#either we stand together or we fall apart

[emeritusemeritus]

hello! absolutely love your writing and so happy to find someone who likes the weasley twins too! :D if it’s not too much trouble, i’d like to request a little drabble with fred where the reader adopts a ginger cat and fred finds it funny? thank you! <3

Hi Anon! Thank you so much, we are all definitely Weasley Twin lovers over here! It’s my pleasure, this was really fun to write 😂 hope you enjoy! 🖤

Warnings: minor sexual references, brief talk of curses, fluff and humour, a million ginger jokes, mentions of future kids.

Word count: 1.1k

Ginger Root

"Hey baby," Fred shouts out as he steps through the door to the flat above the shop on his lunch break, instantly loosening his tie and popping open the top shirt button that was slowly choking him.

He briefly waits for you to reply but hears nothing, so he goes looking for you. He's hoping that you'd made him something to eat for his dinner, though of course he didn't expect it if you. The shop had been ridiculously busy this last week and the thought of having to stand and make something to eat in his break hour seemed too far of a stretch for him. He's also hoping for a cuddle, needing to feel you back in his arms for a little while whilst he can, and even more hopefully he wonders if he can convince you to cuddle naked, horizontally on the bed.

He freezes upon walking into the living room, seeing a single ginger cat sat proudly on his sofa. It's comical almost how he freezes at seeing the seemingly harmless cat, looking around the empty flat as if there's an audience waiting for his reaction that he was being pranked.

He walks slowly over to the cat, approaching it with as much caution as he would a hippogriff, squatting down beside the content kitty that barely flicks it's eyes over to the intruder, sitting pride of place in Fred's usual spot.

"Okay," Fred says seriously to the cat, their faces only inches apart as he gives the kitty a questioning look, attempting to level with the feline. "You've either been cursed or you've never told me you were an animagus in the, what, 10 years we've been together?" He waits a moment for any feedback from the cat but hears nothing.

"Give me a little meow if you've been cursed and I'll fix it right away."

"Meow."

You laugh as Fred jumps at your sudden noise, falling back onto his haunches after losing his balance in surprise, arms scrambling to stop himself and failing miserable, which only adds to the hilarity of the situation.

"Godric woman," he grumbles, mock-clutching his heart as he gets up using the coffee table as leverage. He looks towards you and you smile widely seeing his heated cheeks, the look in his eyes devilish as he seeks revenge, especially as he eyes what you're wearing.

You're leaning on the doorframe, wrapped in a fluffy white towel fresh from the shower and enjoying every second of seeing Fred recover from your unplanned prank. His eyes are focused on your towel, the little tuck hidden within the slope of your breasts and the smirk on his face looks almost dangerous as you try and figure out his next move.

"But your lunch!" You squeal as he lunges as you, lips first attacking your neck.

"It can wait," he mumbles, finding his roaring appetite for food suddenly replaced by something else.

"So you found him, or her?"

"Him... I think," you say, pulling a fresh Tshirt on as Fred buttons up his shirt, leaving the tie off for now.

"He was shivering in a box next to the leaky cauldron... I couldn't leave him there Freddie." You hoped Fred wouldn't be mad, that he'd understand your desperate need to rescue the poor little kitty.

"I know sweetheart," he says with a small smile, eyes gentle with understanding.

You walk ahead of Fred as you both made your way back to the living room, pausing briefly to scratch the little sleepy cat on the sofa before you stepped into the kitchen to pull yours and Fred's pre-made lunch out of the fridge. He kisses you as a way of thanks as you both take a seat on the unoccupied sofa and eat the lunch you'd prepared earlier.

"Have you named him yet?" Fred says, taking a massive bite out of his sandwich, hardly able to talk with his mouth full of food. You pull a face of disgust for a moment at his lack of eating etiquette but drop it once you look upon the cute cat app curled up on the other sofa.

"Not yet, still thinking of options," you say, mentally running through the admittedly short list of monikers you'd come up with on the way home.

"Well with that hair he's definitely a Weasley," Fred beams, "very on brand."

"Think your mum will knit him a jumper for Christmas? Or a little scarf?" You joke, earning a snort of laughter from your boyfriend as his delighted face takes another large bite, thankfully not speaking through this one.

"What shall we name you little Weasley?" You say, looking upon your new friend.

"Well it can't be George, s'got two ears," Fred mumbles through a devilish smirk.

"Fred!" You say, scandalised by his words, though you can hardly contain your chuckle that follows only moments later.

"What about Minerva?" You can, casting your eyes towards Fred to watch his reaction, seeing him nearly choke on the last bite of his sandwich at your suggestion.

"Marmalade? Keeping with the ginger theme."

"Garfield?"

"Eh?" Fred frowns, missing the joke entirely.

"It's a muggle thing.. oh! Thomas O'Malley!"

Again Fred gives you a bewildered stare that makes a giggle slip out of you.

"Muggle film, the ginger cat. We could name him after him!  Abraham Delacey Giuseppi Casey Thomas o malley... Weasley."

"Or we could not," Fred says blankly.

"Ron?" You ask, trying to glance at the cat's face to see what else would spring to mind.

"No, it's too clean," Fred jokes, nodding his head towards the cat.

"Squash? Cheddar? Pumpkin?"

"Stop naming food!" Fred calls out with a laugh before he pauses, clearly thinking. "Wait I like pumpkin! Pumpkin Weasley?"

"Our first child," you joke, throwing your legs over his as you lean back on the sofa. You knew he'd have to be going back to work soon so you'd take what you could get.

"Great we can name our children after root vegetables," Fred says with a mock roll of his eyes, big hands coming up to stroke your legs as he pulls them deeper into his lap.

"Ginger's a root vegetable, they'd fit right in," you beam, looking at your boyfriend's fiery locks, secretly hoping that whatever children you'd have would share this certain characteristic.

"Oh yeah! Meet the twins, parsnip and turnip," he jests, laughing as your eyes widen in horror at his words, knowing that it would be just your luck to get your own mini version of George and Fred.

"Who said anything about twins?!"

"Maybe we'll just stick with the cat then," he smirks, joining your gaze towards your new best friend, realising that it might not be a bad thing after all to expand your family.

"We'll start with Pumpkin."

[angelbaby191]

Here in Comfort

Pt 2

Kirishima x Bakugo x Reader

Sunlight was streaming through the bedroom window, softened by the light gray curtains you’d pulled closed the night before, casting a gentle glow over the room. Katsuki let out a low groan, shifting beneath the covers as he squinted against the brightness, his hand rubbing at his eyes.

It took him a moment to register the warmth pressing against his side. Eijiro was curled up next to him, one arm slung around Katsuki’s waist, their legs tangled together beneath the blanket. For a second, Katsuki considered pushing him off—this wasn’t their usual sleeping position, after all—but the steady rise and fall of Eijiro’s breathing lulled him, making it easy to relax into the comfort of their shared warmth.

Eijiro stirred a moment later, his forehead pressing against Katsuki’s shoulder, a faint smile playing at his lips as he mumbled something unintelligible. His eyes fluttered open, and he let out a quiet laugh as he took in their position.

“Morning, Kat,” he muttered, his voice rough with sleep.

Katsuki scowled, though his heart wasn’t in it. “Don’t start with that cutesy morning crap.”

Eijiro just chuckled, though his hand gave Katsuki’s waist a little squeeze. “Whatever you say.” His gaze drifted to the bedside table, where two glasses of water sat waiting for them, already beaded with condensation. The sight made him smile, the thought of you anticipating their rough morning warming him from the inside.

Katsuki grabbed the glass, sitting up with a groan as he took a long drink. The water was cold, refreshing, and he could practically feel the relief washing over him with every sip. Eijiro reached for his own glass, mirroring him with a grateful sigh.

“You think they’re awake already?” Eijiro asked, glancing toward the door.

A faint clatter from the kitchen answered the question for him, and the two of them shared a knowing look. Even in the hazy aftermath of last night’s party, it didn’t surprise either of them that you’d be up first, taking care of things. Katsuki couldn’t help the little smirk that tugged at his lips as he ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to tame it a bit.

“Guess we should get up,” he muttered, though there was a reluctance in his tone. It was rare for them to have a lazy morning like this, waking up in a tangle of limbs and surrounded by the warmth of each other.

Eijiro grinned, stretching before throwing off the blankets. “Yeah, Angel’s probably making breakfast, too. You know they always spoil us after nights like these.”

They shuffled out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed but a little more awake, the scent of something warm and savory drawing them toward the kitchen. As they approached, the comforting aroma of your cooking filled the apartment—eggs, a hint of melted cheese, and something else that made Katsuki’s stomach rumble, despite his lingering hangover.

There you were, standing at the stove, dressed in one of Eijiro’s oversized hoodies, its sleeves rolled up to keep out of the way as you carefully stirred a pan of scrambled eggs. A plate of toast was already stacked on the counter, along with two mugs of coffee waiting beside it.

Eijiro leaned against the doorframe, a fond smile on his face as he watched you. “Morning, Angel,” he called softly.

You turned to look at them, smiling as they walked in, your eyes taking in their rumpled, sleepy forms. “Morning, sleepyheads,” you teased, turning back to the stove. “I figured you’d need a little fuel after last night.”

Katsuki’s smirk was barely hidden as he stepped closer, grabbing one of the mugs and taking a sip. “You know us too well,” he muttered, the warmth of the coffee soothing his throat.

Eijiro reached for the plate of toast, nibbling on a piece as he came up beside you. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know,” he said, though the grateful tone in his voice was unmistakable. “We’d have survived.”

You rolled your eyes, giving him a playful nudge with your elbow. “Please. I know how you two get. Besides, I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.”

Katsuki looked away, hiding the hint of a smile that tugged at his lips as he settled into a chair at the kitchen island. There was something grounding, comforting, in the way you just knew them, how you anticipated these little needs without being asked. Eijiro slid into the seat beside him, his usual brightness subdued but still warm as he bit into his toast.

“Anything we can help with?” Eijiro asked, though his tone suggested he was perfectly content just to sit there, watching you.

You shook your head, plating the scrambled eggs and passing the dishes over to them. “Just eat. That’s help enough.”

Katsuki let out a contented hum as he dug in, the warm, cheesy eggs a perfect cure for his pounding headache. Eijiro was quieter than usual, his gaze drifting between you and Katsuki, a soft look in his eyes as he took in the peacefulness of the morning.

For a few minutes, the kitchen was filled with the quiet sounds of breakfast—mugs clinking, the scrape of forks against plates, and the gentle hum of the city outside the window. It was simple, but there was something about the routine that felt deeply satisfying, like an unspoken promise of many more mornings like this.

As you sat down with your own coffee, Katsuki caught your eye, his expression surprisingly soft. “Thanks, Angel. For… you know, takin’ care of us.”

You waved off his gratitude, but the warmth in your smile gave you away. “Of course. I kind of like having you two around, after all.”

Eijiro’s hand found yours beneath the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Good. Because we’re not going anywhere.”

The three of you shared a quiet smile, the morning sunlight filling the room with a warmth that felt just as familiar as the bond between you. And as you settled into the gentle rhythm of the day, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for moments like these—unremarkable yet perfect, surrounded by the people you loved most.

[icannotgetoverbirds]

🚗🔨⚒️💥

Now that I have your attention:

hey. with all the shit going around I don't wanna see any trans infighting, okay? we have a chance to stick up for each other together right now. I saw a post talking about how the people discussing transandrophobia are (partially) behind the transfem hate campaigns with absolutely nothing to back it, most likely (and I'm just hazarding a guess here) because of the perception that people talking about transandrophobia don't care about transmisogyny.

While I, personally, don't feel qualified to speak at length on transandrophobia quite yet, I think I am qualified to say that yeah, this shit happens. Ultimately what you call it is more semantics than anything, but trans men face unique oppression for being both trans and men, on top of what we face for being afab. it's all sexism in the end regardless.

With that said? I am here for the trans women being targeted by smear campaigns, mass reporting, and whatever the hell the ceo is trying to pull. Seriously, what is up with that guy?

This blog is a safe space for transfems, transmascs, and transneutral folks; any discussions of transandrophobia are never to speak over or take higher importance than discussions of transmisogyny, or vice versa, and neither are to take priority over discussions on exorsexism, or vice versa.

Right now it's important that we trust each other to be speaking in good faith unless proven otherwise, and that we don't dehumanize anybody, even if somehow some vile accusation turns out to be true.

[variousqueerthings]

i will simply by virtue of who i am read aromanticism into things, but mash really does make it astonishingly easy for me

[cvnt4him]

Reader who got hit w a bunny quirk during a mission w izu please smuttt I love yew💋

I love you too bbg💕

This is actually like a great idea and I had the EXACT same one except izuku was the bunny. Yeah this one is way fucking better.

"don't be amused, it's just the news! This just in; we have more details about pro heros deku and y/n's fight with the new and upcoming villain; sphinx. A local has given us amateur footage of y/n getting blasted with sphinx's quirk! They have the ability to turn others and themselves into animals! Y/n has been out of the hero scene for a while, as far as we know with the information her close friend and partner deku has given us, she's going to be out of hero work for a while, they haven't found a cure or much of a loophole with sphinx's quirk. Next in a cat stuck in a tre---"

You shut the TV off with a groan of annoyance. Why hadn't this gone away yet? You've been like this for a week. A long, miserable, insufferable, week. You weren't alone, even if you wanted to be, izuku wouldn't let you. He felt guilty, he felt as if you were like this because of him. During your fight together he pushed you out of the way when a flying car had come your way, you'd known nothing about the villain upon fighting them. Izuku however, knew everything about the villain, he pulled his mask up before the fight even began.

