#it was both exciting and devastating

[yichens]

sorry i have to ramble some more about last twilight bc i cannot contain it. this is not anything meta, just some thoughts.

as an avid music lover and now a serious soundtrack enthusiast, i need to mention how much i adore the music choices of this show.

i am not sure who picks the final songs to be used and what criteria they use for it (is it p'aof? do they have some kind of library for songs they can pick from as many songs appear in several bls? or do they get free hands?), but the bg songs in last twilight that have caught my attention have been brilliant.

yes, sure, they use the instrumentals of their original songs. that's typical for bls and any shows really. but there are also other songs.

i like collecting instrumental songs to put on my playlist i use for writing, so good instrumentals always intrigue me. last twilight has now introduced me to two artists whose music feels very inspirational.

first one is francis wells whose song april will be cold was used in the scene where mork has flashbacks of his conversations with several ppl which then make him turn back and accept the caregiver job from day. i listened to several of the albums and these songs are very adventure game themed. very energetic, powerful, agile perhaps. a surprising choice. made me wonder where they found it (i am still leaning towards them having a library of songs they have free access to rather than someone actually knowing these artists).

another one is bonnie grace's song titled notorious. it was used in the scene where they show mork making his way through the market blindfolded as he tries to understand day's experience. once again, very adventure game, fantasy movie themed. pulls me even more outside the feeling of a "regular" bl. this show doesn't fit the category btw. idk if that category still exists as such but the boundaries of it have been pushed for a while now. i like it, it's what we need.

all this to say: i am very curious about these music choices and very grateful that last twilight is throwing new music my way. i will never say no to that.

(now just please release the ost song used in the trailer am desperate!!!)

[fairytwles]

mgg said he just shot an episode of criminal minds #scared

[milolovesbmc]

"Why are the voices, the people, so comfortable singing about their sin?"

Some art for @sh0rt-insomniac 's fic while I go insane and read it for the hundreth time.....

[nicoscheer]

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A post shared by Dog grooming by chelsea 🐩✂️ (@chelseas_dogs)

Maxie came in for his freshen up before his little trip away 💕 he also wanted to show you his little happy dance after his groom 🕺🏽

(Miles reposted with the Star Wars main title as audio he’s such a nerdy dog dad 🥰🥰🫶🏽🐶🐢)

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Miles reposted with 👌🏽

[dandy-andyyy]

randomly woke up and then I saw a viktor/jayce edit and now I’m crying…oh the miseryyyy 😭😭😭

[genderqueerpond]

amyeleven fivenyssa crossover

[tea-stained-tabby]

tillandsia usneoides in snow

[theghostofashton]

do i start remote control (nnedi okorafor) or martyr! (kaveh akbar) next tho

[chenouttachen]

scarlet heart thailand??? i have to survive moon lovers again????

[porcupine-girl]

Can we please get one thing straight?

Nobody should be giving Mao Zedong any ups. None whatsoever.

This is a man who accidentally killed tens of millions of his own citizens (look up Great Leap Forward) and then killed or brutalized millions more on purpose while also decimating his country’s intellectual and artistic landscape in ways that took decades to recover from (look up the Cultural Revolution - and if you could stomach that Neil Gaiman article, you may be able to stomach firsthand accounts from survivors of it).

I LOVE what’s happening on 小红书 right now! I am SO EXCITED for more Americans to realize the lies they’ve been sold about modern China and to discover this rich cultural, historical, and linguistic landscape that many of us in Chinese fandoms have become obsessed with.

But do not romanticize Mao or the devastation he wrought. The only reason he’s still venerated there is that the CCP felt like admitting he was wrong would undermine people’s trust in The Party and so after his death they managed to blame most of the worst of his shit on his wife Jiang Qing and the Gang of Four.

There are other issues, obviously - it will be interesting to see what happens when TikTok refugees run up against CCP censorship, which tends to be harder to get around than just saying “unalive” - but this is one that I’m truly worried about. Don’t forget that capitalism and communism are economic systems, not systems of government, and they can both be paired with many types of government - yes, we’ve got a guy who wants to be a capitalist dictator, but that doesn’t make Mao less of a communist dictator.

[chilumi-shipper]

Soulbound

Zhongli x GN!Reader (Soulmate!AU)

Summary: Zhongli hated the mark on his neck, and he hated whoever the mark bounded him to. But fate plays a cruel joke, matching him with you, as he swore he would love no one else but Guizhong.

Tags: Angst/No Comfort, Short Story, Rejection, Hurtful Words, Hatred to Love

Soulmark - A mark that binds two individuals as soulmates.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Morax had always been frustrated by the mark on his neck.

A glowing, permanent part of his body that marks him tied to a soulmate. He thinks its stupid, for the love of his life was already in front of him, a gray-haired inventor that no carving in his body could ever stop him from adoring.

He finds it unbelievable that his neck is claimed by a soulmark yet Guizhong's remain blank, and he curses Celestia above for such a foul joke.

How could he be for anyone else but her?

When her dust settled in the field of glaze lilies he thought were incomparable to her beauty, he was utterly devasted, his clawed hands held onto his neck, wanting to rip the soulmark that had been taunting him for centuries.

How could he be marked for someone else while the love of his life laid lifeless?

He loathed his mark, everything about it, and he will till his last breath.

...

Zhongli deeply dislikes you.

You are a messy, silly, babbling buffoon.

An adventurer from Mondstadt that embodies the nation's will of freedom. Bubbly, carefree, and loud, much like a fellow god he didn't particularly like.

Despite of his disdain of you, your affection towards him never wavered. You filled his somber days with excitement as you joyfully tell him stories about your adventures, share some new recipes you've learned, even ushering him to talk about obscure Liyue historical facts that you've always found interesting.

He was much too proper to shoo you away, and his cold looks and short responses didn't discourage you to try to make friends with the man that peeked your curiosity.

Ever so slowly, you had pried open his caged heart, planting a small seed that was so distinctly you.

He would have accepted you, he would have seen you as a friend... and yet...

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a faint, familiar mark on your neck, revealed when you put your hair up into a ponytail.

Zhongli knew he truly disliked you.

...

"I don't believe in the marks either, Mr. Zhongli..." You reasoned with him, but his gaze still stung you with daggers.

He caged himself back up, ensuring that you could not care for the little seed you planted, no light would be able to reach it again.

His heart would not open...

No matter how many times he catches himself smiling at your antics.

No matter if he displays every gift and trinket you give him from your travels.

No matter how much he preferred your cooking over anyone else's.

No matter how beautiful you look staring up at him with your doe eyes as you confess your affection.

No matter how frustrated he felt at himself when he made you cry as he rejects your feelings.

Because, for him, how could there be anyone else but her?

...

"Do you see why it could never be you?"

You both stood in front of a monument, surrounded by various plants and objects you assume to be from friends of this ancient goddess.

