#happy birthday you chaotic man

[im-an-adult-ish]

Using his birthday to bring back the bane of my existence.

joe’s most iconic looks as voted by my followers

fifth place | the red suit

[howtosingit]

"I am pregnont, I'm very pregnont, I'm very pregnont"

[suchine-toki]

Ever since I found out he was Otsuu’s music producer, I... I couldn’t look at him the same way.

[silversurfersx]

you and me and your friend kimi | ollie bearman

ollie bearman x gf!reader [smau]

summary: in which you just want to hang out with your boyfriend, but his boyfriend just keeps appearing alongside

A/N: Guys I'm sick and maybe a bit delirious, if something is a bit weird, I blame the sickness, also english isn't my first language

liked by olliebearman, kimiantonelli, dinobeganovic and others

yourusername: karting w/ my bf and his bf. Cheers boys!

view comments

olliebearman: ❤❤

yourusername: ❤🐻 kimiantonelli: ❤🤝 yourusername: 👀 kimiantonelli: @ olliebearman 😘❤ olliebearman: @ kimiantonelli 🥰❤ yourusername: 🤨 olliebearman: @ yourusername 🥰😘❤❤❤😅

user1: kimi our here third wheeling, lol

user2: *y/n

dinobeganovic: can I come next time?

yourusername: you can come instead of kimi

kimiantonelli: what 🥺

liked by olliebearman, kimiantonelli, alexandrasaintmleux, and others

yourusername: photodump.

view comments

user3: this is so chaotic, I love it

olliebearman: ❤😘

yourusername: ❤🥰

user4: that's a real kimi raikonnen caption

user5: y/n challenge to not post her man

user6: and kimi user7: at this point they've adopted him

kimiantonelli: why did you post a picture of sebastian vettel as a kid?

yourusername: cause he's adorable olliebearman: she sometimes spends hours just looking at pictures of him as a kid yourusername: again, he is freaking cute kimiantonelli: that's weird user8: i get it, little seb is adorable [liked by yoursusername]

thomasbearman1: can I come to ikea next time too?

yourusername: of course 😊 kimiantonelli: and me? yourusername: you just went with us kimiantonelli: yes, and? yourusername: ask ollie user9: in other words: ask dad

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, kimiantonelli and others

olliebearman: happy birthday to my favourite girl. The best girlfriend and engineering student in the world. I love you to the moon and back ❤❤❤❤❤❤🥰🥰🥰😘😘🥳🥳🥳🥳

tagged: yourusername

view comments

user10: oh to be loved the way ollie loves y/n, happy bday

charles_leclerc: happy birthday y/n!

yourusername: omg charles leclerc, thank u some much 🥰

kimiantonelli: happy birthday mama 🥰🥳🥳

yourusername: i think I'd remeber if I were your mum 🤔 but thank you

yourusername: thank you so much, love! I love you to pluto and back 🥰❤❤

olliebearman: then I love you from the andromeda galaxy and back 😘🥰❤❤❤

user11: not them out here challenging their love for each other

user12: it's incredibly cute but also very painful (I'm single)

prema_team: happy birthday, y/n!

___

___

yourusername posted a story

caption: helping chef kimi 🍝

tagged: kimiantonelli, olliebearman

kimiantonelli posted a story

caption: paddel with the family

tagged: olliebearman, yourusername, dinobeganovic

yourusername: family? Did we adopt Dino now too? kimiantonelli: too? Have you accepted my request to be officially adopted? yourusername: ollie made me kimiantonelli: 😍

kimiantonelli posted a story

caption: I have been officially adopted, I want to thank my adopted parents for this opportunity ❤❤

tagged: yourusername, olliebearman

olliebearman: aww, she told you🥰 welcome to the family 😘 kimiantonelli: grazie 😘

[gguk-n]

Destined for Carlos (Carlos Sainz Junior x Ferrari's God-Daughter!Reader)

No face claim, all the pictures are from pinterest

scuderiaferrari

Liked by y/n.y/l/n, carlossainz55 and 1,278,934 others Tagged y/n.y/l/n

scuderiaferrari Tanti Auguri principessa y/n.y/l/n.❤️❤️ Hope you have a great day!! Can't wait to have you back for the races🥹🥹

user5 WOW! she's literally embodiment of Ferrari😭😭 user6 Happy Birthday to the prettiest person at Ferrari❤️❤️ y/n.y/l/n Thank you for the wishes everyone😘😘 user7 who is this??🫣🤔 user8 user7 you did not just ask that under a Ferrari post😔😔 carlosainz55 feliz cumpleanos princesa❤️ charles_leclerc joyeux anniversaire❤️ user9 why did Carlos call her princess??🫣👀

y/n.y/l/n

Liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 729,436 others

y/n.y/l/n Best birthday yet🎂

user10 Happy birthday!!❤️ alexandrasaintmleux happy birthday bestie 😍😍 Liked by Author user11 She's dating Charles??😳😳 user12 user11 that's literally Carlos, look at that back🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ user13 the last picture🫠🥵 y/friend/user happy birthday!!❤️ user14 is she soft launching her boyfriend??😔🤭 user15 user14 this is a hard launch, it has Carlos written all over it🥹🥹

y/n.y/l/n

Liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux and 1,567,289 others Tagged carlossainz55

y/n.y/l/n Contrary to popular belief I have no say in the scuderiaferrari driver lineup😒

user16 the 6th picture. 🥵🥵I'm dead. deceased😳😳 user17 Ik for a fact Ferrari is losing it😖🤣 user18 this is so Y/N of her🤣🤣 user19 The Carlos boyfriend pictures are just *chef's kiss*😘😘🤌 user20 They are so old money coded, I can't😭😭 user21 The Enhypen song dedication🥹😭 user22 I'm laughing at the caption😂😂 user23 Carlos looks so happy in these pictures😍😍 user24 Get you a man who looks at you like Carlos and looks like Carlos😍😭 charles_leclerc best couple, after me and Alex🤭 user25 charles_leclerc SAY WHAT???😪😪 carlossainz55 te amo amor ❤️❤️Liked by the Author alexandrasaintmleux the tattoo came out so well 😏😏 y/n.y/l/n alexandrasaintmleux IKR!! We should get matching tatts☺️☺️ alexandrasaintmleux y/n.y/l/n yessss🥹🥹 scuderiaferrari The PR team would like a word with you y/n.y/l/n scuderiaferrari No. 😝You can talk to my god parents. user26 I love her, she is the perfect kind of chaotic🤣🤣

carlossainz55

Liked by y/n.y/l/n, charles_leclerc and 1,289,304 others Tagged y/n.y/l/n

carlossainz55 my biggest supporter❤️

y/n.y/l/n always have been always will be.😘😘 Love you babe ❤️❤️Liked by Author carlossainz55 y/n.y/l/n love you too❤️ charles_leclerc I thought y/n was my biggest supporter🤧🤧 y/n.y/l/n charles_leclerc am not🙅‍♀️ landonorris WOW JUST WOW! I mean I'm not surprised😏😏 lewishamilton Congratulations you too❤️ maxverstappen1 I support this union👍👍 user27 I just love them😭😭 user28 that user on twitter must be dying rn😪😂 user29 she knows how to push people's buttons user30 Will Y/N be joining Carlos in Williams?🤔🤭 y/n.y/l/n user30 yes, where ever he goes I follow☺️☺️ scuderiaferrari y/n.y/l/n no you don't🤌🤫 user30 I'm dying😂😂

[onlyangel4]

skinny dipping. mv1. smau.

max verstappen x ex!girlfriend reader

in which max and reader dated up until they were nineteen, when max ended the relationship so he could focus on his career but a chance encounter sees them reconnecting.

faceclaim: olivia cooke

y/ninsta posted a story

written: canceled plans means retail therapy and this is the fit of choice. i look insane.

maxverstappensightings posted a story

written: max was spotted walking around a shopping centre in belgium

y/ninsta posted a story tagging y/bff and belladubois

written: as usual the girls arrive first

y/ninsta posted a story tagging marcuslambert, liammaes, lucaslambert and maxverstappen

written: and the boys have finally made it.

maxverstappen posted a story

written: a day for reconnecting with old friends

y/ninsta posted a story marcuslambert, liammaes, lucasdukes and maxverstappen

written: the boys

y/ninsta posted a story tagging y/bff and belladubois

written: the girlies

f1wags

liked by user1, user2, user3 and 45,293 others

f1wags: max verstappen spotted in belgium with y/n y/ln. those that do not know who y/n is, she was max's first ever girlfriend and she was about during his early days of f1 with a group of his friends that got nicknamed "max's cheerleader" but one random day they just dissapeared and it came out that max had pulled away from them to focus on racing. but four months ago they started posting each other again max has been coming back to belgium a lot more in between races.