Izuku always got in a certain head space when fighting whether it be a measly robber, or a very experienced and high tech villain. He always made sure he was ready and that morning could take him out of this state. He just wishes he had warned you beforehand of what the villain was capable of.

You look at your reflection in the black TV screen with a frown. You hated the way you looked. Two fluffy bunny ears standing tall before falling to either side of your face. Izuku walks into your room going completely unnoticed, he spoke and sat down your cup of water but his words falling into deaf ears.

"y/n...?"

His voice nothing above a whisper, sitting beside you while patting your head lightly. People always shipped you two due to the way he treated you, don't get me wrong hes nice to everyone regardless of who they are or where they come from. People just liked to do stupid shit in their free time so you never really took it to heart, mostly because izuku always avoided and shut down all questions that surfaced about you two during interviews. Saying he only saw you as a friend.

You turn to him slowly your sad eyes staring up at him. He sighs while giving you a sad look back, putting your foreheads together. He hadn't left your side at all besides when he and to work, but he made sure to come right back to your apartment to assure that you were alright. It's not like you were sick or anything because you weren't. You could walk, talk, shower, cook, and do everything just fine, but he insisted you do nothing he felt far too guilty to even allow you to lift a finger. He once apologized for you telling him you thought about cooking on your own.

He whispers an "I'm sorry" while your heads are together, you simply chuckle and try to smile. Your quirk had been disabled due to being transformed. There's always a loophole in quirks so why hasn't anyone found one for sphinx's quirk? It was weighing on you far too heavily for either of your liking. Izukus heart ached for you to get better, he hated seeing you like this, all sad and unable to do anything for yourself. You can but for some odd reason he thinks you can't do you just let him take care of you.

Izuku pulls away, putting his fingers in your hair and scratching your scalp, the soothing motion making you sigh and lay your head on his shoulder. He hums with a smile that didn't meet his eyes, he grabs the remote from you and puts on a movie, grabbing your cup of water to ensure that you are hydrated.

You both had fallen asleep on each other, his head on top of yours while you laid on his shoulder. You got up and stretched making him get more comfortable and turn his head to lay on a pillow beside him. You looked at him closely, admiring each and every freckle that littered his cheeks and slightly down his neck his chest moving up and down in a smooth rhythm. He looked so peaceful not having to worry and feel guilty for your current state. Your body moved on it's own, one of your hands moving to his chest rubbing up and down his body. He was very toned, you knew this you could practically see it through his new skin tight suit. It hugged his body deliciously.

You couldn't take your eyes off of him, his shirt was slightly raised and scrunched up ending just above his v line, the way it looked like it was sculpted by gods. He looked like a Greek god himself. His body was fucking hot.

Your tail wiggled and twitched against the bed light noise coming from the way it moved. You bit your lip lightly while looking down where his shorts hugged his waist. Your eyes kept trailing down his figure landing on where a tent in his shorts sat. He was completely flaccid yet his thick cock made a very visible print. Fuck this was really turning you on, he was completely unconscious and unaware of how you were fucking him with your eyes. Your hand moved down to his dick print and gently rubbed over it making him take a deep breath and breathe out slowly, you noticed this and continued your movements while staring at his face, a pink hue forming onto his baby-like cheeks.

You watched as he gulped and turned his head in your direction with a breathy and quick sigh, he was getting bothered by how you teased his semi erect cock. His brows slightly furrowed while you stopped your hands movements completely, his cock twitched against your hand making your eyes shoot down to his cock, seeing it fully erect and leaking slightly against his thin shorts. God this was such a sight, it was so fucking hot and lewd, you felt guilty for getting him all hot and bothered but seeing the way his cock twitched and bobbed up and down for your touch was hypnotizing.

Without thinking you hopped onto his lap you weight sitting on top of him making him shift under you, that was almost enough to snap you out of whatever trance he put you in but the way he put his hands on your thighs and rubbed them out you right back into the daze you never got out of.

Your tail wiggled against his thigh as you slowly grind into him, rubbing your clothes pussy against his clothed cock in a slow yet rough manner. a moan accidentally slipped out of your mouth when his cock rubbed against your clit in the best way.

You panted lightly as the grind of your hips started to quicken in pace, you dug your hips down into his to feel his cock press against you. A noise left his throat as he gripped your waist tightly, his grasp bruising your skin while pushing you down more into him. You didn't think about the fact that he might've woken up due to your moans and the way you moved helplessly on top of him. He rubbed his cock up into you to feel that light friction that had him dizzy.

You grabbed onto his shoulders and rode him like you were actually riding his cock. The thought alone of actually getting to ride his cock getting you to that building release. He moaned deeply before his eyes slightly opened and peered up at you, you were too busy in your own haze to acknowledge the way he looked at you, your fucked out face contorting in such a pretty way.

He couldn't believe you were using him while he was asleep, riding his clothed cock for all that it's worth. He bit his lip and flipped the both of you, a scream ripping right out of you as you look up at him with wide scared eyes. He could only look down at you with lust filled ones. His emerald orbs looking at every feature that painted your body, the way your thighs looked more plump because of your shorts. Your boobs spilling out the top of your tank top. You looked so good and the way you looked at him with those scree and glossy eyes went straight to his aching cock. He was so ready to split you in half on his thick cock, he knew you'd have a struggle but it'd be worth it just to be inside of you. He'd wait as long as he'd have to just to feel your pussy squeeze around his cock.

No words were said as he went in to kiss you, lightly pressing his dry but soft lips against yours. A moan left you as your tail wiggled underneath you, you were so horny and you could feel the way it ate you alive from the inside out, you were so close to crying from how much it burned inside of you.

"please.. please fuck me, I need it."

You whispered up to him with a raspy voice, whining as your eyes moved down to his cock, it looked like it was going to burst out of his shorts with the way it stood up proudly.

He smirked at you with lidded eyes while he kissed you neck, you closed your eyes and fell into the soft kisses being planted on your sensitive neck, he moved his kisses up to your bunny ears blowing on them lighting, the soft feeling of it all making your pussy throb and a whimper leave you lips.

He chuckled lowly to himself as he flipped you over into your stomach. He pressed his chest and his hard cock against your ass cheek as he whispered in your ear.

"using me while I sleep? naughty thing. poor bunny, must need it badly, hm?"

You nodded your head aggressively while rubbing your ass against his hard on, earning a low groan from the muscular man above you.his weight on you felt so good and it wasn't even sexual at all.

He slipped your shorts and underwear down in one swift move, he pulled his own down as he teased your dripping hole, slipping his engorged cock head in and out of your lips. Your eyes roll as you lift your ass in the air and wiggle against his cock. he's surprised by this, a chuckle leaving him while he pulls you back by your ears, a squeak leaving you while he slaps your ass.

"you're so fucking needy huh? this sopping wet cunny of yours dripping around my cock, hm?"

You nod again, not being able to speak due to your throat getting rather dry. He hums and slips his cock in halfway before taking it out quickly, this went on for about 5 minutes, the torture was so funny to him yet painful for you. You felt as if you were going to die, the heat forming inside of you burned badly. You needed release, finally being def up with his teasing, the second he tried to do it again you slammed your ass back onto him taking his cock fully, a choked moan leaving his pink lips.

He groaned loudly while lying his head on your shoulder with a smile, he was out of breath from you taking his cock fully. He chuckled against your skin while kissing it, he bit harshly on the skin of your shoulder making you scream while he thrusted vigorously into your soaked pussy, the squelching noises clouding his mind while he moaned into your ear and grabbed onto your bunny ears. The sensitive muscle being pulled painfully hard went straight to your throbbing cunt, the way he slammed his hips into you and hit that spot repeatedly was just enough to make you cum, but he knew you were going to by the way you started squeezing his cock for all he was worth, milking him and slicking his cock up with your fluid.

“A-Agh fuck don’t stop- don’t fuckin stop.”

You command him while throwing your ass back, you were feeling too good you felt as if you weren't even in control, the way your body moved lewdly against him was inhumane and unlike you. You'd never felt the need to be near someone like this, like you yearned for his very touch, for him to cum inside of you. Oh. God that sounded so good, the thought of his warm thick cum spilling and spreading inside of you made you squeeze around his cock even more.

Just when you felt as if you were going to cum you felt the need leave. He had pulled out of your cunt with a groan, his cock twitched from the cold ajr hitting the leaky tip. He looked down at your pussy squeezing around nothing, god you were so fucking needy and that made him go feral. He could practically smell the delicious scent you released. Your tail twitched fastly, catching his attention. He had asked you before questions about your body and if anything felt different, he hadn't asked about your tails however, he was curious if it was sensitive. Out of pure curiosity he pushed his thick cock back inside of you, and yanked at your tails, his tight grip on your ears never leaving.

He used them to bring you back more into him. You let out a high pitched moan as your arms gave out, your body felt like it was on fire, throwing your ass back against him while your thighs burned from the work.

“fu— m'cum— cumming!!“

You couldn't control it, it just ripped out of you. The feeling was far too strong to hold back or even pretend not to acknowledge you groaned while sobbing, tears falling from your face due to the extra stimulation. He cooed in your ear, coaxing you through your orgasm while never letting you in the way he fiddled with your tail, his other hand leaving your floppy ears to go to your clit, rubbing it slowly while speeding up his hips.

"nngh~ izu— Izu-"

You couldn't speak from the immense pleasure, it began to hurt due to overstimulation. You sobbed and hiccupped against the pillows as he drilled his cock into you, he groaned and grunted behind you moans leaving his lips as well.

"shit...- fuck— god dammit, u/n I'm gonna cu- cum again.. shit take it, fucking take it all.."

Again?! He'd already came?? Maybe that's why you thought about his warm cum spreading and claiming every spot inside of you. Because he already did.

You couldn't move or even speak, the way he bucked his hips into yours, stuttering and rhythm becoming uneven. He threw his head back with a moan as he came again, tears welling at the corner of his eyes. He felt so good, your fluttering walks squeezing and convulsing around his soft turning cock.

He collapsed beside you without a word. His eyes closed as he tried to steady his breaths, he hasn't felt this good in so long, it's been a while since he'd last been with anyone. He took pride in his job, he'd wanted to be a hero since he was a kid, however it did take him away from a lot of things, including interacting with people and making new friends.

He needed this and he's glad you gave It to him. He turned to check on you to see you had already passed out, he rubbed your back lightly making you shiver underneath his touch. He got up to assure you were alright, making sure you water was refilled and that you could be clean, he grabbed a warm damp towel to clean you but before he did he got a good look at the two loads that were fucked into you, slowly oozing from your still convulsing lips. Fuck this was a sight to see, he was afraid he'd never get to see it again. He hates what he did but, he had to save this moment forever! A picture to remember this morning by! After all, you won't be a bunny forever.

AN: this was very fun to write actually, I've recently been in a chokehold w top!izuku there's something ab him being mean or js taking care of me that gets to me.

Dividers by @anitalenia

[kosagum]

how to fix a toilet — gojo satoru · fluff · 1k words

summary: while moving in with gojo, you fall in love with him again, again, again.

you’re watching GOJO fix a toilet and you think you’ve never been so in love in your life.

of course, you have loved him. but you haven’t gotten to love him like this, standing over the open tank of a toilet with a hand running through his white hair and a pout on his lips as he, with no knowledge about plumbing or waterworks or even toilet repair, tries to fix one.

you should be unpacking in another room, but instead, you lean against the doorway to the bathroom and just…watch him. that is, until he speaks up.

“baby, can’t we call a plumber?” gojo whines, peering into the toilet tank with one hand sifting through the toolbox at his feet. you stifle a giggle behind his back when he picks up a wrench, eyeing it with a frown.

“nope.” you certainly could, but you want to keep him like this longer. “you said you’d fix the toilet if it broke, and it broke. that’s the only reason i agreed to move in with you.”

“the only reason?” gojo looks over his shoulder at you and gapes. “not because i’m your boyfriend?”

that makes you smile, but that’s not it, either.

you’d been all but living together before this; you’d find his socks in your dryer and your favorite snacks in his pantry, he had a spare toothbrush in the cup by your sink and you had one in his, and you both wore the clothes—his jackets, your coats and sweaters—hanging side by side in your closet.

gojo begged you to move in with him every day. and finally, when you realized you didn’t want to live in a home without his socks, his toothbrush, or his jackets, without him, you said yes.

really, there’s no one else you’d rather move in with.

you pretend to think, listing with your fingers as gojo’s gape gives in to a grin. “you’re also annoying, stubborn…”

“still your boyfriend,” he says, pointing the wrench at you with pride. annoying. despite yourself, your smile widens and doesn’t fade when he turns back to the toilet.

malfunction aside, the toilet is shiny and new, as is the bathroom and the rest of this house. the empty rooms are full of sunlight and wet paint and half-unpacked cardboard boxes holding your and gojo’s things. any surface not covered by a box is by housewarming gifts: cookbooks from geto, puzzle sets from ieiri, and a too-big bouquet from all of gojo’s students that you both ended up having to split between vases, leftover bottles, and whatever else could be used as a container.

but the bathroom is not so empty. a shower curtain from gojo’s old condo hangs over the bathtub, towels from your old apartment pile in a corner, and a cup for your toothbrush and his is on the counter by the sink. not a spare toothbrush—his toothbrush, right beside yours.

your eyes fall back on him, still here in the bathroom with you, trying to fix the toilet. and you think this must be love, too. sharing a space, the toilet and the toothbrush holder and everything else in it, and falling just a little more from that alone.

feeling your eyes on him, gojo glances back at you and, to your dismay, catches you staring. “sure you don’t have any other reasons?” he grins again, and you roll your eyes as he tilts his head at you with a laugh.

oh, you have plenty.

you won’t tell gojo all of them now while he’s in the middle of fixing the toilet. but from the eager look on his face, you think he already knows.

