#...oh i should really get an ask tag uh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thesacrificialdove · 28 days ago

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tags two cocks, hypnosis, kidnapping, dub-con, praise kink, light sub naga, oviposition, breeding kink, aftermath of mind control, altered memories

—📜" Making your way back to the campsite, a kind stranger guides you back to where you're needed. With him

Recounting your steps would be futile. It’s best for you to leave fate like this.

It got dark too quickly and you still haven’t traversed your way back to the camp. A short trip to your van for some extra supplies became a longer task than you anticipated it to. You can barely see the sun anymore. The trees start to look the same. Your lamp feels like it’s about to go out any second now.

The camping materials hold you back severely. Your shoulder aches and the cooler in both of your hands are heavy. Watching the sunset, you drop the cooler below a landmark tree. Four scratches. You don’t exactly know what caused those scratches, but whoever did it, they marked your path back to your friends.

With a sigh, you bend over to carry the cooler again—

“You need help with that?”

The cooler drops to your feet, making you scream out. The person, who materialised out of nowhere, comes up to you. “Sorry, are you okay? I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The man looks concerned. His eyebrows furrow as he stares at you. It’s alright. It’s just… someone.

“Oh,” you say, wincing as you hold yourself up against a tree. “I’m alright, I guess. Are you, uh, camping here too?”

He smiles. His teeth are white and he has little fangs like your little sister. It’s cute. “Yeah, just by the lakeside,” he says.

You haven’t seen another tent on the lake. You’d know since you and your friends are stationed there. Maybe he’s more camouflaged. “Oh, uh, actually, me and my friends are there too. If it’s not too much of a bother…—”

“You want me to take you there?” he says, practically reading your mind. “Yeah. It’s getting dangerous out at night.” He approaches you, looking around the forest with cautious eyes. “Let me lead the way, yeah? Just follow me and you won’t get lost.”

You nod. He doesn’t look away from you and you don’t either. When he turns to the path, you follow his figure closely. You feel lighter now. The equipment doesn’t seem so heavy anymore… Did you forget something?

He asks you, “You guys staying for long?”

“Ah, well, for a bit. We leave tomorrow morning.”

“Really?” he laughs. “I’ve already been here a while and I never wanna leave,” he jokes. You think that to be true. He turns to look back at you, seeing as you struggle behind him. He reaches out, “Let me get that for you so that you won’t worry about carrying anything.”

You nod. Your backpack, your lamp, all of it goes to him. He smiles as you catch up to him.

You think you’re reaching the lake right about now. You remember seeing another landmark earlier. You think you were supposed to take a turn—but he hasn’t, right? He knows where to go. He knows what to do. You should trust him. You should trust him.

The night looks darker. Did the lamp run out?

He’s not holding anything. He’s not looking at you anymore.

“Hey,” you call out, looking around, “Are we…?”

“Yeah, we’re almost there,” he assures. “Come on. Hurry now. I can hear your friends from here.”

You don’t hear them. The wind threatens the both of you for a moment, the breeze coming along with it. He takes your hand to guide you forward. You think you hear them now.

There’s something in the distance. It looks like a cave. “Ri-i-ight over there,” he drags out, hands in his pockets as you both stand outside of it. “Your friends are calling for you there.”

It’s too dark to see them. It must be later in the night now. You can hear their voices. They’re calling for you. They’re calling your name. You can hear them so vividly. Get in the cave.

Get in the cave.

Listen to me.

Get in the cave.

Darkness envelops you with each step forward. They’re closer now. The footsteps behind you feel distant. Yet, you feel the warmth of a body pressed against you. You can feel the air against your neck, like soft whispers and heavy breathing.

You call out one of your friend’s names. It echoes in the cave.

“They’re here, sweetheart,” someone whispers behind you. He's the kind man. “It’s getting late. You need to change into sleepwear, hm? Take your bottoms off for me.”

There’s nothing you can see in the dark. You feel around for your pants as you start to unbutton them. Another pair of hands come to hold yours, guiding you where to pull and where to unzip. It helps you take them off.

“You look very nice,” you’re lowered to the ground, “sweetheart, you look very nice. Can you lay on your front for me?”

The kind man allows you to the cold floor. You feel nice. Just a bit sleepy. He keeps you up with his hands going up and down your body. “Wish you could see yourself,” he says, pushing your top up—revealing your chest—” you look beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

You can hear something in the background. It sounds almost terrifying. Like the sounds of rubber stretching, the peeling of the skin, and small little grunts that echo throughout. Still, you’re soothed by the kind man who shushes you calmly.

“It’s alright, I just wanna…” he trails off, shifting you around so you’re laying on—something. It’s smooth yet hard beneath you. It’s cold, too cold. “...sweetheart?”

Has he been calling your name the entire time? You can’t really speak. You try to open your mouth but it’s too heavy. You’re lightheaded.

“It’s okay, just wanted to make sure you’re still here,” he says, “I wanna ask you something, just nod or shake your head, yeah?”

You nod.

“Do you like your friends?”

You nod.

“Do you truly want to see them again?”

You nod.

“Then can you help me out? Just for a moment, just for a little while.”

…You nod.

His chuckle is all you hear before he pulls you up. You can hear something dragging behind him. Once you’re pressed against the wall, you continue to hear it as something slides against you. You can’t move. You can’t feel your arms.

The panic settles in and he’s trying so hard to keep you calm. He whispers unintelligible things to you as something goes tighter, almost making you unable to breathe. It’s tight against your stomach and your shoulders. You can still feel your legs but you can’t move them. You won’t. You won’t move them.

“Stay still,” he says. “Just help me since I helped you, okay? Just one small thing.

“I need to mate with you,” the coils around you tighten, “I need to use you for a while and I promise I’ll return you to your friends. Just make me good for a bit, okay? You got that, sweetheart?”

You let out a little noise. He doesn’t say more as you feel air caress your now bare cunt. It surprises you. “I’ll try to prepare you.”

Something prods against your hole. It’s dry but you feel that you’ve already started leaking. He moans, “Already feeling good? I’m so glad. You’re gonna enjoy this, I promise.”

It pushes inside of you. Your breath gets choked out of you as you feel it massaging deep inside of you. Your legs shake as you struggle with it constantly rubbing against your G-spot. It’s playing it so easily that you can’t help but moan.

“Doing so good for me,” he says, his voice suddenly on your neck as the coils around you loosen. “Gonna put another in.”

He’s true to his word. Another thing goes inside your pussy and now you’re being scissored open. Your legs quiver hard. “So fucking wet,” he moans, “I wanna put my cocks inside of you. I wanna keep you with my eggs stuck inside. Fu-u-u-uck..!”

You cry out as the things inside of you fuck you. It thrusts relentlessly and makes you accustomed to the feeling of being stretched wide. It’s driving you crazy how it reaches so deep inside of you like an actual cock.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, the thing inside of you pulling away. “I’m so sorry. I need to fuck you. I’m about to fucking burst and it hurts!”

You’re pulled up a little before something wet touches you. You moan, the slickness of it cold and almost uncomfortable. He whines in your ears as it rubs between your folds desperately.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck you with my cock, okay?” he says, something—his cock spreading slickness all over your cunt. “I’ll be gentle later. But you’re so good for me, so pliant, so fucking delicious—!”

He gets cut off by both of your moans. You scream out as you feel his cock stretch you. His fingers aren’t enough as you feel him split you open. The heat inside of you is warming you from the inside out, threatening to burn you alive.

“O-oh,” he moans, the coils tightening you, “that’s only one cock. I can’t wait to feel your ass on my other one.”

You don’t get to process his words as the coils around you guide you up and down on his cock. You’re stuck moaning without a name. His cock feels like your entire first, punching you in and out without mercy as he chases his orgasm.

In front of you, he’s panting. He’s going mad with the feeling of being inside of you. Every part of him feels like it's losing as you clench around him, unaccustomed to his size.

“So… tight~!” he moans, thrusting his hips along, “so fucking good. I wanna feel you take all of me. I wanna see you carrying my eggs so much. I wanna fill you up please..!”

He’s mumbling incoherent things as something slaps you from your behind. It feels like his other cock. You don’t panic. Instead, you feel tenfold the arousal as it pokes you at your dry rear.

It doesn’t push in. You know he’s disappointed with the way he’s crying out as he fucks your pussy harder.

“...so much. Wanna fill you up so much,” he moans, a sound coming from the back of his throat like a hiss. “I need to train you on my cock and make you never wanna leave. You’ll never need anyone else but me! Only—only me!

“Fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart.” His hips don’t stutter as you’re being suffocated again. You’re dizzy. You can feel yourself losing air in your brain as your cunt gets railed over and over again. The buds inside of you are getting rubbed to their most sensitive degree as you can feel him in your stomach. It’s jarring. It’s terrifying.

It’s so fucking good.

You wanna stay here forever.

You wanna be trained on his cock

You never wanna leave.

You never need anything but him

Only him.

A cry escapes your throat as you squirt all over his cock. Your spams doesn’t make him stop. “Oh, fuck, you’re so cute!” he says, “you’re shaking. You’re—you’re so tight around me. I’m gonna make you a momma. You’ll never be able to let go of me after this, sweetie. You’re going to want me forever.”

Least expecting it, his cocks stretch you further. You let out a meek noise as it struggles to push something in. “N…no more,” you sob, your walls pushing against it as it tries to make itself home.

“It’s okay,” he hushes. You can feel his arms around you as the coils loosen. “Take a deep breath for me. You’re doing so good.” It pushes in more. “Be a good girl. Be a good momma, okay? Come on, take it!”

He thrusts into you one last time and you scream as something gets pushed inside. You pant, feeling something heavy stretch you inside. It feels like you’re throbbing inside. It feels like a heartbeat

“That’s so good, you’re so good. Such a good girl.”

For the first time, he kisses you. The first thing you feel is his tongue pushing against your lips. It fucks your mouth open as you feel it slither. It’s long and thicker than at least three of your fingers.

You gag. You can feel it against the back of your throat and you struggle to take it in. He tasted sweet. Is it supposed to taste this sweet?

He moans on top of you as he rubs his cock inside of you, pushing the thing inside of you a little deeper. He pulls out of the kiss and you’re left with a drool connecting the both of you. “Mmm, sweetheart, you taste so good. Do I taste good?”

He does. You nod lazily as your head falls into his shoulders. He laughs as he strokes your back. “It’s okay. I’m satisfied for now. I’m sorry I rushed, okay? When you come back next time, I’ll be more gentle. I’ll even make a nest for you and our child.”

Before your brain can catch up, you’re falling into the sweet comfort of his arms.

When you wake up, your friend ushers you awake.

“Get the fuck up, sleepyhead!” she yells. “You’ve been asleep for hours, we need to go soon!”

You groan, unwilling to wake up. Your body feels so sore. The sleeping bag wasn’t the best for camping, you’d guess. What a waste of purchase.

Outside, the birds are chirping and the sounds of the river are soothing. You’re gonna miss this place, not gonna lie. It’s like something would die in you if you were to leave. Then again, you’re very dramatic.

Your name is called. “Hey! Help me bring this stupid ass cooler! Jacob’s already carrying the other one.”

You put it up against your arms. Huh. You feel like you got a moment of déjà vu. It’s probably nothing. You shake your head, trying to get rid of the morning fog in your head.

Fuck. You think you need to check in at a hospital. You can barely walk and your stomach feels heavy. Maybe get someone to check in on you—...

No.

You can’t do that.

You can’t let anyone touch you down there.

Just need to return to the lake after a month and you’ll be good as new.

do not redistrubute this work as yours/without permission or feed to AI 📷 art by @ go_h_og

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 4 months ago

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the handyman

pairing: neighbor! joel miller x f! reader

cws/tags: pure smut, DADDY KINK, oral m & f receiving, p in v (unprotected), an abundance of pet names, reader is under 21 but over 18 (for the plot), reader is kinda stupid, big dick joel, not beta read

summary: pwp honestly. basically a porn plot? idk joel comes over to reader's grandma's house to fix the smoke detector (which she broke) and he teaches her how to be a good girl.

a/n: don't ask why reader lives with her grandma, originally this was going to be longer and it was going to be more relevant

join my taglist!

wc: 2k

You open the front door to and see an unfamiliar man standing at your doorstep – 40 something, jeans and a t-shirt, progressively more handsome the longer you look at him. You size him up, trying to decide what his intentions are.

“Whatever it is you’re selling – I don’t wanna buy it," you say.

He opens his mouth, but you continue before he can say anything. “I don’t even live here anyway, and before you ask she’s not home, so you can’t talk to her.”

“I ain’t here to sell you shit.”

“Well, I don’t wanna sign anything either.”

“Good. ‘Cause I don’t want you to.”

“Then why are you here? I don’t have a lot of time before One Tree Hill comes back on, so make it quick.”

“I’m Joel. I live down the street. I’m here to fix your smoke detector.”

“Oh, in that case, come on in,” you say, changing your demeanor entirely as you realize that you really need to get in this man’s good graces.

“So, you’re ‘handyman’ grandma’s been talking about?” you ask, as you lead him to the kitchen.

“She’s been talking about me?”

“Yeah. She talks about you like you’re her boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? What’d she say?”

“I dunno. I wasn’t really listening. I thought it might just be some dementia-induced delusion.”

“Well, she’s told me quite a bit about you.”

“Good things?”

“Better than the things she says about all of your other family members.”

“You know what they say, ‘if you don’t want people to talk badly about you, then you shouldn’t ruin Christmas.’”

“Uh-huh,” he says, only half-listening as he approaches the scene of the crime - a broken smoke detector, now just wires and plastic, lays on the kitchen counter. He studies it for a minute, furrowing his brows. “Jesus Christ. What happened?”

“It just fell off the wall.” You shrug, acting nonchalant and hoping he doesn't notice your shifty eyes from across the kitchen.

“No way,” he says – not with curious incredulity, but knowing disapproval.

He turns to you and crosses his arms over his chest, and engages you in a short staring contest.

“What?” you ask, feigning innocence.

Joel swipes the dish rag from the countertop and reveals the evidence you’d hidden under it like he's performing a magic trick.

He holds up the hammer, displaying it to you. He looks mostly disappointed in you - in an oddly paternal way, but also slightly amused, likely by how poorly you’d conducted this whole covert operation of yours. “Why’d you break it?”

“I didn’t break it.”

“Kid, I’m not an idiot. Just fess up, so we can fix it and move on.”

“Are you gonna tell on me?”

“You afraid of your meemaw’s wrath?” he teases.

“I don’t want her to be disappointed in me.”

“Should she be?”

“I didn’t mean to break it. I just wanted it to stop beeping.”

“It’s supposed to beep.”

You give him a pathetic pout that you hope works. It doesn’t. It only makes his gaze harden.

“I’m sorry. It was just one cigarette, and I really, really didn’t want to get in trouble… so when it went off, I panicked and hit it with the hammer.”

He shakes his head and sighs. “You’re a piece of work, kid. Making me come out here on my lunch break-”

“-I’m sorry," you interrupt, "I won’t do it again, so just please, please don’t tell on me.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“I could offer you something… something to show my infinite remorse for my actions and my infinite gratitude to you for fixing the mess I made.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Okay. What’s your offer?”

His smirk makes you think you’re on the same page so you get down on your knees in front of him, but when you look up into his eyes, what stares back at you is complete bewilderment.

“Get up,” he says, offering you his hand.

“I thought…”

“I don’t think you were thinking,” he says condescendingly.

“You’ve gotta learn to listen to the thoughts up here,” he says, tapping you on your temple. “Not the ones down here.” His finger brushes against your clit.

The way he speaks to you only makes it worse, the throbbing, aching feeling between your legs. You can’t find a single thing to say that isn’t ‘please’ followed by some utterly depraved suggestion.

Joel turns back to his work, somehow unfazed by the interaction.

“Normally, I’d think this sounds a bit too chauvinistic to ask, but since you owe me, can you get me a beer from the garage?”

Oh fuck. Three strikes, you’re out.

“We don’t have any beer.”

“You sure about that? I just put a six pack in there last week.”

“Maybe my grandma drank them already…”

“Your grandmother said that Budweiser tastes like cat piss.”

“It does.”

“Yeah? And how would you know that? I thought you weren’t 21 yet. Who’s buying you alcohol?”

“I didn’t know they were yours.”

“Uh-huh, but I bet your grandma would’ve told you they were if you’d asked her. But she doesn’t know about your ‘habits’, does she?”

“No,” you admit weakly.

“Come here.”

You step towards him, and wait for him to give you an earful or to threaten to reveal your secrets.

“I’m reconsidering your little offer.”

Your face lights up at the opportunity to make things right, to expunge this from your record.

“So if I did that, we’d be cool, right?”

“Depends on how good you are, darlin’.”

For a second time that afternoon, you sink to your knees, but this time, Joel gives you the go-ahead. You try to balance the coyness you’ve seen women in the movies demonstrate with the eagerness you feel inside as you undo his belt.

With his jeans halfway down his legs, you place your palm over the bulge in his boxers and feel him twitch at your touch. When his cock is finally released from its confines, you try not to be too intimidated. Your confidence is falling but your arousal only rises.

You begin by wrapping your hand around him and stroking his length, setting a steady pace. Then, you tease the tip with kitten licks and hear his breath hitch when you flick your tongue across his slit.

There’s no way you can take him all the way down your throat – you’d probably bruise your esophagus. Still, you try, sputtering and letting saliva drip down your chin. You can’t help but feel a bit proud of yourself when he has to put his hand on the counter to steady himself.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he says through heavy breaths.

You pull away, upset at what you perceive to be a failure. “You didn’t cum…”

“I almost did, baby girl, but I don’t want to yet.”

You feel a bit pathetic imagining how you must look from his perspective, with your teary eyes, begging him to let you go on.

“You wanna give me a good apology, right?” He nods slowly, looking into your eyes, prompting you to do the same.

“Then, I want you to come sit on the couch with me.”

He takes your hand and walks you to the living room, patronizing since the two rooms are connected. When Joel sits down on the couch, he pulls you into his lap.

“I was thinkin’ about what I said before – how you’re not using your head. You could be such a smart girl – a good girl - if only you could think with your brain. You just need a little bit of help.”

You can feel his hard cock poking through his boxers and rubbing against your pussy. It’s hard to resist the urge to roll your hips, just to get a bit of friction, a bit of relief.

His hand finds its way between your legs and he asks, “What’s gonna happen if I put my hand in your panties right now, baby? Are you gonna be wet?”

While you try to form a response that doesn’t make you sound too desperate, his fingers toy with your waistband. “Remember, baby, good girls are honest,” he whispers into the shell of your ear.

“Yeah, I am… wet.”

“For me?” His hand meets your bare skin and finds that you are, indeed, dripping wet. “Did I do this to you?”

“Uh-huh.” You arch into his touch, shamelessly using his fingers for your own pleasure.

“If you want more, you have to be a good girl.”

With the promise of a reward, you follow his implied instructions and still your hips.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

He takes your word for it and begins rubbing circles on your clit. You could cum from that alone but he slips a finger inside you, curling it upward to meet that special spot.

Joel expects a response from you, but not the one he gets.

A single word: “Daddy…”

“Oh, baby. I get it now. Been needin’ daddy to take care of you.”

He’s right. You do need this. He can take care of you, you can be good for him. When he fucks you with his fingers, you swear you could fall in love with him.

But when he takes them away, you cry.

“Shh… It’s okay,” he says, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I wanna do something else. It’s gonna make you feel even better.”

Before you have a chance to think, your panties are on the floor and his head is between your thighs. You can feel his breath on your clit when he speaks. “I want you to be a good girl and cum on my face – can you do that?”

“Yes, daddy.” The word leaves your mouth more naturally than it probably should, it's almost instinctual.

Joel wastes no more time talking, knowing his tongue can convey much more when it runs along your folds, and his lips can elicit a better response when they suck lightly on your clit.

