby names and planning our future together? A future for the three of us. You think I can just pretend that baby or not that I’m not head over heels in love with you?” His words came tumbling out of his mouth so fast he barely had time to realise he was saying them before they were out.

He saw the moment you registered what he’d said. He saw your mouth fall open and your eyes widen. Understandable really, he’d just confessed his love to you in the bathroom of the BAU.

“I-I…” nope, there were no words, at least none that you could find anyway.

“It wasn’t supposed to come out like that.” He swallowed a lump in throat. “But uhm...now it’s out there I can’t very well take it back. I’m in love with you, I probably have been since the moment you walked through the door. I remember it like it was yesterday. Hotch introduced us and I knew when our eyes met you were the person I’d been searching for.” A few tears escaped his eyes.

“Y-you...me?”

“Yes you.” He laughed a little cupping your face and you let him wipe away your tears. “I’m sorry you aren’t pregnant, I’m really, really sorry, because it would be a privilege and an honour to father your child.”

“I-I had no idea you felt that way.”

“You’re a worse profiler than I thought you were in that case.” He teased.

“Oh if you're so good, tell me Doctor Reid, what am I thinking right now?” You gave him an unimpressed face.

“You’re thinking,” he moved one hand around to the base of your neck. “That I’m an ass and you’d be right. But you’re also thinking that you want me to kiss you.”

“Oh am I now?” You raised an eyebrow at him but you couldn’t help but glance down at his lips.

“Let’s see if I’m right.” He smirked and then he captured your lips with his own in a deep kiss. When you opened your mouth to allow his tongue access, he knew he was right.

When you pulled back both of your tears were all but gone.

“I guess I should say, I love you too by the way.” You told him with a shrug.

“Oh I know.” He shot you a smirk as he pushed himself up to his feet.

He held his hands out and you took them and he hoisted you to your feet.

“I don’t like cocky Spencer.” You grumbled.

“No, you love him.”

You nudged him playfully in the ribs. To your surprise he suddenly enveloped you in a tight embrace.

“I really am sorry you aren’t pregnant Y/N.” He kissed your head. “One day we’ll make one, I promise. But in the meantime,” he smirked to himself. “We sure can have a lot of fun practicing.”

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arrowflier · 3 years

Note

Oh! I have a prompt. Post-series, Mickey and Carl: destructive due, but like juuuust this side of legal and definitely morally ambiguous. Extra points if Mickey is protective because family's family

Okay this is definitely not what you were expecting but I was having such a hard time thinking of something for them to do lol. Of course now that I've done it I have more logical ideas but too late.😅

“Fuck, get the fucking—”

“I’m gettin it, I’m gettin it!”

“Well get it faster, I’m bleeding the fuck out over here!”

Ian groaned at the loud voices coming from the kitchen, stirring awake from where he had been napping on the living room sofa.

“The fuck is going on?” he muttered, sitting up and wiping at his dry eyes. The voices in the other room had stopped, but were replaced by loud crashes and slamming drawers as someone searched for something and, apparently, didn’t find it quickly enough.

Ian pushed himself to his feet, letting the scratchy hand-made blanket slide to the floor, and wandered on stiff legs toward the noise.

When he got far enough to see into the kitchen, he stopped and rubbed his eyes again, just to make sure he wasn’t having some kind of weird dream.

“Mickey?” Ian asked, and his husband started, looking both surprised and guilty. Mickey sat at the kitchen table, clutching a raggedy old towel around one hand, a towel that was slowly turning red with seeping blood.

“Mickey, what happened?” Ian prodded, waking up enough to realize that this was not a normal thing for a Sunday evening. They had come by the house for a late lunch and stayed to hang out and play with Franny—how had Mickey ended up bleeding in the kitchen when Ian had left him just 30 minutes ago to shut his eyes for a spell?

“Nothin’, man, everything’s fine,” Mickey answered gruffly, not meeting Ian’s eyes. “Just had a little incident, it’s all good.”

