#pointing at my fic outline with intent

[illumiera]

so, I was just watching s7e2 of Outlander, where Jamie tells Claire that he's dreamed of her in her "proper time" (the 20th century), and that if he dreams of the past, it isn't so unreasonable for him to be able to dream of the future, too—and all I could think was, "Miraak and Elentari Miraak and Elentari Miraak and Elentari Miraak and—"

because he is dreaming of the future whenever he dreams of her in the Merethic Era. he just doesn't know that the woman he calls Kundruniik, "Light-bringer", belongs to a time four thousand years from his, and that when she tells him, "we'll meet after the World-Eater falls", she's referring to what she does in Sovngarde, not to his rebellion being a success.

I'm gnawing at my desk: the Last Dragonborn (the last one there'll ever be) dreams of the past; the First Dragonborn (the first one there ever was) dreams of the future, all times that ought to have been impossible for them to see.

and yet they do!

Miraak hears Elentari sing in Tamrielic and joins in himself, perhaps centuries before Old Cyrodilic, the language Tamrielic descended from, was spoken for the first time. Elentari (a Breton, a race that doesn't yet exist) visits Miraak's temple in its glory days and is able to walk through it and see its inhabitants as they lived, listening to Atmoran that will be a dead language by the time she's born. Elentari was named thus upon her birth in the Fourth Era, but Miraak names her "Kundruniik" thousands of years before then. Miraak invents the Dragon Aspect Shout, thus enabling Elentari to use it, but how does he get the idea in the first place? from the way Elentari appears to him in his dreams, millennia before she visits Apocrypha and learns it. those two are just ripping up the history books all over the place—

after all, dragon souls aren't so bound by the laws of time...

[valcove]

I'm working on the outline of my new fic because it's not leaving my brain, and when I outline, I get a bit specific during it-

anyways, the outline for just the first chapter is nearly 500 words

maybe this fic will be my longest yet in word count

[bklynsboys]

The Theory on Other Halves

pairing: spencer reid x reader summary: "there's an old buddhist saying, i once read, that when you meet your soulmate, remember that the act to bring you together was 500 years in the making." genre: fluff word count: 1k author's notes: i wrote this because this particular line of spencer's is one of my absolute favorites! i think it's really beautiful how all of the people we love were meant to be in our lives since 500 years ago. and of course, as a fan of space & constellations, i had to insert it into this fic. enjoy <3

THE AIR HUNG HEAVY WITH THE AFTERMATH OF A PARTICULARLY BRUTAL CASE—TYPICAL FOR A DAY IN THE BAU. Dust specks danced in the pale slivers of moonlight filtering through the blinds. Hotch decided it'd be best to give the team a few hours to rest in the motel before heading back home. If it were up to you, you'd be back in your bed as soon as humanly possible, but rooming with the resident genius, Dr. Spencer Reid—the object of your unspoken affections—is an opportunity you wouldn't miss.

For months, the two of you have shared a silent dance of exchanged glances and shared interests. Your colleagues, particularly the girls whom you confided in, seemed to think it was mutual. Now, you sat across from each other on motel beds, a comfortable silence blanketing the room. You traced a thoughtful finger along the rim of your empty coffee cup.

"You have a constellation," he said softly, breaking the stillness.

Your gaze flicked to Spencer, then down to your arm where his hand had landed. A faint scattering of moles dotted the inside of your forearm, resembling a modicum of stars. A small smile tugged at your lips.

"Looks like Ursa Major," he mused, tracing the pattern with his finger. "Though perhaps a little worse for wear, and without the usual bright light, of course."

You chuckled, mirroring his action on your arm. There, nestled just below your elbow, was a crescent moon birthmark, a surprise you always enjoyed revealing.

"Here's another one," you offered.

He turned his hand, examining the crescent with a childlike curiosity. " It's beautiful," he said simply.

"Did you know," Spencer added softly, his voice barely a murmur, "that the ancient Greek saw Ursa Major as a bear?"

You tilted your head, surprised by the random fact. " A bear?"

A smile played on his lip. " Apparently, the constellation's asterism resembled the animal to them. Makes you wonder what they saw in the night sky that we don't."

"Well, my mom had a different take on that," you began, a fond memory surfacing. " She used to say my moon and stars meant I'd meet a space nerd someday who'd love these marks, and we'd be orbiting each other, kind of like the Earth and the sun. She was into soulmates, you see, and space."

The conversation flowed easily, a map of your bodies sketched through shared stories. You pointed to a jagged scar on your knee, the fading memory of you running around and ending up with a scrape on your knee. He, in turn, showed you the faint line on his palm, a souvenir from a particularly enthusiastic attempt at a science experiment as a child.

Your fingers trailed down the faint scar near his hairline, so faint one wouldn't notice it if they weren't looking at Spencer's face intently. "What's this from?" you asked gently.

Spencer chuckled. " You know, how I have really bad coordination?" He sighed. " I was lost in a book, I ran straight into a doorpost. My mom called me 'Crash' after that."

You squeezed his hand gently, a silent understanding passing between you. You knew how much Spencer cherished his mom, especially with her health declining. Sharing stories about her felt like a tender offering of his vulnerability.

He returned the gesture, his thumb tracing the faint outline of a mango-shaped birthmark on your back. " My mom swears it's from all the mangoes she craved while pregnant," you said with a laugh, remembering your childhood debates about the science behind birthmarks.

As the night wore on, your exploration became a conversation without words. You ended up curled up on one bed. You ran your fingers over the slight dip in his lower back, a lingering ache from a wrestling match between an unsub gone wrong. He skimmed his thumb across the freckle dusting your shoulder, a map of sun-drenched summer days.

There was no urgency, no pressure. Just a quiet appreciation for the way your bodies, like your minds, fit together, like puzzle pieces worn from being fitted together—entangled from experiences, both big and small. In the faint intimacy, you found a deeper connection, a comfort that transcended beyond just physical.

Suddenly, Spencer spoke, his voice soft. " Maybe your mom was right, you know."

"Right about what?" You murmured, head tilting at the man's question.

His gaze met yours, a thoughtful crease furrowing his brow. " About finding your soulmate," he said hesitantly. " There's an old Buddhist saying, I once read, that when you meet your soulmate, remember that the act to bring you together was 500 years in the making."

A thoughtful hum escaped your lips. " That's beautiful, Spencer," you whispered.

He continued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "Plato once wrote humans used to have four arms, four legs, and two faces, but Zeus split us in half as a punishment for our pride, and we were destined to walk the Earth searching for our other half."

A soft blush crept up your neck. You hadn't expected such a personal turn in the conversation.

"Plato," you murmured, surprised." The one who wasn't a big fan of the soulmate idea, right?"

Spencer's lips curved into a small smile.

"True," he admitted. "But even a brilliant mind like his couldn't deny the undeniable pull we sometimes feel towards certain people. Maybe the Greeks weren't so far off . Maybe the stars, the constellations, these little imperfections on our skin... Maybe they all tell us a story of where we belong."

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You found yourself captivated by the way the moonlight glinted in his eyes.

"So," you finally spoke, your voice barely a whisper, "are you saying we're destined to be wandering halves searching for the other?"

Spencer shook his head slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. "No," he said, his voice a smooth cadence. " Maybe... Maybe we already found each other."

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken sentiments. The air crackled with a tension that both terrified and exhilarated you. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat to the quiet reverberation of the night. Curled beside him, Spencer's arm draped casually across you, its weight a comforting presence, you drifted off to sleep.

A faint smile touched Spencer's lips as he listened to your soft snores. "Good night," he whispered into the darkness.

[jjenthusee]

Moonlight And Intentional Mistakes

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

A/N: This is inspired and dedicated to @heavysighing-dreamyeyes amazing post linked here (show it some love) and their numerous sweet words especially on my Broken Mug writing drabble (also linked), so after crying reading their messages, i had to do something about the intense rush to write and the best way i can think of thanking you is by doing what i know, art and writing. i had no idea that i was influencing anyone, i only hoped my love for Jason was communicated correctly. i hope every single one of you that comes across my account has beautiful things happen to u. i’ll give u all a million kisses. please continue to write, i would love to continue reading what u have for us next <3 there’s also a surprise at the end :D (as always comments are appreciated if you’re comfortable <3 let me know your brain rot thoughts) ENJOY

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, soft Jason, touch starved Jason lowkey, siri play Never Grow Up by Niall Horan 😔, might have inspired the direction of the fic

Word Count: 3.4k

The moon was high.

Moonlight had casted a faint glow on the window blinds, it peaked in through the tiny gaps.

Only a small lamp was on, cascading light from the living room into your room. It gave enough light to see the outlines of your room. Bathing everything it could touch in a faint warm glow.

It was still dark enough that the details were too fuzzy to point out, but most objects were wrapped in shadows, bringing a unique calm to your room.

In the chill of night, the bed was warm. Jason was the perfect heater. The blankets were cozy and the sound of a fan whirred at the corner of the room.

It didn’t make sense covering yourself head to toe in a fuzzy blanket with a fan blasting air at you, but the sound mellowed you into the night, calling slumber closer to you.

It would have been easy to sleep if you were given the chance, but your gentle giant boyfriend was adamant to prove to you that he needed to sleep as physically close as possible to you.

It would have been fine, but today you couldn’t find a relaxing sleeping position. You had to shift your body around before finding the state of mind and the right amount of comfort to drift off, but tonight was difficult. Not only were you constantly shifting in the bed sheets, you were keeping Jason awake.

As your body moved to a new spot on the bed, Jason followed. Turning his body to follow the heat you left behind on the sheets. He wasn’t fond of the fact that a blanket fully engulfed you while he didn’t, it wasn’t fair.

When he got close enough to throw his muscular arm over you, you beat him to your next journey across the mattress.

If the queen bed the both of you were laying on looked like a college dorm twin XL with Jason laid out over it, then you shouldn’t have cornered yourself onto the edge.

Now half of your body dangled off the mattress. The bed was definitely big enough for the both of you the last time you checked, but with Jason getting closer to you every time you moved, it looked like he teleported a smidge closer when you blinked.

It also wasn’t ideal when he rolled onto the corner of the blanket that had unraveled from your legs.

You teetered on the end of the bed when he purposefully made sure to take up ninety percent of what was left of the mattress. Locking you on the edge, wrapped in a blanket.

You had been laying on your side, but Jason kept nudging you, tickling your face with his messy hair when he got close enough to attempt to burrow his large self into you. You kept scooting back, but once you didn’t feel anymore mattress, your legs were feeling where the cold air invaded the bed.

Now you settled on the dangerous edge with one leg completely off. Despite your avoidance of Jason, your free leg locked around Jason’s leg for any support to keep you safely on the bed. Your entire upper half was swaddled like a baby as the blanket blocked out any of the chill, your arms completely smushed against your sides with no way to free yourself besides Jason moving his body off of the edges of your blanket.

You had no control whatsoever.

It was you and your straining leg on Jason that was the only thing keeping you from plopping on the cold floor. Now in a vulnerable position, did Jason have the bright idea of asking the question you’ve been avoiding all day.

Where were his pudding cups?

———

“I take it back!” You pleaded with Jason as he kept the blanket tightly wound around you, preventing you from moving your arms to retaliate.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Jason playfully faced at you, laying on his side. His voice melted with innocence, but had underlying amusement.

Your blanket was your savior and your enemy as it saved you from the hard floor, but it was also securely caught by Jason’s entire weight. He had you completely trapped inside with only your head and legs poking out, the fabric slung around you.

Moving his body an inch closer to the edge, Jason pushed your body further off, further with no support beside his mere weight and strength keeping you from falling.

“I swear there were two pudding cups before you left!” You screamed, your hair falling off your face, the ends gravitating toward the ground, your impending doom.

“Sweetheart, let’s play world’s greatest detective and I’ll ask you something. If I didn’t eat ‘em and we are the only two people who live in this apartment, then who do we have left? Hm?” Jason’s voice, honey sweet, as he emphasized the contradictions in your statement.

With the blanket bunched in his hands, Jason easily lowered you slightly, juggling your weight effortlessly while laying on his side. You cursed at his perfect athleticism.

The room may have been dark, but you didn’t need the moonlight to know he had a shit eating grin trying to get you to confess.

You felt like this was probably the closest you would feel to people walking the plank in those pirate movies you watched as a kid, a sick waiting game not knowing when your fate was inevitable. It was fun at the time and maybe the cold ocean was different from your bedroom floor, but otherwise it was still cold.

“I don’t even like sweets!” You playfully laughed as he teasingly let his hands slip, clearly seeing through your lie. You squealed as you felt your head dip and your leg fall from on top of Jason’s.

“And my hand slipped.” Jason equally lied through his teeth, his threat filled with no malice whatsoever as he securely held onto you.

“I’m starting to feel like this has nothing to do with pudding cups.” You raised your head back up to look at Jason, a full smile present on your face, testing your vulnerable state.

“Oh?” Jason raised his eyebrow as he looked down at you from the edge of the bed. The angle looked great on him.

“My world’s greatest detective intuition is telling me that you’re just mad that I kept rolling away from you.” You mischievously pointed out.

“My love, you need to use those skills to find out why all our pudding is gone.”

“Do you do this to all the criminals you interrogate?” You deflected, using your eyes to point to the current position both of you were in, dangling from the bed in a blanket while Jason kept you there.

“Only the pretty ones.” Jason sung, pulling you up slightly so you weren’t as close to the floor, not quite on the bed, but in a better spot than before.

“I didn’t realize the Red Hood had such malicious threatening techniques.” You shook your head feigning disappointment as you struggled to readjust your leg to latch onto his again. It probably looked awkward, but you were desperate. It wasn’t your fault that your boyfriend was built like a tank. “I promise to not rob anymore banks anytime soon. I’ll straighten myself out. Scouts honor.” You breathed out, exhausted from the movement.

“Just admit you ate the pudding and I’ll erase everything. Your speeding tickets and the bounty on you in 15 countries.”

“It’s 18 actually, don’t defile me—��

Jason effortlessly lowered you again. The blanket slipping slightly from jostling you around.

“Okay, okay!” You cried out. “If I fall you’re limited to two kisses a day!”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Three, take it or leave it.”

“Tell me where the pudding is.”

“Four kisses and you can cuddle suffocate me when we sleep.” The blanket around you felt noticeably loose.

Jason scoffed, offended by your choice of phrasing.

“If our lives are ever on the line, I gotta remember I can’t ever let you negotiate.” He tauntingly called above you. “And I don’t cuddle suffocate you.”

“So it was ‘cause I moved away from you earlier!” You cried out as you slipped further. The blanket loosening completely around you, your gasp blurring into Jason’s name. A plea to catch you.

Jason quickly bent down, rolling his body off the bed and slipping his arms around you as he followed you to the floor. He rolled his body forward enough to quickly shift your position so his body plopped on the ground first while you landed on top of him.

It was a soft landing as you laid on his chest. Quickly finding a comfortable position in his arms.

“You only get one kiss a day.” You flatly said. “Why is our bed frame weirdly tall?” You nuzzled your head into his chest.

“Our deal was two.” Jason tenderly caressed your head. Moving your hair in motions that made you want to fall asleep.

“Looks like we’re both liars.” You barely whispered, sleepiness taunting your body.

“I guess you’re still wanted in 18 countries.”

You lazily laughed into Jason, his body slightly shaking from your movement. His arms wrapping around you, engulfing the feel of your laughter and locking it between your bodies. He smiled into your shoulder. Smelling your comfort.

You lifted your head, freeing your face. You were still being held by Jason, but you had a clearer view of his loving gaze lost on you as he traced your features, entranced by your smile.

“Missed opportunity.” You drunkenly watched and felt Jason’s fingers caressing your face.

“If you let me ‘cuddle suffocate’ you, you might have another shot.” Jason’s thumb rubbed your cheek, pressing into the softness. His calloused finger pads feeling slightly itchy, but you would never pull away, too endeared by how gently he treats you.

“Worth it.” You say after snapping out of your trance that was locked on your boyfriend. He knew the right areas to get your mind lost on his touch, focused solely on him.

You pulled yourself up from laying on top of Jason, grabbing for his hands as you stood. Straining to help pull him up, but almost all the effort came from his own strength, not yours.

Playfully, Jason never let go of your hands and let his body be dragged completely onto you, dramatically coming forward to rewrap himself around you.

You giggled as you threw your arms around him. Enjoying the warmth that radiated from him, reheating the once empty space. Your own personal heater. You were glad tonight was one of the nights he stayed home with you, cuddled in bed all evening. You tried your best to soothe his mind, away from the thoughts of patrol as much as you could.

Giving his mind a small mental break, to hold you close and whatever else he needed. Both of you continue to work hard to develop and maintain the kind of trust that Jason needed to work through the hard days, silent but never alone.

With reassuring hugs while he counted your breaths, holding onto your hand just to thoughtlessly memorize them, standing in your presence just to observe you.

His difficulty with readjusting to the mundane and useless tasks of every day life was the biggest challenge. Too many conversations about why we need to treat ourselves because we want to. Jason’s mind was filled with too many needs.

He needed a reason to buy himself something, he needed to push his body to the limits because there was no other option, he needed to work alone.

So you showed him that he didn’t need you to hold his arm while you walked around the city, but he wanted you to do it.

He didn’t need you to take care of him, but you wanted to because you cared.

As you lost yourself in the shared closeness, you swayed your body. Jason unconsciously following your movements, swaying with you and letting his hands intertwine behind you, letting it gently rest against your lower back. Once you held on, Jason had silently vowed to never be the first to let go.

As you moved your bodies, clueless about Jason’s promise to himself, you didn’t let go either. So the two of you clung to one another.

It was one of the millions of things you cherished about Jason, he showed his devotion through his mannerisms. He helped put away your bags after a tired day of work, when he brought you a blanket if you fell asleep on the couch then carried you to bed. He bought your favorite snacks if he was at the store. He effortlessly followed you, content to be next to you.

Of course, he still put up limitations. He wouldn’t put your safety at risk. He sat closer and became more aware of restaurant doors, he kept you walking on his side or always in front of him, when he slept he made sure to determine the layout that suited you best, away from the window. His eagerness to make sure your wellbeing is priority.

It led to him not sleeping once you switched your position too many times tonight. He wasn’t satisfied with you being closer to the window, but he also was determined to get you to cuddle.

Numerous times you wanted to tease him, but after a Red Hood reveal that had you debating if he collaborated with his brothers to pull a twisted prank on you and an emotional talk, you couldn’t blame him for any of it. The fitted suit was just an added bonus you could outrightly ogle at.

You two were standing, holding each other in the dark. His head nuzzled on the base of your neck, his hands gripping your shirt, crinkling at the desperation. Sometimes Jason felt overstimulated when his feelings were ready to burst. His unfamiliarity with so much tender affection makes his mind unable to process all of it.

All you can do is to tell him that your there. Reminding him that you were unwilling to go anywhere.

“I’m here, Jay.” You softly reassured. “I’m right here, in your arms.”

Jason was unaware of the same silent promise you prayed to yourself, to never let him go.

When Jason’s grip loosened, your lips softly kissed the side of his head, soothing the thing that gives him a hard time. Repeating the motion, feeling his breaths even.

You never said that you were limited to how many kisses you can give him.

As you methodically swayed and with one final kiss against his hot skin, Jason shifted himself to standing taller, resting his forehead on yours. His hair laid flat against your skin.

You closed your eyes, enjoying how docile he became once you initiated physical touch. A craving he wanted and you unconditionally gave him.

When you opened your eyes, adjusting to the darkness, you grabbed one of his hands to intertwine them, your other hand gently falling onto his shoulder. He noticed the familiar stance, mimicking that of a dance. He silently rested his free hand on your waist, once again feeling the fabric of his shirt that you wore.

There was no music, but you leaned into Jason once again, swaying to the rhythm of his heartbeat, slow and in tune with his breaths. The further closeness let you settle your head underneath his chin, his hand following around the width of your waist pulling you in more.

Everything felt perfect. It was the middle of the night in the dark, you wore pajamas, no music played, both of your hair messy, but you held Jason. A sweet grasp of his shirt bunched in your hand, your feet bumping into his, the smell of your soap radiating from his skin from his shower.

If this was your last day on Earth, you would think you were blessed to be in front of the most loving, tender man. Watching his eyes softened and sparkle as he feels a breath of peace.

That was all you needed.

In an act of surprise, you moved your arm to wrap around Jason’s waist and attempted to dramatically swoop him back. It was haphazardly done, but he gladly played along despite the difference in height making it a little awkward. He dipped back then came forward, reuniting your embrace, both of you laughing at your clumsy attempt at a slow dance.

“Why does this feel like an awkward school dance?” You breathed out, breathless from the laughing, talking into his clean shirt. Most likely you were taking it to wear tomorrow night.

“We’re just swaying, we aren’t really moving how we’re supposed to.” Jason rubbed your back as you caught your breath, his voice softly surrounding you as you rested on his chest, feeling every word.

“And how would you know?” You looked up at him, a teasing tone. “It’s not like either of us know how to slow dance.”

Jason paused, looking down at your eyes, contemplating.

“Would you like to learn?” He hesitated, combing his hand through your hair.

You completely stopped swaying, Jason’s hand dropping from the top of your head to rest on your cheek. He carefully watched your reaction, your eyes widening, a stunned look in your eyes.

His grip tightened, barely noticeable if you didn’t feel his thumb press on your waist, helping to remind you to respond.

“I mean, I’ve always wanted to try it.” You looked down toward your feet, slightly feeling the embarrassment creep up at your confession, but Jason rubbed his thumb on your cheek. A silent comfort. “But, I don’t have a reason to learn. I’m way past school dance age, I rarely go to events where it might happen, and…no one has ever asked me.”

A silence settled between the both of you, Jason’s thumb pausing. He looked between your eyes, glancing back and forth.

“Can I get my phone?” He asked with no explanation, no other detail leading to your earlier confession.

You felt the mortification creeping at you. You nodded, letting go of Jason.

He stood there until you removed yourself first. His grip fleeting, walking in the dark to grab his phone, illuminating the room with its screen where he stood. You curiously watched him, not quite understanding his intentions.

“I might be a little rusty.” He voiced, a broad back facing you.

A gentle melody played from his phone. Quiet, but getting louder as he pressed the volume button on the side of his phone.

“What?” You stood there awkwardly.

Jason turned to face you, throwing his phone on the night stand as he walked back over, raising an open hand to you.

“May I have this dance?”

