#I get irritated at the way my best friend talks to her two year old

[clementimetodie]

not just this, either. you think kids can't hear your condescension? parents will think they're doing so great not yelling at their kids, meanwhile they talk to them like they're idiots. kids are so smart. hell, babies are so smart. the speed at which they can figure things out is amazing. they just don't know a lot yet. and once you start a bad habit it's hard to stop.

Why are so many people convinced that babies are trying to manipulate them? They’re babies. They literally don’t know how to do anything except suck and scream and be confused. They’re not “manipulating” you. They’re experiencing extreme back pain.

Did you know that? That babies get back pain? They can grow over an inch in one day. Their bones are stretching and it hurts a lot and they don’t know why. Give them a break.

[dixons-sunshine]

Hazelnut | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl didn’t know exactly what he expected when his group settled into Alexandria—maybe some snobby, incompetent inhabitants who couldn’t stand their ground if something were to happen or people who would turn on him and his group at any given moment, but definitely not a little girl who basically attached herself to his hip. And he definitely didn’t expect to find himself drawn to the mother of that little girl.

Genre: Fluff, angst but not a lot.

Era: Alexandria, pre Saviour war. (Timeline is kinda wonky. Saviours kinda don’t exist in this? I don’t really know.)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, child abandonment, mental abuse, mentions of drugs and alcohol, single parenthood, sexual content but not smut.

Word count: 8.1k.

A/n: This was such a cute idea that @louifaith had! I tried my best, but it honestly sucks. I’m not really happy with how this turned out, but I hope you like it! Also, definitely go check out @celtic-crossbow’s version! Pure perfection, honestly.

“You have to lighten up, Daryl. How do you expect to make any friends with that ��leave me alone’ attitude of yours?”

Daryl grumbled to himself as he continued tinkering with his crossbow. The hot late afternoon sun was relentlessly beating down on the community as its inhabitants continued about their tasks. Daryl had silently been observing everyone from the porch steps he was sitting on, enjoying the moment of solitude he had, but Carol had other ideas.

“Daryl,” Carol started, crossing her arms as she descended down the steps. She turned around to face Daryl, her voice stern. “It would do you good to socialize a bit.”

“I talked to Tobin when we finished up with the construction of the new walls yesterday,” Daryl replied nonchalantly, keeping his eyes focused on his crossbow instead of the stern woman in front of him.

“That doesn’t count. That’s work talk. I'm talking about actual socialising. Like, striking up a conversation with someone that isn’t in our group or someone you have to talk to for work.”

“I dun’ need to. Y’all are the only company I need. Ain’t gon’ waste my time tryna make buddies with people who dun’ even like me,” Daryl responded with a sense of finality, gripping his crossbow and getting up. “Now get off my back, woman.”

“Where are you going?” Carol called after him, watching the archer walk away from the house.

“Somewhere,” he replied shortly, ending the conversation effectively.

Slightly irritated, Daryl walked with no particular destination in mind. He passed by some people who sent him friendly greetings and small waves, which he returned half-heartedly. After a while of mindlessly walking about, Daryl stopped in front of a makeshift park of sorts. It was a small area surrounded by grass and had a big tree towards the edge. He moved to sit on the grass underneath the shade of the tree. The few kids in the community loved to play in this area, but it was deserted for now; the perfect place for the archer to relax for a while.

Daryl went about sharpening his knife for a while. The mediocre task kept his mind busy, busy enough to ignore the parents and kids who arrived, busy enough to ignore the wary stares the parents threw his way. Daryl simply shook his head—even after two months, there were still people who were wary of him and the rest of his group. Even after everything they did and sacrificed to ensure the community's safety.

“Mistah lonely?”

Startled, Daryl’s head shot up and his eyes locked with those of a little girl who looked no older than three years old. The girl looked at him with curiosity written all over her young face, eyeing the knife in the archer’s hands with wonder. She tentatively reached forward to touch the knife, her fingertips close to making contact with the cold metal of the dangerous weapon.

Daryl jerked the knife away and out of reach of the young girl. “Dun’ touch that,” he barked coldly, standing up to keep the knife out of the young girl’s reach.

“Sharp mife?” the girl questioned, moving closer towards the archer. She reached up to grab his arm, trying to reach the knife.

Daryl frowned at the girl. He gently pried his arm away from the girl’s grasp and took a step back, unnerved by the soft touch of the child’s hands. That didn't seem to deter the girl, however.

“Mistah use sharp mife?”

“Scram, kid. Go back to yer mama.”

“Mama?” the girl asked, her eyes lighting up at the mere mention of her mother. “Mama! Get Mama!”

“What? No, that ain’t—” Daryl started, but was abruptly cut off when the girl took off and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, wobbling more like a penguin than anything else. Daryl raised his eyebrows as he watched the girl’s retreating figure, confused by the interaction he just had.

Well, he thought, at least that’s the end of that. However, as Daryl gathered his crossbow and sheathed his knife, he inwardly groaned at the sound of the little girl’s voice calling out to him.

“Mistah! Mama here!”

Daryl turned and looked at two approaching figures. The young girl was holding a woman’s hand, leading the woman over to him. The woman was laughing lightly, allowing herself to be pulled by the little girl.

“Come, Mama!” the little girl giggled, excitedly tugging your hand harder.

“Okay, okay! No need to rip my hand off,” you laughed, soon coming to a stop in front of Daryl.

Daryl looked at you with a frown, scowling slightly. His eyes darted between the excited little girl and you, slightly taken aback by the friendliness you radiated. Despite everything he had done for the community up until that point, only a few select Alexandrians—mainly Aaron and Eric—didn’t show him any contempt or wariness. Yet there you were, smiling up at him and looking as pretty as a picture.

“Mama,” the little girl excitedly told him, pointing up to you. She smiled at you, dimples forming on her chubby cheeks.

Well, the kid certainly knew how to follow orders. He had told her to go get her mama, and there you were.

“I'm Y/N. You must be Daryl?” You introduced yourself, extending your hand for a handshake.

Daryl looked at your hand, not moving to take it. However, just as you were about to lower your hand awkwardly at his dismissal, the little girl stepped forward.

“Like this, mistah,” she instructed, taking the archer’s hand and putting it in yours.

Daryl flinched at the contact and quickly withdrew his hand, looking at the little girl with a small frown. He looked back at you, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

This was the worst random social situation he’d ever been in.

“Sorry,” you apologized, giving him a sheepish smile before turning back to your daughter. “Hazel, we don’t touch people unless they say we can, alright?”

“Sorry, Mama,” Hazel apologized half-heartedly, not fully understanding what you were saying. She turned back to look at Daryl. “Sorry, Dar.”

“Daryl,” the archer corrected her with a gruff tone of voice, talking for the first time since you had approached him.

Hazel looked up at him in confusion. “Dar,” she repeated herself, a look of concentration on her face.

“No, ‘s—nevermind. Forget it,” Daryl grumbled, shifting his weight from his one leg to the other. He looked back to you again and noticed how awkward you looked, your lips pursed as you avoided his eyes.

“Sorry. She has trouble with pronouncing some words and names. I’m working on helping her with that,” you explained, your body language exuding a challenging aura, as if daring him to insult your daughter for something as miniscule as not being able to pronounce a name.

Daryl noticed the defensive tone in your voice and noticed your defensive stature, making him raise his eyebrows questioningly, yet he refrained from questioning why. “S’alrigh’,” he mumbled, awkwardly fiddling with his crossbow that was slung over his shoulder.

“Okay,” you said, gathering Hazel up into your arms. “Well, it was nice meeting you, but I have to get going. I have to get this gremlin ready for dinner. Sorry for bothering you.”

With that, you turned around and retreated back towards the houses, Hazel happily babbling in your arms. Daryl watched your retreating figure with a sense of uneasiness. In that short interaction, he found himself unexplainably drawn to you. He didn't know you, but some part of him wanted to get to know you.

However, as quickly as that thought entered his mind, he just as quickly disregarded it. He didn’t need to get attached to any more people, especially people who couldn’t protect themselves in this harsh world they were forced to live in. In the end, everyone he cared about died or left, so it was better to spare himself the inevitable pain and keep you and your daughter at an arm’s length.

Something told him that it would be easier said than done, however.

The next morning, Daryl found himself working alongside Aaron. The two of them were busy carrying large pieces of metal to the wall they were busy fortifying, Aaron making casual small talk while Daryl simply hummed in acknowledgement. Once the last piece of metal was added to the already existing pile, the two men wiped the sweat from their foreheads and took a drink of water, before walking over to Aaron’s house. Aaron took a seat on the porch steps while Daryl remained standing on the grass.

“So yeah, that’s how I met Eric,” Aaron told him, concluding his long and winded tale.

“Story straight out a damn romance novel,” Daryl replied sarcastically, eliciting a laugh from Aaron.

“Yeah, yeah. Make fun of it all you want. Everyone always does.”

“Nah, s’a good story. Pretty cliche with the whole spillin’ yer coffee on his shirt bit, but s’still a good story,” Daryl reassured him. “Now c’mon, didn’t ya say somethin’ ‘bout havin’ a part for my bike?”

“Dar!”

As if materializing out of thin air, Hazel excitedly bounded down the porch steps of Aaron’s home and threw herself against Daryl, clinging to his leg in a hug. Caught off guard, Daryl stumbled a bit but quickly regained his footing, his eyes darting down to look at Hazel. His eyebrows raised in surprise before he gently pried the girl from his legs, not used to any kid other than his little Asskicker clinging to him like that.

“Kid, what are ya doin’?” he questioned, taking a step back from her, but it was to no avail. Hazel simply smiled up at him before throwing herself at him again, clinging to his leg like a koala bear.

Aaron chuckled. “I see you’ve met Hazel. She’s quite the character, huh?”

“What’s she even doin’ here?”

“Eric asked to babysit her. He loves having her over, and her mom said yes.”

Hazel giggled against Daryl’s leg, turning her head to look at Aaron. “Hi, Rin!”

“Hey, Hazel,” Aaron chuckled fondly, sending the girl a small wave.

“Rin?” Daryl questioned, placing one of his big hands on the little girl’s head, accepting his fate of being clung to for the time being.

“She can’t say my name properly,” Aaron explained. “She has trouble with pronouncing things sometimes.”

“Yeah, her mama said somethin’ ‘bout that,” Daryl said without really thinking about it.

“So you’ve met her?” Aaron asked, leaning forward with slight interest. He had a small smirk on his face, one that Daryl couldn’t quite decipher.

“Briefly. Hazel practically dragged her over to meet me yesterday,” Daryl replied, looking down at Hazel when he felt her grip loosen on his leg.

Hazel looked up at him and raised her arms, looking at him expectantly. “Upsies,” she said, jumping slightly on her toes. “Dar, upsies!”

To his complete and utter surprise, Daryl found himself leaning down to pick her up. The act hadn’t even fully registered in his brain until the small girl was already in his arms, her small, chubby hands gripping at his shirt as she giggled. The small sound of her laughter made the archer’s heart fill with a sudden and unexpected fondness, completely taking him by surprise. It was the same type of fondness that filled his heart whenever he coaxed a laugh from little Judith, and yet it was completely different at the same time. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“She seems to like you, Daryl,” Aaron laughed, standing up from his position on the porch steps. “Not a lot of people can say that about her.”

“What do ya mean?” Daryl found himself questioning, confused entirely by the man’s revelation. From the limited interactions that the archer has had with the young girl up until that point, he naturally assumed that Hazel was that way with everyone. What would make him special enough to the little girl, who had just met him, to make her treat him differently than she would others?

Aaron motioned for Daryl to follow him into the house, and he obliged, silently entering the pristine house while still carrying Hazel in his arms. The girl took a great interest in his hair, playing with it to entertain herself.

“From what Y/N told us, she was with a group before she got here who treated her and Hazel horribly, and Hazel hasn’t fully regained her trust in adults yet,” Aaron explained.

Daryl frowned. “Badly, how?”

“She wouldn’t say, but it took forever for Eric and I to gain Hazel’s trust. We even tried to bribe her with candy but she wouldn’t budge. But she seems to trust you and you said you only met her yesterday?”

“Yeah. She approached me at that makeshift park the kids play at,” Daryl nodded, rubbing a hand over Hazel’s small back subconsciously, shifting her in his arms slightly.

“Then you’re definitely special, buddy. This kid doesn’t trust easily,” Aaron declared, sitting down on a chair in the dining room.

Daryl followed his lead, taking a seat across from him on a chair while still holding the small girl firmly in his arms. Hazel’s attention shifted from his hair to the loose threads on his sleeveless shirt, playing with them to keep herself occupied.

“They were with a group ‘fore this? How long have they been here?” Daryl questioned, interested in knowing more about you, although he didn’t know why.

“Yeah. Hazel and her mom haven’t been here all that long. I actually found them a couple of days, maybe a week, before I found you all. From what I know, Y/N and Hazel had been on their own for a while before I found them. Y/N almost killed me the first time we met. She thought I was gonna hurt them. It took me and Eric a while to convince her to come back with us, but even then she refused to let her guard down. She was kind of like Rick when we first met, except she didn't tie me up or force me to eat apple sauce.”

Daryl hummed, hissing slightly when he felt Hazel tug at his hair rather harshly. He brought one of his hands up to pry her hand away from his hair, subconsciously rubbing his thumb over her small fist. “That hurts,” he told her softly, surprising himself by the gentleness of his usually gruff voice.

“Sorry, Dar,” Hazel apologized half-heartedly. She yawned before laying her head down on his shoulder. She wrapped her small arms around his neck, nuzzling her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder.

Daryl felt his heart swell with fondness for the second time that day. He gently rubbed her back. From his experience with Judith, that small action could lull a small child into slumber, and he hoped that proved to be correct with Hazel.

“You’re good at that,” Aaron commented, a smile on his face as he watched that small interaction between the big, ‘scary’ man and the small, innocent child.

Daryl looked at him, confused by the look the man was sending him. “Good at what?” he inquired, genuinely curious.

“That,” Aaron repeated himself, motioning to Hazel. “Were you a dad before all of this?”

Daryl stiffened at the question. “Nah,” he shook his head, adjusting Hazel in his arms again. “Not the type’a guy who could’ve started a family back then.”

“And now?” Aaron asked, unaware of Daryl’s inner turmoil.

Daryl inhaled sharply. “To start a family, ya need a partner,” Daryl started, slightly rocking the small girl in his arms. “I ain’t got a partner, and there ain’t exactly women linin’ up to be with me, so kids ain’t somethin’ I see in my future.”

“It could still happen, you know? You might meet someone. Hell, you know what? I know you’ll meet someone.”

“A lot of confidence for somethin’ that most likely won’t ever happen,” Daryl grumbled.

“Never say never, Daryl,” Aaron replied, giving the man a small smirk. “Never say never.”

“Mama! Mama!” Hazel called through the house, excitement evident in her voice.

You smiled at the sound of your daughter’s voice, glad to be able to see her again after a whole day of being alone in your small house. The sun was setting, the stars starting to twinkle in the sky and you were almost done with dinner. Eric had told you that he would bring Hazel back before sunset and you were starting to get worried, but thankfully she seemed to be okay.

You walked into the living room and hunched down to pick up the small girl that ran into your arms, hugging her tightly to you as you placed kisses all over her face. She giggled at the sensation and pulled back, grabbing your hand and excitedly pointing towards the door.

“Mama, Dar here,” she said, smiling widely before turning towards the door.

You followed her line of sight and locked eyes with the archer. You stood up and gave him an awkward smile, painfully aware of the awkward encounter you had with the man the day before. Daryl seemed to mirror your unease; he nervously shifted his weight from one leg to the other, ducking his head to avoid your gaze.

“I see that, Sweetheart,” you replied, keeping your eyes locked on the man before you.

“I played with Rin and Eric. Dar played too!” Hazel happily exclaimed, clapping her hands together in excitement as she looked up at Daryl in awe.

“Did he, now?” you asked rhetorically, marvelling at the sudden and unexpected change of character for the quiet man. Just the day before, he had shrugged Hazel off and seemed to want nothing to do with her, yet now your daughter was claiming that the huntsman had spent time with her that day. It didn’t make any sense whatsoever.

“Yeah! So fun!” Hazel laughed happily, waddling over to Daryl to seemingly hug his leg again.

Daryl, who had been hugged multiple times by the toddler that day, instinctively crouched down to have her hug his side instead of his leg. Hazel wrapped her small arms around him and nuzzled her head into his neck, and Daryl couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face. One day had been more than enough for him to grow fond of the small girl, and he cursed himself for letting his guard down enough for that to happen, but the damage was already done; that little girl had already wormed her way into his heart.

“I'm glad you enjoyed yourself,” you smiled at her, watching the interaction between the archer and your baby girl. “Baby, why don't you go get changed into your blue PJ’s, huh? You're a big girl now, right? Think you can get changed without Mama’s help?”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed happily, pulling away from the hug and giving Daryl a smile, dimples on full display. “Bye, Dar!”

“Bye, Hazel,” Daryl greeted her quietly, watching the girl waddle to the stairs and begin to climb them carefully. He then hesitantly shifted his attention to you, but instead of seeing that wariness he’d grown accustomed to other parents giving him, one that he expected you to give him after his encounter with you the day before, there was a look of curiosity and wonder in your eyes.

“Thanks for bringing her home,” you thanked him, offering the archer a small smile.

Daryl ducked his head. “Ain’t nothin’,” he replied, shaking his head.

“So, you spent the day with her?” you started, looking at him questioningly. “By the way you looked uncomfortable around her yesterday, I figured you’d avoid her at all costs.”

“I was spendin’ the day helpin’ Aaron. He invited me to his place ‘cause he had a part I needed for my bike and Hazel was there. She wouldn’t let go of me after she saw me,” Daryl explained, fiddling with his hands.

“So she basically forced you into spending time with her?” you asked with a small laugh, your eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Pretty much,” Daryl joked, his lips involuntarily twitching into a small smile.

You laughed lightly and Daryl chuckled softly, admiring the way your eyes seemingly sparkled. The dim light of the living room gave you a golden glow, and Daryl found himself admiring your beauty. The unnerving thought struck him at full force and he tried to shake that thought from his mind—he couldn’t let his mind go there. He wouldn’t let his mind go there. He had to keep you at an arm’s length. It was bad enough that Hazel had broke through his barrier in one measly day, so he couldn’t allow her mom to do the same, too. More attachments definitely wasn’t something the archer needed.

“Well, Hazel seems happy. I think you’ve just became her best friend, whether you like it or not,” you told him playfully.

“I have a feeling that I ain’t got much say in the matter.

“Nope,” you laughed. “But thank you. She hasn’t looked that happy in a long time.”

“Glad I could help,” Daryl replied, a small smile on his face. “Sorry for bein’ a dick yesterday.”

“It’s fine. We shouldn't have bothered you.”

“Ya weren’t botherin’ me. I jus’... Weren’t in a good mood, s’all. M’sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” You gave him a sweet smile before turning around. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Daryl frowned in confusion but didn’t say anything. A few minutes passed until you reentered the living room, a lunchbox in your hand. You promptly handed it to him, and Daryl could feel the heat radiating off the bottom.

“What’s this?” he asked, giving you a questioning look.

“Stew. I made more than Hazel and I can finish, so I figured I’d give you some. And before you say anything, just take it. Consider it a thank you gift.”

Daryl pursed his lips but nodded, resisting the urge to deny your ‘gift’. “Thanks.”

“No problem at all,” you reassured him, looking up at him with a smile that made his heart flutter uncontrollably.

Daryl ducked his head, willing the blush on his face to go away. “I should get goin’,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

“I’ll walk you out,” you replied, making good of your promise by walking with him over to the door.

Daryl stepped out of your home and turned to you. He gave you a nod and turned to walk away, but stopped when he heard you speak up.

“I hope you realize that she isn’t gonna let you off the hook. You’re going to be stuck with her now. And my daughter and I are a package deal, so you’re going to be stuck with me, too.”

For some unknown reason, Daryl didn’t mind that thought at all.

“Easy, Hazelnut. Ya dun’ wanna hurt yerself, do ya?”

The toddler giggled, her small hands toying with the arrow in her hands. “Sorry, Dar.”

Daryl smiled at the small girl, bringing one of his hands up to ruffle her hair, successfully coaxing another laugh from her. “I know ya are. Jus’ try to be more careful, alright? I dun’ want ya gettin’ hurt.”

“No boo-boos. Boo-boos hurt,” Hazel replied, gingerly handing the arrow back to the archer.

“They do,” Daryl agreed, taking the arrow from the girl. “That’s why ya gotta be careful, alright? Dun’ want anythin’ to happen to someone as sweet as ya, Hazelnut.”

Hazel giggled and nodded. “No boo-boos.”

“No boo-boos,” Daryl repeated, smiling fondly at the young girl.

Two months had passed since Daryl had initially met you and Hazel. In those two months, Daryl had found himself becoming intertwined with your lives, a constant presence for you and your daughter.

The archer hadn’t asked you what had happened to Hazel’s father yet, and he wondered when he could be permitted to ask something as personal as that. However, Daryl knew that there could only be two plausible explanations; either he was dead, or he willingly left. The huntsman really hoped it wasn’t the latter. No person should be left to raise a kid on their own.

However, as Daryl’s love for the young girl grew, so did his feelings for you. It got to the point where he had started wishing that he was Hazel’s dad, that he could’ve been there during your pregnancy and watched your belly grow. He would’ve worshipped your body and been there for you every step of the way. However, as much as he wanted that, that was a dream that couldn’t be a reality, so he settled on being Hazel's best friend instead. At least it meant being able to both bond with the little girl and simultaneously have an excuse to see you.

“The two of you look like you’re having fun. Mind if I join?”

Daryl’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice. His eyes met yours and his heart skipped a beat, that sweet smile of yours making butterflies swarm around in his stomach.

“Mama!” Hazel exclaimed happily, hurrying down the porch steps to fling herself into your arms.

You laughed, picking her up and placing a kiss on her forehead. You looked at Daryl and sent him a smile. “Hey, Daryl.”

“Hey,” he greeted you quietly, fiddling with the arrow in his hands.

“Mama, play with us!” Hazel giggled, wiggling in your arms to be put down.

You lowered her to the ground, watching her climb up the porch steps and clamber into Daryl’s lap. Daryl lowered the arrow and wrapped his arms around her, placing a small kiss to the side of her head. You smiled at the interaction, your heart speeding up against your will.

“I know what I just said, but I actually can’t, Baby. It’s time to go home. It’s dinner time,” you told her.

Hazel frowned and nuzzled her head into Daryl’s neck, a whimper building up in her throat. Instinctively, Daryl started rocking her back and forth, rubbing her small back and shushing her quietly.

“S’alright, dun’ cry. Ya will see me again tomorrow, alright?” he whispered into her ear, his heart breaking at the sound of her sniffles. When he felt her nod, he placed one final kiss to the side of her head before placing her back down. “Why dun’ ya go say bye to Jude?”

Hazel looked at you expectantly, and you nodded. “Go ahead, Baby. I’ll wait for you.”

Hazel ran into the house, leaving you and Daryl alone on the porch. The archer stood up and walked down to meet you on the grass, pushing his hands into his pockets as he looked at you through his hair. As you looked at him, it took all of your willpower to resist the urge to brush his hair out of his face and cup his cheek. Not trusting your own hands, you crossed your arms and looked up at the huntsman, giving him a small smile.

“This is the first time ya’ve come to pick her up. I usually bring her home. S’somethin’ wrong?” Daryl inquired, searching your eyes for an answer.

You shook your head. “No, nothing’s wrong. I just figured that I could come pick her up for a change. Spare you the walk back to my place.”

“It ain’t that far,” Daryl pointed out, motioning down the street. “Jus’ a couple’a houses down.”

“Yeah, I know, but...” you trailed off, unsure if you should lay your problems onto him.

“But what?” he questioned, suddenly on edge. Had you changed your mind about him? About him being around you and your daughter? He really hoped not.

You hesitated for a moment. “It’s nothing. Just some moms around the community who like to be judgy.”

“What are they sayin’?”

“That I'm a bad mom for not taking the time out of my day to pick up my own daughter. That I’m dumping my responsibilities onto other people. Just thought I’d start proving them wrong.”

“Hey, yer not a bad mom. I like bringin’ Hazel home at the end of the day. That way I know she’s safe.” He also liked it because it meant he got to see you being all domestic, hugging your daughter tightly and sending him beautiful smiles, inviting him to stay for dinner each time. He always declined, not wanting to be a burden, but your offer never waned.

You smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Daryl instantly noticed it and placed one of his hands on your shoulder, taking you by surprise. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and your skin flushed where he touched you.

“Dun’ let ‘em convince ya that yer a bad mom. I ain’t never seen a better mom than ya. How many moms here can say that they kept their kid alive out there in the real world? That, despite everythin’, their kid came first and that they would kill for them?”

“How did you know I wasn’t here from the start?”

“Aaron told me he that found ya and Hazel on yer own not too long before he found us. The fact that ya kept her alive on yer own for that long proves to me that yer the best fuckin’ mom under the sun.”

You smiled at him and placed your hand over his that was still resting on your shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“No problem,” he replied, holding eye contact with you. His hand lingered on your shoulder for longer than necessary, and he gazed deep into your eyes.

Your heart sped up and stopped beating at the same time, noticing a shift in the archer’s emotions. However, before either of you could do anything else, Daryl snapped out of it and withdrew his hand, taking a step back.

You cleared your throat and ducked your head, your face heating up. Luckily, Hazel ran out at that moment and bounded down the stairs, throwing herself into Daryl’s side and clinging to his leg.

“Bye, Dar!”

Daryl pressed Hazel tightly to him. “Bye, Hazelnut.”

Hazel unwound her arms from around him and moved over to you, extending her arms to be picked up. You did just that, holding her tightly to you. You turned to Daryl and offered him a small smile.

“You know, my offer still stands. You could join us for dinner.”

Daryl was about to decline your offer again, but Hazel cut him off.

“Yes! Please, Dar!”

In that moment, Daryl found that he wouldn’t be able to say no this time around. He just would’t be able to. He gave you both a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

You smiled broadly. “Great! Come on, then.”

“Dun’ I need to change?”

“No, you’re fine, don’t worry. You can come as is.”

“Alright,” Daryl nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Could you maybe get Hazel settled into her highchair? I’ll be right out with the food.”

Daryl nodded and watched you retreat from the dining room into the kitchen before turning around. “Hazelnut!” he called, hearing the toddler’s footsteps come into the dining room.

Hazel stared up at the archer with a huge smile, her arms extended to be picked up. Daryl smiled softly at the girl and leaned down to pick her up, placing her in her highchair. Once he was sure that she was settled and wouldn’t fall out, he got settled in the chair next to her, listening to Hazel’s happy babbling.

Soon enough, you reentered the dining room with a pot of spaghetti and meatballs. The aroma of the meal made Daryl’s mouth practically water. The last time he’d eaten spaghetti was when Aaron had invited him, and that was a good couple of months ago at that point.

“It smells fuckin’ good,” Daryl complimented you without really thinking about his choice of words, and he instantly regretted not thinking about them beforehand.

“Fuck,” Hazel repeated happily, completely oblivious to the horrified look that spread over Daryl’s face, or the amused one that spread over yours.

“Nah, Hazelnut, dun’ say that. Dun’ ever say that,” he told her hurriedly, his heart beating faster at his mistake.

“Fuck,” Hazel giggled.

“No, I jus’ said—” Daryl started, shooting you a worried look. However, he calmed down when he saw your amused smile. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” you told him, laughing lightly while serving everyone some food. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not gonna bite your head off because of one little slip up. If I had a penny for every time I accidentally slipped up since she was born, I would’ve had enough money to be able to buy a yacht in the old world. You’re good, don’t worry.

“Okay, but we can’t have her goin’ ‘round sayin’ that, though,” Daryl replied, taking a deep breath to calm himself. You weren’t mad. Everything was fine.

“You’re right about that,” you started, turning to look at Hazel. “Baby, you can’t say fuck, okay? That word belongs to Daryl. Until he’s ready to share that word, you can’t say it, alright?”

“Okay, Mama,” Hazel replied, starting to eat her food rather messily.

Daryl chuckled softly at the girl before turning to his own food. He started eating as well, the flavours of the delicious meal melting on his tongue. He wanted to gulp it all down but he resisted the urge, instead eating with a delicacy he never knew existed in him.

The meal was mostly spent in silence, save for Hazel’s happy babbling and the occasional input from you or Daryl. Daryl did, however, sneak glances at you when you weren’t looking, admiring your beauty and the soft, loving, tender way you acknowledged your daughter and the tenderness you used when you wiped her face clean of the sauce.

Unbeknownst to the archer, you had also been sneaking glances at him. Admiring his gentleness with your daughter, the way his eyes softened and the quiet chuckles he would let out whenever Hazel did something amusing, or the small smiles he would send in your direction. It was amazing how important Daryl had become to you and Hazel in a span of a few months. The big, gruff, quiet man with a heart of gold, who had invaded your thoughts and your heart. It was both terrifying and thrilling to think about.

Your respective meals were soon finished. and Hazel’s eyes were beginning to droop. You noticed it and got up to take her out of her highchair. She instantly laid her head down onto your shoulder and closed her eyes, and you placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

“You tired, Baby?” you cooed, rubbing her back gently. When she simply responded by nuzzling her face deeper into your shoulder, you laughed fondly and turned to Daryl, sending him an apologetic look. “Sorry, I should probably get this little rascal to bed. You can stay here. I’ll be right back.”

However, as soon as you said that, Hazel interjected. “Dar tuck me in with Mama?” she asked innocently, lifting her head up to look at Daryl.

Daryl looked surprised. He locked eyes with you, his heart fluttering at the smile you sent him.

“If Daryl’s okay with it,” you whispered, looking at him through your eyelashes.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Daryl replied, nodding his head.

You motioned for him to follow you upstairs, and he obliged. Together, the two of you descended up the stairs and into Hazel’s bedroom. Daryl stopped in the doorway, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but you had other ideas. You gently took his hand and led him into the room, only letting go of it to tuck your daughter into bed. Daryl subconsciously placed his hand on your shoulder instead, watching place your little girl into bed.

Hazel was already half asleep when you put her into her bed. She instantly curled up into her pillow and let out a big sigh, her eyes opening only slightly. In her view, she saw you, her mom, the woman who always protected her when the two of you were living on the road outside the walls, and always loved her despite her shenanigans. And Daryl, the man who at first had been kind of mean, but was now always there for both her and her mom. The man who undeniably had started to feel like a daddy to her.

“Night, Mama. Night, Daddy,” Hazel mumbled, her eyes closing and she drifted into slumber. In seconds, she was out cold.

Time froze for a moment. Daryl’s eyes widened and his heart practically pounded out of his chest. There was no way that he had heard it right. There was no way that Hazel had just called him dad. There was no way that Hazel trusted and loved him enough to see him as her father. She couldn’t, could she?

He turned to look at you and noticed the unreadable expression on your face. You didn’t address what she had just said, however, and Daryl was too nervous to bring it up himself.

