#I have amazing friends who I love and who make me happy bc I enjoy their company & they’re my tribe

[cantofworms]

.

[midnightcitymoon]

People always speak well of me even in rooms i’m not in & every negative work said about me just makes the speaker look 10x as bad.

----------

Everyone who meets or knows me adores me & is charmed by me so much they’re a little in love with me.

~~~~~~~~

Everyone who fumbled me as both friend & love interest regrets it every day & misses me every day & feels their life is worse without me in it. with no harm to me, so mote it be.

11:11 ☆MiracleMakeAWishComeTrueSpell🌙

Eleven-Eleven, This is a call to all angels in heaven, give me a miracle and make my wish come true!

🌜☄⭐🕤🕙🕦⭐🕯🕯📰🎁🎆🎈🎉🎖🔜🔝🔔🕯💰📰💳📧📭🔥🗝🔮🛡🌟☄🌛🌞🌈

Like to Charge, Reblog To Cast spell

[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 !

[lowkeyrobin]

Maybe preferences for the descendants characters about them with a s/o who’s a VK and is having trouble fitting in at auradon? I’m desperate for mal and evie content I dunno

oo yeah sure!! ; hopefully I did this some justice lollll ; but thank you for requesting!! hope you enjoy 🫶 ; I just did the ogs (core four + uma) bc you wanted evie and mal and I like separating the ogs from the ror vks so 😔

DESCENDANTS ; fitting in

includes ; mal, evie, carlos, jay & uma

warnings ; language

masterlist

MAL

she feels so bad that you're not fitting in

it's not even about that, it's about feeling like you're still being ridiculed for being a vk

but trust she has your back

lots of pep talks and reassuring you that you're not like your parent/s

and that weirdos who wanna make fun of you can go suck it

"because everyone who wants to judge you, they can go suck it. you're amazing, they've just yet to see it"

as long as you have her and your friends you'll be okay I promise 😔🙏

EVIE

she knows what it feels like to only fit in because she has a pretty face, so she understands the fake kindness

lots of reassurance that you're worth it, and that you'll fit in soon enough

"theyre just... skeptical. once they get to know you, they'll see why we love you" she smiles. "try and compliment some people, or try out for a sport or program or club"

she has the most genuine, best advice ever

and she'll always be by your side to help

she always brings you to her fashion events so people can meet you as well 🫶🫶

CARLOS

he will do everything in his power to make you feel better / help you fit in

whether it be giving out treats or joining clubs / finding your interests, he'll be there

he understands how scary auradon is at first so he really does try to pep talk you and assure you everything will fall into place

"It'll be alright, y/n, you just have to get out there, find what you love, and kinda just... bond with people. they're just misguided and worried, i guess. but I promise, everything will be alright. Just give it time"

he has your back dw, he WILL snap back at a bitch

"actually, you're built like a refrigerator, so stop talking"

damn okay

JAY

he's constantly reassuring you that everything will be okay

"I swear, y/n, they'll warm up. you just gotta show them you aren't evil. like I did, I joined tourney and it makes me happy. find something that makes you happy, and you'll find other people who are happy with that interest."

he's always got your back too, and he's not one to shy away from a pep talk when you need it

he's right by your side when you're trying out new things to see what you like

and he's always whispering little things in your ear to help you talk to the auradon kids

UMA

she gets it dw

she barely fits in too

she's always got an arm slung over your shoulders while she gives you a pep talk

"dont worry about those people, just be you"

she makes sure to make you realize that you don't have to fit in and be popular amongst the auradon kids

like just be yourself cause you'll always have her and the other vks

[marnikula]

Can u do early seasons spencer x reader who has a lot of problems and they let people walk all over them and they dont set boundaries and they struggle with their emotions. Reader likes spencer a lot but doesn't seek him out bc they feel like he deserves better! And u can decide what happens but make it happy ending :)

Oh my word, I literally spent like 2 hours writing this because I wrote something and then my internet cut out when I posted and now it's lost, so I had to rewrite it. Hope you enjoy!

Cw: gn reader, people dumping work on reader, Spencer being cute

Enjoy!

You were a doormat. You knew it, your friends knew it, everyone knew it. You tried to set boundaries, to say no, but it never seemed to stick. Saying no made you feel guilty, it made you feel like a bad person even though you knew you weren't.

Being a doormat, people tended to walk all over you, requesting ridiculous things of you. That is how it came to be that you were sitting alone in the bullpen, the clock ticking away, showing you that it was around midnight and you still had a whole stack of papers to go through. You felt yourself about to fall asleep, and truly, you were too tired to fight it off when a ding signaled the arrival of someone.

Without even turning to look who it was you knew it was Spencer Reid. You recognized his footsteps, and even if you didn't, the smell he brought with him would have alerted you. It was the smell of coffee mixed sweet undertones, almost as if he had spent his whole day in a café. It was intoxicating. "What are you still doing here?" "Working, I have a lot of stuff to finish before tomorrow" "you mean today" looking back at the clock you could see he was right, it was now officially the next day.

"Do you need some help?" without even waiting for you to decline Spencer took half of the pile you were working on. He moved fast, knowing you well enough to know that you hated asking for help, especially from him, he just could never figure out why.

"Spencer, you really don't need to, I've got this" reaching your hands to take the files back only to be swatted away by the doctor was something you did not expect. "I'm not saying you don't have it, I'm just going to help you so you can go home earlier"

Sighing you admitted defeat and went to go make coffee for the two of you. With Spencer's help you managed to make it through the massive stack of papers on your desk in less that an hour, something you would never have been able to do on your own.

"You, doctor Spencer Reid, are amazing, what can I do to thank you?" it was a slight tease on your part. You didn't expect him to ask you anything return, it wasn't like him, he was too nice . That was one of the things you loved about him, and one of the reasons you willed the crush growing in your heart to shrivel up and die. He deserved so much better than you. Someone with a mind as amazing as his own, someone with kindness rivaling his and someone who knew how to say no. You were none of those. At least not in your own eyes.

"You could go on a date with me" Spencer surprised himself with those words, he really hadn't meant to say them out loud, but he really liked you, and in a moment of confidence inspired by sleep deprevation, he decided to take a chance.

"Really? You mean it?" the both of you were blushing hard at this point, him thinking about how he could have possibly screwed this up and you thinking about how this could possibly get any better.

"I-I mean, only if you want to, you really don't have to feel pressured, I know I said I would take it as paiment, but honestly spending time with you was enough of a payme-" grabbing his face in your hands you turned him to look at you, shutting off his ramblings with the movement and shutting off his brain with your words

"I would love to"

[physics-of-one-piece]

Okay, I wanna get sth off my chest.

It's about Discord, and why I can't join any OP fandom Discord (yet). I will one day. For now, I think I'd be a bit overwhelmed if I do join.

First thing I want all my mutuals, followers and everyone to know is that everyone here is amazing. Genuinely. You all are awesome.

I can't join Discord for OP fandom yet because of the bad experiences in another Discord in another fandom. They weren't FULL BLOWN bad experiences, but damn, did they make me annoyed.

In short, my friends from that fandom watch One Piece. And they were great and supportive, and we have a thread for One Piece in that Discord server for ourselves. Those friends did not spoil anything for me.

And then I got to Dressrosa, and I typed a lot about Doflamingo cus I loved him more and more.

But my friends... They hate him. Okay, that's fine, I can ignore that. Surely if I respect that they hate him, they can respect that I like him?

(the answer to them for that was no)

They were like "just wait till you see Law's backstory with him, you'll hate him then" etc etc. And that was fine, okay.

Saw Dressrosa Takeover, saw Law's backstory. I mean, yeah, that shit is dark, but what do you expect? It's Doflamingo.

They wanted me to hate him. And after that, after I didn't hate him, but liked him even more, with every damn time I wrote something I consider awesome from Doflamingo, they switched to insulting the character I like.

I never go insulting characters they like, but god they kept doing it for Doflamingo. I got tired of it and just stopped talking about One Piece overall with them. Even with fics I wrote in the "writing thread" they nitpicked them, said "that wouldn't work like that, etc etc" and just... Killing the fun of it? Like... What the fuck.

I want to make clear, these were individuals. Other people were cool with it and ENCOURAGED it.

And of course every time I go "I love Doffy" these individuals come up with an insult for him. So yeah, I dipped. They couldn't respect my like for a character and not be at least considerate enough not to talk shit about him. At first, fine, but it started getting overbearing and fckn annoying. Like, a lot.

I hate plenty OP characters but I would never, EVER think of if I see someone enjoy that character of bashing that character, little less on their thread/Discord/tumblr blog. It would NEVER even cross my mind. Why the hell would I want to do that to someone? Hell, I'd ENCOURAGE them to continue enjoying what they enjoy. Bcs if a character makes you happy, and makes it fun, then why tf would I ever try to ruin that for someone?

It just makes me sick how these individuals (who I still consider friends, I don't think they genuinely meant it to come off as them trying to police me or anything, they said it was getting annoying but like he's one of my fav characters of course I'll talk about him a lot that's what you do with favourite characters they don't go on a rant if I rave about Luffy or Law or Cora) were actively commenting how I shouldn't like this character like it would make me like him less?

Sorry I like interesting, evil, demonic character with an iconic laugh and who is one of the top five antagonists in the most popular manga and was in Top 20 characters in the popularity poll? Like... Wtf.

Anyway, yeah... That's the reason I made this blog (there were 100% other reasons like being a nerd and calculating One Piece things 🤣). I needed a safe space to simp over Doflamingo, the Donquixote Family, Dressrosa and everything. And I'm genuinely so happy to have met fellow Doffy fans on here.

You all are great. Thank you for making this a safe space for me and for enjoying and encouraging my Doffy insanity, and for writing and drawing such amazing fics and art of Doffy and everyone else from Dressrosa.

I feel weightless on this blog, free to enjoy the Heavenly Demon and simp for him and discuss him as much as I want with everyone giving their thoughts and encouraging it.

I'm FREE.

I'll join those Discords one day. Thank you all for keeping the invites open.

[stariekis]

baby (cat) a board !

🛋️ pairing : 엔하이픈 ot7 + gn!reader . genre : fluff . cw : none ~ pls let me know if i should add smt .

— synopsis : a new addition to the family sounds like an amazing plan so why not adopt a kitty !

— note : bit of a tmi but cats are my favorite animal in the world and i wanted to write something like this bcs enha + cats = everything to me ! so here it is ~ hope you enjoy ! all kinds of feedback and reposts are appreciated my loves <3

heseeung :

— 'what are you talking about what is that cat distribution system'. you came back home one day after work with a little creature hiding in your tote bag. you told heeseung that the cat actually chose you that's how the cat distribution system works and now you have to keep it there's no other option. he let out the biggest laugh ever, you looked so cute with the small ball of fur in your hands. he could say no so when you asked for the second time if you can keep him he just nodded his head.

jay :

at first he might be a little hesitant — 'Honey i don't think it is a good idea, we have very busy lives who is going to take care of him?'. he was right though, but you wanted to adopt one for the longest time so, as soon as he said that to you, you started pouting at him — 'No y/n don't do this to me please oh gosh'. using your secret weapon (that's how you call it) you end up convincing him, telling you to take your cost and hop in the car. even though he wasn't a big fan and kinda allergic too he spent most of his free time playing with the kitty.