The only thing you have for him is moans accompanied by breathless chanting of “daddy, daddy, daddy.”

He hums into your core, an affirmative, a reminder that you are a good girl. You can do this.

You can cum for him. You will cum for him – there is nothing that can stop the euphoria that rushes through you. It’s the kind that makes your legs shake and your eyes roll back into your head.

Joel was right – the orgasm clears your mind. But the realization that the situation you’ve ended up in – naked on your grandmother’s couch with her middle-aged neighbor who is supposed to be fixing your mistake, not helping you make another - is a precarious one. Being a smart girl seems to be a double edged sword.

Euphemistically, speaking.

In truth, it’s Joel’s cock that’s fully-sheathed inside you. Pain and pleasure mix as he thrusts in and out of you. You swear he might split you open, but even if he quite literally tore you to pieces, you'd die happily.

“You’re takin’ it so well,” he tells you, “knew you’d be a good girl.”

And maybe it’s the praise, or maybe it’s his thumb on your clit, but you’re rapidly approaching a second orgasm. All you can do is hold onto Joel, dragging your nails down his back. He bites your neck in response, and hopefully he doesn’t intend for it be a deterrent, because it only serves to heighten your pleasure.

He slows his pace, but his hips slam into yours harder, filling the air with the sound of skin slapping against skin in a steady rhythm.

“Whose pussy is this?”

You can’t breathe when the weight of his cock knocks the wind out of you, so he stops, allowing you to answer.

“Yours, daddy!”

His lips on yours are your cue to cum – or so you hope because it happens regardless of your will.

He has the sense to pull out and let his release spill onto your stomach.

You sigh, relaxing into the couch. “I need a cigarette,” you say.

“Did you not learn anything from today?”

“Mm-mm,” you say grinning dumbly.

Caught up in a daze – absolutely enraptured by his need to have you – he made the mistake of fucking you stupid.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n

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deadsetobsessions · 7 months ago

Text

Sea Cryptic! Danny Pt.6

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

Danny slumped over the table at the library. He’d feel embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the rest of the floor’s occupants. Around him, students were speed running through the five stages of grief like it was going out of style.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“Same.” Danny replied, rolling his head to look at Tim. “I’m feeling like an academic victim instead of an academic weapon right now.”

“I should have stayed dropped out of school,” Tim grumbled.

Danny gasped theatrically. “And deprive the world of your awe-inspiring genius on…” Danny peered at Tim’s books and grinned. “On… the Krebs cycle? Seriously? They’re teaching that again?”

“I know! This is like, the third time.” Tim whined.

“At least you’ll be good at it, right?”

Tim scoffed. “I’m gonna drop out of college and become a stripper.”

“They do make bank,” Danny nodded. “But aren’t you like a millionaire or something?”

Tim brightened. “Oh, you’re right. I don’t need education! I’m filthy rich!”

Danny whacked Tim on the back of the head, laughing quietly.

“Whatever. Let’s go take a break. Snacks?”

“I literally don’t know how you eat so much.”

“Snacks have a separate stomach pouch. Normal food goes one place, junk food and desserts in another.” Danny retorted, quickly packing up his stuff. In reality, he didn’t need that much food. He’s half dead, after all. But food also converts to ectoplasm in his body, and ancients knows Danny needs all the energy he could get.

They made their way out of the campus library, passing stressed out looking students on their way to a taco truck.

“Does this even count as a snack?” Tim asked, amused. He tugged on his book bag, readjusting the vigilante pins on them.

“Is the sky even blue?” Danny snarked back, forking over the cash needed for the best fucking tacos on this side of Gotham. They sat on the benches, asking for an obscene amount of extra lime and cilantro before going to town.

“Holy shit, how many of those can you eat?”

“Dunno,” Danny mumbled though a mouthful or carne asada and pico de gallo. “Hungry.”

Tim snorted, pulling out his phone to scroll as he ate. A moment later, Tim showed Danny his screen.

“Hey, you live near here, right?”

Danny, cheeks bulging with food, peered at Tim’s phone and nodded.

“Oh, cool! Have you seen the green guy around?”

Danny squinted at Tim, tilting his head as he chewed.

“You know, the glowing green guy that’s been blowing up the Gotham Bay tag.”

Oh. Tim was talking about him, Danny!

Danny nodded. He quickly ate his food and wiped his mouth before replying. “Yeah, why?”

“Does he seriously just clean up the bay? Nothing else?”

Mildly offended for some reason, Danny shrugged. “I mean yeah? He doesn’t seem to pop up near any of the shady spots- oh, I saw him save someone from a mugging in front of my apartment once! But like, I think all he does is clean the bay. Which is good, because holy heck, that place is nastyyy.”

“Seriously?” Tim leaned in, looking super interested. “So he’s friendly?”

Danny raised a brow. “Yeah, he seemed pretty nice, I guess. Though, that’s not saying much considering your Rogues tend to be pretty chill when they’re not in the middle of a scheme.”

Tim snorted. “True that. You talked to him? When? Outside of his bay cleanings, right? I’ve noticed that he only talks to the Bats during those.”

Danny stared at Tim. “Tim… are you… stalking the guy?”

What Danny really wanted to say was: “Tim, are you stalking me?”

“I’m not stalking him!” At Danny’s suspicious glare, belied by his sauce stained mouth, Tim sighed. “Okay, maybe I am. But only some minor stalking!”

“Uh-huh.”

“But if you have, you think you could introduce us? Maybe he’d want to be friends?”

Was Tim asking Danny to introduce him to… Danny himself?

“Uh. Why do you even want to meet him?”

“Danny, he’s a glowing green guy that does community service for funsies. And he knows the Bats. That’s cool.”

“And here I thought you wouldn’t know cool if it smacked you in the face.” Danny teased. Well, whatever. He might as well do something nice for Tim. “Sure. I’ll text you when he pops up and see if he’s okay with meeting you.”

Tim grinned at him, a piece of cilantro stuck in his teeth. “Thanks!”

——

Danny made a duplicate of himself and went ghost. Danny and his duplicate looked at each other and sighed.

“We’ve done stupider things.”

“But we’re still not telling Jazz.”

“Agreed.”

Danny paused. Did he just make a deal with himself? No, he’s busy.

Doppelgänger Danny went invisible and left the apartment by going through a wall. Danny followed in a sedate pace, the normal way.

Outside, he pretended to catch sight of a suddenly visible Phantom. He’d heard the heartbeats outside his apartment ever since he got home all those days ago, and he’s pretty sure the vigilantes were watching his place ever since. Luckily, he made sure there weren’t any bugs or hidden cameras- Sam beat cautiousness into his head a while ago- before starting the plan.

One of those heartbeats sounded like Tim’s which left some… interesting connotations.

Danny sighed. Who was he kidding? Of course he’d be friends with a vigilante.

“Hey, Phantom!” Danny shouted, waving. Phantom floated over.

“Danny. Hi. Did you need something?”

“Oh, not really. My friend wanted to meet you, he’s a huuuuge fan. Think you’ve got time today?” Danny held up his phone.

Phantom hummed. “I can stay for a bit. Thirty minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll call him. His name is Tim, by the way. Thanks for taking the time to meet him!”

“No problem.”

Danny texted Tim, and minutely frowned as he picked up the sound of Tim’s ringtone. Shit, that pretty much confirmed his suspicions. He got a text back from Tim.

Timsy

[5 nin]

Nin

Min

Danny huffed an amused breath. “He’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Alright.”

Danny texted back an okay.

Five minutes later, a flushed and disheveled Tim peeled onto the street and right to the curb.

“Here!” He said as he tumbled out of the car.

“Damn, bro. You good?”

“Fine- oh my god, you’re the green guy!” Danny had to hand it to Tim. If he didn’t already figure out he was Red Robin, Danny would’ve believed the act. Holy shit, wait, he called his friend broke. Hah!

“It’s Phantom. Nice to meet you, Tom.”

A quick sliver of sullenness flashed over Tim’s face. “It- it’s Tim.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, human names sound so similar.” Danny leaned back and hid a grin as his doppelgänger messed with his friend.

“Oh, wow, you’re not human? What are you then?”

“Oh my god, Tim, you can’t just ask him what he is!” Danny scolded. These vigilantes were really similar.

“Sorry…” Tim apologized.

“It’s fine. To answer your question, I’m dead. Ghost.”

“Do you really pay taxes?”

Phantom tilted his head. “Yes, of course.” By the, Danny meant that he paid both human taxes and oversaw the Zone’s taxes. “You know that saying, something about never escaping from two things and that’s taxes and death? You can escape death- might come back a little wrong- but taxes are in the afterlife too.”

“Come back a little wrong?” Tim asked, eyes suddenly sharp.

“Come back a little,” Phantom gestured to himself. “Green. More emotive and prone to irritation.”

Tim stared.

——

“Jason, are you a ghost?” Dick, crouched on the top of Danny’s apartment building whispered.

Red Hood, crouched in the same area, stayed silent.

——

“How did you die?”

Phantom snarled and disappeared.

Tim whirled around, looking bewildered. Behind him, Danny struggled to stay calm.

“Where’d he go?”

“He probably didn’t want to hurt you.” Danny sighed.

“What? What did I do?”

“You asked him how he died. That’s like, the ultimate social taboo.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“It’s common sense, dude. Trauma like that has to be shared instead of asked about. Generally.” Danny sighed. “Come on, let’s get off the street and I’ll give you a crash course in manners.”

——

Bruce, upon hearing about the conversation, dove headfirst into researching the after life.

“No, go suck a goat’s genitals, Batsy, I am not helping you adopt a being of the infinite realms!” Constantine hung up on him.

“Hn.” Bruce will adopt the child and give him a home. It’s only a matter of when… and what inter-dimensional loopholes he could find and use in the relevant laws.

Jason was right behind him, because he was going to get answers, dammit.

#danny phantom #batman #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #dc x dp #dick grayson #red hood #nightwing #bamf danny phantom #sea cryptic! danny au

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wonderjanga · 20 days ago

Text

Part-time Jobs

Billy needs money, or at least more than what he currently has. So, he gets a job. Scratch that. Marvel gets a job. Marvel is now a part timer named Mark who works at a Target, a Baskin Robins, a Bojangles (I worked at one, so now he has to), and a couple other places. The stamina of Atlas is really carrying him.

Marvel and Coworker 1: *taking a lunch break together*

Coworker 1: “Wait, so is this your only job?”

Marvel: “Hm? No. Why?”

Coworker 1: “Well, it’s just that I briefly remember you saying one time about how this isn’t your only job.”

Marvel: “Ohhhhh… Well let’s see, I work here, Target, a Baskin Robins, and a Bojangles. I’ve been a bouncer at a club a couple times since a friend of mine at the Baskin Robins will let me fill in for him. And then there’s the Autozone, and the Taco Bell.”

Coworker 1: *starts growing more and more alarmed/horrified after the Baskin Robins mention* “Mark, buddy, that’s like… six— seven jobs! How do you have the time for that, one, and two you have like no one eyebags or visible exhaustion whatsoever.”

Marvel: “I clean up well…?”

Coworker 1: “That’s a bit of an understatement, pal. You look like you have a full nights rest, a good meal, and a good conscience. I’ve never once seen you drink a drop of caffeine to.”

Marvel: “Uh…”

Coworker 1: *stands on tippy toes to place a hand on Marvel’s shoulder* “Dude, are you alright?”

Marvel: *leans down so they don’t have to stand on their tippy toes* “Yes?”

Coworker 1: “You sure?”

Marvel: “Yes?? You’re making me second guess myself.”

Coworker 1: “Maybe you should, because working 7 jobs is actually insane, bud.”

This interaction honestly set Billy on edge afterwords. He didn’t really want Coworker 1 worrying over him. Especially when Billy was just trying to get that bag. Speaking of worrying there was another coworker who tended to worry about him a lot, Ms. Gertrude. She was the manager of the Target he worked at. Her worry was more that of a grandmother. She pinches his cheeks and gives him candy despite the fact that in his Marvel form, he not only looks like a grown man, she’s also half his size. He doesn’t particularly mind though.

Marvel: “Ms. Gertrude, why do you always pinch my cheeks and give me candy?

Ms. Gertrude: “You remind me of my husband.” *hands him some old lady candy*

Marvel: *extremely confused* “Huh?”

Ms. Gertrude: “Yes, Micheal, my husband. You remind me of him. So, I’ve decided you’re now my grandson.”

Marvel: “Oh uh… okay.” *doesn’t know whether to be happy or not*

Ms. Gertrude: “Yes, now go stock the toy aisle, dear.” *shooes him off*

Marvel: *scurries off to the toy aisie*

The time bubble worked in his favor, Billy supposed. Ms. Gertrude likes her 1950s to 60s not-really-grandson grandson.

Then there’s the time Flash was in town for whatever and went to the local Baskin Robins.

Flash: “I’ll take a double fudge sundae— Whaaaa…? Cap?”

Marvel: “It’s Mark.” *taps name tag*

Flash: “Your name is Mark?”

Marvel: “Well… no. But it’s my name for this job. A double fudge sundae, right?”

Flash: “Right.” *stares for a couple seconds* “Dude, why’re you here?”

Marvel: “It’s my city?”

Flash: “You know what I mean. Dude, why’re you working at a Baskin Robin’s?”

Marvel: “Money.”

Flash: “Money?”

Marvel: *nods head* “Money.”

Flash: “You know we get a salary right? Also why do you even need money in the first place? I didn’t even think you were a human.”

Marvel: *donates most of the money to homeless shelters, but doesn’t use any of it for himself cause he’s scared it’ll let them find out he’s a kid* “I did know that. I just like to eat. I work at like 5 different fast food places cause the food is delicious.” *walks to the ice cream to start making the sundae*

Flash: “How do you have the time for that?”

Marvel: *shrugs, finishing the sundae and handing it to Wally*

Flash: “I will be very much asking about this later, bud. You will be warned.”

#billy batson #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #shazam #fawcett comics #fawcett #fawcett city #the flash #wally west

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writingbynova · 2 months ago

Text

The Party ★

★ & The After Party

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ⊹ : pwp (porn with plot) - mdni - frat boys au - gojo & geto x nerd!fem!reader - party - bff drags u there - tiny mention of substances but no use - mean geto - protected sex - degrading - pet names - geto calls you: sugar/ doll & Gojo calls you: sweetie/ princess/ baby - rough sex - biting - overstimulation - threesome - slight choking/ breath play - hits of dacryphilia - missionary - Doggystyle - face fucking - praising - oral(m & f receiving) - mind breaking - dirty talk - fingering - getting caught (through the phone) - lmk if I missed any tags...

Word count : 3.6k

A/N : sorry js felt horny ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ (should have added toys but I'm sleepy) wrote this while listening the the party & the after party, shameless, often, I was never there, & coming down.

Majoring in Biology but never got fucked by two frat boys at a party ? Guess you didn't listen during the chapter of reproduction... Let's teach you some tricks shall we ?

"Going where? A party ??" you asked your eyes almost gouging out of their socket "Id love to but i don't think I can... And I wasn't invited. I have homework anyway it's better I stay and study"

You friend stands in front of your mirror, putting dresses up to her body to determine which one suites her best. They all do.

"Yeah whatever, good thing I wasn't asking you to come. I'm telling you. Get dressed, Yuji is picking us up in 30 mins. " She says leaving you alone in the room.

Frat boy's parties weren't really your thing. Although you couldn't judge because you had never been to a party, you always focussed on your studies. Hence why you didn't even know where you were heading to. Nonetheless you headed to the bathroom to shower and get ready.

"You done ?!" You heard your friend scream from another room, while you applied some mascara. "You better be when I get there !!"

You sighed. You really didn't feel extremely comfortable going. You didn't know anyone except your bestie who was basically your polar opposite. Outgoing, friends and... Well 'closer' with the popular boys. While you were the awkward nerd who didn't know anyone and never interacted with XY chromosomes possessors. Majoring in Biology.

Your friends barged into your room just as you expected and you stood anxiously before her.

"Where you going?" She asked judging you up and down. "Uh.. you said a party" you muttered, this situation really wasn't your daily life. "No, I mean where are you going dressed like a Spanish teacher, you look a damn mess girl." So that's the matter. "Oh...it's that bad ?" "That bad ? You look like you got dressed in the dark"

Pink skirt and a purple top make a cute combo tho ? Don't they? Okay, maybe not then.

"You were seriously about to walk out dressed like a 6 year old girl? And where's your makeup ?" Truthfully she was being dramatic. "I don't wear makeup and I've never seen a 6 year old dressed like this" you clapped back "Only means they dress better than you." Ouch. Touché " We've got about 10 minutes to salvage this before Yuji shows up, go get my makeup bag and the black leader dress on my bed. Quick." You nearly ran out the room. Visibly the night would be hard.

"Are you sure this is okay ? I think I look kind of weird and these lashes are sooo long I've never had them this long."

"You look like a piece a cheesecake. I'd take a bite out of that ass right this second if Yuji wasn't waiting for us" she laughs. You chuckle at her antics. As funny as she is you can't help but feel self conscious at the idea of walking out dressed like this. A black leader strapless dress, barely covering your ass. Black high heels in which you barely felt stable. A full face of makeup adorning your face you looked like a mini version of her. Hot as a motherfucker though.

"Let's head down girl?" She says, peaking through the door. Handing you a little YSL bag with a gold strap.

"Yes, be there in a second I just need to find my glasses..." You said, patting your desk in search of your square correction glasses. "Please tell me you're not planning on wearing those windshields..." She criticizes. "I need to wear them, I can barely see without them." "You're lying !! You haven't been wearing them since and you're fine let's go." She said grabbing your wrists and dragging you out. Fuck.

A pink haired boy gestures at you two before opening the car door for you two. 'Such a nice boy' you think. Thanking him and sitting next to your friend in the car. She makes small talk with him and you get to know he's one in a few classes of hers and friends with the party organizers.

"Gojo and Geto, hottest boys alive. The party is at Gojo's house he's some rich kid you must have seen him at least once." You look over at the picture. A tall boy with white hair and sky blue eyes leaning on a tall boy with black long hair and purple eyes. They're cute you can't lie. You have seen him around, he plays basketball and girls from what you heard. "They look nice" you only say. Because what else is there to be said. This is just two campus boys organizing a big party. Nothing special, you've never experienced one but now it doesn't seem like anything special

"I won't tell you what I think. Make up your own opinion were here" she says gesturing for you to open the door on your side. Suddenly it does seem like something special and the knot ties in your stomach, you start wobbling on your heels. Still your friends drags you to the door with a "you'll be okay" that does not reassure you in the slightest. A boy open the door. Pink hair. "I though Yuji wasn't coming in until later ?" You whisper in her ear "that's not Yuji it's Sukuna his twin." Yeah makes sense. He lets you both ente the house and you're hit with the smell of sex, probably some weed and sweat.

Your friend drags you over to her group of friend and they start chatting, before moving over to take shots. You on the other hand stay aside, props for not drinking but you do feel excluded. You need to isolate, Candy by Doja Cart banging within your head, it's too crowded. "Where's the bathroom" you scream over the music. Your friend points up the stairs. Without thinking you rush up the stairs, it's already better. The floor is already much more empty. What wasn't smart was not asking which door was the bathroom door. They were all white. Which one was it ?

Anyway. You didn't really need to go to the bathroom you just needed some alone time. And which the popular music playing downstairs you were soon the only one left sitting on the hallway carpet in some corner. Clearing your calendar and doing some homework on your phone. You should have taken your earphones with you. "Need some help princess?" A voice asks. You lift your head to be met with the white haired boy leaning over you, his big eyes staring at yours. So that's why she said they were the hottest boys alive...