“well,” you start, toeing at the tiles beneath you. they alternate between cream and baby blue, your color of choice for the bathroom tiling and his. “i do love you. like this.”

gojo’s grin widens.

he definitely knows.

he sets the wrench down on the bathroom counter and sidles toward you, an eyebrow raised in equal parts amusement and affection. “you love me fixing our toilet?”

you snort as he gets closer, face now only inches away from yours. “i loved you fixing our toilet. which you still haven’t finished fixing, by the way.”

“tell me more about you loving me first.”

you finally laugh, and he tries—and fails—to bite back a grin at it. “seriously,” he says, nudging your foot with his. “tell me.”

you look up at gojo, and in every single one of the thoughts that come to mind is him.

his shoes are kicked off by yours in the foyer. your reading glasses and his sunglasses lie side by side on the counter. two sets of keys are thrown into the tray, matching mugs are stored in the kitchen cupboards, and your clothes are folded next to his in drawers and closets in the bedroom. on walls and tables all over the house sit pictures of you both in frames.

and here in the bathroom is gojo himself, trying to fix the toilet and making you laugh while doing it.

“i love you here,” you finally say, gesturing with an arm at it all.

and gojo grins even wider at you, wide enough for his cheeks to dip into his dimples, and then you’re sure of it: you’ve never been so in love in your life.

he scoops you up, and you laugh again and throw your arms around him as he laughs with you, spinning you around once, twice, before setting you down on the seat of the toilet. your shared toilet.

“i love you here, too,” he says, grinning as he kisses your nose. “and here—” your forehead, “and here—” your cheek, “and here—”

and as you laugh and try to push him away, only for him to cup your face with his hands and kiss you on the mouth, you fall again, again, again.

[lustlovehart]

Hard Stoned Gallery Dance

A/n: This was made like monthhsss ago, so I’m posting it as forgiveness for the lack of work i’ve been doing.

Pairing: [ Monster!Twst ] Malleus Draconia x Reader

Summary: Dancing is a beautiful past time, yet such a pretty act is ruined, when Malleus decides to let his affections for you run rampant. (Wc: 1.9k)

Warnings: Kissing & Licking, Murder/Death of Minor Characters (Not explicit), Possessive traits, Clinginess bordering obsession, a little blood, Biting/Marking

Your head leans itself on the rough surface of the stone wall. You’ve finished your objective for the day, so giving yourself this break is well deserved, ten minutes free of Crowley’s nagging is still freedom despite how it sounds. Your eyes can’t help but look up at the pretty blue sky, it stings to look at but you don’t mind the pain, seeing something so clear is worth it.

That cloud looks like a cat.

…

The taste of indulgence is quickly stripped out your grasp when the familiar sound of dragging stone resonates through the air, grating to your ears.

“Child of hunters, what may you be doing here?” His rock-hard face interrupts your view of the sky, green solid eyes look down on you as he casts a shadow on your visage.

Despite his body being made of pure stone, his eyes give a faint green glow, as if a bioluminescent moss grew there. His hair, his wings, and even his tail freely flowed as if he were just a regular Dragon hybrid. But alas, he is some sort of statue— Oh no not a statue, in his words a gargoyle.

You forgot about the difference one time and in turn, he gave you a 3-hour lecture on the difference between a grotesque and other gargoyles. Never again…

“I’m trying to hide from my boss.”

“Shall I be rid of him for you?” His mouth forms a little o as a small puff of a green flame releases from him.

“That would be a bad idea, I’d lose my source of income.” He quirks an eyebrow up at this., to be fair, you don’t think he has any clue what a “payday” is.

Despite his confusion, he lifts from his bowing form, a hand reaching out towards you in all its mossy glory. You’ve known him long enough to know what he wants.

A dance.

You don’t try to hide your exasperation as you take his invitation, albeit a bit slow. His stone body quickly pulls you up and into him. With how much tamer his form is compared to other beasts you know, it’s hard to remember that he’s part dragon, and even worse is part of the only few monsters who know magic.

So as of right now, this marks your third time dancing with one of the worst monstrosities currently on the bounty list. No maybe not one of the worst… From what you remember from Crowley’s ramblings (which isn’t much since you tune him out when possible) he’s probably the most dangerous.

You get the basic idea, but you’ve never truly seen for yourself why he’s considered so terrible. Is he not just a glorified water spout? Compared to a Kraken and an Incubus, surely his damage isn’t so grand to be warranted as the biggest beast to hunt.

“You’ll always be welcomed in my castle, you would not be short of accommodations either.” his hand rests upon your waist, pulling you closer than need be. His invasion of personal space is akin to a parasite leeching off its host, but you let him feed of you. Whether it’s from fear or a bond, you’re not decided.

Your movements are sluggish at best, but you can still remember the basic steps in the dance, your foot sloppily setting itself down where it should be, the occasional step on stone happening once or twice though.

“Considering the current state it’s in… is that even safe for me to walk in…? It looks like one good shout and the bricks holding the place together will crumble apart…”

“That is just the disguise we give it, as to not alert others of our presence. For you though, I’m willing to make it stand out if it makes you happy.” The hand lying on your waist retracts itself as he takes his other clawed limb and twirls you around, falling back into position when the spin is done.

“… I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll wait as long as it takes.” You know he’s not lying about that. You can distantly recall when a certain mystery monster had told you the tale of a longing dragon who perched himself at the opening of his window to wait for a certain hunter's return.

“Yes, he was so determined to be the first one to greet you, why he even stayed sat at the window for 5 months. It was quite endearing hehe.”

“Doesn’t it take hundreds of years for you to erode? Maybe it’ll take me 50 years to decide, by then I’ll be old and grey and you’ll be perfectly fine.” You take a step forward before the gargoyle's grip on your body tightens significantly, shrieking when he suddenly dips you down unprepared.

His freed hand takes your other arm and lifts it up to rest on his shoulder. Green sparkles are faintly flying around his lips as he slowly leans into the soft skin on your arm. His face leans in and presses chaste kisses on your limb, the gentle texture of his mouth catching you off guard as it tickles your body. Now you get it, he must’ve cast a spell to temporarily soften his lips.

He had attempted to kiss you once without taking this precaution, in turn, you gave him a face filled with discomfort at the stone texture that kept peppering you.

You can still remember the hurt face he had on when he saw your dislike towards his affections.

On his ninth kiss, his forked tongue peeks out from his mouth, licking a stripe up your skin. He finally lifts you up after the assault on your arm, his face only a few inches away from your own. It would’ve been quite the romantic atmosphere, had your nose not catch a sharp smell, and a horrible wretched one at that.

“You could be on your last breath and I’d still wait for an answer. But I hope that won’t happen.”

“Who knows, I work a dangerous job.” what is it?

The both of you twirl in unison despite the lack of music, your bodies in tandem as they move to just the sound of your surroundings. Though, your body is a little more sluggish than his own.

That stench… Is too familiar.

Eventually, your last steps fade out as you stop in your tracks.

“Is something wrong dear hunter?” Your grip on his shoulder fastens, if he was human you’re sure you would’ve broken his shoulder.

“What did you do?”

A smile is lit on his lips, his head tilting to the side, giving you such an innocent look, like he did nothing wrong.

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“The smell… Iron… This whole time I thought it was just the smell of the forest. But…” You swiftly pull a dagger out from your side, throwing it past his shoulder, the tip of the steel piercing into what sounded like wood.

He doesn’t turn back, only continuing to smile at you, as if you’re the only existing thing here, or more accurately, the only thing he cares about.

The bark of the trunk splits in half, falling to the ground, revealing the source of the stench. The top of the tree isn’t green, it’s red and brown.

4 pairs of hands stick from the leaves.

“You… What did you do Malleus–?!“ he’s quick to twirl you again, his grip on you tighter than it’s ever been. Despite your protests, he continues dancing as if you hadn’t seen anything.

You’re suddenly stricken with the memory of your first meeting with the beast, blood coating his mouth when he looked at you, pure admiration when he had finally met the muse everyone spoke so dearly of.

“Malleus, you—!“

“Tell me, dear human, was it not you who spared me?” He dips you down. “Was it not you who saw a beaten beast and allowed him to live?” He lifts you up. “Even as you walked away with a piece of stone you let go of one who’s rendered thousands over the years,” he pulls you in. “Dead” every action with your body is harsh, but not enough to hurt you, never enough to hurt you.

Because why would he ever wish to harm you?

He’d much rather smother you in affection, even when you’re exerting all your energy to kill him as he hugs you.

“It’s because you…”

“Looked so human?” He continues to keep you close, impossibly so, your skin melting into his, not from fawness, but fear.

“How did you know-“

“You’ve spared so many of us because we made you feel something in the moment,” he must be referring to everyone else… The look you gave him is dazed, caught up in the thought of every other monster you let get away. His fingers cage your chin in between them. “But don’t forget what we are.” Sparkles fly, temporarily blinding you.

When you open your vision, you’re greeted by the sight of Malleus, with the appearance of what he looked like if he was human, or at least similar to a human.

His skin isn’t rough and solid, his breaths are warm, and his hair is soft and pretty rather than a soft moss.

His eyes are a nice green, a pretty green. A color you would’ve enjoyed more had he been a human. Such a lively color shouldn’t be backdropped by crimson, yet, it is.

Behind him, several other trees collapse on themself, revealing the other tops, the same as the tree you had just seen. Views of stray limbs and vaguely familiar faces of hunters invade your mind, panic setting as you finally realize a question you should’ve asked long ago…

Why was Malleus so far from his castle?

Before you can react, your ears hear a faint whisper, eyes going heavy as little pings of thorns claw at your shoes. The last thing you see and feel, is his face leaning towards you, his finger loosening itself from your chin.

In a blink of an eye, he’s no longer the human you spared, but the monster you let escape back into the wild.

The fiendish of smiles is graced on his lips. Not because of evil, but because his smile, is so love stricken.

All because of you.

“Seems the little birdy fled the nest without permission.” Your eyes slowly flutter open, the familiar figure of a man bowing on top of you. “Now, I’ll forgive you as we weren’t expecting such a beast to appear-“

He’s immediately cut off in his sentence when a searing pain cuts through his chin.

“Augh—! How could you kick me after I spent precious time searching for you!“

“You’re the reason I’m here in the first place…!“

“I didn’t do anything!“ Despite your annoyance towards Crowley and all he stands for in your life, you can’t deny if someone had seen this scene play out in front of them, they would assume you two to be a father and his bickering child.

You attempt to stand to your full height, faltering at the pings of pain in your ankle. You suck in a breath, looking down as you nurse hurt skin.

There are briar thorns wrapped around your leg, a single rose adorning the stems, and a gentle green hue that contrasts the pure black of the floral life.

“Oh my, what were you doing last night?”

“… Night?”

“You’ve been gone for 36 hours my birdie.”

You don’t feel any different… Save for the prickle of thorns and fresh bite on your arm.

… Fresh bite?

Despite the indent, it doesn’t hurt, it’s like, he left it there as a reminder of your failures, at least to you. It could very well be his way of staking his claim on your heart.

“It’s a shame you didn’t get him when you could’ve, with your connections, you could’ve spared us a huge loss today…” you’re cruelly reminded of the people that lay to waste hidden in the trees. “We should let today serve as a reminder of what you must do.”

Crowley doesn’t look happy at the sight of so many employees who failed their jobs, yet he doesn’t look grieved either.

You… Truly, you wish you weren’t so softhearted during your missions. Maybe then, this could’ve all been avoided.

A/n: Like I said, this piece was from so long a goo, so i’m so sorry if the plot isn’t to anyone liking, but if it is, i’m happy you enjoyed it!!

[pathologicalreid]

the space between us | S.R.

previously

The adjustment between never being home and always being home seems to take a toll on you.

who? spencer reid x fem!retired!reader category: flangst content warnings: the events of stuck between a rock and a hard place apply, briefly mentions a baby, reader trying to cope with a 180-turn in life, anxiety word count: 2.16k a/n: i meant for this to be fluff and it's definitely a tad angsty. good thing i'm obsessed with spencer and retired!reader. they'll be back.

Slowly but surely, you convinced yourself that the dark green walls of the apartment were closing in on you. Sitting up in bed, you looked at the time on your phone before quickly scrolling through the notifications, half expecting a text from Andi Swann asking you to come in.

She wouldn’t do that though, because she’s not your Unit Chief anymore, and you no longer work for the FBI.

The only text message you saw that piqued your interest was from your husband, letting you know that he was flying home.

Tossing your blanket off of your legs, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Hissing at the feeling of the cold hardwood floors beneath your bare feet, you wrapped your arms around yourself and made way for the kitchen. Creeping slowly on your way, you made sure to keep your footsteps light.