“All good?” Ian repeated, voice rising. “Mickey, you’re bleeding!”

His husband just shrugged.

“I mean, yeah, but not that bad.”

Before Ian could tear into his husband for playing down his apparent injury, Carl was returning from the bathroom off the kitchen, first aid kit in one hand.

“Found it!” he cried, waving the thing around like a victory flag. “Let’s get you patched up before Ian…”

Carl trailed off, seeing that Ian was, in fact, already awake and aware.

“Before Ian what?” Ian himself asked lowly, and Carl glanced at Mickey before offering a too-casual shrug.

Ian sighed, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes, and gestured to Carl.

“Give it here,” he ordered. “I don’t know what you two got up to, but at least let me fix it.”

Carl passed the first aid kit over without a word, throwing Mickey an apologetic glance. Ian just opened the box and set it on the table, digging through it for alcohol wipes and gauze, and sat in front of Mickey to unwind the towel from his hand.

“You promised me you’d stop doing stupid shit, you know,” Ian reminded his husband, and Mickey scowled.

“No, I promised I’d do less stupid shit,” he corrected, “and this wasn’t fuckin’ stupid.”

Ian raised an eyebrow at that claim, but Carl was ready to back Mickey up.

“It was so badass, Ian,” he gushed immediately. “You should’ve seen him!”

“Seen him do what?” Ian asked cautiously as Mickey avoided his gaze some more. Finally removing the last layer of the towel, Ian winced when he saw the cuts on Mickey’s hand. “Seen him slice himself up?” he added, but Carl shook his head.

“Nah, that happened after,” he said, then frowned. “Or during, I guess? But it wasn’t his fault, that thing had it out for him!”

Dare he ask? Ian wondered. Or, knowing his husband and his brother, perhaps the question should be dare he not?

Thing?” he made himself question, and Carl pounced on the opportunity to tell the full story. Or at least, the Carl version.

“Yeah, so there was this drone, right?” he started, and Ian was already feeling a groan coming on.

“A drone,” he said flatly, ignoring Mickey’s hiss as he wiped his hand clean.

“Yeah,” Carl went on, oblivious to Ian’s tone. “It’s been flying around here for days, always sneaking up on Debbie and Fran.”

“And did you report it?” Ian asked, already knowing the answer.

“The fuck would we do that for?” Mickey chimed in, and Ian rolled his eyes when Carl nodded his agreement.

“Carl, you’re a cop,” Ian said, exasperated.

“Yeah, but they don’t take shit like that seriously,” Carl defended, and well, Ian had to give him that. “But anyway, it showed up again just now, hovering around the pool while Franny was swimming, so we took it down.”

Ian let out a heavy breath, and closed his eyes.

“You took it down,” he said slowly. “Meaning you shot an unlicensed firearm, in the middle of the neighborhood, to destroy someone else’s personal property. And there’s probably video footage of you doing it.”

He reached for the gauze and started wrapping Mickey’s hand, tugging it just this side of too tight.

“Geez, fuckin’ relax, okay?” Mickey urged. “I didn’t use a gun, and I got it from behind. Besides, they were fuckin’ trespassing.”

“He’s right,” Carl agreed. “He got up on the roof outside our window, took it down with his knife once it was close enough.” Then Carl winced, and scratched at his head. “It just, uh, kind of caught his hand in the rotor when it went down?”

That explained the injuries, at least.

“Fine,” Ian relented, stroking a hand softly over the finished bandage and raising it to his lips for a brief kiss. “But if you ever do something like that again—”

The doorbell rang.

All three of them looked toward the front of the house, then at each other.

“Uh..” Carl voiced, and then they were all moving. Carl to throw the bloody rag in the bathroom and shut the door, Mickey to grab the knife that Ian now saw was sitting right there at the edge of the table, and Ian into the living room to answer the door.

Ian looked back once he got there, making sure Carl and Mickey were ready, and then opened the door with as casual an air as he could muster.

