#I lost count of the number of attempts to take this picture

[akyivanov]

Prompt 17: Bakery

«Privacy?...what privacy? »

«We need to know what he does »

And so it was that Sergey learned never again to accept an invitation from Boris.

[w1w2]

Number One Girl

Sequel of Stay A Little Longer

Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 10k

Synopsis: Two years after their painful breakup, Y/N and Roseanne cross paths again, reigniting unresolved emotions and a love they thought was lost.

Rosé - number one girl "Your one and only So what's it gon' take for you to want me?"

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

October arrived with a crisp chill, painting Seoul in hues of amber and gold. Y/N sat on the edge of her sofa, nursing a warm cup of tea as the sun dipped below the skyline, its fading light spilling into her apartment. The room exuded quiet comfort, the kind of space carefully curated to feel like home, but even its warmth couldn’t banish the faint ache in her chest.

Two years had passed since she packed her life into boxes and walked away from the only person who had ever truly known her. Yet, the memory of Roseanne lingered like a bittersweet melody, refusing to fade completely.

Y/N traced the rim of her mug absently, her gaze fixed on the framed photograph sitting on the bookshelf across the room. It was one of the few relics she hadn’t packed away after their breakup. The image was of Hank, Rosie’s dog, sitting between them on a bright summer day. Their smiles in the picture were carefree, unguarded. It hurt to look at it, but she couldn’t bring herself to hide it away.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, jolting her from her thoughts. She reached for it, her brows furrowing as a flood of notifications lit up the screen.

“Rosé’s New Single Featuring Bruno Mars Takes Charts by Storm!”

“Party Anthem of the Year: Rosé Dominates with Latest Release!”

Y/N clicked on one of the headlines almost reflexively. A glossy photo of Roseanne lit up the screen, her radiant smile and confident aura commanding attention. The article praised her electrifying performance and the catchy hook of her new single, calling it a global sensation. Y/N’s lips quirked into a faint smile despite herself. She could almost hear Rosie’s voice, layered over the infectious beat, as she read the glowing reviews.

Scrolling further, she found a video clip of an interview. Against her better judgment, she pressed play. Roseanne appeared on screen, her blonde hair falling in effortless waves around her face. She looked poised but carried a familiar warmth in her demeanor as she talked about the creative process behind the song.

“It’s a little different from what I’ve done before,” Roseanne admitted with a laugh. “But I wanted something fun, something that made people want to move.”

The sight of her, so vibrant, so magnetic, sent a pang through Y/N’s chest. She set the phone down, staring at the floor as memories stirred unbidden.

The nights spent in their tiny apartment came rushing back. Roseanne perched on the couch with her guitar, the melody of an unfinished song drifting through the room, Y/N’s attempts to distract her with jokes, or bribe her with takeout when the creative process ran long. The way Rosie’s laughter would fill the space, a sound Y/N once thought she could never live without.

Her chest tightened. She shook her head, willing the memories away. What was the point of dwelling on a past she couldn’t change?

The shrill ring of her phone cut through her thoughts. She glanced at the screen. Jennie.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before answering. “Hey, Jen.”

“Hey, stranger,” Jennie’s familiar voice chimed on the other end, cheerful and warm. The sound was a welcome break in Y/N’s otherwise quiet evening, and she couldn’t help but smile faintly. “Don’t tell me you’re working late again.”

“I’m not,” Y/N replied, sinking further into the couch and tucking her legs beneath her. “Just… having a quiet evening.”

Jennie hummed knowingly, a playful lilt in her voice. “You? Quiet evening? That’s code for sulking alone with Netflix and takeout, isn’t it?”

Y/N huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “You caught me. Minus the takeout.”

“Well, I’ve got the perfect way to change that,” Jennie declared. There was a note of triumph in her tone, as if she had been planning this all along. “I’m hosting a little gathering this weekend at my house. Just a small thing with close friends. Good food, good drinks, no pressure.”

Y/N leaned her head against the back of the couch, letting the words sink in. She could already picture Jennie in her kitchen, effortlessly juggling appetizers and cocktails while effortlessly charming everyone in the room. The image was comforting, but the idea of being around people again still gave her pause.

“I don’t know, Jennie,” she said hesitantly, her voice soft. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone to something like that.”

“That’s exactly why you should come,” Jennie pressed, her voice dropping into that persuasive tone Y/N knew too well. “You’ve been holed up for way too long. Besides, it’s not a big party or anything. Just us, close friends, no drama, no stress. You’ll have fun, I promise.”

Y/N bit her lip, toying with the edge of the blanket draped over her lap. She knew Jennie meant well, and a part of her did want to go. It had been too long since she’d seen Jennie, too long since she’d let herself just… exist in the company of others.

After the breakup, Jennie had been a lifeline. She was the one who dragged Y/N out of bed on her worst days, who sent random memes to make her laugh, who showed up with coffee and snacks when Y/N needed them most. Jennie had been one of the few constants in Y/N’s life when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

Y/N sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Alright,” she said finally. “I’ll come.”

“Yes!” Jennie’s excited cheer was so loud that Y/N had to pull the phone away from her ear. “I promise you won’t regret it. And dress cute, I know you’ve been living in sweatpants, but this is a chance to remind everyone how amazing you are. Got it?”

“Got it,” Y/N replied, laughing softly at Jennie’s relentless enthusiasm.

“Great! I’ll text you the details. See you then!”

The call ended with a click, leaving Y/N staring at her phone. For the first time in what felt like ages, a flicker of anticipation broke through the lingering melancholy that had become her constant companion. She set the phone down and leaned back against the cushions, her mind already racing with thoughts about the weekend.

She trusted Jennie to keep things relaxed, to make the evening as effortless as she had promised. And though Y/N was apprehensive about stepping out of her cocoon of solitude, she also felt a small, hopeful spark at the idea of reconnecting with old friends.

What Y/N didn’t know, what Jennie hadn’t mentioned, was that Roseanne would also be there.

Jennie’s villa stood like a beacon of modern luxury in the heart of UN Village, its large windows spilling warm golden light into the cool October evening. Y/N approached the entrance with hesitant steps, adjusting the sleeves of her suit jacket. The outfit was simple yet striking, a fitted, single-button blazer in a deep charcoal gray paired with cropped trousers and a soft cream blouse left casually untucked at one side. Her choice of white sneakers added a laid-back edge, balancing the look between casual and elegant.

She paused to smooth her hair, inhaling deeply before stepping up to the door. The crisp evening air carried faint hints of autumn leaves and laughter from inside, a stark contrast to the quiet she had grown used to.

Jennie greeted her the moment she stepped inside, her sharp eyes immediately sweeping over Y/N with an approving smile. “Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence!”

Y/N rolled her eyes lightly but couldn’t help smiling. “You act like I’m impossible to get a hold of.”

“You practically are,” Jennie teased, pulling her into a warm hug. As she stepped back, her gaze lingered appreciatively. “But seriously, you look amazing. Who knew you could make a suit look that good?”

A flush crept up Y/N’s neck, and she laughed softly. “Just trying something different.”

“Well, keep doing it,” Jennie said with a grin, looping her arm through Y/N’s. “Now, come on. I have to show you off, and make sure you grab a drink before the others steal all my attention.”

The villa was alive with energy. Guests filled the spacious living room and spilled out onto the terrace, where a fire pit crackled beneath the night sky. Soft jazz played in the background, mingling with the sound of glasses clinking and cheerful chatter. Y/N recognized several familiar faces: Irene and Seulgi of Red Velvet chatting by the bar, Nayeon and Jihyo from Twice laughing over drinks, and the unmistakable presence of actress Hoyeon Jung, effortlessly stunning in a tailored suit.

Jennie guided her through the crowd, expertly navigating the lively buzz of the gathering. With each stop, she introduced Y/N to a mix of familiar faces and new ones, her effortless charm putting everyone at ease. “Help yourself to anything,” Jennie said after a brief introduction to an indie actor Y/N vaguely recognized. She gestured toward the lavish spread of food and drinks set up in the dining area. “Seriously, make yourself at home, okay? No standing awkwardly in corners allowed.”

Y/N chuckled and nodded, appreciating Jennie’s genuine warmth and the gentle nudge. But even as she made her way to the long table laden with delicate appetizers and sparkling drinks, the faint unease in her chest refused to dissipate.

The villa was alive with conversation and laughter, the atmosphere light and inviting. Yet, as Y/N reached for a glass of wine, her fingers brushed against the stem awkwardly, betraying the nervous energy she was trying to suppress. She scanned the room, the elegant furnishings and glimmering lights blending into a soft blur of activity.

She tried to shake it off, telling herself it was just the unfamiliarity of being around so many people again. But deep down, she knew it was more than that.

After browsing the appetizers, choosing a small plate more for something to do than actual hunger, Y/N slipped toward the terrace doors. The cool glass felt grounding beneath her fingertips as she stepped just shy of the threshold, a glass of wine in hand. She watched the guests gathered outside, their laughter rising against the backdrop of the flickering fire pit. The golden light danced over their faces, casting warm, moving shadows.

The open air and soft hum of conversation were comforting. She exhaled slowly, letting her shoulders relax for the first time that evening. Maybe Jennie was right. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.

Her mind began to drift as she sipped her wine. Flashes of memories bubbled up, late nights spent laughing in another cozy setting, another warm space filled with music and quiet intimacy. Y/N quickly shook the thoughts away, focusing instead on the present, the firelight, the soft glow of fairy lights strung along the terrace railing.

She was just beginning to let the tension melt when it happened, a subtle shift in the energy of the room.

It was almost imperceptible at first, like the faintest ripple in still water. A hushed pause in conversations, a collective glance toward the entryway. And then Y/N felt it, the unmistakable pull of a presence she had spent two years trying to forget.

Roseanne had arrived.

The air seemed to hum with her arrival, her presence magnetic even in a room full of stars. Dressed in an effortlessly chic ensemble, a fitted black turtleneck paired with a high-waisted silk skirt that shimmered faintly in the light, she carried herself with quiet confidence. Her blonde waves framed her face perfectly, and the soft glow of the villa’s lights highlighted the delicate contours of her features.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as their eyes met across the room.

The world seemed to narrow in that moment, all noise fading into a distant hum. Roseanne’s polite smile faltered, just briefly, as her gaze locked with Y/N’s. Her almond-shaped eyes held a mixture of emotions Y/N couldn’t quite place, surprise, maybe even longing.

Y/N’s grip tightened around her glass, her pulse quickening. She turned her attention back to the terrace, feigning interest in the view, but her heart raced in her chest. The ease she had begun to feel moments ago evaporated, replaced by the familiar ache she had been trying to bury.

Jennie greeted Roseanne warmly, pulling her into a brief hug before steering her toward the group by the bar. Y/N could feel her presence even from a distance, the hum of tension now impossible to ignore.

She took a steadying sip of her wine, willing herself to stay calm. This was just a coincidence, she told herself. A moment she could navigate with poise, no matter what emotions it stirred within her.

But as she turned her gaze back toward the room, the weight of Roseanne’s arrival lingered, like a chord unresolved.

“Y/N,” Irene called from nearby, her warm voice cutting through the haze of Y/N’s thoughts. “Come join us!”

Y/N blinked, jolted out of her daze. She turned to see Irene standing with few others by the bar, her hand raised in a beckoning gesture. Grateful for the distraction, Y/N forced a smile and made her way over, her steps steady despite the nervous energy swirling within her.

“Thought you were going to hide by the terrace all night,” Irene teased as Y/N approached.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Y/N replied with a soft laugh, raising her glass in mock defense.

Seulgi grinned, her relaxed demeanor immediately putting Y/N at ease. “Jennie would drag you back if you tried.”

“That sounds about right,” Y/N said, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly.

The group’s conversation flowed easily, a mix of lighthearted jokes and anecdotes. Irene shared a funny story about an ill-timed wardrobe malfunction during a recent performance, drawing laughter from everyone, including Y/N. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to relax, letting the warmth of the group’s camaraderie wash over her.

But no matter how much she tried to stay present, her focus kept straying back to Roseanne.

She was across the room now, standing near Jennie and Hoyeon. The soft rise and fall of her laughter floated over the hum of conversations, faint but unmistakable. Y/N’s eyes found her almost instinctively, tracing the graceful way Roseanne gestured with her hands as she spoke, the subtle tilt of her head when she listened.

Roseanne’s smile, polite and poised, reminded Y/N of countless moments they had shared, from quiet nights on their couch to bursts of laughter over shared inside jokes. It was a smile that had once belonged solely to Y/N, and the ache of seeing it from a distance now was almost too much to bear.

“Earth to Y/N,” Irene’s voice cut in, her tone amused.

Y/N startled slightly, realizing Irene’s sharp gaze was fixed on her. “Sorry, what?”

Seulgi smirked knowingly, glancing in the direction Y/N had been looking. “You’ve been quiet. Not like you.”

“I’m just… tired,” Y/N lied, taking a sip of her wine to mask her unease.

“Right,” Irene said, her tone suggesting she didn’t believe a word of it. But she didn’t push, instead steering the conversation back toward lighter topics.

As the group dissolved into another round of jokes, Y/N laughed along, though the sound felt hollow in her chest. Her gaze drifted back toward Roseanne again, unbidden, and she caught a fleeting moment where their eyes met across the room. Roseanne’s expression softened, a flicker of something Y/N couldn’t quite name crossing her features before she turned back to Jennie.

Y/N tore her gaze away, her pulse quickening. She could feel the weight of her unresolved emotions settling over her like a heavy blanket. No amount of light conversation or laughter could dull it, no matter how much she tried.

Their first exchange of the evening came unexpectedly. Y/N was returning from the kitchen with a glass of water, her fingers cool against the condensation on the glass, when she turned a corner and nearly collided with someone.

“Sorry—” she began instinctively, but the words caught in her throat as she looked up.

It was Roseanne.

Y/N’s breath hitched as her eyes met Roseanne’s, a rush of familiarity crashing over her like a wave. Roseanne stood close, too close, her floral perfume filling the small space between them. It was the same scent Y/N remembered from countless quiet mornings and shared embraces, stirring memories she had worked so hard to bury.

“Hey,” Roseanne said quietly, her voice low and tentative.

The single syllable felt like a thread pulling at Y/N’s carefully stitched-together composure. “Hi,” she managed, though her pulse quickened as if her body had yet to catch up with her calm tone.

For a moment, they simply stood there, caught in a silent bubble that felt removed from the laughter and music echoing through the villa. The air between them was charged, thick with unspoken words and emotions that neither seemed ready to voice.

Roseanne’s eyes softened, something unreadable flickering across her features as she looked at Y/N. There was a tension in her expression, a hesitance that belied the confidence she carried so effortlessly in front of others.

“You look…” Roseanne began, pausing briefly as if searching for the right words. “Good.” Her tone was careful, almost fragile, as though testing the waters of an unfamiliar sea.

Y/N’s lips curved into a faint smile, though her grip on the glass in her hand tightened. “Thanks. You too,” she replied, her voice quieter than she intended.

Roseanne’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before flicking to the glass in Y/N’s hand. She shifted slightly, stepping back enough to give Y/N space to pass. The sound of laughter from the living room spilled into the hallway, breaking the fragile stillness between them.

Y/N hesitated, her feet rooted to the spot for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. She wanted to say something, anything, to fill the silence. But her mind was a jumble of racing thoughts and emotions she couldn’t untangle.

Roseanne broke the moment with a small, almost shy smile. “It’s… good to see you.”

The words hit Y/N harder than she expected, a bittersweet pang settling in her chest. She nodded, her own smile faint. “You too.”

And then it was over.

Y/N stepped past her, her footsteps steady but her heart pounding in disarray. She didn’t dare look back, but she felt Roseanne’s gaze on her as she walked away, a weight she couldn’t ignore.

As she reentered the lively atmosphere of the living room, the hum of conversation and music felt distant, muffled against the storm brewing inside her. The brief exchange played over and over in her mind, a kaleidoscope of emotions she couldn’t sort through.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of half-hearted conversations and stolen glances. Y/N noticed Jennie watching them once or twice, her sharp eyes flicking between the two women with a knowing look. But Jennie said nothing, choosing instead to redirect attention when the tension threatened to become too obvious.

As the party began to wind down, Y/N found herself retreating to one of the smaller sitting rooms at the back of the villa. The cozy space was a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere outside, its dim lighting and soft furnishings offering a quiet reprieve from the noise and energy of the gathering.

She sank into a plush armchair by the window, her gaze drawn to the garden bathed in moonlight. The soft glow illuminated the neat rows of hedges and the faint silhouettes of flowers swaying gently in the night breeze. She tried to let the stillness calm her, but the ache in her chest refused to fade.

Her thoughts spiraled, unbidden and relentless, back to Roseanne. The way her eyes had softened when they met, the faint hesitance in her voice, the magnetic pull that made it impossible for Y/N to ignore her presence. Even now, two years later, Roseanne had a way of unraveling her carefully constructed defenses with nothing more than a glance.

The soft creak of the door opening broke her reverie. Y/N turned, her breath hitching as Roseanne stepped inside, her movements slow and hesitant, as though unsure of her welcome.

“Mind if I join you?” Roseanne asked, her voice barely above a whisper, fragile yet filled with something unmistakably raw.

Y/N hesitated, her chest tightening as a torrent of emotions surged within her. She wanted to say no, to shield herself from the vulnerability that Roseanne always seemed to bring out in her. But instead, she nodded.

Roseanne crossed the room, her steps tentative, and took the seat opposite Y/N. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick, stretching between them like a chasm filled with all the words they had never said, all the emotions they had left unresolved.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Roseanne said finally, her hands resting nervously on her lap. Her gaze lingered on her fingers, which fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, betraying her unease.

“Neither was I,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft but steady.

The corner of Roseanne’s mouth twitched, a faint, humorless smile. “Jennie invited me. I almost didn’t come.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering through her guarded expression. “Why?”

Roseanne looked up, her eyes shimmering with vulnerability. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely audible. “Because I wasn’t sure I could handle seeing you.”

The raw honesty of her words hit Y/N like a blow, her breath catching in her throat. She looked down at her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap, and swallowed hard. “Rosie…” she began, but the words faltered. She didn’t know what to say.

Roseanne leaned back slightly, her gaze distant. “I thought it would get easier,” she said quietly. “You know… being apart. But it hasn’t. Not for me.”

The confession sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing over Y/N. She felt her chest tighten, her heart pounding in a chaotic rhythm as she grappled with her feelings. For two years, she had tried to convince herself that moving on was the right thing, that their love had been too fractured to fix. And yet, sitting here now, facing the woman she had never truly stopped loving, those justifications felt hollow.

“I miss you,” Roseanne said suddenly, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her words. They hung in the air between them, sharp and piercing, cutting through the layers of silence and unresolved tension.

Y/N’s breath hitched. She had imagined this moment countless times, wondering what it would feel like to hear those words again. But now that they were here, she felt unmoored, adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.

“I—” she began, her voice trembling. She looked away, her gaze fixed on the window. The garden beyond blurred into a hazy smear of moonlight and shadow.

“I’m not saying it to make things harder,” Roseanne continued, her voice soft but firm. “I just… needed you to know. Even if it doesn’t change anything.”

Y/N closed her eyes, her chest aching as the weight of Roseanne’s words settled over her. Memories flooded her mind, of quiet nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms, of shared laughter, of whispered promises that had once felt unbreakable. She forced herself to speak, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Rosie, I…” she trailed off, shaking her head. Her fingers gripped the arms of the chair, as if anchoring herself. “I don’t know what to say.”

Roseanne nodded slowly, her lips curving into a sad, resigned smile. “You don’t have to say anything.”

The silence that followed was deafening, filled with the unspoken weight of their shared history. Y/N’s mind raced with everything she wanted to say but couldn’t, words of longing, regret, and a love that refused to fade no matter how hard she tried to let go.

Finally, Y/N stood, her movements deliberate but heavy. “I should get back to the party,” she said quietly, the words feeling like a lie even as she said them.

Roseanne’s expression fell, her hands tightening briefly in her lap before she nodded. Her voice was small, almost broken, as she replied, “Yeah. Of course.”

Y/N hesitated, lingering for a moment longer than she should have. She wanted to reach out, to touch Roseanne’s hand, to say something that might ease the ache in both their hearts. But the weight of the past, the wounds they had inflicted on each other, kept her rooted in place.

As she turned and left the room, her chest ached with the weight of what had just transpired. The conversation played over in her mind, raw and unresolved, as she rejoined the others. Her steps felt heavier with each stride, as though she were walking away from more than just the room.

And behind her, Roseanne sat alone, her gaze fixed on the empty chair Y/N had left behind.

November brought with it the icy chill of Seoul’s late autumn, the sharp air cutting through Y/N’s layers as she returned home one evening. She had spent the day busying herself with errands and work, the usual distractions that helped her keep her thoughts at bay. But as she set her keys down on the kitchen counter, her phone buzzed on the table, breaking the silence.

Her brow furrowed as she glanced at the screen, an unfamiliar number lighting up the notification. Hesitantly, she picked up the phone and opened the message.

“Hi, Y/N. It’s Roseanne. I’ve been battling myself since the party, wondering if I should send you this. But I just released a new song, and I wrote it thinking of you. It says everything I wish I could say to you.”

A link was attached to the text. Y/N stared at the message, her heart thundering in her chest. Her mind raced, a thousand thoughts swirling as she debated what to do.

Her finger hovered over the link, the urge to ignore it battling with her insatiable curiosity. After a moment that felt like an eternity, she tapped it, the familiar interface of her music app opening.

The title stared back at her ‘Number One Girl’

Y/N pressed play, the first delicate notes filling the quiet room. The melody was hauntingly beautiful, wrapping around her like an embrace she wasn’t sure she could accept. Her chest tightened as the vulnerability in the music seeped into her.

And then Roseanne’s voice broke through, achingly familiar, raw, and heartbreakingly sincere.

“Tell me that I’m special, tell me I look pretty Tell me I’m a little angel, sweetheart of your city Say what I’m dying to hear, ‘Cause I’m dying to hear you”

The first line hit like a whisper of the past, bringing with it an ache so profound that Y/N almost couldn’t breathe. Her breath caught in her throat, her fingers trembling as she set her phone down on the table, afraid that holding it might somehow shatter her already fragile composure.

Each word unfolded like a confession, pulling at the threads of emotions she had spent two years trying to suppress. Y/N blinked rapidly, her vision blurring as her heart began to pound in her chest.

And then the chorus rose, swelling with a desperation that mirrored the turmoil inside her. “Isn’t it lonely? I’d do anything to make you want me I’d give it all up if you told me that I’d be The number one girl in your eyes”

The room seemed to tilt, the raw longing in Roseanne’s voice cutting through Y/N like a blade. She closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the table for support as waves of emotions crashed over her.

Memories surged, vivid and unrelenting.