view all 2,192 comments

user1: i can't believe we are getting max and y/n content in 2024 that is actually insane

user2: omg my fav couple could be back for good

user3: every time i have seen pictures of them together they both look really happy

maxverstappen posted a story tagging y/ninsta

written: she got so excited because her glasses match my drink

y/ninsta posted a story

written: last day of 26

marcuslambert posted a story tagging, maxverstappen, y/bff and y/ninsta

written: happy birthday to my fav chaotic mess y/ninsta

belladubois posted a story tagging liammaes, maxverstappen and y/ninsta

written: happy birthday to my fav third wheel turned double date partner

liammaes posted a story tagging belladubois and y/ninsta

written: omg it is y/n day

lucasdukes posted a story tagging y/ninsta, y/bff and maxverstappen

written: i tried looking for a normal picture of y/n and this was all i found

maxverstappen posted a story tagging y/ninsta

written: celebrating my favourite person

maxverstappen posted a story

written: someone is happy with the birthday desert that the restaurant provided

y/bff posted a story

written: why tf is she holding it like that, mY pReCIoUs

maxverstappen posted a story

written: safe to say y/n loves cake

maxverstappen

liked by y/ninsta, belladubois, marcuslambert and 1,392,384 others

tagged: y/ninsta

maxverstappen: happy birthday my love

view all 59,293 comments

y/ninsta: i love you so much but those pictures are questionable

maxverstappen: they really capture your vibe

belladubois: love you both, can't wait for all the double dates to come

maxverstappen: thank you bells

y/bff: she is still mine

maxverstappen: don't worry she made that very clear

liammaes: did y/n have to teach you what a hard launch is

maxverstappen: no

marcuslambert: y/ninsta is he lying

y/ninsta: he is definitely lying

lucasdukes: so happy for you both

maxverstappen: thanks man

user4: i can't believe in the 2024 we have max y/n again and all six of max's cheerleaders commenting on his instagram

user5: i am so happy that you guys are actually together

user6: i can't believe he posted this at ten minutes to midnight on her birthday

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

TAGLIST SIGN UP SHEET

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[folkwhoredoll]

personal driver - rafe cameron x fem!reader

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

synopsis: a boyfriend, a driver, or both?

word count: 0.5k

warnings/tags: some suggestive dialogues, mostly fluff :>

a/n: hi everyone! this is just a blurb for my first post on this blog :3 i hope you'll like this one. happy reading!

masterlist

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rafe’s soft side is an impossibility to everyone but you. Despite everything he’s done, your boyfriend never once hurt you in any way. You were a precious art in his eyes, a balance to his chaotic personality. Rafe also takes pride in being the only person on the planet who knows how wild you can be. An innocent face with a mischievous soul, he says. And he likes it, a lot.

Tonight was your best friend’s birthday party and she specifically told everyone attending that it is a strictly girl-only event. So there you were in front of your vanity mirror, wrapped in a pale pink bodycon dress while smearing a second layer of lipgloss across your lips.

“You look pretty, baby.” You halted your movements, turning around to see Rafe standing at your bedroom door with his arms crossed, eyes shamelessly raking up and down your body.

“You think so?” you said as you flashed him a sweet smile. Your heart always flutters whenever he compliments you.

Rafe muttered a low mhm as he walked towards you, arms reaching forward to grab your waist and kiss you on the forehead. “You always look pretty.”

Your lips turned into a small pout before looking up at him. 

“And you look just about good enough to eat,” he said abruptly, a cheeky smile growing on his face.

You chuckled. “stop it. we need to leave anyways.” You quickly made your way to the edge of your bed to grab the gift bag and the small purse that you packed earlier.

“This is so unfair," he huffed playfully. “You’re just using me as your personal driver.”

“Well I told you I can just grab an Uber—“

“Absolutely not.”

“See! And now you’re complaining," you scolded him while giving him a knowing look. Not that Rafe’s overprotectiveness bothered you. You love it. Being in his presence is the only time when you can be completely carefree, knowing that he’s there to take care of you.

“Alright,” he sighed. “What would I do without you?”

“Oh, stop being dramatic," you laughed. “I’ll only be gone for a few hours, Rafe.”

“A few hours too long!” He rebutted, trailing behind you while you walked downstairs. Sometimes you wonder if this is truly the man that many claim to be dangerous.

“I’ll tell you what. we’ll do anything you like when I get home," you offered him, grabbing your heels from the shelf beside your front door.

Rafe’s eyes lit up at your words. “Anything?”

You immediately realized what went on in his head as soon as his playful smile turned into a smirk. You giggled.

“Yes, anything,” you said. “Now come on. I want to be the first one to give her a gift.”

Rafe didn’t hear any word that you said after that, his mind beginning to imagine what he was gonna do to you tonight. His smile never left his face even while locking the front door.

He raced to open the door to the passenger seat for you, whispering to your ear before shutting the door.

"You're in for a treat tonight, darling."

And with that promise, you can't help but wonder if the party is where you truly want to be.

[etheries1015]

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

Character's revolving around the story will be highlighted in RED. NSFW section below the SFW one.

link back to OG masterlist

Link to Twisted wonderland Masterlist Pt. 2

SFW

A little more to love - Lilia x Reader HC

Happy Fathers day - Crowly shit post

Secret relationship and the wing man- Malleus X reader

Finding out your real name - Platonic Multi (seperate)

Beating the shit out of a student- Platonic Multi (Together) [TW: assault, but MC is a badass]

Rejection hurts- Lilia X reader [Angst, no comfort]

Rejection hurts pt2 - Lilia X reader [Angst, slight comfort?]

When you wish upon a star- Malleus X Reader

Magic Catastrophe- Twst X Obey me crossover

Magic Catastrophe pt2 - Twst X obey me crossover

Your first encounter - General Lilia x Reader shit post

An apology mug - Malleus X reader

How could you love that...?- Malleus X High energy/gremlin reader (lowkey shit post)

When he began to fall in love- Lilia x (slightly traumatized) reader [TW: Depiction of panic attacks, mentions of PTSD, reader does not like being startled by the mischievous vampiric fae :( ]

Domestic kitchen moments- Trey, Rook, Malleus, Lilia X Reader

What a shame- Bi Lilia X Bi Reader shit post

The school Therapist- Working Adult MC HC

The promises we made- Malleus X reader Angst/fluff rolled into one...

Our popular prefect! - Headcannon on MC's daily life as the ramshackle dorm prefect and their precious students.

Endless Marriage proposals- General Lilia X reader (angst no comfort)

Endless Marriage Proposals (ALT ENDING) - General Lilia x Reader (Fluff)

Glorious Masquerade- MC Solves the problem!

Glorious Masquerade- The... interesting dormmate... (answer)

A dragons infatuation - Malleus X reader HC

When they snore - Mallus, Rook, Azul, Riddle, Vil (Separate) X Reader

When you cuddle them like a Koala- Housewardens (separate) X reader

A fearful realization - Malleus X reader

A fearful realization pt. 2- Malleus X reader

Lonely together - Malleus X lonely reader

The swearing issue - Lilia HC

The dreaded reunion- shit post (king!Malleus, his spouse MC, and a few other special guests.)

The secret ingredient - Lilia X Reader (lowkey shit post)

A sacrifice worth making- Malleus X reader

A "normal" therapy session - Multi (shitpost HC)

When you cry- Malleus X reader

His first and last love- Lilia x reader

Boring lectures - Malleus X reader (pretty much platonic)

Finding out you're trans masc- Malleus, idia, kalim, Riddle X trans masc reader

Biting and accidental courtship - Lilia, Malleus, Leona, Ruggie, Jack, Rook X reader

Defending your lover- General Lilia x Reader

His unique magic- Jack x Reader

A different way of fighting- General Lilia and Gremlin reader HC

Dancing in the kitchen - Lilia X reader

Writing each other letters - Lilia X reader (2 scenarios)

His birthday present- Lilia X reader

Your dream and a wish- No ship, just your dream regarding Chapter 7.

