#create your own wedding band

[thejewelryhut]

Create Your own Diamonds Wedding Ring at The Jewelry Hut Jewelry Galleria: https://www.thejewelryhut.com/?page=add&c=createyourring

Source: thejewelryhut.com

[vangundysdiamonds]

Make your wedding day a bit more special by creating your own wedding band. The following decision offers the best ways to make your custom wedding rings inimitable.

[isak-dot-gov]

POV

Pairing: Wife!Paige Bueckers x Reader

Word count: 3760(including lyrics)

Summary: Based on POV by Ariana Grande

My Masterlist :)

.........................................

The sun had set, casting a golden hue over the reception hall. The evening had been filled with laughter, heartfelt toasts, and more than a few happy tears. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of joy and fulfilment as you looked around, seeing the people you loved most gathered to celebrate you and Paige. Your heart swelled with happiness as you watched her dance with her father, her face glowing with pure joy.

The band played softly in the background, setting the perfect mood for the intimate moment. Paige’s white suit sparkled under the soft lights, and her laughter rang out as she twirled around the dance floor. She caught your eye and winked, making your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t believe you were finally married to her, the woman who had captured your heart so completely.

As the song ended, Paige hugged her father before making her way back to you. She took your hand and pulled you into a warm embrace, her smile wide and genuine. “I can’t believe we’re finally married,” she whispered in your ear, her breath tickling your skin. “I’ve dreamed about this day for so long.”

You chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Me too, Paige. Me too.”

Just then, the band leader stepped up to the microphone and cleared his throat, capturing everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?” he announced. “We have a special surprise for our beautiful bride, Paige, courtesy of her lovely wife.”

Paige turned to you, her eyes wide with surprise. “What’s going on?” she asked, a mixture of curiosity and excitement in her voice.

You gave her a playful smile, squeezing her hand. “You’ll see,” you replied, guiding her to the front of the room where a microphone stood. As you approached, the lights dimmed slightly, and the room grew quiet with anticipation.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped up to the microphone, your heart pounding in your chest. “Hi, everyone,” you began, your voice a little shaky. “First, I just want to thank all of you for being here today. It means the world to us to have our family and friends here to celebrate our love.”

The room erupted in cheers and applause, and you smiled, feeling the warmth of everyone’s support. Once the noise died down, you continued. “As most of you know, Paige has been joking for months about how I should sing at our wedding since I’m a singer. Well, I decided to take her up on that and do something special.”

Paige’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hands, clearly taken aback. She had mentioned in passing that it would be fun if you sang at the wedding, but she never imagined you’d actually do it. The room filled with excited whispers as everyone realised what was about to happen.

“I wrote a song just for you, Paige,” you said, turning to look at her, your eyes locking. “This is the first time I’m performing it, and I wanted it to be a surprise because I wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”

Paige’s eyes filled with tears, and she nodded, her hand covering her heart. “I can’t believe you did this,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re amazing.”

You smiled, feeling your own eyes well up with tears. “You’re the amazing one,” you replied softly before turning back to the microphone. “So, here it is. This one’s for you, Paige.”

The orchestra, which had been setting up quietly behind you, began to play a soft, melodic intro. The sound of the piano mixed with the strings created a beautiful, ethereal atmosphere that filled the room. You took a deep breath, letting the music wash over you, and then you began to sing.

---

Song Performance:

“It's like you got superpowers  

Turn my minutes into hours  

You got more than 20-20, babe  

Made of glass the way you see through me  

You know me better than I do  

Can't seem to keep nothing from you  

How you touch my soul from the outside?  

Permeate my ego and my pride”

---

As you sang the first verse, you kept your eyes fixed on Paige, every note carrying the depth of your love and the promises you had made to each other. The words flowed effortlessly, but each one held the weight of your heart, conveying feelings you had never been able to put into words before. It was as if the music was a direct line to your soul, sharing the love story you both had written over the years. Paige's reaction was immediate; her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and as the lyrics unfolded, those tears began to spill over, streaming down her cheeks.

She tried to smile, but the emotion was too overwhelming, her lips trembling as she fought to keep her composure. The love in her eyes was unmistakable, shining brightly despite the tears, reflecting back everything you were trying to convey through your song. When she reached up to wipe her tears away, her hand shook slightly, and you could see how much this moment was affecting her. Her gaze never wavered from yours, full of admiration, gratitude, and an intense affection that made your heart swell.

The room around you seemed to fade away, everyone captivated by the raw emotion in your voice, but for you, there was only Paige. It felt like you were singing just for her, in a bubble of your own making, where the rest of the world didn’t exist. You could feel a lump forming in your throat, the overwhelming urge to cry building up inside you. But you swallowed it down, pushing through, knowing you needed to finish this for her—for both of you.

Your voice wavered slightly as you continued, but you steadied yourself, focusing on the reason you were here, on the reason you had written this song in the first place. You wanted to give Paige a memory she would never forget, to show her just how much she meant to you, how deeply you cherished her. With every note, every word, you poured your heart out, letting her see the parts of you that were reserved only for her. 

And as you did, you saw her reaction deepen, her tears coming faster now, spilling down her cheeks without restraint. Paige's shoulders shook with silent sobs, her hand clutching her chest as if to hold herself together. The sight made your own eyes sting with unshed tears, but you kept going, more determined than ever to give her the performance of a lifetime—a performance that would be etched in her heart forever.

---

“I wanna love me (ooh)  

The way that you love me (ooh)  

Ooh, for all of my pretty  

And all of my ugly too  

I'd love to see me from your point of view  

I wanna trust me (trust me)  

The way that you trust me (trust me)  

Ooh, 'cause nobody ever loved me like you do  

I'd love to see me from your point of view”

---

The chorus was powerful, each word echoing with the intensity of your feelings for Paige. As you sang, you could see how deeply the lyrics resonated with her. Her hands were clasped tightly over her heart, almost as if she were trying to hold it together, overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through her. Tears brimmed in her eyes, glistening under the soft glow of the lights, and yet she smiled—an expression of pure, unfiltered love and adoration that made your heart swell. Paige was mouthing the words along with you, her lips moving silently to the rhythm of the song, as if every line was a secret she already knew by heart. It was as if the music had woven a cocoon around the two of you, making everyone else in the room fade away.

You could see the way her chest rose and fell with every breath, the way her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and the slight quiver of her lips as she tried to hold back a sob. The sight of her so moved by your words made your voice catch in your throat, a lump forming as you pushed through the next line. You could feel your own tears threatening to spill over, but you will yourself to keep going, to give Paige the performance she deserved.

The connection between you was palpable, an unspoken understanding that this moment was just for the two of you. You felt a surge of emotion like a wave crashing over you, overwhelming in its intensity. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the microphone, but you knew, deep down, that this was exactly how you wanted to express your love for her. Every word, every note was a piece of your soul, laid bare for her and everyone else to see. You had always been able to communicate best through music, and tonight was no different. This song was a promise, a vow of your commitment and devotion, and the look on Paige's face told you that she understood that completely.

---

“I'm getting used to receiving  

Still getting good at not leaving  

I'ma love you even though I'm scared (oh, scared)  

Learnin' to be grateful for myself (oh, oh, oh)  

You love my lips 'cause they say the  

Things we've always been afraid of  

I can feel it startin' to subside  

Learnin' to believe in what is mine”

---

As you continued to sing, you saw Paige’s expression change from surprise to awe. The initial shock of hearing you sing something so personal and profound gave way to a softer, more vulnerable look. Her eyes, wide with wonder, began to glisten with unshed tears, reflecting the warm glow of the lights that surrounded you both. She was completely mesmerised, her gaze locked onto yours as if she were afraid to blink and miss even a second of this moment. Every note, every word seemed to resonate with her on a deep, emotional level. You could see her lips part slightly, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

The way she looked at you, like you were the only person in the world, made your heart flutter with an intensity you had never felt before. It was as if time had stopped, and all that existed was the two of you, sharing this intimate moment in front of all your loved ones. Her eyes, filled with love and admiration, spoke volumes; they told you that she saw you in a way no one else ever had, that she understood every part of you—the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the flawed. It was a look that made you feel truly seen and cherished, a look that promised forever.

The song was more than just a performance; it was a confession, a testament to the deep connection you shared. Every line was a piece of your heart, laid bare for her and everyone else to see. It was your way of telling Paige everything you had ever wanted to say, all the things that words alone could never fully capture. The melody carried the weight of your love, the rhythm echoing the beat of your heart as it pounded in your chest. Each verse unveiled a layer of your soul, a vulnerable yet powerful display of your devotion to her.

As you sang, you could feel the energy in the room shift, the air thick with emotion. You were no longer just performing a song; you were sharing a piece of your soul, inviting everyone to witness the depth of your feelings for Paige. The lyrics spoke of your insecurities, your fears, your hopes, and your dreams—things you had only ever shared with her in the quiet moments of your relationship. And now, here you were, putting it all out there, not caring who saw because this was for her, and she deserved to know just how much she meant to you.

You could feel the tears welling up in your own eyes as you poured your heart out into the song. It was as if every word, every note was a declaration of your love, a promise to always cherish and honour the bond you shared. And as you sang, you realised that this moment, this song, was the most honest and genuine thing you had ever done. It was a reminder of why you fell in love with her in the first place, and why you would continue to love her for the rest of your life.

The orchestra swelled behind you, the music lifting your voice higher, carrying it across the room like a wave. You could see the effect it was having on Paige; her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her lips trembling as she fought to keep her emotions in check. It was clear that she was deeply moved, overwhelmed by the raw honesty of your performance. And in that moment, you knew that this was the greatest gift you could ever give her—a song that captured the essence of your love, a love that was unbreakable, unshakeable, and eternal.

---

“I wanna love me (ooh)  

The way that you love me (ooh)  

Ooh, for all of my pretty  

And all of my ugly too  

I'd love to see me from your point of view  

I wanna trust me (trust me)  

The way that you trust me (trust me)  

Ooh, 'cause nobody ever loved me like you do  

I'd love to see me from your point of view”

---

The chorus repeated, its melody filling the room with an almost palpable sense of emotion. Each note seemed to carry a piece of your heart, and as you sang, you could feel the intensity of the emotions in the room rising to an overwhelming crescendo.

Paige’s reaction was both heart-wrenching and beautiful. Her tears flowed freely now, her cheeks glistening under the soft lights. She had initially tried to hold back her emotions, but as the lyrics spoke directly to her heart, she could no longer contain the depth of her feelings. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, and every now and then, a sob escaped her lips, echoing softly through the room.

You could see how deeply moved she was by the performance. Her eyes were filled with a mix of awe and profound love, and it was clear that the song was touching her on a level far beyond what words could express. It was as if every word you sang was a direct reflection of her own emotions, resonating with the love and commitment you both shared.

The room seemed to hold its breath, enveloped in the raw and powerful atmosphere created by the song. The guests, though visibly moved, watched quietly, giving space to the intimate moment unfolding before them. The orchestra played with a delicate intensity, enhancing the emotional depth of the performance, while you poured every ounce of your being into the song.

Your heart ached with a tender, almost painful love as you observed Paige. Her reaction was a testament to the strength of your bond, and seeing her so profoundly affected by your gift made every moment of writing and rehearsing the song worthwhile. The way her eyes locked onto yours, filled with unspoken gratitude and affection, made you feel as though you were the only two people in the world at that moment.

You continued to sing, your voice steady despite the emotions threatening to overwhelm you. The connection between you and Paige was tangible, almost electrifying, and it was as if the entire room had become a cocoon of love and vulnerability. The chorus repeated, each iteration deepening the emotional impact, and you could feel the collective heartbeat of everyone present, pulsing in sync with the song.

---

“I couldn't believe it or see it for myself  

*Girl*, I be impatient, but now I'm out here  

Fallin', fallin', frozen, slowly  

Fallin', got me right  

I won't keep you waitin' (waitin')  

All my baggage fadin' safely (my baggage fadin')  

And if my eyes deceive me  

Won't let them stray too far away, I”

---

As you transitioned into the bridge, your voice took on a softer, more vulnerable quality. The intensity of the chorus had given way to a more intimate, reflective moment, and you allowed your emotions to shine through with every note. Your eyes remained fixed on Paige, not wanting to miss even a flicker of her reaction. The connection between you was palpable, as if the music had woven an invisible thread that bound your hearts together.

The room, previously filled with murmurs and soft clinks of glasses, had fallen into an almost reverent silence. Every person present seemed to be holding their breath, captivated by the tender, heartfelt performance unfolding before them. The orchestra played with a delicate precision, their instruments echoing the emotions that swirled through the air. The notes of the song seemed to hang in the atmosphere, each one adding to the building crescendo of feeling.

You could sense the emotional tide rising, the intensity of the moment reaching its peak. The soft strains of the bridge created a space where raw, unfiltered emotions could come to the forefront. Your voice wavered slightly, not from lack of strength but from the sheer weight of the sentiment you were pouring into the performance. Each word felt like a thread of your soul being laid bare, and you could feel the collective emotion of the room, as if everyone was collectively experiencing the song’s depth.

Paige’s gaze remained locked on yours, her eyes brimming with tears that reflected the soft glow of the stage lights. Her expression was a mix of pure love, admiration, and an almost overwhelming gratitude. You could see how deeply she was affected by the song, her eyes conveying a depth of emotion that words alone could not capture. The way she looked at you was both heartwarming and heart-wrenching, a silent testament to the profound impact your performance was having on her.

As the lyrics of the bridge flowed from your lips, you noticed Paige’s eyes glistening with a mixture of happiness and vulnerability. Her gaze was fixed on you, her expression tender and filled with an unspoken appreciation. It was as though the music had unlocked a wellspring of emotions within her, and her eyes communicated a gratitude that was too immense to articulate.

The intensity of the moment seemed to grow with each passing second. The emotional buildup was almost tangible, creating an atmosphere charged with raw, heartfelt energy. You could feel the connection between you and Paige intensify, as if the music had bridged the space between your souls. Her silent reaction spoke volumes, revealing the depth of her feelings and the profound effect your song had on her.