He wasn’t sure what he expected to see on the other side, but it wasn’t a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a thin-lipped expression.

“Uh, hi,” Ian greeted. “Can we help you?”

“You can,” the man said huffily. “I’m looking for—”

Mickey came up behind Ian, laying a steadying hand on his hip, and the man’s eyes went wide.

“You!” he hollered, pointing a shaking finger right in Mickey’s face.

“Me what?” Mickey grouched. “You got a problem, grandpa?”

“You killed my drone!” the man continued. Ian tensed, but Mickey just shrugged, unconcerned.

“So what?” he asked, not bothering to deny it.

“So I could have you arrested for destruction of property!” the man spit out, and Mickey laughed right in his face.

“Yeah right, man, try again,” he goaded. “You got no evidence.”

“I have footage,” the stranger hissed. “Of your face, when it fell.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” he asked. “What else you got footage of, huh? My sister?” He stepped around Ian, halfway through the door, and added lowly, “my underage niece?”

The man went white. “That footage is…it’s purely academic…I…I could…”

“What, you could what?” Mickey countered. “Get lost, man, and find a new hobby.”

He started to close the door, but the man shoved his foot in, wincing when the heavy wood hit it and bounced back.

“I saw your knife,” the man tried in a last ditch attempt. “You can’t have things like that in public, I could have you arrested for carrying a blade!”

“What, this one?” Mickey asked, taking the aforementioned knife out of his waistband and holding it out. The stranger shrank away from it, but Mickey held it out further.

“Go on, take it,” he urged. “And get out your ruler, asshole, ‘cause even if this weren’t private property, that thing’s within legal requirements for concealed carry.”

Ian finally interrupted, pulling Mickey back and taking his place in the doorway again.

“You heard the man,” he said to the stranger’s shocked face. “Sorry about your drone, but we have other things to worry about here.”

Then he slammed the door shut.

Ian stayed facing it for a moment, just breathing, before turning to look at his smug husband.

“That was the stupidest,” he started, stepping forward, “most harebrained—”

“Hottest?” Mickey suggested.

“Hottest,” Ian continued, then shook his head when he realized the trick. “How did you know you’d get away with all that, anyway?” he asked instead, and Carl spoke up from further in the house.

“Like you said, I’m a cop,” he cut in with a smirk. “And I don’t think that guy’ll bother us again, since he basically just admitted to spying on Fran.”

Ian blinked. “But we’re the only ones who heard that,” he pointed out, and Carl grinned wider as he showed them both his phone screen, where a recording app was paused.

“Single-party consent, bitch,” he said, and met Mickey’s high five easily.

Ian sighed again, and Mickey patted him on the shoulder in commiseration.

“Hey, look on the bright side,” Mickey said. “If I do stupid shit with your brother, I won’t go down for it.”

“Because he’s a cop?” Ian asked, and Mickey snorted, shaking his head.

“Nah,” he replied in an overdone stage-whisper. “Because he’d be easy to pin it on.”

Ian thought for a moment, watching Carl trip over the coffee table on his way back to the kitchen, then shrugged.

He couldn’t really argue with that either.

#daily speedwrite #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #carl gallagher #mickey and carl take on a peeping tom #tw: blood #this one is so weird lol #i'm sorry it's not serious at all #now I realize I should have had them like track down an evil ex or something instead that would have made more sense😂#maybe I'll do that another time #fanfic

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sunjaesol · 3 years

Text

“The simple act of being in love with you is enough for me.”

jiara | post-s2 | pining idiots | title: quote by Pacey from Dawson's Creek

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“Kie.”

“Hm?” The girl’s mop of curls obscured her face as she mumbled out some vowels, clearly still buzzed from the night before. An amused smile ticked up his lips and slapped her calf again. She sighed. “What?”

“Leggo,” he pushed, “we gotta get to Pope’s place.”

“Why?”