"I bet she was amazing."

"She was perfect. Perhaps that's why I was not worthy to share a mark with her."

At this point, you were used to his words, how they praise her, how they degrade you.

"You're pretty great too, Zhongli..."

Faith places identical marks on the necks of two soulmates, and the rest is a romantic story of the passion that builds up as people pursue their marks of love.

Fate is cruel to you and him.

"That mark is not for you, Y/N." The Geo Archon says to you, tearing you apart silently, as you stand and take his words.

His heart quivers despite the harsh words coming from his own mouth. Even after millennia of having the mark engraved on his neck, after concluding that maybe he would allow your little seed to prosper even just for a bit, he still chooses to cling onto his hopeless past.

Tears fall down from your eyes, but you remain quiet, only nodding in agreement.

You loathed the mark on your neck.

...

Zhongli opens the cage of his heart a little, allowing him to peak at the small sprout from the seed you planted.

So distinctly you, it was the only thing he has of you.

After letting you leave him at Guizhong's monument with tears still staining your face, he couldn't help but miss you.

He couldn't help but let you finally take your place in his heart, after so long of hating his soulmark, hating whoever the mark tied him to, he fears he has finally accepted faith.

...

"Where is it?" He grips your arm harshly, his hold not faltering as you try to shake him off. His gaze was cold, yet you could still catch the hint of alarm in his eyes. "What have you done?"

After weeks... you return to him... missing something.

You winced at the stress of his words, feeling frightened under his tense hold. "I..." His bruising grip didn't falter, urging you to explain yourself. "S-Surprise...?"

"You..." Zhongli looks at you in disbelief. "How stupid could you be?"

"M-Mr. Zhongli... it's a blessing of the Anemo Archon... I prayed for him set us free from fate."

"Y/N... I..." He was at a loss for words, his heart ached as his eyes searched your neck in vain. "Fate... going against it is painful. It must've been excruciating."

"It was... but this if for you, Zhongli..." You smiled, feeling him loosen his grip. "Because I love... loved you." You fully free yourself from him, rubbing at where he previously held you.

The wind around him picked up, and he hears the faint whispers of an old friend along with it. Whispers of comfort, as he clearly ruined what would have been the light of the rest of his days.

Your soulmark fades, but his remains...

Zhongli loathed his mark, for it bears no meaning, no one but him bears that mark.

As you leave, trying to fade away in the background of his life, you remain under a spotlight in his eyes, for you will always be the one that shares his mark, no matter if it is visible.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

What y'all think of this one? :3

I bet y'all's feelings were hurt hehe

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 323

Adjective: Grey

Noun: Treeline

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Grey: of a color intermediate between black and white, as of ashes or lead; (of the weather) cloudy and dull; (of a person) having gray hair; (informal) relating to old people collectively; (of a person's face) pale, as through tiredness, age, or illness; without interest or character, or dull and nondescript; (of financial or trading activity) not accounted for in official statistics

Treeline: (on a mountain) the line or altitude above which no trees grow; (in high northern (or southern) latitudes) the line north (or south) of which no trees grow; (in high northern (or southern) latitudes) the line north (or south) of which no trees grow

[trashytracktales]

Omg can you please write some smut with Lando about the FIA gala??? He looks so hot in that suit and I need something about it🥵😭 Maybe after the gala ended and they’re back to their hotel or they fuck while they’re on the plane back to Monaco.

The FIA (Feral Instincts Arise) Awards | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I knew there would be requests for this the second I saw Lando on that carpet. Bon appétit 😛

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── It's the 2024 FIA Awards, and Lando and his girlfriend can't help but steal a moment of passion, unable to resist the tension built through teasing touches and glances during such a glamorous night.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, established relationship, teasing, mild public intimacy, smut, descriptive language, fingering, bathroom sex, swearing.

𐙚 word count ──── 3.2k

𐙚 date ──── Dec. 14, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── I have nothing to say except that I am absolutely devastated that my role model and inspiration, Michèle Mouton has officially retired from her role as FIA Safety Delegate. I love her so much and will forever be grateful for the representation she provided for women in motorsport throughout the years. In other news, at least everybody looked so fucking hot last night.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

IT WAS PURE torture for her to see him up on that stage from the beginning of the evening. She’d sat in the audience, her heart swelling with pride and gratitude for being able to be by his side during this exciting stage of his life — witnessing his hard work, his wins, and his dreams becoming reality. It's more than she ever imagined.

As she watched him, she realized she wasn't just proud of his accomplishments, but thankful to be the one he comes home to, the one who gets to share these moments that will live forever in both of their memories.

Standing up to cheer for him, as Lando’s name was announced for finishing second in the Drivers’ Championship, was a natural reaction. The applause was loud, a mix of respect and so much admiration for her determined racer boy who had fought tooth and nail all season.

McLaren’s triumph in the Constructors’ Championship only added to the celebration, the team beaming as they ascended the stage to accept their award.

While the room celebrated them, all she could think about was him — her man, standing under the spotlights, looking impossibly handsome in his perfectly tailored black suit and crisp white shirt. He looked perfect, from his styled curls to his sharp jawline and sweet, nervous smile. She felt very conflicted, overwhelmed with pride and love, yet squirming with a different kind of heat every time he looked for her in the audience. The way his dimple appeared when he smiled, the casual confidence in his voice as he gave his speech, and the glint of determination in his eyes as he thanked the team for having faith in him — every bit of it was intoxicating.

Now, at the dinner table, the atmosphere has shifted.

Glasses of champagne catch the glow, sparkling like liquid gold, as conversations hum softly among the elite of the motorsport world.

Lando sits beside her, relaxed in a way only he can manage after such a long, eventful evening. His suit jacket is draped over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his forearms. He holds a champagne flute in one hand, the other resting lazily on her thigh beneath the table.

She can feel the warmth of his palm on her skin, his fingers flexing ever so slightly. It’s a casual touch — he’s sipping champagne, laughing at something Oscar just said — but the effect it has on her is anything but relaxed. Her heart races every time his thumb brushes against her soft skin, slow and intentional, almost like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

Her own glass of champagne sits untouched in front of her, her attention split between the conversation around them and the heat blooming under Lando’s hand. She tries to pay attention, nodding along while Andrea talks about some funny incident that happened in the garage during the last race of the season. But her thoughts keep drifting back to him.

She glances over at Lando, her breath catching at how effortlessly handsome he is, now that he’s more relaxed and in his element. The golden light softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost ethereal. But it’s the dimpled smirk that forms as he catches her staring that sends a shiver down her spine.

“Everything okay, gorgeous?” asks Lando, his voice low enough that only she can hear.

She nods, swallowing hard. “Positive. I'm just incredibly proud of you, that's all.”