“We should probably let her sleep,” you whispered to him, motioning towards the door.

“Yeah,” Daryl agreed and followed you out the door.

Together, the two of you descended down the stairs and back into the dining room. You turned to look at Daryl and motioned towards the living room.

“You can wait in the living room. I just wanna put the dishes in the sink and then I’ll join you.”

“Nah, let me help,” Daryl protested, moving over to grab all the dishes. Before you could protest, Daryl walked into the kitchen. You quickly followed behind him and watched him put the dishes in the sink, but before he could start washing them, you quickly stopped him.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll wash them tomorrow,” you assured him. “Do you want some wine?”

Daryl nodded and hummed, silently observing as you grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, as well as a bottle of wine. You placed the glasses on the counter before popping the the bottle open, pouring the two of you each a glass of wine. You handed him the glass and propped yourself onto the counter, letting your legs swing below you.

Daryl leaned against the counter and took a sip of his wine, humming in approval at the taste. “S’good. Thanks.”

“It’s nothing, really. I've been wanting a reason to open the bottle for a while now.”

“Ya can’t jus’ drink it whenever ya want?” Daryl questioned, taking another sip from the glass in his hand.

“I could, but I prefer not to. I don’t want to be like—” you started, but abruptly stopped. You hurriedly took a sip of your wine, welcoming the taste in your mouth.

“Like who?” Daryl asked, frowning at the uncomfortable look on your face.

You hesitated for a long moment, not sure if you should tell Daryl about your past problems. You were afraid that Daryl would look at you differently if you revealed anything. However, as you looked into his eyes, you only saw care and concern, so you found yourself confiding in him.

“Hazel’s father,” you revealed, pursing your lips at the thought of the man you hated more than anything in the world.

“What was he like?” Daryl asked, placing his glass down on the counter. He turned his full attention to you, his eyes trailing over your face for any shift in emotion.

“He was a fucking asshole,” you spat angrily, clenching your jaw in anger. “He was a raging alcoholic and a frequent drug user. He didn’t even stop when Hazel was born. If anything, it got worse. I tried so hard to get him sober, but nothing worked. He always yelled at me and threatened to hurt Hazel whenever I brought it up, but I stayed. I was too scared to leave. And then one day, when I woke up, he was just... Gone. No note, no phone call, nothing. Hazel was barely one year old.”

Daryl frowned deeply, anger bubbling inside him at the thought of someone hurting you and Hazel so badly. He clenched his fist and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He had no right to get angry. That wasn’t something that happened to him.

“Not too long after that, the world went to shit. His sister came to pick us up and took us to her camp, and that’s where I saw that asshole again. He treated Hazel so badly and got the other people in the camp to taunt and be mean to her. Hazel didn’t even do anything wrong, and I never even brought up the fact that she was his kid, but they all ganged up on her. Thankfully it never got physical, but I could tell that it really scarred her. It went on until the camp got overrun, and all of those fuckers got what they deserved. The only reason Hazel and I got out was because his sister helped us. She sacrificed herself for us. After that, Hazel and I were on our own for more than a year. I’m surprised that I managed to keep us alive for that long on my own, but I managed. And then Aaron and Eric found us, and the rest is history.”

Daryl was speechless. It angered him that someone would hurt you like that, would hurt little Hazel like that. And the fact that you had to survive on your own for that long... It amazed him. He wished that he could’ve found you earlier and have protected you and Hazel from all those horrors, but there was nothing he could do to change the past. He could only ensure that nothing ever touched you in the future.

“Yer a strong woman. The fact that ya went through all’a that and managed to keep Hazel alive and love her unconditionally proves that. Yer amazing and I hope ya know that.”

You were taken aback by the sudden confession, but a smile soon spread across your face. You hopped off the counter and stood in front of him, almost chest to chest. You looked up at him, your faces close enough to close the remaining distance between your lips. You didn’t even fully know why you did that. It was more than likely liquid courage, you figured.

“You’re amazing too. I don’t think you realize how much you mean to Hazel, how much you mean to me.”

With that, you closed the remaining distance between your lips. You pressed your lips against his softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. After a moment of shock, Daryl kissed you back feverishly, pulling you closer by your hips to have you flush against his body. You gasped against his lips, allowing Daryl to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moaned into his mouth and pressed yourself harder against him, eliciting a groan from the man.

As soon as you pulled away for air, you tugged Daryl by the lapel of his vest. “Wanna take this to my room?” you whispered, breathless from the ravenous kiss.

“What ‘bout Hazelnut? Won’t she wake up?” Daryl asked, pressing his forehead against yours.

“No. She’s out cold. The chances of her waking up are basically nonexistent.”

Daryl let out a deep breath and nodded, allowing you to pull him up the stairs. The two of you soon stumbled into your room, hurriedly closing the door and pawing at each other’s clothes. However, when you reached for Daryl’s shirt, he stopped you, a pained look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, a worried look on your face. “Did I do something wrong?”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah, ya didn’t do nothin’.”

“Then what’s wrong?” you asked him, gently cupping his cheek in your hand. “Talk to me. I promise I won’t judge.”

Daryl inhaled sharply. “I didn’t have a good childhood,” was all he offered before slowly removing his shirt.

Your eyes hungrily trailed over his body, your hands reaching forward to press against his chest. Sure, a few scars littered his chest, but they didn’t repulse you. You didn’t understand what Daryl was talking about until you got a glimpse of his back in the mirror in your room. The scars on his back were jagged and raised, and you instantly knew what they meant; someone had hurt this perfect man before you, and you felt so angry.

You walked behind him. “May I?” you whispered, your hands hovering over his back.

Daryl hesitantly nodded. You softly ran your fingers over his scars, your touch feathery light. The archer shivered involuntarily, closing his eyes at the feeling. Before meeting you, the only feeling that he ever associated with his back was pain from his father’s cruelty, yet there you were, tracing over his scars as if they were priceless paintings in a museum.

Soon your fingers were replaced with your lips, and Daryl’s eyes flew open. Your lips softly kissed over his scars, trailing down to the lowest scars on his lower back. When you were done, you turned him around to face you. You gently cupped his cheek, a small smile on your face.

“You're perfect to me, Daryl. You’re so sweet, kind and caring. Hell, my daughter called you dad. That says plenty.”

“M’perfect?”

“You're perfect.”

That was all you had to say for Daryl to pull you into another fiery kiss. The two of you soon toppled onto your bed, spending a night filled with passion together.

That next morning when Hazel woke up and walked into your room, she was pleasantly surprised to find Daryl sleeping there, holding you, her mama. She was, however, confused that when she woke the two of you up, you clutched the sheets to your bodies and refused to let her climb under them with you like you normally would do.

Two years later...

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Hazel. Happy birthday to you!”

You and Daryl cheered as Hazel blew out the candles on her homemade cake. Hazel laughed as she struggled to blow out the last one of the five candles on the cake, eliciting soft chuckles from you and Daryl. When she finally managed to extinguish it, you and Daryl each handed her a gift. She clapped her hands excitedly. She got up from her seat and ran to hug you and Daryl, which you both returned.

“Thank you, Mama. Thank you, Daddy,” she thanked with a big smile, eyeing the wrapped gifts on the table.

“Dun’ thank us yet, Hazelnut,” Daryl responded with a smile. “Go ahead and open ‘em.”

Hazel hurriedly opened each of the gifts and gasped with delight, holding up a colouring book, new crayons, and a new doll. She giggled in excitement at the gifts. “Can I go show these to Judith? We can colour and play dolls together now!”

You laughed and nodded. “Sure, Baby. Just be good for Auntie Michonne and Uncle Rick, okay?”

“Okay!” she agreed and took off in a run, throwing the front door open and disappearing out of it.

“I can’t believe she’s growin’ up so fast,” Daryl mumbled, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He rested his chin on the top of your head.

“I know, right? She’ll be moving away from home for college soon enough,” you joked.

“Hmm,” Daryl hummed, chuckling at your joke.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, turning around in the archer's arms. “I got something for you, too.”

“For me?” he asked in confusion, frowning slightly. “Why? It ain’t my birthday for another couple’a months.”

“I know, but this can’t wait that long. Here,” you told him, handing him a small box.

Daryl gingerly took the box from your hands and opened it. His eyes widened at the item inside, picking it up and looking at it. After examining it for a couple of moments, he confirmed that his mind indeed wasn’t playing a trick on him—it was a positive pregnancy test.

“Yer—Yer pregnant?” he asked, a smile spreading over his face.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, nodding your head. A laugh escaped you when Daryl picked you up and spun you around, before he placed you back on the ground and pulled you into a kiss.

When he pulled back, he leaned his forehead against yours. “Hazelnut’s gon’ have a baby sibling. We’re gon’ have another kid.”

“We are,” you agreed, closing your eyes. “I love you, Daryl.”

Daryl placed a gentle kiss against your forehead. “I love ya, too. And I already love that lil’ peanut in yer belly.”

“Hazelnut and Peanut, huh?”

“Yeah. Our two babies. Our own lil’ family,” Daryl told you wistfully, placing his hand on your stomach, over the life that was growing there.

“We have Hazel to thank for this. If she didn’t instantly like you back then, this might never have happened,” you told him, placing your hand over his.

“Remind me to thank her when she gets back later. But for now, let’s enjoy our alone time,” Daryl replied suggestively, tugging you with him as he walked backwards towards the stairs.

“I like that idea.”

[madamechrissy]

She a shy girl, but a freak deep down

Pairings: Toji Fushiguro x fem reader

Rating: Explicit- this is basically porn with feelings kinda? Cunnilngus, rough sex, blow jobs, dirty talk, slapping, low key freaky but soft Toji (Lots of FLUFF and humor)

Word count: 6.5k

Summary: You and Toji and you have been close forever, and aside from one night of seven minutes in heaven, you've only been friends. You're in your early thirties, a single mom, he's a single dad, and Toji just happens to need an alibi for something... so he decides to take you out as a thank you! To where? Well to watch the boat races on tv so he can gamble :) And he may or may not give you the best dick of your life.

(This was an anon request for shy good girl reader x criminal toji. Reader in her 30s.)

Knock knock knock.

You wake up, blinking sleep away, stretching and yawning, your kids are knocked out on the couch because you all had stayed up late to watch movies. You pop on your glasses and smile over at the little angels… or demons depending on the day. But your two daughters were everything to you.

Knock knock knock.

“Coming!” You sigh, irritated, as now your little dog is barking now too, and you hush him a bit, snatching him up in your arms. He’s yappy but adorable. You open the door then, and you see him.

Toji fuckin Fushiguro.

He’s standing there in a tight black gym shirt and a pair of baggy grey sweats, and you flush as you look down at his toned body, looking quickly back up at his face and earning a smirk from him. Fuck, it’s been too long hasn’t it? And here you are, in a messy bun and your pajamas, you set the dog down and step outside, shutting the door behind you, putting you too close to him.

Toji was tall, making you lean your neck back to look at his stupidly handsome features. He brushes his black inky hair back, he looks all sweaty like he’s been running, muscles moving in his strong arm, flexing as he does, and you can’t help your throat from getting dry.

What’s wrong with you? You’ve known Toji forever, since he was a senior and you were a freshman, he’d always been a family friend, you had babysat Megumi countless times. You figure that’s maybe why he’s here, but you don’t see Megumi anywhere, and he’s older now, he’s a good thirteen years old.

“Toji, what time is it?” You mumble sleepily, and he peeks at his watch then, perched around a thick, strong wrist.

“Mmm, it’s seven am doll.”

“So why are you here!? Too early.”

“I already did my run and everything, but I really need some help, if you don’t mind. Pretty please.” He pouts, the scar on his lower lip twitching as he tries to hold it and not laugh. You sigh.

“What’d you get into now?”

“Just need you to vouch that I was here last night.” You blink a bit, shaking your head then.

“What’d you do this time, hmm?” You ask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot.

Toji rolls his forest green eyes. “Doll, don’t ask questions you don’t wanna know the answers to.”

“I do wanna know!”

“I may or may not have committed-”

“Never mind, fine.” He smirks, and damn if he wasn’t charming, in his own stupid way when he does. He tugs at a loose curl from your bun, and your breath hitches a bit at the contact. His eyes narrow then.

“Maybe I should take ya out, as a thank you, doll. If you could just tell them when they call I was here.” You roll your eyes.

“Take me where, Toji? Fuckin McDonalds?” He scowls now, and you cover your mouth, giggling behind your hand.

“Damn brat. You're so fancy now hmm?” He peeks at your house, which is just a modest little place honestly.

“Not at all, I’m not fancy, I bust my ass you know.” He leans a bit, shamelessly trying to stare at your ass, making you smack at him.

“Just wanted to see is all, you sure are lookin extra hot lately, ma.” You can’t control the blush at that.

“I have been working out, not like you of course, gym rat.”

“I’d love to work you out.” You gasp now, lips parting as he’s grinning down at you. You glare then.

“You want money again!”

“Do not!”

“Why are you being nice, Toji, hmm?” He leans far too close, until he’s right against you, and he lights every nerve ending on fire.

“Ya remember that day? In college when we…”

“Toji…”

“That seven minutes in heaven?” His voice gets husky, and you can barely control your breathing, trembling like crazy, as his hand gently caresses your cheek, and that memory hits so hard.

“Oh god I… that was forever ago!”

“Burned in my brain, doll. How long has it been?”

“College? Shit I’m thirty two. So… a long time ago.”

“Nah, doll, how long has it been since you…” He trails off now, leaving that question in the air, and your cheeks flush at that, your entire body overhearing right there on your front deck.

“None of your business.”

“Been that long huh?”

“What about you? How long?” You ask then, eyes darting to his, and he smirks again, licking that scar of his with the tip of his tongue.

“It’s been a bit. Been holding out for a certain hot MILF.” You snort at that, shoving at his hard body, but he’s serious, you realize, as he’s staring down at you. “Think I’m kidding, doll?”

“I… yes. Yes I do. Toji we’ve never…”

“We were both married. We both have kids. But, doll… I think it’s time we have seven more minutes.”

“That all you’re gonna last?”

He glares now, as you just giggle, but then he’s pressing you against the door, and you feel him, his hard body, through his thin shirt, overheating you. You realize how little you’re wearing, you remember just how attracted to this damn criminal you were, the one you always helped, Toji fucking Fushiguro.

He’s hot, shit.

“Seven minutes wouldn’t even be long enough eating you out, doll.” You gasp then at that, as his words shoot straight between your thighs. “You remember that don’t you? I think I only had a little taste.”

You’re bright red you’re sure, at least you feel that way, as Toji’s trailing fingers down your hips. “Not shaped the same…”

“Shaped better. You were too skinny, had chicken legs. Now… they look real nice, doll. Doing squats?”

“Doing squats.” You repeat softly, as he vividly makes you picture that night, all those years ago. “Office job… gotta… hit the gym.”

“You didn’t have titties then either.”

“Toji!” You hiss out, and he’s chuckling. “Pervert, oh my god.”

“They’re nice. I’d like to see em, to compare you know.”

“Compare!”

“Mmhmm. I don’t look the same, do I?”

“You were jacked then, you’re just crazy jacked now.” You reach out and touch an arm then, taking a shaky breath. “Being a felon really adds muscle.”

“You’re still a little prissy bitch. Should teach you some things.” You can’t stand his tone, not when you’re ovulating, not when it’s been… years since you fucked?

Ugh.

“Why now?” You murmur, and he just studies you, arm bracing on the side of you, you note the veins wrapping around it and get…

Wet, you’re wet.

Great.

“Lemme show you some fun, stop thinking so much. Yeah?”

“Oh god, fine. I don’t have the kids this weekend. So…”

“All weekend, so slutty.” You shove at him again, scowling.

“Fine, never-”

“No, no! Let’s do it. Are we gonna hide in my closet?” He purrs the words, and you sigh, as they ignite something in you. “Remember those little sounds you made? So sweet…”

College party- 2011- In some closet

“T-Toji, what are you doing!” Toji Fushiguro is sliding to his knees, after a heavy makeout session. It feels so weird, Toji is your older brother’s best friend, you were always just the tag along. Now? You’ve been kissing, grinding against him, and you haven’t had experience yet.

“I’m gonna lick this pussy, doll.” He murmurs, all sexy and gruff. Toji is the bad boy of this college, and everyone knows it. He’d always been the ‘bad boy’ on the wrong side of the tracks. And you? A straight A student, a nerdy girl.

“Gonna what?!” He chuckles, his breath hot on your thighs, as he slides your panties off your thighs.

“Haven’t done it yet?” You shake your head, nervously biting your lower lip as he sees you. “You’re so pretty down here.”

“I… um…”

“We have like five more minutes, it’s up to you doll. Could make you cum. Anyone got you off at all?” He’s planting a kiss right above your clit, and you cry out, feeling his scar rub on delicate skin.

“N-no. I have only kissed before.”

“It’s kissing, just kissing… here.” He slides his tongue up your slit, and you moan loudly as you’re already trickling wetness out of your hole. He dips a thick finger in it gently, groaning against you. “Everyone’s gonna know, hush lil goody goody.”

“Mnm! Oh… ah!” You can’t keep quiet, you’re losing your control in the quiet little closet, which is getting too warm, as he’s gripping your thigh with one hand, fingers pressing into your flesh. He’s lapping you up as he’s using his finger, then he hits some spot that makes you see stars, your back arching.

“Mmm, you taste so yummy, doll.” He murmurs, leaning back and licking his lower lip, you can barely see him in the dark room, and he's lavishing your clit with his tongue.

You know you’re gonna cum soon, and he’s smirking up at you, knowing it, feeling it, as he’s playing with your body so easily, better than you ever have been able to. And you’re gripping the shelf above you, your knees shaking, you’re about to fall apart.

“Oh shit, Toji, I’m gonna-” He hums then, he hums right on you, as he crooks that thick finger up, and you’re cumming all over Toji Fushiguro’s face. Your nipples perk up, goosebumps all over your skin, you’re shaking violently over him. He’s moaning as he laps up every inch of you.

The timer goes off and people are knocking now, and you realize that the time is over. You push at his shoulders, panting, but he’s too strong, and he’s got a strong arm wrapped around his legs. “Mmm.”

“Toji, stop, we gotta go!” You whisper urgently, but he’s not stopping, his tongue lapping at you, making you tremble with oversensitivity, you couldn’t even stand if it wasn’t for him holding you.

“Just one more taste, doll.” And he’s suckling your clit into his mouth, your knees buckling as you orgasm, your hand slapping over your mouth to keep the noise down. You’re biting your palm, hard, as your orgasm rolls through your body, and he’s finally pulling back and smiling up at you, looking so damn smug.

Present day

You never got off that hard again.

You loved your husband, you two were so young, and it just hadn’t worked out. You maintained a good relationship though he lived far away, so essentially you’re a single mother. Something you had in common with Toji, who was a single dad. And you hadn’t done much really with men, so busy with the kids, you had definitely done things here and there, but now…

Toji is looking sexy. A sexy bum.

Is McDonalds so bad?

“What do ya say, doll? Gimme a chance to take you out. Then come back to my place… for a reenactment.”

“Oh God. Am I doing this?” He chuckles, and then you can hear your kids stirring inside, so you sigh, nodding. “I’m doing this.”

“Ya talkin’ to me or yourself, nerdy girl?”

“Both. Yes I’ll go. Better not be McDonald’s Toji.”

“It’ll be KFC.”

***

Your kids are at their grandma’s now, and you’re getting ready for a… date!? With Toji Fushiguro. What do you wear, when you have no clue where he’s taking you? Toji doesn’t have money, he’s usually bumming from you and then he either pays you back later, or just does maintenance shit for you to pay it off. Which honestly works out well for you.

You get to see Toji shirtless that way.

Shit.

“Do I like him!?” You mumble, and your dog just stares at you, tilting his cute little head, his ears perking up. “I like Toji. Huh.”

You take a breath, you’re not a teenager, shit you’re in your early thirties, Toji is older than you, at thirty six. You both weren’t young, you didn’t need to bull shit, and you knew each other. He was safe (A safe criminal) so at least you didn’t have to worry about Toji being a creep.

Well, more than he is.

You hate online dating, and you’re too busy working at the office and taking care of the girls to meet anyone. You would come home, pour a glass of wine, and fall asleep after cooking dinner and cleaning. How would you meet a guy snuggled in a robe on your couch? No… this could be perfect. Toji clearly can get you off, and you’d be lying if you say you haven’t thought of him while you…

Your phone blings, and you see his text.

Bum Toji: (Yes that’s his name on your phone, and no you’re not sorry) On the way.

Toji’s not much for texting.

You finally decide to just dress up pretty, in a black bodycon dress, one that hugs every curve of your body, it shows quite a bit of cleavage but not so much that you’re popping out. You can’t help but feel a little shy, but nervous in a good way, as you turn in the mirror and see everything looks… good. You look good.

“I’m a hot mom. I’m a hot mom. I’m a cool mom?” Your dog is starting to worry about you, but that’s okay. You slide into a pair of nude stilettos that make your calves pop, and add some height, then you add some light makeup, just a touch of eyeliner, mascara, and a light pink lip gloss.

Your hair though! It’s usually in a bun, so you decide to let it down, because why not? It’s long, curling over your shoulder, down to your chest as you brush it out, realizing you’re on a time crunch now.

Bum Toji: Be there in… seven minutes.

The little shit!

You spray on your favorite perfume, and when you hear his car pull up, you take a deep breath. This is happening.

You walk out to his car, an old Mustang that brings back a stupid amount of memories, shit he’s had that thing forever. And Toji is leaning against it, smoking a cigarette, looking like a damn model in a tight leather jacket and black shirt, jeans that hug him in places you…

Fuck how big is he, you wonder? You start feeling warm as he is looking at you with those forest green eyes that you’ve known for so long, but they look different now, they look hungry. He’s just undressing you with his damn gaze, slowly taking in every bit of your outfit, making you fidget a bit nervously, when he puts out his cigarette and walks up to you.

“Fuck you look gorgeous, doll.” He murmurs, and your heart falters, as if you’re on some first date ever, especially when he walks up to you and takes your hands in his, whistling. “This all f’me?”

“It is all for you, for our KFC date.” He chuckles and you giggle then, and fuck it feels good. You know this isn’t serious, and probably Toji just being horny, and you ovulating but…

You could get used to how he’s looking at you.

“So a spin, doll.” You do as he asks, earning another whistle. “Mmm, those squats are doing wonders.”

“Oh stop it!” You smack lightly and playfully at his chest as he chuckles, and his grin is so attractive it does something, your tummy clenches. “Thank you, Toji… you look really good too.”

“Aw, shucks, makin me blush Ma.” You roll your eyes at that.

“I don’t think I’d ever see you blush.”

“You couldn’t see that night, too dark in there.” His gruff words hit hard as he opens the door to the black mustang, you slide in and see a stupid amount of energy drinks and cigarette packs.

“Toji, couldn’t clean out your car?”

“Adds character.”

“I’ll shove it all on you!” You bend down, and find a bag, starting to throw everything in the bag then in a huff, and he’s just standing behind you, doing nothing! “Lazy-”

“Fuck that’s a nice view.” You realize then that you’re bent over, your ass on full display in the curve hugging number. And you look back to see him lick that scar, head tilted to the side to get a good view.

“Help me clean your car, pervert.”

“Nah, should just fuck you like that, doll.” You freeze then, as his words and his look make you tremble, because the thought of Toji Fushiguro railing you in your little neighborhood makes you wet.

Fuck.

“You’d do it too, lil slut.” You scowl then, standing up and shoving the bag into his hand, he’s grinning with those white teeth.

“What did you call me!”

“Lil slut.” He purrs the damn words, and you can’t take it, you damn near spread your legs, but instead you just glare. “Should I go for good girl instead? What’s your kink, pretty?”

“My kink!? I don’t have one.” He blinks then, in clear confusion, glaring at you now like your arm is cut off.

“What!? How!? You not get fucked?”

“I mean yes. A while ago. But just… fucked, not some kinky shit.”

“Oh doll, this weekend will be so fun.” He cups your chin roughly, with his calloused fingers, and the way he holds you, looks at you, sends shivers down your spine, and you start aching in ways you didn’t know. “So much to catch up on, with I had the courage sooner.”

“Courage?”

“To ask ya out. Thought you’d say no for sure.” You look down then, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks, then look back up, as the sun is setting, all purples and pinks, and Toji’s handsome face is vulnerable for just a moment.

“How long have you wanted to?”

“For like… ever. But you were with that nerdy office dude, then I was with ‘Gumi’s mom. Then you were single but… I dunno, ya just seem too good f’me. Ya know who I am, what I do. Not much to offer… except some really good dick.”

“Well maybe I need some really good dick.” He raises a brow at that, and you cover your mouth, eyes wide. “I said that!?”

“Ya sure did. Well, looks like I can give ya that.”

“We’ll see.”

“Oh yeah?” He raises a brow with a smirk, but then frowns as you shove the bag back in his hands.

“If you clean the damn car.”

“Ugh.”

***

You’re sitting at a sports bar later, it’s lively with rowdy men, as Toji and you nibble on wings later, and you’re both actually having way too much fun. You’re so overdressed it’s ridiculous, but Toji has slung his big leather jacket across your shoulders, and now you’re feeling way better. It smells like him, like a mix of cologne, sweat, and something…

Toji.

“If I win this bet, Imma buy you something nice, doll.” He says, he’s wiggling his ticket, and you roll your eyes, sipping on the beer.

“Uh-huh, sure!”

He leans over, big hand on your bare thigh, and you instinctively wiggle your hips, suddenly craving friction on your aching little pussy. Toji is still looking up at the screen, but he’s so close, his thumbs running circles on your soft inner thigh, higher and higher, to where you can’t focus.

“Look, look, look! Doll!” You have no clue what you’re watching, it’s boats racing and it looks stupid honestly, but Toji is so happy then. “Fuckin won!”

He picks you up then, spinning you, and you can’t help but giggle, at how effortlessly he holds you with his heavy jacket on. He then kisses you, a quick little kiss, but when he pulls back his eyes change, his demeanor changes. You feel those tingles run through your lips as he does it once more, as his firm lips slam down on yours, and you’re molding to him.

“Oh fuck…” He murmurs then, and your eyes lock.

“Yeah… fuck.” You whisper, he doesn’t smirk or laugh though, he’s staring at you with insanely hungry eyes.

“Doll… let’s go. Yeah?” You nod eagerly.

“Let’s go.”

***

You can’t even make it to the car at first, Toji is hungrily kissing you, grabbing your ass, pressing you against his hard body. You’re eagerly gripping onto his shoulders, feeling the broad muscles, and you’re grinding against him. You want more, more, more. It’s all consuming, you feel just like the day he kissed you in that damn closet.

Difference is you wanna ride his cock now, back then you were so nervous, but he’s unleashing something hidden deep with each stroke of a tongue. Finally you all get in the car, and he’s driving, but he’s touching you, hand sliding up your dress, pressing against damp lace panties and groaning.

“Fuck you’re soaked, doll. All f’me huh?” He grunts the words, and you whine, sliding to his side and kissing on his neck, strong and muscled like all of him, sensitive behind his ear, he moans.

“All for you.” He flutters those dark lashes shut for a moment, then scooches you over a bit, smiling. 

“Lemme get us there quick.”

Toji uses the gear shift, to get even quicker, and soon you all are at his place, he’s yanking you out of the car, and picking you up. Your legs wrap around his thighs as he carries you, effortlessly, kissing you over and over. People are looking as he somehow gets his keys out of his pockets, and unlocks the door. You tense a bit, looking around.

“Kid’s not here. Staying the weekend at his friend’s.” He murmurs against your lips, and you exhale, smiling softly.

“Good, I am… loud.”

“Doll ya ain’t made noise like you will tonight. We’ll get noise complaints.” You’re giggling again, as he’s casually sitting you on the dining room table.

“What, no bed!?”

“Appetizer first, doll. I eat at the table like a gentleman.” Your laugh stops on your lips when he’s slides your panties off you, and your legs tremble as the cool air of the surprisingly clean little apartment hits your legs.

“Oh, are you hungry? Didn’t eat enough?” He smirks, kissing up your thighs then, and with each hungry caress you’re getting more and more soaked, as you’re eagerly grinding up for his touch.

“So desperate, aren’t ya doll?” You just whine, but then he surprises you by smacking your cunt, and you scream out at the sting. “Asked ya a question.”

Oh.

Is this how Toji does things?

It’s hot, fuck…

You just nod a bit, and then he’s got your dress shoved up around your hips, leaving you bare to him, and he parts the lips of your sex, you shiver at the first contact, damn near cumming from that. He spits on you then, right on your clit, watching as his saliva drips down with a wicked grin to him.

“Use your words, doll. Are you desperate f’me?” You gasp as you feel it, hot and sticky sliding on your exposed clit, then he’s leaning down, pulling you by your hips. “Fuck you’re pretty.”

“Toji, please.” You whisper, and he just breathes on your cunt, that’s it, he’s breathing and looking up at you with those green eyes.

“Please what, doll? Use your fuckin’ words.” He spits again, and it’s just not enough, it’s fucking torture, and you’re wriggling, bucking your hips up.

“Please…”

“Please what? Ya wanna watch TV fuckin brat? Words.” You sigh, and then grab him by his hair, pulling, he grins at that. “Words, doll.”

“Lick me.”

Toji groans, then he’s diving down, and he doesn’t just lick you no, he is devouring your cunt, every fucking inch of it, his tongue sliding up your slit, then diving in your entrance, as his big hands shove your thighs apart. You’re gushing all over his face, shaking uncontrollably on the wood table, that’s digging into your back, and you’re damn near backing up, but he won’t let you.

He’s fucking you with his long tongue, in and out, and it’s like nothing you’ve felt, goosebumps all over your entire body, the sounds he makes, this moaning, this slurping, he’s drinking you. It’s too much. As his nose bumps against your clit you buck up, screaming out, urging him on with your cries. His tongue is fucking relentless against you.

You’re so close, you feel it, coiling and tensing up in your core, threatening to release, and when he leans up and looks at you, his face covered in your slick, and he says “Be a good girl, cum on m’face doll. Now.”

Well, you cum. You cum hard, so hard you’re blinded, head falling back and smacking the table, but fuck you don’t care. Your pussy throbs around the wet muscle as his tongue lavishes you up, then as you’re riding out your orgasm he’s slipping his tongue up to flick the underside of your clit, sliding a long finger in you.

“Oh my- ah- Toji it’s s’good, I-” You’re close again, within moments, as he slips past your little gummy walls and presses on that spot, the one he hit so well that night all those years ago, and you’re falling apart, throbbing around it. “Toji!”

“Again, doll. Come again f’me.” You obey, how can you not, when Toji Fushiguro has you spread on his dining room table like dinner? When he’s drinking your flowing arousal like it’s wine? “There ya go, good girl.”

“Oh my god! Fuck!” You scream now, legs trembling, back arching as you shatter around him, hands in his hair shoving his face against you, earning moans that just make you cum again until you can’t even see. “Too much… I…”

Toji plants a couple kisses on you, still pumping a finger in you, sitting you up now and slamming his lips on yours. You taste yourself, your hands are yanking on his jacket, on his shirt. He’s unzipping your dress, before picking you up again, and now his shirt is off, and you feel his hard body, feel those scars under your touch, from things you don’t know.