Even if everyone else would deny it, JJ swore Kie was as bad as he was: slow and fucking lethargic before eleven in the morning. Sure, she had better grades in school, but he wasn’t gonna give her more credit than that. Speaking of, “Helping him with that new scholarship, remember?”

The girl groaned and rolled over to face him, droopy eyes cracking open to scowl at him. She slept where he used to crash whenever his dad’s place became too much, but since the old man fucked off to Yucatán, he found peace in the quiet walls and cracked windows. Regardless, it was weird seeing her sprawled on this mattress, the boy almost able to envision himself beside her. A dangerous fantasy to linger on, so he pushed it aside and kept on trucking.

“C’mon, Kie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered and sat upright. “How did you even get in the Château?”

JJ grinned and snagged a key chain from his shorts. “Spare key. Duh.”

She rolled her eyes, uttering, “John B’s stupid,” and then pushed him out the guest room, telling him she’d get ready. His mouth opened to make the joke if he couldn’t stay and watch, but the door slammed in his face and that was that.

Having a crush on Kiara was the freakiest thing ever. First of all, JJ and emotions didn’t mesh well — it only led to trouble, a perfect example being his dad and him with the most fucked up dynamic to boot. He preferred to not even think about the man, though one glance in the mirror often betrayed his mind and brought a rush of memories to the forefront, whether it was a shiner against his eye, or the fact that he resembled his father when he was young.

So yeah, he didn’t like anything ‘love’ related. It was stupid. It was more reckless than buying a jacuzzi or trying to steal a golden cross from a boat with dozens of armed men. Friendship, however, was easy. He told the Pogues just that: they were ‘it’ for him, he’d go through fire for them, through hell and fucking back.

But he didn’t think he’d actually die for them, which almost happened when he tried saving Kie on the Coastal Venture — to which she ended up saving him. (A vision illuminated by a golden sun, hovering over him. He’d never forget it.)

While he inspected the contents of the fridge, embarrassingly filled with only beer, eggs, milk and junk food, the door creaked open and revealed a dressed and less-wrecked Kiara. His gaze flicked up and down her frame, quick, and then averted it back to the fridge.

“You got no food, man.”

She chuckled. “I know. It’s not exactly The Wreck type of food…”

“You haven’t gone back?”

“Nope,” she replied, curt, and moved past him to shove a container of sausages aside to grab a bottle of almond milk. Even if she wasn’t with her parents, she still somehow kept up her ‘no dairy’ principles.

Also, Kiara was hella beautiful. He hadn’t let it register when she walked in, but it was true. Her soft-looking, shiny skin, sporting the prettiest smile in all of the OBX, and she was just hot. Especially when she propped herself on the kitchen counter, to which he settled beside her to not look at her legs.

“How many scholarships are there?” she asked. “Like, I’m obviously proud of him, but…”

“He told us last night,” JJ laughed. “You were that fucking high?”

She giggled, “Yeah! You were there, I was just on my ass.” And then, quieter, “And… I don’t know, I guess I’ve been kind of distracted.”

He perked up, surprised. Though the Pogues were family, openly talking about emotions when it wasn’t prompted by anything, remained rare. They were better at talking shit and smoking and napping on boats. Whatever, he took the bait.

“Why?”

She shook her head. “It’s stupid, JJ.”

“Kie, you’re talking to me,” he nudged her shoulder, “throw me a bone here. Is it Pope? You got the hots for our favourite nerd again?”

Taking a sip from the bottle, her brow quirked up as though that was the stupidest thing he ever said, and retorted with, “Why’re you always doing that?”

His hands raised instantly, defensive. “Doing what?”

“You’re always digging, like, when I was with Pope you got all weird.”

“I don’t dig.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. Kie, what’s up?” He kept it moving before she found the core of his problem, and bounced back to the original issue. “Before I start saying shit to Pope.”

She scoffed. “You're full of shit.”

“Oh, Kie,” he drawled with a smirk. “You can do better than that.”