His smirk widens, his thumb stroking her thigh with more purpose now. “You’ve said that already,” Lando murmurs, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes her ear. “But keep going. I like hearing it,” he adds, pressing his lips to her cheek.

She smiles, looking away, determined not to let him fluster her further.

However, Lando has other plans. His fingers trace unhurried patterns on her inner thigh, edging closer to the hem of her dress. The movement is subtle — nobody at the table would notice — but to her, it feels like her skin is burning. Her breathing gets heavier, and she shifts in her seat instinctively, her legs parting just enough under the table to grant him more access.

“My good girl,” whispers Lando, smiling against her cheek, then turning his attention back to the conversation.

Her heart skips at the quiet praise, and she shoots him a quick, warning glance, her eyes wide with panic.

Lando looks completely unbothered, taking part of the dialogue like he’s the epitome of innocence. The slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips tells a very different story, though. A secret one, that only they know about.

“Stop it,” she whispers through gritted teeth, her voice so low that it’s practically a breath.

Obviously, he doesn’t. If anything, her quiet protest seems to spur him on. The pads of his fingers creep higher, brushing dangerously close to the heat between her legs. She grips the stem of her champagne flute tightly, her knuckles white as she tries to take her first sip of alcohol of the night — at least then she'll have something to blame if anyone asks her why she got so flustered all of a sudden.

“Lando,” she warns, her voice soft but firm.

“Hm?” he hums, his expression completely neutral as he keeps his attention to Oscar, who’s recounting his Turn 1 incident from Abu Dhabi.

She bites her lip, willing herself not to squirm in her seat. She almost can not believe how shameless Lando is, then she remembers all the times he tested her patience when they were in public. At that, her free hand drops to her lap, fingers wrapping around his wrist in an attempt to still his movements. He doesn’t pull away, but he also still doesn’t stop. Instead, his thumb presses a little harder, a constant reminder of his presence.

“You’re squirming, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. “People are going to notice.”

“Then stop,” she repeats quietly, her tone sharp enough to earn a quick, curious glance from Andrea, who's sitting across from her. She ends up forcing a small smile, nodding, then turning back to Lando.

He chuckles under his breath, leaning in just slightly so his words are for her ears alone. “But we’re having so much fun,” he teases.

Her body betrays her as heat pools low in her belly, and she can’t stop herself from shifting again, her legs spreading a fraction wider. Lando takes full advantage of the movement, his fingers grazing higher until they’re just shy of where she needs him most. She glares at him, her eyes filled with need and her cheeks burning when his fingers slide easily over her lace panties, pressing harder on her warmth. As a response, her body jerks, and she barely suppresses a gasp, her nails digging into his wrist.

“I hate you,” she mutters under her breath, her voice shaky.

His grin returns, and he tilts his head, finally looking at her again. His gaze is dark, heated, and he looks entirely pleased with himself. “No, you don’t,” says Lando, so sure of himself.

It’s a miracle she doesn’t combust on the spot.

Because he's right — she doesn't hate him, she hates the fact that they're in public and she's incredibly turned on, but there's nothing she can do about it.

Finally, she can breathe normally when he withdraws his hand from between her legs, just as casually as he’d started. Her body is still buzzing with the lingering traces of his touch as she places her hand lightly on Lando’s shoulder. Slowly, she rises from her seat, her fingers squeezing just enough to send him a silent message only he’d understand.

At that, Lando’s heart stutters for a beat, his mouth suddenly dry as he watches her glide gracefully toward the bathrooms. The way her dress hugs her curves doesn’t help the growing situation in his pants — it’s like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him, a small punishment for what just happened between them. He tries to act like he's not affected, emptying his glass of champagne while his eyes turn back to the table, but his focus is scattered.

His hand still tingles from touching her under the table, and now he’s left to deal with the knowledge that his teasing had gotten to her.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Minutes tick by, though they feel like an eternity.

Lando finds himself forcing a laugh at something Oscar says, remembering how impossibly talkative his teammate gets when he has a few drinks on board. He shifts in his seat, trying to mask his growing anticipation, but she’s all he can think about. His fingers drum against his empty glass, the weight of the moment making it almost impossible to sit still.

Then, his phone buzzes inside his pocket, her name lighting up the screen.

He doesn’t need to answer to know it’s just a diversion, and she’s not waiting for a conversation, either — she’s just giving him an out.

Lando clears his throat, “Sorry, I have to take this,” he says, giving the table an apologetic smile, as he pushes back his chair and making his way out of the dining area with purpose.

His heart pounds in his chest as he walks toward the bathroom, careful not to seem too rushed, but acutely aware of the tension building inside his body with each step he takes.

The hallway leading to the bathrooms is quieter, lined with soft, ambient lighting and artwork that screams understated luxury. He takes a turn, his steps slowing as he spots her standing in front of the mirror inside the women's restroom. The space itself is elegant, all marble countertops and gold fixtures, with sleek stalls and huge mirrors.

She’s touching up her lipstick, her purse resting next to her, the subtle curve of her smile betraying the fact that she knows he’s behind her. Lando approaches slowly, his footsteps soft against the polished tile. When he’s close enough, his hands settle on her waist, his touch firm yet familiar as he pulls her closer.

“There you are,” he says, his voice low and full of heat. “Worried about your makeup when it’s just going to smudge off you anyway?”

Her smile turns into a smirk as she meets his gaze in the mirror. “God, you’re the worst,” she teases, her tone light but laced with something more intimate.

Lando chuckles while she turns in his arms. Her hands slide up his chest, her touch lingering as she looks up at him, her eyes dark with intent.

“Are you sure it can’t wait until we get back to the hotel?” asks Lando, even though he already knows the answer, because he knows the look she has painted all over her face very well.

Her lips brush against his cheek in a warm, lingering kiss before her breath tickles his ear. “Baby, that's hours away.”

She intertwines her fingers with his, and leads him to one of the stalls at the end of the bathroom. The space is just as luxurious as the rest of the venue — tall wooden doors that reach from ceiling to floor, polished brass locks, and a sense of privacy that makes it feel more like a secluded room than a bathroom stall. As soon as they step inside, the door locks with a soft click, and every ounce of restraint disappears.

Lando’s lips are on hers instantly, hot and demanding, his hands already traveling to the hem of her dress. There’s no time to waste, with all those people back at the table who could realize at any moment that it is no coincidence that they are both missing at the same time.

His hands slide up her thighs, pushing the fabric of her dress higher until he reaches the thin band of her panties. His fingers slip beneath the lace, tugging them down in one swift motion before his hand returns, sliding between her legs and finding her completely soaked.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his forehead resting against hers as his fingers dip into her heat. “All this from a bit of touching?”

Her breath comes out in a shaky laugh as she clutches his shirt. “No,” she whispers, “All this from watching you on that stage, sitting next to you the entire night, seeing how people were cheering for you — and then from a bit of touching.”