As you continued to sing, the room remained enveloped in that profound silence, everyone absorbed in the beauty of the moment. The bridge of the song served as a poignant culmination of the emotions that had been building throughout the performance. Your voice softened, and the lyrics resonated deeply, capturing the essence of the love you shared with Paige. The moment was one of pure, unfiltered emotion, and the mutual understanding between you and Paige was as powerful as the song itself.

You saw how her gratitude and admiration shone through her eyes, her expression a blend of awe and heartfelt emotion. It was a powerful reminder of the bond you both shared and the depth of your love. As the final notes of the bridge faded away, the room seemed to exhale in unison, the collective breath of everyone present a testament to the impact of the performance. In that moment, you knew that the song had accomplished exactly what you had hoped—it had captured the essence of your love for Paige and conveyed it in a way that words alone could never fully express.

As you neared the end of the chorus, Paige reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she touched her heart, a gesture that spoke volumes. The sight of her so openly moved, her face radiant with tears of joy and love, filled you with an indescribable sense of fulfilment. It was a moment of pure connection, a manifestation of the love you shared, and it made your heart swell with an overwhelming, heartfelt ache.

---

“I wanna love me (ooh)  

The way that you love me (ooh)  

Ooh, for all of my pretty  

And all of my ugly too  

I'd love to see me from your point of view  

I wanna trust me, ooh (trust me)  

The way that you trust me, baby (trust me)  

'Cause nobody ever loved me like you do  

I'd love to see me from your point of view (oh)  

Yeah”

---

As you sang the final chorus, you could feel the love radiating from Paige. She was openly weeping, her face a mix of joy and awe. You could see how much this meant to her, how much she appreciated the effort you had put into writing and performing this song just for her.

When the last note faded, the room erupted in applause, and you could see everyone on their feet, cheering and clapping. But all you could focus on was Paige, who was running up to you, tears streaming down her face. 

She threw her arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. “That was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I love you so much.”

You smiled, your own tears spilling over as you hugged her back. “I love you too, Paige. More than words can say.”

You pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. “I wanted to do something special for you, something that would show you how much I love you.”

Paige smiled, wiping away her tears. “You did more than that,” she replied softly. “You showed me just how lucky I am to have you in my life. I’m so grateful to be your wife.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead against hers. “And I’m grateful to be yours,” you whispered before kissing

 her gently, sealing the moment with a promise of forever.

As the room continued to cheer and applaud, you held Paige close, knowing that this was just the beginning of your beautiful journey together. And you couldn’t wait to see where it would take you.

..............................................

Isak speaks: Uhhhh... hi lol. Ik I kinda disappeared for a few weeks but I promise I'm currently writing a bunch of stuff for the next few weeks. So nobody hate me please

I'm also trying out using pictures for my fics(i was originally too lazy to do it but I always thought they looked so cool on other peoples fics so here we are), lmk what you guys think.

bye bye :)

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 02 - Food Play]

Pairing: Good Boy!Tae + Soft Dom!Reader

Genre: married life!AU, Royalty!AU, Fantasy!AU

Kinks: public sex on a secluded beach, nudity, food play, nipple licking, blowjob, cunnilingus, face riding, orgasm control, cowgirl position, creampie, aftercare

Wordcount: 4.4k

a/n: i sadly lost the ask, but someone once gave me the idea of OC introducing Tae to chocolate and out of it, this romantic and horny smut was born 💛

The first time Taehyung tasted chocolate was during one of the many royal banquettes. It was a - what you called - chocolate fountain and before that, Taehyung had never seen such wonders. Strong candles melted the sweet delicacy until it was liquid and air pressure carried it up along a golden pipe until it trickled out of its opening to run down three convex plates, creating a fountain of chocolate. Truly Taehyung couldn’t believe his eyes at first glance and once he tasted it by being fed a chocolate tipped orange, he spent all evening by the fountain, stuffing his belly with sweet food. He left the banquette with an immense stomach ache, but that couldn’t cease his liking for chocolate. It was so very sweet and melted on one’s tongue and Taehyung loved every bite of it.

You often give him presents which are related to chocolate. These presents always brighten his mood.

Today’s mood is rather jolly as well. You are free from royal duties and therefore took Taehyung to the beach. It was a small, secluded bay which could only be accessed by natural stairs from the castle grounds. The high cliff was the backdrop and dark, rough rocks caught the ocean on each side of the sand bay. It was the only beach on this side of the cliff. The beach open to the public was south of the castle blending into the lively town. When the winds blew just right, the royal family is able to hear the laughter and chatter from the big beach.

Today no wind blows and the ocean sends calm waves. The sound of them greeting the shore mixes with the endless calls of the seagulls high in the clouds and cliffs.

You and Taehyung are sharing a thick and comfortable blanket, watching the waves dance on the sand. You are wearing but a thin robe and hat for coverage from the sun. Taehyung matches with you, safe for the colour of his hat. They were both made of golden straw, but he painted flowers on his hat brim. You and he left any and all jewellery at the castle, not wanting to soil them or worse, lose them in the ocean. Only your golden wedding bands on your ring fingers you kept. That is a piece neither would dare to take off. It symbolises your union, as much as it symbolises that your souls were one. There is no sweeter thing to be. 

You lean over to Taehyung, placing a gentle kiss onto his clothed shoulder. He shakes out of his trance, craning his neck to kiss your lips. Your hats are in the way and you end up smiling into the kiss at the funny way you knock them off your heads. 

Once the kiss was successfully stolen, you sit back again and fix your hat. Taehyung does the same, keeping his fond eyes on you. You meet his gaze, heart fluttering when he smiles at you. His raven hair is open today, falling along his back and shoulders. The sunlight brings out the golden and hazel shades in his strands. He is truly so beautiful.

“I enjoy this day very much”, he says. 

“Yes, I share your feelings. You look so very beautiful in the light.”

“I do? But.” He touches his own cheek. “My face is aflame in heat.”

“It makes you look very dashing.”

“Oh. Thank you, my princess”, he speaks bashfully, lowering his eyes. 

“Can I interest you in taking a swim with me? I feel aflame as well and would fancy the cold water.”

“Yes, I would join you.” 

“Perfect. Go ahead, I shall follow.”

Taehyung watches you curiously as you crawl to the food basket you store in the shadow of the cliffs. He takes off his hat and rope, enjoying the unfiltered warmth on his nude body. 

“What is it that you are doing?” he asks you. 

“I am preparing something for later. It will take a while, so I want to do it before the swim. You do not have to wait for me.”

“I shall at the very least walk to the water then.”

“Yes, very well.”

Taehyung can’t figure out what you are doing, wading in the lower waters from left to right. You soon join his side, nude as well and with your hand naturally slipping into his’.

“Oh, your palm is so damp in sweat”, you conclude with a fond giggle.

‘I know. Yours as well”, Taehyung agrees with a scrunch of his nose.

“The water will be a welcome help”, you say and guide him into the deeper parts. 

The day is so hot and sunny that the coldness of the water feels welcome on the body. On other days, you and Taehyung – mostly Taehyung – would whine about the temperature, but today it is dearly needed. Within seconds, you are submerged completely, swimming side by side. 

It was you who taught Taehyung how to swim. It was at this very beach during a sunny and warm day. Taehyung didn’t need to possess the skill before he married you. He came from an island queendom, but the waters were of constant icy nature. Even in summer, the temperatures didn’t go above three degrees celsius. Swimming was never an option in his homeland and therefore Taehyung never learned it. Until he met you and you spent weeks teaching him the skill. At first he didn’t dare to go deeper than waist depth in fear of drowning. Later he needed to be close to you in case he needed to hold onto you for safety. But soon he swam beside you all on his own and not long after, he ran into the waters without you to swim as if he had swam his whole life. 

You stay in the waters until you both feel properly cooled off. You leave it together and walk back to the blanket. Taehyung picks up your towel and wraps you in it, hugging you against his chest so you were sharing it. You laugh, looking at him with fond eyes. 

“If we stay so very close, all the cooling off we did will be for nought.”

“I can help you dry off quicker this way.”

“Of course”, you nudge his chest, “you merely wanted to steal a hug”, you say, stepping away with your towel now wrapped around you.

“Is it that scandalous of me to do?” he asks, picking up his own towel to dry off.

You smile, shaking your head. 

“Of course not.”

You sit down, ridding yourself of the towel and rolling onto your stomach to inspect what you laid out before the swim. 

Taehyung decides to stay nude as well, lying down beside you with his arm draped over your waist. His skin is still cool, the weight of his arm feels intimate and pleasantly familiar. 

“May I finally know what you did?” he asks. 

You open the box of chocolates, eliciting a shocked gasp from him. 

“It is melted.”

“I know, how perfect.”

“What? But. I don’t seem to understand.”

“You see”, you begin and quickly get some oranges from the basket, “you do not need fire to melt chocolate. The sun on such a hot day will do the same to it and the good thing is that it will never reach dangerous temperatures.” 

You pick up a dollop of chocolate and wipe it on his nose. 

“Oh”, he laughs, wiping the chocolate to lick it from his fingers, “I wasn’t ready.”

“Oh, I know. You looked very adorable with the chocolate on your nose.” 

“Yes? Well, I can do the same” he says and picks up chocolate to wipe it on your nose. 

You laugh wholeheartedly, cleaning it off while Taehyung laughs with you. 

You keep gazing at each other once the laughter dies down. His arm around you moves up and down in a loving caress, his fingertips trace your side. It tingles so very nicely. Especially when they dare to brush over the side of your breast. 

“Your eyes are so beautiful”, Taehyung whispers, “each time I see them in the light of the sun, I am reminded of the depth of them and their vast palette of the most beautiful colours.”

You scoot closer to him, kissing him chastely. 

“You speak in poetry, my darling. I love this about you so very much.”

Taehyung leans his forehead against your head, smiling. He is very happy to be with you and to be your husband. He couldn’t have asked for a better marriage. Sometimes he thinks back at how nervous he was on his wedding night. How he was so very scared that it would hurt and that you wouldn’t care about his well being. He thinks back at how patient you were with him, how you made him relax and feel so good that he released not once but twice because of you. You were so gentle with him despite having no knowledge of his person and Taehyung felt enchanted by you ever since. The tenderness with which you treat him only grew once you developed feelings for him. Taehyung feels insanely lucky these days, thanking the goddesses for giving him this life each morning in grateful prayer. He also prays for your health and the health of his best friend Hoseok, last he prays for the health of his people and your people. 

You pull him back from his journey down memory lane by tracing his spine with your fingertips. He shivers at the touch, looking at you. 

Your eyes are filled with love for him.

You sit up and take him by his shoulders to roll him to his back. Taehyung lets you, just as he lets you straddle his lap and pin his hands above his head. His dark hair lays messily on the blanket, your body shields the sun from his face perfectly. Your fingers are so tightly interwoven. Taehyung feels breathless. Your weight is very pleasurably good on his thighs, your warmth seeps into his skin. Your breasts are so beautiful in the sunlight, your curves look so soft and your skin so silken.

“I sometimes think that meeting you is nothing but a beautiful dream. I am so lucky to have you, my darling prince of ice”, you tell him.

“No, I am lucky. I know that as a man it isn’t my right to be picky with my marriage, but I still feared it. You are the best thing that happened to me. You are what I always dreamed of.” 

You smile and lean down. Your breasts melt into his chest, exciting him a little. Taehyung sighs and lifts his head to meet your kiss sooner. 

It feels incredibly good to both of you. It is so nice to be together and to share your connection in such ways. The place only adds to the tingles of bliss you both experience. 

You and Taehyung come to this beach alone. No guards, no servants, no other family or friends. You tell your most trusted queen’s guard to wait by the entrance of the stairs and to deny access to anyone wanting to come down. She does a very good job at her duties, allowing you and Taehyung complete togetherness. 

You use these moments not only to be completely bare, but also to connect deeper with each other. 

Yes, you and Taehyung have been intimate on this beach very often. You tasted each other, felt each other, melted into each other and you even helped him to utter bliss with the help of what is called a cock belt. Your trusted sex witch made it for you. It allows you to tie a moulded pretend cock to yourself and to use it to fill Taehyung’s hole with the help of a very slippery cream. You both loved it a lot, although you sometimes had a feeling that Taehyung loved it a little bit more than you. 

This beach has seen it all however and judging by the way your breaths were raised once the kiss breaks, it might see something new today.

“Taehyung, I…”

“I know”, he breathes, squeezing your hands, “me too.”

���You too?” 

He nods his head.

“Today is”, he begins, “it is a very good day for me.”

“I share your feelings, but I also damn my feelings.”

“Why?” 

“Because if I sink you into me, our connection is as good as over. I know we won’t last long.”

He laughs, agreeing with you by biting your lower lip gently. You let him, teasing him back with a gnaw to his upper lip. He purrs, writhing under you.

“I have an idea.” 

“Show me”, he says. 

You sit up and let go of his hands. He still keeps them above his head however, gazing up at you. You sink your finger deep into the melted chocolate. Then you pick up your breast one by one to cover your nipples with the chocolate. The rest you lick off your finger. 

Taehyung gawks with an agape mouth, finding it difficult to breath. Your nipples already looked so tempting and now you made them look like this. Taehyung won’t ever get used to your ideas nor the maddening effects they have on him. 

“Taste them”, you encourage him with an arch of your back. 

Taehyung sits up instantly, cradling your breasts to guide them to his eager mouth. He moans, eyes closed and tongue eagerly licking your right nipple. 

You sigh and roll your head back, scratching his scalp slowly. His mouth is wet and very warm, his tongue is soft and his lips softer. He is licking you and sucking on your nipple, sending comfortable pleasure through your veins. 

Taehyung breaks away with a deep moan, kissing his way to your other nipple. He cleans it with more hunger, kneading your flesh with eager hands. 

“This feels so good”, you tell him, grinding on his thigh. It spreads your nectar on his skin and feels so very good to you. Warm and ever growing. You might not have the strength to stop on your own, for the feeling was rather addicting.