Silence fell. He waited, fiddling with his fingers, and quietly hoped Pope wouldn't be too annoyed when they arrived late — then again, they were begrudgingly coined 'tortoise and tortoise' by the group anyway.

She placed the bottle back in the fridge and sent him a rueful smile, one he often saw her showing Sarah before they went aside and had a private talk. Their eyes locked and she finally spoke.

“Sometimes, I… I miss my parents. And it's like, I don't get how they don't just accept that I'm a Pogue, that I'm friends with you guys, you know? But I still miss them.” She looked down at her feet, crossing at the ankles like a little girl waiting to be reprimanded by the teacher. “I miss my dad's hugs.”

Instantly, his arm swung around her for a gentle side hug, a grateful smile pulling on her lips as she leaned into him. Both knew they should savour a moment like this, as hugging with a twitchy JJ and often irritated Kie happened once every blue moon.

Ignoring the guilty look in her eye — yeah, he didn't understand missing a paternal embrace, rather used to a blow in the stomach or a crude remark, but that didn't mean he lacked empathy — he resisted the urge to encourage her to reconnect with them. Knowing her, she'd just close up and glare at him for the rest of the day.

So no, he wasn't going to ask her. And no, she shouldn't feel guilty. P4L 'til the end, baby.

“Thanks, JJ,” she whispered.

He snickered and pushed her off. “You can't tell the guys I'm becoming soft, dude. Theyʼll give me so much shit for it.”

“They know you're soft,” she teased, “don't even try.”

“I'm tough,” he tried.

“Like Play-Doh.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled and motioned at the kitchen door. “Let's go, Carrera. Before John B and Sarah come back and act all married.”

Now that was fucking annoying. After John B and Sarah faked their death, they got married by a bandana strip and hadn't let that notion go after returning. Sure, there was that small blip when they were fighting the crazy religious chick, but that was old news.

John B made him swear he wouldn't tell a soul, but the guy waxed poetry about Sarah whenever they were drunk and alone. It was hilariously sad. Another man lost to a girl.

(“She wants a beach wedding,” JB sighed a couple nights ago. “Nice, right?”

“I– yeah, I really don't care about this, man.”)

JJ knew that when he got a girlfriend (Kiara unintentionally but also very intentionally crossed his mind), he'd act normal. No mushy shit. No poetry. Definitely no creepy Romeo and Juliet references thrown in as if that shouldn't freak the Pogues out. Their behaviour better not be infectious.

Expectedly, Pope's scowl reached them all the way from the car, Kie and JJ sharing a sheepish look before stepping out.

“Gee, guys,” the boy deadpanned, “thanks for making haste. Really appreciate it.”

JJ's wide grin hoped to salvage it. Slapping his friend on the shoulder, he pushed past him and yelled, “Kie was dead, dude!”

Pope grimaced. “Don't joke about that.”

He watched as Kie stopped beside Pope with an apologetic expression, telling him she overslept and was sorry and that he knew how JJ was — “Always joking.”

His chapped lips pursed, a familiar punch hitting his chest with him then pretending it didn't hurt. She always did this. Even if she claimed she didn't, she always took Pope's side. Relationship or not. JJ knew she didn't owe him her 'side', but it'd be a nice change of pace either way.

Whatever. This wasn't the JJ Pining For Kiara Show. Pope needed their help.

A state-wide scholarship competition gave Pope another shot at winning a huge chunk of money (no gold type of rich though) and getting his ass out of OBX, hopefully launching himself into some fancy college when he revealed to be of Denmark Tanny's lineage. Those hibrow assholes loved a good sob story.

All Pope had to do was score hella high on some test — easy — and impress the panel — not so easy — and he'd be the luckiest Pogue of all.

But that did mean Kie and him had to sit on his creaky bed with a freaky amount of flashcards while a stressed out Pope paced around his room. He was pretty sure the floor was eroding.

Also, he had no fucking clue what any of the flashcards meant. Did Pope's smarts really attracted Kie that much? Was it the brain? Brain over brawl? But where was the fun in that? JJ loved Pope to death, but the guy had to be fully medicated or high before his brain shut off and he acted carefree.