You don’t care what he does, not when he’s holding you like this, not when he’s carrying you to his room. You don’t care his room is a mess (it’s pretty clear Megumi cleans the house) and his blankets are slung off, that his clothes are all over. You don’t even care there are pistols on the dresser.

It makes you wetter honestly.

“Fuck…” Toji looks at your body, fully naked, and you get a little shy then, covering up. “Ah-ah, lemme see you.”

You stand there then, fully naked, and his big hands are sliding up your hips, across your tummy, up your breasts, squishing them and moaning. Your nipples grow taut against his rough palms, head falling back in pleasure. “Toji…”

“You’re fuckin gorgeous, doll, holy shit. MILF doesn’t begin to describe it.” You flush at the praise, as his hands run down stretch marks here and there, the little scar from having the babies under your tummy, but he doesn’t care, in fact he growls. “So fuckin’ sexy.”

“Ah… th-thank you, Toji, mmnh… I…”

“Nah, perfect doll. These tits, holy fuck.” He bends down, sucking the peaks into his mouth then, as he’s pressing you to sit on the bed. You’re gripping his messy hair again, gasping as he teases them, then crying out as he bites them.

“Ow, fuck!” He’s smirking up at you, and fuck if he doesn’t make your heart race, at how beautiful he is just then. “Toji… you’re… kinda beautiful.”

“Ya knock your head too hard on that table, doll?” You giggle, shaking your head, and he glares. “That ain’t the word for me.”

“No? What is it?”

“Daddy.” You blink at that, but before you can think, he’s unzipping those jeans, and you see him, not wearing any boxers, no… just a thick, huge cock in your face. “Gonna make ya say daddy so many times.”

“That’s cringe, Toji! No way.” You scowl up at him as you speak, and he just grins wide, a perverted grin that for some reason turns you on more. “But… holy fuck, that’s just not gonna fit.”

“I know, ya couldn’t even have babies normally. Too little weren’t ya doll?” You roll your eyes.

“The kids had big heads, there was no way.”

“Like their mom.”

“Fuck you Toji, my head is not big!” He chuckles as you kick at him, snatching up your foot and kissing your ankle, flicking his tongue, making you shudder, before he’s stroking that huge cock in your face. “Holy fuck… I’ll try.”

“Good girl.” You can’t hold in your moan, Toji makes you fucking depraved, and you eagerly open your mouth wide, lapping up precum from his reddened tip, leaking out of it in drips. It’s salty on your tongue, and you peek up and meet his eyes, lidded with desire, lips parted. “Oh fuck… how far can ya go, doll?”

You lap up more, sliding a hand gently around the shaft, sliding a finger on the underside of him, smiling as his cock twitches. “How far do you think? Let’s gamble, Toji, yeah?”

He’s chuckling, hands in your hair, pulling hard, making tears prick in your eyes, but you fucking love it, you melt for it. “I bet you can get half.”

“Just half!?”

“Mmhmm. What’s the wager?”

“You will have to eat me out every day all week. Whenever I want, if I can take it balls deep.” He laughs at that, as you kiss his tip teasingly, a hand stroking up the strong abs, feeling every line and muscle, hot skin under your hand.

“Ya act like that’s not me winning. All right, if I’m right, ya gotta suck me off every day all week. Deal?” You hold out a hand to shake, and he smacks it away, then your giggle is silenced as he’s shoving his length in your throat. “Ha- let’s see how good you can take it. Breathe through your nose.”

You do as he says, and you instantly regret bragging, it’s been too long since you’ve sucked dick (you were good at it just- rusty mmkay) and you struggle to push past your gag reflex, breathing in through your nose as his thick length stretches your mouth. You suck hard, hollowing your cheeks, making him groan, you peek up at him studying you intently.

His gaze is hungry, he’s biting a lower lip, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve seen, him just pumping his cock further and further, as you grip his thighs, as he’s using your mouth like a fuck toy. You’re soaking wet again, you can barely keep from trembling, as you grind on his bed eagerly, sucking him harder, all while looking up at him, studying the flush of his cheeks, the blown out pupils.

“You’re gorgeous, doll… Oh my- f-fuck you’re so good f’me. Doing such a good job.” You’re soaking his bed, as he continues fucking your mouth, it feels so good being owned by him, choked by him, feeling him at the back of your throat now. “Mmm… can feel me here…”

One of Toji’s hands wraps around your throat, feeling the bulge as he fucks even deeper, so erotic you lose your senses for a moment, pressing even deeper, pushing yourself to take more, he’s over eight inches and thick as fuck, destroying your throat, burning it and stretching. But you want it so bad, you can’t wait to have it inside you, that thought alone pushes you further.

Tears are forming in your eyes as you push yourself beyond your limits, and finally your nose touches his pelvis, dark stubble tickling your nose. He’s gasping, and then you pull back with a pop, coughing a bit, tears now dropping down your cheeks, and Toji is mesmerized by you, sputtering, his cock leaking even more yummy pre cum, which you lap up with a kitten lick.

“Well? Hope you’re down to pay up all week.” You tease, but his mouth is just open, until he bends down, flipping you around to your knees and sliding two fingers in you now. “Toji! Oh my… mmnh!”

He yanks your hair back with one hand, while his other fingers are scissoring in and out of you. “Tight, perfect lil cunt. So wet f’me huh?”

You can’t manage a word, so he yanks his fingers out, smacking the fuck out of an ass cheek. You cry out in pain as it stings, scowling back at him. “Ow!”

“Use those words, brat.” You exhale, then bite your lip in pleasure as he’s fingering you again, hitting that spot so much you can’t take it, you’re slippery around his fingers, walls fluttering as you get closer. “Words.”

“Wet for you. For you.” You mumble incoherently, and then he’s rubbing his thick tip between your glistening lips now, and you arch back, craving more of him, pushing back and whimpering as he groans.

“Oh my… tell me what ya want, doll. Now.” He orders, and you gulp, struggling to focus as he’s grinding the tip against your clit, it’s twitching under the contact, and you’re so wet he slips. “Now, your words.” He smacks you again, and you scream out, thighs shaking, hands clutching the comforter beneath you.

“Want you in me. Toji please.” You beg then, and he slides inside your cunt in one sure thrust, stretching your little hole out so much you hiss at it, then he’s shoved so deep he’s hitting your cervix, and your ass arches up for more, as you feel so much pressure it’s insane.

“Feel so fkn perfect, doll… fuck…” He’s groaning, sliding back, then shoving his length all the way back in you, and you’re trembling, struggling to take so much pressure, so much pleasure, you’re tightening around him and he’s gripping your hips brutally with huge hands.

“Toji!”

“Doll… can I go hard? I need to know.” You nod, eagerly, gripping the blankets even tighter, and he’s fucking into you hard now, hips snapping, skin slapping loudly with the sound of you squelching wetness. “Fuckin hear that?”

You just nod, until he’s pressing your head into the soft bed, and your cries are muffled, now he’s railing the fuck out of you, balls slapping your clit, and he’s slid a thumb right in your little ass hole. You tense, then he’s spitting on it, spreading it, going in easier, and you’re just falling into it, cumming so hard you’re twitching, pleasure rushing through your body in waves.

Toji smacks each ass cheek as he fucks into you, fucking you through one orgasm right into another, and you’re screaming against the blanket, body giving out under you, to where he has to slide you up, laying on top of you. His hands entwined with yours, and it’s too intimate, it’s too much, his eyes pouring into yours, as he rolls his hips so good you’re crying.

“Never felt anything this good, fuck.” His vulnerable words, the way he’s holding your hands, the way his curved tip drags along your walls, you’re shattering around him, breathless, and he’s slamming his lips to yours. “Not letting you go, now.”

“N-no? Th-that good, mnh!” He’s exhaling, rolling his hips just so and snapping them against your ass, now he’s nipping down your neck, biting and licking, hot caresses all over your sensitive nape.

“Fuckin perfect.” He's in a prone position on top of you, and your lips entangle, your tongues messy, drool spilling between you both, it’s messy, nasty, but it’s somehow sweet, it’s somehow…

Perfect.

“Then keep me around. Keep mnh… losing bets.” He’s laughing, but then it’s broken by a gasp, as you’re pulsing around him, wetness sliding down his length, dripping down your thighs, down to his messy, half on sheets.

“I’ll lose… any… bet. Fuck.”

“Not calling you daddy.” He’s yanking out then, and you whine, as he’s flipping you on your back then.

“You’ll call me that  if you want this cum. Yeah?” You’re face to face with Toji now, as he presses your thighs way too high, against your lush breasts, and he’s teasing you with his thick tip again.

“F-fine. Fine. Ugh. Daddy, please.” Toji’s nostrils flare, and he’s railing the fuck out of your already sore pussy, so deep like this it hurts, but it hurts so good.

“Again, doll. Again.”

“Daddy.”

Toji tenses then, thickening inside you, pulsing so deep, and his big hands take over your thighs, fingers pressing into the muscles as he pins you down. You’re screaming out, blinded by how good it feels, the stretch, the pressure, the every smack of his pelvis against your clit, as he bottoms out inside you, looking so gorgeous over you, his forest eyes hazy with lust.

“Wanna put another kid in you.” You gasp, and he’s smirking then, fucking slower, watching every movement, every expression. You whine out, shaking your head.

“Wh-what!?”

“Putting a kid in you. Wanna cum all deep inside this lil cunt.”:

“F-fuck… fine… one more kid.” He’s grinning deviously over you now, leaning forward, you lose your breath.

“Yeah? Want my kids in ya?” You nod, eagerly, and then he’s kissing you, smushing you under him in a mating press, and then you feel him stuttering, losing control. “Then beg for it.”

“Put… a baby… in me. Please. Please. Cum in me.” He’s lost it now, feral look on his face, and he’s pushing so deep, rolling up and grinding that pulsing tip in your cervix, pushing you over the edge, until both of you are cumming.

Toji shoots deep in you, hot, puffy white ropes that fill you so full, so hot it makes your climax more intense, and you’re clinging around his neck, as he’s got you folded, slamming his lips on yours. He keeps pushing, gently, and then it’s so intimate you can’t take it, you’re shaky as he eases your thighs down, as you’re twitching from the aftershocks.

Toji looks as lost as you.

You take a breath.

“Always had a crush.” You mumble, and he grins, brushing back your hair, still inside of you so deep.

“Knew it.”

“Did not!”

“So… why don’t me and Gumi move in?” You blink, and he’s grinning down at you.

“You broke-”

“I’ll help around the house! Protect you.” He’s brushing back your hair now, and you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Oh fine.”

“Jackpot!”

***

And that’s how you ended up living with Toji Fushiguro, a broke ass criminal with a really, really nice cock. And now you all are a family? Well, it’s been a year.

Yeah.

Romantic!

You and Toji are kissing in the kitchen, the kids are asleep, and he’s rubbing on your tummy, kissing on the side of your neck. He doesn’t make much money, you kind of pay for it all, but Toji makes up for it in attention, in affection. Who knew a rough criminal was such a sweetheart?

“Mmm, love you lil doll.” He murmurs in your hair, and you exhale, leaning back against his hard body.

“Love you, Toji.”

A/N: Hope you all liked this silly ass story. Bum Toji is my fav! He can live w/me for free too lol

Serious long Toji fic here -Dirty Little Secret

Masterlist of my fics ❤️

[cherrygirlfriend]

helping hand pairing: pogue!reader x bsf!sarah synopsis: sarah's new boyfriend can't get her off :( but you can :) warnings: smut, drinking, bottom sarah & top reader wc: 2k MDNI! since people keep asking "how can you be a lesbian when you just write for men???" well here damn!!! jk i really just wanted to write for this princess <3

you and sarah had known each other for years, and even though you couldn't seem more different, you were inseparable. everyone thought that sarah was a 'perfect prissy princess', you knew she was just like you. the kook had always been rough around the edges, even if she hid it under expensive clothes and boys she'd date until she got bored of them. meanwhile, you wore your coarse manners right on your sleeve. everyone on figure 8 and the cut alike was confused as to how sarah could be friends with someone like you.

"it's some expensive crap i stole from rose." sarah sighed, throwing down a bottle of red wine on the bed before laying down next to you, the springs off the mattress creaking under her weight as you threw an old playboy magazine you'd stolen from your father onto the floor, grabbing the wine and reading the label.

"chateau lafit- whatthefuck...?" you read with furrowed brows. sarah took a peek at the bottle and let out a small chuckle.

"château lafite-rothschild. year 2017."

"if i can't pronounce it then it's definitely fancy, expensive shit." you chuckled softly, "but you do know that i don't own one of those fancy-ass wine bottle openers? i usually just drink those seven-dollar screw cap ones. ten-dollar if i'm feeling fancy."

"of course. that's why i brought this." the blonde held up a wine bottle opener with a smirk, proceeding to open the contraption like she'd done it a hundred times before.

the two of you proceeded to pass around the bottle of wine, drinking straight out of the bottle as the two of you were talking, and you tried your best to tune out the annoyance you felt when sarah was ranting about some guy she had been seeing, staring up at the band posters hung up on your wall. you told yourself that it wasn't jealousy, that you were just irritated she was focusing on some guy instead of talking about something actually interesting. you'd always been good at lying to yourself.

but then, she said something that piqued your interest.

"i mean, he can't even get me to come!" sarah exclaimed, taking a swig out of the bottle of wine in irritation.

"really?" you raised your brows with a small chuckle.

"half the time he doesn't even know where my clit is."

you let out a snort, grabbing the bottle of wine from her and taking a swig; you were never too into red wine, but whatever swanky shit she had taken from rose was actually good, sarah's cherry-flavored lipgloss staining the lip of the bottle, making you imagine how it'd be like to taste it from her full lips, your eyes drifting from her brown ones down to the lips you'd dreamt of multiple times, wondering how they'd feel, how much you wanted to have your lips pressed against hers, to tease her mouth open with your tongue.

"it's not funny!" sarah's lips formed those words, yet she started laughing, revealing her teeth that you'd wanted her to sink into your skin while your fingers-

you shook the thoughts out of your head and snorted once again, "you should break up with him. or get used to never getting off by another person again."

"i'd feel bad breaking up because of sexual compatibility."

"sarah, you broke up with a guy because he wore 'weird socks'. which, by the way, i do." you pointed to your feet, adorned in blue socks that were decorated with spongebobs.

"when you do it, it's cute. when a guy does it, it's... eugh."

"maybe you just think i'm cute." you grinned, taking another swig out of the bottle before passing it to the blonde who simply rolled her eyes and took a large swig before passing it back. drinking with sarah was always the worst; it always made you focus on her lips, on the way her neck bobbed when she swallowed, how the more she drank, a small drop of the alcohol would stay on her lips, the girl swiping it away with her finger and making it disappear by sucking the tip of her finger into her mouth.

"could be." sarah grinned, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "i've always thought that if i was gonna be with a girl it'd be you."

you nearly choked on the expensive wine as you heard the blonde say that, coughing and sputtering as you looked at the amused smile that took over her lips at your reaction, the girl biting down on her lower lip.

"you know, i'd totally be down," you put the bottle on your nightstand, narrowing your eyes and cocking your head to the side, "but you couldn't handle me." you said in a challenging tone, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

"oh, yeah?" sarah said, leaning closer to you, pressing her cleavage together with her arms, and you weren't completely sure if she was doing it intentionally or not. "why do you figure?"

you brought your finger to her chin, pulling her even closer until her lips were only a breath away from yours, slowly letting your hand travel down her neck, feeling her pounding heart under your fingertips. "because the moment i touch you..." you whisper, pressing a featherlight peck on her lips, "you're gonna unravel."

sarah's pupils were blown wide, flickering between your eyes and your lips, the girl letting out a warm breath, her hand going to rest on your jaw "i bet i won't."

you pressed your lips on hers, hungrily, like you'd die of starvation if you didn't devour her right in that spot. one of your hands went to her waist, tugging her closer to you, while the other one tangled into her blonde hair.

it felt as if time stopped as your tongues danced, the girl tasting of the red wine you'd shared and the remnants of her cherry lip gloss, your layers of clothing slowly disappearing while the two of you were tangled into one another until you were both in your underwear, your lips trailing down her neck to her collarbone as your hand was kneading her breast through her lacy bra, sarah letting out soft whimpers, once that you'd spent so long wondering what they sounded like.

your lips pressed kisses on her chest, sarah's head thrown back as you mumbled against the flesh of her breast, "can i take this off?" your fingers trailing over the lace of her bra, goosebumps appearing on her soft skin.

"mmhm. yeah." the girl hummed, and you could feel her heart racing against your hand as you unclasped her bra, sliding it down her arms painfully slowly before discarding it on the floor, looking at her bared breasts with your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from letting out a moan. slowly, you brought your lips down to her nipple, rolling your tongue around it and listening to the pretty noises sarah was letting out, pressing a gentle kiss on the hardened bud before sucking it into your mouth, twirling your tongue around it while your other hand's fingers pinched her other nipple, sarah letting out moans that had you soaking. "oh, f-fuck…"

you hummed against her nipple, sending vibrations down her body, before you let it out of your mouth with a wet pop, smirking at how unraveled sarah already looked under you, her eyes hazy as she looked at you. settling yourself between her legs, you looked down at the wet patch on her red, lacy panties, making you hungry. you pressed your thumb at her puffy clit, rolling it through her panties. "you want me to take these off?"

"mmhm…" sarah mumbled, biting down on her lower lip.

"yeah?" you let out a teasing chuckle, adding pressure onto your thumb as you rolled it over her clothed clit, "how badly?"

"ugh, please…" she groaned, "please, just take 'em off."

you let out another chuckle, "so desperate for me." but you still hooked your fingers around the waistband of her panties, sarah lifting up her hips to help you take them off, and you slowly slid them down her legs. instead of throwing the pair on the floor with the rest of your clothes, you placed it in your nightstand drawer, "i'm keeping those."

you spread her legs even further, settling yourself back between them as you looked down at her pussy, glistening with her arousal. you gave her puffy clit a flick, causing the girl's back to arch on the bed, "please..." she mumbled, making you let out a small chuckle.

"i wanna taste you..." you spoke softly as you moved to lay on your stomach, sarah lifting up her head to look at you as you hook your arms under her thighs.

you licked a stripe up her wet slit, letting a moan against her cunt; you'd spent so many nights imagining how it might feel, how she might taste, involuntarily rutting your hips against the bed for some friction, your grasp on her thighs tightening as you sucked on her puffy clit. in reality; none of your fantasies matched up to the real thing. you were completely lost in her, only caring about the pretty noises leaving sarah's lips, the breathy moans, your name turning high-pitched when you touched her just right.

you brought your ringed fingers to her entrance, the girl so slick with arousal that your middle- and ring fingers slid into her like a dream, sarah clenching around your digits, "so fucking wet f'me, hm?" you chuckled against her clit as you stilled your fingers inside of sarah, her back arching off the bed, "you're the best thing i've ever tasted, i swear..."

"please..." she whined, and you slowly started pumping your long fingers in and out of her, your other hand holding onto her thigh so tightly you were sure it'd leave a mark shaped like your hand as you continued flicking her clit with your tongue, moving your fingers in and out of her, arching inside of her until you felt your fingers bump against the spongy spot inside of her, sarah's legs starting to twitch, the girl involuntarily trying to close them as soon as you did.

you let out a chuckle, now continuing to move with more purpose and confidence, arching your fingers as her walls slowly clenched around you, looking up to see the girl's face twisted in bliss before bringing your lips back to her clit, grinding your hips against your mattress, letting out a moan that vibrated throughout your best friend's body.

feeling her hand twisting in your hair, softly tugging told you enough, causing you to slightly pick up your pace as sarah stuttered "i-i'm c-c-"

"shhh..." you mumbled against her clit, "just let it happen... so good f'me..."

you continued moving your fingers inside of sarah until the girl let out a loud moan of your name, arching her back off the bed, her walls clenching around your fingers so tightly it felt like she had imprisoned them inside of her. you slowed down your movements but didn't halt them, wanting the girl to be able to come down from her high before you did, and once the pulsing around your fingers slowed down, you pulled your soaked fingers out of sarah, wrinkled from how aroused she'd been, letting go of her clit with a small pop, pressing a soft peck on it.

you kissed your way up her stomach, leaving small, wet prints on her tanned skin until you were face-to-face with her, sarah looking at you dazedly as you smiled and let out a small chuckle, a gesture that she returned almost immediately, the sides of your noses bumping together when you slowly brought your lips to hers, and unlike your first kiss, this one was soft, tender, and slow.

"so." you spoke against her lips, looking into her dark eyes, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "did i unravel you? or do i need to do that again?"

"you did..." sarah mumbled breathlessly looking at you behind her half-lidded eyes, "but i wouldn't say no to you unraveling me again."

[thelastofhyde]

hit the road, jack!

pairing. ex!jack daniels x fem!reader synopsis. the last time you sat in jack’s infamous bronco, you broke his heart. now, a year later, you’re sitting in it with a mud-stained wedding dress and he’s driving you back to the man you left at the altar. is one night, a thousand miles, and a well-timed car radio enough to remind you of the love you shared? warnings. road trip au, exes to lovers, runaway bride!reader, mutual pining, miscommunication/no communication, idiots in love, exes in love, minor character death, infidelity, one ( 1 ) comment regarding food restriction, mentions of period, smut ( unprotected piv, dirty talk, sex in public spaces, implied creampie, fairly non-descriptive ) the reader of this fic is mostly non-descript, with mentions of having hair long enough to stick to her neck when wet and hands smaller than jack's. word count. 14.7k hyde's input. quick disclaimer that this fic was admittedly better in my head, but i tried my best :') it unfortunately never got to reach it's full potential as my friends dragged me off on an unexpected trip on friday for my birthday (which is today aka the 23rd). because of that, i've not had time to finish the last few scenes as well as i'd hoped to (it's literally 5 am as i'm editing it bc it's the only chance i've had) but i don't want to post this any later as this is my entry to the #SummerLovin'24 event, organised and hosted by @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery & @amanitacowboy , a massive thank you to them for creating such a fun event. i really enjoyed taking part and i can not wait to sink my teeth into the other amazing fics from this event. if you care to listen, here is a playlist of songs mentioned/featured in the fic.

INTRO — silver springs.

“Time cast a spell on you, but you won’t forget me.”

Stevie Nicks et al chant out of old speakers, a bass blown out over time and an intruding static that demands to play alongside the band. Perched upon the bar counter, they sit adjacent to a cash register that shakes each time it opens, a slam seemingly the only way to close it. The swish of a mop over chequered vinyl flooring and the squeaks of a waitress’ coffee-stained sneakers play to their own tune. The passing of time turns it all to background noise.

Through lunch, through dinner, and two shift changes you’ve survived. Out in the parking lot now sits only a semi-truck, its drivers, two men in scuffed boots and jeans that fray at their seams, the only other customers that remain. One tucks into a Sloppy Joe, the other has fallen asleep against the table, his coffee turning as cold as your own.

You ordered the coffee for nothing more than an excuse to sit a while longer. Time for figuring out what’s next. What you’ll do, where you’ll go, how you’ll get there. The elderly couple who’d been kind enough to take you off the side of the road, moving luggage into the trunk to make space for you in the backseats, are now long gone from the roadside diner.

It wasn’t a sorrowful departure. You were quite happy to see them leave, and take their pitiful glances and unasked questions with them. The looks still linger on in others. Each pair of eyes you’ve encountered, dragging over the expanse of your messed up hair, and your smudged eyes, and your mud-stained gown. It’s not hard to imagine the scenes they play out in their heads, of a bride scorned and abandoned on what was meant to be the happiest day of her life, a day meant for vows and first dances twisted into one of heartbroken wandering and roadside pit-stops.

You wonder if any of them know you’re not the victim, but the aggressor. The one who fled, leaving behind a bouquet of striped carnations, marigolds, and purple hyacinths.

Tires crunch on gravel as a car rolls into the parking lot. Whichever fool sits behind the wheel has their full beams on. A light flickers over your head. It’s been doing so for the past hour, an irritating reflection in the window that steals your attention back into the diner.

The waitress is eyeing you again, a weary look on her face that tells you she wants to approach but doesn’t know how. Maybe she wants to ask if you’re okay, or enquire about the events that led you here, deep in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe she just wants you to close your tab and leave. 

The bell above the door rings as it opens. It’s been a while since you heard it do so. A smile comes over the waitress as she greets the newcomer. Her eyes seem to take them in, slowly. From top to bottom, and right back to the top. Innocent, if not a little flirtatious. She’d not looked at either of the truckers that way. Perhaps this is her lover, here to wait about and keep a watchful eye as she works the night shift. You can’t imagine it’s the safest place in the world for a woman to find herself working through the twilight hours, nothing but open road and sky-rise trees surrounding the diner.

A sip from your coffee. It’s as cold as you expected. Bitter too, having not found your voice in time to ask for sugar. Your stomach growls, a plea for a meal. If you’d only stayed at the venue, you’d be full of vanilla frosting, and smoked oysters, and… had it been the coronation chicken or the roast sirloin the wedding planner had gone with in the end? You can’t remember. What you do remember is her unwanted advice: just stick to some light bites, no bride wants a food-baby in her pictures.

In retrospect, you’d disliked her from the moment you met her. But you had no desire to plan a wedding. And no time either, much to your future mother-in-law’s chagrin. So out she’d gone, a cat on the hunt, dragging home some mousy-brown haired wedding planner as a sacrificial lamb. Better it be her than you who stresses over the shade of napkins, and the taste of merlots, and the seating arrangements.

Footsteps thud against the floor. Slow, deliberate, not a stumble in the way they move. You stare back out the window and spy a cowboy hat reflected in it. It belongs to the waitress’ lover, who by now is likely making his way over to pull her in real close and swoon her with a kiss only men blessed by southern charm possess.

A different version of you, a happier version, used to be kissed like that every morning.

“Are you lost, sweetheart?” The voice of a man echoes. Softly spoken, yet loudly heard in the quiet of the diner. In the window, the cowboy hat stands right behind you. You turn slowly, let your eyes dance over its owner. Like a sculpture plucked out of ancient Rome, he’s a fine art only the most delicate hands could shape. He’s brown-eyed affection. He’s an aquiline nose. He’s a well-groomed moustache. He’s Jack. “Think it’s a few miles up north they’re expecting a pretty bride.”

Leather jackets and well-fitted jeans have been traded in for a suit. Simple, classic. White shirt, black tie, a trademark cowboy hat you’d never failed to spot amongst any crowd. There’s a crinkle where a cheeky grin meets eyes framed by full brows and lashes, a scar on his right temple a reminder of the kind of man he is. Dauntless, righteous, brave. An undercover agent, posing as the CFO of one of the largest whiskey distilleries in the world. 

An illusion plays out where no time has passed and his is still the face you come home to each night. A lot can change in a year, however, like the bed you sleep in, or the ring upon your finger.

He welcomes himself into the seat across from you. The protective barrier of a water-ring stained table keeps a safe distance between you both, yet you still feel his knee knock against your own as he makes himself comfortable. One arm stretched over the backrest, the other rests against the table and drums a nervous tune with his fingers.

“You’ve worried a lot of people, darliln’,” his gaze studies you. You wonder if it’s the same look he used to give his targets. The thought sours the sweetness of seeing his pretty eyes after all these months. “Runnin’ off like that, not even a hoot or a holler to let your daddy know you’re alright.”

Your dad. He’d slipped off to the bathroom, a kiss to your cheek and a promise he’d be back in time to walk you down the aisle. What must he have thought, rounding the corner to the sight of a bouquet, abandoned a la Cinderella and her glass slipper. Before you stew in guilt for too long, the rest of Jack’s words catch up to you.

He knew you ranaway. That glimpse of a cowboy hat amongst the pews had not been an illusion.

Jack was at the wedding.

“What happened?” His hand seeks you out. Warm as you remember him to be, large enough to engulf your smaller palm in his. “Why’d you run?” You stay quiet. Shrug your shoulders, eventually, and stare down as his thumb brushes over your knuckles. “You gonna give me a proper answer, sweetheart?”

Another shoulder shrug leads Jack to a sigh. There’s a pause in the quiet tension brewing between you, in the shape of the smiling waitress, pen and pad in hand. Her eyes seem to dart between you both, and you can almost hear her wondering who Jack is, if he’s the man you were meant to meet at the end of the aisle. There’d been a time when yes was the only possible answer to such a question.

“A glass of your finest whiskey. Neat, of course. And how ‘bout somethin’ to please a sweet tooth, hm?” His foot bumps yours beneath the table, calling you to look at him. You meet his eyes, watch him raise his brows in question. “Spied a pretty mean lookin’ cherry pie on my way in. That sound good to you, darlin’?” Your mute staring continues. Your stomach takes control, answers him with a disgruntled growl from within. His head turns to the side, laughing, and he nods at the waitress. “Think she’s gonna need a slice of that pie, miss!”

The right to speak returns to you at last, as you watch the glass of liquid caramel be placed down in front of him, head turning to stare out the window, a familiar Bronco sits poorly parked, obnoxious in the way it treads the line of two parking spaces.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive.”

Surprise flashes over his face, but he recovers quickly, untensing his shoulders as he sinks further into the booth. “Didn't order it for me,” he slides the glass of whiskey over to you. “Eat up, drink up. You need it.”

Though it kills you to admit it, the first bite out of the pie feels like heaven in your mouth. Tart, sweet, with pastry so golden it’s as if King Midas baked it under the heat of his own hands. A sip of the whiskey isn’t so great, but you stomach the burn and accept the erasure of nerves it promises. Your eagerness to clear the plate and empty the glass has nothing to do with the approving smile Jack watches you with.

“How did you find me?” 

“You doubtin’ my skills?” He’s teasing. You know this. Still, you fall into the trap of a panicked head shake, a cough over the final bite of cherry goodness. “I stopped at a gas station. Runnin’ on an empty in the middle of nowhere ain’t on my list of wants, you see. Overheard two kids talkin’ about some bride sittin’ at a dinner a few miles down. Don’t take no Hercule Poirot to figure it was you”

“Oh.”

You shouldn’t feel disappointed by his answer, there’s no reason a man you hurt so deeply would have any vested interest in finding you.

The last you’d seen of Jack was through your car’s rear-view mirror, his tear stricken face watching you drive away, five years of clothes, and shoes, and memories stuffed into your car. He’d begged you not to leave your shared home; offered to sleep in the spare room, give you both time to work things out between you. You’d been the one to declare it useless.

“This isn’t something we can fix, Jack!”

“But, darlin’, I love you.”

“A happy coincidence, I was lookin’ for ya anyway. You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours yet?” At least this time your mute stare is paired with a head shake. “Look, I mean well when I say this, but darlin’, you’re lookin’ a mighty mess. Now, a pretty mess that may be, but a mess all the same.” His hand is back on yours, squeezing with enough strength to ground you and keep you from floating off into the landscape of your own conflicted mind. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna take a trip to the gents, then I’m gonna square up whatever we owe this fine establishment, and then we’re gettin’ that pretty caboose of yours up'n out of here.”