jake :

the biggest animal lover i know. he didn't let you say a word, as soon as you entered the house with the kitty he took the small animal in his arms — 'i do not care what you have to say he is our kitty now' he said, running back to your living room and sitting down on the sofa, playing with his new bestest friend. — 'well that was easy'. you thought, looking at your boyfriend who was being bitten by the kitty.

sunghoon :

he wasn't really sure either and, even though he refused a bit at first, he ends up loving the cat more than you. most of the time you would get back home to the sign of your boyfriend sleeping on the couch, the small ball of fur laying on top of him. because of that you teased him a lot, telling him how much he hated that idea of having a pet and now he event cuddle with him — 'he is cute baby what am i supposed to do' he said, signaling at the small kitty laying on the couch.

sunoo :

— 'omg love this is the cutest cat i've ever seen'. you showed him a picture of a baby cat that was up for adoption. you've always wanted a new pet, him being out most of the time makes you feel a bit lonely so why not adopt one — 'yeah we can go and pick him up together if you want to'. on you're way to the shelter you discussed name ideas, decided on what to buy, etc. he ended up naming him so you can think of him every time you call your new pet's name.

jungwon :

we all know that our wonie is allergic to cat's fur but how can he say no to you ?. when you came home all excited with the little creature hiding in your arms, your eyes shining and the biggest smile ever plastered on your face he knew he couldn't say no — 'Fine yeah me can keep it baby'. he even took you to different pet shops to buy toys and everything for the new family member, seeing you so happy makes his heart pound. he has the biggest soft spot on you.

ni-ki :

he would be the one bringing him home this time. remember that -key episode where he played with some kittens ? well, at the end of the day he took one home. he didn't bother telling you if you wanted to keep it or not, he just brought the little kitty home with him — 'You don't understand we need to keep him please babe' he was practically begging you on his knees at this point, putting it straight into your face telling you how cute he is, making you hold it and everything. at the end of the day you accept keeping the small animal, he was pretty cute after all and your boyfriend seems like the happiest man alive.

[asahicore]

gorgeous - lhs

"you should take it as a compliment that i'm talking to everyone here but you / and you should think about the consequence of you touching my hand in a darkened room" - gorgeous by taylor swift

series masterlist - part one - part two - part three

prompt 45 of the 100 kisses list, "we shouldn't do this" but they do so anyway

pairing. best friend's brother!heeseung x fem!reader synopsis. Heeseung comes back from his first year of university a new man - forget nervous, fidgety, dorky Heeseung and say hello to confident, teasing, flirty Heeseung. This change of attitude doesn't help your longstanding crush on your best friend's brother, and neither does the rising tension between the two of you - a tension that is bound to explode. genre. f2l, did i mention this was a best friend's brother au?, only fluff in this part but more to come, perhaps suggestive due to tension between reader and hee and makeout session lol word count. 8.1k (yes an asahicore fic under 10k thank u very much) a/n. hi loves i'm super happy to be posting this bc its the very first fic out of the 100 kisses event and its a project im really excited about !!! i know i said like 2 days ago it'd take me a while to write this but i got super motivated over the weekend and it turned out shorter than i thought and bestie @k-ingzo zo did a super amazing job at beta reading this so i was able to post it really quickly !! anyways hope you enjoy this, pls lmk,, and hope u look forward to the rest of the series as well !! ok bye

Nine years ago

“Y/N, honey, come meet your new friends!”

You rushed down the stairs at your mom’s call - at eight, you were always excited by the idea of new friends. She’d also called Naeun down, but lately, your sister had been acting like doing anything your parents asked her would cost her her life.

There in your living room were four unfamiliar faces, but your parents were smiling warmly, so you weren’t too nervous. Instinctively, you found your mother’s side and she rested her hand on your head, bending down to talk to you.

“Y/N, these are the Lees, they’ve just moved to the neighborhood.”

“Hi,” you greeted shyly, and were met with four hi’s in return.

“Heeseung and Seeun here started going to the same school as you,” she informs, nodding her head towards the young boy and girl. Now that she said it, the boy looked really familiar. You thought you recognized him from school that day - his glasses were definitely memorable. “And Seeun is the exact same age as you!” Your face lit up at that, and her expression mirrored yours as her lips curled into a smile. “Why don’t you show her your room?”

“Sure! Come on,” you said, holding out your hand for Seeun to take. She looked back at her parents who were nodding vigorously at her to follow you. You just played for half-an-hour, and Heeseung joined you quickly, saying he was bored with the adults downstairs. He didn’t talk much, instead found some of your toys to play with in his own corner. 

When the Lees left, you were thinking two things: one, you couldn’t wait to tell Chaeyeong about Seeun, and two, that boy with the big glasses was really, really cute.

-

Now

“Seeun, why the hell didn’t you tell us that your brother is a mega-hottie now?!”

This is what your friend Chaeyeong whisper-screams in lieu of a greeting as she barges in Seeun’s room, plopping down on her bed like it was her own. It might as well have been, considering how long the three of you had known each other.

“If you ever refer to my brother as a mega-hottie again, I’m terminating this friendship,” Seeun replies, not bothering to look up from the bead bracelet she was currently making.

“Oh please, just because you’re his sister doesn’t mean you haven’t noticed how attractive he’s gotten,” Chaeyeong insists, but it just makes Seeun scrunch her nose in disgust.

“Chaeyeong, please stop making it so obvious you’re an only child,” Seeun sighs. You let out a giggle at your friends’ conversation as you search for another color that could go well with the pink beads you’d chosen for your own bracelet. 

Stealthily, Chaeyeong leaves her spot on the bed and sneaks up to you. “Y/N!” she exclaims suddenly, wrapping her arms around your shoulders in a sneak-attack hug that makes you yelp. It makes you drop your half-finished bracelet, the beads falling all over the carpeted floor around you. You look up at Chaeyeong with a pout, but she just smiles at you and starts picking up the beads, gathering the tiny pink jewels in the palm of her hand.

“Y/N, you’re with me on this one, aren’t you?”

You ignore Seeun’s side-eye and give in to Chaeyeong’s encouraging expression. “I guess he does look very…” you pause to carefully consider your word choice. “Different,” you settle on.

“Different? That’s it? Y/N, you should really consider getting some glasses, seeing how you’re so blind to hot boys.” Cue a loud groan, Seeun’s courtesy. You just giggle again, slightly shaking your head at Chaeyeong’s antics. She rolled her eyes, disappointed that you didn’t back her up, but she drops the subject and switches to Seeun’s upcoming birthday party. Something great about being generally quiet? People don’t question it when you don’t partake much in a conversation. You listen and laugh as your friends bicker, but your mind is on something else.

Or rather, it’s on someone else.

Because Chaeyeong is absolutely right - Seeun’s brother has glowed up so much during his time away at university that you had a double-take when he opened the door for you earlier.

The sentence this is so unfair plays over and over in your head.

You’d heard of the freshman fifteen, of college first-years being so stressed over grades and having so little time that their diet consisted of instant ramen, quick cafeteria lunches, and an ungodly amount of coffee. And alcohol, on Friday nights, of course. After seeing how freshman year treated your older sister, you were dreading going to college, imagining it to be the complete opposite of what TV and movies had shown you.

So how the hell had Lee Heeseung gone from high school loser to campus hearthrob in the span of a mere nine months? (After some thinking, you realized that, well, if a woman can create a whole human being in nine months, maybe a regular guy can undergo great physical and mental change in that time, too.)

In September, when you’d last seen him, he wore the same glasses he had for all of high school - those slightly crooked ones that made his eyes look even bigger than they already were. He always had to push them back up his nose but he never bothered to get them fixed, even though all they needed was for the arms to be tightened. You remember his tic-like habit of readjusting his glasses, a habit so strong that he did it even when he wasn’t wearing them. Maybe they bothered him so much that he decided to get rid of them once and for all, you guess. 

Indeed, when he greeted you at his front door earlier (even after years of knowing Seeun and her family and no matter how much they reassure you that it’s okay, you’re unable to come in without knocking first, like Chaeyeong does), he wasn’t wearing his thick lenses you’d grown fond of. His eyes didn’t look unfocused like they usually would without glasses, so you assumed he’d switched to contact lenses - you knew it wasn’t Lasik surgery, because Seeun was always complaining that her parents wouldn’t pay for her or her brother to receive it. 

But it wasn’t just the glasses, of course not. There was an ease and confidence about him that he didn’t have before - no awkward giggles, no darting eyes, no weirdly positioned limbs. He held the door open for you and kept his eyes on you as you walked in, saying it was nice to see you again and asking if you were happy to be done with high school. You already weren’t expecting Heeseung to open the door in Seeun’s stead, so him actually looking at you while he spoke instead of mumbling a few words in your general direction and scratching the back of his neck rendered you completely flustered, cheeks heating up embarrassingly quickly.

His hair was different: it used to sit there atop Heeseung’s head, unsure what to do with itself, but now it was purposefully cut and slightly pushed back. When he turned his head, you saw something shiny dangling from his left ear.

Heeseung had a piercing. Shy, nervous, fidgety electronics club president Heeseung had a goddamn piercing, and it looked amazing. 

And then he laughed. He actually had the audacity to laugh, and then ruffle your hair. You could’ve died right then and there. “You’re still just as cute as before,” he mused, beaming down at you. Then he walked away towards the living room, saying Seeun was in her room upstairs. As if nothing happened. As if you weren’t on the verge of combusting, your saving grace being your friend’s voice calling out your name. You ran up the stairs, wanting to get as far away from Heeseung and his smile and his voice and his touch as possible. You busied yourself with the pearls and the small bracelet-making station Seeun had organized, trying not to think about the vein that ran down his forearm or about how his shoulders looked wider than before. And you’d managed to do that, until Chaeyeong brought him up.

It wasn’t unfair because he’d grown mysteriously hot - it was unfair because to you, Heeseung had always been the cutest boy around, but now other people had surely noticed too, Chaeyeong amongst them. Now, you were just one of the many girls that had a crush on Heeseung, even if yours dated back to the first time you’d met him when the Lees moved into the neighborhood. 

Their parents had been delighted that two girls of their daughter’s age - eight, to be precise - lived on their street. You were delighted that the cute boy you’d seen at school that day was her big brother, just one year older. Chaeyeong and you gladly welcomed Seeun into your friendship and you had each other’s back through the awkward phases of your early teenage years and the stressful times as high school seniors getting ready for college. You shared everything - clothes, jewelry, homework answers, gossip, tears, laughter. Secrets.

You liked to think there wasn’t a thing you didn’t know about them, but you couldn’t say the opposite was true - there was a secret you had to keep from them. A secret that grew bigger and bigger as time passed, but that you needed to keep locked in.

You had the biggest crush known to mankind on your best friend’s brother. It was either keep quiet or tell both of your friends; you trusted Chaeyeong, but you didn’t want her to carry that burden. You had no idea what Seeun’s reaction would be if you admitted you liked her brother, but you didn’t want to risk it. Every best friend’s brother (or brother’s best friend) romance you’d read had told you that the former was always against and deeply disgusted by the idea of their friend dating the latter. The last thing you wanted to do was make things weird, so you said nothing and suffered in silence, as one does. And so, for years, Heeseung was your little secret.