The black haired boy sighed "is she even sober ? How many times have we told these randoms to stay off the top floor" he hisses staring you down. "Oh I'm very sorry, I didn't know and I was looking for somewhere private..and I'm not drunk, I don't drink" you say almost muttering. This is not the best encounter you ever went through, it looked like the white haired boy was intrigued but the black haired boy very obviously didn't like you. "Coming to a frat party to stay alone and not drink. Do you even know us ?" The black haired boy asks. Shit. That's true what's their name again? "Uhhh" you point at the white haired boy" Joe—go ? Jogo? And Toge? No! uhhh Geto is it ?" They both stare at you blankly before bursting out in laughter "she called you Jogo, you'll never hear the end of it" Geto? Laughs, mocking the white haired boy who's face in now red.. "Sorry was that not it ? I apologize if I said something offensive " you retract "it's okay" he offers you a hand. "I'm Geto, you got that right, and he's Gojo, not Jogo" he chuckles looking over at his friend. You take his hand lifing yourself of the ground and stepping in a much clearer light.

"Damn, ya look good" Gojo says, starring you down. They probably couldn't see you properly because corned you were in. "You actually do" Geto adds smirking at you. "How About we show you around ?"

Well they're much more welcoming now.

You can feel your face burning. Like melting off. As you walk down the corridor. You're sandwiches between a total of six ab rows. Scarily hot. Gojo's hand holds your hip, while Geto's holding your hand. "So... What do u major in ?" He asks. You're hardly able to think, the tension is so obvious. "Uhh.. bio" you say as the white haired boy unlocking a door to a room? "What are we doing here ?" You ask starting to feel anxious. Two frat boys taking you in some room sounds weird. It was pretty though, a balcony from which you could see over a good part of the city, a huge bed with silk red sheets and a plain blanket, a nightstand, a desk. And some led lights shining a pretty pink.

"Who's room is this?" You ask. Looking around. "Mine, if you looking to chill you're free to come here" he says closing the door, locking it and standing behind you, his hand on your waist. Letting the white haired boy come into view. He holds your cheek, his eyes never leaving yours. They probably could tell your heart was beating at a thousand mile per hour, you tried avoiding his gaze, though he was dangerously close to your face, to your lips to be precise. "You're so soft" he says "and you smell so nice" Geto adds, his face buried in to crook of your neck.

"A-ah thank you" you stutter. You can very distinctively feel Geto's cock pressing up against you dress, which is too short by the way, entirely too short. Gojo starts lining kisses on your jaw, until his face is met with yours again, his eyes focusing on your lips, he grazes his thumb upon them. "Can I ?" He says looking you in the eyes. He wants to kiss you ? This rich ass frat boy want to kiss you ? Fuck.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, so you nod mindlessly. He leans in "just relax" his lips meet yours and the feeling in euphoric, he's crazy skilled, it feels like bliss pure bliss, you taste a minty hint on his lips before his tongue slides into your mouth. Chasing after yours "mmhf!" You whine feeling Geto behind you, trailing bite marks all over your neck. "What'd you say sugar ?" He says coily, watching you avoid the question. Thing is you don't stand a chance before them. When's the last time you've had sex ? A year and a half ? Maybe two? And now you two guys slowly hiking up you dress. "Listen here sugar. How about we make you feel realll nice? You seem so pent up..." He says against your skin. Kissing the spots he previously bit. "Ah uh I don't really kno-"you start saying, interrupted. "oh won't you look at that ? So horny she got her panties and my pants wet! We should take care of that" Gojo says shining a runway worthy smile. Shit. You knew you were kinda wet, who wouldn't be, squeezed in between these two boys, ready to ruin you while the biggest party on campus was going down a few feets below. Before you're able to speak Geto offers you a hand "Let's play sugar. You can only win here." The offer was tempting so tempting you took his hand, blushing at Gojo's cheers behind you.

"Talk to us. What do you want sugar ?" Purple eyes grazing upon your almost naked body. It didn't take Gojo much time to slide your dress off you, leaving you in your black laced matching underwear set. Good thing you were wearing that one. "Focus" he ordered. You were laying back on his chest, while he was playing with you bra's clasps. Focus. Focus? Right he asked a question. "I uh... I- don't know.." you muttered, eyes fixed on the white haired boy kissing your pussy through your panties. Having you throb like crazy..

"Mhm a virgin maybe?" He said, studying your look. "No! No.. I have had sex in the past I just.. you know..."

"No we dont. Use your words sugar. 'fore I take them away" he warns. "You're making her wet! Such a needy thing." Gojo adds, taking a break from teasing your pussy though your panties. "When's the last time you got ate?" He asks training his finger up and down your soaked undies. What? How was that relevant ? "I had lunch if that matters ?" It's the way his eyes go wide that makes you wonder what the fuck you just said. "You've never gotten ate before ?Oh I have to be your first" he said shifting behind you to get up. The white haired boy reluctantly move but before he whispered something to Geto that makes him lightly chuckle and say "okay okay"

His face stills between you thighs, you're mesmerizing by his beauty and assurance. The tensions is building up in your stomach "just trust me and relax". You simply nod, trying to put your focus away. Gojo's laying next to you. Kissing your chest, his hand wrapped around you, slowly u doing your bra. "Oh fuck..." He says, flinging the fabric at some end of the room before latching on your nipples. "Ah!" You yelp, feeling his hot tongue rolling over your bud. You close your eyes, too busy relishing in the feeling to bother realizing Geto's sliding off you panties and spreading you thighs far apart. You jolt and moan loudly when he licks a long strip from your pussy to your clit. "Ya like it uh ?" Gojo teases, finally letting your boob free, with a satisfying "pop!". You nod frantically, whatever he's doing he's great at it. So great you start lowly moaning for more. Trying to cover your pathetic whines with your hand "Go on tell him you feel good" Gojo says encouraging you to speak. Your eyes drift over to Geto, teasing your hole with his fingers and sucking your clit. "Ahh... I- I like it, it- ah! Feels nice..." You whine, felling your face heat up.

Geto's eyes stare into yours, and you can feel him smiling against you. "Good girl, see, wasn't so hard" Gojo says, making you return your attention to him. He lands a soft kiss against your lips, not letting you pull away. And you're moaning into the kiss, your chest hovering up and down the faint sound of 'Coming down' by the Weeknd playing downstairs, Geto's fingers stretching your walls open while he licks you down. The squelching sound and feeling sending butterflies to your lower belly. You eventually pull away from Gojo, out of breath. Your legs shuddering, your moans growing louder and louder. "Hmm! 'm cumming! Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" You mewl throwing you head back into the pillows. Your body jolting up at each additional suction he makes. He trails kisses up your body, upon your navel, between your breasts, up your neck before settling for your lips. You whine when he pulls away from your dripping cunt Making you crave attention. "What was that sugar ?" He asks caressing your heated cheek. "Felt nice...so nice...wan' more" you shamelessly admit, while still recovering from your high. "Say no more" Gojo says standing between your thighs in an instant.

Fuck it's big. Fucking huge, fully erect. Precum leaking from the tip, veins, lining its girth. "Satoru. Wrap it" Geto says. "Oh yeah" Your eye candy leave and starts searching through the bedside table, taking out a box of condoms. XXL. "Satoru?" You mutter. "Gojo's his last name. Satoru's what close friends and... Special people like you can call him" Geto answers. You nod thoughtfully "is Geto your last name too?" You wonder. "Yeah, but you're gonna have to earn calling me by my name sugar. Be patient you'll get there eventually" . Your cheeks heat at his words, you're being way to confortable for someone who's sprawled out on a bed she's never seen with two men she just met at a party. "Eyes up here sweetie, swallow it all" against your will your eyes drift from Geto's pretty eyes and land on Gojo's- no, Satoru's dick. Fuck are you really about to take all that. Your ex boyfriend was much smaller and frailer that this. "Don't worry darling you can take it" Geto whispers behind your ear, his voice sending butterflies to your stomach.

Satoru's cock nudges your hole, and he slowly pushed his tip in, stealing the words from your mouth, the more he pushed in the more you're feeling hot all over. "Fuck, love me some good tight pussy, you're perfect sweetie" he groans. "So fucking tight s' making me crazy" you whimper at his words, holding for dear life onto Geto's bulky arm. "Ah- are you in?" You babble, feeling your cunt throb around his girth. "Yeah...'bout halfway" he said gathering spit on his thumb and rubbing it messily over your clit. You moan loudly "Arh- shit! S-satoruu!"

His eyes ignore yours and perk up to his mate instead. It happens withing a fraction of a second: Satoru makes head movement. Tilting his head to the right. Geto pins your hands down and before you even have the right to wonder what exactly is happenings his lips crash against yours, his tongue poisoning your senses. *Thrust* your eyes open with, a thunder sensation runs up your spine before your stomach starts burning and you pussy raining. Your eyes roll back and fill with salty water, while you whine, whimper and mewl breathlessly into the kiss. Your pussy fluttering around his girthy cock.

Geto finally lets go of your lips, a string of saliva connecting both of you. Again you're mesmerized by his purple eyes. Until another thrust punches through you. Making your eyes close shut. You gather up strength to get on your elbow. "Satoru! Satoruuu" you whine and purr. "Feeeels too good, wanna cum 'gain" you pout feeling your brain disconnect. It's all you can think about right now. His thick cock stuffing you full, occupying you, fucking the breath in and out of you. "Anything for this thigh ass pussy don't mind be breaking you" he says. His hand grabs your hips but he doesn't thrust anymore, no. He drags your body over and over again on his cock, grunting over your high pitched moans. Fuck his dick was good. Good as fuck it got you screaming shamelessly. "Fuck i'd drown in this pussy anyway sweetie! Fucking tight!" He grunted switching to rutting his hips into onto your ass.

You couldn't be more grateful for the loud music playing downstairs, you had to thank Megan thee Stallion for covering the lewd pornographic sounds you both were making. Your pussy clammed him down, throbbing relentlessly around him. "Go on baby cum some more on my cock" he purred, watching your eyes flutter and chest hover up and down. His hips slam into yours exactly two more times to send you over the edge. Two thrust stretching your pussy to its maximum entent. Your voice rang against the room's walls " 'toru! 'toru! Cumming!" You cry, unfolding on him, a white sticky substance now covering the condom he wore. Inside and out, he grunts and moans over you "Mhm! fucking milking me out huh ?" He pulls out, letting the euphoric feeling wash over you.

You feel silly, so silly you want more, you miss his cock, you want more so much more. Your eyes wander off to Geto, who's eyes are fixated upon the lower part of your body. "How d'you feel doll?" He asks, his arms wrapping around your back to lift you up on your knees. Your teary eyes land back on his, how you missed them. His soft concerned look. "Arh- I wan' more" you're basically just giving out your ability to walk. That's probably not the best of ideas.

He chuckles lightly, " if that's what you wish...turn around sugar." Fuck it you can't get enough. You lay on the bed facing it's end, you can't know for sure but by the sound of it he'd putting on a condom. In the meantime you gawk at the sight of Satoru pumping his ,now, hard again, cock right in front of your face, you're on the verge of reaching over, drooling and all when you feel Geto's pressing your back into the mattress, locking both your wrists with his one hand.

You whine at the loss of your eye candy. But soon totally forget about it, well maybe not totally but there's another dick on your mind in the moment. He slips in with less effort than Satoru had to use. Still his girth is spreading you apart. "Fuckkkk, so tight, just like that squeeze me good sugar" he grunts, fucking you into the mattress. You're blabbing and whimpering pathetically and he pull you up, with a hand on your lower back making you arch, thrusting into you like a maniac, making your ass bounce repeatedly, "Fuck, so fucking good sugar, 'm never letting you go. Stay like this." He orders through his ragged breathing. His hand slides up front and you know, his fingers attack your clit, you accidentally lean forward. Only slightly but it's enough to have his cock fucking you in all the right spots, "Ah! Geto! F-fuckkkkk s'deep soo— deep!" You coo and mewl, it's barely descriptible, like the tip of his cock was stuffed so deep in you, so fucking far you wondered if it was actually hitting your cervix. Where was all that biology knowledge? "Ah- fffuck I know, I know sugar" He's dragging his cock so far up your cunt, thrusting so hard it vibrated within your entire core.

Your eyes brim with tears. You're barely coherent in your thoughts and words. "Ahh! Geto! Geto! Geto— Mmph!!" You cry out, trying to get his attention. His cock thrusting deeper and deeper at a mind breaking pace. "S-satoruu! Tell him to be n-nice puh- please" you beg tugging on the boy's arm. "Calling out his name while I'm fucking you ? What a slut. Open your mouth." You might have been getting fucked stupid you knew not to ignore his orders. Your lips parted, offering the perfect opening for Satoru to thrust his aching cock into "Repeat after me slut, Su-gu-ru". Fuck you try, try to think and act. Act quick. Satoru's cock filling your mouth, deepthroating you, till you're gagging and choking. Suguru fucking your slick pussy like there's no tomorrow. "Shu guwu mhm!" You whine around Gojo cock, using your tongue to play around his shaft. Making him grunt your name. Youre slowly losing your mind.

A faint ringing sound in the background, not enough to get your attention but enough to attract theirs. You only realize when the white haired boy walk off in direction of the noise, leaving you mouth hanging empty. He returns and points a phone in your face and it takes a few seconds for you to collect your thoughts and read. Fuck, Fuck it's your friend but fuck it feels good

"mhm ? Pick it up" Suguru whines behind you. Roughly slamming his hip into you. "Huh nah! Fuck!" You're done for. The white haired boy display a mischievous smile before tapping the green pick up icon. "Girl ??! Where are you ??" You hear ringing through the phone. You stay quiet. As best as you can pleading Satoru with your eyes. 'Please hang up' you think but he only smiles and plants a kiss on your lips. "Hellooo ???" Your friend says. Suguru's hand wraps around your neck pulling you up close to him. "Speak" your eyes roll back. You're so fucking close. Shit. The boy in front of you kneels on the edge of the bed before his hand slide down between your legs starting to toy with your bud, circling and pressing his thumb over the bud. "Fucking speak" he orders. To think you had called them nice boys few hours ago. You wrap your arms over Satoru's shoulders for support when Suguru's hand leaves your neck to pinch your nipple. "

"Sugu! Sugu! Suguru! Ah! F-fuckkkkk Suguru you're the best! Y-yes the b-best" you cry out. Your orgasm winding you out. Fat tears sliding down your face. Huda beauty setting power and Charlotte tilbury meeting spray might be very good at keeping makeup intact, it was powerless face with this much face fucking, kissing and overall destroying.

Forgetting the jealous man in front of you watching you get fucked like he disappeared. Satoru grabs ahold of jaw. Using his finger to tap on your cheek. "The best huh ? Open that cock sleeve of a mouth for me, slut." Shit. "ahh I'll call you l-later 'm busy" you say as normally as you could. It's not like you just came on the phone. *Bip* He hangs up. And now it just the three of you again.

"Ahh!! I'm sowwy— Ngh!" You cry out. Another spank hitting your already sore ass. Suguru's spanking you like a mad man making you huff and hiccup relentlessly. You can't tell how you feel, the line between pain and pleasure being blurred. "How many times did we have to fucking tell you before you spoke ? Slut" Satoru gripping your hair to shove himself deeper down your throat. Fuck

It's Suguru first. His thrust turn erratic and he's groaning so much. "My pussy to fuck, Mine, 'gon f-fuck you today, tomorrow and every-fucking-day" he grunts, shoving himself into you one more time, before his long strings of cum are stopped by his condom and he bottoms out. Still he's not done. While you're too focused on giving your best head in stock to Satoru he takes off his condom and throws it away. He lays between you legs, his arms wrapping around your thighs to make you sit on his face and again he's licking long strips of your cum, soiling his chin. Making you whine out of surprise around Satoru's dick, sending shivers down his spine and a cum load down your throat.

"F-fuck it sweetie, don't swallow yet, let me see all'at" you're mewling and brainlessly lagging in your actions, involuntarily riding Suguru's face your tongue lolling out, white sticky strings adorning your mouth. "So good!! Mhm ahhh!! " You moan. And *click!* A nice pic of the three of you having fun added to your photo gallery. You're to busy cumming hard on Suguru's tongue to care. You stretch your arm to Satoru, sticking your tongue out and it's barely a second before he's holding your chin "Swallow it." And like clockwork you do. And using that same clock your thighs shudder around Suguru's face, your toes are curling and you're making the lewdest face at Satoru, sending the blood straight to his dick. "My turn sweetie"

Visibly you were right when you said the night would be hard.

PREVIOUS POST ~~ NAVIGATION ~~ NEXT POST

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mcrdvcks · 3 days ago

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Call It What You Want

Summary: A single sneeze turns into something more, at least to your husband Logan.

Word Count: 1.9k+

Pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Notes: i'm feeling a bit sick and i remember i had written this a while ago so here it is :)

i actually have a few other ideas and short oneshots written in this universe so i might upload some more sporadically

(also thank you for 500 followers! really means a lot to me <3)

Warnings/tags: sickness (sneezing, stuffy nose), reader has powers (sonic screams), pet names (darlin', baby, sweetheart)

A simple sneeze. That’s how it started.

You and Logan were in your shared bedroom, both at your respective desks, grading papers in silence. The quiet was only interrupted by the occasional sound of paper rustling or the scratch of a pen. It was peaceful, really. Until you sneezed into your elbow, trying not to make a big deal of it.

Logan glanced over, raising an eyebrow but not saying anything at first. You grabbed a tissue and blew your nose, tossing it into the wastebasket nearby.

"That time of year again?" Logan asked, his deep voice cutting through the quiet.

"Maybe," you replied, rubbing your nose. "’m fine."

He let out a low chuckle, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “Yeah, ‘cause you always say you’re fine, then next thing I know you’re curled up under six blankets, complainin’ about not bein’ able to breathe.” He walked over, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"I’m not always like that," you protested, looking up at him with a small smile.

"Sure, princess." Logan smirked, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. “But if you’re gettin’ sick, you should rest. You work too hard.”

"I don’t have time to be sick." You glanced at the pile of essays that still needed grading. “Besides, these students aren’t going to grade themselves.”

"Bet you I could convince Chuck to get a telepath to grade these for ya," Logan teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Now, go lay down.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading through your chest at his concern. "Logan, I’m fine. It’s just a sneeze."

"Uh-huh," he grumbled. “Just a sneeze, until it ain’t.”

"I’ll be fine," you insisted. "Besides, you're not the boss of me."

Logan smirked again, his voice dropping to that low, gruff tone that always made your stomach flip. "Ain’t I though?"

You shot him a playful glare, knowing exactly where this was going. "No, you’re not."

He tilted his head, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Alright, darlin’… but if you start feelin’ worse, you better let me take care of ya. You hear?"

You smiled, unable to help it. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine, tough guy."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft kiss before pulling back. "You better be. Ain’t in the mood to deal with a cranky version of you.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Like you’re never cranky.”

“I’m lovable,” he grunted, moving back to his desk. "You, on the other hand…”

“I’m adorable,” you finished for him, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

You turned back to your papers, feeling the slightest tickle in your nose again. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh?" Logan repeated, eyeing you cautiously.

And then, you sneezed again—this time louder. The vibration from your powers caused a low hum in the room, the soundwaves vibrating through the air, making the picture frames on the wall tremble slightly.

Logan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "That didn’t sound like just a sneeze, baby."

You winced, looking around at the small vibrations that still lingered in the room. "Oops."

He sighed, walking back over to you. "Come on, Y/N, that’s your body tellin’ you to take a break." He bent down to your level, his face now inches from yours. "Or do I need to carry ya to bed?"

You bit your lip, trying to keep the smirk from your face. "You wouldn’t."

"Wanna test me?" Logan’s voice was low, full of challenge.

You tilted your head, pretending to think about it. "Well, when you put it that way…”

Without another word, Logan scooped you up from your chair, making you let out a surprised laugh. “Logan! Put me down!”

“Nope,” he said, carrying you toward the bed with ease. “You had your chance, sweetheart.”