Frozen where you sit, it takes a few moments for the warmth of whiskey to settle in your bones, lurching you forward when it does, a gasp and a tight grip at his wrist, holding him back before he can stroll away from the table.

“Where are we going?”

“For a drive, sweetheart.”

TRACK 1 — vienna

You and Jack are no strangers to a late night drive.

An entire love story, told within the confines of four wheels and a chassis. The very night you met, you wound up in his passenger seat, arms up in the air and the wind blowing through your hair, the charming cowboy next to you taking every joyful laugh as a plea to go faster, nothing ahead but the open road and a southern voice crooning out of the radio. Too lost in your own head, that’s what he’d claimed you to be, having strolled up to a lonely-you in a crowded bar, lamenting over a glass of bitter white wine, freshly fired and with no real clue of what you were going to do next. Never one to entertain a stranger, you’d tried to brush him off, but he flashed that smile and invited you, so tenderly as the intro to a Bruce Springsteen song began to play, to just give him one dance.

One dance led to unimaginable love.

As time passed, a relationship burst into full bloom, the imprint of you carved into the car’s leather. Jack insisted you grow accustomed to the life of a passenger princess. He picked you up from work, drove you to all your girls’ night outs, sacrificed hours of necessary sleep to drop you at airports, and train stations, and whatever other public transport your work trips demanded you to travel upon. But how could you dream of saying no when you got to ogle the view of him, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, effortlessly manoeuvring his beloved vehicle. 

The car came on couples' vacations, too, road trip getaways. Up north, past the Canadian borders, and down south to the skyline of Mexico City. Out west, a trail up to the Grand Canyon, the Empire State Building in the east. But the late night drives, those were your favourite. Times when life felt too much, with work stressing you out, or your parents giving you grief, or a stress headache gnawing away at your remaining sanity, Jack would tug you wordlessly out into the driveway, buckle your seatbelt, and drive off into the night. Roof down, radio on, the cool breeze clearing your mind.

The only breeze you feel now blows in through an open window.

Pulling away from the diner, Jack turned the wheels south, out into the dark of the night. Trees wall the road in, a never ending sea of pine-green lit by headlights, the looming presence of a dark, dangerous, rumbling sky above. A storm brews ahead, awaiting the perfect moment to crack open and drop a downpour on the world. Little words have been exchanged between you, most of them spoken by Jack, as he tells you about the nightmare he had checking in at his hotel, and the difficulty he had finding the venue, and just how beautiful you look in your dress, tears tracks and messy hair aside. Softly playing over the radio, Billy Joel seems to speak to you, pleading that you slow down, you crazy child.

“D’you remember our trip to Vienna?”

Your head snaps over to Jack. His eyes remain on the road ahead, and a part of you is thankful, unsure of how you’d fare gazing into them as melancholy tangles itself in their shades of brown. The other part misses how it used to feel to catch him watching you from the driver’s seat, affection incarnate as his loving gaze burned heat into your cheeks, your own voice pleading him to pay attention to the road, the light’s already green, Jack!

“How could I forget you almost getting us kicked out of Saint Peter’s church?”

“Hey, now darlin’, let’s not start playin’ the blame game!” His head turns once in your direction, a teasing smile splashed upon his rosy lips. You try not to think about how you’ve felt that very smile pressed against your mouth, memorised the shape of it so perfectly you could draw it with your eyes shut. “You knew what you were doin’ wearin’ that pretty little sundress.”

The dress in question had been a purposeful attack, an attempt at getting payback for the night prior, in which Jack found pleasure in reducing you to tears, begging for release hour after hour, after hour of edging touches. Never the best at putting up a fight against his pouting lips, pleading eyes, and filthy tongue, you’d caved into his hands the moment they skimmed their way up the length of your thigh, the watchful eyes of any Lord above be damned.

“I still dream of the garden’s at Schönbrunn Palace,” a sigh floats out of you as your brain hits play on a kaleidoscope of memories of strolling the grounds, hand in hand with a man you’d imagined yourself being with for the rest of your life.

If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes? He’d asked, as you watched a couple get engaged before your very eyes.

Promise me we’ll get married here, and I’ll consider it.

“I still have nightmares of the boat.”

“The boat!” The patterns in the kaleidoscope shift into images of a viennan skyline reflected upon glassy waters, a city cruise dragging you down the canal. “I still can’t believe you fell off it!”

“I jumped.”

“Backwards? Just admit it, you fell into that water!”

“I jumped, to make you laugh!”

“Oh, don’t worry, me and the coast guard were definitely laughing!”

A silence settles between you both. Jack drums his fingers along to the closing notes of the song, your foot does the same. It crosses your mind that this, in itself, may very well be a dream. Sitting back in the Bronco, staring over at Jack as he drives you both into the aimless night. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s visited your dreams.

You watch him inhale, deeply. With a blink, his eyes reflect the moonlight, glassy with unfallen tears, the image of him too beautiful to be fiction. 

“Sometimes I wish we’d never left Vienna.”

His words cut you deep, the sorrow he speaks them with cuts you deeper. Barely a week back in your own home, suitcases still unpacked, pulling into the driveway hours after the unexpected funeral of a friend, you broke both your hearts.

All that goes up must come down and, in the very same place your relationship started, it ended. Sat across from him, rain beating down on the windows, tears trailing down your face. He begged you to stop before those words came out of your mouth, tried his best to switch the engine back on and pull out into the road. You’re just stressed, darlin’, he’d said, a deceptive whine in his voice cracking his straight-faced facade. Just need to clear your head, right? Lemme take ya for a drive. It was too late, your own hand curling back around the handle and forcing the door open, the water from outside flooding in. I’m sorry, I can’t be with you. Not anymore.

“Yeah,” you exhale, shaky. Swallowed emotions, a tight lipped smile, eyes that search for sanctuary out the window. “Me too.”

In the wing-mirror, lighting crashes amidst the sea of pine-green.

TRACK 2 — purple rain

A perfect summer’s storm.

Mother nature’s mid-June release of pent-up heat, making space amongst the skies for what’s yet to come in the scorching months of July and August, the last of any rain to be seen until September brings back the sombre skies and cooler weather. The rain falls heavily, a persistent thump-thump-thump of water that bounces off the car’s roof, bonnet, windows. In the sky, thunder roars an angry sound, each one louder than the last, followed by an even brighter flash of lighting that electrifies its surroundings, turning the black night into shades of violet, and midnight, and indigo, and purple.

“You’ve not bought any new albums? None at all?” The question comes as you flip through Jack’s collection of discs, a notable lack of change in his roster since the last time you’d sat in his car.

This lack of change is likely not without good reason, like the lack of time to go CD hunting between secret missions to save the world, or a general lack of interest in newer records. He’s always been a fan of the old fashion, after all, the home you’d once shared made up of collections of vintage whiskeys, and classic records, and faded wallpaper that he convinced you gave the kitchen charm.

“Nothin’ new since…” His eyes shift over your way, the look in them enough to wordlessly end his sentence. “You were always the one buyin’ me music. Said you didn’t want me get-”

“Getting bored on missions,” impulse seems to be what forces you to speak, an honest smile sent his way. “I remember.”

It had been a while into your relationship, with i-love-yous and apartment keys exchanged, until the truth of Jack’s job came up.

On your first date, he’d told you he was a businessman. A few dates later, he specified that he was an investor, dipping his fingers into the honey jar of some classically Texa whiskey distillery. Only a half lie, and not one that was hard to believe. Every fibre of his being, stitches and loose threads included, made sense as a man in the business of selling whiskey. The overzealous amount of Statesman whiskeys occupying the shelves in his apartment, the photos he’d send of the view from his high-rise office, the endless number of suits and ties that occupied his wardrobe, even his damn name, Jack Daniels. 

Then, out came the truth.

A phone call from one of Jack’s co-workers, Ginger, lasting no more than five minutes and of which only three words mattered: Jack’s been shot.

A bullet through his head. Any ordinary man would have died. Yet there was your Jack, eyes open, a measly bandage over his temple, and standing up-right. To your own credit, you managed to keep a grasp on your sanity long enough to drive him home, cook him dinner, and sit yourself down across from him at the table. But when he pricked his finger on the tip of his knife, the rivulet of blood dripping down his finger was enough to send you over the edge. Open mouthed sobs, hands clinging to him the instant he sank down on his knees at your side, tears staining every inch of his white cotton t-shirt.

You could’ve died, Jack.

Now how could I go dyin’, when I got such a pretty reason to live for?

You begged with questions, he promised with answers. Hands intertwining with your own, a gentle voice guiding you out the apartment, the soft slam of a car door closing. He turned the key in the ignition, pulled your hand up to his mouth for a kiss, and drove you both off into the night. Under the melodic fall of rain beating down on the car, you came to terms with three facts: Jack was involved in the business of selling whiskey; Jack was otherwise known as agent Whiskey, esteemed senior agent to the Statesmen secret intelligence agency; and Jack was not often shot- at least not in the head.

Arriving home that night, with the rain falling heavy on your front lawn, you’d tried your best to dash from the car and into the house but Jack had other plans. He’d gripped your hand, and pulled you close, and kissed you under the flash of lighting. And when you dared whine that your clothes were soaked, he held you tighter and let himself guide your body into a gentle sway, two lovers under the moonlight and the storm. That night had ended with a fatal promise from Jack, your limbs entangled upon a shared bed, his lips pressing into your forehead.

I promise I’ll always come home to you safe.

“Don’t need no discs anyway, already got all I need right here,” Jack’s impeccable timing, seemingly sensing the shift in your demeanour. It’s like he knows what you’re thinking about, and trying to drag you out of the past and back to the present, his fingers stretching over to turn the volume up. A familiar set of haunting chords plays over the radio, a grin instantly appearing on his face. “Shit, they even got Princ-”

“Stop the car.”

“Huh?”

“Just pull over, Jack!”

Despite the confusion, he abides by your words, foot pressing down on the break, hands steering the wheels off-road, fingers switch the car off. Without the hum of the engine, the rainfall grows louder, the view out the windscreen suddenly blocked behind a wall of flowing water. The radio plays on, the voice of an angel singing lyrics that so aptly match the purple shades painted across the sky by the storm above. There’s a cautious echo of your name, and, for a moment, it’s easy to forget this is the first time you’ve heard him actually say it in over a year. It feels like just yesterday he was calling out to you, begging with solutions you weren’t willing to give.

Your heart beats with a longing to escape your chest, hard and steady against the cage that is your ribs. Your eyes fill with emotions from the past and of the present, as every version of yourself that’s sat within this car comes together as one. Your hand curls around the silver grip of the door, pulling it open and lunging yourself out into the pouring rain.

Under the storm's wrath, you’re reborn. Baptised by mother nature, a soul cleansed of all its prior troubles, returned to you brand new and free of heartbreak. As the rain soaks your face, your neck, your dress, it washes all the pain away. Breathing easy, head tilted back, eyes closed. It's the feeling of being alive, an anomalous euphoria found only beneath a thunderous sky. The tears that dare fall here mean little, a known comfort that they’ll mix with the rain and be swept away.

Enthralled under the moonlight and barefoot, you drift on through the trees that line these woods, chasing the sweet promise of petrichor. You’re unsure if it comes from the sky, or the trees, or Jack, but something calls your name. A fallen tree trunk becomes your own personal tightrope as you dance over the length of it, one careful foot in front of the other, arms stretched out to the heavens above. All it takes is one misplaced step and you lose your footing, slipping over moss and bracing for impact that never arrives.

“Heaven to Betsy, darlin’!” Jack’s hands, warm as a summer breeze, catch you by the waist, your shoulder socking him square in the face as you fall back into his figure. He makes no complaint of pain, taking it like a champ and placing you back down on steady ground, upon unsteady feet. “Did’ya sneak a few extra whiskeys when I was takin’ a leak?”

You open your mouth to reply, to deny, but the rain comes to a stop, and the thunder no longer rumbles, and the moonlight breaks through the parting blanket of clouds, and you’re suddenly so aware of how close you both are.

Like his hands, do his lips still feel the same? Soft as a feather, pillowy as a cloud, as sweet as a peach? It’s not something a married woman should be thinking about another man, about the man another version of her had loved.

But you’re not a married woman, are you?

Wet to the bone, it's as if your wedding dress has shrunk, possessive linen meant to warn you away from leaning forward till your face meets his.

“Careful where you point those eyes, sweetheart. Don’t go givin’ me a reason to make a dishonest woman out of you.” His warning only makes you want to lean in more, test just how dishonest he’s willing to make you, in a dress you wore for another man, upon a forest floor covered by moss, and mud, and rainfall.

He’s stepping back and holding out his hand before you can even try, saving you the trouble of mixing up your head even more. 

Careful steps back to his car, where the radio plays on as Prince’s voice slowly fades out. The headlights are back on, the key sits in the ignition, and you half wonder just how quickly he chased after you, abandoning his precious car so carelessly at the side of a darkened country road, free for any Tom, Bill, or Sally to claim for themselves.

“You’re lucky I got spare clothes in the back,” Jack’s voice echoes out from where he stands, bent at the waist, and rummaging through the floor of the back seats. You want to think he’s not going this on purpose, putting himself on display so obviously, but it feels easier on your conscience to blame him for your own inability to stray your eyes away from how snugly the soaked dress pants hug his behind. “Ain’t no hope in hell I’d let you in my car, all drippin’ wet.”

“You never used to complain about me being wet in your car.”

It’s a quickfire response, the kind you don’t quite get the chance to think over before you say it. Though it may shock your own ears to hear, it seems to shock poor Jack more, the smack with which his head hits against the car’s roof loud enough that you almost feel it in your skull.

You rush over to his side, dress dragging through more mud, and more leaves, and more broken gravel. No chance to even rest your hand upon his arm, Jack’s already pulled himself out the car to face you, a splash of pink brewing across his cheeks and a hand soothing over the back of his head. In the backseats, his hat lays abandoned, knocked off in the commotion.

“Can’t just be sayin’ things like that, darlin’,” he says as he holds out a change of clothes for you, smugness in his voice yet a shake in his hand. “Not unless you’re tryin’ to give old Jack over here a heart attack.”

In silence, you both turn your back on each other. Jack does so in spare of your modesty, and you, in search of someplace dry to lay down his clothes. You do so upon the passenger seat, hands immediately contorting every manner of way they can to reach the dress’ buttons that span down the length of your spine, each more finicky than the last. You manage to free only two, in the very centre, before you sigh and wonder if the entrapment you feel in the white gown could get any more literal than this.

“Jack,” it only feels right to seek out his aid, you tell yourself, the sooner the buttons are undone, the sooner the dress will be off, the sooner you’ll be changed, and the sooner you’ll both get back on the road again, destination unknown. It only makes sense, really, so who could blame you when you say, “come help me out my dress.”

No reply comes your way.

At first, you think he’s not heard you. Then, you worry that he has, and is choosing to ignore such a request, thinking it best he keeps his hands away from any act that involves undressing you. Then, fear that you’ve given him that heart attack after all. Fingers brush wet hair off your shoulders before you can turn to check on the cowboy.

Cicadas scream out into the night, and some faceless host rants over the car radio about the rising conspiracy theory of spycams in childrens’ toys, and your heart beats louder than any set of drums could ever hope, but all you can hear is the steady breaths Jack pulls in and blows out behind you, so close you feel each exhale brush your skin. His fingers do so too, with each button they pop loose, each inch of skin he reveals.

Before you can ask him to touch you with more than just his mouth and breath, his own voice fills your ears.

“I used to dream about doin’ this someday.”

“I think we both know this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten a girl out her dress, Jack.”

“Is your mind ever anywhere but the damn gutter?” A pinch delivered against your left side, a chastising tsk accompanying his words. “I meant that I dreamt about this, me helpin’ you take your weddin’ dress off.”

There’s an audible hitch in your breath, one that perfectly tells Jack everything your own voice seems to fail to. Air stings at your eyes, yet you refuse to blink, too aware of the tears building within them. His warm hands dance back up your spine as the final button is loosened, tracing slowly over skin he’d once memorised, a missionary returning to the land it once knew.

Your dress falls to the floor.

“‘Course I never thought I’d be doin’ it on the side of the road, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

TRACK 3 — lover you should’ve come over

“Wait, are these pyjama pants?”

The realisation dawns upon you twenty minutes after you hit the road again. Confined to the small space of the Bronco with little to look at— besides Jack, his clothes still damp and smelling of summer rain, a towel laid over his seat— you’ve resorted to the finer details, picking apart the scraps of clothing he’d handed you. A plain white t-shirt that, when paired with one of his tight-fitting jeans and a corduroy-lined leather bomber jacket, becomes a Jack Daniels staple. You find it best to ignore how it smells of campfire, and sweat, and the cologne you’d bought Jack on your last anniversary. He’s paired it with a pair of blue chequered pyjama pants, loose-fitting yet tied securely around your waist by a fraying draw-string.

“Took myself and the old gal up to Alaska a few weeks back, chasin’ after a view of the Northern Lights.” There’s a flash of something hot, bright, green as you register his words, myself and the old gal, tamed and dampened only when you remember that’s what Jack calls the Bronco, his old gal. “I was livin’ out my car the whole trip, figured it was easier than trynna find some inn out in the middle of the Alaskan woods. In fact, if you check down there, pretty sure you’ll find some uneaten energy bars I packed for the trip.”

He seems to point aimlessly down at a space around your legs, hand back on the wheel and guiding the wheels around a harsh bend before you can truly pinpoint what he’s referring to. You settle on the glove compartment, sitting upright and reaching a hand out to pop it open.

Then you remember what it houses, the weapons Jack carries in there. The lasso, the whip, the pistol, the bullets. A sickness burns your throat, your eyes unable to even glance down at the opened compartment, instead searching for Jack’s own eyes that stare back with equal amounts of surprise.

“I forgot those were in there.” He steals the words right out your own mouth, a nervous chuckle following them. You’d known to never touch the dreaded compartment, for your own sake, too eager to forget about the parts of him that made him an agent, the parts of him that put him in danger. “You can read ‘em, if you want. They were written for you anyway.”

Confusion floods the soul, curiosity winning over survival and dictating that you muster the courage to turn your head, take a peak at what sits inside the glove box. When you do look, you find there’s no whip nor pistol, no piece of Agent Whiskey in sight. What is there are the energy bars he’d promised, a hiking guidebook of sorts, a map, and a stack of wrinkled envelopes.

One glance back at Jack, he encourages you to take them with a nod, and so, you do. Feel the weight of them all in your hands, do your best to not drop any as you pull them out onto your lap. They scatter all over you, each a different shade of white, unopened and all sporting a red return to sender stamp. All appear addressed to the same place, and it takes only a moment of wondering why it seems so familiar for you to realise.

It’s your old address.

“They’re all labelled with dates, I wrote the first one a few weeks after you left. Wasn’t sure where you’d moved to, I figured there was a chance you’d gone back to your old place. I never forgot about how much you loved that apartment,” he says, and you did. Leaving it behind had been hard, the first real home you’d made for yourself since moving out of your parent’s place, the first space you made your own in the world. The idea of making a new space with Jack, a place you could build together, share together, had outweighed the pain of saying goodbye to your little one-bed apartment. “Wrote the second one because you didn’t reply, and I was missin’ you. Then I just kept writin’ em, and sendin’ em, and waitin’ on you writin’ back, even if just to tell me to get lost. I got a note back, along with the letters, but it wasn’t from you. Some older couple moved in to your old place, told me they’d been keepin’ em all safe incase you ever came round to collect your old mail, but they figured it was time I stopped writin’ to a ghost.”

Attentive to his every word, you search for the letter with the earliest date. Sent two weeks after things ended, with a colourful stamp and a seal that’s slightly opened at the edges, the glue’s hold loosening with time and neglect. You tear it open completely and unfold the sheets of paper found within, eyes drawn immediately three quarters down the page.

I saw our friends tonight for the first time since you left. They asked how you’re doing and where you were. I thought they were just being cruel at first but no, they didn’t know about the break up. I told them you weren’t feeling well, that you decided to stay home tonight. I guess I just wanted one more night where you were still mine, even if it was just in the eyes of our friends. I will tell the truth next time I see them.

You feel as though you’re invading his privacy, reading over words he’d written months ago, despite being the intended audience. That doesn’t mean you have the willpower to stop, however, eyes diving deeper down the page.

Or maybe I won’t have to tell them. Maybe, next time I see them, you’ll have come home. There’s still a chance for us. I believe it because I love you. You said this wasn’t something we can fix. I think you’re wrong. There’s never been an issue we couldn’t solve by talking it through, why should this one be any different? Let’s get coffee, darling. Our usual place, our usual time, next Tuesday. We can get through this, you just have to let me know it’s something you want, that I’m something you still want. 

Jack’s quiet in the driver’s seat, forgiving with the time he gives you to read over his letters. When the turning of pages and the ripping of envelopes rings too heavy in the car, your shoulders tensing up in a discomfort of disrupting the peaceful silence, he wordlessly turns the radio back up and the voice of Jeff Buckley greets you both.

You return to his letters, the second he’d sent already open in your palm.

I went to our usual spot. You never showed up. Your lack of reply to my letter should have been enough to tell me that, but I still had hope. Maybe I really am a fool. Our friends seem to think so. I told them about us and they immediately asked what I’d done wrong. There was no answer I could give them. The worst thing isn’t just that I’ve lost you, it’s that I don’t even know why.

You open the next envelope, and the next one, and the next one, paragraphs melting together into a heartbroken shape.

I tried to sleep in our bed. I lasted half an hour before crawling back to the guest room.  Our room just feels too empty without you. I smell you everywhere no matter how many new sheets I buy.

Eggsy and Tilde got married. It’s the first wedding I’ve been to without you. I’m doing a lot of firsts without you recently. I hate it. Our friends (am I wrong to call them our friends? I’m not ready to just call them mine) tried setting me up with someone new. They showed me a picture and she’s beautiful, but I just kept comparing her to you. Against your beauty, she’s nothing.

Your mother was at the Statesman ground tour today. I was surprised to see her, she already done the tour years ago. I tried not to talk about you too much, I didn’t want her knowing how desperate I am to hear about you. Congratulations on your promotion, I always knew you’d get it. I’m so proud of you for finally applying for it. I heard you’ve started seeing somebody, a veteran turned mechanic. Your mother was kind enough to give me his name. I hope you understand that I don’t want to invade your privacy but I had to make sure you’re safe. The guy’s got a clean slate, other than a sketchy trip down to South America with some other vets. He seems like a good man. I want you to get your happy ending. Are you happy? I’m not. 

Only one envelope remains unopened. The weight of it sits heavy in your lap, a fear settling in that has you not wanting to open it. You study the front of it, find out it was mailed three months ago. The radio moves in sync with you, it seems, the song that plays reaching its climatic moment at the same time as you do, tearing open the final letter. Next to you, Jack clears his throat and wrings his hands over the steering wheel.

This last one, you read the letter in full.

Darling girl,

Spring came faster this year. The daffodils you planted bloomed in early March. I’ve been tending to the garden, I know how much love you put into it. The flowers are coming up alright, the fruit and vegetables not so much. If only I had your green thumb.

I visited Tequila last week. I don’t know if it’s right to call him that anymore. Champ’s still not named his successor, part of me thinks he wants to retire it. That’s not what Tequila would’ve wanted. He would’ve wanted Ginger taking on the mantle. The grounds he’s on are beautiful, if not sombre. They overlook a lake, and the grass is cut everyday, and the sun shines on his grave from sunrise to sunset. I didn’t say much to him, just sat and enjoyed the view. Thought about a lot of things, and finally realised why you left.

You were scared. For me. I thought you were being selfish, breaking my heart like that, but I finally understand how awful that day must’ve been for you. We’d just buried my comrade, our friend, and you had to watch Tequila’s wife say her last goodbye, knowing it was almost me in that casket and you on the podium. That was my mission he went on, I could’ve been the one who didn’t come home to the woman I love.

I’m sorry I took so long to understand. I retired from my position at Statesman. I’m agent Whiskey no more. I’m coming to find you, and hope you give me one last real try at fixing us.

Love always,

your Jack.

“Your wedding invitation found me first,” Jack says, foot off the accelerator, eyes off the road, hands on the wheel.

The weight of his stare drags down to your lap, where the heap of papers now all sit, piled atop one another and rustling with every movement you make. Your own eyes have welled with tears that slip down the apples of your cheeks and splash the papers below, smudging the ink.

The confirmation of his invite knocks out the questions of how he wound up in the pews.

“I didn’t invite you,” you’re unsure if the truth is crueller than fiction. No part of you wants him to think you’d be so spiteful, so hurtful as to invite him to a day you’d once promised to share together. “I didn’t invite anyone. I was… busy, with work. My mom dealt with the invites, she must’ve written you down by accident.”

Your lips may be the ones to say it, but your own ears struggle to believe. Your mother’s always been a meticulous woman, practical, with her affairs eternally in order. The only mistakes she makes are the ones she means to.

“Yeah,” Jack sighs out from the driver’s seat, resignation in his voice. “I figured you didn’t invite me.”

TRACK 4 — 50 ways to leave your lover

Jack drives deeper into the night.

Out the car window, you watch as the world flies by, a blur of unlit trees and unmarked road signs. Earlier’s storm has rolled away and revealed the blanket of stars above, twinkling alongside a full moon. The road is long, and winding, and seemingly never ending. There’s no discussion of destination, no sanctuary you’re waiting to reach. You feel no urgency for it, either. So long as you sit right where you are, passenger in a car, you don’t have to take the wheel, you don’t have to choose where to go, or what to do. You can just exist within this liminal space, where no wedding lies in the balance and no hearts lay broken.

It’s just you and Jack, like the old days, going for a drive.

“Ask me,” permission comes off your tongue as you observe the driver and his less than subtle glances your way. “I can see the wheels turning in your head. Everything you wanted to know in the diner, I promise I’ll answer this time.”

“I guess I’m tryin’ to put myself in your shoes, figure out what was runnin’ through that pretty head of yours,” Jack is, at his core, a gentleman. For hours, he’s let you sit beside him, biting his own tongue and fighting back his own curiosity, a trait so vital to his existence it led him into a world of spies, and guns, and movie-esque kinds of evil. Even now, with your promised approval, he eases his way into his questioning, the part of him that knows you better than your own self dictating that this is something he must address with care.  “How’d you do it?”

“I just slipped out the back, Jack,” there’s a chuckle of sorts that welcomes itself out the depths of Jack’s chest, your choice of words going hand in hand with that of the Paul Simon record reaching its end over the radio. As quick as the humour appears, it goes, leaving nothing but the unfortunate reality of the situation. “Someone left a door open, it led out onto the back gardens. The further away I got, the faster I started to run. I made it all the way past the highway on foot before an older couple pulled over. They dropped me off at a diner, and that’s where I stayed until-”

“Until I found you,” it’s a reminder you shouldn’t want, the image of Jack setting off to find you in the midst of the commotion of a missing bride. It’s not healthy for your poor psyche, already at odds with what it wants, no need for further complications brought on by unresolved feelings. You can’t help but smile at him, however, no filter strong enough to cover your subconscious’ joy. “Why did you run away?”

Your smile fades.

The promise you made is already at threat of being broken. You thought there’d be more questions, more time until he hit you with the heaviest of them all.

Why did you run away?

You know the answer. Of course you’ve known the answer, from the moment you decided to turn on your heel and sprint down the halls, in search of an escape. As much as you can pretend otherwise, and feign naivete, you can’t change the truth. That doesn’t mean you’re ready to admit it out loud, and so you refute it with a question of your own: “Why did you come to the wedding?”

It would be easy to forgive Jack for getting irate when faced with your avoidant response. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, he spins the steering wheel and shoots you a smile, the kind that used to keep you warm at night.

“I wasn’t goin’ to come at first,” comes his admittance. You can’t say you blame him, really, a picture of yourself in his shoes, receiving an invite to his wedding. The thought conjures a painful throb from your heart. “Nearly tossed the damn thing into the fireplace when I got it. A few weeks later, I met with Champ for a drink. Drank myself blind, till I started tellin’ him all about the invite. He told me I had to come.”

A lift of your eyebrows, a snap of your head towards him. There’s a desire to have his full attention on you. There’s also the awareness that the road acts as a buffer for the tensing heartache that swells and lulls between you, each exchange of words a game of painful chess. You make the choice to bring forth a pawn this once, a simple why?

“He said I’ve been livin’ with life on pause since you left, maybe watchin’ you marry another man would be the thing to help me hit play at last.”

INTERLUDE — go your own way

Like tires upon gravel, time rolls on.

No matter how easy it is to forget about the world outside, look out the window and pretend you’re simply on a train, trapped in a constant onward motion, there’s no ignoring the orange glow that begins to grow on the horizon, nor the red lights on the car radio that read 05:38. A new day grows fast upon you and, where you remain mute to it, Jack can not allow the fantasy to go on any longer.

The tires screech against the gravel and everything comes to a stop.

“Thinkin’ time’s up, sweetheart,” his hands retreat from the wheel, finding purchase on his thighs. You try not to follow their descent over the tailored suit, try not to think about the thick muscles that sit hidden beneath the black trousers. It’s not your place to think about them anymore. “Where are you goin’?”

Decision has never been something you’ve struggled with, much less when the choices are so simple and limited. Either you go back to the wedding venue, and meet whatever fate awaits you of scornful mothers, and disappointed fathers, and abandoned fiances. Or, you can go anywhere.

You make a mistake, let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t, and end up asking yourself where will Jack go. He still lives in the home you once shared, this you know. Will he go there, pour himself a drink, and try to forget this night even happened?

You can still picture it all. The coffee table Jack hand-carved, both your initials engraved on the side. The picture frames all along the wall, a mural of memories shared between you. The matching set of mugs, eternally sitting on the drying board, waiting for Jack to stagger his way down the stairs and fill them with boiling coffee. If you walked through that door again, would you find everything just the way you left it? Or, has he gotten a new table, changed the pictures in the frames, bought new mugs? Is there someone there, right now, sleeping in his bed and waiting on his return?

A bitter taste overcomes your tongue at the thought, your insides twisting up like you’ve not spent the past few months sleeping next to someone else and saying yes to proposals you weren’t expecting.

“What do you think I should do?” You don’t want him to tell you to go home, you want him to say come home.

“You can’t ask that of me. My answer’s gonna be nothin’ but selfish.” Would it really be so bad, you wish to ask, if Jack was selfish? Maybe life would be easier if he was. He clears his throat, like he clears his mind, and gone is your moment to tell him you want selfish. “I can say this, though… Your fiance’s a good man, a kind man. Kind enough to trust your parents words and let me, a stranger, go searchin’ for you. He deserves to know what decision you make. It ain’t just your weddin’, it’s his too.”

He’s right, and you hate it.

There’s no way you can tell him now that you were even contemplating not going back, of disappearing into the sunrise with him, driving till life leads you down the right roads to find a new home, your old home, Jack.

