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joonsytip · 3 days

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Only for Love || Mingyu - Part 3

Pairings: Mingyu x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Husband!Mingyu, Cold Wife!Reader, Arranged Marriage au, Contract Marriage au, Divorce au

Synopsis: When an accidental discovery has your perception of happy married life crumbling down, you do what you think is the best for everyone involved. Naturally, your opinion of the best doesn't cater to your husband's. So what happens when things spiral out due to unforeseen events?

Warnings: character death, mentions of pregnancy, Mingyu acts dumb, reader goes through a whole lot of emotional turmoil, mentions of divorce, tears, profanities, major angst.

Word Count: 5.7k

@wongyuuu thanks a lot for brainstorming out this with me & happy birthday, love! 💕🎂

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Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Mingyu returns to an empty house. He waits for you for an hour, two hours and when the clock strikes midnight his mind clouds with concern. He fishes out his phone and ignoring the series of notifications that keeps on popping up, he calls you.

But with all his calls remaining unanswered, Mingyu surges in panic and calls Soonyoung who's extremely pissed and shows his discontentment through a dry, edgy reply.

"She left with Minghao."

That's the only line Mingyu hears before getting hung up. And Soonyoong does not pick up his call again.

And now he sits rooted to the couch, tapping feet in anxiety and worry with no idea about your whereabouts and who the hell is Minghao?

His thoughts bounce off the walls and he decides to take his car and drives off to find you aimlessly. He goes to your office only to be greeted by the security. He goes to the café you are regular at, knowing very well that it would be closed but he makes a round just for his sanity. He knocks on your apartment door but it's empty just like the house was.

Dejected he fishes out his phone to call your uncle when the notification of your name flashes on the screen.

'Meet me at home within fifteen minutes.'

There's no way he's gonna get home within the said timeframe but just as he rushes towards his car, his phone vibrates again.

'Half an hour. Don't run the red lights, don't run over people.'

Mingyu listens to your advice and thankfully he reaches you in one piece.

But he stands frozen as he sees you in the hallway carrying a duffle bag.

"Where were you?", no greetings, you ask checking your watch.

Mingyu knows you know and you know that he knows that you know.

"I had to leave with Sora."

"And who's she?"

Mingyu bites his tongue before answering, "My ex."

"What made you go somewhere with your ex rather than watch your wife getting felicitated?", your voice is calmer than usual and it scares your husband to the bones.

He stays silent. And you wait for him like you have all the time in the world.

"I can't tell you right now, Y/N. I'm sorry.", he answers quietly, lowering his gaze.

"Okay.", you say and Mingyu looks at you flabbergasted. Before he could speak, you add,"I'm going to stay at my uncle's."

Mingyu feels electrified, the sensation which burns his whole body, itches on his skin and scratches at the throat.

"I'm sorry, I know it is an unacceptable behaviour of me but please trust me. I haven't done anything to be ashamed of.", Mingyu grabs your hands and blabbers, "You can stay with your uncle but please tell me when you are going to return, that you're going to return."

You pull back your hands from his grip, "I don't think I'll be returning anytime soon.", you say sternly, "I had something to share with you but this isn't the right time."

"Y/N--"

"Before I leave, tell me one thing. Are you going to keep seeing her?"

Mingyu flares at this, "I'm not seeing her for fucks sake! I would never do something bad, I'm your husband."

You stare at him for a solid minute, "You didn't answer my question. Anyways, I'm disappointed. Keep yourself in my shoes and give it a thought."

"Let me drive you, it's late.", he offers.

"You don't have to worry about me, Minghao is already waiting with his car."

Mingyu twitches on hearing the name for the second time, "And who's that?"

"I can't tell you right now, Mingyu. I'm sorry.", you mimic his words from before and just as you are about to cross the threshold, you whisper shaking your head, "You can't even put yourself in my shoes..."

Mingyu watches you leave with a grim heart.

It's been a two weeks since you've been living with your uncle. And though you've left home in despair, Mingyu has somehow made it a mission to win back your trust.

But who's gonna tell him that you never doubted him, you were just mad, just like a teenage girl who can't keep her act straight in front of her love.

He calls you every night. For the first week you didn't pick up his calls but when your anger started to subside you entertained his calls but never spoke much, just listened to him telling how his day went. He asks every time if could visit you, getting a straight no as reply. He might be obedient but he's sneaky as hell because most of the times when you're getting off work you somehow see him engrossed with some conversation with Soonyoung at the parking.

What is he doing at your workplace almost everyday, when he could crash at Soonyoung's place. Why does Soonyoung have to call out your name every time when you're walking past them, roping you into some small talks.

Soonyoung is the imposter.

And why does everytime aa you are about to take leave after the conversation, Mingyu asks you the same question, "When are you returning?"

You never answer.

"You've gotta be kidding me!", Seokmin yelps. They all have gathered at Mingyu's place because everyone is stressed and wants to know what is actually happening.

"There are all sorts of rumours at the workplace. And I wanna punch everyone in the face.", Soonyoung says dejected, "Minghao and Y/N went to the same university so some are saying that they have dated during that time." he takes a chug from the can and continues, "And since Mingyu didn't show up at the event last time, it has sparked the speculations."

Mingyu sits head lowered, rubbing his hands all over the face.

"I'm sure Minghao likes her. I can tell by the way he looks at her.", Soonyoung puts it down.

"What about Y/N?", Mingyu asks his heart beating in his chest rapidly.

"What do you think dumbass?", Junhui glares at him.

"Woah, I'm offended now that you asked that question.", Hansol speaks in distaste.

"It's been a month without her.", Mingyu sighs, his lips curl down, eyes filled with concern, "I think everything was going back to normal, assuming by the way she responded, I felt like she'd be coming back anytime but she has gone radio silent suddenly. For the past two weeks she isn't responding to my calls or texts, she is even working from home."

"Yeah maybe Minhee can tell something", Junhui suggests, "But I doubt she'd spill anything if Y/N has told her not to."

The evening bleeds into night and the guys keep on chatting when suddenly Jeonghan who hasn't been much involved decides to speak.

"Now that Sora is back? What are you gonna do?"

The laughters die down and room falls silent with all the eyes on Mingyu.

"What's going on guys? Is there something we don't know?", Seokmin asks in fear.

Jeonghan leans back on the couch and looks at Mingyu, saying, "I think it's time, they should know. I'll go first, that day Mingyu left with Sora to meet me. Apparently, the guy Sora had left Gyu for turns out to be a douch. Won't go to the details but he kept blackmailing her, so desperate to save herself and afraid that I won't be meeting her if she went alone, she took him with her. I'm skipping the legal parts and that guy has been sort of taken care off. But that's not where it ends.", he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "The problem is that Sora wants him back now."

Gasps erupt through the room.

"Why did I see it coming though?", Seokmin says, "You have said no straight to her face right, Min?", he asks Mingyu.

The silence that follows horrifies every other one present in the room.

"Don't tell me...", Hansol trails off, eyeing his friend in utter disbelief.

"It's not what you're thinking.", Mingyu frowns, "I haven't said anything to Sora. But I have loved her for so long it's rolling back like a habit.", he hesitantly looks up and sees a bunch of disappointed faces, "But if it had been the previous me, I'd have gone to her in a snap but I'm changed now."

Mingyu gives a wry smile when looking at the relief washing over his friends.

"Here's the real deal begins. We have been married for over two years, in a few months we'd be hitting the three year mark. It's a long time right?", he sweeps his gaze across the large wedding frame of you both on the wall, "Instead of being a couple, I feel like living with a roommate. No feelings involved. She's stoic, nonchalant and even inconsiderate sometimes, even if I think that there's something between us, her actions act as bucket of cold water on those thoughts. I understand that not everyone is the same and I agree that Y/N has changed but somehow we're still at the starting point and it's starting to tire me out. Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to this marriage--"

There's a sudden thud and all the necks turn in unison only to find you standing by the hallway and your bag on the ground.

Heartbreak is one thing but the humiliation is another form of descend you're currently facing. You return your home only to find your husband shit talking about how unhappy he is in this marriage to his friends.

And the biggest loss turns out to be how you're the only one who thought that it's a happy, perfect marriage. Your husband isn't wrong when he said that you're inconsiderate.

Tears prick at your eyes but aren't you stoic, nonchalant so why should the people infront of you get the leverage to see you vulnerable? They shouldn't, so you pick up your bag and walk past them going straight into the guest room.

There are continuous knocks on the door. Your phone keeps ringing but you pay mind to none. Your mind only reels the words of your husband from before.

The previous you would have stomped out of the house but now, you can't. The situation has changed, the circumstances are different and you are totally lost.

Because there's a life is growing inside you. The reason you decided to return home tonight but your second attempt at letting Mingyu know that he's gonna be a father cracks again. The first attempt was the night where Mingyu chose Sora over you. He doesn't want you, would he want to raise a child with you?

Maybe you shouldn't have gotten married, maybe you shouldn't have fallen in love with your husband and maybe she's better, the previous you who knew you're undesirable, who knew that people like you are unlovable, who very well knew how to maintain a boundary.

You have lost the track of time but you sure can hear voices from the other side of the door. You think attachment is something you can't effort, you are not people's people.

So that's how what Mingyu had said, you turned into his roommate. Since that day, you have settled in the guest room. You don't get out of your room unless it's an emergency. You leave for work early and return home at late hours.

You haven't spoken to Mingyu since that day. You've rejected all his advances of striking a conversation. But you're thankful to him for making you food everyday because you can't eat anything else, it makes you nauseous.

"Hey, are you okay?", Minghao asks worried as he takes a sit beside you at the cafeteria of the office, "You have been throwing a lot."

You nod your head, avoiding his gaze, "I'm fine."

Minghao doesn't buy your words but you both settle in the comfortable silence and until he gasps.

You cock brows looking at him.

"Are you pregnant?", he gasps, "Oh my god."

You freeze and slap your hand over his mouth and proceed to tell him everything that has been happening.

"So Mingyu doesn't know yet. And he's being a jerk ever since his ex-girlfriend returned.", Minghao says in anger. He sweeps a gaze across your face and his eyes soften, "You love him, don't you?"

You avoid his gaze again, you don't answer him.

A sad smile graces on his lips as he reminiscences the past. How he had practically clinched himself in your life. How he had fallen in love with you but knew that you wouldn't reciprocate, the reason why he disappeared abruptly from your life years ago. The apologies are always on the tip of his tongue for leaving you alone, for creating the safe place but also leaving it void.

"You know you shouldn't be taking stress. I know it's not easy but I'd suggest for you both to sort things out, atleast for the baby.", he says patting your back in a comforting manner, "If Mingyu does anything to hurt you again, tell me I'll beat him for you."

"Thanks Hao.", you say smiling.

"Also let me know if Soonyoung bothers you. I'll handle him as well."

You shake your head laughing, "He insufferable Hao, you'll give up."

"We'll see that.", he smiles softly, "But do plan on telling him. Uncle also needs to know, he'd be so happy."

"I want the baby's father to know first. Then I'll tell everyone.", you assure him.

Mingyu knows he went overboard. He knows he was being an absolute asshole when he uttered those baseless words in your favour.

Maybe he should never have compared the type of relationship he had with Sora with the one he's having with you. It's a grave mistake and the lack of your presence is taking a toll on him. But he understands if you need space or even don't want to see his face. He's willing to give you all that but he plans to apologise to you and if you don't forgive him, he'd understand.

Work is hectic but the situation at home is feverish. He has been getting earfuls from all of his friends and family, specially Minhee. She has been giving him shit routinely.

His reverie breaks when he receives a text from you. Hurriedly opening the text, his eyes widen with a mixture of horror and anticipation.

'Come home as soon as possible. I have something to tell you.'

His mind could only hint at it being something ominous.

You pace around the entire house nervously.

"Mingyu, I'm pregnant. You're gonna be father."

You shake head at the selection of words.

"Congratulations! You're going to be a dad!"

Sounds too exciting for an unplanned pregnancy.

"You're pull out game was weak. Guess what I'm pregnant."

Too snappy, rejected.

"Kim Mingyu, you're pregnant, I will be-- wait what no-- I'm pregnant, we're expecting."

You sit down pulling your hair in frustration.

After another hundred million failed rehearsals you sort to say whatever your heart would feel like at the moment in his presence.

But where's Mingyu? You check the clock, it's past his work hours. Maybe he's running late for some reason. It's your third attempt to tell him about your pregnancy and you hope that you'd succeed this time.

Your phone rings and you would never have guessed that your world would come crashing down.

You stand with head your head bowed down the entire time at the funeral hall. The band wrapped around your arm acts as a constant reminder that you're the chief mourner. You don't raise your head, not ready the see the picture that's kept on the board.

The heart attack was so brutal that it claimed the life of your uncle without a chance of revival. When you were informed he was already gone.

No last words, no goodbyes. Now you're left with only his photo and memories. You walk into the room where his body is kept as you've made a special request to let you meet him before he's taken into the coffin.

He's almost unrecognisable as you sit beside the body. Gently caressing his head, you finally let the tears fall.

"You were so eager to meet everyone that you left me alone here.", you sob, "What do I do without you now?"

You caress his cheeks gently, "Whatever I have become it's because of you. Even though I was the reason they died, you took me in and raised me like our own."

"I have something to tell.", your hands place themselves back on his head, "I'm pregnant. You're gonna be a grandparent. Tell mom, dad and aunt that I have grown up. Tell Sejin that he's gonna be an uncle."

You spend some more last moments with your uncle before there's a knock on the door. You quickly wipe the tears and look up to see Mingyu standing at the threshold.

"It's time.", he says solemnly.

You nod and look back at your uncle saying, "Thank you for everything. Have a nice reunion with everyone up there. Forgive me if I have been a bad daughter. Goodbye comrade."

You don't like the pitiful look everyone throws at you. You hate it, it claws on your skin and you feel like throwing up. Running into the washroom, you sit down opening the lid to empty your stomach when you feel your hairs being pulled back in gentle grip.

It's Mingyu, you know even though even without seeing him. He doesn't care about entering a ladies washroom when he has to look for you.

"Here, drink some water.", he uncaps the bottle and offers it to you.

He's presence is somewhat comforting, he makes things bearable. Your uncle is laid beside the rest of your family and you request everyone to be left alone. It's night time when you leave the place only to see Mingyu waiting for you.

There's silence throughout the ride back to home, no words spoken when he makes you eat something he cooked when you were showering, unspoken words when you go back your room and he goes back to his.

You mourn for days and while you do so you take notice of a lot of things.

"Y/N, I'm sorry for that day. I didn't mean anything I said, I was just being an idiot.", Mingyu says after barging into your room one night because he had enough. He decides he won't let you suffer alone anymore.

You nod your head, "It's okay.", your short and curt reply doesn't settle well with your husband.

"I know one apology isn't enough and I understand if you won't forgive me but please let me be there for you.", he pleads closing the gap and taking your hands within his. His eyes searches for your face and his brows crease when he finds you avoiding eye contact.

You pull back your hands out of his grip, "I can take care of myself, Mingyu."

Your call of name rings oddly in his ear. It's rare for you to call him by name, it's always husband when throwing banter or Gyu while being affectionate.

Affectionate? His mind reels in the moment. Aren't you unexpressive then how could his mind produce that word in your wake?

"I'm tired. Let's call it a night.", you say poised, "There's no need for an apology. Everyone has the right to voice out about anything they don't like."

Mingyu feel like he's not your husband rather an office colleague. Your tone is so formal and dry. Your words cut him like a dagger. He wonders if he has caused damaged beyond repair.

It's so fucked up that he wants to hold you sleep, say sweet nothings to calm your senses but he's afraid to ask you to come back to the master bedroom.

So he lets you bask in your own company. He'll interfere with your personal space for sure one day, hustle in forcefully if you don't let him, no matter how rude and irritating it is, he'll mend the broken bond.

His heart breaks when he notices that you don't look him in the eyes anymore. You always had a strong lively gaze, but they are now hollow. You don't call him when you're struggling to open the jar, you don't ask for him when you can't reach something kept on the top shelf.

His friends are all dejected at how you don't indulge them anymore, they're sad at how they don't get to see you nowadays.

Mingyu had attempted to gauze you out of the coop by inviting the guys to the apartment. But you had locked yourself in the room the whole time.

His parents lament on how he ruined something so beautiful, his sister cries at how you don't communicate with even her nowadays.

He's already going crazy and Sora's pestering him by showing up outside his workplace often or making thousands of phone calls almost everyday, makes him ponder upon how was he even in love with her at some point.

He regrets again, now that he can clearly see the difference. You are you, the actual indifference you're showing is now and it's driving him crazy.

He wants to fix this. He needs to fix both of you because he needs you.

You're in the middle of some paperwork when there's a knock on the cabin door.

Soonyoung enters and the look that you give him is sharp enough to scare him off.

"How have you been doing?"

"Breathing fine, alive."

He should have taken the clue and left but it's Soonyoung and he lives as if he has nine lives.

"We miss you, please stop ghosting us."

"I'm not ghosting anyone."

"Minhee is miserable."

The writing stops, your hand halts for a moment before continuing. Soonyoung knocks on the table demanding your attention on him.

You sigh, having no option but look at him.

"You can be mad at your husband but we didn't do anything, Y/N. I don't even know Mingyu, I'm your friend."

The corner of your lips threaten to curl up. Your heart twinges and you smile sadly, "It's better to be prepared ahead so that you all will get accustomized to it later. Attachments are always painful."

Soonyoung looks at you quizzically, "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing.", you drew yourself back in the papers, "I have a meeting in ten minutes, I need to go over these documents before that."