He stunned you again, your brain having too many delays at once.

Your hand trembled as you raised it to meet his. You couldn’t respond to his question because your throat ached, ached in a way that you wished the world ended right there, to consume the pounding heartbeat in your ears, the firm grip of Jason, and attempt to swallow up all the love swelling in your heart. It would put up one hell of a fight.

Once the both of you met, bodies close, Jason repositioned your hands as it was before. Gently guiding you through the steps as you nervously looked at your feet, your tense body adding to your struggle.

Once you felt a decent rhythm and Jason patiently assisted you, memorizing your expressions, movements and the smile you beamed when you finally felt comfortable.

He grabbed your chin. Guiding your head back up to look at him. Bringing his head closer to yours.

Your eyes closed halfway before he gripped your back, dipping you back, holding your weight as you inhaled in surprise.

“Jason!” You laughed his name as he swung you back up, extravagantly twirling you from him, clasping your hand to twirl you back into his embrace.

“Rusty, huh?” You quipped, eyeing him, trying to stabilize your steps.

“What can I say, Alfred beat the movements into me. He would feel a shift in the air if I got it wrong.” Jason smiled, picking up the swaying again, enthusiastically moving both your bodies.

You continued dancing through laughter, not watching your feet as much as you were, letting the feeling of the music guide you.

Not knowing where your body and his separated, a beautiful blur.

How could you have missed out on something so sweet?

A dance shared between two individuals who adore one another.

Jason stamped another mark onto your life.

First dances laced with intertwined hands, lips brushing against one another, tuning out everything but each other’s voices.

Maybe the world did end, but you wouldn’t have known, too immersed in the moonlight on Jason’s skin, the warmth of love and home enveloping you.

[spnbabe67]

Make My World Go Black

Kinktober Day 4: Friends to Lovers (T.O.)

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, Drinking, Soft and Slow sex

Summary: While visiting Loretta's hometown, the newest Tornado Wrangler gets a request to come pick Tyler up. The problem? Boone has the hotel key.

Word Count: 2962

Authors Note: Title and fic based on the song "Black" by Dierks Bently. (And yes, I know the character in the GIF isn't Tyler Owens, I couldn't find one that matched what I had in mind)

The last thing Loretta expected when Boone texted her was a request to pick up Tyler from the local bar. Sure, The Tornado Wranglers were in her turf, back home in North Texas, but usually it was Boone or even Lilly’s job to nurse their leader back to soberness. She had just crawled into bed, the time nearing 11, when her phone started blowing up with texts from her coworkers. At first she’d tried to ignore it, eyelids heavy from a long day of driving, but after the 5th text she’d relented, squinting at the bright screen. Most of Boone’s text was incoherent, the videographer clearly had a couple drinks himself, but through his copious amounts of spelling errors and incoherent sentence structure she gathered his message: come get Tyler.

So, Loretta pulled on a pair of jeans and a hoodie and pointed the headlights of her two-door Chevy towards the bar Boone had managed to type clearly. Loretta knew the bar well, a little hole in the wall downtown. She wasn’t surprised Tyler chose this place out of the list she’d given him to celebrate a successful season. They’d raised a significant amount for the communities they visited throughout the last couple months, and as an end of season celebration Tyler suggested they come visit Loretta’s hometown. She was the newest member of the group, having joined towards the end of last season when The Tornado Wranglers were chasing an EF4 in the Panhandle and came across Loretta who was competing at the local rodeo. She’d always had an interest in inclement weather growing up in the southern portion of Tornado Alley she’d seen her fair share of tornados, seen the devastation they left in their wake. Here she was, a little over a year later, picking up her boss who she’d had a crush on since he swaggered up to her at the bar after she’d finished competing. 

“Hey Doll.” Tyler gave her a lopsided grin under the brim of his white cowboy hat as Loretta approached him.

Boone or whoever had sat him down on a bench outside the bar, thumping base still audible through the walls. The air was tinged with the smell of cigarette smoke and grilling meat; it was a familiar and comforting aroma.

“Hey yourself, Cowboy.” Loretta quipped, ready to mockingly scold Tyler for getting drunk but it died on her tongue as he pushed himself up from the bench with ease, no sign of alcohol impairment. When she had read Boone’s text, she’d assumed his request to come get Ty;er was urgent, that Tyler was drunk. But here he stood, not drunk at all, buzzed if anything. 

“Thanks for comin’ to pick me up. Boone and the others are drunk off their asses with no intentions of leaving any time soon. We all carpooled and Lilly refuses to let anyone drive her car, so.” Tyler trailed off, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Loretta tried not to linger on how stupidly hot the motion was, eyes bouncing back up to his face from where they’d trailed down to his biceps that were outlined by his white t-shirt.

Loretta gave Tyler a half smile, nodding her head back to where her truck was parked. “Come on Cowboy, let's get you back. You drove more than I did today and I’m exhausted.”

Tyler huffed a laugh. “Me too.”

She let Tyler follow her as she hopped into the driver seat, cranking the key until her engine sputtered to life. “Alright, where did you guys hole up?”

Loretta looked over at Tyler as he whispered a curse under his breath, patting his pockets. “They only gave us one key and Boone has it.” 

He’d taken his hat off, ever the gentlemen, resting it on the dash. His sandy blonde hair was all mussed up, flat against his skull in some places and sticking out like a rooster's crown. His skin was tanned from years in the sun and it looked so damn smooth.

“I’ve got room.”

Tyler looked over at her, eyebrows raised and a half grin on his face. “Really? You got a spare room?”

Loretta tilted her head back and forth, bracing an arm over the back of the passenger seat as she backed out of the parking spot. “Eh, not exactly. But I have a queen sized bed and sleep like the dead.” She shrugged her shoulders as she drove them down the singular main drag through her small town. “Not like you have any other choice.”

“I can crash in my truck. Really Lor I don’t wanna impose on you.” Tyler tried to reason, sinking down lower in the passenger seat and Loretta had to force herself to keep her eyes on the road rather than watch as Tyler set his legs wider.

“It’s not imposing if I proposed the idea in the first place. So shut it and just let me take you home.” Loretta paused, feeling her cheeks go warm as she dragged a hand down her face to hide her sheepish smile. “That came out wrong.”

Tyler chuckled at her from the passenger seat, grinning at her. “Yes ma’am.”

“Fuck off.” Loretta jested, playfully shoving Tylers shoulder.

She ran a hand through her brown hair, tucking a couple errant strands behind her ear, trying to convince herself that the blush that still clung to her cheeks was because of her embarrassing statement and not because Tyler Owens was sitting in her truck and they were driving to her house. This felt right. The sky was full of stars, her house was far enough out in the country the light pollution was nearly nonexistent. With nothing but rows and rows of corn and soybeans with the occasional break for pastures for cows or horses, including the one that belonged to her acreage of land. The gravel kicked up around the wheels of her truck as she pulled down her driveway leading up to her raised ranch. 

“Well, this is me.” Loretta unbuckled her seatbelt, gesturing for Tyler to follow her. 

“It’s” She heard Tyler contemplate from behind her as she unlocked the front door. “Not gonna lie, it’s exactly what I was expecting.”

Loretta furrowed her brows as she let him into her house. “Is that supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing?”

Tyler stuttered, running a hand over his head. “Good! Good! It’s a good thing I promise.”

Loretta giggled as she guided him upstairs. “I’m just fucking with you.” She stopped at the hall closet, pulling out a towel and a washcloth and holding them out to him. “Bathroom is the last door on the right, I’ll go grab you some clothes.”

“Thanks Doll.” 

Loretta held her breath as Tyler took the linens from her, tucking them under his arm before leaning in. It was everything she could do to not let her eyes flutter closed as Tyler's face got closer to hers, the heat of him leaking onto her. Loretta felt Tyler’s lips brush her cheek and immediately her chest tightened, that feeling of longing flooding her brain and heart. As brief as the kiss was, him pulling away was quicker, punctuated by that heartbreakingly sweet smile only a country raised boy could pull off. 

Loretta internally sighed, returning his grin with a toothless one of her own, patting his back. “Go get cleaned up Cowboy.”

Once Tyler snicked the bathroom door shut, Loretta retreated to her own bedroom, rifling through her dresser drawers. She knew her brother kept a spare pair of clothes in there somewhere for whenever he came to visit. There! She pulled a pair of boxers and another t-shirt from the back of her bottom drawer that seemed to be the right size.

“Just me.” Loretta knocked a couple times on the bathroom door before cracking the door open. The shower was running, the water hot enough to steam up the bathroom. “I found a pair of boxers and a shirt you can borrow for the night.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks.” Tyler said from behind the other side of the opaque shower curtain. 

Loretta hummed a response, fleeing the bathroom in the most nonchalant fashion she could manage, closing the door behind her. She let out a sigh, shaking her head trying to get rid of the images of Tyler naked not 5 feet from her separated only by the door and the shower curtain. He is probably soaking wet, lathered up with soap. No! Loretta went back to her own room, changing out of her sweatshirt and peeling off her jeans, changing them for a pair of sleep shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt from her alma mater. 

She turned the lamp on the bedside table on crawling under the covers, picking up the book she’d been meaning to finish, needing something to distract her from her less than pure road her thoughts her headed down. Absolutely not! He is your best fucking friend, your coworker! You fucking him would just make everything worse. 

Loretta’s eyes snapped up from the book cradled in her lap when she heard the bathroom door creak open and Tylers footfalls bring him into her room. She felt her mouth go dry at the sight of Tyler, dressed in just boxers and a shirt in her doorway. Sure, Loretta had seen him as well as the other Tornado Wranglers in various stages of undress. Chasing twisters required a level of get-up-and-go that didn’t leave time to worry about modesty. But it was the fact that he was here, in her room, about to sleep in her bed, that had her wanting to know just how good his muscled body would feel under her hands, against her body.

“Feel better?” Loretta managed to say, dipping her gaze back to her book to keep from ogling the man.

Tyler hummed somewhere from her right as she felt the bed dip under his weight as he climbed in beside her. “Nothing like a hot shower at the end of the day.”

It was Loretta’s turn to hum a noncommittal response, not trusting her mouth to filter the thoughts circling in her brain.

Tyler must have taken her minimal response as her being upset because his hand landed on her arm, causing her to flinch. “Lor, you okay? I can sleep on the floor, or on the couch.”

Instantly Loretta felt guilty, setting her book back on the nightstand.”No, no, no. Sorry, I’m just super tired. And don’t be spewing that bullshit. I’m not about to let you sleep on the couch let alone my floor.”

Tyler raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Loretta crinkled her nose at him,offering him a soft smile. She reached over, turning out the light with a quiet click, flooding the room into darkness save for the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains. She let out a sigh as she settled on her side facing Tyler, watching him do the same. Despite her bed being a modest Queen,Tyler was nearly chest to chest with her.

Loretta was glad the room was dark because she was sure her face was flushed red. The way the moonlight glanced off his face made her think Tyler looked like an actor in a black and white film, all James Dean with a titch of Marlon Brando.

“Hey Lor?”

“Hmm?”

Loretta could sense Tylers hesitation, the apprehension of her reaction to whatever he wanted to say. She felt him shift his arm like he was gonna reach out and touch her but the sensation of his hand against her arm never came, much to Loretta’s disappointment.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

Loretta blinked, then blinked again, trying to process what Tyler just said. She huffed a laugh, thinking Tyler was joking. “You sure you didn’t have anything to drink Ty?” 

“Yeah, I am.” There was no mistaking the seriousness in his voice, no mistaking the way he was looking at her. “‘Cause I wanted to be completely sober when I did this.”

It was like Tyler was in slow motion, the way he carefully brought his hand up to cup Loretta’s face, thumb stroking the line of her jaw as he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. Fireworks erupted in her belly at the feeling of finally having his mouth on hers after months and months of hopelessly pining. Well, not really hopeless now is it? Because here he was, deepening the kiss as she willingly opened her mouth to him. Part of her had a hard time believing this was real, that maybe this was just a dream. A really good, really real feeling dream. But the other part was hyper aware of the fact that one of Tyler's bare thighs had slid between her own, the hand not brushed against her cheek had slid to her waist, pulling her even closer to him.

Loretta felt like she was on cloud nine, a high not even Boone’s weed could touch. She threaded her fingers through his hair, whimpering as Tyler’s tongue swept into her mouth. His thigh was solid muscle between her legs, rubbing up against the ache that had slowly started to grow there. Loretta let out a small moan as Tyler’s hand slipped down to palm her ass, rocking her onto his thigh. Loretta moaned Tyler’s name as his lips made a hot trail of sloppy kisses down her jaw to her neck. 

“I know, Baby, I know.” Tyler murmured against her neck, his hands sliding under her long sleeve shirt, thumbs stroking the planes of her belly. “Let me make this feel good.”

Loretta arched her back, helping Tyler slip her shirt off before his hand pressed against her stomach, laying her flat on her back. She whimpered as the cold air hit her bare chest, her nipples hardening. The cold was short lived as Tyler's hot mouth closed around the right one, his hand kneading the other, pulling a gasp from her lips. Her hand shot to his head, holding his face to her chest. She arched her back, chasing the feeling of his tongue circling around the sensitive bud, his left hand tweaking and pinching the other, every action had wetness pooling in her shorts. 

Tyler pulled off of her breasts, a line of saliva connected her nipple to his lips as he kissed his way back up her body until his lips met hers again more heated this time. Loretta slid her hands under Tyler's shirt, pulling it up and off, letting her explore the soft ridges of his abdomen. As Tyler rolled them over back onto their sides, Loretta became aware of something hard poking against her lower stomach. A very large, hard something. Everything in her became focused on the fact that Tyler’s hands had slipped back down to her hips, pushing her shorts down. Loretta reached out, slipping her hand down Tyler’s boxers causing him to curse under his breath.

He reached down himself, shimmying out of his boxers until they were naked. Loretta kissed Tyler deeply as he ran the fat head of his cock through her soaked folds, hiking her top leg high on his hip. 

“Fuck, baby you’re so wet for me.” Tyler muttered against her mouth between kisses, rutting himself against her until the head caught on her core.

Loretta’s mouth fell open as the head of Tyler’s cock slid into her, Tyler hissing through his teeth at how tight she gripped him. His fingers dug into the plush of her ass and thigh, holding her leg up so that he could slot his hips between her legs. Loretta let out a keening moan as Tyler slid in and in and in, filling her until she wasn’t sure she could take it anymore from the amount of arousal coiling in her stomach. She gripped his bicep as Tyler settled into an easy pace, short and slow thrusts that had her moaning breathily every time his hips slapped against her own. 

“Takin’ me so good. Feel so good, Baby. Been wanting to do this for so long.” Tyler mumbled praises against her mouth as he fucked into her, his fat cock brushing against that sensitive spot deep inside her.

“Tyler.” She moaned feeling her climax starting to build

“I know, Baby. Me too. Let me feel cum for me, Doll.”

Tyler kept fucking into her at the same pace, slipping a hand between them to rub small circles on her clit. The sensation of his calloused thumb against her clit sent her over the edge, her pussy walls clamping down on him as her orgasm crashed over her in waves of euphoria. Tyler’s own thrusts became uneven and sloppy as he came, burying himself inside her as his cum spurted deep into her pussy. 

Loretta let out a shaky breath, smiling as she lazily kissed Tyler. Tyler gently shifted his hips, letting his softening cock slide out of Loretta with a low groan. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing his cheekbone as she pulled away from him enough to admire his face. 

“Been wanting to do that for a while, huh?” She teased.

“Mm.” Tyler hummed, pressing a kiss to Loretta’s shoulder. “Ever since I saw you after that rodeo last year. Just never knew you felt the same.”

Loretta huffed a laugh, stroking her fingers through his hair. “What about your saying.”

“My saying?” Tyler looked up at her from kissing her collarbone. 

“If you feel it?” Loretta grinned, watching Tyler’s confused expression morph into a grin of his own.

“Chase it.”

[toonice113]

Slut! ⋆ ★ N.Hischier 

0. ┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁  Begin again 

1.peace

Pairings: Nico Hischier x Singer!FMC (Teddy Wells)

Summary: Teddy has just gone through a horrible breakup, her best friend gives her the chance to begin again by setting her up on a date.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, mentions of breakdowns, Lando Norris being a horrible ex (he gets worse sorry)

Word count: 1.7k

Face claim: Nicole Wallace

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Welcome to the intro for my new Nico fic, as it stands this will have 3 parts (Peace, But daddy I love him and Slut!) plus this intro. I had the idea for this a while ago and planned to write it as a full thing on wattpad but I get bored of my projects so quickly that I decided not to do it and so here we are now with a three part series, I’m not sure when the rest of it will go up as I only have an outline of it but keep an eye out for it! Anyways I kinda rushed to write this while I could because lately I’ve been getting a million ideas but when I start to write it just disappears so it might not be the best but I hope you still enjoy it.

Breakups are hard, breaking up for the second time with the guy you thought you were going to marry and spend the rest of your life with is harder, add fame to the mix and it is one of the hardest things you’ll ever have to do. For the past month I’ve been hiding away from everyone in my NYC apartment, the first week was the worse, moving out of our Monaco apartment in the middle of the night, calling Alyssa so she could book me the next flight back to America then having to contain myself during the trip so no one realized how broken I was, arriving back at the NYC apartment I broke down and spent that whole week crying on the couch. Alyssa herself took a flight to Monaco the next week after making sure that I was well enough to at least feed myself to retrieve the things I had left behind, while she was away I had the most humbling experience of my life (more than the one time where someone almost threw me out of my own show while backstage but that’s a different story) when I set the table for two people while on autopilot and then burned one of the placemats when I realized what I had done leading to yet another breakdown. A month after my breakup I had pulled myself together enough to be trusted to be left alone, and I only did it because I felt selfish for keeping Alyssa in New York when I knew she had a trip planned to see her family in Switzerland, she begged for me to join her but I didn’t want to intrude and bring down the happy mood.

Alyssa came back two weeks later with a plan and no intention of backing out of it, she was setting me up with one of her friend’s brother who lived in New Jersey, a hockey player named Nico who according to Alyssa if he wasn’t one of her best friend’s brother she would’ve smashed (her words not mine). I of course rejected the date immediately, I had just gotten to the point of not crying at the sight of my ex boyfriend and his new girlfriend who he had cheated on me with, because of course although he hadn’t confirmed anything there were tons of pictures of the two online, so I was in no state to go out on dates but my best friend does not back down, like ever, which is one of the qualities I liked about her so much when I first hired her to be my personal assistant, I’ve never not gotten a reservation I’ve wanted even if said reservation was in the new cool restaurant that already has a six month waiting list. After days of nagging I finally gave in, and that’s how I found myself on the back of an Uber on a Wednesday on my way to a coffee shop in Hoboken nervously picking at my nails and straightening the skirt of my dress over and over again until the driver announces that we have arrived, I thank him and walk out, I’m five minutes early and I don’t expect him to arrive on time, Lando never did, so I probably have some time to settle down on a table before he arrives, to calm my nerves a little, but when I walk through the door I see him sitting on a table on the other end of the cafe, that is thankfully not that busy, he looks better than in the pictures Alyssa showed me. Slowly I approach him and as soon as he notices me he gets up to greet me “Teddy, hi” he speaks out and I can’t help but swoon a little in my head at his voice “I’m Nico” he introduces himself with a smile putting is hand out for a handshake

“Hi” I take his hand “It’s nice to meet you” I’m sure my voice comes out shaky but he doesn’t say anything about it an instead pulls my chair out so I can sit after we let go of the handshake

“Do you want to order?” he asks motioning to the small menu in the middle of the table “I’m not sure what you like but I was looking at the menu and there seem to be a good selection of pastries that my trainers would probably disapprove of but oh well” 

We order and talk for a bit while sipping on our drinks and eating our pastries, I let him take the lead in the conversation partly because I’m nervous as this is my first date with someone other than Lando in a very long time, and even with Lando dates were scarce, but also because I don’t want to be rude and interrupt the stories he’s telling me “So how did you meet Alyssa?” he asks after he finishes his story

“Uh she’s my assistant actually, well the title is forgotten most of the time nowadays since we’ve gotten so close but yeah my manager thought I needed someone to help me around and I interviewed around six people before Alyssa walked in, I was actually about to call the rest of the interviews before she came in because I was having problems scheduling some recording sessions, but she walked in and helped me figure it out in ten minutes, and that’s how I knew she was the one” I say and this is probably the longest I’ve talked in the twenty five minutes we’ve been chatting “We became friends fast, although between you and me I think she just pretends to like me because I pay her” I joke and he chuckles letting me see his dimples.

“You know when Nina called about setting me up on a date I said no because I know better than to trust my sister with my love life” He says and I notice his voice goes softer when he talks about his sister “And then he added Alyssa to the call and I knew I was done for” 

“She is good at convincing people to do things they don’t want to do” I agree “Last year she decided we were gonna go camping and as much as I enjoy nature I’m more of a glamping kind of girl, like I love the idea of sitting around a fire surrounded by nothing but green but Alyssa’s idea of camping was more like a tent and sleeping bags” he listens to me attentively and it’s kind of new to have someone look that interested in what I have to say “Anyways I say yes and we get to the place, we went with a couple other friends and she was in charge of getting our tents and stuff, turns out she got a kid sized tent for both of us” he cackles, and his laugh makes me chuckle too “Thankfully we fit somehow but only if we slept like basically cuddling and that is how I found out Alyssa is a real fan of snuggling when she sleeps” he laughs again, his dimples deepening “I had to pee at some point, thankfully there were porta potties, so I had to untangle myself from her and it was such a challenge that I thought I would pee right there but finally I got out and went to the restroom and then as I was going back to the tent I saw something move where we had stored our food and got so scared I ran to our tent and woke Alyssa up telling her there was a bear, because I was convinced it was a bear, both Alyssa and I armed ourselves with the only things we had in the tent, our flashlights, and when we came out ready to attack we found out it was only one of our friends having a midnight snack” he laughs even harder, throwing his head back and I can’t remember the last time someone found one of my stories this funny “Safe to say I’m never camping again much less with Alyssa” 

“Oh man” He looks back at me after his laughing subsides “So you were planning on fighting a bear with your flashlights?” 