You kicked your feet lightly in protest but didn’t really try to escape. Being wrapped up in his arms was hardly a punishment. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yup,” he agreed, laying you down gently on the bed and pulling the covers up over you. “Now, you’re gonna stay right here, and I’m gonna make sure you’re comfortable.”

You crossed your arms, but a smile was already spreading across your face. “You’re overreacting.”

“Am I?” Logan raised an eyebrow, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Remember the last time you got sick? You nearly took out half the mansion with your soundwaves ‘cause you were sneezin’ so much.”

You sighed, relenting. “Okay, maybe a little rest won’t hurt.”

Logan grinned, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Atta girl.”

You settled back into the pillows, the warmth of the blankets and Logan’s presence making you feel more relaxed. “Thanks, Logan,” you said softly.

He gave you a soft smile, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Anytime, darlin’. Now get some rest before you blow up the whole room.”

---

After days of trying to convince Logan, and the others, that it was just allergies, Logan had enough. He had dragged you to Jean after you finished teaching your first class of the day, and after accidentally shattering your computer screen with your sneeze.

Jean was already prepared, a bottle of cough syrup on a nearby medical table. “See? Told you it was a cold,” she said, holding up the bottle like it was proof.

You groaned, slumping in the chair next to her. “It’s just a little cold, Jean. You all act like I’m on my deathbed.”

Logan crossed his arms, standing behind you. “That little cold shattered a computer screen, Y/N. If it wasn’t for your powers, maybe we’d take your word for it, but—” He gestured vaguely with his hand. “We’ve seen what happens.”

Jean smirked at Logan’s comment but quickly turned her attention back to you. “He’s right, you know. We’ve got to be careful with your powers. Your body’s trying to rest, and that includes your control.”

You shot Logan a half-hearted glare. “You dragged me here for this?”

“Yup,” he replied, entirely unbothered. “And now that you’re here, Jean’s gonna make sure you actually take care of yourself.”

Jean held out the bottle of syrup. “Bottoms up.”

You stared at it like it was some sort of punishment. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Logan let out a chuckle, moving to stand beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder. “Come on, princess, just take the damn syrup. The faster you do, the faster we get back to our room.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you took the bottle from Jean’s hand and downed the syrup. The taste made you wince, and you immediately regretted it. “Ugh, that’s awful.”

Jean patted you on the back, her smile widening. “It’ll help, though. Now, you’ll need rest, fluids, and minimal stress. I don’t want to see you teaching for a couple of days, at least.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Logan cut you off before you could say anything. “You heard the doc, darlin’. No teaching, no grading. Just rest.”

You turned in your seat to look up at him, narrowing your eyes. “It’s just a cold. I’m not dyin’ or anything.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk. "Not dyin’, huh? Try tellin’ that to your computer screen."

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in the chair with a groan. "That was an accident, and you know it."

"Doesn’t matter," he shot back, folding his arms across his chest. “Still proves my point.”

Jean chuckled from where she stood, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Logan’s right, Y/N. Your body’s using up energy to fight this cold, and with your powers, that means less control. It’s not just about you—it's about keeping everyone around you safe.”

You narrowed your eyes at Logan. “You’re really milking this, aren’t you?”

Logan didn’t even try to hide the grin on his face. “Oh yeah. And I’ll keep doin’ it ‘til you get your stubborn ass to bed.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I hate when you’re right.”

He chuckled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Get used to it, sweetheart. Happens more often than you’d like.”

Jean smiled warmly at the two of you, shaking her head. “Okay, lovebirds. I’ll give you some privacy while Y/N gets some rest. Logan, make sure she takes it easy.”

Logan nodded as Jean left the room, then turned back to you with a smug look. “So, no more arguments, right?”

You glared at him, but it lacked any real heat. “Fine. But just so you know, when I’m better, I’m gonna remind you of this moment. Payback’s a bitch, Logan.”

He chuckled again, unphased. “I’ll take my chances, darlin’.” Then, without warning, he bent down and scooped you up in his arms again.

"Logan!" You yelped, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Making sure you actually rest," he replied, his voice casual as if carrying you around was the most normal thing in the world. “Figured this way, there’s no chance of you sneakin’ back to your desk.”

You tried to fight back a smile, though it was nearly impossible when you were cradled against him like this. “I wasn’t gonna sneak back.”

“Sure, princess,” he said, clearly not believing you for a second. “But just in case.”

He carried you back to your shared bedroom, gently setting you down on the bed and pulling the covers over you. He gave you a stern look, but there was warmth behind his eyes. "Stay."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You act like I’m a dog.”

"Not a dog,” Logan corrected, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just a stubborn wife who doesn’t know when to quit."

You reached up to swat at his arm playfully. “I’m not that bad.”

He caught your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “You’re worse, but I still love ya.”

Your heart swelled at the soft look in his eyes, and for a moment, you forgot all about your cold. “I love you too,” you murmured.

Logan’s expression softened even further, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Now rest, sweetheart. You need it.”

You sighed, snuggling deeper into the blankets. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

Logan chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead once more. “I’ll take it.”

He stood up, moving toward the door, but you called after him. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “What, miss me already?”

You rolled your eyes, but your tone softened. “Maybe. Just a little.”

Logan’s smirk turned into a genuine smile as he made his way back to the bed. “Alright, darlin’. I’ll stay.”

He kicked off his boots and slid into bed next to you, pulling you into his arms. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For a moment, the cold, the shattered computer, and everything else melted away. All that mattered was the warmth of his embrace.

"You’re lucky I love you," you mumbled, already feeling yourself start to drift off.

Logan chuckled softly, his hand running through your hair. “Damn right, I am."

As sleep began to claim you, Logan’s steady presence beside you was the last thing you felt, a reminder that no matter how tough things got—or how stubborn you were—he’d always be there, ready to hold you close and make sure you were safe.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic

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natasharswifey · 2 months ago

Text

Happy birthday, by the way 🎂

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Requests open <3

Summary: After a few months of dating, you realise you don't know when Nat's birthday is. She isn't interested in celebrating, and when you ask, she refuses to tell you. But you are very determined.

____☆____

A/N: This is just a little fluff, also my first x reader fic. Love reading em so I thought I'd give it a go :3. Also I find it hard to read Y/N as my name so I'm using [...] instead!

Tags: Just fluff <3

____☆____

"Oh, come on, why won't you just admit it?"

"Because I can't deal with you inviting half of the United States to the tower for a party."

"Exaggeration."

Natasha raises a brow at you. "Oh really? And what about he time you put flyers around about Wanda's party?"

"She was turning 21!"

She gives you a 'really?' look and you know you aren't getting anything out of her. It just didn't make any sense, birthdays were the one day a year where it was all about you. Well that's everyday if you're Tony Stark, but for well functioning members of society it should count as the best day of the year.

"I will not be disclosing that information until I can trust you not to make a huge deal."

"What if I pinky promise?"

"You always overdo it, detka, it's just how you are." She plants a small kiss on your forehead and leaves you on the couch to begin plotting.

___♡___

"And then she said 'you always overdo it', give me a break!"

Wanda looks up from the pot she's stirring and chuckles, "I didn't know half the people the showed up at the tower on my 21st, [.....]"

"I knew I should've gone to Tony, he would get this."

"I don't think asking the most flamboyant Avenger would be very helpful in this situation."

"Right."

"I think you should just leave it, she'll probably tell you eventually." She gently taps a bit of salt into the pot.

"Or..."

"No."

"You didn't even hear me out!"

"I can read minds. It's a terrible idea."

"Firstly, reading Nat's mind to figure out her birthday is literally a flawless plan, and secondly, you're good reading my mind and not hers?"

"Natasha already set her boundaries with me, and plus I don't feel like getting my ass kicked for aiding and abetting."

"Thanks a lot Wands."

"Any time."

If Wanda wasn't going to cooperate then you were simply going to have to enlist the help of a certain blonde assassin.

___♡___

You hear Lucky and Fanny barking hysterically after you ring the doorbell, followed by fast paced footsteps and a small "One minute" from the other side of the door.

Usually a simple question would only warrant a text or phone call, but for some reason Yelena NEVER answers her phone. Unless it's from Kate of course, you're half convinced that she has a special ringtone and notification for her.

It's none other than the archer that answers the door, "Hey, [.....]! I didn't know you were coming over."

"I've actually dropped in unannounced, but I won't stay too long." You reassure her. Kate has a habit of forgetting things, including scheduled hang outs and honestly everything else that isn't attached to her body.

"Come on in!" She steps out of the way and shuts the door behind both of you.

You're immediately greeted by the two large dogs, fighting over your attention in a confusion of wagging tails and paws. Kate tries to get them under control and ultimately fails until they're distracted by Yelena calling them.

"That's totally not fair, they only listen to you." Kate complains and Yelena laughs.

"Because they love me more."

"Lies and deception!" Kate is soon distracted by the golden retriever pulling at her sleeve and gives Yelena a smug look before pouring all of her attention to him.

"Hey, Yelena."

"Hello, [......]. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Uh, I actually had a quick question. When's Natasha’s birthday?"

"Ah. I do not know."

"What?? But you're sisters!"

She shrugs, "She does not want me to know. Birthdays are not really Natasha’s thing, surely you must know that."

"Yeah, I know, it just doesn't make any sense."

"That's Natasha for you."

You sigh in defeat and sit down on one of the armchairs, your lap immediately occupied by Fanny who still wholeheartedly believes she's the size of a puppy.

"Well, there is someone else you could ask."

Your ears perk up, "Who?"

"Melina."

Ah. Melina. It wouldn't be fair to say that she hated you, but it also would be lying to say that she was fond of you. Perhaps you could ask Alexei instead.

___♡___

"Hello? Can you hear me?" You ask over the phone to your future father in law.

"HELLO? ARE YOU THERE, [......]?"

"Yeah, I'm-"

"I THINK MY WHATISUP IS BROKEN- MELINA!"

"No, no, Alexei there's really no need."

You hear the sound of footsteps and Melina scolding Alexei for always forgetting to turn up the volume before she picks up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Ah, hello Melina."

"[........]. Do you need something?"

"When's Natasha’s birthday?"

"December third. Is that all?"

"But- that's today."

"I'm aware."

"Well, thank yo-" The phone cuts off before you finish your sentence and you're left with about two hours to plan a surprise party for a spy.

___♡___

"I did it, Wanda!"

"Only took you half the day."

"Okay, hater, I need you to help me surprise her."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"One hundered percent." You reply confidently. For most of the day you'd been discouraged, but now it was time for you to trust your gut.

Soon enough you've formed a team of Kate, Yelena and Wanda gathered in one of the common rooms of the tower.

"Alright, Wanda you can be in charge of snacks, Kate you can do decorations, and Yelena you can find us the cake."

"Can-"

"No it may not have profanities on it."

The blonde sighs but jumps into action with the other two. Now all you have to do is buy them some time.

___♡___

You greet Natasha at the tower's entrance with a huge smile plastered on your face.

"Hi, Nat!"

"Hey, [.......]. How was your day?"

"A little hectic. Wanna go for a walk?"

"I would love to but I need to sleep for at least ten hours straight."

You step in front of Natasha as she starts to head inside, "Wait- Uh, did you know walking actually improves energy levels?"

Natasha raises an eyebrow, "What's up with you?"

"Nothing."

"For some strange reason I do not believe that." She holds you in place by your shoulders and steps around you, but you take her arm and try to steer her to the kitchen, your plans are foiled by Lucky and Fanny who bound up to Natasha happily.

"What are Yelena and Kate's kids doing here? Seriously, what is going on?"

"Uhh."

"Insightful."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She stares you down for a few seconds before suddenly moving towards your shared quarters and only speeds up once she realises you're trying to stop her.

The red head clears the stairs in a few seconds and opens the door, only to be met with pitch black. When she steps through and flicks on the light Wanda, Yelena and Kate jump out from behind the couch and yell "Surprise!".

The look on her face is priceless when she turns to you, "How- when did you-"

"I have my ways."

Natasha pulls you into a tight hug and you hug her back even tighter when you feel a small damp patch forming on your shoulder.

___♡___

"Okay, now make a wish!" Yelena says excitedly, the three of you are crowded around the table where the birthday girl sits in front of her cake.

"Alright, alright." She closes her eyes and blows out the candles, which prompts a cheer from everyone in the room.

The five of you all squish onto the couch to watch a movie and eat snacks and cake, with Natasha curled into your side.

"So, did I 'overdo' it?" You ask playfully.

You hear her chuckle, "It was perfect."

____☆____

Tysm for readinggg, If you liked it I have more stuff in my masterlist :)). Reqs are open!!

Also, if you saw the unfinished version of this when I posted it by accident, no you did not.

@l0nelyish 👁👁

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momodita · 9 months ago

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snapshots. [—chilchuck tims]

TAGS / WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, modern au, minor pining, background marcille/falin WC: 1,000 NOTE: divorced father of 3 save me... save me divorced father of 3...

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

“Move over.”

Chilchuck’s voice startles you. The bowl in his hands is steaming: a hearty stew made with Falin and Marcille’s collective effort—(“Senshi’s tried and true recipe!”). A thick slice of bread perches on its rim. It smells just as heavenly as it did at dinner.

“Here?” you ask, stupefied. The armchair you’ve claimed is wide; there’s easily enough space to fit a Chilchuck-sized person, but your mind jumps—unbidden—to the reason he’d been late in the first place.

“Where else?” He nudges you with his knee. “As if I’m gonna sit near that love-fest over there.”

“You’re not welcome anyways,” Marcille tuts, midway through dipping the maraschino cherry from her sundae into Falin’s mouth.

“This is my apartment!”

You concede with a laugh: it’s just your bruised heart working overtime. The moment his body settles, shoulders touching, you stop being able to taste the ice cream Laios had scooped into your bowl. Existence narrowing to that point of contact with a familiar little rush.

It’s Laios’ turn to choose tonight’s movie, much to Marcille’s dismay—(“A documentary classifies! This is a really interesting one!”)—and he scrolls to find it as Chilchuck digs into his food.

Midway through, you engage him in a thrilling mock-battle of fencing spoons. Falin dozes, lulled from the careful stroke of Marcille’s fingers through her hair. By the time the credits roll, they’re folded onto each other, soft snores drowned out by music.

“They fell asleep again,” Chilchuck drawls, chin cushioned against his hand.

“Must be crashing after all that sugar,” Laios suggests, drapes a blanket over them.

“They were pretty high energy tonight. Eager to hear about how Chilchuck’s date went, I guess,” you tease, taking up the mantle with Marcille fast asleep. “You didn’t even tell us her name.” Keeping the tone casual despite the haunting little pit in your stomach.

(It’d been a shock to hear about it: for as long as you’ve known him, Chilchuck has been eager to keep his life private—even from long-time friends. And there’d been no signs of anyone—except you and your little group—coveting his time and attention; no extra, unexplained toothbrushes, no brands you don’t recognize in his pantry, no missed get-togethers.)

“Huh?” He gives you a look, confusion twisted in his features. The TV’s light illuminates a silver hair. “I wasn’t with any girl.”

Your brow furrows. “…His name? Their name?”

Chilchuck stares. This close—where the minuscule twitches in his expression are noticeable—it’s strangely evaluating.

“You know Marcille was joking when she said it was a date, right?” Heat sears along your cheekbones; embarrassment flushing hot under his gaze—the realization of your mistake.

“Of course I knew,” you say stupidly. Chilchuck’s eyebrow quirks. “Shut up. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, then if it wasn’t a date, who were you with?”

“Senshi,” he says. “He was—we, uh,” his eyes slide off to the side, “I asked him for a favor.”

“Oh?” you hum, relief and mirth creating a warm hum behind your ribs. “Looking to get a side hustle as a cook?”

“Not even close,” he grunts, looking away.

“Should we start calling you our little master chef?” You nudge him with a grin.

“Chilchuck is already quite good at cooking,” Laios pipes up without taking his eyes off the screen. “Maybe he’ll learn to make something else after mastering ramen.”

“Hey—”

“Ramen?” you ask, head tilting. “Like, the instant kind?”

Chilchuck splutters. “No!”

“From scratch!” Laios beams. “Senshi’s said he’s been making really good progress since his first day.”

“Oh?” you grin. “Our little master chef is gonna open a ramen shop?”

“Shut up. No way. Not ever,” Chilchuck grumbles, the high curve of his ear a soft pink.

“I hope you’ll make it for us one day—I love ramen,” you say. “Very tedious, though, so I’ve never done it myself.”

His face scrunches, mouth pursing together like he wants to speak, but doesn’t. His cheeks puff with air, releasing as a long, quiet sigh.

“Oh, hey, so after ramen”—you lean a hand on the chair’s opposite arm, boxing him in with a cheeky little smile—“you should look into French onion soup. It’s probably easier than ramen but caramelizing the onions takes so long—”

“You—!” he leans back, shoulders tense and eyes wide. “Don’t go making requests before I’ve even cooked anything decent.”

“Why not? I bet it’ll be great! You’re good with your hands, so soup is probably a piece of cake for you.” You watch—with no small amount of pleasure—as Chilchuck’s face flushes with vivid color.

“Get away from me,” he mumbles, but his tone is so insincere all you do is laugh. He knocks a loose fist against the inside of your elbow. A surprised noise jumps out; you retreat back against the chair, rubbing the spot.

“Mmh?” Marcille rouses with a sleepy hum. “What’re you requestin’?”

“Chilchuck is making us ramen,” you joke, relishing the way he knocks an admonishing leg against yours. “He’s our little master chef.”

“Oh, yeah. Did Laios end up spilling the beans?” Marcille yawns. Falin stirs, eyes fluttering. “Congratulations, you two.”

Chilchuck goes stiff beside you. “What do you mean?” you ask.

Marcille pauses, head tilting with a drowsy look of confusion. “Huh? Didn’t you ask why he’s learning to make it?” she asks. Falin tugs her sleeve.

You blink. “No. Should I have?” Marcille doesn’t respond right away, head bent to put an ear by Falin’s mouth, expression pinched as they whisper. Then, with a sigh, she reaches up to stretch.

“No. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Laios is quick to grab her attention.

“Hey, so are you actually opening a ramen shop?” you whisper to Chilchuck.

“You’re such an airhead,” he grunts against his palm.

“I’m great,” you reply. His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze. When next he speaks, his voice is soft—acquiescing easily to your jest.

“Guess you are.”

#chilchuck tims x reader #chilchuck x reader #dungeon meshi fic #dungeon meshi x reader #snapshot fic #reader insert #momodita fic #gender neutral reader #food as a love language from me wow how new and exciting

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solarmorrigan · 1 month ago

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Like You've Seen a Ghost

For the @steddie-spooktober day 6 prompt: Haunted Rated: T | Words: 1348 | CW: brief descriptions of blood and gore, mentions of past head trauma | Tags: pre-relationship, modern AU, ghost hunter Eddie, ghost whisperer Steve, Steve Harrington has head trauma Divider credit: @saradika

“So… are you getting anything yet?”

“Not really.”

“Well, which way should we go?”

“It doesn’t really work like that, man. I don’t sniff out ghosts.”

“Well forgive me for not knowing how your whole ‘I see dead people’ shtick works.”

Steve glances over at Eddie in the low light of the long hallway. He looks just as grumpy as he has since it had been suggested that he and Steve pair up to check the third floor of the hotel – supposedly the most haunted part of the building.

“You don’t believe I can see dead people at all,” Steve says, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“What, could you sense that, too?” he snarks.

“Nah.” Steve shrugs. “I heard you talking to Gareth and Jeff about it.”

At that, Eddie has the decency to look a little sheepish; he hadn’t had the most flattering things to say about Steve in that conversation.

It had been the rest of the team—Gareth, Jeff, and Oliver—who had pulled for this little team-up as a sort of special episode for their YouTube channel; Eddie had been against it from the start. He’d insisted that their viewers expected supernatural investigations based on scientific techniques and equipment, not some fake psychic (charlatan, actually, had been the word he’d used) who takes people’s money and pretends to see their dead relatives.