“Pope, do you even know what this all means?” Kie bemoaned, flipping the cards around.

“You got a dictionary somewhere?” added JJ, squinting at the word aberration. It sounded like some weird disease. He showed him the word.

Pope dismissed it. “It means: different from the norm.”

“Dude, why not write that then?”

“Because they want aberration.”

He didn't get it. “No one uses it though.”

“JJ, that's just the way it is,” Pope pressed.

“Guys, stop,” Kiara interrupted. “But honestly Pope, it's so, like, elitist. None of these questions are important to the world, or the well-being of the people.”

“Sorry, Kiara, but unfortunately not everyone cares that much,” he sighed. JJ could tell they were starting to annoy their friend, their tortoise bullshit bleeding through.

Her nose scrunched up, peeved. “Right. Because there's a planet B just waiting to be used by us. Duh.”

“Ooh,” JJ drawled, nudging her arm. “Are there donkeys shitting money?”

Kie laughed. “Yes. All beaches, clean air, no Kooks, and money-shitting donkeys.”

“Nah, I want it to be hella Kooky,” he joked, gesturing wildly. “I want a yacht and tell people someone else does my laundry, or something.”

“You don't even do your laundry anyway,” she bounced back with a roll of the eye. “I know you force John B.”

“He's already playing House with Sarah, might as well wash my underwear, too.”

Oh, man. He could do this all day. Talking shit with Kiara went as smooth as fishing for him. Each time he thought he one-upped her, she threw more on top and kept it going 'til neither knew what the point even was anymore. Sarah dubbed it as 'banter' which he believed was a rich way of saying 'talking smack.'

“I don't believe you even know how to do it,” she challenged.

JJ huffed and crossed his arms. “I can do it.”

A smirk bloomed on her lips as she kept jabbing. “It's kinda cute, how you need John B to be your mom.”

“I don't.”

“You literally said it five seconds ago.”

“Guys,” Pope groaned, followed by an exhausted sigh eerily similar to Heyward. “Can we get back to the flashcards?”

Kie and JJ were too far into their discussion though, jabbing at each other at rapid speed. Then she threw her cards at him and all bets were off. He yelled she should make a goal with her hands, to which he folded up a flashcard and shot it straight between her fingers.

And that was when Pope kicked them out. JJ presumed it was a victory they lasted as long as they did. Kie kept apologising over her shoulder, prompting Pope to ask Cleo for help instead.

For a beat, they were silent stepping out of his place and back into the car. JJ felt a stab of guilt for fucking up Pope's study time, but it was hard to dial his brain to school when his friends surrounded him. Just when he wanted to ask if she felt bad too, she went off about the climate — as usual.

“It's so dumb how there were no questions about the environment or human rights or, or anything like that! It's all science and lit, like, there's more to life than fucking chemistry formulas!”

“I skipped those cards. Didn't get them.”

“It's so fucked,” she hummed. “And I'm obviously glad that you drove to the Château to wake me up and all—”

“Yeah?”

“—but I really wish those questions would matter. We almost died, JJ!”

“No, shit,” he grumbled, quickly starting to lose his patience with the ranting girl. She didn't even realise what the fuck she was saying anymore — what she did to his heart, skipping like some elemtary school girl on the playground, when she slipped some nice words in.

“Died!” she pressed. “Why even care about stuff like that?”

“Fucks sake, Kie—”

“And I didn't want to say it, but did you see how many flashcards there were? How many trees were cut for that? It's like, hello, Quizlet exists!”

“Kie, shut up!” he yelled.

Her mouth fell slack, gobsmacked, gawking at him like his interruption was a slap in the face.

Gesturing wildly with one hand, he exclaimed, “You know, you can just go on and on and I hear you talking and it's like, yeah, we get it, Mother Earth needs to be saved, we're fucked, you don't gotta repeat it twenty-four seven.”

