#one post from their queue. nothing else from them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mononijikayu · 6 months ago

Text

lovesick — ryomen sukuna.

"I'm serious about my girl." Sukuna retorted back, snickering at the white haired vice-captain. "I'm serious, if she calls me anything else, I'll be nothing. Just how it is." "I see, I see." Before Sukuna could fire back something at him, Gojo’s attention shifted to something—or someone—over Sukuna’s shoulder. Gojo started pointing at the doorway. “Oh, and here she is now, captain.” he said, smirking like a man who’d just lit a match in a fireworks factory. "Your beloved girlfriend!"

Genre: Alternate Universe — College! AU;

Warning/s: Short Fic, General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Swearing, Teasing, Volleyball, Volleyball Captain! Sukuna, Boyfriend! Sukuna, Girlfriend! Reader;

Words: 3.8k words.

Note: i wanted to see ryomen sukuna be someone that is pathetically in love with his lover, because i needed a break from my pattern of being angsty with sukuna, so here you go. that being said, i'm sorry this is shorter than what i usually write. i'm prepping a lot of things because im going to be back in uni soon and i need to make sure i fix the queue!!! that being said, i'll post tomorrow about the valentines special!!! thank you for reading!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

lovesick masterlist

══════════════════

IF THERE WAS ONE THING ABOUT HIM, ITS THE FACT THAT HE IS A STRONG PERSONALITY. He knew that too well, everyone knew that just as much. Ryomen Sukuna was just easily the most incredible force to be reckoned with. Whether that be meeting him personally or whether that be hearing baout him in passing.

Everyone would say the same thing about him — it's hard to find out what to say about him without going on a tangent for hours on end. And that was just the easiest thing to do, rather than finding anything definite to say.

The one and only captain of the top ranking college varsity volleyball team in all of Japan, Ryomen Sukuna dominated the court like it was his personal kingdom with that iron fist. He has such a stellar record of existence, that was to be sure, wearing the crown.

All his opponents could only quiver at the sight of his one of a kind powerful line spike. All the teammates he'd have since junior high could only respect and fear him with almost military reverence, like he was their general.

Of course, all his coaches over the years swore he could crush concrete if he so much as clenched his fists mid-serve. That perhaps, it would be good to gentle parent him as much as possible, knowing he's already quite the fire cracker of a man.

Or that he could end up cussing out everyone at the court as easily as one does breathing. That's of course, why the coaches would find him to be the "Cursed King." It was an intimidating title that had followed him since junior high school.

One moment he's someone that you curse because you lost a game because of him, another time you curse him because your team got fined because he ended up causing a fight. And with a name like that, Sukuna relished the air of invincibility it gave him.

Everyone had a box for Sukuna to fit in, of course. That continued over time, to be something that people couldn't avoid making for him and only him. That was just how it was, when you have someone as enigmatic as him.

To some of his teammates, he was "Cap"—the iron-willed leader who demanded nothing less than perfection. The one that would force them to run miles on end until they fell from exhaustion. The one who forced them to do hundreds of spikes until it took out the bottles he prepared on the other side of the court.

The rival schools referred to him as "Demon Spike" but this was mostly because he left a trail of destruction (and bruises) every time he stepped onto the court. One moment that's from the fact that his serves were just dangerously low and one moment it's because he heard someone bad mouth his underclassman.

To the younger underclassmen, who unfortunately still looked at him with bright eyes under those filtered glasses on — he was a mix of "Sensei of True Discipline" and "Volleyball God".

He was to them, a figure of unadulterated awe and of course, that desire to hope, that perhaps they would end up like him too. After all, he was always a star in the court. But in a different way, in the good way. That's how they think.

Of course, even his many teachers and now his college professors had their own opinions for him one at a time over the many years. One of the most known nicknames for him by the professors in the college halls is “The GPA Crusher”.

But this was because Ryomen Sukuna spent more time perfecting his jump serves against his opponent than ever having effort in writing essays for submission. Ironically, even though he was quite a smart young man. The fact that he shows up to exams more than classes and still passes with flying colors is quite certain proof.

But to you, his beloved girlfriend, Ryomen Sukuna was none of these things. He didn’t live in a box and he never wished to do so, no. Instead, he lived eternally, forever, even in the next life — in your heart.