A cocky smirk tugs at Lando’s lips. “That so?” he asks, pressing a finger into her, his pace measured as he stretches her slowly.

She gasps, her head falling back against the door, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. A second finger joins the first, curling inside her as his thumb circles her clit, making her see stars.

Her hands, trembling with anticipation, move to his belt, fumbling for a moment before she pushes his pants down just enough to free his hardened cock. Her touch is soft at first, her fingers wrapping around him and stroking slowly, making his jaw clench.

She looks up at him, her lips curving into a teasing smile as she echoes his earlier words. “All this from touching me under the table?”

“Shut up,” he growls, grabbing her thigh and hitching it around his hip. His cock presses against her entrance, teasing her as he slides the tip through her slick folds.

“You shut up, and fuck me already,” she says, her voice thick with desire.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With one swift thrust, he buries himself inside her, both of them gasping at the full sensation. The stretch is so sweet and perfect, and he pauses for just a moment, letting her adjust before pulling back and thrusting again, harder this time. Her back presses against the door, the cool wood contrasting with the heat of his body as he sets a relentless pace, in and out of her tight pussy. His hands grip her thighs, spreading her wider for him as he drives into her, each movement hungrier than the previous.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Lando groans, his lips brushing against her ear. “Perfectly thight around me, baby. Always so sweet and eager, aren’t you?”

She clings to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he angles his hips, hitting a spot that has her biting back a cry. “Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky and full of need, while trying to mimic his rapid movements.

“That’s it,” he encourages her, his voice rough as his fingers dig into her hips. “Let them hear you, baby. Let everybody know how well you take my cock.”

Her head falls on his shoulder as he thrusts deeper, harder, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside her. The tension coils tighter and tighter in her belly, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge.

“Lando, fuck,” she moans wetly into his shoulder, feeling her pussy clenching around his length. “Shit, baby. Yes, don’t stop.”

As he buries himself so deep inside her, Lando realizes that's what he wants to do for the rest of the evening — the rest of his life, as a matter of fact. His lips part as he feels her walls twitching around him, making him — if that's even possible — even harder for her. His breaths come out in spasms, letting out a small cry of pleasure as his chest crashes against hers violently.

Sensing that she’s so close, Lando’s hand ends up slipping between their bodies to rub her clit in time with his thrusts. “Come on, baby. Let me feel you.”

“Are you—oh, fuck,” she tries to speak, but all her thoughts are focused on how good he makes her feel.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando assures her, “Right behind you, love.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before she shatters around him, her walls clenching hard as her orgasm washes over her. Her moans are muffled against his neck as he continues to fuck her through her release, chasing his own high. His movements grow erratic, sloppier, his grip on her tightening as he finally lets go, spilling into her with a low, guttural moan.

For a moment, they can’t hear anything else except the soft whir of ventilation and their labored breathing. Their bodies stay pressed tightly together as the echoes of their pleasure lingers in the small space.

Her chest heaves against his as she exhales shakily, her lips brushing his neck, then up his jaw in a silent thank you.

Lando smiles, slowly pulling out of her, his cock still hard and sensitive from his release. She shudders at the sudden emptiness, but before she can speak, his hand slips between her thighs again. His fingers slide inside, pushing some of his cum and their mingled release back into her.

“Lando,” she gasps, her body clenching instinctively around his fingers.

His breath falls hot against her skin. “Gotta make sure you feel it all night.”

Her cheeks flush at his words, and she bites her lip, torn between glaring at him and melting into his touch. He strokes her lazily, savoring the way her body responds to him even now.

“Insane behavior, Norris,” she exhales sharply, finally looking up at him.

“My brand,” he smirks back at her. “But what about you, hm?” he asks, his tone soft, but teasing as his eyes rake over her wrecked expression. “Going back knowing you’re filled up so good?”

She rolls her eyes at him, but the heat in her gaze betrays her. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You love it,” he quips, fixing a strand of her hair and then kissing her deeply one last time.

She smiles against his lips, brushing her thumb over his mouth to wipe away the faint smudge of her lipstick. Then, leaning up, she presses a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “Don’t take too long, champ.”

With that, she exits the stall, glancing once in the mirror to make sure she looks composed, and collecting her purse before heading back to the table.

When she returns to her seat, the conversation flows just as before, no one paying much attention to her absence beyond a polite glance. Her heart pounds in her chest, the sensation of being so intimately connected to Lando still fresh in her mind as she settles into her chair. She picks up her glass of champagne, finishing it in one go, her hands steady despite the warmth still coursing through her body — and the wetness between her legs.

A few minutes later, Lando comes back, his phone pressed to his ear as he pretends to be mid-conversation. His expression is casual, his voice light as he murmurs something unintelligible before slipping his phone back into his pocket and taking his seat.

But as soon as he sits down, Oscar’s eyes narrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Lando catches the look, frowning slightly as he tilts his head. “What?” he asks silently, his expression confused.

Oscar doesn’t answer, instead he points directly at Lando’s bowtie, which is noticeably crooked.

Lando’s eyes widen as he glances down, and straightens it as casually as he can, his cheeks turning faintly pink.

“It's windy outside,” Lando mutters under his breath, low enough that only Oscar can hear.

His teammate just grins knowingly, leaning back in his chair. “Whatever you say, mate.”

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© trashy track tales, 2024

[ashtxrie]

i read this at school and this guy asked me “what are you studying for now” (context: it’s finals week) like how am i supposed to answer this i’m reading fanfics off tumblr ???!!!! 💔 i was devastated in 4K leave me alone 💔

"collision" a twoshot by @cosmicalily. view masterlist and outline here | 5.3k words

side A: 'i told you, we're like stars in the sky' - yang jeongin x fem!reader, han jisung x fem!reader (not poly)

author's note: lowkey edging all of you with this ending...please remember that this is a work of fiction, and my depictions are not a representation of them as real people. enjoy x warnings: implied sex (no actual smut, you nasties), kind of betrayal? the whole thing is basically a right person, wrong time trope

There was beauty in the simplicity of childhood love; you just loved or hated whatever and whoever was there. The intangible didn’t matter, the future or past or the consequences or benefits. It was present and physical. You could see it and feel it without a doubt, and there wasn’t ever a need for doubts, anyways.

Yang Jeongin always had a penchant for shoving very large pieces of food in his mouth, risking oxygen, jaw functioning, and his dignity, just to eat something before his younger brother could get his hands on it. He loved playing with small kids and babies, even if at the time, he was little more than a small kid himself. He liked to talk, but not too much, and was the oldest in his year, but the youngest out of his friends. He liked your trampoline. You liked his dog.

