#something wistful about this image

[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?

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron oneshot

[chronicowboy]

"Hey, Buck, you busy tonight?"

It's just the two of them in the locker room. They'd stuck behind to shower off their shifts whilst Hen had rushed home to relieve Karen of baby duty and Chim had sped off for a cake tasting appointment Maddie has been worryingly strict about.

"Yeah, man." Buck tugs on his jacket, watching Eddie fasten his watch out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, he's back at the tailend of an endless shift, blackout over, watching Eddie piece together a breakup in real time. The image of it sends a thrill through him as confusing as it is satisfying. He bites down on it and tastes blood. "Movie night? Like the old days? Or does Young Mr Diaz have another social responsibility he's abandoning us for?"

Eddie huffs a laugh, but it's wistful. Buck gets it, tries to remember the last time they sat down to watch a movie all three of them. Or, well, just the three of them.

"Nah, not tonight." He grimaces a little like he's been thinking the same thing as Buck. "But, uh, I do."

"Ah, I see." Buck nods as he busies himself with his duffel, it's already packed, neat as can be, but he fusses anyway. He can't face Eddie's gentle expression of apology, a sudden fragility in the way he holds himself. "Babysitting duty then?"

Eddie grimaces agin, his face twisting and scrunching and crumpling into a complicated expression of something to the left of disgust. Buck wants to smooth out all the wrinkles in his face until only the smile lines remain, he wants to revel in Eddie's obvious discomfort for reasons he can't explain.

"I wouldn't really call it babysitting."

"Yeah, you're right. Kid'd probably kill me for calling him kid never mind baby." Buck aches a little as he says it, remembers when Chris was small enough to swing up into his arms and over his shoulders, when he'd giggle til he couldn't breathe rather than complain until his lungs gave out from sheer teen angst.

"No, I mean." Eddie sighs, packing his own duffel now, stuffing things in haphazard in a way that always makes Buck feel a little crazy. But then all Buck can think of is whether Eddie's hiding in his duffel for the same reason Buck had. "Hen didn't rush home to babysit, did she?"

If only his duffel bag was big and sentient and hungry enough to swallow him whole. As it is, he just kinds of stops functioning halfway through zipping it up.

"Whuh, um, what?"

"Fair warning though." Eddie swings his duffel over his shoulder. "He's in a crappy mood at the moment. He told you about the new supply teacher who gave him a C on that short story he was really proud of?"

"Bitch," Buck mumbles, still functioning just enough to hate the woman that made Chris feel anything less than proud of his tale of dragon-fighting knights and best friends who Buck thought might have been a little bit in love—he'd been too afraid to ask, too afraid Chris would shut down and start thinking things Buck had to think when he realised who he was as a teenager, too afraid of what Chris had grown up around. Eddie snorts.

"We'll have a movie night soon though," Eddie tells him, still seemingly oblivious to Buck's pretty spectacular implosion. He looks up from his watch, meets Buck's eyes and winks. "Promise." He's off then, leaving Buck staring off into the middle distance like he didn't just turn the world upside down with one sentence. "Oh, um." Eddie smiles down at his shoes a little, rosy cheeked as he pauses in his stride. He glances up at Buck, another moment of hesitation before he drops his hand to Buck's shoulder. "Don't tell him I tipped you off, but he's got a little surprise." Eddie's eyes, molten vats of chocolate Buck wants to sink into, drown in. He's had the thought before. He doesn't know what it means. (He does, he really does.) "He's pretty excited about it, so..."

Eddie squeezes his shoulder once, then he's gone, and Buck. Buck tries to breathe beyond the burning want in his chest.

He's not going home to babysit. He's just going home to his kid.

#sami rambles #seti kept begging me to write and well. here u are. #idk what this is except i'm really digging the essay theory #911 show #911 abc #911 spoilers #911 spec #buck x eddie #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buckley diaz family #buddie fic #buck x eddie fic #buddie ficlet #911 spec fic

[astrologanize]

◉ pick a card : how you can make the best of your 2024

*please take a moment to take a deep breath and choose the image you are !most! drawn towards*

----------for pile 1 ⊹

there is a search for substance in your life, you want something real, something meaningful, and you're not doing anything to create it for yourself. you're secretly, or not so secretly, hoping and wishing and expecting for things to somehow fall into place one day. you keep yourself open to the universe, you keep yourself open to interpretation, and you are so open that you are structureless! how can the universe deliver whatever you're desiring when you don't know what that is? or even who you are!

unfortunately the key to it all isn't going to fall into your lap - you must sort through the emotional gunk that's residing within your inner tank and decipher what it is you want to be, what your values are, what matters to you, so that you can hand-pick the life that you want by having these standards in place. it's easier to take risks and to change your life once you have assurance in yourself and this can only happen when you know what you are vs what you aren't, what you like vs what you don't, etc.

gotta work hard to play hard too! "ugh i just want to travel and have a good time" okay but where are the funds coming from? do you know how to budget? do you know how to set up a trip? do you know how to procure the necessary steps in order to make the shit you want happen? to make the best of your 2024 you need to sort through your gunk and get choosier about your life; in doing so you're going to find your connections with others changing, you're going to understand where you've been lacking integrity, where you have been naive, what's worth adjusting for, what you need to attend to more, and once you have the framework built for yourself you're going to see how exciting life can be. no more waiting for life!

----------for pile 2 ⊹

so i see y'all like to throw everything at the wall until something sticks perchance...well, i mean, i guess you're trying at least? though that is better than doing nothing at all, how about you scale back and look at the big picture? you do all these things but where do they get you? i'm not seeing forward movement amongst all this movement i'm just seeing energy bouncing around in a box not going anywhere. perhaps all this stuff you do is to distract you from things you don't want to deal with. it's giving this meme

crazily enough, it is often true that less really is more (though in today's society that sentiment is going extinct and needs to be revived). try to stop dabbling in everything - a jack of all trades is a master to none. what activities/hobbies would you like to be an expert at? is there a craft you could or would want to monetize? what is it that you're avoiding in your life with these multitudes of distractions? give yourself a breather so that you can see the big picture clearer. you'll come to understand the value in setting healthy boundaries for yourself, knowing when to extend and when to just relax. sometimes it is okay to hold off and hold back because maybe there is something that needs to be dealt with first, maybe more time is needed, maybe something is just not worth the effort for now

----------for pile 3 ⊹

looking at the image for this pile gave me such a heavy, wistful feeling. why do you insist on fighting the universe so bad, hm?

are you in a job that sucks? seek something better! are you in a relationship that feels like a chore? love yourself! lean elsewhere! are you majoring in something that makes you miserable? is it worth that? i'm seeing that you need to learn how to trust the universe and follow a new, less traveled path that may be daunting with its uncertainty but you never know what could happen...that is both the best and worst thing about life.

thus far you have been traveling down the same path, you are very involved with this life that you have been trying to make work but i don't know if it's working, do you?

i'm hearing "give yourself a try" by the 1975!

you're learning allllll about the possibilities of life this year and why you should not in fact settle for what you are too afraid to leave. your heart is yours to follow

----------for pile 4 ⊹

oh, y'all take things to heart in an unhealthy way and are perpetually dissatisfied as a result. i imagine someone who gets in their feels over something minor that someone said in passing and instead of asking for clarification or reasoning with themselves, they act all woe is me and curl up in their room with the misbelief that nothing and no one gets them.

emotions can be deeply felt and i wouldn't say feelings can be liars per se but feelings can mislead us if we read too much into them. plus, when we focus too heavily on our own feelings we become engrossed in them to the point of self-defeating self-absorption. you have got to learn how to take things less personally, your lesson for this year is to learn how to socialize...how to mingle...how to have acquaintances...how to have a conversation and drop it afterwards instead of reading into every little thing and finding what's wrong with it. learning how to be embrace the more positive qualities of aquarius basically.

you have some misguidings to work through, there is illusory amuck due to you making mountains out of molehills - the melodrama is doing nothing good for you i'm afraid, tumblr girlies do love some tragedy and a feeling-dump post but for now...let's free ourselves i beg. it's not that deep, it's not that serious, get a grip and let it go. get off the internet, limit social media, touch grass, find some people to converse with even if its small talk at a checkout, somethin, otherwise you can continue to wallow i guess.

----------for pile 5 ⊹

nah...this pile gave me such a bad headache because...you're....whew......there's some narcissistic tendencies here i'm afraid. even if you think you're an angel sweetheart birthed from mary the unicorn, i assure you that you can in fact be a nothing short of domineering. there is a diva energy, there is a my way or the highway energy, there is an i'm upset so everyone is going to know energy, there is some area in your life where you are a tyrant.

there is a dire need to learn to take a step back, gather yourself, and consider others before unleashing your control and bulldozing your way through situations. you shall be forced to learn how to chill tf out this year and i claim that for you tbh because giving me a headache from your energy is WILD.

you need to examine your connections and make sure you're being receptive towards others. do you feel like you're a true friend to them? do you think you're supportive? do you hear them out? do you know what they're going through? do you know how they feel? do you attend to them in the ways they want and need? do you know what those wants and needs are?

make sure you're not being demanding and setting unreasonable expectations, especially for others. also look within yourself and make sure you're not overcompensating for any insecurities you may possess by having power trips. care about being a friend this year, play the supporting role and balance yourself out

----------for pile 6 ⊹

you're going in circles in your head and your heart, babes. eventually you just gotta rip off the bandaid and make a decision and let the chips fall where they may.

you're waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay in your head, you have all these thoughts and ideas, you have all these feelings and sentiments, you have all these things in mind that you want to set up for yourself, and there's so much that you're overloading yourself....there's no way to process all of it at once so nothing is getting done.

make decisions, find answers, get a grip on your feelings, and try to make sure you're not so in your head that you're putting up a guard around yourself. not everything is black & white or a matter of life or death, you're looking at it too extremely! lighten up and just do.

get a cool haircut, get some new accessories, try new boba, talk to your crush, life is meant to be lived!

#pick a card #readings #long post #2024

[foggyfrogss]

⋆ HIEMAL ₊˚.

tf! Sukuna x f! Reader | Warnings: MDNI, Sexual Content

Chapter Two - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - Masterlist | ᴡᴏʀᴅs: 7.7ᴋ

Though in a wistful daze, tucked away in the depths of your comfortable blankets… you think of him even now as your eyes barely open.

The blur of sleep sticks to your tired eyes as you slowly blink it away; a yawn erupts from your lips.

You wondered why he had left without telling.

His absence twists a deep feeling within you. It’s heavy, settling mostly in your stomach as you look at the empty futon beside you. Was this what it felt like to be hurt?

Of course not physically, though your body ached in places they hadn’t before; your chest swam with this melancholy emotion. Its melancholic ache fought along with the other euphoric emotions. Though they clashed as complete opposites it felt… right.

You hadn’t noticed when your hand moved to clutch the fabric of your yukata over your beating heart. The pounding of your chest could be felt vibrating into your clenched fist.

It was cold. That hadn’t changed.

Your face tingled from the exposure after pulling it from the depths of your futon. Only hours before you had it safely tucked away in the comfort of his chest. His large arm swung around your body to keep you there. You wondered how you hadn’t felt him leave.

In all honesty, you weren’t sure if your face was tingling due to the cold or your blush. It didn’t matter; no one could see you.

When you felt the thick fabric of his haori hugging your body again; it relit the smoldering fire inside of you. The heartbeat in your ears came to life as your tucked your face into the fabric of it, breathing in his earthly scent.

The strong notes of smoke, hinted with something sweet, had drawn you in without restraint.

He’d always smelled so divine.

Your wandering mind had slipped to the image of his healed shoulder. The wound you had expressed concern for being nothing but a mere scratch the last time you saw it. His forbidding gaze telling you it was of no concern to you.

His intimidating aura had caused you to back off.

Of course it was your concern, you thought. It had healed on its own in such a short amount of time. Bear in mind how deep it had actually been. Him refusing any further care on it had worried you.

It was a miracle it hadn’t continued to bleed through the night. Perhaps it had started to heal then; after cleaning.

A mystery it was. You wanted to get to the bottom of it.

The mystery that was now Ryomen Sukuna.

He’d always been rather isolated the many years you’d known him. As children playing in the green meadows by the village, even then he’d pull away at certain times. His walls blocking you from seeing.

The reinforced walls that surrounded his inner self towered in height matching his own.

You wanted so badly to tear them down. To know more about the man… and you could see how they crumbled only slightly as he took his place above you just last night.

Only slightly.

It was something. It was a start.

The small taste you had been gifted of his innermost feelings had driven you mad. You were pining for me; primal urges ate away at your morals.

What if he had gained access to certain techniques? Though sorcerers weren’t abundant in your village, there were some. Sukuna included.

He actually ranked above most of the military in strength. His overwhelming intensity had gained suspicion. Village folk felt like he’d be more of a danger rather than a help.

It displeased you, seeing the people around you shove such hostility towards someone they simply didn’t understand. It was nauseating.

Especially when you were expected to do the same. Your father disliked him probably more than the common village folk. His status playing an important role in his hatred towards Sukuna.

One slip up and he would banish him.

You were certain if your father had known of what you’d done… he’d banish you along with him.

Uncomfortable with your thoughts, you shake your head free of them. You need to prepare for the day. At any time your usual servant, Aiko, would come to help you dress yourself.

After removing yourself from the comforting warmth that kept you from the low temps, you’d quickly cleared your quarters of Sukuna.

The extra futon had been rolled up and placed back into the cabinet where it always sat.

The last thing that would gain suspicion being the heavy fabric that sat over your shoulders. You were reluctant to remove it. It’s sensation almost as if he’d left his own heavy arms behind.

When you remove it to place it behind the futon, you’re left feeling extremely bare.

Cold chills immediately take advantage of the new skin to harass as you fold it neatly and place it down. His smell lingers for a bit before it’s ultimately swept away by the shivers running through you.

A slight knock upon your door startles you, causing you to quickly shut your cabinet. Your eyes widen slightly. “My lady,” you hear the faint voice of Aiko behind the paper thin door. “I’ve come to ready you for the day.”

“You may enter,” is all you say.

When the door slides open, you’re met with the curious brown eyes of your favorite servant. One who feels like more of a sister rather than someone forced to serve you.

Aiko presents herself with a short bow before entering the room. You smile as she shuts the door behind her.

“Has the storm passed?” You ask her and she nods. “It has. The sky is a radiating blue this morning,” Aiko explains.

As Aiko further enters the room towards you, she immediately raises her eyebrows in alarm. A look of disturbance takes over her usual soft features. “Were you attacked!?” She exclaims with worry. Her hands grab at your wrists as she nears you, glancing you up and down.

You are bewildered. Her sudden outburst had come from nowhere.

“What are you speaking of?” You ask her, furrowing your eyebrows in annoyance and also confusion. “There are bruises all over your neck and chest!”

You let out a squeak, immediately tearing away from Aiko in embarrassment. The apples of your cheeks had burned red. “I just stumbled last night after I put out my lanterns is all,” you speak quickly as you try and come up with a good excuse to explain the marks. Yet, when your back faces her you look down towards the exposed part of your chest.

It had looked like someone had beaten you.

Purple bruises cascade into the depths of your chest, presenting themselves like a painting. Your body the canvas and Sukuna’s lips the brush.

Your heart thumps.

The familiar heat you felt before reawakens inside of you.

“My lady if I may,” you hear Aiko speak. “You don’t have to hide that from me.” It’s when you turn around after hearing her words, you find her smirking childishly. Her childish look radiates a comforting warmth as you look back at her. It causes your face to heat up even more, gasping. “It’s not what it looks like!” You exclaim, doing anything to convince her otherwise. “It is. I can see the after glow from far away,” she says chuckling in a joking tone and you touch your warmed face.

“It’ll be difficult hiding the ones under your jaw line, but I have my ways.”

You hadn’t even realized the extent of Sukuna’s doing. It was exciting but also annoying. Who knew how long it’d be until they’d disappear. “Love marks,” Aiko suddenly says as she approaches your cabinet. “Any normal person would know what those are even from afar.”

“That’s wonderful,” you say sarcastically.

“Lucky for you it’s cold out. Gives the excuse to wear more layers than usual,” Aiko says as she pulls fabric from the shelves. You’re already dreading the weight of it but as you feel the iciness of your fingers… you also can’t wait to be covered. You’d endure the pain today.

You really wished to just put the black haori back on.

“Perfect,” you mumble. Your voice lacked amusement.

It had not taken long but Aiko was always thorough in her work. As she patted away at your face to place the little bit of makeup you would allow; you thought of Sukuna. He had made himself at home in your mind. No plans on leaving.

You’d hoped that Aiko couldn’t see the blush on your cheeks as she dabbed the concealing mixture onto your fevered, bruised skin.