But not anymore, apparently. And it felt unfair. You didn’t have much of a chance to begin with, but now, getting with Heeseung was inimaginable. You’d just have to continue pining from far away, just as you’d gotten used to.

-

Four years ago

Your heart pounded as you made your way to the bus stop, steps heavy and head full of thoughts. Even though your older sister told you there’s nothing to worry about, you couldn’t help it. You were used to walking to school, not taking the bus. After three years of seeing the same people roaming the hallways, it was nerve-wracking to arrive at a place where most faces would be completely unfamiliar. You didn’t know what your teachers would be like, you were scared your classes would be a hundred times harder than before, you heard the cafeteria food was really bad. In short, you were absolutely dreading high school. And today was your first day.

The only thing that calmed you down was knowing that in a few minutes, you’d be with Seeun and Chaeyeong, and just seeing them would make you feel instantly better. You were meeting at the bus stop.

But when you reached it, neither of your friends were there. You shouldn’t have been surprised, since you’d come ten minutes early, but you couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. That is, until you recognized someone else.

“Heeseung?” you called out before you could stop yourself. The boy snapped his head in your direction, and his eyes widened at the sight of you. Simple things like that made your heart burst with adoration for him.

“Oh, h-hi, Y/N.” He smiled the shy smile you loved so much and looked back at his feet, holding on tightly to the straps of his backpack. You stood next to him, close enough to have a conversation if he wanted to but not so close that it’d be weird.

Heeseung was the only person you felt awkward around. Even though you were on the quieter side and strangers weren’t your favorite people per se, being around people you didn’t know well wasn’t your definition of torture like it seemed to be for Heeseung and other kids from your school. But Heeseung’s awkwardness was contagious, and your crush on him didn’t help your ease of mind - so you imitated his posture, swaying back and forth on your feet as you held onto your backpack straps just to have something to hold onto. You smiled at the ground, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by looking at him, but that meant you missed the growing blush on his cheeks.

“So,” he started, “nervous?” He glanced quickly, just once, at you. You were so surprised at his breaking the silence, used to a quiet Heeseung, that you forgot to answer, simply staring at him. His panicked expression and mumblings were what jolted you out of your daze. “I-I mean, you know, cause it’s your first day and everything, and I was really nervous last year- I am today, too, actually- so I thought maybe, you know, you’re nervous too, but maybe you’re not, I don’t-”

He said all of this so quickly, you started laughing, slightly bending over. He let out a chuckle too, but as you continued laughing, a pout started to form on his lips. “What’s so funny…” you heard him grumble as he kicked a non-existent pebble.

“Sorry,” you said, regaining your breath. “I’m sorry, Heeseung.” The sound of his name made him glance at you again. You wished you could kiss the pout off his lips. “I was nervous, actually. But I feel better now.”

A quick smile appeared on his lips, but he willed it away. “I’m glad my embarrassment made you feel better,” he sighed.

You gently kicked his shoe with yours to make him look at you. “No, it’s because you made me laugh. I needed it. Thanks,” you corrected with a smile. Heeseung may have made you feel awkward, but the easiness with which he always got flustered made you love to tease him slightly.

His smile widened as he looked away once more, the blush having spread to his whole face by then. “Whatever,” he murmured. There was no time to say anything else because Seeun called out your name, practically skipping towards you. 

She gave you an excited hug as a greeting before turning towards her brother with a glare, punching him hard on the bicep, making him wince in pain and reach his hand to cover his arm where she hit him. “Thanks for waiting for me, loser.”

“You were gonna make us late!” he whined, rubbing his arm.

“Yeah, ‘cause I obviously missed the bus,” she tutted.

You watched the siblings with an amused smile, used to the exact same kind of banter at home. Your sister, who was in her last year of high school, had decided not to drive you for some reason only an older sister could make up and pretend was reasonable. Your parents had tried to convince her, but you didn’t mind taking the bus with your friends, so they didn’t push it, just glad they could somehow keep the both of you happy.

Heeseung didn’t say anything in return. Your eyes met for a moment, and his frown relaxed into a smile when he caught your expression. It lasted a second but it was enough to make your stomach twist. Seeun, oblivious, grabbed your arm and started telling you about all the things she was excited about for today. You were worried Chaeyeong wasn’t going to make it, but her footsteps were loud as she ran, reaching you just as the bus stopped in front of you. Heeseung took what you soon found out was his usual spot at the front of the bus while your friends dragged you towards the back of it. You tried not to let your thoughts drift towards the boy with the messy black hair and crooked glasses, but his shy smile replayed in your mind all day. For a year, you’d gotten used to not going to the same school as him - you didn’t know how you’d survive seeing him at least five days a week once again.

-

Now

You were really determined to not let Heeseung’s newfound confidence sway you, physically shaking your head every time a thought of him popped in your head (useless) and racking your brain for reasons you shouldn’t like him (not many of those). There was just one teeny, tiny problem.

He was making it impossible to pine for him at a distance. 

It seemed like everywhere you went, he was there. Maybe that was due to the fact that your most frequently visited place was literally his house, but still. It was frustrating. You didn’t need to be met with his stupid smile whenever he opened the door for you, you didn’t need to catch him cutely napping - how was that even possible?! - in the living room, a random sitcom still playing on the TV, you didn’t need to hear his laughter when his friends were over, and you definitely did not need to see him half-naked as he came out of the bathroom, hair wet from the shower and sticking to his forehead, towel wrapped low around his hips and his abs fully on display. Because of course, you had to be in the hallway, heading to the kitchen to get a glass of water, at the exact same time as him. 

You almost start to resent the fact that Seeun had the comfiest bedroom out of the three of you, as well as the most snack-filled house, which was why you had decided years ago to hang out there the most. Especially during school breaks, you were there almost every day, so you were bound to see Heeseung a lot. But for some reason, that didn’t seem to be enough, and over the course of June, you also ran into him while shoe-shopping with your mom, then another time as you entered the public library just when he left it, and another when your friends and his had decided to get ice cream at the same time. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The worst part? Every time he saw you, while you simultaneously wanted to run away from him and into his arms, his damnedly handsome face broke into a stupidly beautiful smile that looked far too genuine for your heart. “Y/N! Funny seeing you here!”

No, Heeseung, not funny.

You didn’t want to be that girl whose brain cells stopped working whenever she encountered an attractive male specimen, but that was apparently who you were meant to be, because all words left you when you saw Heeseung. Although you’d been somewhat flustered around him in the past, he was always much more so than you, which reassured you and gave you enough confidence to actually talk to him. But now that he had realized how handsome he was and was clearly using that newfound knowledge against you (or so you thought), you were unable to string a coherent sentence when his shiny eyes bore into yours.

You think he might’ve sensed your awkwardness, because he never lingered, never made useless small talk, just asked about your favorite ice cream flavor or the book he’d checked out, patted your head, then was on his way.

There were so many butterflies in your stomach, you were scared it might fly away.

One afternoon in the middle of July, you and your friends come back from the city pool completely exhausted after playing around for hours in the water. All bundled up and close together, you try to nap on Seeun’s bed. Keyword try, because even though your friends’ soft snores quickly start to fill the silence of the room, you can’t seem to fall asleep, no matter how heavy your eyes feel.

Quietly, you get out of bed and head downstairs to the kitchen, hoping a cold glass of water will help sleep come to you like it usually does. You shouldn’t be surprised to see Heeseung in the dining room/kitchen area, busy with a puzzle, the pieces of which he’s spread out all over the table, but your heart still does a flip. He must be really engrossed in it, because he doesn’t notice your presence in the room until you fill a glass with ice, the sudden sound making his head snap up at you. You hate that his face breaks into a grin as soon as he sees you.

“Oh, hey, Y/N! What are you doing?”

“Just getting some water,” you explain, raising your glass with a small smile. Your whole body tells you to run away, back to Seeun’s bedroom, but something in your gut tells you to stay, to get closer to Heeseung. So you do. “What about you?” you ask, slowly making your way towards the table and peering at the puzzle in progress.

“Just whipping up some brownies,” he retorts with a devilish smirk, big eyes looking up at you. 

You fight back a smile in vain. “Shut up,” you mumble, but take a seat next to him anyway. He seems slightly taken aback by the sudden proximity, and you are too, but you keep your gaze focused on the puzzle in front of you so that you can’t think too much about how close you’re sitting, and how your knees could touch if you angled them just so.

For a small while you sit in silence, watching as he puts pieces together and even finding a couple of your own. It’s a one-thousand piece jigsaw that he’s clearly only just started, but Heeseung doesn’t seem fazed by that. You like seeing how his eyebrows slightly furrow when he’s searching for a particular piece, and the pleased smirk that graces his lips when he finds it. You break the silence after a few minutes.

“So you still like puzzles, then?” you ask, voice low. You’ve always been told you speak quietly - even too quietly sometimes, but you can’t always help it. Especially in situations like this, when it’s silent around you anyways, you don’t see the point of raising your voice. When Heeseung replies, he speaks at the same volume as you, and there’s something comforting about it, about speaking quietly in such a spacious and sunlit room - the words you share are for you two, and you two only.

“Yep, ever since that day.” He glances quickly at you and smiles at the piece in his hand, and it’s like getting a glimpse of the Heeseung you had known all those years. Your heart warms at the sight.

“That day?”

This makes him look properly at you, his eyes darting back and forth between yours as if searching for something there. Your heart is now on fire. “Don’t you remember?”

You tilt your head in response and he turns his attention back to the puzzle. “It was at this table, too. I think your grandparents- your grandma, I think? Anyway, someone had gotten you a puzzle for your birthday.”

You ‘ah’ in realization. “Of course!”

Two years ago

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this, it’s so complicated,” Seeun pouted apologetically, looking at you sadly. “We’ve been here like an hour and we’ve barely gotten anywhere.” 

Chaeyeong, head on the table, groaned in agreement. You followed your friend’s gaze to the puzzle in front of you - she was right, you hadn’t made much progress. But you liked it. The picture was pretty and you’d like to see it completed, but more than that, you liked finding the right piece, figuring out strategies.

You hummed, mirroring Seeun’s pout. Chaeyeong snapped her head back up to look at you. You’d think she hadn’t slept in days, but that was just bored Chaeyeong. You loved your friend and her over-dramatic antics. “Can we just take a break?” she asked, tone like you’d kidnapped and forced her to do this.

“You guys go ahead.” You smiled. “I like it, I can just continue this for a while and you guys do whatever you want.” The three of you spent so much time together that you didn’t need to be doing an activity together to be happy - being in each other’s general vicinity was enough to be considered a hang-out.

“You sure?” Seeun asked.

“Yeah, ‘course.” You chuckled at the obvious relief on your friend’s faces. “Just don’t watch the next Extraordinary You episode without me, okay?”

They both gasped and clutched their hearts like you’d accused them of murder. “How could you even think that, Y/N?!” Chaeyeong exclaimed.

“We would never!” Seeun added.

You shook your head at your friends’ antics, laughing as you waved them off. “Just go, already.”

“Yes, ma’am!” And with that, they were off, running up the stairs to Seeun’s bedroom.