Jeongin had never really been friends with someone his own age before, not until he met you. He had his friends in the year above, the ones he considered older brothers. He had his little brother’s friends, the ones who begged him to play with them whenever they were over. Jeongin had lots of friends, but this summer, he felt left behind. 

Until he met you. Or rather, you met him.

His older friends had gone to a summer camp, one that he wasn’t old enough to attend, and his younger brother and his friends were doing a holiday soccer program for young children. Jeongin was bored and lonely and curious of the huge moving trucks that had been coming by daily, particularly of the trampoline strapped onto the back of one of them. He wanted to know who had finally inhabited the two-story house next door, the one with the empty backyard that he’d stared into for years. The backyard that was now set up with a trampoline, on which a girl lay out like a starfish, alone, staring into the bright blue sky.

So Jeongin had put on his baseball cap, found his pack of UNO and made his way down the sidewalk, ringing the doorbell. 

After that first day he’d invited himself over, you’d spent almost every day of summer break with him. You took his dog for walks (although their golden retriever, Cookie, was very strong, and more often than not, the dog was walking you), played on your trampoline and on his back porch. You had never felt so close to someone in your life. It seemed everyone loved Yang Jeongin, but you felt like you loved him the most. You told him this one day, with the kind of unfaltered kid confidence that disappears during teenagehood. He didn’t laugh or joke or tease you, the way he normally did when you made remarks like that. He nodded sincerely, and assured you that you were his best friend, or in his words, his “favourite girl”. You replied that he was most definitely your favourite boy. You treasured each other's words; a reminder that, at least in this lifetime, in this town, you would never be alone. From then on, you weren’t addressed by your name in your birthday and Christmas cards anymore. You were his favourite girl and he was your favourite boy. Your families, who had become quite close after your friendship had blossomed, thought it was adorable, and you often heard jokes about how the two of you would get married someday. You wrinkled your nose at this; marriage seemed so distant, a practice that couldn’t express the kind of connection you and Jeongin had. 

Of course it wasn’t all favourite girls and boys and bubble wars in the backyard. There were petty fights, some so bad that you weren’t sure if you’d ever be friends again afterwards. He could be clumsy and careless, and you could be sensitive and uptight. Once, you received a huge lego set as your twelfth birthday present and immediately invited him over. However, the fight over whether to follow the instructions and actually build the palace that was intended (your idea) or build a plane in the shape of a fox (his idea) lead to pieces being snatched, stolen, hidden and eventually lost, and lots of tears and shouting. He said you were being boring, you said he was being annoying. Then, in a moment of frustration, you dropped the bomb.

“You’re not my favourite boy anymore, Yang Jeongin,” you shouted, then your hand flew to your mouth, realising just what you’d said.

You’d seen Jeongin cry before. When he’d fallen off his top bunk trying to do a trick, the time he sprained his ankle on your trampoline. But you’d never seen him cry like this. He was silent, his cheeks flushing pink, eyes watering. He walked out of your room, down the stairs and left. You wanted to follow him, to apologise, say you didn’t mean it. You were also very petty, and wanted to hold a grudge, to prove a point.

But Yang Jeongin was sweet, the sweetest boy you knew. You broke his heart for the first time that day, yet he was the one to slip a letter through your windowsill a few days later. A letter you still kept today, folded tightly into squares in your wallet.

I’m sorry I messed up your lego, I know it was annoying of me. I miss you and want to make friends. Cookie misses you too. Do you want to come for a walk with us today? 

You’re still my favourite girl, even if you don’t like me anymore, I will still like you, I promise.

(But I hope I am still your favourite boy, were you just angry and maybe didn’t mean it?)

You were twelve, reading a hastily written letter from the boy next door who once shoved a whole orange into his mouth, who got dragged into a lake by his overexcited dog, who invited himself over to play on your trampoline, who tried to build a plane in the shape of a fox.

Yes, you’d known you loved Yang Jeongin before that, but as you reread the letter, then ran over to his house and hugged him, sobbing into his shoulder and promising that he was your favourite boy and that you didn’t mean it, you felt something in your chest twinge.

He got under your skin often. It irritated you.

But now, it felt like he was crawling in, making a home there.

He was still there, even though your high school summers had ended, and you were in the bed of someone else, someone who you’d been so deeply intimate with, someone who made your heart and body ascend when you were with them.

You’d told Han Jisung that you’d loved him eight months ago. Only him.

This had been your fourth summer without Yang Jeongin, for he had moved in eleventh grade with his family. His younger brother had gotten into a soccer academy five hours away, and so they had left to move to the city. You remembered that last week with him as clearly as day; as if it was all happening in front of you again.

The two of you had been laying on his bed, crinkled linen and pillows strewn on the floor, sheets pulling loose from the mattress. The window had been open, and a warm breeze had blown through the curtains. His bedroom was hot, despite the fan being on full blast, and you felt as if you were going to melt into a puddle. Boxes surrounded the bed, labelled hastily in Sharpie. Some in your handwriting, some in his. Every surface was emptied and wiped clean, his walls bare. Yang Jeongin was leaving.

Jeongin had laid beside you, your leg on top of his. His bare torso was warm against your shoulder and had a glowy sheen to it, and you suddenly felt very aware of your body in its pale blue underwear and loose white t-shirt. You definitely hadn’t been this aware of yourself two hours  ago. You didn’t know how or why you’d let yourself go, not like this, not this fast. Not now, when it was all too late.

Jeongin rolled over to look at you. He opened his mouth to say something.

“Don’t say it,” you whispered, staring at him. “It’ll make it all more real.”

Jeongin took a deep breath and nodded.

You stayed where you were, bodies entangled, the heat of a summer afternoon and the glow of the midday sun filling the room.

And, like some fucking miracle, the person who moved in next door was another boy. Your age. Sparkling brown eyes, heart-shaped smile, joking and mischievous.

Just like that, Han Jisung crash landed into your life. The gap of loneliness was filled before it properly formed. But maybe, that had been a curse. Because now, as you pressed your cheek closer into Jisung’s neck, your heart ached, and your skin itched.

You’d never forget.  

It had been eight months since you had told Han Jisung you loved him. The boy who had moved next door the week after Jeongin had left, the boy who you’d met that evening at one of one of Changbin’s parties, your very first, and in his tipsy state had taken you into the depths of the backyard, fingers entwined with a kind of immediate affection that almost knocked you over. Expecting him to kiss you, you’d quickly finished your cider and taken a deep breath in anticipation. Instead, Jisung pulled your body tight against his, his grip firm yet his action so gentle, and simply held you in an embrace.

You couldn’t remember exactly how long you’d rested against him; your vision had been slightly blurred, and your head had been hurting a little. It could have been a mere two minutes or an hour. You didn’t mind, though. A beautiful boy was holding you, not wanting anything more from you than simply your presence. Your heart had warmed, your eyes had closed. 