“Aiko,” you say, causing her to hum in reply. “You haven’t asked who…?” You ask her carefully; awkwardly.

“I know who.”

Your eyes widen and you turn to fully look at her. Her brown orbs lock with yours. “I don’t care who you choose to be by your side my lady,” Aiko says quietly. The walls were thin.

“I follow you and only you. You are my lady.”

You smile; warmly. In which Aiko does the same.

A silent agreement. “Thank you,” you whisper.

She nods as she continues back to her work, hiding the evidence of him. “Quite scandalous to do it here of all place-“ you cut her off. “Alright! Enough!” You groan. Aiko laughs.

“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. That’s all I’ll say.” Aiko mumbles.

Upon your body rests at least five layers of fabric. Each fabric extravagantly vibrant in color and shine. “What have you put me in?” You ask Aiko in distress and she sighs. “You realize most women in your position wear a lot more. I know your preference and spared you…I also forgot to mention that I was to retrieve you for the Lord. He’s summoned you.”

You’re looking at her in terror.

“Don’t worry! You can’t see anything. Once you’re done with him you can come back and I’ll change you into your preferred clothing,” Aiko explains and you nod. The nervousness swells deep inside you.

Usually when your father summoned you, it was for something trivial. At least in your eyes.

“The Lord was sat with an exceedingly decorated man. Perhaps a military officer?”

Your heart drops at her words.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before your father threw another possible suitor in your face. You dreaded his complaints after you would routinely turn this one down.

You’d lost count of how many suitors you’d been presented.

It was only a matter of time until he forced you to marry too. Refusal would only work so many times. At the age of 24, being unmarried was seen as taboo amongst the village. Well, in your case it was due to your status. Aiko was forbidden to marry; her job was to devote herself to you. Though you hated that, it was nice having her around. Friends were a hard thing to come by when you were sheltered like you were.

As you look at Aiko, you think about how you’d dismiss her from her duties when you could. She deserved a fulfilling life doing what she loved.

“Let’s not keep them waiting,” Aiko says as she stands. You follow, straightening your back up. The heaviness of the clothing fights with you as it pulls down at your body. As you suddenly yawn, it catches Aiko’s attention; a smirk and eyebrow raised on her smug face. “Shall I say you’re feeling under the weather so you can rest up?” She teases as she places the back of her hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up!”

Your face is steaming. The embarrassment showing fully.

“Cease this,” you warn with a hushed hiss, hearing her chuckle as you exit the room.

Within minutes you’re sat amongst your father in the main room. The Irori separating you slightly but you were grateful for its warmth. A servant had been placing twigs inside of it to keep it alive.

“This is Michizane Sugawara,” you hear the gruff voice of your father. Your eyes are on his face, seeing the hopeful look he holds on his aged features. You swallow nervously.

From the introduction your wavering eyes flicker to the man beside him. The copious amount of energy that bled off of him would make any normal person tremble, yet you sat still.

When you meet the man’s gaze; you feel your chest clench. A wave of unsettling feelings flutter through you.

Blue.

His eyes reflect in an unnatural shade of blue. The way they seemed to glow even from afar had finally sent a wave of unexpected chills down your back. Your hands felt clammy as you clenched them in your lap.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you,” Michazane greets. He says your name, which you find unbearable. “I’ve been told a lot about you.”

You’re silent.

“He’s the head of the Gojo clan. I’ve invited him here to-“ you cut your father’s words off. “I will not marry you,” you state in a calm, collected tone. The room grows thick with tension. Though you don’t regret speaking over your father, you should not have done it.

Your father sighs loud enough for you to hear. “I shouldn’t have expected anything else,” he mutters as he shakes his head. “What can I do to change your mind?” He asks you and you’re looking back at your father. “I do not want to marry. Why is it so important that I do?”

“You are pass the normal age,” he argues. “I think it’d be in your best interest to consider marrying Michizane. He technically outranks us, making him the important one in the room.”

You’re looking back at the man next to your father. His blue gaze settled upon you; it doesn’t feel threatening. If anything, it was a warm presence. Though icy his eyes are.

“I apologize for my unbecoming attitude,” you sincerely release. “It is not in my plan to take a man’s hand in marriage. I’m unsure if you’ve travelled far to meet me but if you have, I’ll have you reimbursed for the supplies used.”

Now you’ve done it. The atmosphere of the room feels unbelievably thick, making your mouth dry. You swallow nervously again.

Your father says your name in a warning tone, which makes you flinch. Michizane raises a hand to silence your father, a small smile on his features. “It’s quite alright. The last thing I’d want is for her to feel pressured into anything. What good would that do for any relationship?” He says and your father is looking over at him dumbfounded.

You silently thank the man.

“Now,” he begins, directing his unnatural gaze back to you. “I’d like for you to reconsider. I’ve been offered many suitors and I must say you by far are the most enthralling.”

You’re uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Your words are flattering… but I still decline. I apologize,” you say quietly, looking away from him now. You find it hard to continue looking him in the eyes. It was as if he had been draining your energy.

“That’s quite alright. I’ll be in the area for about two weeks. You were correct, the journey was quite long so to prepare my men for another we shall stay to recuperate. I hope that is alright?” Michizane says as he looks over to your father.

“Be my guest. My estate has many rooms and your men can stay among mine in their living area.”

Your father’s words make your heart drop into your stomach. He’d be staying in your home?

“You,” your father says as he points a finger to the servant standing by the door. “See that Michizane is taken care of and that his needs are met.”

You hear your father say your name.

“As for you,” the sternness of his voice makes you flinch. “You have time to reconsider.”

You understood what that meant. He’d be expecting you to accept Michizane Sugawara as your husband or else he’d force you. It was finally that time.

“Yes father,” you say quietly, not looking at him. Your attention is fixed on the flames of the fire in front of you.

So be it, you thought to yourself. What good would it be to retaliate against it. After all, your father was kind enough to put up with you for this long. You were his only child, solely due to the fact your mother became unable to bear any more children. Though you weren’t a son, a nobleman’s daughter was also highly looked up at.

Being the sole child meant a lot was expected of you. Especially when it came to furthering the blood line.

After he’d dismissed you to leave so he could further discuss topics with Michizane, you stand.

You bid them farewell with a short bow, walking towards the door. Yet, before you step into the hall; blue eyes catch your own. It sends a mixture of fear and warning through you. Michizane projects his emotions to you in one look; determination.

You’re met by Aiko in the hall. Her wide eyes showing you she’d heard every word. She held her combined hands to her chest as she approached you.

You don’t speak until you hear the sliding of the door, signaling that it’s closed.

“It’s quite alright,” you inform her, still quietly to be careful. “It was eventually going to come to this.”

“Well,” you hear Aiko say as the two of you venture back to your quarters. “He’s not all that bad to look at.”

You’re staring at her as she walks beside you, one of your eyebrows raised. “That man was probably the most handsome suitor I’ve seen here. I mean did you see his eyes?” She gushes as she holds her cheeks. “Oh please,” you say, rolling your eyes as you look ahead.

“He’s average.”

“I wouldn’t say that… while you were in there one of the kitchen maids had walked by and said Michizane Sugawara possessed a rare ability. Unique to his clan. It’s probably why your father insists you marry him. How that maid knew that… I have no idea,” Aiko rambles on and you sigh. “Great. He wants to use me for breeding. Why else would I marry into the clan? Having children and marriage are the last thing I ever wanted to do…” you groan and you hear Aiko chuckle.

“Well, like I said… at least he is handsome,” she tells you with a warm smile. She’d always known how to lighten the mood. You appreciated her charm. “If you’re so intrigued maybe you should marry him,” you suggest and she scoffs. “That’s cruel. You know I can’t,” she says as she rolls her eyes.

It’s quiet the rest of the way back.

Lost in your thoughts; you think of Sukuna.

His face floats around in your mind as you let Aiko undress you from your formal clothing.

What would he say about Michizane? In all honesty, would he even care?

Sure Sukuna showed you respect, at times… but it wasn’t like you were automatically together now. You weren’t even sure there were legitimate feelings on his end anyways. What he had- what you two had done… it felt like that was what had been building up for some time. At least on your end.

Sukuna was a difficult person to read.

All of the countless petty arguments where tension would be so high you felt like you could explode… it finally bubbled to the conclusion.

The way he had held you and took care of you hours ago… it left a permanent heat raging inside of you. Your knees feel weak as you remember the mere ghost feeling of his lips against your neck. For someone so large and brute; he handled you softly.

His large hands holding you like a small wildflower, careful not to bruise the bright petals.

“My lady,” you hear Aiko’s soft voice break you from your scandalous thoughts. “If I may recommend… you should seek Sukuna out.” She looks nervous as she tells you that. Her hands balled into fists in her lap as she sits in front of you. You’re both sitting in the floor of your room. “I feel like he should know,” she adds.

“Maybe you’re right,” you say.

You think about how he’d left his haori with you.

In the back of your mind you see him walking across the village without it in the fresh snow. He’d willingly left his barrier from the cold with you. The gesture had warmed your heart and you really tried to keep yourself from looking too deep into it… but it was too late. Why else would he have done that if he didn’t care for you deeply even just a bit?

You told Aiko that he’d left it, explaining to her how great it made you feel.

“It’s cruel,” you hear her mutter. “I can see how deeply you’ve cared for him over the many years I’ve known you. Seeing you now, I can definitely see it plain as day. You hold deep affection for Sukuna. The many times you’d have me help you sneak him in to care for his training wounds and the times I’d help you sneak out to join him to train… It isn’t fair.”

Her words touch your heart and you drop your head, staring at your hands in your lap. “Aiko,” your voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t want to marry that man.”

“I know.”

“What do I do?” You ask hopelessly.

“Get over it.”

Her tone shocks you, making you glance back up at her. “What?” You ask, confused by her sudden sternness. “What else can you do besides your father’s demands? Unless you run away now, you’re stuck here.”

You’re shocked, but she’s right. What else could you do? This was your fate.

Running would only prove useless as you didn’t know how to survive on your own. You weren’t even sure Sukuna would go with you…

“Accompany me across the village so my father doesn’t gain suspicion. I will say it’s to see Itsuki… it’s believable,” you say to Aiko. She nods, running one of her hands over her face, “I’m not allowed to say no.” Her words make you frown. “Yes you are. You’re not my slave,” you tell her and she removes her hand. “I technically am, my lady.”

“You’re allowed to refuse me.”

“As you wish.”

After readying for the outer elements, you’d gone to your father to inform him of your future whereabouts. Itsuki’s estate. Though a lie, you didn’t care.

Itsuki was your cousin, daughter of your father’s younger brother.

All you wanted was the heavy feeling in your chest to subside. You wondered if seeing Sukuna again would put it at ease.

“My lady,” you hear your title being called as you step out into the snow of the courtyard. It’s incredibly cold out. Though sunny, the ground that was covered in powdery snow. It reflected the sunlight from it, making it unbelievably bright out. “Wear this.”

As you turn to her, you’re handed the black fabric of Sukuna’s haori and your eyes widen. “You found this?” You ask her shockingly and she nods. “I organize your things almost daily. Of course I did. You’d also mentioned him leaving it behind and it was nowhere in sight.”

When she helps you slip it on you are immediately granted immunity from the cold. The warmth spreads through your body like wild fire and you smile.

The many layers don’t bother you as much now.

The both of you make it across the village, seeking out Sukuna’s home. It had been quite a long time since you’d seen it; you’d forgotten what it looked like. You were pretty certain the last time you’d visited was around your teenage years.

“Aiko,” you catch her attention as she walks ahead of you. She glances over her shoulder. “Yes?” She asks, looking back ahead. “How do I even bring it up?” You ask her. The nervousness was obvious by the dread that laced itself within your voice. It made Aiko stop in her tracks.

“I’m not sure. If I’m being honest… I’ve never been in a situation like this,” she snickers as she turns around to face you and you groan. “You’re the least helpful person I know,” you say and she crosses her arms. “We all know that’s a lie-“

The two of you freeze at the sudden sound of a rich, resounding voice. It says your name and your arms prickle with goosebumps when you realize who the voice belonged to. You forget the chilling snow as your stomach flips.

The intense presence stood behind you, radiating his energy towards your form.

“If you may excuse me I’ll be off to run some errands,” Aiko quickly lies as she bows. Your eyes widen, watching your friend scurry off. “I’ll meet you back here in an hour!”

Of course she’d abandon you now. You felt betrayed as you watch her disappear into the crowd of merchants that lined the street. Even in the snow they were busy to sell.

Your heart beats rapidly and you feel your body buzzing with embarrassment.

It’s when you turn around that you’re faced with the man you’d been searching for. He was standing a few feet away; a bag of some sort slung over his shoulder. It looked heavy.

“Ryo-“ he cuts you off almost instantly. His sharp eyes locking with your own. “Why are you here?” He asks you, voice the usual bluntness. It makes your insides twist uncomfortably. He hadn’t said it harshly but you weren’t expecting it. “I…” you’re at a loss of words. Completely hopeless in explaining why you had sought him out.

Yet, you were stuck. Aiko had left and you didn’t want to leave her behind if you walked off now.

“To see you,” you told him boldly. You weren’t lying. He isn’t effected by your words; face holding the usual stoic expression.

On the inside you felt like a mess. Your hands were clammy as you stared over at the large man, clenching them inside your clothing as you hid them from the cold. “Alright,” he huffs, walking past you.

You hear the crunching of the snow under his heavy footsteps.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you watch him walk by, wondering what- “Come with me,” he adds. It puts your thoughts asides Your expression drops as you nod, swiftly following behind him. His longer legs make it easier to trek along the snow, but your clothing had proven quite difficult to move in the first place. With snow added, it was tremendously more challenging.

“We can talk here,” he says as he stops in front of a small building that hadn’t been far from where he found you. It resembled that of a farmer’s home, a lot more bare and smaller in size than your own… you assumed it was his.

Perhaps it’d been his family home, passed down to him.

As you step inside after him, you notice how simple it was. Not much cluttered the single room. A single, but much simpler, irori sits in the center.

When he shuts the door; he places the sack he had down. The contents inside shuffling about as it rests on the wooden floor. He removes his shoes, which you do the same.

You’re uncomfortable where you stand. You finally found him and now you weren’t sure what to do next.

All you do is watch as he immediately goes to light the fire for warmth. You selfishly assumed it was for you, considering how he’d acted just last night. His back is facing you as he sits, striking his flint and steal to strike at the dry contents.

“Sit,” he suddenly says, nudging his head towards the empty spot next to him. He doesn’t look at you but you nod anyways.

As you settle beside him, leaving about two feet of room; you take in a deep breath. “I apologize for the sudden visit,” you start. “I hope it didn’t bother you.”

For a few seconds it’s grown quiet. Only the sound of the growing fire cackling as you ponder on what to say next. You were just glad it didn’t feel as uncomfortable as you thought it would.

You hear a slight shuffle of fabric which makes you glance over at the large man beside you.

He’s looking down at you, sitting crisscross as he rests his left elbow on his knee. His face is in his hand.

The sight is ungodly attractive, you think to yourself. As the irori’s fire grows, it projects the orange glow across his features. He looked just like he did before… it makes you nervously swallow. Your mouth felt dry.

How dare this man be as handsome as he was. It felt sinful to look at him. As if being in his presence would damn you to hell.

He extends his free arm, reaching towards your face with his hand. His fingers grasp at your chin, tilting your face to look at him better. “I was wondering when you’d show up today,” he mutters, a slight smirk on his features. Through his touch on your chin you could feel the sparks that shoot through you.

You sigh, closing your eyes in relief from his words. He wasn’t upset and you were glad.

“Last night,” you started, staring at the back of your eyelids. It was easier than looking him in the eye. “What does that mean for us?” You ask; your voice barely a whisper. You wondered if he was even able to hear your shaking voice. In your lap, your fists clench.

“What do you want it to mean?” He replies with a question. You open your eyes, finally looking into his. Almost instantly you find the cracks in his wall where it shows in his eyes. The deep, longing look you’d seen him look at you before right in front of you once again. You notice the way his eyebrows furrow together as if he’s thinking hard himself. It makes your heart flip anxiously but excitedly.

Yet, as you search your thoughts for the answer to his question… you think about Michizane. You dread bringing the news up to him.

Ashamed, you turn your head away from him; his fingers falling from your chin as you now stare at the fire.

The feeling in the room immediately turns, becoming insufferable. It’s now uncomfortable.

“I am to be married,” you let out. There was no point in keeping it inside. “His name is Michizane Sugawara.”

With a deep breath, you look at Sukuna again.