Finding you sobbing - Malleus, Lilia X reader

Chaotic Prefect - Ask/Answer

Long lived/succubus (kind of) Yuu and their infatuation with humans- Ask/answer, platonic! Baul and General Lilia

Not particularly good at baking - Lilia X reader

Lilia shit post

Your importance - Lilia X reader (short)

Flower crowns- Meleanor X reader

A heavy farewell- Lilia X reader

An interesting fascination - Pomefiore X reader who is fascinated with scars (ask/answer)

A genius feat! - Technologically challenged reader X Idia Shroud

Learning human legs- Malleus learning to form a human body HC

Being allergic to them - Octavinelle and Savanaclaw

Sleep somewhere else!- MC allergic to cats and Grim headcannon

A messy confession - Floyd X reader

Half baked confession - Malleus X Flirty/shamelessish reader

Happy birthday, Malleus! - Malleus x reader

Happy birthday, reader! - General Lilia X reader

They throw you a birthday party - Diasomnia X reader

Prefects muse- Azul, Riddle, Idia X flirty reader

Prefects muse- Jack X flirty reader

The fae with a dream - General Lilia X Fae reader (angst) TW: death, emetophobia

your jealous lover- Lilia X reader

Raising a child and his interesting parenting style - Lilia X reader

when you're sick - short Silver X reader headcannon

Missing the "girly" things - Twst (Multi! Platonic!) X Fem! reader

Day dreaming - (Short) Lilia X reader headcannon

Oblivious old man- Lilia X reader HC

When he fell in love- Vil X reader

You're pregnant! their reaction? - Vil, Malleus, Azul, Lilia X Afab reader (no pronouns)

A flowers meaning- Lilia x reader

Cuddling his Tsum- Lilia X reader

Do you regret it? - Lilia X reader

NSFW

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A little bit of everything - Malleus Draconia relationship HC

Getting Drunk - Lilia X reader

Would they wait until marriage? - Multi (separate, lowkey shit post)

His little human toy- General Lilia X reader

Midnight dirty thoughts- About Dragon Malleus [tw monsterfucking]

Size kink HC - Malleus Draconia X reader [ tw monsterfucking]

A faes hidden desires- Malleus Draconia X reader

General Lilia Vanrouge thoughts - General Lilia x reader (short)

Pretty little pregnant you - Lilia X fem! Reader (tw: pregnancy)

Lilias praise - Lilia X reader (More suggestive than NSFW, but I placed it here anyway.)

Taking his virginity - Lilia X reader

Birthday head- Malleus x reader shit post

The unfortunate shower incident - Lilia X reader (only suggestive, not very NSFW)

living out a fantasy - Lilia X reader (TW hair pulling, slight mentions of blood)

General Lilias stress relief - Lilia x reader (TW slight non-con)

Hot spring mischief- Lilia & Malleus X reader

Guiding Malleus thru his heat- Malleus & Lilia X reader

[tiredsmashbros]

and so we are gathered here today, to hear TSB's horrible 1k sobbing {LONG}

well guys, it's been officially a week later since the end of the "birthday party" event. crazy it already flew by fast but formerly something i really wanted to say from the very start: thank you.

quite frankly i know i could've just made a simple thank you text as a normal person does, but i wanted to really to show my gratitude by giving something nice. and that something nice was the discord server until... my chaotic brain decided to make a daily week event inspired by scott cawthon UIGHJDSXUKGJH but otherwise- i hope everyone enjoyed tuning in everyday and i've personally been having a blast talking and hanging out with everyone since.

now, i got my secret final card up my sleeve that i've been wanting to do. was to give back something to some specific folks. amazing folks. folks that one: were my introduction to this amazing smg4 community, and two: friends i've made that has genuinely changed my life for the better, and three: been the greatest support i could've ever asked. it's still insane to me that i knew my life would be changed the moment i clicked on a youtube video of someone yapping about a specific blue and purple character from a gmod meme show and if they would work canonical. following up with me just 3 hrs later my first fanart doodle for myself. with just recently that moment being so happy i reached 100 followers on here... if you would've told me four months later that it'll exceedingly grow 10x i would laugh at you and walked away... you guys are insane in the best way possible it has scared me to death, but never have i done better improving my skills and mental health.

and with that, i give to thy, my absolute wholeheartedly appreciation:

@theartistisme43 you were the, if not one of, my first exposure to the community on twitter when i was looking for fanart on day one. i remember vividly being so captivated by your smg4 au by implementing sign language to your smg4 rigs. especially cause despite i've been meaning to relearn sign language for years, it has a special place in my heart for personal reasons. i remember being so obsessed with your animations replaying it again and again and adoring your art style so much. i've been {and still am} really shy expressing my feelings but seriously man i genuinely love your work so, so, SO much. it's still insane to me how you get the unfortunate rope under your feet by some nasty ass fools on twitter, but ong, they're just so jealous our your gmod rigging talent and storytelling. seriously man keep going!! always excited to see what you cooking up next! 💛

@ominus-potato + @bluestrawberrybunny adding you both together because ong it will feel weird to me if i didn't. of course, i am a fanfic addict once i get into a new fixation... and you two have been feeding me graciously. ominus, i love and get inspired by your fics SO MUCH it's insane to me how i'm alive after reading a new piece you've made /pos. you were also my introduction to marware and i've stayed since even if it was started of as a joke UIGHJV. strawberry i remember discovering you on artfight but exploded when i found out you were the creator of the apprenticeship au fic. i was shy to read it but i've been wanting to give you something before artfight started i finally caved in to the lore and my only regret is not getting into it sooner. i love both of ya'lls writing styles so much it's inspired me to genuinely get back into writing fanfics. thank you both so much and please continue writting!!!! i get so excited every now and again going to bed reading them. 💛🌈

@aquaproductions and speaking about artfight... yoU! i remember discovering you actually from trap sanchez's smg4 map BECAUSE THE AMOUNT OF TIMES I WAS PAUSING TO SEE EVERY PEICE TO THEN EXPLODE WHEN YOU SHOWED THEM AT THE END HIUGJHFEDS i LOVE you style so much and god when i got the message from you on artfight i actually fucking screamed. even getting that attacked for you has never once failed to make me smile. i've overcome it by now,, but i genuinely was really shy because you are just so cool and i'm still going crazy the fact your a fan of the boys LIKE BROOOOOOOOOO IUGHJDSXYUJ. ahem- anyways... kEEP BEING SLAY AQUA!!!!! 💛💕💛

@coralalala64 + @cookiepopcat ah yes another duo bc im trying to shorten this but cause you both played a similar role for me. you two, i kid you not, are the first folks i followed while joining the smg4 community. i am in love with your traditional work sm corala i am just obsessed with comics and seeing someone was making 34 comics just made me jump in glee. additionally i love the c r e a t u r e gag sO MUCH T&*YGUIHJK. cookie in general i adore your artstyle so much and especially how you add those little sparks on the hair GUHH ITS SO CUTEEEE!!! i became more of a bigger fan from your shark au and now a fan of ur new au with 3! so excited to see what you guys got cooking up next!!! 🌿💛

@zurkton i know we don't get the opportunity to talk much more but i seriously wanted to feature you in as my appreciation from the insane support you've been giving me. seeing your comments make me smile in glee and even a bonus seeing something new you make. i adore your gmod style of these silly mario recolors BUT SRSLY MAN UR OWN STYLE IS SO GOOD AND SEEING U MADE AN OC FINALLY GUH ITS BEEN IN MY TO DO LIST FOR SOOOOOOO LONG. JUST GUH I LOVE UR WORK SO MUCH PLEASE CONTINUE BEING AWESOME AND I HOPE WE CAN GET MORE TIME TO BE ABLE TO YAP MORE!!! /GEN 💛🍳

@clownypillar oh yeah. you bet your buggy ass i added you on here. cause bRO i was surprised to find someone else who loves bugs it made my little me so happy. and i still have not gotten over that smg4 cult of the lamb au you made since, i love that game sm seeing that on my feed just made me immediately become a fan. doesn't help the fact blue/silas says really amazing and silly things about you in our talks i was so shy finding the right opportunity to try and talk to you qnq,, and when the opportunity did come up {bot issue} I GOT EVEN MORE NERVOUS IHKJFEGDSXUGJH /POS i love your humor sm man you are so fun and i apologize silas has gotten you under the theory trap sigh... but other than that i need to get back into my retired bug fixation and find more ways to make fun of you as we yap and appreciate dr pepper 💛🌈🥤🐛

@libbytwq i still remember the day i got that tsb piece from you on artfight and literally screaming and running around my room in glee seeing my silly man in a silly looney pose. seriously man, ever since i saw that i immediately became a fan of you. i just am a sucker for your style man /srs. hECK i remember struggling so hard to pICK someone to fight back bc i genuinely loved all your ocs and wanted to do everyone- i also find it sO funny and ig coincidental theres so many like coincidences with you??? ong i need to say this or im going to continue going crazy- like ong libby {oc} reminds me one of my trusted friends oc and brings me back to my 2016 nostalgia days, i actually have an oc name lore who has a similar hair style as smgl:e, AND THE FACT WITH OUR SMG4 OCS LORE SIMILARITIES LIKE BRO WE LIVE IN A MATRIX OR SOME SHIT THIS MAKES MY BRAIN EXPLODE AAAAAIOYUIGHJEFDSXZ /J but in all seriousness bro, i love talking with you and seeing your silly work so much. i know you're gonna be makin awesome things bro and you bETTER WIN THOSE MARCHING BAND COMPETITIONS IUGJHEDS 👑🍔🌈💛