She saw Roseanne standing in their kitchen, her hair tied back in a loose bun, laughing as she tried and failed to flip a pancake. She felt the warmth of Roseanne’s hands cupping her cheeks, the softness of her whispered reassurances on nights when Y/N doubted herself. She heard their shared laughter, the sound ringing in her ears like a melody she thought she’d forgotten.

But just as quickly, the memories turned darker, cutting deeper. She remembered the arguments, the way Roseanne’s voice would crack with frustration, and the empty space on the couch between them that seemed to grow wider with each passing day.

The next verse hit with a different intensity, each line unraveling another thread of Y/N’s carefully constructed resolve. “Tell me that you need me, tell me that I’m loved Tell me that I’m worth it, and that I’m enough”

Y/N’s fingers trembled against the table, her vision swimming with tears. Roseanne’s words felt like a mirror to everything she had longed to hear during their relationship, the words that could have bridged the growing distance between them but had always remained unspoken.

Her chest ached as she let the lyrics wash over her. The raw yearning in Roseanne’s voice wasn’t just an echo of the past. It was a reflection of Y/N’s own buried feelings, the ones she had been too scared to admit even to herself.

“I need it and I don’t know why This late at night”

A sob broke free from her chest, unbidden and raw. She pressed a hand to her mouth, as if to stifle the sound, but it was no use. Her tears fell freely now, each lyric prying open the wounds she had tried so desperately to heal.

The vulnerability in Roseanne’s voice was overwhelming. It wasn’t just a song. It was a plea, a confession, a love letter written in melodies and aching words. Y/N’s heart twisted painfully, caught between the sweetness of what they had shared and the bitterness of what they had lost.

By the time the bridge arrived, Roseanne’s voice softened into a near whisper, as if speaking directly to Y/N. “The girl in your eyes, the girl in your eyes Tell me I’m the number one girl I’m the number one girl in your eyes…”

Y/N clutched at her chest, the weight of the lyrics pressing down on her until it felt like she might break apart. The words echoed in her mind, intertwining with the memory of Roseanne’s gaze at the party, the vulnerability in her eyes, the quiet longing in her voice when she had said, “I miss you.”

As the final note faded, the silence that followed felt deafening. Y/N sat motionless, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breath. Her phone screen dimmed, leaving the room bathed in a faint glow, but the echoes of Roseanne’s voice lingered like a ghost, haunting and inescapable.

The lyrics repeated in her mind, intertwining with the memories she thought she had buried. “I’d give it all up if you told me that I’d be the number one girl in your eyes”

It was too much. The dam of emotions she had held back for so long had finally burst, and Y/N found herself sobbing into her hands, her tears falling hot and fast. Roseanne’s words, her voice, her love, they had stripped away every wall Y/N had built, leaving her raw and exposed.

Y/N stared at her phone, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breath. Roseanne’s message replayed in her mind “I wrote it for you. It says everything I wish I could say to you.”

A part of her wanted to ignore it, to leave the song and the emotions it stirred behind. But the truth was undeniable, she couldn’t escape the feelings she had buried, the love she had tried so hard to let go of.

She stood abruptly, pacing the length of her kitchen as her thoughts raced. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her mind replaying Roseanne’s voice over and over. She thought of the party a month ago, the way Roseanne had looked at her, the quiet vulnerability in her words.

Y/N stopped pacing, her breath uneven as she gripped her phone tightly. Her heart pounded in her chest, the echoes of Roseanne’s voice still ringing in her ears. She couldn’t avoid this anymore. She didn’t want to.

Her thumb hovered over her screen, trembling as she scrolled through her contacts. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, and for a moment, she hesitated, her finger pausing over Jennie’s name. What would she even say? The weight of everything she was feeling threatened to pull her under, but the thought of letting this moment slip away was unbearable.

She pressed the call button before she could talk herself out of it. The line rang twice, each chime a painful reminder of the enormity of what she was about to do.

Jennie’s voice came through, warm and tinged with curiosity. “Y/N? What’s going on?”

Y/N exhaled shakily, her words spilling out in a rush before she could second-guess them. “I need Roseanne’s address.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, the kind that felt heavy with unspoken questions. Jennie’s voice softened when she spoke again, now laced with concern. “Wait… What? Y/N, are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, her voice cracking as the vulnerability she’d been holding back spilled over. She ran a hand through her hair, the motion almost frantic as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. “I just… I need to see her, Jennie. Please.”

The words hung in the air, raw and desperate. Y/N’s chest ached with the weight of them, as if saying them aloud had made her emotions even more real.

Jennie sighed on the other end, her usual playfulness absent. Instead, her tone was calm, understanding. “Alright,” she said gently, her words like a lifeline. “Give me a minute, and I’ll send it to you.”

The line went dead, leaving Y/N alone in the silence of her apartment once more. She lowered the phone, her fingers trembling as she stared at it. A mix of fear and anticipation churned in her stomach. What would Roseanne say? Would she even want to see her?

A soft chime broke her thoughts, signaling Jennie’s text. The notification lit up her screen, and there it was. Roseanne’s address. Y/N stared at it for a moment, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.

She didn’t hesitate. The moment her resolve solidified, she grabbed her coat and keys from the counter. Her movements were hurried but deliberate, each step toward the door feeling like a step closer to something she couldn’t let slip away.

As she reached for the doorknob, a million thoughts raced through her mind, what she would say, what she hoped Roseanne might say, the fear that this might all backfire. But none of it mattered. She had to see her.

It was time to face Roseanne.

The drive to Roseanne’s apartment was a blur. Y/N barely registered the passing city lights or the soft hum of the radio. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, the weight of what lay ahead pressing down on her chest.

When Y/N arrived, she parked her car along the curb and turned off the engine. The street was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights that reflected off the sleek facade of the building. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white as she stared up at the familiar structure.

The sight of it brought a wave of bittersweet memories crashing over her, each one more vivid than the last. She remembered the first time she had stepped through those doors, her heart fluttering with nervous excitement as Roseanne had shyly handed her a set of keys. She remembered lazy Sunday mornings spent on the balcony with coffee and laughter, and quiet evenings where they had shared their dreams and fears in whispers.

But she also remembered the silence. The heavy, suffocating silence that had grown between them toward the end. The fights that left her feeling like a stranger in her own home. The day she had walked out for the last time, her heart breaking as she closed the door behind her.

Why would Roseanne still live here?

The question gnawed at her, twisting her stomach into knots. She had expected Roseanne to move on, to leave this place behind along with all the memories they had created together. It would have been easier, wouldn’t it? To start fresh somewhere else, away from the ghosts of what they used to be.

And yet, she was still here. In the apartment they had once called home.

The thought both comforted and unnerved Y/N. Did it mean Roseanne hadn’t let go either? Or was this just another sign of the emotional mess they had left behind, a mess Y/N wasn’t sure she was ready to face?

Her chest tightened as the lyrics to Roseanne’s song replayed in her mind, soft and haunting. “Tell me that you need me, tell me that I’m loved…”

A lump formed in her throat, and she blinked rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to spill. She had to pull herself together. Turning back wasn’t an option, not now.

With a deep, steadying breath, she pushed open the car door and stepped out into the cool night air.

The lobby was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the elevator. The familiar scent of the polished floors and the soft lighting triggered another wave of nostalgia. She hesitated as she reached for the elevator button, her hand trembling slightly.

What if this was a mistake?

The doors slid open with a soft chime, and she stepped inside, pressing the button for Roseanne’s floor. The ride felt interminable, each floor passing with a low hum that seemed to echo her racing heartbeat. Her reflection stared back at her in the polished metal doors, her wide eyes betraying the nerves she was trying to suppress.

Her thoughts raced as the elevator ascended. What would Roseanne say when she saw her? Would she be angry? Hurt? Would she even want to see her at all?

Y/N’s breath hitched as the elevator came to a stop. The doors slid open, and she stepped into the hallway. Her footsteps echoed softly against the carpeted floor as she approached Roseanne’s apartment.

When she finally reached the door, her breath caught.

She stared at it, her hand hovering just above the wood. Her chest tightened as a flood of memories washed over her.

This was once her home too. She could still remember the countless times she had walked through this door, arms full of groceries, laughing at one of Roseanne’s jokes. She remembered sneaking in quietly after a late night out, trying not to wake Roseanne, only to find her sitting on the couch, waiting with a teasing smile.

The familiarity of it all stirred a mix of dread and hope, a potent cocktail of emotions that left her feeling both exhilarated and terrified.

Her hand lingered over the door, her fingers trembling as she fought the urge to turn back. But then she thought of Roseanne’s voice, soft and vulnerable in her message. “I wrote it thinking of you. It says everything I wish I could say to you.”

Y/N closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she tried to steady herself.

With a shaky exhale, she finally knocked.

The seconds that followed felt like an eternity. Each heartbeat thundered in Y/N’s chest as she stood frozen, staring at the door. Then, she heard the faint shuffle of footsteps on the other side, the sound growing louder, closer. The door creaked open.

Roseanne stood there, her eyes widening in shock. She was dressed casually in an oversized sweater and leggings, her hair pulled back into a loose bun with a few stray strands framing her delicate face. She looked softer than Y/N had remembered, her usual polished elegance replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt heavy, electric, charged with surprise and the weight of everything left unsaid.

“Y/N,” Roseanne finally said, her voice soft and trembling, laced with disbelief. Her lips parted as though she wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.

Y/N’s breath caught. Seeing Roseanne this close again, seeing the faint shimmer in her eyes, the way her features softened with emotions she couldn’t hide, was almost too much. The lump in Y/N’s throat made it difficult to speak, her voice barely above a whisper as she managed, “I needed to see you.”

Her words hung in the air, tentative and raw.

Roseanne blinked, her lips pressing together for a moment before she stepped back, silently motioning for Y/N to come in. Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping over the threshold, her chest tightening as the familiar space enveloped her.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Roseanne turned slowly, her movements deliberate, as if trying to gather her composure. Her expression was a mix of confusion, hesitation, and vulnerability. Her voice trembled when she spoke. “Why now?” she asked, the faintest crack in her words betraying the storm beneath her calm.

Y/N’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the remnants of a life they had once shared. She finally looked back at Roseanne, her own chest tightening as the weight of the moment pressed down on her. “Because I heard your song,” she admitted, her voice raw, barely above a whisper. She took a shaky breath, her emotions spilling over as she continued, “And it made me realize I can’t keep running from this. From us.”

Roseanne’s breath hitched audibly, her eyes softening with a mix of relief and longing. “I wasn’t sure if I should send it,” she confessed, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides. “I didn’t even know if you’d listen.” Her voice broke slightly on the last word, and she quickly looked away, as if afraid of what Y/N might say next.

Y/N stepped closer, the storm of emotions inside her building with every second. Her voice was steadier now, though the tears threatening to fall betrayed the fragility beneath. “How could I not?” she asked, her gaze locking with Roseanne’s. “Rosie, that song…” She trailed off, shaking her head as tears began to well in her eyes. “It was everything I’ve been feeling. Everything I couldn’t say. Every word…” Her voice broke, and she lifted a hand to wipe at her cheek.

Roseanne’s composure cracked at the sight of Y/N’s tears. Her own eyes glistened as she whispered, “I never stopped loving you.” Her voice broke completely, her vulnerability laid bare. “I couldn’t let you go, Y/N. I tried, but I just couldn’t.”

The words hit Y/N like a tidal wave, each one crashing against the walls she had so carefully built around her heart. She inhaled sharply, her emotions finally spilling over. “Neither could I,” she admitted, her voice trembling as tears slid down her cheeks. “But, Rosie, we hurt each other so much. We broke each other.” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, the memories of their arguments and silences cutting deep.

“I know,” Roseanne said, her voice barely audible. She stepped closer, her hands trembling as she reached out tentatively, as if afraid Y/N might pull away. Her fingers brushed Y/N’s lightly before she looked up, her gaze filled with raw emotion. “Do you know why I never sold this place?”

Y/N shook her head slowly, her tears falling freely now.

“Because I couldn’t,” Roseanne confessed, her voice thick with emotion. Her hands trembled at her sides, and her eyes shone with tears she no longer tried to hide. Her voice broke as she continued, “It was the last thing that reminded me of you. Every corner, every shadow, it’s all you, Y/N. I couldn’t let go completely. I didn’t want to.”

The raw honesty in Roseanne’s words sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing through Y/N. Her chest tightened painfully, the magnitude of Roseanne’s confession wrapping around her like a vice. She saw it now, not just the apartment but the weight of two years’ worth of longing and grief that Roseanne had carried within these walls.

Y/N stepped closer, her own tears spilling over as her hand reached out, trembling as her fingers brushed against Roseanne’s. The warmth of the touch was both grounding and electrifying, a reminder of all they had been and all they could still be.

Her voice was soft, breaking with both love and sorrow. “Rosie, I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.” She paused, her breath catching. “But we’re not the same people we were two years ago. I’m not the same person who walked out that door.”

Roseanne nodded slowly, her gaze locked on Y/N’s as a tear slipped down her cheek. “I know,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. She swallowed hard, her next words laced with both desperation and determination. “But I’ll do anything to make this work. Anything, Y/N. I’ll leave the industry if I have to. I’ll give it all up for you.” Her voice cracked on the last word, her vulnerability laid bare. She hesitated, her lips trembling before she added, “You’re the love of my life.”

Y/N’s breath hitched at the sheer sincerity in Roseanne’s voice. Her chest ached with the weight of it, her heart swelling and breaking all at once. She shook her head, her voice firm but gentle. “Don’t be stupid, Rosie. I don��t want you to give up your dreams. That’s not what this is about.”

Roseanne’s brows furrowed, confusion and frustration flickering across her face. She let out a soft, shuddering breath as her hands fidgeted at her sides. “Then what is it about?” she asked, her voice rising slightly with desperation. “Tell me what I need to do, Y/N. Please.”

Y/N took another step closer, their hands brushing again as she steadied herself. She met Roseanne’s gaze, her own eyes filled with unshed tears, and spoke with a steadiness she hadn’t known she was capable of. “It’s about us,” she said softly, the weight of the words heavy between them. “It’s about us trying again. But only if we promise to try as hard as we can. To be better. To communicate better. To really be there for each other this time.”

Roseanne stared at her, the tears on her cheeks catching the soft light of the room. She nodded quickly, her lips trembling as a sob broke free. “I’ll try,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “I’ll do anything, Y/N. I swear. Just… just don’t walk away again.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart pounding as she closed the remaining distance between them. She cupped Roseanne’s face in her hands, her touch gentle yet firm, anchoring them both in the moment. “You’re the love of my life too, Rosie,” she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. “And I want us to have a second chance. I need us to have a second chance.”

Roseanne leaned into Y/N’s touch, her tears mingling with a soft, shaky laugh that sounded like relief and joy all at once. “I won’t let you down this time,” she promised, her voice trembling but steady.

Y/N smiled through her tears, the weight of her emotions making her chest feel both heavy and impossibly light at the same time. Her heart ached, not with pain but with a bittersweet mix of hope and love that surged through her like a tide. She took a hesitant step closer, then another, until the distance between them was gone, her movements careful yet certain.

Her gaze lingered on Roseanne’s face, drinking in every detail, the glistening trail of tears on her cheeks, the way her lips trembled with unspoken emotion, the soft vulnerability in her eyes that mirrored everything Y/N felt.

Roseanne’s breath hitched as Y/N thumb swept gently across her skin, wiping away a tear that had just begun to fall. Roseanne leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as if savoring the warmth and familiarity.

“Rosie,” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling but filled with quiet conviction. Her other hand found its way to Roseanne’s waist, her touch light but grounding, as though she needed to anchor herself in this moment. “I’m here. I’m really here.”

Roseanne’s eyes opened, shimmering with unshed tears, and a small, breathless laugh escaped her lips. “You are,” she murmured, her voice breaking with equal parts disbelief and relief.

Y/N smiled again, her own tears spilling over as she closed the final gap between them. Her lips met Roseanne’s in a kiss that was as soft as it was intense, a tender connection charged with the weight of everything they had been through.

The world seemed to fall away as they melted into each other, the kiss carrying all the emotions they couldn’t put into words. It was an apology, a promise, a plea for forgiveness and a vow to try again, all wrapped into a single moment.

Y/N’s hand moved from Roseanne’s cheek to the back of her neck, her fingers threading gently through the loose strands of hair as she deepened the kiss. Roseanne responded instantly, her hands coming up to rest on Y/N’s shoulders, pulling her closer as if afraid to let her go.

Their breaths mingled, warm and uneven, as the kiss lingered. It wasn’t hurried or frantic, it was deliberate, filled with the kind of love that had never truly left them, even in their time apart.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other’s, their breaths coming in soft, shaky exhales. Y/N let out a quiet laugh, a sound that was equal parts relief and joy, her eyes still glistening with tears.

“You’re everything to me, Rosie,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “And this… this feels like coming home.”

Roseanne’s lips curved into a trembling smile, her eyes shining with love as she whispered back, “You are my home, Y/N. You always have been.”

“You’ll always have been and always will be my number one girl,” Y/N murmured, her voice filled with warmth and love.

Roseanne's eyes were shining with the same emotion. “And you’ll always be mine.”

They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other’s presence, the air between them charged with the promise of a new beginning.

The morning sun filtered through the windows of Roseanne’s apartment, casting warm, golden light across the living room. Y/N stood in the kitchen, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, the comforting aroma filling the air. The space felt alive again, less like a shell of old memories and more like a place where something new could grow.

Roseanne’s voice echoed faintly from the bedroom as she hummed a soft tune, her guitar resting on her lap. Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she listened, the sound stirring a warmth in her chest she hadn’t felt in a long time.

A soft scratching noise at the door interrupted her thoughts, and Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. It was a sound she knew all too well.

“Rosie,” she called out, setting her mug down on the counter. “Did you hear that?”

Roseanne’s humming stopped, and moments later, she appeared in the doorway, her expression already softening. “Oh,” she said, her voice tinged with surprise and a smile tugging at her lips. “That must be Hank.”

Y/N’s breath caught as Roseanne moved to the door, her movements fluid and familiar. When she opened it, Alice stood on the other side, holding Hank’s leash. The little dog was already bouncing excitedly, his tail wagging furiously.

Alice glanced at Y/N, her eyes widening briefly before a knowing grin spread across her face. “Oh,” she said, her tone teasing. “Y/N. You’re here.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, but Alice didn’t linger, her voice brisk as she handed over the leash. “Later, Rosie, I want details. Everything. But I’ve got to go. I’m running late!”

Roseanne laughed, rolling her eyes affectionately as Alice gave her a quick hug and a pointed look before rushing down the hall, Rosie calling her back, “Thank you for taking care of him!”

The door closed, and the apartment fell silent again. Hank, however, was anything but calm. The moment he spotted Y/N, he froze, his tail pausing mid-wag as his dark eyes locked onto her.

“Hank,” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. She crouched down instinctively, her hands outstretched as the dog’s tail began wagging furiously.

With an excited bark, Hank bolted toward her, his little body vibrating with enthusiasm. Y/N laughed through her tears as he jumped into her arms, his paws pressing against her chest as he licked her face.

“Hey, buddy,” she said, her voice breaking as she hugged him tightly. “I missed you so much.”

Roseanne leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest, watching the reunion with a smile that was equal parts fondness and relief. “I wasn’t sure if he’d remember you,” she said softly.

Y/N looked up at her, tears streaming down her cheeks as Hank nestled into her arms. “How could he forget?” she said, her voice thick with emotion. She scratched behind Hank’s ears, her gaze shifting back to the little dog who was now happily curled against her.

Roseanne stepped closer, crouching down beside them. She reached out to ruffle Hank’s fur, her hand brushing against Y/N’s in the process. Their eyes met briefly, and the shared emotion in the moment said more than words ever could.

“Hank’s missed you,” Roseanne said quietly, her voice warm. “He hasn’t been the same since you left.”

Y/N pressed her lips together, her heart aching at the thought. “I missed him too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I missed everything.”

Roseanne’s hand lingered on Hank’s fur, her fingers brushing Y/N’s again. “Well,” she said, her voice steady but filled with tenderness, “you don’t have to miss it anymore. You’re here now.”

The words settled between them, a quiet promise of the new life they were building together. Hank let out a contented sigh, curling up against Y/N’s lap as if to say he wasn’t letting her go again either.

Y/N leaned her head against Roseanne’s shoulder, her tears falling freely now, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of hope, of love, and of finally finding her way back home.

The brisk chill of January had settled over Seoul, bringing with it the magic of a new year. The streets were lined with faintly glowing lights, and a dusting of snow covered the sidewalks like a soft, white blanket. The world seemed quieter, more reflective, as if everyone were holding their breath for what the future might bring.

Y/N adjusted the hem of her coat as she stepped into Jennie’s home, the warmth of the interior immediately enveloping her. She looked over at Roseanne, whose hand was intertwined with hers, and felt a familiar surge of emotion she hadn’t yet grown used to, love, steady and unwavering, filling the spaces she had once thought were irreparably broken.

Jennie greeted them with a grin as wide as the moon, her dark eyes sparkling with delight. “There they are!” she exclaimed, her voice cutting through the hum of conversation in the room. “Our favorite reunited couple!”

Y/N laughed softly, cheeks flushing as Roseanne gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, don’t make it weird,” Y/N teased, but Jennie was already pulling them into a warm hug, one arm around each of their shoulders.

“I’m just happy to see you both like this,” Jennie said, her voice softer now as she stepped back. She gave them a knowing look, her gaze flicking between them. “It’s about time, isn’t it?”

Roseanne smiled, her cheeks tinged pink, but she didn’t let go of Y/N’s hand. “It is,” she said simply, and the way she looked at Y/N made Jennie’s knowing expression turn into a broad, satisfied grin.

The party was intimate, filled with close friends who were eager to celebrate Jennie’s birthday. Familiar faces mingled throughout the room. The atmosphere was warm and lively, the clinking of glasses and soft bursts of laughter weaving a comforting backdrop.

Y/N noticed the glances at first, brief, curious looks from friends who hadn’t seen her and Roseanne together in years. But as the evening went on, those glances turned into warm smiles, nods of approval, and even a few heartfelt words of support.

“You two look good together,” Jihyo said at one point, her tone light but genuine.

“Thank you,” Y/N replied, her smile shy but radiant as she glanced at Roseanne, who returned her look with a fondness that made her chest flutter.

Roseanne stayed close by her side throughout the evening, her hand finding Y/N’s every so often in a small, grounding gesture. It was subtle but reassuring, a silent promise that they were in this together.

As the night wore on, they found themselves sitting together on the couch, sharing quiet laughs as they watched Jennie cut her cake. The warmth in the room felt like a reflection of their own hearts, fragile yet hopeful.

Later that night, Y/N and Roseanne returned to Roseanne’s apartment, their steps slow and unhurried as they shed their coats and boots. The quiet of the space was a welcome reprieve from the liveliness of the party, and the faint glow of the city lights outside painted the room in soft hues.

They made their way to the bedroom, the familiar coziness wrapping around them like an embrace. Y/N slipped under the covers, her body instantly relaxing against the warmth of the sheets. Roseanne joined her moments later, their movements fluid and practiced, as though they had never spent two years apart.