I nod, smiling “You wanna know the best part?” he nods with a raised eyebrow “They were those pocket flashlights that are smaller than your hand” his head falls back again as he laughs more “There was no space for the big ones in our kiddie tent!” I exclaim laughing with him 

We stayed at the cafe for a couple hours just getting to know each other, and for a while I forgot all about Lando and my heartbreak, finally after my uber arrived, a street over because they had closed the street we were in for some random thing they had to fix while we were in the coffee shop, our chatter subsided, and as we walked to the car in silence I saw a poster for an athletic brand with Lando in it and just as I was about to say something about it, Nico picked up the conversation again talking about the holidays as we passed by a little shop selling christmas ornaments (even though it was not yet christmas time) “We always watch Elf, it’s my favorite christmas movie and I begged my mom every day for like two weeks to make me the spaghetti, finally one day she agreed to let me prepare it with the leftovers after she made dinner, I ended up throwing up in the bathroom” This time I chuckle 

“Poor baby Nico” I say poking his side 

“Well not really baby Nico, I think I was like twelve or thirteen when it happened” We both laugh and then we are standing in front of my uber “So… Thank you for today” 

“I should be the one saying thank you” I say smiling at him “I had a great time” 

“Me too” he hesitates a little but then he pulls me in for a hug, opening the door for me as we let go “Let me know when you get home safe” I nod with one last smile and get on the car waving goodbye feeling a little sad that the date is over, which is weird because just three hours ago I was so sure this would’ve gone horribly wrong but now all I can think about is when I’m going to see this man again and of course thanking Alyssa for setting this up and giving me the opportunity to begin again.

[starryhyuck]

fire hazard. (m) — PATREON EXCLUSIVE

pairing: firefighters!nomin x afab!baker!reader

words: 5.1k+

summary: setting off most of the town fires comes with its fair share of judgment. maybe two of the local firemen can teach you a lesson.

genre: smut

warnings: mentions of arson, throat fucking, facial, car sex, spitting, degradation, double penetration, fingering, spanking, creampies, sex in a fire truck (woop woop!), anal sex, squirting, breeding kink, pregnancy

this fic is exclusive to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here! below is a tumblr preview

Being questioned for committing arson is not an ideal scenario for you on a Thursday morning.

“I told you. Didn’t I tell you?” Renjun screeches in your ear. You roll your eyes and tug the blanket over your shoulders tighter around yourself. The detective in front of you raises an eyebrow at your back and forth. “If you set the temperature too high and neglect the cookies for the brownies, it’ll set a fire! But no, you laughed at me and told me I was crazy!”

The detective clears his throat, the badge pinned to his chest reading Mark Lee. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir, but we have to investigate due to the timing of the fire. My colleague tells me that there was another fire in this building last week, is that correct?”

You watch as a group of firefighters walk out of your building, chuckling to themselves. It’s pitiful that you can say you recognize all their faces from how frequently you see them. The other residents of the building glare at you, burdened by being awakened at the crack of dawn due to another incident caused by you and your roommate.

“We’re bakers, we bake,” Renjun retorts, snippy as the sun peeks over the horizon. He’s never been a morning person, but you figure you’ll let the detective figure that out for himself. “That’s not a crime. What is a crime is how this one refuses to listen to my instruction despite my clear outline.”

He points his finger to you and you huff, staring down at your bunny slippers. “I would listen to your instructions if you weren’t a nagging bitch all the time,” you grumble, and you know Renjun would pin you down to the concrete if there wasn’t an officer of law in front of him right now.

“Plus, this building is owned by my father,” Renjun says. “There is no reason for us to purposefully burn it down.”

“Actually, sir, most of our arson crimes originate from people attempting to receive insurance money. Some landlords do so with the intent of taking the money to build a more extravagant lot at less of a cost.”

You roll your eyes again. “Look, detective, I’m sure they pay you well enough at whatever shithole department you crawled out of. But my roommate and I have no intention of committing arson in our home. We’re just shit bakers trying to open a bakery on a shit budget.”

Mark’s eyes narrow at your degrading comments but he says nothing else, closing his tiny notebook and stuffing it underneath his arm. “Very well then. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you two. If there are any other reports of a fire in this area, I guarantee you it’ll be the first thing across my desk.”

“Good for you,” you reply snarkily and he stares at you like he wishes you would be set on fire next. Renjun isn’t much help either, glaring at the man until he’s back inside his car.

Jeno and Jaemin, two of the local firefighters, approach you with raised eyebrows. “I thought after last week, you swore you had a handle on dividing the work,” Jaemin says in amusement, taking off his hat and running his hands through his hair.

They’re both wearing dark blue shirts with baggy pants connected by suspenders, looking like a wet dream even this early in the morning. Your attitude takes a complete turn from how you were originally speaking with Mark.

“Baking is just so hard,” you say, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. Renjun rolls his eyes when he sees you drooling over how Jeno and Jaemin’s muscles strain against their t-shirts. “I’ll drop by tomorrow and give you boys a thank you batch for your hard work.”

Jeno’s eyes sweep down your form, greedily drinking up the way your nipples poke through the fabric of your thin tank top. “No need, ma’am. We’re simply fulfilling our civic duty,” he says, and you wonder how much he’s packing underneath his uniform.

“Just don’t start any more fires, you hear?” Jaemin murmurs, winking at you and grinning.

You giggle into your palm and Renjun gives up on you, striding back into the building without another word.

“I promise. No more fires.”

want to read the rest? access the $5 tier on my patreon here!

[tootoomanycats]

||UPDATE ||

Hello friends! I bring an fun little update on the first chapter of my Gil-Galad x Reader fic

"The Plan"

(if you are not sure what this is in reference to, please see this

(post here)

Currently, the first chapter is 2/3 of the way done and is 4,500 words 6,200 words long, with an estimated 1000+ words left to complete.

I have the full story outlined with all major plot points, smut scenes, and themes written out; currently sitting at five chapters-ish.

The reason it's five-ish is that I am doing something new that I haven't done before. There will be TWO different endings posted at the same time. I did not start with this intention at all, truley.

I love to write angsty emotional fics. However, Gil-Galad's character deserves a happy ending as well. And to be honest, I couldn't choose between either ending I devised.

I hope to have the first chapter out by Halloween (fingers crossed)

PS: If you're curious about the smut scenes, my current outlines are already at 3k words 5k words —and those are just word vomits, so I keep the emotional sequencing in order. If you are curious about what kind of flavor of smut I create, I recommend reading two other creations that I'm really proud of. Boiling Over (Geto x OC/Reader) The Closet (Buggy x OC)

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know in the comments 🖤

Tag List:

@morganas-pendragons @clairevoyant813 @wild-typo-turtle @liar-anubiass-blog @0heimwaerts0 @melithril @yesnessieme @perse-cora @xcrybaby555x @angel-astre @aliives @inyx-writes44

Update #2 for this story -----➡️ Here 12/26/24

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Schism

Pairing: Ettore (High Life) x f!reader Warnings: Allusions to dub con and non con, mentions of masturbation, humping, smut. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Part of The Hand That Feeds universe, but can be read as a standalone too. Ettore can't sleep, and can't resist the urge to pay her a visit while on his way to The Box.

Author's note: A little birthday treat for @targaryenrealnessdarling. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

It has been lights out for hours, or at least it feels as though it has. Ettore has been laying flat on his back in his bunk ever since the ship’s systems switched to sleep mode, with a dim blue illuminating the corridors. The glow of it seeps through into the cell, serving to amplify the irritation he feels that unconsciousness evades him. He could simply close his eyes to block out the light, but in the quiet, empty blackness is where his mind is loudest. The cacophony of intrusive thoughts are far more jarring than the faint cerulean gleam that casts faint shadows against the sterile white walls.

He cannot silence his thoughts tonight and he sighs restlessly, finally giving up on the idea of sleep as he throws the blanket back and pads quietly out into the hall, wearing only a loose fitting pair of boxers. There is no point in dressing, he only plans to use The Box; if he can quickly get himself off he hopes it will clear his mind and exhaust his body enough that he can slip back into bed and at least get a few hours of rest before the lights flicker back on to full brightness, signalling the start of a new day.

As he passes her room, he does his best to steel himself to not look in, to ignore the invisible thread that tugs him to her like a moth to a flame. Ettore has not yet made sense of the feelings she elicits from him. He is not yet comfortable to have her touch him, but relishes in the fact that she allows him to touch her, setting clear boundaries for him when he pushes too far. He still doesn’t fully trust her, doesn’t trust himself not to give in to the temptation to ignore her when she tells him no, to stop, or that that’s enough. Indulging his desires with her is like walking a razor’s edge, if he lets his guard down for even a moment it will all fall to ruin.

That is why he cannot afford to spare a glance into her room. If he looks in upon her sleeping form, he cannot guarantee that he will be able to control himself, that he won’t take what hasn’t been given freely. If he pushes too far, gives in to the voice at the back of his mind that whispers to him that he doesn’t need her permission, then she will take away that permission entirely. Without that, he does not know what he will do. He isn’t sure that life onboard this floating prison cell is survivable without the warmth of her gaze or the softness of her flesh beneath his own.

His body betrays his will, or perhaps his will is simply not strong enough to withstand his desperate need to look upon her, Ettore is unsure which. However, he finds his head turning, his eyes fixing upon her prone body, the outline of her visible beneath the blanket that’s draped over her. His breath hitches, his throat growing dry as his gaze darkens, lingering in the doorway as he stares at her. Would it really be so terrible if he went in just for a moment, felt the heat of her skin beneath his palm? Just the slightest of touches.

It would not be just a touch though. It never is.

“Can’t sleep either?”

Her quiet voice startles him from his thoughts, and Ettore blinks, swallowing thickly before shaking his head. “No, was on my way to The Box.”

“Something holding you up?” She asks playfully, moving to sit up.

Ettore says nothing, continuing to stare at her. Every breath he draws feels shallow, not enough.

She sighs, sensing his intent. “We can’t. Had my check up with Dibs earlier, she reckons I’m ovulating. Can’t risk anything.”

His hands clench into fists at his sides, her denial sending a sudden flash of anger sizzling through his veins.

She takes in the way his brow furrows and his jaw clenches. “I know you want to lash out because you’re disappointed, but if you behave yourself, we can compromise.”

Ettore lowers his gaze, nodding and stepping forward into the room.

“Come here,” she instructs, shuffling over in the bed and pulling the blanket back.

He climbs in beside her, a shiver rippling its way down his spine as his body occupies the warmth of the space she’d been laying in previously. Her sleepwear consists of a plain white tank top and matching briefs, a stark contrast to the blackness of the ink that decorates her arms and thighs.

“I wanna touch you,” he murmurs.

“Go on then,” she whispers, parting her legs to accommodate him as he moves to kneel between them.

She keeps her hands clenched upon the pillow above her head, a preventative measure to ensure she doesn’t touch him, just as he’s asked her not to countless times. He smirks at this silent mark of respect. 

His hand trails over the thin, white cotton of her knickers, moving downwards until he feels the outline of her through the material. He presses his fingers against her with more force, moving them up and down her clothed core, his gaze fixated on the way the gusset shapes to her folds as his fingertips repeat their motions. Her soft sighs encourage him, and he hooks a digit into the elastic, pulling it to the side, drawing in a sharp breath as he takes in the sight of how wet she is already.

Before meeting her, Ettore had never had the opportunity to properly study what lies between a woman’s legs. He is certain he’ll never tire of looking at it, the way she twitches when he touches upon just the right spot is almost hypnotic. The faint scent of her arousal when he’s this close makes his cock ache, and he pushes his boxers down, taking himself in his palm and stroking from root to tip and back again.

He wants to feel her, and before he can stop himself he’s pushing the head of himself through her wetness, his eyes screwing shut at the white holt jolt of pleasure that causes his balls to tighten.

“Not inside!” She hisses.

He nods, breathing shakily, opening his eyes to watch how his erection slides against her, glistening with their combined arousal as he rubs it from her opening to her pearl over and over. His grip on the base of his length is tight, a means to ground himself and resist the urge to simply thrust forward and sink inside of her, yet the sensation is maddening.

The hand holding her underwear to one side lets go, as he lowers it to the mattress, supporting his weight upon it as the movement of his hips grows quicker and less controlled. The material pings gently back across, covering the sight of him rutting against her, adding additional friction that makes him groan low in a quiet throaty rumble.

Despite no longer being able to see precisely what he is doing to her, the sight still borders on obscene. Their combined moisture creates a dampened patch upon the crotch, turning the cotton almost translucent. She moans softly, her own hips canting to meet the movements of his own each time he pushes against her delicate bundle of nerves.

Warmth licks at Ettore’s lower spine and he knows he won’t last long, especially with the feeling of her thighs trembling either side of him. She’s getting close too. Panting, he pulls her knickers back to the side once more as he feels himself begin to pulsate. She slaps a hand over her mouth, muffling the strangled cry that leaves her as she falls apart, bucking against him as he paints her with pearly ropes of his spend. His cock twitches as he strokes himself to completion, stomach muscles contracting as warmth envelopes him from head to toe, and his mind finally goes blank.

As he comes back down to earth, eyes raking over the parted lips and glossy eyes of her blissed out expression and down to the mess he’s made between her legs, he can’t help but wonder what might have happened if she had been asleep when he’d looked in on her. He almost wishes she had been.

Part two || Part four || Series masterlist

[cellythefloshie]

;; All Too Well (10-Minute Version) Written for The Eras Tour Hockeyblr Fic Challange

Summary: Love blossoms quickly, but fades even faster. When a chance meeting at a cocktail party introduces you to Vince, your whirlwind connection feels like the beginning of something lasting. But as seasons change, so do intentions. Kinks & TW: age gap (younger reader), implied car sex, toxic relationship, unprotected sex — the smut in this fic is REALLY mild. Like blink and you miss it, because it just didn't fit the vibes like I had expected it to. There was so much more story to tell. Word Count: 14.9k+ Author Notes: A huge thank you to @comphy-and-cozy and @wyattjohnston for putting this challenge together. I have found myself to be a blossoming Swiftie since the release of Midnights, so I was very excited to take part! And it was very much a challenge to me (though @hockeyboysimagines would probably argue differently) when I received All Too Well as my song. This was a song I had listened to 2 times before this fic. Once upon its release while watching the video, and again while watching The Eras Tour when it was released on streaming platforms. So I had this song on repeat a lot while planning and writing this fic. I would also like to say a huge THANK YOU to @laurenairay who was sweet enough to review my outline AND the fic when it was complete because I was terrified that I was missing key points to the song and needed another Swiftie's opinion. This is a well loved song, and therefore an intimidating song. I hope I did it justice ❤️ This fic is also posted in chapters on Archive of Our Own.

As the bright orange and turquoise taxi drove further from the heart of downtown Toronto, the more out of place it became. Towering buildings became squat, and traffic thinned as it traveled over the smooth streets. Soon, buildings did not stand side by side with nothing but a mere alley between them, Yards began to sprawl and trees stood tall as your ride took you further into what you called cottage country - though it was nothing more than a quiet neighborhood that had Lake Ontario at their doorstep. 

It was a long ride from the city, and you kept yourself busy in the back of the taxi. You fixed your hair with the help of the rearview mirror and a few bobby pins. Next, you fixed your makeup, taking it from day to night with a little more mascara and a darker shade of lipstick. Then, you checked your phone, rereading the message from your best friend:

Dinner and cocktails tonight, dress for the occasion. 

Sighing softly, you looked down at the slinky slip dress that had spent the day in the bottom of your purse. It was a color that was your favorite, but no matter how desperately you smoothed your hands over the fabric, you could still see the wrinkles left behind. It was a little detail you would have to force yourself to ignore, and one you hoped no one else would notice. You fiddled with the fabric until you felt the taxi come to the stop at your destination. 

You looked up at the crowded driveway first, taking a nervous breath through your teeth as you noticed how many cars were parked along it and down the street. Your eyes lingered on the cars as you dug through your purse for your wallet. Then you looked at your driver, smiling as you paid your fare and thanked him for the ride. As you stepped out of the back seat, your heels clicking again on the pavement, feelings of excitement and nerves swirled in your chest. Sweaty palms attempted to smooth out the fabric of your dress one last time before you approached the house. At first, all you could hear was the sound of your own footsteps, but as you grew closer, you could already hear the hum of conversation and clinking glasses before you could cross the threshold of the door. 

When you reached the large, heavy door, you wasted no time knocking. You didn’t need to. Your best friend’s place was practically your second home. Besides, no one would have heard it, anyway. Inside, the warm glow of the chandelier greeted you in the entryway. There was no one there to greet you, but you could hear the beckoning of voices in the dining room. Taking a deep breath, you tucked your purse away with the coats and delved into the party as if you were walking into the cold of the lake: one toe at a time. 

Moving into the dining room, you wore a soft smile to hide the panic that festered in the back of your mind. You didn’t recognize anyone - and judging by the side eyes they greeted you with; they didn’t recognize you either. Great. 

Hands flexing into fists before relaxing at your side, you moved deeper into the dining room and found the table set up with drinks and finger food to hold everyone over until dinner was served. You took a flute of champagne between your fingers, and for a moment considered grabbing two. Smiling, you reached out for a second glass, but then you heard your friend excitedly greeting you. So you settled on one. 

You sipped your sweet champagne slowly as you turned in place, your lips curling up along the rim of the glass at the sight of your best friend. She was stunning, dressed in a white cocktail gown that fluttered around her knees as she seemed to glide through the room. She looked almost ethereal in the light, the perfect host, and the beautiful bride to be. Your lips parted to compliment her, your arms opening to accept her incoming hug, but you teased her instead, “I didn’t realize you knew so many people.”

She laughed into your hair before she pulled back, her arm looping through yours. “Blame my fiance. This is practically his event. All of his teammates, plus their wives and girlfriends. Some family and friends too. Thought hosting a night at the house was the least we could do after having everyone travel in for the wedding—and speaking of the least I could do…” her words trailed off as she looked around the room for something - or someone, “... I have someone I want to introduce you to.”

Your interest piqued, your eyebrow raising as she led you through the home and into the backyard. The deck seemed to glow in the dim light of fairy lights. But the fire that burned down below, where a group of men gathered, burned brighter. Some had women on their arms, like subtle accessories, as the men seemed to hold the conversation, while others stood alone. Behind them all as they stood together, dressed in relaxed suits and party dresses as they drank from champagne flutes or crisp aluminum cans, the sun sunk low on the horizon. 

Among them was your best friend’s fiance, his smile easy and welcoming as you approached. It attracted your friends like gravity, her arm slipping away from yours and she glided to him, fitting into the group so effortlessly that, for a moment, it left you feeling out of place. You took a long, nervous sip of your drink that almost left you choking as she returned her attention to you. She beckoned you with the simple wave of her arm, enticing you to join the circle around the dancing flames. 

“Everyone, this is my best friend,” she finished the introduction with your name. 

“The one she never shuts up about,” her husband teased her, earning a playful slap from the back of her hand against his chest. 

You laughed along with everyone softly, quietly finding your place among the group, intending to be nothing more but a wallflower until dinner time. That was until she was speaking your name again to capture your attention. Then, she was calling out to someone else, “Vince, hey!”

When you saw who exactly she was speaking to, your stomach did a small flip that made it feel knotted. Vince was just on the other side of the crowd, lost in laughter, until his name cut through the conversation. Your friend’s voice had demanded attention in an instant and he answered it with a smile that sent a rush of warmth through you. Suddenly you devoted attention completely to him, the world narrowing just to him and the party suddenly gone. Looking at Vince was like looking at a Disney Prince. His dark hair that curled just above his forehead, and his green eyes that paled in the amber glow of the fire. Your gaze fixated on his stare as he moved around the crowd and closer to you—and when his eyes flickered away from your friend and to you for a mere moment, you could see a glimmer of something there. What that was, you would have to figure out. 

“This is the friend I was telling you about,” your friend smiled and with the introduction made she found her place at her fiance’s side. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Vince spoke. His voice was smooth and warm like velvet as he extended his hand out to clasp yours. You shook it slowly, your touch lingering as your pulse pounded against the delicate flesh of your neck. 

“I wish I could say the same,” you admitted slowly, trying to calm the thoughts that raced through your mind, “but I appear to be at a disadvantage. Seems she talks a lot more about me than she has to me about you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Your words had come off harsher than you had meant to. But it was just the reality of it all. Your best friend hadn’t spoken of Vince at all. No texts, no calls. All you knew of him was what you could see on the surface, but you knew better than to judge a book by its pretty cover. And while you hoped your appearance alone would make a good first impression, you didn’t want Vince walking away with superficial feelings.

The two of you talked until dinner time, scraping the mere surface of your lives. You told him what you did for work, and how he had spent his summer training for the next season of hockey. Conversation had flown with ease, and it left you disappointed as you both went your separate ways in the dining room. You circled the table slowly, watching as people slowly found their way into place seated in front of their place card. 

Of course, she would have assigned seating. 

You had hoped that you would spend your night seated beside your friend, but now you would be stuck making small talk with strangers. You took a desperate sip of your drink as you rounded the table, chugging back the harsh bubbles of your champagne as you found your place card at the opposite end of the table, right next to Vince. 

You smiled inwardly at your friend’s not-so-subtle matchmaking move. While you wish she had been a little more coy, it was one you couldn’t help but appreciate. 

The conversation reignited between you and Vince with soft pleasantries - before the first course finished; his easy humor left you laughing. Vince was funny, effortlessly making you laugh in ways that made you laugh in ways that you forget strangers surrounded you and you were doing your best to play it cool. Throughout dinner, the conversation flowed easily between you and Vince. The clatter of plates and mummer of voices faded into the background as you lost track of time, engrossed in his stories, his laugh and the way his eyes seemed to linger on yours. Vince made you feel like the only person at the table, and despite what you learned to be a seven-year age gap, the two of you shared an undeniable spark that you couldn’t quite explain. 

The conversation you shared over dinner felt intimate. Almost like a first date, though you were surrounded by people—or at least, you thought you were. As time slipped by, the two of you didn’t notice how the table cleared around you, or how the guests had slipped away until it was just the two of you that remained. Only did you notice when your friend approached, her evening wear replaced with a fluffy robe and a sleepy smile on her face. 

“Do I need to get a room ready for you?” she teased gently, her eyes flicking between you and Vince. 

You gasped out a soft apology, only then realizing just how late it had gotten. “No, I should really just catch a cab home.”

You stood quickly; the chair dragging harshly across the floor as you quickly moved to gather your things. Your cheeks were red hot with embarrassment at how you let yourself get carried away with him - but he didn’t seem to mind. He followed just behind you in your stride, gathering his own coat that now hung alone next to your own. 