He’s in his same position, but his hand that he had on your face is now tucked away in his lap. It’s almost comical, seeing how relaxed he was. “The name is familiar,” he huffs out as he finally looks away from you only to add fuel to the fire. “Good for you. You’ll be taken in by some big shot.”

His words hurt. Your face twists as you watch him poke at the Irori with a stick.

“You don’t care.”

He’s now looking at you again, a bit of shock on his sharp features as he registers what you had just said.

It’s then when you see a bit of his walls crumble; a look of pure amusement shining on his face. As his expression twists into that of a smirk; In the glow of the small fire you see how his white teeth reflect the light. His canines are sharp, you notice.

You vividly remember the way they felt latched onto your skin. The spot on your neck burns.

Your chest twists longingly at the golden sight of him.

The expanse of his broad shoulders and chest lure you in as you drink in the sight. You wanted so badly to just fall into his lap, tangling yourself into him.

In the many years you’d known Ryomen Sukuna you could count on one hand how many times you’d seen him smile. Did this even count as a smile? He looked genuinely amused from what you could tell.

“Stupid girl…” you hear Sukuna mumble as he raises his hand once again to reach towards your face. “You could have anything,” he tells you as his large hand takes hold of the side of your face, “but your eyes are yearning for the one thing you can’t have.”

His thumb rests softly against your cheek as he holds it. Your heartbeat quickens in a burst, thumping against your chest. The heat from his hand instantly absorbs into your pining skin. You lean into the touch.

“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper honestly. Sukuna sits up straight as you speak, leaning towards you. “I’d marry-“ he cuts you off, “I would think about what you’re about to say.”

“It’s unattainable. I can see it in your eyes and what you want simply won’t come to be. At least, not here.” Sukuna is incredibly close as he says it all. His towering form leaning over you as he gazes down. The deepness of his voice rumbles into your ears smoothly.

His words are like a kick to the stomach, making your teeth clench together. “What do you mean ‘not here’?” You ask him. “As long as you’re part of this village, under the rule of your father; you are to obey his requests,” he says and you sigh. “Are you saying I should leave?” You ask him; confused. “That wouldn’t be smart,” he tells you and you’re beginning to grow annoyed by his responses.

He speaks as if he doesn’t yearn for you as you do him.

“Where would you even go?” He asks you, looking down at you intensely. You think about his question, searching your thoughts, but you find it’s only plagued with him.

“I would go anywhere you go,” you answer him truthfully, raising one of your hands to grasp at the wrist of the hand on your face. Your fingers clench around it.

When you search his eyes, it’s like looking into an abyss. The fire illuminates parts you hadn’t seen before, showing the rich brown that could be mistaken for black from a distance. He was mesmerizing.

“Don’t say such foolish things,” he mumbles.

“Don’t call me a fool,” you retort; scowling. Sukuna sighs before speaking, “I never said you were, but a fool you would be if you were to follow me.”

It’s silent now; all that could be heard was the faint crackling of the flames beside you.

Sukuna’s free hand raises to take hold of something. Your eyes glance down to see he’d grasped at the fabric of his haori, looking at it with furrowed brows. “If you want it back I can leave it before I leave,” you suggest and his eyes glance back up to yours. “It’s yours,” he mumbles. Your eyes widen as you cheeks heat up.

“I can’t have you returning home without something equivalent. You’d freeze to death,” he says further and you sigh. He was probably right; you got cold easily. “How dare you perceive me as some helpless child,” you joke and he’s moved his hand that was latched to the haori to the curve of your waist. His long fingers hook into your flesh even through your layers.

You gasp when he pulls you closer, causing you to basically stumble into his lap. His size swallows you, having him effortlessly pull you in as he sits straight. He extends his legs, letting you sit atop one of his large thighs as he pulls you flush against his chest. Both of his hands hold at your hips now.

Your clothing prevents you from sitting comfortably, so you pull up the fabric of your gown to the tops of your knees. You plant a knee on either side of his leg, sitting flush to his thigh.

You feel his warmth radiating directly into you.

“A child needs someone to take care of them,” he says as soon as you’re settled. “You wouldn’t know the first thing to do if you were to leave here. Without your help, you’d be helpless.” He means your servants. Your estate.

Though reluctant to admit it, even to yourself, he was right. You frown, taking hold of the kimono he was wearing. It’s soft in your hands.

“You’re insulting me now,” you say quietly. One of his hands moves from the curve of your hip to the expanse of your back. “I only speak the truth,” he tells you as he presses your further against him. It causes you to take in a deep breath, feeling the way your body heats up by his touch. You’re trembling now.

His face is inches from your own. You can smell his intoxicating scent as it attacks your senses. It almost makes you drool, feeling him so closely and basking in his presence.

It’s when you feel the tension inside of you running directly to spot between your legs. The heat that bubbled in the bottom of your stomach had grown unbearable at this point. On instinct, you move yourself against the top of his thigh to relieve the pressure.

In the back of your mind you were glad you decided against warm under clothing.

The movement makes Sukuna groan when he realizes what you’re doing.

“You got one taste and now you’re aching for more?” He asks, dipping his face down to press his lips against the exposed part of your neck. His lips press a soft kiss to your skin, almost as if they were making their presence known before attacking. You let out a shaking breath, moving your right hand to the back of his neck.

“Filthy,” he mumbles into your skin before he nips lightly. You whimper, pressing your chest further into his as you shift atop his thigh eagerly. The sensation has you breathing heavily, leaning your head into the side of his as he indulges himself in your neck.

He’s so close to you. It’s driving you mad that you simply can’t crawl inside of him; stay there forever.

“How can such a filthy thing taste so sweet?” He says. It’s muffled as he licks the spot under your ear.

His hand on your hip takes control as you try and grind yourself against him again. He’s guiding you, putting more pressure against your core. You gasp, clenching your shaking fingers into his pink hair as he chuckles.

Even through his clothing you could feel the well defined muscles of his thigh. The ridges acting as a tool to further bring you over the edge.

You feel hot. Your body throbbing in rhythm with your erratic heartbeat as you grind hungrily into his thigh.

Sukuna pulls his head back from your neck to look at you, gazing into your eyes with his own lustful gaze. He looks hungry.

He’s now removing the haori, placing it in a pile beside you away from the fire. Yet, when he glances down at your outfit; you can see he immediately gives up. It almost makes you laugh but when he flexes his large muscles underneath your aching clit, you’re moaning.

Whimpers follow after the surprised moan, which make him release a pleased grin.

You can feel the warm feeling building up. The same one you’d chased with him before. Its addicting sensation was heavenly, causing you to squint your eyes as you felt tears begin to form.

In his hair your fingers twitched, having trouble staying latched as you tried to ground yourself. He used both of his hands to press your hips further into him once more. “Keep singing for me,” he grunts into your jawline as he presses light kisses along it. You’re gasping a moan when he takes one hand to squeeze at your ass.

“Just like that,” he says into the corner of your mouth. Your lips are parted as you pant, feeling your hips twitch and lose rhythm as you almost reach your limit. His guiding hands help keep you in pace.

Your clothes feel restricting and you want them off. Yet, when you think about how difficult it would be to put them back on… you decide against it.

You feel his wandering lips finally brushing over yours. His warmth breath fanning against your skin as he speaks, “you close?”

Close to what? You weren’t sure what you were feeling. It was euphoric. Your mind radiated a white light as you closed your eyes. It grew as it built itself up. “Y-yes,” you gasp into his lips.

He’s pressing his lips to yours, hungrily stealing your breath away as his tongue connects with yours. You whimper into him, clutching his hair into a fist as you clutch his kimono in your other. It earns a hungry grunt from him that comes from deep within his chest.

Your eyes roll back into your head behind your closed eyelids. You suck in a breath through your nostrils between kisses, feeling your lungs ache at the lack of oxygen.

He clenches the muscles in his thigh again, making you gasp into his mouth.

It’s when you suddenly tear your lips from his, feeling your body jerk into his as the climax hits. It’s an uninhibited release of control, of self-consciousness, of everything. As you let go, you’re sticking your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent with each heave of your chest.

A heat radiates its way through you in waves as you move against him sloppily.

“Ride it out,” he purrs softly into your ear, holding your trembling hips slow their dragging movement. His words make you whimper again, which gets a grunt from him. He’s helping you and you finally stop, slumping into his form without shame. Your hand falls from his hair to lay flat against his chest.

All you can hear is the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and your labored breathing. You dig your face into his fiery skin even further.

It’s when he shifts, moving his leg just slightly, you release a pained whimper. The overstimulation has you clenching your teeth as he chuckles.

As you come down from your high, you’re noticing the way his chest heaves. The muscles in his neck tense under your touch as you press a short kiss to the area below his sharp jawline.

“What would your husband say if he found out you were riding another man’s thigh?” He asks quietly, taking your chin in his hand to make you look up at him. “He isn’t my husband,” you say instantly and he grins. “Not yet,” he adds and you sigh.

When you shift your knees, only because of the ache they shoot through you from sitting on them; you feel the hardness between his legs with your right leg. Your shifting makes his breath hitch, which you eye him questioningly for.

Of course he was hard, you’d just came undone on his thigh.

“It’s your turn,” you whisper, moving your right hand to take hold of his face. He hums, leaning into your touch. “Don’t you have to meet that girl soon?” He asks, helping you to remember. You nod, shrugging, “she can wait.”

Your words cause him to take in a deep breath before he basically pounces on you. In his movements he shares his hunger, showing you how badly he wants you.

His lips are on yours once more as he moves to take hold of your kimono at your hips, moving it up further to expose yourself completely. It has you sighing into his mouth, pressing your body back to his.

Lost in his lips, kissing him like it would be the last time ever… you hear a soft rasp of a knock on the door. It has you tearing away from him, staring at him in shock. He’s looking at the door, not at you. You catch the feral look in his eyes; anger radiating off of him.

In a daze, you blink.

When the knocking continues, Sukuna looks back towards you, sighing. “It’s her,” he says lowly and you raise and eyebrow. Her?

He removes himself from you as he stands, which makes you frown. He’d taken his warmth with him, leaving you in disheveled mess. Dark eyes glance down at you and he turns to help you up.

As you stand, your kimono returns back to your ankles as it falls.

You’d also noticed the way his erection shows through his clothing. Impressive in size that it shown through that many layers. It made you lick your lips.

“Your servant girl,” he adds, noticing your confusion. Your eyes widen. “Oh!” You gasp, walking to the door but you feel a hand grabbing your upper arm. “Hold on,” he says, pulling you back to him. His deep voice sends electricity through you as you feel him pull you to his body. Large arms envelope you, holding you close. You could feel his cock pressed against your lower stomach.

“I’m not finished with you,” he says, “I can come by tonight?”

You shake your head, closing your eyes in disappointment. “You can’t. That man is staying in my home until he leaves-“ he cuts you off, squeezing his arms firmly around you. Almost warningly, but when he speaks, “if I find out he so much as touches you… I’ll kill him.”

Your eyes widen. The unhinged gaze he’d look down at you with convinced you he was telling the truth. Every part of you burned with desire from his frightening words… relighting the fire within you. He was warning, but you weren’t sure if it was directed towards Michizane or you.

“You are mine and mine alone,” he adds, taking a hold of your chin. “I don’t share.”

He kisses you deeply, marking his place.

You fully accepted his words. His declaration.

If any other man had declared you as their’s you would have laughed in their face… but as you let him lick his way into your mouth; you fully give in. You were his. In all ways possible.

When he releases your lips from his, he pulls away. His form walks away from you, retrieving something from the floor. Your eyes catch the black fabric and you smile, walking towards him to take it.

Yet, he places it on you himself.

The haori envelopes you in a permanent hug, acting as the pair of arms you wished to be wrapped in forever.

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[the0doreslover]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 + 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝

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1- common room

Within the cozy confines of the Gryfindor common room, a soft crackling fire bathed the room in a warm, flickering glow. Remus sat nestled in an armchair, “Fantastic Beasts” open in his lap. Yet, his thoughts weren’t anchored to the words on the page; they wandered, inevitably drawn to a certain someone who occupied his mind more often than he cared to admit.

The firelight danced upon his features, accentuating the lines of concentration that creased his forehead. The rhythmic ticking of the nearby clock was a soothing backdrop as he traced his fingers along the intricate text, absorbing information. But even the most captivating descriptions couldn't compete with the vivid image etched in his memory – the gentle curve of her smile, the way her eyes light up when she speaks about something she loves.

almost like the way his eyes light up when he sees her

As if summoned by his wistful thoughts, the common room's door creaked open, and your figure graced the threshold. Remus's heart froze in his chest, and his breath caught at the sight of you. Your steps were purposeful, your presence commanding attention without you having to say a word.

Lost in his own world, Remus was jolted back to reality by your voice. "Remus, do you know where the book on magical creatures is? I can't seem to find it."

your inquiry hung in the air, and his eyes met yours. The room seemed to pulse with shared vulnerability. His heart raced as he managed a small smile. "I think it's on the second shelf from the top, right over there."

Your lips curled into a grateful smile. "Thank you, Remus. You're a lifesaver."

your appreciation for his assistance sent a warmth rippling through him, and he watched as you crossed the room to the bookshelf. His pulse quickened as you reached for the book, your fingers grazing the spine.

With the book in your grasp, You turned back to him, your eyes locking onto his with an unspoken connection. In that charged moment, the words he yearned to say hovered at the tip of his tongue, begging for release. He wanted to tell you that your presence was a drug to his soul, that your smile illuminated even the darkest corners of his life. Yet, as his heart raced and his pulse pounded in his ears, shyness clung to him like a weighty cloak, muting his feelings and chaining his words.

his eyes followed your figure as you left, leaving him with even more to say to you than before.

2- the black lake

The night, a tapestry of inky darkness adorned with the silver threads of stars, stretched over the Hogwarts grounds like a lover's embrace. Remus found himself drawn to the serenity of the lake, its still waters mirroring the secrets he carried within. The full moon hung in the sky, a radiant orb that illuminated the night in its ethereal glow.

Seated on the edge of the lake, Remus dipped his fingers into the cool water, the ripples echoing the tumultuous emotions he harbored. He hadn't intended to spend the night outside, but the allure of the stars had beckoned him from the confines of the castle.

As if answering the call of fate, soft footfalls approached, the sound barely audible against the backdrop of remus’s heartbeat. Remus turned, and his heart quickened even more if even possible as your figure emerged from the shadows. To him you moved with a grace that seemed to belong to the night itself, your steps deliberate and unhurried.

"Remus," you greeted, your voice a gentle murmur that held a hint of delight. "What are you doing out here?"

He managed a small smile, his heart fluttering as he took in your presence. "Just enjoying the peace."

you settled beside him, the scent of your perfume mingling with the cool night air. Together, you gazed at the moon, lost in a companionable silence. The atmosphere crackled with an unspoken understanding, a connection that went beyond words.

As the conversation flowed, you spoke of your dreams, the words carrying a weight of vulnerability that belied your casual tone. You shared stories of her family, painting vivid images of your childhood. Remus, in turn, allowed himself to peel back layers of his guarded persona, revealing parts of himself he rarely exposed.

Your laughter, melodious and genuine, carried on the wind, intermingling with the lapping of the water against the shore. In that moment, the barriers between you both seemed to dissolve, and Remus felt a longing to confide in you, to let you into the depths of his heart. He wanted to tell you that he had cared about you for longer than he could remember, that your presence was a beacon in the storm of his life.

Your gaze turned to him, eyes soft and understanding. "Remus, there's something about you… something I can't quite put into words."

He felt his heart race, his pulse thrumming in his ears. This was his moment, a chance to unburden his heart. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his voice betraying a mixture of vulnerability and hope. "Y/N, there's something I've wanted to say for a long time."

your gaze held a question, an unspoken curiosity that hung between them like a thread waiting to be woven into something more profound.

“i-” he froze, as if the words got caught in his throat “im cold, goodnight”

And with that he left you in your own thoughts

3- the yule ball

The Yule Ball, a night of enchantment and elegance, had transformed the Great Hall into a dreamscape of beauty and opulence. The air was alive with the tinkling of laughter, the swish of gowns, and the soft murmur of conversations that ebbed and flowed like a current.

Remus Lupin stood on the edge of the crowd, observing the scene before him with a mixture of awe and trepidation.

The ballroom seemed to come alive with the music of the orchestra, a melody that tugged at heartstrings and beckoned couples to the dance floor. Remus watched as his friends and their partners twirled and swayed in graceful harmony, their laughter and smiles painting a picture of joy and connection. He felt like a spectator in a world he didn't fully understand, an outsider gazing at a scene that was beautiful but unattainable.

His eyes, despite his best intentions, found their way to You. To him you moved with an ethereal grace, your gown flowing like liquid moonlight as you danced with lily and marlene. Your laughter was a melody that reached his ears even amidst the other sounds of the ballroom. With each twirl, your smile radiated a warmth that felt like a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds.