After that night, you’d find yourself ending up at more and more of Changbin’s parties, during which Jisung would always find you, always take you away, always leave you longing for more. You’d go to each other’s houses, in the mornings, afternoons and evenings, spending hours together, simply doing. He would write songs and play his guitar, and you’d bring your art portfolio and sketch and paint. He’d run a hand through your hair as you worked, his hand wet with the coldness of his can of soda. When your hands got tired, you’d rest your head against his thigh and close your eyes, listening to him talk, write or play. 

When he kissed you for the first time, out on the trampoline at the back of your lawn, you’d seen literal stars. It had been a cloudy night, and even the moon had been difficult to distinguish, but you felt your whole world melt in Jisung’s presence. He kissed you gently, slowly, like he was savouring a spoonful of the sweetest honey. He kissed you, not like it was a chore, but like it was something he’d been longing for. You wanted to stay with him until you physically couldn’t, until your breath ran out and your lungs collapsed and your heart stopped beating. He felt like a dream, like a hallucination you’d made up. He didn’t feel tangible.

Throughout that summer, kisses at parties and in backyards turned into long drives to the beach, to nights spent in suspicious hotels in the sticky heat, limbs entwined and chests rising and falling sharply. He would pay for each and every one of your expeditions; his allowance was generous and, after all, it was his car, even if he was four months too young to drive it. 

This particular evening, you’d found yourselves in a motel by the coast. Your hair was damp and tousled, the scent of saltwater and sweat strong on your skin. Cheeks flushed, lips bruised and swollen. You could still taste his cola on your tongue, feel the faint fizz through your throat. He was lying on his back, chest bare and warm, your face pressed into the crook of his neck, leg thrust over his. The fan in the room was long broken and the window only opened a fraction, but the two of you lay together, sweat dripping, eyes closed. Jisung was like an addiction; you felt like you needed him every minute of the day, every second. He said he felt the same about you, and was always quick to sneak through your back door.

“I don’t want to exist around anyone else,” Jisung had murmured into your hair. “You’re the only one for me, Star. I’ll marry you one day, you know that, right?”

He had a habit of making these passionate promises, of making your world seem so rosy. Of giving you hopes and dreams of a future where he would love you forever and ever.

In his head, you two were bound. Names written in the stars, bodies entwined in a sea of saltwater.

In reality, you were in an unrenovated motel, hours away from both of your friends and family. Both of you said exactly what you needed to hear in order to heal, or at least, pretend that you were healing. 

You had been dating Han Jisung for eight months, but not once had he actually called you his girlfriend, nor had you called him your boyfriend. He had called you his love, his lover, his angel, his Star. All beautiful words, but none that confirmed your feelings for each other. You knew he wanted you, for he told you this every single day, but why only in the dark, in the back of his car, in motels with ugly floral sheets and broken blinds? Why couldn’t you love each other openly, fully?

You knew why. 

You were both liars.

Love with Jisung felt like every celestial object in the sky was colliding. Like the stars were all being reborn, like the clouds had never, ever clouded your vision in the first place. It felt magical and fantastical and like an intangible, out of body experience. It felt like something you had to hunt for, like something you would only ever experience once in a lifetime.

“Mm,” you replied, resting your face closer against his warm skin. You’d worry about the things your friends had warned you about later. He was here, close and real. Even if everything he said was a lie, the moment you were in was real. He was real.

You felt his hand run through your hair, breath suddenly halted. He was waiting for a proper response.

“Mm,” you repeated again, nuzzling closer. You felt his chest rise and fall again, his breathing steady. Soon, you heard a gentle snuffle, and he was asleep, bare skin warm, soft lips slightly open.

Gently, you wriggled out of his embrace. God, wasn’t he beautiful? Dark brown hair wavy from the sea breeze, the skin under his eye that you’d always kiss ever so gently. You reached out and touched his finger lightly, as if reminding yourself that he existed, that he was before you. It never felt real with him. The love you shared was real, the passion, but his presence? You were only there for each other when you were alone together. Fully there.

You pulled the sheet over his chest and silently slipped out of the front door.

Yang Jeongin moved to Cherry Bay when he was nineteen. 

After moving to the city with his family, leaving behind the small universe he’d curated from the beginning of his childhood, of which you were at the centre, he had begun to spiral. His parents had enrolled him in a fancy, all-boys school. He had struggled with his feelings; feelings of anxiety around being by himself, around being with people, feelings of frustration when boys his age teased his now quiet nature and low grades, feelings of helplessness for his own future. He began going to the school gym at lunchtimes, not to play, but to sit and think. When he’d left, Jeongin’s phone had broken, and he’d never managed to regain contact with you. He’d heard from his friends that you had someone else now, anyways. He didn’t want to intrude and ruin things, or, even worse, have already been forgotten.

It was in the gym that he met Lee Felix and Kim Seungmin. 

Felix had moved from Australia two years ago, and Seungmin, despite having never moved from anywhere, had never quite managed to fit in at the school. The two boys had found comfort in each other, and soon, in Jeongin as well. Seungmin told stories of his life at primary school, how he’d always had friends there, and how nobody here understood him. Everybody took him too seriously, thought he was cold and unkind, not understanding the love that hid underneath his dry humour. Felix had joined midway through the year, and despite his sweet, outgoing personality, had been ignored and left out.

They began hanging out at each other’s houses, going swimming in the summer at Seungmin’s older sister, Rosie’s place in Cherry Bay. Rosie was twenty-three and lived in a cottage by the beach, one she had inherited from a great aunt. She he had a girlfriend, Margot, who was an artist like her. Margot worked primarily with ceramics, whilst Rosie preferred gouache. Quite often, the pair would work together on projects, Rosie painting Margot’s various pots and sculptures, and quite often, Rosie and Margot would go on exotic vacations to Vietnam or Corfu or Albania. This was when Seungmin was allowed to invite his friends up, as long as they swore to feed her cat, Nellie, and keep her plants watered.

That had been Jeongin’s first summer without you. His friends weren’t a distraction from the loneliness he felt, a bandage to cover it up, but rather people who were also wounded. People who needed healing and support and laughter and trust.

“Margot and Rosie are going to move,” Seungmin revealed one summer evening, hair tousled from the sea breeze. They sat out on the pier, toes dipping in the warm water, cold bottles of beer laid out across the wood planks. 

“To where?” Felix asked, sitting up and leaning against a wooden pole. “Overseas? Or to a different house?”

“France, I think, where Margot’s family lives,” Seungmin replied. “It’s not a permanent arrangement, but neither of them think they’ll come back. Rosie’s visited Margot’s family there before and she said the whole country just felt like magic, she’d never been so creative in her life.”

Jeongin smiled. “That’s sweet. So, is she selling the house?”

“And what about Nellie?” Felix added.