Gingerly, you flipped the light on, wincing as the fluorescence flooded your vision. As your eyes adjusted, you reached up to the cabinet, grabbed a cup, and set it on the counter.

“You’re sneaking around again,” a voice said from behind you.

Jumping, you put a hand over your chest and spun around, “You scared the shit out of me.” You frowned at Spencer, “I thought you were flying home. I just got your text.”

He nodded, walking into the warm light of the kitchen, “I texted you four hours ago that I was flying home from Connecticut.” His hair was messy, and he had already taken his contacts out, telling you that he had been in the bathroom – he had passed by you while you were sleeping.

Your lips tightened to form a small “o”. Leaning back against the counter, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “How was Hartford?”

Intently, you watched Spencer as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. “It was fine, the UnSub’s in custody, we’ll build the rest of the case from Quantico.” His tone was strictly no-nonsense when he repeated himself, “You’re sneaking around again.”

Letting your arms fall to your sides, you shrugged helplessly. “I don’t do it consciously, you know?” You told him, reaching behind your back to hoist yourself up so you’re sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling in the air.

“I know,” he said gently, stepping forward so that he was standing directly in front of you. You parted your knees so that he could stand flush with the counter, allowing for minimal space between the two of you. “The fact that you’re doing it subconsciously makes me wonder if there’s a part of you that feels like you need to be quiet in the apartment,” he murmured, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You pursed your lips for a moment, thinking about an answer before you responded, “It’s late, I don’t want to bother anyone by walking too loudly.”

Based on the look in his eyes, you can tell that he doesn’t believe you, “It’s an old building, the floors are thick and well insulated. Also, the apartment below us is vacant, and you know that.” His words are borderline accusatory, and rightfully so. “Do you feel safe here?”

Surprised, your eyes flittered up to meet his, “Yes,” you answered almost instantaneously.

“Do you not feel at home here?” He asked, further pressing his agenda.

When you and Spencer decided to move in together, you were living in a studio apartment, so his place just felt like the obvious choice. At the time, you weren’t home long enough to make it home, and now it seemed like you were past the point of no return. “Can we go to bed?” You asked softly.

Spencer tenderly placed his hands on either side of your waist, “You’re deflecting. What’s so wrong that you don’t feel like you can talk to me, baby?” You should’ve known better than to answer a question with a question.

Averting your eyes, you looked up at the ceiling in hopes that the action would quell the tears that were filling your waterline. “I just feel so out of place,” you answered, emotion closing your throat.

“In the apartment?” He whispered softly.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you shook your head. Giving up on your dreams of stopping your tears, you bowed your head and let them fall. “In my life,” you clarified. “I thought it would be easy to just go from being an undercover agent to being at home. Maybe that was a lost cause, but I didn’t think it’d be so hard.”

Never wavering, Spencer stayed resilient with you as the dam broke, letting you lean your head on his shoulder and rubbing soothing circles on your back as you cried. “You’re going through one hell of an adjustment period right now.”

Nodding tearfully, you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, “I feel like I haven’t been a real person in almost ten years. I don’t know who I am without that fucking job and it’s mauling me.” Briefly, Spencer stepped away from you, filling the cup that you had gotten out with water and handing it to you. “God, I’m a disaster. I’m so sorry,” you muttered, looking down at the glass of water you’d clasped in both hands.

“You are not a disaster,” he insisted. “You’re going through an unfathomable experience and you’re not giving yourself enough leeway,” he stressed, hooking a finger beneath your chin, and lifting your head.

Everything about him seemed soft, and you felt like pieces of broken glass – flying around and damaging everything in sight. You lifted the glass in your shaky hands, bringing the lip of the cup to your own and downing half of its contents.

Spencer studied your facial expression before he spoke again, “I know exactly who you are. You are the single most selfless person I have ever met,” he told you earnestly. “You spent nine years of your life rescuing tens of thousands of people, giving up holidays and birthdays and time with loved ones for the benefit of total strangers.”

Sniffling, you shook your head, “Spence,”

“No, this is true, and I need you to listen to me,” he urged. “One time, you had gotten back from five weeks undercover and, before catching up on sleep, you went to Henry’s birthday party. Solely because you had missed it the year before.” Hesitating for a moment, he resumed singing your praises, “You’re brilliant and funny and beautiful, but I need you to stop being so magnanimous.”

You pulled back, furrowing your brows in innate confusion, “What?”

He nodded, affirming his point. “I need you to be selfish. Operate with your self-interest in mind. Use that to discover yourself. If you keep throwing pieces of yourself away in order to make the people around you happy, then you’ll never really identify your adult self.”

“I don’t know where to start,” you confessed. You were always working; the FBI was your life. “Everyone is telling me to do different things,” you murmured. Spencer wanted you to be selfish, your mother wanted you to have a baby, and every single one of your friends had offered their stress relief methods – most of them unsolicited.

The understanding in his expression made your chest ache, “I think you should talk to someone. Not me, not Garcia, definitely not your mom, but a professional. You should talk your experiences out with someone who can help you work through it, not just like you do with me. I know you hold back details when it’s with me.”

Uncertain, you tried to wrap your arms around yourself again, but Spencer didn’t let you close yourself off. “Okay,” you ventured, “I’ll look into it.”

Putting his hands up, he smiled softly at you, “That’s all I ask.” He stepped back, allowing you to get off of the counter and stand. Spencer gently ushered you into the living room, sitting down next to you on the couch.

Instinctively, you leaned into his warmth as he draped an arm over your shoulders. “I need a hobby. Something to do other than sit at home all day,” you thought aloud.

“We can look for ideas in the morning,” Spencer offered. “Maybe we can go to the store this weekend for supplies.”

Turning your head to face him, you pressed your lips into a thin white line, “Hey, Spence?”

He hummed, “Yes, love?”

“We could get a house,” you proposed. “It could be a good new start for the both of us, and we have the money,” the more you spoke about it, the more you liked the idea. A new start for the new you. Technically, the two of you were still newlyweds, it felt like something you were supposed to do. “We wouldn’t have to keep your books on the floor anymore,” you murmured, absentmindedly drawing shapes on his t-shirt with your index finger.

Your eyes flickered up to see him smiling. “We absolutely can get a house, and you won’t have to tip-toe,” he said pointedly, “it’ll be our space.”

Mirroring his smile, you adjusted slightly on the couch, “Our house.”

As you tucked your feet underneath yourself, you felt his eyes on you, “Are you sleeping alright?”

Groaning, you wiped a hand down your face, “You worry too much. We were doing so well.”

“Did you know that your coping mechanism is avoidance?” He remarked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, “I sleep fine,” you answered simply. It was true, once you were asleep, you slept perfectly fine until the morning. It was falling asleep that you had a hard time with, lying awake and wondering if when you finally fell asleep you would be greeted by nightmares. Nightmares that you had been waiting weeks for but had yet to come. “Let’s uh… let’s call it a problem for the professional,” you faltered.

He nodded understandingly, “You just let me know if there’s anything you need, okay? Anything at all.”

Allowing your body to meld into his, you hummed, “How are you doing with all of this?”

“I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, just to make sure you’re still breathing,” he confessed. Adjusting his glasses, he pulled you a little closer to him. “I’ve seen you more in the past six weeks than I had the previous year, and, selfishly, I’m glad that we get more time together.”

With one hand, you reached up and cupped his cheek with your palm, “I am too, love. It’s new, even though we’ve been together for years, I think we’re lucky to have something that feels new.”

He turned his head to press a kiss to the center of your palm before taking your hand in his, “I think I’m lucky to have you.”

“Sweet talker,” you teased lightly.

You nudged him gently when he went quiet. “I love having you be at home when I get home,” he whispered as if it was a secret. “I suppose I never really thought much of it because it always seemed like an unattainable fantasy.”

But now you were home when he came home. He took time off to spend with you right after you had gotten out of the hospital, but for the past six weeks, every time he walked in the door, you were around. It was almost like the two of you had entered your honeymoon phase. Although, you supposed you had, “Did anyone ask you about the party?”

Spencer chuckled, “Of course they did.”

Part of you supposed it was your penance for getting married in secret – mostly secret, everyone always seemed to forget that Rossi was there – that the BAU was insistent on giving the two of you a wedding. “I never knew profilers had such great memories,” you pondered. “No one else asks me about it.”

“They just want to make sure you’re alright before turning it into a celebration,” he explained. “For the BAU, taking a step back is a big deal,” he leaned his head to the side so that his chin was resting on the top of your head, “you know that, though.”

Nodding softly, you shut your eyes, “I don’t suppose they’d be willing to do a combo housewarming and wedding celebration.”

“Not a chance,” Spencer answered almost a bit too quickly.

You sighed in mock defeat, “We’ll just have to have a party a weekend until Garcia runs out of ideas.”

Slowly, you felt yourself falling asleep again, “Do you want to go to bed?” Spencer murmured.

There was just a moment before you hummed, “In a minute.” You pulled on the sleeves of your sweatshirt so they would cover your hands, “Hey, Spence?”

“Hm?” He said, drowsiness growing in his voice.

You tipped your head back and looked up at him, “I love being home when you get home, too.”

please remember to like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

[ceilidho]

prompt: Ghost only takes you half-seriously when you say you want to see other people. He has just the man in mind. tags: dubcon; threesome; anal (2.5k)

-

He doesn’t so much as twitch when you stumble over your words in an effort to get it out.

“I don’t think this is working,” you say, hands clenched into trembling fists at your sides. “I think we should start seeing other people.”

The only bit of it that Ghost really pays attention to is the fact that you decided to make this little announcement while he’s in the middle of taking apart and cleaning his gun at the kitchen table. His little spitfire girl. Not a lick of fear in you, just a fistful of attitude and snark. The attitude’s ensconced now in your trepidation, a bit smothered under it, nervousness a clear trill in your voice, making it warble, but it shows itself in the downward slant of your brows. Delightful girl.

“That right?” he grunts, jamming the lubricated cotton mop into the bore of the gun. You flinch at the sudden movement, nervous eyes trained on his hands. Ghost makes a note to apologize with his mouth later on.

“Yes,” you croak, then cough to clear your throat. “I’ve, um…I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I think it’ll be better for—for both of us. It’s just…it’s not working out.”

The cigarette dangling from between his lips stinks up the room. Poor girl, he thinks pityingly when you scrunch up your nose and eye it resentfully. Always trying to get him to quit. It’s just shit luck for you that he’s never been good at quitting things, at letting anything go. Everything he’s ever lived through clings to his skin like smoke. 

He ashes it out in the little turquoise ceramic pot on the table, a trinket he’d once picked up in Tala'a Kebira years ago while in Morocco on some other business. You look marginally less irked with the cig put out, but that just means that more of his attention can focus squarely on you, which leaves you a bit wide-eyed under his stare.

“For a while, hm?” Ghost asks. It comes out teasingly, if only to him. The lilt in his voice is a tricky one to catch.

You nod; the note must have slipped through your hands like smoke. “There’s a girl I found online that’s studying abroad right now. Offered to sublet me her room while I look for a place. I thought maybe, um…maybe tomorrow I’d go.”

“Don’t worry about all of that,” he says, already dismissing the conversation from his mind. “Won’t be back for another week anyway—no reason for you to run off if I’m not even around.”

“Oh.” You shift from side to side, thinking it over. “I guess. How long will you be gone?”

“A week. Two weeks tops.” Plenty of time for him to sort out this mess. Figure out what exactly caused you to get all jumpy and eager to try out other people. 

He smiles internally. Little bird probably just can’t stand how often he’s away, poor thing. It’d be enough to make any girl upset—the constant leaves of absence, gone months without being able to send word, showing up bruised and bloody on the doorstep only to have you fall to pieces trying to put him back together. 

There are options though. He’s not opposed to adding someone new either—in fact, he has just the man in mind. 

Ghost has been holding Johnny back because he always thought you preferred to just be with one man (and Christ, the whining he’d had to deal with from Johnny, always begging to see you or begging Ghost for even just your panties, anything at all because he was so desperate and Ghost wouldn’t let him have you), but now?

Now there’s no reason to hold Johnny by the collar when he comes over for dinner. Now there’s no reason to kick Johnny from under the table when he leans just a bit too close to you when you’re sitting down to eat, eyes locked on the glimpse of your chest peeking out of your shirt and damn near drooling on it. Now there’s no reason to listen to Johnny jack himself off to the point of tears while trying to get some shut eye on a mission, the only crumpled up photo that Ghost had ever allowed him to take cupped close to his face.

He really pitied the poor mutt before, no pretty girl at home, his only crush being his superior’s girl. But Ghost is magnanimous—he’s a generous man. If you want to see other people, he has the perfect puppy for you to play with.

When you smile, still a bit unsure, he has to smother a grin. “Okay. I’ll stay ‘till then and look.”

The look Johnny gives him when he brings it up is equal parts disbelief and fevered need. “Say that again, Lt?”

“You’re coming over after we wrap this shit up. Bird’s been asking about a third.”

He chokes, scrambling to his feet. The temporary base is damp, always on the frigid side of things so Johnny’s still in uniform for the most part, the fabric rustling in his haste to get up off his bed. It’s not a place either of them are eager to spend more time in than absolutely necessary. The lack of space means that the two of them are made to bunk together as always, sharing a room with two cots and a small en suite, the tub still wet from Ghost’s shower.

“Christ, yer serious? No joke, sir?”

Johnny pushes his head back into Ghost’s hand when Ghost reels him by the hair, dropping a firm close-mouthed kiss onto the centre of his forehead through the fabric of the mask. “She was clear about it. Why? Gettin’ cold feet on me now?”

“No, sir,” Johnny protests, shaking his head as much as he can in Ghost’s grip, eyes shimmering a bit. “I can bring over a bottle o’ wine if ye like. Somethin’ fancy to set the mood.”

Their closeness is not unusual; Johnny’s always been a tactile man, favouring touch over words. One of their small similarities; their shared modes of existing in the world. There’s a line in the sand where you’re concerned that Ghost has been clear on, but he’s used to always having a hand somewhere on Soap, keeping him close. Now, he gets to keep him even closer. 

His bird really has the best ideas. 

Ghost snorts, knocks their heads together. “Just bring yourself, pup.”

He ignores the way Johnny’s breath hitches, the way he hurries into the bathroom and slams the door behind him the second Ghost lets go. The frantic eager sounds from behind the door when the water runs, only muffling the loudest of his groans. He probably had his dick choked in his fist the second the door shut, a thick nut swirling down the drain within the first five minutes. 

They ship out the next morning, exhausted from the week’s work. No amount of sleep out in the field is ever good enough, especially not in cots barely built to accommodate men of their size. Especially not Ghost. Johnny dozes off on his shoulder in the plane, sinking into a deep sleep to compensate for the hours spent tossing and turning the night before. Ghost uses the flight to get a headstart on his paperwork, enough so that he’s not held up on base when they land back home. 

He doesn’t give you a heads up that he’s home earlier than planned; no need to give you enough time to pack a bag and schlep it over to that place you’d found. It’s better for everyone if you’re caught a bit off guard, just a little frazzled. Ghost’s not entirely unsympathetic—he knows you’ll overthink things if he gives you any time to yourself. 

It’s endearing the way you gape up at him, eyes flitting between him and Johnny, when he finally makes it home. For the few times that Johnny’s been over, it’s not an everyday thing; his visits are always planned and strictly timed, Ghost monitoring him to make sure he doesn’t overstep his bounds. Seeing him with Ghost in your foyer must be strange, must put you on edge. 

“Simon, you didn’t tell me you were—” you start and then pause, swallowing. You look over his shoulder at Johnny, smile stiff, uncomfortable. “Hi Johnny.” 

You’re always a good girl, not wanting to argue in front of company. 

“Heel,” Ghost says, steel in his voice when Johnny almost lurches from his side. The other man glances over at him with wild eyes, almost on the brink of disobeying, but he holds in the end and stays put. Ghost’s eyes soften when he looks back at you. “Have a nice week, pet?”

“Yes—sorry, I’m glad you’re home safe,” you say, flustered, taking his back from him to drop in the usual place in the hall. “I, um—” again, you eye Johnny nervously, unsure of how much you can say in front of him, “—I found a place…for…you know.” 

“‘Course,” Ghost agrees, shucking his boots at the door and giving Johnny a shake by his coat until he does the same. “Missed you too, pet. C’mere.” 

He muffles your protests with his mouth when he stalks forward and pulls you in for a wet kiss, rolling the mask up and off at the same time. You’re a bit stiff in his arms until he slips you some tongue and the resistance leaks out of you, helpless the second he gets his hands on you. Your eyes are still a bit misty when he pulls away, fingers clutched in the collar of his shirt like a reflex. Second nature to cling to him. His chest puffs up at the gesture.

“Thought about what you said the other week, bird, and you’re right.”

You blink, coherence coming back to you, shaking your head to divest yourself of the momentary confusion. “I am?”

“‘Course. Smartest girl in the world, isn’t she, Johnny?” Ghost asks over his shoulder, slipping a hand into your hair at the same time to hold you in place. It makes you frown, his actions not mirroring his words. 

“Aye, sir,” Johnny hums, nodding eagerly. Boots off, he stumbles forward, crowding around you from the other side, not realizing that they’ve backed you into a wall until it presses against you, trapping you in place. “Bonnie ‘n sharp as a whip. Always thought so, sir.” 

“That’s right,” he agrees, tightening his fingers in your hair until you squeal, brows furrowing in that way they do when you’re right on the precipice of pain and relief. “Only a smart, brave girl would ask for what she needs. You’re just lonely when I’m away, isn’t that right, pet?”

“I’m—I’m what?” you splutter, hands planted on Ghost’s chest, trying to push him away to no avail. He hardly notices it. 

“Go on, Johnny,” Ghost murmurs. “Since she asked so nicely. Give her a kiss.”

That’s all his mutt needs to hear. 

You huff and puff with the strain it takes to take Ghost’s cock after a week and a half away. 

You’re always tighter when he comes back, an effort to work you up to taking him again; he lets Johnny get you prepped this time, slobbering all over your pussy in his eagerness, plugging you with three fingers before you’re even close to ready. He gets off on the way you howl, rutting his cock into the sheets of your bed while he keeps you pinned by a thick arm over your stomach. 

Ghost has to scruff him after that. He takes over, running a soothing tongue over where it hurts until you cry big, fat tears and come a couple times. He makes sure you’re taken care of before it gets tough. You’re mindless by the time he moves off you to retrieve the lube from the bedside drawer, only coming back to yourself when he turns you over onto your belly and spreads the cheeks of your ass. It unwinds something in his chest to hear you yelp when he pushes a finger into your ass, like coming home. 

This is why he does what he does: to get this when the job is done. 

It’s not often he gets to do this, usually too big for you to take comfortably in your ass. Johnny’s not that much smaller, in fairness, so he works you up to two and then three fingers before lying down on the bed and pulling you over him. Your legs tremble when you straddle him, fingers digging into his chest when he lowers you onto his cock for the first time in a week. 

“There we go,” he says, grunting when you pull his chest hair a little. “That’s a good girl. We just about done crying now?” 

Ghost smiles when you shake your head stubbornly, eyes still filled with tears. “This isn’t what I meant, Simon.”

“You can cuss me out when Johnny’s done, alright? That make you happy?” 

He almost chuckles when Johnny clambers back onto the bed in his haste to get his hands back on you, his pants still hanging off an ankle until he gives it a shake once his palms fit over your waist. 

“Slowly, pup,” Ghost cautions, reaching around to spread a cheek. He coos when you flinch, whispering for you to relax. 

Johnny’s eyes roll back into his head when he pushes in, hips stuttering forward until Ghost snarls and he stops, letting out a deep, shuddering breath to calm himself down. Even for Ghost, it’s intense; you tighten around him when Johnny pushes in, only letting up when he cups your cheek and draws you down for a kiss, loosening you up with his tongue. 

“Sir, I can—fuck, fuck, fuck,” Johnny whines, back curving when he drops his head. “She’s so fuckin’ tight, I can—swear I can feel you, sir.”

He’s not wrong. Ghost swears he can feel it himself, Johnny’s cock in his pretty bird’s ass while his is stuffed deep in your cunt. You pant through the stretch, words half-croaked out, unintelligible. It’s better that way. He loves listening to you sing, but you’ve been in a right mood these past couple of weeks. Just needed a good lay to sort you out. 

“Simon,” Johnny begs, thrusting forward until he bottoms out in you, making your pulse skyrocket. “I cannae breathe.”

“Yes, you can,” Ghost says dismissively, wiping at the drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth. “Give ‘er a sec and then you can move.”

“So, so, so hot. ‘M gonna come—”

He reaches behind you to wrap a hand around Johnny’s throat, giving it a squeeze. Johnny’s eyes bulge. “You don’t get to come until she does, pup. That’s all the time, got it?” 

He doesn’t pay any mind to how Johnny nods and mumbles his little yes, sirs after that—he’s a grown man, maybe not as grown as Ghost, but man enough to compose himself until you stop trembling and sweating so hard. 

It’d been a mite difficult to wrangle you into bed. He understands. He’d let you talk yourself red in the face about this not being what you meant by ‘seeing other people’, but Ghost hears the said and the unsaid. You wouldn’t be still in his house a whole week later if you really wanted to leave. 

“Alright, pet,” he grins, running his thumb over your bottom lip until it drops open and you let him run it over your teeth. “Hang on now.”

[latenightdaydreams]

Alright hear me out

König and insecure reader; like he is head over heels puppy dog following them around and the reader is like “ofc he doesn’t like me we’re just friends” bc of insecurity

And and then he makes very soft advances which turns into a soft session on the couch during like a movie night 😔🙏

I'M OBSESSED WITH THIS PLOT

König x BestFriend!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, fluff, oral, p in v, insecurity

1.8k word count

🛋️

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The second König met you; it was as if he found his soul mate. Normally people fear him due to his height, but you never even mentioned it. You both met freshman year in high school at a welcoming event. In the corner of the gymnasium, you simply walked up to König and began to speak to him as if you knew him. He just gazed down at you, studying your face and realizing he was falling in love. You’ve been inseparable ever since.

 A decade later and you're now both in your early twenties and still see each other every day. Even for simple things like grocery trips. You both walk close together as he listens to you talk about your day at work. He holds the basket for you as he always does, his pale blue eyes gazing down at you with a certain sparkle in them.

“Do you want to get some snacks? Maybe we can watch a movie after we unload everything?” He rubs your arm gently as he waits for your response.

“Uh, yeah.”

You can’t help but to smile bashfully up at him. He touches you as if you’re the most delicate thing in the world and it makes you feel calm; at home. In an attempt to detach yourself for the feeling you look away and step forward, grabbing a bag of candy.

König’s eyes follow you as you step forward, his hand lingering in the air for a moment as he debates reaching out for you again. Knowing that you aren’t the most comfortable with physical affection, he decides against it. Your skin is so soft that the feeling lingers on the tips of his fingers. His eyes trail down your body as you have your back to him, you’re so perfect.

When you turn back around König stands there with a big smile on his face, making you smirk. “What?”

“Nothing, Maus. Let’s check out and hurry home.” König held his arm out for you to hold as you both walked back, you accept. 

One thing consumes König’s mind. You. As he drives you both back to your apartment his mind is racing with different thoughts of how he would love to express to you how much he loves you, how beautiful your body is. There is no easy way to do this; he either gets the love of his life or he loses you forever.

Back at your apartment König helps you unload your groceries before he heads to your living room to begin looking for a movie while you went to your room to change. Feeling self-conscious, you put on a pair of black leggings and a baggy shirt in an attempt to hide your body. The way your stomach looks when you sit makes you uncomfortable.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by König. His eyes trace down your body, still able to see some of your stunning shape, but he’s upset that you treat your body as if it’s bad. If only you could read König’s thoughts, then you’d never lack confidence again.

“Come, sit.” König pats the seat next to him.

When you sit, he scoots a little closer and rests his arm across your shoulders. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” You say softly.

König presses play and the opening credits for a recently released horror movie begins to play. You feel your body naturally relaxing into his, the warmth from his body is welcoming. His hand pulls you into him more, wanting you even closer.

“You can relax.” He says with a light hearted giggle.

You smirk and adjust the way you’re sitting so that you’re cuddling his body. One of your hands rests on his stomach feeling his solid body and gently moving your fingers in a soft pattern. He lets out a pleased hum as his hand rubs your arm.

“You smell so good, Maus.” König whispers as he leans in to smell the top of your head before planting a soft kiss.

You can help but to feel your face heat up but you keep your eyes on the movie and ignore his kiss. It’s just a friendly gesture. Then he kisses you again and his hand moves from your arm to your waist. Instantly you can feel your heart sink, as his fingers gently rub back and forth on your stomach. You don’t want him to be disgusted.

König isn’t. He loves your stomach, he loves to touch it. He would plant a million kisses across it until you’re convinced that you’re truly beautiful.

A few minutes pass before his fingers gently graze the hem of your shirt before slipping under. His warm fingers leave a trail of arousal in their wake. Your muscles tense feeling his surprising touch. You swallow hard, but say nothing; only encouraging König to go further.

“You feel so soft…” He whispers as his palm spreads out across your abdomen.

You raise your head from his chest and look up into his blue eyes. His lips and pull back into a warm smile as he studies your face for a moment. At this moment, he’s unsure if he should just kiss you or…

König’s other hand comes up and cups your jaw, tilting your head up more. Without hesitation he leans in and presses his lips against yours. Your eyes flutter closed as you return the kiss. It’s a timid kiss at first, as if the both of you can’t believe it’s finally happening.

When you pull away König only leans in more, he isn’t ready for the kiss to end yet. He breathes you in, the taste of your lips is overwhelmingly sweet. His hand on your stomach slips up towards your breasts, squeezing one through the cup.

“Come here.” König whispers when he pulls away from you.

As if you weight nothing, König effortlessly moves your body so that you’re laying down on your back. You gaze up at him as his eyes stay glued to your body. He slowly lifts your shirt up, exposing your light-colored bra and the supple flesh of your abdomen. His eyes trail down to the waistband of your leggings before meeting your gaze again.

“You’re so beautiful. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” König says as he lowers his head to place lingering kisses down your chest and stomach.

König gently slips his hands up your back to unhook your bra, his eyes widening slightly when he finally sees your breasts. They’re perfect. His mouth instantly latches to your nipple, his other hand groping and squeezing the other breast. You close your eyes and let out a small moan, allowing yourself to relish in the moment with König.

König sits back and pulls his shirt off, tossing it aside. It’s not the first time you’ve seen his body, but this time feels so much different. Your eyes look up and down, taking in every detail of his pale skin. When his hands reach for your waist-band you put your hand on his, stopping him.

“Wait.”

“What’s wrong?” König’s pale blue eyes now darkened by how dilated his pupils are.

“What if you… don’t like it.”

König looks at you so confused. His eyes drop and trail over your body again, tugging slightly at your leggings to reveal more of your lower stomach and hips. He drops his head and begins to kiss along the edge, causing your body to tense with pleasure. Your fingers comb through his blond hair as you watch him.

“I love every inch of you. Everything about you. I always have.” König says as he pulls your leggings down alone with your underwear. His eyes trail over the beautiful mound between your legs and down your thick thighs. He takes his time pulling your leggings completely off of your legs.

You shiver as you feel his warm breath waft across the sensitive flesh of your thighs. Propped up on your elbows, you look down at him with a nervous yet excited look in your eyes as he parts your thighs. His lips continue with their trail of kisses back and forth between your inner thighs. The smell of your arousal is strong and consuming König’s senses; all he can think of is the fact he finally gets to taste you.

König’s eyes meet yours for a quick second before looking back between your legs. There is a pearly white bead of your arousal lingering between your lips, teasing his tongue. His head lowers and he flicks his tongue out, slipping between your folds. A moan leaves his lips as his eyes close for a moment, you taste divine. He buries his face in between your legs, his tongue desperately licking over your sensitive little clit; sucking on it slightly.

“Oh god, König.” You moan breathlessly.

“Maus, you’re perfect.” König says as he gasps for air coming back up.

He moves his hands from your thighs to his pants so he can undo them, eager to finally feel your wrapped around his aching cock. His tongue slips down and swirls around the entrance of your tight cunt before pulling away. Your eyes follow him as he stands to fully undress. When you see his cock for the first time your jaw drops. He is absolutely massive.

König smirks, looking at your face as you take him in. He adjusts his body to loom over yours, fitting between your legs. There is a moment where you both simply look into each other’s eyes, no words needed to express the mutual love between the both of you. His hands run from your breasts down to your legs.

The tip of his cock presses against you, König doesn’t break eye contact wanting to see your expression when you feel him for the first time. He thrust forward softly, his fat cock spreading your lips as he buries himself deep inside of you. Your eyes flutter shut as a loud pathetic mewl leaves your lips.

“Look at me, Liebling. Please don’t close those eyes.”

König speaks with a strained voice as he gently rocks his hips. The feeling of your tight wet pussy is almost enough to make him cum with barely any friction. His eyes are locked on to yours, the expressions of passion in them sends a shiver down his spine. He leans forward, resting slightly on your body as he begins to thrust into you more passionately. König’s lips press against yours leaving sloppy absentminded kisses on your neck as his moans mix with yours.

“Ich liebe dich, Maus.” König moans. “So much.”

The movie fades into the background, neither one of you even aware of what the plot is at this point. Sounds of orgasmic pleasure and bodies clashing drowns out all other sounds. It’s just you and König. The way it was always meant to be.

[boneblushed]

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?

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream when they read your diary entry about your feelings for them.

Mark Lee

IN HIS DEFENSE, Mark wasn't snooping around. It just happens that you left the page open on top of the coffee table. Mark's attention was caught because of how you design your journal spread. So he read it, thinking that it's just one of your poems but he realized that it's about him when you mentioned his name !!! He'll be so shocked that he dropped the diary the moment he heard your footsteps. Probably won't bring up the fact that he read your diary because he doesn't want to embarrassed you, but ponders on your feelings on him. 

Huang Renjun

He was curious!!! You always have your diary around, like you write even in public places. So it's not that secret for Renjun that you have a diary, but he was curious about what it contained, so when he found the opportunity, he swore to himself that he'll read just ONE page. Coincidentally, he read the page where you're venting out your feelings for him. Renjun couldn't believed what he just read, and he'll probably act like he didn't read your diary but after that, Renjun couldn't help but be more drawn to you. :<

Lee Jeno

As Jeno grabbed your notebook that you gave to him for some lecture notes, he began scanning it but was confused when he saw that it's written in letter formats and not those math formulas that he needed. He stops midway, reading the first sentence on the stage. His curious stare became eyes wide when he realized that he's reading YOUR diary and coincidentally, his phone rang and it was you! You apologized profusely, saying that you gave him the wrong notebook. Jeno only nods, acting as if he didn't just read your confessional diary entries about him. 

Lee Donghyuck

Like the playful guy he is,, I feel like Haechan wouldn't accidentally found your diary but more like, he'll snatch it away from you when you're too focused writing on it. Yes, that typical jerk move where he's too tall for your reach and he's tall enough to raise his arms as he reads what's inside and that's how he found out that you have a crush on him. His playful personality will fade away, embarrassed because of what he did. And when opportunity came, you quickly snatched your diary away from him and left the scene. 

Na Jaemin

WAIT I JUST THOUGHT OF SOMETHING. But I feel like Jaemin's scenario would be that scene where you two bumped into each other, making each other's things fall on the ground. You were in a hurry, not noticing that you dropped your notebook. Jaemin had it, and because it's you, he was curious of what's inside, and there, he found out that you had feelings for him. :< He'll be flustered because it's you! But he thinks it's best for him to return your notebook, so he returns it but then, opens up to you that he read it...and yes, he also likes you back. 

Zhong Chenle

Chenle was in your room, trying to look for an empty notebook that he can use as a scratch paper, as he looks through your pile of notebook, he found a unique looking one that stands out of the plain ones. As he scrolls through the pages, he found a photo of the two of you glued there, curiously Chenle reads the content and was surprised of its content. Probably had his heart racing and yes, he'll be that confrontational type, so he goes to the kitchen where you're cooking and just blurted out whether what you wrote in your diary is true or not.

Park Jisung

As Jisung helps you with deep cleaning your apartment, he stumbles upon a huge box that's a bit heavy. He asks you what it contains and you don't remember either, so you two open it together. You two were surprised to see that contains a lot of notebooks, Jisung grabs one and reads some of its entry. You noticed how he's turning red and before it can sinked in to you what it contains, your boyfriend hits you with a teasing tone, "You loved me since we were fifteen?" looks like he found your old diary. 

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured VII

Alexia Putellas x Child!Reader

Jenni Hermoso x Child!Reader

Summary: Alexia tries to get her act together

For as long as she will ever live, Alexia will never forget her mother's face that day at Alba's door.

She will never forget the genuine horror on her mother's face even as she took control of the situation. She will never forget that night when Alba slammed her against the wall after the final of the Copa de la Reina. She will never forget the way you hid behind Jenni's legs after your ballet lesson.

It's all she thinks about even as she sits in the rocking chair with a sleeping Jaume in her arms.

"Ale?" Olga says sleepily," It's three in the morning. Come back to bed."

Alexia doesn't want to. She doesn't want to let Jaume go but she doesn't want to look at him either.

He was so perfect. His birth had been quick and easy unlike yours. Alexia had felt an instant connection to him, unlike when she suffered a bought of post-partum depression with you. He was so soft and so perfect and yet...

Alexia couldn't believe that she has pushed you away in favour of him.

She had a beautiful son and daughter. Two children, not one.

She thought having a sibling would be the best thing for you. She wanted to build a family with Olga. She never considered that she hadn't actually included you in that family.

"Alexia," Olga says, a bit more awake now," Come on. He's due for a feed soon. I'd like some sleep before that."

Mechanically, Alexia places her son back in his crib, wiping away some of the drool on his face as she allows Olga to lead her back to bed.

A sense of numbness follows her now and it's clear to everyone.

Word has spread amongst the team now about what has happened. They know the bare minimum, only that Alba took Bambi and that Jenni has dropped everything to fly across the world for you.

No one knows why, officially. It's clear that Mapi and Ingrid have informed a few team members. Paredes, in particular, cannot look Alexia in the eye anymore and some of the younger players are wary seeing that.

Her life is falling apart. She had no idea you were the linchpin holding it all together.

Olga lays next to her, head pillowed on Alexia's chest.

"You're so tense," She says," Relax. Everything's going to be fine."

Alexia scoffs. "Is it?"

Her question hangs in the air for several minutes. Neither of them speak. Neither of them move.

"Yes," Olga says eventually," You need to stay positive, Alexia. If not for yourself then for your daughter-"

"Your daughter?" Alexia echoes Olga's words perfectly," My daughter? Is she not ours?"

The silence is telling and Olga rolls over and away.

"Is she? Jaume is ours. y/n is yours."

Alexia sits up in bed, reaching over to flick a lamp on. This wasn't a conversation she could have in the dark.

"We have a son together. We're going to get married. In what world is Bambi just mine?!"

"In every world!" Olga sits up too. "She has always been yours, Alexia! I am just the woman her Mami is marrying! Nothing more, nothing less!"

"How can you say that?! We're making a family together! Bambi is included in that family!"

"Of course she is but when have I ever taken that role in her life?! You took her to football! You take her to ballet!"

"She stays home with you all day!" Alexia bites back, standing now until they're both yelling at each other over the bed. "You make her lunch! You keep her occupied!"

"And you do her baths and her bedtime routine! You do her morning routine too! God, Alexia, I am essentially her glorified babysitter! You have never once let me take over those things!"

"You didn't ask?! Olga, if you wanted to do that stuff just ask me!"

"And be rejected? No! You've never given any indication that I was even allowed to try!"

"Because I thought you didn't want to! Bambi has always been mine! Forgive me for not knowing how much to put on your plate. I was trying to make this transition easy!"

"An easy transition?! Alexia, I was pregnant! I was already thrown in the deep end! Adding a self-sufficient kid wouldn't have been much worse!"

They're both screaming at each other now and Jaume clearly hears the noise because he cries from down the hall.

Alexia takes a deep breath, eyes shutting briefly as she counts to ten to calm herself.

Olga goes to get Jaume, moving out the door.

"If we're going to get Bambi back," Alexia calls after her," Then we have to both want her!"

The forms about your ballet class lay on the kitchen table when Alexia gets up the next day. Things were frosty last night when Olga came back to bed with Jaume but they seemed to be looking up when Olga said that they would have a mature conversation about the Bambi situation when Alexia got home.

Alexia picks it up as she eats her breakfast, skimming through it. It's for an extra class on Thursday nights (five until seven) on top of your usual ones. Apparently, it's for those little kids that have real potential. As in, the potential to be great.

Alexia had been one of those kids but for football instead of ballet. She had excelled. She was one of the greatest in the world now all because her father saw the potential in her and signed her up for a team.

She had tried to do the same with you. She took you to the under-fives Barcelona team but it hadn't turned out how she want it to. The other children had left you in the dust. Alexia had hoped that it would be a one time thing, that the first session was a fluke.

You were already so different to her and even back then, she knew that when Jaume arrived things would be different.

She'd tried to get you into football so you would have something to bond over together, at least until Jaume was big enough to play with you.

But it wasn't meant to be and her Mama had insisted in signing you up for something else.

Originally, Alexia had planned on it being another team sport, desperate to have something at least similar to football that she could cling to.

Instead, her Mama had reminded her of last Christmas when the family went to go see the Nutcracker and how enamoured you had been.

Ale's Mama had pushed and pushed for ballet and Alexia was glad that she had.

The forms sat signed on the kitchen table as Alexia washed up her bowl and dialled a number on her phone.

"Hola, Mama," She says," It's about Bambi..."

It's after training that Alexia goes to see her Mama and sister. They meet up at Eli's house and all crowd around the kitchen table.

Jenni is there too and when Alexia asks who is looking after you, she's told that Mapi and Ingrid have taken you for ice cream.

"I don't like this," Alba mutters from where she's leaning against the wall. She's the only one not sat, arms crossed over her chest. "How do we know that she's not going to take Bambi home and neglect her again, huh?"

It's the hardest words Alexia has ever had to say but she pushes them out of her mouth. "I don't want you to give me Bambi back, not now at least."

"What do you mean, Alexia?" Her Mama asks.

"I...I have a lot of making up to do," Alexia admits," I broke her trust and that is not an easy thing to get back. If I want Bambi to come home then she has to want it to. I don't want her to be unhappy again."

"What are you saying?"

"Let me visit her, please. Let me earn back her trust, please."

Everyone knows Eli is in charge here. She is the head of the family and everyone defers to her on big decisions like this. This is a family matter. This is about her granddaughter's happiness and her daughter's peace of mind.

"Bambi is very fragile right now," Eli says quietly but the house is so silent everyone can hear her clearly," This is a serious matter, Alexia and if it was anyone else's daughter, child services will have already been called."

Alexia looks down at the table, the same table she would be scolded at when she was young.

"Your father would be ashamed of you." Eli's words are hard and biting and it's exactly what Alexia wants, even if it causes a sharp pain in her chest. "This is not how we raised you. That little girl is so beloved by everyone and what you have done...I love you, Ale, but it is unacceptable."

"I know, Mama. Please, let me make this right."

"Bambi coming home is her choice. It is not a when...it is an if. If I decide that you are doing more harm than good then there will be other actions we can take."

She looks at Jenni, who up until this point has been silent and Alexia's eyes dart to her too.

"Mama, what are you talking about?"

"Eli," Jenni says," She is trying. We don't need to-"

"Jenni still has adoption papers," Alba says from her corner of the room," All they're missing is your signature. Mama is saying that if this cannot be resolved and Bambi doesn't want to come home..."

She lets the idea hang in the air. She doesn't need to say it out loud. They all know what she means.

"It won't get that far," Jenni says, looking at Alexia for the first time since all of this became real," Bambi loves you."

Alexia pushes through the lump in her throat and the tears pricking in her eyes. "If I cannot make this better then she will have the best chance with you."

Jenni looks away first. "She has ballet on Saturday until one. We can do a visit then."

"Thank you."

Olga is sitting with Jaume when Alexia gets home. It's an almost perfect image. All it's missing is you at Olga's feet, playing with your trains.

She can imagine it, your trainsets spread all over the floor and your ballet bag left abandoned on a chair. You will smile when you see her and Alexia will litter your face with kisses before doing the same to Olga and Jaume.

It will be perfect, Alexia promises herself.

"Hey, little man," She coos to her son, hefting him up into her arms and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Jaume giggles at the affection, lips smacking together as his hand whips out to grab at Alexia's nose curiously. He's been a little fussy recently and extremely sensitive to changes in light but he seems a little happier now.

"That's my nose," Alexia says. She wiggles it. "Is it really funny? Huh? Is my nose funny?"

"Jaume seems to think so." Olga rises from the sofa and pecks Alexia's lips. "How was your mother?"

"Helpful."

"And Alba?"

"She was...Alba."

"And Jenni?"

"How did you-?"

"I am not blind or deaf, Ale. Your team gossips. Jenni has comes back to Spain for y/n."

"Amor-"

"I'm not threatened," Olga laughs," You broke up for a reason but even I know that a meeting of y/n would involve her. How was it? What did they say?"

Alexia manages a smile. "I can see her on Saturday, after ballet. There's a place where you can paint pottery nearby. I think I'll take her there."

"That's nice," Olga says.

"I..." Alexia's been floating in a happy bubble ever since she started to drive home. She doesn't want to ruin it but she has to know. "Did you have a think about what we talked about?"

Olga sighs. "I love Jaume," She says after several beats of quiet," Because he is mine, yes, but mostly because he is yours as well. And I love you so much."

Alexia doesn't like where this is going. "And Bambi?"

"I'm sorry, Ale, but I do not love y/n but...I think I could learn to because she is so much like you and I love you. I do not know y/n like I know you and Jaume. I want to though. I want her home with us so I can love her like I love Jaume. I am sorry if it is not what you want to hear but it is my truth and I hope that is enough."

Tears fall down Alexia's cheeks.

"It's enough. It's enough, amor."

Alexia spends all week waiting for Saturday. There are matches to prepare for and media commitments to do but you're all she can think about.

She wonders if she should bring you a new train to mark the occasion but the model train store has finally shut down and Alexia cannot get one for you in time.

Next time though, she promises herself that she'll got you a new train for your collection. Her palms are sweaty and she's nervous when she spots you and Jenni walking down the street hand-in-hand.

You're still in your ballet clothes but you've got one of Jennie's jackets on and it's dragging on the ground behind you because it's too big. Your hair is still done up in a bun and a few wisps fall down to frame your face.

"Bambi," Alexia says, suddenly breathless when you look up at her.

"Hola, Mami," You reply, ducking a little bit behind Jenni as you greet her.

"Your Mami and you are going to paint some pottery," Jenni says," And I'll be right here to pick you up when you're done."

"You won't be late?"

"Of course I won't be! You're my most favourite little girl in the whole wide world! I'd never be late to pick you up!"

You smile and giggle when Jenni peppers kisses all over your face before gently moving you towards Alexia.

"Hola, Mami," You say again.

Alexia smiles and takes your hand. "Hola, Bambi."

You look very nervous and your hand is unusually warm in Alexia's, though she puts that down to you coming straight from ballet.

There's a big wall where you can choose what to make. Alexia gets a mug and, unsurprisingly, you want the train. It's at the very top of the shelf and you can't reach and you don't want Mami to get upset at you for asking when you could easily get something that's closer to your height.

But Alexia notices.

She's making sure to pay a lot of attention to you now. To the way that your ballet pumps are wearing a bit at the soles and the way you play with the sleeves of Jenni's jacket.

"Do you want the train, Bambi?" She asks," Do you want me to pick you up so you can grab it? Can I touch you?"

You nervously nod and Alexia pretends to not notice the way that you don't breath until you're safely back on the ground.

The little shop is quaint and fairly quiet and Alexia lets you choose the table at the very back.

Very gently, she telegraphs her every move to you as she rolls up the sleeves of Jenni's jacket so you don't get paint on it.

You're both quiet as you paint.

Your little tongue is stuck out in concentration as you dip your paintbrush into the paint and move it to cover your train.

"You moved up in ballet," Alexia says eventually," How was that?"

"Was good," Is the response from your tiny voice," It is harder now but still fun." You blink a few times as the overhead light buzzes and you scratch at you neck. It's been a little itchy since you last saw Mami and you don't like.

You haven't told anyone because you're scared they're going to get angry at you. You're a big girl now. Big girl don't complain about something as silly as itchy skin.

"I'm very proud of you," Alexia says," And I'm glad that you're enjoying ballet so much."

Your watery little smile back makes Alexia nearly cry herself. "Really, Mami?"

"Of course. I am so proud of my Bambi. You make me proud everyday."

"Are you sure, Mami?"

"Yes. I am very proud of you."

You sniffle a little and duck your head back down to continue painting. It hurts to move your head though. It's all stiff and tight so you have to hold it at an odd angle so you don't cry - though you're not sure if it's because of the pain or the fact that Mami is acting like this is the Before.

The Mami from the Before never got angry when you asked silly questions. The Mama from the Now got angry at you once when you asked a silly questions when Jaume was crying.

You hope that this Mami won't be mad because you ask a silly question.

"Mami," You ask softly, the memory plaguing you ever since your Jenni returned to you," Jenni says she wanted me when I was little. Did you want me?"

Whatever bubble Alexia was in before pops and it's like icy cold water has been dumped on her.

"What do you mean, Bambi?"

"You and Miss Olga wanted Jaume," You say," And my Jenni says she wanted me. Did you want me too?"

"Bambi..." Alexia doesn't want to think about those first few months of having you. The post-partum depression had hit hard and Alexia could do little but deal with yours and hers basic needs.

She had loved you and resented you all at the same time and the guilt had weighed on her for months.

"I always want you."

You shake your head before wincing and returning your head back to its awkward resting position. "But did you want me then? When I was little like Baby Jaume and when I was in your belly?"

Alexia moves from her chair to kneel in front of you. Her hand comes up to cradle you. Either her hands are big or your face is tiny because they cover your entire cheek.

"I love you," Alexia says," You're my Bambi and I've always loved you."

"But did you want me?"

"Bambi..."

"Mami...Mami, I..."

Alexia doesn't want to lie but she also doesn't want to tell you either. There were moments, that first week she found out she was pregnant when she didn't want you. She hadn't been overjoyed at the prospective of you. She hadn't wanted her career to be derailed by something as silly as a child.

She doesn't want to tell you the truth because she knows that it will be damaging to you. You're not old enough to be told things like this. You're not mature enough to be told this kind of information and not have it linger and fester within you for years.

But Alexia's always valued honesty. She doesn't like lying but she had lied to you all your life. She doesn't want to lie again now even if it's about something like this. Adults cannot fault other adults for telling their truth but you are neither an adult nor can you understand what this means for you.

"I want you now," Alexia says instead," I want you when I go to bed every night. I want you when I wake up every morning. I want you when I score a goal and when I win trophies. I want you, Bambi."

You sniffle and scratch more insistently at your skin, your wrists this time.

"I miss you sometimes, Mami," You say," But coming back to your house is scary."

"Thank you for being honest, Bambi. You don't have to come home if you don't want to." Alexia forces down tears. "When I next see you, we should go and see Abuela and we'll explain things to you, okay?"

"Okay, Mami."

"Is your train done?"

Your train actually is done so Mami gives it and her mug to the lady who works there to finish off and you both walk outside.

"They should be done in a few days," Mami tells you," And then when I next see you, I'll give you your new train."

"Okay, Mami." Her hand is in yours and you think that is enough for today, pulling your hand away as Jenni turns the corner and lets you run to her.

"Hey," She laughs, swinging you up into her arms," How did it go? Was it fun?"

You don't answer, burying your face into Jenni's neck.

"I..." Alexia says," I think next time when should go to my Mama's...Conversations are...difficult sometimes."

Jenni nods. "I see," She says," Next week, maybe?"

The words are complete autopilot. Alexia hates what she's said the moment they're out of her mouth but they're completely out of habit and she doesn't even think before she speaks.

"We'll see," She says," I'll have to check my schedule." She clamps her mouth shut the moment she says them. "I mean- No, I meant-"

You look resigned, like you are so used to this that it barely effects you but Jenni looks furious. She hefts you up higher in her arms.

"Say goodbye to your Mami, Bambi."

"Bye, Mami."

"Hey...Wait, no, Jenni. I didn't mean-"

"Bambi needs to have a nap," Jenni says," She takes one right after ballet. We changed her schedule for painting today. I should get her home."

Alexia wilts, slouching her shoulders and curling in on herself. "Adios, Bambi. I love you!"

Jenni is already walking around and you don't offer your own I love you in return.

Jenni's steady steps feel nice as she walks you back to Tia Alba's. Your itchiness increases and you scratch more harshly at your neck.

"Ma-Jenni?"

"Yes, Bambi?"

"Can we have cuddles tonight?"

"Of course we can. I love cuddles with my favourite little girl. Are we having them on the sofa after bathtime or in bed together?"

Before Ma-Jenni came home, you slept with your Tia Alba. Now you sleep in the same bed as Ma-Jenni. She's big and strong and she holds you just right. She doesn't let you go the whole night. You go to sleep in her arms and you wake up in her arms.

"Bed cuddles please."

"I love bed cuddles."

You grin. "I love bed cuddles too!"

You scratch at your neck again and Jenni gently pulls your hand away. She frowns, swiping at your skin with her thumb a few times.

"You've got a bit of a rash there, Bambi," She says," We'll have to keep an eye on that."

[randomshyperson]

Hey

Hope you get rid of this writers block soon ✨

How about hand holding no 34 with Wanda 🥺

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

prompt: holding hands while driving | warnings: none.

When you suggested taking the lead, it had much more to do with the crestfallen witch in the front seat than the retired Avenger's possible fatigue from driving for a few hours. Don't let Barton hear you say that.

Wanda gave you a brief smile as you took the driver's seat, and unfortunately, your attempt at conversation ended up being disastrous because you simply didn't know what to say to her.

Losing her country, and her brother, and growing up in a civil war only to be dragged from battle to battle her whole life doesn't seem like something you can fix, no matter how many bad jokes you say to try to make her smile. Still, you think you should keep trying. Because Wanda is so special, she's so sweet and clever, and you enjoy her company so much. She deserved all the good things life had to offer, even if she didn't believe it.

You end up getting so distracted by your own thoughts that you don't notice that Wanda has been stealing glances in your direction for a good few minutes until she finally calls you.

"Huh, sorry, I was distracted." You mumble, glancing at her quickly before focusing on the road again. "We'll be there in the morning if you're wondering."

She's looking at you funny. Maybe you mumbled something. It wouldn't be the first time you've let your thoughts slip away. It doesn't recall you that Wanda didn't need you to speak to know what you were thinking, and focused on the road, you didn't notice the brief red flash of her eyes either.

"I wasn't." She retorts, perhaps more harshly than she'd like. You don't know, but Wanda hates how she's a disaster whenever she tries to talk to you. But still, you never seem to mind her clumsiness. You laugh weakly, nodding. She uncrosses her arms, her nervous fingers gripping the seat. "I mean... this trip isn't so bad. And I wouldn't mind staying in the car a little longer."

You hum thoughtfully, clicking your tongue afterward. "I get it, I guess. The car feels safe, right? While we're here, no one on the team is fighting, nothing is falling apart. It's calm. It almost feels like... well, just a trip between friends." The tables have turned a bit, and now it's Wanda who feels the sudden urge to comfort you. You, who have been nothing but kind and considerate, who are watching your entire family fall apart because of a mistake she made in Lagos, even though everyone keeps telling her it wasn't her fault. 

"Maybe we should stay here." She murmurs, and at the same time, you both glance in the rearview mirror, where Clint and Scott are sleeping in the backseat. "Maybe we could just not leave." 

"We already left, Wands." You sigh sadly. One of your hands goes to the gearshift, there's a small curve in the road. "I did it, in Berlin, when I refused to fight my brother. And you did it, when you agreed to leave the Tower and get in this car." You say, one hand resting on the seat. "Maybe it's finally time for us to be proud of our choices and start standing up for what we believe in. Not just as a team, but as individuals." She knows you're talking about the accords, but she doesn't want to think about it again. Because for the past few weeks, everything has been a mess and within a few hours, she has the feeling that there won't be any more Avengers. So Wanda stops squeezing the seat and decides to squeeze your hand instead. You look at her immediately, before turning your attention back to the road. She makes a motion of pulling away, seeing your shoulders tense, but you adjust your grip to intertwine your fingers together. Her heart skips two beats in a row, but even with her voice cracking, she speaks; "You're right. We should honor our choices. And our feelings." There's a soft blush on her cheeks, which when you notice it in the rearview mirror, spreads to yours. 

You nod in agreement and don't let go of her hand anymore.

[myfavoritesstuff]

Hey, can we have a Yan!Andrew Graves with Reader?