The muddied wedding dress seems to call to you from the car boot, a whispering of your name that tells you to put it back on, go back, and walk down that aisle. You owe that much to your fiance, if he’ll still have you. With him, you’ve never had to worry about him coming home safe. With him, you could live a happy enough life, keep yourself busy enough to ignore all the what-ifs your mind would try seduce you with.

Besides, that’s what Jack needs, right? To see you marry another man, a final nail in the coffin named us, so he can finally move on with his life. You owe him that much, at least.

With a nod of your head and the straightening of your spine, you set your choice in stone, “drive me back to him, Jack.”

The engine shudders to life and the radio sets itself back on course, some upbeat voice that demands you go your own way, a musical slap delivered upon your face. Jack turns the steering wheel, rerouting the car’s course with an effortless u-turn before he presses down on the accelerator, propelling you forward down the paths you’ve already travelled.

You tell yourself you’re doing the right thing, even if a familiar dread starts to settle in the pit of your stomach, brushing them off as rational nerves. Who wouldn’t be anxious when facing a man they left at the altar?

A yawn escapes you.

“We’re a few hours out from the chateau.” There’s something in his voice that weighs on him, the tone between you shifting to something of desperation. Goodbye is a few hours away. This time, for good. “Sleep, it’s late.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Pull over, you want to say. Let’s sleep. The wedding can wait a few more hours.

How unfortunate that he cannot read your thoughts, understand the intentions behind your staring as you recline your chair, turn to face him on your side, hands crossed protectively over your abdomen.

One blink, and your eyes are already fighting to stay open, dragging you down into the depths of slumber.

“I’m fine. Don’t sleep much these days anyway,” the sound of Jack’s voice fades slowly into the background, melting away with the hum of the engine, and the turn of the wheels, and the voice on the radio. “Never got used to the feeling of an empty bed.”

TRACK 5 — i’m on fire

When your eyes next open, the sun’s warmth is caressing your face.

The sound of children’s laughter fills the air, and the smell of smoke fills your lungs, and the feeling of resting against Jack’s shoulder fills you with dread. Fearful to move, you take in all of him that you can see from this angle.

There’s no suit upon him, replaced with the casualness of a cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded denims. The hat’s back on his head, the curls of ungelled hair that peak through dry as a bone. A cigarette rests neatly between fingers on his left hand, the right one grasping at the neck of a beer bottle. No wheel sits in front of him, no gear shift keeps space between you. The Bronco’s been replaced with the view of your parent’s backyard and the comfort of a well cushioned outdoor couch.

You know this memory.

You’ve lived this memory.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” just like you remember, Jack’s stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette the moment he notices your open eyes. “How you feelin’?”

“Like my uterus is trying to carve its way out of me,” your mouth plays along with the dream, speaking the same words it had years ago.

“That good, huh?” A beer stained kiss meets the corner of your mouth, another follows up to your forehead, as Jack’s free hand reaches into his pocket, reemerging with silver foil between two fingers. “Got these off your mother. Let me go get you somethin’ to eat, then you can take two, hm?”

You remember thinking that you love him. You didn't dare speak it, however, simply nodding as you took the blister packet of paracetamol out his offering grasp and uncurled your legs back down onto the floor, stretching your arms. Jack bends down, presses his lips against the crown of your head, and then he’s off, venturing over to where your father stands grilling another round of burgers on the barbeque.

Jack’s always been a confident man. He carries himself with a head held high and a careless smile on his face, no chip on his shoulder and no flare for anger in his bones. A southern gentleman, who knows his own charms and, most dangerously, how to use them. Place him alone with your father, however, and watch how he crumbles like a house of cards. To the untrained eye, it’s unnoticeable, but you don’t miss the glances he spies your father with each time he throws out a joke, nor the way his hands can never seem to relax, a nervous tic of drumming against his thighs or balling into fists as he makes conversation with the older man. He’s desperate for the approval of your monotonous father, so desperate he fails to see he won it months ago, 

“Eat up, drink up, you need it,” he says as he hands you the paper plate, and his half-drunk bottle of beer. He settles back down on the couch, pulling you into him once more. “Your old man was sayin’ we should probably head off soon, ‘fore it gets too late. Think he’s startin’ to warm up to me, he’s even worryin’ bout me drivin’ in the dark.”

“Oh, he loves you,” you take a bite, break two of the pills out their casing, wash them down with a swig of bitter beer. The summer sun burns in the corners of your eyes, forcing them into a squint. “He kept looking for you at the dinner table at my mom’s birthday, you should’ve seen his reaction when I told him you were stuck in New York slaving away in your office.”

Months later, you’d come to find out he wasn’t in New York, surrounded by mountains of paperwork, but somewhere in the south of France, hunting down some billionaire wine-maker with plans to poison the crops of surrounding vineyards, leaving only his wine safe to consume.

In your memory, Jack plucks the hat off his own head and rests it gently upon your own, a shaded barrier against the bright light in the sky. You thank him, he watches on quietly as you continue to eat, gaze not peeling itself away from you the whole time.

“What? Do I have ketchup on my face? Or, in my hair?” You’d asked him, mid-chew. No answer, more staring. Panic made a debut in your mind, suddenly alert to his unusual behaviour. “Wait, is it a bug? Jack, is there a bug in my hair?”

“I love you.”

No build up, no grand-speech, no overly romantic setting.

He said it like one shares the weather, or the time, or what they’re wanting for lunch. He said it like it was something he always said, would always say, despite it being the very first time you’d heard him do so. Tears had flown in quickly, your hormones already gone haywire with the unexpected arrival of shark week earlier that morning. There’s a vague assurance that you told him you loved him too, through tears, and he teased your weepy face with kisses down your cheeks and full-chested laughter.

“Bless your cotton socks, my sweet girl, cryin’ all cause old Jack says-”

“Tell me now baby, is he good to you?”

You jolt awake.

Jack’s by your side, suit on, hair air dried, one hand on the wheel, the other rests out the window. The roof is down, letting the sun shine on you and his caramel eyes. An old Springstein song plays in the background, the very same thing that coaxed you awake. Just like the dream, he takes a few minutes to notice your opened eyes, head turning your way as another car shoots off ahead of you both, overtaking him.

“You were mumblin’ in your sleep. Were you dreamin’ of somethin’ sweet?”

“I was,” too quick comes your reply. Too honest. Nerves have you stumbling over words, scrambling to pick them off the floor of your mind and spew out the first thing that doesn’t involve Jack and his easy-going professions of love. “About the first time my fiance told me he loves me.”

You regret it as soon as you speak, the visible halt to his smile. He overcorrects it, forcing a grin that stretches the corners of his mouth so tight it almost looks painful. “Well, c’mon, don’t go keepin’ it to yourself!”

“He, uh, wrote it in the sky.”

“How romantic. Pricey too, I bet.”

“It was his best man who did it, an ex military pilot.”

As you try to reminisce on the day, little memories blossom in your mind. Instead of vivid motion capture, the day is black and white, no sound. You don’t remember where you were, what he was wearing, how you felt when you read those words up above.

It happened only two months into your relationship, that you do remember. You also remember being parked in your old neighbourhood the night before, twenty minutes spent trying to will yourself to go knock on the door to your old home. The Bronco was in its usual spot, parked outside. No lights were on as you pulled away and willed yourself back to rational thinking.

“Jeez, if that’s how he’s tellin’ you he loves you, I can’t imagine how he proposed.”

You wonder if this is as tortuous for him as it is for you, listening to you detail the life you’d gone on to live just months after walking away from five years of love. “In a restaurant,” you can’t remember the name, or what you ate, or what you wore, as if the memory is one that doesn’t belong to you, never belonged to you. “I ordered dessert, ‘will you marry me?’ was written on it in cherry sauce.”

“You must’ve said yes immediately.”

“I did.”

You leave out the part where the whole restaurant had watched him get down on one knee, or the part where you rushed to the restroom right after accepting the ring, spewing your guts out in a stall. By morning, you told yourself it was fine, you were just feeling nervous. 

After all, you loved him enough to spend time with him, so why not spend the rest of your life with him?

TRACK 6 — she’s always a woman

It had been too easy to forget the thing you loved most about road trips with Jack.

It wasn’t his constant commentary of interesting facts on sites you’d drive past, or his love for taking the long-way to anywhere and everywhere, or his ever-present need to drag your hand up to his lips with every few miles.

The thing you loved most was listening to his voice, unfiltered, unashamed, outloud, singing along to his favourite songs. The voice of a crooning angel and the shyness of a bashful fox. Every so often, when he’d catch you watching him a little too fondly as he sang along, he’d throw in a voice crack, or twist up a lyric into a sickly innuendo.

In the present, it’s you who interrupts his spirited rendition of a Billy Joel classic.

“You were right, in the letters,” the leather of your seat squeaks as you fix your posture, sit yourself up straight if only to force yourself to stop observing the way his lips fall into a natural pout and, instead, focus on memorising the licence plate that drives ahead. “I’m sorry.”

“Right about what?” As though nothing has changed, his hand extends towards your own, effortlessly intertwining your fingers, beginning an ascent to his mouth before mind takes over instinct and he’s letting you go, setting you free.

You give up on the licence plate ahead, turn your face once more towards Jack and his pouty lips.

“I couldn’t be with Agent Whiskey anymore.” A relationship made up of a man, a woman, and an agent. Whiskey would kiss you goodbye in the morning, while Jack would be the one to come home to you. With the passing of time, three became a crowd, and so you removed yourself. “I didn’t want to break your heart, Jack, I swear. But I also didn’t want to let you break mine. And you did, every time you walked out of our home and left me wondering if you’d ever come back. Then, when Tequila… You loved your job. You loved being Agent Whiskey. How could I ask you to leave that part of you behind?”

“Darlin’ if you think there’s any world where losin’ you was easier than losin’ Whiskey, you’re out of your mind.” Like his first I love you, he speaks words that flow out of him as easily as an exhale, as though they carry no weight to them. As though they do not momentarily flip your world on its axis and have you wishing he’d turn the car around, driving you both off into the forever you never got.

Yet another car overtakes the Bronco, its driver angrily pressing on his horn. You both continue to ignore the speed at which Jack drives. Up ahead, everything you’ve been dreading comes into view, an unmissable billboard. Clearview Manor.

50 miles to go. 50 miles till goodbye. 

“I’m hungry.”

“Those energy bars should still be in there, if you’re wantin’-”

“Jack, I’m hungry,” you say it louder, hoping he’ll pick up what you’re laying down.“Can’t we stop somewhere for breakfast?”

His answer comes in the form of a left blinker switching on, wheels cutting over gravel and carrying you off the main road. Then, as if to break your heart some more than his last declaration, he turns to you. “If it had been me waitin’ on you at the end of the aisle, would you have ran?”

You try to picture it.

Jack, in his suit and tie, hands clasped behind his back to keep him from drumming nervous fingers over his thighs, eyes brimming with tears as you take your first step down the aisle. Would the panic have settled in? Would you have felt that same wrongness as when you’d been sneaking a peak at your fiance waiting down the aisle?

Would you have ran?

“It’s not something I planned, y’know? Running. I didn’t think it was even an option,” you’re laying your final card on the table, a truth you couldn't bring yourself to admit earlier at last coming out to play. You’re unsure if it dismisses or further condemns you for your runaway crimes. “I took a peak, at the ceremony hall, while waiting for my father. I needed to see what I was about to walk into. I guess I thought the nerves were just from that, the unknown. Then I saw you, a few rows from the back. At first I thought I was hallucinating, that you were just a man who happened to be wearing a cowboy hat. But then I saw my mum pulling you in for a hug, and I caught a glimpse of your face. That’s why I ran. I couldn’t… marry another man, not with you standing in the crowd.”

“You’ve not answered my question,” it’s the first you’ve seen Jack put his foot down since he dragged you out the diner, the seriousness etched into his frowning forehead and stamped onto his lips. “Would you have ran?”

“No.”

Jack just keeps driving.

TRACK 7 — dancing in the dark

“You can’t be serious!”

Squeezed into the corner booth of a dingy, run-down bar, you and Jack sit across from one another, digging into a stack of pancakes lathered in maple syrup.

The bartender and two of his patrons glance at you both every so often, and you have to wonder how odd a pair you and Jack must make. One dressed to the nines, if you ignore the dried mud at the bottom of his dress pants and his loosening tie, the other wearing yesterday’s make-up paired with cotton pyjama pants. You prefer it to the stares you’d gained in your wrinkled gown.

“Deadly. I’m a serious tap-dancin’ student,” his fork stabs into the fluffy goodness, dragging it along the plate, soaking the pancake in as much syrup as possible. You try not to think of mornings that used to be spent like this, sitting at your own table, flour in his hair and eggshells in your own, both of you ignoring the disastrous mess in the kitchen begging to be cleaned as you tuck into your homemade pancakes. “Retirement breeds weird hobbies.”

“Before long, you’ll be playing bingo at the old folks home.”

“I just have to ask, I really do,” a dread you haven’t felt since stepping out the car— with the help of Jack and his offering hand, the other holding your door open— creeps back in. You don’t want to talk about your own current reality, not when it’s been so easy to pretend none of the wedding fiasco happened and, instead, you’re simply catching up with Jack after bumping into each other in this bar.  “This fiance of yours… is he bigger than me?”

As quick as it inflates, the tension pops. 

“Oh my god, Jack!” You laugh, a little too loudly, and dip your head as other tables turn their heads your way.

“What?”

“You did not just ask me that.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“You can’t just say things like that!” In mock surrender, he throws his hands up. Your own grab ahold of your knife and fork once more, an ironclad focus on the near-empty plate as you will the shameful heat away from your face, mumbling over your words. “But, no, he isn’t bigger. Happy?”

“You’ve no idea.” As though you’re being haunted by music, a song begins to play over the speakers. You’re not the only one who takes notice, Jack’s eyes lighting up with a devious look, his legs already rising out of his seat. “Think that’s our queue, darlin’.”

“Sit back down.”

“Oh, c’mon now, don’t be so uptight,” he lays out his hand, begging for you to place your own in it. Flashes of a memory, six years back, the very same song playing as the very same man attempted to coax a dance out of you. “One dance, sweetheart, then I’ll leave you in peace.”

Just like your younger self, you’re incapable of resisting his baby cow eyes, letting him guide you out onto a makeshift dance floor before it’s too late to run back and hide in your seat, the eyes of strangers already piercing you with their questioning stares. If you weren’t deemed a strange pair with your attire alone, you certainly are now, feet stumbling awkwardly along with Bruce Springstein.

“This song was playin’ when we met,” he says it like you don’t know, like you don’t remember, like you aren’t replaying that night as you speak, pretending you’re both in that same crowd of swaying bodies, young, and naive, and on the cusp of experiencing the greatest love you’ll ever know, rather than here, on an empty dance floor, stumbling blindly through the hardships of holding each other so close, mutually aware you’re dancing on borrowed time and, soon, you’ll have to go. “Knowin’ now how it ends, if I was sent back in time, I’d still ask you to dance. I’d do it all again.”

“This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just…”

He spins you, drags you closer, sways you. It’s far less care-free than the first dance you shared, no alcohol to dull the shame and a whole lot of history packed between your bodies.

The first dance had been the thing you had dreaded most about your wedding, dancing with your husband, to a whole room of loved ones watching. Dancing now with Jack— even through all the embarrassment you feel as an elderly couple point over at you— feels easier, less daunting, so much so that you can’t help the way you start to laugh, arms loosening around his shoulders, hips moving less abashedly.

The two of you inch closer, and closer, and closer as the song reaches its end. Like a happy couple finishes their first dance, Jack’s mouth lands atop yours.

A gentle kiss, innocent of sin, it begs you to give back, to press your own mouth against his. You answer its calling, hand clasping at the back of his neck, holding him safely against you, less he drifts away and reveals this all to have been a dream, a nightmare, a delusion. Like coming home after a cold winter’s day, his kiss is the comfort of knowing you’re exactly where you belong.

And it’s absolutely terrifying.

You rip away from him, flashes of your fiance’s face blinding you as you stumble off, doing what you do best: running away. You miss the way the patrons all go back to their own drinks, and the way a new song comes on, and the way Jack chases after you, stopped only by the slamming of a bathroom door.

You come up for air when you find yourself faced with the image you paint in the mirror.

Never has there been a more heartbroken girl, eyes a mess of tears, and faded eyeliner, and smudged mascara, hair a nest fit enough for any bird to build its home in, body draped in the clothing of an ex-lover. It’s almost as frightening as the image you made yesterday, wedding gown freshly laced and make-up pristinely done.

A knock rings against the door. 

It’s followed by a gentle call of your name.

You switch on the tap, welcome the cold splash of water over your face. Pray that, if you scrub hard enough, you’ll wipe away the taste of him, forget the shape of his touch, purge yourself of the desire to follow anywhere he may go. Your hand slips down your face, the dim bathroom light catches on something.

Your engagement ring, a tight shackle that binds you to someone else, reminds you of the closure you owe to Jack.

He calls your name again.

“Darlin’,” it’s muffled behind the door, but the regret in his voice is all too clear. “I just got caught up, I’m sorry. Come on out and we’ll get back on the road-”

The hinges creak as the door opens, only a crack, and your hand shoots out, grabbing a hold of Jack’s tie before you can will yourself to be rational.

He lets you invade his space with little protest, mouths returning to the dance they never got to complete. Hands move, slipping off ties, and undoing draw strings, and locking doors. There’s a mumble, are you sure, followed by a moan, please.

All hope of forgetting his skin is lost, a leg hooked around his waist, fingers tangled in his hair. He bites at your neck, and kisses along your jaw, and pants into your ear, all the while his hips rock back and forth against your own, filling you inch by inch. Mouth covered by your own hand, muffling a cry of his name as you feel him brush against that spine-tingling spot inside you. Your head falls back, eyes slip shut. Jack’s quick to rectify it.

“Watch, darlin’,” he whispers, a hand tilting your eyes down to where your two bodies meet. “ Want you to see how perfectly your lil’ pussy takes me.”

You do as he says, hypnotised by the sight of his cock, glistening in your own arousal, sawing in and out of you, each thrust deeper than the last.  

“He can’t fuck you like this, can he?” Despite his ego-fueled words, there’s a desperation in his voice, a soul lost in a sea of darkness, searching for a life jacket. “Tell me he can’t.”

He can’t, you tell him, clinging onto him tighter, needier, begging him to never leave.

Any minute now, you worry, someone’s going to knock on the bathroom door, kick you both out. Instead, the music that plays outside the door seems to increase in volume.

“Fuckin’ made for me, meant for me,” both of you grow increasingly desperate, fingernails digging into flesh, and mouths rejoining in a frenzy of kisses, and the tightening of an invisible string, drawing you nearer and nearer to the edge. “My sweet girl.”

An end that comes all too soon, both of you exhausted, and spent, and collapsing against one another, a sticky mess left between your legs where his hips continue to rut into you through his own overstimulation.

“I’m sorry,” his head falls against your shoulder, burrows into the warmth of your neck. There’s a press of his lips against your skin, and a million apologies that follow. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I love you.”

“It’s okay, Jack,” you lie, sooth a hand over his back, ignore the tears you feel falling against your skin.

TRACK 8 — hit the road jack

The clock reads 13:18 as Jack brings the car to a stop.

A set of stairs lead up to a grand double-doored entrance, a sign post declaring the extravagant building as Clearview Manor. Rented for the whole weekend, the wedding party isn’t cited to leave until late Monday evening. Though all cars remain parked in the driveway, no familiar faces await your arrival.

“I hope you get your happy ending,” the two of you step out of the car in sync. A voice whispers that it’s the last time you’ll step out the Bronco, you brush it off and follow Jack as he makes his way over to the boot. “No one deserves it more than you, Jack.”

“No promises, darlin’,” he extends his arms to you, you almost move in for a hug.

The sight of your wedding dress, no longer porcelain white, stains of brown upon a greying fabric, reminds you of why you’re here. You try your best to smile earnestly as you take it off his hands, but fear it only heightens the distress that dilates your pupils. “I’ll see you inside, right?��

The boot slams shut, and it’s an awful reminder that your time together is coming to a close, Jack dons his signature smile, cowboy hat back on his head, a head that’s shaking no.

“The mighty fool that I am, thinkin’ I could stomach watchin’ you get married to another man. After this little road trip of ours… well, I guess I just ain’t ready to hit play yet.” A tongue made of lead, shoes filled with weights. Moving feels impossible, talking even more so. You want to say his name, tell him you don’t need to marry another man, crawl back into the Bronco and beg him to drive off. “Go’on, get! There’s a good man in there, waitin’ to give you everythin’ you deserve.”

Instead, you just turn on your heel, take the first step towards the rest of your life. A life without Jack.

Halfway up the stairway, the sound of Jack’s engine reaches your ears, followed quickly by the obnoxiously poignant car radio, giving its final performance for you both.

“Hit the road, Jack, and don’t you come back, no more, no more, no more, no more!”

Eyes meeting where Jack sits, back in the driver’s seat, you share one last laugh.

OUTRO — everywhere

“Thank god you’re okay.”

Two arms, strong and secure, wrap around your waist.

On the other side of the bridal suite door stands both your mother and your mother in law, ushered out by your fiance upon your return the moment he noticed the panic on your face as questions and fingers prodded at you.

You block out the thought of the scowling faces, burrowing your own into the space between his shoulder and neck, whispering your inquiry on, “how bad is the damage?”

“We told everyone you were suffering from food poisoning. All our guests think you’ve been spewing out of both ends the past few hours, but I think that’s justified for the bruising you’ve given my ego.”

“Santi,” the shape of your fiance’s name feels foreign in your mouth, the taste of it sour on your tongue, so much so that you can’t say it in full. “I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be, what matters is you’re here now.”

Jack was right, your fiance is a nice man. A good man. A man anyone would be lucky to land in the arms of, the kind of man people dream of, and romance authors write of.

But to you, his arms just feel like a cage you’ve lost the key for. “Why did you ask me to marry you?”

“I don’t know. We just… make sense.”

“We do,” you pull apart, at last, nodding your head along to his answer. “But is that all marriage should be? Two people who make sense?” You stumble a few steps back from him, feet needing space to begin pacing back and forth as your filter slips and the word-vomit begins to spew itself out onto the pristine carpeted floors. “Do you really love me enough to spend the rest of your days with me? Because I don’t think you do, and I don’t think I love you like that either.”

Santiago is calm, collected, and completely unresponsive.

The longer he watches you pace and rant, the quicker you do each thing, as though you’re racing ahead to escape the fear of breaking his heart more than you already have, his love possibly more intense than you make it seem. He ends that fear in one foul swoop of words.

“When you didn’t walk down the aisle, I felt relieved. I also slept with someone at my bachelor party and the guilt has been eating me alive.”

“I just fucked my ex in a bathroom!” In an almost paradoxical response, the pair of you keen over in laughter, any expected animosity thrown out the metaphorical window and leaving you both no choice but to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “God, we’re a mess.”

“Wait, the cowboy’s your ex? I should’ve known, your dad told him you were gone before he even bothered to tell me.” Santiago had little luck at winning over your dad, though admittedly it was no fault of his own but, rather, your father had yet to move on from Jack. There’s a sudden commotion as Santi rushes past you, peeling back the curtains and peering down out the window. “What car is it the cowboy drives?”

“A Bronco.”

“Well, you might wanna hurry, because he’s just pulling out of the parking bays.” It’s more than just a warning. It’s a blessing to leave. Overcome with emotion, you dive back into his arms and find there’s no fear of goodbye, not like there had been with Jack. An engagement ring that slips off with no resistance, no longer a shackle that ties you both together. You hand it back to him gently. “Go, before it’s too late! I’ll take care of this mess, see if I can spin this in a way that’s heartbreaking enough to get our deposit back.”

There’s more you want to say, but now’s not the time. Apologies and thank-yous can wait till you pick up your things from his apartment, right now you’re too busy rushing to the door.

A call of your name comes when you’ve got one foot out it, treading into the now motherless hallway. You face Santiago with a smile, ready to say that magic word. 

Goodbye.

“Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t invite me to your wedding.”

You make it out the double-doors, which slam loudly shut behind you, before you spot the retreating shape of Jack’s car and an anxious glee commands you to break out into a sprint, legs kicking faster than they ever have before.

Don’t speed up, you think, watching as the Bronco slowly creeps down the driveway.

“Jack!” You call out to him, hoping that, with the open roof, he’ll somehow hear you over the radio. Pushing your feet to move a little faster, your arms join the mix, waving wildly to the wind, a careless attempt to catch his attention in the rearview mirror. “Wait!”

The car breaks with a squeak, the blaring music comes to a halt, and Jack turns to face you with his own eyes, as though he can’t trust the mirrors. When you reach the car, you pull at the door handle and find he’s already unlocked it. You slide in with ease, back into the seat you’ve always belonged in: by his side.

He can’t seem to move, frozen with his eyes focused on nothing but you.

“Drive, jack,” you finally proclaim, asking him what you should’ve the moment you saw him in that diner, in the pews, in the heartbreaking hours post-burying a friend.

“Where to, darlin’?”

“Anywhere, everywhere!” You can’t help the smile that overcomes you as he pulls your hand up to his mouth, planting a familiar kiss upon it, before the engine hums back to life. “It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you, all roads lead home.”

Like old times, you lean forward and turn up the radio, a familiar tune filling the air as you sink back into your seat, the wind back in your hair and an open road laying ahead, ready to lead you both wherever the wheels may take you.

“Oh I, I wanna be with you everywhere.”

bts with hyde. this is just a little reflective commentary that i put down here, to avoid flooding my author's note with too much rambling. please feel free to skip this!!

this fic is a compilation of firsts for me. it's the first challenge i've taken part in within the pedro fanspace, which has been equally exciting as it has been daunting. i struggle immensely with writing on a time schedule, and so i'm pretty proud of myself for not posting this (too) late.

this is also my first time writing for jack. admitedly, i'm not sure if i've done justice to him, as his character is somehow incredibly strong and, yet, so open for interpretation that i found myself struggling to connect with him in my writing. i have no plans to write for him in any future wips, but that might change. it was definitely fun to push myself out my comfort zone and write for a new character!

something i want to praise myself for is the attention i put into smaller details of this fic. for example, each flower mentioned in this fic has a very specific symbol/meaning attached to it, fitting with the themes of the scenes in which they're mentioned. the other place i hyperfocused on very unimportant details is the playlist. it opens and closes on the only two songs fronted by a female vocalist, with my intention being that these songs are a representation of the reader's inner turmoils and thoughts in the opening and closing scenes. the rest of the playlist is full of male vocalists, giving a peak into jack's mind despite the entire fic being told through the reader's eyes.

okay, i've given myself enough delusional and unnecesary praise, i'm going to sleep now. please don't be mean if you didn't like this fic, it's literally my birthday 🫡

if you've read this far, ily, i hope you have a good day !

[xetlynn]

Jacob Black x fem!Reader

Anything For You

Warnings:kind of angsty, cursing.

You’ve been best friends with Jacob for years, being so close with him his friends were your friends. Even Billy counted you as family. Especially due to your parents always being away for business oriented reasons, never having time for their daughter.

But as of lately Jacob has been distant, only because of an old friend back in town. Bella Swan. The girl who made your best friend ditch you for every plan you guys have made these past weeks.

Something you didn’t realize was truly bothering you until you called him one night. The one night you begged him not to miss and he did. It was the night of your concert for your school orchestra. A thing you took pride in.

When you looked in the crowd to find Embry, Quil, Seth, Paul and Billy. But no Jacob. His excuse was that he had forgotten, simple mistake.

Simple mistake that crushed you beyond belief.

It was one thing for your parents to miss your concerts, to not even come home for dinner. But Jacob doing this was a betrayal even you felt childish for being upset about.

And then today, you waited outside where he said he would meet you after dropping Bella off at home. He said that he would be there at 3 pm. As it is now reaching 5:30 you pulled out your sketch book. You talked to your school counselor who gave it to you, telling you to draw or write down how you feel.

Today you wrote, filling two pages front and back about how you miss your best friend.

Who you thought even at one point could have been more than your best friend. Thinking you guys were just reaching that point in life.

“[Name]!?” The voice made you hopeful but once it actually reached your ears you frowned slightly as it was not who you were waiting for. “Hey, Seth.” You forced a smile.

“Hey, uh Embry, Quil and I were gonna go to the beach. We noticed you’ve been sitting here a while. We wondered if you wanted to join?” His eyes looked hopeful.

The boy had a crush on you, he’s had one for a few years. Knowing who your heart belonged to he never said anything but everyone knew.

Even you.

“Uh, I guess.” You shrug, getting up from your spot.

Trying to enjoy yourself with the thoughts in the back of your mind was irritating, forcing yourself to laugh along with their jokes you actually didn’t understand.

The four of you tossed a ball to each other, Quil now had it in his hands and you sighed. Waiting until it came to you. “Hey, you alright over there?” Embry shouted with a grin on his face, not knowing you actually were not doing well.

“Oh, I’m fine!” You wave a hand to motion you were okay. Quil raised an eyebrow. “You sure it has nothing to do with Billy Blacks son?” He questions and your eyes spiked open from what he said.

“What?” Was all that could form out of your mouth.

“We’ve seen how much of a douche he’s been, [Name] we aren’t blind.” Embry tells you, not meaning to be so harsh but it just came out that way. You glance down, catching the ball from him. “I uh, didn’t know other people noticed.” You gripped the football, not wanting to make eye contact with them.

“Of course we noticed, especially when he fucking didn’t come to your concert you’ve been non stop talking about.” Quil rolls his eyes.

You laugh,

“It’s whatever, he’s happy hanging out with her. I can’t rely on him all the time.” You try to force up a lie on how you feel. “Yeah, okay. Throw the ball, princess.” Embry winks.

Taking in a breath you chucked it at Seth, not realizing how hard you threw it. And the fact that he wasn’t ready it hit him right in the face. “Oh my god!” You gasp, covering your mouth as the other two burst into laughter.

He groans, holding his nose, checking to see if it was bleeding and luckily it wasn’t. “I’m so sorry, Seth!” You run over to him. Trying not to laugh now as the others bent over holding onto each other as they can’t contain it.

“It’s okay,” he waves it off but you shake your head. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He says and you pull him into a hug.

“You got one hell of an arm.” Embry snickers.

“Shut up.” You mutter silently to them as you hold the younger boy.

“Im really okay, [Name].” He tells you as his face burns hotter and he grows flustered.

“That’s what’s going to give him a nosebleed.” Quil teases and the two laugh again.

“Oh leave him alone.” You tell them then look down at him and your mouth goes into the shape of an ‘o’ so you let him go. The boy clears his throat. “I’ll go get the ball now.” He announces but as he turns around Jacob was standing there handing him the football.

His face laid no expression. Your heart races from him just being near.

“Can I talk to you?” His eyes meet yours and your posture straightens. “Can it wait for later?” You nervously glance at the other guys who stand awkwardly.

“We will just go.” Embry says, grabbing Seth nod pushing him away, Quil follows. You mentally curse at them for leaving you.

“Please, just hear me out.”