@its-a-me-mango mango mango mango... YOU BRITISH FREAK- anyways. you seriously were one of my favorite artist when i joined and ngl i was absolutely terrified talking to you to the point i legit thought you hated me at some point IOKJEHFDWS heCk getting that attack from you on artfight blew my fucking mind bc i was screaming over the tari duck since af was the only place i dropped the tari love interest and i didnt realized it until i looked at your page that you were THE MANGO... bro i actually fucking exploded you have no fucking idea how happy i was 🌈. like you are one srsly one of my favorite inspirations man i love your artwork, your humor, and just everything man. i'm still going internally insane that im talking to you sm bro and the memes we mAKE BRO IM UYIGJHFDWSXZYUITJG THANK YOU FOR BEING SUCH A SILLY MANGO HORSE DOCTOR DUDE, YOU ARE SO COOL, INCREDIBLE, AND MAN WHERE IS THAT SNOWTRAPPED 1K YOU PROMISED /J i could go on a bit more but im literally exploding just writing this rn so now imma just lalalalalalalala 🍔💛🌈🥭🐴

@josiekatxd / josiekatxd jo. you are one insane creature /pos. LIKE DAMN MAN YOU DRAW SO FAST IT WAS WILD GETTING ALL THE AMAZING TSB GIFTS AND GETTING TO KNOW MORE OF UR OC 7 JUST BECAME A MORE JOYOUS RIDE!!!! i love your work so much man and the amount of support i've gotten from you makes me so so SOOSOSOSOS HAPPY ITS OVERWHELMING /POS. i enjoy talking with you man {even if i may be slow at timess..} pLEASE dont be afraid to send me smth, more yummy art or MEMEMSSSSS i appreciate anything and everything!!! this was honestly such a joy getting to draw 7 again she's been stuck in my head for so long hELPPP /SILLY 🌿⭐️💛

@rr3d2y AKO!!!!! YOU!!!!!!! YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SERIOUSLY MAN EVER SINCE THAT ATTACK YOU MADE FOR ME FROM ARTFIGHT I HAVE BEEN A DIEHARD FAN SINCE. I WENT ABSOLUTELY INSANE OVER IT SO MUCH I HAD TO SHARE IT WITH MY IRL FRIENDS IT MADE ME SO HAPPY. EVEN MORE HOW YOU ACTUALLY IMPLEMENT MY INTERESTS EVERY TIME YOU ATTACKED??? LIKE HELLOOOO??????? AND DAWKO??????? AND JUST UR OC IN GENERAL I LOVE HER SO MUCH BROOOO IUYGJHEFWDCSXZUYHKJ EDWSHJDCS LIKE DUDE I HAD NO IDEA HOW MUCH I COULD WRITE A FULLBLOWN ESSAY UNTIL YOU BARGED IN WITH YUMMY ART EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. YOU SPOIL ME SO MUCH AKO YOU ARE INSANELY INCREDIBLE AND SUCH A JOY TO TALK TO AND BE SILLY WITH. IT MADE ME SO HAPPY TO FIND SOMEONE WHO SHARES MY INTERESTS FROM THE START AND I STILL GO CRAZY EVERY TIME ANY OF IT IS MENTIONED. WHETER ITS SMG4, DAWKO, CG5, FAIRYOFFPARENTS, SONIC, WOLVERINE UYIGJHEFDSCXUIGJH IT ALL MAKES ME JUMP UP AND DOWN KICKING MY FEET MAN. I MEAN IT WHEN I SAY IM A BIG FAN AKO. I APPRECIATE EVERY SINGLE 1 MILLION PERCENT AND ADORE YOUR SUPPORT SO MUCH. THANK YOU AKO THE GREAT!!!! LIFETIME SUPPLY OF CHOCOLATE MILK FOR YOU!!!!!!! 🍫🥛💛🌈🍔💕

@radiantrevolt i know your not in the smg4 community whatsoever let alone know anything but i srsly meant it that receiving your support was such a big deal to me man. i never expected you to join the server but it genuinely made me feel more secure knowing i got you right my side just like old times. your support means the world to me man even if i suck as explaining or expressing that. you genuinely mean a lot to me man and the fact your still sticking around if still mind boggling to me evermore. thank you ander for staying by my side and willing to do so even at a space your unfamiliar with. being able to talk to you again has been such a joyride 💛💛💛💛🌈🐈‍⬛

and lastly...

these two freaks...

@strange0-0storm + @bluesbox... honestly... i owe you two a lot. genuinely. storm i remember you specifically when i first started acknowledging the smg4 community bc of how recognizable smg8 was on tumblr and immediately finding you to be so cool. so cool in fact, I WAS TOO SHY TO INTERACT TYIGHJFEDS. i LOVE smg8 so much and getting to see your other ocs such as jessee, cold cash, spamton... 8YIUGFEDSU J ITS JUST SO COOL AND HOLY FUCK MAN I LOVE YOUR ART SO FUCKING MUCH. I AM STILL FUCKING OBSESSED WITH THE TSB PIECE FROM ARTFIGHT MAN VDCXZUYJHGF ITS JUST SO PERFECT I CAN GO FUKING GO OFF AGAIN IHUGFJEDS but in all seriousness man, thank you so much for having the courage to respond to my lipbite comic, to me having the courage to follow you back and interact with you more, to giving me the courage again to join ur server, and the courage to say yes to watching popee with you and silas. finn you have no idea how much your silly words have an impact on me you make me so nervous in the most positive silliest way you have no idea how genuine happy i was being in that call for the very first time. even tho i know how quiet and anxious i was from the start, it was cause i was so shy and nervous bc man it was you! YOU!!!! you're such a fucking awesome guy finn i want you to seriously never forget that!!!! silas, thank you for even talking to me. hell, even after finn left to sleep we stayed and yapped for few more hours. i was never expecting that outcome ever in my life due to past experiences, and im so glad to the earth and back that it did come out as it did. i love talking to you man, i love seeing your work so much, and adore and appreciate to the fullest all the gifts you made me. thank you even more for getting me into the great gatsby and returning my hidden sherlock fixation back to light. i appreciate it way more that i can ever express it man. whether it may us talking about our day, silly nonsense, or me bullying you /j, it makes me so happy. and so grateful i can call you and finn my friends. you guys seriously helped me get out of my darkest angst shell i've had caged inside myself for the past, i didnt think i would ever escape from let alone actually be able to heal from. i didn't think i could ever be the happy ever again. like guys, i look forward to every week getting to get on a call with you guys so much its honestly my favorite activity/event of the week. i know im just silly guy i don't ever show my sappy self ever to ya'll but i mean it wholeheartedly ya'll helped me out so much more than you guys could ever imagine. i love you both so much i just wanna pick you two up and throw you into a canon so we could all go to disney world together and be just be silly. thank you finn, thank you silas 💛🤍💙🍔🍟🥤

i could honestly continue yapping but i was not expecting this to take longer than i was originally expecting so imma just end it here for now. i do want to thank everyone in the smg4 community for your continuous support. the amount of appreciation and love i get is still insane for me to grasp and i adore every single piece of giftart i've ever received. never did i expect to grow this big let alone meet such incredible and talented people ever in my life. i genuinely love all of you guys. thank you so much and onwards to more silliness!!! 🍔🌈 ⛅️🌿

[mothwingwritings]

Cherished Gift

F!Reader X Zayne (Love And Deepspace)

Look, I know this is coming out of left field but I did not want to let my husband Zayne Love and Deepspace’s birthday pass by without at least trying to write/post something. I hustled to get this out, it’s truly probably the quickest I have written something lol. It’s little and a bit rushed, but I hope you all enjoy!!! AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZAYNE! It’s all about you today, my Virgo king! <3

Warnings: NSFW, Mentions of sex and sexual themes so 18+ ONLY PLEASE!!! Other than that, it’s all just fluff and love my darlings! <3 There is very little editing, though.

Witnessing an uncomposed Zayne was a very rare sight. His default state was to be the stoic and stern doctor, exhibiting a frosty countenance and no-nonsense demeanor that would make anyone in his presence want to instantly be on their best behavior. It was such a natural state for him that it often aggravated you, as you felt that his outward presentation kept so many people from getting to know the true Zayne, and what a loving, giving, warm person he actually was. 