In the midst of the enchanting spectacle, Remus's chest tightened, and a pang of longing seized him. He yearned to be the one who held you, who spun you around the dance floor, who made you laugh so freely. But his fear, that unrelenting specter that whispered words of inadequacy, held him captive.

As the night wore on, he found himself retreating to a quieter corner of the Great Hall, his footsteps guided by a mix of disappointment and self-doubt. The laughter of couples and the melodies of the orchestra reached his ears, and he sank into the shadows, trying to hide his feelings behind a mask of indifference.

"Remus, are you enjoying the ball?"

The soft voice, familiar and comforting, pierced through the fog of his thoughts. He turned to see You standing before him, your gown shimmering in the gentle light. your expression was one of concern, your eyes searching his as if trying to decipher the storm that raged within him.

His lips curved into a smile, albeit a faint one. "Yes, it's a lovely event."

You stepped closer, your presence a lifeline that tugged him back from the edge of his thoughts. "You seem a bit distant tonight. Is something bothering you?"

The kindness in your voice was both a balm and a challenge. It was as if you could see through the facade he had constructed. The urge to confide in you, to bare his soul and let you in on the struggles you faced, was a powerful tide that threatened to overwhelm him.

He looked into your eyes, so full of empathy and understanding. For a fleeting moment, he considered sharing his feelings, of telling you how your very presence made his heart race. But the fear, the nagging belief that he wasn't enough, held him captive.

"It's nothing, really. Just lost in my thoughts," he replied, his tone casual even though his heart was anything but.

Your expression softened, and you reached out to gently touch his arm, her fingers warm against his skin sending sparks all up to his heart . "Well, if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

you made a move to walk away, and blame it on the alcohol his friends had forced down him but he reached for your arm

“i love you”

His chest tightened, and he felt a lump form in his throat. This was his moment, every whispered confession he had kept hidden within himself. The weight of his feelings, the longing that had accompanied him for so long, seemed to hang in the air, begging for release.

"Y/N," he said, his voice trembling with the rawness of his emotions. "I love you. I've loved you for so long, but I've been too afraid to say it, the way you look in the light! even the dark. I love you, The way you smile, they way you laugh, hell even the way you cry."

“remus” you tried stopping him

“no wait! i’m not done, the way you always check up on me, even if i’m the happiest man on earth, the way that you look after me after my burden and the way that you-”

"Remus Lupin, I love you too."

The scene seemed to stand still as their unspoken feelings converged.

“do you know how many times i’ve dreamt you saying that to me?” he said pulling you closer to him by your arm

“how about you show me?” you grinned as he leaned in to meet your lips.

Once you both pulled away, their eyes met once more. Ignoring the eyes of their friends they only stared at each other

“about bloody time” sirius said while receiving a bag of coins from peter.

“shut it” lily said slapping the back of his head.

“let’s go somewhere quiet?” you asked

“you don’t have to ask” he grinned

#harry potter #hogwarts #fanfic #marauders #remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter #sirius black #x reader

[idyllic-affections]

hmm thinking about the recent trend with sibling xiao recs, what about if he has zhongli babysit one day? just some kind fatherly zhongli for the soul…

fatherly inclinations.

summary. zhongli takes on a fatherly role over xiao's younger sibling figure.

trigger & content warnings. brief references to implied violence.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff. zhongli & reader, (implied) xiao & younger sibling!reader. 0.6k words. they/them pronouns used for reader.

author's thoughts. the way i had to literally dig this request out of my inbox..... it was all the way at the bottom....... the triple digits are getting closer every day LMAO but anyway. just know that if you have sent in a request, i promise you it does cross my mind every once in a while. anyways fatherly zhongli is very good for the soul!!!!! it is important to get your daily recommended dose of kind dad-like old man zhongli <3333

i believe zhongli has a number of fatherly traits to him, whether he realizes it or not... but of course, i also think he is aware of it.

he is—or more accurately, was—rex lapis, after all. surely it wasn't uncommon for him to be seen as a fatherly figure? the people of liyue looked up to him as one when he was a god, so it isn't like it's a new experience for him or anything.

he's used to it, but that doesn't mean he feels any less endeared by people who deem him as such! it happens often, but he never ceases to feel a parental warmth when it does happen. perhaps it has something to do with his more... dragon-like instincts.

whatever the case may be, he isn't at all bothered by being seen in such a familial way. in fact, he's quite fond of it.

so, inevitably, he would naturally take on that kind of role over his own beloved son's yaksha's younger sibling figure.

...though, as good of a father figure as he is, i think he would be a little bit of a boring person for those not interested in his lengthy history rambles.

but assuming xiao's sibling is interested, for the sake of this post—

he's happy to tell them about anything they'd like to know. if they have questions about liyue's history or about the times when the other yakshas were alive, he's completely alright with telling them his tales... excluding the more violent and grotesque details, of course.

(something tells me he wouldn't want to ruin their image of him, but... he's sure they know part of the truth. they don't say anything about it, so neither does he.)

i think zhongli has a handful of funny stories about xiao, which he totally tells the yaksha's little sibling about. he doesn't mean to embarrass the poor thing! it's more of a wistful, fond nostalgia thing for the ex-archon. now, cloud retainer or madame ping on the other hand...

well. their stories would certainly come with the intention of being teasing, but zhongli is not either of those people. he does it because he's just very fond of those times.

if they're interested in doing something or spending their time somewhere, zhongli will just borrow mora from childe to make it happen LMAO

he'll also take them out to eat with that mora and let them get whatever they'd like <3 it's not like it would put a huge dent in childe's savings, anyway, so it's fine.

(to be honest, childe would probably be especially happy to share if he knew zhongli was using it to spoil a kid. he's just that kind of guy, you know? it shouldn't come as a surprise, given that he has little siblings of his own.)

AND AND AND consider zhongli telling them about liyue's native plants and flowers... he'll explain their symbolisms, how those meanings have evolved over time, what conditions they need to grow properly, etc etc. if they made him a flower crown, he would proudly wear it btw.

he likes sharing information, you know? it's something of a love language.

he's seen so much. he knows so much.

why should he withhold that information, those thousands of years of wisdom, from the people he loves? the way he sees it, maybe one day the information he shares will be of use.

[name] may not be his child biologically or legally, but he sees them as one of his own all the same, just as he did the yakshas and just as he does to the one who remains.

and, you know, if they happen to fall asleep at the end of the day on his shoulder, i don't think he would mind. he'd just lean over, gently kiss them on the temple, adjust their posture so that they don't wake up sore, and kindly murmur with all the tenderness to be expected of a man such as himself, "sleep well, little one."

perhaps xiao comes to find them and take them home, or perhaps zhongli takes them.back to wangshu inn himself.

whatever the case may be, they will be returned home safely.

nothing will get to them with zhongli around.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion's headcanons 🌸 #favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #platonic genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact #platonic genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #platonic zhongli x reader

[dulcewrites]

White Christmas

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x wife!reader (a spy/The Americans au)

Summary: Bob has never been one to reminisce - his job keeps him ever-moving forward. But the holidays calls for reflection. (Wc: 1k +)

Warning: this came out more angsty than I thought :/

A/N: First, just want to say Happy Holidays and or Merry Christmas to those that celebrate. I wanted to get this out a bit earlier but life was life-ing lmao. This is my submission for @lewmagoo’s a lew magoo Christmas. I can’t wait to go back and read/interact everyone’s submissions. This is based off the song by Bing Crosby. This was not the original idea I had; this is much more melancholy but I think it came out well. I could not decide if I wanted to do a fic or moodboard so I kind of put them together. Please like, reblog, and or comment if you read something you enjoy ❤️❄️

Masterlist

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

With every Christmas card I write

May your days be merry and bright

And may all your Christmases be white

Bob has been able to mark his life through events. Not exactly just with time or his age. Instead through a series of actions and domino effects that have set his life up to where it is now. He does not remember being 10, he just remembers the little house he was taken from. He doesn’t remember being 16, just the cold, smooth metal of his first revolver. His 26th birthday, with the real day he was born, was uneventful and terribly dull.

… that was until he got the envelope.

A face. A name. A never-ending mission. A wife to be.

27 was marked by a quick wedding. 28 was cemented by a crying baby girl and the sickly-sweet smell of baby wipes he grew to love. By 30, he saw his first gray hair and one little girl turned into two. Now he wonders what he can hang 37 on. He doesn't want it to be the bodies that have been left behind or 'daddy's business trips' as Georgia says.

Bob wants more. For once he wants something different. Something softer.

An idealist with the bloody ledger of a cynic, you call him. It is always with a smile but the biting edge that your voice can have never fully leaves. Bob thinks you resent that about him while likes to believe that it is a good thing - the little tug in the bottom of his stomach that he gets. Bob does his job, and he has done it valiantly for. Some days he may say he even loves what he does. But with his love comes a soft layer of sadness. It comes with wondering if there could be more outside of kills and mission and the bullshit, he would not have chosen for himself as a child. When things were syrupy in the way everything is when you're a kid.

The wistfulness grows stronger as the weather changes, and a dusty of white magic settles over the ground. The first winter snow he can remember in a long time.

The cabin idea comes with apprehension from you. Christmas was a holiday the two of you grinned and bared for the sake of the girls, but Bob found the words slipping out of his mouth. His fingers already inched looking into places - a little blue house in the snow. He knows that face well. Brows drawn tight and mouth pursed in thought.

“Emmie mentioned wanting to go camping.”

It was a bit unfair to mention your youngest daughter, Emerson. The frown lines on your face softened a bit, followed by a resigned sigh. There was little that made you like that - malleable. He knows you would never say it out loud but only the girls could do that.

I’ll have to talk with Maverick about it. He may need us.

Then it was his turn to frown. The growing dissolution bubbled under, and it all started with Pete Mitchell. But how does one turn his back on the only real family he has known. Bob cannot say he knows Regina and Don, - the people he should think to be parents; instead, thinks he was made in Mav’s image. Just like every other agent that has come through Top Gun. Your loyalty to Mav in admirable as it is a thorn in Bob’s side.

He likes to say there is three in your relationship if he could even call it that.

But he takes what he can get from you. A knowing smile when Aria says something completely out of left field. A kiss where you don’t flinch away or tense up.

It all works together in the oxymoron that is his marriage with you. Husband and wife. Partners in crime. He loathes you as much as he couldn’t imagine doing this without you. He endlessly pines for a woman he has two children with.

Nothing has ever been easy for the two of you, and he supposes he would not have it any other way.

———

“I don’t know your real name.”

The general statement made you pause as your looked away from the fireplace in front of you. Bob was sitting on the bed, the green reindeer slippers the girls gave him matched his pullover. While him and girls seem to thrive in the cold, you hated it. You liked the uncomfortableness that came with humidity and heat. You were used to beads of sweat above the brow and clothes sticking to you back. Uneasiness was your default setting.

A snow-covered cabin is beautiful in theory, tortuous in practice.

“What,” you muttered, gaze going back to the fire. The flames danced against the brick surrounding it. The name thing was an issue he pressed. For reasons you still don’t get.

“I don’t know your real name,” he repeats. “And you don’t know mine. You don’t know anything about me before we…”

He trails off contemplatively. You shrug softly. “I think Robert suits you fine. Perfectly, even.”

There was a beat of silence. You wanted to tell him it was better this way. Life has been separated into two different parts: BB and AB. Before Bob and After Bob. It was no use focusing on what happened before then. You hope he drops the conversation, but Bob has never been one to let things go. A dog with a bone.

“Do you know why I suggested coming here?”

“You enjoy watching me freeze,” it was a joke but there is little mirth in the room.

“I grew up in a little blue cabin, sort of like this one -,”

“Bob”

“In a small town in Illinois.”

“Bob,” you hate him for this… or at least you want to hate him for this. Hate him for trying so damn hard.

“Every winter, I remember sheets of snow on ground and - and my ma-,”

“Robert,” your voice echoes a bit off the room. You fully turn to him, wishing to have bit of venom in your voice but it comes out broken. “What do you want from this? From me?”

“Why does it have to be something? Why can’t I just want you, all of you?”

Penny warned you about this. She’s taught you everything you know. And for better or worse, it has led you done a straight and narrow path.

Even in our business, people grow… attached. It will be up to you to either let them in or close it before it gets to be too much.

You wouldn’t call yourself frigid, but you are sure others would. It never bothered you really. Not as you grew older. There was a weakness in others that you simply did not have. The coldness was an easy barrier that deterred most, if not everyone you came across.

“You have me,” your fingernail scrapes across the wool blanket wrapped around you. “I am right here, aren’t I?”

Cobalt eyes mute with sadness.

“That isn’t what I meant.”

You grow more exasperated. “And you think me telling you about my past life will do that?”

“No, but I think you being honest would. Honest about how you feel about me, about the girls, would.”

Does he want you to write on a piece of paper if he loves you and make him check yes or no like you’re in the fifth grade. There was something so innocent about the look he gave you. The stunted nature of how the two of you work around each other may be less of your faults and more of the world that failed the both of you. You look at Bob now and he doesn’t seem like the man you have seen dodging bullets or choking out men twice his size. He seems so utterly human. And despite yourself, all you can think about is how much Maverick would hate it. The spurred want others to think the same.

You do love the girls, frankly more that you would like to admit. Two little knives to which people can twist. And Robert…

People get hurt, killed, when feelings are involved.

let them in or close it.

“I am tired,” you mutter. “I really don’t feel like rehashing the past. Certainly not with you.”

It is the end of the discussion, and you try not to flinch when the door closes behind him. The silence had become a gentle friend of yours. A safe companion to embrace. You wait for him to come back, thinking he must be letting off some steam outside in the cold. But 30 minutes turns into an hour and you start to think he may have crashed in one of the other rooms in the cabin.

After numbingly sitting at the fireplace, the only thing you can think to do is get ready for bed. You crave a bottle of wine but agreed to a painfully dry Christmas.

Your fingers don’t go towards the drawers where you unpacked the plethora of long Johns and sweaters you brought; they go to Bob’s instead. You know he’d probably laugh at you if he could see it, and you’d deserve it. Can’t even admit your feelings but want to sleep in one his shirts. While digging for an old Led Zeppelin shirt. Your digging is thwarted when your hand grazes across a chest inside the drawer. Biting your lip, you look towards the door. Bad things come in threes. He’s already upset you; you’re digging in his stuff… might at well get your third strike.

A familiar sinking feeling muddled in your stomach as you lift the chest to see tinier ring box in it, along with a mini snow globe. You both promised no presents this year for Christmas, but of course he wouldn’t stick to that. Your gaze goes to the simple ring on your left hand. It wasn’t something either of you picked out. It was left in the envelope you received.

“You should be happy you even get one off the bat,” Natasha sighed. “Jake gave me a ring pop as joke before Mav stepped in.”

You don’t have it in you to open the ring box, a bile stuck in your throat. But you do pick up the mini snow globe. It is like nothing you have seen before; it looks homemade. Inside a little blue cabin with sparkles dusted around it. On the bottom, tiny writing painted on. Chicken scratch that could only come from kids.

To the best wife and mommy in the world. May all your Christmases be merry and bright.

You set the snow globe back in the chest hastily, as if you have been burned.

God you’re fucked.

#robert floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd #robert floyd x you #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd #Robert Floyd #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun fic #a lew magoo christmas

[lovesickgolbach]

Words I Didn’t Say || LN4

Description: You and Lando had been together privately for about 2 years. You loved him dearly, but over time things started to turn sour.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Verstappen!Reader (Max’s sister) 

Warnings: Mentions of unfaithfulness, swearing, physical fights, mad max (does that even need a warning?)

Thank you so so so so much to @cchxrlotte who helped me with the Dutch translation! you are so kind for helping out!

a/n: hey friends, a new bestie of mine came up with this brilliant idea and we spent a few hours brainstorming it. i hope you like it. @ancient-darling​

Part 2

It had been the end of the race at the Hungaroring, Max, your twin brother had finished P1, whilst your boyfriend Lando had managed to finish P7, as much as you would have liked to be happy for him, you just couldn’t. You waited patiently for your brother to stop in parc fermé, smiling at him and snapping pictures as he stood on top of his car, cheering for his major win after having to start P10. You couldn’t have been more proud of him in that moment. 

He came over and hugged you tight. “Ik wist dat je het kon, Maxje" I knew you could do it, Maxie you spoke in Dutch, smacking his helmet playfully. Although you were smiling, he instantly saw something was off. He saw it in your eyes, knowing the look in them all too well, he was your twin after all. “ Kom naar me toe na de podium ceremonie" Come see me after the podium he spoke softly in Dutch, before leaving to go to the cool down room.