“Your Andy”

Pairing: Yan!Andrew Graves x Reader

Prompt: They weren’t supposed to find you. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you. So how could this all happen?

Note: You met the sibling when you were younger and now you lived in the same apartment building as them. I decided to change some of the setting up a bit too. I honestly didn’t know which direction I wanted this story to go in, so I apologize if this is bad. NOT PROOFREAD

TW: There is death and kidnapping in this!

“She’s yours, you know. Your precious secret.” His sister’s words echoed through his mind like a tsunami. His eyebrows furrowed while his heart skipped a beat. The idea of having you to himself made him happy. His sister seemed to notice, her eyes gleaming.

“But you know, she’ll never love you unless you take drastic measures. Love is a battlefield, Andrew. And you’re a soldier.” Ashley continued, “You’ve become friends with her, but now will you become more? You’ve won the battle, but can you win the war?”

Her words struck, a violent war now waging within him. He obviously didn’t want to lose you, but he also didn’t want to just stay friends. He wanted more.

Honestly it surprised him when his sister approved of his feelings for you. In the past, Ashley always wanted things to just be between the two of them. Yet, something about you was different from the others. You were accepting towards his sister and definitely more kind about the strange relationship they had as brother and sister. Maybe that’s why she let you live.

Either way, she would have to. For you were his everything. Even the thought of you has his insides burning.

Deep inside, his sister’s voice echoed: “She’s yours.”

A part of him definitely knew something was wrong. But the other side of him overlooked this and simply ignored this feeling. He wouldn't let you slip away from him.

One rainy night, you were in the kitchen of your apartment, the same apartment as Andrew and Ashley. Suddenly, you heard a loud bang next to you. It was coming from your door. You turned just as the door came flying open. Standing there was Andrew with Ashley behind him. He stretched his arm out, reaching for you.

“Come on, let’s get out of this hellhole together. We are leaving this place, and I would love it if you came with us.” You seemed to stare at him for what seemed to be too long for Ashley to intervene.

“Come on! We don’t have all night. We need to leave this place right now before we get caught!” Ashley, seeming to make the decision for you, moved her brother aside and grabbed your hand, pulling you up and dragging you out of your room. Andrew turned around and quickly followed behind.

—-

Once making out of the apartment Ashley volunteered to go out first, seeming to give her brother a look. It was then when Andrew pulled you aside. He had his head down, and when you were about to ask what’s wrong, he lifted it. His eyes now seemed to have a darker gleam to them. As you were about to speak, he put his finger to your lips, silencing you.

“Y/n, don’t you worry, I’m alright. Leyley is going to find us a place where we can all live and be happy together.”

Just as he finished, Ashley came back. “Guys, I know the perfect place where we can go.”

Turning, Andrew met his sister’s eyes. “And that is?”

“Our parent’s house! They are old and they don’t need to be living in such a nice place. I think we could live there instead.” Nodding along to his sister, Andrew gently grabs you by the hand and pulls you along.

—

Once they arrive at what they claimed to be their parents house, you all head in, Andrew still holding onto your hand. They are met with their mother who seemed to be very surprised to see them. The mother seemed to notice your hand intertwined with her son’s, and gave you a disapproving look. Nevertheless, she introduces herself as Mrs. Graves and that her husband, Mr. Graves should be up shortly. However her eyes never seem to stray from your intertwined hands.

A frown appears on her face as she asks her son if she can speak with him alone downstairs explaining how Mr. Graves is already down there., in the basement. While not wanting to leave your side, he agrees and tells you to stay here. Ashley, not seeming to like this, decides to follow them.

After waiting for a bit, you get bored and decide to find them. Heading down the stairs you are immediately met with the smell of blood. You cover your mouth and nose with your hand, as you keep venturing further into the basement.

“Andy! What’s taking you so long? Just hurry up and clean up this mess before Y/n comes down here herself. We are taking forever!”

Andrew just groans and retorts back, “Well I’m trying my best. You know it could go faster if you just helped me–” His words stop as he seems to make eye contact with you. “Y/n!” You shouldn’t be down here. Go back upstairs and–”

“Andy just let it go. She already saw and heard everything.” Ashely comments. Rolling his eyes at her, his face softens as he makes his way over to you.

“Look, I’m sorry that you had to see this. But this is what needed to be done,” A crazed, dark look now plastered on his face. “You see, my mom wasn’t too thrilled about seeing us together and told me that I shouldn’t be with someone like you. She even had the guts to say that if I didn’t break it off with you, then she would herself. And I couldn’t let that happen.”

“But Andy…” your voice barely above a whisper, “we were never together in the first place.”

Andrew became silent. You looked over at his sister and she had a disapproving look on her face. Just as you turned to look back at Andrew, you felt something hit against your head.

—

Groaning, you woke up, touching the side of your head. When your vision clears you notice that you were on a bed, not anyone you ever seen before. Looking around you, got up and noticed a picture on a desk that was directly in front of you. It was a picture of a younger Andrew and Ashley along with their parents. They seemed happy. Turning your head you saw a note and what seemed to be a remote with one button on it.

It read: “Y/n, I’m sorry for what happened yesterday. I feel bad, I truly do. But don’t worry, I won’t hurt you ever again. I just couldn't stand you saying something like that. Not when I’ve devoted myself to you, memorizing everything I could about you. You belong to me, and I’ll do anything to keep you close. If anyone dares to come between us, they’ll regret it.

The bedroom door is locked from the outside, there are no windows, and you are on the second floor of this house. If you're willing to give me a chance just press the button on the remote and I’ll let you out.

Love is a beautiful madness, and I am its most devoted disciple. So my dear Y/n, choose to stay with me and I promise to make you happy.” - Your Andy.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 15] Ren The Cat

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Satoru, can we talk?” Shoko exits the bathroom, and she luckily bumps into Satoru. Satoru shakes his head, his eyes falling on you as you run out of the place. He’s about to run after you, but Shoko stops him. Her hand goes to his forearm.

“What the fuck are you doing? Why the hell is she running off?” Satoru sounds irritated, and Shoko knows that if she lets go, he’ll stop you. He’s about to push her away, and she knows that he’s much stronger.

“Let her go. It’s an emergency.” She says, and he furrows his brows. An emergency? Like what?

“Someone better be in the hospital.” Satoru responds, and this wave of guilt hits Shoko. For too many of her actions, the biggest of all is her hiding his son from him. She shouldn’t care, it’s none of her business.

“Satoru…” Her heartbeat races, and she’s about to stop herself from talking. She shouldn’t, it’s not her place. But you’re not speaking up ever, and Satoru deserves to know about the existence of his son. “She’s going to see Ren at the hospital.”

“The cat? Why the fuck–” Satoru begins but he’s cut off. The next words that leave her mouth, leave him dumbfounded.

“Ren isn’t a cat. Ren is her son.” Shoko blurts out. Satoru feels his blood boil at the mere thought of you being with someone else. He’s confused though, why would you hide the fact that you have a kid? Shoko tries to read his emotions, but she can’t. It’s hard.

“Who’s the father?” Satoru asks, wondering if it’s someone he knows. It doesn’t click in his head quite that second. Shoko gives him a moment to think about it, but it doesn’t occur in his head. Shoko has to tell him,

“I don’t think you get it… Why would she not tell you that she has a son?” Shoko feels like she’s dumbing it down. Satoru isn’t an idiot, but a million thoughts run through his head. He shrugs. “Ren is her son. Your son. She’s leaving because you have a son together, and he’s in the hospital.”

“You’re lying. She would tell me. She wouldn’t keep that from me.” Satoru answers, and Shoko lets go of him. He goes chasing after you, but you’re gone. He’ll just stop by every hospital nearby, until he finds you. He’ll remember the name– Either Ren has your last name, or his. He’ll ask about either name.

“Satoru…” You stand up from your chair, and you watch as tears well up in his eyes as he takes in the scene. Shoko wasn’t lying– Ren doesn’t have his last name, but one swift look at the kid and he realizes that is his son. That’s his spitting image.

You stare at each other, frozen in time. Your heart feels as if it’s in your throat, and your mind chases a thousand miles per hour as you think of what you’ll say next. What can you say? You weren’t exactly preparing yourself for this moment, you thought this would never happen. How fucking stupid.

While Satoru feels betrayed. Utterly hurt. He’s always thought the best of you; you were damn near the perfect woman. Yet you’ve betrayed him in the worst possible way. You hid his own flesh and blood from him… For what?

But Satoru isn’t going to argue, not when a little boy that he just met is in pain, and the kid is calling him daddy. Satoru rushes to Ren’s side, pressing a kiss on his forehead. Satoru isn’t quite sure what to say, what do you say to your son? A kid that’s probably almost five, a kid you just met? 

“He has appendicitis, he has surgery in the morning.” You inform him. Should you tell him to go back to his event? And deprive Satoru and Ren from this sweet moment? You have no option but to sit back down and watch the scene unfold.

“I’ll be by your side, buddy. Everything’s gonna be okay.” Satoru’s finger pushes Ren’s hair out of his face. Satoru takes in the little details of his son’s face. Ren has your nose, but apart from that, he looks just like Satoru. Tears stream down Satoru’s face, and his voice breaks, in disbelief that this is happening, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier, Ren. Your daddy is here now.”

You feel nauseous, tears streaming down your face as you watch them. Guilt for the last couple months that you’ve kept him hidden when Satoru was right in front of you. But you didn’t. You could’ve defied Mrs. Gojo’s orders, but you selfishly didn’t. You watch as Satoru kisses his son’s forehead again.

If he could, Satoru would hug Ren so tight that he’d nearly leave the boy breathless. But he can’t. He’ll do it next week though, when Ren is better. 

The sweet moment is interrupted by his ringing phone, and Satoru takes it out. His mother calls, and he’s about to pick up since he has this news; she’s a grandmother. For a moment he stares at the phone, and he realizes something. You’ve mentioned Ren the cat before and his mother knew. His mother fucking knew. That’s why you’re working with her, because his mother knows that she has a grandson.

He declines the call, instead he focuses on his son. Grabbing his tiny hand, and taking note of every crevice. He always swore that when he had a baby, he’d look at every finger and toe individually, and he’d count them over and over again. He can’t believe he missed that.

There’s a smile on Ren’s face as he looks at his father, finally meeting the man that he’s been waiting for. 

“Granny!” Ren shouts when his grandmother comes to sight. Your mother, who happily walks in with food but drops the bag when she sees him. Satoru looks back at your mother, and it’s like she’s just seen a ghost. Satoru walks over to her, and wraps his arms around your mother.

She isn’t sure what to do as Satoru hugs her. This isn’t the same little kid that would come running to her after an injury, the man that hugs her is the father of her grandson. A man that’s left many unattended wounds in her daughter. Satoru pulls away, and goes back to his son.

Your mother looks at you, watching as you silently cry. It seems as if more tears stream down your face when Satoru asks, “So how old are you, buddy? Sorry for not knowing.”

Ren puts up four fingers, excitedly replying, “Four!”

“Nice to see he isn’t in pain anymore.” Your mother comments. Your hand holds onto Ren’s, and you rest your head on the empty space of the mattress again, listening to your son and his father talk.

Ren is taken in the morning, and Satoru assures him that he’ll be there right after surgery. Neither of you slept a wink last night, and you hope that while you wait you can sleep for an hour or so. You doubt you will though since you have a lot to talk about. So much to talk about. 

When you’re left alone, you sit in silence for a minute. Both of you gather your thoughts. Until Satoru finally clears his throat, “So you faced me everyday like that? Like you weren’t hiding anything. You were planning on keeping quiet about my son.”

“I tried to tell you when I was pregnant.” You answer, and you take a deep breath. That’s not good enough. Not now, not when you’ve been seeing each other daily. “And then… Mrs. Gojo didn’t want me to tell you.”

“And why the hell did you listen to her?” Satoru slowly begins to see red. His own mother did this to him. He has no trouble believing you, it does seem like something his mother would do. “You had no problem looking me in the eye while hiding him.”

“She gave me an opportunity that would make my life easier, I would obviously listen to her.” You respond. “You started over with someone else, I feel like I’d ruin everything if I’d come out of nowhere with a child.”

“You don’t have to lie to me. You don’t care about that, do you? You’re just scared I’ll take Ren from you.” He says, and maybe Satoru remembers how you are. 

“I struggled with him for so long, the last thing I need is for you to take him from me. You have no right to take him from me. I don’t care if you can financially support him better than me, he’s my son.” You get defensive, and Satoru’s hand goes over your own to reassure you. He squeezes it, feeling tears well up in his eyes again. He hates that this is how you think of him. It’s not unwarranted.

“And I won’t take him from you, but at the very least I deserved to know. I deserved to know I have a son.” He’s clearly upset, and his emotions reflect in his voice with every word that leaves his lips. “Do you know how hurt I am? You hid my own flesh and blood from me, you know better than anyone how badly I wanted to be a father.”

“I wanted to tell you, Satoru. I tried to tell you. But then I realized you had other priorities, and I understood that I didn’t need you by our side. And I’m sorry that it happened like this, but you’re partially at fault for the outcome.” You answer, standing up from your seat. You need a breath of fresh air and a shower. You begin to walk towards the door, and it opens before your hand goes to the doorknob. You’d be terrified of her at any other time, but not now. You take a deep breath,

“Mrs. Gojo… Your son is here to speak with you.”