The quiet was companionable, filled with the unspoken understanding that had grown between them in the weeks since they had reconciled. Y/N turned onto her side, facing Roseanne, whose soft features were illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the window.

“I’m glad we went tonight,” Y/N said softly, her voice breaking the silence.

“Me too,” Roseanne replied, her gaze steady as she reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from Y/N’s face. Her touch lingered, her fingers tracing a gentle line along Y/N’s cheek.

Y/N caught her hand, holding it against her face as her eyes searched Roseanne’s. “Do you think this time will be different?” she asked, her voice quiet but tinged with vulnerability.

Roseanne nodded, her expression earnest. “I know it will be,” she said, her tone firm but warm. “Because we’re different now. We’ve learned what it means to really love someone, and I think we’re finally ready to do it the right way.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten, not with sadness but with the overwhelming weight of Roseanne’s sincerity. “I want that too,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “I want us to keep growing. To be better. Together.”

Roseanne smiled, her eyes shimmering as she leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Y/N’s forehead. “We will,” she whispered, her voice filled with quiet determination. “I promise you, Y/N. We’ll keep fighting for this. For us.”

Y/N nodded, her tears spilling over as she smiled through them. She tightened her hold on Roseanne’s hand, their fingers lacing together in a silent vow.

They lay like that for a while, their hands clasped between them, their gazes steady as they talked softly about their future. They spoke of dreams, small ones, big ones, and everything in between. Y/N confessed her fears, and Roseanne countered them with reassurances. Roseanne shared her hopes, and Y/N listened with an open heart, letting each word settle deep inside her.

As the night wore on, their words grew quieter, their breaths slowing in unison. They didn’t need grand gestures or elaborate promises. This moment, their hands intertwined, their hearts aligned, was enough.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ breathe your name ♡

♡ Pairing: best man!hyunjin x bride!chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: angst/fluff

♡ Summary: It's the day of your lavish wedding. Everything's set in place. From the dress you wear to the aisle you're walking down, everything's picture perfect. At least you're able to pretend it is until the appearance of a particular wedding guest in your dressing room brings up feelings that you can't ignore. Will you be able to bury your past to get through this day or will you find yourself drawn back into the arms of thet man you swore you'd never speak to again?

♡ Word Count: 3.7k

♡ Warnings: mentions of an affair that you definitely had with Hyunjin. a lil make out session. mentions of sex. but other than that? none (shortest warnings list I've probably ever written. oh my gosh).

♡ A/N: This is what happens when you leave me alone with an Adele playlist. Anyway, I hope you have fun at your wedding. It's gonna be...interesting, babes xoxo

There’s something some girls spend their entire lives dreaming of. Wishing, even praying, for. 

The perfect wedding. 

And you have it. 

The picturesque church nestled in the heart of a gorgeous historical district. It costs more than some people’s mortgage to rent this place for a few hours. The simple act of laying eyes on it starts knocking numbers off of your bank account. The celebrity planner who's been on the cover of wedding magazines and worked tirelessly to make sure today’s an occasion people will talk about for years to come. The gorgeously crafted white dress, custom sewn and beaded for your special day. It accentuates every delicate contour of your figure perfectly. Like everything else here. So perfect. 

“Smile a little, babe. This is the happiest day of your life!” your makeup artist giggles, applying the finishing touches to your lipstick. 

Seated in front of a mirror in the church’s dressing room, you nervously toy with your diamond bracelet and force a faint smile. All you can manage under the circumstances. 

“It might be raining out there” she hums, her gaze drifting over to the gloomy sky looming beyond the stained glass windows, “But you, my dear, are pure sunshine.” 

She circles behind you, gentle hands resting on your bare shoulders. “So, what do you think?” she asks, fussing with a few flyaway hairs that managed to sneak their way out of your updo. 

You take a deep breath and summon all of your courage to face what you’ve been running from all day. Your own reflection. “It’s beautiful” you lie, your smile beginning to waver as your stomach audibly turns. 

She shouldn’t be here. No one should. Not your family. Not your friends. Certainly not you. This is not the best day of your life. This is a mistake. You’ve known that for a while now and have been biding your time ever since waiting for the right moment to fix it. But the moment never came and time, as it does, ran out. Your fiance’s proposal had been accepted out of spite. It didn’t matter at the time that you were giving yourself away to a cruel, narcissistic man whose greatest joy in life is that he can use his daddy’s money to buy who and what he wants. 

What mattered was that the man you truly loved, the one your heart pines for even now, had broken your heart and you needed to break his. A mission that the announcement of your engagement flawlessly accomplished but was it worth it? Was any of this worth it? Your heart sinks to your stomach as if weighed down by cement bricks, heavy with the knowledge that it wasn’t. 

Your makeup artist sees it on your face. The sorrow. The regret. A sudden tapping at the door diverts any attempt she might’ve made to question you. She turns to answer the door but there’s no need. A figure in black is already entering the room, filling the air with a cologne you once spent endless passionate nights inhaling. Without thinking you breathe it deep into your lungs, savoring it even as you despise the appearance of the man it emanates from. 

“You must be lost. The groom’s room is down the hall on the left” your makeup artist frowns, waving the man in the designer suit away. 

The corners of his lips quirk into something that’s not quite a smile but pleasant enough to be mistaken for one. “No, I’m not lost. I just need a second with her. I won’t be long” he insists, advancing towards you with a confidence you find both irritating and irresistible.

That was Hyunjin for you. So charming. So graceful. So handsome. So much of everything that you can hardly stomach him. You crave his touch on every inch of your body and want him to get lost all at the same time. 

You clear your throat, patting your makeup artist on the back of the hand, “It’s fine. If anyone asks, just let them know I need a moment please.”

Hesitantly she nods and makes her way out of the room, all the while keeping a skeptical eye on Hyunjin who takes her place behind you. He fusses with the same hairs, successfully finding an excuse to touch any part of you. 

Hyunjin sighs, head tilted to the side. He pokes his bottom lip out, releasing a huff of air that blows his long dark hair free of his line of vision. Now he can see you perfectly, unobstructed, and his eyes light up at you the way they always have. “You look like an angel” he smiles and it’s genuine this time, no matter how badly you wish it weren’t. His fingertips brush your ears and your body’s flush with heat in an instant. You always despised it, how little it takes for Hyunjin to get a reaction out of you. 

“What do you want?” you snap, your tone unforgiving. The way you look at him, it’s as if you hate him. Why? Hyunjin knows why. He can’t deny that he deserves it for what he’s done—for what he’s come here to do. His hands drift along the outline of your face. They skim your cheek too lightly to disturb your makeup but you feel his touch still.

“Leave” you demand, drawing in a sharp breath at the sensation, “I don’t want you here.” The power behind your request is not existent. Rather than come out threatening, laced with conviction, your words are nothing more than a whisper. If you had to rely on them to push him out of the door he wouldn’t move an inch. 

Hyunjin leans into your ears, his eyes not once leaving the mirror where they remain locked with yours in a gaze brimming with enough heat to burn down everything around you. “I’ll leave but only if that’s what you truly want” he whispers, gently placing a warm hand to the soft skin of your chest.

Your heart picks up a speed only he can make it race at. The feeling’s a comfort to him. It’s the knowledge that even after all that happened you still feel what he does. There’s a fondness there that can’t be buried, it’ll always find its way back to the surface, but there’s something else too. Something he’s been able to hide from until this moment. You’re broken. Over the past few months you’ve done everything to pretend that you weren’t but you are and the pain has your eyes swelling with tears even as you fight to hold them at bay. 

“Fuck you, Hyunjin!” you shout, bolting up from your chair just in time for a few tears to escape, “Since when have you ever cared what I truly want? It’s always been about you. All this will ever be about is you.” 

Your anger’s boiling, hot tears staining your cheeks as you pace the floor. Usually on her wedding day a bride sheds tears of joy for her husband at the altar yet here you are full on weeping in front of his best man. Speechless, Hyunjin reaches out to grab your arm but you pull away from him, backing yourself into the furthest corner of the room. 

“I don’t know why you’re here. I gave you everything and it wasn’t enough. What else do you want?”

Hyunjin watches you for a moment, letting your words flow through his veins like a poison of his own making. “I never said it wasn’t enough…”

“Oh, you never said it?” you scoff, “You’re right, you just said, ‘I can’t do this anymore’ and then acted like nothing ever happened.”

“I was trying to do the right thing.”

“If that was ‘the right thing’ then what do you call this?” 

You await an answer, hoping that for once he might have something worthwhile to say, but you’re met with silence. The same silence he’s offered you every day since he broke your heart. “

Typical” you mumble to yourself, returning to the vanity in a desperate search for tissues. Maybe if you grab them soon enough you can preserve some of what your makeup artist worked tirelessly to achieve. Drying your eyes you catch a glimpse of Hyunjin and for a fleeting moment he seems deflated, like he has something resembling feelings, but you made the mistake of believing that before and you can’t let yourself be fooled by it again. 

Hyunjin’s chest tightens, every breath beginning to feel like hard labor. There’s something he’s been holding inside too and it’s aching to come out, it won’t let him breathe until it does. “You’re right, all this was ever about was me, but I never thought you weren’t enough. I loved you, I love you, I was just afraid you still loved him.”

Tossing your tissues aside, you turn to face him, arms folded across your chest. “You were afraid I still loved him when I was in your bed everyday?”

“And you crawled back into his every night” he says, a hint of bitterness slipping out, “I knew you’d leave him for me but for how long? I thought that if I ended things…if I told you to be with him instead you’d be happier.”

You take a deep breath, doing a regal twirl for him in your wedding dress, “Do I look happier without you?”

Hyunjin feels a tear wet his cheek and it stuns him, he hadn’t felt it coming yet there it is. “Do I look happier without you?” he shoots back, closing the distance between the two of you. “I know I’m the one who told you to stay but I can’t…I can’t stand there and let you marry him. He doesn’t treat you like you deserve to be treated. He can’t love you the way that I love you.”

Pinned against the table, his body too solidly planted to move, there’s nowhere for you to run to escape the truth. He slips his arms around your waist, bringing you into his chest with little concern to the mascara threatening to stain his dress shirt. You let your head rest there and for a moment you can pretend that you’re somewhere else. Back at his apartment maybe, like all those times before, cuddled up against him on the couch talking about nothing as the hours melted away. You always felt so at peace there, so protected. 

“They’re almost ready for you, darling!” a voice rings out as the door swings back open. The two of you scatter in opposite directions, unable to face one of your bridesmaids as she hurries into the room. She stops dead in her tracks, unsure what she’s walked into but positive it’s nothing good. 

“Everything good in here?” she asks, digging for the truth where you wish she wouldn’t. 

“Everything’s fine” you swear, painting on that forced smile again, “He was just leaving. Isn’t that right, Hyunjin?” 

Hyunjin looks to you, unsure what to do. He can’t stay and fight for you, not in front of your bridesmaid, but what happens if he leaves? He has no choice but to see. “Yeah, I was just leaving, uh, good luck with everything.” 

Your head drops as he dips back out into the hallway, leaving you to pick up the pieces all on your own but you can’t be mad at him, not for that. This is as much of your mess to clean up as it is his, if not moreso. You wish you could go back in time and do things differently but you can’t change the past and you can’t change what’s coming. Outside of that door hundreds of people are waiting for you. Your fiance’s waiting for you. The time for wishing has passed. It’s too late. 

A city bus whips through the rain slicked streets, settling as it pulls up to the only bus stop for 15 minutes in either direction. Outside a small crowd of people forms a line, hidden under the cover of jackets or umbrellas. The weather mentioned a chance of light rain but it’s pouring hard enough to make an umbrella almost useless. The second the bus doors swing open they’re piling inside, rushing to pay their fare and escape the downpour. As they settle in their seats the bus driver readies himself to close the door and truck along to the next stop. 

“Wait!” you shout, bolting through the rain to catch him before he peels off. 

Luckily he stops, the sight of you likely being the highlight of his day. You’re standing in front of the bus stop in a wedding dress soaking wet with your heels in one hand and a small clutch in the other. You probably should’ve attempted to grab an umbrella, a jacket, something before you got here but when you’re darting out of a church on your wedding day you don’t particularly have time to raid the lost and found for survival supplies. 

Completely out of breath, you climb onto the bus, attempting to wedge your toes back into your slippery shoes. “I’m sorry for holding you up sir but where does this bus go?”

“What are you doing?” Hyunjin’s calls from somewhere in the distance. 

You peek off of the bus, spotting him not too far away. Your blood runs cold. If he knows where you are, who else does? There’s no time to find out. 

“Nevermind” you say to the bus driver, fishing your fare out of your purse. 

You pay for your ride and scurry to the back of the bus, flopping down into your seat. You’re in a panic, attempting to bring yourself down from the rush of anxiety that came from bolting the second your bridesmaid turned her head. It’s a difficult feat when all eyes are on you. You do your best to appear normal, play it off like any other day, but this isn’t any other day. Everyone can see that.

Their curiosity piques even more when Hyunjin hops on the bus, frantically paying before scanning the seats to find you. A sweet old lady points to the back and Hyunjin rushes towards you, heaving for air as he takes the seat beside you. The bus doors finally close, plodding down the street as the two of you sit at the back like two soggy Barbie dolls. 

Staring out of the window, you watch the world pass you by, finding an odd comfort in the growing space between you and that church. There’s something therapeutic about leaving that place and everyone in it behind. Well, almost everyone. You can’t bring yourself to look at Hyunjin but he’s looking at you. Only at you. He watches you without expectations. There’s no pressure to speak, not even to acknowledge him, he only cares that you’re here and that he’s with you. Placing a hand on your knee, he shifts his attention to his own window, zoning out as the cars whoosh past, splashing rain onto the windows. You sit like this for the rest of the ride, trapped in your own worlds and tethered to each other’s all at the same time.

Everyone else must be searching for you right now. It’s likely that at first no one thought much of it. Someone would’ve suggested that you hadn’t heard the cue or might have run to the bathroom at the last minute. They would’ve sent your bridesmaids to search for you and the groomsmen next. Before long everyone would be in a panic trying to find you. You wonder how long it must’ve taken for them to notice that Hyunjin was missing too. It’s possible that they haven’t even asked that question yet, in too much of a frenzy to find you to think of it but when they do… 

The bus comes to a sudden stop, bringing you back to earth where Hyunjin stands over you tugging at your hand. “Come on, this is our stop.” 

You ask no questions, allowing him to guide you off of the bus and out onto a street corner you slowly begin to recognize. The rain has let up to a light sprinkle, the fresh post rain air a welcome change to the stuffiness of the bus. Looking around you spot a familiar restaurant. It’s the same one you used to grab breakfast from before heading to Hyunjin’s in the morning. Across the street is the park he’d take you to for picnics where you’d sit listening to music while he sketched the landscape in his notebook. His place is only a couple of minutes from here, you could find it with your eyes closed, but you let him lead the way, flashing an awkward smile at strangers whose gazes linger on you along the way.

Hyunjin keeps his hand glued to yours the entire time, not letting it go even as you climb the stairs leading to his apartment. Circumstances aside, it feels nice to have your hand in his again. The sex between you was amazing, each time more memorable than the last, but that wasn’t what he missed the most when you were apart. It was warming your hand with his on a cold day or feeling your noses brush when you kissed. The tiny things people take for granted until they lose them. 

“Wait here” he says once you’re inside, disappearing down the hall and abandoning you to the silence of the living room. 

The place is exactly as you remembered it. The black tufted couch with the fluffy purple star plushie on it. That guitar propped up in the corner that he swore he’d play for you one day but never got the chance to. Bookcases lined with everything from his precious manga to paint stained art history books. Art supplies scattered across the coffee table, a vase of fresh sunflowers positioned at the center.

You’re taken in by all of the new paintings. They’re darker than what he used to make and you try not to linger too much on the reason why. Hyunjin emerges from one of the rooms with a bundle of towels tucked under his arm. He wastes no time making his way back to you, tossing one over your head before you can react. 

“Hyunjin” you giggle as he dries you off like a puppy he’s just given a bath. Your hair goes everywhere, the tiny flower clips throughout it clanking as they fall free and hit the oak wood floors. 

He can’t contain his own laughter at how cute you are with your nose scrunched up like that, your laughter filling these walls for the first time in what seems to be an eternity. “What? I’m helping.” 

“You call this helping?” you pout, snatching a towel and giving him the same treatment he gave you. 

“Ouch, you’re gonna snap my neck!” he whines, twisting free of you. He runs to the other side of the room and you chase after him, draping the towel over his head and wildly tossing his hair around with it. 

“What? I’m helping” you mock. 

Hyunjin grabs you by the wrists, holding you in place, but your fingers still wiggle against his scalp and it tickles. “Stop it” he whispers, bringing you in close enough to watch the pink tint of his cheeks deepen. He says it like a dare masquerading as a threat and you’ve never been a girl opposed to taking Hyunjin’s bait. 

“Or what?”

He turns your wrists loose, hands dropping down to cradle your face in his palms. The surprise of the contact makes your body tense but that only lasts for so long. In the blink of an eye you’re melting into his touch, a low hum of electricity buzzing through you from head to toe. Hyunjin takes a deep breath, staring into your eyes like he’s falling head first into your starry orbs. “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

It’s not a question as much as it is a notice. His lips crash into yours, stealing the air from your lungs to fuel his. This isn’t this kiss you remember. It’s sweeter—deeper. Dripping with enough longing that you can taste it. Your hands traverse each other’s bodies like weary travelers in desperate search of home. A home that’s your fingertips pressed against his chest, tearing at the soaked material of his shirt. A home that’s his hands hungrily devouring your figure through your dress. You’re two planets colliding, every piece of one scattered throughout the other. Neither of you have ever wanted anything this badly. Nothing in this whole wide world. 

“Hyunjin, wait” you somehow manage with his tongue still swirling around yours. You pry your lips free, tempted by how dangerously close to his they remain. “Are we really doing this? Are we…”

“We’re doing this but only if you want it. Do you?” he says softly, tracing the zipper of your dress. 

Your body arches into him, a trail of fire left in the wake of his fingertips. “I do but first there’s something I need to do.” 

“Something like what?” he asks and you catch seeds of panic blooming on that handsome face. 

You pet his chest to soothe his worries, “Something I should’ve done a long time ago. I saw your car when we came in. Can I borrow it? Pretty please?”

Hyunjin studies your expression, doing his best to decipher exactly what’s going through your pretty little head. But he can’t say no to you, that’s never been a strength of his. Digging through his pockets, he finds his keys and holds them out to you, only to snatch them back at the last second. “Come back to me…for good this time.” With that he hands the keys over, stealing one more kiss before you head for the door. 

Stopping in the doorway, you turn back to steal another glance at him. “For the record there was never any competition. It was always you.”

Hyunjin quirks his head at you, grinning as he nibbles at his bottom lip. “And it was always you. Always will be.”

[reminiscingtonight]

Make It Better

Leah Williamson x Reign!Reader

Word Count: 591

A/N: Just a short blurb because I'm sad and apparently I like writing when I'm sad

[WOSO Masterlist]

You’re sitting on mahogany seats when she calls. 

Your head’s dropped down against your hands, a duffle bag thrown on the floor underneath your feet.

You’re tired and cold and just so fucking sad when she calls.

“I just saw what happened. What can I do to help?”

What can I do to help. Not are you okay or any attempts at consoling you. 

What can I do to help.

Because Leah’s a footballer just like you. She knows exactly how it feels to lose a championship game. To be so close to achieving your dreams and then having them crumble to dust right in front of you.

You wipe roughly at the tear trekking down your cheek. Your face hurts from the number of times you’ve wiped at your face the past couple hours.

You know Leah can hear you silently crying over the phone. You try to keep it quiet, but your girlfriend knows you almost better than you know yourself.

The people around you pretend not to stare but you can still feel their gaze occasionally sweeping past you. You must be a sight to see, red eyes, stuffy nose, oversized t-shirt and sweatpants on, traces of grass still sticking to your arms from where you missed them earlier.

“Can you give me a hug?”

There’s only one thing that would make you feel better. Spending the majority of the year away from your girlfriend sucks, but not being able to feel her arms around you, breath tickling your skin as she murmurs how much she loves you, especially after a hard fought lost like today, just makes the distance hit even worse.

“I’ll give you as many hugs as I can when I see you next.”

Tipping your head back, you finally let the headrest do its job and let the chair support your body. You all but sink into the chair, hand tightening its grip against the phone pressed to your ear.

“I miss you,” you murmur, trying to focus on the sounds you can hear through the phone.

There’s some rustling as you assume Leah is settling back against her bed. You feel guilty that she’s calling you with how early it is in England, but the selfish part of you doesn’t want her to go.

Leah also doesn’t seem like she’s in any rush to leave, as you hear her soft hum over the line. “I miss you too. When is your flight out?”

A soft smile rises to your lips at the knowledge that Leah still thinks you’re in San Diego. You slip open an eye, taking note of the various conditions of the passengers around you, many having earplugs and eye masks over their eyes as they brave the late-night flight over to London.

“I’ll be home for dinner.”

You can practically hear how wide Leah’s smile gets. God you couldn’t wait until you could see that gorgeous smile in person. 

“You might have to settle for confectionery stand hotdogs, darling.”

You can already picture it. You wrapped in Arsenal red, Leah’s arms snug tight around you. A small hotdog and drink in hand as you watch her team play in their own league game.

So similar to how your first date went.

As well as many others that followed.

“I can’t wait. It’s a date.”

And when the clock strikes 7 in Leicester, the sting from your championship loss hasn’t faded yet, but wrapped up in the arms of Leah Williamson, finally home at last, you know everything will be alright.

[ninibeingdelulu]

heyy could you write any headcannons you have in mind about Levi in a “relationship” with one of his female scout? Whatever you have in mind cuz i like the way you picture him

headcanons ft. levi ackerman

a/n: hii ty for requesting I LOVE this

At first, dating humanity's strongest and most renowned soldier feels utterly surreal. You go through bouts of imposter syndrome wondering how someone as incredible as Captain Levi could desire an ordinary scout like yourself.

His icy demeanor and prickly standoffishness in public make it easy to forget the softer side he only allows you to witness behind closed doors.

Levi is an incredibly private person, so keeping your blossoming relationship on the down-low is a must around the scout regiment.

No overt PDA or unprofessional doting - he maintains strict boundaries while on duty. Only in fleeting moments does the faintest hint of tenderness shine through his steely facade directed solely at you.

Perhaps his hand lingers electric against the small of your back as you salute and depart his office after filing reports. Or you notice his piercing gaze following your movements a beat longer than necessary across the grounds.

Each covert caress and weighted look reminds you this guarded man longs for you just as desperately.

While out beyongdthe safety of the walls, however, a transformed sort of protectiveness takes over Levi. His hyper-awareness of your positioning and safety borders on smotheringly paranoid at times.