Lando didn’t even make an effort to come see you after his race. It stung, although your relationship was not public, it wasn't out of the ordinary for you and him to share a hug after the race, afterall, he was your brothers best friend too. You swallowed the lump in your throat and watched your brother recieve his first place trophy. 

The podium ceremony had come and gone, Max had taken a quick shower and you were waiting for him in the Red Bull hospitality. You sighed, checking your phone but seeing nothing from Lando. You had been scrolling through Instagram when the post caught your eye. You froze, not knowing what to do. Max had seen this and walked over to you. “Y/n?” he looked down at your phone in your hands, instantly tensing up at the post.

On your phone screen was a video, with multiple images of Lando, with his arm around a girl, two girls to be exact. Your heart sunk. Yeah, Lando had a lot of girl friends and sure he hung out with them a lot, but you never had a reason to feel insecure, you trusted him. Well that was until around 5 minutes ago, when you stumbled upon that god forsaken post.

“Kom, ik wil dat de media met mij doet" Come, I want you to do media duties with me Max took your phone, locking it and putting it in his pocket. He knew you needed a distraction, so you just nodded. “How could he..” you looked down at your hands, fighting the tears that were threatening to fall. “Let us not think about him okay?” it was not often that your brother spoke English to you, but you nodded leaning into his side when he pulled you into a comforting hug. Max kissed your head softly and entered the media pen.

You stood just out of view of the camera, listening to what your brother had to say about his race. He spoke so excitedly, knowing how well he had driven to get that P1 spot. 

As you waited for your brother to conclude his interview, you got a hand full of greetings from the other drivers, obviously they had known you were Max’s twin sister, but what they hadn’t known was that you had also been dating Lando. Your relationship was very much private, due to the face that you didn’t want to cause chaos between McLaren and Red Bull. So that post that the fan had made on Instagram, was completely innocent. How would they have known that it would absolutely wreck your day and possibly your entire two year relationship. 

“Y/n?” you were pulled out of your thoughts by that all too familiar voice. Lando stood next to you, smiling. You looked at him, his hair was a mess from the baklava that he had been wearing and he was still in his race suit. Usually that suit would make your chest flutter, but all you felt was heartache.

“Lando.” You spoke, ice laced in your words. 

“What’s the matter with you, jeez” He looked at you, confused at why you were behaving the way you were. 

Before you could respond, Max had come over, moving you so you were now standing behind him. “You should leave, Lando. Right now” He spoke plainly.

“What? Why? What’s going on? I want to see my girlfriend Max.” Lando tried pushing him out of the way but Max didn’t move. Tension filled the air, angry tension. 

“Max, move right now or I swear to god I’ll-” Max cut him off. “You’ll what? Fuck other women behind my sisters back?!” He seethed through gritted teeth and Lando took a step back. “What are you on about mate?!” Lando looked at him confused.

You couldn’t move. It was like you were frozen in place. Your whole entire world seemed to come crashing down around you. 

“Y/n baby what’s going on?” Lando looked at you and started moving towards you. Before he could even get remotely close, Max shoved him away. “Stay away from her!”

“Don’t fucking touch me!’ Lando shoved him back, with more force and before you could even blink, the pair of them were in a full blown fist fight. “M-Max s-stop!” you choked through your tears watching your brother punch into Lando relentlessly. 

Max was pulled off by Charles and Checo, holding him back tightly. “I’ll fucking kill him I swear!” Max struggled in their grip, watching Daniel and Lewis tend to Lando, who now had a bleeding lip and a small bruise forming on his jaw. Max had also been hit by Lando, leaving him with an eye that was slowly turning black.

Reporters stood frozen in place, trying to decipher what had just happened. Cameras and eyes were everywhere. You felt small and embarrassed at what had just unfolded in front of you. 

An arm wrapped around your shoulder, it was Sebastian. “Let me take you back to hospitality okay?” He spoke into your ear softly and you nodded. He turned to Max and Lando, “You two as well, get out of the view of the cameras.” he walked with you back to the paddock. You were shaking, because not only does the media now know about yours and Lando’s relationship, but now they’ve seen the really ugly side of it. They also saw how your brother was ready to kill him. 

The realization had hit you like a bus when you walked into hospitality and the entirety of the Red Bull team laid there eyes on you. ‘I will never be allowed into the paddock again..’ you thought to yourself seeing their faces.

Max walked in, asking everyone for some privacy, which they respected and left. Seb left too, patting you on your shoulder for some comfort, you smiled up at him softly.

Daniel had walked in with Lando, moving across to the other side of the room and letting him sit on a chair. “You two are going to sit and talk this out like adults and not fight about it like brainless teenagers!” Daniel spoke angrily.

Lando looked over at you “Y/n can you please tell me what the fuck is going on here and why Max tried to kill me in front of everyone?!”

“You-You cheated, Lando..” You looked up at him with an exhausted, broken expression. “Don’t deny it.. I saw the pictures” you used your sleeve to wipe your eyes. Lando was dead silent. 

“Oh wow so you won’t even deny it?!” Max spoke now, anger laced in his voice. “I let you date my sister and this is how you fucking treat her?!” Max’s hands clenched at his sides. 

“Maxje, kan je mij en Lando een paar minuutjes alleen laten?" Maxie, please can you leave me and Lando alone for a few minutes? you spoke Dutch to him, at least you had some sort of privacy with Max. “Ik laat je niet alleen met hem, Y/n" I’m not leaving you alone with him, Y/n. Max said calmly to you. 

“Hij gaat me niks aan doen hoor, Max, en ik weet zeker dat Kelly met je wel praten. Wacht alsjeblieft maar gewoon buiten met Daniel" It’s not like he’s going to hurt me, Max, and I’m sure Kelly would like to talk to you. Just go wait outside with Daniel please? you almost pleaded with him. He nodded, “Come, let’s give them space” Max said with clenched teeth to Daniel, who got up and left with him. 

Once they were out, you pulled a chair out from under the table, sitting across from him. He reached out to lay his hand on your knee but you shook your head. “Don’t” was all you said and you moved slightly back.

“I-I just don’t understand Lando.. I’m struggling to find the words b-but I trusted you.. I understand that you wanted to keep us private for my safety and that I agreed to do so, but you didn’t have to make it a secret that you were in a relationship. Just because I didn’t attend parties with you doesn’t mean I stop existing..” You took a few deep breaths. “And I’m not saying you did cheat, but you had your arms around them, they were touching you like you were some piece of meat. Would you have liked if I went out and every other man was touching my waist? Pulling me close, dancing with me?”

Lando was silent, looking down at his lap. He knew he had fucked up. “Didn’t think so” you spoke softly, sniffing.

“I gave you everything Lando... and all I got in return was this” you motioned to him with your hands. “Are you even going to say anything?” you crossed your arms across your chest.

Lando looked up at you, his face had guilty written all over it. He knew you were right, but what could he do? Nothing he could say would reverse the damage that has already been done. You had proof too. He didn’t cheat, he never even dreamt of it, but he won’t deny loving the attention those girls had been giving him that night on the yacht. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n” he managed to get out. 

“And I don’t forgive you Lando. Not right now at least.” you sighed.

 The room was fully silent, tensions were high. Lando had known it was coming, yet he ignored the signs.

“I think we should take a break, for a while.” You spoke, breaking the silence. “I-I love you Lando, with my whole being. This isn’t easy, it won’t ever be.. but i can’t continue like this if I am going to be treated as the side bitch. So um.. please come get your stuff from my apartment when you get home..” Tears were threatening to fall but you blinked them away quickly. Taking his head between your hands and making him look at you, you kissed him softly.

 “Bye, Lando” was all you said before going to Max’s drivers room, shutting the door and sinking down the side of the wall, you curled up with your knees to your chest, sobbing, finally letting out all the emotion you had been keeping in.

Daniel and Max watched as Lando stormed out of the Red Bull hospitality, going down the paddock towards McLaren. Daniel said a quick goodbye to Max and rushed after his teammate. Max walked in, he heard your sobs coming from his drivers room, he entered slowly, not to startle you.

“Het doet zo f-fucking veel pijn, Max!" It hurts so f-fucking much Max! you sobbed, ghasping for air as your chest burned from how hard you were crying. You felt so hopeless and weak. Here you were, a Verstappen, sobbing over a boy like a little bitch, you mentally cussed yourself out. Verstappens’ aren’t weak, especially with a father like yours’ and Max’s. 

Max sat down next to you, pulling you closer to him. “Laat het gaan, ik ben er" Let it out, I’ve got you he held you protectively. Although you were twins, Max had always been protective of you, even though you were 5 minutes older. You loved him for that though, he always protected you and made sure you were safe. You loved your brother dearly. 

You sat like that with Max for a while, until you calmed down. Your head was resting on his shoulder with your eyes closed. “Kunnen we opstaan? Mijn kont word lam" Can we get up? My ass is going numb he giggled and you did too. “Die van mij eigenlijk ook" Mine too, honestly You stood up, offering him a hand, which he took and pulled himself up. He pulled you into his chest, giving you a tight hug. “Thanks, Maxie" you smiled up at your brother softly, who just held you close and comfortingly. 

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

It was week 2 of the summer break, you had been staying with Max and Kelly in their apartment, acting as a babysitter for P while they were on a couples getaway. You were in the living room, helping her color in the picture that she had been coloring in all day. 

“What color do you want her hair to be, P?” You smiled at the little girl who had been seemingly ignoring the lines and drawing her own dress onto the character. “Green” she pointed to the lime green crayon. “Alright” you smiled and started coloring in the hair of the character, a knock brought you out of your thoughts. “Who could that be?” You asked P, but it was more rhetorical than anything.

You walked to the front door, opening it. You felt the wind get knocked out of you seeing those familiar eyes and curly hair look back at you. “What are you doing here Lando?” You spoke, annoyed that he had shown up unannounced. 

“Just read this..” he handed you an envelope and you had taken it unsure. It was a very think envelope, quite heavy too. “Bye” Lando spoke, practically running out the door.

“Uncle Landoooooooo!” Penelope squeaked behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden loud noise. You knew she adored her Uncle Lando, so you didn’t try to stop her. 

She ran out of the door into his arms when he was crouching down to catch her. “Hey P” he smiled at her, hugging her tight. “How have you been?” he leaned back slightly so he could see her better. “I good! Do you wanna see my drawing?” she asked sweetly and Lando looked at you, unsure. You nodded, telling him it’s okay to come in. You couldn’t let Penelope suffer because of your own personal issues. He was still someone she loved and looked up to.

He put P down, holding her hand and letting her drag him in. “Wooooow P! This is so cool!” he smiled at her drawing. “Did you draw the dress all by yourself?” he knelt down beside her and she nodded vigorously. “All by me!!” she cheered, feeling proud of her drawing.

As if the situation couldn’t get more awkward, in walked your overprotective twin brother and his girlfriend. “Y/n? Whose car is par-” he made eye contact with Lando and his expression changed instantly. His eyes became dark. 

“Come say hi P!” Kelly smiled at her daughter and took her upstairs quickly to stop her from seeing whatever may unfold between Max and Lando. 

“Max, jij bent snel ter-" Max you’re back ear-you were cut off by him. “Shut up Y/n! What is he doing here?!” he yelled, which he never does to you, especially in English.

“He just showed up Max, P spotted him and wanted to say hi, I couldn’t say no to her Max.” You explained calmly.

He sighed, “Leave, Lando.” Max’s voice was calm, eerily calm. You looked over at Lando, who had gone pale at the sudden arrival of him. All he could do was nod. “Read it” Lando spoke quickly, running out of the house as quickly as his legs would let him. 

“Heeft hij je pijn gedaan?" Did he hurt you? Max looked over at you and you shook your head. “Echt waar, hij is niet bij me in de buurt geweest, Maxje" He didn’t come near me Maxie, I promise. You smiled at him. “Jij bent vroeg tuis, was de vakantie niet leuk?" You came home early, was vacation not fun? You started cleaning up P’s crayons and Max helped. “It was, but Kelly missed P and als ik haar nog eens had horen zeuren werd ik gek" if I had to hear her complain one more time I would have lost my mind. he smiled, sitting down on the couch. 

“Well I hope you had some fun atleast. I know P and I had the best time.” 

“Yeah until that son of a bitch showed up and let himself into my house” had looked at you. You sighed. “I’m sorry okay? I don’t want P to suffer because of what he did. Ze kijkt naar hem op, Max" She looks up to him, Max 

“En je had nee kunnen zeggen tegen haar!" And you could have told her no! Max yelled loudly again, making you jump slightly. All you could do was nod. “Alright...” you breathed as you walked upstairs to your room quickly, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. 

The letter in your hands seemed to burn with anticipation, calling for you to open it and so you did. 

The letter was written in his sorry excuse for ‘tidy handwriting’ and you smiled softly to yourself, remembering how bad he felt when you told him you couldn’t read his handwriting. So he tried his best to tidy it up so you could read it, which helped. 

The Letter

Y/n, my first and only true love. The one who I wanted to wake up next to every morning, for the rest of my life. The one who I needed like the oxygen i breathe. You were my oxygen, my saving grace. You were the one who pushed me to be the person I am today, and I will forever be grateful for that. 

But I am a liar, Y/n. A filthy one too. You didn’t deserve what I put you through, not at all. I screwed it up, I know. I went out with those girls, one of them kissed me, and I kissed back. I knew it was wrong, I really did. Yet- I didn’t stop. I knew I should have, and I still didn’t. 

I didn’t deserve you, in fact, no one deserves you. You’re too good for this world. You’re too good for anyone. 

I’ll never forget us. I’ll never forget you. 

You deserve the world, and I couldn’t give it to you. I know sorry will never make it better, but I am sorry and I will forever be.

I will never forget the way your eyes sparkled in the sun, or the way they lit up when you were excited. I will never forget the way your hand fit into mine perfectly, as if every part of you was made for me. I will never forget your soft kisses or your tight hugs. 

I won’t ever forget you. 

I know we wont stand another chance of being together again, but please never forget what we did have. I will forever love you. 

These are the Words I Didn’t say: I LOVE YOU.

-Lando. 

Your eyes brimmed with tears, those three words you were dying to hear from him. If he had just known how much you needed to hear them, maybe you wouldn’t be in this current situation. But he was also a cheater, which stung. Nothing ever will repair that trust that was broken. Nothing. 

You looked at the note, feeling a weight off your shoulders, partly because you had gotten some answers now. Yes, your heart still hurt, especially because he had cheated, but you knew deep down that it was perhaps for the best. Your mind was racing, so many thoughts at once, but one rang over and over in your mind. You suddenly felt enraged, ripping the stupid letter to shreds.

Fuck You, Lando Norris. 

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x oc #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 imagine #max imagine #formula 1 #max verstappen #mv33 #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #ln3 x reader

[topersevereassentiment]

What are the salient features of Asriel, post-canon, that keep us from "saving" him from life alone in the Underground?

He's soulless (a practical problem),

he'll soon return to being a flower (a practical problem) and would prefer that you think of him like this rather than Flowey (a personal and interpersonal problem), and

he's decided to stay and tend the grave of the fallen child (and this is not really a problem at all; rather, a decision, which the boundary conditions of Undertale require us to respect).

There is a lot of UT post-canon fic out there which treats all these as practical problems. Frisk can just get a soul from somewhere, throw Alphys technobabble or soul arcanobabble at the body issue; get Flowey in therapy; and... also get Flowey in therapy for that last one, because his decision isn't really legitimate, in save-the-goat stories. It's self-harm. Which, personally, is both understandable and missing the point of one of the game's core themes: no matter how many times you restart the story, there are things you can't do; you are not getting a 100% Complete Perfect Pacifist where even Asriel is saved, and it's okay to be wistful about it, but you still need to put down the controller eventually. Getting him to the surface happens a lot in fic, because we all want the goldenest ending, but it could never happen in canon and we just have to live with it. It's thematically potent and I'd lose a lot of respect for Undertale's commitment to its story if you could circumvent it.

(Incidentally, this feels to me like it stems from the same ideas as making "* I have places to be" the wrong answer, a giving-in to Frisk's self-sacrificing, self-disregarding nature which must be corrected. Sometimes, you have to let people live and make their own decisions, outside the boundaries of the story's frame. Your perspective only goes so far.)

...now, fluffier, more sympathetically-traumatized Asriel, on the other hand...!

Ralsei's woes in Deltarune are very visibly the same kind of isolation as what Asriel's dealing with at the end of Undertale, but a) it's worse (a whole lifetime of waiting in a very deliberately empty, lifeless, three-screen-long kingdom) and b) he's stuck there for purely practical reasons. Darkners can't enter the Light World without becoming objects. He never made a decision to be here.