Though he’d never say something that cheesy out loud. That part is not easy for him, but you didn't mind that. You liked to keep him to yourself most of the time. And he was satisfied with that.

The most you could hear from him about you is in passing. Sometimes practice would finish and he, still full of sweat, would immediately pack his things into his gym bag, almost suddenly becoming ignorant of everything else.

His underclassman would invite him to eat something like yakuniku and he would say with a straight face — "I can't. My girfriend wants to cook some authentic pasta for me at her place. Bye."

He would leave almost instantly, much to the shock of the underclassman each year. But most of his teammates, who were also somehow his friends, were not surprised. He and you were dating early on during junior high school. And he would be the same way.

When he wasn't looking, people could only surmise what he looked like when he towered over your giddy figure at every practice, at every game — 'Ah, I see. He's lovesick. And in a good way.'

To Sukuna, you were perhaps the only thing that could triumph against volleyball. You were his number one. And he knew that you thought of him the same way too. And everyone knew that too.

That's why you only ever called him one thing: my love. And to Sukuna, that title was worth more than any championship trophy. But of course, no one knew that. It's not like you don't call him that in public. It's just that no one asks, what that nickname is.

The look in your eyes was more than enough when he makes a wink for you at each serve was enough, the smile on your lips when he comes to greet you at the bleachers was more than enough. No one needed to hear the nickname to know that there was something loving between the two of you.

He knew this truth as well as he knew how to spike a ball with a precise edge. He knew this as much as he knew what would get him a championship. But of course, that doesn't stop curiosity at times. At times he humors them, at times he does not. It was a hit and miss.

That’s why, during a post-practice break, when the Vice Captain of the Volleyball team, Gojo Satoru, decided to start stirring the pot as usual with his antics. And somehow, today, Ryomen Sukuna didn’t mind it. There was something in the air. They could feel it.

(He won't tell anyone about this, but he has very happy about something.

He was after all happy that his girlfriend was staying at his dorm tonight to spoon on his bed after your finals kept you apart for nearly two weeks —

But no one needs to know that.

Otherwise, they'd use it against him.

And he can't have that right now.

It will spoil these bastards and make them too relaxed before championships again.)

Gojo leaned against the bleachers with that signature cocky grin. “Hey, Sukuna.” he drawled, as he watched the captain drink from his water bottle. "You’ve got about a million nicknames floating around. But what are you to your girlfriend?”

Ryomen Sukuna didn’t miss a beat.

He put down his water bottle swiftly.

He glared at Gojo Satoru with a passion.

He tilted his head back, eyes half-lidded with that calm arrogance he wore so well. “Huh? My girl can only call me my love or nothing.” he said, his voice practically dripping with pride.

"Hehhhhh, really?"

“If she calls me anything else, I’ll disappear and leave no trace. Hell, I'll jump off a cliff and make sure I drown into the ocean and never be seen again."

Gojo barked out a laugh, his hands clapping together as if Sukuna had just told the world’s funniest joke. “Wow. Our captain sure is seriously whipped. Actually, that probably doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

"I'm serious about my girl." Sukuna retorted back, snickering at the white haired vice-captain. "I'm serious, if she calls me anything else, I'll be nothing. Just how it is."

"I see, I see."

Before Sukuna could fire back something at him, Gojo’s attention shifted to something—or someone—over Sukuna’s shoulder. Gojo started pointing at the doorway.

“Oh, and here she is now, captain.” he said, smirking like a man who’d just lit a match in a fireworks factory. "Your beloved girlfriend!"

Ryomen Sukuna turned slowly, his earlier bravado evaporating the second he saw you standing at the gym door. Your arms were crossed, your eyes sharp, and your posture practically screamed, You’re in trouble.

“Sukuna.” you called out, your tone cutting through the gym like a whistle signaling the end of a game.

His entire body could only stiffen. He didn’t just flinch—he practically short-circuited. The other players and members, the entire volleyball staff, sensing the shift in the air, immediately stopped what they were doing to watch the drama unfold. All of their eyes were glued on this moment, more than anything.

“Ryomen Sukuna!” you said again, each syllable landing like the sound of a referee’s whistle before a penalty.

Sukuna’s brain scrambled for an escape route. “What the fuck?” he muttered under his breath, frozen in place.