“That’s the thing,” Seungmin said, taking a sip of his beer. “She doesn’t want to sell it, especially since she knows it’ll just get knocked down and turned into some ugly modern beachside McMansion, a place that’ll probably just be used for vacations and shut up during the other seasons. But she also knows she can’t just leave the house. So she had a chat with me, and said if I wanted it, I could have the place. And Nellie.”

“And you said, . . ?” Felix waited, eyes bright.

“Fuck yes,” Seungmin replied, bursting into laughter. “How could I say no? Living here for free in a house by the beach? It’s a dream. But there’s a small issue; I have these two best friends that live hours away in the city, and there’s two empty spare bedrooms.”

“Oh my god,” Jeongin gasped. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

“If what you’re thinking is that I’m asking you guys to move with me, then yes,” Seungmin confirmed, smiling wide. His cheeks were flushed and eyes glistening, maybe from the alcohol, but he looked so happy. Genuinely happy.

Felix jumped up and screamed in excitement, throwing himself onto Jeongin. Seungmin jumped up and pulled the boys in his arms, then flung the three of them into the saltwater. They emerged, panting and out of breath, laughing hard. Tears rolled down Jeongin’s cheeks, salt on his lips, and they swam up to the shallows, sitting where the water was waist-deep and still retained the heat from the afternoon sun. 

Cherry Bay was far from home, but there was something about the place, something about the moment that made it feel like a part of him. It wasn’t the boys he was with or the cottage, although both of those things he was incredibly grateful for.

There was a lingering feeling, a presence.

And as you stepped outside the motel room and looked out at the pier, you saw three boys sitting in the shallows of the water, laughing and joking. You knew that laugh.

“Baby? Why’d you leave,” Jisung whined sleepily, his arms sliding around your waist from behind you. His bare torso was warm against your back and he kissed your neck softly. You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek to placate him, and squinted out at the beach one last time. You weren’t wrong. He was putting on his shirt now, the same one you’d been wearing while you helped him pack.

“Star?”

“No reason, pretty boy. Just needed some air. Let’s go back inside, yeah?”

And as Jisung spent long minutes pressing kisses down your neck and chest, mumbling promises that you knew neither of you could keep, your mind was somewhere else. You knew there had been a reason your gut had twisted into a tight knot when Jisung had pulled up at this motel. You knew there had been something drawing you closer when you’d picked Cherry Bay on the map out of all of the beachside towns.

When you finally drifted asleep, sweaty bodies entangled, it was not Jisung you dreamed of. 

Rosie and Margot left a week after Seungmin shared the news. They packed minimally, just a suitcase each of clothing, a stack of Rosie’s sketchbooks, two sculptures Margot had made and toiletries. “We won’t need much,” Rosie had explained. “We’ll be living with Margot’s family. Besides, it makes it easier for you guys, it means you don’t have to go out and buy a bunch of the awkward things everyone forgets when they move in.”

“Are you asking me to thank you for leaving us with all of your crap?” Seungmin teased, and Rosie rolled her eyes and shoved him lightly. His gaze softened, though, and he suddenly pulled her in for a tight hug. “I’ll miss you. Stay safe, yeah, and contact me.” he turned to Margot. “You too.”

Margot’s eyes shone. “You sound like her big sister, Minnie,” she laughed playfully. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t forget to call you, and if she does, I promise I will.”

“Good,” Seungmin replied, closing the trunk of the car and stepping back.

“Look after yourselves,” Rosie called out as they drove down the road. “Don’t take things so seriously. Let loose, all of you.”

“What does she mean by that?” Felix raised an eyebrow, and Seungmin sighed and shook his head.

“Interpret it any way you’d like,” he mumbled, then his eyes brightened as he flung open the door to the cottage. “I can’t believe we have this to ourselves now. It’s like a dream.”

Jeongin smiled, eyes crinkling. “We’re so lucky. You’re so lucky that you have a sister like her, Min.”

“I am,” he said proudly, taking in the salty air and warm breeze. “Now, do we want to actually organise our stuff today, or do we want to get drunk on the pier?”

Felix tapped his chin, pretending to think, then burst out laughing. “Let’s leave everything. There’s a bottle shop down the road, you guys coming?”

You’d convinced Jisung to spend the rest of the month with you in Cherry Bay. He’d been confused at first, asking why you wouldn’t rather driving further along the coast, stopping at different motels and beaches along the way. You didn’t have a great answer; just told him that something about the place made you feel at home. And he’d smiled at that, and the two of you shared a bottle of peach soju on the beach that night, eating clementines and making out in the water, then trudging back to the motel, sandy and wet, making out for even longer on the bed, sheets damp, bodies sticky, hearts full.

Jisung got hungover pretty easily, and would often stay in bed for most of the morning. You, on the other hand, were an early riser, and enjoyed the quiet and solidarity you had in the early hours of the day. Dressed in your navy gingham bikini, the one you’d had since long before you’d met Jisung, you would swim in a silent ocean, the sky still dark, sun unrisen, everybody else asleep. You would swim out to the flags and back, then rest, seated in the shallows, the water warming as the sun began to peek out from the horizon.

This morning, when you’d returned from your swim, Jisung was still out cold. He looked adorable when he slept; cheeks puffy, mouth slightly parted, hair tousled. He seemed innocent and genuine, the boy you remembered falling in love with from the start. The boy who you’d promised you’d love forever. The two of you had already gotten through most of the fruit you’d bought together at the grocery store, and there was a single can of cola in the minifridge. You left this for him, placing it and a peach on his bedside table. You found one of his t-shirts and pulled it on top of your bathers, grabbing your purse and slipping out the door, leaving a kiss on his lips as you left.

The local grocery store was small but well-stocked, and you’d grown familiar with it over the past week you had spent here. It was a five minute walk from your motel, further inland, painted a charming butter yellow and run by an equally charming woman named Angie. Adjacent to it was a liquor store, run by Angie’s husband. Often, you caught them smiling at each other through the glass door that connected the stores.

“Good morning, sweet girl,” Angie beamed at you, eyes shifting into crescent moons. “There’s fresh fruit out on the floor for you. The peaches are amazing this time of year.”

“Thanks, Angie,” you smiled back, picking up a handful of peaches and a plastic carrier of cherries. You walked down the side of the store and grabbed a crusty loaf of bread and butter, then set your items down in front of her. Behind you, the doorbell jingled, and two boys entered, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.

“Seungmin, my darling, here for more clementines?” she asked, not looking up. She handed you your change with a wink and then walked around the counter, giving the tall boy a big hug. “Young Rosie’s told me that she and Margot are leaving the house to you; in good hands, I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll do my best, Angie,” he laughed. “And what did you say about clementines?”

Your face shifted into an automatic smile at the sweet scene. 

“They’re right here. Did you want some too, lovie?” Angie asked, grabbing you a bundle before you could reply. 