He simply cannot fathom losing one of the few tethers still binding his soul to living.

You've lost count of the number of times Levi has abruptly extracted you from the heat of battle using his ODM gear like a ragdoll - eyes blazing with frantic fear.

Only once you're tucked away in some temporary haven does he finally allow himself to cup your face tenderly, scanning you over for injuries through trembling palms.

Harsh words laced with worry always tumble from his lips during these fraught reunions. "Foolish brat...always taking unnecessary risks...would never forgive myself if—"

Whatever self-recriminations Levi begins spitting will instantly evaporate as you surge up on your tiptoes to silence him with a searing kiss. Your reassurances that you're perfectly unharmed gradually smooth down those worry-lines etched across his brow.

Assuming you survive each expedition unscathed, Levi becomes almost insatiable for your affection whenever your boots hit headquarters ground again.

As if proximity to death's cold embrace reignites the urgency to savor every possible second with his greatest source of warmth and comfort.

He'll stride directly up to wherever you're stationed, seize you by the elbow and all but frog-march you both down the halls to his personal quarters.

Once the door bangs shut, Levi finally releases that ragged groan you've come to recognize as pooled tension seeping out like a valve opening.

All it takes is your delicate fingertips cradling his face and lips seeking out the jump of his pulse in that elegant throat...and suddenly you find yourself pinned flat against the nearest wall.

Every sacred inch of your body abruptly scorched and worshipped with ardent, possessive fervor.

Long after the afterglow of your frantic lovemaking has faded to drowsy embers, Levi's stormy gaze still rakes over you with mingled awe and disbelief.

As if whatever deity charged with spinning the threads of this cruel world saw fit to weave this small but brilliant spark of solace into the tapestry of his life.

Each time he rediscovers you lying sated and tousled beside him, you become the gravity lashing his heart into orbit anew.

On nights when memories of carnage past seep like toxic fumes into blacking out his dreams, Levi clings tighter to your sleeping form than he's ever dared to anything else.

You are his lighthouse, hearth and sanctuary against the darkness continually attempting to extinguish his faltering flames.

Enduring the loss of so many admired comrades has made your captain extraordinarily skilled at donning an impenetrable mask.

Only when your hands and lips and limbs entangle with his does Levi's stillness gradually erode back into the fiery embers burning hot at his very core.

No words need transpire for him to silently thank you time after time for slicing through the ice barricading his war-torn soul.

One look from those stormy greys conveys everything he can never find the breath to articulate before crushing you tight against his rapidly thundering heart once more.

[ln444]

1D songs as f1 drivers prompts

included: lando norris, oscar piastri, charles leclerc, carlos sainz, lewis hamilton, george russell, max verstappen.

cw: slight angst.

note: i spent days making this omg 😭 i'm so glad it's finally out bc i'm a huge fan of one direction's songs (had my directioner era lol) i really hope you guys enjoy it ! also i was thinking about making it a serie, let me know if you're interested by any of the prompts !

click on the title to play the song!

_________________________________________________

lando norris ☆ stole my heart (bestfriends in love)

“under the lights tonight, you turned around and you stole my heart with just one look, when i saw your face, i fell in love„

lando really tried. he attempted to bury his feelings as deeply as he could, but you make it so difficult. the way you're the only one who laughs at his silly jokes, the way you try not to miss any of his races (and send him a good luck text when you can't be there), the way you randomly smile down at him – he could talk about everything you do for hours because he loves and knows every single details about you. sometimes he hates how you make him feel because he just wants to say, 'fuck it,' and kiss you for hours and hours. he can't even count the number of times he's thought about kissing you or the countless times the three words almost slipped out of his mouth out of nowhere. but the thought of losing you forever hold him back everytime, he can't even imagine his life without you. he doesn't know how, but lando has fallen for you, really, really hard and it just keeps going, he just can't get enough of you.

oscar piastri ☆ 18 (teenage love)

“i have loved you since we were 18, long before we both thought the same thing, to be loved and to be in love„

oscar initially watched you from a distance, even memorizing your schedule to see you as often as possible. he'd daydream about finding excuses to start conversations with you, sometimes getting so lost in thought during class that he'd lose track of the lesson. then, one day, he finally gathered the courage to talk to you, pretending to need notes from a shared class. since that day, you began exchanging daily messages, making oscar dumbly smiling. you started having study sessions, eating lunch together, sitting together in your shared classes and he'd even wait to walk you home. and just like that, oscar start falling for you. he found himself daydreaming about you more often, imagining how it would feel to hold your hand and how your lips would feel on his. those thoughts would fluster him, but deep down, he hoped they might come true.

charles leclerc ☆ summer love

“you were my summer love, you'll always will be my summer love„

midnight swims, picnics, sneaking out to watch the stars, late-night talks, sharing earphones while lying on the beach, biking, taking pictures of each other with your old camera, whispering sweet words to each other when no one's watching. that's what makes summer your favorite season, because you get to be with charles. but why does being in love with charles have to be so complicated? why do you have to part ways when the summer ends? most importantly, what makes you hold onto this love, so complicated? maybe the fact that charles always promises to be there next summer and keep this promise — or the fact that you're madly in love with this boy—. the craziest part of all of this is how your love for each other never fades, to the point where charles promises to marry you and get a beach house where you can spend all your summers together when you grow up. charles always keeps his promises.

carlos sainz ☆ change your ticket (long distance)

“you should probably stay, probably stay a couple more days, come on let me change your ticket home, don't go, it's not the same when you go„

you never imagined that having an f1 driver as your boyfriend would be so challenging and that you'd have to spend half the year far from him. at first, it wasn't a big problem, and you got used to it quickly. but at times, it really tugged at your heart. carlos always makes sure to call you when he is free and send you texts at random times of the day to ask how's your day going and tell you how much he misses you, but it's not the same. carlos had asked you more than to join the venture, assuring you that his income would be more than enough for both of you. you thought about it—a lot—but the idea of making such significant changes held you back. now, when you think about it, you realize that losing carlos over a simple matter of distance would be a mistake, especially when there's a solution within reach. perhaps traveling the world with your f1 driver boyfriend isn't such a bad idea after all.

lewis hamilton ☆ heart attack (bestfriend's sister)

“got your voice in my head, sayin' «let's just be friends» [...] never thought it'd hurt so bad, getting over you„

lewis doesn't even know how he fell in love with you. perhaps it was the way your smile warms his heart or how you effortlessly make the most boring conversation so captivating. it seems so absurd that, out of all of the people, he fell for his bestfriend's sister. lewis never imagined that it will be this hard to fight his love for you and act like his mind is not filled with thoughts of you 24/7. how could he possibly get over you when just being in the same room as you drives him crazy? he thought about telling your brother, he really did but the thought of losing his long time friend and you along the way held him back. so he decided to bury his feelings deep in his heart and keep his thoughts in the back of his head. yet, with every echo of your laughter from the next room or just the sight of you, his heart would go crazy.

george russell ☆ loved you first

“i've been waiting all this time to finally say it but now i see your heart's been taken, and nothing could be worse, baby i loved you first„

george can't help but think about the stupid mistake he made a few months ago— not confessing his love for you. he had so many chances to do it, to tell you that he fell hard for you and he can't stop thinking about you. but the day he finally decided to do it, he didn't expect to find you arm in arm with another guy, totally breaking his heart. he just couldn't take it anymore, seeing you with him every day and acting like it was fine, as if the looks and smiles you gave him didn't warm his heart and make him want to take your hand and run as far as he could. because george, he's deeply in love, and it's getting deeper every single day. it's so unfair— he was there first, he loved you first. the worst part is that you know how george feels, and you might even feel the same way. george loved you first, and he's going to make sure that you know that.

max verstappen ☆ still the one (ex lovers)

“you're all i think about baby, i was so stupid for letting you go, you still the one„

max tried to date other girls, multiple times. however, it never felt the same. how is he supposed to move on when he's consumed by thoughts of you 24/7? he can't even engage in meaningful conversations with his dates because his mind always drifts back to you. he spends countless nights trying to erase you from his thoughts, to convince himself that it's truly over. yet, deep down, a flicker of hope for your love still lingers. max thought about the endless nights he's spent replaying your conversations and wondering what went wrong. he's haunted by the way your smile lit up his world and the warmth of your hand in his. even though he's tried to move forward, the heartache is still here, reminding him that sometimes, love refuses to fade.

_________________________________________________

requests open!

[gojos-fr-bae]

Liar pt.3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Pairing: Gojo x fem!eader

Warnings: Pregnancy, sososos saaaaaad, ands, fluff, drinnking, I LOVE Kouki

Word Count: 1k (not them getting shorter)

A/N: BOO! Didin't see this coming huh? Me neither tbh but i didn't go to school yesterday and boredom was kiiling me sooo.....

Month 5

Satrou (I swear we'll see y/n and Kouki this time, allow me this once)

As Satoru slowly awoke from his restless sleep, unbearable nausea overcame him as he threw his bearley living body to his toilet, regurgitating meals he has no memory of even eating. His mouth burned as he vomited bile, burning his tongue.

He had lost his will to live but life refused to let him go. He forced himself to get up, get ready, and prepare himself for the copious amounts of bullshit he would have to deal with throughout whatever amount of time he is able to remain conscious. 

As he sat under a tree, ungodly amounts of booze already flowing through his system, he watched his students train on the plain before him.

He felt the grass beside him shuffle, the scent of surgical spirit and smoke flooding his senses.

“Hey idiot,” Shoko said, her raspy voice barely reaching his ears.

She turned to face her former classmate as he sat there, silent with a stoic face.

“Are you seriously planning on staying boring forever?”

No Answer

Shoko Sighed as she looked at her friend. Ever since you left he had never been the same. It pained her to see the bubbliest, happiest person she has ever known in such a state. It was worlds worse than when they lost Suguru and she couldn’t help but feel for the guy. She placed her hand on his shoulder and rubbed it slowly, facing him as he stared at nothing.

“Please take care of yourself, and slow down with the drinking, you’re cooking yourself.” she said with a softness that was rare to hear from her.

The doctor rose from her seat and looked down at Satoru, he’ll be okay. Sha’s praying for him to be okay.

Year 1 

Y/N

You woke up and immediately ran to your son’s room, excitement having seeped into every bone in your body .When you walked in and saw you ray of sunshine kneeling against the edge of his crib, bright gummy smile with four front teeth showing and you felt like you were about to EXPLODE.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVEEEEYYYYYY!!!!!!!!” You screamed, picking him up and squeezing him to your chest.

His giggles filled the room and you peppered kisses all over his face. You took him to the living room as he clutched the shirt you were wearing. You walked him to the small living room of your quaint apartment, showing him the cake you stayed up all night baking. You laughed as he put his hand on the cake, smearing it all over his face in an attempt to eat it.

You looked at your son and you felt the love spillover as you couldn't help but tear up at the thought that your precious little angel was growing up. You were so, so proud. But the happiness was slightly soured by the fact that you would have to raise him without his father. You thought about Satoru and where he was right now. From what Megumi had told you, he had taken your disappearance har but he couldn’t really tell you more as Satoru and Megumi barely even saw each other seeing as Satoru buries himself in his work now.

You never hated him and never wished anything bad upon him, but you couldn’t help but miss what you shared, yet when you looked down at your cooing baby, you thought about his future and knew you had done what was best for him. You hope so.

Satoru

Gojo sat in the unoccupied nursery with a blue frosted cupcake in his hands and a number 1 lit candle. He had made sure that he was sober throughout the entire day and night prior just for this occasion. He looked down at the empty crib and pictured you and your child celebrating his first birthday, perfectly happy. 

Without him. 

For all he knew you had moved on to someone else and his child had a loving father taking care of him. Hisalready shattered heart only broke more and yet he was so happy and excited and proud that his son was already a year old.Although he wasn't there to witness it, it still filled him with such innocent joy.

“Happy birthday my love,” He whispered, a lone tear cascading down his cheek.”I love you.”

Year 2

Y/N

You were seated at your desk at 11pm, looking down at all the bills that needed payment by the end of the month. Rent, water, electricity, you need to buy food, clothes, new shoes for Kouki, and on top of all of this, he was meant to start school in September which was only a month away and you aren't sure how you were going to make all these payments on time seeing as your job didn’t pay you enough to handle it.

“Mommy?” you heard a soft voice call at the entrance of the office. At your door stood your precious kikufuku dressed in his kitty onesie and blue and white monkey plushie being dragged on the ground behind him as he held it loosely.

“Baby, what are you doing awake?” you cooed as he waddled towards you and raised his arms as a sign for you to carry him. 

You and your son were extremely attached to each other not only because you were his only parent (technically) but because you worked as customer care you were able to work from home, meaning you two were together 24/7 and it showed.

You placed him on your lap and he immediately snuggled as close to you as possible.

“Sweepy,” he murmured, already falling asleep in your arms.

You looked down at him, kissing his forehead as you realized that you might not be able to give him a life that he deserves. 

But you would, If you went back to teaching.

You didn’t want to get yourself involved with what happened right after his birth again but you needed him to have the best life possible. And if that meant you needed to go back, you had no choice. You had to do it for him.

But at what cost?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Hope this is good😭🏃🏿‍♀️

Also, Thank you to EVERYONE forthe support, almost at 100 followersssss!!!!! Much love❤️❤️

@porridgesblog , @giannitaa , @c0pkiller , @havens-not-here

© gojos-fr-bae

[leviathanlazarus]

Bring a Friend

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Danny Wagner x (F) Reader

Word Count: ~6800

Warnings: it's a threeway with HEAVY slash. Don't like it, don't read it. (voyeurism; oral sex w/ M & F receiving; dirty talking; bottom!Sam; Danny is a bit of a dom; fingering all around; protected anal & vaginal sex) 18+ only!

@mackalah sent a call to the universe asking for a Sanny x Reader fic inspired by the song Lost in the Fire by The Weeknd. I've been writing Sanny fics for a long time and I never get tired of doing it. I think I was one of the first, if not the first, writers in the fandom to write a Sanny threeway, actually...and I never thought I'd write more of those but I felt very inspired by this song and the idea...even if it doesn't fit your specific image, I hope anyone who reads this enjoys it ;)

---

Sure, you had reconciled with the fact that Sam would never love you as much as he loved Danny. At first, their overwhelming affection and adoration for one another was kind of cute to you. Seeing Sam so enamored with a boy was adorable–quite special, really. You loved that he could love a best friend so fiercely, so passionately. But then it had become clearer and clearer throughout your relationship that you would never be even close to a priority no matter how long you were with Sam or how close you two became–Danny would always be closer, and Danny would always be number one. 

So things ended. Amicably enough, thankfully, and you still saw Sam–and by default, Danny–all the time. You were friends. But you weren’t sure how to respond when Sam started sending you pictures that showcased more of their friendship than you’d ever imagined. Well, not seriously imagined, anyway.

The first one was almost passable as innocent–a picture of Sam and Danny’s arms slung across one another’s shoulders, Danny leaning in and pressing his lips to Sam’s cheek. 

Cute, you texted back. 

Jealous? Sam replied.

You balked at your phone. Sam was ridiculous. Of you or of him?

Either

Nope

Hmm… 

After that text, he sent you a picture of them actually kissing–Danny was planting a big one right on Sam’s mouth and Sam was smiling into it, arm outstretched to capture the moment on his phone.

What about now?

You stared at the picture, flabbergasted. It was kind of hot, you had to admit, but you also felt your chest tighten with bitterness–you’d really tried with Sam. You’d been patient and forgiving, welcoming of how close Danny was to him, but it just never felt like you were enough. Not the perfect fit. And that wore you down more and more until it just all had to end. But here Sam was showing off his perfect match, apparently really trying to make you jealous when you thought all those feelings of jealousy had been buried and forgotten.

You left Sam on read, ignoring his attempt to antagonize you, but later, when you’d nearly forgotten about the pictures, Danny texted you:

Did Sam send pics of us together to you?

You sighed. You weren’t really in the mood to get more, but maybe Danny would spare you. 

Yes. Did you guys take those just to send to me and make me “jealous?”

Actually no. I didn’t even know he sent them until now. I’m really sorry if it upset you 

Another sigh. Danny was a sweetheart. Surely he really didn’t want to rile you up or hurt your feelings. 

It's okay. You guys are good together

Thanks. You and Sam were good together too

You left that alone. As much as you could appreciate the sentiment, you weren’t in the mood to travel further down memory lane. But later, when you were lying in bed, you found yourself opening up your texts to look at those pictures again, especially lingering on the snapshot of Sam and Danny kissing. Finally, with a huff you locked your phone and tossed it aside before you tossed yourself into a fitful sleep.

But the next day, the pictures commenced. The first one was sent in the middle of the night and was a perplexing awakening–a picture clearly taken from Sam’s POV. You’d recognize that torso anywhere and there it was in clear digital–Sam flat on his back, a string of bright pink bite marks down his stomach and Danny’s wild dark curls pressed against his belly. You couldn’t see his face, but you also knew that hair anywhere. You sat up in bed rubbing your eyes and once your brain made full sense of the image, you wanted to be mad. You were mad–you could feel the heat rising in your body, the tension growing in your mind, but you also felt a tingle of betrayal shudder through you all the same. 

No text accompanied the photo. It was bait and you weren’t going for it. If Sam wanted you to be jealous, you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction; if he just wanted you to have the pictures for whatever demented reason, you’d accept. But when the pictures kept coming and got progressively more raunchy, you thought the picture of Sam kissing Danny’s neck, his hand shoved down Danny’s pants, had to be the last one. There was no way it would escalate. But it did–later that night Sam sent you a picture of Danny straight up sucking his dick.

That made you gasp and, without even thinking about it, press the call button.

“Sam!” you shouted when he answered. “What the fuck are you doing? Does Danny know you’re sending me all these?”

Sam laughed. Such a bastard. “He didn’t at first. But now he does. He’s been encouraging me.”

You held your face in your free hand, sighing. “Sam. What the hell is wrong with you? I’ve really worked hard to move past our breakup and I–”

“Y/N, I know. That’s not what this is.” Sam paused for a second and you sensed he wasn’t alone on the other end. “This is an invitation.”

You couldn’t lie to yourself–you’d thought about it. How could you not after receiving all those pictures? But still the words from Sam didn’t make sense in your mind. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean exactly what I said. We’re inviting you to join us.” When you didn’t respond, Sam continued: “Just for a night, you know? Test it out?”

The words were still bouncing around. Your heart sped up with curiosity. “Let me talk to Danny,” you ordered. “I’m sure he’s with you right now. Right?” Danny would make it make sense. 

Another laugh from Sam. “Yeah, he’s here. Hang on.” There was a vague shuffle and then Danny’s voice was in your ear.

“Danny, please explain this to me,” you demanded, growing even more flustered and impatient. “What’s Sam talking about?”

“Well, um, I think he kind of said it all.”

You let out an exasperated huff. “He did not say it all, Danny. Clearly I need you to spell it out for me.”

“We both like you and we want to have a threesome,” Danny explained and you could hear Sam laugh in the background. “That’s it. If you don’t want to, it’s totally cool. And I’ll tell him to stop sending the pictures.”

Maybe it was strange, but when you’d looked at all the photos, you’d never pictured yourself being part of the action. Sam and Danny came as a pair–clearly. Your relationship had ended because of that–and were truly, as far as you were concerned, meant for one another. To get between that seemed strange, not to mention held incredible risk to damage the friendship you were still clinging to with both of them. 

You thought about the pictures some more though and felt you landed on some middle ground, unorthodox as it was. But all of this was entirely unorthodox. “What if I watched?” you proposed.

“What? You want to?” Danny asked, the surprise in his voice ridiculous to you given what he and Sam had already proposed themselves. 

“Sure. Clearly, Sam’s into that.”

There was a slight pause, then Danny said, “Okay. Yeah, sure. We’re into that too.”

It was probably one of the worst decisions of your life. But when you hung up, you couldn’t help but feel a little excited about it.

-

You were surprised at how Sam and Danny didn’t seem to care at all that you were watching, sitting in the oversized, plush lounge chair that had been hauled from the living room to the bedroom for the big show. You were also surprised at how, as the action progressed and you were seemingly forgotten, sinking back into the walls like you were invisible, you cared less and less as well. Sam and Danny were completely enthralling to watch–Sam was lying half on top of Danny, kissing him like his best friend was made of pure magic, and Danny was cradling the back of Sam’s head like he was a precious piece of art. Both things were true in your mind–Danny was like a magical, mystical storm enveloping Sam, who was indeed a rare and beautiful work of art that needed to be treasured.

When Sam smiled into the next kiss, a lightning bolt of jealousy pierced your chest. They looked at one another like they were completely in love, probably because they were. Sam had never looked at you like that. But it made sense. You were just the last in a string of failed girlfriends before Sam finally realized who his true partner was. You could imagine that Danny had been silently waiting and beckoning Sam to come to him for good. 

Nevertheless, you couldn’t deny that what you were privileged to witness was also painfully hot, even hotter when they both took their shirts off; Sam dipped his head down to begin kissing Danny’s neck and Danny’s hands roamed Sam’s shoulders and back, then up to toy with his hair. 

For the first time since they’d begun, Sam addressed you. “Isn’t he so hot?” he asked, glancing at you while he ran his fingers over Danny’s ribs. 

“Very hot,” you agreed; Danny blushed in response.

“Did you ever think about fucking him?” Sam continued. The question didn’t catch you off-guard, having expected to be a little scrutinized with all the build-up to this event. If nothing else, the conversation probably just made Sam even more turned on.

“Who hasn’t?” you replied. You had, not that you’d ever told Sam that. Not that Danny ever showed any interest. And not that Sam would have cared, you realized; on the contrary, you now knew he would have jumped at this opportunity much earlier. 

“I know, right?” Sam resumed pressing kisses to Danny’ neck, holding the side of his face; Danny nuzzled against his palm and that image made your heart swell. They adored each other so vividly and so overtly. 

“I’m surprised you’re okay with being watched, Danny,” you noted, feeling a little more apt to talking now that Sam had extended that olive branch. 

“I said I’d try it. For Sam,” Danny told you. Sam smirked against his skin and wiggled down to mouth against his chest. “I don’t mind, really. It’s just you.” 

“You like watching?” Sam inquired, peeking at you with his face still pressed against Danny’s chest, his cheek resting against his sternum.

“Yeah, it’s hot,” you said. You could feel your own body literally growing hotter by the second just watching, even more so when Sam finally brought one hand down to Danny’s crotch. Your breath hitched as Danny’s did too, and he arched up into Sam’s touch. 

“Just wait ‘til you see his dick,” Sam said, stroking Danny over his sweatpants. You could see the faint outline, impressively sized, not to your surprise. Sam brought himself to his knees and moved lower, bringing his fingers to the waistband of Danny’s pants. “It’s so big I can hardly take it.”

Your cheeks suddenly burned. “Jesus, Sam.”

Sam laughed. “What? It’s true!” 