“Ryomen Sukuna, come here.”

“No.” His voice cracked as he stood up so fast he nearly knocked over a water bottle.

His scarlet eyes were shaking as much as his body was. No one has ever seen this before. No one had ever seen the panic on his face before. Not even in a hard game to win. This was the very first time their formidable captain looked so defeated and horrified.

“No, no, my name is my love! It’s my love! What did I do?” he asked, practically sprinting toward you like a volleyball rolling out of bounds.

Gojo Satoru, thoroughly entertained, cackled so hard he nearly fell off the bleachers. “Man, even the Cursed King has a leash!” he wheezed, clutching his stomach. "This is how he is with her. That's interesting, isn't it?"

"He doesn't look like who he actually is in the moment, huh." Nanami Kento whispered under his breath, wiping the sweat with the towel over his shoulder. "We should have used this card when he refused to stop practice during last year's finals."

"Well now we can." Geto Suguru snickers, lounging on the floor as he watched the scene with mirth in his purple gaze. "Does anyone have objections?"

"None here!" The chorus of seniors and juniors retorted back at him.

"Someone save her phone number for speed dial!" Gojo said, pointing to one of the managers who nodded.

By the time Ryomen Sukuna reached you, he was a completely different man. The fearsome captain who dominated courts and crushed spirits was reduced to a panicked, apologetic mess. You continued to stand before him, rolling your eyes, his towering figure in tatters at what you called him.

“I swear I didn’t do anything! There's no girls or even guys! There isn't anything else. You can check my phone. Or you can ask everyone here too!"

"Sukuna—"

"Whatever it was, I’ll do everything fix it and make it right, babe—just don’t call me that again. Please!” he begged, his voice low enough that only you could hear the desperation in it.

"Calm down." You raised an eyebrow, letting him stew for a moment before finally speaking. “You forgot to text me that practice was running late. And I was concerned. I thought we were going to meet up at the cafe nearby so we can go to your dorm together!”

Sukuna blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” you said, though your tone suggested you might have a few more grievances stored up for later. "Well, I'm also hungry."

Sukuna exhaled so dramatically it was a wonder he didn’t collapse on the spot. “I’ll never forget again, okay?” he promised, his voice full of sincerity. “Babe, I’ll set an alarm—no, two alarms—just for you. And don't worry, we're gonna eat. Actually, take my card and buy something in the cafe while you wait for me.”

As he continued to rattle off promises, you couldn’t help but smile at him. Cursed King or not, to you, Sukuna was just your dorky loving boyfriend, forever trying to live up to his title of my love in your life. And if the rest of the gym wanted to watch him grovel? Well, that was just an added bonus. By the gods, you love him.

"I love you, my love." You whispered to him, taking his hand into yours. "I'm sorry I scared you like that."

"No, no, that was my fault." He grumbled under his breathe, taking a moment to settle in the warmth of your eyes, reserved just for him. "I should have noticed the time. I will never forget about it again, I promise."

"Hm, that's all that matters, my love."

"I'll make us dessert tonight as an apology." He says, moving closer to kiss your temple.

"That would be good, my love."

As Sukuna continued his frantic apologies, the rest of the gym erupted into poorly stifled snickers. Gojo Satoru, of course, was the loudest, slapping his knee like he’d just witnessed the greatest comedy set of the century.

“My love, huh? Big, bad Cursed King reduced to a golden retriever!” he teased, practically howling. “Hey, did you hear that, boys? If she calls him Ryomen Sukuna one more time, he might just cry.”

“Should we start calling him my love too, senpai? Y’know, in solidarity?” chimed Underclassman Itadori Yuuji, grinning as he leaned on his volleyball. The suggestion earned a chorus of laughs and a few enthusiastic nods.

“Yeah, Cap! Don’t worry, my love, we’ve got your back!” Underclassman Fushiguro Megumi deadpanned from the sidelines, his usual stoic face cracking into a rare smirk.

One of the first year underclassman, emboldened by the chaos, cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “We love you, my love! You’re our MVP for all seasons! With so much love, my love!”

Sukuna whipped his head around, his scarlet glare promising death, destruction, and possibly laps for everyone involved. “If anyone other than my girlfriend calls me that, I swear.” he growled, “I will personally make sure you regret it.”