(Steve, for the record, does not take anyone’s money. Whether or not he sees someone’s dead relatives, he does it for free.)

“Uh… look…” Eddie starts, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“It’s fine, man, I get it,” Steve brushes off what likely would have been a very awkward apology. “You can’t do what you do without a healthy dose of skepticism. And it’s not exactly like I can explain it; it just kind of happens. But I promise that when or if I see a ghost, I’ll tell you to get your camera.”

“Right,” Eddie says quietly, turning back to the gadget in his hands (some of it had been explained to Steve, but he won’t pretend he knows just what the hell kind of science goes into ghost hunting).

They fall into a stilted sort of silence, Eddie scanning their surroundings with whatever it is he’s holding and Steve keeping his eyes peeled for signs of ghostly activity. He can’t say he’s thrilled to be spending the night with someone who clearly doesn’t want to be with him, but it’s really no skin off his nose if Eddie doesn’t believe in his abilities; Steve isn’t Tinkerbell, he doesn’t run on the belief of others.

He hadn’t really even meant to become– well, not famous, but maybe internet famous, at least. He’d just figured that as long as he had the ability to see and speak to the dead, he could use it to put other people’s minds at ease. People who worried about their dead loved ones, or people who were being terrorized in their own homes. Sometimes Steve could put spirits to rest. Sometimes all he had to do was tell someone that their dearly departed whoever was nowhere to be found and must be at peace.

It had sort of snowballed after one person he’d helped had told another, who’d told another, who had the ear of someone with a reasonably popular podcast, who had wanted to talk to Steve, and suddenly Steve had been getting calls for other interviews, for “psychic” investigations, and, apparently, for team-ups with some well-known ghost hunters.

“What did happen?” Eddie asks, breaking a little sharply into the silence.

“What?” Steve looks back over at him.

“You said it just kind of happens. So have you always been like this, or…?”

“Oh. Yeah, no, I got hit really hard in the head,” Steve says.

Eddie stops walking, and now he’s the one staring at Steve. “You what?”

“Got hit in the head.” Steve knocks at his temple for emphasis. “It was… pretty bad. Apparently, they thought I was dead for a minute there. But I lived—y'know, obviously—and now I get really bad migraines and I see dead people.”

“How does that even work? Like – did you cross over, or some shit?” Eddie asks haltingly, like the words are unfamiliar on his tongue.

“Couldn’t tell you. I’ve always kind of thought of it like an old TV set,” Steve says. “My grandparents had one when I was a kid, and it didn’t get great reception, but if you smacked it in the side, sometimes it would find a channel. So, I got hit hard enough that I changed channels, I guess. Now I can see things on frequencies other people can’t.”

“Shit, man,” Eddie says, blinking at Steve. “That’s actually pretty metal.”

“Thanks?” Steve shrugs, starting up their meandering walk down the hallway once more.

“I just mean, like – must make for a good story to tell, right?” Eddie tries.

“Oh, yeah. Head trauma, it’s great for dinner conversation,” Steve drawls, and Eddie winces.

“Sorry, I didn’t–”

“It’s fine, I’m screwing with you.” Steve knocks his shoulder into Eddie’s; it isn’t that Steve hadn’t been fucked up over the fight with a local bigot and bully that had nearly killed him, but that had been a while ago, now. Steve’s processed, made his peace with it – even gotten something kind of useful out of it. He’s fine. (Like, most days. Most days, he’s fine.)

Eddie rolls his eyes, but there’s also a little smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. It looks nice there – better than the snide look of disbelief from before. Whether or not Eddie does believe him now, Steve likes that he put a smile on his face.

“Hey, we’re coming up on room fourteen,” Eddie says, nodding to a door at the end of the hall.

“And that’s the super haunted one, right?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.” Eddie reaches out as they approach, turning the knob. “Story goes that a husband and wife were staying in this room, way back when the hotel first opened in the 20s, and the wife pocketed a knife from dinner, waited until the dead of night, and stabbed her husband to death in his sleep before slitting her own throat.”

The room that the door opens into is far more unassuming than the gruesome tale would have had Steve believe. It’s decorated in the vintage style maintained throughout the whole hotel, kept clean and guest-ready, but there’s something – heavy about it. Something Steve can’t quite put his finger on. He approaches the bed; he can’t imagine it’s the same mattress there from the 1920s, but he does wonder if it’s the same bedframe.

The heavy feeling is getting stronger.

“Why did she do it?” he asks, glancing around the room; he doesn’t see anything, not yet, but there’s still something–

“No one knows for sure,” Eddie says, breezing past Steve and plopping right down on the bed, bouncing a little as he sits. “Some people say he had been abusing her and she’d finally had enough. Some say he was cheating, and she was jealous. Some say she just lost her fuckin’ marbles.”

“What, just like that?” Steve asks, still glancing around warily.

“Maybe.” Eddie shrugs. “Hey, maybe if the lady’s ghost is still hanging around, you can ask her.”

Steve turns back to Eddie, and the comeback dies on his tongue.

There, kneeling up on the bed, right behind Eddie, is the wife.

It can’t be anyone but her, crimson stains running down the front of an old-fashioned nightgown, blood still oozing from the gaping wound in her neck, the knife clutched in her hand glinting silvery and slick red as she stares down at Eddie in a way that Steve doesn’t like one bit.

“Eddie,” Steve says, slowly reaching for the other man.

“What?” Eddie asks, brows furrowed as he clocks the change in Steve’s demeanor.

Steve grabs him by the arm and yanks him up, maneuvering himself until he’s standing between Eddie and the bed – between Eddie and the ghost.

“You might want to get your camera.”

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie-spooktober #a wild Steve POV appears!#this one was fun to write #solar wrote #eddiesteve #cw blood #just a little but still

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kyri45 · 2 months ago

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✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 12/09✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@snsp6 I really hope that this won’t change MK’s view on his bio dads :( Anonimo Hello! Wanted to ask or more so I am wondering, will MK start seeing Wukong differently after finding out he literally killed Mac and even after seeing their past and how close they were, dam the trauma, anyhoo I love your art and the Shadowpeach bio parent au! Keep up the great work! >:D

Oh it will. (In a good way? a Bad? that's for me to know and for you to wait a week to know)

@hopefulbelievertimemachine Imagine if MK found someone who recently found out that they were a demon and he comforts them cuz he had a similar experience.

Oh that would be sooo wholesome!!! It's one of my fav trope when there's another character who go throught the same exact thing as another character and the two of them bond over this.

@zammy357 Hello, hope your day/night is going well. I wanted to ask since me and a friend like your bio parents blog and wanted to know if we can use it for an arc? Our blog is called @amnesia-wukong-au. We wanted to ask before we started doing it.

Hi!! Yeah sure as long you tag me and the masterpost of the shadowpeach au

Anonimo Wait what is a glamour (in context of Sun Wukong and Macaque)

A glamour is a magic spell that changes/cover your appearance. Like in the show macaque should technically have 6 ears. for animation purposi I guess they are not drawing all of them, but we say he uses a glamour also for covering his scarred eye.

@clueless-simp ha chiesto: What if PIF, BDK, Sun Wukong, and Macaque (and most definitely Mei) did a "parent trap" tactic to get MK and Red Son together? Setting things up, getting them alone together, pretending they are all busy, and the only option is for them to spend time together under the sunset XD XD XD

Oh no that would end bad. like-comically bad.

@honeylavender27 ha chiesto: Imagine red realizing mk doesn't know about court napping and just invites him over one day. Red son: so I'm sure your wondering why I invited you here.. Mk: yeah it's kinda weird you didn't want Mei to come. Is everything ok? Red: perfect actually, I'll explain everything just enter here first please. Mk: oh ok -walks into the prepared courtnapping room and gets locked in-.....uh red? Redson: consider yourself courtnapped...

Ahah poor MK. I think they would make a disastrous courtnapping that would be the equivalent of the phrase "task failed succesfully"

@artgurusauce ha chiesto: ARGGGHHHH, they're SO CUTE! I love your bioparent AU so much! Altho I am wondering: When MK turns back to normal would he retain some subconscious paternal attachment to our ol boys here? Maybe he even calls Macaque "Mom" without realizing it...

@blazerratbluefire-blog ha chiesto: Plot twist of the century for the oblivious monkey men. MK remembers ~everything~ when he was a cub! I'm not sure if that is what is planned, but! It would be really funny! Especially if he just calls Macaque 'Mama' all casual and just walks away. While Macaque EXP. has crashed and is rebooting. Gosh, that would be so cute! I absolutely love your artwork, by the way! It is so adorable!

Can't answer yet. He does NOT have memories, but he will remember ONE thing...

@daniellemarvel4 Hi, fist off I love your work and can't wait to see what you do next! I was wondering who is more protective of MK when it comes to Red Son? Whether that would be Pigsy, Wukong, Macaque, or even Tang (mabye Mei but I don't think she could stay serious long enough). Also, can we see what Sandy's doing?

mmmmmm---- I think Wukong. Freenoodle is pretty chill with the DBK family after everything that happened. Mac is also quite alright since he was always in good relationship with them. I would say Wukong would just want to be sure his kid doesn't get hurt by the fire in any way

Anonimo I've been squealing, grinning, and kicking my feet going through the Shadowpeach Bio parents AU. Baby MK has been SO CUTE and fun. I wonder if he's going to remember or be embarrassed about it. Another part of me hopes that river is still in play so Sun & Mac can fall in and suddenly MK and everyone has 2 chaotic super-powered Baby Monkeys to take care off 😭 😭 😭

Anonimo ha chiesto: I almost cried they are sooo cute. I hope that we get more sweet family content. Loving the comic thanks for making it 💕💕💕💕

Anonimo ha chiesto: I don’t want the cure to work ! Or could it be like that: MK is such a powerful being that the Dosis Pif gave them, just wasn’t strong enough. Instead it only aged MK up a bit so now he is a small kid or a teenager but not a grown ass money man again. I am not ready to leave the monkey family stuff behind 🥺

unfortunately the river has been close untile further notice. (dw this wont be the end)

@cutvdo ha chiesto: Mei bribing Red Son with baby MK pictures

@luciferapollyon ha chiesto: I hope Mei, Red Son, Macaque and Wukong all got pics before they turned MK back

Anonimo ha chiesto: DHJSJDJDH LIL BABY BEAN! I wonder if Wukong and Macaque took any pics of lil MK while he was smol baby? She would keep them and use them as blackmail. (affectionately)

Anonimo ha chiesto: Your shadowpeach bio parent au is just perfect!! Thankyou for feeding the fandom with the nectar of the gods!!! Especially the one where mac slips into the bed after wukong waits all night. Like Mac would wake up in the morning and see him fast asleep and think of Peng asking 'is there anything Wukong could do that would break his hold over you?' and just seeing him at his most vulnerable right now he's like 'no, not when he always gives me a reason to stay.'

MY HEART

@queen-of-purple-roses Wait if MK is experiencing Macaque’s memories then does that mean that Macaque can experience MK’s? Are they able to dive into each other’s minds?

So the thing is that MK is hearing the past from both POVs. Macaque by definition can hear ANYTHING so yeah he could definitely experience MKs memories. But the thing is-does he want to? I headcanon that his future-present-past hearing abilities are something he only used a couple of times, and because what he heard from them was so traumatic, he decided to NOT use them again (like wukong laser eyes)

@sillygothpartykid ha chiesto: I know everyone is asking you to make the gay monkeys kiss but I actually like how you are developing their relationship. You letting them work through their problems and feeling first giving us that sweet, sweet slow burn! Love your art btw!❤️❤️❤️

awwww ty!!!! yes pls slow burn for life.

@kraytherandomchick ha chiesto: Hey, love your ShadowPeach AU! (Started rereading it after crying from the season 5 finale hehe :'D) But there's always something that's kinda stuck in my head, if MK's no longer immortal, would Macaque or Wukong get sad at the thought of getting older and forced keep going without him?

So- *sigh* technically, we don't really know MK immortality status. it's a grey area for now. Because on one side, he's a stone monkey, who, by nature like Wukong, can perfectly age and grow like a normal monkey. On the other hand, he's technically died already, and by the time he was created by Nuwa, both his biological fathers were already immortal (Wukong bc yes, Macaque because he's a demon, and he can die from wounds and illness, but can't age)

So to answer: we don't know yet what's with him. we will see (I promise that)

@lmk4ever ha chiesto: I LOVE THE SHADOW PEACH BIO PARENT AU SO MUCH!! Mk boi is so lucky to have a artist like you and fathers like them. I want to ask, will shadowpeach ever get into a fight out of anger in front of Mk? Or did they moved on from that phase?

If they will fight it will be more of like- the 2 dads grounding MK. If they need to fight they learned that they need to go on another mountain to do it so they don't bother their child

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will we get a traffic light trio ship?

Probably not, but I'm all for dragonfruit/spicynoodle and having MK and Mei NOT dating each other at the same time.

@yuk1yun ha chiesto: If lmk season 6 isn't like your au, then I don't want to watch it

BRUH THAT'S THE NICEST THING I HEARD ALL WEEK

@conniescialla ha chiesto: HIIII!! ok scusa l'italiano ma letteralmente trovare artisti italiani ispira sempre quel momento patriottico alla YES ONE OF US MUAHHAHAH Scherzi a parte, il comic Shadowpeach bio parents Au è meraviglioso, si approva soprattutto l'hurt/comfort ;p

Tanti kudos!!<3

AAAAHHH CHE BELLO UN ALTR* ITALIAN*!!!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I really wanna see jelous wukong!!!!!! I dunno maybe some random demon trying to flirt with emo monkie or something and wukong is like oh hell no!! He is mine!! I think it would be so cute

he would become incredibly possessive and start hissing and growling like a tiger. NOBODY TOUCHES MY SOFT PILLOW

Anonimo ha chiesto: I think it would be so cute if Wukong would take care of sick Macaque! It would show Macaque that Wukong changed and is no longer like he was before. I wonder if Macaque got sick, would MK help or would Macaque be too stubborn to let anyone know.

I know everyone says Wukong is this great sage with incredible abilities in every field (and he is) but I would like to imagine that, since he needs to do these thing for Macaque specifically, he's so stressed over the fact he needs to do them perfectly that he fucks up lmao.

Like, he would try his best to take care of him and almost burn the kitchen in the meantime, while Macaque was only hoping the two of them could just stay more in bed cuddling each other

Anonimo ha chiesto: im just imagining Mac getting anxious becouse he cannot find baby MK and Wukong is there to calm him down

@shadowpeachera ha chiesto: Heyy I absolutely love your shadowpeach bio au, the drawings, the text its perfect! Did Mk every run off or get into trouble now that he’s a cub or even play games with Wukong and Macaque like hide and seek? That would be really cute. I can imagine them playing hide and seek while Mk discovers he can make shadow portals, meanwhile his parents are stressing and scared as they have no idea where he is.

i think both of them would freak out.

WAIT I HAVE THE PIC I HAVE THE PIC

I'VE BEEN SAVING THIS PIC SINCE 2017

@nyx-daughterofchaos98 ha chiesto: Hi! For LMK, I watched a nature documentary on Monkeys the other day and a lot of monkeys correct each others behavior by doing something called “Disciplinary Nips” or “Discipline Bites” (This isn’t a sexual ask I promise) I think it would be absolutely hilarious, if Macaque and Wukong are napping together, and for whatever reason, Wukong keeps moving around, unable to get comfortable. And in his sleep-riddled state, Macaque gets annoyed and bites him. 🤣 Like; I’M TRYING TO SLEEP! KNOCK IT OFF! 🤣🤣🤣 And when Wukong does stop moving, Macaque does actually fall asleep. Even better is if Macaque wakes up and has absolutely No Idea he bit Wukong because he was half asleep at the time. Or he thinks it was a dream and ensue the shenanigans when he realizes it wasn’t.

OMG THAT'S SO CUTE AND SILLY AAHHHH!!! EVEN BETTER: what if they do this without noticing BEFORE they are like-actually romantically back together, and someone sees the mark bites AND THEY START TO ASSUME CERTAIN THINGS BRUH.

@tabs-tabi-tabby Can Macaque help with MK’s clones? Or would that be Wukong’s area?

MK can't make the same clones macaque has. He can control a little bit his own shadow, and use that as a clone. so as long as it's his own shadow, it's more Mac area, if it's his own hair clone then it's Wukong's

@startdustmonkie ha chiesto: Does Mk and or Wukong know about Savage and Rumble? (If so how did they find out about them?) — (also: do Savage and Rumble see Mama macaque as a parent?)

@mushrum-soup ha chiesto: Hi just wanted to say I absolutely adore your shadow peach au it's literally the highlight of my week 💖I was wondering tho are rumble and savage just shadow clones in your au or similar to their Lego counterparts :O?

Yes they know about them. No they aren't his kids let's say. My own personal headcanon for the Au (or the show in general) is that they are both Macaque shadow, like- clones with a little bit of personality just like MK clones represent specific parts of his personality. He has 2 of them because he lived 2 lives, one before and one after he was brought back to life.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Just read the latest Shadowpeach bio kid comic, and i cant help but giggle a bit at how MK’s chirp woke Wukong and Macaque up lmao just the “and they snoozing- OH SHIT BABY CHIRPING WHATS WRONG-“

HE IS BABYYYY

@hellobur ha chiesto: Did you base when mk was reaching fr macaque after he was walking away because mk called him mama after this or was it a funny coincidence (mk also doe the pose but I can't find it lol)

Also I absolutely love this story and your art your work is incredible! ^^

Omg LMAO NO I DIDN’T BUT NOW IT’S 100% MORE FUNNY

@dragonaboni-blog ha chiesto: Hi! First off, I love your art and your Shadowpeach AU, it's the reason I'm reactivating my own Tumblr account lol One of my favorite tropes in this story is "A gets sick and B takes care of him" so I'm wondering… What would that trope be like in the AU? What would the monkey trio be like when they got sick? Do any of them sleep through their illness? Or are any of them extremely dramatic like "These will be my last words…"? CoughcoughWUKONGCoughcough

Aaahh I’ve seen a lot of asks asking this one but honestly I don t know If I’ll ever draw that trope. Maybe bc Wukong should technically have canonically too much knowledge about general illness to be worried about normal daily life illness. If it was something more life-threating. Maybe yes, but I still have to cook.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Counterpoint: wukong can't handle spicy foods because he has no impulse control and his monkee brain wants him to only eat fruit and peaches

Ouch. Yes that seems about accurate for him lmao

Anonimo ha chiesto: About the lmk bio au.... we have seen that MK can manipulate certain parts of his body in the 72 transformations... so..... Wukong and Macaque could technically have children.

I’ll be 100% honest I have no idea if stone monkeys are…fertile?

Anonimo Hey there! I am in love with your art. LMK is something that came into my life recently and damn I love it so much! Love your AU, and I can't wait to see more of it. Funnily, since the baby MK incident I imagine this later on becoming a somewhat spark of many funny arguments later on. What I mean is I see baby MK has a favorite parent (*cough-cough* MacCRACK *cough-cough*) [Sorry with the name joke, couldn't help myself]. XD. And I imagine Wukong be a bit jealous at times and go 'Anything you can do I can do better XD' Also see lovely Redson have a thing for MK, and then I imagine him ask his parents about advice on pursuing his crush. "So who is the lucky girl?" "Well, you already know him-" *Spits out water* "You got yourself a husband?" "What, no I haven't yet-!"

Aww I don't think MK would have a favourite but definitely there are times where he wants one parent more than the other (play time with Wukong, nap time with Mamacaque)

Anonimo ha chiesto: Yknow what they say… like father like son! In the sense that they’re all gay /j

Oh yeah absolutely it's genetic/j

@wolfasketch ha chiesto: Mac being on the sunny side and Wuwu being in the shadows

I know I'm looking into it too much but- AHHH!!!