You were only on your own for around ten minutes - the front door opened and closed, and the quiet shuffle of shoes being taken off and replaced with slippers let you know Heeseung had just come home. Seeun always made a show of being exhausted after school, groaning as she threw her backpack to the ground, while Mr and Mrs Lee always announced their arrival with a sometimes cheery, sometimes tired ‘I’m home!’. But Heeseung, quiet as always, simply set his backpack next to the stairs, slipped into his slippers and made his way to the kitchen, fond of a quick snack after school. Even Chaeyeong made herself more known when she entered the Lee household.

Every day except for Fridays, he came home two hours later than his sister because of either magic or electronics club (yes, magic club. It was cute, okay?!). You always looked forward to the monthly meeting of the book club you were in, partly because it meant you could take the bus back with Heeseung afterwards. Even if the ride was usually mainly silent, just sitting next to him was enough for your heart to do all sorts of tricks worthy of an Olympic gymnast. 

“Oh, hey, Y/N,” he greeted softly, probably surprised at seeing you alone at the dinner table.

“Hi, Heeseung. How was the electronics club?” You wanted to make conversation, but you winced immediately at your words - was it normal for you to know what club he had on what days?

But Heeseung seemed to pay it no mind, just smiling shyly, a blush already creeping on his cheeks. “It was nice, thanks.” He opened the fridge, taking out a carton of milk. “Do you want a glass?” When you didn’t respond immediately, he was quick to add, “Of milk? O-or orange juice? Or I can make some tea, if you want-”

His hands were already busy with preparing whatever drink he thought you might want. You held back a chuckle and smiled as you answered, “Milk is fine, thanks.”

His blush spread all the way down his neck and you turned your attention back to the puzzle so he wouldn’t see your grin. “Right, milk. Milk,” he stammered, then got two glasses out of the cupboard.

You loved moments like these with Heeseung - flustered, light-hearted, slightly awkward, moments that made you want to giggle out of nerves and delight. Basically every moment with him was like this, so it’d be more accurate to say you loved every moment with him.

“I didn’t know you liked puzzles,” he said, an upward tilt to his voice, as he set your glass next to you and took a seat across from you. He peered down at the pieces spread out in front of you, fixed his glasses on his nose, and took a big gulp of milk.

“I didn’t either,” you said with a chuckle, and stammered out an explanation when he looked up at you questioningly. “My, um, my grandma gave this to me for my birthday last month. She’s got a lot of grandkids, you know, and I think she might’ve mixed up my other cousin who likes puzzles and me…” Heeseung nods slowly, the corners of his lips tugging up in amusement. “But I don’t mind it,” you add, “I’m having fun, actually. Seeun and Chaeyeong are of a different mind, though. It’s a bit hard doing it on my own but I like it anyway.”

“I can help you,” he suddenly blurted out, and he looked just as surprised at his words as you were. “If you want.”

You smiled at him, and Heeseung and you actually looked at each other, actually held eye contact for three seconds, until you felt your face burn and had to look away. “Sure, yeah, that’d be nice.”

Although it took some time to finish the puzzle - putting 500 pieces together was a lot trickier than you thought it’d be - Heeseung and you managed to do it, high fiving celebratorily after almost two hours of hard work.

Now

“I just had a lot of fun that day.” Heeseung shrugs. “Plus, I already liked things like Legos and Rubik’s cubes, so it made sense I’d like puzzles, too.” 

You nod in response, watching as he twirls a puzzle piece between his thumb and middle finger. “It’s funny that my grandma’s mistake is what made you discover your love for puzzles.”

Heeseung chuckles along with you, and you’re relieved the atmosphere is somewhat lighter than before until he looks straight into your eyes, locking your gaze in his own, and a breath gets trapped in your throat. “I’m glad she did that, otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now.”

You’re still staring at him, dumbfounded, mouth agape, when he looks away with a smirk and turns his attention back to the puzzle, analyzing it seriously as if nothing happened. You come back to your senses after a few seconds, clearing your throat before imitating Heeseung and trying to focus on the puzzle once again. But that’s hard to do when your hands brush ever-so-slightly every time you fumble around the pile for a particular piece, or every time he hits your knee with his, inadvertently or to tease you, you’re not sure.

The first thing to do when starting a puzzle is looking for all the side pieces to build the frame. When Heeseung spots one in the pile next to you, he leans in to grab it, and he’s suddenly close enough for you to get a whiff of his cologne that had faded over the day. You think he’ll just take the piece and sit back in his seat, but instead, he turns his head towards you, and that’s when you realize just how close you are. Close enough that it wouldn’t be hard to close the gap and have your lips on his - just as the thought hits you, his eyes drift down to your parted lips. Is he thinking the same thing?

You take a sharp breath in, eyes fixed on Heeseung, mind racing with thoughts and assumptions of what might be going through his head right now. But your brain goes haywire when a smirk blooms on his lips, clearly enjoying your reaction. His gaze finds your eyes once more and he raises the piece between the two of you, in the small space that separates you. “Got it,” he says quietly, voice lower than usual. It makes your insides melt. He could be very well talking about you - he’s got you absolutely wrapped around his finger, and he seems to know it.

He turns back to the puzzle, smirk still on his lips, and you’re so embarrassed and confused that your flight instinct kicks in. The screech of your chair as you push it back and stand up makes Heeseung look up at you again, his smirk having dissolved in surprise and - disappointment?

No time to ponder, you need to get. out. of. here. 

“Right, well, that was fun, haha,” you breathe out, actually saying the word ‘haha’ and wanting to run away even more thereafter. “I should probably head back to the girls, now.” You’re already backing up and walking away when Heeseung calls out your name, but you just turn around and rush back upstairs, yelling out a small “bye, Heeseung!” on your way.

You’re already back in Seeun’s bedroom when Heeseung shakes his head at your sudden disappearance, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Cute,” he says under his breath.

-

To minimize any chances of running into Heeseung, over the next two weeks, you ask Chaeyeong and Seeun if you could hang out at your house more often, using the excuse that you want to spend as much time as possible there before leaving off to college. They don’t question it too much - next year, they’ll be able to come back fairly regularly to their parent’s houses, since the college they’re going to is less than an hour-long car ride away, but you’ll be further away, too far to come back home often.

It just so happens to be the university Heeseung is studying at, but you don’t need to worry about that right now. They had one of the best English Lit programs in your area and you’d been wanting to go there for all of your high school years - you used to think of Heeseung’s going there as a pro, but right now, it felt more like a con.

You manage to only run into him twice over the course of those two weeks, and both times, just in passing. But now it’s the night of Seeun’s birthday party and it’s impossible to pretend he isn’t there even when you’re in a crowded room together. Heeseung and Seeun’s parents have lended their house for their kids to have a party there, using it as an opportunity to have a date night, and Heeseung and his friends have graciously provided a big portion of the alcohol, saying it was their birthday gift.

You aren’t the biggest fan of alcohol, so you opt for the fruitier, lighter drinks, but still, two hours after the party starts, you can already feel your head start to spin, your voice is louder, everything makes you laugh. When a friend from school tells you they’re playing seven minutes in heaven in the hallway upstairs, you think that's the funniest thing you’ve ever heard and immediately agree to join.

The sight of Heeseung sitting in the circle, already looking at you with a lopsided smile, almost sobers you up completely.

You’d tried to avoid him as best as you could, but it was like you couldn’t escape him - maybe that was due to the fact that the heart of the party was kept to the kitchen and the living room, just a few people sitting on the stairs at the entrance to get away from the noise, but still, it annoyed you to no end that you had to keep seeing him everywhere. Maybe that was also what made the alcohol easier to down.

At some point, you were in the kitchen, doing a shot of God-knows-what with girls from school. You heard his voice before you saw him, and it made you roll your eyes but also your heart skip a beat. “Didn’t know you were such a drinker, Y/N.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, and when his face came into view, you wanted to slap it away. Or kiss it away, maybe.

“I’m not, I’m just trying to have fun,” you retorted, eyebrows slightly furrowed as you poured yourself another shot. I Gotta Feeling by Black Eyed Peas started playing in the next room and the girls shrieked before rushing to the made-up dancefloor. You wanted to join them, but something kept your feet firmly planted at the kitchen counter.

Before you could bring the shot glass to your lips, however, Heeseung stole it from you and downed it himself. “Hey!” you protested, but it was done, and he was scrunching his nose at the bitter taste, shaking his head. You wished he could stop being attractive for one damn second.

“You don’t need that to have fun.”

He placed his forearms on the kitchen counter and leaned on them, forcing him to look up at you. You had no idea what the hell he meant by that, nor did you want to try and figure it out - all you knew was that you couldn’t stay there with him when he looked at you so intently, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, hair perfectly disheveled and biceps apparent even under his t-shirt sleeves.

“You’re right, I don’t,” you made yourself say, and spun on your heels to join your friends on the dancefloor. 

And a few drinks later, here you are, sitting in a circle on the hallway floor, Heeseung right in front of you, leaning back on his palms and looking down at you with that same stupid smirk once again.

The game goes as such: one person spins the bottle twice, and the people it lands on have to go to a bedroom closet for seven minutes (timed carefully by Jake, Heeseung’s friend who is taking this game very seriously) to do whatever they want, while the others occupy themselves with other games. When the seven minutes are up, the doors burst open, and you have to leave the closet. 

And because it wouldn’t be any fun otherwise, after a few rounds, the bottle points straight at you, then straight at Heeseung, and before you know it, everyone except for Seeun is cheering, and Heeseung is holding out his hand for you to take, and you do, and he raises you up, and together, you head to his closet, as per the rules of this stupid middle-school game you should never have agreed to play in the first place. You can barely Seeun’s voice as she shouts, “Y/N, I trust you!”, which just makes Chaeyeong burst into laughter and whoop louder for you. You’d also barely registered Heeseung’s friends clapping each other’s backs, smiling like they were in on something.

The sound of the closet door shutting is what snaps you out of your daze. You hadn’t even realized Heeseung had kept your hand in his until he released it, leaning his back against one wall of the closet, facing you. All three bedrooms in the Lees’ house had built-in walk-in closets which meant you weren’t sandwiched between Heeseung and his clothes, but still, you wished you could put more distance between your two bodies - one step closer, and you were done for.

It wasn’t just Heeseung’s presence in the narrow space - it was his scent filling your nostrils, the combined smell of the cologne he was wearing, of the fabric softener on his clothes, and an unfamiliar scent you somehow recognized as unique to Heeseung, his skin, his hair, smells you’d wanted to discover for years but never got close enough to. Well, now you did. And it was intoxicating - you wanted more, wanted to bury your face in the crook of his neck and inhale. You wanted to know what his reaction would be, if he’d let you, if he’d push you away.

All those thoughts were running wild in your head. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. Your stomach was in messy knots, your hands were sweaty and you had no idea where to place them, your eyes wouldn’t stop darting around the dark room. Everywhere but Heeseung. You could feel his eyes on you, but you were too nervous to meet them.

Your breathing must’ve gotten loud enough for him to hear, because all of a sudden, you feel his hand take yours, and he’s stood up from his position against the wall, his body too close to yours for your heart to handle. His thumb rubs what he must think are comforting semi-circles on the back of your hand, but the touch just destroys any capability of thinking straight you had left.

“Y/N,” he calls out, and the sound of his voice makes your eyes close shut. You cannot give in. You had seen Seeun’s disgusted expression when you and Heeseung were picked for the game - if just the idea of you and her brother kissing repulses her, what would she say if she knew it actually happened, or if you started dating? You may have the biggest crush ever on Heeseung, but no one was worth losing your friendship with Seeun.