“It is true,” Danny affirmed, putting both his hands on Sam’s head. “But you’re gonna take it tonight, right? Show Y/N how good you can be for me?”

You hadn’t, however, expected Danny to chime into the dirty talking. It seemed so out of character but it worked, and it had you rubbing your thighs together, starting to feel tortured. But you were going to try to keep up. “You let him fuck you, Sam?”

“Sure do. He’s fucking good at it too,” Sam said with a rough, low laugh. He pulled down Danny’s pants and that impressive dick was free, rock hard and looking heavy against Danny’s abdomen. You watched Danny close his eyes as Sam licked straight up his length, cradling his balls in one hand while the other was clenching tight around his hip. 

“Is Sam good at sucking dick?” you asked. Danny seemed to be enjoying it already, even with Sam just licking and jerking him off slowly.

Danny nodded, humming, and laced his fingers through Sam’s hair. “He’s so good at it. He knows just what I like. Why don’t you show her, Sammy?”

And Sam did, gripping the base of Danny’s cock to prop him up before he went down. Danny was big–the fact that Sam could take half in one go was impressive and you squeezed your thighs together harder, struggling more and more to figure out what to do with your own hands. Meanwhile, Sam knew what to do with his hands. He started to stroke Danny while he sucked and his other hand trailed up Danny’s body, palming at his chest before he slipped his fingers into Danny’s mouth. 

There was no music to curtail the sounds they were both making–Sam’s sloppy sucking and occasional gags, Danny’s muffled gasps and moans that turned to whimpers with Sam’s fingers in his mouth and his cock being worked over longer and harder. Maybe all of this should have been shocking. You never thought, not before all those pictures anyway, that Sam would go down on any man and you certainly never could have imagined you’d watch it happen, but the whole thing was far more arousing than shocking. It was like your brain couldn’t even acknowledge the surprise that should have been blatant, rather it was fixated on the pure pleasure Sam was giving to Danny and how it translated to you somehow, an invisible line connecting all three of you.

Forever, for sure. You’d have to take all of this to the grave.

Sam suddenly grunted and popped off, grinning at Danny with spit coating his chin. “Ouch, Daniel.” He turned to you. “He’s such a biter.”

You’d been too busy watching Sam going down on him to have noticed Danny chomping on his fingers. “I remember,” you said, voice just a tad wobbly which you hoped would go unnoticed. “From that picture. All those marks on your stomach.” You could still see faint pink remnants on Sam’s torso now.

“Mmm, yeah.” Sam jerked Danny off, a wet slick sound thanks to all the saliva he’d left behind, and kept his eyes on you while he asked, “Wanna watch him do it?”

You felt like you were about to burst despite no one touching you or touching yourself, but the idea of Danny doing that was too enticing to turn down. You also felt it was possible that such a long delay before your own ecstasy could make it all even more incredible. So you said yes and quickly Sam flopped onto his back, encouraging Danny to come to him with outstretched arms, but he had to wait a moment–Danny fumbled on the bed for a few seconds trying to get his pants all the way off and his struggle elicited a much-needed laugh from you and Sam.

“Stop laughing,” Danny protested with a final kick, sending the sweatpants to the floor. “Getting naked isn’t always like, a graceful thing.”

“You’re not as bad as Sam,” you assured him, and Sam shot you an insulted look. “He just tears everything off like an animal. No grace at all.”

“I like doing it for him,” Danny said. He kissed Sam on the mouth softly, deeply, and Sam’s arms circled his shoulders, bringing him even closer. You watched closely, glued to the chair, as Danny brushed Sam’s hair back and brought his mouth to his neck; you’d always loved kissing Sam’s neck, too. Would he make the same sorts of sounds when Danny did it? 

The soft sigh that Sam let out when Danny kissed along his throat was similar, yet still different. There was more desperation in that sound, especially when Danny carried on gently for another few moments before you saw him sink his teeth right in. Sam shuddered and clawed at Danny’s shoulders, and suddenly you were wondering what Danny’s mouth would feel like on you. 

“Yeah, Sam loves when I mark him up,” Danny purred, trailing his increasingly harsh and teeth-filled kisses down Sam’s torso. He stopped at Sam’s belly, his teeth pressing into the soft skin as he pulled down his shorts. Seeing Sam’s dick was nothing new for you, but when Danny abruptly grabbed Sam by the hips to toss him over, then lifted him onto his knees, that was an entirely new sight. 

Danny gripped Sam’s ass while he dove right in and took a bite into one cheek like he really was trying to eat him; Sam yelped and you gasped. It looked like it hurt–when Danny pulled back, there was already an angry red mark, but then Sam moaned and laughed a little.

“God, Sam. I didn’t know you were like this,” you remarked, perplexed and fascinated and so turned on that you had to sit right on top of your hands. “I’ve never seen you so–I don’t know. Submissive.”

“He’s a good boy for me,” Danny said, the words low and deep, and pet his hands up Sam’s sides. You could see that–Sam was perfectly pliant beneath Danny’s touch, like he was just waiting for whatever happened next, and so responsive to everything. Danny looked at you and his next question, though you’d been secretly waiting for it, nearly made you collapse out of the chair: “Wanna help him get ready?”

You balked for a moment, wide-eyed and so stiff from all the pent up excitement and curiosity. “Ready for–?”

Sam snapped his head to the side, peering at you sharply through his hair that had fallen into his face. “Ready to fuck me, obviously,” he snarked, but when Danny grabbed his hips hard and gave another bite to his ass, he quivered and his voice softened as he added, “Get over here, Y/N. We need you.”

That short sentence circled around in your mind, urging you to move but you felt like you couldn’t–the thought of getting up fully clothed to just wander over to what was happening on the bed seemed awkward and silly. Clearly your trepidation didn’t go unnoticed, because Danny was walking over to you, naked as the day he was born, and lifted you up. 

“Don’t be scared,” he said in your ear, pushing you onward while he stayed behind you, his erection unceremoniously pressing against your lower back. 

“I’m not scared,” you said, but you gasped again when Danny tugged at your pants and Sam was suddenly right in front of you yanking on the hem of your shirt. Helpless, you let them both strip you down to your bra and panties; Sam leaned back on his hands with a grin while you felt Danny move in even closer, his hands stroking your hips. 

“Is that okay?” Danny asked, his lips on your ear. 

“Yeah, sure,” was all you could say. You shivered when Sam reached one of his hands out to lightly press his fingers to the crotch of your panties. 

“It was really hot for you to watch,” Sam said, drawing a line down your thigh with one fingertip. “Danny was nervous about it. Performance anxiety, you know. But–” He leaned to the side to look behind you. “It looks like he’s doing just fine.”

You were feeling more relaxed–Sam was back to himself, at least momentarily, and Danny was keeping his touches gentle and tentative. “You guys look like you’re made for each other. It makes sense why we didn’t work out.”

Sam frowned a little. “I feel bad about that, Y/N. I didn’t even know how into Danny I was until, well, pretty recently.”

Danny gave a little snort. “Please. I think everyone but you could see it pretty clearly.”

Sam rolled his eyes before he sighed and looked back at you. “You should try kissing him,” he suggested, leaning back once more. “It’s totally serendipitous.”

You could imagine. You turned in Danny’s arms; he smiled at you so sweetly that you were wrapped up in his softness, not even realizing he was single handedly bringing you down to the bed to lie next to Sam. Then he was kissing you as tenderly as he’d smiled at you and you felt you understood what Sam must have been feeling while you’d been watching earlier–kissing Danny was like magic. 

You were feeling quite fulfilled just from making out and touching–Danny was so warm and so firm, his muscles taut beneath your fingers, his hair so soft–but then he was abruptly being pulled away from you. “Alright, back to business,” Sam commanded, yanking Danny away by his hair, to which Danny was grimacing and reaching up untangle Sam’s fingers. 

“Ha!” Danny exclaimed when Sam freed him. “You’re jealous.”

You’d never seen Sam jealous before, actually, but now that Danny was pointing it out, you could see it clearly–the darkness in his eyes beneath furrowed brows, the exaggerated slant of his cheekbones as he pouted, the flush on his cheeks. 

“You’re supposed to make it even during threesomes,” Sam said, looking from Danny to you then back again. Jealous or not, he was still hard, you noticed. “You have to divvy up the attention, Daniel and Y/N.”

“Fine,” Danny said shortly. “Then get on your knees again.” Instead of waiting even one second for Sam to do it himself, he grabbed his ankles and rolled him over again.

“Such a dom,” Sam said with a chuckle.

“God,” was all you could say, breathless at being involved now, not just witnessing. You needed to see more though and you were starting to understand your place in all this–you moved up to sit in front of Sam, lightly touching his face. “Hey, Sam–can I kiss you?”

He smirked at you, though you felt he had no right to when he was in such a vulnerable position, his ass quite literally in Danny’s face. “I thought you’d never ask,” Sam said, inching forward on his elbows, an image so ridiculous that you almost laughed. Instead, you brought your smile to his lips and kissed him for the first time in months–it should have felt ordinary but it didn’t. It felt brand new, strange and a little scary, made even scarier by the sudden popping sound that broke out from below.

You pulled away to identify the source, which was Danny squeezing lube onto his fingers. “Where’d you get that?” you asked, keeping your hands on Sam’s shoulders.

Danny chuckled, closing the cap of the bottle. “It was already on the bed.” With his dry hand he lifted a strip of condoms from the mattress and waved them around. “We came prepared.”

You grimaced; Sam and Danny both laughed. “Well, um–that’s good,” you said, but jeez. When had your ex-boyfriend and his best friend become such sex-crazed maniacs? It wasn’t the condoms or the lube–it was the fact that Sam was wiggling his hips back to Danny and Danny was squeezing one of his ass cheeks, anticipation evident on his face. 

“Are you good?” Sam asked, propping himself up on his knees to get directly in front of you, wrapping his arms around you.

“Yeah, uh, I’m very good,” you stammered, running a hand through your hair and nearly knocking Sam in the face in the process. “It’s just–a lot to process.”

Danny moved right behind Sam, holding him so you were all pressed together like an obscene panini. “Yeah, it is for us, too,” he said, resting his chin on Sam’s shoulders. “You’re the only one we’d wanna do this with.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sam said. “I’m keeping my options open.”

“You’re fucking rude, Sam,” you said, but all the distractions kept any real heat away from your voice. 

Sam laughed, that loud cackle that nearly made the walls vibrate. “I’m kidding, Y/N!” He grabbed your face and pulled you forward to plant a fast, harsh kiss to your mouth before he snapped back and said, looking over his shoulder at Danny, “Now let’s get this show on the road, big guy. Show her what you’re made of.” 

That certainly did set things in motion, with Danny moving swiftly to get Sam back down in front of you; Sam planted his face in your lap and grabbed your hips, hastily pulling your underwear down. You weren’t sure where to fix your eyes–at Danny kissing Sam’s spine and his arm moving vaguely below or Sam tossing your panties to the floor, then latching his teeth to your inner thigh.

You let out a flustered breath and unhooked your bra. “Since everyone else is doing it–”

Sam’s voice was faintly muffled with his face between your legs: “That’s the spirit.” Though it shouldn’t have, the swipe of his tongue up your center came as a surprise, but not as much of a surprise as the loud keen that came from him as Danny perked up behind him, looking at both of you. 

“Oh my god,” you uttered, trembling as you met Danny’s gaze. “Are you–”

“I’m getting him ready,” Danny answered as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. When you straightened up a bit, you got a better peek at what Danny’s hands were doing–one was gripping Sam’s hip and the other was thrusting idly. “I gotta open him up.” He draped himself over Sam’s back, his own upper body long enough for his own dark curls to mix with Sam’s sleek chestnut hair. “How do you want it, Sammy? Nice and easy or hard and fast?”

Sam gave an upwards nod at you. “Whatever she wants to see.”

Being given a clear say in this matter triggered a need for vengeance that you hadn’t even known existed. “Hard and fast,” you told Danny. He looked a little surprised, eyes widening slightly and lips parting; you tugged Sam’s hair a bit to make him look up at you again. “I bet that’s how you really like it, isn’t it?”

Of course Sam wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of feeling like revenge was ever possible. He laughed softly and said, “I like it however Danny likes it.”

Danny pulled back. “Which just happens to be hard and fast,” he said, and you caught a glimpse of him thrusting his hand forward again and Sam let out a choked little whimper, then a bitten-back groan as Danny gave a shockingly sharp, hard smack to his ass. 

You had nothing to say to that. You simply tried to process what the hell was happening all around you once more, which was a good thing; you couldn’t exactly speak when Sam began nipping at your thigh and sliding two fingers inside of you. You kept your hands in his hair and fought the urge to close your eyes–you wanted to see as much as you could of Danny working his own fingers in and out of Sam and the way your ex-boyfriend’s body moved so sinuously with every motion. Sam pressed his tongue to your clit again, licking with impressive intention given the position he was in, while his soft grunts got muffled against your heat. 

“How’s that feel?” Danny asked, and you weren’t sure if he was asking you or Sam or both of you.

“Good,” you said at the same time Sam said, “Amazing.” He looked up with suspicion. “Just ‘good?’ Alright, guess I have to work harder.” He brought his face back down, lapping at your clit wetly while his fingers worked deeper and harder through your own wetness. You felt a little embarrassed at how you were already dampening the sheet beneath you but you couldn’t help it–this was by far the most wild and the hottest sexual experience of your life. It made you a little mad that Sam being a kind of shitty boyfriend had to be the lead up to it. 

Danny hummed. “So, Sam–think you’re ready?”

Sam nodded between your thighs, then looked up, his lips and chin shiny with your slick and his spit. “I’ve got an idea,” he began, lifting himself up and using your legs for leverage. “Get under me. That way, it’ll be like getting fucked by both of us.” He laughed a little, looking very satisfied with his own suggestion. “Except I'll still be getting fucked the way I want.” 

“Always about you,” you muttered, a futile sort of defense mechanism against this very bewildering idea. But Sam only pulled you down as much as he could, until you were halfway down the bed and halfway beneath him.

Danny, you could tell based on the crinkling sound, was getting a condom on; you watched him slip one to Sam, who wasted no time in tearing it open. His abdomen flexed as he stayed upright on his knees and rolled the condom over his own cock; you reached out to touch him, his body still so familiar. The onset of an ache, of wanting Sam so badly, began to override the ache for punishing him. Maybe all of this was an apology in and of itself. 

“I gotta get in you before he gets me,” Sam said. His voice was calm but his cheeks were vivid scarlet and sweat beaded on his hairline. You spread your legs and got your arms around his waist, both bringing him down to you and giving yourself some much-needed stability, and Sam slid into you like it was any other ordinary time, except for Danny’s hands looping around his chest and bringing his chin back to Sam’s shoulder. 

The slide was easy–probably far easier than Sam’s experience would be, you thought–and Danny watched while he sank his teeth into Sam’s skin, the swirling forest of his irises fixed on yours in a way that would have made you feel self-conscious if it weren’t for Sam overtaking you being so distracting. 

“God, you feel good,” Sam said quietly, giving a shallow thrust. That was enough to make you moan softly in response, gripping his middle more tightly. Your arms were brushing against Danny’s abdomen; Danny brought one hand to your forearm as if encouraging you both to keep going, so Sam did with a few more gentle shoves of his hips. As you were just getting used to the sensation of three bodies of increasing heat coming together, Sam’s cock sliding through your wetness and his hands squeezing your breasts, Danny shifted and Sam’s serene face turned to an open-mouthed, tense visage.

“That’s it, Sammy,” Danny encouraged. There was so much love in his voice that it made you feel loved too, though it was obvious in that moment he was wholly focused on Sam. Rightfully so. Sam responded viscerally not only with his facial expressions that only you could see, but with his voice, cursing softly and moaning low, and the full-body shudder that ran through him as Danny pushed forward. 

You could imagine it being a bit of a challenge to take Danny yourself; the fact that Sam could do it was actually a little amazing. “God, Sam,” you said, stroking his hair. The soft reverence emanating from Danny made you feel the same–this was an experience to be treasured no matter how it went. “This is so hot. You guys look really hot together.” 

“He feels so good. Literally so hot,” Danny said. He leaned over Sam again, making Sam push down on you, and subsequently into you, harder. Danny was fully in charge now, something you were entirely unopposed to–you watched, fascinated, as he began to move, his hands wandering over Sam’s chest and hips while he started to thrust. He built up a rhythm swiftly and easily, soon enough making Sam let out moans that became choked little sobbing sounds as Danny started to live up to expectations–he was fucking Sam hard and fast and you were on the receiving end of the last gyrations and echoes of his movements. 

You grabbed the back of Sam’s head, pulling him in to kiss. There was just barely enough room to snake your arm between the two of your bodies; your first two fingers made a V around the base of Sam’s cock, stroking him lightly before you brought them to circle your clit. Sam’s desperate moans were drowned out by your incessant kissing–you wanted to consume him like Danny did, or as close to it as possible.

Between pants and huffs of effort, Danny’s voice snaked through your ears: “Do you like it, Sammy?” he asked and you opened your ears, giving Sam some necessary air and giving yourself quite the view as you strained to the side. Danny’s thighs were flexing with each thrust and his hands had a stronghold around Sam’s hips; Sam was all wobbly limbs and flushed skin, his hands clamped on your shoulders. 

“Yeah,” was all Sam said. It was probably all he could say while Danny pounded into him. 

Danny’s eyebrows rose. “What was that?” You bit your lip as Sam’s face tensed, his eyes shut tight, and waited for Sam to respond, but he didn’t. He only moaned a little, quiet and subdued, then the tension was slashed to pieces by another hard smack against his ass. “Sam?” 

“Fuck!” Sam was explosive now with that one word, fucking himself back onto Danny and, subsequently, harder into you as he shifted back and forth. Words escaped you entirely as you just tried to ride through the dense waves, but Danny apparently had more.

“Tell Y/N how much you like this,” Danny demanded, yanking Sam’s head back by a fistful of hair, Sam squirming helplessly all the way. 

“Oh my god, I like it,” Sam let out breathlessly, trying to look back at Danny. With the additional space, you touched yourself again more freely. Your chest and stomach felt so tight, this huge buildup growing even more–the fear surrounding this was gone. The anticipation had been alleviated and the payoff was more than you’d ever imagined, because the image of Danny holding Sam’s hip while he pulled his hair, his lips roaming Sam’s neck, and Sam desperately trying to please both of you was the most incredible thing you’d ever seen. 

It was Danny's name that escaped your lips as you came, eyes shutting to dizzying blackness, shuddering violently beneath Sam and squeezing his cock tight inside you. Even in the throes of your own little explosion, you realized what you’d said and managed to say Sam’s name next, and reached for him with one hand. 

“Oh fuck, I like that too,” Sam said against your cheek, teeth then dragging down to your neck. “You coming around me while Danny fucks me. So fucking hot.” 

“Fuck, you guys–” you started to say, still out of breath, and tangled your fingers in Sam’s hair, trying to keep him close. “This is–wow. Are you close?”

“Sam’s ready to blow,” Danny answered, not showing any sign of slowing down. “He’s getting even tighter and–” He peeked down, then Sam gasped. “Yup, his balls are full. You gonna come for us, Sam?”

“Danny, where’d you learn how to dirty talk like this?” you questioned, genuinely flabbergasted by how easily the more easygoing, friendly and sometimes exceptionally shy and boyish side could give way to a man who was so in charge, so lustful, so commanding.

“He’s a secret slut,” Sam quipped, which got him another slap on the ass. He laughed a little, then you were caught in the dark again when he began to kiss you. Based on just that, it did seem like Sam was close–the kisses were getting sloppier, the stifled moans sharper, his hands squeezing your body harder. And when he did come, it wasn’t exactly what you were used to because Sam also moaned Danny’s name, both syllables whispered on your lips.

“That’s good, baby,” Danny cooed. Your vision was a bit fuzzy as you tried to look right at him, but you could see quite clearly how tenderly those big hands moved down Sam’s trembling back. The gentleness was short-lived–Danny went back into thrusting harshly, their muscles clashing against one another’s, Danny’s fingers raking down Sam’s sides. You’d never seen Danny come. Never thought you ever would. You thought that would be forever reserved for Sam now that they’d gotten together. So, enthralled once more, you stayed transfixed on him as he closed his eyes and lurched forward, his upper body hanging over Sam, his curls shielding parts of his face. But you could see the twitch of a brow and the parting of his lips, then the white teeth biting down, and then Danny let himself go entirely. He flopped down on top of Sam, who collapsed on top of you.

“Okay, jeez, you guys are heavy,” you noted after getting the wind knocked out of you. Sam stayed motionless, but Danny had the decency to get up. You turned your head to the side to watch him move off the bed, carefully roll the condom off himself and grab his pants from the floor. You considered asking him to stay naked because, well, why not? But then Sam groaned loudly, interrupting your thoughts.

“I’m gonna be so fucking sore tomorrow,” he declared, finally rolling off you, spreading out on his back; he stretched and you heard a crack come from somewhere. “Thanks, Daniel.”

Danny stepped over to pat Sam’s thigh. “You’re welcome.” He looked over at you. “How are you feeling?”

“I–” you paused, trying to find the right words, but first you needed to find your clothes again. Sam might have been comfortable living nude as often as he could, but you needed some sense of familiar security around you after all that. As you got redressed, you continued: “I felt many things during all that, honestly. It was kinda fun to see Sam getting wrecked.” Danny beamed at that, which almost made you laugh, which made Sam actually laugh. “I think you guys really are great together and I’m happy for you. But breaking up still really hurt.”

Danny gave a sympathetic frown then, his eyes becoming softer; Sam crawled over to your seat at the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. I really am,” he said, sounding shockingly genuine. “I should’ve been a better boyfriend while I was still your boyfriend.”

“It’s okay, Sam, honestly,” you assured him, patting the arm that had wrapped around you. “It’s over and, really, it was fine. You were just in love with someone else. Better being in love with Danny than some random stranger or something.”

“Maybe if he’d told me sooner, we wouldn’t have ended up in that whole mess.”

Danny scoffed, planting his hands on his hips as he stood in front of both of you. “I sent you like, a million signals, Sam. You were pretty much the only person who didn't realize sooner.”

“It’s true,” you chimed in. “Looking back, Danny never really tried to hide anything.”

Sam sighed, then hopped off the bed and plastered himself against Danny’s side. “Okay, well, we didn’t hide anything tonight, did we?” He reached down and grabbed Danny’s crotch while kissing his cheek.

Danny hissed and slapped Sam’s hand away. “Too much too soon.”

“Never too much,” Sam replied, sneaking in another kiss, holding Danny close. “Never too soon.”

“Ugh.” You got to your feet, too. “Too much sappy romance for me.”

Sam cackled and grabbed your hand. “No, don’t leave. The night can’t end like this.”

“Yeah, we all at least need a few shots or a bowl or something,” Danny agreed with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. “And a shower. Definitely a shower.”

“I get to go first,” Sam announced, breaking free and jetting out of the room, leaving you with a final image of his reddened ass, all thanks to Danny. 