“Sure, my love!” Gojo crowed, leaning back against the bleachers with a devilish grin. “Ooooh, should we get it printed on the back of your jersey? Cursed King on the front, My Love on the back—perfect balance, don’t you think?"

Geto laughs loudly. "You know what, I think we can make this happen. Coach! We got the budget for that, right?"

“Or maybe embroider it on the team banner!” someone else chimed in, sending the gym into another fit of laughter.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, doubling over as Sukuna turned a deeper shade of red than the volleyballs on the court. His sharp retorts and death glares only fueled the chaos, the once-commanding presence of the Cursed King now utterly eclipsed by the sheer hilarity of the moment.

Finally, Sukuna turned back to you, his expression a mix of betrayal and exasperation. “You’re supposed to defend me, babe.” he muttered, his voice low but desperate.

You reached up to pat his cheek, your grin as sweet as honey. “Oh, my love, I am defending you. I’m making sure they never forget how cute you are to me."

For the rest of practice, you sat down and watched everything unfold before you as you ate your croissant and drank your coffee from the cafe which you bought using your boyfriend's card, of course.

For a while, the gym echoed with the sound of volleyballs, laughter, and the occasional teasing chorus of “My love!” — especially when Sukuna found himself scoring a point, which of course led to him missing the next hit.

Every time someone said it later on, Ryomen Sukuna looked seconds away from snapping a net in half, but deep down, though he’d never admit it, he wouldn’t have traded his nickname or the teasing for anything in the world. Not when you were there, cheering it for him with that adorable voice of yours, loving him completely.

Maybe it wasn't so bad to be lovesick like that.

Not when it was you who loved him just like that.

That's just how he loved you too.

══════════════════

epilogue

After what felt like the longest practice of his life, one that was just peppered with relentless teasing from his teammates and the volleyball team staff — Ryomen Sukuna was finally free to leave with you, to enjoy the weekend together.

He barely said goodbye to the others, grumbling something about “making them run that suicidal hill again on Monday” before grabbing his bag and leading you out of the gym.

“Unbelievable.” he muttered under his breath as you walked side by side. “Gojo’s gonna be insufferable for weeks.”

You stifled a laugh. “Weeks? You mean forever.”

He shot you a look, but there was no real heat behind it. Instead, he sighed and draped an arm over your shoulder as the two of you made your way to his car. “You’re lucky I love you, y’know. Otherwise, I might’ve disappeared on the spot after what you pulled, babe.”

“Oh, come on, my love.” you teased, leaning into him. “It was worth it to see the great Cursed King turn into a puddle in front of everyone. Especially because he loves me.”

“You’re cruel, babe." he grumbled, but there was a small, fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Can't believe I've loved you since we were in junior high."

You winked at him, smile on your lips growing wider. "And for forever too! You'll have to deal with it."

By the time you got back to Sukuna’s place, you immediately made the move to cook while he got into the shower. Soon enough, the air was thick with the scent of miso broth bubbling on the stove.

You’d planned this hotpot night earlier, since he was supposed to have gone home much earlier. But after the chaos at the gym and his long grueling practice, you just felt like it was even more well-earned.

Sukuna, finally emerging from the bedroom, rolled up his sleeves and helped you set the table, his mood softening with each step of the ritual as you hummed along the song playing on the radio.

“You got everything, babe?” he asked, peering over your shoulder as you arranged plates of thinly sliced meat, tofu, and an assortment of vegetables.

“Yup.” you replied, popping a piece of bok choy into your mouth. “And don’t even think about hogging all the meat this time.”

“Me? Hog it?” He snorted, grabbing the chopsticks and pointing them at you in mock accusation. “You’re the one who fishes out all the good stuff when I’m not looking.”

“That’s called strategy, my love.” you said, grinning as you threw his words from earlier back at him.

Sukuna groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “Not you too…”

You waved your chopsticks at him. "Well, I say it more lovingly. You like it like that, you know!"

He grumbles under his breath, red appearing on his cheek. "You're lucky I love you like that."

"Hm, that's why I'm shameless!"

But any complaints were quickly forgotten as the two of you settled down around the simmering hotpot. The warmth of the broth, the crackling of the stove, and the quiet clink of chopsticks filled the room. Sukuna started to relax, his earlier frustrations melting away as he watched you happily dunk mushrooms and noodles into the pot.