“Let me walk you out?” He offered gently. 

You accepted the offer with your own smile, your eyes falling to your feet as he opened the front door. The night air was cool, a welcome relief from the warmth of the party. It left you shrugging on your coat as you walked together down the driveway, your steps slow and hesitant. You didn’t want the night to end, not when Vince had made what you expected to be an awkward night one you didn’t want to forget. You reached the end of the driveway together, waiting awkwardly at the curb for your taxi to arrive, but it was the first moment that night the two of you were truly alone. 

That thought gave you butterflies in your stomach as you watched him reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. “Here, put your number in?”

“Yeah,” you smiled a little too wide as you reached into your bag and pulled out your own phone. You traded them, and you added yourself as a contact in his phone. As you returned his phone to him, the subtle touch of his fingers against your hand leaving you to hold your breath, a taxi arrived and parked at the end of the drive. 

“You take the first one,” Vince told you, stepping towards the taxi to open the door for you. He gave you just enough room to slip inside before he was leaning down, one arm on the door of the cab and the other over the top. If it were anyone else, you might have panicked, feeling confined in the tiny back seat of the taxi, but as stupid as it was, you felt safe with Vince. 

“Goodnight,” he said, his smile soft as his eyes left yours to linger on your lips for just a moment before he closed the door behind you. 

You leaned your head back against the seat, silently cursing how pathetic you were for wishing he had tried to kiss you. Biting your lip, you rolled the window down, and leaned your head out of it, echoing his voice with your own feeble, “goodnight.”

You settled into your seat with a sinking heart. Your night was over. Meeting the eyes of your driver in the rearview mirror, you gave him the address of home and you left your friend's home and Vince behind you. But your thoughts remained on Vince — the way he made you laugh, the way his presence made the whole evening feel different. Special. You didn’t know what had started that night, but you knew something was there, and you could wait to see where it would go. 

Your best friend’s wedding had been beautiful, but it paled in comparison to what continued to grow between you and Vince in the week that followed. Seemingly overnight, the two of you had become inseparable. If you weren’t together, you were always texting or calling, your connection seeming to grow deeper with each casual date you shared. It was like the last days of summer, hot and vibrant. But as the days became consumed by the cooler temperature that would become autumn, whatever you and Vince shared only continued to grow. 

Friday of the September long weekend, he picked you up from your downtown Toronto apartment, and the two of you took to the road. The city skyline was shrinking behind you, seen only in the rearview mirror. You didn’t know where Vince was taking you, but you didn’t need to. You were happy just being there with him, one of his hands on the wheel while the other rested comfortably on your knee. The radio was turned up loud. Shania Twain’s greatest hits the soundtrack of your road trip, her lyrics leaving both of your lips as you sang along. You danced in your seat, the seatbelt the only thing holding you back as you felt the music. And Vince sang, his tone carefree and out of tune as his thumb moved in slow, lazy circles on your knee. Your eyes dropped, watching the careful stroke, smiling as you sang. 

But then your gaze shifted upward, and the world around you snapped back into focus. The glow of the solid red light was harsh against your eyes, but the car was still moving full speed. Vince hadn’t even tried to slow down, because instead of looking at the lights, he had been looking over at you. 

“Vince!” you shouted, pointing towards the red light. 

His head whipped around, his soft expression hardening with alarm as his foot slammed onto the brake. The car screeched to a stop, your seatbelt restricting around your chest as your body jerked forward before falling back against the seat. 

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the radio and the sound of your hastened breaths as the shock of what could have been hung over you both. Then Vince turned in his seat, the seatbelt straining against his chest as he looked at you. He reached out with both hands, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he looked you over with his eyes that were left wide with concern. 

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his thumb stroking your skin as if to soothe the shock that left you feeling sick to your stomach.

You nodded, your heart still pounding against your chest. And then he kissed you. The touch of his lips against yours brought an instant calm. He brushed over yours so sweetly, so gently, that it washed away all the tension, and when he pulled back, his kiss lingered in the calm between you until an impatient honk from the car broke it. 

The light had turned green. 

Pulling back, Vince smiled, and you couldn’t help but smile back, leaning your head against the seat as you relaxed. You let it lull to the side, watching the trees as they passed, their leaves only just beginning to change from their vibrant greens to shades of gold and crimson and had yet to fall lazily to the ground. You watched them until you noticed the car turn off the main road. The anticipation built as the car wound its way up a long driveway lined with trees. You sat up straight in your seat at the sight of the house at the end of the drive. It was a cozy home, nestled against the horizon where the sun was already beginning to set. Your hands gripped into fists in your lap nervously. Vince hadn’t told you where you were going. You didn’t know whose house this was, or why you were there. So as he switched the music off, you looked to him for answers. 

“Come on, it and meet everybody,” he said with an easy smile, and he was already climbing out of the car before you had the chance to answer. 

“Everyone?” You muttered to yourself, slowly stepping out of the car to hear a small crunch beneath your feet. Looking down, you narrowed your eyes. A child’s toy? Kneeling down, you picked up the broken pieces and cradled them in your hands. Then you looked out over the sprawling yard, taking in the little details you hadn’t quite noticed on the drive up. The yard was alive with the signs of a family. Scattered in the grass were children’s toys, and a small play structure with swings sat in the shadow of the house. You could even hear faint laughter in the distance. For a moment, you stood still, taking it all in before following the path Vince had taken inside. 

The front door swung open to a rush of warmth that graced your cheeks like a kiss. It came from both the heat of the house, and the feeling of home that lingered there. You didn’t know what quite gave you the feeling. It could have been the soft lighting from decorative table lamps, the scent of a home cooked meal that lingered in the air, or the symphony of voices you could hear in the next room - or a combination of them all - but it all put you at ease. The unfamiliar place felt so familiar as you stepped out of your shoes and hung your red scarf and coat over the bannister where other coats were already piled. 

With the broken toy in hand, you walked deeper into the house, where many unfamiliar faces greeted you. The first, after a quick introduction, you learned was Vince’s mother, who smiled at you warmly and pulled you into a soft hug. Then, there was his brother and his wife who welcomed you into their home as if you were no stranger at all. Vince’s step-father was too caught up with the kids to offer much more than a quick hello and a smile, but it all still felt natural, so easy. Like you belonged there. 

“I’m sorry,” you told Vince’s sister-in-law with a soft voice, “I stepped on one of the toys in the yard.”

You offered the pieces to her on the bed of your palms, but she waved it off like it was nothing. 

“They have so many they won’t even notice this one’s gone,” she assured with a soft smile. And while you just met her, her smile felt genuine. “Mom and I were just going to finish up dinner. Would you like to join us in the kitchen?”

You shot a quick side-eyes glance to Vince, his nephew’s swarmed him, taking all of his attention. Their laughter rang throughout the room as they clung to his legs, pulling him towards the games they were playing with their grandfather. You got lost in the sight of his care and gentleness with the children, but also the carefree silliness that sent them wild with laughter. A part of you wanted to join him, but Vince had brought you there to meet his family, so you offered his sister-in-law a smile and followed her into the kitchen. 

There wasn’t much more to be done for dinner. Vince’s brother had chicken and ribs out on the barbeque, leaving the rest of you to work on the sides. You were quickly assigned to chopping up vegetables for a salad. But Vince’s mother, who snuck into the kitchen with a photo album, quickly interrupted your duties cradled in her arms. 

“You have to see these,” she said, a mischievous smile on her lips as she opened the album up in an open space on the counter. You stood alongside her as she flipped through the pages, your smile growing when you saw a young Vince among the photographs. He couldn’t have been more than five in the picture, and wore a pair of thick glasses on his face, and a shy smile on his lips as he sat on his bed in his bedroom that was decorated floor to ceiling with Toronto Maple Leafs memorabilia. 

“That’s him,” Tracy confirmed, her words laced with a laugh that was warm like a mother's embrace, “back when he was on the Timbits team. His grandfather took him to every single game.” The stories flowed easily, and you couldn’t help but laugh as Tracy pointed at another picture of Vince. He was around the same age in the last picture, but this time, he was beaming proudly as he stood in his oversized hockey equipment. “He used to trip over his skates more than he’d actually skate.”

Leaning over the book, you admired each photograph and welcomed each story his mother offered to tell. You were so completely enthralled in the moment that you didn’t even notice Vince approaching until his one arm was around your shoulders and the other rested around his mothers. He planted a quick kiss on your cheek, yet he was the one with flushed cheeks, embarrassed. 

“You’re telling stories, aren’t you?” Vince grinned as he reached out for the family photo album. He shut it slowly before reaching it up to place it on a shelf up high and out of reach. 

“Oh, you’re no fun,” his mother teased. “Why bring a girl home if that means I don’t get to embarrass you?”

“You do that well enough without breaking out the photo albums,” he assured, pressing a kiss to her temple before he took his place next to you. He offered you a sweet smile before reaching out for the knife you had abandoned and continued with your work in the kitchen. You helped him where he could. His presence beside you felt easy - like you were already part of the family, fitting so effortlessly into his line. 

That feeling only grew throughout the evening. It felt right, like the changing of the seasons-natural, inevitable, and beautiful. 

When it had come time to leave, the sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting a deep indigo hue over the world outside. The air was cool, the warmth of the house fading as you and Vince stepped out onto the front porch. Both hands raised to clutch at the breast of your jacket, trying to keep the chill of the night from your neck as the cold enveloped you. A single hand clutched the neck of your coat, your steps stuttering down the steps as you realized you had forgotten your scarf on the banister. But before you could go back, before you could even say a word, Vince was smiling at you as he tossed his car keys at you. 

Your eyes went wide, your hands reaching out only to fumble for them. The keys jingled as they hit the ground, his keychain half buried in the dirt. It left your hands dusty as you knelt down and picked it up from where they rested at your feet. 

“You drive,” Vince smiled at you playfully, “we’re just going up the road.”

The soft glow of the porch light cast a soft twinkle in his eyes as he spoke. You mirrored his soft smile as you gripped the cool metal of his keys in your hand and moved towards the car. It was another small, simple moment between the two of you, yet your stomach fluttered full of butterflies every time. You didn’t know if it was excitement, nerves or the anxiety of knowing that summer was over and autumn was to begin and all of what you had in just a week could be gone. But you didn’t dwell on it. Instead, you slipped into the driver's seat, taking the time to adjust the mirrors, and started the engine. 

Its rumble cut through the stillness of the night, the grinding of rubber tired against gravel roads, the new soundtrack of your night as you drove down the quiet country road. It was lined with trees that cast long shadows across the ground, their leaves beginning to bare as their leaves changed from the brilliant green of summer to the gold and maroons of fall. 

Vince sat, relaxed in the passenger seat beside you, his seat leaned back and his arm draped casually across the back of your seat. It remained there during the short drive down the road, one that led you to a secluded dead end nestle deep within the property. You looked around, the car lights illuminating the trees and brush around you. Then, suddenly, the light was gone, and darkness surrounded you. You almost jumped, startled, before you realized Vince’s hand had left the back of your seat and he had reached across and turned off the engine. Then, without a word, his hand fell to your seatbelt. He unbuckled it with the simple press of two fingers before his hands, gentle but insistent, found your hip. Vince guided you across the center console and into his lap. 

Your knees rested on each side of him, squished between the car door, the console, and his body. It left the passenger seat feeling small, intimate, as you shifted your weight just right to comfortably settle against him. Your hands came to rest on the car seat, on each side of his head, but Vince’s hands came up to stroke loose strands of hair from your face. The gesture made your heart race, the world outside the car falling away, leaving you both seemingly the only two people in it. Then, with his hand still lingering on your cheek, Vince drew you in, and placed a slow kiss on your lips. 

His kiss sent a wave of warmth to spread through your body, your breath hitching in the back of your throat. You shuddered in his lap, your lips meeting his sweet and gentle kiss that became deeper as he felt your eagerness to kiss and be kissed by him. Slowly, his hands strayed from the angles of your face, his feather light touch dragging down your body. His touch coasted over your shoulder, knocking your cardigan sleeve down your arm and teasing the exposed skin with the ghost of his touch before each of his hands settled on the swell of your hip. His grip tightened there, drawing you closer, your skirt inching up your thigh, and you let out a soft sound. It was not quite a moan, but more than a sigh, as your stomach swirled with the dance of butterflies. Your entire body was buzzing with the electric, weightless feeling—it felt like you might float away if Vince dared to let you go. 

His hands didn’t leave you as you finally pulled back, breathless, your eyes meeting him in a dreamy stare. Taking a shuddering breath, your teeth caught your swollen bottom lip as his fingertips slipped beneath your skirt. His touch graced parts of you he was only just discovering as he whispered out, “I leave after the long weekend.” 

His words were soft, almost apologetic, and hung in the air between you like a heavy weight. It sent your heart sinking a little in your chest, the reality of his departure setting in. It felt like a goodbye, your week-long whirlwind romance coming to its harsh and bitter end, as you should have expected from the start. Yet, a small voice inside you couldn’t help but wonder why Vince had made it more than just a fling. Why had gone through the trouble of taking you to meet his family if he was just going to leave? 

You dwelled on that thought, your gaze leaving him to look out the window at the darkness that swallowed everything beyond the car window. You saw nothing but the blackness of night, your bite on your own lip growing sharper until Vince’s words cut through the quiet and eased your racing mind. “I want to fly you out to see me in Seattle when the preseason is over. Would you do that for me?”

His words sparked something inside you, excitement - no, hope - replacing the sinking feeling in your chest. Maybe this didn’t have to end today. You nodded quickly, your hair falling back into your face. It brought Vince’s touch back up to your face, his hands brushing it back behind your ear as he chuckled softly. 

“Good,” he muttered, leaning in to kiss you again. But this time, the kiss was deeper, more urgent.

You parted your lips for him, welcoming the taste of his tongue as it met yours. The intoxication of his kiss left your head spinning in the best way. Your hands ran up over his chest, wrinkling the simple fabric of his t-shirt, wishing you could peel it off of him. You were ready; you wanted more, and as if he could read your mind, Vince’s hands inched higher up your skirt. 

Your hold tilted back as you gasped, a single hand reaching out and finding the cold glass of the car window. It slipped briefly over the slick condensation, bracing yourself against it as the touch of his hands graced the most intimate parts of your body, as if solidifying the promise you’d just made. 

The plane began its slow descent, the city of Seattle spreading out beneath you like an ocean of lights glittering against the early evening skies. Your head rested against the wall of the plane, your eyes watching out the window as the details of the skyline came into view. But you couldn’t focus on the landmarks in view, not when your thoughts were racing - drifting excitingly to Vince. It was later in the season than you had originally planned to visit him. But early in the season, Vince had been injured. He needed the time to heal, and he wanted you to see him play when you visited.  It led to greater time apart, but it didn’t feel as distant as the miles between you. Not when he was so eager to text, to call, and when date night could still happen on a video call. The two of you had spent countless late nights together, and each one made you more excited to see him.

You smiled to yourself, your heart pounding and filled as your mind was clouded - stupid with the kind of love that made everything else seem insignificant. Your flight had been delayed, and you had spent hours seated beside a baby who wailed most of the flight. But you didn’t complain. Not once, because when it was all over, you’d get to see Vince. You let out a dreamy sigh. Love. You really did love him. You could feel it in how your heart skipped in just the thought of him. Sure, maybe it was too soon. The two of you had only been together three months, but you felt it. And you were sure Vince felt it too. Why else would he have introduced you to his family, and fly you all the way out to Seattle to spend the weekend with him? It felt like it was all building up to something bigger—for him to say the words. This weekend, Vince would tell you he loved you, you were sure of it.

The plane landed smoothly, and after gathering your carry-on, you made your way through the airport to the baggage carousel. You watched as each bag went around and around, the familiar buzz of the bustle that consumed airports all around you as you waited for your small bag to catch your eye. And when you found it, you were off like a shot, your focus on one thing: Finding Vince. 

You found him standing just outside the doors for the pickup of arrivals. He was leaning up against the passenger door of his car, his black coat unbuttoned although the wind was cold and greeted you with the harsh reality that while winter on the coast was different, it was still cold. You regretted leaving your coat shoved in your bag, but you wasted no time in pulling it out to put it on. Instead, you ran to him, your smile growing with his as his eyes locked on you.  

His arms and warmth wrapped around you, your bag dropping to the ground as your arms wrapped around him in return. Your fingers clung to him for the first time in months, his strength lifting you off the ground as he pulled you into a tight embrace. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, and the soft kiss of his lips as he placed a simple kiss there before he returned you to your feet. Then, his hands slid down the angles of your back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. 

“I’ve missed you,” he spoke gently, sending a shy smile over your lips as he helped you into the passenger seat. You welcomed the warmth of the car as you tucked your carry on between your feet, finally opening it to pull out your coat as Vince put your bag in the back seat. You watched him in the mirrors as he rounded the car and met his smile as he sat beside you in the driver's seat. 

“We’ve got the entire weekend,” Vince said, his smile easy. “I’ve got plans for us- dinner tonight, then tomorrow you’ll come to one of my games, and Monday morning, I’ll drop you off at the airport.”

“That sounds great,” you nodded, feeling the excitement bubble up inside you. It felt just as it had at the end of summer—there was a level of comfort you had with Vince that you couldn’t quite explain. One that simply being around him put you at ease, and left you excited for the weekend to come. It felt perfect, like a dream. 

The ride from the airport to his apartment was quick, but with the delay you faced with your flight you were already running behind for your dinner reservation. 

“The bathroom’s just there if you want to freshen up. I’ll call the guys and tell them we’re going to be a little late,” Vince told you gently, and you perked up? The guys? He was taking you to meet his friends — his teammates? 

“I’ll just need a minute to change,” you assured, dragging your suitcase into the bathroom with you before you shut the door. 

You looked over it with wide eyes and suddenly panicked. If you were going to be meeting his friends, you wanted to make a good impression. Dropping to your knees, you sorted through the clothes you had brought. At one time, while you were packing, you told yourself you had packed too much. That you wouldn’t have needed so much for two days, but now, as there were so many unknowns, you were relieved that you had let yourself over prepare. You traded your comfortable pants for a nice skirt and pair of tights, and your hooded sweatshirt for a turtleneck sweater and a dainty necklace. A pair of black boots replaced what you always wore to travel. And then all you had to worry about was hair and makeup. If you had more time, you would have styled it. But all you could really afford to do was touch up your lipstick, your mascara and tame any flyaway strands. Then, if you felt ready or not, it was time to leave. 

Hand in hand, you walked with Vince down the sidewalks of Seattle. The restaurant was nearby, leaving you to enjoy the crisp autumn air that mingled with the smell of rain that had fallen and the scent of fallen leaves as they weighed down wet and heavy on the sidewalk. The wet pavement reflected the amber glow of the streetlights that flirted with the red, yellow and greens of the stoplights in your path. You admired every detail of the city Vince called his second home, small talk that didn’t really feel like small talk slipping from your lips. After months apart, there was so much for you to share, to catch up on, but the moment you walked through the restaurant doors and Vince’s hand fell from yours, the air became heavy, silent. 

“Reservation under Dunn,” he spoke to the hostess, who greeted him with a soft smile and eyes that were only for him. You watched her for a moment, her everything the very opposite of you. It made your stomach sink as his smile matched hers, so easily — so effortlessly it seemed like more than just being nice. 

Slowly, you slipped off your coat and hung it over your arms and hugged it to your chest. It was like a blanket of armor as you followed Vince through the restaurant like his shadow. You kept your head down, watching his heels, and scared to look up as the clamour of your table grew loud. It was only a small group of his friends, none of whose faces you recognised, but it sounded like an entire team. Four men, all comfortable in their seats with no girlfriends, only empty bottles to keep them company. 

One hand slipped out from beneath your coat, reaching out to Vince for even a semblance of comfort, but he was already out of reach taking his seat at the table.

“Sorry, we're late,” Vince said casually. “Someone had to change.”

You had the sudden urge to vomit, the embarrassment all consuming as you draped your jacket over the last empty chair at the table. It was at the very corner of the table at one end. Vince sat to your right, and there was an empty walkway to your left. 

He introduced you by name, before nodding around the table to each of his friends. Tye, Brandon, Ryan and Shane. Some of them offered subtle nods, others a simple hello as you seated yourself at the table and suddenly you felt out of place. As Vince fell into conversation with his friends, you felt like nothing more than a decoration as you glanced over the menu. Around you, the laughter felt distant, and the conversation felt impossible to contribute to. Your shoulders felt heavy with the feeling that you didn’t quite fit in, and it had you desperate or any kind of comfort. 

You reached for Vince’s hand under the table, seeking his touch and reassurance. It brushed over the top of his thigh before flipping, laying your palm open for his hand to take. His hand dropped from the table, but instead of taking yours, he gently took you by the wrist and placed your hand back in your lap. And he left it there, untouched. 

Your front teeth bit down on your lip to keep your mouth from falling open. His actions sent your heart sinking so deeply into your chest that you felt empty. Dread was all-consuming, and your embarrassment was so heavy that you thought about grabbing your coat and walking towards the door. Instead, you reached out for the glass of red wine in front of you. You took a long sip and tried to swallow that knot that formed in your throat down with it as you fought back the tears that threatened to spill.

When the server brought you your plate, you didn’t touch it, and once your first glass of wine was empty, you didn’t indulge yourself in another. The laughter, the conversations, even the clinking of silverware continued all around you, but you didn’t do more than breathe and stare at the empty glass that had nothing more than a single drop of wine resting at the very bottom. It was mere background noise as you retreated into your thoughts, heavy and spiraling.

Your silence followed you from the table and hung heavily over you and Vince on the walk back to his place. The autumn rain had left the streets glistening, and there was a chill in the air that left your skin prickled with goosebumps. As the temperature dropped, rain became glistening snow, and Vince’s hand reached out to yours as the two of you walked alone in the streets, but you didn’t take it. Not after he had made you feel the way he had, and your mind was spinning with questions you weren’t sure how to ask. 

But the moment you arrived back at Vince’s place. His words cut through the silence. 

“Why are you so pissed off?” Vince almost sounded offended, and if you weren’t so angry, you might have laughed at him. 

You kicked off your shoes at the door, leaving them toppled over, before you walked away from him and to the kitchen with your left overs that your stomach was aching for. Your shoulders shrugged as you opened the fridge and tucked them away. When you closed it, Vince was leaning up against the cupboard just on the other side, waiting for answers. 