“What the hell, JJ!”

“You have an opinion about everything! A man gets tired!”

“A man?” She scoffed. “You're not even eighteen.”

“Point is you don't gotta act all preachy all the time.” He turned the corner, hands tightening around the steering wheel.

Kie scowled. “Where is this coming from? I'm not preachy, I'm educating you.”

Now that was just fucking with his head. Incredulous, he exclaimed, “You think I don't listen? Kie, I'm the only one that does. JB is on Planet Sarah all the damn time and Pope only did shit 'cause—"

"That!” she yelled, throwing her hands up with frustration. “That's what I mean! You're doing it again! You dig!”

“What?!”

“Every time you mention Pope and I, you dig. You needle!” Twisting in her seat, his gaze flickered to catch her disgruntled expression. “Why do you do that? It's so… sus.”

JJ laughed. “Sus?”

“You don't ask John B about Sarah.”

“'Cause they're fucking obvious.”

“Still,” she pressed. “Did I do something to piss you off? Is that it? Is it me constantly asking you to recycle and yet — shocker! — you never do?!”

“Fucking God,” he grumbled under his breath.

With frazzled thoughts and shaking hands, adrenaline coursed through him as he swerved to the side of the road and stopped the car. If he fought with Kie any longer to this degree of fuckery, they were gonna crash.

She frowned. “What're you doing?”

“You, Carrera, are driving me insane,” he deadpanned, matter-of-fact. Then he slammed the door open and stepped out, desperate to catch his breath.

In the back of his mind, he had an inkling as to why he was so keyed up. Kiara would call him a Neandethal, but fuck it, here was the truth: Kiara was hot as hell when she argued with him.

Following his lead, she got out, her sneakers stomping against the asphalt. The sun steeped low on the horizon, the light hitting the hood and reflecting onto her face; her curls shifting from dark brown to gold. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was so fucked. He almost missed the start of her spiel, too enthralled.

“I'm driving you insane? I'm always getting you out of trouble, because you never think things through! You never see the bigger picture!”

He rolled his eyes. “Bigger picture? The only thing I see, Kie, is you going on about nature. That easy.” And then, before he could stop himself, he spewed out, “And you don't have to do that.”

“What?”

“Getting me out of trouble,” he said, pursing his lips. “That's not your responsibility.”

“Right. Duh. Because after everything we've been through, I can't care about you,” she exclaimed, face twisting up in pure fury. She got in his space, shoving his shoulder, but when he didn't budge, it only seemed to anger her more.

JJ didn't know what was going on anymore. Why was she so mad? Even if she didn't want to admit it, he was telling the truth. Of course all the Pogues had each other's back, but Kiara doted over him more than was necessary. The constant checking of injuries, limiting his day drinking, all that. Like he was some child!

He leaned in and mumbled, “I can take care of myself.”

Kie smirked. “Then do your own laundry.”

It happened naturally. One second he stared at her furious eyes and thought about how much he loved arguing with her despite the bullshit, the next his fingers curled into her hair and pulled her in a fierce kiss.

At first, her hands laid frozen on his shoulders, surprised, but the moment he realised his impulsive decision was a mistake, they slid around his neck and kept him close.

JJ sighed in relief and deepened the kiss he'd been craving ever since they were fourteen and Kie went from gangly to statuesque. Her lips were warm and soft and her hands were soft and she hadn't let go and holy shit — he was kissing Kiara Carrera.

The kiss lessened when her mouth quirked into a smile, their grins pressing flush together, and JJ shivered from delight. Oh, man. He was gone.

“You drive me damn crazy, Kie,” he murmured, voice dropped to an undeniably soft tone.

She bit back her silly grin and whispered, “Good.”

Taking a deep breath, he tried focusing up, but all he could do was stare at her face. A shy hand grabbed hers.

He had to get it out of the way now, or else he'd kick himself later. “I'm… really into you. I'm– oh, fuck, uh–”

“Maybe we can talk about it not on the side of the road?” she suggested, amused.