“Okay, babe.” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. “I’ve decided.”

You raised an eyebrow, chewing on a piece of tofu. “Decided what?”

“Next time Gojo calls me ‘my love’ in front of everyone, instead of just you, it’s on sight,” Sukuna said, leaning forward with a wicked grin that promised destruction.

He jabbed his chopsticks into a slice of tofu like it was Gojo’s face. “I’m spiking a volleyball straight at his stupid face.”

You burst out laughing, nearly choking on the piece of fish cake you’d been chewing. “Good luck with that. He’ll just dodge it and make fun of you even more. You know how he is—Gojo thrives on chaos. The man’s immune to consequences.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, stabbing another piece of tofu with unnecessary aggression. “Then I’ll spike two balls. One after the other. And if that doesn’t work…”

You looked at him curiously, mirth in your eyes. "What will you do?"

He paused, his brow furrowing in mock concentration. “I’ll add laps. So many laps. He’ll be running until graduation.”

You snorted, wiping a tear from your eye. “Right, because Gojo would totally listen to your orders. He’d just turn it into a race and leave everyone else in the dust.”

Sukuna grumbled under his breath, his scowl deepening—but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement. “Fine. If volleyball and laps don’t work, I’ll come up with something else. Something evil.”

“Evil?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What, like stealing his Bottega Veneta sunglasses?”

“Too easy. He’s got like fifty pairs, babe.” Sukuna muttered, resting his chin on his hand as he considered his options. “Maybe I’ll prank him during practice. Replace his water with vinegar. Or set his alarms an hour early every day.”

"I forgot he makes his password too easy for people to guess." You murmured, drinking from your cup. You sigh. "Well, I suppose that would work."

"Right? Fool-proof!"

You tilted your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Hmm, as solid as that is, what if he gets revenge? Gojo’s the type to double down, you would know best."

He hummed. "I'm way better at being stubborn than he is."

"I know that. But he might start serenading you in the middle of practice. Like, full-on ‘My Love’ with a guitar and everything on campus like it's 10 Things I Hate About You."

Sukuna froze, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “He wouldn’t.”

“Oh, he absolutely would.” you said, grinning. “And you’d never live it down. The Cursed King getting serenaded in front of the entire team? In front of the whole university? They’d be talking about it for years.”

He groaned, dropping his chopsticks and leaning back against the chair like he’d just been defeated in battle. “Why do I even put up with him? Or any of you, for that matter.”

“Because deep down, you love us.” you said, smiling sweetly as you plopped another piece of meat into the hotpot. “Even Gojo.”

“I do not love Gojo,” Sukuna snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Sure, sure, my love!” you teased, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “But admit it—you’d miss him if he wasn’t around to drive you insane.”

Sukuna gave you a flat look, but the twitch of his lips betrayed him again. “I’d miss you more.” he said gruffly, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip.

“Aww, my love.” you cooed, leaning closer to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry, you’re stuck with me.”

“Good to know, babe.” he said, turning back to the hotpot with a satisfied grunt. “At least you don’t call me my love in front of the team like that.”

You smirked, swirling your chopsticks through the broth. “Not yet, anyway.”

Sukuna froze mid-bite, glaring at you with wide eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

“No promises!” you said with a mischievous grin, earning a groan from him that was half exasperation, half affection.

"You're such a menace."

"Well, that's how you know I love you, my love!" You grinned, moving forward to steal his tonkatsu.

"Babe!" He groans, as he watches you eat the tonkatsu happily.

"I love you!"

Sukuna sighs, his eyes softening, watching you happily eat. "I love you too......"