“I’m not pissed off. Who said I was pissed off?” You answered him with a question of your own, your words firm and heavy with the hurt that still hung over you. 

“Cause you’re acting pissed off,” Vince huffed, his hand reaching up to push through his curls, “Is it because of my friends? Because they were super fucking nice to you-”

“I liked your friends. I never said I didn’t like your friends,” you set him straight quickly. “I didn’t like the way you acted around them.”

“What do you mean?” His face softened, perplexed. 

You laughed out a short and hollow ha as you circled in the kitchen. You couldn’t stand still. 

“You didn’t even look at me once!” Your voice raised, though you were trying your best not to yell. 

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. 

“You didn’t say one to thing the entire night-”

“That’s such bullshit, and you know it,” he punctuated his words with your name, and it only made them sting more. 

“And you dropped my fucking hand! What am I supposed to do with that?” Your voice strained as you grew closer and closer to tears. 

“I didn’t even fucking notice–What are you talking about?” Vince’s brow furrowed. “I was catching up with my friends! What are you trying to make this entire night about you?”

It was at that moment you wanted to scream, because the night was supposed to be about you. He was the one who flew you out to Seattle just to see you. To show you the city and introduce him to his friends, his team, his life! And suddenly, this trip wasn’t all about you. 

“You’re being so fucking selfish.” His words stung like a slap. 

You stilled for the first time since coming in the door, and your head cocked to the side as you looked at Vince with narrowed eyes. “Oh, I’m selfish?”

“Right now, that’s exactly what’s happening!”

Your face went blank, wearing a doe eyes stare as you were suddenly void of any anger as you looked at him. You held only disbelief—had he just yelled at you? 

Just as quickly as his tone shocked you, Vince’s voice softened. “Don’t look at me like that…” his words were a gentle plea as he came up beside you, his arms slipping around your waist to pull you into him. 

You stood with your back against his chest, your arms hugging over his as he kissed the back of your neck softly. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, “about dinner… About everything. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

His words were soothing, easing you into a forgiveness that you shouldn’t have wanted to give him. But you hadn’t wanted to fight, you had simply just wanted Vince to hear you and he had. He was sorry. 

You let Vince turn you around in place slowly, his soft playful smile on his face and bringing one to your own. “I’m sorry,” you muttered into his shoulder as you let yourself cling to him, but Vince only let you hug him for so long. Too soon he was pulling back, but his touch didn’t leave you. Instead, he turned you around in place, and swayed with you to the hum of the refrigerator like it was music. 

His sudden playfulness coaxed an easy laugh from your lips as you stumbled over your own feet. He caught you with ease and led you into a dance that eased the tension that had built up during the night. It lifted the heaviness that weighed down on your chest and your shoulders, and in that moment you were back to feeling like yourself in his embrace. 

This was the Vince you travelled all the way to Seattle for. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed, your voice soft but teasing as you looked up at him. 

Vince grinned, twirling you slowly one last time before his hands settled on your waist. He pulled you in close, the warmth of his body enveloping you in its embrace and the world beyond his door, cold and distant. It was just the two of you, and for now, that was enough. 

With a simple glance down at your lips, Vince drew you in. It wasn’t his touch, or his words, but his mere gaze drew your lips to his in a kiss you had been craving since your flight had landed. At first the kiss was soft and gentle, like his apology. But it quickly became laced with hunger, with the caress of his tongue against your lips, and you could not deny him—because denying him would also be denying yourself. 

Vince picked you up with ease, his hand squeezing the soft flesh of the back of thighs as he moved blindly through his apartment. You didn’t know where he was taking you until you were laying flat against his mattress with his body climbing on top of you. Your legs parted, making room for his body against yours as he knelt there, stripping his plaid shirt from his body to begin the pile of clothes on the floor. Then he’s hovering over you, kissing your lips, and down. Down over the angle of your jaw earning a desperate pant from your lips. 

His every kiss against your skin was like striking a match, and the breath that followed the oxygen to keep the fire burning. As he kissed lower, he peeled each article of clothing you wore from your body and let it join his plaid shirt on the floor. You were naked before you could even think to pull his loose white t-shirt from his shoulders. Your eyes flickered away from his face, admiring his body as he revealed it to you. Still strong, still toned, just a little more bruised and a little less rested than the last time he had you. You stroked over his chest with a featherlight touch of your fingers and you watched his face melt in relaxation. It eased Vince back from you, his hand falling to his belt. 

The leather whipped from the restraints of Vince’s belt loops with a flicker of a sound, and with the simple motions of his thumb, his pants were slipping down his hips. You reached to where they rested with eager hands, gripping at the leather and pushed them down the strength of his thighs. The denim pooled there until he picked it free, his own eager hands pushing down his briefs next before he was between your thighs. 

“Vince,” you breathed out his name, your heart racing against your chest as it heaved a desperate breath. 

He echoed his name with your own, a single hand reaching up to push your hair from your face with the gentle caress of his hand. You nuzzled into it, as you felt the weight of his body so fully against your own. Then, your lips parted in a soft moan and left his skin marked with your favorite shade of red lipstick as he made you his own.

You had imagined the moment many times in your head. 

Entering Climate Pledge Arena, as much more than a fan. You had pictured it differently each time. Sometimes you had a special jacket, custom made and embellished with the glimmer of gems or embroidery. Other times, you wore a Kraken jersey with DUNN sprawled across your back. But in every scenario, all knew who you were there to watch your boyfriend Vince Dunn—though the two of you had yet to use the label. And you’d finally get to meet the other wives and girlfriends of Vince’s teammates. The warm and fuzzy feeling of being welcomed into the tight-knit circle of wives and girlfriends was something you daydreamed about. You hoped for instant connections, for friendships that felt like sisterhood—but harsh realities quickly betrayed your imagination. 

You didn’t wear a fancy new jacket. 

There was no jersey for you to wear. 

And while the arena was buzzing with excitement, the energy of the crowd was not enough to ease the anxiety that bubbled inside you as you reached your seat. Your seat was in the middle of the crowd, with no one expecting you or welcoming you among them, and it left your mouth tasting sour. You were just another fan in the stands. 

Forcing a smile, you sat among them, your hands gripping the edge of your seat with a knuckle-white grasp. You watched as the teams took the ice, your eyes naturally drawn to Vince in his uniform. He skated with the same ease and confidence that had drawn you in that first night the two of you had met. He looked so focused, so in his element, and for a moment you forgot about the uneasiness deep in your stomach and felt proud. Proud to be there, supporting him, proud of who he was. 

But not even the pride could keep the doubt from seeping in as you sat there alone in the crowd of strangers. You glanced around the seats in your section, your ice shifting from the left, to the right and to the left again as your breathing swallowed. All around you, you noticed clusters of women scattered throughout the stands. They were laughing, chatting with each other as they sipped their beer and wine. It was almost enough to make you smile until you saw DUNN written across one of their backs and the look on her face. She was looking at him like her seat wasn’t high above the ice. Like he could see the batting of her thick lashes and the coy smile on her lips as she ogled him. And she looked at him like that because nobody knew about you - because she thought that she might have a shot. 

Sinking into your seat, you felt small, alone. 

The feeling hung over you as the game unfolded in front of you, but the excitement you should have felt didn’t reach you. You focused on Vince, watching how effortlessly he moved on the ice. You clapped when he made a good play, and cheered when the Kraken scored, but the joy felt hollow. By the time the final buzzer rang, and the Kraken celebrated their victory down at ice level; you were unmoving in your seat, unsure how to feel. 

The eruption of cheers and applause, the post game high, was lost on you as you stood in the crowd of thousands in a daze. You moved with the crowd as the arena emptied, your hand grasping your phone tight in your hand, waiting for a message from Vince to come. It took thirty minutes of waiting outside the front of the arena for a message to bring your phone to life. You were cold, one hand on your phone while the other clutched your coat tight around your neck to keep yourself from catching a chill. He told you where to meet him, and as you walked along the sidewalk, you had to keep telling yourself this was just one game. But the hollow feeling lingered until Vince pulled up in front of you in his car and got out with such an expression you would have thought he lost you. 

“There you are,” he muttered as he got out of the car and wrapped his arms around you. And you fell into him. Your face buried into the strength of his chest and your arms wrapped around him—desperately, pathetically — trying to grasp onto the only thing that made you feel you belonged. 

Back home in Toronto, things felt different. With each passing day, you were hearing from Vince less and less. You didn’t wake up each day with a sweet good morning message, and he was no longer the last person you spoke to before you went to bed at night. That was,  if you heard from him at all. You tried to tell yourself that it was normal. That he was busy with hockey. His career had a demanding schedule, one that went beyond playing a game almost every other night. You understood that. So it was easy to listen to the excuses he made when he would finally text or call, his stories making you so sympathetic to why it was so hard for him to find the time to connect. 

Each time you spoke, it filled you with the same fluttering feelings you had back in the beginnings of autumn. It was a warm feeling that blossomed through you on the coldest of winter days—one of hope of the days to come and fueled by the simple promise he made you: He would call you on your birthday. 

Vince had told you he wished he could have been there in person, but his schedule didn’t allow it. You were forced to celebrate it apart, divided by both land and time, but the promise of his call left you floating high on excitement. You clung to the promise all day, watching your phone for any sign of him as you ran your early morning errands and got ready in the afternoon. But as the hours slipped by, the silence from him grew louder. 

The sound track of your night was supposed to start with the pop of a bottle of champagne and followed the clamor of cutlery against plates as you and your family friends enjoyed a meal together at your favorite restaurant. Their laughter surrounded you, and yet, like the rest of the noise, it felt distant. Like a mere echo in the back of your mind that felt empty, free of thought, save for the one fact that left you heavy in your chair at the head of the table. 

Vince still hadn’t called. 

You had to focus on your breathing, forcing a steady breath when you wanted to do nothing more than sob, as you reached for your phone that rested face down on the table. The brightness was low, the subtle glow casting across your face as you checked your phone, hoping for a message, a missed call—anything. 

But you found nothing. 

Your father, seated beside you, caught your eye. He smiled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes—he must have known something was wrong. He could see it in the way your mood shifted every time you looked down at your phone and found that Vince hadn’t even attempted to get hold of you. 

He reached out, his warm hand resting over yours as it rested over your phone. You tried to force a smile, but as you met his gaze, it wavered. His hand squeezed yours gently, trying to offer the smallest comforts to the problem you had yet to tell him - and you didn’t want to tell him. Not when Vince had made such a good first impression when the two of them had met at the wedding months before. The conversation had been natural, and your father had laughed at every single one of his self-effacing jokes. But no one was laughing now. 

On the verge of tears you pushed up from the table and let your hand slip away from the gentle hold of your fathers with every intent of running off to the bathroom to cry. But he followed in your wake, his strides on pace with yours as he followed you to the narrow hallway that divided the washrooms from the dining room. There you turned, falling back into his arms as your tears fell. You clutched to him, your fingers straining against his back as you sobbed. And he held you, one hand on your back, and the other on the back of your head, holding it carefully as you sobbed into his chest. 

“He promised.” Your voice was strained, and you were sure you could hear his heart fall in his chest. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” your father’s words were soft as he murmured just low enough for you to hear, “I should’ve seen it. Should’ve known.”

You frowned, your eyes blinking back heavy tears as you tilted your head back to look up at your father. “What are you talking about?”

His head shook slowly, solemnly, his grip on you loosening slightly so he could look down at you. “I should have known that boy was no good for you. Only a fool would make you feel like this on your birthday.” His words were soft, but were heavy with regret. 

Your throat tightened as you looked away. You hated how he was blaming himself. He didn’t know Vince like you did - or rather, like you thought you did. He didn’t see the way things had been in the beginning - how Vince made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered. Your father didn’t hear the promises that he made or the love you had felt. But what he did see were the broken promises and the heavy sorrow and how it consumed you. 

But as you stood there in your father’s arms, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was right. 

Your body shook with a quake of another sob, your father’s arms constricting around you again as he whispered, “It’s supposed to be fun, turning twenty-one.”

At the end of the night, when your parents had gone home and your friends took your party to a bar, you found your refuge at home. Your apartment was quiet, too quiet, as you closed the door behind you and let the entirety of your weight fall back against it. It was dark. The only light filtering in was from a streetlight outside your living room window. It was almost comforting just to stand there, but being back home alone only gave way for the anxiety to grow. It nagged at you in the back of your mind and consumed you so fully it felt like a snake constricted around your chest.

Your dress felt too tight around your ribs, almost suffocating. In need of any relief, you reached back to pull at the zipper, your fingers slipping along the zipper and the fabric as you struggled. The more you tugged, the more the frustration built. You stumbled on your feet in the doorway, your teeth gritting as you fought back another wave of tears, until finally your heels caught the edge of the rug. With a cry, you dropped to your knees, feeling the cold floor sting as the force rubbed your skin raw. Your vision blurred with tears, your hands clutching at the dress, desperately trying to remove it from your body with such force the zipper broke. It seemed to peel away from your skin, and you pushed it off, panting, leaving yourself to sit naked on the floor consumed by your tears. 

You choked back a sob, but it slipped out anyway, filling the silence and drawing the attention of your cat that had been sleeping in your reading chair nearby. The cat perked up with a pur and jumped down to the floor with a soft thud. The little patter of the cat’s feet almost made you smile, and feeling the cat’s soft fur against your leg helped you try to focus on literally anything but your anxiety. 

But it could rid you of the loneliness and betrayal you felt deep in your chest. And you were practically reeling at the memories that flooded you. Your mind was an echo chamber of Vince, his perfect smile and his laugh that had always flooded you with a happiness you couldn’t quite explain. It was like being haunted by a ghost of him, one that was born in the death of the man you knew and the birth of the man he really was. 

It wasn’t supposed to end like this, not on your birthday, not in this way. Not when you thought that maybe you and Vince would be forever. 

Your lip quivered as your eyes fell on your purse. It was a small clutch, just large enough for your phone, debit card and a lipstick inside. You reached for it, snatching it up with trembling fingers before you worked on the fastener. It clicked open, your phone screen dark as it rested inside. Slowly, you slipped it out onto one hard and for a second you just stared at it, your thumb hovering over the lifeless screen. Then, with a single press of your thumb, the screen came to life. No notifications greeted you. No messages from Vince. So, you sent him some of your own. 

You stared at the sent messages, your eyes burning with tears that you wiped away with the back of your hand before they could leave trails down your cheeks. A sob slipped out of swollen lips, harsh and aching, as you forced yourself to your feet and finally kicked off your heels. You walked to the bathroom down the hall, and without turning the lights on, prepared to go to sleep. You scrubbed at your face, wiping away what remained of your smeared makeup, each brush of your face cloth harsh like you were trying to erase the entire night from your skin. Then, you brushed your teeth, the mint-flavored toothpaste almost making you gag as you stood bent over the sink. 

Finally, you crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, feeling the hollow ache in the depth of your chest. You pressed a hand there, as if it could somehow ease the weight of the day from your heart. The silence was heavy, broken only by the sound of your shallow breathing as you tried to force yourself to sleep. But sleep didn’t come, only the tears did. They trickled down your cheeks until you choked on them, feeling the hollow emptiness in the very depths of your being. 

Then, in the dead of the night, your phone rang. If you had been asleep, you wouldn’t have heard it at all, beckoning to you from where you had left it on the living room floor. Yet, you didn’t move. You didn’t even open your eyes. You didn’t need to look at the screen to know it was him. Vince. His name pulsed in your mind as if it had its own heartbeat. A pulse that flooded an open wound and did nothing but bleed. 

Suddenly, the ringing stopped, leaving a silence that settled like dust. A silence so pure you didn’t even breathe. The desperation for air burned in your chest, and only did you give yourself the relief when you heard the phone ring again. Again and again, like torture. You wanted to scream the very sound, leaving your chest so tight you thought you might have a heart attack - yet you lay there, unmoving. 

You had been waiting all night for him to call, but now you only wanted silence. And when it came, when it stayed, exhaustion claimed you, lulling you into sleep and leaving the ache to linger as nothing but a thought as the peace of darkness consumed you. 

Healing would come with time, was what you kept telling yourself every time you forced yourself to do anything. You had struggled to do even the littlest things at first. Brush your teeth. Make yourself a meal and eat it. Shower. Each small task had been one you struggled through with heavy exhaustion - and ask you branched back out into the world, a fake smile. But as each day passed, living became just a little easier. Your smile, a little more genuine, even if you still found yourself struggling to feel anything but sorrow below the surface. 

The ache that would creep into the depth of your chest, or the nagging thoughts that snuck into the back of your mind, were forgotten when you were with friends. So you surrounded yourself with them whenever you could manage. Once, twice, sometimes three times a week, you found yourself in a crowded bar with your friends. Their voices and laughter swirled around you as you indulged in conversation and a bottle of wine. It was meant to be what it always was; a night to unwind. Somewhere you could go and leave everything else behind for a few hours. But when your phone buzzed on the table, and you couldn’t ignore its insistent, repetitive droning that called to you through the chaos of the bustling bar around you, you looked down and there it was. Vince’s name was on the screen. 

It had been a month since the night he left you waiting, hoping for him to reach out with a birthday wish. A month of silence had followed since the message you had sent, ending whatever it was the two of you had shared. 

Part of you wanted to ignore him, to let the phone ring and ring until he understood what it felt like to wait on someone who never showed. To be ignored by someone who never seemed to care. But you couldn’t deny that a part of you wanted closure. 

Excusing yourself from the table, ignoring the looks your friends shot at you, you moved towards the bar’s restrooms. Leaning against the wall just outside, you crossed a single arm tightly across your chest and brought the other up to your ear as you accepted the call from Vince. You stood there, listening to the silence that hung on the line for a moment, stealing seconds from the conversation you were already wishing you hadn’t agreed to. 

“Hello?” you whispered in fear that your voice would break if you had tried to be firm with him. 

There was a pause. Then Vince spoke, “you picked up.”

You could almost hear the surprise in his voice. He sounded as though he hadn’t expected you to answer at all. And really, you shouldn’t have. 

“What do you want, Vince?” You asked, your voice wavering as you shut your eyes tight. Just hearing his voice reignited all the feelings you had tried to cast aside. He made your heart race with all the same excitement as he had before, a high you would forever chase just for even a sliver of the feelings he had once given you. And maybe if it were another time, or another place, you would have let yourself fall back into him. To let his lies and betrayals fool you again. But you couldn’t, not while the wounds were still fresh. 

“I miss you,” he said. His words were soft, almost pleading. And you almost scoffed as you gripped your ribcage just a little tighter. “I know I messed up,” he continued, “but I swear, I’m gonna change. Trust me.”

You let out a slow breath, your eyes cast out over the bar, staring back at the booth where all of your friends sat waiting, wondering where you had run off to. You focused on them, in a desperate attempt to ignore how the weight of his words were heavy on old wounds that were almost scars. Cutting them back open like a knife…but he would just leave you bleeding. Again. But you could still feel the weight of his words; Trust me. They echoed through you, but they felt hollow, disingenuous. You wanted to believe them, but you know you couldn’t. Not when they were leaving his lips. 

Silence stretched between you, the kind that begged for a response, and you bit the inside or your cheek, trying to gather the courage to really end things. Your lips parted, a heavy breath near bringing you to a tremble before Vince’s words stole the air right from you. 

“I still love you,” he spoke quickly. 

The words cut through you, sharp and clear and desperate. He had never said those words before. The two of you had never put a label on what you had shared, and yet, the way he threw still in front of them stung. He said it as if you’d had something real, something that was worth keeping. And maybe, once upon a time, when the autumn leaves still hung in beautiful colors of red and gold before they fell into place like puzzle pieces on the ground, you might have called it love too. But now, as you stood there, alone, hiding away from your friends at the bar because you knew talking to him after all he would have put you through would upset them. You felt the truth settle over you. 

Vince didn’t love you, he never did. Not really. Not in the way you had needed because during the short time you were together, he had always left you feeling like there should be more. 

You gripped your phone tightly, letting the realization sink in. Every broken promise, every unanswered call, it brought you to this moment. And as each time Vince had let you down hung heavily over you, you found your voice, “we are never getting back together. Ever.”

The words felt final, grounding, like an anchor you could hold on to. You finally felt like you weren’t stuck in the same cycle of waiting for his text or call, the high of just getting to hear from him, followed by the lows of waiting for the next call. There would be no more uncertainty of never knowing where the two of you stood. What the two of you were. Now, you could walk away from Vince without looking back and wondering what if? Because the reality of it all was that Vince would never change. 

There was a long pause, and on the other end of the call you could only hear his breath as he tried to find the right words for him to say in the space you had left for him. He was trying to think of the right words to reel you back in, to prove to you that things would be different. Until the next time he would miss your call, or break the promise that would leave you crying on the living room floor. But you listening to his empty promises, not this time. 

“Goodbye, Vince.”

You hung up before he could say anything more. 

You slipped your phone back into your pocket and let out a breath that could only be defined by relief. And as you walked back to your friends, something felt different. The weight you had been carrying had finally been lifted and, for the first time in a long time, you felt free of the burdens that came with loving Vince. 

Your favorite downtown coffee show bustled with the sounds of clinking mugs and soft conversations, but you were lost in your own world, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. You sipped your latte, watching the steam rise in lazy spirals, casting a haze between your stare and the phone screen. The feed was the same as it always was, cat videos, the latest fashion trends and posts from your family and friends. Each one left you feeling warm as you were curled up in the seat, away from the harsh, cold Ontario winter that waited just outside for you on the coffee shop doorstep. But the warmth left you, if only for a moment, when a familiar name popped up on your feed. Vince. 

You hadn’t made him much more than a passing thought since the night you ended things with him for good. And while the memory of him lingered, and was consuming on nights you lay alone with nothing more than your anxieties as you craved him, you had tried to rid your life of every bit of him. Yet, you’d forgotten to unfollow him on Instagram. 

You took a long sip, the sweet latte not enough to rid your mouth of the bitterness on your tongue. It had been three months since that night you said your last goodbye. You should have just kept scrolling past and onto the next funny cat video that would fill you with laughter instead of dread—but against your better judgment, you let your curiosities win and you clicked to view his profile.  

Vince had never posted all that often. You had noticed that since the moment you creeped his feed the night you first met him. His pictures were few and far in between. But there it was, something new - pictures from his vacation during the All-Star break. You chewed your lower lip as you scrolled through the carousel of pictures and your stomach clenched. There, in one photo, was Vince, smiling, with his arm slung around another woman. You couldn’t see her face as she looked away from the camera, but you could tell by the exposed skin of her body in nothing but an itty-bitty bikini that she was probably younger, vibrant and beautiful. The sight of them together hit you like a punch in the gut. 