“Calm down,” he says, and you wish you could be as steady as his voice. “There’s no reason to be nervous.”

This makes you scoff. “You touching me is not helping my nervousness.” The words are out before you can stop them, and in the darkness of the room, you have to concentrate to make out the tilt of Heeseung’s head. You don’t need to see it to know he’s smiling, the satisfied smirk that has been gracing his features for the past month and a half.

“Yeah? Why is that?”

You take your hand out of Heeseung’s and cross your arms over your chest. “You know why,” you say, not intending your voice to come out as weak as it does.

Heeseung takes another step closer to you, and the only ray of light that comes through the panels of the closet door hits his face, making it visible for you to see. “I do, but I want you to tell me.” Another step, making you back up until you hit the wall behind you.

You call out his name shakily. His lips are right in front of you at this point, and you can’t not look at them.

He places a hand delicately on your waist, as if not wanting to scare you off. “Yeah?” He’s so close now that you can feel his breath fanning on your lips.

“We shouldn’t do this,” you say, and finally, your voice is strong like you want it to - but Heeseung isn’t deterred by it.

“Do what?” he asks, pretending to be stupid. “We haven’t done anything. Not yet.” He adds the last part in a whisper, his eyes drifting down to your lips, and you can feel your resolve crumbling piece by piece, the opposite of completing a puzzle.

“You know what I’m talking about,” you whisper back, voice almost pleading with him. Stop this before it’s too late, you want to tell him, but for some reason, at this point, you’re more scared of nothing happening than something happening.

“I do, but I want you to tell me,” he repeats, and you can’t help but let out a chuckle. Laughing helps relieve the tension, but it’s back as quickly as it left when his hold on your waist gets tighter, bringing you closer to him. Your hands that had fallen to your side come up to grab the sides of his t-shirt, gathering the fabric in your fists. There’s no going back now, you can tell - you wait for Heeseung to make a move, both dreading it and craving the relief that will come with it.

Heeseung’s free hand comes up to your face, and he traces your jawline with a knuckle before taking your chin in two of his fingers, gently raising it so that your face is angled up towards him. His touch makes your skin burn and takes away your ability to breathe properly.

“We shouldn’t do this,” you repeat, voice barely audible, a weak and half-hearted attempt at stopping this now that you still can.

“No, we shouldn’t,” he agrees, and before you can say or do anything else, Heeseung presses his lips to yours, finally, finally.

His lips are just as soft as you’d expected them to be, and the kiss is light, slow, careful. You’re grateful for it, because you’re not a very experienced kisser - if Heeseung had plunged his tongue directly into your mouth, you wouldn’t have known what to do. It’s almost like he knows this, like he’s giving you time to figure it out, to get used to it. His hand snakes its way to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him, while the other cups your cheek with his palm. You, on the other hand, have completely forgotten about your hands, only able to focus on where your lips meet.

It’s easy to fall into Heeseung’s rhythm, to let him take control of the kiss. But maybe it’s too easy, because soon enough, you start to want more - as amazing as this is right now, a slow kiss like this is not enough to have dissolved the tension in your body. You remember your hands and inch them up to his hair, your fingers finding purchase there and slightly pulling as you open your mouth just a bit wider, hoping Heeseung will get the message.

For a second, you think you’ve got it all wrong - Heeseung pulls back an inch, peering down at you. You’re both breathing heavily, and you’re scared you might have gone too far. But then, he murmurs a small fuck under his breath, and just like that, his lips are back on yours, your back is pressed against the wall again, his body encaging your smaller one. The kiss now is nothing like it was seconds ago - it’s turned hungry, hot, messy. You love it.

You had no idea you would want to kiss Heeseung like this, but now that you were doing it, you couldn’t get enough. The intensity with which he held you, the feel of his tongue against yours, the small groans that escaped his lips every time you pulled on his hair, it was all making you more drunk than the alcohol had.

You swear you haven’t even been kissing for two minutes, but then, all of a sudden, the doors are snapped open, and light pours in the closet, and Heeseung’s lips aren’t on yours anymore. You hadn’t heard the timer go off, too engrossed in Heeseung to pay anything else any mind. When you turn your head, Chaeyeong and Jake are staring at you and Heeseung, mouths wide open and eyes darting back and forth between the two of you.

“Oh. My. God,” Chaeyeong says, while Jake starts laughing. A shy smile appears on Heeseung’s lips, even plumper and pinker than usual from your kiss. His hair is a mess, and you’re sure you don’t look too different. He scratches the back of his neck, and you can’t believe this sheepish boy is the same that was kissing you roughly not a minute ago.

“Chaeyeong,” you cry out, voice already pleading as you take a step out of the closet and take both of her hands in yours. “Seeun can’t know about this.” She raises her eyebrows in surprise but nods her head in agreement, and you’ve never been so thankful for your friend as now. 

“Would she really mind?” Jake asks, looking at you, then at his friend. You turn to look at Heeseung behind you, who purses his lips.

“I’m not sure, but I have a feeling she would… She’s always told me she didn't want me hanging out with her friends,” Heeseung says, and you and Chaeyeong exchange a look; this was news to both of you.

You have no further time to discuss it, however, because Seeun’s voice calling out your name and Heeseung’s make all four of you widen your eyes. Chaeyeong fixes your clothes and hair as best as she can, then smiles at you reassuringly and nods, prompting you to imitate her. She ushers Heeseung into his bathroom and tells him to “freshen up or whatever,” and you, Jake and Chaeyeong leave the room just as Seeun reaches the door.

“Where’s Heeseung?” she asks, not a trace of suspicion in her voice, peering behind you into her brother’s dark room.

“Just needed the toilet,” Jake answers quickly, and that seems to convince her. 

She turns to you, an amused expression on her face. “Hope that wasn’t too awkward.”

You’re so surprised at your friend’s quickness to assume that nothing could happen between you and her brother, as if the idea was truly unfathomable to her, but you figure it’s for the best. You all head back into the party, Heeseung appearing some five minutes later. He scans the room for you, and when you make eye contact from across the crowded living room, he smiles, his shy, genuine smile that you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. 

You already miss him, you realize, his lips, his touch, his scent. That’s how you know that you’re in deep, deep shit.

permanent taglist: @k-ingzo @bbujiikseu @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl (ask to be removed/added!)

© asahicore on tumblr, 2023. please do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works. reblogs and feedback are always appreciated!

[takamimami]

takamimami Celebrates 100 Followers!!

EVENT CLOSED: RULES AND PROMPTS UNDER CUT (event end Oct 11th)

What better way to celebrate a milestone than with these three goofballs?!

Seriously though, I want to thank everyone who has liked, followed, reblogged, and interacted with any of my works I've posted on this blog. Let me start off by actually introducing myself:

Hi! My name is Tia/Angel/Princess/any pet name you want to call me :3 - I am a 27-year-old loser who shamelessly obsesses over people I will never meet. I pride myself in trying to be an open book, so I am always open to chatting about anything from anime, video games, music, books - but I need to come with my own CW because I am unhinged 87% of the time (srynotsry). I once saw this post that said something like 'Create pieces that you are the target audience for' and that is 100% my motto when it comes to writing, so the fact that anyone enjoys what I create is amazing bc it means I'm not as crazy or alone as I once thought I was <3 (ew that was oddly sappy). This blog is technically a side blog where I post my writings, so if you really wanna be friends, consider following/interacting with me on my main page @limitlesstildil

EVENT RULES UNDER THE CUT - PLEASE CONSIDER LIKING/REBLOGGING THIS POST TO SPREAD THE LOVE :3

Supernova Captains 100 Follower Event:

RULES:

The rules are pretty easy: submit an ask here and choose a prompt from the lists below, and then let me know which of our lovely captains you want me to write about for you!! ALL WILL BE WRITTEN AS X READER FICS - SO PLEASE SPECIFY IF YOU PREFER F!READER, M!READER, OR G/N!READER!!

Be mindful of what prompt you are choosing - Smut prompts will be NSFW - Fluff Prompts will be SFW - and Angst will be SFW unless you request otherwise :3 NOTE: you can select choose for me to write a prompt for all three captains, but the blurbs will be smaller (5-600 words each) than if you just choose one of them. Single character pieces will be roughly 1.5k words - give or take (and also depending on my self control :3) ALSO: please feel free to include any ideas/pet names/headcanons you would like me to include/lean into - I want to personalize them for whoever is asking as much as possible so do not hold back when it comes to letting me know what you're in the mood for :3 HAPPY REQUESTING <3

PROMPT LIST:

SMUT 🔞

“Don’t act innocent when we both know where your mouth was two minutes ago.”

“We should probably leave, before we start a scandal.”

“My tongue still remembers the way you taste.”

“Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you.”

“I could make you feel better.”

“I know I should care about the reason why you’re naked in my bed, but I will just enjoy it for a moment.”

“Your hand feels so much better than mine.”

“Your moans will wake everyone up and I’m oddly fine with that.”

“Your eyes are already saying yes, now I just need your mouth to tell me the same.”

“How about we get really dirty before we shower, so that it’s actually worth the effort?”

“Oh, you’re such a tease!”

“Hmm, is that a threat or a promise?”

“I want to ruin you.”

Our bodies fit so well together.”

“Make me shut up then.”

FLUFF🍬

“How come you always end up under my blanket?”

“Have I told you I love you today?”

“I would like my good morning kiss now.”

“You getting so flustered is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.”

“I think I know what that smile means.”

“You give the best hugs.”

“You’re enough for me.”

“Wait, we have a few more minutes.”

“You’re just the cutest.” “You’re the only one who is allowed to say that.”

“Do you think they will like it?”

“Sweet of you to think of me.” “I always think of you.”

“You make me a better person.”

“Everything alright?” “I just missed you.”

“I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else.”

“Come on. Let’s go home.”

ANGST🥀

“I shouldn’t have left.”

"Please don't talk about yourself like that."

“No, this can’t be real!”

“We tried our best.”

“Please, let me in.”

“Can’t you understand why that hurts me?”

“I asked you not do this, but you did it anyway.”

“Don’t touch me!”

“I’ve always been alone.”

“It hurts, but I’ll live.”

“Please, tell me you're ok.”

“Sleep doesn’t come that easy without you.”

“I don’t really care anymore.”

“No, I’m actually not ok.”

“You just can’t help it, can you?”

[sxfwap]

Romancing the Princess of Hearts || Chapter 1: Same Old Feeling

Chapter 2 —>

Pairing: Bridget (Descendants) X Reader

Summary: Ever since you’ve been transferred to The Merlin Academy you’ve had a crush on the Princess of Wonderland herself, who you quickly became best friends with.

Of course, she doesn’t know and you weren’t brave enough to tell her either… but how much time could you keep such feelings to yourself?

Word count: 1856

Warnings: None, just straight up fluff!!! (Bc I live laugh love it)

You were walking around the courtyard of the Merlin Academy, accompanied by your two best friends Bridget and Ella, enjoying the day by chatting with them.

“Alright guys, I need to go now. I did promise that ‘charming’ guy that I was going to help him out with his homework.” Ella said reluctantly, rolling her eyes as if to emphasize her annoyance.