Soonyoung maybe callous at times but somehow seeing you and hearing your words today makes him bothered.

Another weak passes and you are packing your bags the entire time little by little, unknown to Mingyu because your door is always locked. Your office room is almost empty except for the systems. When Mingyu's not at home, you roam in the bedroom, swaying in the memories you both made there. You lay on the bed, sniffing the pillows because they smell like him.

You crave his touch all the time and him being in your vision doesn't help at all when you could sense the longing in his eyes.

Mingyu doesn't know that you've stolen one of his shirts and a hoodie. He should never find out.

Your soul knows. It tells you that it’s time to distance yourself from those who no longer align with you mentally, emotionally or physically.

"I can't stay here.", you whisper to yourself as you continue to pack rest of the items.

"I'm cursed.", you frantically wipe your tears, "People related to me keep dying."

Your body shakes, eyes producing another batch of fresh tears, "No one should be associated with me. I need to cut everyone out of my life for their sake. Without me, they'd be safe."

You heave a breath, in an attempt to calm yourself, "Mingyu doesn't like me anyways. I'm just a burden. He'll be free once I leave, he can be with Sora.", you rub your chest as it stings, "He'll be happy and that is what I want."

Your gaze instinctively lands on your belly, hands gently rubbing circles, "I promise, even if we won't be together, me and your dad will try our best to raise you. I can't wait to meet you, to hold you."

Mingyu, on the other hand is set on winning you back. He knows you don't like anything extravagant, so he plans to surprise you out a romantic date at home. He's ready to go to the lengths to make you forgive him. He craves your presence, your touch, your shy smiles, the way you call him when you want something from him.

He wants to love you, wants to make love to you. He has been dreaming a lot about starting a family with you. He wants the little versions of you both running around the house. When his friends took the initiative to show him how he has changed and it's for better he knows that it's true. He wonders if all the frustrations were because his heart wasn't ready to seek out the real feelings.

But now he has figured it all out, he likes you, likes you a lot. So he wants this marriage to work out.

He hopes for you to like him back. So who's gonna tell him the truth?

Some free time at work and he's watching new recipes to cook for you. Before going to bed, he's open the phone gallery and goes over your pictures, the pictures which are candid, the ones in which you posed, the best where he's with you in them.

Would you like it, if he throws pebble at your window and serenades you at the middle of the night? Would it be a good idea if goes down on his knees because he hasn't done it before and know he wants to.

Mingyu is all giddy making up scenarios in his head. He wishes to watch them all happen successfully.

"Are you having mood swings?", Jeonghan asks him one day when everyone gathers at the former's home, "Or do you have dissociative identity disorder? You were regretting getting married to her some weeks back and now you're saying that you like her?"

Junhui is grumpy, he takes a look at Mingyu and smacks him hard on his head causing the later to scream out in pain.

"He claims he is the most closest to Y/N and he is grieving because she is not responding to his texts.", Seokmin clarifies and eyes Mingyu in disbelief, "Seriously dude, what's wrong with you? How can you mess up this bad?"

Before Mingyu could speak up, Hansol interjects, "How hard it is to sort out your feelings? How could you even utter such ridiculous things about her when you know how difficult it had been for her, the whole life. Now she even lost her uncle. Imagine listening to your husband yapping about how much he dislikes you when you think he is one you can lean on? And that too instead of voicing out your mind to her first, she heard you telling it to us."

Hansol is a calm man, he never loses his cool except for some situations and this being one of it.

"It's not only me and Jun. Everyone is upset.. I know I'm making it sound bigger, we know that she is your wife, first and our friend, second but we can see that even though she never shows it she cares a lot. I'll tell you no one has ever entertained me constantly to help me, not even you guys. She even suggested me tools that she thought might help me with the editing though she had to invest time on getting to that point. She gifted Jun a diffuser as the previous one was causing him throat irritation but he was too stubborn to discard a newly bought machine."

Seokmin adds up to Hansol, "Didn't she help you with the paperwork late at night even though you both work in an entirely different industry? I'm sorry but did Sora ever do that being in the same line of work? No right. If you would have noticed she has always tried to accomodate herself within us even when it was difficult, it was all new to her."

Mingyu sinks his face into the palm of his hands, as he says regretfully, "I made a huge mistake. I let my intrusive thoughts win and ended up hurting her."

"What if it's too late to fix things?", Soonyoung speaks, his vision dazed as your words from before keeps reeling in his mind, "You should resolve the matters before it's too late."

The following week is hectic for Mingyu. The clients are visiting and everyone has to stay late attending them. It's a whole damn hustle, draining the employees out. The week goes on and out with him spending most of the time in office when all he wants is to go home just to see your face.

It's the last day of the visit and Mingyu thanks the heavens. He's usually patient but now all he wants is to avail the comfort of his home.

It's around one at night but unlike other times the hallway is lit in dim lights flooding into the dining. There's an eerie silence and something unpleasant awaits.

"Let's get divorced."

When Mingyu came home late at that night to see you awake and waiting for him, there was an uncanny feeling that settled within.

Your hands are crossed, face void of any expression. He almost misses your words. If not for your next words, he would think he's hallucinating.

"We can decide on the terms and clauses, all as per your convenience.", you stress, "I do not expect any trouble from your side."

Mingyu finally registers everything you have said till now and everything hits him all at once.

"W-What are you talking about? Why do you want a divorce all of a sudden?"

Your monotonous tone rather asks him another question, "We have been married for over two years, nearing its third anniversary. Do you really want to be tied in this marriage?"

Though Mingyu thinks he doesn't know you well enough but he knows you enough to catch the wind of your words. He knows its not because of something he had said that day.

A familiar set of papers lying on the table catches his attention. His gaze then turns towards his office room and his suspicion confirms to be correct when he sees the door opened ajar.

"Why did you enter my office? I had clearly warned you about not doing so.", he says in a strict voice.

"That doesn't answer my question.", you say getting up, "Anyways it doesn't matter anymore. I'll get a lawyer, you get one too and proceed with the divorce. Oh, you already have Jeonghan."

As you turn back, you feel your husband's hand wrap around yours.

"How are you so calm? Why are you not asking me anything? Do I really mean nothing to you?", you hear his voice laced in frustration, "We are married for almost three years now and your cool headedness after, I'm assuming, knowing everything makes me aware of the fact that I really don't know you."

You jerk your hand out of his grip and turn back to look at him, "And how is that my fault? Maybe you've never tried to know me.", your voice drops another octave, "You can stop with the doting husband act now that I know the truth."

Mingyu doesn't miss the way your eyes show vulnerability for a moment. Your words strike a chord within him.

"You signed a contract with my uncle in exchange for marrying me.", you chuckle bitterly, "All you wanted was the stocks of the company uncle owned, a goddamn promotion, this house, everything else but me. I was never on the list. I was just a pawn. I don't know what my uncle saw in you to desperately marry me off to you. I hope all of this was worth it. The stocks must have passed down to you smoothly as it can only be acquired by someone working in the company. You can keep this house, keep everything."

"Y/N--"

"I don't wanna hear anything. I was waiting for you to come back so that I could make you aware that you're busted. I'll to go bed."

Mingyu reaches out for you again but you lay out a hand, "Please, I'm tired."

"O-Okay.", Mingyu backs down noticing the resignation in your demeanor, "But we're gonna talk it out tomorrow morning.", he sounds sincere when he says, "I'm sorry. I hope you'll give me a chance to explain everything."

But little does he know, you've already closed the room for any diversions, that you've decided to part ways with the person who has betrayed your trust.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip.

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berberriescorner · 2 days

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"Late Night Cravings"

Characters: Simon Riley x Black!Reader.

Summary: Missing your deployed husband, you get a late-night surprise that satisfies both your cravings and loneliness.

Warnings: Steaminess, a bit of angst, loneliness, fluff, mentions of phone sex with suggestive language and descriptions, mild swearing, and lighthearted humor. Oh, and if I hadn’t already made it clear at the top of my blog: minors DNI. My content is for the grown folks👏🏾.

Authors Note: Hello my lovelies🫶🏾! I've been toying with the idea of writing for the Simon Riley/Ghost fandom for a while now. Thanks to some awesome encouragement, I finally took the plunge! This story idea wouldn't leave me alone, so I decided to say, "What the hell," and give it a shot. I hope I captured Simon to the best of my ability. Please remember that this is my first attempt at a Ghost fic…and, well, “I’M JUST A GIRL!🥺🥹😩😆” Okay, a grown woman, but a girl nonetheless. I had a wonderful time writing this, and I hope you all enjoy reading it. Word Count: 1,700+.

Inspired By♥️🖤:

The clock ticked past midnight, the silence of the empty house amplifying the sound. In the dimly lit kitchen, the soft glow of the refrigerator illuminated your very pregnant features as you rested a hand on your swollen belly. You sighed, heart heavy with longing for the man you loved, miles away on some unknown continent, carrying out numerous dangerous missions.

You stood there, staring at the array of food in the fridge, a wave of emotions washing over you. Pregnancy hormones wreaked havoc on your mood, and tonight, you found yourself overwhelmed with sadness and longing for your husband, Simon.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached for the phone on the counter. Your fingers trembled with emotion. You needed him. His comforting presence, the sweet sound of his soothing voice to chase away the loneliness that threatened to consume you.

"Hey, love," Simon’s voice came through the phone, warm and comforting. His tone was deep and smooth like whiskey on a cold winter's night.

Your breath caught in your throat. Simon’s voice was a mixture of relief and longing washing over you. "Hi," you replied sheepishly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Everythin' alright, angel?" your husband asked, concern lacing his words.

You sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. "I... I just miss you, Si. And I'm so hungry, but nothing in the fridge sounds good."

Simon’s heart ached at the sound of your voice, at the thought of you being alone, in need of comfort. "I wish I could be there with you, angel. You know I miss you more than anythin’."

A sob escaped your lips, emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "I’m sorry, Si. This is probably the last thing you need to deal with right now. I just wish you were home... I need you here. I need you to hold me. To eat junk food with me in the middle of the night. It’s weird not having you with me throughout this pregnancy. I got so used to you being around the first time. It never mattered how late it was. Whatever I craved, you either got up to fetch or prepare it. I miss eating with you. For goodness' sake, I probably sound like a blubbering cow. God I know I sound selfish. I’m sorry, Si."

“That’ll be enough nonsense. No more name-callin’. Eat all you want, beautiful. Vent all you want. ‘S no bother, love. Truly it isn’t.”

A flicker of determination sparked in Simon’s eyes as he listened to your words. "I may not be able to be there in person, but I can still make sure you're taken care of. Give me about ten to twenty minutes, love. I need to sort something out."

You pouted and whispered your agreement as Simon rushed you off the phone, still unsure of how to satisfy your cravings. You plucked a bottled water from the fridge. You waddled toward the living room. Your smile lit up the room as you noticed a pregnancy pillow on the couch. Simon had scattered them throughout the house before leaving. He wanted you to find comfort in any room while he was away.

Your fingers hovered over the remote, drawn instead to the flashing screen announcing Simon’s incoming call.“Babe, that was quick. I’m excited it’s a video call. I miss your f—” Your words came to a pause. He was no longer among his comrades. Your husband had whisked away to his sleeping quarters, all gear removed aside from his balaclava. Some would find it terrifying, but Simon knew that in the depths of your deviant little mind, you found it sexy, arousing even. The shirt and pants he wore underneath were deliciously form-fitting. He watched as your eyes roamed over his biceps. Though you couldn’t see, you were certain there was a sexy smirk underneath his balaclava.

“Eyes up here, angel,” he commanded, voice smoky and sensual.

“Damn it, Si. Now I’m craving both food and you. You cheeky bastard. Did I mention I miss your sexy ass,” you questioned in a teasing manner.

Simon leaned in closer to the screen, giving you a devilish wink. “Miss you more, angel. If you can stay up late for me tonight, I may have time to call you and render some special sleep aid,” he offered, voice smoldering with desire.

“Can’t we do that now?” you whined, mouth forming a slight pout.

“Not now, love. There are more important matters to handle first. I’m afraid my work isn’t done for the night. Can you be patient for me?”

“Yes, but—”

“Atta girl,” he husked, aware of what those two words would do to you.

You tried making a convincing argument, but a knock at the front door interrupted the conversation.

Confusion clouded your thoughts as you heard the sound of the doorbell ringing in the background. Stunned, you made your way to the front door, heart racing with anticipation.

Who on earth could be at my door at this hour?

“Um, Si. Baby, there’s—”

“I know. ‘S alright, love. Answer it.”

As you opened the door, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of a delivery bag from McDonald's sitting on the doorstep. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you realized what your husband had done.

"Si, you didn't have to..." you began, your voice filled with gratitude.

"Just open it, love," he interrupted, his voice warm and reassuring.

With watery eyes, you opened the bag to reveal an array of your favorite foods: chicken nuggets, a fish filet, fries, and a vanilla milkshake. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the lengths he had gone to make you feel loved and cared for, even from miles away. Simon understood that as a grown-ass woman. You could’ve ordered the food, but he knew it was more about the gesture and putting your mind at ease that mattered most.

"Thank you, baby," you whispered, love overflowing for the man who had stolen your heart many moons ago.

On the other end of the line, Simon smiled, his heart swelling with love for his wife. "Anything for you, angel. Now, let's eat together."

You giggled as his hand waved over an assortment of goodies you had sent in a care package.

“Baby, don’t you have any real food? Anything other than snacks?” you questioned, worried he wasn’t eating enough.

“Johnny’s on kitchen duty tonight. Not takin’ any chances. Eat up, love. Tell me about your day. Is the lil’ lad holdin’ down the fort? Papa left him in charge. And the littlest lad you’re growing? Is he still kickin’ you all night? He’ll be a ball of energy once he’s on the outside. You jus’ wait and see.”

As the two of you sat on the video call, sharing a meal, bonding over the love for your children. You felt closer than ever before. Distance may have kept you apart, but with a little FaceTime, all was right in the world.

After thirty minutes of conversation, the time came and Simon had to go.

“Duty calls, angel,” he gruffed, slightly annoyed.

“Go fuck some shit up, baby.”

Though your words were encouraging and playful, Simon saw the worry in your eyes. He did his best to put you at ease. Your husband playfully tapped the skull emblem on his mask. “Always a step ahead. Consider it done, love.” You offered a weak smile and chewed your lip nervously. Almost scared to end the call. Underneath the balaclava, his smirk disappeared. Your reservations could be felt even through the screen. Simon’s eyes darted around for a second before lifting his mask briefly. Your eyes connected as the usually stoic man offered you his most sincere attempt to ease your worried mind. Ashamed of him picking up on your innermost thoughts of panic, you broke eye contact. “Look at me, angel.” The beautiful shade of your orbs landed on his once more. “It’ll be alright, love. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be careful. Get some rest, and do your best to answer later tonight.”

“Jesus. You always know just what to say, and do you have to be so damn sexy when saying it? I just want to eat you.”

Simon dropped his mask back into place, voice lowered. With a hint of a growl, he responded, “Be sure to get that rest while I’m working, love. You’ll need the energy. I don’t care what time it is. When I get back. I want you pickin’ up on the first ring. Have that camera angle ready. ‘M going to watch you ride my pillow until you’re a shakin’, soppin’ wet, messy puddle. You’ll beg me to come. The filth that falls from my lips will be like music to your ears. I’m going to take you apart piece by piece with my words. Just to put you back together and do it all over again. You’ll be chanting the words ‘I can’t. No more, Si.’ How’s that sound, love?”

“Can you leave already? The quicker you depart, the faster you return,” you panted. “Fuck, Si. I’m so achy for you.”

“There will be no playing while I’m gone. Understood,” he asked, voice gravelly.

“Yes,” you purred.

“Yes, what,” he demanded.

“Yes, sir,” you moaned softly.

“Good girl. I have to go now, angel.”

“LT, wheels up in ten,” Johnny shouted from the doorway.”

“ I heard you the first time, MacTavish. Give me a fuckin’ minute.”

“Simon! Be nice,” you bristled.

Your husband turned back to the screen. He rolled his eyes as Johnny leaned in to meddle.

“Hello, dove. When are you going to leave this grumpy bastard for me,” Johnny questioned.

You started to reply with a teasing answer, but Simon cut you off with an irritated grunt.

“Gotta go, angel.”

“Okay, baby. You take care of my man, MacTavish.”

You giggled at Simon threatening Johnny while ending the call.

“MacTavish, flirt with the missus again.” Instead of ending his statement using words, Simon stared Soap down with a cold, emotionless gaze. His head tilted to the now black screen, and his hand moved to rest on one of his now re-holstered weapons. Johnny smirked, slapping a hand on Simon’s back. “That little lady’s got you head over heels LT.” Simon made no argument, just offered a grunt of agreement.

What did you think, my lovelies? Let me know in the comments! And if you enjoyed it, don't forget to reblog and share the love!

Divider: @firefly-graphics

Wasn’t sure who to tag😩…

Tagging a few of my love bugs💓:

@darqchilddaydreamz @thirtysomethinganduncensored @percosim @astoldbychae @theeblackmedusa @johnnyshoe @thabiddie23 @starrynite7114

…

Inner workings of my mind:

*thirty minutes after posting it-> “they hate it!”*

*takes deep breath. must fight the urge to delete it.*

😆😂🤣.