“You’re too kind,” you chuckled, and Seungmin looked at you curiously. The door adjoining the two stores opened, and another boy walked through, thrusting two six packs of beer at the freckled boy standing beside Seungmin. Your eyes widened, and you felt your body freeze. He looked up at you, smiling shyly. The doorbell jingled again, and suddenly his eyes shifted and he looked at the ground. You turned behind you.

“C’mon, baby, let’s go swim,” Jisung pulled you close, arms warm around your waist, eyes bright and smile wide. Your body tensed a little.

“Yeah, okay,” you replied, thanking Angie before being swept into Jisung’s arms. As you looked over his shoulder from your embrace, you saw Jeongin’s face fall. “Wait, no, Ji, can we just go back to the motel?”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “Why?”

“Missed you,” you whispered, and his face softened. He set you down, cupping your warm cheeks and kissed you softly. Like he loved you. You kissed him back, deeper, like you loved him. You ran through the door of the motel, locking it behind you, and acted like you loved each other for hours. You both lied to each other, pretended, used actions instead of words, because words were real and he was not.

You had not missed Han Jisung, but my god, you had missed Yang Jeongin. 

That night ended the same way every night ended with Jisung. Him passed out on the sheets, his body wrapped around yours. Skin sweaty, chests heaving, the room too hot yet both of your bodies cold. And when his breathing slowed, and he began to softly snore, you pulled yourself away, kissing him on the lips before heading out the door and down the pier. You sat down at the end, a bottle of cider beside you, but you didn’t attempt to open it. 

It had been four summers without Yang Jeongin. You didn’t understand why even though you hated the feeling of isolation he had left you with, a feeling that whilst Jisung filled in the moment, had left you aching all this time, you would still force yourself to stay in solitude, to remember all the things you wanted to forget, to recall everything you never said to him, and now, weren’t able to.

He had his own life. He might even have his own girlfriend. You had Jisung. He should have been enough for you.

You remembered the summer before he had left, when the two of you had snuck into the school pool in the evening. That had been the first time you’d been drunk, the first time you’d broken in somewhere. Although it was wrong, it had felt right, and you yearned for that feeling again. Not the thrill, but the consistency and comfort that he gave you, back when he’d promised he would never leave you.

You heard footsteps approaching, and felt the presence of someone shuffling to sit beside you.

“You’re a liar,” he said, but his expression was soft. Adoring, even. 

“So are you,” you replied, and he pulled you close into his chest.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger @woozarts - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[ao3-shenanigans]

Some more easy comment ideas to leave on your favorite fics:

1. LETS GOOOOOO!!! (after a particularly exciting chapter)

2. Ohmygosh yes!!! You get it!!! This is exactly how I imagine this [character, dynamic, scene, au, ect]

3. Noooooooo 🥺🥺🥺🥺 (after a particularly devastating chapter)

4. Heck Yeah!!

5. My children! You hurt them! How dare!

6. You have blessed us! May both sides of your pillow stay cool! (Or any other blessing of your choice)

7. Thank you!

8. It even [surprised, shocked, broke my heart] on the reread! Excellent work!! (Only if this a reread)

9. I wish I could leave a longer comment, this fic deserves one! Bravo!

10. 10/10 would let break my heart again

[lizardho]

I was like 11-12 years old when I figured out at a boring-ass church activity that you could put rocks into little plastic spoons and then pelt people who annoyed me with them. I did this for the rest of the activity, and at Sunday dinner the next night was bragging about my victory (cornering the mean kid who picked on my youngest brother and pelting him with rocks). One of my cousins was like “no way, that sounds SO fun! Let’s do that RIGHT NOW!” So we grabbed spoons and went and got pebbles from the back yard and launched them at each other.

The problem was my grandma sold her soul for the world’s most resilient plastic spoons so we could launch those fuckers HARD. I gave out welts like candy on Halloween, and I got them back in kind.

So we resorted to taking cover and giggling until we got whacked, then yelping, then returning fire.

My cousin hid in my grandpa’s little fishing boat. It was a good boat, but simple and honestly underused. We didn’t know the little windows on it, meant to keep the wind out of my grandpa’s face while he drove, were cracking. However, they were definitely cracking. Eventually it became obvious and we realized we had been being dumb.

This was NOT the first time in my life I’d been dumb roughhousing and broken something, and I had developed a reputation in my family as being “suicidally honest” so I was the one to deliver the bad news. My grandpa let out a pretty good chuckle and said it was OK, tousled my hair, and asked my grandma to bring me cake. I am not kidding. I learned later he hated his boat and only bought it for his kids’ sakes, since he thought everyone needed to know how to fish. At the time though I was just bewildered and pleased at my good fortune. FINALLY, at long last, being honest and telling the truth about breaking something expensive was getting me cake. I knew if I kept trying it would eventually serve me, and now so had CAKE. I was pleased as could be.

My dad, on the other hand, was livid. He LOVED that boat. He spent several weeks each summer recovering from breaking ribs in that boat every year for about 7 years prior to this incident. He had great memories and memories that boat. So he told my Grandma NO cake for me AND that I’d be coming by this weekend to fix stuff around the house and pay for the broken window with my babysitting/lawn mowing money.

Obviously I was devastated, but that felt more in-line with the way things normally went when I broke something expensive so I just figured it was OK. My grandpa gave my grandma a look and sadly said “Ok, have her here on Saturday to help me with some yard work.”

That Saturday my dad woke me up at 6:00 sharp and drove me, sleepy and bewildered, to my grandpa’s house. He was mumbling under his breath the whole time but he thought he was teaching me consequences for my actions so he was ultimately OK with it.

We get to my grandpa’s house at 6:15. My grandpa is outside with a ladder hanging Christmas lights. The lawn is freshly mowed, the trees and garden are weeded and well-tended to, the carnations in the front yard look immaculate, and my grandpa has this giddy mischievous look on his face. He tells me he was so excited that I was coming over that he couldn’t sleep, so he did all the yard work himself. He asked me to help him put up Christmas lights and decorate the Christmas tree, which I did, then said that because I was such a good helper I could have some pancakes for breakfast. I was sent home with the slice of cake I had been denied the week before, wrapped to keep it as fresh as possible.

The whole way home my dad looked a little miffed, but told me that he was glad I had been honest and was proud of me for helping grandpa. I know he wanted me to Learn a Lesson™️the cowboy way, like he had as a kid, but didn’t have much room to complain since I’d still been Put To Work.

I think that was a lesson for both of us, although I’m not totally sure what it was supposed to show me. I think it was my grandpa’s way of showing my dad that discipline without tenderness doesn’t count as much. He died last year and I miss him terribly, as does my dad. I hope that my story of victory, drama, punishment, and ultimately a secret second victory is meaningful to someone else out there, but if not it still means a lot to me ❤️