It shouldn’t have, but it did. Because it was you who ended things. Yet, you sat alone in the coffee shop still struggling with the memories of him while he was so quick to move on with someone new. It hurt, but it solidified what you knew all along. He didn’t love you, he never had. 

Your chest tightened as you swiped through more pictures, your heart sinking deeper and deeper with each one. He never took pictures with you, not any he had shared on social media where anyone of his friends and fans could see. He had never made your relationship public beyond that one night in September when you had met his family. You had been his best kept secret that he hid away from the world, while your love for him had been at oath. 

Seeing him with someone else left you feeling hollow. Sitting up straight in your seat, you told yourself that you let him go a long time ago. That the magic the two of you had found on those late summer nights faded and died with fall. That magic had been replaced with doubt and hurt. Hurt that you told yourself had healed, but it felt like a lie as you stared at the pictures of Vince happy with someone else.

“You’re okay,” you whispered to yourself in a stuttering breath. But you weren’t fine. Not at all. 

Tears blurred your vision, and before you could stop it, a tear burned its way down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly, but it was too late to stop the ache from rising in your throat. The beginning of a sob rested at the back of your throat as you grabbed your bag and coat, and abandoned your half-empty cup of latte on the table. You disappeared into the bathroom, arching over the sink only to see the streaks of mascara down each of your cheeks.

In the reflection of the mirror, you dabbed at your tear-streaked face with a cheap tissue. It stuck to your skin, forcing you to pick little white tufts of cotton from your cheek as the door swung open. You jumped slightly, startled as you tried to turn away from the door so whoever it was wouldn’t see the distress in your eyes—but as your eyes flicked up to the mirror, the sight of someone familiar met you. Your friend, your best friend, the one who had introduced you to Vince. The two of you had drifted apart when you were spending so much time with him, and later, when the weight of losing him had made you withdraw from everyone. You had tried to reconnect with so many of your other friends since then, but you couldn’t with her. Not when she was still so closely connected with Vince. 

Her face lit up when she saw you, and before you could fully find your composure, she was wrapping you in a warm hug. “It’s been too long,” she said into your hair as you did your best to choke back every ounce of feeling that wanted to consume you. Slowly, she took a step back to look at you. “I don’t think we’ve seen each other since the wedding! You were so smitten with Vince that I didn’t even get to say goodbye before we left for the honeymoon. What happened between you two, anyway?”

Her words stung like a fresh cut through the wounds you’d tried so hard to heal. You stood there a moment, feeling paralyzed, the tears welling up in your eyes again, but you forced a smile. It was the same practiced smile you had been wearing for months. 

“It just didn’t pan out,” you lied. You would spare her all the sad details. Quickly, you glanced down at your phone as if you were checking the time. “I’m sorry. I have somewhere I need to be.”

Her smile faltered, but she nodded, sensing the awkwardness in the air. “Of course. Let’s catch up soon, though, okay?”

You nodded quickly before slipping past her, leaving the bathroom and uncomfortable conversation behind. You didn’t return to your table. Instead, you went straight out the front door of the coffee shop and were greeted by the cold winter air. You let out a long exhale as the itchiness in the air hit you. Your breath left you in a soft cloud, and snow fluttered gently as it fell in glittering flakes. There was a peace in the cold that left you pulling your coat tighter around you, but it didn’t ease the ache in your hearts as you walked along the narrow snowy city sidewalks alone. And you truly were surrounded by no one. The streets were empty, as strangers sought refuge from a growing storm in the homes, storefronts or restaurants nearby. It truly mirrored just as lonely as you felt inside. 

You kept your head down, and your hand clutched around your bare neck as you walked home. Your steps slipped and stuttered right up to the doorstep of your apartment. It was your only moment of stability as your caretaker had cleared the cement and spread sand out over the street. The icy winds gave you one last embrace as you dug your keys from your purse and let yourself inside. You stomped your feet free of snow in the entryway before walking up multiple flights of stairs. When you reached your floor, you looked up and down the narrow apartment hallway, and to your door at the end. There, a large box rested on the floor. You weren’t expecting a package. You approached it slowly and dropped to your knees in front of it. It wasn’t outside the wrong suite; it was addressed to you. Then you looked at the return address. Seattle. 

You were slow to pick it up, and even considered leaving it in the hallway, but ultimately your curiosity won. You carried it inside, your cat greeting you as you entered by rubbing against your legs, and you placed it down on the kitchen table. Then you reached down and petted your cat casually, but your eyes never once left the package. 

You took off your coat, hanging it on a rack by the door, and you kicked off your boots and left them on a heap on your door mat before you returned to the table. You stepped in a cold puddle you had created; the water seeping into your socks as you pulled at the packing tape. It tore open with a satisfying sound, but it wasn't enough to ease the racing of your heart as the box opened and you faced everything Vince had felt the need to return to you. Carefully you removed each item—Things you had left behind in Vince’s apartment, thinking that one day you’d be back to retrieve them. A tube of red lipstick, one that you quickly learned was his favorite. A pair of socks that you couldn’t find in the rush to pack your bags before heading to the airport for your flight home. CDs that had found a home in his glove compartment during your late summer drives. Each item brought back a memory, pulling you deeper and deeper into the memories of your time together. 

But something was missing. The scarf you had forgotten at his family’s house that first night you were left feeling that what the two of you shared was love. It wasn’t there. 

Everything else was, though. Every little thing that tied you to him, neatly packed away and shipped back to you, like trash to be discarded. What forced you to remember the early days of your love—the days that were filled with laughter, and the nights where he made you his own—they were supposed to be the beginning of something real. They were memories that you once held so fondly in your heart, but they only brought you heartache now. And Vince? Him sending them back to you made you feel like he had never really felt anything at all. 

You stood there, over the box, staring at it. It’s emptiness and how the timeline of your love was spread in the mess over the tabletop—you had it all, all but the one item that symbolized the beginning of it all. And suddenly, it was too much. Your hands trembled as you stepped back from the table. 

You stumbled down the hall and fell into your bed. Curling up, you hugged your knees to your chest, a crumpled piece of paper laying there as your tears flowed freely. You sobbed into your pillow, trying so desperately to let the memories of Vince go. They hurt too much to keep, but a part of you knew they were too precious to let go. You remembered it all, every little detail, and it consumed you, leaving you shattered. You had given him so much, and in the end, you were left with nothing but the memories of a love that would never last. 

It was all too much. It was all too real. And you couldn’t help but wonder: The love you shared, did it maim him too?

Vince pulled open his dresser drawer with one hand while he tugged at his loose shirt collar with the other. He rifled through it carelessly, disturbing every neatly folded tie, looking for just the right one to match his suit on game day. His fingers moved quickly, digging deeper, searching for a color he had only worn once or twice—there, deep beneath the silk, the cashmere and the cotton, his hand brushed against something soft. Something he hadn’t touched in months. 

At the bottom of the drawer, hidden away from anyone who decided they could snoop through his drawers, was the scarf you had left behind at his brother’s house all those months ago. Vince stopped to stare at it first, the bright red scarf so vibrant against the blacks, blues and greens of his eyes. Then he reached out, letting his fingers curl around the familiar fabric as he drew it from the darkness of the drawer out into the light of his bedroom. He stroked it slowly, only looking away from it when there was a clamour in the next room. 

Vince had almost forgotten he had a guest. 

His new fling was getting ready for the game in the bathroom. She was probably making a mess of something, and he could hear her humming softly as she applied her makeup and did her hair. She wouldn’t be sitting with the other wives and girlfriends—just like you, she would sit alone. And she would be but a memory in a week, maybe two weeks, if he was feeling generous. Even with that in mind, he didn’t need her walking in on him now, as he thought of you. 

Vince watched the half-open door of his bedroom as he gripped the scarf in his fist. He could hear her shuffling around, and the sound of her heels clicking against the floor. As she stood there, staring at the scarf, he remembered that night he met you at dinner. How you had worn such a shy smile, but spoke with such confidence. He remembered how your smile would grow as you tried not to laugh at his jokes, and how you would fix the scarf around your neck just right on the days there were still summer, but so close to fall. It had still smelt of you the day his sister-in-law had returned it to him during the break for the holidays. 

He lifted it up to his face slowly, inhaling deeply. The scent of you had only begun to fade, the traces of you still lingering enough to make his chest tightened with a familiar ache. 

A heavy sighed rocked his shoulders as his grip loosed on the scarf. He had left the fabric wrinkled, but he smoothed them away with a certain care. He held it in both hands, ready to tuck it back where it hid for so long he had forgotten it was there. But as he lowered his hand, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Something made him stop. The scarf. Your scarf. It paired with his game day suit perfectly. A black jacket and pants with a white button down top. It was the pop of color he needed. 

Vince draped it around his shoulders, the wool settling around him like a ghost of your embrace. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he adjusted it just right, the scent of you right under his nose, reminding him of what it smelt like to have his face buried in your soft hair. He smoothed it down carefully before turning away from the mirror and looking out the bedroom door. There, a shadow stretched across the hallway - his fling was lingering, ready to leave and completely unaware of the significance of what he had decided to wear to the game that night. 

Putting on a smile, he stepped out of the room, the scarf resting over his heart—a quiet reminder of the love that had been, and the love he had lost. 

TAGLIST: @mp0625 , @starshine-hockey-girl , @wingedwheelprxncess , @kurlyteuvo , @couldawouldashoulda50

[esoteric-joke]

Interview with Brooklyn_Babylon

(#Interview3)

Welcome to the next interview of the Dear Writer Project. This Sunday I’m here with Gina (twopoppies here on Tumblr). Thank you so much for participating and supporting my project. It was a pleasure to interview you.

Gina about her writing process, her inspirations and what she finds most challenging about writing:

What does your writing process look like?

Oh, you're going to call me out right from the get-go, huh? LOL! My writing process is that I am a complete pantser. I hate outlining and I'm not good at it (probably why I hate it). I generally get inspired by something visual and then build a story around that. The difficulty is that often, there's a concept, but there's no real story to tell. Or, I can't quite flesh it out enough to make it worth writing. But when something connects, I go bother India (indiaalphawhiskey on Tumblr) who is my beta/BFF/cheerleader and we'll talk through the story idea.

She's super helpful in terms of pushing me to think it through enough that I can write a very basic outline of what needs to happen to get from A to B. Then, I wing it. LOL!

What does writing mean to you?

From the time I was a kid, I've always been involved in doing something artistic--from fine art, to costume design, to writing, etc. I've just always needed some way to express myself, creatively. It took me a long time to get comfortable writing fiction because there are a few people in my family who are highly respected authors, and I felt I needed something of my own to sink my teeth into. But now that I've started, I realize how much I do love it (even when I hate it), and how much it allows me to dig deep into my own thoughts and emotions and be more self-aware. Beyond that, I think I'm at my most comfortable when I feel I'm helpful/supportive/nurturing. I used to write non-fiction that gave me that outlet. It's interesting that I can see those aspects in my fiction writing, as well.

Do you know before you start writing if an idea is going to become a oneshot or a longer fic?

I can generally tell if there's enough of a story to make it a chaptered fic. Sometimes the chapters just separate naturally.

Like, in An Invincible Summer, the story unfolded so that each chapter was a different month. But I had a basic idea of how I wanted the story to progress over that time period. I think, for the most part, I let the story dictate how it's going to flow.

You don’t write (or publish) as regularly as some other writers in the fandom. Why is that and would you like to write/publish more in the future?

Part of the reason is that I have a really busy life outside of the fandom (and writing). I also don't like to write just to fill up space. And I don't want to publish anything I don't think is the best I'm capable of at that moment.

On top of that, I'm just not one of those people who has a million stories in my head. I'm very visually stimulated and there are long periods of time where I just don't feel inspired. I also second-guess myself a lot and often end up shelving my WIPs. And... even when I'm inspired, I tend to write slowly. I like to take time to make sure I'm really saying what I want to say in the best way I can. I want to grow and challenge myself with each story I publish. I just don't see a point in doing it without that sort of intention.

On which of your stories did you write the longest?

I think An Invincible Summer probably took the longest. But it was also one of the easiest for me to write because the story just wrote itself in some ways. I had a much clearer picture from the start of how things were going to unfold. At the same time, there were moments that just happened as I wrote that ended up shifting the story from what I'd originally planned.

I recently went back and re-wrote that fic, adding another 10K to flesh it out better. I'm so much happier with it (even though I loved it before), but I haven't published the updated version on AO3. Not sure whether I will.

Which of your stories came together the fastest?

The first one (Whoever, However). But it's also only 9K. Harry dropped that Beauty Papers spread and my brain exploded. The story was all there. I think Hike Up Your Skirt was probably the next quickest (again, it's not terribly long), but that one I originally wrote for the Anonymous Unicorns collection so there was a lot of freedom in getting to write anything I wanted without fear of judgment. If I could only harness that, I'd be able to bang them out!

What fic of yours was the hardest to write?

I think Literally Making Love.

It was an unusual premise, in that it's about a robot and a human falling in love, but I really struggled with whether I should make it "more" than a love story. It felt like it deserved to be "more", or that it should have more about how AI changes the world and a conversation about loneliness and the way the world contributes to that. So I kept feeling like I wasn't going down the right path with what I was writing, but India reminded me that there's just as much value in a lighthearted story as there is in "serious" writing. We all know the joy of sinking into a comfort fic, or kicking our feet at something really sweet and happy. So I let Literally Making Love be what it wanted to be and I was ultimately super proud of it. And, in the end, I think I did a good job of dealing with the ethical issues, even though I didn't make that the center of the fic.

What inspires you most while writing?

Visuals to begin with. I tend to get inspired by photos or a piece of art. Sometimes song lyrics. But visuals keep me going so I make moodboards for myself and I find quotes or pictures on Tumblr that feel like they belong to the story. I think all of my fics have a link to an inspiration tag on my blog.

And then talking through things with India.

It's so helpful to have someone who gets what you're shooting for and who has the same sense of what makes for good writing. So I'll brainstorm with her when I'm stuck or give her sections to see if it's reading the way I want it to... It keeps me going.

I don't know how writers do it all by themselves. There are times when I've read something so many times that I can't even tell if it's any good. And I do the same for her... helping her get through her writing challenges or brainstorming her projects also makes me a better writer.

In the notes of Literally Making Love you mentioned a 9 month long writers block. What helped you out of it?

Truly it was just that piece of fan art I linked in the note at the start. I'd never seen that artist's work before and this drawing of Louis building an unfinished Harry ended up on my dash and I said, "Well, I'd read the hell out of that." Sadly, no one else was going to write it for me, so I had to do it myself.

While talking about this, I pointed out that I searched a few tags of this particular trope after I finished reading Literally Making Love and couldn’t find more than a handful of fics, which I was surprised by.

Gina thinks people are put off by the idea even if there are so many ways to handle it that could make for a beautiful story.

What do you find most challenging about writing?

I was about to say finding a title, but then I realized that I only had trouble with that in two of the five I wrote.

Hmm. Honestly, I think the most difficult thing for me to write are arguments/fights.

I tend to be really passive-aggressive when I argue, and that doesn't make for very good reading. So I really have to work at crafting a back-and-forth that feels natural but also packs enough of a punch for the scene to work. In An Invincible Summer, the argument scene was pretty pivotal, and one of my betas at the time made me re-write it three times before she signed off on it.

Is there anything you can tell me about future projects you’re planning?

I'm working on another historical fic at the moment. It's slow burn and longer than anything I've written before. So that's a challenge. It's set in the 1880s between the Belle Epoch debauchery and decadence of Paris, and Victorian London's rigid social structure and moral conservatism. Basically, Harry is a French ballet dancer turned sex worker/courtesan. Louis is a British aristocrat whose father has sent him off to Paris to get "the gay" out of his system before he has to marry. There are some twists and turns, and I'm having a lot of fun trying to keep things sexy and exciting for a modern reader while still being true to the time period.

I still don't have a title, and I'm still working on a brief description to sum it up. But... I'm about 60K in and I'm having fun.

When I told Gina that that sounds like you’d have to but lot of research into it, she said:

So much research! But I actually love that part. I get really into the nitty gritty and look up everything. For example, did you know the ice cream cone wasn't invented until 1896 (although not patented until 1903)? LOL! I had to change a scene I was writing because all of a sudden, I thought, "Did they have ice cream then? How did they keep it cold? How did they eat it?" I honestly hate reading something when little details are wrong. It totally pulls me out of a story.

For the next part of the interview, I asked Gina a few questions about her works in particular.

Gina about her favourite scene she wrote, her experience with writing before writing fanfics and being inspired by her own family’s history:

What work of yours is your personal favourite?

Hm. I think Literally Making Love is my favorite because it's the most unique concept, and I'm really proud of some of the writing in that one.

Hike Up Your Skirt is, I think, my most popular one. But that's not surprising because it's complete filth.

Do you have a favourite scene that you wrote?

There's a scene in Literally Making Love when they're walking the dog through the woods, and they're talking about the concept of being lonely, and Harry realizes he's the only one in the world who can understand anything he's experienced. I just really loved how that scene came together. To me it's very visual, and it's got that kind of poetic, dreamy feeling to it that I love to find in fics (and am forever trying to emulate, but I think that might be the only time I've succeeded so far).

I told Gina that this was a scene that definitely made me think about the concept of being all alone with an experience. Here’s what she said about that:

I like moments in a story that make you stop and think about more than just the story you're reading. I think these days, we can much more easily connect with others who can understand most of our experiences very deeply. Although, I imagine if you were the only highly advanced AI robot in the world, you might have some experiences no one else has had to grapple with.

Is there a work of yours that was planned to go completely different than it came out in the end?

There are definitely moments within the stories that I never planned on, and they changed some aspects of how the story ultimately came together.

For example, in An Invincible Summer, the idea for Harry to hold on to memories by getting a camera popped out of nowhere.

In Literally Making Love, the scene of Louis painting Harry's tattoos over his scars came in a dream and that meant I added the aspect of Harry's body dysmorphia. So, little things for sure.

Whoever, However was your first fic you published. Did you write in any form before that?

I did.

I wrote non-fiction for a bunch of magazines and online outlets. I've also ghostwritten three books.

Beyond that, no. Just lengthy blog posts about two gay boybanders.

What were your inspirations for gathered on wings?

There was a photo of Louis in some sort of haphazardly layered jackets and standing in front of these graffitied walls, and it had this caption, saying that he looked like a PhD candidate at the Sorbonne. That was how the idea started.

I had wanted to write a teacher/student fic without the creepy aspect of grooming and inappropriate conduct, and somehow my comment led to Harry having been his intern and them meeting again years later.

Then, the research on all the modern art and the high-end art world informed the rest of the story.

You didn’t go much into detail how successful Harry’s art got after ‘Comrade’ recommended his art for an exhibition at the Marlborough Gallery. Was that the push Harry’s work needed to get the attention it deserved?

It was.

He'd been relying on sugar daddies to pay his way and to give him the connections to patrons. But Comrade vouching for him opened the doors to him being able to do it independently. It's that feeling of, "If I could just get my foot in the door, I could show them what I can do."

That was his foot in the door.

Gathered on wings was my first attempt at writing a chaptered fic, and there was a huge learning curve. There are parts of it I really like and parts I sometimes want to go back and re-write.

Do you think Louis’ identity in gathered on wings always stayed hidden even after they got engaged (and eventually married)?

I like to imagine that as Harry became more widely known, people became interested in his partner. And Louis would then decide to reveal his identity with a new installation that they collaborated on.

Staying hidden when your partner is famous is probably a hard thing to do.

I think so. Especially if you're in the same field. In a way, it mirrors the idea of the two of them coming out at some point.

You said in the notes for An Invincible Summer that it’s inspired by your grandfather’s life. Was that your only inspiration for the story?

It's what set the scene. Other than that, I knew I wanted to write about writing and seeing yourself in a book or feeling understood by someone you never met but who's somehow written about you and your life. The concept of feeling really "seen" is something that shows up again and again for me.

You didn’t go into any detail about Harry’s relationship with his adoptive parents after he left at the end of An Invincible Summer, even though his mother tried to support him as much as she could when he had to leave. Do you think they held contact after Harry was forced to leave or if he/they even went back as a part of H & L’s adventures?

I think Harry managed to stay in touch with his mother secretly and to eventually reunite with his sisters.

When I rewrote the story, I changed the middle sister to a brother to show another way that Harry was treated differently. So I imagine Big Jim and the little brother digging their heels in and acting like he never existed. But Harry and Louis eventually had a beautiful and extensive found family.

The end of Hike Up your Skirt (And Show Your World To Me) is pretty much open. How do you think their relationship progressed and do you think they have a chance of having a normal (as in no power imbalance or manipulation) relationship?

Mmm. I actually started writing a second part from Harry's POV where you see that Harry is also playing a game to get Louis to fall for him. I see their relationship becoming a 24/7 Dom/Sub life. I think they're both way too kinky and maybe a little too depraved to have a "normal" relationship.

Are any of your original characters inspired by people you know in your day-to-day life?

No, actually. LOL! Very simple answer. They're all just figments of my imagination.

A lot of other writers in the fandom have difficulties or are just a little uncomfortable with writing smut. That doesn’t seem to be the case for you. Why’s that?

HAHAHAHA! No, I think it’s actually the easiest part for me to write. I’m not sure why. I don’t have a lot of hang ups around sex, so maybe that helps. And I love the idea of character development through intimate scenes.

How did you come up with the idea for your fic rec masterpost here on Tumblr and how did all of that start?

I think it just started because someone asked if I could recommend some fics in a particular category (If I remember correctly, it might have been dystopian fics). And I had too much time on my hands, so I decided to make a header and write little blurbs about why I liked each one I was suggesting.

Somehow that turned into a deluge of people asking for different things and, for whatever reason, I had the time at that moment. So I made rec after rec.

At some point it was annoying that people kept asking for the same things, so I just made an alphabetical masterpost.

Is there a specific trope or genre you’d like to read more of?

Oh, that's a good question. It's so much easier to tell you what I don't like.

Honestly, to me, it's really more about the writing than about the trope or genre. But I do really like a good enemies-to-lovers fic, and if you can write a new twist on a fake relationship, I'm all in.

Do you somehow track the fics you’ve read? And if you do, can you give me a rough number of how many you’ve read?