“You taste so good”, he mumbles and sucks on your nipple with such eagerness that it feels fiery. 

You flinch, moaning loudly. Loud enough to make Taehyung raise his head in alarm.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, holding you under your breasts. His hands are so big and touch you with such care. 

“On the contrary, this excited me way too much.”

“Oh. Oh my princess”, he sighs, wanting to kiss you but you push him down. 

He falls, hands naturally falling above his head. 

“It is my turn to taste.”

Taehyung is panting for air as he waits for you to cover his nipples with chocolate. He must admit that he has hardened completely by now, aching to be inside you. 

You rub the chocolate on his perky nipples, making him sigh. It feels good, but most definitely not as good as your mouth will feel like. You lift your finger to his lips. 

Taehyung takes it inside without hesitation, sucking on it as his devoted eyes are on your face.

“Is it sweet?” 

He nods, mewling around your digit. 

“You look so beautiful with my finger inside you.”

The ambiguity of your words are known to both and makes Taehyung mewl louder. You need to use your fingers on his hole when you prepare him for the cock belt. Your words bring the memory of how good it feels to the very surface of his mind. How much he craves to be loved by you.

You pull your finger free, denying him of more. You make up for it however by kissing a path from his neck to his right nipple. 

Taehyung closes his eyes, arching his back when he feels your first lick. Your mouth is so wet and warm. Taehyung feels breathless. 

“So sweet. Oh, you are so sweet”, you lull, kissing a path to his other nipple to clean it just as thoroughly. 

Taehyung sighs your name, shivering under you. To be licked is so arousing to him. You end the tasting by sucking a purple mark to his sternum. He accepts it with gratitude and a racing heart.

You smile down at him, caressing his chest. He is out of breath, face flushed and cock leaking. 

You pick up the box of melted chocolate and tilt it over his sternum. The chocolate trickles out of it slowly, allowing you to draw a steady line down to his cock. 

“Oh heavens, oh”, Taehyung lets out under his breath, skin feeling aflame in pleasure. 

You set the chocolate aside and lower your hungry mouth to clean what you spilled. You start at his sternum and slowly lick your way down to his cock. You are thorough in your clean, keeping Taehyung in a constant state of bliss. His stomach is insanely sensitive so to have you lick every inch of it, is very arousing to Taehyung. By the time you reached his cock, Taehyung begs for your mouth.

“Please, more please.” 

��But you sit up and shake your head.

“Not yet.”

He whines softly, knowing that he needs to be patient. You pick up more chocolate and spread it on your neck and shoulders. 

He sits up without being told to, pulling you into him with his fingers on your waist. His lips fall to your neck instantly, his tongue cleans you hungrily. 

“Taehyung”, you sigh, feeling enchanted. His touch is placed with such need. You are so close that his proud cock stands between your stomachs and grinds against your bundle of nerves. You know it must feel so very good for Taehyung because it feels incredible for you. 

He moans and purrs as he licks you clean, dimpling your flesh. He loves every inch of you, but he can’t deny that the inches he desires most are those of your warm, wet cunt around his cock. 

He lifts his head once work is done, gazing up at you.

“Please, I need you.”

“I need you too, but not yet”, you deny him and push him back into the blanket. 

Taehyung falls with a defeated keen, writhing under your weight. A weight which leaves him as you kneel down next to him. You pick up his cock and connect your chocolate covered finger with its tip. 

Taehyung gasps and props himself up on his elbows, tensing his stomach. Wordlessly, you open your mouth to take him inside.

“A-ah ah.”

Taehyung kicks the sand, pulling a face of shocked ruin. You are licking and sucking him at the same time, forcing pleasure so strong down his cock that Taehyung feels delirious from it. You concentrate your hunger on his very sensitive tip, making it even harder for Taehyung to remain normal.

“Stop please”, he begs, gripping your head in panic. 

You slide off of him, studying him in confusion.

“Are you not enjoying this?”

“Too much. I am enjoying it too much. I almost can’t hold back anymore.”

“Oh”, sweet laughter shakes you. You get on all fours so you could be closer to his face. “Oh my darling.”

Taehyung smiles into the kiss you share. 

“I barely even sank down on you”, you tease him, which makes him laugh.

“It isn’t my fault that your mouth is heaven.”

“You charm me, my prince”, you purr, giving him a lazy tongue kiss. 

Taehyung moans, holding your breasts safely. He would have wanted for the kiss to last forever but alas you break it. You pick up more chocolate and climb onto him. Taehyung falls, keeping his hands pinned above his head. You aren’t on his lap right now, but on his chest. You lift yourself and connect your chocolaty finger with your heat. You gasp.

“Sensitive.” 

“My darling, please”, he begs.

You move yourself above his face, looking down at him. Your finger is in your mouth as you clean it. 

“Go on then.” 

Taehyung moans and wraps his arms around your thighs, pushing you onto his face so he could lick you clean. He does a good job at it. Granted, he licks you clean from the chocolate but definitely doesn’t keep you clean. He licks your cunt sloppily and with needy hunger, leaving stripes of his drool everywhere. You taste so sweet, sweeter than any chocolate ever could, it is impossible for Taehyung to have manners right now. 

“Oh! Oh he-heavens”, you gasp, shuddering above him. You grip his head with both hands, pulling a face of complete shocked bliss. You anticipated the sensation, but didn’t expect the carnal hunger with which he would devour you. 

“Taehyung heavens just”, you convulse, falling forward. You catch yourself in the sand, back bending into unnatural positions as your body attempts to make sense of the intense pleasure.

He moans into you, flicking his tongue through your folds quickly. His fingers dimple your thighs, his lips work hard to taste what his tongue misses. 

“Heavens, will you stop?” you get out, fighting yourself free of him at the very last moment. 

You roll off of him, not daring to close your legs because of how much your heat throbs. 

“Have Morguls possessed you? Why would you lick me like this?” 

Taehyung laughs and gets on his knees. 

“I am starved for you. Please forgive me.”

“Tch, you are a gluttonous man, Taehyung of the Snow Isles.”

He giggles and blushes, “it is only because I love your taste so very much.”

You sit up, cupping his face. You are so close, sharing air and eye contact. 

“You are the very reason I am mad, Taehyung my beloved.”

You make him laugh yet again, smiling fondly at the sound of it. He has such a beautiful laugh. Especially when it is honest and comes from the heart. You peck his cheek. 

“Lie down again.”

Taehyung obeys, still smiling and giggling to himself. You climb atop of him and take his length. 

He gasps, face falling in anticipation. He is breathing so heavily. 

One lift of your hips and his cock is aligned with your dripping entrance. 

“Hold my hips as I take you.”

He obeys with a whimper of your name, moaning a second later when you sink him into you. 

His eyes roll back and stay like this, his head falls to the side. 

“That’s it. Taehyung, oh Taehyung”, you moan, sinking down until he bottoms out. Once he does, you begin moving on him. You use his chest for support, rocking your hips on him in bouncing motions and with a circle each time he is completely inside. The rhythm is insanely pleasurable for either of you. How you love being so very close. Taehyung dimples your hips to the point his strength hurts blissfully, you mark his chest with your nails as you hold him close.

“Will you last long?” you ask him. 

He shakes his head vigorously, pressing out a high-pitched “no.”

“You are so delightful, oh.” you enjoy his length in a long, good movement before you continue talking. “Touch me.”

Taehyung obeys, sliding his thumb to your clit to rub it exactly how you want it. He touched you like this countless times before until he mastered it. He is so good at it these days that it is rather difficult not to crumble with the first touch.

“Yes, Tae- aah”, you moan, clenching around him.

“Please no tight- ah” 

“It feels so good. Darling, it feels so good.”

“Heavens, oh. Ah! A-ah!”

It is difficult to speak when your bodies are lost in pleasure and so you both fall into moans and sighs and desperate mewls while your bodies chase your very close highs. 

It didn’t take long for you and Taehyung to have learned each other’s bodies. The first few weeks of your marriage were spent mostly in bed. It is custom in your land for a newlywed couple to travel somewhere foreign. Your family owned land around half a day’s ride from the royal city. You spent your honeymoon in the county estate, getting to know each other in every possible way. You talked a lot, enjoyed good food and part took in each other’s hobbies and when you didn’t do any of these things, you explored each other’s bodies in the most carnal and sensual of ways. You know that you fell in love with Taehyung during these weeks. He was everything you ever dreamed of. Taehyung knows that he fell in love with you in the second night he laid with you and he realised that you were truly that kind-hearted and gentle. You were everything he ever dreamed of.

“My darling”, you fall to your elbows and brush your lips against his cheek, “you are bringing me to paradise.”

“Please can I follow?” 

“Yes”, you moan and break around him, gasping his name as his thumb and length set you aflame. 

Taehyung wails your name, following you with an arch of his back. He chases your throbbing heat with sloppy thrusts, painting your walls white with his seed. He wasn’t even aware that he was as desperate as this orgasm lets him think. Oh how good it feels. 

You and he stay like this after your highs, hugging and catching your breaths. You are warming his length, while he helps you stay filled with his devotion. 

“I don’t know what to say”, you whisper.

“I loved every second of this.”

You smile and nod your head, “yes, yes this is a good thing to say.”

He laughs, tingling when you laugh as well and therefore squeeze his cock. You lift your head, cupping his heated cheeks.

“I love your very soul, Taehyung of the Snow Isles.”

“I love your very essence, ___ of Sand.”

You and he exchange a loving kiss, ending it with soft stub of your noses and a bashful, happy giggle. 

“I feel so hot.”

“Yes, me too.”

You and he giggle, cuddling closer.

“We could swim again and then afterwards we can peel the orange and share the last of the chocolate.”

“Oh”, he blushes, “do not speak to me of chocolate. It will take me a while to be able to look at it normally again.” 

You laugh, “oh you are so delightful, my darling.”

[pettyprocrastination]

House Husband

tw: somnophilia, consensual non-consent

Thinking about something happening with KORTEC that requires Konig to go into hiding indefinitely. Like full on faking his death, changing his name and adopting an entirely new personality.

That personality namely being your new husband.

When the team reaches out to you about the notion you shoot it down immediately- your job is to help create new identities. Passports, ID's, entire backstories to be slipped into government databases as if they had been there for years- but not playing house to a 6'6 Austrian in your sleepy suburban home.

Eventually you acquiesce, making a marriage licence and a believable story for your neighbors about the sudden appearance of the man who looks over your shoulder each time you open the door.

Thinking about how he accepts this new reality almost immediately and with little to no complaint. You'll expect to clash with him daily but instead you wake up to the smell of coffee and breakfast in the morning with him already doing the dishes. The contract killer is entirely too comfortable playing husband and wife because why shouldn't he? He's spent his entirely life being a complete recluse and now he's close quarters with a beautiful woman and a wedding band on his hand for God knows how long instead of waking up as the asscrack of dawn to run drills- he'll be milking this for as long as humanly possible and as far as you'll allow him.

It's slow at first. He's tentative- trying to see where your boundaries lay with him. When a well-meaning neighbor shows up on your to ask about your wearabouts, you feel his hand slither around your waist- eyes boring into the person standing in your doorway until they leave. Days later when you leave the house for work he insists on walking you out to your car and pressing his lips to your cheek is a chaste kiss goodbye with a promise that you'll have a good day at work. That's what a good husband would do, after all!

A week later he asks to stay in your bed- the measly twin in the guest room has done nothing but aggravate old injuries and cause a twinge in his back. You feel so bad seeing this downright gargantuan man try to fold himself into such a tiny space that you allow him into your own- pleasantly surprised when you wake up to his broad chest as your pillow and firm arms wrapped around you in the dead of night as well as his insistence that he sleep on the side closest to the door, lest anybody in search of him breaks in while you sleep.

You rationalize the sensation of his tongue greedily ravaging your cunt as it pulls you from your peaceful slumber because isn't that what good husbands do? What kind of man would he be if he left you wanting? Maybe he'd notice your lingering gaze or heard your muffled moans in the shower as you tended to your own desire spurred on by this kind-hearted but still dangerous shadow that had happily clung to you for the past month.

It's all you can do in return to spread your legs wider and curl your fingers in his firey hair, meeting your husbands eyes as he groans at your taste.

[quietwingsinthesky]

mr kota-tsun experiencing shame for the first time in his life, going to his orc wife with their wedding band in shatters and she goes. ‘oh. good. so now i can tell you that i lost mine like three weeks after we got married. you realize we had a nord wedding ceremony and neither of us are nords right.’ thank god lizards cannot cry.

today on skyrim: i accidentally disassembled my wedding ring looking for enchantments

[caraetdeul]

Checkmate, I Couldn't Lose

Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

You have a secret to tell and what's a better way to confess than through a toast during your wedding's reception?

TW: none other than Wonwoo's killer looks cuz that's a warning on itself.

A/n: this was supposed to be posted weeks ago but I never got to finishing it. And now that I have to cram on so many projects, my brain has decided that its time for the creative juices to push through my writer's block. This was also a sort of reprieve from the amount of angst that I wrote in Tolerate It so hopefully I did good. Anyways, enjoy reading caratdeul!

~Main Masterlist~

The cheers of your loved ones as they dance on the floor. The clinking of champagne glasses together as they congratulate you on a new life. The cold breeze on your white gown as you sway to a waltz rhythm with your husband close to your chest. Your arms around his shoulders and his hands settled on your hips.

It was the night of your lives and it was perfect.

You were well into the reception of your wedding. And honestly, you were having too much fun that you were sure you wouldn’t have a detailed recollection of everything that happened so far. It was a blur of happy faces and celebrations. But if there was one thing you will remember the most, it was the feeling of walking down the aisle, bouquet in hand, slowly inching towards the wonderful life that you will have with Wonwoo as your husband.

Now here you were, in each other’s arms as you swayed to the wedding playlist you both had a hand in creating (he knows that it was 1% his songs and the other 99% was yours but he also knows that you’ve been dreaming of a perfect wedding since you were a kid and he won’t be a hindrance to that). You can see the reflection of your wedding bands on the corner of your eye and you swear that you’ve never seen something shine as brightly as the ones you always see in your lover’s eyes up until now.