It's not something we can technobabble our way out of right now, but we're only in Chapter 2, right? We can save him, in a way we can't save Asriel: the deadlock we can't resolve has been removed; we don't really have to think about his preferences any more, because the preferences that kept us from helping him and left him stuck in the Underground I mean Dark World are just gone.

His issues are also much more obvious from the get-go, and seem designed to be something we talk him out of – not Asriel's decision to stay by his lost friend's grave, with a weight of meaning and feeling behind it, but hero worship, subservience, religious dedication to the Prophecy and self-image issues, all clear and visible dysfunctions. Giving Asriel therapy has left the realm of fanfiction and wish fulfillment and become part of canon... and the real disagreements we had with UT!Asriel over what he was and meant and deserved have become simple roadblocks for DR!Asriel whoops I mean Ralsei, things we have to help him through. Practical problems where the solution is friendship speech + therapy.

To make a slightly heavy-handed comparison, Ralsei saying we exist to serve Lightners and gratefully referring to himself as Kris's lackey is Anthy saying I'm the Rose Bride because I like it. It's the kind of reason we're inclined to reflexively overrule without working to deal with it at its root. Ralsei is Asriel, minus the irreconcilable and bittersweet parts, someone whose objections to being helped have either been removed or simplified down until we can feel good about disabusing him of them. He's our wish fulfillment in the way that candy on trees might be Susie's and a city of shining lights might be Noelle's and Giant Arcade Consoles might be Berdly's: an Asriel you can help, who you can make go to therapy and deal with the problems that keep him from caring for himself; who'll shut up, comply and let himself be saved.

...so the fact that Kris – whose personal issues are opaque, complex, and frustrating; who appears to be actively hiding parts of their life and motives from us; who clearly doesn't want our help or an improved social life at the expense of their agency – finds him so distasteful might not just be because he's a parody of their brother or Secretly Evil or whatever. If Ralsei is "the kid they're supposed to be" it's not just his fluff and horns!

#deltarune #undertale #deltarune meta #undertale meta #ralsei #asriel #kris dreemurr

[unlikelyjapan]

s2e9 rewatch notes (part 1)

Omelette - I'm hoping I can pull through and finish this rewatch in its entirety before I leave on vacation. While the analysis is fun, the actual act of watching the show feels very masochistic vs. last season, which I must have watched a dozen times.

The-not-sexy-sex-scene: It's interesting that the credits start to roll on a black backdrop before we even get the blue-hued (read: frozen) sex scene, and its set to a song that was written about a death/funeral (The Day the World Went Away by NIN).

As a bit of context, Trent Reznor's grandmother (who raised him after his parents flaked out) died right before the release of The Fragile, and this song was thought to be written as a reflection of her funeral. I know they didn't include any lyrics in the scene (that would be too on-the-nose for a director that delights in subterfuge), but in no world is this a happy or lustful track - it's frail, wistful, and entirely about something (someone) that has been lost.

There's some laughter in there, if you squint, but it's mostly intense and needy glances replete with swinging chain for the feral audiences sake. The stark/open "little death" eyes at the end (as Claire is presumably sleeping ) punctuate the scene UNTIL....

.....Sydney is buttoning up her coat (i.e. getting frigging dressed) in the very next beat, frustration in her voice as she notices the stains on her whites (God, is this a sheets parallel?) .

This is hot on the trail of her getting undressed (revealing her 3 of swords tattoo) at the end of s2e7 as Carmy and Claire make out in the split montage, which is the only reason I'm thankful this was released as a binge series this year.

There's not much more to elaborate on here that hasn't been discussed in this brilliant analysis by @belassima- the classic "getting dressed after a sexual encounter" trope turned on its head. We don't see Claire again until friends & family, and this is wholly on purpose. I'm suing Christopher Storer for damages after the series finale.

Syd and her Dad have such an enviable synergy - but you can tell she's over leaning on him as her "person". He's checking in on her stomach (foreshadowing the dumpster scene) and acts as her lone hype man. "I don't know how you do what you do, but I am excited".

Emmanuel - "I never want you to feel like you have to make everything the thing."

a.k.a - "You know, there are other fish in the sea."

Sydney - "Why can't we put everything we have into everything that we can"

a.k.a - "I want to funnel everything into catching this one - this is a borrowed quote from my soulmate business partner."

Emmanuel - "Baby, if that's true, then why put so much pressure on this one?"

a.k.a - "What is the reason/what is so particularly special about this fresh hell you've been subjecting yourself to?"

Sydney - "Because.....I don't know if I could do another one"

Ok - more nuance is required here. According to Syd hivemind, the answers range from "Syd's been burned in a relationship/partnership before", "Syd also has Lupus", or purely "Syd has failed too many times and is scared". We still don't know enough about her past, but I tend to look at this through a strictly fearful/nihilistic prism - she feels like she can't take any more heartache (along with the physical and financial ramifications) from another crash-and-burn endeavor.

But Emmanuel's worried eyes tell a bigger story after she delivers this line, so.....I dunno! I hope S3 covers this understanding gap in a big way.

Strange Currencies playing overhead of the city, taking us to the ally where Carmy is having THE panic attack. I transcribed every image he cycles through while the song plays backwards:

*Sex scene of Carmy staring down expressionless at Claire in bed, Claire leaning down to kiss Carmy.

*An old picture of Claire staring straight ahead, a Sweet 16 birthday picture of her sticking out her tongue in a tiara, one of Carmy's drawing of her with glasses from class. Cut to a flash of Claires face with a wry smile in sepia lighting, followed by another one that is similar but almost taunting. These sepia images get creepier as the panic attack escalates, but also more focused.

*Another drawing of Claire smiling with glasses with Mikey's voice echoing in the background "the motherfucking glasses came off!"

*Another old picture of Claire smiling without glasses, followed by another.

*Mikey and Richie and another "the motherfucking glasses came off!" soundbite.

*Drawing of Claire in glasses again for a brief flash, followed by Carmy and Claires first kiss at The Bear.

*"Carm, this is a good thing" with Stevie, as Carmy crumples to the ground in the ally.

*Claire up-close in sepia sort of half-wistful/half-scruitinizing Carmy

*Donna screaming "fuck you" and Mikey braying at the dinner table, Lee reacting, a dish smashing.

*Sepia Claire turning and smiling to the camera.

*More braying and fuck-you's from Mikey and Lee

*Just Claire's eyes in Sepia-mode, staring across at him with a joker-esque smile as the braying and swearing and fighting continues.

*Donna screaming "are you motherfuckers okay!?"

*The drawings of The Bear in Mikey's hands, him looking up affectionately at Carmy.

*Donna slapping Carmy - Carmy looks up in the ally as if something has slapped him out of it.

Donna and Mikey summon Sydney after this - Mikey with the acknowledgment of his dream (The Bear) and an ounce of brutality from Donna (as in: how dare you care about me, Carmen). These two figures, engines of chaos and trauma, steer him towards Sydney's first words to him.

"Hi, Hello..."

*Strange currencies - "These words* You were the most excellent CDC at the most excellent restaurant in the entire United States of America. What are you doing here I guess?" *you will be mine. You will be mine all the time*

I....I don't understand how the panic attack is ambiguous for people off of this site. I don't understand why it's not noted in reviews and think pieces. I don't understand why otherwise smart people put forth simplistic narratives like "Carmen just needs to make peace with his family" or "he fumbled Claire, his shot at happiness." I just don't understand.

Sydney passing Verdana "Now fool might be my middle name" as she stares down at the sign saying they will be permanently closed May 1st - along with the instrumentals, a clock ticks in the background. A flash of Nilah's face is interspersed, smiling back at her. "But I'd be foolish not to say..."

If this is an ellipse to a "Carmy loves Syd, Syd is fully gay" moment in later seasons, I'll be pretty disappointed since that would be a too-easy way to shut things down.

On first viewing, I took it as "Syd sees herself in Nilah" - she aspires to be her, Nilah gave her forewarning about partnerships that aren't official, Nilah was empowered, optimistic, and in control....and Nilah has not succeeded, highlighting Sydney's anxieties about failure at the same time Carmy is cycling through his own debris.

But the song lyrics are ambiguous, and everything is on purpose, and god damn I hate what fan theories have done to my mind.

Anyone catch that on the F&F menu listed on the whiteboard (as Natalie enters to sit with Carmy) the course of Seven Fishes is followed by the Bolognese? The feast was followed by the meal he prepared for Claire being served at friends and family? Yeah, I did.

The mother father painting - I feel like everyone was riffing on this during the earlier part of the week. The absolution of the mother due to the absent father. Syd being the mother (present) and Carmy being the father (absent). Donna (alive) vs. Mikey (dead). The idea of family haunting the dining room. The idea that this painting in the restaurant supplants what is trying to be built (found family). I suppose the parallels are endless here.

It's also just a truly shitty painting, a gauche reminder of Carmy's absence/inattentiveness.

"What exactly is a ServSafe certificate"?

Carmy was most definitely deflecting, he's a well-venerated chef. There are moments of inconsistency in the show that I let slide (giardiniera a la minute? bitch please) but there had to be a reason for this - his fatigue, his guilt, his inattentiveness reaching a breaking point.

Once he says "I'm fine on mom" Natalie sees it all coming to a head.

Sydney stickering her little Coach K vision board as she arrives for her shift. I just realized she doesn't really start paying attention to the book (a dorky 'go get 'em' gift from her Dad) until Carmy ditches her at Kasama. Coach K exists in the leadership void left by Carmy - it seems so sad to watch her pre-game by bejeweling a picture of a middle-aged man, but that sad pseudo-prayer card is the closest thing she's got to a north star right now.

Also, she's been fixated on and extolling the virtues of Coach K to Carmy all season and is met with....complete incuriosity, I guess? He never prods further, even when he sees her making this dinky thing for her station. It's almost like he knows, on a subconscious level, that this guy is supplanting him as Syd's guide.

But it's also her finding her own voice through advanced mentorship, which is great.

Carmy pointing at those aforementioned stains, Syd undressing in front of him, Carmy making plans to dress her again, them mutually deciding to dress in matching clothes until service. I cannot guys, I cannot.

Carmy getting spit-roasted for his deflection from Nat & Syd ("I know you just missed him *eyeroll*" "Do you have a phone these days?") - I feel like he's so under fire/exposed that he doesn't even recognize of the gravitas of the "I need your focus like you need mine" comment at first.

"What's your relationship with your mom like?" This scene has been discussed to death on here, I don't really have any new insights as it relates to Carmy/Syd and their maternal links or timing. I think the part that hasn't been explored much is Carmy's frustration with Nat which is thinly veiled as concern.

We saw in Fishes that Mikey and Carmy (and Donna) blame Nat for provoking bad behavior with her concern and neediness. Carmy says "she's expecting a miracle" like she's the sole sibling that enabled their mother. By way of Donna's disease and (I presume) unwillingness to seek help, the Berzatto kids really only had two options - enable by pacifying, or GTFO.

Mikey could be as atrocious as Donna. Donna is atrocious. Carmy played soothe-sayer and then left at 18. Natalie tries to cultivate some sense of family - the same family Carmy pays homage to via his restaurant, his menu, his girlfriend, Richie, his endless self-flagellation - but is resented for her own wayward attempts, even though they're very explicit expressions of love (sometimes) and longing (always). There's some really gnarly projection happening there that I expect will rear its head more in S3 between the two of them.

Cue Carmy being a douche to New Noise (although I love that little moment where he cock-blocks Connor, the new chef, and Tina smiles to herself a little).

Tina's been working tirelessly alongside Sydney and asks "Carmen, do you even have a phone?" as Syd tells him the contractor for the shelving called him eleventy-thousand times. There is a lot of emasculation happening on his own restaurant floor (formerly The Beef, the temple of gross masculinity) between the trifecta of Syd/Nat/Tina this episode, and it's only ratcheting up the defensiveness - his excuses and deflections fall flat, but he's not listening or learning yet.

Marcus' dessert check, (with Syd and Carmen looking like a panel of matchy-matchy top chef judges on the other side of the table):

Sydney is looking at Carmy with affection as Marcus receives a package from Denmark (whereas Carmen doesn't even react) - it's the second time she's looked at him like that in the conversation (the first being "workshopping the name") but it's been a long while since she's projected admiration his way. She sees how much he's done for Marcus in cultivating the whole customized Copenhagen experience for him, she sees his service, she sees her values humbly and quietly executed by him.

The Michael 😭 followed by the silence and "You can throw down, huh?" - what a perfect moment of TV.

I'm pausing here for tonight before my grammar falls apart (if it hasn't already), I'll unpack the rest tomorrow.

#the bear fx #the bear season 2 #the bear spoilers #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy x sydney #syd x carmy #marcus the bear #natalie berzatto #claire the bear #mikey berzatto #carmy berzatto

[wolfhowlwitch]

the gods I worship as things and moments and feelings:

The Morrigan: She is the darkness when you step beneath tree cover on an otherwise sunny day; She is a fresh cup of black tea that burns your tongue so slightly; She is the paper cut you don’t know you have- and the sting when you find it while showering; She is bare feet on moss; She is the wind howling at your window, shaking your gutters against your roof; She is a bite of well-made bread, so sharp on the outside that you cut the roof of your mouth, so soft on the inside that the pain subsides; She is scraped knees on concrete; She is the tenderness and intimacy of someone wrapping your wounds; She is the moment when you see something impossible in the corner of your eye; She is the smell of rain and wet grass and storm clouds brewing; She is confidence, all of it- She is the way you feel when you wear your favorite lipstick or shirt or wear nothing at all and admire yourself in the mirror the way that a stranger might admire you from across the bar, or asking for exactly what you need when you need it, getting the raise or the promotion or the loan or the respect because you deserve it and you’ve convinced everyone else of it too, the way you walk when you’re going down the street listening to music and you can feel all eyes on you and you revel in that captivation, the first time you just stop looking at your ex’s social media and you never look again because it no longer serves you and you know you’re better off, the way your thumb hits the “end call” button and you smile to yourself because you get to make your rules and your boundaries and your decisions, waking up and knowing that this is your life and your story and your creation and no one can ever take that away from you so you make a cup of coffee and learn more about yourself than you did yesterday but less than you will learn tomorrow and the next day and the next

Hermes: He is the moment you find the best parking spot; He is the hard-win victory of rolling a natural 20 in DnD, but He is also the humility of rolling a 1; He is the first comforting bite of a convenience store hot dog when you couldn’t afford much else; He is the frantic excitement of running through a field, trying to find what you can no longer see; He is hitting every green light on the way home; He is the joy in adding something new to your collection; He is the mirthful laughter while watching a great comedy with loved ones; He is finding the perfect words to put to paper; He is the frustration of stepping in something wet with socks on, and He is the coziness of putting fresh new socks on; He is the first day you wake up after a nasty cold and you can breathe easy; He is the heartwarming relief when a friend picks you up after a bad day and asks you where you want to go; He is mundane luck, all of it- the time that you get an extra order of fries without having to pay, the job that opened up just when you needed it and they loved you and you start as soon as possible, the penny you find just outside your car door, the milk you forgot about in the fridge but it expires the day after you realized you needed it, the parking meter being broken where you parked and now you couldn’t pay if you wanted to, your favorite show airing on the perfect night of the week for you to sit back and relax and enjoy it, the way you just keep meeting the right people and making friends and discovering joy and finding new talents and falling in love and falling in love with yourself and loving your life even on the hard days because there will always be luck

Hades: He is loud, loud metal blaring over car speakers; He is the wistful memories you have when you look at the urn of a loved one; He is getting your hair just right; He is the needling pain of a new piercing, and He is the radical self-love of making yourself in the image you choose; He is yelling at the characters in a horror film to just pick up a damn weapon already; He is crying and laughing and weeping and smiling at the grave of a friend gone too soon; He is dead flowers hung around the house, the ghosts of their fragrance still lingering; He is eating chocolate chips straight out of the bag; He is the near-silent, darkened city streets lit only by stoplights and neon signs; He is tapping into your inner child and playing air guitar, and He is the callouses on your fingers from actually playing guitar; He is fallen leaves spinning in circles across the parking lot with the wind; He is Halloween decorations kept up all year round; He is the sharpness of the bite your dog meant to be more playful than it was; He is the chill down your spine when you hear an owl late at night, and He is the excitement of hearing the coyotes croon even in the middle of the city; He is mourning, all of it- the memories that throw themselves at the walls of your mind like pebbles at a window, the choked sobs even years later as you wonder who you are without the lost, the moments in which you hear their voice in your head so clear so crisp so loudly you could swear they still sat next to you, the quiet selfish thankfulness that your heart still beats though it beats different now that you know loss, the way you close your eyes while the dirt hits the coffin because this is all just too final, the smile as you run your thumb across the pictures that still hold them even though you no longer can, He is every moment spent thinking about those you lost and all of the regrets and the what ifs and the should haves and the now I know betters

Persephone: She is the refreshment in a cold glass of juice, a glass you drink so readily that droplets pour down your chin and pool on your chest sticky with sweetness; She is the act of putting up paintings in a too-small room, curating the space you have regardless of size; She is the glee in finding September roses, beauty still blooming as the air becomes frigid; She is a bite of fresh fruit, tart and delicious and perfect for the moment; She is the perfume left on the air when you leave, lingering for whoever walks in next- they will know you were there; She is sunshine on the snow, still frozen and always blinding but beautiful in its juxtaposed way; She is the laughter choked through tears at the end of a romantic comedy; She is the smoke wisping away when you blow out the candle; She is pricking your thumb on the thorn of a blackberry bush; She is the delighted squeaking of bats in the trees; She is kisses, all of them- the desperate clinging on a kiss goodbye salty tears finding solace between your lips, the peck on the lips goodnight not chaste but familiar and comfortable and full of love, the grinning through a kiss hello, the kiss on the shoulder of a lover in the shower, the wiping at your grandma’s lipstick on your cheek but smiling nonetheless, the nervous trembling of a first kiss that you’ll laugh at later but in this moment it’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done, the kiss on the head of a child who is learning to tie their shoes and stand their ground and spell their name and be themself and find out just who “themself” is, the kiss you give to your protesting pet while they scramble to escape your arms and the kiss you give when they come running right back for the attention, the teeth dragging against skin in the kiss on the neck- the bruise you leave behind just a mark that you were there and you loved and you felt and you were intertwined with sex and power and divinity and intimacy

#the wolf speaks #devotional writing #witchblr #paganblr #pagan #persephone #hades and persephone #paganism #persephone deity #persephone devotee #persephone worship #persephone and hades #persephone devotion #the morrigan devotee #the morrigan #the morrigan devotion #the morrigan deity #the morrigan worship #hades #hades worship #hades deity #hades devotee #hades devotion #hermes deity #hermes #hermes worship #helpol #hellenic pagan #hellenic paganism #hellenic polytheist

[lets-try-some-writing]

Whims of the Fae Chapter 2

The fae always have little schemes to set in motion. Megatron is no exception. However even he couldn’t predict the outcome of Orion’s plan. Evidently the Head Archivist had not seen fit to make it clear that their attempt to make a puppet Prime to get in and work with the Council involved parenthood. 