3K notes · View notes

bratbarzal · 2 months ago

Text

Sunsets in the Summer (LH43)

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader (a follow up to LIH/TSOU - reading is encouraged but not required to enjoy)

WC: 9.6k

Description/Warnings: some brief snapshots into the LIH!lovers second summer together while they figure out their flow as a couple - fluffy, suggestive interactions and mentions of sexual acts (including some brief hand action but not a detailed description) with fade-to-black smut, no angst!! hallelujah (some brief insecurity but not expanded on enough to be angsty), usual amounts of sarcasm and banter and cursing probably- rushed tbh so doesn't flow too well but I think it's cute lmao

A/N: I WAS GOING TO QUEUE THIS TO POST WHILE I'M AWAY IN A COUPLE OF WEEKS BUT IT IS MEG'S BIRTHDAY SO I PUT MY ASS TO WORK TO GET THIS DONE!!! PURE FLUFFY BLISS FOR THE ICON THE LEGEND AND THE MOMENT HERSELF!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY @star2fishmeg I LOVE YOU A LOT HOPE YOU HAVE YOUR DOLLS TO HAND AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! (if anyone reading this hasn't already send your love to meg bc she deserves it!! from the day I posted LIH part 1, she's been nothing but supportive and wonderful to me, and 3 seconds on her page will show you she's one of the kindest-natured and most wonderful people on here)

I had a couple requests for Luke and LIH!reader's first proper date, and one that was for how they spend their summer, so I sort of combined them to create this, it's a bit of an unstructured jumble of little moments between them, but I hope you guys don't mind it turned into a hybrid of requests! If you do want me to write individual moments feel free to send in another request, I don't really ever want to let these two go!! But to answer the question about their first date specifically - I genuinely think they just jump right into cutesy/dorky date nights, and Luke would eventually deep that they haven't done anything ~grown together - which is where the idea for the end of this really came from 💕

It doesn’t take long for you and Luke to get into a routine once you’ve come back out to Michigan in the summer.

You spend most of your days together - aside from when he’s at a check up or a physio appointment, or you’re out with Ellie or a few of your other friends still lingering in the area - and end up back in the same place every night - curled up against Luke’s good side in bed, your leg slung over his, and your face smushed into his peck by the time you wake in the morning.

Except for the few times he’s up before you.

Like now, when your eyes flutter open slowly to an empty space beside you.

His pillow is a little crinkled, his sheets are haphazardly straightened back out, and the spot where he had been laid is still warm - so you know he can’t be far.

After relieving your bladder and brushing your teeth, you slip into a shirt he had strewn across the chair of the little vanity he had set up for you, letting it fall to the top of your thighs as you amble throughout the house with little regard for anyone else you might bump into.

You sort of have a one-track mind when it comes to mornings with your boyfriend, and you honestly forget to consider who might not want to catch a slight glimpse of your ass cheeks so early in the day.

You find him in the kitchen, as assumed, and you almost think you’re half asleep when you take in the state of him.

His hair is a soft but unruly mess, and his briefs are so barely pulled up you can almost see his ass cheeks - as perfect as they are - the structured muscles of his back almost forming an arrow to point down, and you can only see those muscles because he’s for some reason wearing one of your shirts. How he got that on, unassisted, with the sling, you’ll never know.

You’d laugh if it wasn’t so hot - if the fabric wasn’t stretched so tight across his broad shoulders that it makes him look even thicker.

And because you can’t laugh, you pretty much groan as you draw in on him, wrapping your arms around him from behind and pressing your face into his back.

“Morning, baby,” he drawls, his voice raspy and low, and good god, you’re fighting to consider the fact you aren’t alone in the house. You’d climb him like a god-damn tree already if you were.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his spine, your palms flat in the strip of stomach between your top and his briefs, and his skin is so warm you want to keep your hands there forever.

“Making you breakfast,” he says, wriggling a little out from your embrace so that he can show you - two slices of toast with unevenly chopped banana, and an adorable, crooked smiley face drawn on each one with honey.

You love him so much.

It must slip out without you even realising it because he turns in your hold, his free hand travelling slowly down your body until it lands at your hip and pull you flush to his, and he tells you that he loves you too.

He leans down for a kiss - sugary sweet, like he’d licked his fingers or something from the syrupy residue of honey on them - and you lean into it, revelling of the feeling of his large hand slowly curling around the back of you, fingers curling around the globes of your ass and squeezing.

And you let him turn the two of you until the base of your spine is pressed back into the counter, your hands running through his unruly curls and your tongue chasing more and more of the sweetness of his kiss.

“People eat in here,” you hear Jack as he steps into the kitchen, and you part from Luke slowly, slipping another peck against his lips before you glance around his slinged-shoulder at his older brother.

“What do you think we’re doing?”