So, I only bookmark fics I've really loved. Obviously some I love more than others, but I currently have 655 fics bookmarked.

I've been reading in this fandom for 11 years. Some I won't have read all the way through, but counting those, I'm sure I've literally read thousands.

I've gone through periods where I've just got a lot more free time at one point or another. And when I entered the fandom in 2013 there were literally so many terrific fics I didn't know where to start.

And every time you turned around there was another. It was very addicting.

Are you reading anything right now? If not, what was the last thing you’ve read?

I have a hard time reading when I'm actively writing, so nothing really recent.

The last fic I read that I really liked was Danger I Can't Hide by CelticSky. It's actually a WWII fic but set on the airbase where H is a pilot and Louis is a mechanic. It's just so well written and so well researched. Highly recommend.

For the next part of the interview, Gina answered some personal questions about her experiences in the fandom.

Since when are you in the fandom and what made you become a fan?

Since November 2013.

I took my daughter (who was 6 at the time) to see This Is Us. Did a little research to make sure this boy band was appropriate for her and then fell in love with them. We ended up seeing the movie three times, then bought it and watched it at home. She was a Niall girl.

She was my concert buddy for a while. One Direction at the Rose Bowl in 2014 was her first concert.

The weirdest comment you got?

Oh, I get some doozies on Tumblr.

I think one of my favorites was from years ago when I used to do a lot of NSFW fan art. I got an anonymous message from someone claiming to be Harry's lawyer and they were demanding I delete all of my fan art of Harry. HAHAHAHA! Like an attorney would send an anon. Or even ask for something like that. I still laugh when I think about that one.

Harry or Louis?

It's very hard to choose because they're both amazing. I'm a Harry girl from way back. But I obviously love and support Louis, too.

Harry just really inspires me in so many ways. And his music is more my speed.

Your favourite Harry era and your favourite Louis era?

Oh, that's hard. I think Harry's recent era (Harry's House) might be my favorite because he seemed so happy and so self-assured and confident in who he is as a person. He looked fantastic too. Other eras are special to me because of what was going on with the fandom at the time, or because I liked the way he dressed or whatever, but in terms of just enjoying him, I'd have to say this last tour.

Louis is a little more difficult for me because I've had a really hard time with his image over this last tour and his doubling down on babygate. I'm very happy he says he's really happy and proud of his album/tour, but if I had to pick my favorite I feel like he looked the healthiest and most at ease during MITAM promo. Oh, he looked great during his Walls promo, too.

Your favourite movie with H?

My Policeman. It was a bit uneven, but he really blew me away in some of his scenes. He understood that character inside and out.

Your favourite writer(s) in the fandom?

I actually have so many that I like, although many aren’t in our fandom anymore.

It might be easier to link you to a Favorite Authors rec I made a while ago.

What are your absolute favourite fics in the fandom?

I’m going to make it easy on myself again and link you to a Favourite Fics rec.

Is there a fic that is not necessarily your favourite but still always kind of stuck in your head ?

There are fics that aren’t necessarily the most groundbreaking or complex, but something about them makes me keep coming back to re-read. Don't kill me, but... My Favorite Re-Reads.

I wanted to give you a favorite out of that list, but as I scrolled I was like, oh wait, that one! No, that one! So... sorry, you get them all.

What makes you want to stop reading something?

Hm. So many things, honestly.

Writing where people try too hard to be poetic, continuous spelling and grammar mistakes, miscommunication as the only tension, no tension at all, characterizations that make no sense to me, fics that go on and on and on with no attempt at editing, kid fics, etc. I really have very few squicks, but bad writing is hard for me to ignore (I know "bad" is subjective, so I hope no one takes offense at that... just because I don't like it doesn't mean others don't love it).

Your favourite song at the moment?

Chappell Roan is stuck in my head lately. So, I'll say Casual (although Pink Pony Club is a bop).

Your favourite season?

Fall. Absolutely. SO fucking sick of summer.

The most unusual thing that inspired you?

LOL! I'd have to say the Vintage "Sleaze" novel that inspired Hike Up Your Skirt. It was called "Horizontal Secretary".

Who would you most like to read an interview from?

Well, I'm obviously going to say India because I think she's a great writer. But she's also so well-spoken and interesting.

I'd love to read an interview with CelticSky because I loved Danger I Can't Hide so much and I don't know them since they're on Twitter!

Lastly I asked Gina to give every work of hers a colour. Here’s the outcome of that:

Whoever, However -- yellow

Whoever, However is yellow, because when I think about it, I picture the warm, yellow shade of the wood paneling of the room they filmed in.

gathered on wings -- blue

I’m not sure why gathered on wings is blue in my head. Maybe it’s just because that’s the main color of the mood board I made.

An Invincible Summer -- green

An Invincible Summer is green because the rural Georgia setting became one of the characters of the fic. When I think about it, I see the sprawling farm, the rampant kudzu, blueberry fields, lunch under the oak trees… it just feels green to me.

Literally Making Love -- red

Literally Making Love is red because so much of the story is about what it means to be human and even though Harry’s heart isn’t “real” at some point he says to Louis, “Sometimes I feel like you made my heart too small because it doesn’t hold everything I feel for you. I feel it overflowing everywhere.” Or, maybe it’s because it has “Love” in the title. LOL!

Hike Up Your Skirt (And Show Your World To Me) -- purple

I don’t know. The first thought that came to me was purple because I pictured Harry’s character with love bite bruises.

A huge thank you to Gina again. Thank you for being so open and honest while answering my questions. I had the best time talking to you and was so invested in every work of yours.

[subjectredacted]

y'all i am so bad at checking in and posting on tumblr, but!!! i really must scream on every platform because LOOK AT IT LOOK AT IT LOOK AT IT waaaaaAAAAAA look at this beautiful cover art for my fanfic, illustrated by the amazing @fritzmetzger !!!

If you'd like to check out the fic, it's over here on ao3!

More thoughts and feelings, and talk about how this wonderful artistic collaboration came to be under the cut:

Back in December in the Alan Wake Book Club server, I asked for some kind of writing prompt with intentions of just writing a little drabble to practice. Fritz gave me this: "caseywake, brutal gore necrophilia" and I went alright cool, let's get brutal and weird because I love horror and it's a great chance to play in the space. I started thinking about ideas and began writing and the drabble idea turned into something bigger. A multi-chapter endeavor. Because: I wanted to have Alan kill Casey over and over again but I also wanted him to have to sit and live with the building distress and emotions involved in this, especially when it came to potentially romantic and lustful feelings involving a corpse. (I also found myself wanting to write about Alan as a few different kinds of monsters as a way to play around even more with the horror of it all.)

The more I thought about the dreams, the more I also thought about how I wanted to frame this story and how it would bleed out into both Alan and Casey's real lives. Because the experiences are happening as shared dreams, it's been interesting to think about the short-and-long-term impact that they have on the two of them, and how the dreams interplay with their emotional states and relationships with those around them.

The fic is still very early on right now (i'm taking a little break from writing chapter four as we speak), but I have lots of plans outlined (and I also continue to welcome in new ideas to this both when I am and am not working on it) for the future. If I had to estimate right now... 20 or so more chapters to go based on the current ideas I have outlined right now. After a certain point in the story, we'll also be exploring Casey's side of the dreams to see what his perspective is on what is happening, and I am VERY much looking forward to their eventual realization that all of these strange and grotesque moments were shared over the years once they finally meet face-to-face in 2023.

For anyone reading the fic, the fabled necrophilia is coming very soon! (Chapter 5, unless Casey wants to get another chapter in beforehand. If that happens, it will be chapter 6!)

if you read all my rambling, thank you!! pls join me in will smith posing at this amazing art by fritz!!!! RRRRAAAAAAAA

[tvchi]

The Rhythm of You

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: Minors DNI- Profanity, Use of the N word. Pairing: black male x black female Words: 5,419k

A/N: Hey yall hey. Happy Holidays and a Very Happy New Year to you all. I've been gone for a minute, and now I'm back with the jump off/goons in the club case--- my fault; let me get serious. During the holiday season, I took some intentional time off to be present with family and get some much needed rest. I've been enjoying so many other fanfics, liking and reblogging them for your viewing pleasure, so please check them out. When I got back, work just steamrolled me, and then I found myself reminiscing about the past with friends and fantasizing about this new fic. It just wouldn't leave me alone and I found myself disengaging from Terry's drama to look into an unexpected chapter in Aldis' life (lol). I will be writing part 4 of Veiled Intentions soon don't worry!

Summary: Aldis has been working really hard and had finally finished Season 1 of Cross. I had been a grueling 10 months filming this role and getting into character. Now, he can finally decompress and return to the one thing that means the world to him, his baby girl. Everything was all figured out until he met someone unexpected, someone alluring, someone who will add a much needed song to the soundtrack of his life.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- Delicate golden embers arose from the stringed lights hung all over the ceiling. Their glow illuminated the bodies that swayed underneath. The sounds of the speakers blaring the Top 40 hits now transitioned to R&B. The calm electricity throughout the room brought a warm buzz to my chest. It was a sight to behold. Everyone I had grown close to over the past couple of years gathered under this two-story NY loft to celebrate the significant milestone. It made me smile. 

I usually enjoy the wrap of all of my work. It gives me time to pause, decompress, reflect on the journey, make a little time to note what I could have done better, and dig deep inside myself to practice the celebration of all of the things I had done right. Taking on this role was a huge undertaking, but I got it right. Really right. I was already getting calls offering me other roles in other limited series. I even got offered a chance to make my directorial debut on a project that I’ve had my eye on for a while.

Knocking back another swig of my drink. I couldn’t help smiling at the thought of going home and hugging my daughter tight.  It was a wrap ritual for me. Ever since she was born, I’ve been obsessed with the little extension of myself. The way she looked up at me, face pressed tightly against my chest, asking me all kinds of questions and clinging to every answer. I thought I knew love until I held her.  

I downed the last of my drink and started saying my goodbyes. It wasn’t until I had hugged the last person that I heard the commotion coming from the dancefloor. They were playing some song featuring Kehlani, the only voice I recognized at the moment, and it was smooth. Curious, I let my feet guide me to the edge of the formed crowd. I stepped in closer, and that is when I saw …her. 

Her skin was a toffee brown, and under the streams of warm light, she glowed. The second thing I noticed was how she seemed to glide around the enclosed circle she maneuvered around. It was almost as if her feet weren’t even hitting the floor. Where her feet went, her hips trailed behind, snaking around, causing her ass to tick and shake precisely as the percussion dropped. She was in perfect sync with the beat. There came a point where she switched her movements to emulate the rhythm of the words the artists’ crooned. She turned around to where I was standing, body still enthralled by the trance of the song, and started mouthing the words. 

The way she moved her hands to trace the outline of her hills and valleys enticed something in my carnal nature. My eyes wouldn’t move from her. Her eyes fluttered open and closed, influenced by the song's sentiment. If she were the premise of the music video, this song would win so many awards. I continued watching her intently, and then she suddenly peered up at me, still mouthing the words of the song and moving those perfectly sculpted hips and thighs. She snaked to the right and folded over, allowing the right side of the room a full view of a plump, round ass and the rest of us a delectable side view. Her eyes never left me. It was almost like she was daring me to make my way over to her and dance with her. My feet remained planted where they were, and I just stared, wondering how she would look doing this routine in my bedroom— on my dick. 

My thoughts were interrupted by my castmate and newfound brother, Isaiah, coming up to my right. “Incredible,” he said, practically moaning.

“Who is she?”

“I don’t even know. The little intel I was able to pick up from some of the cast mates who were familiar with her was that she’s a choreographer or dancer or something. She came as a plus on.”

The DJ continued to egg her on while transitioning to ‘Can I’ by Kehlani. She started another routine that didn’t seem routine at all. Isaiah and I kept our eyes glued to her every movement. Again, she seemed entranced by the rhythm of the song. She looked like she was… home. 

After the song went off and the DJ transitioned to another song, she straightened up and peered around at the small crowd cheering for her. She blushed, waved a vote of thanks, and whispered something to Golden Madison, another of our castmates. I'm not sure how or why, but my feet started moving toward the pair. I could sense that Isaiah wasn’t far behind. 

“No, girl, you can’t leave now. You are literally the life of the party, and the night is young!” I overheard Golden saying.

“I agreed to be your plus one on one of my sacred days off to congratulate you and love on you. It’s almost 2 am; I think I’ve done my fair share of ‘plus-oneing’. I need to get to my bed,” the mystery girl said playfully.

“Please, we’ll leave in like another hour or so. I promise,” Golden begged.

“Girl! I have errands to run and other things to do tomorrow. I have to go, but I love you deep! I’m so proud of you!” the girl kissed. Golden pouted and noticed Izzy and I standing there. 

“Hey yall,” Golden squeaked. Her friend turned around to see who Golden was speaking to, and our eyes locked for the second time tonight. 

“Hey, Goldie,” I said.

“I thought you left already. I know you don’t stay out late much,” she stated.

“Yea, I was on my way out, and then I heard all the commotion coming from the dancefloor and thought I’d see what was going on,” I replied.

“And there was a lot going on,” Izzy chimed, staring suggestively at the girl we both couldn’t take our eyes off of.

“My girl is and has ALWAYS been the truth!”

“Does your girl have a name?”

“Yea, you not gonna introduce us? Rude!”

“Shut up, Izzy. Aldis, Izzy, this is my best friend Amara. Amara, these clowns are the co-stars of the Alex Cross, Alex and Izzy,”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” she shook our hands. Hers were so soft, and her handshake was firm. I held her hand a little longer than customary before letting her go. The absence of the warmth of her hand when I let go of her instantly felt unnatural. Wrong even. 

“Goldie, I gotta go. Love you,” Amara said, turning toward Goldie

“Ugh, you’re being so lame!” Goldie let out in frustration.

The DJ started playing ‘Hot’ by Efosa. I watched her close her eyes in loathing. She turned to Goldie and said, “This is my damn song, and I feel like you told him to play this!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Goldie said, feigning innocence. “If you going then, go!”

Amara lets out a long sigh. The next thing I knew, my right hand was in hers, and she was leading me back onto the dancefloor. She laid it on me. Her hips moved left and right. She planted her ass directly where my dick laid dormant until — now. Looking at the view of her sculpted, exposed lower back up close while she practically whined on my member was mesmerizing. Her hips rotated clockwise then, suddenly with the change of the synths, counterclockwise like she pressed rewind on her previous movement. 

She was a force, and I desperately tried to keep up with her while taking her all in. I was pretty sure pre-cum was leaking all in my boxers as I watched her ass ripple up and down as I collided with her. I needed to make her mine, to have the pleasure of being inside her, to learn every twist and turn of that body. By the end of the song, I didn’t care that she was feeling how hard I was at this point. This was all her doing. At the final climax of the song, she threw her head back and tilted to the left to look back at me as she wiggled her ass at warped speed to match the beat. I was gone. 

She owned me, and she knew it. When the DJ transitioned, she gave a final bump to my third leg with her ass and rose to her full height. She walked to Goldie and hugged her, followed by a kiss on her cheek. My feet were still planted where they were, missing her warmth and showcasing a hefty hard-on. While walking towards the exit, she glanced at me and flashed a knowing smile. Then she was gone.

“Daaaaaaaaamn, bruh. She left and put the $200 on the dresser, cuz the way she was handling you back there, you definitely got fuck,” he said laughing. He was right, and there was nothing I could do about it. I should’ve ran after her and asked for her information but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I just felt. 

————————————————————————-

“Hey baby, what you doing?” Looking at my greatest accomplishment with pride and joy. According to her teachers, she’s ahead of the class in all her subjects. They’ve been testing her to see whether she can skip classes. It was fascinating watching her in her element. 

“I’m building a house,” she answered curtly, zipping around to find another piece to glue on. One thing I loved about babygirl was the fact that she did her own thing. It didn’t bother her that the other girls her age were more preoccupied with tea parties and painting their nails. She liked those things, too, but she also loved working with her hands and playing basketball with the other boys in the neighborhood. 

She didn’t let the other kids push her around either. You never knew what you were going to get with her. One day, she demanded to go to school in her “princess gown,” the next day, she would wear a snapback, jeans, and the pair of Jays we got together. Her mom thought she sometimes dressed like me when she missed me the most. That was another subject… her mom. 

“Ok, well, I want my room facing the backyard. I don’t wanna hear all that noise from the street. Oh, and make sure you hook me up, too. I want a big-screen TV in there.”

“Imma do your room last cause you ain't say ‘please’! That's rude, Daddy.”

I chuckled. “That’s fair, babygirl. That’s fair. My bad. Please and thank you.”

“Mhmm. Now that your movie is done, how long you staying this time?”

“I’m going be here until I get another role that I wanna do, then it’s the usual. I take the meetings and talk to some people, and if they like me, they’ll tell me when I start.”

“They always like you, Daddy. You’re the best!”

I beamed. “Thank you, baby girl. That means a lot coming from you. They can give me all the awards they want to, but–”

“But if you don’t get one from me, then nothing matters. I know, Daddy. You say that every time.” She smiled, and half rolled her eyes.

“That’s because I mean it!” I exclaimed, tapping her nose with my index finger.

“I know.”

“So now that you got me all to yourself for a while, what you wanna do?”

“Well, Imma finish the house, then maybe later you can make me a burger cause imma be hungry. After that, we can go to the movies. After that, maybe we can go to a basketball game. Eric said ain't no way I’m going to the Knicks game. I told him that my daddy takes me when he’s home, and he called me a liar. So we gotta go to the Knicks game so I can see Karl-Anthony, then we gotta take pictures so he can shut up. After that, I wanna go to the skating rink because Tina and Tasha said we gotta get good by the summer so we can skate outside. Then after that—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I see you got a lot of plans. Tell you what, for today, I’ll leave you to your house and get the burgers ready. We’ll go to the movies later on tonight. Tomorrow, we can go to Home Depot and get some lights and other stuff to hook your house up. How’s that sound?”

“YAAAAAAAY!!! Daddy, how you know I wanted to put some lights in here?!?!”

“Cause you been on the computer watching YouTube videos of mini houses and how to put lights up,” I replied with a smirk.

“You can see that?”

“I can see everything, babygirl. Remember that.” I finished, giving her a peck on the forehead, and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

I worked quickly, seasoning the ground turkey and forming the patties. They were ready in no time. While working on the last batch of seasoned fries, my phone rang.

“Nigga, whatchu doing?” Isaiah blurted.

“Me and babygirl finna eat these burgers. What’s good?” I declared, gazing proudly at the meal I drummed up.

“Oh, so you back? Good,” he asked, referring to my choice to stay another week in LA to decompress before flying back to New York.

“Yea I got back in yesterday.”

“Yea, well, remember lil mama from the wrap party?”

“Who?”

“Nigga, the one you was drooling over. Don’t play like you don’t know who I’m talking about.”

I laughed sheepishly. I couldn’t forget her if I tried. “Whatever. Wussup?”

“Uh huh, anyway, I saw her at one of the studios on Kingston Ave in the Heights.” I marveled at how your friend, who was anxious about riding the subway just last month when he first got here, is rattling off streets in Brooklyn like a pro even though he lives in Harlem. I loved how he was getting comfortable in a place that would always be home.

“And what were you doing in Brooklyn?” I asked curiously.

“Never you mind what I was doing in Brooklyn. Did you hear what I said? Your girl is dancing her fine ass up and down Brooklyn with some brown-skinned Dominican muthafucka! You talmbout ‘what you doing in Brooklyn’? Anyway, I just texted you the address to the dance studio. Make your way over there.”

“Uh huh, leave that Zina girl alone, nigga. You’re married. I ain't gon’ tell you bout that shit no more. Tighten up!” I snapped. 

As much as I loved having Isaiah in my city, bending blocks, booking gigs, and getting closer, he’s been losing his way. I’ve always looked up to him in more ways than one. He held so much knowledge and experience. Lately, I’ve noticed him putting off his responsibilities to his house and home. Especially when it came to Zina, a 39-year-old creative director of Epic Records who worked closely with us on the soundtrack of Cross. 

She lived in Brooklyn and returned home 2 weeks before we wrapped. Isaiah was supposed to go home and spend time with his wife and two kids. Instead, he bought a brownstone in Harlem and moved some of his things out here.  I pressed him about his sudden decision, and he said that he needed some time to think and that Lisa agreed. I knew there was more to the story, but I didn’t press him. 

I introduced him to some of my friends and showed him around so that he would get more acclimated. Sometime later, I heard he was running up to Brooklyn to see some girl. I started putting two and two together. When I finally confronted him, he fell silent and told me to let him straighten his shit out, and he would let me do the same with mine. I left him knowing that I disapproved and that if I was asked, I wouldn’t lie to him. Now, I see none of my words struck a chord with him. 

“Yea whatever, nigga. Get to that studio.” he said and hung up. I pondered what would be the reason for me to barge into a dance studio with my size and build. I did not want to make it obvious that I was there for her but I needed to see her. I wasn’t sure why. 

After getting babygirl fed, we headed to the movies. Wicked was a dope movie. Babygirl and I discussed the different themes and lessons she picked up in the film. This girl was so bright and full of life. I couldn’t believe how perfect she was. Blessed and proud, I couldn’t even begin to cover it. Next morning, we did our morning routine of hygiene, outfit choices, breakfast, and affirmations, and I dropped babygirl off at school. 

“Aye, man, you the guy from Underground, right?” I heard a voice say as I entered one of my favorite coffee shops. I turned around to face him.

“Yea, man. How you doing?”

“Oh man, my girl gon flip. She loves you. You dope or whatever. Can I get a pic witchu?”

“Yea man, C’mon”

We took a couple of pictures, and I dapped him up. I told him about Cross, and he said he would spread the word. I reached the counter to order my favorite drink, and my favorite barista was there.

“Oh, shit, everybody. My favorite actor after Denzel is here!” Assata shouted.

“Here you go! You gotta do that every time I come up here? You know I’m tryna be incognegro” I responded, feigning annoyance.

“Shut up. You love my announcements, and I love doing ‘em”

“Whatever, ya pops and Man man here. I wanted to say wussup to them real quick before I start a little bit of work.”

“Al, you just finished working. When you gonna take a minute to breathe? Enjoy that little girl before you jet off.”

“First of all, you in my business. Second, babygirl says ‘hey’ and that the last time she came in here and got a hot chocolate Man Man made it too hot, and she burned her tongue. So I’m here to beat his ass. Next, I did take time to decompress but I got a baby now and like everybody else, I’m tryna make sure everybody eats. Lastly, go get ya Pops!”

“Mhmm. You ain’t gotta jump down my throat. I’m just saying that you can take more than a week and some change to relax and enjoy your accomplishments,” she said, making her way to the back room. 

A second later, Pops, aka Mr. Johnson, came from behind. As far as I was concerned, he was part of the family. My family had been coming to his coffee shop and bakery since I was a kid. He looked out for me when my own father was busy working three jobs, and when we didn’t have what we needed for school, he looked out in every way possible. Every time I’m home, I make sure I see him and see if he needs anything. He always declines my help, but I always end up getting my way. 

We spoke for a while about what was going on in the neighborhood and how he kept getting incessant calls trying to get him to sell his property. I knew from how he spoke about the neighborhood and this shop that he would never sell. He wasn't going anywhere if I had anything to do with it. He was one of the few black businesses left in the neighborhood and probably the only one that wasn’t drowning in massive debt. I saw to that. 

After an hour or so, I excused myself and headed to one of the tables across from the window to start looking at a list of upcoming films and shows that have been greenlit and looking to cast. Then, I took a couple of meetings and started finishing up some work I had been putting off for my side projects. Everybody knows I keep a job. I was always working. At first, it started out as a way to get out of debt and make sure that I was never homeless or destitute again. Then, I kept going because I feared that everything I had could be taken from me at any moment, and I needed something. Then I started making excuses about why I couldn’t sit still. That reminded me I had to check in with my guy Mark for our therapy session I had to reschedule. 

When that was completed, I googled the address Isaiah sent me. Google maps street view allowed me to see the inside and outside of the building. It was definitely of a modern design. It also looked like it doubled as a community center for the youth. Going down a rabbit hole, I learned about the studio's founder and watched a couple of interviews about the community center and why it was founded. Then she appeared. 

Amara Omena talked about how the center was a refuge for her to explore her talent as a dancer when her parents admonished and banished her from their home when she stood firm in her decision to pursue dancing full-time instead of becoming an engineer. I was transfixed as she spoke and couldn’t peel my eyes from hers. I also wondered what kind of people would force their kids out in the cold because they wanted to go for their dreams. 

I thought to babygirl, and how I would be over the moon if she told me that she wanted to dance or be a plumber… shit, she could tell me that she wanted to sell her collection of rocks, and I would find a way for her to make that happen. My heart felt for Amara in more ways than one. Before I knew what was happening, I was on the phone with the center's founder and told them I would be there on Monday. I discussed a couple of other things with them and hung up. 

The weekend came and went and babygirl and I went everywhere she could possibly think to go. I even went back to the coffee shop and play-fought Man Man for making babygirl’s hot chocolate too hot. I threatened to whoop his ass again if he burned my baby. Babygirl got a kick outta that. I dropped her off at her mom’s house, hopped on the A express, got off at Hoyt-Schermerhorn, then got on the C and rode that down to Crown and Utica station. As I walked to Kingston Ave, I took in the sights. 

There were some new establishments, but I was glad to see that some of the old ones I grew up with were still there. I made a mental note to take babygirl to the Brooklyn Museum. Finally, I arrived at the Kingston Community Center and went inside. I signed in at the front desk and asked the receptionist where I could sit while I waited for Dr. Simmons to meet me.

“I know you, baby. You don’t need to sign in. I already told Dr. Simmons that you were here when I saw you walking up, witcho fine ass. She’s coming down,” the receptionist said, winking at me. I chuckled.

“Thank you ma’am”

“Anything for you, baby. My name is Linda Brentwell, but everybody calls me Ms. Lee. You single?” she asked. I choked, caught off guard. This woman was firmly in her 60s and flirting with me unabashedly. 

“That’s enough, Ms. Lee. Thank you,” a voice said from behind her. “Hell,o Mr. Hodge, I’m Dr. Simmons. We spoke over the phone.”

I shook her hand. “Nice to meet yo,u Dr. Simmons”

“Follow me. The kids are down the hall,” she announced. 

She told me how grateful she was to receive a call from me and how much it would mean to the kids. She gave me a working itinerary of how the day would go. I spoke with the kids first, signing autographs. They’d watch an episode of Underground, and then I would get a tour of the facility. I chopped it up with the kids and had a blast. I knew babygirl was a riot, but these kids were talented and full of life. They came from all kinds of bullshit out there, and despite everything, they found some semblance of hope and peace at the center. 

Its establishments like these mean everything to the community. I made a mental note of everything the kids said about the place and assured them this wouldn’t be the last they saw of me. I took a picture with each of them and then gave them autographs. I’ll tell my assistant to check in with the center and give the kids goodie bags.  

A teen named Keith waited for me by the door to give me a tour of the center. I chopped it up with him as we walked around the building. I asked him to deviate from the routine and to show me the dance studio last. He mentioned how a generous donor, a contact from one of the instructors of the dance studio, helped remodel the building, which gave them a lot of space.  It was about 6:30pm when we finally made it to the dance studio.

It was on the 4th floor and bathed in a soft, amber sunset that filtered through the tall windows, casting elongated shadows on the polished wooden floor. The air was thick with the scent of fresh wood and a hint of sweat, the lingering evidence of hours of movement—the walls lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. A single barre ran the length of one side, worn smooth by countless hands. At the far end, a stereo system hummed, its speakers poised like silent sentinels.  

A bin was riddled with worn ballet shoes, jazz heels, and some tap shoes. Gym bags and jacks piled next to the cubbies found next to the door.  The loud thud of landing jumps and shifting feet quickly hit your ears when you opened the door. I looked around until I spotted her. Her hips swayed and shifted to the beat, the familiar sight melting my resolve. The choreographer’s next formation led her to the front, where she twirled, leaped in the air, and landed in a split.

“Damn,” is all that escaped me as I watched her pop her ass in the split and look directly into the mirror. She knew exactly what she was doing, making me wonder what else she knew. “I know. Amara is cold. You see all the dudes we passed getting to the door?” “Yea” “They here to watch her. Every time. They stay on her body,” he said. “Is that right?” “On God.”

That bit of information only strengthened my resolve to make sure that I was the only one “on her body,” as he put it. 

“Class. We have a special guest with us today. Everyone say ‘Hello’ to Mr. Aldis Hodge, actor, philanthropist, artist, and watchmaker,” she finished as everyone clapped. I gestured my vote of thanks for their warm welcome.

“Thank you so much for your warm welcome. Wait, hold up. How did you know I made watches and painted them? Let me find out if you've been stalkin a brother,” I joked. The room erupted in laughter. I looked at her, and a small smile crept onto her face. “I was given a great tour. Keith did an excellent job, and we stopped by the studio last to see if I could get some time to learn a few moves real quick.”

“We’d be honored to have you. Here, you can partner with one of our finest, Amara.” “Only if it isn’t a bother,” I posited, looking at her. “No. Not at all,” she said softly. “Alright, y'all all since Mr. Hodge is joining us, we will take it down and practice or choreo to Toni’s ‘You’re Makin’ Me High,’” the instructor, who answered to the name Jamaica, said. She went over the first part of the choreography step by step. It was simple enough, even though I got a couple of chuckles and redirects from Amara. After a couple of individual practices, we all came together and rehearsed them. For someone who only two steps, ya boi was getting it in. I didn’t look out of place. When I got to pull Amara in and dance with her, I felt the same rush I felt two months ago when she took my breath away with the whining of her waist. 

Can’t get my mind off you/ Think I might be obsessed/ The very thought of you makes me wanna get undressed/ I wanna be with you in spite of what my heart says/ I guess I want you too bad…

Toni was speaking my exact sentiments through the speakers, which must have shown because once we were done with steps, a round of applause erupted. 

“Okay, chemistry!!! Mr. Hodge, how long you gonna be in town because we may need you to perform this with us?” Jamaica asked. Reluctantly I broke eye contact with Amara in order to answer Jamaica. “I can move some things around. Let me know what yall need.” “Oh, don’t tell me that 'cause I’mma hit your line about it too!” “I got you,” I replied, looking back at Amara. 

I learned a couple of other things, and by the time the class was over, I had come out of my quarter zip and drenched my beater. I walked over to get a towel.

“Of all the dance studios in Brooklyn, you walk into this one?” I heard a voice beside me say. I removed the towel from my face to look at her. “Aint that something?” She looked at me intently. “You aren’t following me, are you?” “You cute and all, but I don’t need to stalk women to speak to them,” I replied. I lied. She wasn’t cute, she was gorgeous. The way a single bead of sweat curved around her brown slid down her temple and cheek, and curved down her jaw made me want to lick it. While it was a happy coincidence that Isaiah’s cheating ass happened to run into her going into the studio, the rest was all me. I definitely was looking into her and learning all I could about her. She looked at me momentarily, said, “Ok then,” and turned on her heels. I fucked up. I didn’t want to make it seem as though I wasn’t interested at all, but that was the energy it was giving. I had to save the moment. 

“But since we are both here and it’s late, is there a place you like to go to grab something to eat?” I asked, hoping this would bring the conversation back to a good place. “The bodega around the corner has bomb sandwiches.” “You wanna walk together?” “You cute and all, but I usually don't go with men places unless I know them.” “So you think I’m cute?” “I think you’re capable of finding a bodega and getting a sandwich.” 

I smirked. “You got it. If you change ya mind, that’s where I’ll be headed.” I cleaned myself off, threw on my quarter zip and jacket, and headed down with Keith. After saying goodbye to Keith and the other kids waiting to be picked up, I headed to the bodega she had mentioned. There was a high possibility that I fucked things up back there, but something in me hoped— prayed she would just see it as nerves and come anyway. 

When I got to the bodega, I placed my order and got two more orders. I walked around the store and stopped in the back. I pulled out my phone and checked a couple of texts. I got two drinks out of the fridge and returned to the side of the store where they were making the sandwiches. Like clockwork, the store manager came out to inspect the ground. He was orange with long whiskers and a striped tail. If you’re in NY and you don’t see a bodega cat, be suspicious.  “Papi, ya order is next," said the Bodega owner. “Thank you.” I went back to check my phone to pass the time. I responded to one email about a potential role and thought about some others. “Three orders? You just knew I was coming, huh!”  I heard from behind me. I turned around, and there she stood.

--------------------------------------------------------- Thanks for reading this very elaborate meet-cute and hopefully the start of yet another series that I will finish (lol). I've tagged everyone that I could remember too, but if you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!

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[dont-f-with-moogles]

Hi 🤎

I would love to read the long version of all those fake fics if I'm being honest! But: 🦮 for Campfire please dear and lovely Terra 🤎

Campfire Rating: Mature Fandom: Attack on Titan Relationship: Levi Ackerman / Hange Zoe Additional tags: #OG levi squad  #canon universe   #friendships  #friends to lovers  #field trip  #camping  #campfires  #fluff  #romantic feelings  #romantic gestures  #romantic… dreams?  #sleep talking  #no  #smutty sleep talking ;)  #secret relationship  #but not for long #oops  #relationship reveal  #accidental public love confession  #Levi Ackerman is a mess #severe second hand embarrassment Word count: 860 words The clearing was ringed by trees, their great limbs reaching skywards. Spindly branches grew to sharpened points like gnarled fingers, each clutching a thin fabric of leaves which wove into a threadbare canopy overhead. Pale light filtered between them; early evening sky turned grey by the rising smoke from the campfire. Bird calls pierced the quiet rustle of wind. Then, in the distance, a chorus of chirps echoed in response. Amongst the murmurings and stirrings of nature, the flames crackled. 

Two squadrons of Survey Corps soldiers sat upon the fallen logs and leaf-strewn forest floor. The assembly had broken out into smaller groups, conversing intently as they suspended corn cobs over the flickering flames. The air was filled with the smell of roasted vegetables. Hange was terrifying Moblit with a report of Sawney’s cavities, following a dental examination they had personally carried out on the titan. Meanwhile, Oluo was outlining squad formations at painstaking length. Levi nodded as his squad member continued on and on and on… At first glance, it appeared as though the Captain was deep in thought. His eyes narrowed as though he was concentrating on visualising Oluo’s detailed descriptions.

...of course, it’s just my opinion that the Standby Squad should ride ahead of the Transport Squad,” Oluo drawled, “they are in the most protected position after all. Besides which, the Transport Squad carries our spare food, medical equipment, ODM gear…”

Levi’s eyelids fell shut as Oluo began to list off each item on his fingers. The Captain nodded again, his head falling to the side. Petra gasped as she felt his chin brush against her shoulder.

“Captain! Not here! I’m not read-”

It took her a moment to realise that he had not been consciously leaning towards her, but rather unconsciously. The young recruit froze, her shoulder bearing Levi’s head. Oluo stared at them before he gave a bitter sigh, dropping his hand upon his lap in disappointment.

“Well, that’s not what you want.” 

“Oh my god…” Mutterings broke out around the circle amidst the nudging of elbows. Petra sat upright, her shoulders stiffened, not wanting to budge an inch lest she disturb Levi. 

“Come on…” she tried in a placating tone, “we’ve had a long ride here. Let’s just let him sleep. I’ll be fine… as long as someone passes me some corn?” Petra was attempting to sound mildly amused - inconvenienced even - by the fact she was trapped, sitting on her heels and unable to turn her head. However, her face glowed in pleasure as her eyes continually drifted down to Levi’s face, resting so close to her own.

The conversation around the circle continued. Petra lifted her chin, her demeanour inflated as she sat eating and speaking with Eld. All the whilst she affected a casual lightness as though her senior officer was not huddled close to her, open and vulnerable in his slumber. Then, suddenly, Levi interrupted with a murmur.

Petra and Eld lapsed into silence, uncertain as to whether or not the Captain was stirring. He spoke again, only louder this time.

“Ah, Hange… take em off, baby… I don’t care if they’re small… wanna bury my face in them…..”

Petra’s corn on the cob rolled along the forest floor. All eyes were trained on Hange. The titan scientist feigned a perplexed expression as their eyes roved the tree tops.

“Did you guys hear something? Was that a lark? A great tit maybe…?”

“Sounds like Levi would know,” Eld cracked dryly, causing a ripple of laughter to break out amongst the recruits. The sound was followed swiftly by a nervous shushing as Levi raised his head, his eyes opening.

“… the hell are you all looking at?” he muttered. His glare immediately sought out Oluo. In his semi-conscious state, Levi tried to piece together the fragments of their earlier conversation. He remembered it had been something about squads and supplies…

“Well?” Levi growled.

“Sir… I… I was just suggesting an amendment to the riding formation,” Oluo answered anxiously, “not to say you don’t know breast - best!”

The swell of laughter bubbled up around the circle again. Hange fell to wiping their glasses on their yellow shirt, a deep flush creeping up the skin of their neck. Scowling, Levi climbed to his feet.

“If you’ve all got time to sit there snickering, then you’ve got time to help rebuild this fire.” 

He scrutinised the dying embers. Most of the Survey Corps members had eaten by now. All that remained of the fire was a large charred stump, still smouldering in the centre. All of the smaller branches had collapsed to ash inside the middle of the pile. Levi looked up and caught Hange’s eye.

“Oi, Hange. Wanna give me a hand?”

Nervous titters broke out amongst the younger recruits. A few shoulders were shaking. Eld was grinning down at his lap. Oluo’s jaw was set. Gunther had crammed his fist into his mouth, tears pricking in the corner of his eyes.

“With what?” Hange asked, astonished.

Levi regarded her severely.

“Getting wood.”

The whole group burst out into a chorus of whoops and raucous laughter, Oluo hiccoughing loudly as he bit his tongue. @youre-ackermine

[fadelbison]

Totally OBSESSED with Mew in Sand's POOR BOY shirt, sleeping next to Ray and Ray finding that so extremely irresistible that he did something that he knew was 1) morally wrong and more importantly against his own moral code and 2) would definitely not be received well. And this is not a run of the mill occurrence either because Mew would definitely not stand for it happening twice and also Ray re-confesses his feelings, meaning that up until this point Mew didn't know that Ray was still harboring feelings for him. One of the things I was trying to get at with my Ray character study fic (yes you should read it!! I put my whole heart into it) is this idea that Ray doesn't see Mew and Sand existing on the same paradigm of his life and therefore his feelings for Mew and Sand are not actually in conflict (in his mind). The reason why I thought that was because of how uncomfortable he looks in this scene where he's directly put into a situation where he has to choose between them. There are many ways he could have handled this situation that wasn't this poorly. For a person who knows just how effective his little puppy eyes are against Sand he's totally rendered useless to using it. He can barely make eye contact, he does a needlessly poor job of explaining the situation, almost like he's trying not to explain, trying not to acknowledge how he's in a situation where Mew and Sand are both vying for his attention. He does end up telling Sand the truth but does it in this extremely awkward, stilted way that makes Sand feels extremely unwanted.

Because the thing is, there is no way he can like Sand for real if he and Mew co-exist. There is no one he can love more than Mew, Mew who is his emergency contact, Mew who loves him in a way his mother failed to do, Mew who saved his life and Mew who still doesn't find him desirable as a romantic partner. This is the absolute most a person can love him (in his mind) and so whatever Sand feels for him, lust, pity, affection is still and will always have to be (in his mind) at a lower sum total. But I digress, you see a similar discomfort on his face when Mew holds up the POOR BOY shirt at him and then he says nothing at all about it. Yes, he's probably just trying to hide that him and Sand have been in a situation where they would share clothes to avoid being teased. But also, the night he actually absconded with this shirt he did not have sex with Sand so he chooses avoidance once more where simply acknowledging the truth and Sand's friendship would have been just as easy if not easier.

And the whole time that Ray is building it up to kiss sleeping Mew, Khaotung is focusing entirely on staring at Book's face but for just the briefest of second right before he does it he looks down, which could be at Mew's lips but I think the gaze goes down past to the shirt. Khaotung does make such intentional acting choices that I'm inclined to believe that it was a moment of those world's (Sand and Mew) colliding for Ray and him forgetting who he is with and more importantly who the feelings are for that he's sitting with in this moment.

Mew challenges him later as to why he would do it if he knew it was wrong and once more he was totally unable to admit to this moment of weakness, because how do you even explain that

Sand unintentionally outlines Ray's major character conflict in this show and I find it so fascinating that the word he used is prioritization not choosing which are fundamentally different things. Because choosing would be simple. Ray would choose Mew in a heartbeat but no one is actually making him choose between them. Mew has as firmly as humanly possible shut that door on him long before Sand was even in the picture. Mew is his best friend and Sand is his lover, by definition they will have to co-exist in Ray's life and he will have to distinguish what he feels for them and come to recognize both forms of love as valuable and important, maybe will have prioritize between them at times but he's not meant to actually leave either of them behind... but how does one do that? Ray who only ever really learnt how to be left behind - how will he ever know to do that?

[zarla-s]

Man it's been a long time since I've done an ask cluster! Let's see if I can get some down...

He's an extremely fun character to write for and play with! So in that sense I'm fond of him, haha. He's such a huge disaster of a person, there's always something fun to do with him. Well "fun" in a relative sense.

I don't have anything to forgive him for, he didn't hurt me. |D He hurt the brothers!

I do have an idea for a cute feature inspired by Six-Eared Macaque! I should really sit down and do that already... and finish the one I half started but never finished...

I don't think my opinion on any of them changed! I love them all, haha. Which ones I drew comics about just depends on which ones I get ideas for really. Sometimes I get Alphys ideas and sometimes I get Goatparents ideas! Inspiration is fickle!

I don't have any solid plans or anything. :B Just gonna keep chugging along with silly comics and art! Work on Defrag and such. I'd like to finish a Ladyverse comic I've had lying around forever, and I had vague plans for doing a doujin for them too I could work on... and also seeing if I could format Handplates into a book format... I've always got a bunch of projects, haha.

It works on that level! It wasn't intentional though. |D

I do enjoy speculation! I don't really have much of my own though, I didn't predict anything in chapter 2 so now I'm assuming I can't predict anything in the future chapters either, haha.

Emesis Blue is great! Some really beautiful visuals in there, very striking! Love the mood of it too and a lot of the surreal imagery. I think it helped spur me back into TF2 again, haha. Medic and Scout's relationship was so cute.

I have thought about this! It has its share of challenges though... I outlined them more in this post. A pdf would be more doable though... could even include some extra stuff as well! Hmm...

I can see that! He'd probably spend as much time out in the rain as he could just doing whatever to stay outside.

It was pretty much always going to end like that. I always wanted it to end on a hopeful note! Which might seem weird with how dark it is at the beginning. I DID for a brief period at the very beginning of Handplates think about stopping with the Pacifist run, but that was only because I thought going where I wanted to go would take too long and already the project seemed so dauntingly huge at the time, haha. But it was always going to end in a positive way!

Gaster talks about what he originally intended to create here, and he explains a bit about the physical experiments he runs on the brothers here. They aren't really a solution in and of themselves so much as tools to try and find a way to break the barrier. Really though, Gaster got stuck in the sunk-cost fallacy lol.

I don't really have opinions about what canon Gaster would be like. |D Handplates Gaster is his own thing really. Canon Gaster, who knows! Deltarune Gaster, who knows! I will say I hope Gaster stays a mystery in Deltarune and never actually shows up but I think the odds of that are really low at this point.

I thought about doing a script along those lines! I did a few rough drafts of one, but it never really went anywhere... it'd end up dead-ending or kind of meandering off. I might see if I can get an actual script down for a side-comic or something in the future... it might be better suited for a fic.

I was just thinking about this lately! I was picturing Gaster totally forgetting about that until he sees Papyrus squinting and is like OH GOD YOUR EYES THAT'S RIGHT D: and goes to get him looked at lol.

I couldn't come up with a good idea for Flowey which is a shame, I do like him, haha. If one comes to me though I might make a little side comic about it!

Gaster's LV is complicated... his stats in-game are ludicrous if I recall correctly. Did he carry the damage from his murders into the void, even if those murders weren't his in the new timeline? Deep thoughts.

He fed them anything he could find, haha. Which is why sometimes they just ended up with chocolate bars (which he intended as dinner for himself). He probably fed them more often than he fed himself lol. He did feed them fairly regularly though.

Not about skeletons, probably. |D

Man I know I had an explanation for this but it was so long ago... it's hard for me to remember. It could be that the Riverperson is just weird and has weird insight into elements of things, had a prophetic dream... I don't know! It bugs me now that I can't remember this, haha.