This was not part of the plan. But there wasn’t exactly much to do about it now.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

The prototype melting in the prepared pool of energon wasn’t exactly… a comforting sight. Still, Megatron had seen worse in the pits. Mecha being disemboweled was infinitely worse than watching Optronix slowly turn into a strange glowing white goo. Still, he wasn’t exactly the most patient when it came to these sorts of things. They needed a puppet to carry the Matrix, and they needed that puppet as soon as possible. Megatron wasn’t familiar with enchanting or the finer details of being fae born, not after having been raised in the pits by prototypes. Despite that, he was fairly certain that turning their potential puppet into goo wasn’t the right way to go about converting the puppet into one of their Court.

“Orion, what did you mean when you called him our ‘little sprite’?” He questioned as the goo in the pool began to clump up, wires and other strange things resembling bones forming amidst the mess. It was somewhat disturbing to watch if he was honest.

“Why I thought I made myself rather clear. He is now of our line, the heir of our domain, and the ones from which we hail.” Orion smiled his regular eerie smile, his denta sharp as blades and on full display in that wicked manner Megatron took vorns to fully come to terms with. His Conjunx grinned, a gleeful undertone to his field as he hurried about collecting items Megatron personally found strange. 

“My love, watch the pool and do alert me the moment it begins to pulse.” Orion merrily went about his business, vanishing deep into the sea of shelves and leaving Megatron to watch the pool. He grimaced as he watched wires and cables begin to slither within, connecting to mass in the center of the pool which was rapidly developing. He could make out a vague shape within, something almost akin to a sparkling in size. 

His spark flared in momentary concern as the wires connected to the developing frame within the pool, but he dismissed those growing fears easily. Surely this was all part of the process. The prototype would finish his reconstruction and emerge ready to be taught the ways of the fae. Just like Megatron, he would struggle. But under their dutiful care, he would flourish and be the perfect puppet. Already Optronix had shown strength of character, and for that reason alone, Megatron allowed himself a faint smile.

He was going to be a fantastic ally once he adjusted to the horrors of the realm of the fae. Megatron would stand with him all the way, offering comfort and guidance for a mech brought into the fold. 

The pleasant image of companionship with a fellow low caste mech had Megatron smiling wider and left his thoughts to drift toward plans for the future. He could already see the future ahead of him. Optronix would learn the ways of the fae and grow into a warrior Megatron could count on. Perhaps even one cycle they could even be friends in the manner of prototypes rather than the transactional ways of the fair folk. It was a pleasant thought to consider.

He almost didn’t notice as the wires and cables grew larger, pulsing and transferring energon from the pool into the body growing within a strange translucent sac. But any and all wistful musing faded entirely when the entire thing began to thrum, the wires pulsing and the walls of the sac threatening to tear. 

Was this part of the process? Surely this couldn’t be right. The frame within the sac wasn’t nearly large enough to match a grown mech. Something must have gone horribly wrong.

“ORION!” He called out vocally and across their bond, urging his Conjunx to return as swiftly as possible as light began to filter into the strange pod, swirling around the tiny frame within and seemingly imbuing it. Then, within a nanoklik, Orion was beside him.

“Calm yourself, beloved. All is well. The sprite is doing just fine. We need only give him his birthright.” Orion’s servo lingered on his shoulder as Megatron stood at the edge of the pool, looking between the sac and his Conjunx in confusion. Perhaps there was a part of the process yet to be completed, a finalization of sorts that would give Optronix the boost he needed to complete his transformation. Yes, that had to be it. Megatron trusted Orion far more than he trusted his own judgment when it came to these things. 

“What must we do?” He questioned cautiously as the sac continued to pulse. Orion’s field shifted momentarily, a sign that he was calling upon his gifts for power. He tried not to look too closely as Orion’s smile grew beyond the confines of his face and his vistage changed, his frame growing until it began a mess of wires, pixels, and optics. He did all he could to keep his optics on the sac as Orion stepped into the now very shallow pool and hovered above the tiny frame growing there.

“Awaken sprite.”

Orion’s voice rang out clearly in the Archives, his vocalizer still producing clear and symphonic words despite the state of his frame. In response, the sac pulsed again, a crack running along its surface. Orion then called out to Megatron silently, his intention clear as one of many optics settled on him. Megatron swiftly complied and joined him in the pool.

“I, Orion Pax, creation of Codexa and student of Alpha Trion, accept this sprite into my line as my heir. My gifts are his to obtain and my power his to harvest from.”

Orion reached out to the pod, one of his many limbs resting upon its surface and his wires wrapping around it in a fond manner. The being within spasmed, small and hazy limbs flailing as Optronix endured a wave of what Megatron could only assume was Orion’s influence. Blue light almost as bright as fresh energon flowed from Orion’s wires and digits, trickling down to the pod and turning a deep abyssal black as it reached the developing being within. Optronix almost appeared to be in pain based on how his small frame twitched in time with the black creeping along him.

“Speak Megatronus. Accept him as your own.”

Orion’s voice broke Megatron from his thoughts, and he quickly met his beloved’s gaze. A dozen optics glanced at him and then to the pod, a silent order. Megatron hesitated, confusion running rampant in his mind as he struggled to figure out what he was even supposed to be doing.

“Quickly beloved. The time draws near. He does not have much left to accept.” 

It was a warning Megatron did not understand, but one he took to spark without hesitation. He ran through what Orion had said as he approached the pod, and adjusting a few words, Megatron repeated it and laid a servo on the pod.

“I, Megatronus of Kaon, sprite of the mines and Champion of the pits, accept this sprite into my line as my heir. My gifts are his to obtain and my power his to harvest from.”

Megatron waited for a nanoklik, feeling nothing had happened despite having uttered the words. However, just as he prepared to pull away, instinct tore at his rational mind and took control. Without his direct consent, his influence spread throughout his frame, forcing him to grow larger, more intimidating. Runes and glyphs of power came into being all around him and his Conjunx as his influence joined the black that crawled along Optronix’s frame. Red turned to white and fought against the creeping gloom that was his Conjunx’s influence.

Again, Optronix spasmed, his frame shifting within the goo that held him. The black of Orion’s influence held sway over most of Optronix’s form, but Megatron’s influence was still prominent. The instincts that guided him told him that this meant he had been successful. In what, he had no idea.

“Perfect. He is ready.” Orion pulled away, his frame returning to its normal state after a series of unsettling clicks and a hiss of static. Megatron followed his Conjunx’s lead, his instincts settling into the back of his processor where they belonged. He was not given time to contemplate what in the name of the thirteen had come over him before Orion’s monstrous grin grew to a disproportionate size, and he stabbed his servo directly into the pod. 

Megatron could feel his expression shift into one of absolute horror as Orion reached in, groped around in the goo, and then grabbed one of Optronix’s still underdeveloped limbs to rip him free. Wires and cables snapped in a spray of energon and the sac collapsed in on itself with little fanfare. Distantly, Megatron was grateful this whole affair had occurred within the energon pool, otherwise he would be left to clean up the mess for likely the next few deca-cycles.

“There you are, little sprite!” Orion practically cooed as he held the… thing up by its leg. Megatron took a step back as he observed the creature and promptly came to the conclusion that whatever it was, it was no longer Optronix the dock worker. 

“Oh dear, you poor thing. You must be chilled.” Orion hurriedly moved toward the table a few feet away. Megatron for his part couldn’t tear his optics off the creature as he followed on instinct. As it was laid on the table, he felt the urge to purge.

The thing had the general shape of a sparkling. It had what looked like some sort of helm, a torso, legs, and two arms. But that was where any familiarity ended on a biological scale. The thing, whatever it was, looked horribly malformed. Its limbs were too long, and it had an extra arm for no apparent reason. Holes ran along its helm, giving a clear view of where its processor fired, exposed and delicate. Transformation seams crawled along its face, meeting around the two largest holes where Megatron assumed optics were.

Spines grew along its arms and back in no particular pattern or size, each varying and differing from one another in formation. Its internal components were all but exposed, guarded only by structures akin to calipers that held everything in place. Megatron could see its tanks and various other organs pulsing and squirming enough to make him sick. He wouldn’t have believed the thing was even Cybertronian if not for the spark chamber that was clear to see, flaring openly as the source of life that it guarded glowed powerfully within.

“Orion, what in the pits is this thing?” Megatron questioned in disbelief as the thing squirmed, its small clawed servos grasping at nothing. The thing must have been blind for the most part. It had optics, small pinpricks within the dual voids that served as its optical sockets. However those small optics flickered, only coming online in swift bursts. What a strange and disgusting creature. This couldn’t have been right.

“This is our sprite. He is still very young yet, and he will take time to develop, but he is ours. Already he has accepted a great deal of our influence. I believe he may have even inherited your shoulders!” Megatron was sure he was making quite the expression as he struggled to hold back a gag. The thing didn’t look anything like either of them in Megatron’s opinion, but he wasn’t given the chance to get much of a word in before Orion was rubbing the little monster down with a soft towel.

“That thing… its-” Megatron began before a digit was pressed against his derma, stopping him from speaking. How Orion moved so quickly was beyond him, but Megatron remained silent as Orion pulled back slowly with an expression that practically embodied the concept of a warning.

“It is bad luck to speak poorly of a sprite my love. It weakens them, shifting them into something darker that must be destroyed.” Orion reached out to the thing, the sprite, Megatron reminded himself. The sprite flailed but did not fight back, or perhaps was unable to do so as Orion wrapped its torso in an embroidered blanket, leaving only its back still exposed. That much Megatron could endure looking at without wanting to throw the sprite out the nearest window.

“You mean it could become a demon?” Megatron found himself questioning as Orion propped the sprite up on a pillow. The little thing was laid out flat on its stomach, its helm and most of its upper body resting on the pillow. It didn’t so much as murmur as its optics flickered on and offline. 

“Do not speak in such a manner around him. You will harm his development. But to answer your question, yes. All young sprites can become demons if they are not tended to properly, especially those turned as he was.” A soft clang echoed in the space as Orion picked up a needle-like tool Megatron was unfamiliar with. The Archfae made a contemplative click and traced his digits over the sprite’s back, most likely coming up with something terrifying based on what Megatron knew of his Conjunx. 

“I give you the wings of the wood. May they carry you to safety and the wind favor you in your journeys.”

The Archivist’s words came in a whisper that was uttered like a prayer. As he spoke, his digits moved with delicateness Megatron usually found were reserved for when Orion handled him. The needle dug into the sprite’s back, prompting the thing to squirm up until Orion began to sing a soft song, his influence wrapping around the little creature lovingly. If it weren’t for how hideous the thing was, Megatron would have found the scene lovely.

Before long, Orion had etched a strange swirling design onto the sprite’s back. It was vaguely in the shape of insect wings and covered in all sorts of runes and symbols Megatron did not recognize, but as soon as it was done, the lines began to glow. The whole etching pulsed with the sprite’s spark, flaring softly in the relative gloom of the archive. The sprite squirmed again, and Orion was quick to collect the little thing and wrap it, him, up properly. 

“Do we give him his name now?” Megatron found himself questioning as Orion began to walk through the archives, leaving Megatron to follow behind him. Orion made a sound that bordered on an outraged huff before he gave Megatron that look, the one he reserved for when Megatron was missing something most fae found obvious.

“Of course not! He’s a sprite! Giving him his full name now would kill him! No, no, he will be given a placeholder name until he is old enough to bear the burden.” Orion cradled the sprite as if the little creature would turn into smoke in his arms if he so much as loosed his hold. Megatron shrank in on himself internally, but otherwise said nothing as he followed his Conjunx down the ever shifting halls of the Archives. 

Eventually, they made their way down one hall Megatron knew well. It was one of the few that rarely changed, and it led directly to his and Orion’s room. Megatron had long ago come to the conclusion that Orion had pulled some strings to keep this part of the archives stables just so that Megatron wouldn't get lost. He did that a lot when they were first Conjunxed.

“Here we are!” Orion sounded so very proud when he finally stopped in front of a door that had absolutely not been there a cycle ago. Megatron wasn’t given much time to gawk before Orion pushed the door open and stepped in. The room beyond was strange even to Megatron. Plants he didn’t recognize covered almost every single surface and the walls were covered from top to bottom in various articles and images, more than a few of which seemed to be of Optronix. 

Strange vines grew along the walls, pulsing with lights and draping down in places to wrap around objects in the general shape of shelves. Roots grew along the floor, smooth and yet undeniably there. They shifted as Orion walked in, moving away to give him an easier path to tread. Long branches hung from the center of the room above what looked like a hollowed out stump of some ancient and malevolent plant. The branches grew odd looking fruits, some in blue and purple, others in red and white. All in different shapes.

Megatron was immediately met with hissing the moment his pedes touched the ground.

“Hush now! He is the sprite’s Sire!” Orion flicked one of the plants closest to him and it visibly shrank back a degree. The whole room thrummed with life. There was no natural light, but the ceiling glittered like stars as the flowers growing from the vines bloomed all at once, as if sensing Orion’s presence. 

“There we are my dear. I do believe you need a temporary name, don’t you?” Orion leaned down, placing the sprite into the vicious looking cradle. The stump shifted as Orion laid the sprite down. The sharp upper edges smoothed and curved inward, creating a partial cover over the top of where the sprite lay. Orion gazed down lovingly at the little monster, his smile so content that it no longer held any of his usual cunning.

Megatron may have despised looking at the sprite, but if it made Orion this happy-

He was willing to put up with it.

“What shall we call him for now my love?” Orion asked as he reached into the cradle with a single digit. Megatron approached and watched as Orion prodded at the sprite until it instinctively held onto his digit. The little thing’s clawed servos were tiny, so small in fact that he could barely get a grip on Orion’s digit at all. 

So very small… it couldn’t have been healthy. Even normal sparklings were far larger upon their creation. For this one to be at its current size, it indicated potential problems later. However, he wanted to have faith in Orion’s judgment. This was all going according to plan, it had to be. 

“He is rather small. So why not call him the Little One for now?” Megatron suggested as the sprite shifted, revealing more of its exposed innards than Megatron would have liked. Orion tisked as Megatron held back a gag, but before either could say more, a new voice spoke up. 