“If by ‘homework’ you mean subtly flirting with one another, then go ahead my dearest friend.” You teased and after seeing Ella’s face reddened you burst out laughing, Bridget joining in.

“We do not–”

“Don’t you dare keep him waiting, El! Go on now!” Bridget commented, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture while sporting a grin of her own, earning a glare from the blue haired.

“So, so, serious… what do you think Charming will say when he sees you like that?” You couldn’t help but annoy her once again. After all, her flustering (to comments about the guy she has absolutely zero feelings for) and a certain princess’s laugh were worth it.

“I’m so done with you two– you especially, Y/n.” Ella remarked, pointing a finger at you. “I’ll see you later!” She said, leaving both you and Bridget on your own.

You were about to make a retort, when you heard from your side that someone cleared their throat.

“So, Y/n, I’ve been wondering… Castlecoming is only a few days away, isn’t it amazing?!” Bridget exclaimed, her face brighting with happiness as a beaming smile broke onto her soft face.

“This will be my first time attending it since I’ve been transferred here, so I’m very curious to see it with my very own eyes.” You teased, to which Bridget blushed slightly. After all, both Bridget and Ella (Bridget mostly) have been talking nonstop about how wonderful and how big of an event this one was. “I still don’t have a date though.”

“Me neither.” Bridget declared with a small frown. “That makes me think however, would you… would you want to go with… me?” She asked, hopeful, though her expressive brown eyes were giving away her own nervousness.

“Are you serious, B?”

“I have never been more serious in my life!” She uttered out, and you couldn’t believe just how adorable she was being.

“Of course! I’d love to go with you!”

“Wonderful!” She said as she wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug, to which you of course returned. “If it means anything…” she pulled out, but still having you by arm’s length. “I–I have been wanting to ask you for quite some time now.”

“And… why’s that?” You asked, looking as her cheeks turned red once more, biting her lower lip.

“I…” Bridget stammered.

“You…?” You tried to get her to answer when suddenly, a distant voice hit your ears. You looked around yourself discreetly, noticing that it was just you and your best friend, surely it was a product of your imagination.

“I love you!” Bridget blurted out, shutting her eyes tightly as if to protect herself from the inevitable rejection that would be coming from you. Or so she thought.

“Y/n.” The voice spoke once more, this time, you could catch it was calling out to you.

You decided to ignore it however, because for sure you couldn’t believe that finally, finally it was happening. Bridget, the princess of Wonderland, who you had have a crush on since your firsts days in the Academy has just told you she loves you! You even thought she was very brave (more than you at least) in choosing to express her feelings.

Truly a dream come true.

Your hands found their ways to Bridget’s cheeks, cupping her dearly face gently. “Could you open your eyes for me, B?”

Reluctantly, Bridget opened them up, her own hands coming up to her face to be atop yours. “Yes…?”

“I… love you too, Bridget.” Your smile reached your ears, noticing the way her face lightened up, it gave you courage to continue. “I have been… for quite some time, actually.”

“Y/n?” That voice. Again. Although this time, you could recognize its sweet yet worrying tone. And wait, were you shaking?

No, you wouldn’t let anyone or anything take away what you have been waiting for as long as you have. Even if this ‘voice’ had a certain resemblance.

“Are you okay, cupcake?” Bridget asked in a worrisome way, lowering both your hands down, still holding them tightly.

“Cupcake?” You blushed at the sudden use of the nickname. Weird. You’ve never heard her call anyone anything like that.

“Perhaps I have the recipe to make you feel better.” She smiled shyly.

“Recipe?”

Bridget smiled once more, before slowly, almost carefully, leaning into you. Her eyes shutting down as the proximity between you kept closing in.

No way this was happening, no way! Bridget not only asked you to be her date to Castlecoming, but has also confessed her love for you and now she wanted to kiss you? In the same day? There’s no way you could be this lucky.

There’s no way this is real.

“Y/n!”

Your eyes opened up quickly, perhaps too quickly as now the brightness of the room hit you hard. The hands that were positioned on your shoulders letting go.

“Finally! Oh, are you alright? I’ve never seen you sleep so soundly!” A sweet-toned worriedly voice asked. Except, this was not any sweet-toned voice this was the voice.

“Bridget?!” Your brain finally was starting to wake up as you took a look around your surroundings in a still somewhat sleepy state and sure enough, you were in your room, in your bed and no one other than the Princess of Wonderland herself was hovering over you. But what was Bridget doing here? “W–What are you doing here? And how did you get in? You’ve seen me sleep before?!”

The pink voluminous haired girl’s cheeks reddened at your questions, before standing up to give you some space. “W–Well… we are supposed to go together to professor Merlin’s class, but you weren’t answering the door!” She defended herself with a pout. It was true though, since both you, her and Ella got to share this class together, you decided to just go together as a group. “I was worried sick about you!” She confessed, her words coming out of her mouth in a concerned manner.

But then again, why was Bridget alone waiting for you? If Ella wasn’t here could that mean that…

“Wait… are we… are we running late?!” You cried out, choosing to ignore, or rather said, save her last few words to dwell on another time.

── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ──

After a few more minutes of you changing into whatever clothes you could find (though Bridget still called your outfit cute), you both finally set off to class.

And it just so happens that Bridget couldn’t keep her hands—or rather said arms to herself as she had to link it with yours. Not that it bothered you in any way, but rather that after growing a massive crush on her and having such a dream, it made you blush.

The classroom door slammed open.

“Oh, fantastic! I was beginning to think you were not going to show up Bridget, Y/n.” Professor Merlin said, turning around from whatever it was that he was doing, smiling kindly. Inevitably, this made you both the center of attention to the rest of the class.

Gods, why did teachers always have to call out their students like that?

An embarrassing blush made its way to your face yet again. What a way to start the day.

Looking to the side of the classroom you spotted Ella sitting with no one other than Prince Charming himself. You made a quick mental note to bother her about it once class ended.

“Good morning, professor!” Bridget greeted, her own cheeks slightly taking in color, quickly moving to the closest desk with you in tow.

“Alright class, now that we’re all here, we can continue on where we left off last week…” Professor Merlin continued on, talking about this certain potion that you really should have paid more attention to.

“Y/n, could you pass me the griffin claw, please? I’ve got to stir this up.” Bridget asked, pointing to it with a smile. Right, thankfully she was here.

You watched as she started to stir the ingredients in the cauldron, and you rapidly grabbed a flask to throw into the mix too.

You gave a quick glance to the girl at your side. “So… are you going to tell me how in the name of Merlin did you break into my room?” You questioned.

“I didn’t break into your room!” Bridget whispered-yelled, but upon seeing your smirk, she knew you weren’t mad at her for it. With a small smile, she looked down as she continued stirring the potion. “And as I already told you, you weren’t answering. I knocked three times even.”

“Hmm…” You squinted your eyes looking at her with a fake suspicion look. “And am I supposed to take that as an answer?”

“Why, of course!” She smiled widely in an innocent manner.

“Sure, sure, keep evading the question all you want but I will find out about it, princess.”

“It was for your own good. Oh! That makes me wonder, were you having a dream– or was it a nightmare? That’s why you couldn’t wake up, right? Were you having a sleep paralysis?!” Bridget rambled on, her face taking in a worried expression.

A sudden ‘shh!’ could be heard from the front as you both turned to look at Professor Merlin giving you a warning look. Or as ‘warning’ as he could, given that he wasn’t that much of a serious teacher and he knew you both were good students.

“What? No, Gods, no.” You laughed slightly at her implications. “Don’t worry about it, B. It was nothing like that.”

Bridget sighed, content to know that at least you weren’t in a bad situation. “So, it was a dream.” She summarized, glancing at your form from the corner of her eyes.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, debating on how much you were going to tell her, because surely you wouldn’t lie to her. Bridget took the opportunity to add a few more ingredients into the cauldron.

“Maybe.”

Is it considered a lie if you’re giving a half averting answer?

“Who’s evading the question now, hmm?” The pink haired smirked.

And Gods, how that smirk made your already fast beating heart want to get out of your ribcage and shout to the entire world how much you loved her.

If only.

Already lost in the beauty of your friend, you failed to notice how one pair of eyes seemed to be looking at you both, rolling her eyes at your– as she had properly phrased it– obvious love-struck staring.

And failed to notice your dear professor coming up.

“We’re done, professor!” Bridget said, loudly enough for you to take in your surroundings. You blinked a few times, looking at your professor with a smile of your own.

A/N: SOOO I wasn’t planning on watching the movie in the first place, but my fyp started flooding with Bridget edits and I fell in love and here we are! 👹👹 her and redcharming saved that movie frfr

I posted the first 2 chapters on ao3 with my user LostInCrushes and I thought why not post it here too? So here we are! I’ll post chapter 2 tomorrow to have it on my tumbrl as well and also I’m working on part 3 right now! Which will most likely be the longest chapter (for now at least) and that’s why it’s taking me the longest to set up SO I APOLOGIZE 😭😭

English is not my first language so feel free to correct any mistake or give me a piece of advice or criticism on my writing style!

Thank you so much for reading!!! 🩷🩷🩷

[kymsys]

(okay i was going about my day yesterday but i really couldn't get the merman au out of my head😭😭 i just imagine for a while somehow geto managed to sneak satoru into the palace and then it's a whole ordeal trying to hide him. panicked geto and oblivious gojo and really for all that image is stuck in my head i still have yet to write a proper interaction w them but!! it's not proofread so sorry if there are mistakes and it's a bit scattered but i had to get this one scene out that was brewing in my mind so🥺 ignore this if you want❗️❗️)

--

From the mezzanine, everyone looked like ants. Suguru had to squint to make out familiar faces in the crowd, and even then, the only person he could identify was a distant aunt of his that he had never really liked. Usually, he'd have been able to pick apart anyone of significance; he'd have known their name, their title, their interests. 

Suguru would've known, he always memorises the details before public events — he spends days in his room at a time, talking into the mirror and telling his reflection things about these people who he has never met. Perhaps, lately, he'd been busy with Satoru.

Suguru smiled. He didn't feel as guilty as he thought he would.

A hand clapped on his back, and he jolted. Shoko beside him, cocking a brow. “What's got you looking like a dumbass?” Her voice was flat, eyes busy scanning the crowd and Suguru knew who she was looking for.

He cleared his throat. He couldn't really tell her that he was keeping a siren in the little pond in his private garden — well, it wasn't exactly little, but that information held no relevance anyway. Shoko was his dear friend, and he knew she would always support him, but he had to keep Satoru a secret, more for her sake. Suguru bit his lip in thought. If only Satoru didn't have such a strong taste for human flesh.

“Is meat more nutritious than fish?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” Suguru winced at the look he was being sent. He didn't mean to blurt the question out, but he'd been thinking about it for days. The salmon that he'd been feeding Satoru probably wasn't enough to sustain a creature his size — especially when he was so active — which would mean he burnt through a lot of calories very quickly. “Utahime is on the balcony,” Suguru pointed in the general direction, giving Shoko a pat on the shoulder, “good luck.”