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sweetfushi · 3 days

Text

fluff, some angst | satoru gojo x reader.

vampire!satoru whose ears perk at the sound of the large doors of his castle creaking open. he hasn’t had visitors in years - centuries. who has now breached his sanctuary, is the question he asks you. you, who stand in the middle of his entrance hall with an anxious yet gullibly curious expression on your face.

vampire!satoru whose brow furrows at the sight of such a meek mortal staring him in the face. you ask him to feed you the knowledge he holds of countless decades that have passed, whether it be about medicine, society, or pure legend. satoru quirks his brow at this; your tone sounds as if you are demanding this of him, not asking.

vampire!satoru who appears in front of you in an instant, wrapped in a dark cloak that reaches his shoes. his hands remain behind his back, under his cloak, as he circles you and questions why he should do such a thing. “i know who you are, what you are. what is the purpose of your immortality if not to share your experiences?” you tell him.

vampire!satoru who, rather reluctantly, allows you to scour his endless libraries. he’s slightly bothered that he now must provide food for someone, as he himself does not eat. though he himself does not cook, his servants do. no, he doesn’t refer to them as servants. his companions.

vampire!satoru who, hears you knock on the door of his study only to enter without being permitted to. you take the chair diagonal to him and place the thick book you’ve been reading on your lap, before hurriedly turning to a specific page. you ask him about the book and listen intently to his comprehensive responses.

vampire!satoru who, at some point, finds himself looking forward to you interrupting him in his study, even when he's sleeping at his desk or reading his favourite book. he becomes hungry for your curiosity and indulgence in information only he can provide you.

vampire!satoru who falls so deeply in love with you that he makes you his wife but spares you the curse of immortality by not turning you into a vampire. though he wishes to keep you by his side forever, he cannot bare to have you fall into the darkness that is vampirism.

vampire!satoru who kisses you so deeply, a hand always steadying you against his larger frame as he feels you shiver when his fangs graze your soft lips. you can barely keep up with his desire and the way his fingers press so firmly into you, as if he's terrified of losing you (because he is, he just doesn't want you to know that and worry yourself).

vampire!satoru who assigns you a personal companion who tends to your every need - food, drink, comfort, guidance around the castle that you have still yet to memorise the rooms of. despite this companion, you still seek satoru's presence the most, even for the smallest of things.

vampire!satoru who doesn't know how he would have happily continued living in solitude if you hadn't stormed into his castle and demanded that he indulged you. satoru would change a lot of his past choices, but in every life would he admit you into his castle and allow you to replace it as his sanctuary.

sweetfushi © do not modify, repost, translate, copy or use my post in any way. all that is included in this post, aside from the fictional characters and universes, belong to sweetfushi (zee).

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namjooningera · 24 hours

Note

I'm unsure if your Request are open, deeply apologizing if I disturbed you.

: Need more yandere captivated stuff, like them constantly clinging to their sweet love, locking the bedroom door at night and only giving their captivated lover permission to leave the room only if they're awake. ♡

mwa, absolutely love your writing.

Their rules - Yandere JJK

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji

AN: the boys’ rules for you, plus them being clingy. A bit of the past and background before they kidnapped u ;3

TW: starving, slight Stockholm syndrome, manipulative

Ahhhh yess requests are open thanks for asking!! (≧∇≦)b

Gojo-

Hes unbearable. His rules are short and simple, but the man himself is insufferable.

He clings onto you, legs around your thighs, head on your chest, while you lay in bed. You try to push him off, but the man is so much bigger than you. He doesn’t move an inch, it was like trying to move a brick wall.

You remember the first time he giddily told you the rules.

“Ok ok listen-“ he said in the middle of giggles, then straightened up his back to look serious but it was obvious he was still giddy.

“Hum.. No touching the stove when I’m around, No watching tv, that’s a reward not a privilege, you can earn watching it. No ignoring me, no sleeping without giving me a kiss or cuddles.”

He hums. “there isn’t much sweet thing…I just want you to be happy.” But his smile is sickly and you know there’s more to what he’s saying.

You know there’s unspoken rules he doesn’t say, like how you need to constantly keep him in a good mood.

When you were first taken by him, you rejected his every advance. Every time he wanted kisses or cuddles or even something simple, like for you to look at him. You said no, turned away, and slumped in bed.

At first he let it go. He was patient. He was just happy that you were there. That you couldn’t talk to others, look at others, and your attention would all be to him in no time.

But you refused this little charade, and you could see him slowly start to become more agitated. It’s when he stopped coming home to make you dinner (the dinner you barely ever touched anyway), and the way you felt like he was forgetting about you.

He’d always refill the things you ran out of. The bottle of water on your-his nightstand. The sanitary items and hygiene products you use. He’d always refill the pantry with all your favorite snacks and sweets.

But he stopped. And that got scary. Your mind was already in shambles, now you were thinking, what if he’s going to leave you for dead? Stop refilling, stop visiting, until you pass away in this locked hell.

Finally, he came home tonight. Around midnight. He never came that late before- it was always around 8 pm or 9 when he was really late, he always made sure to come home early enough to make you dinner.

You were starving, and you peeked from the hallway to see him stumble in, then throw himself on the sofa and then the tv on.

You weren’t really allowed to watch tv. You wonder if you could earn it. You watched him slump over, eyes heavy with a glare. He never really looked like this, honestly he always looked giddy and happy. Happy to come home to you. But now he just looked angry, upset, pissed. But it never seemed like it was to you.

He never showed you he hates you, he just stopped trying- stopped talking to you.

But why did that seem scarier than just straight up punishing you?

You slowly took a few steps out of your peeking spot, to be in his eyesight. Normally he’d be delighted, thinking you came to ask him for something or you wanted to talk, anything really. But this time he didn’t even look up from the tv. As if you weren’t there, as if he didn’t notice you.

That just added to your nervousness.

So you decided to do something incredibly stupid.

You hated his giddy happy side, but for some reason, you missed it know. At least before, the aura of the home stayed light and happy. Even if you weren’t happy. But now, the tension is fucking palpable. It’s heavy, and disgusting. You feel scared to even walk a few steps that’s how heavy the air feels right now.

Slowly you walk over to him. He doesn’t budge. His arms are spread at the top of the sofa as his body slumps back onto the sofa. His legs are up on the coffee table, eyes directed solely to the tv.

You sit next to him carefully. Slowly, you start to scoot over to him, slowly. So that his arm over the sofa would carefully be put over you.

Finally you scooted close enough that your thighs touched, and that your head slightly leaned onto his shoulder.

You were scared he’d hit you, scream at you, hurt you. He’d never done that before but what was stopping him from doing it now? Yes he was gonna hurt you for being stubborn for ignoring him, he’s gonna-

“I missed you.” He said with a sigh, eyes tired that bore into you, his voice was almost shaky, it was obvious he wasn’t feeling well. The arm laying on the top of the couch fell onto your shoulders, pulling you in. Cradling your body.

“You hungry?”

Yes, fuck yes. You’ve barely eaten in the last few days, solely relying on your pantry of snacks and sweets alone to quench your hungry, since he stopped making meals for you.

You nodded quickly and he smiled softly and ruffled your hair.

“Alright- too tired to cook. Let’s just order in ok?”

You nod immediately, digging yourself in more into his body. He smiles at this. You know you shouldn’t be touching him, listening to his dumb rules and letting him control you like this.

But you couldn’t help it. Things were just so much easier when he was happy. You got to eat, watch tv, and sure, you hated touching him, but he was just so warm.

That’s why, fast forward to now, you let him cling onto you in bed. Whining bout his day and how he doesn’t have enough time with you. How if he could just open your rib cage and snuggle inside, stay warm and with you forever he would. You think he’s crazy, weird, gross, but you don’t comment on it. You let him think your okay with all this, you let him nibble on your collarbone and let him whisper how he’s never gonna let you go, how your his for life and how he loves you like none before.

He’s warm. You notice. You notice his heartbeat, his breath on your collarbone, his eyes full of hearts and swelling with love. The way he huffs every time you slightly move away.

“H-hey umm I need to use the toilet can you move-“

“Can I come?”

Oh god.

Geto-

His rules were unknown honestly. He didn’t outright say any, he wanted you to think you had freedom. Like you weren’t being held hostage in his home. As if you were just his lover living with him. Like you had free rein.

As if he didn’t lock the bedroom door every night, thinking you were fast asleep. Like he didn’t keep track of every time you used the restroom, the shower, did your skincare and ate. As if he didn’t have those times and dates and stamps of every time you did so, so he could keep track of every little thing you did.

He wanted you to be happy and free in your home, he called it. After it all, he built it on all your necessities, all the things you use and like, so it is your home. It was made for you.

But there are the unspoken rules.

He hates when you get up from bed in the night, to go use the restroom. He wakes up in a jump, eyes wide and exploring the room, his hands roughly shoving the blankets off the bed to see your not there.

He panics. And he knows he shouldn’t. There are alarms everywhere, he has a tracker on you, he knows when you leave and when you stay and where you are at all times. He gets up quickly however, feet scampering to the bathroom door where he knocks on it slightly, asking you to come out.

He’s always been an okay-amount of clingy. But he panics a lot. He doesn’t show it- but he does. He thinks you’ll leave, you’ll die- or something. Maybe someone else will snatch you- a “monkey” or some curse. He’s seen the real world he knows how dangerous the average person can be so could you imagine blood thirsty curses? Ready to swipe your small body at any second and have you for a second dinner?

He’d never let that happen.

And he wants you to reassure him. He won’t ask for it but he needs it. Desperately. Tell him you won’t leave, you won’t die, that your safe- that he’s safe. That you’ll be together forever.

But you don’t. Because you hate him.

You use to, when you two were actually friends- no, best friends. You’d tell him all the time that he was safe with you, that your his best friend and you’d make sure that the both of you live a long and healthy life- together.

And that’s what stayed in his mind. Why’d you break your promise? Why’d you have to stop telling him these sweet things? Is it not true anymore? Are we not safe? Are you gonna leave- be taken away? Don’t leave.

He wakes from a bitter nightmare that same night. A treacherous feeling crawling his spine, panic in his eyes and his body thrashing. He looks at you. His sweet Angel. You could never do him wrong. But he needs your comfort, your reassurance.

“Angel? Angel wake up, please.”

You refused to, ignoring his please. The truth is, his panicking in his sleep woke you long ago, but you didn’t want to wake him up from his little nightmare. You perhaps wanted him to suffer just a little longer.

“Angel? P-please just..”

You rolled your eyes, body facing away from him on your side, still faking your sleep. He could deal with this on his own. You know one of his huge rules was to comfort him and nurse him like you used to- one of his unspoken rules. You know this because just a day after he kidnapped you, he came home with what he called “monkey blood” all over him.

He wanted you to clean him. Tell him to stop calling humans monkeys. He wanted you to bring him back, to keep him from the evil that plastered his mind. Because you were the only one who kept him a clear head, that kept him sane and on earth. Otherwise, who knows what he’d be now?

That day, when you didn’t comfort him, the day after he kidnapped you, he became desperate. Begging you almost, but then he stopped. Like a cloud of indifference and anger covered his eyes and he grabbed you by the arm, pulling you into a closet and locking you in.

You screamed, yelled, begged him to let you out. You went through all stages of grief basically, angrily screaming, then begging, tearing up, then calming down and crawling into a little ball in the corner of the closet. It was dark, cold, miserable. Dust got in your hair and eyes, you tried to dust it away with your hands but you felt so dirty. You just hoped he’d let you out soon.

He only left you for an hour or two- you don’t really remember. He didn’t wanna be too harsh on your first punishment. He still loved you after all, you were just being a brat. But then he dragged you out and sat you down at the dinner table. He acted like nothing was wrong, smiling at you and picking up a spoon of the food he made. He put it to your mouth, trying to feed you. You shook and trembled. You knew you couldn’t say no, or who knows how long he’d keep you in that damn closet? At least you’re free now right? You ate the food off his spoon, and let him feed you for the rest of dinner.

He was so incredibly happy that you were obeying him so early in the “relationship”, that he didn’t put you back into the closet, but instead let you watch tv. Of course, not without him sitting under the couch, while you sat on the sofa with your legs dangling on his shoulders, brushing his hair and braiding it like you did when you two were best friends. Before things changed.

“Angel please, I need you.” He almost whimpered.

You sighed, and got up, turning your body to him. “What was the dream bout this time?”

He’s always had nightmares, about different things. When you were best friends, he refrained from telling you them. Just wanted you to tell him it was okay, he just wanted to hear your voice and be lulled back to sleep.

Now he won’t shut up about them. Shameless, you think.

“Oh Angel.” He pulls you into his chest, a very much unwanted hug, one hand on your head and the other wrapped around your waist, he pulls the covers back on top of the both of you.

“It was terrible. You were hurt, my dear. Don’t you see why I have to keep you? You hurt- that would destroy me, my love.”

His words disgust you, but what really disgusts you is the way you know he isn’t lying. You can hear the genuine concern in his voice, that he genuinely thinks this is helping you, not just for his own selfish desire.

“Oh Angel, if you left- I wouldn’t know what to do.”

And that scares you. That scares you because he knows damn well you can’t leave. The cameras, the security, the alarms and the tracker. The way he tightly holds you as if your going to disappear into thin air. The way your almost out of oxygen with the tight hold, your chest and ribs being smushed against his. You could feel his heart beat, you could feel it trying to pounce out his rib cage.

“I won’t leave.”

What you meant to say is that you can’t leave, there’s no way for you to anyway, but you glance up at him and see that what you said was the right thing to say, a smile adoring his lips as he kissed your head softly.

“My sweet Angel. You always know what to say.”

Or you just know what he wants to hear.

Nanami-

Nanami had so many rules, regulations, all these things you had to remember.

“You need to ask me permission for certain things. Entertainment is a privilege you’ll be rewarded with. I have books and art supplies you’ll be using before screen time. Healthy snacks only- with the exception of dessert after dinner. You don’t get dessert if you’re being bad.”

He sits on the coffee table in front of you, wearing his work clothes, a nice suit and some goggles in his hands. You sit on the sofa in front of him, arms crossed in your chest out of anger but you listen anyway.

“The better you are the more freedom you have, my dear. I’d never want to take away the things that make you happy, but I can’t stop myself if your being bad. I want you in bed by midnight, or you sleep when I do. If I’m late from work and can’t make dinner I’ll send some- you’re not allowed in the kitchen until you get the privilege of it. You have a pantry full of snacks and healthy foods, and a water dispenser until I can come home and make dinner. I will make breakfast every morning.”

His damn rules and regulations go on forever, but at least you know what will make him upset and what won’t.

“Once you can prove your a good girl/boy, I’ll provide you with more electronics for your own entertainment, but screen time will be limited. I expect you to keep up with your hygiene and get enough sleep, eat well and continue your hobbies. I’d like you to greet me in the morning before I leave and at night when I come home- obviously this rule varies on the circumstances of the day.”

You sigh, further sinking into the sofa as he talks you down further.

“In the future, I expect goodbye kisses and greetings. If you ever need anything you just need to ask me. If you’re thinking on picking up a new hobby, you want new clothes, different snacks- I expect you to tell me. And lastly, you are never allowed to go to sleep angry. I know this situation isn’t ideal, but I never want to argue before bed, and sleep angry with each other. We need to hash things out everytime, I don’t think it’s fair to each other, otherwise.”

You just nod, half the things going over your head but you know you should agree.

“Alright I’ll be home early today, okay? Goodbye my dear.” He gets up and stands near the door, waiting.

You look up at him from the sofa, then realize what he’s waiting for.

“Just leave.” You say upset, curling up into the sofa. He frowns, but leaves anyway, waving goodbye.

He had just kidnapped you. What was it the second day? He abducted you last night. Let you in on all the fun rules today.

Great.

Honestly, you’re still freaking out in your head a bit about all this. At first you thought it was some curse disguised as him, but you could sense his cursed energy was all him. No trickery, no fakes, it was him. He fought so hard but you were no match for him.

You definitely could have been, and that makes you laugh. You really could have. But he’s been watching you since high school. Watching your techniques, your moves, the way your body sways in fight and the way you dodge. The way you attack, everything. You’ve fought him plenty of times to train and for fun. You never thought- you never once thought he’d use it against you.

That he memorized your every move, adapted, the way he knew exactly what way you’d fight back, what way you’d dodge what way you’d try and escape.

How could he?

You were so upset, so betrayed. It hurt so much. You curled into yourself, upset, thinking bout the way he basically took advantage of you as friends. You thought you were fighting beside him, were you really just fighting him all along?

That day he came home, and saw you laid out on the couch, dried tears on your cute pink cheeks, your body curled to protect yourself, fast asleep.

He smiles at you, but it’s a soft sentimental one, one that has a hint of sadness.

He didn’t want to hurt you. Genuinely. But he couldn’t help it. Every year, being thrown into a friendzone, every year his obsession for you grew, he wanted you as his wife not best friend, every year he saw himself grow older- and was scared. What if he grew too old to get married? To have a family? Each year you showed the same care you should your friends, nothing grew into sweet love for him, and that scared him. In high school, he waited. Hoping that you’d mature and grow to love him. He stayed by your side hoping he wouldn’t have to do anything drastic.

But the time passes anyway.

And you didn’t seem to change.

And he carries you to your bed, their bed. The bed you share. When he places you down he caresses your head and hair, you kick him away in your sleep and that hurts him so deeply. He locks the door, sits on your bed and watches you. He had to do this. Don’t you see?

The way you would smile at him, laugh with him, love his seriousness and fight beside him. He loved that all about you. You two were meant for more then a measly friendship right?

He pulls you to him in your sleep, cuddling your unconscious body, snuggling his face into your nape and softly pecking your collarbone. He smiles at the way you whine in your sleep, trying to push him away and stop being smothered.