“What is it Jake?” You snap, acting impatient wanting to get whatever this conversation will be to just happen.

He reluctantly pulls out your sketchbook and your eyes widen. You instantly run to your bag, digging through it to find that exact same book, not believing you actually left it back at the house.

“[Name] why didn’t you-“

“Oh don’t give me shit! I can’t believe you read through my book!” You snatch the book back, throwing it on the ground. “Why would you read it?” Your voice cracked as tears threatened to peak through. Trying to shove the feeling down.

“Hey, calm down.” He steps closer but you step back and a pained expression shoots across his face.

“Go vent to Bella about it.” You sat on the sad, picking the book back up and staring at it.

“Please.” He comes closer. “What!? Just say what you need to say. Get it over with since you obviously won’t give up.” Tears fall and you quickly wipe them away as you feel ashamed and embarrassed.

“I.. I didn’t realize I was being such an asshole.” He says, he follows every movement you make, “[Name] there are no excuses to how I have been treating you.” He falls to his knees in front of you. “No, there’s not. No excuse for going through my shit either.” You point a finger in his face, hiccuping as you cried.

“I know,” he sighs. “I don’t know why I got so excited when Bella needed me. I don’t know why I left you out and forgot your fucking concert. It was unexceptional of me.” He tries to get closer so you would look at him but you turned your head to stare at the waves of the water, gripping the book.

“You’re worth more than that. You’ve been my person- my number one for years.” He takes the book out of your hands, throwing it aside and holding your wrists. You don’t resist. You close your eyes, not wanting anymore tears to fall in front of him. “I got confused, I… I realized I need you. More than anything, more than the food I eat, the water that graces this Earth, I’d rather lose sleep that’s how much I need you. I need you near me or I can’t breathe. The distance that pulled us apart was slowly breaking me and I didn’t even know that feeling was because I wasn’t with you.” He expresses, his voice wavering throughout his words. Your body shutters as your silently sob, your lip quivering as you shivered.

The look on your face physically hurts him, his body feels like crumbling knowing that this was because of him.

“I want- need you to know I will do anything. Anything to make it up to you. To never see these tears fall from those pretty eyes unless they were happy ones.”

Your eyes follow from his hands holding tightly to your wrists, going up his torso then to his lips, and then lands on his eyes.

For the first time, the world shifted. Everything grows brighter, his touch burning but you don’t move an inch. An energy switch from wanting to hate him more than anything to just wanting him around you. Even without speaking you’d be okay.

A small noise escapes passed your lips, then you speak. “As much as I want to punch you, to tell you to go away and never speak to me again after you hurt me. I don’t truly wish for that. I want to trust every word and don’t look back.”

His eyes soften, he lets you go slowly. “Please forgive me.” He whispers, his voice trembling which breaks you. You pull him into an embrace, one hand stabilizing himself on the ground and the other wrapped around you. “[Name] there’s nothing in this world I won’t do to be yours.” He holds you closer.

“Just be here. With me.”

Then pushing him back to look at him again. “Always.”

Like magnets, force brings you two together, his lips on yours. Igniting a fire from every touch you lay on his skin.

Pulling away his fingers wipe away your tears and you grin at him. “More of that and I’ll forgive you for everything.”

He laughs, pulling you onto his lap. “Anything for you.”

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Like Water

A one-shot written for Day 4 of Jily Week 2024, run by the very lovely @sunshinemarauder and @kay-elle-cee, and inspired by the theme Flip the Script - take a characteristic from one, and give it to the other. I chose to be very literal with this one!

1.9k words

Rated T

James won't shut up, and Sirius finally loses his patience, with unfortunate consequences for more than one person.

Ho hum - I don't love this one, but I want me some of those participation badges!

Anyway - read below, or on AO3!

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James Potter lay upside down on his bed in the fifth year dormitory, hands behind his head, feet on his pillow. “I don’t think you understand, Pads. I don’t think you’d actually notice unless you really looked at it properly - but when you do, it’s just… extraordinary.” 

Sirius, lounging on his own bed, didn’t look up from the Muggle motorcycle magazine he’d ‘liberated’ from Flich’s office during their last detention. “You don’t say.”

“I think he did, Padfoot,” observed Remus, wryly. “I think he said it not five minutes ago. And this morning. And yesterday. And… actually now I come to think about it, is there a day he hasn’t said it recently?”

Sirius sighed. “There has not, Moony. And it’s getting really old.”

James grinned. “Well perhaps if you’d all actually listen to me, I wouldn’t need to keep telling you.”

“I’ll listen to you, Prongs,” volunteered Peter, perched, cross-legged, on his bunk.

“Thank you, Wormy. At least one of you has a shred of loyalty!”

“I’ve got plenty of loyalty, I’ll have you know” complained Sirius. “What I don’t have is much more patience.”

James flipped himself over so that he was lying on his stomach, supporting himself on his elbows. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.” 

“You were going to bang on about Evans’s hair again, weren’t you?” predicted Sirius

“No,” insisted James, doing his best to sell the lie. “I was going to talk about something completely different.”

Sirius gave him a pitying look. “Prongs. Mate.”

“Yeah, okay, I was,” he admitted. “But it’s just so amazing! No one else in the whole school has hair quite the same colour.”

“There’s loads of gingers, Prongs,” Sirius told him, lazily turning the page of his magazine

“But Evans isn’t ginger - her hair is auburn,” James explained, reverentially, caressing the word in his mouth.

Sirius shrugged. “Still ginger, mate.”

But James was uninterested. “It isn’t just the colour though. It’s so thick and silky. Like water.”

“Water isn’t thick. Or silky,” observed Remus

James waved his hand dismissively. “It’s a metaphor.”

“Yeah. A really shit one,” snorted Sirius.

“I was referring to the way it flows down her back,” James told him, feeling a bit defensive.  “You know, all swishy. I wonder what it feels like?”

Sirius summoned a quill and circled an advert in the For Sale section. “No one else cares, Prongs.” 

James ignored his scathing tone. “I bet it feels amazing. Really silky.”

“Like water?” sniggered Peter.

James ignored that too. “I’d love to run my fingers through it.” 

Sirius flicked him an irritated glance. “Kinda got that impression already, mate.”

“It probably smells really good too,” pondered James, with a faraway look in his eye.

Remus looked mildly disturbed. “Alright, now you’re getting creepy.”

“I am not!” James was indignant. “I just can’t help noticing hair. It’s in my blood, isn’t it? I am my father’s son, after all.”

Sirius laughed. “I mean yes? That is generally how it works?” 

James stuck two fingers up at Sirius. “Twat.”

“Dullard,” his best friend countered.

James thought for a moment, then gave him a broad grin. “You know what isn’t dull? Lily’s hair isn’t dull. In fact, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, it’s actually incredibly shiny.”

And that was what proved to be the last straw for Sirius’s patience. “You know what, Prongs. If you love Evan’s hair so much, I think you should have it.”

He flicked his wand in James’s direction, muttering an incantation under his breath. James’s head suddenly felt very warm. His scalp tingled uncomfortably for a few seconds, and then hair fell forward over his face - his long, thick, shiny, auburn hair. 

Sirius, Remus and Peter all dissolved into fits of hysterical laughter as James pushed it frantically out of his eyes. “What the hell have you done, Pads!” 

He dashed across the room to where a mirror hung on the wall. “Ooh! Well don’t you look a picture, sweetheart,” it trilled.

“Still in love with Evan’s hair, Prongs?” Sirius asked, through the laughter.

“Oh, you utter tosser!” raged James.

“Red really suits you, Prongs,” contributed Remus. “Brings out your eyes.”

James wheeled round and glared at Sirius. “I cannot believe that you did that!”

“Chill out, Prongs,” advised Sirius. “It’ll wear off eventually, so just enjoy it while it lasts. You know, run your fingers through it. Smell it. Whatever other weird shit you want to do with it.”

As Sirius talked, James became aware of a commotion in the distance. It seemed to be coming from the common room - shouting and more laughter. Then there were footsteps, echoing on the stone steps leading to the fifth year boys dormitory. The door was hurled open, so violently that it bounced against the stone wall with a loud bang, making them all jump.

In the doorway stood Lily Evans. At least, James thought it was Lily Evans. She had the same perfect willowy figure, the same hypnotic green eyes, and the same utterly furious expression that she usually wore around him. However, instead of her long, thick, shiny and (James could now confirm) great smelling auburn hair, she had a horribly familiar mop of messy jet black curls.

“James Potter!” she yelled. “What the hell have you done!”

Lily stared at James. James stared at Lily. Peter’s eyes darted frantically between the two of them. Remus took one look and then pointedly opened his Arithmancy text book. Sirius went extremely pale.

“It wasn’t me!” yelped James.

“Then explain to me why I have your hair, and why you have mine,” she practically growled at him. “Now!”

James glanced at his best friend. The person he thought of as a brother. The one that he would do anything for, protect from any harm, to whom he felt more loyalty than any other. “It was Sirius,” he blurted, without a single hesitation. “He did it!”

Lily shot a look of such venom onto Sirius that he physically recoiled. “And why, in the name of Merlin, would you do that?”

Now it was James’s turn to throw a menacing look at his best mate, silently forbidding him from throwing James under the graphorn and recounting the conversation that had so irked him. 

Fortunately for James, Sirius’s sense of loyalty held firm. “I… Uh… I thought it would be a laugh,” he stammered, shaken out of his usual insouciance by the scale of her fury.

“Do I look like I’m laughing?” demanded Lily. “Fix it! Now!”

“I don’t know how! I didn’t mean for you to get James’s hair, Evans! I only meant for him to get yours. So I…” he trailed off, spots of bright pink colouring his pale cheeks

“You what?” she asked, icily.

“I didn’t bother working out the counter spell,” he confessed.

“Oh dear god,” muttered Lily. “You're an utter imbecile, Black!” Shaking her head, she turned her ire back on James instead. “Well come on then, Potter. You’re the transfiguration genius. Un-transfigure us!”

And he tried. He really did - because no matter how gorgeous Lily’s hair was, he much preferred admiring it on her head rather than his own. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts. nothing he did made even the slightest bit of difference. 

“In fairness,” commented Remus, acknowledging them all for the first time since Lily’s arrival, “human transfiguration is N.E.W.T. level stuff. I’m quite surprised that Padfoot managed it in the first place.”

“Piss off!” declared Sirius.

“Not helpful, either of you,” commented James, through gritted teeth.

“So what do we do now?” Lily asked him. “I want my hair back!”

“Only one thing we can do,” James sighed. “We go and see McGonagall.”

“Good luck,” offered Sirius - but Lily was having none of it.

“Oh, no - you’re not wriggling out of it that easily, Black!’ she announced, grabbing Sirius by the elbow and hauling him to his feet. “You’re going to come with us and explain to Professor McGonagall exactly what you did and exactly how you did it. She’s going to need to know if she’s going to fix it.”

Lily practically dragged Sirius down the stairs and out through the common room, to a chorus of laughter and catcalls. James, after carefully checking that Lily wasn’t looking, couldn’t resist playing to the audience, dramatically swishing Lily’s hair back and forth over his shoulders. It also gave him an excuse to sneakily run his fingers through it a few times, and verify that it was every bit as wonderfully silky as he’d imagined.

They located Professor McGonagall in her office. To her enormous credit, the deputy headmistress managed (well, mostly) to keep a straight face as she delivered a lecture on inappropriate magic use, the dangers of human transfiguration, and the utmost importance of being prepared with counter spells. She then docked five points from Gryffindor for Sirius’s misdemeanour, before setting about restoring James and Lily’s hair to the appropriate heads. 

By the time the three of them left McGonagall’s classroom, Lily was much calmer. She was still extremely frosty with Sirius, but appeared to bear James no particular ill-will (for once). Emboldened, he caught her arm as Sirius ambled off down the corridor heading back towards the common room. 

“Uh - Evans?”

“Yes?”

“I… uh… I just wanted to say sorry about all that.”

“Why? It wasn’t your fault, was it?”

“No.” No, it isn’t my fault that my best mate is a massive twat, even though he didn’t tell you that the reason he did it was because I wouldn’t stop banging on about how amazing your hair is, thus saving me from total humilation, James thought to himself. “But still.”

“Well, no harm done.” And then she smiled at him - an honest-to-Merlin, actual, genuine smile, and James thought he might have died and gone to heaven. “Don’t tell Sirius this, but I suppose it was quite funny. If you weren’t the one lumbered with your hair, of course.”

“Just imagine being lumbered with it permanently,” he  replied, ruefully, pushing his hand roughly through the thatch on his head. 

She raised her eyebrows. “You’d have preferred to keep mine?”

“Oh! No,” he clarified. “Having long hair was an interesting experience, but it looks better on you, I think. A lot better.”

“Thank you.” Now, James could have been imagining it, but did she blush at the compliment? Maybe just the tiniest bit? “Short hair felt really weird, to be honest. My neck was cold! And I was surprised at how soft it was.” 

She stopped talking with the tiniest intake of breath, her eyes widening, and now James was sure she definitely was blushing; Clearly, she hadn’t meant to confess to that last part. Thrilled with the knowledge, James couldn’t resist fishing for more. “You touched it?”

“Force of habit, I suppose,” she replied, briskly. “Well. I have an essay that I need to be getting on with. Goodnight, Potter.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, just hurried away down the corridor. Smiling softly, James let himself slouch back against the wall and watched her go, her auburn hair swinging to and fro as she walked. He didn’t move again until she’d turned the corner and her footsteps faded into the distance.

“Night, Evans,” he whispered.

[kaytheday]

The Tragedy of being Second Best - Steve Randle

I think @alittlebitofloveliness brought this up back in September but I want to say something else on it. (Thanks for bringing it up by the way!) Personally, Steve Randle is a hard character for me to write because of how similar I feel to him. Like Steve, I have spent a lot of my life bitter and angry, feeling inadequate and second best. This fic was kind of hard for me to write and half of it might just be me projecting but I wanted to write something about Steve Randle and everything that he represents. Enjoy 💚💚

Steve has always had a hard time with keeping his temper.

This isn't news to anyone. He was pretty sure he had come out of the womb spitting curses and ready to punch his way through life. 

It didn’t help that his father hated him. The bruises and bloodied lips he's had since four years old have proven that. His dad is a drunk who beats on him, so Steve learned from a young age how to stay gone. Steve was never is fathers first choice, he isn't even his second choice. Depending on the day, his dad would probably trade him for a six-pack.

Steve was nobody's first choice. It was just one more thing to be angry about. 

His mother was a pretty woman. He knew because of the way people used to talk about her. The way people still talk about her. 

Though, looking back, he never had any pretty memories of her. She left when he was in kindergarten. His dad told him it was his fault and of course Steve believed him. He can still remember flashes of nasty conversation exchanged with her. Why are you so angry? Nobody is this angry and bitter at six years old. If he thinks about her words for too long it makes him want to throw something. His dad said she left for California, she wanted to find the beach or something like that. Steve figured that she chose a state over her own son. Steve was nobody's first choice.

Every time he thinks about either of them,  his veins fill with fire and his chest constricts. 

Then there's Soda. He can still remember the day that they met. Steve with his black eye and scuffed shoes and Soda with his hand-me-down backpack and earth-shattering smile. How quickly they became friends and how quickly everything changed. He was welcome at the Curtis home and more than that they actually wanted him around. Soda always invited him over and seemed to want to be around him at school. Despite what his parents said.

He was glad to have Sodapop around too. Nothing about Soda can make him angry. Irritated? Of course, but never downright angry.  Not like everything else in the world. 

The two of them never could be still for long. They were always getting up to something. Like the time they hid all the chalk out in the school yard so they wouldn't have to do math that afternoon or the time they put a thumb tack on the substitute teacher's chair so she would leave.

They were always moving; moving in tandem, so fast and so hard that the picture was blurring at all the edges.

More than anything, Soda seemed to be the only one around who was not only able to tolerate his biting tongue, but actually liked it. Because what did Steve have if not his biting tongue, fighting fists, and fire in his veins? He had grown up with nothing but those to protect him. Even his mother had seen it. 

When they got older, things got more complicated. Soda was still Steve's best friend in the whole world. He was charismatic, outgoing, understanding, beautiful, and funny. Steve knew this but as they got older, everyone else seemed to realize this too. Steve felt that familiar anger and jealousy creep in. The same one his mom had pointed out so early. The same one that had led Steve to beg for his fathers attention as he drank himself half to death. Steve had always needed some sort of attention, now it was just Soda's instead of his father.

So when those others started to notice how great Soda was, he started competing against them. 

Every time they would get talking to someone at a party or a drag race or even school, people would never come over to talk to Steve. They came to talk to Soda. His beautiful shining best friend who is everyone's first choice. And once again Steve was left drowning as he realized yet again that he was nobody's first choice.

The worst part was that all of it made sense. Why would people not want to talk to Soda? Why would they not look through Steve? As if he wasn't there? Instead focusing on the charismatic golden teenager with the biggest heart in all of Tulsa. And why would they not?

Instead of saying anything or god forbid, bringing it up to Soda, he got angry. Packing it in like a suitcase with too many clothes. And because of that tightly packed anger came guilt, because Steve shouldn't feel angry about people wanting to be around Soda. Especially when he wanted to be around Soda. 

Steve is reduced to the second best, and he deserves it. All these feelings mixing into a nasty cocktail of bitterness. Wasn't that what his mother always told him he did best? Was he still his momma's bitter little boy? So he turned bitter and stopped pulling his punches. Instead, throwing himself into the things he was good at, like fixing cars and fighting soc's and all the other things that aren't worth anything to be good at.

Two weeks after he turned sixteen, he got a job at a DX gas station. It felt good to get that job. The manager liked how much he knew about cars and was impressed with how good Steve seemed to be able to fix them. He was constantly busy and could always do something with his hands. He was so distracted that he hardly had time to think. To think about his shitty father beating him at home or how Soda was so much better at everything than him or how his mother was right about him or how he was nobody’s first choice at all. 

He liked working there but he especially liked that it got him out of the house and got him money. It was one good thing that he had. 

Then everything turned bitter. He did it to himself really. For the three months till Soda turned sixteen, he talked about wanting to work at the DX with Steve. His parents wouldn’t let him until he turned sixteen. Steve encouraged this, half of him thinking it would be fun and the other half thinking about how he would be second best at something yet again. The guilt ate at him, but still he kept encouraging. 

True to both of their words, Soda got the job and things changed once again. What was it that Ponyboy had said before? People were drawn to Soda like flies to honey? Something like that. Steve never said made a point to have a conversation with the kid anyway. He was always annoyed with his lack of focus and his constant hero worship of Sodapop. Though to be fair, he was annoyed with everyone’s hero worship of Soda. 

How will this endless cycle of bitterness and anger end?

The short answer? It probably wouldn’t. Steve would probably always bear those hungry flying fists and spiteful tongue like a cross. Like a weight, draped unflatteringly across the scars in his face. He had always been a fighter. Hurting other people was often the only outlet he had. 

“Steve..!” The voice sounds far away. “Steve..! You have to stop…” Suddenly he is being shoved down. “Steve..!” The world is exploding in angry red, his muscles are tense and he turns again, ready to fight. The voice sounds so loud and Sodapop is right in his face. “Steve, what the hell happened?”

“Soda we gotta go man. Get him up and let's go.” That’s Two-Bit. Suddenly Steve looks down. There is a guy laying on the ground covered in blood. He looks half dead with the way someone beat him up. Steve’s knuckles are busted open and bleeding but they don’t sting like usual. He can’t feel anything and his head is still far away. Soda shakes him a little and they hit the ground running. 

They duck inside a greaser joint and head for the bathroom. Soda turns to him, looking sick. Two-Bit starts washing the blood off of his face. But Steve is still angry and ready to fight. His body is tense, like a spring that’s been wound too tight. His fists are pulsating and he’s angry. It’s the only conscious thought his brain can come up with. He’s angry.

“Steve…” Soda is at a loss for words and Steve doesn’t know why. The only thing he can feel is anger. Got red anger as a scream threatens to tear through his throat. His hands want to keep hitting. 

“What Soda’s trying to say is you beat the guy half to death Stevie. I don’t even know if he was breathing when we left.” 

“Shit…” It’s all Steve can say. 

It wasn’t the last time it would happen either. Sometimes he could control it, but sometimes he didn't even realize what he was doing. Steve would beat the guy half to death before Soda or Two-Bit or even Dallas would pull him off. It was like a red haze would go over his eyes and he would operate on auto-pilot. Letting anger take control as a form of self protection. 

It had worked when he was a child and his father would beat him. He wasn’t sure if it was working now, but it was all he had. 

So he bore those hungry flying fists and spiteful tongue… not like a cross but like an anchor. He would be strong where Soda couldn’t. He would protect this kids when Johnny and Ace couldn’t protect themselves. 

So he would try to fight, but not so uselessly like he had done all his life. Now, he would fight with passion and purpose. He knew he’d spend the rest of his life fighting; the only difference now was that he would fight for something. Fight for his gang and his sister and Sodapop and all those little greasers who were too young to fight for themselves. He would never stop fighting but he would start fighting for something good. Maybe his mother was right about him being angry, but she wasn’t right about why. 

Steve wasn’t angry for no reason. It was an important distinction. 

Steve was angry because of his situation and the shit he’d seen in his life, the shit he’d let his sister go through. He was angry because of his abusive father and the way he’d always been second best. 

But most of all, Steve was angry because they deserved more. Jonny deserved to not be so scared all the time and Ace deserved to have a childhood filled with love and Soda deserved a girlfriend that wouldn’t break his heart and Darry deserved to go to college and Dallas deserved to have family and Two-Bit deserved not to drink to escape and Ponyboy deserved his parents alive. They all deserved so much more.

And Steve was angry about all of it. Greasers were used to having nothing and Steve was no exception. He’d grown up fighting with nothing and nobody on his side. His anger was his only constant companion. Keeping him warm at night when his mother left and protecting Ace from whatever violence took place that day. The same hot anger that has burned holes through every memory he has.  

Steve had his anger… as well as his flying fists and snarky comments. 

So from that anger, Steve would fight. For his friends and his family and for a chance. Because though he may think he’s second best at everything, there is one thing he’s the best at. Steve Randle always gets up and fights for what he believes in. 

[hand-picked-star]

The 13th Annniversary Arshi Fiesta

Moodboard : historical AU

Whispers of the Heart | Chapter 02

I am not very good at writing ffs. I even read ffs very selectively. But it was an attempt of me to participate in the 13th-anniversary arshi fiesta. I might be wrong about certain aspects of that age and era, but it's a fantasy, so why not?

I don't own Arnav and Khushi and the story is purely fictional and has no relation to any living or dead. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter 2

After 10 years

Arnav was threading the busy traffic of the Bazar with his ambassador mark 1 to reach the St.Stephen all-women college of Delhi to pick up certain someone who he hadn't talked to, for almost 2 years. Though it was the cheapest car of that generation, it was his most prized possession at that moment, brought by the profit he got from his first export shipments of the textile factory he bought 1 year ago. But his mind was on that girl who lived in his mind rent-free till that fateful day 2 years ago and hadn't left ever since. Even at that moment, he could still feel her, if he closed his eyes.

Shaking himself off to get rid of that feeling, he concentrated on the road. Arnav's focus cleared to zoom in on that girl of question, no no, a young woman, in a simple white saree with a blue border, a mandatory college ware. The way she drapped the saree over her was very modest, but modesty seemed to allude Arnav today. His heart gave a thud realizing he could vividly feel how that petite body felt pressed to his. 'control yourself, Arnav. you've done so much damage already', Arnav chastised himself, willing his heart to a normal rhythm. Her jet-black hair was pleated into a single braid and a simple black bindi in the middle of her eyebrows that brought out her hazel-coloured doe eyes even more highlighted by a thin line of kajal. That was what Arnav was so scared of. Her little bindi had the power over him that the whole Oxford female fraternity didn't. He might have not talked to her but he saw her secretly every time he came to Dehli and watched her spread her wings like a butterfly to be the beautiful woman she ended up being. Roma Chachi had given her an apt name 'titliya'. All those times watching her from a distance Arnav tried his best to control his heart and mind, but ended up failing every single time. There was a reason why he avoided her for 2 years.

Khushi was standing at the gate of the college with her classmate, Sarita Chauhan, waiting for Akash Vai to pick her up. Khushi was irritated, she insisted on taking the rickshaw back home but due to the overprotective nature of Bhai and Babuji, she couldn't do that. But she didn't expect to see Him that day and somehow she knew he had come to pick her up. The last two years did a kind of magic to him or was it London or the girls of London to be exact, she didn't know. The Arnav sitting in front of her in that car donning the black glasses and clad in a rolled-up white shirt and black suspenders was a far cry from the man she last saw. But he was still Arnav among all of these, Her Arnav. That's why it didn't surprise her when her heart went overboard 'dhak-dhak,dhak-dhak,dhak-dhak'. Her friend beside her produced a small sound of appreciation,

"oh Khushi, you've never introduced me to your brothers. now I understand why." giving her a little nudge with her shoulder.

Khushi scoffed at her comment " he is not my brother. "

It's been 10 years since she lost her parents. And in the middle of all of these when Mahindar Chachu became her Babuji and Manoroma Chachi became Amma, she couldn't exactly pinpoint. And as a result, she got two brothers who loved her fiercely as their own. Abba had arranged a home tutor for her when she was 10 years old, because she couldn't bear the stress of public schooling. As soon as she started to form complete sentences her tutor advised her to write letters to her brothers, studying in Darjeeling. She wrote letters to Akash bhai and Aman bhai and then she wrote another letter to Arnav addressing him as 'Dear Arnav'. Her tutor chastised her for not adding a 'bhai' or a 'ji' at the end of his name. But Arnav was never her 'bhai', was he? He never felt like a 'bhai'. He was so much more. But above all, he was Her 'Arnav'.Just 'Arnav.' she used to call her 'Arnav' since she was 8. Nobody corrected her till she was 16. Then she started to call him 'Arnavji'. Now she didn't know what to call him anymore.

Arnav parked the car in front of her. when she made no move to sit inside, he took off the glasses unleashing his dark brown eyes on her. he opened the car door from inside and addressed her -

" what are you waiting for Khushi Kumari Gupta? Pandit bulake mahurat nikal na parega kya?" giving her the crooked half-smile that she adored. His familiar husky voice sent a wave of wistfulness through her. A thousand memories spun in her head, tangling together. God, she missed him so much. "Akash bhai and Aman are busy in the printing press. Cachu asked me to drop you home."

Khushi stared at him for another moment then with a huff she entered the car, which was a bad decision she understood not long after. Being in a closed space with him was torture. His enchanting woody scent engulfed her and transported her to a particular day that was in the centre of conflict between them. Both of them stared at anything but at each other, but soon Khushi couldn't resist the temptation to steal a look at him, which was a far worse decision than the previous one. Her eyes found his hands on the steering wheel, clutching it and as soon as a flashback of those hands flooded her mind - those hands clutching her smaller ones when they used to take a walk, those hands closing the hook of a payal around her ankles, those hands teaching her smaller ones to hold the chalk to write on the black slate, those hands helping her to plant rose plants on the garden. Her mind shifted to her smaller hands giving prasad to his larger ones, his hands cracking open the peanut shell for her whenever they went to the mela, his hands pulling her braids.'Have those hands become larger till the last time she saw them?' Khushi mused silently. Then a switch flipped in her mind, more flashbacks, she started to feel his hands on her cheek, on her waist, on the back of her head. Khushi closed her eyes tightly and clutched the books in her hands and to drive away those visions from her mind, blurted out what came to her mind at that moment " Anjali di said, you could not come to Delhi for another 3 months"

Arnav, looking at Khushi from the corner of his eyes, said "I didn't plan to. But My best friend is marrying my little sister. I wouldn't miss that wedding for the world and Roma Chachi said no more auspicious 'mohurat' after this month until the end of this year. And it's not like I have not been travelling to and fro between Delhi and London in the last couple of years."

Khushi nodding and trying to swallow down the hurt, said solemnly "I know."

Arnav had been studying law at Oxford University for the last couple of years. He had passed his bar exam and had been doing an apprenticeship under a Barrister in London for the last year. She knew all of this from Aman bhai. On the other hand, Arnav sold the land that his grandfather gave him and bought a run-down textile factory in old Delhi. She knew he had been very busy and she also knew he had been to Dehli multiple times in the last 2 years. He didn't stay in Rajput haveli nowadays when he came to Delhi. He had rented a two-storied bungalow on the outskirts of the town. But what hurt her more was he went to Rajput haveli to meet Amma and Babuji every time he came to Delhi, only when she was in school. So, it was not so difficult to figure out, who he was avoiding. Why, why she have to ruin the most important friendship she had in her life??? If only she wouldn't have done what she did 2 years ago.

It didn't escape Arnav's eyes the pain that flashed through her face. He still could read her like an open book, could decode the emotions that transpired through her pretty eyes. He regretted hurting her so much, but it was for the greater good. Sometimes he thought he preferred to remember her as still eight years old because she'd adored him then. She would gladly follow him anywhere. In fact, whenever she saw him leave, heading toward the garden where he liked to walk and think, she would come running after him. Even though she frequently fell, her little legs no match for his long, strong ones, she never cried and never complained. She was strong even back then.

Little Khushi used to fill their conversation with a million inquisitive questions though, looking at him with trusting big eyes. Her questions made him laugh and stumbled over answers.

When she was eight, he was her Hero.

As soon as the car reached Rajput Haveli, she all but sprinted away from him. Arnav sighed grabbing the package from the backseat he also entered the house. As soon as he reached the living room, he was met with Madhumati ji scolding Khushi for running around carelessly, even at the age of eighteen and her praying to God to give her 'sanka devi' same 'satbuddhi'. Then there was Roma Chachi, who came rushing towards him to give him a hug. Roma Chachi never failed to make him feel loved. Arnav admired this woman for her enormous capacity to love those who weren't hers.

"London suits you, Arnav Bitwa, look at you, how handsome you've turned out to be!!!! "

Arnav's tall figure folded itself to return her hug, teasing her he proceeded "And you didn't change at all Roma chachi. Still as gorgeous as ever. I missed you so much."

Manoroma smiled at him fondly. A child she once wished was hers so that she could have protected him from the heartbreak he endured at such a tender age " I missed you too, Bitwa. Don't be a stranger now like you have been for past years, ab toh hum ristedaar bhi banne wale hain."

Arnav smilled at her " I'll try."

Manoroma continued, "I hope you are staying with us this time, aren't you?" seeing Arnav nodding his head, she continued "Good, now I am going to the temple, we'll talk after I come back. chaliye, madhumati ji."

Arnav watched them leave and then silently proceeded toward the first floor crossing the stairs. At the very least, he could try to save whatever was left of the friendship he once shared with Khushi.

Khushi sat cross-legged on her bed, looking at the payal that broke as soon as she entered her room hurriedly a few minutes ago. It had been her room since her parents had died. It had seen so many of her tears and held so many of her secrets. Bua ji nowadays, began to get on her nerves, reminding everyone of her spinster status, but Khushi was adamant not to get married before she enrolled for college, now that she finally did it, she didn't have any excuses left.