From his peripheral vision, he could see Shoko roll her eyes as he walked away, but she muttered a small 'thanks' before she turned to find the other woman. He was glad she finally had someone to open up to other than him — he saw how happy Shoko was with Utahime, and with the burden of inheriting the throne giving her sleepless nights, it was all Suguru could want for his closest friend.

He turned his attention back to the winding flight of stairs before him. Now, to find some meat.

KINGGGGGGGGGGGG (can i call you like that??)!!!! ♥ GAHHH IM SO HONOURED AND HAPPY, you actually wrote MORE??? bless you, this is truely amazing, this has me by my throat. thank you so fucking much, i love it!! <3 WHY THE FUCK WOULD I EVER IGNORE THIS, are u out of your mind. i LOVEEEE the way suguru keeps thinking about his little "pet" gojo and what would probably be the best food for him! like indeed he is a massive creature, he will probably need...a lot?? but also at the same time i can imagine that he is maybe not that....needy. isnt that a thing with lots of sharks or deep sea fish that they eat very little, just because its so hard to get by food? so their organism is evolved to survive on very little food and thrive nonetheless. MAYBE suguru just thinks gojo is in need of lots of food, but actually gojo just likes to eat bc he enjoys the food, but doesnt neccessarily need it?(he is also a mystical creature, so in that sense anything is possible really xD) I ALSO LOVE HOW SUGURU JUST RANDOMLY ASKS SHOKO ABOUT NUTRITIONS AND SHOKO IS JUST LIKE WHAT, i adore that ; u ; <3 AND OMG gojo lives in a pond in his private garden??? HOW CUTE!! so that makes me wonder (pls indulge with me) why would he bring this technically "monster" into his home? generally i would think maybe that a creature like that needs its space and would need their freedom? so MAYBEEEEE smth has happened? maybe gojo got hurt, maybe even when he was caught in the fishernet situation? MAYBE suguru needs to take care of him until he gets better and maybe gojo, the curious creepy creature that he is, enjoys the change of environment and the new feeling of being cared for?? its exciting for both! what do you think ?? 👉👈 maybe you had a different idea?? im so excited to hear your thoughts!! AND AGAIN THANK YOU, i love it SO much, i feel so lucky that you actually like it so much that you wanna write about it T___T ♥

EVERYONE LOOK !!!!!!!!

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Hi! Literally love all your writings🗣️🌹🌹 I was wondering if you can do something platonic with Modern!Bill with teen daughter reader and how they would be with each other (love all writings but I’m a sucker for platonic writings)

(Hello! Ty for loving my writing and aye, sure I can! I love platonic writings so I hope you enjoy!)

Being Bill Kaulitz's Daughter

Your dad could be the corniest and most embarrassing mf ever to meet on some days

He finds it so funny to embarrass you in front of your friends

But also if your friends know who he is he is like

"Yes. It is me." With his dramatic eyebrow raise and hair flip

He's still dramatic man no matter if he has you or not

Your childhood consisted a lot of being to on tour and having your uncle's do your every bidding

Tom and you are like partners in crime

After your dad of course

Georg let you sneak off with him and Gustav taught you practically everything

You were taken on stage a lot

Your dad likes to teach you anything to do with music at all

When you were a kid you would crawl into bed with Bill no matter what and you probably still do it

Your dad just lets you because he knows you still find comfort in it

You will always be his little girl no matter what

He legit struggles when he remembers your not a kid and growing up

Spoiled you no matter what

Even if he got criticism from media about how you were brought up he still did it

He dressed you just like him when you were younger

He didn't force you to dress like him though, you just found him cool

You and him match on a daily though

That father daughter duo with amazing style

You guys can never be caught wearing something that doesn't send a statement or look absolutely amazing

He is so proud your happy to be his kid

You are the best thing to happen to this man the moment he met you in the hospital

He lets you grow your own hobbies, interests and style

He doesn't make you do something you don't wanna do

Tries his best to keep paparazzi away from you growing up

Tries to keep you out of the media when you were born for as long as he could to protect your privacy

He thought you wouldn't hang out with him as you grew up bc he is a bit more on the feminine side and thought you would find that embarrassing but was glad you didn't

You and him have shopping sprees so many times of the week you guys just can't stop

You constantly bother your dad and he lets you

Buys you whatever in hell you want just because you want it

When you guys buy clothes you guys have a practical runway and fashion show and are giving each other compliments, tips and shit like that

He is a very supporting dad

Either with what you wanna do in your life, school, jobs and anything

Doesn't care if you grow up and date a woman, a man, a they, he just wanted you to be happy

Posts you literally everyday

Is almost like a Facebook mom with everything in your life

Wrote a bunch of songs about things happening in your life like milestones

You are him are very close if you couldn't tell

[thegreatnpowerfulspuukiiz]

ALRIGHTY!! i’ve finally had some time to think and rewatch the finale (and get somewhere with adequate internet connection so i could actually post rip) SOOO here are my still-sorta-scattered thoughts about the final ep!!

so first things first ahem…

NUZI NATION STAND TF UP WE WONNNNN

they’re DATING 😭😭 LIKE THEY’RE BF AND GF THEY ARE ROMANTICALLY INVOLVED IM GOING TO BE SICK I LOVE THEM SO BADDD

they had sooo sooo many adorable, heartwarming moments during this ep i felt like i was going to explodeee.

but that’s not the only thing that had me on the verge of combusting-

FREAKIN V LIVED LETS HECKIN GOOOOO

i KNEW she didn’t die last ep there was no WAYYYY. plus it’s funny to see all the fanart of her taming the sentinel being true in the show lmaooo

ALSO HER AND J’S YURI FIGHT WAS SOOOO GOOD. LIKE?? A REMIX OF ETERNAL DREAM PLAYING WHEN V SHOWED WHATTTT. but this fight wasn’t just visually but the reveal that j was knowingly working with/for cyn was something that i didnt see coming but also don’t completely hate honestly!

i saw a lottttt of people (more specifically j/jessa fans, no shade just saying what i saw🧍‍♀️) who were upset with j’s betrayal and the way she was portrayed, and while i get not liking how she was written, i personally don’t think that this was that out of left field for her?? like?? while i was shocked i was like “i mean, yeah, makes sense.”

AND I COULDN’T POST THIS WITHOUT TALKING ABOUT THE STAR OF THIS EP

guysssss!!!! cyn/flesha was literally at her best in this ep imo!! she was so expressive and silly and genuinely creepy and scary at times like omg?? every time she was on screen i was soooo hooked dude.

AND THE TEAM UZI VS TEAM CYN FIGHT OH MY GOSHHHHHHH.

my friend and i genuinely started tweaking out dude it was so amazing and animated so well 😭 from the nightcore in the bg to the choreo to the general energy of it I JUST RAHHHHH.

the general consensus i've seen regarding this episode is that it felt rushed and while i def agree that it could've and probably should have been longer, of the four times i've rewatched it now, i never really got "rushed" vibes, just- idk how to word it really- but when the episode ended, i didn't get the sense of finality. even tho i've watched it a few times now, it still feels like there's supposed to be more?? esp after the after-credits scene LIKE WDYM THE SOLVER'S PERMINENTLY PART OF UZI NOW??

ALL N ALL, i really loved the ep, i think it was pretty good! there was stuff i def wish were written/handled differently (LIKE THE WAY DOLL'S STORY WRAPPED UP) but i enjoyed it regardless.

huge thanks to glitch n everyone involved for this amazing series, it means so much to me and i'm so happy it exists <3

also stay tuned bc i'll def be making some vids on the finale soon! and probs posting on here about it more bc i have sooooo many thoughts >;3

vid creds to @/taisskko on tiktok!

[kairiscorner]

So I don’t know how to do requests😭

But I want to request some Oikawa or sugawara angst, like really angsty, school au! Where the reader and Oikawa or suga are is her best friend, but she also has another girl best friend, who knows that reader has feelings for them but stills goes and confesses to him even though she doesn’t like him just because she was jealous or something and like I don’t want a happy ending low-key hehehehe

I’m sorry I don’t know how to explain it honestly🥹

HELLO, ok so i hope i understood your req correctly, because MMMMMMM i also want this to hurt ... I HOPE YOU LIKE IT, AND IMMA MAKE AN OIKAWA VER JS BC 💓💓💓

“i love you... but you're not mine.”

🌼 (sugawara koushi ver.)

you used to love how he smiled, it was like every room he entered would light up and get a little warmer, a little more comfortable; like everything felt okay now that he was here, now that he was smiling and telling everyone that what they're doing is enough. it was hard for you to feel enough on some days, it was even harder for you to cope with the fact that you saw some undesirable traits about you–and yet, sugawara never let you go one day without feeling like you're the prettiest person in the world–and to him, you really were.

"come on now..." he'd whisper to you in a soft, loving tone and extend his hands out to you–his calloused hands that always stung after a practice match, those tirelessly doting hands that never stopped to reach out to you and offer to help you, to comfort you, to be there in any time of your need. he'd crouch down to your level and look at you with the sweetest eyes you've ever seen; he takes your hands in his so gently, and he holds you.

his touch is light, though you can feel him squeezing you every now and then. the best feeling sugawara has ever experienced is that cathartic wave washing away some of the sadness, self-deprecation, loneliness, and other negative feelings or fears you've got plaguing you at the moment. "...you're perfect just the way you are." he muttered as he ran the pads of his fingers across the back of your hands. "i know it's hard, but... i'll help you learn to love yourself; i already know you're really lovable to me, to the rest of the team, once you realize how amazing you are on your own... i hope you'll never wish you were anyone else anymore, because you're already amazing as yourself." he gushed with a comforting voice.

well, that was the most sugarcoated lie you've ever been told.

how could you not wish to be anyone else... if your bestfriend beat you to confessing to him? beat you to being his partner...?

how could you not wish to be anyone else but his?

you wished this was a sick joke, that your close friend–whom you always confided in that you liked sugawara, that you enjoyed being with him, that you felt happiest with him–that you... loved sugawara–had confessed to him out of the blue, on the very day you were going to confess to him.

it seems that they beat you to it, and the worst part is...

sugawara loved them back.

you stood there by the doors of the gym, your hands empty after you unknowingly dropped the treats you made for him and the letter you wrote that had all your love for him written out in words you could never have pictured yourself writing down to anyone before–

–all to have your bestfriend steal him away from you.

when he cried tears of joy that the object of his affections reciprocated his love... you cried tears of melancholy at the boy you loved most being taken away from you right before your very eyes.

"hey... remember, you don't have to be someone else to be loved–i love you for who you are, inside and out." he reminded you with a wide, happy grin as he held your hands in his–his right wrist donning the bracelet your bestfriend–his partner–made for the two of them; they matched... and it hurt badly to think about how cute and happy he seemed with them.

sure, he loved you, you could tell that much...

...but only as a friend.

[stoopidslxt]

Why and how hypnosis has formed such an intricate, tantalizing web, and why I am ever it's willing captive in my own mind.