But he loves to smother you- he won’t stop. He lays almost on top of you, head in your nape, as he softly caressed your waist and hips, pecking your collarbone, smiling dazedly, almost drunk, off the cute sleeping sounds that leave your mouth, the breaths that leave your nose, the soft heaving of your chest.

He loves how domestic this is. His wife/hubby, his adorable lover and partner. His equal and forever. He believes that you two have always been together, that you’ve always cared for him as much as he cared for you- you just don’t realize it.

He eyes become heavy. Being in your arms (not that you were trying to keep him there), reminds him how relaxed he feels in them, that they make him drowsy and almost high off the feeling. His body almost slumps over, un-tensing. He had a long day of work. It was nice to come home to his loved one, to be in your arms, to be held and to hold.

If he could stay like this forever, the time not continuing, just you and him in a warp of space where time doesn’t exist, where you could be one. Where he could cherish you and spoil you forever and ever- reliving the lovely memories from when you were young.

A smile softly sets on his face as he falls asleep snuggled to you, he thinks, that he doesn’t need to live in the past. You two can make new memories, better ones. Memories, where you actually love him, not just as a friend, but as a lover.

His lover.

Toji-

He didn’t really have rules for you. He didn’t care too much about physical affection, sure he liked the average kiss on the cheek before he left to assassin some idiot. He wanted your attention obviously, but he didn’t mind you being a brat and never giving it to him.

“Alright I’m going to work.” He’s waiting for you. He’s waiting for you to run up to him and kiss his cheeks, tell him you love him, at least wish him goodbye. He felt desperate. Sad. He wanted you to just- why are you being so bratty?

“I’m going to work.”

He’s at the door, hand on the handle. You’re sitting on the couch. He lets you watch tv, sometimes he’s happy when you accidentally come across the news channel and see all the disgusting shit on the news, all those disgusting heinous crimes. Maybe someday you’ll see those and understand. Know that he did this all for you, it’s all for your own good. As cliche as that sounds.

“Im going-“ “Ok I get it!” You basically yelled.

He seemed startled. That’s when he starts to wonder if he was giving you too much freedom. You yelled at him. How could you? You want him gone, you want him to leave.

Alright he’ll give you what you want.

That day he came home, and cleared out the pantries and locked up the fridge. He left the next morning, telling you he had some mission that’ll last a few days. You just shrugged at him like normal, pretty happy you’d get a break from him.

But you didn’t realize his plan. His stupid crazy fucking smart plan. You opened the pantry. Nothing, just a few things you can’t really eat. Like a half full jar of peanut butter, uncooked pasta, some can of tuna. You opened the other drawers and cabinets. Condiments only basically. Salts and spices. But where was the food? Ok, it’s fine. You’ll cook something, grab some things in the fridge- wait what? Why was there.. a lock? Why’s it locked? It was never locked- oh. He did this. This is your punishment.

No, you’ll take it. If he wants to be an ass- you’ll just be even pettier and go with it. Then he’ll know not to test you right? He’ll essentially get worried that your not eating, then go buy more food and unlock the fridge.

Boom. Great plan right? Wrong.

Your stomach growled. It was what, the third day in to not eating? You thought you had more resistance then that- that you could hold back for longer. But no, your stomach was in pain and you felt yourself growing weaker.

You felt yourself getting desperate.

You decided to emergency call Toji. He had one attached to the security, where you could only call him, if ever an emergency while he wasn’t home.

You went up to the little screen on the wall next to the door, an iPad connected to all the security, well only he could access that part. What you could access, is the emergency call. But before you pressed the button to call you stopped yourself. Fuck you were hungry, but you couldn’t give in. Plus you knew he was angry. He wouldn’t just give in.

You needed to sweeten him up. You knew that he won’t just give in if you ask for food.

You slightly press the button, hearing it ring for a second before he picked ul and answered.

“What?”

Normally, he’d be asking if your okay, if you needed him, what’s the emergency. You know, all that. When he was actually worried. You gulped.

“O-oh! Yeah I called because I umm.. I miss you?” Yeah, not so convincing.

“Yeah, doll?”

“..yeah. When you coming home?”

“I don’t know.”

… He’d never answer like that before. He was being so dry? What was his plan? But then, the hunger, the dizziness, the weakness in your bones- you started to overthink. You started to think that perhaps he wasn’t coming home. He was going to leave you forever in this locked cage, alone, to die. And then you thought, what if his mission is going bad? And that’s why he isn’t being clear? What if he really doesn’t know when he’s coming home because where he is, is so dangerous he isn’t sure if he even will come home?

But if he dies, you die. If he dies, you die. If he dies you die if he dies you-

“TOJI please! Please please come home I can’t- I can’t be here alone anymore- I need you. Please Toji don’t die-“

“Die? Doll? What’s wrong?”

You start to sniffle, thinking about your own death. Thinking about different ways you’d die out, and all leads to one- alone. You didn’t wanna starve to death alone. You couldn’t.

“P-please? Come home? Miss you..” the genuine upsetness in your voice seriously surprised him.

“Ok doll. I think I can get home by tonight ok?”

“Toji?” You ask softly, sniffling.

“Yeah doll?”

“I feel so sick.” You whine, clearing your throat.

It’s like you could feel him smile from the other end. “Alright doll, don’t worry, m’ coming home soon. I’ll bring you some things on my way back. Kay?”

You nod, even though you know he can’t see you nod, he chuckled over the line as if he did.

This time, when he comes home, grocery bags in hand, you run up to him to greet him. Never like you used to.

It’s funny, you almost jumped on the man, you almost hugged him, you stopped yourself before you could, your mind reminding you that he’s your captor. That you hate him, that he tricked you and he’s evil and- oh but he’s so warm. You haven’t felt physical affection for so long. And he’s just so big like a cuddly bear. And you just- you can’t have him leave again okay? This isn’t fault. You’re not about to hug him because you want to, okay? It’s just.. you don’t want him to starve you again ok? Really it’s not because you.. you think he’s so cuddly. You think he’s so warm and inviting. And you could smell the food wafting from the bags he held- did he buy takeout? Oh my god- and from your favorite fucking place-

You softly put your hands around his waist, head on his chest, just holding him gently, scared that perhaps that wasn’t him but some figment of your imagination.

“Oh sweeeheart, you missed me that much, hm?”

You just nod, feeling disgusted but oh so satisfied. You don’t wanna look at him, you know you’ll be met with some smug smirk, that smirk showing that he knows he won, that now, you won’t exactly take him for granted.

“I brought take out cmon.”

Tehe I’d let them take me 😋 anyway, thank you sm for the ask! Requests are open yall! Also feel free to give me commentary! I don’t rlly write so 😭

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babyangelsky · 12 hours

Text

I'm gonna let my crazy show for a second

I need to talk about how fucking beautiful Fort looked this episode and why, because it's not like I just woke up today and noticed how stupidly attractive he is for the first time ever, I already knew that.

This production is making choices that I really, really fucking appreciate. The most immediately noticeable of which is that they didn't whitewash him at ALL which just makes me so indescribably happy. It's all beautiful golden skin all the time and it's fucking amazing.

But it's not just that they didn't whitewash him, look at his cheek. You can see his skin texture. And it's not just a one-off because he and Peat were gonna play in the ocean later in the scene and the makeup people didn't wanna apply makeup just so it could get washed off by the saltwater.

You can see it here too when he and Peat are back inside. You could use the excuse of "oh well he's meant to be freshly showered so it makes sense that he doesn't have a lot of makeup on". And to that I say, when has that ever stopped a production from caking makeup on their "freshly showered" characters? Half the time their hair isn't even wet when they're meant to be drying it.

Beyond being vastly appreciated by me, the fact that we can see skin texture is also an excellent character detail, and it's deliberate. It wouldn't make any sense for a person who spends their whole day outside sweating and getting in the ocean to look perfectly airbrushed all the time.

It makes sense for someone who spends their whole day inside working on their computer to look airbrushed though, which Peat does. Especially in the first episode when he arrives on the island.

But you know what?

You can see Peat's skin texture too. They put more makeup on him than they do Fort but they don't cake it on. I cannot even TELL you how happy that makes me.

But this...this is what I really wanna talk about.

Do you see them?

DO YOU SEE THEM? DO YOU SEE THE BEAUTIFUL NORMAL STRETCH MARKS ON THIS MAN'S SHOULDER AND CHEST? DO YOU KNOW HOW AMAZING IT IS THAT WE CAN SEE THEM, THAT THEY DIDN'T EDIT THEM OUT IN POST OR SLAP MAKEUP ON THEM TO HIDE THEM?

*pauses to get myself together*

Listen I am someone who notices every single little mole, freckle, and birthmark that someone has because I think they're beautiful. It's probably concerning how often I notice them and how happy it makes me when I do. And it really makes me angry that these completely normal parts of someone's skin are seen as imperfections or only desirable when they're a certain size or on a certain part of their body. And you know what else always gets labeled as an imperfection? As something that has to be hidden?

Stretch marks.

Every single human being alive has stretch marks because every single human being alive has skin but for some reason, people are made to feel ashamed of them. They're made to feel like stretch marks are these unsightly things that they only have for x, y, or z reason.

Our skin stretches as we grow! Of course we all have stretch marks! All of us! Even the fittest, most shredded person you can think of has stretch marks! They aren't a consequence of your weight or how much muscle you have, they're part of having a body! They're NORMAL.

Do you understand how big a deal it is that we can see Fort's? That we can see every aspect of his skin, including and especially its actual fucking tone? This man--I just--just--

I WANT TO EAT HIM WITH A SPOON

I love that they didn't make him get shredded for this role I love how beefy he looks I love that he looks like a real person I love that you can see his shirt tan I love his fucking stretch marks I love the mole on his chest and the one on the back of his upper arm and the ones on his face I love love love love love!!!

Alexa, play "Piel Morena" by Thalia

#THIS MAN IS MAKING ME LOSE MY WHOLE MIND AND I'M MAKING IT EVERYONE'S PROBLEM #fort thitipong #love sea #love sea the series

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mxnhoo · 3 days

Text

hopeless daydreams (l. hs)

synopsis : and they were roommates~ genre : romance, fluff, angst maybe, roommates to lovers !!!!, talkative x listener kinda, childish x mature LOWWWKEYYY, concert romance TEEEHEEE, word vomit cos i just wanna write pairing : heeseung x reader (mentions of yichan & chungah from twinkling watermelon, mentions of newt from the maze runner, chan from skz) w/c : 6.8k warnings! : SOME twinkling watermelon spoilers, name calling (attention whore etc), LMK IF I MISSED ANYTHING OUT a/n : plot is LOWKEY inspired by watermelon sugar by wonryllis, check it out it's genuinely amazing! main character is inspired by me cos i'm insanely delusional😚 can u tell i love confession tropes. ALSO i think this is fr the last thing ill post in a while cos of school, so hope this feeds yall well

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Lying on your bed, you were kicking your legs as you were watching the new episode of Twinkling Watermelon. The room was dark as the light wasn't turned on, the only source of light being your phone and the only sounds that could be heard were your giggles, and the audio from the drama.

It was the scene where Yichan brought the cat to Chungah.

"I'm afraid you'll be alone. I specifically chose a cat that looks like me" Yichan said as he pointed to his mole, Chungah looking at the cat who has a similar mole placement.

You paused your phone and squealed, covering your mouth as you giggle, kicking your legs even more.

"I'm afriad you'll be alone, specifically chose this cat that looks like me!" you imitated, lowering your voice to match the actor's one, laughing at yourself afterwards as you hit the mattress repeatedly.

Before you could continue watching your drama, knocks were heard on your door causing you to shoot your head up towards your door.

"Come in." you voiced, slightly annoyed that your drama-watching session was interrupted.

Your door opened, and without warning your light was turned on, flashing your eyes and you groan as you shut your eyes, looking away.

"God.. how can you see like this?" a daily voice spoke out.

You slowly opened your eyes, adjusting to the new lighting as you turned to the person.

"C'mon Hee, you could've warned me before you turned on the light..." you sighed. You looked at your roommate, which was Lee Heeseung, and he could be seen folding his arms, leaning against the bed frame with his eyes slightly frowned.

He completely disregarded what you said, "Time for dinner."

You groan once more, but quickly responded as you got off of your bed, dragging your feet towards him. Your hair was slightly messed up from laying down all day, and you scratched your stomach. After turning off the light, you and Heeseung walked towards the shared dining table, seeing all the food being placed and prepared.

"Sweet! You cooked fried rice?!" You squealed, the pitch of your voice increasing and you ran to the dining table, quickly sitting yourself down as you smelled the scrumptious aroma of the food.

"Mhm, your favourite." Heeseung said, setting himself on the opposite side of you on the table.

You looked at him, giving him a big smile as you quickly grabbed the metal cutlery on the table, preparing to indulge in the food. He returned a small smile as he looked back down on the food, doing the same as you.

"Let's eat!" you announced, digging your spoon and fork into the dish, bringing a big portion to your own plate and consuming it.

You could hear Heeseung giggle at you as you quickly devoured the food, him slowly taking his own portion and eating at his own pace.

"So how's Twinkle.. Sparkle whatever Watermelon going?" Heeseung asked, raising his eyebrow at you and your eyebrows raised, excited to talk about the details of the new Twinkling Watermelon episode.

You were about to speak until he stopped you, "Chew first, your mouth is full". He chuckled at you, tilting his neck as he watched you struggle to chew your food faster. Once you gulped your food down, you drank the cup of water that was nicely prepared already, you heaved a sigh of relief.

"Okay! So—" You rambled on about the new Twinkling Watermelon, using a lot of hand gestures and hitting the table in excitement once you brought up cute moments, like the cat scene you saw just now.

"Let me imitate the dude!" you said before clearing your throat. "I'm afraid you'll be alone, that's why I specifically picked a cat that looked like me" you imitated once again with your lowered voice, laughing afterwards at how stupid you felt.

Heeseung only looked at you and smiled, head tilting as he rested his head on his hand. He wasn't even eating, just watching as you talked about something you loved so much.

"And do you know how they confessed their feelings?! They were alone in a band room, and the dude was looking at her sketchbook, and he suddenly found a sketch of him!!" you said enthusiastically, pointing at him as he continued to listen to you. "And then he asked her in sign language — not really sign language, but like he asked her if she liked him! And I was expecting her to deny her feelings BUT SHE NODDED?!?!" you raised your voice, giggling violently afterwards.

"Really? What do you mean by 'not really sign language' though?" Hee asked, still staring at you, smirking.

"Oh! Like he asked like this!" you replied, afterwards doing handsigns.

The first handsign was you pointing towards Heeseung. The second handsign was you holding up a heart with both hands. The third handsign was you pointing towards yourself.

"Ahhh, and then she nodded after he did that?" he asked, understanding the context better.

You nodded aggressively at him, happy that he made an effort to understand the significant scene you could talk about for days.

"Let me try." Heeseung said, his facial expression becoming serious as he sat up straight, gaze locked onto you.

Using his hands, point to you heart point to himself

You furiously nodded your head and flashed him a smile, "Yes, exactly like that! That's one way to be romatic—" giggle "oh man, it seriously makes me so delusional." You giggled to yourself, and Heeseung raised an eyebrow at you, grinning.

"Enough talking, eat your food." Heeseung nagged before he spooned up some of the food and held his spoon up to you, raising his eyebrows to indicate you to eat it. You casually let him feed you, and you chewed the food.

"Hank yu!" you muttered in an attempt to say 'thank you' while your mouth was filled.

After both of you finished eating, you initiated to wash the dishes — after all, Heeseung was the one who cooked. Heeseung sat on the couch to scroll his phone as you washed the dishes. Since it was late at night, you announced that you wanted to take a shower.

"Oh dang, I haven't taken a shower too.." Heeseung mumbled, his eyes looking at you, signalling you to let him shower first. You gave him an irritated look, pointing at him "You literally could've showered while I was washing the dishes????".

"Oopsies. I forgot." Heeseung shrugged his shoulder, holding his hands up as you looked at him with an annoyed expression. You both instantly knew how to settle this — who would win the ability to shower first. Settle it right here, right now.

"Scissors, papers, stone!" you both chanted at the same time, throwing out a hand sign at each other.

Heeseung held up rock. You held up scissors. Rock beats scissors.

"Fuck yeah!" Heeseung cheered before he quickly snatched his towel from one of the corners of the living room and dashing for the bathroom, slamming the door loudly and locking it. You rolled your eyes and sat on one of the chairs near you, holding up your phone to scroll through social media.

This was your life. Wake up, school, go out, watch drama, eat dinner and occassionally play fight with Heeseung. Of course you did chores around the house too, but if anything, you were a full-time fangirl. You were a fangirl to all sorts of things.

You loved reading manga, comics, Webtoon, fanfiction; watching shows, J-Drama, C- drama, K-drama, anime; loved boybands whether they were English, Korean, Japanese; and practically just everything.

Heeseung on the other hand didn't really like anything specifically. One thing in particular though is that he enjoys music, like a lot. He listens to his own artists, but would listen to the music from your favourite boybands with you.

However, one thing that Heeseung absolutely disliked were your boyfriends. He once commented, "are you dating or doing charity work?" when you brought one of your boyfriends back home, and you always brushed it away, defending your boyfriends with all your might.

Spoiler alert! Your boyfriends always end up being trash.

Once, a boy broke up with you because his parents found out and his parents didn't allow him to be in a relationship, like seriously? Are you a toddler? Another time, a boy broke up with you and the reason was actually valid, but a weeks after he ended up dating a boy. Like it had you questioning. Were you that bad that they moved on quickly AND they switched up? You always ended up crying to Heeseung about it, and no matter what, he was always there for you, even if it was your fault for ignoring all the red flags.