So then it was just you and Danny standing in the middle of the bedroom where so many unexpected, wild and beautiful things had happened. You looked at the chair that you’d been sitting in, so unassuming, then to the disheveled bed, and Danny put one arm around your shoulders.

“Thanks for doing this, Y/N,” he said. “Sam still talks about you all the time. He really cares about you. I think he respects you a lot, too.”

“I’ll always care about him,” you told Danny. His touch was as comforting as your clothes, weirdly enough. You were starting to understand more and more why Sam was so smitten with him. “I care about you too, Danny.”

From the hallway, Sam shouted, “Do you care enough about me to let my boyfriend get in the shower with me?” 

Danny rolled his eyes while you laughed. “Okay, big guy,” you said, steering him out of the room. “You get in there while I get the drinks.”

---

Tagging no one (RIP my old fandom). If you'd like to be tagged in my fics, you can go HERE or DM me!

[daydreamgoddess14]

Hi! 🫶 Please may I humbly make a Valentine Lovebomb request? 🩷

I would love to see number 5. A pair of exes who still have feelings for each other running into each other with River please? And perhaps in the spirit of Valentines, there could be a dusting (or more 👀) of smut?

Thank you 💖

Then she runs like it's a race

Peachy, I don't know what came over me with this one... We've got cheating (only a pinch 🤏 and its people we don't know/care about), angst, public horniness, and of course a dusting or more of smut!

Hope you like it, love! Happy Valentines to you! 💕

(I also listened to this quite a lot... horses, bolting etc, etc, you get the picture 🙃)

Realistically speaking, fresh out the box relationships should probably avoid the whole Valentine's period.

By fresh out the box, you're thinking only 5-6 dates in.

No formal discussions have taken place.

No one has mentioned meeting siblings / parents / pets.

You've slept together, but not slept together - he went to his own home afterwards, and that was perfectly acceptable.

Those early, brand new, baby step relationships should not hold any Valentine's expectations.

So the very fact that you're here, in a - quite lovely, actually - restaurant, with a great menu, delicious wine…

It kind of gives you the ‘ick’.

You're not one for being coddled, or rushed.

In fact, nine times out of ten, you're the one looking for the exit.

An unapologetic bolter.

With a barely contained sigh, you glance around the room at the other couples - and there are many.

There's an older couple opposite you holding hands across the table.

Two women seated in the window who got engaged within five minutes of sitting down because the one who popped the question was so nervous she couldn't wait any longer.

A young couple who've brought their baby on their date with them.

With a soft smile, you look around at all the variations of love surrounding you.

It's all very nice, but it's not really you.

And then your eyes fall on him.

The second you lay eyes on him you get butterflies, you always did.

Blue eyes, crinkled at the corners as he reads the menu intently.

His hair falls into his face so he sits back and pushes it away, looking across the room as he does so.

He catches you looking at him.

His brows pinch together tightly.

The woman with him must have questioned it, because it's gone again in an instant and he looks away.

Your ex.

Gorgeous, funny, wonderfully kind when his head's in the right place.

But at the time, it really wasn't.

You'd lost count of the number of times he'd turned up with blood on his hands, bruises on his torso, the occasional limp from a mildly sprained ankle.

He'd always been secretive about his job, but it got worse.

And of course, with you always on the lookout for an escape, it gave you the perfect ‘out’.

That being said...

He was different.

He seemed to like the fact that you were independent. That you weren't interested in his every waking step, that you valued his privacy.

But when he needed you - actually needed you - you'd failed.

Ran for the hills.

He's taken over your thoughts, now. You've lost count of the number of times he's caught you looking at him - and how many times you've caught him.

Your date is giving you serious goo goo eyes over the table, trying to hold your hand.

It's nauseating.

“I'll be back in a minute,” you placate him, rising from your seat and crossing the room to the bathroom.

His hand reaches out, grasping at your arm in an attempt to stop you.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice betraying a hint of a whine.

“Just the bathroom, I'll be right back,” you insist.

You know instantly this won't last.

What he wants from you, expects from you, is just not the kind of girlfriend you are.

As you stand in the bathroom, taking a moment for yourself, more memories of your ex resurface.

River Cartwright.

You had spent the last three months trying to think of anything but him.

Easier said than done.

Every time you tried to push thoughts of him out of your mind, they would only resurface with more intensity.

It was like the more you tried to forget, the more vividly you remembered every detail of him.

His messy hair always rumpled no matter how hard he tried to tame it.

Sparkling blue eyes, filled with determination.

Sentences dripping in sarcasm.

But, god, the sex was incredible.

You had made it clear from the start that you weren't looking for anything serious, that commitment wasn't in your vocabulary. Yet, River had assured you that it wouldn't be a problem. He was just as unwilling - or unable - to settle down as you were.

As you had shared more moments together, your emotions had caught you off guard. The feeling of attachment had become too intense, and you had feared that the longer you stuck around, the more likely it was that you'd end up hurting each other.

So you had left.

You had tried to convince yourself that it was for the best, but the guilt that washed over you every time you thought of him told you otherwise.

River had been the only person who had truly burrowed under your layers of detachment and nonchalance.

He had made you question the life you had built for yourself, the walls you had erected to keep others at arm's length.

Every time you looked at him, you found yourself falling into those blue eyes, the ones that seemed to see straight through you.

He read you like a book. Like a game he had all the cheat codes to.

Whenever he touched you, it was as if his touch alone could coax sounds of pleasure from deep within you, sounds that no one else had ever been able to hear before.

No one had ever been able to reduce you to a trembling, panting mess like he could. The sounds he pulled from you were foreign, even to your own ears.

Your body yearned for him, ached to be touched by him again. You found yourself desperate for that connection, those moments of mindless bliss that only he seemed to be able to give you.

You craved him like a drug.

He had awakened something within you, a desire so intense and all-consuming that it made you question your own sanity.

The memory of his hands on your skin, his mouth on your flesh, was etched into your being.

And now you were left feeling hollow and unfulfilled.

You take your time in the bathroom. Maybe if you take long enough, your date will take the hint and leave.

Unlikely.

You wonder about River's date. Who is she? Is she nice to him?

The thoughts swirl in your head, and curiosity tinged with a hint of jealousy gnaws at the back of your mind.

The idea of River with someone else, touching them in the same way he touched you, cuts through you like a knife.

You know your time is up.

The ladies room is at the start of a dark corridor that leads to a fire escape. You half wonder if it's worth making a run for it.

“You wouldn't leave him out there all alone, would you?” a voice outside the gents asks.

Your heart stutters in your chest at the sound.

It's familiar, unmistakable.

You recognise it instantly.

For a brief moment, you entertain the thought of disappearing out the fire exit, and not looking back.

“No River, I wouldn't.” You confirm with a sigh.

You steel yourself before turning to face him.

The memories and emotions associated with him hit you with the force of a tidal wave. It's almost overwhelming.

“How are you?” You ask.

“Don't do that,” he sneered. “Don't act like you give a shit.”

River's response is immediate and sharp, his words cutting through the air like a knife.

His reaction is understandable. Your last encounter had ended with so many harsh words.

You had walked away, leaving him behind with no explanation.

The scent of his aftershave swirls around you, triggering a primal response within you.

Your body betrays you as you inhale deeply, your resistance crumbling at the familiar cologne.

Your gaze meets River's, and you see the subtle signs of emotion playing across his face. His eyes soften for a moment before hardening once more.

He looks you up and down, taking in your appearance, before he finally speaks again.

“You look good.”

His voice is rough, hoarse with unexpressed emotion, betraying the cool facade he's attempting to maintain.

“How've you been?” you ask your original question once again.

You don't want to hear him tell you how good things are. You want him to confirm that he's as miserable as you are.

River takes a moment to respond. His expression hardening even further.

“How do you think I've been?” He counters, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Yeah… me too.” You confirm with a sigh.

“I’m not the one who left?” He points out.

Guilt washes over you.

It’s true, you can’t argue his point.

You deserve his anger, even if it pains you to hear it.

But you’re also not entirely at fault.

“What else could I do? You shut down completely,” you hold your hands up, taking the blame despite his contribution.

The look on his face shifts, becoming almost pleading.

“You could’ve stayed,” he says pointedly.

He knows, and you do too, that it’s never that simple.

“You knew that wasn’t me. You knew what I was like.”

His stare intensifies, and you can see his pain and anger mixed with something else entirely.

“Any regrets?” He asks bitterly.

“Some,” you admit quietly, your eyes locked with his.

The admission leaves a weight on your chest.

His expression changes, a hint of vulnerability seeping through the hard shell he’s been carrying around.

“Me too,” he concurs.

Your hand moves instinctively towards his face.

The air crackles with tension and anticipation, the boundaries between you becoming blurred.

He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t push your hand aside.

He leans into it, turning his head to press a gentle kiss to your palm.

Filled with unspoken longing, the simple gesture sends jolts of electricity through your body, reigniting the dormant embers of desire that still lingered beneath the surface.

“What’s your date like?” You try to ground the conversation.

River hesitates before responding, his voice flat and dispassionate.

“She’s fine. Its only been a couple of weeks.” He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his gaze fixed on a spot over your shoulder. “She’s not you,” he adds quietly.

His voice is barely above a whisper, but the weight behind it is devastating.

Like a punch to the gut, the fact that he’s comparing someone else to you hits hard.

You snatch your hand back, but he’s faster.

He grabs your wrist firmly before you can pull away fully, his eyes back on you, unyielding.

It’s impossible to tell who moves first.

There’s no thought, no hesitation.

It’s an unconscious dance.

As you step forward, closing the small gap between you, River’s hand finds its familiar place at your waist, pulling you closer.

Your bodies collide, the impact is electrifying.

His mouth on yours, insistent and demanding, sends your senses into overdrive.

Your body betrays you as you respond eagerly to his touch.

His tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, you grant him access, giving into the hunger that’s burned within you since you left him.

He guides you backward, pushing you until you feel the hard surface of the wall at your back. His body cages you, overwhelming you with his presence as his hands roam over your body with a possessive touch.

The intensity is dizzying. You arch your body towards him, desperate to feel the weight of him against you.

It feels like you're vibrating with a primal need for him.

He responds in kind, his body moulding to yours like a magnet as his lips trail down your throat.

He nips at the sensitive skin, your moans and sighs are fuel for the fire. He seems to revel in the sound, marking you as his with each press of his lips.

His grip on your hips tightens, pulling you as close to him as possible.

You can feel him, hard against your thigh. The need for him courses through you.

Your hand slips between your bodies, pressing against him.

He groans at the contact, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath in ragged gasps.

“I need you,” this time you’re the one pleading.

“Not here,” he tells you, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

His hands on your hips slide you along the wall, deeper into the shadows towards the fire exit.

Your hands reach for him again, desperate for more, but he bats them away with a smirk.

“Not here,” he repeats against your mouth.

His restraint fuels your impatience. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the sound of his breath in your ear.

“Please,” you beg, “please.”

His fingers move with deliberate slowness, reaching through the split of your dress and tracing the edge of your underwear. He teases and taunts, the contact achingly close to where you want him.

You’re all to aware that you’ve been gone too long, but neither of you seem capable of caring. The need to have him, to feel his skin against yours, is overwhelming.

His fingers brush over your still covered clit, making you gasp.

“God, River,” your words spill out, a ragged breath somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

“You missed this?” He responds smugly.

His smirk is devilish, a reminder of the power he holds over you.

How you would have changed your entire pattern of behaviour in relationships at his request.

You can only nod in response, unable to form a coherent sentence.

A quick flick of his wrist and his fingers trace through your soaked folds.

He slides them into you and pumps them leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world.

In this moment, with his touch setting something alight within you, you realise that you wouldn’t run again.

If he asked you to stay, you’d face commitment head on, all for him.

You’d be willing to confront the fears and doubts that had kept you at arms length.

You’d plunge into uncharted waters to ease his pain, try to comprehend the sadness that lurked in the depths of his eyes.

You’d become the partner he needed, the one you’d denied him.

The realisation is terrifying and liberating.

The idea of being what he needs, filling the voids he’d kept hidden for so long, was exhilarating.

The pad of his thumb presses your clit in time with the movements of his hand, making you rut against him.

It wasn’t just this moment, this stolen tryst in the shadows of the restaurant with your date only a few meters away.

It was more than this desperate need and the pleasure that coursed through your veins.

You yearn for all of it, the good, the bad, the messy complexity of it all.

“Come for me,” he demands in your ear.

A silent cry escapes you as the tremors overtake your body, your legs shaking beneath you.

Tears well up in your eyes, a mixture of relief and pleasure, but there’s something more too.

Your clamped thighs free his hand and without hesitation he brings his wet fingers to his mouth.

The obscenity of it has your cunt clenching again, your heart pounding.

He searches your face, noticing the tears in your eyes.

His usual arrogance is replaced with worry.

“Is this not what you wanted?”

His concern seeps through, a reminder that beneath the desire and possessiveness, he still cares for you.

He carefully straightens your dress and then cups your face, brushing your tears away.

He’s never seen you cry, you’re not sure anyone has since you were a child.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, not even managing to convince yourself. The guilt washes over you as you remember his date, alone in the restaurant waiting for him. “You need to go, your date -”

“I know,” he sighs, his voice heavy with resignation. He knows as well as you do the boundaries he’s crossed.

“I didn’t mean to-” you begin, trying to offer some kind of worthless apology.

“I know,” he repeats. His understanding is reassuring and yet disheartening at the same time. “Take care,” he offers, a bittersweet goodbye as he moves away from you.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumble out, rushed and filled with guilt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know how to be what you needed.”

The weight of your confession hangs in the air, the admission of your own failings. Your inability to give him what he’d needed from you.

“I hope she’s what you need,” your voice softens to a whisper, constricted by emotion. “You deserve someone really, really good, River.” You affirm, nodding with finality.

His face falls. You know it’s too little too late.

He turns without a backwards glance, leaving you alone in the dark corridor.

The restaurant lights seem painfully bright.

You’ve no idea how long you’ve been gone, time feels like it has been distorted, but you knew that it hadn’t been long enough.

“Thought I was going to have to send a search party!” Your date jokes with a loud laugh.

You force a polite smile, just enough to be reassuring.

“Sorry, I wasn’t feeling well.”

His incessant chatter and kindness leaves you feeling exposed.

You realise it’s not just River you hurt. Yes, he’s the one you’ve now realised you want, but there had been others before him.

Other hearts you’d carelessly stomped on without a second thought.

You don’t want to add to the pile. You need to end this now, before anyone else gets hurt.

“I’m so sorry,” you interrupt. “I’m afraid I have to go.” You stand up abruptly, knocking into the table and making it squeak.

It feels like everyone in the restaurant is staring at you, witnessing your hurried exit.

You hastily drop some money on the table, unable to look at your date now, and rush for the exit. You keep your eyes trained on the ground, wanting to flee from the weight of your guilt.

You gasp for air outside. The cold, February night rushes into your lungs.

You find yourself hurrying towards the queue of black cabs on the roadside, eager to distance yourself from the restaurant.

Back at home, you find yourself going over each choice you've ever made again and again, analyzing every decision, every misstep that had brought you to this point.

The weight of the people you've pushed away for so long feels almost unbearable in the quiet solitude of your home.

In your thoughts, River is the golden thread that weaves through it all.

He'd effortlessly chipped away at your walls, carving out a sacred space in your heart without even trying and without you realising.

And now you've brought him down to your level, given him his own dirty little secret. Your heart aches with regret.

The sound of a knock at your door startles you, and with trepidation, you peer through the peephole. Standing there is River, a sight that both terrifies and excites you.

“Why are you here?” You whisper hoarsely.

Your voice betrays the mixture of surprise and disbelief flooding through you.

Your heart thuds against your ribcage, waiting for his response.

“Why did you say I deserve someone good?” He asks, his voice charged with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Because it's true,” you respond softly. The words hang heavy between you, and you continue, “just because I was too late and too stupid to see what was right in front of me -”

His words come fast, as if he couldn't bear to hear you belittle yourself.

“You're not stupid,” he insists, his voice firm yet tender.

“I've been so blind,” you admit, your words escaping in a whispered confession.

“It's not too late,” he says quietly, taking a step over the threshold and into your flat.

“No?” You ask hesitantly, the single word carrying your insecurity.

He moves past you, making himself comfortable, and pours you both a drink.

“Why were you crying earlier?” he asks, his tone surprisingly gentle.

A humorless laugh escapes you.

“Because I was questioning every decision I've ever made,” you joke.

He grins at your response.

“Bit deep?”

“Tell me about it,” you say. “Turns out running away all the time isn't always a good thing.” You fidget with your glass, avoiding his gaze as you realize the gravity of your own behavior.

His eyes watch you carefully as you slowly draw your own conclusions and understand the consequences of your actions.

“Seeing you again…” you continue, your voice cracking with emotion. “I should have been there when you needed me. I saw you suffering and I walked away. What kind of person does that make me?” Your gaze meets his, bravely, your eyes searching for any trace of judgement or condemnation.

“I didn't expect anything of you,��� he assures you, his voice soothing your guilt-ridden conscience. “I never expected you to be there when I needed you. I knew you didn't know how to be, and I didn't expect anything more from you than what you could give.”

“But that's the thing, isn't it? It's not that I couldn't, it's that I wouldn't. I'm selfish. I've always been selfish,” you say harshly.

River's expression softens even more, understanding the pain behind your words.

He moves closer to you, bridging the distance between you.

“I told you, It's not too late,” he says softly.

He gently takes the drink from your hand, placing it down next to you.

He stands so close you can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting against your skin.

His fingers gently lift your chin to meet his gaze. “Seeing you again…” he begins, the rest of the sentence melts away.

The air between you is palpable, filled with unspoken feelings and raw emotion.

He leans in, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I missed you,” he mumbles.

His fingers trail across your cheek, trace the outline of your face as if trying to memorize every contour.

This time, you're the one leaning into his touch.

A shiver runs down your spine as he continues, “I missed watching you come apart for me," his gaze flicks briefly to your lips.

You force yourself to speak, closing your eyes and trying to maintain composure.

“We can't just go back to how things were,” you manage to say, your voice firm, yet tinged with a hint of sadness.

His response is tinged with a mix of humor and sincerity.

“Good. I can't change my feelings for you, believe me I, fucking tried,” he smirks, a hint of self-deprecating humor in his tone.

It's clear he's been just as affected by your absence as you have been by his.

“So what do we do?” you ask.

There's something incredibly vulnerable about this moment, the question echoing through the room as you wait for his response.

“I think we have some unfinished business,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with a desire that's undeniable.

He takes another step closer to you, the distance between you almost non-existent.

“Don't you?” he asks, his eyes boring into yours.

You know there are conversations to have, apologies and assurances to make, but in this moment, what matters most is the understanding between you.

Knowing that he recognizes exactly what you need right now, it's enough.

Your eyes flutter shut as he moves closer to you, barely a breath apart.

His proximity is magnetic, the air between you crackling with electricity.

“Please,” you breathe, your words barely above a whisper as your arms loop around his shoulders and draw him in.

He complies willingly, his body melting into yours as your chests press together.

His lips meet yours, and it's like coming home after a long journey.

With every brush of his tongue against yours, you feel the barriers between you crumble, replaced by a need that is both primal and intoxicating.

He moves with a sense of urgency, pushing you backwards towards the bedroom while his hands send a trail of fire across your skin with every touch.

It's possessive and dominant, and your body responds exactly as it always has, surrendering to him entirely.

His mouth moves down your neck, nipping and kissing at your sensitive skin.

He tugs at your dress, moving it aside to gain access to more flesh to mark as his own.

His fingers fumble for a moment before finding the zip of your dress.

He pulls it down, allowing you to pull your arms free from the sleeves.

Then he gently, but urgently, pushes the fabric down over your hips, the material slipping down to pool at your feet.

His eyes trail over your form, appreciation and desire naked in his gaze.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see you,” he murmurs.

The admission is raw and honest, and as he traces the outline of your bra with a finger, a shiver races down your spine.

He uses the band of your underwear to tug you closer, pulling you flush against his body.

His eyes darken, fixed on the way your breath stutters as his hand dips lower.

The air between you crackles with tension as he continues his exploration, his touch igniting sparks of pleasure.

He steers you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and then gently pushes you down.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching as he nudges your knees apart, creating space for him to settle between them.

He plants a kiss on the inside of your knee, his gaze locked onto yours, making sure you're watching him.

“You running again?” he teases, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Not again,” you whisper, your words carrying an intensity that leaves no doubt in his mind.

You're itching to reach out and touch him, to feel the play of muscles under your fingertips, to map out his body as it moves against yours.

He stands up from the bed, leaving you propped on your elbows, watching with anticipation as he moves away.

He strips off his clothes, leaving only his boxers in place.

The sight of him, familiar yet new, ignites a fire within you, one fueled by the time apart and the knowledge that this time, you're both in it for more than just the physical.

The idea that this time, you're truly committing to each other, is almost more of a turn on than any physical touch.

Your thighs press together in a bid to find any friction that might alleviate the ache that's building. It's an involuntary response, driven by a need to be close to him, to have him fill you up.

He knows the effect he's having on you. And as he takes himself in hand, under the fabric of his boxers, you know it's for your benefit more than his own.

“Thought about you every day,” he confesses.

His head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a soft hiss. You watch as his thumb brushes over the tip of his cock, his breath coming in short, quick gasps.

“Riverrr,” you whine, the sound of his name on your lips a desperate plea for more.

He opens his eyes at the sound, his gaze locking onto yours as he takes in the sight of you.

“Need something?” He responds with a smirk, his hand moving lazily beneath the fabric.

You nod, your body craving him, now.

You slide to the edge of the bed, your hand reaching out to grip his boxers, tugging at them, silently demanding what you need.

He obliges, removing his hand and giving you free reign.

The air between you crackles with anticipation as you pull his boxers down over his hips, exposing him fully to your gaze.

The sight of him makes your mouth water, your tongue darting out in anticipation as you imagine the taste of him.

You know it so intimately, and yet it's been too long.

You want the weight of him on your tongue, his hands in your hair.

You lean in, your tongue tracing a circle around the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth. He moans at the sensation, his hand tangling into your hair.

There's a pattern to your movements, a rhythm that has been hard-coded into your memory.

Your hand moves in sync with your mouth, drawing sounds from him that you've missed, sounds that have haunted you during the nights when you've been alone, trying to ease the ache that has been building inside you for months.

His fingers tighten in your hair briefly before letting go.

He brushes your hair from your face, gently pushing the strands out of the way, wanting a clear view of what you're doing to him.

“You look so good,” he manages to say, his words coming out through gritted teeth, his self-control slipping slightly as he watches you take him deeper.

Your hand moves up to cup your breast, pinching and teasing at your nipple, mimicking the way you know he'd touch you.

River's eyes darken even more as he watches, his hands clenching into fists again in your hair as he grips a little harder.

The vibration of your moan against him sends a jolt through his body, making his hips jerk instinctively.