You don’t even intend the double entendre, but seeing his face curl up in disgust almost makes it worth it.

“Too early for your crap, dude,” Luke huffs, his hand still in place, and you see him wince when he cranes his neck back.

“What is this, Freaky Friday?” Jack snorts as he opens the fridge, nodding towards the two of you and your weird clothes-swap mishap.

You bite your tongue to stop yourself mocking him straight back, and Luke spares you a knowing look as he waits for Jack to get what he assumes is the greek yoghurt he usually has for breakfast and go back upstairs.

He’s been getting on your last nerve all week, and he knows it.

Ellie is away on another family vacation, already, and you’re pretty sure Jack has formed an alliance with Quinn to cock-block you and Luke to fill his time, but you’re hardly gonna point the finger.

You’re trying to be better.

“Freaky Friday is where they swapped lives, not clothes.”

“You knew what I meant,” Jack huffs, slamming the fridge closed behind him and glaring at the two of you as he grabs a spoon out of the cutlery drawer for his yoghurt. “You look like a dork.”

“You-,”

And Luke’s hand on your ass squeezes before you can carry on, like a warning.

“Don’t you all have training this morning?”

“Gonna be leaving in ten,” Jack confirms, “So if you two could maybe wait until we’re gone to be gross, we’d all appreciate it.”

You press your lips together, a sardonic smile flashed toward him when he smirks over at you, and you watch as he retreats - the tension only seeping from your shoulders when he’s out of sight and out of mind.

“Maybe that can be our thing,” Luke leans forward and mumbles into the curve of your neck, just low enough for the sound not to travel in case Jack is still around, and the combination of his hand grazing the soft flesh of your thigh beneath the hem of his t-shirt, and the way his lips just brush the sensitive skin below your ear makes your breath hitch in your throat. “Freaky Fridays,”

Your eyes flutter shut as you shudder against his him, “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t talking about swapping clothes?”

“We could have a fuck-it list,” and you can hear the smirk without even opening your eyes to look at him, “Cross off all sorts of positions while everyone’s out training on Friday mornings,”

“You’re not gonna be in that sling forever, babe,” you chuckle, finally looking up at him craning your neck a little due to the proximity, and he stays leaning, your nose almost bumping his where he’s in the same position. “You’re gonna end up joining them at some point.”

“All the more reason for us to get started immediately,” his eyes glimmer with mischief when you meet them, “No time to waste.”

You can’t even bring yourself to fight it when he’s looking at you like that - all charming and intentional - not that you want to, anyway. You’re not oblivious to how weirdly fortunate the two of you are to be in this situation, as much as his injury was upsetting at first. It’s the only reason you have so much alone time with him, even this early in the summer.

And you’ve been limited thus far - the start of your relationship being a little jumpy between the end of his season, the end of your school year, and everything that followed with his injury and you going back home. You’ve barely had the opportunity to bask in the honeymoon period - especially now that you’re at the house and his brothers are around.

“Fine,” you acquiesce, “Fuck it.”

The two of you barely make it the promised ten minutes before he’s propped up against the headboard of the bed you now share, and you’re straddling his lap - following the seams of his sling along his chest with kisses that make his spine tingle, and he’s listing off all the positions he says he’s wanted you in since you first hooked up last year.

While the two of you slowly work your way through Luke’s Fuck-It List - a little limited when it comes to his current lack of mobility - you also make more of an effort to do things just the two of you.

It starts with movies, because of course it does, and Luke insists you go to watch them at the actual movie theatre. You share a bucket of popcorn, and you rest comfortably under his arm slung over your shoulders, and it all feels so normal and right.

And you do that a couple of times before you decide to switch it up a bit. If you’re going to be making the conscious effort to start up date nights, you should really be trying out different things, you think.

Which is what has you sat behind the wheel of Luke’s BMW and driving him to an undisclosed destination, drowning out his constant questions about it by turning the radio up, and singing along to his country music playlist he’s been forcing on you for too long, now.

You’re quite proud of this idea for a first attempt, and you can’t help but glance over to gauge his reaction when you pull up to the venue and put the car into park. He’s quiet as he works his way out of the car, still insistent on being a gentleman and opening your door despite his shoulder.