This time, you have another boyfriend and you actually feel like he could be the one. But remember "Wake up, school, go out, watch drama, eat dinner with Heeseung" from a few paragraphs ago? The fact that you always eat dinner with Heeseung is kinda weird, 'cause you could be having a dinner date with your boyfriend or something, but it never could happen because apparently your boyfriend had 'night duties' to do. You didn't want to be pushy, so you never questioned it and lived with it, even if it kinda made you feel lonely. But at least Heeseung was there with you, so it's okay in a way?

After a while, you heard the bathroom door unlocking and you tilted your head up, watching the door open as you saw Heeseung walk out, shirtless with a towel covering his lower body. His hair was still wet and dripping, his torso still slightly glossy from it still being slightly wet. His body was well-defined since he had been going to the gym recently, and for some reason, you just couldn't take your eyes off of him. He quickly noticed you staring, and giggled.

"Ain't gotta stare like that.. I know I look good." he giggled, resting his hands on his hips as he smirked, looking back at you.

You quickly realise that you were staring at him and that you were caught, making you look away. "You're so full of yourself.." you rolled your eyes, trying to cover up the fact that you were just looking at him. It was normal for Heeseung to be walking around shirtless sometimes, but you don't know why this time he seemed a bit more attractive than usual. Mentally you were cursing yourself for checking Heeseung out, but there was just this thing with him that made you feel so flustered.

Trying to brush your thoughts away, you quickly snatch the towel that was on the table near you, walking past Heeseung into the bathroom, trying to avoid looking at him at all costs. You were about to close the door until Heeseung spoke out.

"Movie night?" he asked. You peeked your head out of the door before you nodded your head. "Okay." he responded, and you closed the door, locking it afterwards. You stared at at the bathroom mirror before you ruffle your hair in frustration, screaming silently.

"Why did I have to look at him? Why did I have to stare at him? He's always shirtless, why did I just have to stare this time? Am I cheating? Wait fuck no, I don't even see Heeseung that way. Oh my god" you sceam-whispered to yourself, taking deep breaths as you stared into the mirror after aggressively messing your hair up. You sighed in defeat, and started removing your clothes to shower.

After you had finished your shower, you wrapped a towel around your body and quietly unlocked the bathroom door, peeking your head out to see where Heeseung was. After looking around, you notice the back of head appearing on the couch. You tried to tip-toe back to your room when he called out to you. "Done? Took you long enough." he teased, you stop moving and turned to him. He wasn't facing you, so you took the opportunity to hold up your middle finger and curse him off, whispering a very aggressive 'fuck you!' only for you to hear.

You entered your room, quickly dressing up and ruffling your hair with a towel. After a while, you stepped out of your room and joined him on the couch.

"Hey." he greeted you, putting his phone down to look at you up and down. This time, he had a shirt on so you felt more at ease.

"Yo." you smiled at him, trying to feel less awkward. You made your voice lower in an attempt to sound 'cool'.

".. What are you doing with your voice" he judged you, breaking out into laughter, and you joined him, the atmosphere being less tense and awkward. Thank god it's not awkward like just a while ago.

"Shush, stop judging." you playfully smacked him on the shoulder and he smiled, looking at you.

"Okay okay, so what movie we watchin' tonight?" he asked, picking up the remote as he turned on the TV and entered Netflix.

"Can we watch The Maze Runner?" you asked, looking at the TV screen.

"Let me guess, it's so you can see Newt again?" he asked since a few days ago you both already watched The Maze Runner. "............ maybe...."

He sighed before pressing a few buttons on the remote. You got comfortable beside Heeseung on the couch, slightly leaning your body on him. Some may say that it was weird at how you two were close, but this was a norm for the both of you. You knew Heeseung before all of your other boyfriends, so you and him inevitably had a strong bond. He turned on the movie that you had requested, and he quickly turned to you to flash a small smile.

"Thanks Hee, you're the best~" you giggled, locking your gaze onto the TV screen.

There was a silence as the movie started, and you were thrilled to rewatch your favourite movie and also see your favourite character. (newt girlies rise!)

"I just realised we don't have any snacks for the movie." he said, breaking the silence as he shot his head to you. Dang, you were so excited that you forgot one of the most very important things while watching a movie — snacks.

"Ah shit, do we even still have any snacks left?" you took the remote to pause the movie, setting your feet to the floor and standing up. You walked towards the pantry, and opening the cabinet, you are met with nothing. "Dang, we're really out." you groaned.

"I'll go downstairs" he said, getting up and walking to his room, probably to get his wallet.

As he entered his room, you sighed and you walked back to the couch, sitting down on it again. You waited for Heeseung to come out and he was now wearing a cap, jacket and holding his phone and wallet. He was making his way to the front door until you called out to him, "Let's go together." You don't know why but you just wanted to go. For the snacks, am I right? No it was for Heeseung.

Heeseung slowly turned around to face you, amusement showing on his face. "I'm not complaining, let's go," he said while holding his hand up and curling his wrist, telling you to get up. Still staring at him, you quickly got up and walked towards him. Once you both were side-by-side, you both started walking to the front door and he took his key that was hanging, opening the door.

It was dark and chilly. The walk to the nearby convenience store was silent, and once you both reached it, you looked at him and he looked at you.

"I'll get the drinks" "I'll get the snacks" you both said of the same time. You said drinks, he said snacks.

"It's settled, I'll pay this time." he smiled and you returned it. "Okay," you replied softly before turning your back and walking towards the drinks section.

Once you were at the drinks section, you opened the glass door of the refrigerator and took a bottle of Milo, a blast of cold air slapping you. You shivered a bit, and you instantly closed the door. Before you could walk over to the soda's section for Heeseung's drink, you saw someone familiar, and to your surprise, it was your boyfriend.

"Chan!" you called out without hesitation, running up to the boy. However, he wasn't alone..? The boy immediately turned around to where your voice sounded, and his eyes widened when he saw you, and he blinked rapidly. He quickly whispered something to the person he was with before you stood right in front of him, and now you both were face to face.

"Who's this?" you looked at the person beside him, and it was a girl. You raised an eyebrow and you started to feel uneasy.

"S-someone from my school. We were just doing a project I swear." the nervousness in his tone was obvious, making you feel uneasy. You didn't accuse him of anything, so why was he being so defensive? And why does he not look happy to see you?

"Uhm.. okay." you responded, your heart starting to feel slightly heavy as you started to overthink.

"Well! What are you doing here, then?" he asked, and you could see him start to sweat. You raised an eyebrow at him, occasionally looking at the girl beside him who was desperately trying to avoid eye contact with you.

"Um.. I was getting snacks with Heeseung." you replied, trying to cover up the fact you felt slightly jealous and hurt.

"Oh. Heeseung." his face suddenly darkened.

"Got a problem?" someone voiced behind you, and you instantly turned around to see who it was, and it was your roommate. Your roommate did not look happy at all, his eyes glaring at Chan as he held bag of chips in his hand.

"Hey, you're done?" you ask Heeseung, trying to clear up the tension. Once he looked at you, his gaze softened and he smiled at you, "Yup, got the snacks you liked, you done with the drinks?". You shook your head, "Nope, I was about to get your drink until I saw Chan". Immediately at the mention of your boyfriend's name, his smile dropped, and he looked back at Chan.

"Doing your 'night duties' in a convenience store with a girl I see?" Heeseung taunted, clearly angry at Chan. You looked back at Chan and he was returning Heeseung the sour look, and now the only thing you had to worry about is if a fight was gunna break out.

You whispered to Heeseung, "Hee.. stop..", but he ignored you. "Are you sure that it's right to be hanging out with a girl who isn't even your girlfriend this late at night?" he striked once again at Chan, and you could visibly see Chan get angrier, his jaw clenching.

"It's none of your business, besides, aren't you doing the same thing?" Chan retorted back. Heeseung scoffed and his tongue poked his cheek. "It's different. Me and Y/N are roommates. What's your excuse?" he fought back.

You whispered again, the anxious feeling inside you growing even more, "Hee.. stop.. please..". Chan smirked, "Oh yeah? Are you sure you only see Y/N as a roommate? I see the way you look at her, you want to snatch my girl away from me, right?". You looked at Chan, features of worry on your face.

"So what?" Heeseung voiced. You widened your eyes and looked back at Heeseung, not able to process the information you were hearing. "I'm her roommate, yet I treat her better than you. You're her boyfriend for fuck's sake." You couldn't just stand there and do nothing. With your free hand, you grabbed Heeseung's arm and pulled him to the other end of the store where the cash register was. You aggressively snatched the snacks that Heeseung was holding and placed them down along with the single Milo bottle that you got. The cashier gave her colleague a side-eye, sensing the tension between you and Heeseung, scanning your items afterwards. You paid despite Heeseung initiating to do so earlier, and after your items were packaged in a plastic bag, you quickly snatched it and grabbed Heeseung's wrist, pulling him out of the store.

Once the two of you were out, you glared at him but he looked back at you with a soft expression. The sun has completely set, the only source of light being the street light.

"Are you feeling cold?" he asked genuinely, zipping down his jacket and removing it. Before he could wrap it around you, you smacked his hand away and stepped back.

"Hee, what was that about?" you asked coldly, features of anger on your face.

"What do you think?" he raised an eyebrow before continuing, "I was basically letting your boyfriend know how shitty he is." You wanted to slap Heeseung, but in the corner of your eye you saw Chan and the girl exiting the store. You quickly called out to Chan and waved, and Chan approached you.

Chan spoke up, completely ignoring Heeseung who was giving him the death stare, "We're still on this weekend, right babe?". He purposely spoke louder so Heeseung could hear him loud and clear. You nodded, smiling at him. Chan leaned in to peck your lips before leaving, and you were in a daze as you watched him leave. Chan was still beside that girl, but you could care less.

From your way of thinking, if Chan pecked you, he definitely loves you.

You look back at Heeseung and his facial expression showed he was displeased. Your smile drops and you walk ahead, not wanting to face Heeseung.

"Why him? You definitely know that the girl he's with right now is not just some 'project partner'." He voiced out loudly, causing you to stop walking. He continued, "We've been through this before Y/N, don't hurt yourself again."

You immediately turned around, "Hee, you can't control who I get together with. I'm happy, okay? I'm happy with Chan." You turned back, walking to your apartment without looking back at Heeseung.

As you were walking back, you couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened. You admit, you were happy that Chan kissed you, but you had so many questions.

Why was he with that girl late at night? What happened to his 'night duties'? Why did he say that Heeseung wanted to steal you from him?

You reached back your apartment, and you were about to unlock the door until you realised you didn't bring a key. You groaned in frustration because now you had to wait until Heeseung was back, and you also had to face him. You sat on the floor beside your door, throwing your head back to recall the conversations that happened just a while ago.

You were about to get lost in thought, until you heard footsteps approaching you. It was Heeseung, and he was holding the key. He seemed pretty shocked to see you, and he definitely wanted to talk to you, but he couldn't find the right words to say. He unlocked the door, and you immediately went in, trying to avoid him. "Y/N" he called out to you, but all you did was ignore and slam your room door. Heeseung felt guilty and he wanted to talk to you, but considering how you couldn't even face him, he just thought that he should give you a day or two.

The next day, you still ignored him, and he was getting bothered by it but he didn't want to rush you. Everytime he tried to touch or talk to you, you would instantly walk away and go into your room. Instead of eating dinner together, you would eat instant noodles in your room, leaving him alone on the dining table. Showers were never a problem because you always showered when he was still out in school.

Basically, you and Heeseung never talked, and the tension was suffocating. Finally, the weekend came and it was a day that you had been looking forward to for the longest time.

It was the day that you and your boyfriend were supposed to meet. You wanted to surprise your boyfriend with concert tickets of his favourite artist, and you were excited to see his reaction. Heeseung knew you were going out with Chan from the time at the convenience store, but didn't know any details. You didn't want to tell him because you both were not on good terms, and even if you two were on good terms, he would still nag at you.

Your plan was to bring Chan to a cafe nearby the concert venue, and then you'll show him the tickets and bring him to the concert. You had kept it a secret from him for 4 months, and you were imagining his reaction. Maybe he'll hug you, kiss you, pick you up and carry you, who knows?

You sat in the cafe, all dressed up. You did your hair, make-up, and chose an outfit following the concert's theme. You were waiting in the cafe, frequently picking up your phone to check the time. 3pm was the meeting time, and it was currently 2:56pm. You tapped your feet, fidgeted with your fingers and hair, and kept looking at the door everytime it was opened. You waited for 4 minutes and no one came.

"Maybe he's just late?" you mumbled, an uneasy feeling growing inside of you. You quickly texted him,

y/n : channie y/n : are you reachingg?? y/n : i cant wait for you to be here hehe

You waited for a response, but it never came. You waited a few minutes, and those minutes quickly turned into 10 minutes, 30 minutes, to an hour. Did you just get stood up by your boyfriend? You called him multiple times, but your calls were all unanswered. You were about to start crying until you got a phone call back. You immediately looked at the screen, and read the caller ID.

" HeeHee(seung)! "

Feeling completely detached from reality, you just picked up, ignoring the fact that you and him were on bad terms.

"Y/N, where are you?" he sounded breathless, and you felt confused. "W-why..?" your voice cracking, tears still building up in your eyes. "Please, let me go to you." If anything, you would've ended the call, but you were so hurt at the fact that you got stood up by your boyfriend that you didn't care anymore. "I'll send you my location." you said before hanging up and sending him your location.

After 10 minutes, the cafe door opened and a figure ran inside, panting loudly. The figure caught the attention of everyone in the cafe, and it was your roommate. Heeseung frantically looked around until his eyes met yours. His eyes were full of concern, and seeing you, he immediately ran up to you and grabbed your shoulders.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

You wanted to say yes, say you were fine, but you were not. Tears broke free from your eyes and you sniffled, hyperventilating as you start to cry. You cried out loud and Heeseung wiped your tears, looking at you with such worry. Everyone in the cafe was glancing at you but neither you or Heeseung could give a fuck. Heeseung brought you into an embrace and patted your back, whispering sweet-nothing's into your ears. The warmth he gave you was so comfortable, and you felt guilty about being so cold to him.

Your cries continued, but after 15 minutes, you slowly started to calm down. Heeseung's shirt was drenched with your tears, and realising that your breathing started to slow down, he gently moved backwards from you. He then sat on the chair opposite of you, where Chan was supposed to be.

"Y/N." he called out, causing you to look at him. Your nose was red, and your eyes were glossy and puffy.

"You're safe with me, okay? I'm sorry for what I did earlier this week." his voice was gentle and comforting.

You slowly nodded, unable to speak after crying for a long time.

"But, could you tell me what happened exactly?" he asked, and you were pained at remembering that your boyfriend had stood you up.

"Chan." you managed to say after a while, "He stood me up."

Heeseung was about to speak, until you continued, "I was supposed to surprise him to a concert today. I've been waiting for so long to surprise him, and he doesn't turn up?".

"I've waited so much money, so much time." you said, voice cracking towards the end.

"You and me, let's go to that concert, okay? When is it?" Heeseung said, causing you to raise your eyebrows.

"It starts in.." you checked the time on your phone "12 minutes."

Heeseung's eyes widened before he stood up, pushing the chair he was on backwards, and he took your hand that was resting on the table. "Then we have to go, now!". You blinked rapidly, clearly confused, but you slowly stood up. You took your bag that was on the chair and looked at him. You both left the cafe, and both started sprinting for the concert venue. Laughs filled the air, and you interlocked your hands with him. You had to get past a lot of people, and after 10 minutes of running, you reached the venue with him. You both were laughing while panting at the same time, your hands resting on your knees. It was almost as if you didn't ignore him for the past few days.

"C'mon, let's go in! You have the tickets right?" he asked, equally as breathless as you. You nodded and rummaged through your bag, pulling out a pair of tickets and handing it over to him. He held your hand again and pulled you to the entrance gate of the concert, showing the security guard the tickets and bringing you in. As soon as you and Heeseung stepped into the standing pen, the bright light in the venue that was flashing instantly disappeared, darkness filling the whole room. Loud cheers could be heard, and you joined in as well. The concert was starting, and even though it wasn't with the person who failed to be there, it was the person who never failed to be there.

5 songs have been played, and it was currently a ment where the artist was talking to the audience. Heeseung looked at you, and happiness was taking over you as if you weren't just crying your eyes out a while ago. Suddenly, music started playing again, and the artist yelled, "Everybody here with their partners, hold onto them tight for this song!". Without warning, Heeseung wrapped his hand around your waist, pulling you closer, and your eyes widened. You remained completely still, processing what just happened. With the song starting, Heeseung slowly swayed side-to-side, and you followed him. Your heart fluttered at his cuteness, and you put your arm around his waist too.

You couldn't focus on the concert, you were just thinking about the boy beside you. Was he your roommate, or was he someone you liked? Right now, the warmth you felt in your heart was like no other. The feeling in your heart was something new, and it made you feel so confused, flustered, excited, and all sorts of things. You were just crying about Chan and ignoring Heeseung just a while ago, but now you were holding onto him, so what happens now?

You glanced at Heeseung and to your your surprise, he was already staring at you. His stare was intense, and you also noticed that he was looking down on your lips.

"Y/N." he called your name, and it made your heart skip a beat. "I know you're still dating Chan and that you're still angry at me, but I really want to kiss you right now. Can I do it, please?". Without saying another word, you turned your body to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him for a kiss.

His soft lips met yours and it was almost as if it was only the two of you there, becoming completely unaware about your surroundings. Both of your eyes closed, tilting your heads to get more access. His hands went up to cup your face, bringing you closer, your heart now racing as you melted into the kiss.