Looking at the payal, Khushi thought of how it's been almost 10 years since she was wearing that particular payal. One morning 10 years ago, in the garden, looking at her rag doll, she confessed to Arnav that she used to have a similar payal like her doll once, that the bad guys had stolen from her too. And she missed wearing the payals. It was one of the first things she had admitted to Arnav during their long walks.

He'd asked her why she didn't just ask Mahindar Chachu and Chachi for payals and Khushi had tearfully confessed her fear that if she wanted too much, her new guardians would give her away. And the sound of payals must disturbed them as well.

That very weekend, he'd bought her this payal and its pair. She'd loved it. It was the first time since her parents died that she'd bounced in places with joy like she was really eight and not eighty. She giggled with her delighted-little-girl pleasure.

Khushi stared at the payal with a sad smile on her face. The clasp had been given away. Just like their relationship now. She still remembered how the payals were too big for her small ankles, he had to make a loop at the end to adjust them to her size.

Arnav had adored her once.

But she'd messed that up good and proper a long time ago. But did she really mess it up beyond repair?

A knock on the door drew her thoughts out of the past. To her surprise, it was Arnav standing in the doorway, his expression as passive as ever. "Can I come in?"

She nodded, automatically scooting backwards to lean back against her headboard. He came to sit in front of her, and Khushi smirked, remembering playing Ludo with him at that same position, at that same spot when she was 10, 11, 12.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked, curious. A smile played at his lips that made her heart feel like a thunder about to strike.

"I was just remembering beating you in ludo," she said quietly. In her room, it was harder to be aloof as she tried to be with him. How long had she been trying to show him she was grown up, grown past the foolish girl she'd been when they...

His smile broadened but only slightly. Still, it was enough to make her blood feel warmer. "So you found a game you can actually beat me at, Phati sari. Don't get arrogant." He pointed a finger in her face.

Laughing lightly, she remembered the origin of her nickname at the kanya puja day, when she was 10, Amma had made her wear a red saree made for little girls. it was so beautiful. She ran to the garden to show it to Arnav where he was helping Babuji to sow the vegetable seeds and ended up tearing the pretty saree in that process. She cried the whole day so much that Babuji ended up buying two more similar sarees just like that. But she couldn't get away from the torment of Arnav's teasing. She gained that nickname a day later. she stared down at her lap, tracing the broken payal with the pad of her finger. He sounded like his old self just then addressing her with the name he gave her, the one who wasn't so uncomfortable and cold around her. 'O Devi maiya, what do she need to sacrifice to have that again.' she sighed and asked "So what did you want to talk about?"

"This is awkward," he said after a moment of silence. "It seems almost pompous for me to say I'm proud of you."

"Why do you think it's pompous?" she asked, curiously. "I mean, everyone else has said it... unless you don't mean it."

"Of course I mean it," he said, his tone sincere. "A graduate degree in English literature" He looked down, then back at her again"You always wanted to be a writer. I am sorry I wasn't there when you enrolled on college, I should have been there." he said with a decisive, displeased tone. "I know I haven't been as supportive as I could have been these last few years."

Khushi shook her head. Arnav had always been something of an enigma to her. Well, not always. There was a time when their relationship had been simple. At some point, something had changed. What that was, Khushi was still at a loss as to explain. She knew when the switchover had happened, though.

"Arnav," she said with a sigh. "If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have even tried to get into a college. You have always encouraged me to write and kept me interested in the world of literature with the books you used to send me."He even sent her books when he was avoiding her those last few years.

Looking up at him, she smiled. "you were the only one who never doubted my capabilities. You just seemed so certain I could do it - even if it would be hard."

"Most things worth doing are difficult," he said quietly. "It never occurred to me to doubt you. If that was what you wanted, I knew you were capable."

And because he knew, she believed, she thought but didn't say. "It was difficult. Still, I did it, and I think I made the right choice. You had everything to do with that."

Their silence then was not so awkward, but more comfortable. Then Arnav reminded the package in his hand and extended it to her. As soon as she saw the package, her face brightened with a brilliant smile and she all but tore the packaging of the book. 'A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens ' It's her favourite book, but it was special.

"you brought me the first edition" She looked in awe both at the book and at the man. When the awe subsided awkwardness seeped in. Arnav was about to leave.

"Arnav," she began hurriedly, blowing out a breath in a huff, she was ready to right wrongs in her life, and start fresh. "I know you've been... wary about seeing me since... since then. And I don't blame you. I know things have been strange for a long time. But I was a stupid girl then. A lot has changed - I've changed. I'm not going to... do that again. So if that's what you're worried about-"

"Khushi," he said quickly, reaching across the space that separated them, putting his index finger over her lips.

For the space of a few breaths, Khushi's heartbeat began to stutter. Time stood still, their breaths caught. She didn't know how long it had been since she was watching his hooded eyes, looking at his dilated pupil.

And then a moment later, a curtain seemed to fall over his expressive eyes, hiding all the secrets she so desperately wanted to reveal, his eyes holding hers. He let his hand drop slowly before he broke eye contact, staring out the window. For long moments, he was silent. "It's not you. It's never been you."

She waited, but he didn't seem inclined to explain further. "Is it so unthinkable ?" she asked finally. She cringed because she'd feared the answer to this question for years. He was her best friend, her confidant - the most important person in her life since almost before she could remember. That had never changed. And she didn't want to lose him. She would take him in whatever capabilities he would like to share with her.

"Is what so unthinkable?" he asked, dreading the answer himself.

"Can't we try to be friends again?" Her voice was quiet, and she struggled to make it not waiver. It felt strangely like her world would crumble if he put the final nail in the coffin of their relationship, as melodramatic as that sounded.

To her surprise, his eyes were wide, almost horrified. He shook his head, chuckling nervously. He thought she would ask about something else. "I never imagined you would interpret my attitude that way." He rubbed a hand over his chin, tracing the line of stubble - it had been some days since he'd shaved. She'd noticed that almost instantly when he walked in the door. She still remembered the way that little bit of stubble felt, brushing against her cheek.

"To answer your question, of course, we can be friends. I've never not been your friend," he said finally.

This cheered her considerably, and Khushi sat up straight, smiling. "Good."

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @msbhagirathi

<previous> | <next>

[babybixon012]

•Intimate enemies•

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Summary: Maddy and Rafe always hated each other, and everything Rafe did Maddy hated and everything Maddy did Rafe hated. But deep down they love each other.

Warning: drugs, unprotected sex, verbal violence, "physical" violence, a funny but toxic relationship.

Maddy Pérez (Euphoria) Rafe Cameron (Outer banks)

Part 1

____________♥︎___________

When Maddy was 12 she went to the Outer Banks with her family. Maddy family was not poor they had plenty of money But they went to the island to get more money. At first Maddy hated this year that she will be separated from her friends, much less from New York.

Her parents were negotiating with the Cameron family, whom she did not know.

Maddy thought the banks were beautiful when I got there, but she was very proud. So she told her parents that I hate the beach, that I hate people and that she hated

But when Maddy family got closer to the Cameron family she met Sarah. And from then on, they became best friends. Everything was perfect everything was calm. Without Sara you would be nothing On that shitty island.

But you had a problem, a terrible problem that something in our But you had a problem, a terrible problem. Rafe Cameron....

Wafer was everything you hated. He was spoiled, it's unbearable if he thought he was the king of f***he was spoiled, it was unbearable if he thought he was the king (and he was) the first time you saw this one you thought That I was going to make friends with him like Sarah. But you hated the boy.

"Hi...I'm Maddy, I'm Sarah's friend" she said smiling.

" I don't care" he said, shrugging his shoulders and sucking on the ice cream.

"That's called bad manners, you know?" You said, getting irritated, even if you were a child, you already had a lot of stress.

"You're unbearable, you know? Get out of my way, Latina" You gape and take it as if it were an offense (and it was) and he walks away and leaves you freaking out with rage.

Since that day you hated Rafe. And everything he represented.

When you turned 13 years old, you went to celebrate at the Camero mansion, because the families are already very close.

You were very happy because all your friends that you liked were there. And the party was incredible. But that smile soon changed to a brave face. It was Rafe Cameron who was there. It's okay that the house was his. But why? He hated you and you hated him, so why was he there?

"Latina! Finally growing up" he says with a mischievous smile on his face.

"Screw you, you living dummy" Maddy says and rolls her

"you cursed!! You're screwed now, because I'm going to tell your mother" He laughs and runs to tell his mother. You despair. Already knowing that your mother would ground maddy.

He made her life a real chaos, but she also fought back a lot. There was the time she put three eggs in a bucket and whoever entered (in this case Rafe) the eggs would fall on their head.

And so it was done, the eggs fell on Rafe's head, legend has it that he is cracking the eggs to this

But anyway. You two were like cats and dogs, you fought over everything, you argued over everything, you were horrible to each other.

•Current days•

There were maddy and Sarah in the pool. You two were sunbathing.

"Hey, you know that boy I told you about?" Sarah says biting her nails. Kind of silly.

"yes....that John B, the king of the Pogues." You talk while lying down facing the sun. She didn't have any prejudice against people who were poor, but sometimes you made fun of them, because the Pogues weren't poor either Easy to get along with.

"Yes, he is! He asked me on a date" she says smiling at the sky. And at that moment she realized that her friend was in love.

"go friend, go on that date. You deserve better" maddy were referring to Topper, you were the friend, but you knew that he and Sarah didn't work out together.

"We ran out of soda. Shit, that was the last package in the freezer, I'm going to have to go buy it" Sarah says with a snort.

"Come on, and please don't take long, I want to tell you about my new Fiante" Maddy gives a mischievous smile and so does Sarah.

Sarah, I left, and you were looking at your cell phone, since you had nothing to do. Until....

"new Stayer? Who's the brave one?" He speaks in a "surprised" tone and is clearly insulting you. you huff and take a deep breath.

"You know Rafe, I went to therapy and I want to stay calm, that is, I won't pay attention to your insults" you say smiling with pure mockery and go back to your cell phone.

Clearly Rafe wasn't expecting this, but he was going to make you mad. And he was going to make it.

"Clearly I wasn't expecting all this calm." He knows you hate being called Latina by Rafe Cameron. She twist in anger and go straight for his neck.

Rafe couldn't stop laughing when you tried to choke him. You were shorter than him so it made it a little difficult.

"You're an idiot! You idiot! You weakling" she said, shouting while jumping on his neck.

Until the two of you lose your balance and fall together. For the first time Maddy could see Rafe's eyes this close, and they were beautiful. While Rafe smelled Maddy, he wanted that smell Forever.

" You're an idiot, Rafe Cameron," Maddy says, trying to get angry, but their eyes were mesmerized by Rafe's.

And the two of you were still lying on the floor, until you took the initiative to get up, but at the last second, in the second half. Rafe kisses she, kisses you with desire, kisses you with desire.

At first you didn't give in, but then you gave in to him. Rafe holds Maddy's waist. As she lets out a moa.

Until she snaps and stops kissing him desperately. "Rafe! What the fuck are we doing?" Maddy say pushing him and looking around to see if anyone saw him.

"Just enjoy your adolescence?" Rafe says, pretending to be innocent and you roll your eyes.

"For starters, you're not a teenager, you're already 18!" Rafe pretends to be shocked. "And the last thing I want is to enjoy my adolescence with she, your daddy's boy" she says, taking her things, to enter the Cameron mansion.

Rafe saw you going out in that bikini that was making him hard and crazy. And that kiss only made Rafe's day better. Rafe didn't hate she, for him to hate is a very strong word, he just didn't like maddy. He also loved making her mad, as a child.

Maddy enters the Cameron house agitatedly, and she ends up bumping into Sarah, with sodas in hand.

"what the fuck maddy, what planet are you on?" Sarah speaks and you give a slight smile... a little suspicious.

"I'm sorry Sarah, I hadn't seen you" she says, still nervous and Sarah finds her friend's behavior strange.

"Is everything okay with you?" Sarah says and Maddy rolls her

"So Sarah stop being annoying, I'm great! I'm going home, okay?" She speaks clearly trying to get away from Rafe, who was looking in their direction.

"But weren't you going to tell me about your new boyfriend? What about soft drinks?" Sarah He says looking at Maddy confused. And the more Maddy and Sarah prolonged their conversation, Rafe became closer.

I'm feeling crampy, at the party tonight I'll tell you everything! Bye friend, I love you " Maddy says practically running, and bumps into Rafe's chest, which was muscular and strong. Rafe gives a smile. And Maddy whispers Some pest. Maddy finally leaves the Cameron mansion and Sarah is still shocked by her friend's behavior.

"why the fuck did she act like that?" Sarah speaks loudly. And the rafe leans against On the counter

"I don't know, you always bring your crazy friends to our house" Rafe says, turning his back. And Sarah swears something.

Rafe didn't like Maddy, "fact" but she wouldn't leave his head. Why?

And he was looking forward to seeing you, because Sarah was having a party that night and Maddy would definitely go. So Rafe would be there.

______♥︎______

The party had barely started and Sarah and Rafe's house was full. She had Pogues and she had Kooks too. And Maddy was there, perfect as always. She was dancing with a random man, and oddly enough, Rafe only had eyes for you that night.

And Sofia, who was Rafe's "girlfriend", noticed that her boyfriend only looked at Maddy's ass. She just freaked out.

Sarah had gone to the bathroom area, until she heard Sofia and other Kooks girls, talking bad about Maddy. Sarah just ran to tell Maddy

"Maddy!!!" Sarah screamed trying to get closer to you and passes through the crowd. "Maddy, you don't know what Sofia and the other girls are saying against you" Sarah said trying to catch her breath.

"What the fuck are they talking about me Sarah?" Maddy says, and I frown.

"I think it's better for you to see it with your own eyes" Sarah says, half laughing, as she knows the future of this fight.

"with pleasure" Maddy says, leaving the guy she was with, and going after Sofia. And suddenly, she has a group of people following Maddy, sure to watch the fight.

Arriving there, Maddy found several girls around Sofia, laughing and gossiping about something. Maddy gives a smile and approaches Sofia. And Sofia noticed that she had several people around In other words, Maddy would beat her up

"So Sofia, what are you talking about me, you stupid little bitch" Maddy says and Sofia swallows hard. She knew she couldn't handle a fight with Maddy, because Maddy was a quarrelsome person And smash any dirty girl that gets in his way.

"Look Maddy, I don't want to argue with you, I'm not going to make a big show" Sofia says leaving, probably very scared, Sucker.

"Poor Maddy, I think she's scared of you" Sarah says teasingly and people scream. Maddy just laugh

"Afraid of a slut that catches everyone?" Everyone goes crazy when Sofia says that. Sarah knew that Maddy would reach her "crazy" state when she heard that.

"What did you call me?" Maddy says in a whisper. Maddy approaches Sofia and gets closer to her face "what did you call me, you fucking whore" Maddy shouted at her. The girl She was practically crying, Maddy was making her scared.

Until Rafe appears, and is amazed and trying to understand what is happening.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Rafe says, getting close to Maddy and Sofia. Maddy didn't even look at him, she just looked at Sofia.

"The maddy who murders me " Sofia says trying to get some kind of remorse from Rafe, but she doesn't get anything.

"I think you better calm down Maddy " Rafe says trying to calm the situation. And he also puts his hands on Maddy's shoulders, to give her support.

He didn't know why he was doing it, just that he felt like he had to do it.

"Shut up Rafe! It's my business with her" Maddy shouts, already pointing her hand in Sofia's face.

"Leave me alone Maddy" Sofia says trying to run, but gets caught by Maddy pulling her hair.

"Next time you don't answer me and turn your back on me, you'll regret it!" Maddy says, pulling her hair even more. And everyone screamed And Rafe was excited by that.

"that's enough maddy, leave the girl" Rafe says and Maddy obeys, and Sofia leaves completely humiliated. And everyone started shouting Maddy.

And that filled her ego. Until Rafe grabs Maddy's arm and takes her to the corner.

"I think we need to repeat that kiss" Rafe says, caressing Maddy's back, as she was very close to him.

"Don't you hate me Rafe Cameron?" Maddy says using that seductive tone of hers. And Rafe gets tougher about it

"and maybe I hate you, but I didn't say I hated you when it came to sex" Rafe says, getting closer to her mouth. And Maddy gets very close to his mouth too.

"so you're inviting me to have sex with you?" Maddy says with her lips very close to Rafe's.

"yes, that outfit of yours is driving me crazy, and you're driving me crazy" when Rafe says that, he immediately tries to kiss Maddy, but Maddy refuses

"I would never have sex with Rafe Cameron, I won't fall for that weakling curse" says Maddy, looking at Rafe with a look of contempt.

Rafe is filled with rage, almost grabbing her by force. But he exhales and looks furious.

"Sofia was right about you Madalena Pérez, you're a shit whore" Rafe says with a bitter tone, and oddly enough, Maddy was upset?

"Your opinion is the same as wind for me" Maddy speaks last and then leaves.

Maddy was so angry with Rafe that she ended up falling for her ex-boyfriend. JJ Maybank

"pay attention, babe" says JJ, recovering from the fall. Maddy and JJ dated for 1 year and 4 memes, but you broke up because of JJ's friends, who didn't approve of you guys. And JJ only listened to his friends and left Maddy aside, because of them.

"Screw you JJ" Maddy says, and JJ realizes that she wasn't cool.

"Did something happen, babe?" Jj says, approaching her. And Maddy looks down, it looks like she doesn't mean to say anything. "Do you want to talk somewhere else?" Maddy nods.

Part 2?

[robinofgothamcity]

“Maybe one day when we’re old and gray, we can be in love once more. Till then I won’t give love away, darling, I’m forever only yours. ”

Character: Zack Sabre Jr

Fandom: New Japan Pro Wrestling (and it AEW?)

Authors note: omfg, I’m actually terrified to write my first fic in what feels like centuries (even tho it’s only been since march) but I’ve just been on a ZSJ kick for forever now so that’s where this came from! I hope this fic turns out well bc if it doesn’t I might go back to my dungeon and not write again LMFAO. Anywayyy, please read my last post, thank you <3

With forbidden door being around the corner and New Japan talent crawling around the halls more often now, it felt like you were back in Japan talking in the halls with the girls from Stardom and the backstage talent. You had moved to AEW when Nick and Matt were scouting for talent to join their women’s roster and you were more than ecstatic to join them.

Your match with Mayu was running rampant through your head as you were now two days away from the anticipated match and you were like a chicken with her head cut off, doing as much promotion as you could for AEW to get everyone to watch your match.

-

Back when you were in Japan and wrestling for Stardom, you had this very interesting southern persona. Cowboy boots, tried to have a southern accent to which you failed miserably at, and even went out of your way to order a cowboy hat for every occasion. Many found it interesting and although most people loved it, Zack always seemed to be confused at it.

It was no secret that Zack was very blunt about whatever was on his mind. You could hear Zack cutting a promo from the other end of the building and although Zack was very quintessentially British, you found every reason to turn up your persona up to a thousand on a ten dial scale when he was around. It irritated Zack to no end and even though you loved your gimmick, when you made the move to AEW, you knew it was time to put up your gimmick to bed.

Now with you being a long term roster member, you had taken a few girls under your wing to train and build up. You had found solace in Kris as a best friend and for the moment, everything in your career was going smoothly until Tony had finally approached you with the most life altering news in your wrestling career thus far.

“We want you to be the main event for the women at Forbidden Door.”

The drink you were sipping on was now on the floor as you looked over at Kris who was shaking in excitement for you.

“Wait, you want me to main event Forbidden Door? As in main event one of the most highly anticipated pay-per-views in the year?” You replied back. Tony couldn’t help but laugh at your reaction, “yes, we want you and Mayu to main event it. Stardom was very excited to hear that it was you who was going to compete against Mayu.”

You immediately screamed in excitement as everyone in the hallway turned around to see the commotion.

“Yes, oh my god! Are you kidding me? This is going to be one of my career defining moments, when does Mayu come over this way? I saw some New Japan talent already but-.”

You felt someone covering your eyes when it all started coming together.

“MAYU!” You screamed as you turned around and picked her up, “this is going to be the greatest match in women’s history!” You screamed excitedly. Tony left the three of you in the hallway as he made his way to creative to let them green light the matches for you and Mayu.

-

You were in the hallway with social media, cutting some online promo when you were dragged away with a few other girls to do some social media for AEW’s TikTok page. Zack had been in the area, scouting for some food when he came across you and a few of the girls with the social media team.

You hadn’t said much to Zack after you left Stardom besides the very far and few compliments on each others matches. You knew Zack would make your life hell when you inevitably crossed him which is why he was waiting for you patiently at the end of the hallway with a smirk running across his face. Your new gimmick was like a smack to the face when he finally tuned into an AEW show and saw you.

You could argue that your new persona was like if Art the Clown and a loud cheerleader had managed to become one person. Your very poppy personality did not match your aesthetic and you guessed that was why so many loved you. You were truly loved by the fans and even found yourself getting caught off guard by how much you’d get approached in the public eye.

Once the girls had called it a day and you said your goodbyes to Kris, Britt, and Rosa, you knew you’d finally have to face Zack.

“Zackary, how are you?” You mumbled as you started to wipe the small amount of makeup off your face, “no more yeehaw darling? I’m kind of missing that right now,” he said in a slight mocking tone. You rolled your eyes as you found a small mirror to check if the makeup had came off your face, “oh, are we telling lies now? I 100% doubt that you miss me running around the New Japan and Stardom hallways with a cowboy had and a terrible southern accent,” you replied in the same tone.

The two of you had a slight romantic endeavor back when you were still in Japan but one night had changed the entire dynamic between the two of you. What seemed like a small misunderstanding in Zack’s eyes was more than that in yours.

You had thought that you and Zack were exclusive, only seeing each other, when you made the unfortunate mistake to walk into his hotel room one night and saw him in the middle of a compromising position with another girl from the roster. You didn’t blame the poor girl, you knew that it was Zack idiotic fault for giving you his room number that night along with a key and the idea that the two of you were only seeing each other.

Zack had came up with a million and one excuses for his actions but you had told him that it was okay. You pretended like it didn’t really bother you however you knew that was farther than the truth. You came home from your Stardom tapings bawling your eyes out and although you tried to see an alternative side to Zack, all you could imagine was that night.

Whenever Stardom had any crossovers with New Japan, you made sure to steer clear from Zack which is where your second romantic fling fruition with Adam Page. With the two of you having slightly the same image, it was clear that the two of you got along and whispers in the NJPW hallways had confirmed to Zack that you were seeing the wretched cowboy. It didn’t last very long as both of your careers had skyrocketed after that but it still felt like salt in a open wound to Zack whenever it was mentioned or even when you would appear on screen with him in AEW.

“I was just wondering if you were going to the after party on Saturday night,” Zack asked. You knew that there was a Forbidden Door after party happening after the pay-per-view but you weren’t completely sure on attending it, “depends if Mayu decides to keep me alive or not,” you joked. Zack rolled his eyes, “as much as I hate having a bias, I know you’ll come out the winner.”

You rolled your eyes, a bit irritated that Zack was very blatantly flirting with you.

“Hey girl, you have promos to cut with TV in a few minutes,” Yuta said as he skipped by, leaving a jokingly long kiss on your cheek. You smacked him with a random scrap of paper that was laying on the floor, “I already finished it you moron,” you screamed back, “I’ll see you tonight though!”

Zack couldn’t help but gag at the interaction.

“You and Yuta?” Zack asked. You rolled your eyes for what felt like that the thousandth time, “absolutely not. That’s actually a running joke we have but I won’t spare you the details,” you replied. Zack seemed taken back, “what?” You asked, really not knowing what was wrong with him, “why won’t you spare me the details? Scared I’ll go after him or something?”

This time you couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“Oh so it was okay for you to be fucking someone behind my back but it’s an issue when a friend gives me a friendly peck on the cheek?” You exclaimed, finally snapping. Zack couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “you’re still on that?” He asked. You gave him a dumbfounded look, not really in the head space to be dealing with him.

“Of course I am! it seems as though you’re finding it an issue every time I date someone. Don’t think I didn’t hear what you said when I was dating Adam and now you’re bitching at me for a small interaction with Yuta!” You screamed, “but this is the most ridiculous argument ever and I’m over it already. We haven’t been ‘together’ in literally five years and we’re arguing as if we broke up six months ago.”

Zack wanted to speak up but you had left the hallway, not really in the mood to have Zack seeing you cry.

-

Saturday night rolled around and you felt like you were ready to vomit. You were getting encouraging messages from Mayu as she could sense that you were ready to projectile into any trash can you could find.

You had done all of your makeup and you were now just ready to get your match started. Your gear was eerily reminiscent to Julia’s when she had first started in AEW. You were wearing a cheerleading outfit but it was covered in blood and your boots had small slashes through the middle of them to signify cuts. It was hands down one of your favorite gears to date and you knew that the anger you were holding for Zack really sold the creepy, angry, and borderline psychotic persona you wanted to portray.

“You’re on in two minutes, you ready?” Kris asked. You had relied that happened between you and Zack to her last night and she cold tell you were still shaken up by it, “I am. I’m ready to put on the performance of a lifetime for myself and Mayu,” you replied. Kris smiled as you heard your theme going off through the speakers in the arena.

You grabbed your props and ran out to the screaming crowd. Mayu was waiting for you in the ring as you couldn’t help but noticed that most New Japan talent was sitting front and center to see the match. You felt this overcoming wave of anger when you saw Zack but you immediately pushed it down when you heard your friends and your fellow roster members in the crowd cheering for you.

-

You had reached the 60 minute time limit as you and Mayu had exhausted each other out. You had blood covering your face as well as Mayu having blood running down her arms and legs. What was 60 minutes felt like just a few mere minutes to the two of you.

You could hear the crowd screaming to give the two of you five minutes but you knew the final match of the night had get started.

Mayu helped you up to your feet as you gave her the most vulnerable and understanding look you could give her and hugged her. The crowd now on their feet and clapping/screaming in support as there was a mix of AEW and Stardom chants going through the arena.

You opened the ropes for Mayu to get out as a sign of respect for her as the two of you helped each other to the back. The two of you almost immediately collapsed on the chairs and chugged down what felt like at least two gallons of water.

The cameras had asked for an interview as you gave them the green light to go ahead with the interview.

You saw Renee approaching you as you gave her a small exhausted wave and tried to look a bit more presentable.

“So, this had been the most anticipated match of the night and it is very clear that fans all want a second match in Japan. How do you feel about that? Going up against Mayu again but in her home territory?” Renee asked. You gave her a tired smile, “Mayu knows where to call me and when to do it. If Mayu or the fans want a rematch, I guess I’ll be seeing her at World Rendezvous in July.”

You heard the crowd screaming in excitement as Renee cut the cameras and gave you a congratulatory hug. You knew you had to go in the shower before the blood and sweat started to mix even more and started to gross you out. You limped your way back to the lockers and took a slightly concerning long shower as you basked in the steaming hot shower.

Once you finished up and realized that the event had finished, you realized that you were in a slightly better mood and figured there would be no harm in attending the after party. You got the location from Julia and made your way over to the venue where it was being hosted.

“And she’s alive!” Yuta screamed. You couldn’t help but laugh as he and Jon gave you what felt like the millionth hug of the night, “that was a nasty match. You gotta run one like that with me,” Britt said jokingly, “I really do love you Britt but I’m giving myself a six month vacation from a match like that and even if I wanted too, it looks like I made a promise to Mayu to give her a rematch at World Rendezvous in July,” you relied.

As all of you started to drink and get comfortable, you saw all of the New Japan and Stardom talent walk in. You ran over to Mayu and gave her another hug as cameras had pulled you for promotional photos. From the back of the room, you could feel eyes on you which you knew belonged to Zack and him only.

You knew you were going to have to face him before he went back to Japan and although you didn’t want to, you’d feel the unnecessary guilt build up over time.

You pulled yourself away from the scene as you sat in the back knowing Zack would follow you. You gave him a quick look before staring at the table, “you never lost that habit, did you?” He said trying to ease the tension. You shook your head, “listen, I wanted to apologize for the other night. It was ridiculous of me to start an argument over that and you were right, it’s been nearly five years,” he said. You couldn’t help but agree, “but there is a reason for that.”

“Which is?”

“I always imagined me with you. I know that you work here and I still work in Japan but I haven’t been able to stop myself from finding someone else when all I try to do is see you in them. It’s ridiculous, I know, but you have realize that it’ll always be you even if we are thousands of kilometers away from each other,” Zack said in a singular breath.

You were shocked to say the least. You knew whatever you had with Zack was still there but you didn’t think he still liked you the way you did with him.

“It’s miles by the way,” you replied jokingly. Zack gave you a quick look of disbelief as you continued, “I guess I have to stay the same thing. You know it’s always been you. There’s a reason why my relationships never lasted and I guess it’s because I always hoped that we’d find our way back to each other.”

Zack reached over the table to grab your hand, “so where do we go from here?” He asked. You bent over the table and pressed your lips to his. He immediately moved it aside as he plopped you on his lap to deepen the kiss. Your hands ran over his blond hair, surprisingly softer than what you had imagined, “well, I do now have business in Japan as I owe a rematch to Mayu,” you replied.

He nodded in relief as you played with his hair in comfort like you used too.

“And I’ll take to Tony to see if there’s anyway I could start splitting time between AEW and Stadom but you have to promise me you’ll meet me halfway here. I can’t always compromise my career with AEW to see you,” you said on a serious note. Zack nodded in agreement, “well, I have contract negotiations with New Japan coming up so I’ll make sure I get more vacationing weeks added onto my contract,” he added on.

You smiled as you felt Zack pull you in for another kiss. From the distance you heard hear Kris and Yuta’s childish “ooooo’s” but you weren’t too worried about that since Zack had made his way from your lips to your neck.

“My room, twenty minutes,” you said giving him one final kiss on the lips before running over to the bar to close your tab, “if you’re late, you’ll be the one paying for room service tomorrow morning.”

[tamara1234sky]

My SVU rant

I’ve been watching SVU for about two years now. It’s been like therapy for me❤️‍🩹. I watched the older season as well.

For Season 25 to be so legendary, it’s soooo boring. The only episode I loved was episode 4 with Chief McGrath and his daughter.

The fandom don’t know what they want. They want character development but little to no screen time for said character.

The way they got rid of the female characters was extremely uncalled for.

Bring back GRACE MUNCY

Bring back TONIE CHURLISH

Bring back KAT TAMIN

I didn’t like Rollins until season 21 but I 100% agree with movement, Kelli deserved better. But that is not Molly’s fault. Molly is was not an executive producer of SVU.

I love Grace Muncy and she was written off way too soon. Her outfits and her sneakers are TDF. She is not perfect, but neither was the old squad but they were given time to grow into the great characters they are now. I am glad her and churlish made up at the end of 24x17. I loved the Churlish and Muncy duo investigating in 24x21.