So, buckle up! This will probably go long, but I figured it was high time I document my own history with hypnosis, tumblr, this community, and every other little kink that presses the corners of my mind into a nice, flat, glassy surface that any and all thought slide over and away from with effortless precision. I suppose it really all started during my first stint on tumblr, over a decade ago now. I was a plucky eighteen year old who, admittedly, really enjoyed engaging with trolls and jerks online. I was a really smart young girl, and I knew how to carry myself and when it was all said and done, I'd feel like I'd accomplished something, felt like I'd won, been witty, it did fill me with a sense of pride. it was these same people, and a lady friend of mine we'll call b that helped me learn and understand the pleasure of having that pride stripped away and replaced with wave after wave of unending, uncontrollable pleasure. with obedience, servitutde, with edghing, with so many different sides of the kjnk. I fojnd dreamychat and met many wonderful people. the first was h, who really knew how to drive me crazy. at the time I was a switch who was having lots of fun dueling and having my turn on top. after awhile, h and I lost contact and I visited dreamy less n less. after a hiatus, talking with b again some, and always confiding andmissing my v good friend in kink here we'll call L, I fell back into the scene again hard and met two different people. D was the first, demanding, controlling, arragont, bully. my kryptonite. he pushed me to do so mhny tihngs tha made .y brain:) go blank. and. h and then I met V, who had a much different approach that got sososo deep in my head:) v was so kind and playful, and ay ther end of the day, made me do sooo many amazing things. these experiences have made me the happy little bimbo fuckpuppy cockslut dickforbrains moocow💖💖💖 hhnnnn like, ujnm, now I moo that theres no way I could be a switch 4real💖 noww I edgee nnrubbb ngooon 💖💖 and just be trancyy nhapyyy n dummmmm for him💖 gggigles ghhnnn n ifeeel sosoosogooood sparkles nn pops💖💖💖 and beein a gooodgirlll 💖💖💖 rubbbin and likke makin myself worseee. it all happennd bc i didn t want to he responsbile nomore an beinn dumbbbs bettrr thsn beimg smartt💖💖 feeeels gooood and and not making choises 💖💖💖 hatee havjng real girl thougbts 💖💖 imm a toyh💖 noo thinkks💖💖 jusssinkssa💖💖 lovee bein seeeen bh you allll💖💖 degraded and vulnrble💖💖 butsafe n protected💖💖alwayssafe💖💖 yessedhedgedgedgdd💖💖rubbbb💖💖 dennyy repeattobeyyyy💖💖💖 mandi doll obeyy💖💖 mmmasst💖💖obeyy💖💖💖edgdgggg abbhghhh moooooooo💖💖💖💖💖rruuffarrfarfarff💖💖💖💖💖whinbbe wwhimmnper💖💖💖droooolll💖💖💖hheeaaatttt💖💖💖💖hhhbnnnnnn💖💖💖fffuc

[number-onekidqueen]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞

Luke Castellan x Poseidon!fem!reader

hi i have no idea if you take requests but if you do could you write for Luke x daughter of poseidon? I’ve been thinking about someone who’s similar to Luke who’s felt neglected by their God parent and when their half brother Percy comes and gets claimed within a week, she’s angry and jealous bc hers took almost a year. An angel in disguise, evil lovers trope 🥹🎀🫶 just wanted to share this concept that’s been itching my brain

comfort fluff

warnings: crying, gods being bad parents, jealousy, insecurity

The new blond kid furrowed his brow again, and you groaned internally.

“So we’re supposed to love them but they don’t even come and see us?”

The arrival of another kid was always exciting. They’d stumble over the border, scared out of their mind, and once they calmed down, you’d get to hear their story. They all had such different ones and all the details and quirks in them fascinated you to no end.

The less fun part was answering all the questions they had, and trying to make camp seem fun and exciting, when they were usually so broken. It never seemed right to you to talk about rowing races, as if they were antidotes for leaving your old life behind.

Percy Jackson, however, was proving to be more curious and.... confident than new demigods were typically.

You exchanged a look with Luke at Percy's comment, wondering how to answer this curveball of a question. You noticed his jaw was clenched, and he seemed to be making no kind of attempt at responding.

“Well, uh, yeah, more or less.” You replied lamely.

“I don’t get it. If we’re their kids why don’t they come down and visit us? Get to know us?”

“My question exactly,” Luke murmured bitterly to you, but then he grinned, clapping Percy on the shoulder. 

“Eh, the gods they’re busy and all. But you don’t have to worry about them. Burn a bit of your food, pray sorta regularly and they’ll be happy. And just enjoy-"

“Who's my dad?”

Another difficult question.

"Sorry Percy, we don't know," you replied softly. "you'll know when you get claimed."

"Claimed?"

You explained the claiming process, and your unease grew as Percy frowned more and more as you continued. It was obvious he was against claiming.

"So let me get this straight," Percy paused, his expression one of utter distaste. "I've gotta do something cool - something amazing - in my first few days at camp to make my dad notice me?"

You winced. "Yeah, something like that."

"He doesn't just come down, and recognise me?" He asked in disbelief.

"The gods don't really... come down, Percy," Luke corrected, also wincing.

"So, what, they-"

"Don't stress too much about it, Percy. I'm sure your dad will claim you soon, and then we can all celebrate." You reassured with a grin.

If only that had been right.

---------

And you had won! You whooped, joining the cacophony of victory that was the Hermes cabin, all gazing triumphantly at the flag Luke had captured and was brandishing with pride. 

When your eyes met Luke’s, your head spun. He had really done it! Your best friend, your amazing, brave best friend had won it again! He grinned at you, and your heart seemed to jump towards him erratically. Before you could think straight, you were running closer, and-

“Y/N! I think you have a brother?”

Huh?

Brother?

You noticed the atmosphere had changed drastically, and the campers had become hushed around you, whispering and pointing. And they were all… kneeling?

“Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon!”

At Chiron's call, you turned to where they faced and saw a dumbstruck Percy, thigh-high in water, squinting above him. 

At a massive, glowing green trident. 

Poseidon. He was your brother. 

What?!

After the initial tidal wave of shock, and even joy for Percy wore off, you were outraged. Percy had been at camp for what couldn’t have been two days. And he was already claimed? When it took you nearly a year of hoping and crying and praying to do so? 

What in the Gods did this mean? Were you not as special as Percy? Did your dad hate you? What in the- what- he- you- he-

You couldn’t think about it anymore, your thoughts incoherent and speeding through your mind. Your chest tightened, and you couldn't breathe, your lungs still and your eyes heavy with tears.

No, no, no, no. You wouldn’t ruin your brother’s claiming. 

Even though your father ruined everything-

You began stumbling back, walking between rows of kneeling campers, as quietly as you could. It still seemed thunderous to your ears. You could feel the stares, but you tried not to think about that either. Judgement was at the bottom of your stress agenda.

Once the forest obscured your form, you began sprinting, dodging trees and shrubbery as you made a rapid escape to your cabin. The anxious thoughts didn't stop, even as the world rushed past you.

Breathe in, breathe- my dad hates me- out.

Breathe- he loves my brother more- in.

bre- he'll never love me as much- out.

b- you weren’t good enough, and you never have been- r-e-a-t-h-e

Once inside, you collapsed against the cool door. Your breathing finally slowed, as your eyes travelled over the familiar blue scenery. Felt the slightly chipped paint beneath your fingerprints. Inhaled the salty, sandy smell. This was your home. You could safely cry in here, feel comfortable, do anything you wanted-

Until Percy came.

You wouldn’t even have five minutes in here before everyone came back, and swung the doors wide for Percy. And you would be forgotten, shoved into a lesser position to make room for your shiny, new brother.

Stop! It wasn't Percy's fault that Poseidon was a terrible father. Percy was innocent. He was just a little boy, wanting to be accepted. It wasn't fair to feel bitter towards Percy.

But you couldn't help it.

Either way, you wouldn't let the first sight to his new home be his crying, jealous sister. You didn't want him to feel guilty for belonging.

But where else could you go?

The beach?

No. The water was once a comfort, but it seemed a hellish sight in your mind now. You didn't want to go anywhere near anything that reminded you of Poseidon. Absolutely not.

The forest?...

That was perfect.

Steeling yourself for the outside world, you inhaled shakily before rushing out of the safety of your door. Thankfully, camp was still quiet, although you weren't going to wait around for it to become full and rowdy.

Taking off at a jog, you made your way into the forest surrounding camp, in the opposite direction than the one campers would make coming back. Sure, monsters could attack you, but at this point you were certain you were angry enough to wield your dagger with lethal accuracy.

Come get me, bitch, and you'll find out just how I feel, you thought to yourself.

You moved through the forest until the dappled light on your tanned skin, became dimmer, almost dark. It was then you stopped, hunched over, breathing deeply, stepped backward to slump against a firm pine tree.

You let yourself cry, as loudly as you needed. The ocean never hushed her screams, and now that you were alone, neither would you. It was cathartic in a way, screaming as loud as you could, sobbing as hard as you needed, draining your body of all its sadness, jealousy, insecurity.

No one would ever hear you. It would be a secret between you and this little green glade.

And then you could return to camp, fake all the smiles you needed. You would be happy for Percy. You would be grateful to your father for allowing you to have a brother. You would be faithful and in admiration of the Gods.

You felt sick at those thoughts, a pit growing in your stomach at having to betray yourself for others.

Why did it have to be this way? Why?

The pit in your stomach only grew as you heard fast-paced approaching footsteps. Your sobs immediately halted, and you stilled against the tree, wiping your tears and drawing your dagger.

"Y/n?"

It was Luke.

You exhaled shakily, debating whether to respond. But it was Luke, and surely he would understand.

"Yeah?"

His approaching footsteps resumed, and you caught a glimpse of his face, splashed with relief. Immediately, he sat beside you, and wrapped a tentative arm around your shoulders.

It was so comforting, and you began to cry once more, this time into his shoulder. His fingers tangled in your hair, and they were so soothing, your cries became even deeper and cracked.

You couldn't remember the last time you had been held and comforted.

"What's wrong?" he muttered softly.

"My-my dad," you replied croakily.

"Oh," you knew he understood, because he tugged you closer and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You shuddered at the contact, flustered despite your current emotions.

"Your dad is an idiot for making you feel like this."

"You-you can't say that," you said nervously, shifting in his arms as you glanced around, anticipating a megatsunami or hailstorm.

"I don't care, y/n, let me drown the next time I swim. You need to hear it. You're one of the best campers there is, and all you do is love him, and he treats you like this! He's an idiot!" He said earnestly, laughing a little.

"I just can't believe he'd claim him so soon," you whispered, and the tears began again, "I just-- it's like slapping it in my face that he loves him more. That Percy did enough for him and I didn't."

"No, don't you dare think like that." He tilted your chin up with his fingers. His eyes were strong, angry. But his fingers were gentle, and they caressed your jawline with care. "You've done more than enough for him. You've done more than enough for anyone, don't ever make yourself feel like this."

"But-"

"No. No. Never." And he drew you back into a tight embrace as the last of your tears flowed.

You stayed like that for what could've been minutes or decades, the both of you breathing in sync, against the rough bark of the tree and warm heat of your camp tees. You began to grow sleepy, your eyes drifting closed, and that's when Luke shifted.

"Hey," he murmured, his arms still wrapped around you as he pulled the both of you to your feet, "let's get you home."

Off you walked into the dusky evening, your words and secrets left embedded in the canopy and grass of that glade and deep in your hearts.

For while you now knew there were two children of Poseidon, and you were most certainly the second choice - you knew you were the favourite to Luke.

And maybe that was what mattered.