After a while, you pulled back and rested your forehead against his, looking directly into his eyes and smiling. "I wanna stay like this for a while" you mumbled, and he looks back at you, giving you such a loving gaze.

"Me too."

It was the end of the concert, and you were now hand-in-hand with Heeseung. You checked your phone to see 19 notifications, and it was from your boyfriend — well, soon to be ex boyfriend..

8 Missed Calls

channie! : u fucking bitch channie! : u got heeseung to beat me up didn't u?? channie! : you're such an attention whore channie! : u only asked him to do so because u were jealous of that girl right channie! : that mother fucker left me in an alley way channie! : i admit channie! : i've been cheating on you with her

And before you could read the last few messages, you showed your screen to Heeseung. At first, Heeseung was afraid that you'd be hurt by Chan's words, but all you asked was, "You beat him up?" with your face completely unphased.

"....Yeah.... Don't get me wrong! Today, I saw him.... kissing that girl from before, and I just had to do something, y'know?" he pouted, not wanting you to get angry at him again and becoming all defensive.

You laugh at him before squishing his cheek. You looked back at your phone screen and clicked on Chan's notification, reading the last few messages you missed out on.

channie! : you're so overbearing channie! : she's way better than you channie! : i'm breaking up with u btw lol channie! : you'll never find anyone like me

You smirked, rolling your eyes before quickly letting go of Heeseung's hand to type a reply.

y/n : that's a relief y/n : bye

You snorted and showed Heeseung your reply, him giggling afterwards. You turned off your phone and inserted it in your pocket, holding Heeseung's hand again. The atmosphere was so loud, considering that the concert just ended and there were hoards of people trying to leave, but with Heeseung with you, you felt protected.

"I really looked like an idiot, didn't I?" you referred to when you were crying your eyes out for Chan before the concert. "Yeah, but a pretty idiot." "Oh? Mr Flirty.." you chuckled, blushing at his words. All your anger for him had vanished. "No but really, you look so pretty with that hairstyle.. that makeup and outfit." he said, looking the other way to avoid eye contact. It was dark, but the streetlight was making his redenned ears obvious.

You both continued to walk hand-in-hand, finally walking to an area that had lesser people, making the atmosphere calmer.

"How do you feel about me?" you asked.

There were seconds of silence, and you were about to apologise for such an abrupt question, until he spoke up.

"I feel crazy over you. I was going insane over the fact that you were having all these other boyfriends that treated you like absolute shit when I was right there. I could've been giving you wanted, Y/N. I enjoy every single moment with you, and that means a lot considering we literally live with each other. From those moments we go grocery shopping, to when we have movie nights, to when we fight over the smallest shit, I really enjoy all of them."

You nodded at his response, a smile creeping up your face. You interlocked your hand with him and squeezed his hand.

"How about you, Y/N?" he squeezed your hand back.

"I feel safe with you. I've had many partners, but they never made me feel as comfortable as you make me feel. I just assumed that it was because we're roommates, and that we feel close to each other since we see each other everyday, but I don't know.. I've always secretly craved for something more." you confessed, feeling embarrassed that you were completely vulnerable right now, but you wanted to be honest.

"That makes me feel so happy." he smiled at you, and you returned the smile.

"I'm sorry for being so cold to you this week." "It's okay. I understand."

After a while, the two of you finally returned home. Earlier expecting to be brought home by Chan, you were instead brought home by Heeseung, and it made you feel more content.

"I'm gunna go shower.." you told Heeseung, walking towards the bathroom.

"Can we shower together?" he asked, and you turned around, you looked at him weirdly with an eyebrow raised. "Weirdo.." you reply. "Whaat??? It's not weird at all!" he fought back. You rolled your eyes and snickered, walking into the bathroom.

A week has passed since you had broken up with Chan, and well, since you and Heeseung confessed to each other. In the dorm, you and Heeseung got even closer, sleeping together on the same bed every few days and having movie nights more frequently, but you and him never made it official. Both of you were honest about how you felt, so does that mean you two were dating? But nobody asked the big question, so does that mean the two of you were friends.. with benefits?

You were in class and it was the only thing you could think of, making you irritated. You couldn't focus, and if you went home to relax, the person making you lose focus would be there. As soon as the lecturer announced that class was over, you quickly closed your laptop and packed your bag, dashing for the door. You dashed home, wanting to just sleep your worries away. Since you and Heeseung were living in dorms, the time taken to walk back home wouldn't be long, so after 10 minute of walking, you reached the front of your door. You pull out your keys and unlocked the door, opening it and stepping foot into the house.

The first thing you noticed was the aroma. It smelled sweet, like.. chocolate cake? You loved chocolate cake. You quickly locked the front door behind you and put your shoes on the rack, stepping into the kitchen when you are met with a cake set on the table, "Will you let me be your boyfriend?" written with icing and flower petals around it forming a heart shape. Your heart instantly melted.

Suddenly, you heard a scream behind you and you instantly turned around, a confused look plastered onto your face. The scream came from Heeseung, who was just leaving his room and his eyes widened.

"HUHHH?? YOU'RE BACK HOME ALREADYY???" he whined, dropping a letter on the floor.

"What's all of this?" you giggled.

"I WANTED TO SURPRISE YOUU.." he whined again, fake-crying.

You giggled at the sight in front of you. Usually Heeseung put up a mature front around you, but you couldn't help but find this side of him extremely adorable.

"Well, that's unfortunate" you giggled, amused at how his face became fully red in an instant. You walked up to him and held both of his hands.

"So, what were you going to ask me?" you raised your eyebrows, anticipating to a specific phrase you've been wanting to hear so abdly throughout the entire week.

He sighed, looking away since he felt embarrassed that his surprise failed. He mustered up the courage to look at you and finally ask the big question, "Y/N, will you let me be your boyfriend?"

You hummed, looking up to the ceiling, portraying that you were 'thinking', but you only wanted to tease him. You felt ecstatic that it was all going to be official.

"Don't tease me!" he whined, feeling impatient.

"Maybe.... yes?" you finally replied, and he looked at you with such a jubilant expression. He pulled you into a kiss, his hands wrapping around your waist, and you kiss him back.

"I'll treat you so well Y/N, better than all those bastards and those characters you fangirl so much over, okay?" he pulled back, cupping your cheeks.

You nodded and leaned in once more for another kiss.

154 notes · View notes

deliciousangelfestival · 3 days

Text

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! - 11

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

Chap 1, Chap 2 , Chap 3 , Chap 4 , Chap 5 , Chap 6 , Chap 7 , Chap 8 , Chap 9 , Chap 10, Chap 11, Chap 12 ,-

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky had no idea that someone was making an evil plan against him. He had been advising you on managing Velari’s business for the past few days.

You quickly grasped the management concepts, learning from the best, Bucky. Another reason for your quick understanding was your previous business studies at a prestigious university. However, you couldn't continue your education due to internal conflicts within your family.

That was your biggest regret. You only bark but never bite. You managed to continue your education only because Cassandra sold her jewelry. You will never forget the sacrifice she made for you. You clenched your fists, remembering the heartbreak in her eyes when she sold her cherished possessions.

But still, whenever you tried to rise, life seemed determined to bring you down again. Genevieve used all her connections to prevent you from learning business and management.

You discovered this when you confronted the dean, who said, "Mrs. Sinclair donates a lot to this university, and we don’t want to disappoint her." You had felt a cold rage, your hands trembling as you realized the extent of her influence.

Most prestigious universities denied you. The only place that accepted you was a community college, where you randomly chose to study health and physical education because, at that time, you felt utterly lost and alone.

You just wanted to get a degree, any degree. You sighed, recalling the sense of defeat and the hollow feeling in your chest as you enrolled in a field you had no passion for.

Sometimes not expecting anything gives the best gifts. The lecturer and friends you met were the most supportive and kindest people you had ever encountered. That’s how you got the job as a teacher at Granite Hills Reform School, where problematic, delinquent students from all over the country were gathered.

It was tough at first; your teachers and the principal had warned you to be careful. But you felt like you could make some changes because you knew how the students felt: not being listened to, getting bullied, not being appreciated, and being ignored. You remembered the frustration in their eyes, a mirror of your own past struggles.

Comparing the discipline required for dealing with delinquent students who always gave outrageous excuses, working at Velari seemed easier.

After redefining the clothes' design with Andrea, you felt like the old Velari was back. You never thought redoing the design would be easier than looking at the accountant's records.

It was a mess. You ran your fingers through your hair, your brow furrowed in disbelief.

You scratched your head, unable to believe how much the business was bleeding. Bucky was also reading the numbers. "If you don’t do something, Velari will be closed in two years." His tone was serious, and his eyes met yours with concern.

"Urgh." You threw your head onto the book on the table and hit it a few times in frustration.

Bucky extended his hand and placed it on your forehead. His warm hand held your head gently. "Don’t worry, you can fix this." His touch and reassuring words made you pause, feeling a flicker of hope amid the chaos.

You felt your face warm up. Bucky noticed too. "Are you having a fever?" he asked, concern evident in his eyes.

You quickly moved your head away from his hand and shook your head. "No, I guess I hit my head too hard," you replied, trying to downplay your flustered state.

The chat between you and Bucky didn’t go unnoticed by Andrea, the senior designer. She bit her lip and continued drawing, stealing glances occasionally.

Bucky cleared his throat. "If you want, we could make a press release for a new rebranding for Velari."

"That’s a good idea," you nodded. "Can we also include AstraNova Group in the press release?"

Bucky nodded. "Sure." He looked at his watch and got up. "I’ll send the PR team to help you with the press release."

"Thank you," you said, your gratitude showing in your smile. Bucky smiled back and left the room.

"It was so sweet, I can't even describe it," Andrea remarked, taking off her glasses and smirking at you.

You felt your cheeks warm up again. "It's not..."

Andrea raised her hands in a mock surrender. "I won't tease you, but I saw how he always comes here and even stays with you until late at night. It says something."

You sighed, looking down at your hands. "I don’t know... To be honest, I don’t believe in romance after what I saw happen to my parents."

Andrea nodded sympathetically. "I understand, but not every story ends the same way. Sometimes, you just have to take a chance."

Andrea sighed, then approached you and gently took both of your hands in hers. She looked at you with a mix of concern and nostalgia. She remembered the first time Ophelia brought you to the shop.

You were cheerful, always laughing at the most minor things. But everything changed after Ophelia died, and not even a year later, your father remarried. Understandably, you have trauma around love and opening your heart to another person.

“Give it a chance,” Andrea said softly, squeezing your hands. “If both of you share the same feelings, that’s good. And… if Bucky cheats, I’m sure you could give him a lesson.” Andrea chuckled, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

You chuckled too, the tension easing from your shoulders. It would be a lie if you said you didn't have feelings for Bucky. You glanced down, your cheeks flushing slightly.

Andrea noticed your expression and gave your hands another reassuring squeeze. “You deserve happiness, just like anyone else.”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Thanks, Andrea. I'll think about it."

Andrea smiled warmly, patting your hands before letting go. “Good. Now, let’s get back to work. We’ve got a lot to do.”

👗👗👗👗👗

Since his memory returned, Bucky has been practicing touching other people. He started with his parents first. Though he still couldn’t hug them, he could hold their hands without feeling disgusted. His mom and dad were astounded and cried at the same time.

Finally, they could have physical contact with their son again without Bucky feeling nauseated or acting like they were germs. As parents, it was heartbreaking to see him struggle. The kidnapping stole Bucky and their chance to be an average family.

Juliana sipped her tea while watching her son read the newspaper. "So, today you’re going to be the honored guest at Velari?" she asked with a teasing smile.

Bucky nodded, not looking up from the paper.

"I never thought my son could be interested in fashion," she teased again, her eyes twinkling.

"Mom… I’m just… repaying the favor," Bucky replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Yeah… right," Rowan and Juliana murmured together. Because of Bucky’s condition, he never had the chance to have an intimate relationship with someone. He spent his youth only studying. So now, with Bucky and you? They couldn’t be happier.

Bucky wanted to smile at his parents' teasing but held it in. He stood from his seat, adjusting the buttons on his jacket. "I don’t want to be late."

"Why so early?" Juliana asked, looking up from her tea.

Bucky kept walking toward the door where the car was already prepared for him. "I have to stop by her house first."

"Tell her I said ‘Hi’," Juliana called after him, a knowing smile on her face.

Bucky paused at the door, turning slightly to nod before stepping outside. As he approached the car, he couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness, his heart pounding at the thought of seeing you.

🫖🫖🫖🫖🫖

Bucky arrived at your house and, as usual, greeted Cassandra first. She looked much healthier, having gained some weight since the first time he met her. Even with her dementia, Cassandra was always friendly to everyone. She was sitting in the garden with a blanket on her lap.

“Hello, Grandma,” Bucky greeted her warmly.

Cassandra’s eyes widened with recognition. “Ah, Patrick. It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it? Did you have breakfast?”

Bucky smiled softly, though he didn’t understand why she called him Patrick. After meeting a few times, she started using this name. He had mentioned it to you, but you didn’t know who Patrick was either.

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” you said, walking into the garden while adjusting your earrings.

Bucky fell silent, momentarily mesmerized by how different you looked today. Cassandra noticed, too, and clapped her hands in delight. “You look so beautiful, Ophelia. Did you make the clothes from my design again?”

You bent down and kissed her cheeks. “Yes.” Bringing your mother’s and grandmother’s designs to life was one of your greatest joys.

At least Genevieve and Victoria had never gotten their hands on the earlier designs. Kneeling beside Cassandra, you took her wrinkled hands and looked into her eyes. “I’m going to revive the old Velari.”

Cassandra tilted her head and caressed your hair gently. “I believe in you,” she said softly, her voice filled with warmth and trust.

🚗🚗🚗🚗🚗

The ride to the press release was quiet. You kept silently memorizing the speech you were going to deliver to the journalists and critics. In the fashion world, critics' words held significant weight.

Bucky sensed your nervousness. “Don’t worry. You can do this,” he said, his voice steady.

You took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Yes, I can do this.” Then, you looked at Bucky, feeling a surge of gratitude. You had reached this point mainly because of him.

“Bucky… I…” Your eyes widened when you saw Bucky’s intense focus on you, and he reached for you. “Wait…”

“Get down!” Bucky shouted, dragging your body away from the door. The movement was swift. As the car stopped at a red light, a big SUV suddenly rammed into Bucky’s car.

The car window shattered, showering you with glass. “What the fuck?” you exclaimed, feeling a mix of shock and fear.

Then you realized the person who had shielded you was trembling. You looked up to see Bucky, his face pale, his body rigid.

The traumatic memory of his kidnapping had resurfaced with startling clarity. He had just wanted to go home early from an event hosted by AstraNova, finding the party boring with no kids his age. But that decision had led to his abduction, a memory now mirrored in this moment. The nightmare was returning: the darkness, the cold, and fear.

“Bucky?” you called, trying to snap him out of his frozen state.

‘Bang.’

You hear the door closed from the SUV and see three big guys coming into your car. You saw the driver is fainted. “Shit.”

You touched Bucky's face urgently, trying to break through his fear. "Bucky, look at me! I know you're scared. Me too! But we can't stand still. We have to run. Argh…" Suddenly, strong arms grabbed you from behind.

The person was big and rough, wearing a ski mask. He muttered, "You're a firecracker, aren't ya?" His confidence wavered when you stared directly at him.

You continued kicking and squirming to escape his grasp, but his strength was overwhelming compared to your students'. Where was Bucky?

“Bucky!!!” you screamed, desperately searching for him.

“Don’t worry about him. We just want you,” the abductor sneered as he dragged you toward the waiting car.

Fear surged through you as you realized what was happening—had you just been abducted?

You kept kicking and struggling against the abductor, but he gripped your leg harder. “Be good, or I’ll break your fucking legs…”

“Help!” A voice suddenly cried out, weak and desperate.

You and your abductor both turned toward the sound.

What you saw was beyond anything you could have imagined. Bucky, whose body was smaller than the abductor's, had launched himself into action. With surprising strength and speed, he grabbed the other abductor and threw him in a wide arc.

The abductor struggled, choking and gasping for air. His resistance faded, and he went limp, unconscious. Bucky discarded him like a sack of garbage.

Your abductor's voice trembled with disbelief and frustration. “Fuck, she didn’t mention any of this.”

You were equally shocked. You had never imagined that Bucky possessed such strength and skill.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky had been quietly preparing himself for such situations. He had learned various martial arts and survival techniques, practicing diligently despite his physical limitations. Unable to spar with others, he had honed his abilities with machines and workout equipment, constantly pushing himself to the highest levels.

Now, faced with real danger, Bucky's training revealed itself. His strength and determination were beyond anything you had ever seen from him.

Andrea echoed in your mind, "If Bucky cheated, you could give him a lesson." If she could witness this moment, she would indeed be astounded.

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@stormy-stardust

@ashdoctor

Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

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randomhealer · 1 day

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Jiaoqiu ―୨୧⋆ ˚

Warnings: no pronouns used, female anatomy name used (pussy only), cum description, creampie, porn with no plot, not reviewed, pre character, Written on a very bad keyboard.

A/n: I forgot this account existed/j, but seriously I'm testing new things in the nsfw part...I'm also thinking about opening the message box...

You sigh tiredly, lying on your stomach and feeling your hole sore and raw, the feeling of the remnants of the love sessions on your body causing you slight discomfort, Drool dries in the corner of your mouth, tears dry in the corners of your beautiful eyes and the feeling of dry sperm all over your thighs, ass and pussy.