You would’ve danced the night away but alas, the event’s host has other plans. The music slowly faded to make way for the host to announce that it was time for some toasts.

Wonwoo huffed, “Do we really have to?”

“Oh honey,” you giggled, kissing the pout on his lips which made him smile, “We both know we won’t be leaving this place without hearing your drunk aunt’s speech about how you were so little when she first met you and how cute you looked in your little dia—”

“Okay, you can stop now,” he blushed, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, “Please tell me she actually won’t say any of that tonight.”

You just shrugged teasingly, earning another groan from him. Hand in hand, you led him back to your seats, laughing as he begged you for any reassurance that he wouldn’t be embarrassed any time soon. You then promptly shushed him when he tried bribing you with something about your honeymoon that you would rather not say in public.

That little shit, you thought as you narrowed your eyes at his smirk. You stopped yourself from slapping the smug look off of his face when he saw your face warming up, fully knowing where your mind had gone the moment he said it.

You were cut off from your thoughts when your sister went up on the stage, officially starting the toasts. You both settled in your chair with Wonwoo’s arm around your shoulder. Inhaling deeply, the two of you start to brace yourselves from the onslaught of inside jokes and nostalgic memories from your closest family and friends.

As each loved one went through their speech, you slowly started to feel your hands clam up with nerves. You didn’t even notice your leg bouncing until you felt Wonwoo’s hand on top of it. You glanced at him only to be met with his brows furrowed in concern. You shook your head with a smile, silently reassuring him that you were fine. He nodded in response before turning back to his father who was currently giving his own toast.

Ending with a lovely note to the wedded couple, your father-in-law gave the mic back to the host before going down the stage. You took multiple deep breaths to calm your nerves as you reached for the glass of water in front of you. Wonwoo watched in concern as you gulped down every last drop before putting the glass down.

“Hey,” he whispered, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, “Yep. Just stage fright getting on my nerves.”

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in confusion, “What do you mean stage fright?”

You were about to answer him when you heard the host finally call you up on stage. You could feel Wonwoo’s eyes following you as you stood up and got on the stage. You thanked the host as they gave you the mic before finally facing everyone.

“Hi,” you started nervously, chuckling when everyone actually responded hello back to you. 

“First of all, I want to thank each and every one of you for giving us your precious time to come here and celebrate with us on this very special day. This ceremony wouldn’t have been as happy as it is right now if any one of you were not here tonight.” you smiled, doing your best to make eye contact with as many people as possible.

“To all of those people who know me best, it’s probably a huge shock for them to see me standing here on stage and actually talking in front of a huge crowd,” you laughed, “To be fair though, I’m trying my best not to actually jump off the stage and run out of here. One of the two reasons that’s stopping me from doing that right now is the fact that I can’t really run in these heels and I would rather die than actually let you all see me trip and fall.” 

A chorus of laughter echoed throughout the hall. As the laughter dies down, so do your nerves a little bit. You thanked the heavens above for still having humor as your coping mechanism before continuing with your speech.

“As for the other reason, well…” you said, your voice gradually softening. You faced Wonwoo properly as you announced, “It’s because I have a confession to make.”

You licked your lips nervously. You watched as Wonwoo glanced at your parents, puzzled over what was happening but he was only met with the same uncertainty from them. He looked back at you with worry written all over his face. You have to stop yourself from swooning over the fact that you knew he was more worried about your well-being than whatever you were about to say.

“Love, I haven’t really been honest with you,” you sighed, “In fact, I haven’t been truly honest with you ever since we first met.”

~~~~~

You were late.

Well technically, you weren’t but you only had about 10 minutes before the movie starts and you’re still 2 blocks away from the theatre. Now, you were running for your life just so you could arrive on time and frankly, you didn’t really want to die in the hands of your best friend if she ever caught you late again.

You were nearing the entrance to the theatre when you saw your best friend Lila standing with 2 guys in front, the three of them seemingly distracted with whatever they were talking about. Once you were close enough, Lila finally looked up from their conversation. Her face lit up upon recognizing you, greeting you with her iconic bear hug. You were about to return the hug when she suddenly smacked you on the arm.

“Ow! What the hell?” you exclaimed, rubbing your arm.

“You’re late,” Lila grumbled, crossing her arms.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you whined, “I accidentally fell asleep watching Netflix and by the time I woke up, I knew that I would have to run to actually get here on time.”

“Fine, but you’re paying for the popcorn,” she huffed.

You groaned, “Okay, fair enough.”

Taking out your wallet, you were suddenly reminded of the fact that you two weren’t alone when one of them cleared their throat, successfully catching both of your attention. You looked up from your bag to the taller guy among the two.

“Well, Lila?” he asked, “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your lovely friend over here?”

“Oh right,” Lila chuckled. She then introduced you to the two and vice versa. The guy that just spoke was Mingyu and the other one—

Oh my fucking god.

The other one was breathtaking.

Is it possible that you were just so out of it from running that you were hallucinating an angel? You’re probably just hallucinating things but you were sure that actual flowers and hearts were floating around him like some cliche rom-com anime scene. Maybe the lack of oxygen was finally getting to your brain. That’s definitely more plausible than whatever is actually standing right in front of you. Because goddamnit, that face is too immaculate to be a real human being.

Now, that’s just fucking unfair to the minority.

“What’s unfair to the minority?”

“What?”

“What?”

And that’s when you actually notice that Mr. Born To Kill Me With His Face—you think his name was Wonwoo as far as you can remember before you got too caught up with your thoughts—was already looking at you with a smirk. Your face warmed up with embarrassment when you realized that he caught you staring at him, amusement written all over his face. Thankfully you were saved by the bell when Lila tugged you towards the theatre complaining about the movie already starting without you and you still haven’t bought any popcorn yet, effectively stopping you from making more of a fool out of yourself.

Dazed, you let her pull you towards the snack bar but not before you glanced back at Wonwoo, walking behind you alongside Mingyu. Catching his eye, you immediately turn back to face the counter. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you were the one who caught him staring at you just now and not the other way around. You smiled to yourself at the thought.

Once you got the food and drinks, you then made your way inside. Getting to your seats, you sat between Lila and Wonwoo. A mere coincidence to everyone but you. And as you gaze at him from the corner of your eye, his face being illuminated by the rainbow of colors from the screen, you have decided right then and there that you are getting this man one way or another and no one can stop you.

So if you accidentally brush hands with him as you reach for the popcorn you share, if you mistakenly take his drink instead of yours which was on your other side, if you subconsciously lean towards him as you laugh at a joke made by the actors in the movie, there’s nothing to say except it’s all just a mere coincidence.

~~~~~

“And that’s just the beginning of a long and tedious process of stealing your heart,” you grinned.

You started sharing memories of you two where you deliberately changed the course of your relationship. Throughout your speech, you tried your best to avoid looking directly at Wonwoo. The fear of seeing any trace of disappointment and disgust on his face from your actions kept you from making eye contact with him. But that didn’t stop you from confessing to every move you ever made. In fact, it only urged you to be honest more knowing that this is the only time you’ll have the guts to say all of these things. To be fair though, you probably should’ve said this in a more private manner but you can’t really do anything about it now that you’re almost done with sharing your stories.

Laughing as you shared a fond memory of you tricking your husband—then, boyfriend—into letting him think that his idea of your living room arrangement was all from him and not at all a perfectly timed series of suggestions from you, you raised your glass as you finish your toast, “Some of you may call me a genius and others may just think of me as some long con artist. But in all honesty, none of these would’ve ever happened if there wasn’t a single drop of love in between the both of us,. And with that, I want to toast to our married life. May this be a life that will serve as the epitome of our love for each other.”

A round of cheers and applause echoed across the hall as you stepped down from the stage and walked towards your seat beside Wonwoo. Biting your lip, you gazed at him, trying to gauge his reaction to your speech/confession. You didn’t know what to expect to hear from him after all of that but a wide smirk on his face as he whispered his own confession to you was definitely not one of them.

“I knew.”

“What? How?”

“You may be a mastermind but you definitely aren’t subtle enough.”

Wonwoo’s smirk widened even more as he witnessed your cheeks heating up from embarrassment, amused at the way you tried defending yourself. He chuckled before kissing you on the lips, effectively shutting you up.

Once he felt you relax under him, he pulled back a bit from you, far enough for him to watch as you tried to chase after his lips but not too far for you to not hear what he had to say next.

“I love you, my little machiavellian.”

You grinned widely, pecking his lips once more before replying, “I love you too.”

Taglist: @moonwonuu @belladaises @porridgesblog @sasaapportela @allys-reads @clownprincehoeshi @yoonzzziino @gyuguys

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Subtle-tea (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Summary/Prompt: “You’re only semi-lucid and are sort of reaching for my face, and for various reasons I shouldn’t kiss YOUR face but your hand is right here and I still need to convey affection.”  AKA. You and Benedict drink too much of Colin’s special tea and it spurs you to act upon previously hidden feelings. 

AN: Benedict is the bee’s knees, just a silly lil art guy. I got inspired and I’ve got two more Benedict fics coming out rip. But it’s just so difficult to write for Bridgerton cus you can’t write any gay stuff without it being tragic and/or a secret. Oh well, don’t expect me to write much more female reader content of my own volition/not inspired by my friends.

Content warnings: Reader uses she/her, use of Y/N and L/N, is referred to as “wife” 

Masterlist // AO3 

You had no idea what on Earth was in that tea. But you would have to ask later, because currently you felt as light as a feather and giddy as a giggle, laying on the sofa in the art studio as Benedict was launching himself between two walls, orating about his great desires to create. By far, you were experiencing the greatest emotions on the whim of your artistic associate.

“There’s just so many colours that we are privy to, and we take every single shade for granted!” He declared, his arms wide open to the heavens.

You pointed at him in an accusing manner, “Have you seen purple recently? It’s glorious! No wonder it was the colour of status in the Roman Empire, I too would want it all for myself and my friends.”

“How selfish you are, Miss L/N,” Benedict scolded, “Surely everyone should be given the chance to wear such a colour.”

His anger faded fast. As endearing as it was, it was nothing compared to that grin of his. So naturally you decided to make him smile even more with a ridiculous notion that just jumped into your woozy mind. 

“Do you know what would happen if my mother knew where I was?” You said in a loud whisper. 

Benedict pouted and nodded, riddled with pantomime guilt as he leant over, “You. Me. In a room. Alone.”

“Unchaperoned,” You said then gasped, your hands clapping against your cheeks in shock, “I would be ruined!”

Benedict mimicked your appal by dropping to his knees before you, “We would have to marry to save your reputation!”

“Imagine me, your wife!” You threw your head back as you flashed your bare left hand to him. Somewhere in the back of your mind, an inhibition screamed at you to stop lingering so openly on something your sober self was set on not happening

But your heart grew gleeful as Benedict grasped your hand gently. 

“I shall imagine it!” He declared and lowered his lips, and planted a loud kiss upon your knuckle - right where the engagement and wedding bands would sit. You lowered your chin just in time to see this with your own eyes before Benedict met your gaze again, still beaming with roguish delight, “Oh what a beautiful imagining it is.”

Your legs curled up beneath you on the couch, and you fell over in hysterical giggling. You clasped your hand to your chest and cradled it like a newborn. As you lay sprawled out, Benedict popped into your field of view with his hands either side of your head, tactfully avoiding your hair. 

“Your laugh is like music! As your husband, it would be my purpose to make you sing at least once a day.”

“Then kiss me again, you silly man!” You squealed, offering your hand once more. 

Balancing on one arm, and completely unaware that this compromising position was aiding in your dizzy frenzy, Benedict kissed the same spot then turned the palm against his cheek. He held it there as he said:

“Look, it’s like you were sculpted to hold me.”

Euphoria ran riot across your body, your heart beating so fast you thought you would die from delight. 

“And you were carved to be held by me.” From your vantage point, with newly founded confidence, you tried to pull his lips down to yours, but Benedict resisted. 

“We shall not kiss ‘til we are married.”

Eyes wide, you squeezed the back of his neck to keep him close, “Is this a proposal?”

“I do not think we are in the right state of mind to make rational decisions,” and Benedict bumped his nose to yours, causing a little laughter before continuing: “But marrying you is the sanest idea I’ve had all evening.”

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Epilogue

Summary: Joel had always been the one. Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: None! Enjoy whatever comes! A/N: So, here we are at last. The final goodbye to one of my favorite pairings :') It is so bittersweet to end their story, but I am so thankful you all have supported it and loved it along the way! Tommy & Beth's story will be coming soon, so I hope you guys stick around for it! All my love, xoxo <3

Masterlist | Ko-fi

“Sarah!” You called from downstairs. “We need to leave soon so we aren’t late!”

“Coming!” She shouted back.

You could hear her footsteps shuffling across the loft, no doubt in a rush trying to find her backpack. It was the first day of school, and you were the brand new eighth-grade teacher—totally not because you wanted to keep teaching Sarah before high school. 

The three of you had spent the summer in a whirlwind, between camping trips and helping Joel work on a business plan for his own job. You even took a small trip to Boston to see your family; you needed to get the closure you deserved finally. But you couldn’t think about that trip now; you needed Sarah to hurry up.

“Joel,” you grumbled. “Can you please get her down here?”

Joel was leaning against the kitchen counter, his coffee mug half-full and lifted to his lips. He rolled his eyes at you, his lips curling into a soft smile. 

“I got it, baby. Go get your ass in the car, and I’ll make sure she has everythin’ together.”

You gave him a quick peck on the lips before slinging your bag over your shoulder. A large hand closed over your bicep, and Joel yanked you back into his broad frame. 

“No y’don’t. Give me a real kiss,” he chuckled.

He pressed a hand into your lower back, holding you firm to his chest as he bent down to kiss you. You deepened the kiss, your tongue overlapping his with a soft whimper off your lips. Joel swallowed every noise and pressed you against his lips for as long as he could.

“Grossssss,” Sarah groaned, startling you both.

You jumped back from Joel’s embrace, staring at Sarah with an embarrassed smile. 

“Can you guys not do that? At least wait for the wedding.”

Joel barked a laugh, kissing your cheek with wet lips before pushing you out of the kitchen. 

“I can kiss my future wife all I want, sweetheart,” he protested. 

Future wife. 

You loved it when he said that. You loved it even more when he was pinning you to the bed and whispering it in your ear as he fucked you. Lazy strokes and sweet words… The thought alone had you clenching your thighs beneath your skirt. 

Joel didn’t waste a moment proposing after you moved in. He and Tommy had snuck away one Saturday to a jewelry store to find the perfect ring, and he proposed that night. The tiny diamond sat snug on your finger, the gold band reflecting the sunlight every time you admired it—which you did a lot.

You and Joel were still working through the mess created after your accident, but there was no question that you’d marry him. At least you knew he wouldn’t run from the wedding; the thought of it happening kept you up some nights. 

Both you and Sarah arrived at the school with only ten minutes to spare. She’d be in your final class for the day, so you parted ways and made your way to your new classroom. Joel had helped you set up your room over the last week, hanging the posters you couldn’t reach and remaining adamant about keeping you from any possible chance of falling. God forbid you hit your head again; it wasn’t something you liked to think of often. 

Walking into the classroom, you quickly set up your lesson plans and placed worksheets on each desk. The first week of school would be the easiest for you and the students. A slight tap on the door jolted you from rushing around, and you looked up to see Maria sheepishly standing in the doorway.

“Welcome back,” she said. 

Neither of you had spoken since the end of the year, and you still weren’t sure what to say. Joel had explained to you that Maria wasn’t entirely at fault for anything; she only meant to care for you and keep you company throughout the years between. At the start of last year, he mentioned that he considered going after you, which was why Maria was always so pushy about talking to Joel. And she had, in fact, been the mastermind behind ‘Happy Hour’ when Joel showed up. 

You couldn’t stay mad forever, even if sometimes you desperately wanted to. Anger was all you had known for months, and you worked hard to replace it and battle through it as the summer went on. But right now, you could put that aside and at least be cordial with Maria. 

“Thank you, Maria.” You gave her a tentative smile. 

“Can I come in? I wasn’t sure if I’d catch you before the day started, and I was hoping we could chat.”

You nodded, motioning to one of the desks. Maria entered the room and leaned against the edge of the desk, waiting for you to settle into your chair. You tried ignoring the emails that continued to chime on your computer, attempting to give her your full attention, which she deserved. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I had no intention of lying to you, but I only wanted to see you happy. After the accident, it was so hard for me to lose you in the way I did. Giving you a place to live after your breakup with Bennett and seeing you meet Joel… Then nothing. I cared for you like a daughter and wanted to continue being there for you.”

“I know you did,” you sighed. “It’s been hard having to adjust after regaining my memory, and it’s taking a lot out of me to try to work through it all. I hope you know I appreciate all the care you’ve shown me. Before the accident and after. I just needed time to process it all.”

“If you ever need anything, sweetie, you know I’m here.”

“Thank you.”

You reached your arms to hug her, and Maria took the opportunity without question. Her warm embrace was enough to bring you to tears; you did miss her—a lot. Pulling away, you lifted your hand a little to show off the sparkle on your ring finger. 

“Oh my gosh!” she squealed, grabbing your hand.

You laughed at her excitement and allowed her to admire the ring on your finger.

“The wedding is next month,” you told her. “Joel and I would love for you to come if you would like.”

“Are you kidding? Of course, I want to come!”

She pulled you in for another tight hug, muttering a litany of ‘thank you’s.’ Eventually, the school bell rang, she ran out of the room, and you settled back at your desk for the beginning of the day. 

Not even two minutes after the final bell rang, Sarah was barreling into your classroom with a big smile. You had just seen her in the third hour during her own class, but her excitement never failed to make your heart swell with happiness. 

“Ready to go home, kiddo?” You chuckled.

“So ready! I think Dad is cooking us dinner, and I’m starving.”

You ruffled her curls softly before tucking her under your arm and leaving the classroom. The person you were last year—before remembering everything—would have never allowed this to happen. Dating your student’s father was out of line and, quite frankly, not your forte, but this was an exception. A very necessary exception. 

As you pulled out of the parking lot, you heard your phone ringing in your purse. Sarah was quick to retrieve it, staring confused at the caller ID. 

“Who is it?” You asked, glancing away from the road.

“Aunt Beth.”

Shit.

Things hadn’t been great between you two since the trip back to Boston over the summer, but it was better. If you sat in silence long enough, the bitterness and anger returned in full force. Joel was your voice of reason, calming you down from the resurgence of emotions and always quickly reminding you of Beth's work to fix the relationship. You only hoped they weren’t empty promises and she would prove herself to be who she was before the accident.

“Here, let me see it,” you said, extending your hand.

Pressing answer, you held the phone to your ear and hoped Sarah didn’t see the trembling in your fingertips.

“Hello?” 

“Hey, sis,” Beth said. It was easy to hear the frustration in her greeting.

“Everything okay?” You asked. 

You came to a slow roll at the red light in front of you, relaxing your white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Sarah rubbed an assuring hand over your arm, and you turned to give her a sad smile. She was like her father, so receptive and aware of your emotions.

“Yeah, I think so. I don’t know, I just… Do you want me there? Are you sure?”

“At my wedding?” You questioned. “I already told you I wanted you there. I extended the invite to the entire family, including you.”

“I know, but being your bridesmaid feels wrong.”

A car horn blared behind you, and your eyes snapped up to see the green light staring down at you. You inhaled sharply and pressed the gas. 

“Joel and I already talked about it, and we both agree not having you there would be something I might regret one day. I want you and Stell both up there with me.”

“You’re sure?” She asked, her voice cracking.

“Yes, Beth. I’m sure. Now, are you flying out on the day of the reception or the day before? I just need to make sure your hotel room is booked and set up before you get here.”

“I’ll fly in the day before with Stell. I think Mom and Dad are coming the day after.”

“Okay, good. I’ll make sure everything is taken care of. Just please promise me you’ll be there.”

“I promise, sis,” she sighed.

You rounded the corner into the neighborhood and pulled up to the house. Joel’s truck was already parked in the driveway, his truck bed overflowing with work tools and wooden planks. You nodded at Sarah to head in while you finished the phone call—you needed a moment alone before going inside. 

“I just got home, Beth, so I’ve got to run. I’ll send you the information for the hotel and everything, okay?”

“Wait, before you go,” Beth hesitated. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m still really sorry,” she admitted. “About everything.”

You scrubbed a hand down your face, holding back a wave of tears that threatened to break your composure. Beth wasn’t one to show her emotions or speak them this freely. Her vulnerability was something you were still adjusting to, among everything else. 

“I know you are, sis,” you exhaled. 

“I’ll, um, I’ll let you go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

You didn’t get the chance to say goodbye before the phone line went dead.  Resting your head against the steering wheel, you let the tears run down your face. It was hard to control your emotions these days, and today was no different. Between seeing Maria and talking to Beth, you were exhausted. The wedding planning hadn’t been stressful until now, but knowing Beth was having second thoughts about even coming? The stress was starting to creep in.

A light tap on the window jolted you from your tearful silence. You turned your head to see Joel standing outside the door, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. Seeing him was the final nail in the coffin, and you lost it completely. He was quick to yank the door open and wrap his arms around your limp body. 

“Sarah told me Beth called,” he confessed. “I’m sorry, baby. I know this isn’t easy.”

You clung to his shirt, nestling your head into his neck. The work day still lingered on his skin, the smell of fresh wood and sweat flooding your senses. He smelled like home. 

“Am I making the wrong decision?” You choked out. 

Joel’s grip tightened around you, his sturdy frame grounding your emotions to cascade into. You fell victim to your cries, your tears dampening the cotton tee he wore. 

“You’re makin’ the mature decision, baby,” he stated. “It took a lot for you even to see them this summer, but the wedding will fly by, and this can all be put behind us.”

“I just don’t want to be let down again,” you cried. 

“No one's gonna let you down. I’ll make sure of it, ‘kay?”

You peeled yourself away from him, wiping away the tears that trailed down your cheeks. Joel’s brown eyes softened as he took in your fragile state, his lips turning down. Cradling your head in his hands, Joel brought your forehead to his lips for a comforting kiss.

“Hey, I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Y’know how I feel ‘bout you sayin’ that, baby,” Joel grinned.

The slight shift in the color of his eyes was warning enough to make your emotions skyrocket in a different way. You gave him a shy smile before pecking him on the lips and jumping out of the car. Joel quickly wound an arm around your front and hauled you back to him.

“You’re lucky we got dinner on the table,” he whispered in your ear. “Punishment’s gonna have to wait ‘til later.”

“Punishment?” You echoed.

“Mhmm,” he hummed, dragging his mouth over the shell of your ear.

You shivered at the touch, your body molding against his. Leave it to Joel to always turn your mood around; it’s what you loved about him. The worst days could be changed in minutes, and you weren’t afraid to be vulnerable with him. You also weren’t afraid to rile him up, too.

Shifting your body slightly, you brushed your ass against the crotch of his jeans, rewarding yourself with the hardening bulge of his cock. Joel groaned at the brief touch, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.

“Oops, I’m sorry,” you giggled.

 You repeated the motion, Joel’s body tensing behind you.

“Oh gosh,” you feigned distressed. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re gonna regret that, baby,” Joel growled. 

With a sharp smack on your ass, Joel urged you toward the front door—not before readjusting himself several times before entering the kitchen. 

Sarah had long gone to bed by the time you and Joel retired to your room. You took time showering and readying for bed while Joel sprawled against the sheets. Peeking around the corner, you caught a glimpse of his body, nearly naked, except for a pair of black boxers. It still didn’t feel real that you had found your way back to him, and it especially didn’t feel real that you’d be marrying him in less than a month. 

“I know you’re starin’ at me over there,” Joel chuckled.

You emerged from behind the door, a grin on your face. Joel propped himself against the headboard, his hands locked behind his head and his biceps flexing slightly. 

“Obviously,” you rolled your eyes. “I’m allowed to admire my handsome future husband.”

“Get your ass up here, baby.”

You happily obliged and jumped onto the bed, straddling his waist as you bent down to kiss him. Joel’s nose brushed against yours as he deepened the kiss, his hand carding through your hair to anchor you closer. 

“If I’m not mistaken,” he muttered between kisses. “Y’said somethin’ earlier that you shouldn’t have.”

You trailed your lips down his neck, humming softly with each press of your lips.

“I did?” You teased.

“Three times,” Joel groaned. 

His fingers laced tightly between the tendrils of your hair, pulling your head up until there was nowhere to look but into his dark eyes. The swell of his pupils had replaced the soft amber colors of his irises, a mischievous look flashing across his face. 

“This is what’s gonna happen, baby. You’re gonna slide that beautiful body up here and ride my tongue ‘til you cum three times.”

“Three?” You repeated, your eyes growing wide.

Joel huffed a laugh and hooked his arms under your thighs. You fell forward, your hands bracing onto the headboard. Joel lucked out with you already being bare under your t-shirt; it was easy work for him, especially when you were already drenched with arousal. A small swipe of his nose over your throbbing clit was enough to elicit a soft moan from your mouth. 

“Bite your lip and stay quiet for me, baby,” Joel mumbled. “Can’t wake up Sarah with all your noise.”

“Okay,” you exhaled.

Joel flattened his tongue against your entrance and licked a long, slow stripe through your wet folds. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as he had instructed, you bit back a desperate whine that threatened to escape. You rolled your hips slightly, the pointed tip of his tongue dragging over your aching bud softly. The fire crept through your veins, catapulting you closer to the edge as Joel’s jaw worked relentlessly at your leaking entrance. 

“Joel,” you whispered, a faint whimper leaving your lips.

“Shh,” he hummed.

The low vibration of his hush radiated through your pulsating clit, forcing you to jerk away from his mouth. His calloused fingers dug further into the skin of your thighs, anchoring you down onto his face. His tongue worked faster at your clit, stroking it with tantalizing flicks of his tongue. Flames burst through your stomach with each move of his mouth, your thighs quaking in his grip. So close… you were so close. Joel felt it, too, and latched his mouth around the sensitive bud.

“Joel!” You cried, the orgasm barreling through your body. 

He didn’t let up, his tongue dipping into your entrance and lapping at the juices leaking from you. Your hand shot to the curls at the crown of his head, tugging him off of your sex, your body still twitching from the aftershocks of your climax. 

“That was only one, baby,” Joel muttered into the flesh of your inner thigh. 

He pressed wet kisses against your skin, working his way back to your center with small kitten licks over every inch of you. Your thighs clenched around his face, framing him perfectly between your legs. You glanced at him only to find his dark eyes staring at you. The air knocked out of your lungs, seeing him under you in such blissed-out beauty. Joel shifted his face up, revealing his arousal-coated mustache and wet plush lips. 

“Y’gonna give me two more?” He asked, his mouth curving into a grin. 

You nodded vigorously, guiding him back to your swollen bud. Joel rested his tongue over your center, nudging you silently with a slight tilt of his head. Dragging your hips forward, you lowered yourself onto his open mouth. Back and forth, you moved against his tongue, tremors wracking through your limbs with each pass. 

“Joel! I’m gonna—.” You choked on your words. 

With one hand grasped on the headboard and the other tangled in his sweat-soaked curls, you bore down and let your second orgasm surge through your body. Biting your lip did little to help the cry of pleasure that escaped your mouth. You lifted yourself from his face, attempting to unlatch yourself from his tight grip. 

“Nuh uh, baby,” Joel protested, his voice husky. “One more.”

“I can’t,” you whined.

You stumbled over his body, collapsing into the bed beside him. Joel rolled over you, his eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. The lower half of his face was coated in your arousal, his chin and beard glistening in the dim lights of the bedroom. You wound your arms around his neck, pulling him to your lips. The sweet smell of your arousal hit your nose as his mouth collided with yours. Joel groaned against your lips, coaxing your mouth open wider. You tilted your head to give him better access, your tongues dancing in unison in a heated kiss. 

You felt Joel’s hand slide between your bodies, his body shifting slightly as he pushed down the boxers from his waist. The weight of his heavy cock rested on your thigh, and you hooked your leg higher to give him access to your dripping sex. 

“Got one more in you, baby?” Joel asked, his mouth roaming down your neck. 

“I think so,” you said, your voice shaky. 

Joel suctioned his lips to the hollow of your neck, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. You gasped at the intrusion, your body adjusting to the girth of his cock as he split you open. Joel carded a hand through your hair and glued his eyes to yours as he thrusted into you slowly. Your bodies moved in a simple rhythm; when he drove into you, you careened back. Soft cries and heavy grunts, each of you flowing in perfect harmony. 

“So fuckin’ perfect,” Joel whispered.

“Feels so good, Joel,” you panted.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the swell of release at your fingertips as Joel speared into you deeper with each cadence of his hips. You were overstimulated and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but you wanted to come undone with him. You wanted to fall over the edge together; you wanted this moment to be something you shared. Lifting your mouth to his ear, you whined softly, garnering a low growl from his chest. 

“I love you.”

Three simple words. It was enough to send Joel over the edge, his body tensing above you as he drove into you one last time. Your sex clenched around his cock, milking him through his release. His cock dragged against the aching walls of your sex as he pulled out, his body resting heavily on top of yours. With his head pressed to your heaving chest, you ran your fingers through the dark curls resting at the base of his neck. 

“You tired?” You laughed softly, bending down to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” Joel argued.

“Get some sleep, handsome. I love you.”

“I love you so much, baby.”

He nuzzled further into your embrace, a soft yawn exhaling from his mouth. You smiled to yourself, reveling in the fact that this was your life. Here, at this moment, everything you had endured was worth it. It was worth it knowing someone inexplicably loved you. Someone who wasn’t going to leave, no matter how hard things may be. Joel fought tooth and nail to have you back, and you learned to forgive his faults. His patience and unwavering love were enough to battle any doubts that lingered in your mind.

He was yours, just as much as you were his. 

**

Outside your bridal suite, storm clouds swirled in the sky. You had watched the news channel praying for a sunny wedding day all week, but the Texas weather laughed at your pleas. The thunderstorm looming in the distance was only the tip of the iceberg in your ever-growing levels of anxiety.

“Sis, it’s gonna be okay,” Beth urged. 

Beth and Stella were the only ones in the room with you, and they both sat at the edge of the bed, watching you helplessly pace the floor. You itched to undo the tight bun your hair had been wrangled into, the pain of each bobby pin shooting another jolt of pain into the onset headache forming in your head. 

“What if he doesn’t show? What if Joel doesn’t want this? What if—?”

“Oh my God, stop!” 

It wasn’t Beth that cut off your rambling, but Stella. She wasn’t one to raise her voice often, but it was enough to halt your frantic thoughts. You threw yourself onto the chair in the corner of the room, letting out an exasperated sigh. Stella rose from the bed, carefully sidestepping the hem of her silk bridesmaid dress as she waltzed to where you sat. She lowered herself to her knees and stared up at you with pleading eyes. 

“Joel loves you, sis,” she stressed. “He’s not going to leave you. All of these pre-ceremony jitters will go away the second you walk down that aisle.”

“But—.”

She held up her hand in protest, shaking her head sternly. 

“No more of that. You are going to put on your dress and get ready.”

You glanced at your wedding dress hanging on the back of the door. The white fabric was a haunting reminder of the rain-soaked dress you had worn only years ago, dirtied by the mud and broken hopes left in Bennett’s wake. You chewed at your lip to stifle back a cry, your brain ready to disintegrate with all the pressure building inside your head. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered, the admission frightening you. 

Beth groaned, leaving the bed to join Stella on the ground. You had spoken little since she came into town, sharing only a few shallow words in passing when necessary. But the seriousness in her eye ignited a new wave of fear; her words could slice you clean through if you let it. Saying your name softly, Beth clasped a hand around yours and inhaled a sharp breath. 

“You can do this, and you will. I know you’re scared, but Joel is waiting for you. He’s been waiting for you for years, and he’s not going anywhere. Trust me when I tell you no one in this world loves you more than he does, okay?”

A tear slipped down your cheek at Beth’s words. The way she spoke of Joel was night and day from how she spoke of Bennett. Her words regarding Bennett had been laced with venom strong enough to poison even your happiest memories—whatever those had been. They were fighting words, and each punch was perfectly placed. With Joel, she only spoke with sincerity. Both she and Stella had been there to see Joel at his worst after the accident, watching the life he had made with you crumble away within the hospital. They had been there to experience his grief firsthand, and that was something you could never argue. Joel held a special place in both of their hearts, a bond you couldn’t remember but couldn’t deny. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, burying your head in your hands. You threw caution to the wind when it came to ruining your makeup. It was a lost cause at this point. 

“Hey, come here,” Beth whispered. 

She hauled you into her arms, wrapping herself around you. Stella followed her lead, both huddling around you as you cried quietly. Time had stolen so much from you, time you couldn’t get back with your sisters. Putting everything aside, you sat in the moment with them and let their strength hold you up. 

“Okay, okay,” you sighed, peeling yourself away. “Can you both help me get into my dress?”

Stella squealed excitedly, hauling herself up and hurtling toward the door where it hung. Beth gave you one final squeeze and a quiet “I love you” before joining Stella. 

You discarded your robe on the bed and stood awkwardly before them in your bridal lingerie. Both of them whistled at you provocatively, their eyes growing wide. You blushed at their giddiness, motioning for them to bring the dress to you. The three of you worked silently as you slipped into the tulle fabric. Beth worked at zipping up the back while Stella secured the gossamer sleeves over your shoulders. The fabric was cool against your skin, a welcome reprieve from the warm anxiety that simmered below the surface. You were ready after a few final touches on your makeup and the clasping of your heels. 

“Breathe, peanut,” your dad whispered in your ear. 

The bouquet in your hand was shaking from the trembling in your fingers. You stared through the glass door into the open courtyard where everyone sat, the sky darkening by the minute. In the distance, you could spot Joel's outline as he stood under the floral arch above the altar. He was right there…waiting. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” the wedding planner said, grasping the door handle before you. 

You turned your head to look at your dad, his features soft and emotional. If he cried, you’d soon follow, and you couldn’t ruin your makeup again. You squeezed his arm and nodded to the wedding planner. 

“I’m ready,” you whispered. 

With a gentle push of the door, you stepped over the threshold and into the humid air of the early evening. The soft crescendo of the Wedding March began to drift through the open space, and your friends and family all turned to stand. Your eyes shifted side to side, looking down each row at the warm smiles in your direction. Maybe if you didn’t look down the aisle, the fear of Joel running away wouldn’t come true. Look anywhere else. Your steps faltered, and you felt a wave of anxiety assault your nerves. 

“He’s waiting for you,” your dad mumbled. “Look up.”

You lifted your head and found Joel watching you with the brightest smile. His hair was tamed and slicked down with gel, and his beard was trimmed short—but still patchy in small areas along his jaw. His broad frame stretched out the black suit that was tailored perfectly to his body, and something about the refined look on him made your heart leap. If you weren’t already breathless, seeing his eyes stole any air left in your lungs.  Joel’s brown eyes sparkled with fresh tears under the gray skies. Not even the darkest storm clouds could darken the amber flecks glimmering in his irises. 

As you neared the altar, you also realized his hands were trembling. His fingers fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt, and his body shifted from side to side as he waited for you. The music drifted to a close as you finally approached the altar, just inches from Joel. He didn’t run. He was standing right there. 

You turned to your dad, giving him a tearful hug and a quiet thank you. Joel stepped forward to give your dad a firm handshake, a warm smile gracing his face. As they said their final words to one another, you handed off your bouquet to Beth, who stood behind you, along with Stella and Sarah. Sarah’s cheeks were damp with tears as she grinned at you brightly, her skin radiant in her green dress. You blew her a kiss and turned back to Joel. 

“Y’look so fuckin’ beautiful,” he exhaled, wiping a tear from his face. 

“And you look extra handsome,” you grinned.

Joel chuckled, clasping his hands around yours. Your fingers squeezed around his knuckles, and your thumb rubbed soothing circles over the rough skin of his hand. The officiant beside you cleared his throat, and you and Joel turned your attention to him. 

“Family and friends,” he began. “Thank you all for joining us today for this wonderful union of love.”

The officiant's words faded into the background as you stared up at Joel, capturing this moment in your memory. Years of loss, pain, and grief all led you to this moment—right here. With Joel’s hands wrapped around yours and his loving smile shining down on you, it was all worth it. 

“I understand that you both have written your own vows,” the officiant said, interrupting the flood of emotions inside you.

Beth tapped you on your shoulder, handing you the small paper you had scribbled your vows onto that morning. 

“Okay,” you sighed. You smoothed out the paper in your hand, your eyes hardly focusing on the words before you. 

You opened your mouth to speak but paused as the first drop of rain splattered across the ink. A laugh bubbled out of you as you tilted your head up toward the sky. Rain misted your face, the slow sprinkle of rain dampening the ground around you. 

“Would y’look at that,” Joel laughed. “It’s rainin’ on us, baby. I think that means it’s good luck, right?”

You beamed at him, watching the raindrops catch onto his thick eyelashes. Crumpling the paper in your hand, you let it fall to the ground and composed yourself. Joel lifted his eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Joel Miller,” you started. “I can say, without a doubt, I was always meant to be with you. From the moment I ran into you, literally—.” You laughed at yourself. “I knew it would always be you. Even when time and differences separated us, a part of me knew I was missing something. You and Sarah were the missing pieces that made me whole. And I’m so thankful that the universe conspired to bring us back together and lead me home. I vow to you, Joel, that every day will be filled with memories we remember.

 I vow always to make you smile. I vow to always annoy you with my late-night conversations about books and poetry nonsense you most definitely have no interest in. I promise to stand beside you on the soccer fields, cheering on our girl through every win and loss. I vow to you, Joel Miller, to never leave and to always work through the hardest obstacles. Together.” 

“I love you so much,” Joel whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

You lifted a finger to wipe them away, your hand resting against his cheek. Joel sniffled back more cries, shaking out the rain clinging to his hair. 

“Alright, guess I gotta try and beat that now,” Joel joked. 

He crumpled his vows, the paper floating onto the wet ground where they melted into the rainfall. Joel barely managed to choke out your name before succumbing to tears all over again. 

“Man, this is hard,” he huffed. “I ain’t sure how y’did all that without losin’ it, baby.”

“You’ll be just fine, Joel. I’m right here,” you assured. 

He spoke your name again, this time only faltering at the end. You gave him an encouraging smile, your hand still caressing his face. 

“I can’t tell you enough how lucky I am that you’re in my life,” Joel began. “I ain’t ever felt a love like this, and I ain’t ever wanna lose it. I’m not a many of many words, at least not where it counts, but havin’ you by my side makes every single day brighter. There ain’t no better happiness than seein’ your smile every day or seein’ you be the mother to Sarah that she always deserved. 

Y’make me the proudest man alive, and I vow always to love you and care for you in every single way. I promise to read all the books y’read. I vow to remind you which cereal we buy at the grocery. I vow to stay truthful and always love you no matter how hard things may get. It’s you and me, baby. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You got me ‘til I stop breathin’.”

You were the one crying the hardest now—a vow of all vows, spoken upon the altar that had always haunted you. One thing remained true in the weariness and uncertainty of the last several years: Joel was your steadfast. He was the constant that worked against the odds and continued to fight for a love you had since forgotten. Through the heartbreak, grief, and endless nights alone, you now had the one man the universe had created just for you. 

I love you, you mouthed. You couldn’t trust yourself not to entirely wither into a heap of sobs as his vows sunk further into your heart. 

“Now, if we may have the rings,” the officiant urged.

Tommy handed the ring to Joel while Sarah stepped forward to give you the wedding band you both had picked for her dad. 

“Thank you, kiddo,” you whispered, bending down to hug her. 

You and Joel repeated each word the officiant said, slipping the wedding bands onto each other's ring fingers. The rain was coming down harder now, pelting your face in wet splashes and rolling down your bare neck. Joel’s suit was soaked through, yet he didn’t care. Neither of you could stop smiling. 

“With the power invested in me and the state of Texas, I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Miller! You may now kiss your bride.”

“About damn time,” Joel snorted. 

His hands swept under your shoulder blades, dipping you low as he bent to kiss you. The moment his wet lips touched yours, everything became a reality. Joel was your husband. You molded your body into his embrace, your arms winding around his neck. He kissed you recklessly as if no one else around you existed. And truthfully, the world could have collapsed around you, and you would never have known it. You wanted to remain in his arms for eternity. 

This was your home. He was your everything. 

The reception had drawn into the late hours of the night, and the buzz of a few drinks had your body relaxed and at ease. Whatever stress you had before the ceremony it had long since vanished, swept away with the rain as it continued to pour from the sky. The train of your dress was stained brown from the mud, yet you didn’t care. It was a memory of the day, and you wanted to keep it with you forever. 

“One last dance?” Joel asked, extending a hand to you.

You rose from your seat, placing your hand in his. Somewhere during the night, Joel had discarded his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Seeing him this dressed up was far more dangerous than you expected; you craved to undo every button traveling down his torso and strip his tailored pants right from his muscular legs. But those tempting thoughts would have to wait till later. 

Half the attendees had left for the night, leaving only your family members and a few friends still scattered around the ballroom. As Joel swayed your bodies to the music, you caught wind of an argument drifting through the music. Turning your head over your shoulder, you watched Beth and Tommy go toe to toe in a standoff. 

“Do you think we should go calm them down?” You asked. 

Joel glanced towards his brother and shrugged.

“M’sure they’ll sort their shit out, baby. Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me from enjoyin’ this night with you.”

“You’ve seen Beth when she’s angry,” you reminded him. 

“And y’know how grumpy Tommy can get,” Joel countered. “They can handle themselves.”

You both moved to the music in silence; your eyes settled on one another as you spun in slow circles. Joel hooked a hand under your knee and dipped you, only to pull you up just as quickly to crush his lips to yours. 

“When can I take y’home?” He muttered between kisses. “I’ve been dyin’ to take that dress off of you all night.”

“As soon as this song ends, I’m all yours,” you smiled. 

Joel’s brown eyes darkened under the twinkling lights, and dimples appeared on his cheeks as he grinned at you. 

“Baby, you’ve been mine from the start.”

[thelastofhyde]

hit the road, jack!

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

INTRO — silver springs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack was at the wedding.

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn’t drink and drive.”

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

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

“How did you find me?” 

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

“But, darlin’, I love you.”

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

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

“Where are we going?”

“For a drive, sweetheart.”

TRACK 1 — vienna

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

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

One dance led to unimaginable love.

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

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

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

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

“D’you remember our trip to Vienna?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I still have nightmares of the boat.”

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

“I jumped.”

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

“I jumped, to make you laugh!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TRACK 2 — purple rain

A perfect summer’s storm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, out came the truth.

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

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

You could’ve died, Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop the car.”

“Huh?”

“Just pull over, Jack!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No reply comes your way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your dress falls to the floor.

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

TRACK 3 — lover you should’ve come over

“Wait, are these pyjama pants?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s your old address.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This last one, you read the letter in full.

Darling girl,

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

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

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

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

Love always,

your Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

TRACK 4 — 50 ways to leave your lover

Jack drives deeper into the night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your smile fades.

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

Why did you run away?

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

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

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

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

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

INTERLUDE — go your own way

Like tires upon gravel, time rolls on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s right, and you hate it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A yawn escapes you.

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

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

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

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

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

TRACK 5 — i’m on fire

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

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

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

You know this memory.

You’ve lived this memory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

You jolt awake.

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

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

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

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

“He, uh, wrote it in the sky.”

“How romantic. Pricey too, I bet.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You must’ve said yes immediately.”

“I did.”

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

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

TRACK 6 — she’s always a woman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

50 miles to go. 50 miles till goodbye. 

“I’m hungry.”

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

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

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

You try to picture it.

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

Would you have ran?

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

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

“No.”

Jack just keeps driving.

TRACK 7 — dancing in the dark

“You can’t be serious!”

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

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

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

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

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

As quick as it inflates, the tension pops. 

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

“What?”

“You did not just ask me that.”

“Oh, but I did.”

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

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

“Sit back down.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s absolutely terrifying.

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

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

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

A knock rings against the door. 

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

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

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

He calls your name again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TRACK 8 — hit the road jack

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUTRO — everywhere

“Thank god you’re okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know. We just… make sense.”

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

Santiago is calm, collected, and completely unresponsive.

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

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

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

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

“A Bronco.”

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

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

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

Goodbye.

“Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t invite me to your wedding.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where to, darlin’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[thejewelryhut]

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[thefreakandthehair]

not inspired by my fiance for once, but by a friend! this is the meme referenced. just a little funny sorta-crack future ficlet. enjoy!

"Steve... what the fuck is this?" Eddie doesn't even let Steve set his work bags down before he's shoving his phone in his face, the meme Steve sent him earlier glaring up at him.

“A meme? Was that not clear?" Steve smirks and drops his bags, his shoulder brushing Eddie's as he scoots past him.

One of his students had managed to work the class into such an uproar over that exact meme, shouting various band names and excitedly discussing their choices, that Steve had given up and joined them. It’s the end of the school year anyways, and even his administration understands that the last week of school is all about survival. That’s how he ended up with a photo of a Create Your Dream Concert Lineup For $100 meme, and that’s how Eddie ended up spiraling into an existential crisis about it.

“But the numbers don’t add up!” Eddie complains, following Steve into the kitchen with his phone still open, the offending screenshot still unchanged despite how many times he’s looked at it. “With the price of each band, I’d have to choose between Metallica, Ozzy, and Iron Maiden.”

Steve scoffs and shakes his head as he grabs a water bottle from the fridge, shutting it with his hip and leaning back against the counter. “That’s right. $100 budget, so one has to go.”

Eddie stares at him, insulted and slack-jawed at the suggestion. “That’s not possible. I’ll just steal from you to round out the cost.”

“No can do, Munson. I already spent mine.” He winks and sips his water, watching Eddie’s eyebrows furrow.

“The fuck you did, these are all metal and hard rock. I don’t see Springsteen anywhere on this list, and I’ve stared at it a lot.” He waves his phone for emphasis.

Steve has, in fact, chosen his line up, probed and prodded by his students last period. Some of the bands he recognizes from his decades of partnership with Eddie, others he’s come to know on his own or from students. So sure, he has a line up, and if he spent a bit too much time thinking about how to get Eddie worked up about it, well, that’s between him and his phone.

He holds up three fingers on the hand not covered in condensation and ticks them off one by one.

“Ozzy, $40”

Eddie gasps.

“Slayer, $20.”

“Steve, what—”

“Queen, $40.”

Eddie blinks once, twice, before he sets his phone down and closes the distance, holds Steve’s face with both hands on either side, and tugs him in for a ridiculous, dramatic kiss. Steve laughs against his lips and pulls back, letting go with a loud mwah.

“I have to say, Harrington,” Eddie starts, his hands still firmly in place. “Other than our wedding, and maybe that one pick up basketball game I went to, this is the hottest you’ve been.”

Steve can’t help but to preen a bit, proud that his plan has worked— that Eddie’s proud, that Eddie’s looking at him with that fond smile and warm eyes over something so silly after all of these years.

“Oh really?”

“Hell yeah, sweetheart. I mean, Ozzy? Queen? Slayer? Talk metal to me.”

Eddie tugs him closer, wrapping both arms tightly around Steve’s waist and pressing their lips together again, this time with more heat, more urgency. Steve lets himself sink into it for a moment or two before he breaks the kiss, his own lips red and shiny.

“Metallica.”

“Steve, you’re killing me.”

“Megadeath.”

“How do you—”

Steve grins and leans closer, whispering into his ear. “Pantera. But only if it’s before Dimebag’a death.”

Eddie laughs and pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth. “You little shit, all these years I thought you were tuning me out and here you are, weaponizing it against me.” If they were still just dating, still in those early stages of their relationship, he’d be embarrassed at the way his pants tighten. But it’s not, and he’s not. “Wanna?” He nods towards the stairs, the ones that lead to the privacy of thier bedroom.

“Oh, not yet. No.” Steve almost laughs at Eddie’s confused head tilt. “You’ve gotta make your line up first.”

Eddie steps back, his hand over his heart and mouth ajar. “You— oh, for fucks sake. Alright, give me a few minutes.”

Turns out, Eddie can choose between Metallica, Iron Maiden, and Ozzy pretty quickly when the stakes include sex with his husband.

[huellitaa]

long list of little things to do for urself 🧸🎀🫶✨

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 1. wash ur bedding, towels, curtains, etc.

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ 2. fill up ur shopping baskets on every site possible

🫶🏻𓂃 ࣪˖ 3. clean out cosmetics and skincare

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ 4. start a project of something you love

⭐𓂃 ࣪˖ 5. browse cute pets to buy one day

💬𓂃 ࣪˖ 6. impulsively rearrange ur space

🩷𓂃 ࣪˖ 7. light some candles (if u arent deathly afraid of fire)

🐇𓂃 ࣪˖ 8. clean out your purse and every day bag

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ 9. make a pillow fort

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 10. redo all ur playlists and clean them all out

🫶🏻𓂃 ࣪˖ 11. lay on the floor and sing ur fav songs for 3 hours

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ 12. make a recipe book (even if u cant cook)

⭐𓂃 ࣪˖ 13. clean ur mirrors and windows

💬𓂃 ࣪˖ 14. write a debate about a topic you feel strongly on

🩷𓂃 ࣪˖ 15. create some art to go on ur walls

🐇𓂃 ࣪˖ 16. stick up some old photos or cute things and decorate ur walls

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ 17. polish ur jewelry

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 18. write a huge essay on something you know nothing about

🫶🏻𓂃 ࣪˖ 19. watch a virtual concert (youtube - tiny desk is v good!)

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ 20. make urself a big fruit platter

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ 21. read a parenting book and see how you can incorporate the tips mentioned into how u treat urself

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 22. mend ur old clothes or get someone to help u fix them

🫶🏻𓂃 ࣪˖ 23. read a book w a flashlight and happy music under a blanket

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ 24. host a tea party w ur plushies and old toys

⭐𓂃 ࣪˖ 25. study ur horoscope for this month and how u can use it to ur advantage

💬𓂃 ࣪˖ 26. go thrifting and window shopping and take photos on ur phone of the things you want to create a visual wishlist

🩷𓂃 ࣪˖ 27. sort through ur books, cds, clothes, etc.; organise and throw out!

🐇𓂃 ࣪˖ 28. perform a concert in ur bedroom of ur fav album ever

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ 29. dress up and create the most elaborate, unhinged outfits you possibly can

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 30. start a blog or site on something you care about

🫶🏻𓂃 ࣪˖ 31. contemplate ur core philosophies and question what is the meaning of life and what you're living for

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ 32. spend all day reading a random pdf book ur never gonna find again

⭐𓂃 ࣪˖ 33. plan out ur dream wedding online

💬𓂃 ࣪˖ 34. fully examine ur body and make sure everything's working and looking fine

🩷𓂃 ࣪˖ 35. create outfits within a specific theme and try them on

🐇𓂃 ࣪˖ 36. go online shopping for clothes and make outfits w the things you find even if you don't like them

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ 37. make a playlist of all the songs u used to love when you were younger

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 38. build a tower out of stationery or anything you can find and make it as tall as you can

🫶🏻𓂃 ࣪˖ 39. take a picture of something ur grateful for wherever you go

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ 40. live out ur daydreams on pinterest and make random boards of random lifestyles or dreams you have or are interested in

⭐𓂃 ࣪˖ 41. organise ur digital storage like apps, google drive, documents, photos, desktop, games, consoles, etc.

💬𓂃 ࣪˖ 42. randomly set a reminder for somewhen in the future that you can think of saying that everything will be okay

🩷𓂃 ࣪˖ 43. have a park day without ur phone and make ur own entertainment

🐇𓂃 ࣪˖ 44. find ur enneagram number, do ur myers briggs test, study ur birth chart, find out more about urself bcuz ur the most important subject you could ever study

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ 45. write down ur biggest, wildest dreams with no bounds whatsoever

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 46. attentively track ur moods for a day or a few; take note of how ur feeling every few hours, note it down and ask urself what impacts it to change and fluctuate

🫶🏻𓂃 ࣪˖ 47. educate urself in whats going on in the world right now

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ 48. learn about the history of ur home town

⭐𓂃 ࣪˖ 49. create a list of all ur favourite things and rank them like cosmetics, perfumes, bands, foods, drinks, etc.

💬𓂃 ࣪˖ 50. make a music video playlist to play on ur tv

all my love... 💬🎀🫶🏻💗

[bunniehoneys]

track limits - WIP

In honour of coanda effect hitting 100K hits on ao3 today (how) here's a wip from the sequel! thank you everyone, love you all so much.

Any future wips will be posted to my ko-fi, just select the early access + wips tier to see them :3

March 2026

They get into Bahrain in the early hours of the morning, via AirGojo. Quite a few drivers plus Haibara end up on the flight, and most of them sleep through it. Megumi is mostly unable to, letting his leg bounce up and down as he scrolls through his phone whilst Yuuji lies with his cheek pressed to his thigh and snores lightly. It's sort of awkward because the only other person awake on the flight is Gojo, sitting cross-legged on one of the sofas, not really doing much at all apart from listening to music with one of those stupid sleep masks pulled over his eyes. For the light, he says. Despite knowing Gojo's pretty much blind, Megumi still feels painfully observed. 

That might be part of the problem. At the end of last season all the drivers and team principals had been notified that there'd be a film crew at most of the races, starting at the testing in Bahrain, filming-- something. Megumi's asked a good few drivers, now, and he still can't figure out what it is: a one-off documentary, or a series, or something else entirely. What they have managed to parse is that the producer worked on something for football in the UK last year and all the players complained about how it dug into their personal lives a little too much, opening them up to criticism. Megumi's been losing sleep over it. 

Nothing too bad would happen if it came out that he was with Yuuji, in theory. The team knows. Getou knows, too, so Keicho must have some sort of contingency plan should things go awry, but being looked at by TV crews the entire way through the season is still putting him on edge. Like they're looking for cracks, for reasons he still doesn't have a championship in his pocket despite having the fastest car for the first half of last season. He'll happily blame himself to the press, but the balance is hard to find. If he's too self-deprecating, he's not capable, and if he's not critical enough, he's a loser who can't get out of his own ass. 

Fun. It's super fun. 

Gojo had come out last year. He did it in a super controlled way, right when rumours about Megumi and Yuuji had been seriously picking up. Megumi suspects that it had something to do with it, but he can't be sure, so. He hasn't asked. It created the most insane media whirlwind in the lead-up to the season that the journalists pretty much forgot to ask him about the car, about his championship prospects, about the sport. He lost count of how many times he was asked Gojo is like a mentor to you, how does this affect your relationship? Does this change things? Did you know? 

Someone, later on, insinuated that Gojo had been sleeping with him and that’s why Megumi was chosen for a JTR seat, and then he’d really had enough, walking out on a written media session because of it. PR had sat him down and told him he needed to attempt to do damage control when this kind of stuff came up, but Megumi had snorted and told them that they could answer instead. 

Here’s the thing. Gojo is the greatest driver of all time, if the fans are willing to disregard Sukuna. His stats are better. He has two-thirds of a triple crown, he’s racing in other series. He lost his seat for Le Mans, in the whirlwind. He’d immediately gained one in Keicho, set until JTR decide to field an entry, but–

He’d lost his seat. 

It’s not like he needs the money. He’s racing for fun. He’s absolutely filthy rich. He knows firsthand that the wedding band he bought for Getou cost a fortune. But he’s the greatest, and enough people still decided it was enough of an issue to not want him on their team. 

Gojo had ruffled his hair at the time, said brightly, “it’s okay, they’ll lose because they don’t have me,” and they did, Keicho won and Gojo made the difference, but it didn’t feel like enough.

Megumi doesn’t think anyone blames him for being secretive, in the grand scheme of things. There’s– he’s not told Yuuji anything about the car. It’s good, being together with someone who understands. Who knows when to push and when to back off. Who knows that legally, Megumi can’t speak much about his job. 

He presses a hand to Yuuji’s hair, and watches where Nobara has collapsed on a different couch. Inumaki and Yuuta are around, somewhere, too. Haibara has woken up half an hour before they’re due to land, and is talking to Gojo quietly, who looks thoughtful, a hand pressed over his mouth. 

Gojo’s technically going as a pundit. As a presenter. Megumi thinks he might be in the comms box for a bit. Really, he’s there because he can’t get away. When he stepped in for some early races last season, Yuuji had been convinced he’d take an offer to come back to the sport, but Gojo had laughed when Megumi asked. Said he was happy not having to travel a million miles every weekend. Happy living in Italy. 

It’s not like Getou wouldn’t have given him a seat. There was talk about it for a while. But Megumi knows the entire grid breathed a sigh of relief when Gojo ruled out a full-time return. 

Equally, though, he’s always around. Mostly in their garage. He used to float around Keicho a lot, before he came out and people started speculating about him and Getou, so he stopped. He knows a few drivers will seek him out for track walks, or advice, or just to talk. Megumi doesn’t have to. 

“You might wanna wake him up,” Gojo says, nodding at Yuuji, and Megumi nods, tapping his shoulder a few times. 

--

Not quite the opening scene, but a very early one. Definitely sets the tone. Enjoy all :3

[rustedhearts]

sentimental reasons (boxer!steve x librarian!fem reader)

summary: sunday afternoon musings in autumn.

uses she her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring ✶

tags: pregnant!reader, fluff, that’s about it.

sentimental reasons - nat king cole

hawkins, indiana, october 20th 1996

“I wonder if she’ll have my eyes.”

“Hmm. I hope.”

Steve’s lashes tickled the tip of your finger as it delicately scaled the soft tissue of his eyelid. His lip quirked, nose twitching when you came to trace the slope of it: bent sideways by brutal fists barreling into cartilage. But once, it was smooth and straight. No matter how crooked or left-leaning it was these days, you still found it handsome.

“Hope she doesn’t get stuck with that,” Steve snorted, and you frowned as you smoothed your thumb over the swollen bridge. “Hope she has her mama’s.”

Steve lifted his hand from where it rested on your stomach to bop your nose. You smiled, fingers pushing through the long tresses framing his face. You had been reclining on your back for a few hours now, late-term pregnancy responsible for consistent exhaustion and sore ligaments. It felt like the whole of you existed in the front, and sometimes you worried you were walking on a forward slant.

The house smelled like the slowly-browned roast your mother brought you, warming in the crockpot; the sweet aroma of brown sugar carrots and the bitter snap of celery. From your open window: damp earth and the musk of goldenrod leaves. It smelled like home.

Cheek pressed gently to your stomach, chapped hands feeling for flutters and kicks, massaging your aches through a faded, stretched-out tee: Steve. He smelled like a morning Marlboro—faded and nipped away by the wind—and the woodsy vanilla of your laundry detergent. He smelled like Steve. He felt like Steve: warm and firm and lovely. Cocooned between his half-pressed weight and the softness of the comforter, you felt you could’ve lied there for the rest of your life.

You closed your eyes and listened to the leaves rustle in the afternoon. The distant babble of youthful laughter. The whoosh of rubber on asphalt at thirty-five miles an hour. The crunch of bike tires over the pile of leaves Steve raked and then left on the tree lawn so he could tend to you.

He heard your silence from the front yard. He felt your ache.

“It’s funny,” Steve murmured, eyes wide and alert, finger trailing a path down the roundness of your bump. “I never thought I’d be here. Never thought I’d have…another part of me. Like this.”

He flattened his palm to rub across your belly, spreading a blissful massage that had you shifting. Expelling a breezy sigh, you blindly tucked a patch of hair behind Steve’s ear. Soft, just-shampooed: vetiver and musk.

“She’s all ours, baby,” he whispered.

The room swayed in the stillness. Like being cradled in a lullaby, gently rocked to sleep by one dreamy, autumnal afternoon. You felt like you were floating, gently bobbing to the rush and recede of the sea.

"Kinda scary to think about," you returned a moment later, just as quietly. You peeped your eyes open to find Steve's face.

Smoothed into mindless relaxation, he watched his own hand lift over the mound of your bump. Back and forth, over the swell and down the valleys. His wedding band caught a spark of pale afternoon light: thick silver tungsten around his ring finger. Unbreakable. Irreplaceable.

Work got in the way of him wearing it often, but on long weekends like this—when you slipped away from the busy, sunny California life for a slice of small town America back home—Steve slipped the ring on and never took it off.

He liked seeing it on his hand. He liked hearing it clink with yours when you held hands at night. He liked seeing them together—your ring, his ring—and knowing: this was eternal.

"God I hope I don't fuck it up."

You tipped your head on the pillow, craning to find Steve. You gently scraped your nails over his scalp, watching them create gaps in his mop of hair.

"You won't," you cooed. "No more than all the other parents."

Steve's lips curled into a pursed smile, handsome and boyish. Your chest stuttered a moment.

"Thanks, angel. Think 'm just nervous," he sighed, words tight between his teeth with his chin pressed to your belly.

You shifted again, socked feet rubbing his sides. "Me too. My mom said she used to throw up just from nerves right before she had me, but I think I turned out alright."

He breezed into another grin, a scoffed laugh shooting from his mouth. "Yeah."

You twirled a strand of hair near his brow around your finger. It curled into shape, tickling his eye.

"Wonder if my mom was nervous with me," he whispered.

You took pause, scanning the surface of his face. His eyes flicked away from your stomach toward your own, and he instantly scoffed and shifted on his stomach.

"Ah, shit, sorry. That was—sorry—"

"Baby, hey," you awed, reaching down to cup his face. "Don't be sorry. It's okay to wonder."

Steve halted a moment. Staring at you, head risen from his place on your center body, eyes a little rounder and wider and laced with pleading. Softened and sweet, you flashed him a small, reassuring smile and scratched your nails against his scalp again. He slowly sank back down, rubbing his cheek against your clothed belly.

“‘Kay,” he murmured.

“Wanna talk more about it—“

“No, baby. Just…wanna talk about names.”

You giggled. “Names?”

You could see the coil of his mouth from here, how the side of his face lifted with the small quirk of muscle.

“Yeah. Been thinkin’ about what we’re gonna name little Harrington.”

Your heart swelled to double the size, aching in your chest. You could barely contain the burst of adoration blooming with a pulse.

“You have?”

Steve’s finger made a zig-zag trail on your belly again. “Mhm. So…let me see it.”

You blinked, brows etching together. “See what?”

Steve turned his head, hair dragging across your belly and flouncing from his face. “The notebook.”

You clapped your hands together with a giddy grin. You’ve kept a notebook of baby names since your first sonogram. You knew you were getting ahead of yourself, and there were chances the pregnancy wouldn’t stick—but all you could think about was what you’d name your child. When you found out it was a girl, that you’d have a daughter, the notebook immediately became a place of scribbles and exclamation marks and highlighted stars.

Interestingly enough, when you started to show a bump beneath your clothes and required more assistance for daily tasks, Steve swapped roles with you as the worrier. He helped you up and down stairs, poured your cereal, made you smoothies, cut your steak, and did his best to do the cleaning exactly the way you did it.

Steve was terrified you’d lose the baby, and that it would be all his fault.

For some reason, naming the baby felt like “jinxing it” to him.

“Really, you wanna see it?” you squealed, capturing your lip between your teeth.

Steve chuckled, a deep, grumbling sound that shuddered through you. “Yeah, baby.”

“Okay good, because I can’t get up.”

Steve chortled, shifting on his stomach to press a kiss to your belly, wide hands spanned on either side. He wiggled off the bed and headed toward the door, rounding the corner toward the library room.

The Hawkins house, made the Harrington residence circa 1994, had a gorgeous, oak-shelved room full of first editions and signed copies. Steve spared no expense when it came to your little corner of the house, where he often found you curled up in the window seat scribbling in a journal, or scanning a book. You had a desk against the wallpapered wall, where a type writer from 1935 found at a flea market in Virginia sat with every intention of good use. Steve hated the sound of your clacking, but you said the sound was “transcendent.”

Steve padded into the room, blanketed in a pale grey darkness as the sky muddled with rain clouds. The window came to a peak in a rounded arch, wet with old rain drops from last night’s shower. Collections of leaves from the oak tree looming in the yard congregated on the glass in groups of yellow.

He found the notebook on the desk beneath your piles of paper, all full of ink. Steve fought the urge to filter through it as he returned to the bedroom.

You struggled to sit yourself up, wobbling on your palms like doing the crab walk. Steve flung the notebook toward the bed and rushed to your side, hands at the ready.

“Baby,” he huffed, hoisting you toward the pillows at the headboard, which he fluffed adamantly as you settled back. “Wait for me.”

Your eyes rolled, though you were already out of breath. “I had it.”

He shot you a pointed look through narrowed brows, and fumbled for the notebook at the edge of the mattress. He settled beside you, and as the air followed his motions, you caught whiffs of damp soil from his time outside this morning.

“Okay, open it,” you insisted, voice wavering with delight.

Steve flipped the spine open, revealing the first lined page of paper with your familiar writing.

“Jesus Christ, honey,” Steve drawled, pulling the notebook back an inch to take it all in. His eyesight had been slipping for the past year and a half.

He needed glasses, but refused to wear them.

Cheeks swelling with warmth, you tipped your head over to get a peek of your work. “I had a lot of ideas.”

"And they're...alphabetized," Steve commented, tone thick with amusement.

"Obviously."

Steve scanned the list of names, eyes shuttering half-closed and popping back open like a camera lens. The ones he didn’t like got a screwed up face in response. Steve had a headache by the time he got to the fourth page, and the names weren't stopping.

Only few caught his eye: Alice, Caroline, Catherine, Eloise, Emma, Lily, Josephine, Jane, Winnie.

As he continued to scan, he found himself pairing the names with his own surname. Alice Harrington, Catherine Harrington, Lily Harrington. None had the ring he thought they would.

"Do you have a favorite?" he asked, flipping pages again.

Resting your head on his shoulder, you gently skirted the pads of your finger over the warm skin of his forearm. You trailed them to the bone of his knuckle, feeling the purple veins protruding beneath the flesh, plumped from overexertion.

"Mhm," you hummed. "But I don't want to sway you."

Steve turned his head, lips brushing your temple. "It's Jane."

You lifted your head so quickly that it knocked Steve's chin, and he tongued away the pain with a wordless grimace as your face bloomed with warm thrill. You gazed at your husband in delightful wonderment.

"How did you know?"

"It had five stars next to it."

You giggled, warmth increasing. "Oh."

"And," he added, head cocking to pop a kiss on your cheek. "I remember you mentioned that name before. Back when we were still dating, talkin' about kids. You said you always loved the name Jane, and if you ever had a girl, that would be your top choice."

Looping your arm around Steve's, you squeezed him close and nuzzled his neck. "Oh, Steve, you are so hot right now."

Steve's laughter was sharp and surprised, and he snapped the notebook closed to toss it aside. Hands free and desiring your touch, he gently pulled at your legs until you reclined flat on the bed again.

"I know."

Mounting over you with an agreeable and cautious space between his body and your bump, he pressed a gentle pepper of smooches to your face. You ran your hands across his chest, playing with the silver chain around his neck, thin and linked.

"So...Jane it is?"

Steve pulled back, eyes flicking between yours. His features were soft, a sharp contrast to the scars and bruises they regularly carried. He brushed the back of two fingers across your brow, guiding your hair away.

"Jane it is, my love."

♡ ♡

[alltimefail-sims]

IDK about ya'll, but now that we have the jewelry skill that came with so many create-able assets it made me want even more interactive gameplay skills in future packs. I will say it until this game is dead; we can never have too many interactive activities for our sims, and that's where The Sims 4 has always struggled in comparison to its predecessors.

I would love to see skills/activities such as:

Bands. A whole "Making Music" GP would be amazing, one that adds in just more instruments in general, not just "rock band" instruments. There are so many jazz artworks, signs, and statues in this game so I have no idea why we have 0 brass and 0 woodwind instruments. Also, harps!! Harps would be amazing to use with the wedding pack!!! Also no marching band in High School Years? Wild! Fumble after fumble that could still be remedied with a music-themed GP. They could add a jazz band and/or marching band after school activity with this pack and maybe a band career that starts with being a garage band that is compatible with Get Famous... it could be so good!)

Rug Making. This is a super trendy art/craft activity right now and it is super cool to watch. I would love to see this done in the sims, especially if we could make cool funky custom pieces and sell them! With GTW you could literally make your own store just for your rugs like come onnnnnn!

Pottery. Again, the selling possibilities and maybe even a new art studio lot type would be sooooo awesome for our creative sims!!!

Basket Weaving. PAIN because this should have been included in Horse Ranch or even For Rent and I'll die on that hill. It's unlikely it will fit in future packs, but I'm putting it on here nonetheless.

Sewing. Especially for quilts and stuff, how cute would it be to make baby/toddler/child clothes, quilts, etc.!!!

Skateboarding. Oh how I know we'll probably never get this... but I'm holding out hope.

Adding on to skateboarding, just some more group sports and games in general like tennis and pool.

If we get cars - a mechanic skill. They could even just consider this a part of the handiness skill and create an object like from TS2 Freetime when you could buy a junker car from buy mode and fix it up!

Obviously they might not do any of these, but these are just some dream elements that I would personally love to see in game.

Please feel free to share your dream skills/activities/game additions!!!