JJ grinned, elated (What was the word he saw on the flashcards? Exalted!), and kissed her again, because he could.

On the ride back to the Château, he confessed to seeing her in a different light for years, while she couldn't really pinpoint a time or moment, that it just happened. It didn't matter, though he was in utter disbelief that he and Kie were having this conversation. No jokes, no BS, all seriousness. Tomorrow, he'd wake up and it wouldn't be some sick dream. Kie liked him back.

JJ was sure he'd doubt himself or overthink it in the future, but today, he'd bask in the certainty and the major ego boost.

“Okay, but did you ever legit like Pope then?”

A sheepish smile crawled up her cheeks as her gaze averted to the window. “I thought I did. But we have, like, no chemistry, so…” She shook her head. “I was confused.”

“That's okay,” he uttered. He couldn't give her shit for it. Even if he did torture himself with their short-lived relationship, he understood.

How would he react though? John B and Sarah wouldn't care, or Cleo, but Pope? He didn't want one of his brothers hating him. Being iced out by the guy fucking sucked, as it meant he was truly hurt and therefore meant JJ truly fucked up. He couldn't handle disappointing him.

Kie read his mind. “He'll be fine with it.”

“I dunno, man…”

“He will,” she repeated. “We're Pogues. We've all narrowly survived death. And besides…” She turned back to him with a secretive grin. “I think he has a thing for Cleo.”

Whoa. He did not see that coming. His brows shot up to his hairline, mentally kicking himself for being so focused on Kie that he didn't even notice the shift of interest between Pope and Cleo. They made sense, too. Know-it-all's, but well-meaning, and only speaking when needed.

If the idea didn't relief him of worries, he'd be concerned as to why they were all seamlessly coupled up like in some 90s sitcom Big John had on VHS.

“What a player,” he joked.

“Tell me about it.”

They arrived at the house, the Twinkie and Sarah's bike sprawled on the overgrown front lawn. JJ frowned. He had hoped to have some alone time with Kie, not to jump her bones and fulfill a regular dream of his, but to talk. To figure it out. He wanted to do this right. Because after everything, they deserved to have good things, to start on a high note — he deserved it.

Kie noticed it, too. Puckering her lips on contemplation, her gaze trailed from him to the rest of the property, ending on the trusty ol' hammock. She jabbed her thumb at it.

“Let's sit there.”

Normally, they laid on opposite ends on the hammock, if they even shared one to begin with. But now, she pressed herself right beside him and he felt like heaven dropped down on them in the best way possible. He suddenly understood what John B was lamenting about — the company, intimacy, the ease. Nerves rippled through his body like a summer storm, but he figured that was what it cost to lose one's mind over a girl.

He didn't know what to say, so Kiara spoke instead.

“I don't want us, the way we are around each other, to change, you know?” she said. “Like, I don't want you to think you have to act like some mellow ass boyfriend all of a sudden.”

He smirked. “Who said anything about boyfriend?”

“Bye.”

“Hey, wait,” he grinned, latching onto her arm before she pushed herself out. “C'mon, Kie.”

Her nose scrunched up. “I don't do this usually, okay?”

“You think I do?” he asked. His hand softly slid down to wrap around hers, to which she hooked their fingers together. Okay. Wow. It felt so damn nice that it propelled him to say, “I wanna be your boyfriend, Kie.”

The girl smiled and then surprised him by leaning in herself, pressing a gentle kiss on his chapped lips. It was overwhelming having her instigate it, his gut twisting up in excitement like when he was about to backflip from a boat, or cliff dive, or something similar like that.

He let go of her hand to cup her cheeks, only to whisper, “That's a yes, yeah? Gotta get a yes.”

“Yes, JJ,” she uttered back. “Here's to not fucking this up.”

“Cheers, baby.”

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#jiara #outer banks #obx #obx fanfiction #otp: cause i'll come #It's messy but in a cute way

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