That was unintentional but HOLY SIT U R RIGHT

Anonimo ha chiesto: Poor Red Boy never got to see baby MK! Imagine him just staring at the adorableness that is baby MK and being like 'I hope our future children look just like you OH MY GODS YOU'RE ADORABLE'. Baby MK: :3

Their child will literally be Kai from Ninjago so I guess THEY ARE RIGHT HE WILL BE

Anonimo ha chiesto: And then MK will wake up back to normal, confused, but proud that he managed to get them even closer?

100% yes

@drowning-in-webnovel-chapters ha chiesto: I can't imagine how the monkey dads are gonna try to go back to sleep after that, oof. Also Wukong definitely knows all that from when he used to help Macaque through visions, right?

Yup! He does indeed!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I’m guessing MK is getting a mini version of Macaque’s “can hear the past/present/future” thingy, did he managed to hear it accidentally or was he trying to learn more about his powers/Shadowpeach’s past ?

Yes, he was just wondering since last time that he found the sleeping cuddling with him, what exactly happened for them to rift away. Guess curiosity killed the cat

@aurabooboo ha chiesto: So. I'm rewatching season 5, right? I noticed that they almost had a yelling match with MK right in the middle. Would Wukong apologize to him for that?

These 3 have so much to talk about… i wont draw everything, but they definitely apologised offscreen.

@elianaroselight ha chiesto: It is quite telling how Wukong immediately knew what to do to help calm MK, but also, Macaque coming in with the perspective of having gone through it himself. The need for them to remain close by and wait until Mk is asleep before trying to leave. This means Mac has been through exactly what he is telling them not to do and knows the pain, sorrow and trauma that comes from feeling abandoned like this. They may be facing their past hurting their own kid through proxy and try to help him fight against the trauma. Luckily they have good people to help when they themselves can't. *looks at Freenoodles*

Yup! Their response is exactly related to what they do to calm the other!

@thenerdycupcake ha chiesto: So, does MK’s gold vision combine with his hearing sometimes so that he sees some of what he’s hearing from the past?

Oooohhh i guess he does! So he can literally see and hear the past!

@frogsfandoms ha chiesto: Omg why can I see after MK wakes up he thinks that it isn’t the past he’s hearing and that it actually just happened. Rushing to see if Wukong and Macaque are hurt and or trying to stop them from fighting 😭😭😭

Oohhh our baby still doesn’t want to believe it actually happened :(

Anonimo ha chiesto: Adult MK: OH MY GOD A SPIDER *desperate scared monkey noises* Baby MK: what's this? A 5 starts meal? *Tries to chomp said spider* He's gonna be sooo disgusted when someone tells him he tried to eat one fkdkdlfmfl

Oh poor MK. He’ll be teased about this for the rest of his days.

@sailera ha chiesto: Hello I have question about you Shadowpeach bio dads au- How would Pigsy react that his only employee turned to a baby? And hadn’t answered his phone in few days? Also love your art!! And your ISAT comic got me again interested in playing Sky ✨

Mk only became a baby for like- 20 hours. Mei told him that he stayed at FFM because he was ‘tired after training’. As of now Pigsy didn!t found out

---------------

That's all for this week! Thank you a lot for all the asks!

#shadowpeach bio parents au #ask box #kyri45

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boneblushed · 10 months ago

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Labyrinth

Uh oh, I’m falling in love / Oh no, I’m falling in love again

synopsis you’re reunited with your ex-boyfriend, Rafe, at an Outer Banks wedding.

tags Rafe Cameron x fem!reader, exes to lovers, second chance romance, slowburn-ish, A LOT of angst, an equal amount of pining, an awful breakup but a wonderful reconciliation 💓

wc ~11k

“You look,” you murmur, squeezing Brooklyn’s shoulder gently, “perfect.”

She’s sitting in front of a round, gold-rimmed mirror, the windows on either side of her painting her skin a warm aureate. You stand in shadow behind her, the sunbeams unable to reach your pretty features. There’s a wistfulness to them that’s almost imperceptible.

Almost. If she weren’t your best friend, someone you’ve known since forever, she probably wouldn’t have noticed the way you were hiding from them. The smile on her face falters as she looks up at you through the mirror.

“Look,” she begins tentatively, frowning, “if this is too hard —”

“Do not,” you interrupt. You try for an encouraging smile; what you hope is an encouraging smile. “I’m totally fine, okay? I’m over it.”

A pause. Brooklyn’s reflection sends you a long, hard look. “No one would blame you if you weren’t.”

You know what that means, the insinuation behind her words: you were supposed to be the first one. It’s all anyone in the Figure Eight was saying when they first found out about your break-up: you’re meant for each other, though, we can’t imagine you not being a couple!

Well, neither could you, not that it really mattered. Six months on with half a heart and pulseless motive, you’ve come to realise that wretched pining comes at a costly price.

You can’t afford it anymore.

“I know,” you reply quietly.

The spaghetti strap of your cowl neck falls as you straighten, the periwinkle fabric shimmering forebodingly. An image of the Rafe you knew flashes in your mind, slipping it down to press a kiss on your skin. Your stomach drops.

“But I am,” you add, louder. As though you’re trying to convince yourself more than you are her. “I promise.”

Brooklyn stares at you for a long time before her gaze falls, acquiescing with a sigh. “I hate that you still don’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“That he could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve you.”

You bite back another wince, the fresh sting of forgotten feelings pricking at your eyelids. “I do believe it,” you say quietly. “I do. That’s what makes all of this so fucking hard — that I know we’re never getting a second chance. That he chose to throw all of it away and I’m never going to be able to forgive him for it.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though!”

“We were together for half our lives, Brooke!” You turn away from the mirror, taking in a jagged breath. “We — his mom had promised me her ring before she died, for God’s sake. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to walk away from what we had?”

A long pause. Brooke’s voice is gentle, but her words cut like a knife. “It’s not as though you had a choice, Y/N/N. He didn’t give you one.”

You look around at her, unshed tears making your pretty eyes shine. “What does it say about me that I’m no closer to accepting that than I was six months ago?”

“Babe.” A tear falls. Brooke’s features soften, and she pulls you into a tight hug, enough pressure to wring out the melancholy in your chest. “It says that you’re human.”

She rocks you for a moment before you’re forced to pull apart, a knock on the door breaking your reverie. “God,” you self-reproach, sending Brooklyn a watery smile. “I would find a way to make your day about me, wouldn’t I?”

“Maybe I should ditch Kelce,” Brooklyn replies faux-seriously, catching the stray tears wetting your lower lids. “We can elope or something.”

As though on queue, the Universe intervenes before she can go through with this idea. Perhaps it knows, having watched the pair of grow close throughout college, that there’s a part of her that really would call this all off if you asked her to.

“Sweetheart!” Comes Brooklyn’s father’s voice from behind the door, punctuated by the sharp rap of his knuckles. “It’s nearly time!”

The tension ebbs. Suddenly, everything about this wedding—the same one you’ve been helping her plan forever—becomes entirely too real. Your melancholia is a tide in this way, flowing forth and receding as its surroundings permit. Never fading away; ever-present. Though it may not be as unbearable now as it was when you first broke up, it lingers.

You’re afraid that it always will. You push down this fear like you’ve done every other.

Focus. Your eyes widen in anticipation, mirroring Brooklyn’s as they transform into nervous excitement.

“Come in!” Brooklyn calls anxiously, biting back a squeal. You’re grateful for the fact that you haven’t ruined her mood completely. “Oh my god. Oh my god!”

She stands up and turns around just as her father enters the room, his lined face shining with a wistful sense of happiness. As the atmosphere in the room shifts, she glances back at you, and your insides twist in cruel mocking. More repentant than jealous. I was supposed to be the first one.

You don’t let your expression falter. The first few chords of the processional float into the room through the ajar door, and you spring into action, smoothing out your dress and readjusting your bouquet of flowers.

“That’s my queue,” you say, squeezing her arm once more before slipping past her and her father.

In true Kook fashion, Brooklyn’s wedding ceremony is taking place on the Island Club green. Upon exiting the storage room you’ve transformed into a vanity, you find yourself in the entranceway that leads to the venue, the set-up just visible beyond its oak doors.

Benches of beige driftwood sit on either side of the aisle, twined with buttery white lilies and ivy-like viridescence. They face a brilliant floral wedding arch, where the officiant and Kelce stand talking in hushed whispers. And the sky above you is a vibrant, cloudless blue, golden sunlight fanning down upon the crowd, bathing them aureate.

In the beat that passes, you search for someone you shouldn’t.

The last time that you saw him, he was hunched over his father’s office desk. His eyes were bloodshot and his tired gaze dull; half-finished documents stared up at him in mocking, and a nagging ache was making home in his chest.

The week prior, you hadn’t seen much of each other. And it wasn’t as though he’d requested this space—he rarely did, rarely asked you for anything—you’d just taken it upon yourself to give it to him. Stay in control. If you proposed time apart before he did, maybe it would feel more deliberate; hurt less.

You were dead wrong.

“Look,” he sighs, this cruel, heavy sound that splices right through your chest, “I realise I’ve been neglecting our relationship a lot recently.”

“Yes,” you respond tentatively. “But you’ve been under a lot of pressure recently. I get it.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” He glances up at you through red-rimmed irises. “I… I don’t know how long it’ll be like this. With everything that’s happened… my dad dying, and me taking over the firm —”

“I’ve seen you through all of it,” you interrupt quietly, your voice cracking. “I’ve — no questions asked, I’ve done it. I get it, Rafe, you’ve got different priorities at the moment. But we’ve loved each other for so long now that I —”

“But that’s the thing,” he says then, swallowing hard, “I just don’t know if I do anymore. Not as much as I used to.”

The silence that follows feels as though it’s suffocating you. You haven’t said a word, and Rafe’s said plenty, but it’s you with the lungs that heave for loveless oxygen.

“Oh.”

Rafe’s Adam’s apple jumps again, and he breaks eye contact as unshed tears brim to the surface. “I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t make any sense.

“Maybe,” you try, grappling hard for a logical explanation, “maybe your grief’s fucking with your ability to feel anything.”

Rafe’s gaze lifts to your face again, teardrop tracks making your pretty cheeks shine. His heart aches, hard, and he finds it difficult to catch his breath. “But… I’ve dealt with it,” he says quietly. “I’ve had to.”

“How can you have?” You throw back, exasperated. “Rafe you — you haven’t had a moment to yourself since his funeral last month, you’ve holed yourself up in his office and acted like everything’s fucking okay!”

“Because it is!” He replies, his face hardening momentarily. “I’m — I’m fucking fine, alright? I just need to be alone right now.”

“Because you don’t love me anymore.”

Rafe winces. Your lower lip trembles. “Yeah. Because something’s missing… the — the fucking spark, or whatever… and right now, I can’t give you the sort of love you deserve.”

He was tired of hurting you through his abjection, he’d said. As if breaking things off wasn’t the most hurtful thing he ever did.

Thankfully, you aren’t able to spot him in the crowd; if you had, walking down the aisle would have been infinitely more difficult. Out of courtesy to you—and Brooke forcing his hand, of course—he hadn’t asked Rafe to be a groomsman either, so you were well safe from an untimely encounter at pre-wedding festivities. And from standing opposite him in front of the altar. You aren’t sure such close proximity in holy matrimony would be healthy for either of you.

It’s unfair on him though, you know it is. He has as much a right being best man as you do maid of honour — the four of you were thick as thieves once upon a time; in fact, it was you that’d introduced Kelce to Brooklyn.

It feels like so long ago when you think back on it now, being nineteen-years-old with a naïve heart and nothing to lose.

You and Rafe had seemed invincible then, high-school sweethearts that were somehow surviving college-borne distance. Forever, that’s the word that ended every drunk call or late night text; forever, and the promise of a proposal and beach-side villa.

“Shi—did you not see the sock on the door, Smith?” Rafe groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder in defeat. He’s spent the past half hour getting you into a compromising position, his rough hands awry and his wet mouth on your soft skin. The amaranthine imprint of his kisses have made home on your neck. You’re straddling him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he really doesn’t want to sacrifice any amount of closeness.

Kelce enters the room tentatively, his hand firmly pressed over his eyes. “Hard to miss. You two decent or what?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You let out a peal of laughter as Rafe glowers at his roommate, his calloused palms dropping from your hips to your thighs. You push the fabric of your dress over his hands, but he kneads the flesh anyway, the skin on skin like spare oxygen.

Kelce peeks at you from between his fingers before pulling them away, an unimpressed look on his face. “C’mon, surely you’re done with her Cameron. I’ve given you guys the entire fucking day together.”

“Half an hour,” Rafe replies, his blue eyes narrowing.

“As if you need more than five minutes,” Kelce snorts, plopping down on the bed opposite Rafe’s.

“Oh fuck—” Rafe’s large hands circle your thighs and tighten, standing up and advancing toward Kelce with you in his arms, “—right off—”

“Rafe!” You gasp, suppressing another surprised laugh. “Put me down, you asshole.”

“No way, Y/N/N,” Kelce says then, raising his arms in preemptive surrender. “Your PDA’s the only reason he hasn’t given me a shiner yet.”

Rafe affirms this sentiment by pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, his eyes still narrowed as he glares at Kelce. “You’re lucky I love my girlfriend more than I do my fucking reputation.”

Kelce makes a face, keeling over and mock-gagging. “Yeah, yeah, you guys have been bethrothed since fucking pre-K, I get it. Now will you stop being so possessive and let me have a conversation with her?”

You look over your shoulder at him, untangling your arms from Rafe’s neck so he can let you down gently. When he does so, it’s with great reluctance, and he doesn’t hesitate to circle your chest so he can pull you back against him. His strong bicep is warm against your neck, solid pressure.

“What’s up, Kelcey?” You ask, surveying him with interest.

“Ghosted,” he says gloomily, falling back against his duvet, “again.”

Rafe glances down at you at the same time you look up at him, a sage, sympathetic emotion passing between you. In the weeks after your break-up, you’ll come to yearn for this emotion more than anything else — that feeling of being immune to inadequacy, of having found the love of your life so effortlessly.

“You’ve gotta stop coming on so hard, bro,” Rafe says, resting his chin on your forehead. “These sorority chicks are probably all looking for something casual.”

“He can’t help the fact that he’s a lover boy, Rafe,” you defend, frowning. “You’ve just gotta find a girl that wants what you want, Kelce.”

Kelce raises his head hopefully. “Know anyone like that, Y/N/N?”

“Well,” you pause, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully, “I am thinking of inviting my roommate Brooklyn to the Bahamas over summer break —”

“To Rafe’s?” This piques Kelce’s interest. He props himself up onto his elbows, a hopeful grin transforming his features. “Sold.”

How times change.

Today, Kelce stands at the other end of the aisle, waiting for the same Brooklyn that was once your roommate, now his almost wife. He’s wearing an elegant black tuxedo with a lily tucked into the breast pocket, its buttery white petals shining in the sun. He looks so, unimaginably, happy. It should’ve been you and Rafe. Your heartstrings twinge.

“You’re not ready,” you murmur as you pass him on the altar, finding your place opposite his best man, Topper.

Kelce smiles at you, a little nervous, a little unshed. “Will I ever be?”

You shake your head, smiling in tandem.

The wedding procession is a brilliant display of love, and you find a way to make it about your lack thereof. Seconds blur, minutes melt into each other, and your poor mind strays to when things were far simpler. The Island Club was your date night spot, once upon a time. It’s where you’d envisioned you’d get proposed to; where you would get married one day, too. Just like this.

You’re happy for them, you swear it. It’s just a difficult emotion to maintain when the opposite comes so naturally.

Rafe doesn’t arrive until the reception itself.

He wants to believe that this is entirely accidental — he’s had a long day at the office, filled with several meetings with prospective clients. He can’t though, his wretched conscience won’t let him. He chose to go to work today, chose to schedule important meetings at the same time as Kelce’s nuptials.

He thinks he knows why this is, and isn’t sure whether he can handle the why in a satin slip and strappy heels. He wants to believe that he meant everything he said to you six months prior, but the dreadful ache in his chest crescendos in mocking every time he tries this.

He’s made a mistake. He won’t admit this if it killed him. But he knows, deep down, that something isn’t right about all of this.

If he really didn’t love you anymore, if that fucking spark was missing, there shouldn’t have been anything to move on from—the ship should have already departed. But he’s struggling, hard, and his thoughts juxtapose his actions. Despite telling you that he needs to be alone for the time being, you remain unmoored in his mind, rocking back and forth but never sinking.

He’s done his fair share of fucking up over the past few months. Got into something else too quickly, tried that no contact thing and failed miserably. There’s no going back after everything that’s happened. And yet…

“Hello?” He greets you like it’s a question; like greeting you isn’t second nature anymore. Your stomach turns.

When you respond, your voice comes out jagged, pained. “Look. I get that you’re doing this ‘no contact’ thing, or whatever, but Sarah told me something pretty fucked up and I think you owe me an explanation.” Your voice is far weaker.

Rafe winces, a familiar ache pulling through his chest. “If this is about Elle —”

“It’s been a month, Rafe. You may as well have cheated.”

…that fucking hug.

After you’d confronted him about shamelessly flirting with Sarah’s friend, Elle—in front of Sarah, no less, who told you the second it happened—he’d asked to meet up in person and explain himself.

You weren’t quite sure what to make of it all, which is probably why you’d foolishly agreed to hear him out. Ward had hired Elle as an intern before his death; she’d been around a while, long enough for an affair.

It shifted bile into your throat.

And when you’d met him, the exact opposite of what you’d hoped had happened. He’d had the gall to tell you that he thinks something’s there, that he feels that bullshit spark that he swore was missing in your relationship.

What were you meant to say?

But then he’d apologised, recognised it was too soon, begged to stay friends. Friends—like a platonic relationship is in any way gift receipt redeemable. And ironically, hearing him out wasn’t even your biggest mistake, it was that wretched hug goodbye that you’d permitted you get.

It was as though that hug held everything unsaid. Your figure had moulded against his quite perfectly, and why wouldn’t it? He’s the only romantic embrace you’d known since you were a teenager.

And when you’d finally pulled away, separated the pieces of your heart that were finally greeting his again, you hadn’t realised that he’d think about that hug for weeks gone by, just like you.

All the way up until Christmas, which occurred two months after your sudden break-up.

It was the last time you saw him under the pretence of amicability, when you came by Tannyhill to drop off presents and see his family. Mostly him. It felt pathetic, even then; for all you knew, Elle was on his mind and you were somewhere insignificant.

Rafe’s pretty sure he’s fucking doomed.

Your laugh reverberates through Tannyhill like a siren song, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never not recognise the sound of it. It’s as though every bone in his body vibrates in tune to it—so unabashed, so freeing. Far more painful now than it used to be.

You’ve become so many Taylor Swift songs and none of them end happy.

He follows your sweet timbre to the hallway before he can help himself. Once upon a time—God, it feels so long ago now—he’d have been the first person you’d have texted before dropping by the house. Instead, as he stands paralysed at the foot of the stairs, it’s Sarah who’s hugging you, who gets to hold you in her arms.

Luckily for him, your eyes are closed in the embrace, and he’s afforded a second to recalibrate after taking you in. He’s known that you’re beautiful like his first memory on Earth, but that doesn’t mean your proximity leaves him any less winded. You’re fresh-faced with limbs that have an untouchable quality to them; you aren’t his to mark anymore, no longer his to ruin.

He can’t remember the last time he kissed you. He wants to remember so fucking bad. You’re slipping through his calloused fingers and fragments of you are all he has.

“You didn’t have to get us anything!” Sarah exclaims, pulling away faux-disprovingly.

“Hey, don’t do that, of course I did.” Your arms fall back to your side, and you open your eyes in tandem. When they flit past Sarah’s face and find Rafe’s instead, it feels as though someone has tipped ice-cold water down your singlet. A pause. “You’re family.”