But all this discomfort of dirt is ignored by the real pain in your body, the pain throbbing between your legs as you feel the sensitivity even in the cold in the shared room together with the pain of the bites and bruises that appear on your neck and shoulders, your knees threatening to give way and collapsing on the bed while you enjoy your minutes of rest.

Jiaoqiu is between your legs looking completely fine unlike you, he spreads your wet folds with a finger, absorbed in watching the cum from your third round dripping from your hole abused, He smiles with a satisfied smile as if he has created a new dish with good healing qualities, licking his lips lightly as he denies the pleasure of sticking his nose between your pussy and eating you as you are, It doesn't matter if you are filled with his sperm or not he would eat you with pleasure, if you were asked what his favorite dish was he would casually say that you are his favorite food.

But at the moment Jiaoqiu still has a lot to give you from his balls. Breaking your moment of peace, he positions himself on top of you again, resting his chest on your back as he places a loving kiss on your shoulders, his ears lightly tickling your cheeks as he murmurs sweetly "you're doing so good for me my little fox…just one more."

You mumble incomprehensible things, your throat hurting as you try to say something along with your brain too melted to even hear what he's saying to you.

He laughs lightly in a muffled sound against your shoulder as he listens to your murmurs. You don't hear any other sounds coming from him other than feeling the sensation of the head of his cock sliding between your folds and stopping at your hole before sliding the head and length in. of him entering you easily with a loud wet noise, he sighs satisfied with the feeling of being able to enter you so easily, it's as if he has molded you completely to his cock while you just moan in protest.

It doesn't take long before he starts moving, leaving you a crying mess by the end of the night. But don't worry... you know that he will take good care of you and spoil you with the most varied menu possible made exclusively for you.

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #x reader #hsr smut #jiaoqiu x reader #jiaoqiu x you #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x female reader #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader

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chateaaa · 2 days

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☆ Hype Boy - Blue lock various

synopsis: Blue lock characters with a s/o who is a kpop idol

pairing: Bachira Meguru, Rin Itoshi, Reo Mikage x fem! reader

warnings: fluff!! swearing(?)

Bachira Meguru

- OH. MY. FUCKING. GOSH.

- HE WOULD LITERALLY BE SIMPING SOOO MUCH

- He be like 'how did i bag this girl 😍'

- He would always support your concerts and fan events, and you would support him in his soccer events

- He would grin and be sooo happy when he sees you watching his game, he would also dedicate his passes and goals to you, when bachira scores a goal he IMMEDIETLY looks for you in the crowd, grinning like a love sick idiot

- If bachira's fame rises up, there might be some rumours about you both and he cleared those rumours up by posting on his ig acc pictures of you on his pov and captioning how lucky he is to have THE L/N Y/N AS HIS GIRLFRIEND!

- He would have self doubts when he sees comments about you being shipped with other idols but he forgot about them when you gave him headpats :3

Rin Itoshi

- NOW THIS GUY

- He would literally be a lowkey fan, BUT WOULD BE THE TYPE TO BE PART OF THE TOP 0.05 LISTENERS ON SPOTIFY, this man is streaming on all of his devices when a new album gets released

- would also attend your concerts BUT THE TWIST?? yeah, he attends your concert BUT HE STAYS AT THE BACKSTAGE

- your manager and groupmates absolutely adore rin!! he would literally get vip tickets and not use them because he wants to stay backstage where he watches you shine like a star the guards already know who he is so he just goes inside lol

- Rin would be the type who's very friendly with your groupmates!! he's kinda like the second manager of your group (lol)

- Rin as a boyfriend would be the type to have your official photocard which he prayed to the gods to pull on the back of his phone

- Rin would get super defensive when his teammates ask why does rin have a kpop girl on the back of his phone?? bachira thinks rin doesn't listen to music

- Rin would blush soooo red when he sees you, watching his games AS THE L/N Y/N, without any disguise or whatsoever, he would literally get mad at his teammates when bringing up how HE BAGGED YOU

Reo Mikage

- He would literally be your fashion designer !!

- would buy at least 20 albums when merch gets released AND WOULD GET SO MAD WHEN HE DID NOT PULL YOUR PHOTOCARD

- Reo would be the type to flex you to his teammates kinda like "yeah, the Y/N is MY girlfriend"

- Nagi would get soo tired to Reo's rambles about how lucky he is to be yours

- Reo would SPOIL YOU

- designer bag? you name it. Oh a new lippie product? what brand, he got you.

- Would suprise you with flower knows!! (i really want their makeup BAHAHA I HAD TO INCLUDE THIS)

- HE'S DOWNBAD FOR YOU. NO JOKE

- he would get so mad when he sees you getting shipped with idols, he would be very jealous, He would be so proud to be yours, but just like bachira he would be very insecure but he would be good to go when you give him some kisses <3

a/n: inspired by newjeans! stan minji guys! this is kinda a extension of my series called super shy, go check that out at this link

I hope you all like this! i might make part two, or i might upload chapter 1 here at tumblr!! credits for the divider i used!!!

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oflorelei · 2 days

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My Problem is:

That it's a let down. Listen I am not mad or horrible dissapointed over that Radahn is there (although sigh i wished we would have gotten that Age of Abundance/Compassion man). I am not mad that he is apparently a puppets and that miquella is apparently the villain from the shadows. I'm mad that they hyped this DLC up so hard, using Miquella's character, which they know to be shrouded in mystery and HYPE, made it appear that we may have the chance to join him/get betrayed by him, made people belief he SPECIFALLY seeks out the tarnished or multiple tarnished at once (to help him?)- that he is the central figure of this DLC when he is not. And thats not an underestimation.

Miquella, most fearsome of the Empyreans, the 'father' of the Halligtree, beloved by near all, who "[...]wields love to shrive clean the hearts of men. (There is nothing more terrifying.)" - does not even have his own bossfight.

No, he is basically just a cape for a boss we already fought to a DLC that costs 40€. He is in the promotion arc, he is said to be a central figure, he is said to be the fearsome empyrean of all. One thing he isnt? Apparently worth the time of day.

I am ok with Miquella being turned into a villain, I am not ok with Miquella being turned into a joke.

There were so so many roads they could have taken with him, he was PROMISING in every regard.

Want to make him a Villain? Fine the reason can be:

=> Manipulation/Enchanting for people to love him (to ensure someone will always look out for him)

-not absolutely evil per say- and it makes sense that someone who is stuck in the body of a child might want to count on many people rather then one person to protect them = it is his weapon to wield affection

- still takes away free will, even consent to some degree

=> Formless mothers influence

- do i even need to explain this one lmao

- already thousands of theories before this DLC thought that miquella might have been negatively influenced by her- especially when so many things in this Game revolve around blood and the power of it

=> "for the greater good" ahh ending

- 'the means justify the end' mentality (maybe even allign with the manipulation and enchanting)

-would be a similar situation to ranni and could mirror it- not the best but also not horrible

=> St. Trina is Miquella's Radagon

- Miquella splitting slowly with the golden order & turning his back to the easier path & planning behind the shadows to change how Things have been? Yeah maybe St. Trina could have been to Miquella what Radagon was to Marika (a guard dog, keeping her checked (sry but i genuinely believe Radagon returned bc Marika started to stray)).

-could also have explored how marika had to deal with it & her relationship to her other self => player could maybe decide who they wished to serve

=> the curse drives mad

- being stuck in the body of a child when you are a grown adult mentally is pure eldritch horror imo, it is not only physically but chances are high it could cause deeper psychological issues

- when grief drove marika mad it can drive miquella mad to that despite everything he does, being so prodigal, does not help and helplessness of it all too

- bc no one can help and no one can understand him

- he is stuck in a body that is his, and yet its the body of a past him, something he should have outgrown, something that belongs to the past- and (IMO) he can not fight truly in his body, not even to defend himself- having to constantly rely on people for your protection when you are an incredible independent creature? Horrible

- while not the most climatic- would it be truly unthinkable that miquella maybe just..gave up? That it drove him mad with grief to realize he spends his life searching for a cure that might not even exist?

- again thats more then a 'what if' then realistic like the rest of the list but i just love the horror adult mind child body

Want to make him a good guy? Fine the reason can be:

=> He is described so. He knew that he would be the next god & took responsibility.

- Miquella created the Haligtree, feed by his OWN blood (which takes far longer and more energy then just using bodies) or all that are rejected by the golden order, he is compassionate & kind. He is protective and by gods above he does want to help, he does break away from the golden order when he realizes they are not what they seem

-With ranni not wanting to become the successor and Malenia cursed with the rot it only leaves Miquella open, he would have been aware of it

- He is already a 'big' brother, caring for malenia, caring for all who were considered Misfits such as the Albinauric & Misbegotten, providing a sanctuary and hope

- Miquella is described as kind, as compassionate someone who basically does wish to bring a change and is ready to self sacrifice for the better

There are many more but guys im so so tired and need to nap. In short: its incredible to me how you can make a Character that had potential for all possible sides (good, evil, inbetween) so bland, his arc and journey feel like white toastbread, his relationship to his beloved sister malenia seems fake, he doesnt appear to be an adult trapped in a body of a child but as simply put an idiot who is all about "me me me me" & then doesnt even get a bossfight.

Im not mad it was written, i am made there was zero thought or reasoning put behind it, when there were so so many options to make it good. Its sorta fascinating that somehow no one likes this ending, not the Radahn Fans, Nor the Miquella or Malenia Fans..idk man. Having feelings about this.

Also im really bummed we didnt get a cutscene were the tarnished touches Miquella's arm to travel like- man.

Also sorry for the grammar/spelling or maybe even logic errors i just needed to vent ngl

#elden ring #dlc eldenring #sote spoilers #miquella #miquella U deserved better im sorry bb #my boy im so so sad guys #shadow of the erdtree #starscourge radahn #miquella was assasinated like abraham lincoln #sigh i just dont know what to say rlly #im just dissapointed #i need to go to bed istg

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sinnabum45 · 14 hours

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Link to help Palestine and other resources! 🇵🇸

[Plain text: Links to help Palestine and other resources! (palestine flag). End plain text.]

[Image description: gray toned digital comic of Ace Attorney characters Franziska von Karma and Miles Edgeworth.

Page one: Franziska has her right arm in a sling due to being shot. She is quickly walking with an angry expression. She has a memory of when Miles and her were kids. She is giving Miles her cat doll and Miles is flustered, embarrassed. Manfred is smiling fondly behind them. Then she remembers studying intensely and being frustrated when she didn’t meet her own standards. Text throughout the page: “Nothing I did ever mattered. Nothing ever mattered…! Nothing… Nothing!!” Miles calls out the Franziska and Franziska’s face contorts with anger. Miles: “Where are you going… Franziska?”

Page two: Franziska turns toward Miles and says, “How did you know I was here…?” Miles looks worried. They start talking to each other, but there are no text. Franziska is thinking, “You…! How dare you show your face to me?!”

Page three: Memories of Franziska being left behind are shown. First, Miles is nine years old and covering his eyes, crying. He’s walking ahead of Franziska while she tries to catch up to him. She reaches her left arm to him. Second, Miles is twenty years old and Manfred is walking next to him with a hand on Miles’ shoulder. Miles is frowning and Manfred is smiling. Franziska is thirteen and she is left behind in disbelief. There is a big split in the middle of the page, separating Franziska from them. Text in the split represents Franziska’s thoughts: “All you’ve ever done was leave me behind… Don’t act like you care now! I’ve always hated you!”

Page four: Franziska is back to being depicted as the present Franziska. Now she is standing in the middle of darkness alone. Franziska: “I can’t change who I am. I can’t throw away everything I’ve been until today.” Miles responds, shocking Franziska, “I believe you can. Today, you chased after me, after I’ve left you behind all these years.” Franziska looks up at him with wide eyes, but still skeptical.

Page five: The page is in color. Miles and Franziska are facing each other. Miles: “And that’s why we’re standing here now, side by side.” Franziska: “…!”

Page six: The page is gray toned. Miles looks at Franziska with a determined look. Miles: “But I have no intention of stopping. If you say you are going to quit your walk down the prosecutor’s path… Then this is where we part ways, Franziska von Karma.” Franziska is listening, dumbfounded.

Page seven: Franziska looks down, clenching her jaw. Franziska is facing away from viewers and Miles is facing her. Franziska: “I… I…”

Page eight: Page is in color. Franziska is facing the viewer and she is crying. Franziska: “I am Franziska Von Karma. Don’t think I’m going to walk in your shadow forever…”

Page nine: Page is in color. Franziska loses her eyes, still crying and facing Miles. Franziska: “Our battle… Begins now… So you had better prepare yourself, Miles Edgeworth!” They are both facing away from the viewers, walking together toward the future. Franziska is wiping her eyes with her left arm.

Page ten: Page is gray toned. A memory of Franziska when she is two years old and Miles is nine. Miles is crying and walking ahead of Franziska. She is reaching out to him, but she is left behind. She starts crying by herself. A hand is extended towards her and she looks at it, surprised. Franziska becomes happy that Miles came back for her and she holds his hands, smiling. Text: “Thank you for being here…” End description.]

The scene that made me cry 🥲 I have so many thoughts about it— 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

HC (TW// suicidal ideation): I love that they added this scene to show how Franziska was also going through it, too. She was also hurt by what Manfred did and the pressure of the “von Karma name”. She’s literally a teenager going through all of this bs. I also loved that Miles related her to Adrian because YES. The similarities between Adrian, Franziska, and also Miles throughout the case- they were all dependent on their mentor and tried to act “strong” to cope with their self perceived weaknesses/failures. I personally think Miles was also suicidal and that Franziska was going down that same path. Her throwing away her whip is a hint at that HC. Her whip represents her strength and being a prosecutor- AKA her life, since that’s all her and Miles lived for at this point. Unlike Miles tho, Franziska had someone there to stop her and help her before she went down that path. I also like to think that because they were so caught up in their pain, they felt alone when they had each other the whole time. I don’t blame them cuz Manfred made it so they were only “worthy” if they were “geniuses” like he is. They put being the best prosecutor over EVERYTHING else. That’s going to mess anyone up, especially children who just wanted their dad to love them. AHHH I LOVE THEM 😭😭😭

I took out so much dialogue cuz it was already getting too long. I think the Adrian line could make for it’s own comic 🥺 (I love that they directly relate them so much SKLKJGK😭)

#ace attorney #ace attorney fanart #franziska von karma #miles edgeworth #manfred von karma #art #comic #digital art #fanart #SinnaArt #this comic was in the drafts for a few weeks 😭

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dancingtotuyo · 16 hours

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epilogue. the ghosts that we knew

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: angst, hurt and comfort, cancer, TLOU II SPOILERS, death, grief, Major Character Death, afterlife?

Notes: So we come to the end of this beautiful journey. Thank you EVERYONE for all your lovely comments and words over these past several month. I hope you don't hate me too much.

Words: 3942

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

You walk the trail every night. Sometimes, Ellie joins you or Maria, but never Tommy. Sometimes you walk alone. You talk to Gabe still. You tell him about Carter. You tell him that you’re okay. But most often, you talk to Joel. It’s not that you loved him more, but it is different. Where Gabe drifted further away in death, you still feel Joel nearby like he’s watching over you. You wonder if Gabe saw Joel coming. Maybe he stepped back so you could have someone next to you.

You tell Joel about your day and how the kids are growing. You pull his smile, the feel of his hand in yours, out of the recesses of your mind, so close to the surface, it's almost tangible. You tell him that you miss him. It takes years, but eventually, you tell him that you’re okay.

Ellie spends more time with you at the house. She walks with you to take Carter and Willa to school. She comes over for dinner most nights. Together, you tell your favorite Joel stories over dinner. Carter chimes in from time to time. Willa listens for every drop she can glean of the fading figure in her young mind.

The kids are asleep when Ellie has her first panic attack. The clattering of pots falling to the floor does it. You hold her through it. Your hands aren’t able to fix this one. She sleeps next to you on Joel’s side of the bed that night. It still smells like him.

It’s a month after Joel’s burial when Tommy comes fumbling in late to your weekly family dinners. He has a lead on the girl who did it. Tension seeps through your bones. You don’t have the same taste for revenge. The idea is bitter in your mouth.

There’s a lot of shouting. Maria tells Tommy no. That part is clear, but you see the guilt seep through him. He knows he’s not responsible for Joel’s death, but he can’t let it go. It’s no surprise when Maria knocks on your door the next morning that Tommy is gone. Ellie and Dina ride out that morning. Jesse follows suit soon after.

The familiar fog of grief creeps at the corners of your mind. You can’t let it overtake you this time. You have the kids. Tommy and Ellie’s absence makes it harder, but you push through. You want to do more than just survive. You can almost hear Joel cheering you on.

You throw yourself into motherhood and training your apprentices. At night, you cry yourself to sleep. Maria and Elias spend more time at your house than theirs. You never say it out loud, but both of you start to wonder if your family unit which was once 8 has dwindled to 5.

A weight lifts off your chest when Ellie bursts into the clinic. You pull her into a suffocating hug and then inspect her for injuries. There are many, but she’s going to be okay. Tommy’s leg is another story. It’s been too long since he sustained the injury. He’ll walk with a limp for the rest of his life. Dina’s shoulder injury is miraculously not infected, but it’s the subtle swell of her abdomen that makes you lose your breath.

You’re able to find a strong heartbeat with the doppler. Dina and Ellie share a relieved look. You want to ask but restrain yourself. Ellie will tell you when you need to know.

You don’t ask where Jesse is.

Your family dinners resume. Your family table is back to 8 since Dina joined with the ever-growing promise of 9. You know Tommy is still searching for leads on Abby. You pray he never finds them. Things between him and Maria aren’t good. Ellie says she’s done seeking her out.