Veluncy could have been the best ship in SVU:

- they are both single

- They don’t have any baggage in their lives (unlike Bensler- being stuck with Kathy and the Stabler kids AND Rollisi (i don’t like this ship) but Rollins dating/hooking up the wrong men, dissing Carisi for years and having 2 baby daddies before giving Carisi a chance

- They spend a lot of off-duty hours together

- get along really well and care for each other

- They have the cutest banter

- They are loyal to each other

- They obviously ride hard for each other

- Velasco telling her she is his only real friend

- THE WAY THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER IS SO BEAUTIFUL🥹🥰

Tonie Churlish irritated me at first, but she had potential. I could have seen her in ADA position ( maybe 2nd chair to ADA carisi) because she was genuinely interested in the law aspect, when talking with benson and carisi, in 24x16. I think the writers should have created a scene as to why she recorded Velasco- she clearly saw corruption while working in Bronx SVU so maybe that is why her guard is up to spotting something shady with cops.

I miss Kat Tamin everyday. I love her husky voice and her personality. I adore the way she stands up for women’s rights and truly strives to seek justice for women.

Another thing- Why is sykes getting more screen time than Detective Velasco, especially when he is in the main cast? Can at least get a scene where Velasco talk about how much he misses his ‘only real friend’ AKA GRACE MUNCY

[heartsofminds]

at least i let the light in - sneak peek

“Natasha was mistaken, and letting him tag along tonight was an incredibly bad idea.” or Bradley is on a downward spiral and Natasha can’t help but feel like a terrible friend. 

A/N: soooooo if y’all know anything about me it’s the fact that i love angst and it’s what i write best! so enjoy this little snippet of therapy bradley and be prepared for the finished piece to drop sometime soon (...i’m thinking this weekend but who really knows?!) i am so so SO  excited to let you all inside the little corner of my brain that’s been harboring this character study for months! happy reading and can’t wait to share more of this story with you guys soon! 

This is really bad. This is super bad. This is fucking horrible.  

In hindsight, Bradley had a little bit of a problem. In hindsight, letting him have as much as he did was a stupid idea. And in hindsight, it was downright imbecilic to let him get that wasted, play a game of pool with Jake (who loves to engage in smack talk), and not tell Jake about the breakup which resulted in Bradley leaping over the table and trying to beat the absolute shit out of him for making a joke about his girlfriend whom everyone else had yet to establish was now his ex-girlfriend. 

Maverick, who watched the entire thing go down from the bar stools, practically begged Penny on his hands and knees not to throw them out and she obliged but only after tasking Mickey and Bob with taking Bradley to the bathroom and letting him calm down in there before he was ready to come back out. 

And Nat knew that they all should probably head home and that Penny had every right to kick them out for the evening (and probably should), but she remained quiet while trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. Her careful eyes caught wind of Bradley’s incapacitated disposition as he stood slumped between Mickey and Bob as if he was an anchor ready to sink to the bottom of the ocean. 

Their gentle arms held him steady while their faces wore desperation. The chunky wet spot of acid on Bob’s pant leg told Natasha everything she needed to know and from the way Bradley’s head hung, he was down for the count.

If she was being truthful, Bradley had been down for the count for a long time; much longer than anyone had ever really taken notice of, and the seed of anxiousness planted in her torso only bloomed with each assisted step he had taken toward her. 

Natasha was mistaken, and letting him tag along tonight was an incredibly bad idea. 

“Hi, Nat,” he slurs with reddened cheeks and a boyish grin on his face. Part of him looks like the boy she had gotten to love like a brother all those years ago in flight school; way before the stupid mustache and the muscles and the “slight” drinking problem he’d developed over the past nine weeks. 

“Hey, dumbass,” she snides back. She’s so overwhelmed that irritation is the only feeling coursing through her veins. 

“We had a bit of an. . .” Mickey looks toward Bob who looks as if he’s about two seconds away from passing out, “incident in the bathroom. He really needs to get home, Nix.” 

She sighs deeply; the likeness of a sleepless night and a massive headache in the morning a premonition burning bright behind the heavy blinks of her eyelids. Her hands hold her hips and her shoulders slump. She and Bradley had ridden with Jake to Hard Deck tonight, and she’s sure that the debit card saved to her Uber account would not appreciate a twenty-five dollar fee for an eight-minute straight shot up the road. 

But asking Jake for a ride home after he’d been sat icing his left eye with a Heineken bottle isn’t ideal either. 

Her eyes dart to the watch on her left arm; an old Cartier with a white face and hands that were always ten minutes off the hour. If she remembers right, multiplying the drive time by two would get her an estimate of the walking time, and if they jay-walk on Jasper and Kinnecky, they could shave off four minutes and be at her front door in about- 

“Twelve minutes?” she looks up at the triad of men and flashes a sympathetic smile to her WSO in the process, “Do you think he could make that long of a walk?” 

Bradley tries to straighten his legs to stand on his own, but his knees buckle before he can even put his full weight forward. He giggles to himself; the sound childish and carefree. He attempts to lean his head on Bob’s shoulder but slams his forehead down too enthusiastically and knocks heads with the sheepish brunette instead. 

“I’m gonna be so honest with you, I don’t think he can even tell you what color shirt he has on. It’s a miracle he’s even standing right now.”  

Natasha groans and puts her face in her hands.

Fucking hell, Bradley. 

“Don’t be mad at me. Please don’t be mad. Don’t be mad,” Bradley speaks up. His voice is whinier than usual and it’s one of the few phrases he’s bothered to utter tonight. His weight still remains supported by his two friends and for a moment, she feels guilty for even being frustrated with him at all. 

The warm hazel of his eyes peer into hers and she can almost feel his sadness and solitude. Bradley always liked to operate like he was angry, but anyone who dared to get close enough to him knew that the anger was how he felt about himself; a mirage of explosives made up of pure loneliness and hurt. 

[kashilascorner]

New entry for @queer-ragnelle May Day Parade!

Prompt: May 10-16 Month of May {Free Space/Flower Festival}

Behold --my attept at a comedy! You can read it here if you prefer. This is probably the last short story I write for this challenge. Enjoy ^^

He was meant to be someone's uncle, maybe. Definitely not someone's father at any rate. As the hot midday sun shone above his head, Sir Bors wondered what it was about him that he had ended up surrounded by kids. No, not kids. Kids were cute, with their chubby cheeks and their untamed opinions. What he had attracted was far worse: teenagers.

It was a beautiful day in mid-May. Flowers were blooming, birds were singing, horses were happy, and he was not being paid enough for this job. Actually, he was not being paid at all! In fact, by not being in his lands, he was losing money by the minute –but alas, he was not good at accounting anyways, that was work for his brother and his sister-in-law. It's not that Bors didn't like the lads, but he was beginning to understand Sir Kay's irritation towards the world at large given how much he dealt with youngsters all day, every day.

Galahad was a quiet boy. He thought of him as good nephew although he was a second cousin. That was good, with that he could deal. Perceval, on the other hand talked too much. He talked all the time. But there was someone who talked even more: his sister Dindrane. Good lord how much she spoke! Why was she even there in the first place? he wondered. And then there was the elephant inside the room. An enormous elephant all the way from India that definitely had no business in Britain’s forests: Elyan. His son. His actual, real, blood-of-his-blood son. Bors had never had much of an idea of how he should speak to him, so at some point he had decided to talk to him as a fellow comrade. It was his brother's advice: become friends with the lad, he said, get him to trust you, he said, all will be fine and follow the natural course, he said. Well, probably not the best idea to take advice from a man who had not yet been a father and had lost his own at a tender age. But alas, he didn't have much better opinions to go by. Who else was he going to ask for fatherly advice? Arthur? Lancelot? So Bors took the advice at face value. If Elyan had been a child maybe he could have worked out something, but no, of course none of the Lord's designs could ever be that easy. He was (almost) fully grown by the time they met. He even had a shadow of a shadow of something that kind of resembled a beard.

Elyan seemed content enough by the treatment, Bors thought with some relief. A good lad he was. His mother had made a good job, Bors nodded to himself, she should be proud. But Galahad visibly cringed every time they interacted. This angered Bors. Was he doing it so wrong? He felt very judged, negatively, by Galahad's gaze. And who was Galahad, of all people, to judge? And why did Bors even care about his opinion? Bors thought of himself as a competent enough father, even if not a good one. Sure, he had not provided for his son, but only because he didn't know he existed at all! Come think of it, maybe only God was a good enough Father, and still his main fathering method was throwing His children into the world without warning and with only thin skin as their protection. Not even scales or a thick poisonous tooth or two to defend themselves. Bors did better than that: he’d given his lad an armor, and a seat in the most prestigious knight order of the age. So, actually, he had done fairly well by comparison, had he not? Even if the reasoning was a bit sacrilegious in nature.

“Say, Uncle,” spoke Dindrane. Bors, at the head of the party, had to fight his innermost demons not to roll his eyes and let out a long, long sigh. Her excessive familiarity annoyed him. Lads he could deal with, but how in Heaven was one even supposed to deal with a fifteen-year-old girl? “Who would win a fist fight, Sir Gawain or Sir Lancelot?”

“Obviously Gawain!” retorted young Melehan, with a tone that informed Bors the kids had been, no doubt, arguing about this one thing all morning. Obviously Melehan was going to defend his uncle. Bors had not intended to travel with a band of teenagers, but least of all had he planned to borrow Sir Mordred's eldest son, a boy of twelve, as a squire while they went to meet with the rest of the knights. How much he missed his loyal Achilles! Should have never knighted him, honestly, but it was too late to regret it now. Bors had never realized how hard it was to get a good squire until he lost a great one –which Melehan, certainly, was not.

“They would never fist fight in the first place.” Bors said, trying to sound very grave. “And knights don't fist fight.”

“But if they did,” insisted Dindrane, Elyan and Perceval in unison.

“He's going to say Lancelot, he's not impartial.”" complained Melehan, very softly for them to pay attention.

“Obviously Lancelot would win if he ever happened to lower himself to such standards,” commented Galahad, who, even by his standards had been astonishingly quiet.

“Are we talking midday or night fight?” Asked Perceval all of a sudden, like he had just realized it was an absolutely crucial difference.

“Gawain at midday, definitely,” said Elyan, trying to sound very serious (or had his voice really become this deep?) “But at night...”

“Still Gawain!” insisted Melehan.

“No way, not at night.” Galahad scoffed.

“Oh, so you admit he would lose in the morning?” Melehan smiled. Bors turned slightly to look at the little blond boy. Damn, did the boy look like his father.

“Knights don't fist fight.” Insisted Bors.

“I know you have fist flighted,”" said Perceval, cryptically, disconcerting Bors and forcing him to turn his body on his horse to look at him, like an owl turning its head.

“When?”

“You have a brother, sir Bors,” said Perceval, “and brothers fist fight all the time.” he added, in unison with Dindrane, like it was an obvious fact everyone knew. What kind of relationships did the offspring of Pellinore have? Bors thought with horror for a moment, what horrors went behind those walls--then he thought of how Lamorak had turned out. Ah, it made sense.

“We could say that sometimes it can happen, yes,” he conceded. "But I never in my life fist fought Lionel." He had, indeed, fist fought Lionel and broken his lip in the process multiple times, but no reason for the youngsters to know that. It seems like they had enough examples about it not to need any more.

“My cousins and I once had a very big fight, I don't see how it would not be the same between brothers.” Melehan commented.

“And who won?”

“Florence.”

“Ah.” Bors nodded. The boy was a marvel. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree –especially if the tree is Gawain. Right before breaking a smile, he remembered he was trying to give a good example. “Well, you should try to avoid those things. One day you will be knighted, so you keep your hands to yourself and use your sword and your lance honorably, as it is meant to be.”

“Ha! Tell that to the boys, I will throw punches my whole life.” Dindrane laughed, tilting her chin up petulantly. Galahad all of a sudden seemed very uncomfortable. He had grown in a monastery, had he not? He probably never saw a woman talk so shamelessly. Had he ever even seen a girl his own age at all? Probably not. Women could be terrifying, Bors had to give him that. And Dindrane, it seemed, was at least half savage. Melehan had made the horse trot a little faster so now he was on Bors' left side, blushing, instead of nearer Dindrane where he had been riding all morning. He blushed a lot when it came to Dindrane, Bors realized. Maybe he didn't like her? Only the Lord could tell, these youngsters were a mystery.

Bors stole a glance from Elyan, on his right side. Come think of it, perhaps they shouldn't be knighting boys this young. Then he thought of how Perceval was a good two years older than his Elyan and still had much less common sense, so maybe it didn't have anything to do with age after all. Bors smiled at his son, and got his horse a little closer to his. Elyan smiled back, shyly, but pulled out his chest in a show of being a great horseman.

“Who do you think won when they fought, my Lord the King or the Seneschal?” asked Perceval, breaking the silence.

“The King,” said Dindrane and Elyan.

“The Seneschal,” replied Melehan, Galahad and Bors. The lads stared at Bors, and Dindrane smirked maliciously. They had trapped him.

“So who would win, Uncle, Sir Lancelot or Sir Gawain?”

“Who would, who would?” all of them asked.

There was no escape. Bors took a deep breath.

At least this would only go on for a couple more days, then they would meet with Gawain and Lancelot's parties, switch members and begin the quest proper.

But as things were going, he wondered: was the Grail and its promise of divine redemption even worth this much effort? Maybe he should turn back to tournaments and rescuing ladies. It was certainly a more reasonable line of work.

[alliceolivia]

Blind date (Steve)

pov Natasha

“Come on Steve! I promise she is super cute!” I say as I try to convince him for the 100th time to go on a date.

“Nat I have said it before and I’ll say it again, I don't need a girlfriend,” he says annoyed as we walk into the meeting room.

“You trying to get the old man to go on a date again Romanoff?” Tony laughs “The guy doesn't have a chance. The last time he got laid was in 1912”

I can see Steve blushing a bit and he mumbles “That's not true” but Tony doesn't hear, probably for the best.

I have been trying for months to get Steve on a date, but he is insufferable and refuses every time. He won’t admit it, but he is lonely, so I am just trying to help him really. I am also very curious about how Steve would behave in a relationship, as I have barely seen him even interact with a woman. So he is getting on my nerves with this “I don’t need a girlfriend” bullshit.

As the day goes by, Steve still goes on about me not needing to intervene in his love life. We both know that’s not true. But with each complaint he has I can feel them bouncing on one of my nerves. Making me more and more irritated. Now, I can feel my skin burning. This isn’t usually something I would get angry at, but it seems my temper has gotten the best of me today. I need to calm down, and I know just the thing that would help.

As I am tying the laces of my skates, I can already feel the anger letting go. It's been a long time since I have gone ice skating, and I feel that I am not as steady as I used to be as the first thing I do is fall flat on my ass. I get up again, skate a few meters, then fall again. This is embarrassing, I think as I get up for the third time. I look over to the other side of the rink. A girl is twirling around on the ice as if she had always done so, it looked so natural. I should ask her for help, I think, standing up and slowly making my way over to her.

“Hey!” I say as I come closer, “Would you mind helping me a bit?”

The girl almost falls, clearly startled by me. “Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!”

“No, no, it's okay,” she smiles.

“I just saw you from across the rink and you are really impressive,” I say to her. I see her face heat up a bit.

“Oh, um, thank you,” She says shyly. She’s pretty cute.

“I used to skate a lot when I was a child, but this is the first time I have skates on my feet in maybe 10 years. I was just wondering if you could help me with this one trick?” I ask again and she smiles at me.

“Oh, yes of course.”

She spends some time helping me get my posture right, adjusting my arms and legs. I fall on my ass one more time, but then! I finally got it!

“Yes!” She exclaims once I land it perfectly, “That looked perfect!”

I feel a little proud when I finally get it, and wanting to celebrate (and a break, as I begin to feel it in my legs) I ask her to grab a coffee with me. She agrees and we go on our way.

We chat and laugh at the cafe, getting to know each other. She’s kind, funny, and a little old-fashioned. And almost like it’s a revelation, I realize she is *perfect* for Steve. But how can I get him to go on a date with her? Maybe even harder, how do I get her to go on a date with him? I decided I should just ask upfront. Even though she is shy, she gives this upfront energy.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, trying not to sound too eager.

“Sure,” she replies.

“Ok, i know this might b a bit upfrony, but would you be interested in going on a date with my friend?” I ask, “I know we just met, but i think you two would fit perfetly together”

She bluses at the question, it was definitly not what she had expected me to ask.

“Oh, um, im not sure” She says

“Oh, please!” I beg, “Here let me show you a photo!”

I spend some time sweet talking Steve. How great he is, how hes funny, and caring, and kind.

“Fine,” She finally agrees, “Why not give it a shot, right?”

“Yes! Oh, this is going to be great!” I can feel that this is going to end very well.

Later that evening, back at Avenger Tower

“Hey, Steve!” I say, now having made a plan to get Steve to go on the date with Y/n. I just need to set it in action. “I just wondered if you wanted to grab lunch with me tomorrow?”

Steve looks up from his work, “Oh, yeah, sure”

“Great! Meet me at this cafe down the street at 12. I’ll send you the name,” I feel like screaming. This is happening. Steve is going on a date. Sure he doesn’t know it’s a date, but who cares about details?

pov Y/n

The next day, 11.55 am

I’m on my way to meet Steve at the cafe. I slither between the crowd on the street, thinking about all the things that could go wrong. Maybe he doesn’t show up. Maybe I got the time wrong and he thinks I stood him up. Maybe it was all a joke. What if I’m not dressed properly? I look down at what im wearing. A long white skirt, Black platform loafers and i had put on a brown sweater as it was a little chilly today. “Stop it, you’re overthinking it,” I have to say to myself. It’s going to be just fine.

I enter the cafe and see him sitting at the table in the corner. I walk up to him, nervous but excited.

"Hi, Steve," I say, "It’s really nice to meet you. I’m Y/n."

He looks at me confused. "I’m sorry, do I know you?"

Just then, his phone buzzes with a text. I can see his expression change as he reads it. He looks back up at me, a mix of realization and apology in his eyes.

"Uh, I'm really sorry. I- I thought I was meeting a friend here. Natasha just texted me" he explains, clearly embarrassed.

I laugh softly, trying to ease the tension. "Oh, um, It's okay. I guess… I’ll- I’m just gonna leave…” I feel my cheeks burning up. This was almost worse than whatever I had imagined earlier.

Steve smiles shyly, embarrassed about the situation. "Well… since we’re both here. Why not go through with it?" Even though he hadn’t agreed to go on a date, he didn’t want you to go home disappointed. “I mean, if you still want to, of course.”

“N-no, it’s okay. I can just leave. It’s not your fault” I smile, but I want to scream. This is so embarrassing.

Steve could see the disappointment in your eyes, even though you tried to hide it. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I mean, it’s not like I have anything else to do, and it’d be a shame for you to go home without having a good night," he said, trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince you. "What do you say? We could just have a couple of drinks, get to know each other a bit. It doesn’t have to be a big thing."

You hesitate for a moment, but seeing his sincere expression, you find yourself unable to decline.

“Okay,” you finally reply, trying to fight the embarrassed blush on your cheeks, “I mean- if you’re sure you’re okay with it.”

Steve smiles, grateful that you agreed to stay. "Yeah, of course," he says. Standing up, dragging a chair out for you, "Here, please, sit down."

As you sit down, the silence between you is thick with awkwardness. Steve fidgets with a spoon, not quite sure how to break the ice.

"So,” he finally says, clearing his throat, “Uh, how long do you think Natasha planned… this?”

You laugh a little, appreciating that he tried to lighten the mood. "I don’t know," you say, taking a sip of your coffee. "I don’t really know her that well. We met at the ice rink a few days ago,”

Steve nods, a slight smile forming on his lips. "Natasha does have a tendency to meddle," he says with a small laugh. "She’s always trying to set me up with someone."

He takes a sip of his coffee as well. "So, you ice skate?"

pov Steve

There’s a small awkward silence at first, but we quickly settle into a comfortable conversation. To my surprise, we have a lot in common. We talk about our favorite books, movies, and even our childhood memories. The conversation flows naturally, and before I know it, hours have passed.

As we are about to leave, I muster up the courage to ask, “Would you be interested in going on another date with me?” My heart races as I await her response, hoping that she feels the same connection I did.

She smiles warmly, “I’d love that, Steve.” Her words are like music to my ears, and I feel a wave of relief and happiness wash over me.

I walk her home, and we share a pleasant goodbye. The night air is cool, and the stars seem to shine a little brighter as we stand on her doorstep. As I turn to leave, I can’t help but feel a sense of excitement. Maybe Natasha was right after all. This could be the start of something wonderful, something I’ve been waiting for my whole life.

[kiirer]

Tell me about your ocs >:3

WJSJSJS I PANICKED WHEN I FIRST SAW THIS ASK /pos

cw: alcohol, death/murder, sexual assault (not in detail - but it's there), grooming

okok i have a lot of ocs but ill talk about my three silliest guys!! i have two main oc universes, one called ataraksja/ataraxia (the one ill talk about in a moment) and terra del sole (late medieval fantasy kinda thing)

ataraxia was one of two main ideas epicurus, a greek philosopher, was known for - the other being epicureanism. ataraxia is state in which full peace of mind is achieved, it is an unreachable ideal state.

The "protagonist" (it used to have a plot but it changed so many times theres basically nothing now. im better at characters' personal life stories and relationships than coming up with plots) of ataraxia is Inka Zając, a young adult struggling with an addiction! I came up with his name when i opened a cupboard and saw the child-appropriate coffee tube

Inka is rather reserved and aloof, he does not speak unless spoken to and his social skills are mediocre at best. He's also narcoleptic; he takes meds, but then stops at one point.

As a barely 12 year old child he once helped his friend's sister by assisting her in disposing of a dead body. This is not important at the moment

After the death of his mom an unspecified amount of time ago (probably when he was around 16-17?), Inka's mother's drinking gets worse. Dagmara would occasionally drink recreatively, especially with her wife, Joasia, but now she uses it as a way to drown her sorrows. After prolonged exposure to her behaviour Inka takes after her, his mom's death impacted him greatly as well, and he doesn't want to feel useless and depressed all of the time. A little after his 18th birthday his only friend, with whom he had a sort of weird codependent relationship with, left him. Before this Inka would often steal from his mother (which often ended in her scolding him or sometimes, as her state worsened, physical violence even), but now he could buy alcohol on his own. (How did he afford this? I don't know. There's multiple ways i think.)

Now he's about 20 and he meets his longtime friend again, at a funeral - hyperthyroidism increases the risk of a heart attack and so does alcohol. Inka was hiding in his room at the time it happened, not wishing to have anything to do with Dagmara at the moment.

He recognizes Arlo's stupid face almost immediately. They both have to be there early, considering Inka was currently Dasia's closest relative, as she had no siblings and her parents were long dead. Considering Inka's state Arlo was supposed to give a speech instead of him. As a child he spent a lot of time over at the Zając family's house.

Arlo himself is rather charismatic and friendly, he's easy to make a conversation with. However he has a quite short temper and tends to get overly emotional easily. He's easy to fluster or embarass as well as to irritate, all three commonly used against him.

For his background - he grew up in a very.. tense household. When he was maybe 4 or 5 years old his parents had a divorce and he and his sister stayed with their father while their mother, Karina, left for good (she still had to pay child support, of course, but she just didn't want to contact any of them anymore. Neither did the dad). I won't get into the reasons because there's a lot of.. weird, maybe even a little creepy, behaviours included...!!! but!!! basically their mother was not a very good person. the dad wasn't neccessarily an angel either but he was way less bad at least. Arlo's sister, Alla, is 8 years older than him and she still remembers all of the abuse (from Karina) she had to endure. Arlo barely remembers her. He only really knows her face from the paintings hanging on the walls of the very empty now house.

Alla silently feels envious of her brother for having it way easier than her, but at the same time she reminds herself that he wouldn't have deserved that either. It was worse when she was younger, but considering she is almost 30 at the moment she has long realized that it was just misdirected resentment which was supposed to be aimed at Karina.

Arlo deeply admires Alla, going as far as copying her style, her hair, and even her name, when he came out, around 6th grade. Their father didn't really care and Alla was supportive and except for maybe a bit of trouble at school it went well (in my country elementary school lasts for 8 years, so - Arlo probably sent someone to the hospital once by headbutting them or something and no one really felt like bothering him anymore). There was another incident about 8 years before the funeral stuff - Arlo was assaulted and for about a year he struggled to do anything, he was just a child, and so the support from Alla, Dasia and her wife, Joanna was very important.

Back to the present - Inka was suprised at how tidy Arlo looked. His hair was unnaturally straight and his bangs were parted evenly, he was wearing a proper suit and tie as well. All that didn't fit was the horns that decorated the top of his head. Inka would lightheartedly offer to cut them off, perhaps using a saw, to which Arlo'd react with mock-shock, telling him he's crazy, etc. Then he laughs for a little too long, sending himself into a coughing fit while Inka watches absentmindedly. As Arlo coughed up ooze he simply turned away. Seeing that, Arlo reassured him it was alright and that his throat was just a little dry. Inka rolled his eyes before leaving to join the other guests in the church.

Inka fell asleep halfway but was later abruptly woken up due to cold water being splashed in his face by his dear old friend! He caught a cold later probably. After paying respects to the dead woman it was time for repast, during which nothing relevant happened, Inka just had to make small talk with relatives, which was annoying, but doable. The harder part was pretending to be fully sober, especially as the repast went on.

Pretending to be sober also proved quite difficult as Arlo tried to get closer to Inka again, to Inka's dismay. He felt bad when Arlo praised him for not letting the addiction take over his life and Inka felt guilty knowing that he still drinks, just not as much when he's supposed to meet up with him.

Inka inteprets all this as Arlo simply wishing to be friends once more, and partially that is right, though he did have an ulterior motive as well. That is trying to invite him into this definitely-not-a-cult thing, this being an occasion for Arlo to prove himself

Arlo's mother left and his father was emotionally distant - it wasn't long before he started viewing one of his mother's old acquaintances as a sort of new mother figure. She taught him virtues that she had learned from her mother before. She taught him religion, she taught him fear, she taught him love and she taught him hope. Alla couldn't take care of him when she was in university, he thought he was all alone against the world and so it was not all that hard for him to believe her when she said she wanted to help.

Tatiana taught him about the saviour to come from beyond the stars, to blind all creatures of the day and to fill the world with eternal darkness.

This fairytale did raise questions in Arlo eventually, all of which Tatiana gracefully answered with careful half-truths or dismissed. Most important of all, every time he did this she reminded him that he is special.

Special, special..

She said there would come one day on which the saviour would be born, some day soon even. Arlo doubted this, but seeing it bring Tanya joy and most importantly, hope, he decided to entertain this idea.

Tanya's family had been guarding a seemingly meaningless relic for generations; a simple family heirloom, a flower yet to bloom, though it was like no other.

What happened next is kind of hard to explain, mostly because of it being an uncomfortable topic, but to sum it up Arlo is soon forced to eat the aforementioned snakefruit. It is full of ichor and the outside's texture is very.. fleshy and off-tasting. It's repulsive, to say the least. Like a pulsing piece of meat. He asked for it himself when he heard Tanya mention that it's special, just like he is, but he soon regretted ever agreeing upon this. Arlo's mind was hazy, fuzzy, and all he could remember vividly from this was the fact it was disgusting, it was hard to swallow and he almost choked a couple of times.

Arlo did his best to convince himself that it was his own idea. That all was well. He tried to make it seem, to himself, like he was (still) in control.

(He did it to impress Tanya. She wanted him to do this. She wanted this to happen. Tanya still cares for him and his wellbeing, though her way of thinking is incredibly flawed. Despite caring for Arlo, she vowed to punish him for this heinous act of disrespect against the saviour from beyond the stars.

Inka knows that he's probably boring, that he's hard to talk to, especially considering he is grieving and struggling mentally. Half of the time when Arlo tries to visit him Inka simply sleeps trough the sound of the doorbell. The other half of the time he is drawn out of his house forcibly by Arlo, who keeps beckoning him to spend time together. He doesn't understand what Arlo wants because he feels numb and he knows he's not very fun to be around. He doesn't provide much to their conversations, it's like talking to a wall. Normally he'd be talkative, especially with someone he knows so well, but now even if he was able to get a word out he wouldn't simply because he felt like Arlo abandoned him consciously.

Inka did not blame him for his condition, of course, but he felt betrayed when his best friend of so many years left so suddenly with seemingly no regrets.

Little did he know, Arlo had many regrets! Though that's probably a topic for another time!

Over the course of many months Inka opens up more, slowly, as Arlo continues to pester (/affectionate) him with his presence. Inka still drinks, but a little less (mostly because he can't afford it😔😔 but he'd probably tell Arlo it's due to some way cooler sounding reason like nobility or morality), a small step in the right direction! However, as he drinks less and as the months go by he can easily tell Arlo's mental and physical condition is getting worse. He exhausts himself quickly and he gets coughing fits more and more often. He tends to lean over, especially when sitting, as if he is in pain. A few times he (nearly or actually) throws up or passes out, even if just for a moment.

Finally, sometime, Arlo is able to coerce Inka into joining the weird faith group, unofficially led by Tanya (and a bunch who aren't important atm).

Tatiana declares that Arlo is to be sacrificed for the saviour from beyond the stars. To prove himself as well, she appoints the newest member as the executioner

Arlo's frozen in fear and Inka's terrified as well, he asks whether he really has to do it, whether someone else can't.. to which Tanya simply responds by saying she'll find a different trial for him then. Arlo's even more uncomfortable with the idea of being brutally executed by someone else. As for what happens next I feel like it is summed up well here

As he sits over the dead body, Inka watches something pulse inside Arlo's desecrated body. He watches an unfamiliar white mass tear it apart further as it slithers out in the form of a winged snake

For the first time in her life Tanya experiences true regret.

And now Inka's stuck with a weird star thing that has somehow gotten attached to him.

Weles is a shapeshifter - it's hard to define what they are and the closest is to say they're simply a star. Like the sun.

They can change colour and shape. They can speak, hear, see, taste, feel... when they want to. The bigger their form, the further the "organs" are scattered, the harder it is to be able to keep their senses!

Inka relapses. He tries to sleep trough most of the day, occasionally interrupted by Weles desperately trying to get his attention. Sometimes they'd intentionally take on Arlo's form to just toy with him. Sometimes they'd pretend to be a book, a fork, an apple, whatever! Just to play with Inka, to get a rise out of him.

There's a lot to say about these two specifically but i don't want it to be twice as long as it is right now

At some point Inka becomes used enough to their presence to not react so negatively, maybe. He just grows numb to everything, pretty much, just wanting his moms and Arlo back. Sometimes he'd beg Weles to take on Arlo's form on purpose, to apologize, to hug and to kiss, to just be there...

Weles does have a main physical form that's not supposed to resemble anyone, it's the fully white one with wings and long hair! It does bear some purposeful resemblances to Arlo (in their refs specifically!!) but i'll talk about it another time

ahdjssfj this is so long already but umm i can talk more about their relationships/dynamics! weles and inka actually get married at one point canonically. and i have a happy au where theyre poly and happy - an au where Weles somehow just. exists anyway. if Arlo was alive somehow after Weles left his body he would resent them. if Inka and Arlo switched places Arlo would resent Weles to hell and back.