“I second that name. It will help him avoid prying optics until he is strong enough to stand a chance against the lower fae.” Megatron startled as Ravage of all mechs sauntered out of the shadows as if he hadn’t just been absent a moment prior. Orion hummed in agreement, oblivious or perhaps uncaring of Megatron’s momentary distress.

“I agree. It is a good name for him.” Orion’s smile widened again, all but splitting his face in two as he rested his arms on the edge of the cradle, his helm placed on his forearms as if nothing were wrong with the situation by any other standard.

“Our little one…” Orion hummed, and it was a soothing sound that eased all of Megatron’s concerns. If Orion wasn’t worried, Megatron had no need to concern himself. 

“I trust you will tend to him when I cannot?” Orion raised an optical ridge over in Ravage’s direction. The symbiote merely huffed and nodded.

“Of course. Soundwave wouldn’t let me return in one piece if I failed you, Grand Archfae.” Ravage bowed as much as a mech of his station was able. Orion merely maintained his grin before he took Megatron’s servo in his own. Those wide and oh so cunning optics were all but glued to him as Orion spoke again.

“Ravage shall tend to the little one for a while. But I suspect it has been a startling cycle for you my love. Come rest with me in berth and soothe your anxious spark.” Megatron didn’t have much time to reply before the plants hissed and Orion all but dragged him out. 

He had become a Sire in less than a cycle and as it was, he didn’t want to think about that or anything it implied, not when Orion was offering a pleasant evening.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #megatron #alternate universe #orion pax #optimus prime #whims of the fae au #enjoy yet another odd au #this one is my more intricate worldbuilding project #body horror

[cherryrainn]

hello my friend!

first I just wanted to say i love your stuff, especially that whole multi-chapter fanfiction you wrote for the Once-Ler, you are an incredible writer! Sent me through every human emotion possible.

Here’s my ask, a gn! reader x Onceler (how do you spell his name 💀)

I was hoping it could just be some wholesome cuddles and lovey stuff, i’m a sap for soft stuff, possibly with some insecurity comfort? i’ve been struggling to like my personality and appearance for a long while, so that’d be wonderful!

Take your time, remember to take breaks, and don’t worry if you can’t do this ask, it’s no problem at all!

Much love! 💕

thank you for your kind words! writing that angst was so much fun, and i'm glad you enjoyed it. thank you for the ask, hope all is well <3

☽ ༚  ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰  ༵ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰ 

— comfort's embrace

onceler x reader

the day had been a rollercoaster of emotions for you, wrestling with your insecurities and feeling weighed down by self-doubt. you sought solace in the comforting presence of onceler.

cuddled up on the couch together, his arm wrapped protectively around you, you snuggled into his side, finding comfort in his warmth. his fingers gently traced soothing patterns on your back, offering a comforting touch.

"i can tell something's been bothering you," he said gently, concern evident in his voice. "you know you can always talk to me about anything, right?"

you forced a smile, looking away. "oh, it's nothing, really. just some silly thoughts i've been having. nothing worth bothering you about."

onceler's grip tightened, pulling you a little closer. "hey now, don't downplay your feelings. i care about you, and your happiness is important to me. you don't have to face it alone."

a moment of silence passed, and the weight of your insecurities began to press harder. you sighed, finally giving in to the truth. "okay, maybe... maybe i've been struggling with my self-image a bit lately. i can't help but compare myself to others and feel like i fall short."

onceler's eyes softened, and he reached out to gently tilt your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. "i get it. i get how tough that can be," he said, his voice filled with empathy. "and you're not alone in feeling that way. sometimes, i've got my own little battles with stuff like that."

you looked at him, surprise evident in your eyes. "you?"

a wistful smile crossed his lips. "growing up, my mom had a way of making me question myself. she'd tell me all the stuff i liked doing wasn't manly, and that my dreams are stupid."

you listened intently, feeling a sense of understanding wash over you. "that must have been really difficult."

onceler nodded, his gaze distant. "it was. but, i still love my mom. she might not always understand me or support everything i do, but she's still my mom, and i know she wants what's best for me in her own way." (yeah right)

his voice filled with empathy. "but let me tell you something: you're so incredibly special to me, just as you are."

you looked at him, a mix of vulnerability and hope in your eyes. "but what if I'm not enough? what if there's someone better out there?"

onceler shook his head, a determined look in his eyes. "no, don't say that. you're more than enough. you bring so much joy, warmth, and love into my life. there's no one else i would rather be with than you."

a tear welled up in your eye, and he gently wiped it away with his thumb. "i know it's hard to believe in yourself sometimes, but promise me that you'll try to see your worth and beauty. because i believe in you, and i'll always be here to remind you of how incredible you are."

you took a deep breath, allowing his words to sink in. "okay, i'll try," you whispered, feeling a glimmer of hope flicker within.

onceler leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. "that's all i ask. and remember, i'm here to support you every step of the way. we'll work through these insecurities together."

and you rested against him, surrounded by his love and understanding.

#onceler #y/n #reader insert #x reader #the lorax #onceler x reader #fluff #the onceler #silly guy #comfort #insecurities #ask #request

[jmdbjk]

Man at work.

 Apparently working more than we thought he was...

Kookie bought a pack of 500 straws so he could exercise his vocal chords because he saw Sam Smith do it. But alas, he didn’t think it was working for him. Nevertheless! they won’t go to waste! because he can slurp down his highball much faster using a straw...

This cute goofball is the global spokesperson for Calvin Klein jeans... he mentioned that the Calvin Klein video was up and he acted bashful about it. He did say when doing these types of endorsements as a group is one thing, but doing them personally on his own, the product must be something he personally endorses. And he also said he will be embarrassed when people speak to him about his ad images. Perception vs reality. 

He tells us he’s cleaned out his closet recently and only kept all his black clothes, but now he says he will wear Calvins now. One thing to look forward to... Calvin Klein clothing silhouettes are typically cut close to the body. Meaning they are not the oversized baggy things that we normally see on JK. Just sayin’! Bring on the airport fashion! 

He asks to please show Calvin Klein a lot of support. Check! Marked off the list! I believe that company is scrambling to actually have any merchandise in stock this week, right? They weren’t prepared. Mission accomplished, JK. 

For a few moments he thought he spoiled Jimin’s episode of Suchwita because he couldn’t find it on Youtube. Sus, Youtube. 

Aside from the adorable heart eyes he had and the knowing grins and outright laughter while he watched, Jungkook nodded when Jimin said if he could go to any point in time, past or future, he would choose 2025 when they would all be together again. Kookie nodded vigorously again and let out a deep, wistful sigh while watching that brief segment. Was he getting a little lump in his throat too, just like I was?

Yoongi then says “we all have an idea of what things will be like when we come back” and Jimin agrees and when Yoongi asks Jimin what he thinks it will be like, Jimin says “we’d all be back together after we’re done.” I am assuming he means military service, and that he is curious to know how it will be and that’s why he wants to go to that point in time. 

Jimin, we all want to fast forward to that time. None of us want you all to have to take this mandatory break and we all want it to be over with as soon as possible. 

When it was over, Kookie fixed himself a fresh drink, took a potty break and then sat wordlessly on the couch for at least 15 minutes listening to music and pondering the universe (it seemed). Songs he queued up: “12:45″ by Etham; “thoughtboutu” by Karencici; “Another Day” by Gervs; “Adrenaline” by Lauv; “Where Does the Love Go” by by María Isabel and Yeek and “Honeymoon” by Johnny Stimson.

He sweetly sang along to “Honeymoon.” That song has a similar vibe to “10,000 Hours” and I wish to god Kookie would create a song with that ambience because it would become one of those all time greatest hits.

JK read a few comments (FINALLY?) he randomly says he was wanting to look up Jimin’s lyrics...? Jungkook and his never-ending fight with his Apple TV commands ensues. And he finally finds what he’s looking for... the BigHit intro.

He proceeded to fanboi during Set Me Free Pt 2 even being a tad slack-jawed and droolly when the 2nd verse started and Jimin’s cheat sheet tattoos were on full display, JUST LIKE US! 

Done satisfying his need to know the lyric was “maze” and watching the entire video anyway, he quickly found a Jimin compilation video. Are you shitting me? 

Now, we all know how insidious the Youtube algorithm is. If you watch ONE video of any genre/topic... what happens? YT serves up several more from the same creator or same topic or genre. Watch a reaction video? Then a dozen videos by various Youtube reactors will be summoned. Watch a Korean street food video? Then you will see a dozen videos about Korean street food. FACTS!

Every time you go to Youtube after that it’s like trying to get rid of cockroaches. You spend some time hitting the “not interested/don’t show me this shit ever again” option or else that will be all you ever see forever and ever amen. 

So my point is, that Jimin compilation video was not random. Youtube isn’t a random platform, it is very articulated to deliver cocaine in video form straight to your brain in order to get you addicted so you keep coming back. 

Anyway. Kookie again was like a kid watching cartoons and Army comments were totally forgotten while he watched this fan made video. 

The evening full of Jimin, laughing at a fan made compilation video and a song that was playing called, “up at night”, by Kehlani featuring Justin Bieber, stirred something inside him and the lightning bolt of inspiration hit him and that was it. Game over for the live broadcast.

I’m glad he’s working. I’m glad he’s doing well. He’s still our Kookie and he still loves his Jiminie and the rest of his hyungs. 

#nothing comes between jk and his calvins #except maybe jimin #jungkooks playlist plays songs with coincidental lyrics just sayin #i can't wait for the hyungs teasing JK over his giant CK ads all over Seoul #i looked for the Jimin compilation video on that YT account but couldnt find it #supporting his boyfie in front of our midnight snack salad #jikook #jungkook #suchwita #random goober #cute goofball

[forest-falcon]

WIP Wednesday

The Polaroid 📸

"Is that what I think it is?"

Scott paced over to the wooden unit and scooped up a small polaroid camera.

"One of Gordon's finds - that kids sure loves his vintage gadgets. I like this one though; there's something special about a polaroid," Grandma gave a wistful smile.

"Bring back memories?"

"Oi, I'll have you know, they were old even when I was a girl!"

Scott gave a sheepish grin.

"Sorry."

Grandma batted the air in good humour.

"They're like vinyl records. They don't give you a perfect result, but there's some beauty in that."

Scott set the camera back down, then gathered up the tower of photos stacked next to it.

The first few featured the various sunrises Gordon must have snapped before his early morning swims; the dusky pinks and golds silhouetting slumbering palms.

Grandma was right. The pictures were beautiful.

Scott smiled and continued to flick through the images; the golds and pinks suddenly interrupted with a burst of cerulean blue.

"There's one of me in here!" Scott presented Grandma with the photo. I didn't know he had taken this.

"Oh, now that I like!" Grandma smiled, wafting the photo as though it needed drying.

The image was of John and Scott surfing together. A rare occurrence to be sure, but such a treasured memory.

There were others just like it.

Alan stargazing - the cosmos filling the night with such an abundance of stars, the polaroid looked somewhat surreal.

There was another taken not too long ago of Virgil with a seedling. Scott had walked in to find the gentle giant conversing with the tiny plant.

"Why on earth are you talking to a plant?"

"Helps it grow."

"Plants don't have ears."

"No, but they're living beings. All it takes for a soul to grow is a little time and love."

Scott couldn't argue with that. And although he wasn't convinced by the concept enough to strike up a conversation with the nearest tree; he did love his brother that little bit more for the kindness he brought to the world.

Scott gently set the image down.

"You're right Grandma, this camera is special."

Gordon's photos had captured life on the island in such a wonderful, smell-the-roses way. It gave him pause for thought. Gordon was so like Virg in that manner; seeing the good in the world. The camera was his canvas.

Scott had planned to file some more reports, but the love emanating from the pictures ultimately won out, and Scott sank into the sofa next to his Grandma.

The reports could wait.

It was time to appreciate the little things.

The commander slouched to allow for his head to rest on her shoulder, and they flicked through the remaining pictures together.

The photo pile was deceptively large.

Scott was just about to save the rest for another day when one in particular caught his eye.

"Who's this?"

Scott held up the polaroid for closer inspection.

"Who? Her?"

"Yeah, the girl kissing Alan."

"Oh! That's Mandy, Alan's girlfriend."

"Alan has a girlfriend?"

Grandma took a sip of tea.

"Mmm, I've only met her the once, but she was just lovely."

Scott stared at the picture. The girl was pretty, in a girl-next-door-type way.

"How did they meet?"

"How does Alan meet anyone?"

"Rescue?"

"Gaming."

"Oh."

Grandma set her tea down.

"They've been chatting for years online, then met in person at that comicon the boys went to last year. I believe there's a pic in here somewhere..."

Scott surrendered the remaining stack of photos, but continued to inspect the stranger... Mandy...to try and get a read on her. It was only a headshot of them both, so not much to go on. She was wearing a simple bobble hat and thick woolen scarf. Her face was somewhat obscured by a mass of bouncy dark curls, but as far as he could tell, she was besotted - all smiles as she kissed Alan.

"Ah! Found it!" Grandma handed him a second photo. Four figures beamed back at the camera. Warrior Alan, Elven Lord Virgil, Kraken Gordon and a grey-bearded wizard.

Scott squinted at the photo.

"This is her?"

"The wizard, yes."

Sure enough, some bouncy brown curls could just be seen jutting out from behind the faux beard.

"Hasn't she the most wonderful cow eyes?"

"Cow eyes?"

"Y'know - big, brown, soulful eyes."

"Can't say that I noticed."

"You, Scott Tracy? Not notice a pretty face? Are you feeling alright?"

"Hard to see it behind the beard,” he deadpanned.

Grandma swatted his arm.

“Besides, she's too young, Grandma. And so is Alan." He returned both photos to her and lightly folded his arms.

"He should be focussing on his studies."

"Oh, like you did at his age?" Grandma arched a brow.

"Scott, honey, your brother isn't twelve anymore."

Scott gave a noncommittal grunt.

"And, as far as I can tell, his grades have been exemplary."

It was true, his grades were well-above average, but Alan was still the baby of the family, and Scott wasn't quite ready to view him as anything else.

"Still, he has enough going on, doesn't he? Between coursework, International Rescue, driving lessons..." he trailed off.

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

"He games." Scott offered.

Now it was Grandma's turn to fold her arms.

“Scott, he's twenty next month.”

“So?”

"So…you're telling me that you're happy to risk the life of your brother out on missions, but object to him being happy with someone he loves?"

"Loves? I thought it was just the odd date?"

"Like I said; they've been friends for years. But does it even matter? Date, hook-up, love.

I, for one, am just pleased to see your brothers are all happy with nice people."

"John isn't seeing anyone."

"Why? Did he break up with Ridley?"

"Captain O'Bannon is just a friend. They play handball together, that's all."

"Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?" Grandma chuckled and took another sip of tea.

"Grandma!"

Grandma was the epitome of coy as she gave an innocent shrug.

"You're reading too much into things. What Captain O'Bannon and John have...it's strictly professional! They're work colleagues, nothing more."

"Okay Scott."

"What?"

"I'm just wondering at what point you thought International Rescue had become a nunnery?"

Scott cleared his throat.

"I - don't…think that”

He idly picked at a stitch that had come loose on the sofa.

“What I meant was, surely if they were all in relationships, they'd just tell me?"

"What? So you could give them the same reaction you gave me just now?"

Scott stood, and slowly paced in a circle as he digested.

"Is that how they see me...a prude?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. They just don't feel the need to run every last relationship by their brother. You sure didn't with your dad or myself when you were younger. We'd still be here today if that were the case!" Grandma gave another wicked chuckle and Scott groaned into his hands.

"Newsflash, your dad and I weren't as blind to those late night study partners as you thought we were. That script is as old as time!"

Scott squirmed as he looked for a way to redirect the focus back from himself.

"I guess Allie's just remained around twelve years old in my head. I blinked and he grew up."

"That's parenthood for you, Scott."

Scott flinched.

"Look kiddo, nobody could replace your dad. You're simply not him. But what you've grown into... well, you've not just filled your father's shoes; you've sized up! Allie has had one hell of a guardian."

The sincerity of her tone brought a lump to Scott's throat. It was all he had ever hoped for. To do right by his family, his brothers…by little Allie.

"You had to grow up pretty fast and I used to worry about the toll that would take on you, but look how much you've grown - from a bereaved little boy to just the finest man! Not just the Commander of International Rescue, but a wonderful brother, guardian and grandson too."

"You're too kind, Grandma."

"I'm merely stating facts. You never stop worrying. Parents, guardians - it doesn't matter. But you can't let that worry clip their wings. It's time you opened your eyes to see how much your brother has grown too. He isn't twelve, Scott; but the wonderful young man he's grown into is a testament to how much love we, as a family - how much love you have poured his way."

#thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #alan tracy #grandma tracy #thunderfluff #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy