#we love a periwinkle moment

[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

[aesthyuckic]

🩹🎐 ditto!┊͙✧˖*°࿐

inspired by sabrina the teenage witch and ditto by new jeans :) tw: hurt comfort?? word count: 2.25k

“Have you ever been to the North Star?”

“What?” Haechan asked back in response, taking his attention off the vegetables he was cutting in the kitchen. “No, why?”

“Our soul stones reside there.” You shrugged.

He rolled his eyes before he went back to what he was doing, “They should be called twin stones not soul stones. Twin flames are our other halves and soulmates are people we knew in previous lives.”

“Okay, fair but don’t you think they’re interesting?”

You knew he always got upset at the mix up between twin flames and soul stones, it was something you found endearing. Truthfully, you didn’t know until he told it to you and that was another thing you loved about him. He always taught you more which fed your natural curiosity.

“I guess.” He shrugged. “But I’ve had no reason to go there. I’d be testing rocks for hours and I feel like I’d just be disappointed by it.”

“You have no one in mind?” You asked with your chin on your hands as you looked at him from the couch.

“Of course I do.” He responded.

And for some reason, there was a twinge at a few of your heart strings that stung as deeply as the cold. The pain flashed for a moment in your eyes and it was luck for you, his back was to you so it went unnoticed by your friend.

“Why haven’t you gone to test it then?” You inquired further.

“I’m afraid.” He admitted while putting down the knife, the vegetable laid in pieces on the cutting board. “What if they don’t fit together perfectly like they’re meant to?”

“Then there’s someone else that you’re meant to be with.” You answered rather gleefully.

“I don’t think I’d like to know that. I rather live in a blissful state of what could be. Why do you want to go so bad?”

“I know you’re smart, Hyuck. It’s because I have someone in mind. Duh!”

You fell back on the couch as he was prepping the food once more. There was that twinge again, only not in your heart but his own. The sound of the knife hitting the board cease for a moment before it began again.

He didn’t like the idea much like you didn’t either of having people in your lives that you hadn’t mentioned to one another. You’re meant to be best friends but best friends tell each other about the people you’re interested in. Neither of you had mentioned that person in passing with one another. The both of hadn’t assumed that it had been for good reasons.

The hurt subsided but lingered in the quietness of the room. It became heavy and overwhelming. You shot up from the couch.

“We should go together.” You suggested.

Before he could say anything, you were up and dragging him out of the kitchen by his wrist.

“The food!” Haechan pointed out.

“It’s be here when we get back.” You said, swiftly.

“The stones will still be there after we eat!” He whined.

“You know how when I want to do something, nothing else matters until I do the thing I want. It’ll be quick, promise.”

He couldn’t say no to you. It was impossible whether it was because you made him too weak to do so or because you were too stubborn to get your own way. You were already up the stairs to your linen closet, intent on where to go with the boy tailing behind you. As soon as the door slammed behind the both of you. A flash of mist and light engulf you for only a moment to reveal the change of location. Everything around you was various shades of glowing blue, most notably a periwinkle color. Shards of crystal surrounded the both of you, multiple halves of stones were cascaded through out the labyrinth of the star.

The grip on his wrist loosen as you looked around, confused. The boy seemed lost as well.

“How are we going to find the stones?” He mumbled.

He strayed from you while he avoided the sharpen formations as he walked around to look at the countless stones.

“Haechan-“ You called.

It was no use though, he was already around the corner of the wall. You don’t even think he heard you which you rolled your eyes at before turning around. As soon as you turned, a shard suddenly popped up out of the ground startling a brief scream and a rapidly beating heart from you. It spoke to you.

“Welcome to North Star system. How may I help you?” It said, robotically, indicating it was an automated system.

“Are you okay?!” Haechan yelled, a hint of worry in his voice.

“I’m fine!” You answered. “I thought… I saw a bug or something… Have you found anything?”

“Not yet!” He shouted. “I’ll let you know if I do.”

There was relief in you when you heard his footsteps start again and get farther from you. You bent down slightly to say your full name into the point of the shard. You looked behind you one last time before going back to quickly add another.

“And Lee Donghyuck.” You whispered.

It was silent for a second. Nothing moved and you began to wonder if it has heard you. Then the frustration and disappointment came to set in as everything stayed the same. Out of nowhere, a circular block of clear crystal came up from the ground with two blue boxes sat next to each other. The shard in front of you disappeared into the ground once more to reveal a path toward what you sought after.

Frozen in place, a moment you had dreamed and thought about since you found about the North Star was presented right in front of you. Fear replace the frustration you felt prior. Did you really want to know? There was a dilemma in you and felt like a hypocrite to the words you spoke earlier to your friend.

Hesitantly, you stepped forward and approached the pedestal. You went with the box on your left first and opened it to reveal one half. It glowed in your palm and a moving image of you appeared in it. You did the same with second box, it glowed in your other palm and Donghyuck appeared in. You smiled at it, rubbing your thumb over the cool surface of his stone. The question arose again, did you really want to know? Of course you did. You found yourself moving the two halves closer together. Time seemed to only slow down the closer they got to each other as a breath got caught in your throat. Only a few more centimeters…

“What are you doing?” A voice rang in your ear, breath fanning your hair.

You were frozen in place as everything stopped. It was unclear if he was angry or not because he most certainly could see the little image of him moving in the confines of the rock. You turned around rather quickly, quivering before him.

Haechan didn’t look angry but the tone was not as sweet and soft as usual which set something off in you. Uncontrollably, tears started to form in your eyes. You tried to blink them away but it only seemed to encourage them as they started to fall down your cheeks and fogged up your vision.

His stone fell to the floor while you kept the grip on your own so much tighter. His gaze seemed to soften at your reaction. You back away from him in an attempt to find a wall you could disappear into. It was not worth an attempt as you were too weak to actually use your own magic in that moment and you found yourself sinking into a ball against the barrier. You hid your tear stained face in your arms so you couldn’t see him pick up the stone and put in his pocket. He came running and dropped to your side within seconds of it.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He reassured, the soft and sweet tone was back with a hint of huskiness to it. “If crying makes you feel better, that’s fine but if you’re crying because you think I’m upset, please don’t do that… I’m not.”

He hated that he was reason behind your tears. Maybe it wouldn’t just been better if he had shut up and walked away. He wrapped an arm around you, gently to not startle you. He could feel you shake. He frowned at himself. Like he deserved to have his soul stone fit yours. You peeked up from your arms, eyes red with tears threatening to spill once more.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized. “I know I ruined everything.”

You referred to the friendship and shook his head rather quickly after your words, “No, don’t do that. I fucked up I should’ve just… not pulled that bullshit. I’m sorry… I just wanted to show you something cool I found out about the stones. You didn’t ruin anything.”

Not anything he didn’t want ‘ruined’ anyway. Haechan stroked your hair with a sweet but apologetic smile in an effort to comfort you. It took everything in him to not verbalize the confession sitting on the tip of his tongue. His arm left your shoulder only to go to your hand. Warmth encapsulated your own as he kept a firm grip on it. His other hand left your hair to pull out the stone from his pocket.

“You wanted to know, right?” He cooed as he held it out between the two of you.

The tears stopped and you regained your composure. Your grip loosened on your own stone as you brought it up to match his. Instead of centimeters, it was inches apart. Both you seemed rather hesitant to bring them closer to one another.

“Now or never?” He murmured.

You looked each other in the eyes. A softness and a type of vulnerability could be seen. You nodded at him before you turned your attention back to scene in front of you two. The stones stayed lit in both of your hands are moved to fit them together. It seemed to take ages for them to connect but in the final second it felt like it fused together like magnets would. A burst of light came as soon as the stones touched. You squinted your eyes from the sudden light that dissipated after a moment.

Then there you two were, in the stone, coming together across the boundary of the crack of each to meet in the middle for a kiss. Seeing it made the apples of your cheeks heat up and then you heard a laugh in your ear.

“What?” You asked. “Why are you laughing?”

“I was afraid for nothing.” He smiled before looking up at you.

“I was the one you had in mind?!” You exclaimed as you shoved his shoulder, playfully.

“I know you can be a bit air-headed at times but you can’t possibly be this dumb…”

“You’re a big dummy too if we’re going to talk about it.”

“We’re not.”

You couldn’t ask him what he meant before his hands were on your waist pulling you into his body. The completed soul stone went flying out of your hands at the movement, sliding across the floor. It made you gasp, yet they stuck to each other like glue.

“That’s the thing I wanted to tell you.” He whispered in your ear while a hand reached up to move a few standards of hair out of your face. “Once they’re together, they can’t be separated.”

His hand came down to caress the side of your face and pull you back to look at him. Your heart started to race just looking at him in the eye now, knowing his feelings. The silence was no longer awkward but suffocating.

“You’ll have to stop me now if you don’t want me to kiss you.” He confessed.

“I can’t.” You admitted.

You moved forward, closing the tension filled gap between the two of you similarly to the soul stones. The suffocating feeling was gone and you felt like you breath again. So full of passion and lost in it, you let out a sigh that had Haechan smiling into the kiss. Your hand went to the back of his neck in effort to bring him closer and deepen the kiss. His body now has you pinned against the fall. It would’ve continued if he hadn’t had to come up to breath for a moment. He stayed so close in front of you, looking down at your lips.

“We might be here longer than anticipated.” He laughed, smugly.

“We can’t.” You blushed. “If people show up and find us making out on the floor I’d be mortified…”

“I’m sure it happens here all the time with the other witches and warlocks.” He replied. “With far worse acts if I’m being honest.”

His words resulted in him getting smacked on the shoulder once more. He played hurt as he rubbed his shoulder.

“Okay, I won’t kiss you ever again.” He lied as he went to turn away.

You responded by yanking him back by the collar of his coat. His lips were against yours once more as now hovered over you. One hand supported himself over you while the other came up to zap you out of there. Whatever you wanted was what he wanted at the end of day.

not proodfread. aesthyuckic ©️ 2024. all rights reserved.

#idk… it’s been too long and this has been in my drafts too long #its 1am and all my skills went out the window im so sorry #haechan fluff #haechan fics #haechan scenarios #nct haechan #haechan x reader #haechan fic #haechan fanfiction #haechan au #haechan imagines #nct fluff #haechan fanfic #haechan imagine #nct fics #nct au #nct dream au #haechan #lee donghyuck #nct dream imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct imagines #nct imagine #nct 127 au #nct 127 fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fics #nct 127 fic #nct 127 fluff #haechan angst

[denaliwrites]

What Beautiful Things I'll Wear

Tenth Doctor x Fem!Reader

Summary: The Doctor takes you to a masquerade ball during the Renaissance.

Soundtrack: Marry Me by Emilie Autumn

Requests: Open!

Tag List: @nyxiethesimp (I always forget this bit, I'm so sorry!)

Warnings: Canon-Typical Peril.

"Oi! We're gonna miss it!" the Doctor called into the TARDIS wardrobe, startling you out of your reverie.

"You have a time machine!" you snapped back in lighthearted exasperation.

"We can't cross our own timelines!"

"I'm sure there are other balls we could attend, Doctor!"

"Yeah, but this one's got Machiavelli!"

"Wait, seriously?" you asked as you poked your head out of the wardrobe. "The Machiavelli?"

"Yeah," he said teasingly with a big grin. "So hurry up, before the party's over and he leaves!"

You sighed with a roll of your eyes and withdrew back into the wardrobe, adding the final touches to your ensemble in a rush.

Finally, you exited, adorned in a lavish dress of midnight and periwinkle. Sat delicately over your face was a silver wolf mask, which hid an equally wolfish smile. "How do I look?" you asked, giving the Doctor a twirl for effect.

He stood in silence, simply taking you in for a few moments. He looked somewhat awestruck, eyes wide and full of something you couldn't quite put a fully accurate name to. And the smile he gave you -- it was adoring in the way his smiles often were when he was faced with humanity's charm and brilliance. But it seemed deeper than that. More personal. Intimate.

It sent a shiver down your spine.

"Doctor?" you prompted him gently.

He blinked back to himself and his smile easily slipped into something more casual. "You look stunning," he told you as he held an arm out for you. There was still something in his voice that tickled your senses, but you left it, eagerly taking his arm. Without further ado, the two of you were off to the ball to meet Machiavelli.

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

Machiavelli had turned out to be a rather boring individual.

Well.

That wasn't fair. He just wasn't the kind of man you'd expected the writer of the Prince to be. He was a lot more mild, comparatively, and didn't seem to possess any of the traits that you, in your modern attitude, would consider Machiavellan.

Except maybe the way he seemed rather eager to get to know you biblically.

You swore, if he cooed one more "good lady" or "lovely mistress" or "darling girl" in your general direction, you'd lose your mind.

The worst offense, though, was that he'd separated you from the Doctor. You'd tried looking for him, but he'd seemingly vanished entirely from the ball.

Tired, lost, exasperated, you made your way to a bench out on a nearby balcony and flopped gracelessly onto the seat with a groan. It had already been such a night, and now all you wanted was to crawl into your bed.

You groaned again as a shadow fell over you. You turned, fully expecting to see the Machiavelli there to hound you into another dance.

Instead, you saw... nothing? But also something.

It cast a shadow, so you knew that there had to be something physically there. But as you looked, it seemed to shimmer and glide right out of your field of view, like the dancing dapples of light on the surface of a pool.

You'd spent enough time with the Doctor to know when things were a little... off. You weren't sure if this was the work of a perception filter, or something similar, but it definitely wasn't normal and it definitely wasn't human.

And it definitely wasn't throwing you off the trail.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could, a voice called out. "Don't!" You turned again to see the Doctor running towards you.

There was a sudden sting as something slid into your neck, and then heat spread out from the injection, dazing you. You heard the Doctor calling your name, even felt his hands on you, but couldn't see anything other than the shimmering man behind you.

"What have you done to her?" the Doctor shouted. You were startled, you felt it, yet your body didn't move. "Whatever you did, fix it! Cure her!"

You could feel the heat spreading. It felt like fire, razing through your veins like an inferno. You had the sense to know it should hurt, yet you felt no pain. Even so, you knew that without some kind of antidote, it'd kill you.

The Doctor seemed to know that too.

"Please," he said, and you realized he'd moved on to begging. "Please. Not her. Let me save her." Begging for you. For your life.

You watched as the entity produced something new -- it still shimmered, never letting you get a good look at it, but as it slipped into your neck you realized it was another needle.

This time, the plunger sent ice into your veins. It moved quickly, eating up the fire and leaving you shivering... but alive. You realized as the ice spread that, not only were you wracked with tremors, but you could move your own body voluntarily. You lifted your arms with difficulty and wrapped them heavily around the Doctor's neck. And gently, he tipped your head forward so that your eyes were finally on him.

"Doctor," you whimpered. "About damn time..."

He laughed a little at that, though it sounded hollow and the smile that came with it didn't reach his eyes. "Fashionably late as ever, eh?" he asked gently.

Your head lolled when you tried to nod. That made him laugh again, and that time it didn't sound so hollow.

"What did you do to her?" he asked the shimmering man again. There was no reply, and you almost thought that maybe the strange entity had left.

"She required correcting," a dozen voices said at once.

"Correcting?" the Doctor asked, pulling you closer protectively.

"The female carried disease. It's now eliminated, and she is corrected."

"Disease?" you and the Doctor asked simultaneously.

"She is corrected." With that, there was a whoosh behind you, and you knew that whatever that thing was, it was gone.

The Doctor stayed with you until you'd recovered, holding you close and stroking your hair with one hand while the other rubbed circles into your back.

Once you could move without fumbling like a ragdoll, he helped you to a stand and guided you towards the door.

Music still played in the ballroom, though most of the attendees had filtered out and the party was definitely in its final throes. Machiavelli, blessedly, was gone.

The Doctor brought you to a halt in the middle of the room and turned towards you with a light smile. "May I have this dance?" he asked, and though he tried to sound casual, you could hear that deeper note in his voice once again.

"You may," you answered thoughtfully.

He began leading you through the steps of a waltz you didn't recognize, but it wasn't too hard to pick up. You imagined he'd chosen something that would be easy for you, in case any effects from your "correction" still lingered.

"Doctor?" you murmured into his ear after a while of dancing in silence.

He hummed in acknowledgement, and you could've sworn his arms around you got tighter.

"You've seemed... a bit off, for a while... is everything okay?"

"Oh... everything's wonderful," he answered, and you could hear in his voice that he meant it. He shifted his arms so that he could cradle your face in his hands, one on your cheek and one on your neck, thumb rubbing circles into the spot where the entity had injected you with those strange substances. "Everything's perfect, in fact."

"Y-yeah?" you asked, looking into his eyes, your own wide as he watched you with such intense and bare adoration.

"Yeah."

You didn't pull away as he leaned forward, didn't move back as his lips pressed to your own. It was a sweet and tender kiss, the kind of kiss that sent an entirely different kind of warmth through your veins. You smiled sweetly into it, and you could tell the Doctor felt it as you felt his lips quirk up in response.

He pulled away, and while you leaned into his chest with a contented sigh, he peppered little pecks over your bare shoulders in reverence.

You stayed like that, swaying gently in a dance not from your planet, to music not from your time, up until the moment the band stopped playing.

#tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #doctor who x reader #the doctor x reader #the doctor x you #reader insert #doctor who fic #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who #the doctor #david tennant #canon typical peril

[suashii]

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝐻𝒪𝒩𝐸𝒴 𝐿𝐼𝒫𝒮

info ⭑ kaeya alberich x reader. 1.3k wc. sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ a bit suggestive ﾉ actor + model!kaeya ﾉ photographer!reader

note ⭑ hi! so. . . i've never played genshin :3 just fell in love with kaeya and wanted to write him! so he may be ooc :p keep any negativity to yourself pls! the inspo for this came from a post by @tetsukei btw! 

when you learned that you’d be shooting kaeya alberich for his newly appointed role as brand ambassador for amber dew, an up-and-coming skincare and makeup brand, you were thrilled. the man is regarded as one of the most promising rising stars in the entertainment industry and you’ve been dreaming of having him as the subject of your camera since you first laid eyes on him.

now that the day is here, you’ll discover that this experience isn’t going to play out the way you imagined.

“hi,” you introduce yourself with a smile as kaeya walks onto the set, “i’ll be your photographer today. i’m looking forward to working with you.”

it shouldn’t be possible, but the man is even prettier in person. his warm, brown skin glows under the lights of the studio and his long, navy hair against the white of his shirt makes the garment appear brighter. there’s a sparkle in his eyes that turns his periwinkle irises into the backdrop of a starry night. you wonder if the pictures you take will do him any justice.

“as am i,” he mirrors your sentiment with a smile that pulls up higher at one side than the other. his grin and voice are a different level of charming that you didn’t prepare yourself for and you find yourself clearing your throat to keep your next words from coming out with a crack.

“shall we get started, then?”

in a way, kaeya is like some of the clients you’ve worked with in the past. he looks to you for direction, asking whether or not he’s posed correctly and easily adjusts himself in response to your guidance. though, as he grows more comfortable with your camera and your presence, he grows bolder, too, taking some creative liberties of his own.

you take a moment to survey the last several photos on your camera, tongue poked out in concentration as you analyze the lighting and angles. a few feet across from you, kaeya smiles. you look cute when you’re focused and, maybe it’s a little conceited, but pride sprouts in his chest knowing that you’re looking so intently at him.

when you look back up to continue shooting, kaeya’s in a different position than before. his elbow is propped up on the table, chin resting in his palm, fingers splayed out about the lower half of his face. his lips pull up playfully at the corners upon seeing the way your eyebrows gently raise at his new posture. “how’s this?”

despite being caught off guard, you nod, holding up your camera to capture his appeal. “that looks great! you really are a natural.”

the smirk kaeya wears is a genuine one. he doesn’t usually have much of a good time at these kinds of things; he considers them a bit of a chore and exerts minimum effort at best, but you’re different from the rest—you don’t take yourself or the job too seriously and he can see himself having a little fun with you.

by the time you finish picturing him with each of the products outlined by the company, there’s only one thing left on your agenda. kaeya’s away getting his makeup touched up as you set up your camera and the props for your final shoot of the session.

you’re opening a jar of honey when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching you. a shadow falls over you as kaeya comes to stand by your side, eyeing the sticky substance in your hands. when he sees you’re struggling with the lid, he takes the jar from you and pops it off himself, returning the container to you while asking, “what’s this for?”

you thank him for his help before explaining your concept to him. as amber dew’s brand uses honey as an ingredient in many of their products, you wanted to incorporate it into your photos.

“so the plan is to have you dip your fingers in and let the honey drip onto the packaging of the serum and moisturizer,” you tell kaeya, stepping back and grabbing hold of your equipment. “sound okay?”

he hums in agreement as he sits at the table with all the little bottles you so neatly arranged. he watched you from afar in his makeup chair as you set them up, cycling through a number of different arrangements before settling on the one in front of him.

“perfect, whenever you’re ready.”

just as you explained, kaeya dips his first two fingers in the jar of viscous liquid, pulls them out, and holds them above the amber dew products. gravity works its magic and the honey slides down his fingers, over his manicured nails, and onto the bottles below.

the rhythmic pattern of your shutter button clicking sounds throughout the studio, bright flashes accompanying each short noise. every picture you take captures a moment in the timeline, the packaging going from being pristine to being drowned in the golden substance.

you’re so fixated on the isolated shot that kaeya’s voice causes you to jump when it fills the air. “do you mind if i try something?”

you aren’t sure what he has in mind, but since you’ve got the photos you need, there’s no harm in giving him some artistic freedom. you shake your head. “be my guest.”

with your permission, kaeya’s fingers return to the jar of honey and he coats them once more. you follow his movements with your lens, even when they drag up towards his face. his head turns to the side as he holds his fingers over his mouth. just like it had earlier, the honey drips down the appendages—except this time, instead of landing on the products as you intended, it plops down in globs onto his parted lips.

for a split second—perhaps a tiny bit longer—you stare at the sight, starstruck. it’s as though melted gold is trickling down his bronzed face—off of his chin and onto the skin left exposed by the undone top buttons of his shirt. he looks more than an actor or a model, he looks like he’s meant to be housed in the clouds with celestial beings.

when you return to your senses, you focus your camera on the image kaeya’s created, capturing his likeness the best you can. despite his gaze meeting the lens, you feel like his lidded stare is burning into you, like those periwinkle eyes are really looking into yours. 

kaeya pops his fingers into his mouth once there isn’t much honey left to drizzle off of them. his eyes are turned up toward the ceiling now, but the continued clicking of your camera doesn’t go unnoticed by the man. he smiles around his fingers at that and only pulls them out when the sweetness on his tongue is no longer.

“those turn out good?” he asks with a smile much more innocent than his actions.

you had no idea kaeya could be so… provocative. you’re sure surprise is painted all over your face, so you dip your head down to examine the pictures in favor of meeting his eye. as shocked as you had initially been upon seeing the route kaeya decided to take, the photographs did turn out well. so, even though your cheeks are burning when you finally do look up at him, you tell him as much. “they look amazing.”

the session wraps up with those final shots. kaeya is stood next to you when he and his crew gather around to get a look at the results of his and your work. as the crowd “ooh” and “aah” at each passing picture on the screen, kaeya lowers himself so that his mouth hovers near your ear.

“do you have a business card? i’d love to work together again in the future.”

hey, it's manon :3 ! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

#kaeya x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #kaeya fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff

[my-makeshift-masquerade]

Hi! Could I request a reader insert for Funtime Freddy? Basically, readers had a harsh week and Funtime Freddy cheers them up? Readers personality is up to you! ❤️

P.S, Love your work!!

Oh. You know I have never written for this fella (fellas?) before. Let’s see how I do? You can’t have Funtime Fredboi without his trusty left hand man BawhnBawhn, so you’re getting a two for one package deal!

Battery Low

“Hello. Welcome back to your existential crisis repackaged as a promising career—“

“Oh fuck off…” You mumbled at nothing. Who programmed that annoying Hand Unit anyway…?

“We value the ideas and feedback of our employees here at Afton Robo—“ The audio glitched out, “—Circus Baby’s Entertainment and Rentals. So, we would like to let you decide which of our friendly cast you want to visit first today. Please enter your selection into the pinpad.”

You looked in the beady googly eyes of that horrible excuse for a pinpad, thinking for a moment. Do you want to get the easiest one out of the way first, or start with the more difficult animatronic? After a second more of deliberation, you begin to type.

B-A-L-7-0-R-4—

“It looks like you’re having trouble with the pinpad. I see what you were trying to type and will autocorrect it for you.” Hand Unit paused, “You entered: Funtime Freddy.”

“What?! No I didn’t, you dumbass computer—” You hissed, kicking the metal stand and wincing at how much it hurt.

“Let’s go see how Funtime Freddy and his best pal Bonbon are doing tonight.”

“Hell no. I’m going to Ballor—“

“Let’s go see how Funtime Freddy and his best pal Bonbon are doing tonight.” Hand Unit repeated more firmly.

“Fuckin— Fine!”

———

You trudged into Funtime Freddy’s area, flashlight in hand. You did not want to deal with any of this shit today, especially not Freddy’s shit. He loved to toy with you and make your job that much more difficult than it already was. It felt like eternity and you were only a week into this purgatory of a job. You get paid at two weeks, if you don’t take the choice of a gift basket, which you weren’t.

Baby said on your third night that you must not value your life too much if you keep choosing to come back here, but frankly you have no choice. You need the money. You need to escape your house for at least some time. Sure you’d even make more doing dishes somewhere, but it wasn’t worth the trouble to keep applying to other places that would reject you for “lack of experience”.

“Ohoho! I hear something!” His shrill voice echoed in the darkness, “Someone’s here to play!”

“It’s only a mouse.” Bonbon’s slightly less annoying voice whispered, “Go back to sleep…”

You took advantage of that to try and sneak back into the vents, but of course, the giant metal deathtrap of a bear had found you before you could scramble in.

“Why hello again~!” Freddy cackled, “See, Bonbon? I told you our friend was here to see us!”

“Hello, night guard!” The periwinkle rabbit waved his mitten-like paw, but paused, “Oh my! You look like you’re running out of battery…”

“Silly Bon! Humans don’t run out of battery!”

“Actually, we very much do.” You snapped bitterly, instantly regretting it as you saw Freddy’s free hand grab a sparking wire nearby.

“Well then! Let us help y—“

“NO!” You dropped the flashlight and put your hands up, “That is NOT how we charge!”

“But when other humans touch it they jitter with excitement!” The bear’s ears wiggled, “They even leak a little on the floor!”

“Look, can you stop being a total fucking sadist for ten minutes?!” You ran your fingers over your scalp, “Please, just— just ten minutes—!”

You sat down on the grime covered floor, shaking as you tried to control your breathing. It was silent apart from the buzzing of machinery for a few seconds…until Bonbon spoke.

“Freddy, I think our friend is sad.” The rabbit spoke, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing you two can help with…”

“Sure we can!” Freddy stated proudly, “We are the best at making people smile!”

You paused. Actually… Why not just vent your problems to these two robots? It wasn’t like they could do anything worse than torture or kill you…

“It’s… just been a tough week.” The employee began, “Dealing with this new job and other things… I look happy on the outside, but on the inside I am so tired. It’s like my life is passing me by, but I can’t even enjoy it, you know?”

“Boy, we sure know how that feels!” Freddy laughed in an almost unstable manner, “Every day we perform show after show… Then we end up back here waiting to do it all again tomorrow! AHAHAHAHA—“

“Calm down…” Bonbon soothed, “What he means to say is it gets pretty lonely down here… It’s hard for us to keep being happy, too…”

The human looked up at the towering animatronic from their sitting position with a new spark in their eyes. Damn… You didn’t realize the robots would be having the same crisis as you. Now you were curious…

“So…What do you both do at night when I’m not here?”

“Well… We try to get some slee—“

“Wait for someone else to come play with us of course!” The bear cut off the rabbit, “As long as someone is here to distract me, I forget the pain for a little while!”

“That doesn’t always work, Freddy… It helps sometimes, but the best thing we can do is take care of ourselves and rest so we can keep going another day.” Bonbon looked to the guard, “Maybe you need to recharge and sleep too?”

“But that’s boringggg!” The larger funtime groaned, “Can’t we play a game instead?! I want to play chase! That will wake us all up!”

“Freddy, our guard friend isn’t in the mood for games tonight… Don’t you remember how it feels when you’re battery is low and you don’t want to play anymore?”

“…Yes…” The bear answered with the tone of a pouting child, before laughing, “It’s okay though! When that happens the silly voice in the walls says we aren’t performing at capacity and gives us zaps until I feel happy again!”

Wait, is that why he immediately went to try and shock you earlier?! You were surprised by how much his sadistic behavior suddenly made sense given that grim context…

“Sorry, guys… It’s only been a week and I am already slipping…” You growled in anger at yourself, “I didn’t mean to—“

“What are you apologizing for?!” Freddy blinked, becoming cheerful again in an unstable sort of way, “It’s okay to be out of battery! I mean… Everyone runs out eventually, right?!”

“Yeah, I-I guess…?”

“So, take a moment to recharge! Do something that zaps you with energy and makes you feel ALIVE—“

“Or take it slow.” Bonbon added tentatively.

“Slow sounds good…” You nodded, “Can I just sleep in here?”

“A sleepover?! Of course you can!” Freddy beamed, “Baby can make the voice in the walls be quiet too! I can go ask her—“

“It seems my audio is malfunctioning—“ Hand Unit blurted, “I will be offline momentarily…”

“Oh, Baby! She’s always listening!” The bear giggled.

“Shhh. Our friend is already falling asleep…” Bonbon whispered.

You were made uneasy by that last statement about Baby, but you passed out before you could really process the implications of it… God were you really falling asleep in this dangerous place? Yes… Yes you were.

#drabbles #fnaf x reader #funtime freddy x reader #idk there are no platonic tags for these things #but request’s should help me get more content out for yall

[scissryng]

Could you pleaseee write something where y/n sends Ellie a cheeky 🤭picture and Ellie rushes over to y/n’s dorm or house or smth….and we all know what happens next. I love ur work btw ❤️

a/n: I suck at making extremely short stuff... also this isn't as good as I hoped but I hope YOU like it:)

mentions of pet names. 'baby/babe.' NOT PROOFREAD!!

The bag that held your risque lingerie sat in your vanity chair, drawing you in no matter how badly you wanted to stay in bed. You imagined yourself dressed in the periwinkle bra and panties, showing yourself off to Ellie as she sat in front of you. But she was selling at the moment, in questionable people’s driveway, waiting for them to grab their grams. 

You were sad that she wasn’t around in the tiny duplex you shared. She was off doing her job, yes, but she was doing her job. You hated being away from her, you held an attachment to her that could not be compared to anything you’ve had before. Maybe it was due to the fact that Ellie was your first long-term woman relationship, or that she was your main friend. Whatever it was, you hated being away from her, no matter the circumstance. 

You were going to ride with her today, but she told you to stay home. She had been grumpy all morning, claiming that people were wasting her time, trying to badly negotiate prices on eights, zips, even three grams. And on top of that, people weren’t taking her seriously when she said she had to study and finish homework. 

Now the bag resting on your vanity chair seemed more intriguing. You wanted to look sexy, feel sexy, and give Ellie something to smile about. 

You instantly stood up without another thought and grabbed your bag off the vanity chair. You undressed, slid on the periwinkle lace panties–that left nothing to the imagination–the lace bra that had your nipples on full display, and a garter belt that connected to stocking you had previously bought. You clipped everything together, and when you stood in front of the mirror, even you just wanted to fuck yourself. You looked hot. And not even that felt like the correct word. 

You then grabbed your phone off your bed and opened up the camera. You tried out a few poses, trying to figure out what was the sexiest. After a few rounds taken where you looked absolutely ravishing, you undid your bra and took a few more pictures. 

⇰ you

6 attachments 

i know ur a bit grumpy today… hope this helps ;) 

You dropped your phone onto your bed and continued looking at yourself in the mirror. You rarely saw yourself in this kind of attire. If you were going to have sex with Ellie, you never wore fancy lace and garter belts and stockings. Usually, you just wore your regular bra and underwear–no matter if they weren’t matching, or if you wore your grandma underwear after not washing your clothes. Ellie somehow always found you beautiful. 

But this time was different. Ellie deposited $500 into your account a couple days prior and asked you to buy yourself anything you wanted. You knew how she had acquired the money, but the action itself left you feeling guilty. This money was hers and could have been used for rent, herself, food, etc., but instead she gifted it to you. 

It was easy money for her, especially since people usually bought a lot from her. Parents, students, old people bought from her, and her dad still gave her money even if she begged him not to, so she had a massive influx of money. 

You thanked her by pleasing her, but no matter how much you thanked her, kissed her, fucked her, it wasn’t enough to you. So you were making it up to her by buying lingerie and sending sexy pictures. 

Not even two minutes later, your phone chimed. You unlocked it and instantly squirmed. 

⇰ ellie♥ 

oh baby. 

don’t go anywhere. i’ll be right there. 

fuuuck. okay. i’m ten minutes away. 

⇰ you 

don’t you have work?!!!! i didn’t send them for you to come home!! 

⇰ ellie♥ 

FUCK WORK. 

i’m literally creaming in my jeans babe. 

holy shit ur hot as hell?!!!?

You threw your phone onto the bed and quickly re-clipped your bra. You put on your robe, sat down at your vanity, and tried styling your hair in the tiniest form of sexy you could. Maybe tossing it into a messy bun? Or maybe quickly curling a few pieces? Leaving it how it is? 

You tried to curl your hair, but you were trembling with excitement that everything turned into a mess. So you tried playing around with it to see if you liked it framing your face. No. Then, you tied it up in a messy bun with two curly pieces left out in the front. 

And now, with your hair and makeup done, ten minutes have passed by. 

And an angry car parked in front of your house. A door slammed, followed by an aggressive knock at the door. She had a key, but she was most certainly waiting for you to open the door. So… you ran to the door. You checked the peephole, and there stood Ellie, rocking back and forth, hands slapping her thighs. 

You bit back a squeal and unlocked the door, opening it to meet Ellie, who spent no time rushing in and shutting the door, pinning you behind it. You gasped at the contact and stared at your girlfriend who’s eyes were already darting over your body. 

“Sorry,” you said, “I put on a robe.” 

She shrugged and untied it. She tore it off and threw it onto the floor beside you. Her hands found their way onto your hips, thumbs caressing your soft skin. Her eyes were buzzing about and you felt the need to tear her clothes off. You already had her wrapped around your finger, all you needed now was her physically wrapped around you. 

“What?” you asked, sounding completely clueless to the situation. 

“‘What?’” Ellie scoffed. “What do you mean ‘what’? You send me pictures of yourself in lingerie and then with your tits out on full display and you expect me not to want to fucking worship you?” 

You laughed. “I just thought they’d be nice. To get you through the day.” 

Her fingers wrapped around the hooks of your garter belt and she quickly unclipped them. “You thought that would get me through the day? Baby, if you send me shit like that, I’d drop everything to come and fuck your pretty ass out of this–” She pulled the band of your thong and let it go, allowing the material to slap your skin. 

You grabbed her belt loop and pulled her in, forcing your lips to collide. Your hands maneuvered through her hair and down to her shoulders, where you pried her infamous flannel off her body. You threw it onto the floor, on top of the robe. 

Next was her shirt. Then her jeans. And then you pulled away, examining her toned stomach and how the lines of her soft abs protruded with each breath. You smiled. She looked sexy herself, even if she was wearing a simple black sports bra and her usual black boyshorts. 

You ran your hands down the expanse of her skin and hooked your thumbs into her underwear. “I need to ride you,” you whispered. 

She hummed. “Oh really?” she asked with a smirk. 

You nodded and began pushing her back, turning her around and pulling her behind you once you got far enough. You then pushed her onto the large couch in the living room and straddled her, hands finding home on her shoulders, rubbing along the material of her sports bra and the skin of her neck. 

Ellie placed her hands on your waist and pulled and pulled on your thong. She leaned into you and kissed your cheek, neck, the fat of your breasts. “I need you to take these off,” she whispered. 

“Why?” you replied. 

“It makes it harder to feel your pussy on me…” 

You smiled and quickly stood up. You pulled off the garter completely, followed along by your thong. They went next to you, far from the robe and Ellie’s clothing, leaving your home evident of fucking. 

You bent your arms behind your body, fingers finding your bra clasp. However, Ellie pulled your legs towards her and stopped you from unclasping it. “Let me,” she said, and you sat on her naked thigh. 

You whined at the contact, already twitching at the feeling of your wet cunt dragging along her thigh. She chuckled and wrapped her arms around you, hands needily unclasping your bra. This movement had you leaning forward with slight groans, your body heaving at the slow and steady grinding. 

Once the bra was off, Ellie’s hands found their way onto your boobs, fingers massaging your flesh and rolling your nipples between her fingers. You hummed. The pleasure of slowly rolling your hips and your tits being kneaded was beyond compare. 

“You like that?” Ellie asked. 

You nodded. “Fuck…yes…” you moaned. 

“Good, just keep grinding baby.” 

You continued doing so: grinding down onto her thigh as she licked, sucked, played with your boobs and nipples. Ellie would shake her leg every so often, forcing gasps and loud moans out of you. It worsened once she leaned back and placed her hands on your hips, drilling her nails into your flesh and moving your hips along with you. You bit down on your lip, trying to hide the moans that bounced off the walls of your throat. But the more you tried, the harder it got–until you gave up and started moaning at every change in rhythm. 

“That’s it,” you whined. Ellie was slapping your ass the faster you rode her. Your hands found their way onto Ellie’s boobs: sports bra pushed up, tits spilling out and catching the coldness of the fan above you. Her moans pedaled you forward and you rocked faster, ground your pussy harder onto her bare thigh. “That’s it baby. That’sitthat’sitthat’sit.” 

“C’mon baby,” Ellie grunted. “Grind that pretty little pussy onto me. Ride my thigh like you fucking mean it. You can do it.” 

The praises left you heaving, crying out into the air as you climaxed. You ran your thumbs over her pretty tits and fell forward, pressing your head into the crook of her neck. 

Ellie instantly began rubbing your back. She kissed the side of your sweaty head and you could feel the curve of her smiling lips. 

“You did so good, baby,” Ellie whispered. 

“Did I?” you asked. 

She nodded. “Now send me one of those again and I’ll be doing more than letting you ride my thigh.” 

You moved your head and looked down at her. “You want to go again? I think you have more in you.” 

Ellie bit down on her lip. “I think so too…” 

#ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #elliewilliams x reader #ellie williams x you #oneshot #lesbian #ellie williams smut #ellie williams recs

[bloomingdarkgarden]

What Bloomed in the Darkgarden

Chapter 33: Periwinkle

A very tender hurt /comfort memory of Azriel and Elain finding each other after Hybern’s war. Snippet below.

“How would you write your story?” Elain asked faintly. “What life would you choose, were you not born to be such a fearsome warrior of Night?”

Despite it all, the soft praise of her words coiled into a particularly male corner of his heart.

“An exceptionally boring one. I’d imagine I’d need to earn a living somewhere… normal,” he considered quietly. “Work as a smith. Maybe in a kitchen.”

Elain stared at him for a long, long moment.

And then she laughed.

Well and truly laughed, deep in her belly. The sound ringing liquid gold throughout the chamber. She laughed so hard it had his own mouth curling upwards, his shadows peeking towards her curiously.

She laughed until it leaked away from her, and then asked with total sincerity-

“Would you work in my kitchen?”

“Absolutely.”

No hesitation.

She laughed again, and Azriel’s shadows skitted back with delight at the melody of the sound.

Elain needed this, he realized. So did he, in truth. The distraction from ruined lives and the horrors of war. It was a different sort of medicine.

“Maybe we ought to run away,” she sighed, staring up at the ceiling, tiredness lacing her gaunt features. “Open a bakery somewhere.”

“I can be ready within the hour.”

A weak grin grew across her lovely face and it was a song of desperate, lost impossibilities.

“With great wide windows and wooden tables for tea.”

Azriel smiled, too, at the thought.

“Blue walls,” she whispered, “Will you paint the walls blue? I’m not sure I can reach.”

He’d steal every star from the night sky if she asked him to.

Azriel nodded. “Which blue would the lady prefer?”

Elain sighed again. “Pale, I should think.” Her eyes sparkled, adrift. “Paler than the moon. Like a goodbye. Like a memory.”

He had never, in all these long weeks, heard her speak this way.

He was going to fall in love with her if she kept speaking this way.

“Periwinkle,” he murmured.

“Periwinkle,” she repeated, with that same smile, blooming of lost hope. “We’ll serve everything on old plates from the market, none of them matching.”

“None of them?”

“Not a single one,” she chuckled. “There's something I’ve always loved about a cupboard full of dishes that don’t match. It’s rather a comfort, don’t you think?

Azriel watched her speak like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Fresh flowers for the tables,” she murmured distantly.

“You could grow them out back,” his voice was quiet.

“What sort do you think?”

Azriel considered for a long moment.

“Periwinkle,” he paused, “to match.”

She smiled then. “You know flowers, Azriel,”

He would die a thousand deaths to hear his name on her lips again.

“A few.”

She quirked an eyebrow upwards. “Vincas are difficult plants. They’re monstrously hard to keep from drying out.”

“My faith in you is unwavering.”

“Too-right,” her smile grew wide again.

“I’ll put you to work, you know. In the garden too. But we mustn't work one day a week. We must have a day to ourselves. To laze about and eat sweets.”

“Laze… about,” he murmured cautiously.

“You mustn't work every day, Azriel.”

A foreign notion to him.

She nudged his shoulder with her own over the bath’s edge.

“I’ll make sure you don’t anyway. Lure you to laze with me in the garden with those cherry scones you love so much.”

He glanced sidelong at her. She shrugged nonchalantly.

“I notice,” she murmured. “All the things you finish first. Spiced quail eggs in the morning. Rosemary lamb at supper. Nuala’s winter stew. Seedcake. Cherry scones.”

Azriel swallowed, color staining his cheeks. “I was never permitted such things as a boy.”

“I know,” she murmured softly, “I know.”

The light was leaving her eyes again and he hated himself for being responsible for it. He wanted- needed to hear her keep speaking of beautiful, impossible things.

Which is why the shadowsinger parted his lips and said something he never in a thousand years would have said otherwise.

“Honeyed carrots.”

Elain glanced up to him. “Honeyed carrots?”

“Honeyed carrots. I have a weakness for them, just as you have a weakness for those sweet cheeses late into the night.”

“I do love cheese, really.”

“I know.”

She studied him with a tired smile. “How do you know?”

Because it was the first thing I watched you eat after months of wasting away, and I felt like I could breathe again.

He looked at her softly.

“How do you know I prefer cherry?”

The sorrow in her features was dissipating like fog into the night.

“We’ll eat it all.” Elain closed her eyes. “We’ll eat whatever we like whenever we please and grow old and fat and wiser than we’ve ever been.”

Azriel quirked an eyebrow at the prospect.

“I’ll need a day to train each week if I’m to be of any use on a battlefield ever again.”

“Nonsense,” she muttered. “I killed the king of Hybern and I’ve never trained a day in my life.”

Azriel laughed then. Warm and rich and honest. Because it was so impossible. Because it was so true.

Elain laughed with him, a golden melody, until the sound ebbed away from them both.

“Anyway the pies will be good,” she wheezed. “So good we’ll become famous for them.”

“The family will come looking for us.”

“Busybodies,” she waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll draw the shades. Bolt the doors. I can’t have Cassian stealing away my kitchen boy.”

Azriel would murder Cassian with his bare hands before allowing himself to be robbed of becoming Elain's kitchen boy.

“I expect the work will be demanding?”

“I’ll have you carving fruit and pastry from dawn to dusk.” She nodded to Truth-Teller, bloodied and bound to his waist. “I hear you are good with one of those.”

Azriel huffed a dry laugh because he was actually falling in love with her now.

“I hear the same of you.”

Elain grinned, scooping up a handful of bath foam. “It will be marvelous advertising for the shop, anyway.” She huffed a breath and softly blew the foam towards a nearby shadow, which writhed with delight.

“Knife wielders of the Night Court making pastries and all.”

This female, speaking of runaway dreams and bakeries like she hadn’t just slayed Prythian’s most ancient and formidable enemy.

Blowing fucking bath bubbles at his shadows.

He was undone.

“As my lady commands.”

She grinned wide then and sank slightly deeper into the water.

“I might frighten away all of your customers,” he muttered a moment later. Not untrue.

Elain scoffed. “You won’t frighten away the customers. If you just lessen your brooding and offer up one of those divine smiles every few weeks, people will line up around the block.”

A scowl formed on her face. “The females anyway.”

Azriel said nothing, a golden blush crawling up his cheek.

Elain’s chestnut eyes lingered on TruthTeller at his side before drifting to him again, her voice was barely a whisper.

“If you’re frightening, I’m frightening.”

The truth laid bare between them.

He wanted to wrap her in his arms.

“Yes you are.”

He spoke the words as if she were holy.

Because she was.

“You’ve killed dozens of people,” Elain whispered.

“Hundreds,” he corrected.

“I’ve only killed one,” she murmured, “but I made sure it counted.”

He would damn every star in the great night sky to kiss her now.

“Yes you did.”

“People will think I’m strange now, I suppose.”

His throat bobbed.

“Strange and beautiful. So much so, it might be difficult to look away.”

He did not look away. He meant every word, body and soul.

Something in Elain’s gaze glimmered as she beheld him. Something hidden deep beneath the devastation and loss.

And then Azriel heard it.

The quietest whisper of the song she usually emanated, lost in the dark, now reaching- reaching for the light.

“Promise you’ll paint the walls blue?” she whispered softly.

Tired and drunk on the ashes of war. He told himself they’d forget it all by the morning.

But just for tonight, stars above, let her be mine.

“I’ll paint the walls blue,” Azriel whispered back.

Read the rest on AO3

#elriel #acotar fanfiction #hurt x comfort #azriel #elain archeron #elriel fanfiction

[buggyswritingcorner]

You called

It's kind of short but I love this trend on tiktok so I naturally thought hmm RHAENYRA ANGST

Tears reminding pearls rolled down her face as she raised her eyes to meet yours. The words that escaped her lips in a breathy sob then ripped your heart apart.

"You came."

Not a moment of silence fell before you whispered your answer.

"You called."

Those two simple words had her falling forwards into a bowing position on her grand bed where she kneeled. She howled in melancholy and whimpered at the pain that had weighed in her chest.

Immeadiately you found yourself kneeling before her petting her hair, grazing her back that wrecked with sorrow. If you only could you would take her pain as yours, you would take it away from her to keep her mind at peace.

She blubberred incoherent words into the sheets, fists at the sides of her head twisting into the bedsheets. Reaching blindly for your hands for comfort. You took them both, holding them tightly and securely in your lap.

As her weeping quieted down she raised her head to gaze upon you. Seeing you after so long, after she had thought you dead in lands so far away from her reach. So far she could not even use the impressive political impact she had as the heir to find you. She could not hold back anymore straightening her back only to launch into your arms.

She squeezed you in her tight grasp. You did not mind. Glad to be alive and safe with your princess. Your mind finally departed from the thoughts of your danger-filled travels as you breathed her in and released all the tension that has sat upon your shoulders for weeks.

"I feared the worst. For weeks we have been trying to relay your company a message." Quietly she sighed into your hair. Melting into your chest, hanging onto your shoulders. "Where have you been jorrāelagon."

You recognised the familiarity of the nickname 'my lover' it roughly translated to. You felt cherished and adored by your 'jorrāelagon'.

"Everywhere it feels. I will be astonished if I had not traveled all the way to the end of the world my wisteria."

Out of nowhere a sharp pain made itself known. A persistent stinging in your shoulder. Rhaenyra - the ever sharp girl - of course noticed your stiffened posture. Frowning she leaned back, her tear stained face beautifully flushed and glowing.

"What is it? Do you carry pain anywhere?" Afraid she had hurt you she reclined and made move to call for the Maester. Before she could climb off the cushions though, you grasped her wrist and pulled her gently back into bed and under the thick warm covers.

"It is nothing," you argued pleading for her remain with you in your impending slumber. "Please do not leave after I have only just felt you again." Staring tiredly into her periwinkles as she laid beside you, your hands joined inbetween your bodies.

She smiles with utmost affection and declares with a soft voice.

"Only because I have missed you so painfully.. ñuha dōna vīlībāzmio."

. . . .

Translation: ñuha dōna vīlībāzmio - my sweet warrior

Thank you for reading! I hope you've enjoyed your read.

masterlist

#rhaenyra targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #rhaenyra x reader #oneshot

[cyanide-latte]

5 6 7 FOR Cooper, Rin, Xi and the twins are PULLING on my hair demanding Talesin as well

OHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOO EXCELLENT

This is going to get a bit lengthy so my apologies in advance, I'm going to be putting this under a read more cut.

Additionally! If some of you are looking at the name "Talesin" and wondering which of my OCs that is, I've not talked about them on here yet but Talesin is a nextgen OC for Kalim and my boy Copper. The biggest reason I've been mum about him on here is because, quite frankly, @blithesharem is the only person who can apparently coax Talesin into talking. He refuses to offer me anything to work with otherwise, and I only just recently figured out some things about him, again because Blithe and I had been chatting in DMs and it knocked something loose. (I did find out at least one other thing about him today thanks to a prompt from @inmateofthemind but that actually came from Copper, Talesin didn't tell me himself.) He's an elusive little scamp and I love him but boy is he hard to pin down.

5) Any animals you most associate with your OC?

Copper Benoit- ignoring the low-hanging fruit of Copper's unusual animal companions, I associate him with dogs. While you could say it's because Floyd's nickname for him is "Sea Dog", it's also due to the fact a lot of other people have said he's got the energy of a sad, lonely puppy. And I would say that's fairly accurate, especially at the start of his story. (And he probably grows up into the kind of dog that you'd love to have around but definitely don't want to get on the wrong side of.)

Wei Renqiao- Perhaps this is cheating but I associate him with phoenixes. His Signature Spell/Unique Magic, "Revenant Warlord", allows Ren to revive after he's died or been killed somehow. There are certain circumstances in which he can be perma-killed, sure, the magic has its limitations, but typically speaking it would be near-impossible to permanently kill him. And his body heals rapidly when he revives, so I've always seen him as a phoenix since I was first conceptualizing him.