Sarah notes the change in your tone with a frown, turning to look over her shoulder. “Oh,” she says, her expression hardening. “Sorry, Y/N/N. I didn’t know he was home.”

You swallow. “It’s no big,” you reply, forcing yourself to look back at her. “We’re alright, really. But I should go, I have a few more presents to drop off.”

Sarah frowns harder. “You sure you don’t want to stay a bit? I know Rose’d love to see you, we’ve all really missed having you around —”

“I’m sure,” you interrupt, handing her the bag of presents you’ve wrapped. “I’ll send her a text, okay? And listen,” you pause, your expression softening a little, “I know this holiday season’s going to be hard without your dad, and I want you to know that I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”

Sarah’s eyes well with tears. “It’s going to be hard without you too, Y/N,” she murmurs. “You’re my sister.”

Your features sadden in tandem, and you give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And I always will be. You know that.”

“You should come to Christmas, then,” she says hopefully.

“I —” you falter as your voice cracks, grimacing slightly, “— I’m sorry. I don’t think I can.”

When you turn around, something in Rafe’s chest cracks too. He’s still hanging on to that expression-softening catalyst from a moment prior, yearning hard for the feeling of being on the receiving end of your love.

“Why the fuck,” Sarah fumes, rounding on him once you’re out of earshot, “do you have to ruin everything you touch?”

Rafe doesn’t even have it in him to wince. “I don’t know,” he responds quietly, with an honesty that aches. “If I did, maybe I’d have found a way to fix it.”

Sarah takes pause. Slight disbelief transforms her features. “You have to still love her. How can’t you?”

“I don’t know, alright?” Rafe runs his hand through his hair slovenly. “I just — I’m not happy anymore. It’s not fucking there… I don’t know if it’ll ever come back.”

“What isn’t?”

“The… the spark.”

“Bullshit,” Sarah spits out, accusatory. “The ‘spark’ is fucking bullshit, Rafe. You’re telling me you’ve felt it the entire time you’ve known her? You’re telling me this doesn’t have anything to do with dad’s death?”

Rafe swallows thickly, discomfort coating his throat. “I don’t, alright? All I know is I can’t give her what she needs right now; I don’t know if I ever will.”

To this day, he doesn’t know about your detour that evening — how instead of driving home, you took a left to the look-out where you shared your first kiss. He doesn’t know that the waves crashing ashore bore witness to your heartbreak; that sunset orange painted your tear-streaked cheeks a gentler amber. Caressed them, subdued them, where he no longer could. He doesn’t know you agonised over how much his hair had grown in your absence, the subtle stubble on his jaw, the stark outline of his biceps.

The him that’s foreign to you, now; the him that’s Elle’s and not yours.

At twenty-four years old, Rafe Cameron doesn’t know fucking anything.

Of course, once he does eventually recognise that his ‘something there’ with Elle is a rebound, it’s too late to entertain returning to you with his tail between his legs.

He can’t. Not after everything he’s put you through in the past. So he allows regret to caulk his limbs and bitterness to coat his insides, and Rafe Cameron does what he does best — pushes it down and ignores it.

Which brings him here, a non-attendee to his best friend’s wedding and an hour late to his reception.

He sidles into the venue through a pair of double doors, and the first thing he notices is the dimmed sconces and muted fairy lights. It’s the first thing, because perplexingly, the crowd is hard to discern but you glow anyway. A spotlight illuminates the centre of the room where Brooklyn and Kelce share their first dance, but they don’t draw his gaze, your beautiful features do.

Of course you do, in your strappy cowl neck slip. There’s less periwinkle fabric than he’d anticipated, more exposed limbs, and Rafe feels like he’s run a fucking marathon as he takes you in. And your pretty eyes and glossy lips cascade into a bare neck; soft skin that’s forgotten his rough touch, his bruising kisses.

It’s momentary lust that his regret promptly squashes. He can’t think those thoughts about you anymore, even if they’re almost second nature. Even if he’s spent more tangible years of his life as your boyfriend than he has a fucking stranger.

That’s what you guys are meant to be right now: strangers. His stomach coils. His tired eyes search for the open bar on instinct.

Once he’s acquired a whiskey neat and a glass of champagne, he pulls through the crowd and makes toward your figure.

You aren’t as lucky as he is to mentally prepare for a reunion. When he holds out the shimmering flute and prompts your gaze toward him, there’s a split-second of slack-jawed diffidence before you find your common sense.

God, you wish he wasn’t so easy to stare at.

He’s wearing an expression that isn’t yours anymore, with his thick brows furrowed and lips slightly parted. Yearning, but he can’t be. His blue eyes make your heart leap. Your gaze lifts before it falls, taking in his damp hair, his larger than ever frame. Both feel unfamiliar; he’s shed the skin and aureate curls your fingers once traced. Same notes of patchouli on his neck, though you note the absence of the silver chain you once bought him for Christmas.

Does he still have it, somewhere, hidden in a shoebox under his bed? (His hand is so close to your chest, it feels like you’re dying.) Is it as painful for him to see you like this after months and months of no contact?

Can’t be. Shouldn’t be. The ache may linger, agonisingly, but you’re stronger now than you were when he first ended things.

“Oh,” is all you can muster, accepting the flute of champagne. When your fingers brush, you reprimand the jolt of static. Lust may be hard to shake, but you resolve to let logic prevail. “Thanks.”

Rafe feels it too, harder, more unbearable. “Don’t mention it.”

You break eye contact to look out into the crowd, though it’s a struggle finding anything to focus on. “When’d you arrive?”

“Five minutes ago,” he admits, staring at your side profile for a second longer than he probably should. He analyses the glittery stuff on your cheekbones—highlighter?—for traces of a familiar feeling. “Work shit.”

“Ah,” you reply, raising your eyebrows at him. “Some things never change, huh?”

Rafe winces. “Look, Y/N, I —”

“I’m kidding, Rafe, relax,” you interrupt, sending him a small smile. It makes his stomach turn. “It’s all going well, I hope?”

“It is, yeah,” he responds, smiling in tandem. “Ish. Still doing a fuck tonne of late nights and weekends.”

“Bummer.” It feels strange, making small talk in this way. Strange, though not particularly as awful as you’d predicted. “How’re Rose and your sisters?”

“Yeah, they’re good,” they miss you, “Sarah’s going to UCLA in the fall.”

You nod. “She told me.”

Something in Rafe’s chest drops. He turns to you, his piercing gaze making your skin burn. “I didn’t realise you guys kept in touch.”

“We’ve always been really close. You know that.”

Because of me. “Right.” His eyes fall to your throat as you take another pull of champagne, smooth and unblemished and painfully foreign. “I’m glad.”

You turn to him then, an unreadable expression on your face. “Me too.”

A beat. The pair of you stare at each as the surroundings buzz into static.

“Listen, Rafe, I —”

“Y/N, I’ve been —”

You falter first, scrunching up your face abashedly. “Sorry. You go.”

“I…” Rafe pauses, running his calloused palm through his hair, “I guess I just want to apologise. For everything.”

Your eyes widen, and you turn away from him abruptly. “Rafe, I don’t know if now is the best time to have this conversation.”

“Shit, I know. I know I’m about five months too late and don’t deserve to be heard out.”

“Well,” you pause, chewing on your bottom lip apprehensively. Your voice quietens. “Maybe not at a wedding.”

Or ever. You tip back the rest of your champagne just as the slow dance fades out, breaking away from him. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Rafe fucking hopes so. He needs a clean slate if it’ll kill him. He nods reluctantly, watching you disappear into the crowd in front of him. The ache in his chest crescendos as the physical distance swallows you completely.

—

“We love you,” Brooklyn mouthes, blowing you a kiss through the open window. The limousine she’s in stretches forward with jet-black grandiosity, its ignition blaring alive as you catch it in mid-air.

When you blow one back, Kelce peeks over her shoulder and sends you a wink. The pair of them wave to the wedding-goers surrounding you before the vehicle pulls forward, leaving you in its dust. You watch them exit the Island Club gates, and a sense of bittersweet melancholia finds home in your chest.

That should’ve been you. You turn around as the crowd begins to disperse and find yourself face to face with Rafe once again.

“Oh,” you say, looking up at him in surprise. When your expression relaxes—in recognition—his chest pulls in tandem. “They’re sweet, huh?”

Us; that should’ve been us. Rafe nods, smiling wistfully. “Can you believe you’re the one that set them up?”

“At your holiday house,” you return, smiling in tandem. “This was a two-person wing man job.”

“Nah. You were the one that saw their potential.” A pause. “You’ve always been really good at that.”

Your brow furrows. “At setting people up?”

“At seeing their potential,” Rafe corrects. An unreadable emotion crosses his blue irises. “Even when they don’t deserve it.”

Your expression falters. You aren’t sure what to say to this, so you don’t say anything at all.

“Listen,” Rafe tries again, scratching the back of his neck, “d’you need a ride?”

“Well…”

You hesitate, looking over his shoulder for your parents. When you spot them, they’re in avid conversation with some family friends; they look extremely comfortable, like they’re going to be dawdling until God knows when.

You’re searching for justification even though he doesn’t deserve it. After all the pain he’s caused you, your wretched heart still yearns for more.

Fucking sadist.

“Actually, yeah,” you finish after a beat, bringing your gaze back to him. “That’d be great, thank you.”

His shoulders relax. “Yeah, of course. You have all your things?”

“Uh huh.”

“This way.”

You allow him to guide you to his pick-up trunk, pretend that you didn’t discern it right away. Besides, you were meant to have forgotten the location of his unofficial ‘official’ parking spot. So you follow him toward it, deny the familiarity of its number plate, and act like every dent and wretched scratch isn’t a piece of your heart.

“Shit—ow!” You curse, hurtling forward as you stall, again. “This is fucking impossible, Rafe. I quit.”

Rafe grins perplexedly, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Baby,” he placates, “if Top can learn to drive manual, anyone can.”

You make a frustrated noise, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not me, clearly.”

Rafe lets out a laugh, unbuckling your seatbelt so he can pull you into his lap. “C’mere.”

When he does so—with entirely too much ease—he pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb so he can guide your lips against his. It’s an unhurried kiss, a sure press of emotion, as though he’s rousing the embers that live within your ribcage.

He has this funny way of leaving you out of breath no matter how chaste the embrace. You break away reluctantly, raising your eyebrows at him. “So is this the reward system you used when you were teaching him to drive, hot-shot?”

Rafe makes a face, dipping his head to sponge a kiss to your neck. “Why? You jealous?”

“Never,” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “You wouldn’t dream of leaving me for someone else, Rafe Cameron. The Figure Eight wouldn’t forgive you if you did.”

“I wouldn’t forgive myself if I did.” Another teeth-scraping kiss. “I’d be crazy to let you go. I’ve been in love with you since we were freshman.”

He doesn’t open the passenger’s side door for you after unlocking his pick-up truck. That isn’t his place anymore.

He wants to, anyway. You want him to, badly. This revelation passes unsaid between the two of you as you climb into the seat yourself, unscathed by chivalry.

Once you’re buckled in, your gaze lifts to the new air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. “Huh,” you say, flicking it absently, “you replaced it.”

He wants to say, you left me no choice. He wants to say, old spice smells like you. “Oh yeah,” he replies instead, clearing his throat. “Rose got me it.”

“It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

He shifts into reverse and backs out of the park, and there’s a split second where he almost places his hand on your headrest. He can’t do that anymore. Too close; not close enough. You notice it too. An ache passes from his heart to yours.

“Are you going to take any time off over summer break?” You ask, keeping your gaze on the road ahead.

Rafe pulls out onto the main road before turning to you and responding, “I wasn’t planning on it, but I think I might need some.”

“I think you might need some too,” you agree, sending him a fleeting smile. “Bahamas?”

You don’t expect the tears in his eyes that follow. You straighten abruptly, your eyebrows pulling together. “Sorry, I didn’t mean —”

“No—shit, I just—” he falters as his voice cracks, clearing his throat again, “I don’t think I could go back there any time soon. Too many memories.”

Your expression softens. “Your dad, of course. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes in a jagged breath. “Shit, I’m the one that should be apologising. For everything.”

“Rafe —”

“No, listen…”

He pauses as he turns left onto your street, pulling onto the side of the road as soon as he can. He’s still a good mile away from your house, but it feels an injustice to keep you waiting for an explanation. When he turns and angles his body toward you, there’s a brokenness on his face that makes your miserable heart falter.

“I’m… I’m so sorry for everything I put you through after I broke up with you. Even if that was what I needed at the time, even if it was the right decision, I shouldn’t have been so fucking heartless and I regret not reaching out to you more often.”

You swallow thickly. He takes your silence as encouragement to keep going.

“You deserved better than the way I treated you… you’ve always deserved better than me. I didn’t know how to deal with all of my grief and I pushed you away in the process. It was… fuck, it was so selfish of me, and I’m sorry. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hate myself for it.”

He’s taken all of the oxygen in the car, and you find yourself struggling for air. You turn to him, every drunken rationalisation manifest. “Thank you,” you whisper, “for saying that.”

“And listen, the Elle thing —”

Too much. “Rafe,” you interrupt, swallowing again. “Stop. It’s fine. I accept your apology.”

Rafe frowns, the furrow in his brow painfully evident. “Yeah? Because… because I’d understand if you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” you affirm, turning away from him. “Besides, it’s ancient history. I forgave you a long time ago in my head.”

“You did?” Rafe’s asks, searching your features in earnest. “Why?”

The champagne you’ve consumed swirls uncomfortably in your stomach. “I had to,” you say quietly. “It was the only way I was going to be able to move on from the situation.”

Rafe’s stomach drops. “Which you have.”

“Which I have.”

The smokescreen between you smothers any semblance of hope you might’ve shared. He nods, turning on the ignition once again. “I hope that means you’re happy, Y/N.”

“It does,” you reply, “I am.”

“Good.” It doesn’t feel good at all. “Maybe this means we can be friends.”

You turn to him again, raising your eyebrows. “Friends?”

“Like we were before,” he affirms, putting the car into drive. His fingers brush the bare skin of your thigh near the gearshift. A very unfriend-like jolt of static shoots into your chest. “I… I don’t know. Sometimes I think I just miss my best friend.”

Your heart sighs. “Me too.”

“Friends then.”

“Yeah,” you reply, sending him a small smile. “Friends.”

—

You haven’t been to Shake Shack since you broke up with Rafe. You didn’t even realise you’d evaded it so long; perhaps it was a subconscious thing, too many painful memories to bear.

You remember when it first opened up in the Banks, this egalitarian refuge nestled between the Cut and Figure Eight.

Rafe Cameron remembers too, remembers bringing you here on your very first date. Roguish at fourteen with endless charm and a handsome face, he had far less creases etched onto his forehead then; far less familial expectations to deal with.

If only you knew he’s evaded it too. When he pulls into the carpark, the aforementioned date comes forth in fragments.

When memories lie dormant so long in one’s head, they tend to lose the stitches that hold them together. Nervousness, excitement, cherry coke and a lilac singlet. The strange feeling of forever before either of you could place it. He doesn’t remember any of your conversation, nor how long the date lasted, but he remembers the cloudless sky, the flutter of new love in his stomach.

The pair of you share a look before exiting his pick-up truck. A look that says: uh oh, and insinuates far more than that.

“So how’s work going, anyway?” Rafe asks, shoving his hands into his front pockets. He’s a beat behind you head toward the entrance, and you can feel your neck burn where his eyes remained trained on you.

“Yeah, alright, same old,” you say, sending him a fleeting smile over your shoulder. His blue irises are dappled golden in sunlight, and their brilliance unsteadies you, the eye-contact like a firestarter. You clear your throat. “Sam quit.”

Rafe’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding,” you shake your head, “he ended things with Peyton and booked a Contiki in South East Asia.”

“Shiiiiiit,” Rafe wolf whistles, shaking his head in tandem. “Is he going through some kind of quarter life crisis?”

You shrug. “Who would let someone like Peyton go, huh?”

Rafe resists the urge to wince. He can think of one person in particular who threw away something far more special. He clears his throat significantly, regret like molasses coating the sides of his windpipe. “Yeah. How’s she doing with it all?”

“Oh you know Peyton, she’s the queen of acting unbothered,” you reply, sounding reproachful. “Even when she’s heartbroken, she refuses to tell me about it.”

Rafe frowns. “Fuck that.”

“Yeah?” You send him a wayward glance, raising your eyebrows knowingly. “Cause to me, it sounds like someone else I used to know.”

There’s a pause as he meets your gaze, a frightening wistfulness passing between you. It lingers.

“Right.” You’re at the entrance to Shake Shack now, and Rafe grapples for purchase on the one thing he can control—friends. He pulls open the door and beckons you forward, “So. Is today the day you branch out and order something new, Y/N?”

When you pass by him, a tendril-like brush of shoulder on chest, the buttery scent of your vanilla perfume lingers. A lot about you does, a lot more than he’d care to admit.

Rafe’s wretched heart cycles between the old and new you like it’s trying to make them both fit within its chambers.

“Don’t think I have a choice,” you reply, sending him a smile over your shoulder. ��They’ve completely revamped their menu since the last time we were here.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows at you. “They have?” You checked?

“Uh huh,” you reply, nodding. “I was going to make a reservation here for our anniversary way back when.” You clear your throat. “When I went on their website to do so, I realised that their menu was totally different.”

You leave out the part where you’d stopped by soon after, asked—no, begged—the manager to serve you the originals when you came. You know, when old time’s sake was a sacred concept. When that sweet, lovesick version of you still existed.

“Oh shit,” Rafe says. Though it’s subtle, he catches the smidge of diffidence in your voice, like the ghost of relationship’s past rearing its ugly head. You checked, for him, and you’re so nonchalant about it. Like it may have mattered then, but right now it matters far less.

He feels an awful twinge in his chest. He adds, “That sucks.” He isn’t sure whether he’s referring to the change in menu or the change in your heart’s purpose.

“I know.”

“I was looking forward to ordering the usual.”

“Me too.” You shrug. “We’re just going to have to find a new usual, I guess.”

What you mean is, make new memories that’ll replace the old ones. What you mean is, erase the nostalgia being here brings.

Also, though you’d never willingly admit it, start anew.

Rafe nods, stepping forward and glancing up at the menu. Though it’s different to the one he remembers from his youth, the interior of the diner is comfortingly familiar — same ugly yellow track lights, same checkered linoleum underfoot. Same fingerprint-smudged counter and broken drinks machine, same uniform on the workers, same greasy smell permeating.

And the same booth you were partial to nestled in one corner, it’s retro cushion covers faded as ever.

The menu, and the girl beside him. The only two things that feel different.

“Hm.” You frown, deliberating over the menu. “I’m thinking the ‘classic’. You want to split some curly fries?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, his blue eyes full of mirth. “So the one that’s exactly your old order, minus the pickles. Got it.”

“Yes,” you decide. “Except I’ll ask them to add pickles.”

“Of course you will.” Rafe grins. “I’ll get the same.”

You gasp, faux-scandalised. “Rafe Cameron eating pickles? Now I’ve seen everything.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “How d’you know I’m not just ordering it to pawn ‘em off to you?”

You balk. “I don’t, I guess.”

“And yes, to the curly fries,” he adds, quick to change the subject. The bashfulness on your features dissipates, but the tension in the room weighs ever-present.

You nod, sliding your wallet out of your back-pocket. “Should we just split the bill, then?”

“No way,” Rafe says, clasping your wrist to hold it in place. Your pulse feels funny. “I got it.”

“Rafe.” You frown, shaking your head. “Look, it really isn’t a big deal —”

It is to me. “Exactly,” he interrupts. “Which is why I got it.”

Maybe you should argue some more, insist on paying until he gives in. But you don’t. Between the pulse-jolting closeness and mocking sense of nostalgia, you aren’t sure you have it in you to retaliate.

Though in an act of rebellion, you avoid your usual booth. Once you’re seated at a new table and separated by your burgers, you re-enter this stupid friendship thing you’ve adopted. The one that boasts no-strings like the red one isn’t obvious.

“So,” you say, popping a curly fry in your mouth. “You remember Maya, right?”

Rafe makes a face. “That psycho roommate you had in senior year? Yeah, pretty hard to forget.”

“Well, she hit me up a month ago to let me know she’d be in the Banks to see her boyfriend.” At his audible gasp, you nod significantly. “I know. Asked if I wanted to catch up while she was here.”

Rafe wolf whistles in amusement. “No fucking way. After the Hell she put you through?”

“I fucking know,” you reply, grimacing in disdain.

Rafe raises his eyebrows, swallowing down a handful of curly fries. “Tell me you said no.”

You raise yours in tandem. “What do you think, casanova?”

“Y/N!” He groans, shaking his head. “Why do you put yourself through this shit?”

You frown, reaching for your soda and sipping stubbornly. Condensation rolls down your palm, the soft skin shining. “C’mon! It was useful, I swear. I got the intel on Maya and her mystery OBX man.”

Rafe leans forward in interest, taking a pull of his soda too. “Go on then.”

“God, I’ve been sitting on this information for ages,” you say, your pretty eyes full of excitement. Rafe’s heart leaps. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but we weren’t talking and you were avoiding me and I didn’t know whether I should break no contact.”

It deflates just as quickly, sinking into his stomach like deadweight. “I wasn’t… I don’t know, I thought it’d be best if I kept my distance.” He sighs, sitting back and raking his fingers through his hair. “Clearly that was a mistake. I haven’t been this relaxed in fucking ages.”

You smile small. “Yeah. This is nice.”

“Nice.”

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, this sticky, molasses-like something rising from your chest, “it’s Dylan. Like Dylan fucking Young that had a crush on me in freshman year.”

“Fuck off, seriously?” Rafe replies, mirth evident on his features. “Not kidding, think it’d be grounds for a restraining order if she ever found that out.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, raising your eyebrows significantly. “You promise to take this to your grave, Cameron?”

Rafe nods, faux-somber, extending his pinky toward you. “He won’t hear it from me, Y/L/N.”

When your fingers entwine, you wonder whether he feels it too. It’s a jolt of static that leaves your skin warm and your insides funny, and you wonder whether the effect it has on you is endearing or pathetic.

The latter, you conclude. The red string of fate disagrees.

“Good,” you say, retrieving your hand. “Oh, and,” you take a generous bite of your burger, “did you hear that Taylor’s moving to Texas?”

“I did, actually,” Rafe replies. “From Top, funnily enough.”

You frown. “He’s still pining, huh?”

“Unfortunately.” He pulls apart his burger to pick out the green pickles, placing them onto your plate before re-assembling. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. In the offensive, fluorescent lighting, they shine up at you in mocking. “Anyway, I should probably learn to get used to it. I’m moving into Kelce’s room now that he’s happily wed.”

Your jaw slackens in surprise. “You’re moving in with Topper?”

Rafe grins. “I know. Who would’ve thought, huh?”

“But,” you pause, popping another curly fry into your mouth, “why?”

“Needed to get out of Tannyhill, I guess.” He falters, swallowing down the bile-like rise of emotion from his chest. “Too many memories.”

Your expression softens. “That makes sense.”

“Besides, Sarah’s starting college soon, and Wheeze’s off at boarding school for the majority of the year anyway.” He shrugs. “And Rose… well, she’s at the Bahamas house more than she is in the OBX.”

“Too many memories,” you repeat, frowning sadly.

“Yeah. I guess.”

There’s silence then, the comfortable kind. An emotion passes between you that feels both familiar and new at the same time.

It matters less when you finally finish, what you speak about, whether you’ll meet again. All you know is, something feels different now, as though there’s embers that this reunion has reignited in your ribcage. Dormant though they had once been, you’d always hoped that the renewed hope would set them aflame.

The next day, you wake up to a text from Rafe.

thank you for yesterday. It was really nice.

You don’t have it in you to reply; Rafe doesn’t mind. He knows you feel the same way.

—

It’s a few weeks before you see him again, at a farewell party for Brooklyn and Kelce.

Prior to embarking on their honeymoon, they were shifting their lives to Chicago; laying down the foundations of stability so they could return to a clean slate.

It upsets you to no end. You’d always assumed that her marriage to Kelce would guarantee that she settles down in the Banks.

Rafe Cameron must remember this, the way he does everything else. He hands you a beer and clinks his own against it, beads of condensation sliding over his calloused hand.

“Huh,” he murmurs, shaking his head in faux-disappoint, “so much for staying here and ruling the Eight with an iron fist.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, taking a generous pull of beer. Rafe’s gaze falls to the bare column of your throat, and he temporarily loses his bearings. “Does loyalty mean absolutely nothing around here?”

Rafe grins appreciatively. “They’re bound to come back, you know.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” Rafe pauses, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “we were all cursed by the hometown witch when we were babies.”

You let out a peal of laughter. “Is that why I came back here after college?”

It isn’t lost on you that Rafe is standing far closer to you than he should. His spicy, cedar-wood cologne presses over your figure in waves. He bows his head to eye level, still grinning his mirth, “It’s why we all did. It’s also why they aren’t going to last more than a year in Chicago, I’m calling it now.”

“Who isn’t going to last more than a year in Chicago?” Comes Brooklyn’s voice from behind him, pulling the pair of you from your reverie.

He breaks away and turns to find her standing behind him, her eyebrows raised accusatorially at your closeness.

You smile guiltily at her, raising your arms in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t deny it either!” Brooklyn reproaches, faux-scandalised. She sends Rafe a playful glare, reaching for your arm and pulling you away. “I’m rescuing her from your bad influence, Cameron.”

Rafe nods sagely, taking a sip of his beer. “I think that’s wise, Astor—” he balks, shaking his head, “—sorry, Smith. Shit, Brooklyn Smith, huh? Guess I can’t do that last name thing ‘round here anymore, can I?”

“Not with us,” she replies, turning the pair of you around. She sends you the ghost of a wink before adding, “Y/N’s fair game, though. You know she’d rather die than take a guy’s last name.”

Something in Rafe’s chest deflates. “Yeah?”

You frown at him over your shoulder, mildly bewildered. “You knew that, Cameron.”

Maybe I thought I was different. “True.” He raises his beer bottle in acknowledgement. “Besides, Y/L/N suits you too much.”

Not as much as Cameron would have, once upon a time. You nod approvingly, the twinge in your heart conveying the exact opposite. “Doesn’t it just?”

Brooklyn steers you to the kitchen under the pretence of grabbing a drink, her true intentions becoming obvious when Kelce pivots into earshot on his barstool.

“So?” She prods, rounding on you once you’ve halted. “What’s the deal?”

“Deal?” You echo, feigning confusion. “What deal?”

“Don’t do that,” she replies, narrowing her eyes accusatorially. “Are you guys seeing each other again?”

You swallow. Your gaze darts to a helpless-looking Kelce. “Why? Has he said something?”

“That’s the thing,” Kelce mutters, shaking his head thoughtfully. “He hasn’t. But he’s… different.”

You frown. “Different how?”

“I don’t know… chiller. Happier. Like he was before Ward passed away.”

“Of course he is,” Brooklyn snorts, not buying it for a second. “He’s finally being absolved of all his guilt!”

“Brooklyn…” you sigh.

“What? It’s true!” She asserts, crossing her arms across her chest. “He’s… listen, Y/N, whatever you think this is, you need to snap out of it. He’s proved time and time again that he doesn’t have the emotional capability to deal with his shit, and you’ve been made collateral too many times to forgive him this quick.”

“Quick?” Your chest feels on fire. Isn’t seven months of torture enough exoneration?

“C’mon baby, you’ve gotta cut him some slack,” Kelce assuages, gentle but firm. “He fucked up, sure, but he also lost his dad, remember?”

“Grieving or not, he shouldn’t have pushed her away.”

“Granted, but we’ll never know exactly how he was feeling —”

“We shouldn’t have to, you just don’t do that to someone you love —”

“I’m still here, you know,” you interrupt quietly, frowning. “That someone that Rafe doesn’t love.”

A pause. Its silence that’s distilled in the overhead lighting, the scene beneath it awash in dim regret.

Brooklyn’s features are softer when she breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just… I worry about you.”

You know she does; it isn’t her fault. She’s the one that slept over for four weeks straight post break-up, forced food down your throat and wiped away all your tears.

“Don’t apologise, Brooke, I get it,” you say, sending her a small smile. “But I’m fine, I promise. This isn’t even… this feels different.”

“Different how?”

“Like… you know that saying: ‘You’ll never find the same person twice, not even in the same person’? That’s how this feels. We haven’t fallen back into old habits.”

Brooklyn regards this for a moment, surveying your features carefully. “But you’ve been hanging out?”

“Only once,” you reply honestly. “Sent a few texts back and forth, that’s all. If… if anything were to happen, it’d be like a new relationship, not like restarting the old one. You know?”

“I do.”

Kelce smiles. “That’s… shit, that makes sense.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice. “That’s why I couldn’t figure out what it reminds me of, this different him that’s chilled and happy.”

You furrow your brow. “Hm?”

“It’s freshman year him all over again,” he explains. “You know… when the two of you got close the first time ‘round.”

“Oh.” Your heart soars. “Square one, huh?”

Kelce shrugs, sharing a meaningful look with Brooklyn. “Square one I guess.”

You’re about to respond when Rafe’s figure pulls your gaze, his crossed arms and broad shoulders blocking the kitchen entrance. He’s wearing a handsome expression and his hair is perfectly unkempt, the heady scent of his cologne juxtaposing his lack of proximity.

Sometimes, life is unfair. Your ex-boyfriend, now new friend, eliciting such un-platonic thoughts is one of those instances.

And it isn’t as though you’ve given Rafe much of a break, his blue eyes caught on your figure like a moth to a flame. You aren’t wearing a dress he recognises, which is both a delightful and agonising revelation.

Delightful, because it reveals bare expanses of skin that make his wretched hands itch in longing. Agonising, because it’s a reminder of the seven long months that he’s had to spend grappling with your absence.

Having a smile as pretty as yours is extremely unfair, all things considered. And eyes. Soft skin. He needs to stop staring before he does something stupid.

“Perfect,” he announces brusquely, “are we hosting our intervention now?”

He looks at you expectantly. You raise your eyebrows. “You know,” he adds, “the one where we beg them to stay in the Banks?”

“Hey!” Brooklyn exclaims, her green eyes full of mirth. “What d’you mean stay in the Banks? Newsflash, I’m not even from here.”

“You’re not from Chicago either, Ast-Smithy,” he returns significantly, sending her a meaningful glance. “Besides, you married into a Figure Eight family. You are very officially one of us now.”

“Not for long!” Brooklyn sings, sending you a wink.

“C’mon, Smith,” Rafe tries, turning to Kelce and feigning disappointment. “What happened to our sacred pact?”

“We were eight, Cameron.”

“And already privy to the tragedy of small-town life,” Rafe sighs faux-dramatically, nodding in agreement. “I’m bitter, alright? I thought I’d be the first one to get out of here.”

He glances over at you fleetingly as he says this. We’d be the first ones, his heart corrects in vain.

“As if,” you scoff, raising your eyebrows. “Mr Cameron fucking Development leave this place before me? No chance.”

Rafe grins roguishly, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “You’re all talk, Y/L/N. We both know it.” He sends Kelce and Brooklyn a meaningful glance. “We all are.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going to be here all fucking night if we keep arguing about this,” Brooklyn decides, patting Kelce’s thigh to prompt him to stand. “C’mon, baby, we should probably get back to mingling.”

“You know,” she adds, narrowing her eyes playfully. “‘Cause it’s the last time we’ll see some of these people.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head bemusedly. Any retaliation on Rafe’s tongue fails at the timbre of it.

Once they’re out of sight, you turn to him, adopting a faux-somber look. “If we are truly doomed to a life in the Eight, will you promise me something?”

He’s still grappling with the fact that he’s a man starved of your beautiful laugh, now reborn. “Go on.”

“Should you find me yelling at Island Club employees about flower arrangements or charcuterie boards, shoot me.”

Rafe laughs, and it reverberates through your bones warmly. “And suffer alone? No way. I’ll meet you in the middle. Lobotomy?”

“No thoughts in my brain? So generous,” you tease. “Alright. It’s a deal.”

Rafe clinks his beer bottle against yours in confirmation, taking a generous pull of the bubbly liquid. “Can we trade promises?” He asks.

You take a sip in tandem, maintaining eye contact as you do so. There’s tension in the air, that familiar-new feeling manifest, and it’s no longer frightening, but rather a comforting embrace.

You marvel in it. Breaking free feels fruitless. “Yes.”

“If you make a plan to settle elsewhere, will you tell me?”

“Of course I will.” A pause. “Although, I think you’re right. I don’t think any of us are truly capable of leaving permanently.”

“If anyone is though, it’s you,” he says, so matter-of-factly, like he actually believes it. “I mean… you’re the only one who had the balls to go to a college out of state. The rest of us just accepted a cushy offer at UNC.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you dismiss. “I was back here so often I barely left.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Only because you had a reason to come back.” You still do, if you’ll take me.

I still do, if you’ll take me. “True.” You frown, thinking on this for a moment. “Even so… I don’t know. Maybe it’s that hometown curse talking, but I wouldn’t want to raise my kids anywhere else in the States.”

Rafe’s gaze steadies, pulsing through you in waves. “I get that. We had a pretty sweet childhood, all things considered.”

You make a face. “Like, I don’t think I can deal with this iPad kid epidemic. Least we were sheltered from all that crap, you know?”

“Yeah,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows significantly. “Even if there were plenty of other things to jade us with.”

“Shit, I know,” you respond, laughing bemusedly. “See, only people from the Eight know how political beach clean ups can get.”

Rafe chuckles in tandem, taking another sip of his beer. “God, our lives are fucking ridiculous.”

You raise your bottle in agreement. A comfortable silence falls between you.

After pause, Rafe speaks up again. “You know,” he says quietly, an unnameable emotion flickering across his blue irises. “I don’t even think it’s everyone in the Eight.”

You balk. “Hm?”

“The whole, knowing each other thing,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’ve always understood me better than anyone else.”

Your traitorous heart leaps, and you force yourself to ignore it. Actions have always spoken louder than words, and you decide now’s as good a time as any to confront him about this.

It’s time to be brave, you decide. You say, “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“Elle.”

Rafe’s miserable heart falters, penitence like a lump in his throat. He’s been preparing for this accusation since your very first reunion, but it still doesn’t feel like enough; he’s a coward trembling at the frontlines, anyway.

“I’ve… we’ve… my therapist and I have talked about that situation at length.”

You eyes widen in surprise. “Your therapist?”

“I’ve been going to therapy, yeah,” Rafe replies, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “For a month or so now, every week without fail.”

It isn’t lost on you that Brooklyn and Kelce’s wedding was a month ago. The rift in your ribcage widens.

“Has it been helping?” You ask.

“A bit,” Rafe admits. “Mostly just to validate what I knew all along, I guess.” At your silence, he continues, “That… shit, that I’ve got this problem where I push people away when I need them the most. The Elle thing, there’s no fucking excuse for it, none, but it became pretty obvious after you confronted me that she was just a rebound.”

“A rebound,” you echo.

“A distraction, an escape… I don’t know.” He rakes his fingers through his hair slovenly. “All I know is, I didn’t care about her, so I didn’t have to push her away. She didn’t make me talk about my dad, my grief, anything, so she was easy enough company to have around when I felt like it.”

“Oh.” You swallow. “But I did.”

“But you did,” Rafe affirms, grimacing sheepishly. “Shit, all you fucking did was care about me and all I did was push you away.”

You try to be pragmatic. “Grief makes people do shitty things.”

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve it.”

“True.” A pause. Your gaze falls over Rafe’s face in paces, his haggard expression making you soften. “Listen. I’m glad you’re going to therapy, seriously. I know that’s a pretty big step for you to take.”

For you. “Thank you,” he replies quietly. “It… I just wish I’d listened to you the first time, you know? When you’d told me to go to therapy before I’d ended things.”

Your throat feels funny. “No use living in the past.”

“You’re right,” Rafe replies. A pause. The ghost of a smile flickers over his features. “What did I ever do to deserve your forgiveness?”

You smile in tandem, a little rueful. “Maybe you were a martyr in your past life, Cameron.”

“And you’re one in this one,” Rafe responds. “You know, after I lobotomise you over flower arrangements and charcuterie boards. Does that count as a full circle moment?”

You grin. “Not when you live on the Eight. Infinity sign, baby.”

It slips out before you can stop yourself, the ghost of pet-names past pushing Rafe’s pulse to fibrillation. Your eyes widen abashedly. “Should we rejoin the party?”

Rafe nods, “Probably,” and then, when you’re just out of earshot, “I’d do something stupid if we didn’t.”

—

Over the next few weeks, you begin to see more and more of one another.

A few texts back and forth become more than a few virtual trysts, and every spare moment you have is dedicated to being in each other’s presence.

And it isn’t as though you’re mending old love, this feels like something else altogether. Though old memories may flit through your brain on occasion, they are boundless and free — they don’t define this connection.

You’re starting anew. Rafe realises it too.

He still remembers how it felt to tell you he loved you the first time around, fourteen years old with a bashful smile and enough hope in his heart to ache. He still remembers what you were wearing the first time he drove you around; the first time you came to UNC to visit; the shade of lipgloss you worshipped from Sephora. And you remember it all too, the feeling of being in his pick-up, of being with this roguish, freshman boy that had so much charm your insides soared.

Going through it all again feels like receiving a new lease on life. How lucky are you to love a different person in the same man?

Currently, the pair of you are sprawled out on beach towels, velvet dusk revealing the bespangled sky stretching above you. Beside you, take-out boxes and sodas lie in the sand, discarded. Every now and then, his wrist brushes yours with a jolt of static.

You’re lying closer to each other than you should, his body heat pressing over you in paces. He’s pretty sure his clothes are going to smell like your soft-toned, vanilla perfume later, and he quietly delights in this.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You smile. “Shocker.”

He nudges your shoulder with his in faux-admonishment, turning his head toward you. It lingers; he’s closer. Your pulse feels boundless. “I’ve been thinking,” he repeats. “And I’ve realised something.”

You turn your head in tandem, his proximity making you balk. “What’s that, Cameron?”

“If we hadn’t broken up in the first place, I’d probably never have gone to therapy.”

A hush falls. “True.”

“And I’d never have worked through my emotional unavailability and all the problematic shit that comes with it.” He pauses, a heavy emotion making his blue eyes somber. “We’d have stayed together, but I’d never have become the man that you deserve.”

You swallow. “Is that what you are now?” You murmur, your voice unsure. “The man I deserve?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers quietly. “Don’t think I ever will be. But… but I’m working on it, properly this time. And getting to know you again, for real, has made me realise just how worth it this is.”

It’s too much. You make to turn away but Rafe’s hand stops you, gentle but firm on your face. His thumb swipes over your warm cheek in comforting circles, and you find yourself leaning into his touch inadvertently.

Uh oh, you’re falling in love. You sigh. “It feels inevitable, huh?”

“D’you believe in soulmates, Y/N?”

Your lashes flutter shut in response. Rafe inches closer still, his hand slipping down to your jaw, and when he kisses you, old embers create a new flame within your heart. It’s chaste, unsure, a second first kiss. And yet, though it’s soft, the press of his lips is a ravaging embrace.

“Do you, Rafe?” You return, opening your eyes tentatively.

His gaze is still trained on your pretty mouth, less iris than pupil as his yearning transcends everything else. He presses his thumb on your lower lip gently. “Only if it’s you.”

“I think I am,” you murmur.

Rafe smiles. Oh no, he’s falling in love again. “I think you are too.”

—

I thought the plane was going down / How’d you turn it right around?

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