Ellie spends a lot of her free time riding outside the wall. You don’t ask questions. Joel liked to wander too. Sometimes she shares about the things she saw, but oftentimes she just shares a knowing grin with Dina. There’s a twinge in your heart. You used to do the same with Joel.

Autumn is in the air when you finally open Joel’s drawers. Maria hasn’t said anything about Joel’s clothes, but you know you need to go through them, distribute what’s wearable to people who need it. It still smells like him. Tears spring in your eyes. It’s been so long that you have started to forget it. Closing your eyes, you can feel him next to you, behind you, in front. He’s all around. His soft voice echoes deep within your brain almost like he’s whispering in your ear. The tears fall in steady streams.

You save 2 shirts, one for Carter and one for Willa. Ellie has his watch, and you have the kids. The rest of his shirts and jeans go into the box. Then you clean out his sock drawer, checking each for holes, which most of them have. A small smirk crosses your face. You and Sarah used to do the laundry. His socks always had holes then too. Some things never change. You pull two socks apart, and something flashes in the light before hitting the floor with a soft ping. You toss the socks into the box, feeling around for the item. You find it just under the dresser.

You hold the thin, gold band in your palm. It feels so delicate in your hands. Diamond chips encrust half of the band, shimmering in the light. Your eyes water again. It slips on with just enough resistance that it won’t slip off: a perfect fit. How long did he have this? Was he going to give it to you?

Yes. It whispers in your bones.

Not as a proposal, you know that, but a sign of his commitment. You slip it back off. Something doesn’t sit right about wearing it on your finger for the whole world to see. You want to keep this between you and Joel for a little while.

You open up the box on your dresser. It contains your wedding band, untouched since you placed it there years ago, a few pairs of earrings, and the gold chain your dad gave you the day you graduated nursing school. You slide the ring onto the chain. It rests underneath your shirt, near your heart.

You give Maria the box to distribute. You don’t tell her about the ring. It stays tucked under your shirt.

The night of Joel’s birthday, you reach for the last of the coffee beans pushed in the back of the cupboard. There’s something therapeutic about the movements- grinding the beans and boiling the water.

When you open the cupboard, the owl mug sits at the forefront. You freeze. You don’t know how it got there. It’s stayed pushed to the back since his death, but it makes you hold your breath. You despised that thing so much, but now you reach for it, filing it with coffee.

“Make enough for two?” Ellie says.

You spin around to find her sitting at the kitchen table. You smile weakly. “I can make it stretch.”

You know her disdain for it but say nothing, filling a second mug for her. The two of you sit in silence, steaming cups of coffee in front of you until Ellie gives up trying to choke it down. She pours the remainder of her mug into yours. You chuff, smile tipping your lips.

“I don’t know how that old man drank this shit.”

“Yeah, this isn’t great, but you know Joel.”

“Never saw him turn down a cup of coffee.”

“No, I don’t think he ever did.” You take another sip of coffee, eyes watering with unshed tears.

Ellie invites you to join her on a ride one day. You take her up on the offer. You ride side by side for most of the trek. It’s apparent she’s taking you somewhere.

“Ever been out this way?”

“Joel used to pull me out of Jackson from time to time. We spent time in the wildflower fields. Bugged the hell out of the council.” You laugh.

Ellie smiles. “And before?”

“I never got so far past this side of Jackson.”

“Something new to see,” Ellie says, excitedly then hesitates slightly. “Joel took me to a museum once for my birthday. They had a dinosaur and a space exhibit. He tracked down an old tape from one of the rocket launches. It was one of the best days of my life.”

“I remember when he found the museum. He couldn’t stop talking about how excited he was to show you.” you smile at the memory. “He talked about that day a lot. It was one of his favorites.”

Ellie pulls her horse to a stop and you follow suit. “He was really good at that, making sure there were good days.”

“He was.”

“I’m not sure how many good days are left for me in Jackson.”

Your heart skips a beat as you push down the panic rising in your chest. You can’t lose another person. “Oh?”

“Dina and I… we’ve been talking about what we want after the baby is born.”

You try to focus on her words, not the ringing in your ears. “Is that why you brought me out here?”

“I wanted to show you.” Ellie grins, kicking her horse forward.

You furrow your brow following after her. Your questions are answered as you burst into a clearing. An old farmhouse comes into view. It appears to be in relatively good condition. A partial fence circles widely around the property. It’s new.

You look over at Ellie who wears a look of pride and ownership over the small estate. “You did this?”

Ellie nods. “Dina and I are gonna move after the baby is born. I’ve been working to get the fence finished and the inside livable”

Tears prickle at the back of your eyes. There aren’t words for how you feel. You’re sad that Ellie won’t be across the street anymore, but you’re proud of her for carving out her own space in this world. She’s not far, you remind yourself. There’s something else about it tugging in your soul. Joel would love this place.

“You and Carter and Willa can come visit us anytime,” Elie says as if she can read your thoughts.

“Ellie, it’s amazing.”

She looks relieved. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “Now show me inside.”

The sun is setting as the settlement walls fade into view. You two spent too long at The Farm, you know it, but you hadn’t seen Ellie’s eyes light up like that in a long time. She is bouncing off the walls. It’s good to be out from behind the city walls.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Of course.”

“It’s just... ” Ellie bristles. “You’ve been quiet since we left.”

“Sorry, I’ve just been thinking.”

“Oh.”

You let it settle over the two of you for a while. “Joel always talked about finding a farm nearby. Getting out of the walls.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I did a shitty job of training other people to do my job. I didn’t feel like I could leave.”

Ellie nods.

“I asked him what kind of farm he wanted.” You smile at the memory. “He always said-”

“Sheep.” Ellie finishes. “Because they’re quiet and do what they’re told.”

You laugh. “Exactly.”

You’re back within the walls of Jackson as the sun dips behind the mountains. You walk down the streets side by side in silence. Ellie turns for her house.

“Ellie, I’m proud of you.” She stops in her tracks and turns around. Lights from the house sparkle off her eyes. “I don’t know if that means a lot coming from me-”

You’re cut off when she collides into your chest, arms squeezing you tight. You squeeze back. “Thank you.” It’s soft on her voice.

JJ is a few months old when Ellie and Dina move out to The Farm. You go out to visit them occasionally, sometimes with the kids and sometimes not. The first time you go alone, the wildflowers are in bloom. You take a 15-minute pitstop to collect yourself when you first spot them. You leave The Farm early to walk through the same wildflowers Joel used to take you to.

The breeze plays in your loose hair. You slip off your boots and let your toes curl into the unkempt ground. You see Joel’s smile in the Prairie Fire, hear his laugh in the Columbine.

Here, the familiar whisper behind your ear says.

You still wear the ring on your chain. It feels warm under your shirt. Unclasping it, you let the gold band fall into your palm. You slip the ring on your finger for the first time since you found it, and it stays there.

You pick a bouquet of wildflowers. They sit on your kitchen table for a week, and it feels like Joel hand-delivered them. Willa stares at them with her head cocked to the side, chin resting on the table. The tilt of her head reminds you of Joel. She has his soft curls that gather right at the bottom of her neck. The wonderment in her eyes reminds you of Sarah. You can’t help but kiss her head, let your fingers trail through her hair. His rings sparkles on your finger under the sun streaming through the window. You wonder if she feels the same draw toward the flowers that her dad did.

Willa smiles up at you. “Feels nice, mommy.” His Little Wildflower. She’s growing like a weed.

Carter struggles. He doesn’t talk. He spends most of his days in his bedroom. Joel always found a way to get him to talk, to smile. He may be the spitting image of his father- but it’s clear he got your temperament- your way of handling his feelings.

You take him to The Farm, just the two of you. He helps in the barn, rolls around with the sheep, and walks the fence line with Ellie for hours. You hear him laugh while you hold JJ on the front porch. Even though they don’t share blood with him, you see bits of Joel in both their mannerisms. They learned how to interact with the world from him.

Carter is excited when they get back. Ellie is going to teach him how to shoot next time you visit. You swallow back tears. Joel promised to teach him once he turned 10. Carter talks your ear off the whole way home.

Tommy still looks for leads on Abby. You pray he never finds one. Things between him and Maria are tense. Elias spends a lot of time at your house. Your worst fears are realized when Maria bangs on your front door at 6 am one morning. Tommy’s found a lead. He’s going to talk to Ellie.

You tear into Tommy in the middle of the street when he gets back that evening. “What the fuck are you thinking!?”

He brushes you off. “I’m not discussing this with you.”

“Like hell you are! How dare you bring Ellie back into this!” You’re a mama bear, fiercely protecting her cub. “You fucking asshole! Do you know how hard she’s worked to be okay?”

“She wants justice just as bad as I do!” You’re sure the whole town is watching from their windows, but you don’t care.

“This isn’t justice! It’s revenge!” You can’t push back the tears that come. Your family table can’t grow smaller. You can’t lose Tommy too. “Where does it fucking end? With us all in the ground? He wouldn’t have wanted this!”

“How can you say that?” Tommy gets in your face. It’s a scare tactic you’ve seen him use before. You don’t flinch. “That bitch took him from us! She made us slide that knife into his heart. She deserves it- and worse!”

“You will not drag my children into this, Tommy!”

“Did you really love him? Or was it all just-”

Your hand collides with his cheek before he can finish. “How dare you!” You’re shaking with rage. Tommy holds his cheek in his hand. “Joel would’ve wanted you here with your wife and son! He would’ve wanted us to keep having family dinners, and holidays together! He would’ve wanted us to live! Not just survive! I’m trying to live, Tommy! Because going back into survival would kill me! And it’ll do the same to Ellie!”

“If she doesn’t go, I go.” Tommy walks away.

You ride out to The Farm the next morning. Dina looks relieved when you climb the front porch stairs. Ellie is in her drawing room. She’s added more portraits since you were here last. They’re mostly Dina and JJ, but there’s one of Carter from his last visit, Willa from behind, Joel with his guitar on the porch, playing catch with Carter, dancing with Willa. All as clear as pictures. It hits you how much she observed, took in even when she looked in from a distance. The last one steals your breath for a minute. Two silhouettes dance on a front porch.

You have to swallow back the emotions before you speak. “I know Tommy was here yesterday.”

And then she cries in your arms. You brush her hair away from her face as she does. You make out limited information. The panic attacks keep coming. She can’t make them stop. She thinks this will make them stop. Your hands, so used to healing, feel useless.

With her head in your lap, she looks like that 14 year old girl you met years ago. “It’s not your fault, Ellie.”

She looks up at you through bloodshot eyes. “He would’ve never killed that doctor if it wasn’t for me.”

I would do it all again. It comes through so tangible. You repeat it to her. You tell her it’s not her fault. You tell her that Joel learned to live again because of her. You want the same thing for her. Don’t let vengeance overtake her. You want her to live life how it’s meant to be lived, not the violent cycle it’s turned into. Joel wants her to live.

Ellie stays on the farm with Dina and their son. She comes to see you in Jackson more often. All three of them do. The two of you talk about the day Joel died and what she saw. She finds out what helps her get through the panic attacks. It’s not easy, but they start to come less frequently.

Tommy goes after Abby. You feel like you lose another piece of Joel as his figure disappears into the tree line. You hold Maria as she cries. No one sees her cry but you. The roles are reversed, but you know how to give her support and comfort. You learned from the best.

I’m still here, Darlin. You have all of me.

You hear nothing from or of Tommy for months. It turns into years. Maria blames herself. She told him to not come back. Elias is getting into trouble at school. You’re all shocked when Tommy returns two years later. He moves into Joel’s house across the street. He never found her.

Maria and Tommy coexist. They both join family dinners. They co-parent Elias well, but they don’t reunite.

Life isn’t always easy, but you make it through, all of you. Most importantly, you experience life. The ups and downs, the twists and the turns, and you do it together because you’re family.

It’s the morning of Willa’s 16th birthday when you find it. A lump in your breast. Just 1 from what you can tell. You comb your mind for any other signs. None that you can recall. Maybe it’s benign. You push back the memories of your grandmother’s battle with breast cancer, but the tears still emerge.

I’ve got you. You swear you can almost feel Joel’s arms around you.

You don’t tell anyone. You spend more time outside the walls. You’ve trained up several people to provide medical care. Morgan can suture better than you. Sharon has steadier hands. Willa is already an expert herbalist, growing and cultivating medicinal herbs and plants. If something happens to you, Jackson will still have good medical care.

Joel seems closer than ever these days, like the veil between worlds is thinning. Sometimes you swear you see a flicker of him like a mirage in the wildflowers, or in the corner when the whole family is together. You were never sure what you thought about higher powers and the afterlife, but you’re sure there’s something there.

You find another lump two years later. A third shows up soon after. You start to notice other changes in your body. You’re tiring easier.

You’re more intentional about the time you spend with the kids. You make sure they know the stories they can’t remember. Carter teaches you how to shoot a bow. Willa teaches you about all the herbs in her greenhouse. You spend whole weeks at The Farm. It’s the end of summer when you know you have to start telling people. You tell Ellie while the two of you watch the sunset from the porch swing. She hugs you. There are tears, but there's peace to them.

You faint while on a walk with Maria at the start of September. You tell her, and then you tell the kids. It’s one of the hardest things you have to do. Even at 21 year old, Carter goes to stone as Willa cries in your arms.

You’re confined to your bed by Christmas. You sleep most of the day. Everyone comes for Christmas. Carter carries your shrinking frame to the couch. There’s laughter and jokes. You notice Maria’s hand in Tommy’s, but you don’t ask.

Joel catches your eye from the corner. He looks younger. In his early 40s or so, you think. He smiles at you. He’s never been so clear. He’s waiting for you.

You stop eating after Christmas. Your thoughts start to feel disjointed, words scratch at your throat and you can’t push them out. Breathing takes all your energy. Willa has extracted opium from poppies. It helps. You hear their voices filter in. Willa, Carter, Ellie, Dina, Maria, JJ, and finally Tommy. They talk to you, but you can’t respond. They reminisce. It brings comfort to you as you feel their voices slipping away until you can’t hear them anymore. It’s dark and silent.

When you open your eyes, you’re greeted by bright clear skies. The wind rustles through the wildflowers around you. A bird chirps in the distance. You stretch out your legs with the delectable sensation only available after a sun soaked nap.

You close your eyes again, you can see Jackson. Willa and Carter are bickering about something. They walk your evening path. Willa is giving Carter a hard time about his latest romantic encounter. You can see The Farm. Dina and Ellie sit on the front porch. JJ is doing his chores. It all feels so close, but you feel separate. You can see it all happening, walk through it with just a thought, but you can’t interact with the world.

There’s a deep chuckle in your ear. You turn your head. Joel lays next to you, a smile on his face. His hair is less gray than last time you saw him. The creases around his eyes aren’t as deep.

His hand touches yours. It’s warm. You’ve passed to the other side of the veil. Your heart leaps.

“Hey Sweetheart, I’ve been waiting for you.”

Tag List: @pedrotonin@amyispxnk@joeldjarin@ilovepedro@justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981@jessthebaker@annieispunk@ashleyfilm@moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer@lizzie-cakes@hiroikegawa

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #woman (joel miller)#joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro stories #pedrostories

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thelastofhyde · 1 day

Text

hit the road, jack!

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

INTRO — silver springs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack was at the wedding.

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn’t drink and drive.”

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

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

“How did you find me?”

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

“But, darlin’, I love you.”

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

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

“Where are we going?”

“For a drive, sweetheart.”

TRACK 1 — vienna

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

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

One dance led to unimaginable love.

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

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

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

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

“D’you remember our trip to Vienna?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I still have nightmares of the boat.”

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

“I jumped.”

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

“I jumped, to make you laugh!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TRACK 2 — purple rain

A perfect summer’s storm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, out came the truth.

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

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

You could’ve died, Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop the car.”

“Huh?”

“Just pull over, Jack!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No reply comes your way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your dress falls to the floor.

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

TRACK 3 — lover you should’ve come over

“Wait, are these pyjama pants?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s your old address.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This last one, you read the letter in full.

Darling girl,

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

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

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

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

Love always,

your Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

TRACK 4 — 50 ways to leave your lover

Jack drives deeper into the night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your smile fades.

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

Why did you run away?

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

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

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

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

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

INTERLUDE — go your own way

Like tires upon gravel, time rolls on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s right, and you hate it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A yawn escapes you.

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

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

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

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

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

TRACK 5 — i’m on fire

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

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

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

You know this memory.

You’ve lived this memory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

You jolt awake.

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

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

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

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

“He, uh, wrote it in the sky.”

“How romantic. Pricey too, I bet.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You must’ve said yes immediately.”

“I did.”

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

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

TRACK 6 — she’s always a woman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

50 miles to go. 50 miles till goodbye.

“I’m hungry.”

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

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

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

You try to picture it.

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

Would you have ran?

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

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

“No.”

Jack just keeps driving.

TRACK 7 — dancing in the dark

“You can’t be serious!”

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

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

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

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

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

As quick as it inflates, the tension pops.

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

“What?”

“You did not just ask me that.”

“Oh, but I did.”

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

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

“Sit back down.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s absolutely terrifying.

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

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

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

A knock rings against the door.

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

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

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

He calls your name again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TRACK 8 — hit the road jack

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUTRO — everywhere

“Thank god you’re okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know. We just… make sense.”

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

Santiago is calm, collected, and completely unresponsive.

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

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

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

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

“A Bronco.”

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

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

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

Goodbye.

“Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t invite me to your wedding.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where to, darlin’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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