Wei Xinyi- This one might seem a little odd, since Xinyi is an extrovert at heart, but I tend to see them as a tiger. Because we do tend to see more and more videos of tigers being playful or fun, and there are absolutely some endearing moments of tigers that are brothers being silly, but they're still tigers. And I think that's a fairly good rule of thumb for Xinyi: they come across as extremely playful, lighthearted, and affectionate with those close to them, but don't think for a second that's all there is to them.

Talesin- a ring-tailed lemur, apparently. It just fits.

6) Any flowers you associate with your OC?

BITCH FLOWER SYMBOLISM IS MY DAMN LIFEBLOOD

Copper- Blue iris. They symbolize hope and faith, both integral parts of where Copper's story begins, and they also symbolize mystery, which is appropriate to his heritage going unknown for so long (as well as how well he keeps his unique magic hidden.) The color fitting so well with him eventually ending up in Pomefiore is a nice little bonus!

Ren- Lotus, for its meanings of rebirth and regeneration. Emilia, for creativity. Periwinkle, for intellect and mental capability. And forget-me-nots, for fidelity, faithful love, resilience and memory.

Xinyi- it feels fitting that, as a Mulan expy, at least one of the flowers I associate with them the most is pink magnolias, for innocence, youth, joy, femininity and romance. Also sweet William for masculinity, gallantry and courage.

Talesin- Anthurium, for hospitality, and freesia, for joy and friendship. And rhododendron, for danger and a need for caution.

7) Does your OC have a favorite and least favorite food?

Copper- I don't know if he has a least favorite food, but his favorite foods are all fairly spicy. He's not the pickiest eater and I don't think he has a single favorite.

Ren- "Ants climbing a tree", if we're going for food from his culture. It's mung bean vermicelli noodles stir fried with minced meat and sprinkled with scallions. It's been his favorite since childhood and nobody makes it like his mother does! He's also extremely fond of red bean bread and he often bakes it himself! Not sure what his favorite dish is from other cultures, but I can tell you his least favorite food is anything with duck in it. Don't ask why, I don't know, he just doesn't like duck.

Xinyi- This one is interesting, because Xinyi loves cross-cultural exchange and a big, big part of that for them is other foods! They have a running list and their fave foods are subject to change, but (presently based on what they tell me) they love chocolate-covered strawberries, chili-cheese fries, and cheesy potato soup served in bread bowls. (A-Xin, did you go to a festival or something and not tell me.) Atm they don't have a least favorite food.

Talesin- His dad got him hooked on gumbo and cornbread, his baba got him hooked on lamb and rice, and Uncle Jamil got him hooked on beef curry. He also REALLY loves waffles. He immensely dislikes any dishes made with shellfish but he'll tolerate them (with a lot of dramatics) if he absolutely has to.

—————

Taglist: @ramshacklerumble @simons-twsted-children @tixdixl @elenauaurs @rainesol @distant-velleity @theleechyskrunkly @thehollowwriter (let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for my TWST OCs!)

#TWST OCs #Copper Benoit #Wei Renqiao #Wei Xinyi #Talesin #my OCs #OC ask game #Cyanide speaks

[ficbrish]

WIP Wednesday

[31Jan2024]

This is from a one shot that's part of my Kinktober collection

"A Tumble"

Non-Dark Urge Vistri, Eary Act II, After deciding to "be real", but before his actual 'didn't drink the potion' lock-in

[cw - Injury, gore, grief, panic, magic first aid, food]

It wasn’t the first time Astarion saw her fall. She was a sorcerer; her type only ever brought some cloth and the raw, unlimited fury of the weave to battle.

“Vistri!” he’d shouted her name so sweetly the other night, and now it crawled out of his mouth as something misshapen and wretched. He sent a fiery arrow after the shadows and dropped to his knees beside her. The others finished the fight as he reached into his pack with trembling hands. Too many scrolls. So many fucking scrolls! There was one for poison, another for grease traps—for gods damned spiderwebs!

“Get up! Gods damn you!” he cried out, still searching through his pack. There was blood on her neck, but it was wrong. It wasn’t from him; the shadows did that to her. The dark in these woods was a different kind. It was thick and overbearing, like the moment after something horrible. The air around them clung to their throats, coating it with a heavy sort of gravity. It was hard to get used to and threw off all their senses, even as a Vampire and a Drow.

A ragged draw of breath stopped Astarion’s heart mid-beat. Her stillness had been deceiving. Quickly, he stuffed the scrolls back in and pulled out a potion. Gingerly, he lifted her head into his lap and dabbed a bit of its serum onto her lips, coaxing her to drink the rest. Magic and dragon blood closed her wounds. A bit of color came back to her periwinkle cheeks.

Vistri coughed, “Hello dear.”

He sighed into the sight of her living eyes and bent down to kiss her. Their lips were upside down. She laughed and kissed him back as if she weren’t just ripped open and unconscious.

Astarion felt something creep behind him and unsheathed a knife from his thigh, “Wait here a moment, love.”

He set her aside gently and stood up with a twirl. His blade stuck deep into the gut of a shadow cursed Harper, leaving him staring into the blank rotten eyes of a corpse. Astarion hadn’t seen himself once these past two hundred years, and wondered in that moment whether he had those same dead eyes. One look back at Vistri relieved him of that fear.

“Come back to my side at once,” she pouted.

Rushing, he stabbed the undead creature through its skull, and as it collapsed on its own weight, it toppled over on him. Astarion regained his balance and pushed it off, “Eugh!” Then he slid over to Vistri on his knees.

“You blasted,” he kissed her about a million times, grumpily and gratefully, “Hag!”

“Hey!”

“Stop dying, then!”

“I didn’t die, exactly. I just fell over.”

“You almost died. Not that I care anything about it.”

She smirked, “There’s something so dashing about the way you pout.”

He tried his best to frown instead, “Don’t try to flatter your way out of my concern.”

“Thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t!” he scoffed.

Wyll and Karlach strutted towards them out of the dark, obviously smug about felling the last of their enemies.

“Oy! Children!” Karlach called out, addressing them, “Lend a hand next time, will ya?”

“I’m no child! I am over 200 years old!”

“Act like it then,” she winked cheekily.

He was ready to fight until Vistri squeezed his hand—They weren’t children. Karlach only teased them out of respect—Astarion dropped his shoulders.

“You hear that, my dear?” he quipped instead, “Karlach thinks we should act more adult.”

He scooped Vistri up by her waist and had his way with her tongue.

“Ah, love,” Wyll commented dreamily.

“Don’ know if I’d call that love,” Karlach groaned, “More like bragging.”

“What is love if not life’s greatest braggart?”

“Should write that down, mate.”

“Really? You think so.”

Karlach winked, “I’d say you were a poet and didn’t even know it.”

Astarion couldn’t really hear either of them. He could only taste her, savor her existence after how close she’d been to disappearing. Her lips were warm. They were so warm.

Wyll cleared his throat, “Um, guys? Can we go now?”

Vistri hummed dreamily as she tore herself away, “If I can stand on two feet.”

“If you can’t, I’m sure prince charming down there would be happy to carry you.”

Karlach laughed as if the idea were absolutely hysterical, “As if!”

Astarion stood up in offense, “As if?!”

“Come on, Fangs! Be real about it. Carry someone? All the way back to the inn?”

Before she knew what was happening, Vistri found herself swept up and thrown over Astarion’s shoulder like a heavy sack. She squealed in a mixture of terror and delight.

“I’m not as useless as I may seem!” Astarion grumbled, tossing Vistri a bit to adjust his hold. Neither Karlach nor Wyll argued, but they did raise their brows.

Shrieking was common in the Shadow Curse lands, but the way Vistri did it was startlingly out of place. It had laughter and happy shock in it, “Your face is right by my bum!”

“Is that a bad thing, darling?”

“But what if I fart?!”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Quit tossing me about so much then!”

Wyll led the way, leaning into Karlach to comment, “Aren’t they sweet?” To which she snickered back.

Astarion actually managed to carry Vistri the whole way. She might have cast herself with Feather, making his feat a little less impressive, but neither of them cared. Astarion was determined to brag about it and change everyone’s mind regarding his strength, and Vistri was smiling the whole way over. She bounced awkwardly, but she liked the warmth of his back, and the feel of his hands on the back of her thighs. She also managed not to fart.

There was a sense of regret when he let her down, as if they’d lost something. They just stood there after, looking at each other as if they had no idea what to do now that they were apart.

“Well, thank you,” she said.

“For saving your life, or carrying you?”

“Oh, there’s a list?” she chuckled.

His smirk was equal parts mischievous and self-satisfied, “You’ve been incurring a lot of debts, my dear.”

Vistri pretended to be startled, “Have I? Oh my! How should I endeavor pay them?”

He lifted a playful finger to his chin, “Hmmm, what a dilemma!”

His mood was so drastically shifted from before, during the fight. Looking at him now, you’d never think that face held any worry. In little flashes, he was brand new. No more heaviness. Vistri may have grown up with a sorcerer’s might, but she never felt more magical.

“How about I think on it a while? The two of us are exhausted! Best not to make any rash decisions.”

She giggled, even though her bones felt hollow, and her muscles were near useless, “Take your time to think, but make it go—”

Her stomach growled loudly.

“Oh, dear,” Astarion said, “We should fix that, shouldn’t we?”

He was being uncharacteristically servient and sweet, telling her to sit by the fire as he fetched her a bowl of something hot. He even brought a blanket over to throw over their legs and sat there with her as she ate.

Vistri looked at him, startled, when he sat down and settled the blanket over them.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head to clear it, “Nothing.” Then started eating.

It was a very plain stew with fish and beans, but it was everything on a night like this. Or was it even night? There was no sense of time in the Shadow Curse lands.

Astarion dipped her finger in his bowl and licked it.

“Hey!”

“Just wanted a taste.”

#vistarion #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #wip wednesday #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #BrishFics #astarion #astarion ancunin #angst #tumble fic

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Find the word

Thanks @eccaiia for the tag!

Rules: find the words given to you in your WIPs! Synonyms are welcome. Then tag people with new words!

My words: sight, sound, smell, taste

Your words: strap, small, scratch, study

Softly tagging @mk-writes-stuff @monstrouswrites @blind-the-winds @little-peril-stories @buffythevampirelover @mysticstarlightduck @jezifster @jessicagailwrites @gottestod-writes @willtheweaver @theeccentricraven @digital-chance @moonandris + anyone else!

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites - soft tag

Keep reading for:

Lexi and Ash arrive at the Gateway

William makes a breakthrough

Ash uses the probes (no!)

Noelle is hurt oh no

Sight - from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)

“It seems weird,” I said looking at her as I turned around the corner of the school. “Like—ah!” My boot got caught on the grass, causing my feet to slip. I tumbled onto the ground and dropped my violin, the “oof!” that followed indicating Ash tripped over the sturdy case. It was eerily quiet and the smell of the exhaust was gone. I became hyper-aware of the grass I lay in and shot up to a seated position, jumping when I realized nothing was in sight but a dizzyingly-clear horizon. Ash groaned beside me. “Since when does Falcon have grass—” She cut herself off as she pushed herself upright, taking in the sudden new scenery. We sat in the middle of a seemingly endless field. The grass that stretched in each direction appeared freshly mowed, though it lacked the smell that usually came with it. Instead, a chillingly sterile air hit my nose. “Ash,” I asked, low-key freaking out, “where are we?” Ash looked around. “Where did—how did we get here? Where’s the school?” I couldn’t answer. The sun that had been burning in the late afternoon was no longer casting a deathly heat paired with Houston humidity. In fact, looking up, the burning mass seemed to be missing, despite the sky being a soft periwinkle. “Okay…” Ash said after a moment, standing slowly. “Maybe if we go back the way we came, we’ll return to the school.” “Right,” I said, rising to join her. “That—that makes sense.” We retrieved our stuff and tried to retrace our steps. We walked a couple yards, but nothing happened. “We could’ve gotten turned around,” Ash pointed out. “Maybe there’s one specific spot we have to step in to get back.” She sighed, setting her stuff on the ground and sitting beside it. “Give me a second to think.” “Think about what?” I asked, joining her. “A way out? A way back? What the hell is happening? “Maybe we’re dreaming?” “Isn’t that cliche?” “Then we’re hallucinating!” “More cliche!” “Well, you think of something!” We were both silent.

This passage used smell twice lol

Sound - from The Secret Portal Part One

“I was wondering when you were coming back to bed.” “No time soon,” William told his wife. “What are you doing up?” Atsila paused before saying, “I could ask you the same thing.” “You know I have to work,” said William. “You don’t miss me, do you?” Atsila laughed on the other end. “Not at all. I just want an estimate so you didn’t catch me doing anything embarrassing.” William chuckled. “Now, don’t joke like that.” “Who said I was joking?” William sighed, not understanding his wife’s sense of humor. “I’ll work another hour, and then I’ll come to bed.” “Let me know when.” “Will do.” “I love you.” “Love you, too.” Atsila hung up and William turned back to the bubbling chemicals. He jumped in his seat. “No way….” He grabbed the flask and examined it closer. Suddenly giddy, he turned to the snakefly behind him. Gingerly, he tilted the flask and allowed a drop of the chemical to drop on the insect’s wings. William opened the tablet and began recording. The snakefly’s wings continued to rapidly beat together, then slowed as if stuck in treacle. It froze midair, dropping to the ground by the forces of gravity. William let out a sound that would have caused him to flush if anyone was around to witness as he abruptly shot out of his seat. He cleared his throat, though still vibrating from excitement, then called his wife on the comm. “Atsila! Atsila! I did it!” “What is it, Will? You coming early? Do I have to clean up all this mess in five minutes?” she joked in response to his jubilant celebration. “I’m not coming to bed, hon. I’m sorry.” “What—” “I’ve reached a breakthrough.” “Good to kn—” William turned off the comm and continued his work.

Smell - from The Secret Portal Part Two (Ash POV)

Hannah closed the door behind us as I slowly sat on my bed. “I don’t remember pushing Amanda.” “You did,” said Hannah. “Just psychically. So, I told the truth. I think you were overwhelmed by being in that corner go. Just decompress here, kay? You have your phone?” I looked at where I’d tossed it on the bed earlier and nodded. “Text me when you’re ready to come out.” She shut the door behind her. I sat on my bed for a while, not moving. Trying to process everything. I felt a familiar tug from under the bed. I hadn’t gotten the telepathic devices out since my birthday. But I felt them every night. I remembered how they helped me wake everyone up. Maybe they could help me better control my powers. Or at least, make me feel better after the meltdown. I slipped off the bed onto the floor. I crawled underneath the bed and pulled out the puzzle box I’d put the devices in. I opened the box up. There they were. Coin-shaped. Small. Black but glowing a light purple. I placed them on my temples and gasped as a shudder raced through me. The room seemed to swell. Light up. Like I could taste every molecule. I could see everything… I could see their thoughts. Feel them from outside. Smell them, almost. I felt a small pressure on my brain. Spinning. The feeling of being on a rollercoaster. Falling… falling… until everything suddenly was still and quiet.

And this one had taste!

Taste - from The Secret Portal Part One (Maddie POV)

My tongue scraped my braces as I willed Noelle to stir. I caught a glimpse of Kelsey holding her neck, likely in pain from the ticking that had been aggravated. Still scratching my tongue, squeezing Wilfredo with my right hand, I placed the other one on Kelsey’s shoulder and squeezed it. She put her free hand on mine. Eventually, though, Noelle groaned and opened her eyes. We all let out an audible sigh. “What happened?” she muttered. “You hit your head when you came out of the portal,” Gwen explained softly, still applying pressure to the wound but putting her hand on Noelle’s forearm. “You may have a concussion. Can you stand?” “I don’t wanna try,” Noelle groaned. “I’m not getting reception,” Rose said, looking down at her phone. “We need to find civilization,” Gwen pointed out, eyes fixed on Noelle. “She needs a legit doctor, and that wound could get infected.” “How?” Rose asked, rubbing her nose. “Guys!” Kelsey said from a standing position. She pointed off to her left. We all turned to see that we weren’t too deep into the forest, as a neighborhood peeked through the trees. “Is it safe to move her?” Rose asked, standing. Gwen shrugged. “Not sure. Besides, no offense, I don’t think we can support her.” “None taken,” Noelle muttered. “Maybe y’all three could go off and see who you can find that could get her help. I’ll stay here.” I was surprised at how well Gwen composed herself in this situation, whereas I was so nervous, I’d run my tongue over my braces so many times that the strong taste of my own blood began to fill my mouth.

People love giving me prompts with taste. I feel like I've exhausted them lol.

#the secret portal #tsp #teaspoon #find the word #wip excerpt #writing tag game #tsp excerpt #lexi morgan #ash hathaway #william baxter #atsila mclain #hannah hathaway #maddie morgan #kelsey newman #noelle bishop #gwen amante #rose hernandez #my writing #writing blog #writers on tumblr #writing community #writers of tumblr #writing on tumblr #writeblr #writeblr community

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

yennskier and 27 please 🌻

27. Fixing their hair/clothes just before they run out the door

Here's some post-season 2 softness! Geralt doesn't appear, but you can assume there's some background Geraskefer going on.

“Fuckity fucking buttons,” Jaskier grumbles under his breath. “Who the fuck decided that buying a doublet with a million tiny buttons was a good idea?”

No one answers, because Geralt and Ciri are out hunting some beastie or another. But if Geralt was here, he would surely point out that it was Jaskier who commissioned this doublet from one of the finest tailors in Oxenfurt months ago. And it’s a marvelous piece of craftsmanship—periwinkle silk with deep blue embroidery and rows of tiny pearlescent buttons fastening up the front and the sleeves.

It’s just that post-fire fucker, Jaskier’s fingers, which still get numb and tingly at inconvenient times, aren’t quite up to the task. They fumble over the delicate buttons and he keeps fastening them up wrong, then having to redo it.

Sometimes, being the Continent’s most fashionable bard is a burden.

Yet again, Jaskier realizes that he’s fastened the last three buttons up wrong, leaving an awkward gap and making a terrible mess of things. Breathing hard through his teeth, he accepts that this may be too monumental a task for one man. He slips out of the room he and Geralt are sharing—looking around to ensure that no one sees him in such a slovenly state—before knocking on the door of Yennefer and Ciri’s room.

“What, bardling?” Yennefer calls through the door.

Jaskier sighs. “I need your help.”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing that can be done. You’re far beyond help.”

“I haven’t even told you what the problem was!”

“You don’t need to.”

“Yennefer.” He lets a whine creep into his voice, because he knows it will make her roll her eyes. “Please.”

There’s a longer-than-necessary pause, undoubtedly while she finishes her glass of virgin’s blood and tucks away her cloven hooves, before Yennefer opens the door and scowls up at him. “What is it?”

Jaskier gestures to himself. “I can’t get the buttons to cooperate and I told the innkeep I’d sing for our suppers tonight. I can’t do that looking like this.”

She arches one eyebrow, but steps backwards to let him into her room. “You normally don't object to walking around with your doublet hanging open."

“Yes, but we’re trying to keep a low profile and we can hardly do that if every maiden in the village falls swooning at the sight of my hirsute chest.”

“Yes, a low profile.” Yennefer looks him over pointedly. “I’m sure dressing like the Passiflora’s finest in a Koviri backwater won’t draw any attention.”

Jaskier takes in her black lace gown. “What about dressing like the witch that locked the fairytale princess in the tower?”

She snorts and bats his hands away, undoing several buttons deftly before beginning to refasten him. He can feel the warmth of her hands through the thin, silky fabric of his chemise. For a moment, he loses himself in watching her nimble fingers work. She has such small, pretty hands. He would think them delicate, if not for the fact that he’s seen her snap a man’s spine with a flick of one of those lovely fingers.

It’s not until she looks up at him in annoyance that he realizes she said something. “Yes?”

“Your fingers are still bothering you?” she asks.

“Occasionally,” Jaskier says with a shrug. “The pads of my thumb and forefinger just get a bit numb sometimes. It doesn’t get in my way too much, only when dealing with absurdly tiny buttons.”

“That shouldn’t still be happening.”

“Geralt took me to a real hack of a healer, the stingy fucker.”

Yennefer pinches him through the doublet, which he deserves. He whines pathetically, because he knows it will make her happy.

“I’ll mix you up another salve tonight.” She fastens up the buttons at his throat, her fingers so close he can’t resist dipping his chin to kiss them. She flicks his nose in retaliation. “Try to actually use this one for its intended purpose.”

“It’s not my fault you put the last salve next to my tea! Accidents happen.”

“Only to you,” she says as she buttons up the last button and steps back.

Jaskier tugs at his collar, grimacing. “Well, you don’t need to button me all the way up. We wouldn’t want to deprive the lovely ladies of Kovir of all my charms. There are so few charms to be had in Kovir.”

Yennefer makes a disgusted noise, but unbuttons the top three buttons of his doublet. “That’s as far as I’m going. The lovely ladies of Kovir should be spared the sight of your nipples. This damn kingdom has enough problems.”

“If you want to keep my nipples all to yourself, Yennefer, you only have to ask.”

Yennefer tips her head back and guffaws. “I think that ship has sailed, given how low you normally keep your doublets open.”

“You’re right. If nothing else, Geralt might object.”

She rolls her eyes at him as she buttons up his sleeves. When she’s done, she steps back. “Alright, you’re perfectly fit to play in a dusty Koviri tavern to a room full of uninterested drunks.”

“Sweet words of encouragement like that soothe the poet’s soul.” Jaskier clasps his hands to his chest.

“Go play your set, bardling.” Her lips curl into a smile. “And do let me know if you need help unbuttoning yourself after your performance.”

Jaskier finds himself grinning stupidly. “And yet another maiden finds herself swooning before—”

“Get out before you talk too much and I take back my offer.”

“Leaving now.” Jaskier backs towards the door. “Thank you, Yennefer. You’re a jewel of generosity, as always.”

She waves a dismissive hand, but she’s still smiling.

If Jaskier has an extra spring in his step for the rest of the night, well, who can blame him?

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #yennskier #yenskier #jaskier x yennefer #jaskier/yennefer #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[yanderelionwrites]

Hairstyling - (Yandere!Nejire Hado x Reader)

A little Nejire drabble cuz we need more content of her 💙

Content Warning: yandere, implied kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, broken-in Darling

Word Count: 739

Nejire Hado yawned as she approached her home’s front door. Still dressed in her hero costume, she was so ready to crash on the couch and demand cuddles from the precious Darling that so dutifully waited for her to return home every day. Her batteries needed to be recharged and they were perfect for the job, after all. She opened the door with vigor, but soon became slightly disappointed at the fact that her honey had not come up to greet her. They had been doing it everyday so far, so what gives?

Upon walking further into her house though, Nejire understood the problem. There, on the couch, was you sleeping soundly. The periwinkle-haired hero practically cooed at the sight as she crouched down next to your face, forgetting why she was even annoyed in the first place.

Nejire poked your cheek and said, “Hey, hey, why are you sleeping on the couch? We have a bed for a reason, silly!”

You slowly stirred awake, hugging the pillow you had been holding closer to your chest. You cracked an eye open, peering up at your captor girlfriend. Mumbling, you said, “Mm…Nejire…welcome home.”

The hero patted your head and smiled. “Hey there, sleepyhead! Have a nice nap?” You nodded, sitting up so you could lean against the arm rest. “Good, because I want cuddles!”

Nejire lunged forward, capturing you in a bear hug as she nuzzled her cheek against yours. You laughed and tried to gently push her away, exclaiming, “Hey, wait a minute! At least change out of your costume first!”

She pouted, but reluctantly released you from her hold. She did as she was told, however, and was soon resting against your chest as you stroked her hair.

“Geez, Nejire, your hair’s a mess,” You snickered. “Rough day at work, I presume?”

She shook her head up and down and pressed herself further into your body, inhaling your scent.

“Want me to brush it for you? I could style it too if you-” The minute you made the offer, Nejire perked up, eyes twinkling.

“I thought you’d never ask!” She blurted, dashing off to find a hairbrush. When she returned, she sat down in between your legs and patiently waited for you to begin.

You grinned at her enthusiasm and began to carefully brush through the strands, making sure to be gentle when coming across a tangle. Nejire hummed while you worked, closing her eyes and enjoying the moment. She was glad that you were openly being affectionate with her. She remembers how just a few months ago, you were begging her to let you go. You refused to touch or even talk to her. But now, you’re doing much better and have settled into this new life. You don’t even know why you ever hated the idea of being here with her. Nejire couldn’t be happier!

“All done!” You stated, finishing the pigtail hairstyle you had chosen for her by tying the second one off. Running your fingers over her hair to smooth it down, it was now back to its soft and silky glory. She turned around and gave you a peck on the cheek, a wide smile on her face. 

“Thanks so much, sweet pea! You’re the best!” Nejire vouched. Then clapping her hands together, she suggested, “Hey, I know! Why don’t I style your hair too? We can be matching! Isn’t that such a great idea?”

A smile grew on your face as well and you agreed. The two of you switched places, and you visibly relaxed when the brush scratched your scalp in just the right way. It was better like this; not having to fight and accepting Nejire’s love for what it is. Besides, this situation could be so much worse. You should be grateful for her.

You felt her tie your hair into place, tapping your shoulder to let you know she was done. Once you turned back to her, she gave you another kiss, this time on the nose. She dragged you over to a nearby mirror and squeezed you against her as the both of you looked into your reflections.

“We’re so cute together! Don’t you agree?” She asked, resting her head against your shoulder as she squeezed your hand just a little too tight.

You stared into the mirror, contemplatively. Her grin was infectious as it spread to your own expression. You nodded.

Yeah…it was better this way.

#yandere #yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere nejire hado #yandere nejire x reader #nejire hado #yandere x reader #fem yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #nejire x reader #fluff #stockholm syndrome #yandere mha x reader #my hero academia

[malarkgirlypop]

ZIM ZAM!!! 1, 25 and 27 for the ask game please?? <3 love you so much

1 - what is your fav part about being in the fandom?

Well I just love all the creativity from everyone, how are you all so talented may you share with me that would be great thanks. Also we are somehow so similar but then all so different. I don't think I have connected so well with a group of strangers from all over the world. And now we are all so close and it makes me so happy! I get to share some of my fondest interest with people I now am most fond of!

25 - what colors do your mutuals most remind you of?

OMG ok here we go!

@panzershrike-pretz I would go for a red or yellow, just something bright and eye catching. You have such a firey and fun personality! You just light up any room you walk into, or chat you slide into ahaha. I get so excited, maybe sometimes concerned when I see you typing in chat, half the time I have no idea what is going to come out of your mouth but it is entertaining none the less.

@next-autopsy I see you as a deep sea blue! Just something really comforting about you, you could rock me to sleep in your waves, but then also kinda scary at the same time. From the conversation we had about maybe doing some mutilating ahahah. But you are such a momma bear and you have so much love to give, as big as the ocean!

@footprintsinthesxnd I see you as a light green, like a sage green, you just feel so safe and secure. I know when I talk to you all I will get is just love and positivity. You are so kind and sweet, we don't deserve you! Something about you is so wholesome and green is my happy colour, I feel safe in green, reminds me of nature and calmness. You remind me of birds chirping on a warm summer evening.

@sweetxvanixlla why I see you as a light purple, maybe periwinkle, idk why. You are soft and sweet, but vibrant at the same time! You are so funny and you have the best chats! You always have the kindest things to say, and you're so supportive omg! You're tags when you say things like Kate is the best makes me blush so hard. I just love you are purple. It is a strong colour, like you.

@xxluckystrike midnight Blu hehe get it! No you are the best Blu! Also we have had a lot of chats about music and I just connect you with my sad playlist cause I shared it with you ahahah you asked me how often I cried and I said what?! not that much, but I just couldn't stop talking to you that whole day! And then you said you had to leave and then we kept talking omg! You're so fun and we had very interesting conversations! Anyway that was totally off topic, you are blu to me.

@whollyjoly my oh my you my friend are pink! So bold and vibrant I just can't help but stare. You are always so positive, you come into the group and have amazing ice breaker questions for us, you started a whole cult. You are just fantastic, I love you! But then also I think of flowers when I think of you cause fucking More has a flower crown on in your pfp and it cracks me up every time.

27- what's your fav moment during your time in the fandom?

What a hard question. because what hasn't been my fav moment. I think starting off having all the little chats in the comments with people, and then the random conversations I was having with my mutuals in the shitty dm's that is on tumblr. And then @footprintsinthesxnd deciding to do a discord and then a whole fucking server came from it. Now everyday I wake up so excited to read everything and just get stuck in. We have writing sprint races, morning prayer, torture groups, like what don't we have, memes, Pretz in my walls, being woken up with pots and pans!

#omg #that was a lot #but so fun #woooh #tag game #ask game #positivity #hbo war #band of brothers

[bunny-lovers]

Violet - Does your f/o have a certain style or aesthetic? If so, what is it?

Peach - Do you have any sentimental items you've received from each other?

Hope you & your f/os have a great day & thank you for the ask! 😊 @dudefrommywesterns @pastel-shaymin @tired-and-touchstarved @digiships @panshipper @sealpaws

Clementine - what is your f/o's favorite way to express themselves?

Cooking!

Sage - how does your f/o show appreciation/affection and vice versa?

She mainly gives me cuddles, hugs, & kisses. She also does cooking & gives me small gifts. For me, it's giving her cuddles, hugs, & kisses as well, along with cooking. Rumi & I's love language is physical touch.

Violet - Does your f/o have a certain style or aesthetic? If so, what is it?

No, she doesn't.

Bubblegum - What is the most memorable moment or thing they have said to you and vice versa?

The most memorable moment was back when she & I first met in person after Rumi saved me from the villain. I was already in love with her when Rumi fell for me at the coffee café. After we went to the coffee café, we went somewhere private when she & I had our first kissed. The kissed was soft & sweet.

Midnight - What makes your f/o so admirable? What makes you so admirable to them?

I admire her of how strong & courageous she is. What makes me so admirable to Rumi is how kind I am.

Steel - Are there any memes or inside jokes/funny memories you cherish?

Yes, back when she & I started dating, Rumi told me a few rabbit jokes & I laughed.

Periwinkle - In what ways have you helped one another grow or open up to each other?

Rumi has helped me to be more courageous when there is something I could never have done before. As for me, I helped Rumi to have more patience since she likes to rush things or get some things done.

Peach - Do you have any sentimental items you've received from each other?

Yes, I received a crescent moon necklace from Rumi just after a week of dating. I gave Rumi my cat on a moon silver necklace.

Crimson - How protective are you of one another? Do either of you get jealous in any way?

We're very protective of each other. Yes, sometimes Rumi gets jealous.

Mint - What music does your f/o enjoy? What do you two listen to together?

She enjoys hip hop, dance & pop rock. She & I listen to any pop music.

#otp: bunny kisses #partypup #dudefrommywesterns #pastel-shaymin #tired-and-touchstarved #digiships #panshipper #self shipping #self ship community #self shipping community #selfship community #selfshipper #self shipper #romantic f/o #ask #sealpaws

[poisonousdelights]

PARTIES: @poisonousdelights and @woveninstardust TIME: Second week of March WHERE: Gatilin Fields and the surrounding area SUMMARY: It's the perfect night for a cryptid hunt with the fog rolling in and Maggie and Isa decide to take advantage. What happens when Maggie finally gets to see a creature from her mother's stories? As it turns out, nothing good.

Foggy nights were always prime cryptid-hunting nights. 

For some reason, there was so much lore in the town about fog and mist revealing the creatures that remained unseen, as if the watery weather washed away the veil that kept cryptids and monsters away from the average eye. Maggie had all but sprinted out the door the moment her shift at Periwinkle’s Paints ended, texting Isa as she went. Which brought her to now, trudging through muddy paths obscured in fog, peering through the dying light of the bleak winter day. 

“I don’t know if we’re even gonna see anything…” Guilt tinged the tone of the girl’s voice as she turned to glance over at Isa. She’d already thrown an extra sweatshirt on her and wrapped her scarf around the other girl so she stayed warm. It wasn’t particularly chilly, but Isa seemed to get colder easier… and Maggie’d be damned if she let her freeze while following her into the middle of nowhere. But Isa seemed to be willing to follow Maggie on all her hair-brained adventures, no matter what the weather was. She was positive she didn’t deserve a friend as good as her. Positive that Isa deserved some nice, peaceful afternoon off, where she wasn’t doing stupid things in the middle of the woods. But Maggie loved her all the more for agreeing to spend a little time looking for things that the world said didn’t exist with her. “Half the stories Mom tells specify days like today, so…” Rocks skittered down the path as she scuffed her foot, making the mist swirl about. 

“We can go watch a movie or something later- whatever you wanna do.” Oh, yeah… Isa deserved worlds better than her nonsense. 

Some people probably wondered why Isa always went along with Maggie’s hunts for cryptids when she didn’t always believe in them herself. She would get those questions from almost everyone before she’d lost most people out of her life and she’d always said the same thing: “because I believe in Maggie”. 

It was the simplest answer, the truest one as well. Even if she thought they would never find what they were looking for back then she wanted to be there for her friend, and wanted to support her in whatever she wanted out of life. It was still the same now but with the added bonus of wanting to keep Maggie safe from whatever else was out there. Plus, now that she knew the supernatural did exist she was certain that her friend’s belief in these creatures were warranted. Isabela wanted her to have that moment where she found one of the things that she adored so much.

Plus, she wasn’t that cold. She’d thought to bring a knit hat this time and her warmest jacket to go over the extra sweater that Maggie had given her when she got there. She’d just forgotten those damn gloves. “So, we’re not looking for anything in particular then?” Isa could recall a few of the cryptids that Maggie and her mother had talked about before enjoying these conditions but she wasn’t sure if there were other factors to be aware of. She almost wanted to let her eyes transform to see what heat she could find, maybe point out something and give her best friend exactly what she wanted.

She couldn’t do that though. It was too risky, especially at night. By the sound of Maggie’s voice, Isa could tell that she felt bad for bringing her out on another cryptid adventure. She didn’t want that, there was no need to feel bad. “You know, Maggie, this is fun on its own. It’s like we’re living in a movie.” And it certainly was. A snake beast best friends with a cryptid lover desperately trying to prove that they existed. It would do well in Hollywood. “Just tell me what to keep an eye out for.”

“Yeah, nothing in particular…” Her voice trailed off as she peered down through the swirling fog, trying to follow the path as best she could. It was strange how most of the stories Maggie knew had the detail of it being ‘foggy’ out. Wormy, for example, was almost exclusively seen on foggy days. And while it was strange weather for February, the girl would take advantage of every second of it. She didn’t get how Isa never tired of following her into the middle of nowhere, helping her look for things that the rest of town said didn’t exist. But when she looked at Isa, she didn’t see someone who was bored or frustrated. In the dying light of the day, obscured by the mist, Isa looked content, almost… Like she didn’t mind her current situation. 

A piece of her knew her friend’s words were meant for comfort. But it didn’t make them any less accurate. Life in Wicked’s Rest was already like a movie or a tv show most days. With so many strange and spooky happenings, sometimes even Maggie felt like she was a character being written into the background of some TV show. 

A tiny grin crept across her face, dark eyes twinkling in the twilight. “What’s the name of our movie, then? And who’s playing us, because-” Her voice dropped off suddenly. There had been something dancing there, just out of sight, glowing through the fog. A car… or one of those lamps people put on their bikes. But it didn’t move like one of those. And the color of that glowing light hadn't been right. She turned to face it, to seek it out once more, but it had vanished. Just like that. Maybe she was just imagining things…

“I… nevermind, I thought I saw something…”

The prospect of a little game to help pass the time, talking about who would play them, had Isa grinning with excitement. She was already scanning through names of actors until her friend stopped in the middle of her sentence. She tried to look where Maggie was looking but it was a little difficult to see exactly where she was looking with the stupid sunglasses over her eyes. “Wait, what did you see? Wormy?” Would Wormy be out here? It was the first cryptid that had popped into her head so she rolled with it. “Should I get the gummy worms?” 

Excitement coursed through Isa at the very idea. Was this the night that Maggie proved the existence of a cryptid? Were the nights spent in the cold forests of Maine going to pay off? They were already worth it just for the time spent with her best friend but seeing the joy on Maggie’s face when whatever she saw turned out to be a creature she was looking for was going to make her life, that she was sure of.

Suddenly, she saw it too. After scanning the area for a few moments Isa saw the flash of bright lights ahead of them swirling through the mist as if they were putting on a show. They would dip below the fog to the ground and then surface again, twinkling like it was trying to catch her attention. It would have been seductive had it not been lights floating through the air. “Maggie…what is that?” Maybe it was seduction. Maybe something knew exactly what they were doing. Because at that moment, Isa knew that she wanted to follow whatever it was. They were calling to her, tugging at her still frame, enticing her to move toward them. “We should follow them…”

She was about to brush off having seen anything. An illusion of the dying light and the misty air and her own incessant need to find the seemingly unfindable. Isa’s words seemed a million miles away as Maggie stared into the mist, into the unknown. But then it was back. Like a star hovering above the ground, floating in a space just out of reach and growing smaller. She’d never seen anything like it. Her breath caught in her throat in a shallow gasp. “You see it too… You see it too, right, Is?” The words were so quiet that they were hardly audible, just a wisp of smoke rolling off her lips. But every soft syllable was threaded with excitement and hope she’d never felt before.

Her mother had told her stories of stars that fell out of the sky and hovered waiting for people to wish upon them. She’d told her stories of spirits that wanted to be followed. There were so many stories that coursed through her mind, that wove themselves into her memory, that were as much a part of her as she had wished to be a part of them. And now, for the first time, there was something there promising her that all the stories her mother had told her were true. 

Maggie was moving without a second thought, feet trodding off the path and towards the mote of unknown light beckoning her onward. If Isa thought they should follow it, then who was Maggie to question it? 

She wasn’t even sure what Maggie had asked her, the words too low to hear even if Isa wasn’t concentrating on the little orbs of light beckoning them over. Her eyes were glued to them but as soon as Maggie shot forward and she noticed the movement out of the corner of her eye she was moving just as swiftly, careful to be just a tad slower so that her friend had the opportunity to get there first. This was her moment, it was everything that Maggie had worked for. It’s what she deserved, right?

But didn’t Isa deserve it too? She’d been out in the forests with Maggie for years, trekking along after the girl to help her find whatever they could. Now that there was something there and the two of them were getting closer the lamia felt like she deserved the win just as much as Maggie did. The desire for these wisps, it was taking over the desire for her friend to have that moment and her feet started to move a little faster as her vision filled with nothing but the dancing light show that somehow kept getting further away no matter how far she ventured into the trees. 

They were teasing her now, twinkling with amusement with every step that Isa took towards them only making her want them more. Why, she didn’t quite know. She almost wanted to take the sunglasses off to get a better look, to see if there was something about them that could tell her why she was so enamored. She was tempted, especially with them floating away, but mostly Isa just wanted to keep going, to get there quicker. 

It was such a strange sensation. All at once, unbridled joy and curiosity flooded her senses, leaving Maggie lightheaded and utterly, ridiculously giddy. Real. The wisps were real. They were floating in the mist, beckoning her onward, glowing brighter in the dying light of day. A giggle erupted from her chest, unable to hold back her excitement any longer. “They’re real!!! Isa they’re really real!!!” 

As she rushed about after the wisps, following their ever-glowing path, she hardly noticed herself being turned around. If the girl had stopped to think for even a moment, she might have realized her path had twisted. She might have realized that Isa was no longer just a hand's reach away, but was being pulled in her own direction by the will-o-wisps. She might have remembered the parts of her mother’s stories, the ones where the glowing creatures often led people to places where they ought not go…

They twinkled merrily, lighting her path through the mist. Nevermind that Maggie could hardly see where her next step would land. Nevermind that at all! Follow!, they seemed to whisper with each little blink. Come with us, come see! 

The only thing she registered about Maggie’s words was how far away the girl sounded and when she did, Isa glanced over to her best friend to see she was being pulled in another direction. It didn’t strike her as odd even if it should have. Maybe they were meant to go in different directions. Maybe the lights wanted them to see different things and that was okay. She didn’t get to think about it any deeper than that as a wisp flew in front of her eyes and drew her attention back to the direction they were leading her, obviously wanting her to keep going further away from her friend.

And she followed without any protest.

It was an odd sensation. Not caring about being by Maggie’s side anymore, she kept her feet moving towards the woods that the wisps were leading her to, whispering nonsensical things low in her ear. After a moment the lamia realized they weren’t actually words being whispered but rather a dreamy little noise to keep her attention, to keep her mind on them and not on Maggie. She continued to go where they led but something was tugging at the back of her mind. Something wasn’t right about this, was it? Why wouldn’t these wisps want to show them the same things? Why would they want to separate them?

As the questions grew, so did the noise the balls of light were making to keep her attention on them. Her feet were still moving her forward but she could feel the desire for them pulling away from her mind the more she thought of Maggie like an anchor keeping her grounded. Where was she going? What were they trying to show her?

And why couldn’t she bring herself to turn around and go after her friend?

The orbs of light moved further back towards more fog as Isa continued to follow, but something was different about this mist. It stretched further off the ground than the white fog she and Maggie had noticed earlier and there was the hint of a red hue to it that made her a little nervous to keep going towards it. But she didn’t stop, the little sparkles inside combined with the wisps from before pulling her towards it all.

The wisps twinkled in the mist. Just as Maggie drew close enough to reach out and touch one, it would vanish and reappear further down the line. They were her only guide for which way to go. Had the soft whispers beckoning her forward not been there, perhaps a rational thought would have entered her mind. It didn’t do well to stray from the path, and when the world was obscured by mist and the growing dark of night, it was so very easy to end up headed in the wrong direction. 

She could have sworn Isa was right behind her. Swore she could hear her footsteps a few feet away. Something in the girl’s gut knew that if she looked away from the motes of light for even a moment, they might disappear for good. Then the two of them might be lost in the dark, doomed to meander until the fog cleared or day found them. Those are footsteps you hear, her footsteps, trust she’s with you, keep going. For a moment, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was feeling how Orpheus must have felt when walking with Eurydice up from the Underworld. Just keep moving forward, don’t look back, trust she’s there. 

Instead, Maggie turned her focus to trying to figure out where the wisps were guiding them. They’d started in the woods, closer to Mossthorn Forest. But time had lost her, the mist had turned her around, and the distance no longer made much sense. There weren’t so many trees here. The path had smoothed out, with only the occasional rock, well-trodden grass, and dirt underfoot. Were they in the Fields? What was out in the Fields? All she could do was keep walking, keep following, and find out. 

How far away had these wisps taken her? Where was Maggie? The thoughts kept infiltrating the hold that the light had on Isa’s mind but then they would whisper again and bring her right back to it. She was deeper in the woods, coming right up to the red fog, reaching out to touch it when her foot caught on a tree root sticking out of the ground. 

Her body landed with a thud in the saturated dirt, sunglasses flying and her arm halfway into the red mist. As she laid there she knew something wasn’t right, something bad was happening. All the energy she possessed was slowly draining from her body. She looked up at the strong smell of iron that her sensitive nose had caught a whiff of only to see that red mist glowing brighter. Her arm was pale, losing color slightly faster than the rest of her body, and she could have sworn there were small droplets of blood leaving out of her fingertips.

She yanked it back out of the beautiful mist as soon as she understood what was happening. Those dancing swirls of light added a little chime to their whispers as if they were giggling at Isa’s current misfortune. “Ohhh…” A realization hit her. “You did this on purpose, you little shits.” They chimed again before they quickly floated away from her and back in the direction they had come and she could only thank the heavens for the root that kept her from completely walking into that mist. She would definitely have to feed soon though to help replenish was it was able to take.

As her mind started to clear a little, she started to search the forest floor for the sunglasses that had been tossed from her face with the impact, hoping they hadn’t slid into the mist. She lazily patted her hands on the ground and only lost hope for a moment until her fingers grazed the plastic of them and she was able to place back on her nose where they belonged. “Maggie, don’t walk into the mist.” The words were barely above a whisper, her lack of energy very clear as she spoke, but something hit her then. 

Maggie wasn’t with her.

It all came rushing back to her at once. The way the orbs had separated and sent them both in different directions, the way Maggie kept coming to mind until the wisps would wipe her from it again, and panic tore through Isa like a freight train. If the wisps were leading her here, where the hell were they taking her best friend? “Maggie!”

The scream tore out of her lungs as the rush of adrenaline took over, giving her the energy she so desperately needed. She was on her feet again, running back towards the edge of the forest as fast as she could to hopefully catch sight of her friend again. Luckily, as more of her mind started to clear she could remember seeing which way Maggie was being led she just had to make sure she didn’t make a wrong turn somewhere. Her legs carried her through the trees, down the path that she’d seen her friend take, rushing into a field where she could see Maggie in the far distance. The lights were still leading her somewhere, they still had their hold on her, and she screamed out once more even though Isa was well aware the other girl couldn’t hear her.

The further along she followed the wisps, the more her heart began to race in her chest. Wisps led people to… what was it? Her mother had told her again and again. Wisps… what was it about wisps? She swore she heard Isa’s voice whisper something, a secret lost to the fog. The sound was a welcome reminder to Maggie- she’s right behind you… 

The world had grown so strangely still in the growing night. Had there been bird song? The sound of wind? The only thing she seemed to hear were the whispers of the wisps and their footsteps plodding along after them. It was almost eerie. It made her want to turn to Isa and make up some excuse to turn back. But stopping meant losing the proof floating just in front of her. Just out of reach, always a breath away… No, no, turning back was not an option.

Instead, she tried to focus on what the wisps might be leading them to. Was it a lost Tendrilla shrine? A secret tunnel? A spirit of the woods? A creature that town had forgotten and that could be brought back into the stories they told? The answer lied ahead, where motes of light had begun to gather. 

They sat clustered together in a perfect circle in the distance, as if they were exchanging secrets amongst themselves. Every step took her a little bit closer to the answer. She kept her hand held out towards them in a gesture of peace. She wasn’t any harm, neither of them were. The wisps stayed put, sentinels in their circle… which was where she was going to go. Right to the center, if they’d let her. 

Not too far, now. A few steps more…

“Maggie!”

She was closer now. She could see the color of her scarf through the night instead of it blending into the shadows of the night, see the individual braids of her hair as they swayed along with her movements, see the beautiful girl through the night fog going towards something that seemed much darker then the ground she was walking on. Isa pushed her legs to go faster. Whatever that was, she knew it wasn’t going to turn into anything good. After the wisps had led her to the bloodsucking mists, how could it be anything other than something that was meant to harm the most wonderful person to walk this earth?

Maggie was getting closer but thankfully not moving as fast as Isa was. She was closing the gap as quickly as she could, that large mass of black growing bigger and bigger the closer she got to the both of them. “Maggie, stop! It’s tricking you! Please stop!” Her lungs burned as she screamed even louder, her side hitching with the extra loss of air, but she wouldn’t stop. She’d never stop.

The moment her friend’s feet reached the edge of the large pit she was able to slip her arms around Maggie’s waist and yank her back. Both girls fell to the ground, Isa on her back with Maggie in her arms, mud surely covering both of them and her sunglasses skewed enough to be considered dangerous in that moment. She was out of breath, afraid that exhaustion was going to make her pass out right then and there as her heart pumped what was left of her blood volume erratically. 

But she was safe. She wasn’t falling into the pit of darkness in front of them, and the wisps seemed to huff as their second attempt to do harm got thwarted. Isa held on tight, never wanting to let go of the girl in her arms after losing her to darkness. “Maggie, are you okay?” 

The wisps were so bright. Maggie swore that the closer she got to them, the brighter they became. It was as if they, too, felt the anticipation of an arrival. She could hardly hear a thing outside her own heartbeat and the strange chime-like whispers that seemed to ring out in her mind. After years of believing, this, the moment she was in, changed everything. 

Reality came screaming in the moment her foot should have found purchase on the ground and slipped through air instead.

If good moments happened quickly, then bad ones existed in slow motion. Her heart plummeted to her feet as she realized exactly where the wisps had led her. Death Pit. She was going to fall into the Allgood Death Pit. She was going to fall, probably to her death (ironically enough) into the Allgood Death Pit. She didn’t know if she was screaming. She knew her mouth was open, she knew she was scared, but she couldn’t hear a thing other than a ringing in her ears. It was only then that she remembered her mother's words, echoing in her mind like a death knoll: Wisps are tricky, Magnolia… keep your eyes up if you see one. Or you might live to regret it.

And then, just as the thought threatened to swallow her whole, the world sped up again. Too fast, as if someone had hit fast forward. Maggie got yanked back so hard she felt the air leave her lungs, and suddenly she was crashing backwards into Isa. 

The first thing she really registered was that it was cold. The mud that slopped along the path around the pit was slowly soaking into the girls’ clothing, their hair, their skin… The next was that she was crying. There were tears on her face, yes, but when had she started crying, and why couldn’t she stop… The third, and perhaps most important, was that Isa was there again. Maggie was clinging to her best friend like she was a life raft. Isa hadn’t been behind her. Rather, Isa sounded as if she’d ran a marathon trying to catch up to her. When had they been separated? She’d been so sure- so sure- that Isa had been a few steps behind her the whole time. 

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I-“ the words were stammered between little sobs. “You were behind me, I thought you were behind…”

“No, Maggie…” She could hear the girl starting to sob and the first thing Isa did was secure the glasses that were threatening to fall from her face just to make sure this night didn’t get any worse. The second thing she did was maneuver the two of them so that she could face her best friend, the two of them laying in the mud on their sides. She didn’t care about the mess or the chill that was creeping into her body because of it, all she cared about was Maggie being okay. Clearly, she wasn’t. Who would be after almost being lured to their death?

Her forehead pressed against the other girls, Isa using her thumbs to brush away the tears that kept coming even as her own started to roll down her dirty cheeks. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay, we’re safe. That’s all that matters.” But she still couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d almost lost the single most important person to her. 

If she had gotten there even two seconds later it would have been Ruth all over again except in a more catastrophic way. The Ruth situation had ruined her life, had taken away so many things from her, but losing Maggie? It would have ended her right then and there. There was no Isa without Maggie, the one person in her life who had fully stood by her through everything that she had been through, the one person who loved her no matter what happened.  She kept whispering the same thing over and over, trying to calm Maggie down while she continued to wipe away at her streaked face.“I’m here now. I’m here, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere, never again.” And repeat. She knew eventually they would have to get up, there was no telling if that mist was being moved their way or what other crazy things they could encounter out in that field, but Isa just wanted to let her girl cry for as long as she needed. With no indication of how much time was passing them by, the two of them stayed right at the edge of that pit. At least they were safe in each other’s arms.

#Threads #Thread: Maggie #Be Wary the Wisps #//Bee you're incredible