But currently, that grim doctor was nowhere to be found. In his place was a blissed out, disheveled mess, half clothed and panting as he lounged in his plush recliner. Sweat made his hair stick to his flushed forehead, his red tinted cheeks making him look almost cherubic were it not for the fire that smoldered in his emerald eyes, and throbbing dick still buried deep inside of you.

Even in his post coitus haze, his eyes never once left your form. He drank you in with as much interest now as he had while you were writhing and bouncing on his cock, maybe even more so now that he wasn’t completely lost in the thralls of pleasure. Though you were pleased with your work, you couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed by his unwavering attention, especially considering that Zayne wasn’t the only one left in such a sloppy state.

The lingerie set you had purchased especially for his birthday celebration had long since been discarded (it was incredible really, just how quickly the skimpy fabric gave way to his feverish hands), and your makeup and hair that you had fretted over for hours  was now nothing more than a smeared mess and chaotic tangle. Part of you wanted to dismount him right away and run to the restroom to freshen up, take a moment to remove the saliva and bits of cum that still lingered around your lips from your first go around with him. But you couldn’t find yourself pulling away from him, and minor embarrassment aside, Zayne did not appear to care how filthy you looked. His eyes still held on to you with such wanton reverence that you couldn’t help but blush, drinking in your unkempt appearance with a warmth that made your heart melt.

After several moments of silence that were broken only by the rasps of your choppy breathing, you felt him start to soften inside of you. The hands you had planted firmly on his chest noticing his heart beat steady, the electric energy buzzing in the air during your love making diminishing into a pleasant aura of peace.

Slowly, you climbed off him, his hands reluctantly falling from your waist as you did so. With a wave of your hand you motioned him to scoot over, which once done, you nestled beside him, burrowing yourself into the crook of his arm. He wrapped the limb around you tightly, keeping you pressed firmly to his side as he planted a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

Once you had settled in, you spoke up. “So,” a playful lilt tinged your voice as you looked up at the man holding you so lovingly, “How would you rank your birthday thus far? It at least has to be better than working, right?”

He answered with a pleased hum, “This is the best birthday I have ever had. I’ve been completely spoiled.” His hand traveled to your head, lazily massaging his fingers against your scalp, “But you may have created a monster. Now I am going to start expecting this treatment every birthday.”

 You giggled, “Lucky for you, this is only the tip of the iceberg! I’ll spoil you rotten for every one of your birthdays if you let me~”

It was Zayne’s turn to laugh, a small smile creeping across his lips, “Are you just trying to get me indebted to you?” He scrubbed your head, giving you another chaste kiss, “Because there is no need, you won’t ever have to bribe me for my affection. Everything I have I give to you freely. Your presence alone is enough of a treat, and your love is a gift I will forever cherish.”

“Zayne,” snuggling your face closer to his chest, you hoped to hide the deep crimson brought on by his earnest admission, “… I could spend hours talking and never be able to explain how much you mean to me. Words shy in comparison to the depths of my feelings, but… I love you. I will always love you, Zayne.”

With your heart felt confession lingering in the air, you spent the next several minutes glued to each other’s side in a comfortable silence. As you watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, your eyes began to grow heavy, the exertion of the day’s prior activities finally catching up to you. While you were swiftly being carried off to dream land, you felt Zayne  moving beside you. The lack of warmth made you crack your eyes, your sleepy gaze watching as he repositioned himself atop you.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead, “I was going to take you to bed so you could sleep more comfortably.”

You rubbed your eyes, shaking your head a bit. “No, it’s OK. I am glad you woke me up. I don’t want to spend the rest of your birthday sleeping, I want to spend it with you.”

He smiled at the innocent delivery of your words, “Well if a nap is out of the question, why don’t we start getting cleaned up for dinner?”

You gave a nod of approval, sitting up to stretch your weary body. Arching your back and extending your arms, the cool air on your exposed skin caused you to shiver slightly, goosebumps forming across your chest and arms at the sensation. Feeling a bit more spry now that you were loosened up, you started to shimmy your way off the seat, but Zayne’s body blocked your path, barring you from moving any further. “Zayne…?”

Fire was coming back to his eyes as he watched you move, answering your inquiry with a kiss to your lips. What started out as a peck soon grew in ferocity, hungry lips moving against yours with a passion you were desperate to match.

“Zayne,” you breathed in between his relentless assault, “I thought you said we were going to get cleaned up? I’m kind of gross right now, and we have a reservation, so we have to get ready to leave soon.”

“We have time,” he cut you off gently, planting a kiss to the tip of your nose, “and you are brilliant, even all mussed up. In fact, I find you exceptionally lovely right now knowing that I was the one that brought you to such a state.”

Your body flushed as he continued his attack, skilled hands trailing the length of your body, caressing you so gingerly you couldn’t help but careen your body towards him, seeking out more. “So beautiful,” he whispered against your neck, “Every part of you is breathtaking, (Name). Let me enjoy you.”

“But it’s your birthday, not mine …” Your voice trailed off as he nipped at your breast, biting down just hard enough to leave a lasting mark. You whimpered as he then kissed the tender flesh, your reaction causing a small, mischievous smile to form on his face.

“I know,” his soft voice murmured against your chest as he continued trailing his lips down your body, “Which is precisely why I know you won’t deny me my favorite gift of all, correct? The best way to make me feel good is to let me make you feel good in return.”

You smiled sheepishly at him, moving your hands to gently cup his face, “Well, I guess I can’t deny the birthday boy on his special day, can I?” You sighed, tracing your thumb gently across the apple of his cheek, “I love you.”

He turned his head, leaving a kiss on your palm, “I love you, too.”

[kanmom51]

Please help 😅 I think there is something or some conversation l have missed in JIKOOK’s timeline. Something about our Jimin getting so upset that he left the members and went home to heal from some trauma caused by V & Jk ?? The next we heard about him was when he was hospitalised suffering from covid?? Please fill in the blanks for me if you know any deets.. l would be grateful. No pressure though😂���🏽

Idk what fan fiction this is from, but WOW.

JM healing from trauma caused by V and JK?

The next was when he was hospitalized with covid?

Bull bloody shit is what I can tell you.

But let's look at the timeline why don't we?

At least what we know of it.

JM was hospitalized end of January 2022. Not because of covid but because of his appendix, and when in hospital tested positive for covid.

This followed the group going on a break after their 4 concerts in LA in November 2021.

Last time we had all three together was in their live on 28 November 2021. That was a chaotic super happy live. Only bullying I can think of, jokingly, would be Tae constantly mentioning brand names he wasn't supposed to, lol.

You can find many links to posts I wrote about that live here:

Then JK and JM returned to Korea with Jin. Just the three of them. They were supposed to go into quarantine as they returned, separately, as the government rules stated, and yet JK waited for JM at the airport upon their arrival thinking that they will be sharing a car only for the two to be separated.

There is absolutely, and I repeat absolutely NOTHING to show that there was anything wrong between JM and JK at that place and time!!!

JM and JK were fine, and there was no bullying going on from Tae and JK. What AO3 fanfic is that even?

As for the stupidity I've been hearing of since Ep. 3 of Are you sure? JK and V bullying JM, like wtf is wrong with people?

Every time I think people have reached the limit of being the worst they just prove that they can surpass themselves.

I think people lack basic ideas of human interactions if they claim that the playfulness we saw in that episode can be called bullying. If that's bullying then every single time those three played throughout the years would also be. These are 3 young men who grew up together and at times roughhouse. Like men do.

I've kind of lost hope in trying to explain to these people, who love to see JM as a victim, and therefore think they are his knights in shining armour, that JM is a grown ass man who knows exactly how to put both JK and Tae in their places if he wanted to!!! He's got the physical strength to do so, not to mention the personality too. He's known to have done both, when he wanted. And here's the news flash. Maybe he didn't want to! JM knows how to be assertive. Being such a nice human being doesn't make him a weak human being. I think that many of those that claim to love him and want to protect him either don't know him at all or want him to be weak so they can show up as his great protectors against the big bad JK, whom they would love to get rid of, cause he's just not good enough for JM, in their warped reality. Perhaps because they want JM for themselves.

JK is the person that JM loves most in this world.

The person that stood by JM's side and supported him when he was going through the turmoil he was experiencing during the pandemic.

The person that JM wanted to go on these trips with and came up with the idea to create this show so that they can go on these trips together.

The person that he flew from Korea to NY to be with for his solo debut.

The person that he can't stop talking about and bringing up in conversations that have really nothing to do with him, like during the Minimoni album exchange.

The man he chose to write a song for and write these lines to:

Baby, don't leave Just stay by my side, yeah To you, who see me bigger than what my little self is (to you) So that I can give as much as I’ve received (oh-oh) So that I can keep my word (oh-oh) Don't worry, just stay by my side, yeah (Yeah) We don’t know what the future holds (holds, yeah) And that’s scary and makes us afraid (oh-oh) But don’t forget that we’re always together (don't forget)

The person he chose to enlist with and be with for the 18 months of their military service, even though it meant a more difficult placement, even though it would raise eyebrows and questions marks seeing that the two are the first ever idols, both in their late 20s to do this!!

I've said this once I've said this a thousand times. People need to go live their lives and stop looking for drama where it doesn't exist in JM and JK's life.

They are together.

They are good.

Even if they are idols and public figures.

Even if they are two gorgeous young men who happen to love each other and are, god forbid, in a queer relationship.

Even if being in a queer relationship in their industry and society is frowned upon.

All those don't mean that their relationship isn't just a normal stable long term relationship with everything that such a loving relationship entails, including the struggles.

Enough with trying to insert drama where there is none.

[thistleh0use]

Jealous Five thoughts just because, well, I feel like Five wouldn't be into public displays of affection under normal circumstances. He's perfectly content to walk side by side with you at a farmers market, nothing but your shoulders occasionally brushing. Or resting against the trunk of a tree, half eaten picnic forgotten while reading your respective books, only point of contact your knees knocking every time one of you shifts. Or while cramped in a restaurant booth, surrounded by the Hargreeves family, sides pressed flush together as Klaus crowds into Five's other side to discuss the appetisers. Sure, when you reach for his hand or lean in to kiss him before running off somewhere it makes him happy, but it isn't really necessary. Five is always right there, never straying, comfortable watching you from a short distance. But at the end of the day, he's just a man. So when you two show up to the twins birthday party and a group of dads are whispering none too quietly about making you a mother? Five moodily crosses the chaotic room to wrap you up from behind, scowl firmly in place for the rest of the event. And Luther is so sweet! But perhaps too sweet to you on a day where Five is already annoyed, so naturally he snaps. Number one won't take it seriously because he's literally so sweet, will shrug off the aggressive threat his brother made and excuse himself with a smile, and you'll be left to scold your man for his misplaced anger. It's all a big f you from the universe because up until you came along, Five thought himself above emotions like jealousy, he's never had reason to feel envy or fear of losing someone because he's not enough. Now its instinct to compare himself to all the other men who fawn over you, even though you pay them no mind, and tries tirelessly to hide his newfound insecurities.

[requiemforthepoets]

i’ve got a stack of mail and a tall can 𖦹 OP81

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and oscar are two peas in a pod, but as you both grow up and began carving your own paths, everything just changed.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this one’s a bit new, i tried writing in third pov. so i hope this little experiment will be okay. hope you’ll enjoy this one :)

REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect to the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

WARNINGS: angst, mention of death and sad ending (if you squint enough)

Once, their lives had been intertwined like the roots of an old tree, growing together. From the time they were children, she and Oscar had been inseparable, they’d always share everything—school days that are filled with laughter, birthday parties that are often celebrated together and marked by chaotic games, playing by the streets under the bright sun during the summer and countless sleepovers in a tent by the backyard, where they would both whisper secrets under the starlit skies. Those were the golden years, spent building forts out of blankets and dreaming of grand adventures. They are each other’s constant—constant presence amidst the ebb and flow of growing up.

It was one autumn afternoon, as they are both sat beneath the sprawling oak tree in Oscar’s backyard, he looked at her with wide eyes that are filled with excitement.

“I’m going to be a race car driver,” he said, as his voice are laced with a mix of determination and excitement. She grinned, heart swelling with pride, “I’m going to be an artist!” She exclaimed, voice full of hopeful ambition.

They promised—pinky promised, a promise that holds the highest regard of promises, that no matter where their dreams take them, they would always find a way back to each other, in this spot beneath the oak tree, and right in this moment.

But as the years passed by, their lives began to diverge. Oscar’s path took him into the fast paced world of racing, while she decided to move and pursue her studies in another country. She immersed herself in the world of art, and the moment she graduated, she began to work tirelessly in her own studio. Their lives, once so closely knit, started to drift apart. Phone calls became less frequent, messages less personal. Soon, they found themselves swallowed by their own ambitions, those promises that were made under the oak tree are slowly becoming a distant memories.

Today, she was back in town for a brief visit, her heart unexpectedly drawn to the familiar Brighton streets—a familiar yet distant street and an unspoken hope that maybe, just maybe, things could feel like they once did. The street was much quieter now than the last time she remembered, lined with the same old trees and houses, but the sense of nostalgia was evident. She could still hear the echoes of the shared laughter and see the faint traces of their carefree childhood days, making her smile to herself.

Mrs. Lee, a kind old lady that had been their neighbor for almost forever, was still around. She had managed to stop by for a chat, and she was happy that Mrs. Lee could still remember her despite being gone for too long. Mrs. Lee had told her that Oscar was in town, having just finished a successful race season and dropped by earlier at Mrs. Lee’s house to say hello.

The idea of running into him was both exciting and nerve-wracking for her, she didn’t know if she’s ready to face the man who was once her closest friend, that is now a celebrated figure. Despite of losing contact with each other, she never failed to support Oscar. When she got the time, she would tune in and watch Oscar’s race.

As she walked past the old houses, she saw Nicole, talking to someone outside a small café, the kind where she and Oscar used to grab ice cream after school. Her heart skipped a beat, hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should approach her or just quietly walk away. The fear of Nicole no longer know or recognize her lingers, since it has been years since she left Australia.

But as if sensing her presence, Nicole turned her head and saw her. Nicole’s eyes widened in surprise, and a genuine, warm smile spread across her face. She quickly said her goodbyes to the one she’s talking and immediately rushed to her from across the street, where she were stood.

“Oh my goodness, y/n? Is that really you?” Her voice was filled with a mix of disbelief anf happiness. She nodded, trying to steady her nerves. “Hi, Nicole. Yes, it’s me, little ol’ y/n. It’s been a long time.”

Nicole pulled you into a tight hug, her embrace as familiar as ever. “It really has, darling. You look great! What brings you back here?” She broke the hug and looked at her softly.

“Oh, you know, I’m just visiting the house and the folks,” she said, her voice slightly cracking. “And thought I’d walk around and see how things have changed.” Without replying, Nicole hugged her again.

“Have you and Oscar already seen each other? I’m sure he would be thrilled to see you! He’s just inside the café grabbing a few drinks.” She smiled in excitement. “Not yet, I just got here and dropped by at Mrs. Lee for a chat.”

“Come on then!” Nicole gently guided you towards the café, and as she got closer to the establishment, she can see the familiar figure of Oscar.

The nerve had began settling in, she doesn’t know how Oscar would react to seeing her again after so many years. They had lost contact and she’s not sure if Oscar even remembers her.

“Look who I bumped into!” She said excitedly as she approached Oscar, with her trailing right after Nicole. Oscar’s eyes went wide, causing her to smile and shyly wave at him.

“y/n?” He quickly brushed off his shocked reaction and had been quickly replaced by a smile. “Hey, Oscar. Been a long time, huh.”

Oscar rushed towards you, engulfing you in hug. A hug that felt like home. “Way too long.” He responded while still hugging you. “I didn’t expect that you’ll be back in Australia.”

She chuckled, “well, here I am. In the flesh.”

“y/n, why don’t you come over for dinner?” Oscar just looked at you, hopefully. “Yeah, sure. I would love to.” Nicole cheered excitedly.

The dinner at the Piastris went very well, it is nice to see them again, and she was surprised how Oscar’s sisters had grown so much—to which they were happy to see her again, and Chris was glad as well that she’s back in Australia. Right after dinner, Oscar had invited you by the backyard. She had followed him and realized that they were heading to the oak tree where they used to sit and talk about everything.

“I can’t believe that this tree’s still here. Wow.” She said in amazement. “Yeah. I never really wanted this tree to be removed, honestly. It holds a lot of memories.” He chuckled.

They both sat down under the oak tree and looked up at the star, just like what they did back when they were still kids. There was a comfortable silence between them, until she decided to break the silence.

“You’ve really made a name for yourself,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, y/n. That means a lot,” Oscar replied, “and you? How’s everything going on with you?” He turned to look at you.

“Busy, but good.” She answered. “I’ve been working on some big projects. It’s fulfilling and keeps me busy, you know. But I sometimes miss how life had been easy for us back in the old days.” Oscar nodded, understanding.

“I’m really sorry for what happened to your parents.” She smiled at him. “Don’t be, it’s not your fault.”

“But still, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me the most.” She sighed. “It’s okay, Oscar. Really. As they say, life has many ways of testing a person, and this might be mine…” she trailed off.

“How do you feel now?” He asked. “I’m okay. I mean it still hurts, but learned to kept myself busy, you know—emotions can’t can’t hit a moving target…” she trailed off.

“So what are your plans now?” She pondered for a bit. “I don’t know. I don’t really think much about future plans, if I’m being honest. Wherever the wind will take me, I guess? I’m happy where life took me these past couple of years, and I intend to keep it that way.” Her response caused Oscar to chuckle.

“So, you’re more like carpe diem?” He replied, “eh, pretty much!” They both laughed at her response.

They continued talking, reminiscing about the everything. It fascinated her the life that Oscar managed to achieve, and she couldn’t even be more prouder for him. Yet, as they spoke, she felt a tug of longing for what could have been and the feelings that she had harbored toward Oscar for the longest of time. She had always imagined a future where their paths might cross in different way, but now it seemed clear that their time had passed.

“It has been a fun night, Oscar. I really did miss this.” She turned towards him and smiled softly. “It has been, really.”

“As much as I want to stay up late and catch up, I still haven’t recovered from my flight.” She chuckled. “Well, it’s best you go and rest.” He smiled.

They both head back inside the house and bid her goodbyes to Nicole, Chris, and her sisters.

“Thank you so much, Nicole and Chris for a lovely evening.” The couple smiled at her. “You’re very welcome, y/n. If you need anything, just come or call us.” Nicole said.

“You’re welcome here anytime, kiddo. You’re basically a family to us.” Chris patted her shoulder. “I will. Thank you so much again.” They hugged her briefly.

Oscar walked you to the gates, before she leaves, she turned to him. “Thank you, Oscar. It was really nice seeing you again.” He smiled. “It was really nice seeing you again too. It was due time we see each other again.”

He hugged her again once more, but a bit tighter this time. “Promise me you won’t be a stranger,” he said, his voice carrying a bit of the old familiarity.

“I promise,” she replied, though she knew that the distance between them would always remain. “Take care of yourself, Oscar.” With one last pat at his shoulder, she walked away.

There was a lot of things that had been unsaid tonight. But despite the heaviness she felt in her chest, there are things that are better off unsaid. Seeing Oscar so happy and successful was bittersweet. Her feeling for him, once so strong, but in the end, only three things had mattered—how much you loved him, how you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things are not meant for you.

[elementaryhallelujahs]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ strawberry lace

mdni, 18+ only

he’s always been cold on his birthdays, that much is a given. he expects the indoor parties and the alcohol blankets. he expects the raging hangovers the next day and the oily regret and the bitter realisation of one more year gone by; lingering in the air like the cold. 

what he doesn’t expect is to wake up on the other side of the world. 

the south side, that is. 

he’s never been one for spontaneous travel—not one to throw caution to the wind and say fuck it! and all that jazz. 

well, he wasn’t anyway. not before her. 

alex is a planner. alex is careful. alex wants to vet things and carefully structure everything. 

she does none of those things. 

she’s a whirlwind of all things frazzled and exciting and chaotic. she’s everything he’s not; everything he wants to be. 

and so when she begs and begs for a spontaneous birthday trip, (not for her birthday, it's for his birthday) he gives in for once. 

he’s 38. he counts as a middle-aged man, alex is sure of it. and yet with her he wants to chase his youth again and again. 

the morning of the fifth he wakes up in his own bed. 

the morning of the sixth he wakes up in fiji.

what’s more is that he wakes up in an inexplicably pink, princess bedroom. there are balloons—so so many balloons! pink and white and silver and the foil ones that spell “HAPPY BIRTHDAY AL” on the wall in front of him. and the moment he moves an inch, she jumps on him and smothers him with kisses. 

“there you are. i’ve been waiting!”

“waiting for?”

“for you to wake up!” she laughs. alex smiles in return and properly pulls her against him. “happy birthday, baby.”

her lips latch onto his, making him melt. 

her entire body is warm—not the kind of warm that comes from being in front of the radiator. she’s sunshine warm, like she’s already been outside before he’s even ventured away from the land of the dreaming. 

sleep makes his body melt into hers and alex happily nuzzles his face into her tits. 

“what’s all this?”

“do you like it?” she asks and presses a kiss into his messy hair. “i could only find pink balloons at first so i just went with the theme.”

“‘s all very cute. just like you.”

alex presses a kiss on her collarbone and inhales the sent of her skin—sunshine and strawberries and vanilla. utterly sweet. once he’s started, there’s no way he can bring himself to stop tasting her skin, breathing her in. drinking in her soft sounds and shivers and relishing the feel of her fingers digging into his bicep. 

alex hasn’t even properly opened his eyes yet and he knows he’s already in heaven. 

“stay,” he murmurs and finds her lips.

she lightly runs her fingers along his stubbly jaw, all the way to the nape of his neck, sinking them into his hair. then her hand runs lower, gingerly raking her nails down his bare back, making him shiver in delight.

warmth coils in his stomach. 

january is supposed to be cold and pine scented, it’s supposed to be stubborn remnants of christmas and bittersweet new years excitement. it’s never been warm, salty breeze and a sweet, sunshine girl in his arms. 

“stay in bed with you all day?” she giggles and tries to kiss him again. alex lets her chase his mouth, then smugly pulls back at the last minute.

“stay and keep me warm.”

“you’re plenty warm!”

now that his eyes are properly open, he takes her in inch by inch—first the red of her lips and then down her jaw, her chin, her neck… she’s clad in a bikini top: white lace, printed strawberries, a bow tied at the back. before she can even object, alex pulls on the string and the knot comes undone. 

“you’re like my little birthday gift, aren’t you? i get to unwrap all the layers.”

“mmm, is that what you’re doing now?” 

her already red lip becomes redder when she bites on it and throws her leg over his so his knee hovers just below her cunt. one movement and he’ll have her shaking under him. 

he takes his time though, time is what he has in abundance today. 

alex feels his skin tingle, every press of her skin against his is electric—little sparks dancing in the barely-there space between them. her breaths comes out in quick pants and her eyes roam over him. over his face and then his chest that’s devoid of any clothes. 

the only clothes he’s wearing are some cotton pyjamas. easy to discard. 

the bikini top falls apart and there she is, right under him now, back arching so she can brush her chest against his. get any friction on her nipples really. goosebumps rise on her skin wherever his fingers touch. 

“look at you,” alex breathes and swallows roughly. he feels a little drunk then, almost like he’s been intoxicated since the moment he woke up. “my beautiful, perfect girl,” alex hums. 

his kisses turn feverish as his lips move along the hollow of her throat, her collarbone. the heat in his stomach intensifies, his hand comes to rest on the back of her neck. he’s often used this position to hold her in place, to stop her from squirming but this time his hold is gentle. 

his mouth travels lower, ghostly kisses trailed down to her breast. 

she mewls when his tongue circles around her nipples.

it doesn’t take another second before her legs are around his middle and his big hands are gripping her thighs. rough, calloused fingers digging into soft flesh while she tugs at the hair at the nape of his neck and makes him groan. 

“oh, baby baby,” he breathes on her skin and lets her pull the pyjamas off him. “how am i supposed to let you go anywhere when you look like this.”

“don’t then,” she laughs. 

her hands trace his spine and alex feels his cock twitch in his boxers. he needs to be inside her right now, needs to feel her walls clenching around him. 

he also wants to taste her but they have all day for that. 

“want to be inside you,” alex groans when he feels the wetness between her legs. 

she tries to lightly grind onto his stomach, tries to get herself off even if it’s just a little bit. 

fuck she’s beautiful, and he doesn’t want to was poetic but the sunlight streaming in through the windows and onto her skin makes her look utterly luminous. 

as if in a daze, alex slides the waistband of her underwear off her hips and traces the exposed skin with his fingers. she moans something softly.

“i want you too, al. fuck! baby…”

they barely use their words after that. the room is far from silent though—it echoes with moans and sighs and the sound of her laughter when alex nips at her skin. it’s like a little rhythm—he bites softly and chases away the sting with a lick. he leaves a mark and then rewards her with a kiss. 

she doesn’t resist him at all when her underwear joins the heap on the floor with the rest of their clothes.

his hang inches between her legs and finds her clit, fingers rubbing lazily over it, almost in circles, slow at first and growing faster until she’s squirming for more—more friction and more of him and this and ecstasy and alex knows whatever he’s doing isn’t enough but just this once he wants to hear her beg. 

(oh, who is he kidding! he always wants to hear her beg and plead and show him how much she wants him.) 

“stop being a tease,” she whines and he laughs at her desperation.

finally, alex decides to end this misery. for her and for him. the need is driving him insane too. 

when the first thrust comes, slow and sensual—and without warning—her eyes roll back in her head. she whimpers something, curses softly and holds onto him, legs locking around him so she can take him in deeper. 

“shit baby…” he moans too. she’s squeezing him so tight. all he feels is her wetness and warmth. all he feels is his cock stretching her open. 

she closes her eyes and alex tuts. “open your eyes,” he nudges, “i want you to look at me when you cum.”

and so she obliges, looking him in the eye and moaning his name softly with each thrust, lifting her hips to meet his and grinding her clit on his stomach.

the pressure inside him builds with each thrust, his entire body feels charged and taut and a current runs right under his skin. 

under him, she’s as electric as a live wire. 

“look at what you do to me,” she moans and alex feels her thighs begin to tremble. 

she must be close now, she’s certainly acting like it—nails scratching his back, teeth softly sinking into his shoulder so she doesn’t scream loud enough for everyone to hear. (if it weren’t mid morning, he would have liked to make her scream. alex mentally marks it for later tonight.)

her hips thrust upwards, trying and failing to match him. she’s erratic, almost manic. there’s no rhythm to her movements, only lust and desire and so much want for him that he feels a wave of it run through his whole body. 

under him she shudders and cries out. 

“al, baby… gonna cum, f-fuck!”

he’s about to speak, about to tell her to let go but she’s already there. her body goes tense as alex feels her squeeze around him, so fucking tight that it tips him over the edge. 

alex thrusts into her as the orgasm hits him hard. ropes and ropes of his cum filling her up, spilling from the sides under the insides of her thighs are sticky and wet with slick. both their release combined dripping out of her. 

alex can’t help but drip a finger in the mess they’ve made and bring it up to her mouth. 

“taste us,” he says and shivers when she swirls her tongue around his fingers. 

he doesn’t know how long it takes them to comes down from the high. all he knows is that they stay like that, bodies locked together, him on top of her, breathing her in. the strawberry scent of her body lotion has dulled a bit now, replaced by sex and sweat. he makes absolutely no move to pull out, only adjusts himself so his entire weight isn’t on top of her. 

“happy birthday, al.” this time her voice comes out breathy and soft. it surrounds him, permeates through his skull and bounces around his brain. 

birthday. yes. his birthday. that’s what they’re here for. 

“mmm, thank you, darling. you’re my gift, aren’t you?” his mouth moves to hers again—another sultry, lazy kiss. another long minute passes. “the absolute best birthday gift i’ve ever had.”

“is that so?”

“would you like me to show you my gratitude?” alex smirks. 

and then he moves again to position his mouth between her legs.

[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 !

[multifandomimagin3s]

It's your birthday - 141, Los Vaqueros + König

A/N: Since it's my birthday today, thought I'd indulge myself so hope you guys enjoy :))

Summary: It's your birthday and the guys find out.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Depends on if he's close to you or not.

Mans has the emotional range of a sock, so realistically the most you'd probably get out of him is a gruff "Happy Birthday."

And that's only if he somewhat likes you - if he doesn't then he'd probably just say "You're getting old now, cunt." *Affectionately? Who knows.*

If you were part of the Team, he'd probably take the piss out of you for it.

Would definitely be the one who would tell the waiters that it was your birthday - even if it wasn't - just to embarrass you.

Nonetheless, despite all his teasing, you came back to your room that night to find a little gift on top of your bed spread; there was no name on it, but scrawled across the tag said "Happy Birthday, (Y/N)."

It was a hunting knife with your initials carved into the base of the handle.

You never questioned it but whenever he saw you use it, a small glint briefly sparkled in his eyes.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

He's lowkey annoyed that you never told him when your birthday was.

Would absolutely rope you and some of the Team into going out clubbing - Ghost refused but ended up turning up anyways; "Wanted to watch you make arses of yourselves."

I can just imagine him going to the bar and coming back with a tray of shots - the people who carry and sell the shots in clubs know to carry extra because he buys them all each time.

Would honestly have spent most, if not all, of his money if it hadn't been for Price being the voice of reason.

Would also be the type that would be telling anyone and everyone that it was your birthday so you guys could get free shots.

Orders you whatever food you want on the way back home aswell - kebab? Got it. Pizza? Done. Whatever you want, he'll stumble into the shop and get it.

Your birthday would be absolutely chaotic but it would be one to remember.

Captain John Price

He knew it was your birthday, he's seen your file - the fact that you hadn't mentioned it to anyone meant that you probably had a reason not to, so he didn't say anything.

Would probably wish you a casual 'happy birthday' on a passing, in his normal formal tone.

When Soap invites all the team out on your behalf for clubbing, he's reluctant to go - claims he's "too old for that shit."

But ends up going anyways, purely because he knows that when Soap gets drunk he's a bit of a liability and can easily spend way more than he should (and honestly, same).

Would buy you a drink - whatever you wanted, alcoholic or not.

And maybe, just maybe, if he's had a bit to drink and or is in a good mood, he'd let you wear his hat. Just this once.

But then Soap tried to put it on and said he was keeping it...

So he took the hat back like >:(

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

He also knew when your birthday was - it came up in a conversation ages ago, and he has a great memory.

Also gets roped into your birthday night out by Soap.

He'd probably get just as drunk as Johnny but he'd be taking photos and posting onto his Snapchat Story, basically vlogging the whole night.

I can also see him surprising you with a cupcake, placing a birthday candle in it with a sheepish smile.

Would also buy you drinks but unlike Soap, he wouldn't be killing his bank account - self-control and all that.

Would get the DJ to play a birthday song for you - not the traditional cheesy one, but either 'It's My Birthday' by Will.I.Am or maybe 'Birthday' by Anne-Marie.

Alejandro Vargas

"Ah, feliz cumple!" *idk if this is correct, using this article for reference*

Like Soap, he wants to go all out for your birthday - if both teams were together at the time, it'd be one big chaotic night out.

He's a big flirt, regardless of what age you are he's complimenting you nonstop.

If he and Rudy get roped into the Night Out by Soap, Rudy and Price end up having to the be the voices of reason - Soap, Gaz, and Alejandro keep ordering shots; they managed to convince you into doing that challenge of getting a drink of everything from one end of the bar to the other.

Needless to say, you're all legless by the end of the night - well, Alejandro's still vertical but his alcohol tolerance is insane.

Would definitely want to spoil you - takes you shopping and tells you to pick anything that you want, don't worry about the price.

Honestly this is making me think of what Sugar Daddy! Alejandro would be like and it's giving me ideas...

Rudy Parra

This sweet guy would absolutely go out and get you a cake, maybe a balloon, and a card.

How did he know it was your birthday? He's a good listener, you'd been talking about your life outside of the military and had flippantly mentioned when your birthday was, which he noted.

Like Alejandro, he would honestly spoil you rotten.

If you both weren't deployed, he'd plan a trip away somewhere, surprising you with the tickets.

If he gets roped into going out by Alejandro - who was roped in by Soap's enthusiasm - he's practically glued to your side for most of the night.

Takes a bunch of candid pictures of you - they're honestly really good, he should be a photographer.

He'd probably have to stop Alejandro from feeding you and the others stronger shots - the jump from sambuca to jagerbombs to tequila was not a good idea.

He'd listen to your drunk ramblings with a smile on his face, letting you feed him your pizza.

He always remembers your birthday and makes each year memorable.

König

Finds out it's your birthday when your Superiors wish you a brief 'Happy Birthday' during training.

Straight away, he feels so guilty for not knowing but you reassured him that you hadn't really told anyone so he needn't worry.

Nonetheless, he'd still try and make the most of the rest of your birthday.

He'd cook for you - a traditional meal that his Mother taught him, and she used to make it for him on his birthday.

He'd run you a bath, give you a massage, and pamper you - he'd dote on you even more than usual, if that's even possible.

If you wanted to go out and do something, he'd do it - even with his social anxiety, he wants to see you happy so he'd bite the bullet and go for it.

If you wanted to stay in for a chill night and watch a movie, he's game for that too - lets you choose whatever film you want to watch, gets all your favourite snacks and gets all the fluffy blankets and pillows he can find to make a comfy spot on the couch.

He'd also secretly set a reminder on his phone for next year, so he never forgets.

He's honestly just so sweet.