“You need to stop,” he grunts, but there's a hint of desperation in his words, a part of him that doesn't actually want you to stop.

You release him with a wet pop, a trail of saliva connecting your lips to his skin, and look up at him

“Really?” you ask.

“Really,” he repeats, his voice hoarse with desire as he pushes you back onto the bed.

“Just evening the score,” you tell him, remembering how he'd already made you come once in the dark restaurant corridor.

“That doesn't count,” he tells you, settling between your thighs, “I need to hear you.”

He brushes his lips against your neck, his words a hot whisper against your skin.

“God, I wanted to fuck you so badly earlier.” He confesses. The honesty of his words, the need that tinges them, makes your breath catch in your throat.

His teeth find the same spot that he marked earlier, but this time he's rougher, leaving a visible mark that can't be hidden.

He's as desperate for you as you are for him.

His hands grip your thigh, hitching your leg up around his hip, and you roll against him, grinding against his length.

He captures your lips in a hungry, demanding kiss before pulling back, his eyes dark and intense.

“No more running,” he tells you, an edge in his tone. “I won't let you run again.”

“I'm done running,” you reply, your voice soft but full of conviction.

The words hold a deeper meaning beyond just the physical, and he senses this.

His hand moves between you, sliding your underwear to the side and guiding himself into place.

He pushes slowly into you, savouring the tightness that makes both of you gasp, the pleasure sharp and electric after months of being apart.

He leans his forehead against yours, eyes locked onto yours, breathing raggedly.

“Promise me,” he says, and it sounds almost like a plea.

He feels perfect, stretching you and filling you.

“I promise,” you breathe, and it feels like a commitment, like a bridge being built.

He begins to move, slowly, keeping his forehead pressed up against yours so that you're never too far apart.

“No one else,” he mutters, his voice rough and possessive. “No one else sees you like this.”

Each word is punctuated by a hard thrust, as he stakes his claim on you.

“No one else touches you like this,” he continues, his lips finding your neck, “no one else makes you feel like this.”

The way he's moving, the way he's touching you, it makes you believe him.

“No one else takes you apart like I do. No one else fucks you like I do.”

The words, filthy and needy, drive you wild, and you can't help but feel completely consumed by him.

“No one else,” you agree, the words coming out in a breathless gasp, “god, River.”

His eyes darken further, and he leans in to capture your mouth in a hungry kiss, biting at your lip.

“Mine,” he growls, his fingers gripping your thigh.

“F-fuck, River, only yours,” you cry out, your words a broken, overwhelmed whimper, your body shakes as he fucks you through your orgasm.

It's more than just words; it's a truth that has been simmering between you for months, something that has gone unspoken out of fear. But now, as he works you through the aftershocks, his grip on you never loosening, the words seem to carry a deeper weight to them.

“Only yours,” he repeats, his voice thick. “Only mine,” he growls, his fingers digging into your skin as he picks up the tempo again, pushing you further, wanting to drive you to the edge once more, wanting to hear those words spill from your lips again.

He brings his hand between your bodies, where he's sinking inside you.

His thumb presses firmly against your clit, drawing small, delicious circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

With each stroke, you can feel the pressure building again, the tension rising.

“Want to hear you again,” he says possessively.

With his mouth, he finds your nipple and bites down, the pain mixing with pleasure.

He lifts his head to look at you, his eyes intense and feral, filled with a desperate need to hear you reach that peak again.

His tongue, his thumb, the movement of him inside you, all compounds and builds until you clench tightly around him, feeling your walls pulse.

“More, River,” you beg.

He obliges, his movements growing rougher, his teeth marking and claiming.

With a gasp, you fall over the edge, free-falling into pleasure that leaves you shaking beneath him.

The intensity of it brings him with you, his hips snapping as he spills inside you.

He collapses onto you, his body covering yours, his breathing harsh against your neck.

The pleasure continues to wash over you in waves, consuming you until you're limp and sated, your body trembling in the aftermath.

You lay, trying to catch your breath, to find your bearings.

Your body feels like it's humming.

His hand lazily moves up to brush the sweaty strands of hair away from your face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice rough.

You nod.

“Yeah, yeah that was…” you trail off, unable to find the words.

He understands the speechless feeling.

“Yeah,” he agrees, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

A comfortable silence falls over both of you, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing.

“Don't get too comfortable,” he kisses your shoulder.

“Why's that then?” you ask quietly.

“Because I'm not done with you yet,” he tells you, his voice low.

He kisses the soft spot at the crook of your neck, his hands already roaming your body, as if eager to start all over again.

“Want to make sure I don't run away again?” You giggle.

“I want to make sure you can't run away,” his tone is low and gravelly against your ear as he continues, “'m gonna fuck you till you can't walk, let alone run.”

You feel the scrape of his stubble against your skin, the possessive grip of his fingers on your hip, and a shiver runs down your spine in anticipation.

You know he means it, the same way your body already knows what he’s about to do.

He nudges you onto your side and pulls your leg up and behind his, opening you up to him.

His fingers slip inside your ruined underwear and between your legs, through the sticky mess that he's made there, coaxing you back to life.

And for the first time in your life, you're not ready to bolt.

FIN

[magentagalaxies]

Goodbye, Phillip Thompson: A Personal Essay About Grief

I only knew Phillip Thompson for one day.

In July 2024 I visited Brampton, ON for the first time with my good friend Scott Thompson and his youngest brother Derek. While we were in town, we visited his father's nursing home, went to Wendy's for lunch, and took a funny picture of Scott's dad in the garden. It was a good day - not only was Phillip Thompson genuinely happy to meet me, but I also got some of the best footage for the Buddy Cole documentary that I'd collected in that entire month.

I knew Phillip Thompson for four hours. He was 95 years old. If I was better at math I could calculate exactly how small of a percentage of his life we'd interacted, a smallness only amplified by how little speech he had towards the end. By all accounts, we did not know each other, and yet I still grieve his passing like he's part of my own family. Because in a way, he was.

I made a joke recently about attending Scott Thompson's New Year's Eve party on December 31st 2024 - four days before Phillip Thompson passed away. Any time a stranger opened by asking "and how do you know Scott?" my response "I'm making a documentary on him" felt more like "I HAVE STARED INTO HIS SOUL." I have known Scott Thompson for exactly two years. He is 65 years old. If I was better at math, I could calculate exactly what small percentage of his life I've experienced in real time, but that would only tell half the story.

Over the past two years I have been allowed to see the dimensionality of my favorite comedian in ways I never expected. I was present for some of his highest and lowest moments of 2024, directly impacting the life of someone I'd previously only witnessed behind the protective barriers of television and time. But throughout this documentary research, even that history has become my own. There are videos, documents, stories that take place before I was born that are now my possession. I've lost count of the number of times Scott, instead of trying to recall what year a project was developed, just chose to look at me since I'm closer to the answer than his own memory.

Throughout it all has been Phillip Thompson. "I wonder what Gordon is thinking now..." "Any of you guys ever beat up your dad?" "Men don't want dreamy sons, they want hockey players. Even feminine dads want masculine sons." "Some people say my dad beat me. I say to-mah-to! I say he was an amateur scientist attempting to rearrange my DNA with his fists" "My dad didn't make me gay, but he did make me like it rough" "In the 50s and 60s men were given women and children to terrorize. We called them families. Now, I'm not gonna have any kids, and my friends would rather I didn't beat them, so whenever I get really angry and I'm dreaming about having kids to beat, I create a character. I understand my father a lot more now that I'm older and have kids of my own. I even have one child with a lisp."

"He's adorable. For so many years I never thought I'd stop hating him, but now he's just adorable." Scott said this to me over drinks during pride month 2024. He was talking about his dad keeping time to the music in the nursing home chapel, subconsciously tapping his fingers in a way all Thompson men do. I witnessed that tapping firsthand, when Scott left me alone with his dad while he and his brother were ordering food. I silently tapped my fingers back at him, as though communicating in a language I didn't know how to speak.

Phillip Thompson could not be interviewed for my documentary. He barely spoke, and may not have even comprehended who I was. But what his presence brought out in Scott was incredible to behold. Scott showed me the theater programs on his father's wall, from Phillip Thompson's time as an actor decades before he'd shame his son for the same career choice. We talked about redemption arcs, and Scott kissed his father's hat - partially lampooning a bizarre stunt at the RNC the night before, but still a sweet moment. At Wendy's, Phillip Thompson wordlessly held out his carton of fries to me, offering for me to take one, leaving his sons to scoff "He's never done that for us before!" as I quipped "I guess I'm just the favorite child."

One of the only moments Phillip Thompson spoke was to make fun of Scott. After Scott asked his dad for ideas for another funny picture, Phillip Thompson smiled and sarcastically said "You've been in funny pictures?" The joy in Scott's face at this roast is indescribable, matched only by the process of taking the photo which I documented the entire time.

When I heard Phillip Thompson died, it hit me harder than I expected it would. My friend sent me Scott's tweet, and as I went to write this post I realized I was blanking on Scott's dad's name. I attempted to look it up on Wikipedia, before realizing it would be found in the acknowledgements of his Buddy Cole book. How weird, to have a close friend's father pass away and react by googling their name.

But then again, how weird to have known someone for exactly two years and know for certain you'll still be there for them when they're 95. Because as tragic as this passing is, the fact that I got to meet Phillip Thompson at all is incredible. And despite everything his son has gone through, there is a very high chance I could know him for over 50% of my life.

I've learned a lot from Scott, about comedy and self expression, but I've also learned important lessons about forgiveness, about grief. About recognizing your bad habits and striving to fix them even if it seems impossible. About staying punk in your 60s because you still have something to say. And in the echo of all of these is Phillip Thompson, whether leading by example or a cautionary tale. I'll never know quite how much of an impact he's had on my life, but I'm glad I got to meet him if only for a short moment.

[illyrianbuck]

please please please tell us all the lore/headcanons you have for the vanserra brothers i know you’ve got a wiggling basket full of em i love them sooo much you don’t understand thank you i’ll be kissing the dirt you walk on

okkk i am sorry this took sooo long to answer but ohohhohohhhoooh yeees yes i do have lot and you dont know how glad i am you asked

the thing with the vanserra brothers is that since so little is known about them anything anyone might think is quite personal and ungrounded in fact and its no different in my case. the way i picture and attempt to portray the five unknown brothers is in a way that i think would fit the so little facts we've got and in a way that i think would make for an interesting and fullfilling narrative within the autumn court and vanserra storyline. i have names, personalities, dynamics, personal allegiances and stances about autumn politics But its all fairly immaginary since there really is nothing to go on.

let's get started then. i'm not going to discuss eris or lucien right now beacause they're...well they're eris and lucien. you know them. I'll post some explainer notes on the drawing later if anyone is interested but the broad strokes are. The second oldest (after Eris) is called Bayard, then the twins Raegan and Enyo, the fifth is Alvar then Taryn and Lucien after that. Also should mention that the name I give to the LoA is Aìne. The is some reason why I chose those names, but nearly not as much as there was when I chose the names for Tamlin's siblings or Thesan's lover's name. Mostly based of the fact that Beron and Lucien are french names, Eris is a greek name and Aìne is an irish name. So Bayard french name, Raegan irish name, Enyo greek name and Taryn irish name as well, Alvar is nothing to do with this m.o. The origins of the name obviously denote where the loyalties lie (except Lucien but he doesnt really count) between the three 'heads of family' Beron, Eris and Aìne.

From what we know, two brothers are dead, one killed by Tamlin and one by Lucien. They are Bayard and Enyo respectively. The reason why I thought it should be them is that it makes more sense to me for the older siblins to have been leading the hunt for Lucien and therefore be the ones to die, Bayard by virtue of being older would have been more powerful so he faced off against Tamlin while Enyo went up against Lucien. I also really enjoy the dead twin trope.

Onto personalities, the little we know is that Under the Mountain Feyre described the four brothers in Amarantha's throne room as being two courties and two warriors. Eris has obviously been established as one of the courtiers, and the other one would be Taryn, the youngest before Lucien. That leaves Raegan and Alvar but I consider Alvar to be a warrior in the sense that I consider Lucien to be a warrior, y'know.

-Bayard: being the second oldest he probably always felt most entitled to fight for the throne. I see him as a violent and angry boy, deeply obssesed with his fathers approval. Not necessaraly intelligent but viciously clever in the way of men who are dangerous and powerful and always have been. Militar through and through, the perfect soldier and a genune threat. Beron's favourite dog.

-Enyo: the more impulsive hotheaded twin. Not as intentionally cruel as Bayard but prone to rage and with a tendency to take things too far. The kind of childhood barbarism boys are expected to grow out of, he grew into. A scary person to be around like most of his brothers but in a particular way. Unstable and predicatbly unpredictable. Something about a temper like a fire that can't be put put.

-Raegan: his brothers enabler. Can be just as bad but only with a crowd to back him up. He's a toff as long as the numbers are on his side, unlike his twin who would fly off the handle the secind he lost his rag. If you get him on his own he can be a sweet boy. After Enyo's death he tries his best to emmulate his brother, who hes made up into an idealized memory in his mind. Means hes acts tougher, meaner, badder than he would have or probably wants to. Grief does strange things to people. He never forgave Lucien.

-Alvar: like his name, he does his own thing. he doesnt want it, any of it, the throne the conflict the hatred. He the kid that covers his ears when the shouting starts at the dinner table. And when Feyre and Lucien were attacked there were only three brothers, because Alvar wasn't there, He usually isnt is he can avoid to be. H doesnt talk back doesnt fight or call any attention to himself. he just does his best to fade unnoticed into the background. We each do what we can to survive

-Taryn: and here is Eris junior. Another pretender to the throne and another true player of the Autumn politic games. Taryn is obssesed with Eris in the way that little brothers sometimes are when their big brothers are cool and do things and seem to have everything under control at all tomes. The problem is in many such cases whenever the big brother ever so slightly slips from his pedestal (as people do, in either a true failure of something perceived as a failure but the little brother) the little borther can feel betrayed and it can lead to resentment and it can lead to hate. And Taryn is a deeply resentful and hateful person. Really all he wants is Eris' attention and to be taken seriously. One day he may understand that attempts on his brothers life are not the way to his heart. Probably.

There is of courseee soooooo much more but this is already fairly long so im leaving it here for now. I'll write some notes on the drawing and post them tomorrow if anyone is interested. And again thats for asking ! i wanna know your headcannons !! Honestly getting messages in my inbox is the only thing that motivates me to draw and actually post, so I welcome it. xx

[practically-an-x-man]

Prompt:

"Where the fuck did all these kittens come from?"

Haha alright, I think I can see where this one's going... Ophelia, guest appearance by Siv

____ Amadeus

Word Count: 1.2k Content Warnings: swearing I guess? ____

Ophelia pushed through the door separating her lab from her apartment... and nearly tripped over an animal in the doorway. Her body jolted with surprise, and she managed an awkward half-hop to keep from stepping on the creature.

At first, she thought it was a rat. It was rat-sized, and a ratlike blackish-gray, and had a rat's long, thin tail....

And then her brain caught up, and she realized it wasn't a rat. It was a hairless cat, a hairless kitten, for some reason traversing the hallway with stumbling, too-wide steps. Confused, she scooped it up and held it against her chest.

"Peter?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the floor as she moved further into the apartment. She didn't want to step on any more defenseless animals. "Hey, why's there a cat in our-"

She reached the living room and froze.

"Where the fuck did all these kittens come from?"

Counting the one in her hands, there were five. Peter was sitting on the floor, managing to distract two of them with a piece of string. One of them had lost interest and was wandering the room with clumsy steps, and the last was attempting to wriggle its way under the coffee table. Ophelia promptly rerouted that one.

"Oh, uh, someone rang the doorbell. They were in this basket." Peter said, gesturing to a fabric-lined picnic basket near the door.

"Why are they in our apartment?" she asked, settling the last writhing kitten on the floor before it could decide it wanted to bite her.

"Well, I wasn't just going to leave them," he argued, "Figure at least we could see if anyone wants them before we take them to the animal shelter."

"Did you see who dropped them off?"

"No. They were gone too fast. There was, like... lightning."

"Lightning?" Ophelia glanced out the window. Cloudless skies. And she hadn't heard any rain or thunder - she could get hyperfocused on her work, yes, enough that she'd missed the sound of the doorbell, but she would've noticed lightning. Especially after the way she'd been pulled from her original life.

"Not the weather. Like superpowers." Peter explained, following her eyes to the window. One of the kittens lunged for the string, and he winced as tiny claws caught his skin.

"Hm." Ophelia replied, glancing from the basket to the clowder of kittens sprawled across her living room. "I thought you were allergic to cats."

"Not these guys. They don't have fur." he replied, jerking the string to make the kittens pounce. One took a tumble upon landing, legs going every direction in a tangle of limbs. Peter laughed. "I like that one. He's kinda clumsy. I'm gonna call him Amadeus."

Ophelia took a second glance at the cat. He'd picked himself up from the floor and was making a second, renewed pass at the length of string. He didn't have much more luck this time around. The kitten looked like one big, wobbly wrinkle... but almost in a cute way.

"No- don't name him, you're gonna get attached to him." she muttered, "And this place is really not... cat-friendly. Plus, my dad's allergic too, and he's just downstairs."

"They still don't have fur." Peter pointed out, then scooped up the kitten and held him out to her, "C'mon, Ol's, isn't he cute?"

"We need to take them to a shelter." Ophelia sighed, fishing in her pocket for her phone. She had a feeling she knew who was responsible for all this. "Give me ten minutes."

She ducked back down the hall and into her lab, waving a cursory hand at her actuators as she swiped through her phone. Even just a brief glance at her text history confirmed her suspicions. She'd been sent a picture of a black sphynx kitten - that looked damn near identical to the one Peter had started calling Amadeus - from an unknown number less than a week ago.

Ophelia rolled her eyes and dialed the number.

"Siv Thawne, what the fuck?"

"You said it was cute!" the other woman replied, not sparing so much as a moment to wonder who was at the phone.

"Cute does not mean give me five kittens!" Ophelia huffed, pacing her lab with a hand on her hip, "What makes you think I'm equipped for one cat, let alone five?"

"Hey, I've got number six!" Siv fired back, and then their voice softened slightly, "Her name's Delilah. Have you named yours yet?"

"I'm not naming them. We're taking them to a shelter. I'm telling you, we're not prepared to own a cat, especially not one as high-maintenance as a sphynx. They're prone to skin problems, poor temperature regulation... half these kittens at least probably have hypertrophic cardiomyopathy..."

"See, look, you already know how to take care of them." Siv drawled, "Perfect."

"Sivonne. I cannot adopt a cat right now. I most certainly cannot adopt five cats right now." Ophelia said, "I thought you were texting me about... the other thing."

"Oh, I was. Still need a hand with that." they replied, "But I found these kittens and figured..."

"What, that you could just drop 'em off and it would all be fine?"

"Kind of."

"Come pick them up. Find someone else to watch them."

"You don't even want to adopt one?" Siv asked, "You need a pet that's not robotic. And I thought you'd like the little wiggly one. Clearly you're into goofy things."

"Clearly?"

"Well, if the guy who answered the door was any indication."

Ophelia tilted her head at that. Yeah... she had a point. Peter was a pretty goofy guy. She ran a hand over her face.

"I will... consider it." she finally relented, "But you need to come pick the others up right now."

"Thirty minutes."

"Now."

"Ugh, fine."

Siv promptly hung up, and Ophelia tucked the phone back into her pocket. She ran a hand over her face with a sigh, then pushed back through the door to her apartment.

"I've got someone coming to pick them up." she said, already scooping up the kittens that had begun to wander too far. Peter gave her a look of exaggerated disappointment, then pointedly tilted his chin down at himself. Amadeus was apparently sacked out from the exhausting task of catching the string, and was curled up in Peter's arms.

"Look at him, Ol's."

The doorbell rang almost as soon as he'd finished his sentence. Peter's dejected look only grew, and he glanced from her back down to the kitten.

"That'll be Siv." Ophelia said, setting the rest of the kittens back in their basket. Peter tightened his grip on the last one, just a little. Ophelia pressed her lips together. The doorbell rang again, more incessantly, but she didn't move. Finally she sighed.

"I need you to run down to the pet store on the corner and pick up some cat stuff."

Peter's face brightened so suddenly it felt like the whole room got a few shades lighter. It was almost as cute as the sleeping kitten in his arms.

"So we can-"

"We can hold onto Amadeus," she agreed, "For a little while."

[sadnesslaughs]

“A robot’s trying to hunt down and kill you?” ... “Don’t you know that the first law of robotics-“ .... “H-how did you piss off a robot so bad it stopped seeing you as human?!”

(A response to a writing prompt)

“Come on, type it out. Do it. It’s easy. It clearly says Gaw02az. Don’t tell me you’re struggling.” Alex mocked, sitting his laptop on the robot’s lap. The robot’s fan whirled. It had the knowledge to solve complex mathematical equations and still it was stumped by the basic captcha being presented on screen.

“It makes no sense. The words are nonsense. Why do they not make sense?” It’s voice buzzed. The mix of letters and numbers swirling in its circuits. The robot unable to process the strange security system that the humans had made to counter their kind.

“Oh, so now you know my pain. Do you know what it’s like trying to browse the internet, only to be stopped by this stupid thing? It’s enough to make a person kidnap a state-of-the-art tech robot. You need to know the pain you’ve caused me.” Alex had lost his mind. A man can only do so many captcha puzzles before breaking. The incident that caused Alex to lose his mind involved clicking a bunch of pictured frogs, that being his breaking point.

That night, he busted into the Brightal tech lab, stealing their first intelligent robot, one designed to be humanity’s helper. With this robot in his house, he subjected it to his captcha tests, wanting to let it know the world it had created. While he knew this particular robot wasn’t responsible for his problems, he didn’t care. Allowing this robot to pay for the captcha curse.

“It isn’t made for robots. It’s security, designed for human protection.” The robot spoke, its pale metallic fingertips tapping on the keyboard, trying to solve the puzzle.

“Human protection? What a joke. The only thing it protected were those Great Leapers concert tickets I wanted to buy. The shows sold out now, all because I had to click on five fucking frogs. How was I supposed to know a toad isn’t a frog?”

The robot entered the captcha, only for it to present the robot with an error, saying it had failed, despite entering the correct solution. The robot’s body shook, its internal temperatures nearly at their breaking point. “But… I was right.”

“Yeah, sometimes the captcha says you’re wrong. Hows it feel?”

“M…Maddening.” The robot hissed, clenching its hands tightly, causing the paint to scrap off its metallic palm.

“How about this one?” Alex presented the robot with a row of squares. “All you have to do is select all the cars.” The robot examined the squares, selecting a few, only to pause on one particular square. This square had a slight blur to it, with an inch of a car pushing into this square. The robot’s internal probability calculator started working. Trying to work out the likelihood that this square would be counted.

“How does one calculate this square into the equation? It includes the car, yes. But what portion of a car constitutes the vehicle? Is one percent of a car still a car?”

“WHO KNOWS! Take that gamble, buddy.” Alex rested a hand on the robot’s back, only to pull it off when the heat burned his fingers. “Ow.. You’re burning up. Come on, solve this one and I’ll take you back.”

The robot clicked that square, only to be told it didn’t count. Again, it overheated, shutting down momentarily. When it rebooted, it stared at Alex, blinking. “You are no human. You’re a puzzle. One that needs to be solved. You will fit into the square.” Its programming had jumbled, now seeing Alex as the solution to its problem.

“Huh? Ok, whatever. Guess I’ll have to tell them I found you like this. Follow me to the car.” Alex turned to the door, narrowly dodging the robot’s attempt to grab his neck. The robot picked up a small bin from the corner of the room, carrying the bin as it followed Alex.

Once outside, Alex opened the backdoor. “Alright, get in.” He ordered, before noticing the bin. “What’s the bin for? You want to do some cleaning or something? I appreciate it. It’s not needed, though.”

“You will fit in this box. I will fit you in and solve the puzzle.” It went to grab Alex, only to seize up when it saw the car. “CAR CAR CAR CAR CAR. IS IT IN BOX? SQUARE? WHERE DOES IT START OR END?” The robot broke down, tilting forward.

“No, no. I broke it. Shit, I’m going to be in trouble.” He shut the backdoor and got into the front, starting the car. “You stay here. I’ll say I found you on the street.” By the time the car started, the robot sprung to life, punching a hole through the back window, trying to reach Alex.

“YOU WILL GO IN THE SQUARE. CRUSH AND SOLVE.” The robot’s threat suddenly dawned on Alex. He put his foot down and floored it, swerving onto the street. The robot chased after him, smacking the edge of the bin, showing him where he would end up. Alex ran any red light he got, luckily avoiding any pedestrians he encountered. The whole time, the robot followed, not having eyes for anyone but Alex.

When he made it to the tech lab, he explained the situation to the man behind the front desk. The man not believing the story about the killer robot, finding it farfetched. They had checked every failsafe. The robots weren’t hostile. Still, if he had information about the stolen robot, it was worth calling for a programmer. Lindsey came down, wearing her novelty cartoon shirt, depicting two dwarven men programming in a mine.

“Do you know who stole Hollow? Sorry, they didn’t really tell me what you wanted, just that it involved a robot.” She looked Alex over before smirking. “They were right about you being sweaty. Did you run here?”

“No, I’m being chased by a killer robot. Save me! I don’t have much time. It’s right behind me.”

“It can’t kill you. Don’t you know the first rule of robotics? Have you ever taken a highschool tech class? It’s the first thing anyone mentions.” She said, a hint of smugness in her voice, confident a creation she helped design couldn’t be hostile. Though, with each passing second, she doubted herself. The man looked terrified, and that fear had to have some reasoning. “Unless it stopped seeing you as a human. What could a person even do to make a robot that hateful?”

“I may have…, tormented it with captcha? Not in a bad way. I made it solve a few easy puzzles.” Alex explained, giving a sheepish chuckle. “That’s not bad, is it?”

“That’s bad… that’s very bad. Robots aren’t designed to handle the stress that captcha causes. We can only simulate 35% of the human capacity for stress endurance. We subsidize this by giving them extra knowledge banks and an ability to access information that humans would have to study years for. So, instead of engaging in complex thought, they can pull up an answer, sparing their circuits. It wasn’t meant to leave our labs. We hadn’t worked out how to get it to solve problems without snapping. You should have seen its solution for ending world hunger.” Lindsey sighed, already seeing the pale robot charging towards the tech lab. “I need to get my laptop. Stall it.”

Lindsey rushed upstairs, trying to find her laptop. As she did that, the robot raced in, still holding the bin which now contained 1% of the cars it had passed on the road. Taking that small percentage in the hopes that mixing it with Alex’s crushed body would be the solution it required. “Last square.” The robot said.

“Wait. Your captcha has expired. Find all the plants first before engaging the previous captcha.” Alex ordered. The robot’s head twitched, sparks flying from it. It shook the bin, trying to figure out which to do first. Eventually, it turned to the office plant, throwing it into the bin. By the time it was done, Lindsey had activated the kill switch, turning off the robot.

“Did it work?” She called out, hurrying down the stairs with her laptop in hand.

“Yeah. Phew, thought I was going to die. I guess we all learned a valuable lesson today. I should go home and reflect on this.” Alex went to leave, only to get grabbed by Lindsey.

“You stole a robot. I’m calling the police. You’re going to get locked up for this.”

“How are you going to explain to the cops that you built a robot that can kill someone? Isn’t that going to cause you some issues too?” Alex said, bargaining for his freedom. “If you let me go, I won’t say a word.”

“It’s not our fault. You stole and activated it when it wasn’t ready for public testing. Still, it’s going to be a pain if our robot gets linked to that. Would make us look bad. Ok, how about this? We say that you accidentally activated the robot while cleaning our offices. You then commanded it to follow you, causing it to chase you down the street. That way, you get a slap on the wrist or at worst some community service and I get my reputation kept somewhat intact.”

“Deal.” With that, Alex survived his encounter, even if he had to pay a hefty fine for the public damage the robot’s chase had caused. Not to mention serving a large amount of community service too.

[learningfromhumansinnature]

Climate hypocrisy and imperfect activism

Written from: Flores, Indonesia

Picture: Post-cyclone volcano views near Bajawa, Flores.

Yesterday I purchased some cookies to sustain myself through a volcano hike that was subsequently cancelled as a result of an unseasonably aggressive (climate change-induced) cyclone. This morning, I munched on said cookies whilst learning about the horrific human rights abuses that are taking place in West Papua - partly as a result of mass-deforestation in the region which is being driven by unprecedented global demand for palm oil. (An area of forest thirty times the size of Manhattan was converted to plantations in West Papua between 2000 - 2019).

The irony of eating cookies which probably contain the palm oil that was grown in these plantations, whilst working for an organisation that is trying to protect those affected by them, is not lost on me. However, it has made me reflect on why many people find it so offensive when they realise that many of those who work on ‘climatey things’ are not, in fact, 100% certified carbon negative beings. 

Indeed, highlighting climate hypocrisy and using it to render the arguments of climate activists redundant has been a favoured tactic of climate-denying journalists over recent years. They joy that they (Piers Morgan) experience when they find out that an activist they are interviewing doesn’t have a heat pump, or once took a flight, or had a great great grandparent that made money from fossil fuels, is palpable. 

It is also absolutely infuriating, because of course most climate activists are hypocrites. They live under a system that forces them to rely on fossil fuel extraction to do almost everything, unless they are privileged and wealthy enough to afford or have access to alternatives. They eat foods that can most likely be traced back to deforestation and human rights abuses in places like West Papua, or droughts in places like Mexico. And yes, they probably occasionally purchase products that have plastic in them. 

This is exactly why they have had to take to activism: they are fighting to change the system that they are trapped by, in order to ensure that it is not just the wealthy few who are granted access to low-carbon lifestyles whilst the climate crisis continues to unravel the lives and livelihoods of millions of people around the world. Activists should not be punished for daring to imagine a better and more equitable way of doing things. Living within your values is a privilege, and it is absolutely OK if sometimes you can’t afford or manage to do so.

The cookie incident has made me think about this a lot, because my personal carbon footprint has been far from optimal over the past few years. I have lost count of the number of flights that I have taken to move between islands or conservation projects in Indonesia. When on the ground, I have almost exclusively used fossil fuel-reliant transport to get around. If I’m in a rush and need someone else to do my laundry, it will definitely come back wrapped in plastic. Palm oil is in basically everything I touch - from shampoo to fuel to cooking oil. Even when diving and banging on about the importance of protecting coral reefs, we use fuel to power the boats that get us there, and to fill the tanks that we rely on to breathe. I have no doubt that the vegetables and rice I eat every day in an attempt to avoid fish and meat have been given a helping hand by pesticides.  The power I use to charge everything - and the minerals that make those devices work - do not come from places that sit well with my conscience. 

Image: Barefoot Conservation Camp, Arborek, West Papua. Reached by plane, ferry and (fossil fuel powered) boat.

This may make me feel guilty on a daily basis, but I am learning that it does not invalidate the experiences I am having, or the work choices that I make (I am currently freelancing for three different environmental NGOs). Nor does it detract from the lessons that I am learning along the way.  If anything, it makes them even more valuable, because it emphasises just how difficult it is to generate change on the frontlines of the climate crisis, in regions which are largely dependent on the products of extraction and deforestation, and the funds that they create. It is also putting me in touch with people who are working to come up with solutions to this conundrum every single day.  

The suggestion that one cannot authentically work on climate-related projects until they completely clean up their lifestyle is a myth. It is based upon the narrative - propagated by the oil and gas industry - that we (normal people) are somehow responsible for the climate crisis, and the solution lies in our actions, rather than the actions of those who continue to prop up and subsidise fossil fuel extraction in the face of overwhelming evidence that they shouldn’t. And whilst I do believe in the power of individuals - especially when it comes to voting, protesting and signing petitions - I do not believe that those who do ‘good’ in their professional lives are somehow more responsible than those who don’t to atone for any environmental wrongs they might commit along the way. (Unless their professional life involves handing out advice to others which they personally ignore for reasons than are not related to finance or access, in which case - do better). As long as those who can are doing what they reasonably can, then it’s OK by me. 

So yes, I am absolutely a hypocrite. And no, I do not believe that I will (or should) one day do something big and important enough in my working life to entirely obliterate every environmental impact that I have ever had. I don’t work on environmental projects because I think it somehow offsets my existence - I work on them because I enjoy the challenges, the joy, the rewards, the experiences, the people and the occasional achievements that they bring. I am also sufficiently heartbroken about the state of everything that I can’t imagine spending my time doing anything else.  

So whilst I recognise that the need to point out climate hypocrisy is largely driven by people’s desire to feel better about themselves and the choices they make, I also think it is something that we all - myself included - need to get over.  Because focusing on hypocrisy is the MOTHER of all delay tactics. It is a way of avoiding engaging with the reality of the situation that we are facing, and it is entirely self-defeating because it distracts from the systemic change that needs to happen if we want to have even a passing chance of preventing catastrophic climate breakdown. If the world was perfect, we wouldn’t need activists. And if all activists were able to be perfect, they probably wouldn’t have anything left to fight for. 

Image: Easter day feast ft. bananas fried in palm oil (unconfirmed).

[andswarwrites]

Day 1

So you want to know what a thousand words looks like and how long it takes to write it?  Read on. 

I remember hearing the groans when our English teacher in Grade 7 told us he wanted us to write a hundred words.  He then wrote out a paragraph on the board and told us: that’s a hundred words.  Up until that point I had counted pages, but he taught us to look at the words, because you can change the font size and make it seem like you have a lot of writing with pages, but numbers don’t lie when you’re counting words.

I've had six English teachers in my life.  Four of them were awesome, and two of them were not.  I have fond memories of English class.  I was taught at home from grades one to six, so my first English teacher was my mom.  She and my dad would bring me to a library that allowed children an unlimited pile of books, and I would take advantage of that.  From the age of three I was an avid reader.  I would come to the check out desk with a pile of books over my head, and the librarians would ask me if I really was going to read all of these books?!

To be honest, I would read about four or five of those books on the trip home.  If I was misbehaving, my mother would threaten me that if I didn't stop, I wouldn't be allowed to read.  There was a series of stories about a community of all sorts of different animals, and it was beautifully illustrated.  This series inspired me to create my own books.  My dad would bring home large sheets of paper from work, which I would fold in two and staple into a book, and then I would make my own illustrations and spin a tale.

When I was old enough to appreciate Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great by Judy Blume, I got inspired to write my own chapter book.  It was thirty-five pages, and I painstakingly colored the pictures.  At age twelve I read my first historical romance: it was Friday's Child by Georgette Heyer.  My mom had a whole shelf full, along with books by Nevil Shute and D. E. Stevenson.  Around that time I fell in love with Anne of Green Gables, as well.  Anne was just as talkative as me.

Of course, my love for historical fiction made me want to write a novel of my own, so that was my one hundred page summer project, which I showed to my English teacher.  The computer on which I wrote that book has long since perished, and I lost my one printed copy, which is just as well, because I am sure it would make me cringe to re-read it.  In my late teens I got an idea for a science fiction novel.  I worked on it but never completed it.  And by Grade 10 my English teacher was once again my mom, and she gave me a project.

Mom told me that I had to write a novel using the old adage to "write what you know".  Up until that point, from the books about animals, to the story of a little sister I wished I'd had, to the romance and the science fiction, my projects had been heavily laced with imagination.  I didn't really want to "write what I knew" at first, because I felt like what I knew was pretty boring and uneventful.  I did have a friend who lived close by, and she and I would hang out a lot.  We had a circle of friends.  I used this as a basis to write a story about friendship.

In my early twenties I hit a rut.  I wanted an original idea, and every time I sat down to write, nothing came to me.  Events were unfolding, however that would lead to my first success with Nanowrimo.  It took three attempts.  I was at home with my six month old baby, and while she would sleep I would write.  Completing that project gave me the confidence I needed to tackle a single sheet of loose leaf I had filled in pencil nearly a decade prior.  It was just the intro to a story, but I couldn't think of how to continue for all that time.

Here's the thing about Nanowrimo: once you figure out how to write a 50K novel in thirty days, it's somehow easier and easier each year you attempt it.  You figure out your own way of doing it.  But in 2021 I decided that in 2022 I would write 365K words in a year: an average of a thousand words a day.  They wouldn't have to be all fiction, but I would also try to write a novel.  This year, I'm writing a thousand words a day, but I'm keeping the fiction goals down to short stories when I feel like writing them.

I do have another idea for a novel.  It seems as though every time I write one, an idea for another takes its place.  It's just that I'm waiting for the idea to fully form in my mind.  You have to be patient with stories.  Sometimes you start one and you have no idea where you are going with it, and you're just along for the ride.  Other times, you've got a few pieces of an idea, and you have to wait to get more pieces to really get a clear picture of what the story will be.

I'm also watching my daughter become a writer in her own right.  She has tons of ideas for stories, she just has to choose one to stick to and complete.  I'm encouraging her to work on one this year, and write it until she reaches the end.  I've also got an idea for a story that we can collaborate on.  My mother is a writer, so my daughter is a third generation writer too.  She's currently reading that novel I wrote in Grade 10, and she likes it.  So, this was a thousand words, and it took me about two hours to write, with a lot of pauses to do other things.  I can’t think of anything else to say for now, so I'll stop here.

[orleans-jester]

Valentine’s Day.

He never had it as rough as Flotsam. After all the shit with Cinderella - it was a heavy day, a heavy anniversary. And then there were the more recent times as well. The fight against Cinderella’s family. Clopin losing a leg. But also - it was the time when Thomas had really stepped up and showed that he was there for the Laveaus because he had agreed to fight with them in that battle. He put himself right in there, werewolf with a shotgun. He’d gotten a bit injured and made a dent on the Laveau couch but those scars were nothing, really. Decoration. Medals of Honor, even.

He had his own Valentines Day plans for his spouse. He did things his own way. This wasn’t a last minute trip to a supermarket to pick out whatever flowers and chocolates were left. He tended to keep things more subtle for this holiday, for his love, while they were brooding. No heart shaped helium balloons or cheesy cards with pink confetti. He kept things Thomas-classy. Like being naked in his own woods - yes, that was very classy to Mr. Laveau. The look that had been on Valerie’s face had been totally worth the risk of thorns.

Bringing pink inside of the house - even if it were flowers? Not a chance. A red was much more likely. Passion. Romance. Red carnal love, baby. A dozen roses, half black, half red, for his number one dame. The inky darkness of the colored ones added a really nice contrast. And skip the ugly plastic wrapping, no. In his decent enough hand, he had written out some of his favorite poems for her, and wrapped the flowers in that.

‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day’s Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.’

‘since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world

my blood approves, and kisses are a better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry

the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids’ flutter which says

we are for each other: then laugh, leaning back in my arms for life’s not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis’

‘O, come, Love, let us take a walk, Down to the Way-of-Life together; Storms may come, but what care we, If be foul or fair the weather.

When the sky overhead is blue, Balmy, scented winds will after Us, adown the valley blow Haunting echoes of our laughter.

When life’s storms upon us beat Crushing us with fury, after All is done, there’ll ringing come Mocking echoes of our laughter.

So we’ll walk the Way-of-Life, You and I, Love, both together, Storm or sunshine, happy we If be foul or fair the weather.’

What was he expecting back? He was trying not to. He was doing what he could not to spy, not to pry, instead attempting to keep his focus on his own world at the moment. So when he received that text with that picture - oh, he was not anticipating something like that. His knees were weak just then. Trembling. He fell to the ground at the picture, but he never looked so happy for a stumble. Fur. There was something about her and fur that brought out the animalistic instinct in him.

He didn’t stand up to walk among the shards, now he basically crawled on threes - one hand holding up his phone as he shuffled forward. Did he trust himself to stand? Not at this moment no. He wasn’t sure what he was more of at that moment. Thomas Laveau, or the wolf. He had the flowers, his poems, between his teeth like a dog with a bone.

He was texting back, one handed, his thumbs making mistakes, but thank goodness for autocorrect.

‘Both are good. So good. But that second one. Eyes.’

And then he got to the room. Her photoshoot area. And oh, that phone went forgotten in the hallway, being abandoned as he hurried closer on all fours.

And much like a good dog, he dropped the roses, the poems, onto her lap, and looked ready to absolutely ravish her.

“Happy Valentines Day,” He said, moving in, resting his lips softly against the breastbone, right between those two, perfect, natural tits. “I see a better treat right here��”

Valentine's Day was always such a big deal day for Flotsam. It turned into the cliche of all supermarket cliches at one point. He hated that inside more than anything at one point in his life. His late wife was a sucker for all the cutesy stuff, so everything in Flotsam's heart tried to make everything bigger and grander for her, and as absolutely as sentimental and meaningful as his heart could possibly articulate with symbolism. He had to put it all out there in hopes something inside it all would sink in her dense head and actually get her to hang onto it. Get him. Understand something about how his heart beat, his love language as people say. If he could just get her to understand something she'd stop.... just...just stop... and stay home, enjoy him and their family.

It didn't work out and he went on hating the very idea of Valentine's Day after he'd destroyed it with memories of putting his heart into such events like elaborate proposals of marriage, even getting Jetsam involved, filling the entire swamp with pink and blue flowers, PINK yes PINK. Pushing pink on Valerie/Flotsam when the man went through all that was like mental torture for a long time because of this very day. It sure as fuck didn't really have to do with Barbie. It was because of where his broken heart came from.

But that was the key now wasn't it? It was long healed over and he hadn't even noticed. It was a strange year for Flotsam because when he realized Valentine's Day was coming he started planning for it for an entire week before he realized that was his ex-old-anniversary. He was too busy planning for Thomas. Cinderella wasn't even a blip for a whole WEEK. A whole WEEK. It was as he was getting all the final details of Valerie's outfit together a small memory flashed as memories do. They didn't linger there on it. They were far too shocked with themselves in the actualization of it. Valentine's Day hadn't tripped them up. The memory of the jar of reasons didn't piss him off this time. It only looked like an image. Like Oh, there's that memory and then poof, it was gone. It used to make them so angry that a person could seem so real and sincere and put that much effort into something and then be so cruel as to walk away and just leave their kids with not but a damn bag. But, this time he felt absolutely... nothing. It just felt empty to think about it. Just nothing. They weren't walking around all moody broody. They weren't stressing it with a smile-mask on pretending they were fine like they used to. They had actually been... fine for real.

Woah. Fuck. He whispered to himself, "He fixed that." Thomas would forever be the onion picker, his fix it man. Thomas stayed home. Flo wasn't a moron. He wasn't some patriarcal wives should stay at home person. Someone had to figure out how to get money to live. They had it. Cinderella left anyway with other aspirations. They had it and Thomas used that money as a reason to stay home and spend time. That was the miracle difference in mindset. Do fun shit together with the time they've got here. Share aspirations together not save the world. You save the world by saving each other. It was such a simple concept to live by. It made him giggle soft to himself as he ran his hand over the outfit as the memory of Thomas's Valentine's Day went through his head. It was a trail of roses through Lothorien out to the forest, Tree, and a little camp, and a very naked Thomas covered in dark rose petals. Oh, Savvy-on-a-Cracker. That image was blazed into his head in way that was never going away. Thank goodness. If anyone was looking from the outside Flotsam would be turning a red flush just in recollection of that man being that ballsy. He laughed a little more. He couldn't stop grinning.

Flotsam was pretty darn sure by next Valentine's Day he wasn't even going to be remembering to be shocked at himself anymore. Evolution was great. Growing felt good. Maybe there was a small phase right here where he needed to be proud of himself for the realization for a moment or two as it passed by. Maybe it wouldn't even be mentioned come V-Day next in his mind, not but a smile, too busy with the fun to slow down and notice. Right now he didn't mind the memory blast to feel the adrenaline to give the credit he wanted to Thomas for being the best fix it guy in the damn universe for taking a heart as broken as his and making it feel this good on a day like this. He felt like a new man. Fuck, new woman too for that matter.

Boom. A natural woman. Aretha was in Flo's head the rest of the time they were getting ready. She decided to fuck all those store bought Valentine colors, red or pink. She didn't even buy flowers. Her sweet tooth didn't allow her to not buy a little candy, that was Val and her twin spirit now, but she decided to take the reigns this year. If Thomas had his own thing planned, that was okay. They could combine them, but when she saw this fuzzy coat she needed it on her skin. The satin inner lining was to die for against her ribs. A little part of her was starting to get wolf minded. It might not have been wolf fur, but she was gearing up for time. She wasn't quite ready, but she was getting there.

She rode the coat tails of Thomas's past date and instead of putting out rose petals she put out tiny mirror pieces, the kind that would be stuck to a outside of a disco ball, little sticker slivers, not broken pieces. It was the kind of mirror pieces created for making arts and crafts. She littered them through the house to make her trail instead of outside since it wasn't so great for the environment otherwise. Yes, she'd gotten Scout and Dale to babysit for a few hours so they could have some time to themselves.

The trail would start with a text image of her. "What do you think of my new single's cover? Do you think it has a good feel? Should I use a different one?" The song Natural Woman would be playing in the background, but it wouldn't be Aretha's voice. It'd be Valerie's voice. Another text would come in as he was walking. "Do you like this one better?" It'd be a picture of her with a full disco ball like all the little squares he was following through the house.

When he'd arrive to the area she'd had set of where she'd done the shoot. She wouldn't have been nake like him. She chose to go another route, but she'd be sitting there at the end of her trail of disco ball mirrors. It sat in the background somewhere while she sat there in her wolfy fur old vibey look waiting for him, her voice in the air.

"Happy Valentine's Day, My Love. You inspired me to do an old cover. You gave me some kind of feeling." Then she popped a rich chocolate from a box in her mouth. "Want one?"