“Mini golf?” He asks as he helps you out of the car, his fingers interlacing with yours as you hit the gravel and bump the driver’s side door shut with your hip. “This is your genius date idea?”

“You said you felt left out at the course,” you pout, sidling up beside him until you’re pressed together, craning your neck up a little to meet his eye, “I wanted to give you the next best thing while you’re still in the sling.”

“I’d still need two working arms for a putter, babe,” he chuckles, lifting his arm over your head with your hand still in his until it’s wrapped around your shoulder, your hips bumping as you walk side by side up to the kiosk.

“You could beat me with no arms and a blindfold, I’m pretty sure,” you tell him, “But if you want to go somewhere else we can, I just thought this would be cool. It’s nice out tonight, and I don’t think there’s any chance of your brothers gatecrashing.”

Luke hums, leaning a little to press his lips to the side of your head, “It is nice to get out from under Quinn’s supervision,” he agrees, and you smile up at him when you register the levity of his tone. “Can barely look at you without him having something to say about it.”

“Imagine the scandal if you knocked me up at mini golf,” you gasp, and he gives one of those easy, heart warming laughs that almost make you stumble in your step. “We might have to fake a scare, just to send him into cardiac arrest.”

“You’re evil.”

“You’re the one who loves me,” you shrug, reaching into your back pocket for your phone when you reach the cashier, keeping a hold of Luke’s good hand despite him trying to pull it away so he can’t sneak his own card forward to pay. The teenager behind the counter hands over two putters and two balls without even glancing up from his own phone, and you twirl out from under Luke’s arm, pulling him up the path toward the start of the course.

“You gonna let me stand behind you and tell you what to do?” He asks as he follows you, smiling despite the fact you’re facing away from him at the quick burst of laughter you release.

“When have I ever let you tell me what to do?”

“Was worth a try,” and he’s still smiling, big and broad, when you swivel back on your heels to face him. You drop his hand to give the putter over, and throw the balls down onto the start of the first hole, kicking one onto the line and the other off to the side.

“I’ll tell you what,” you look up at him as you step closer, “Why don’t we make things interesting?”

“Interesting, how?” He smirks, a teasing tilt of his head causing your lips to twitch up.

“I don’t know,” you hum, edging just a little more toward him, “Winner gets-,”

“Head,” he finishes, almost immediately, and your eyes widen in response, hardly expecting the speed in which it comes out of him. It’s not exactly like the two of you haven’t been intimate back at the house - you’re making steady progress with the list - but there is the whole hardly ever alone thing to consider. “In the car, so no one back home can interrupt.”

“That was quick,” you snort, pressing your fingertips into the flat surface of his belly, avoidant of his sling, feeling the ridges of definition beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’ve been giving that a lot of thought, huh?”

“Got a lot to time to think when we’re in the car and I’m not the one driving,” he explains, “Don’t have to focus on the road, so I get to look at you,” he coos, craning his neck a little and seemingly pushing past the slight discomfort when he does so, dipping to your level, “Get to think about your pretty mouth when you’re singing along to the radio.”

And it makes your spine tingle, just how easy it is to slip in a sweet observation with something so forward. He’s so good at doing that - masking burning desire with gentle adoration.

“Fine, winner gets head,” you agree, extending onto your tiptoes to make closing the distance easier, and softly pecking at his waiting lips until you part with a teasing smile, because kissing him seems so much more efficient than a handshake to seal the deal.

“Beauty before brains,” he offers, pointing to the starting line with his putter and quickly avoiding your attempt at a playful shove.

You step up, anyway.

The first hole is an easy one, although you know from past experience at this exact course - a favourite amongst your sorority sisters for bonding activities - that there’s a trick to a good shot.

The last time you were here, you figured out that aiming for one of the stones that line the green is the key to a hole in one - and you shoot your shot with ease, the ball ricocheting off the surface and making its way straight to the desired target. All you can do is watch with a smile.

“Oh my God,” he groans, staring wide eyed as the ball putts and drop into the hole with an almost comical plonk, “You’re hustling me!”

“Who, me?” You gasp, feigning offence with a slacked jaw and widened eyes - both of which do little to hide the smile that’s twitching at the corners of your mouth. “I’d never.”

You bite your lip in amusement as he stands there, his gaze lingering on the course like he can’t quite believe you just potted a hole in one, already, and you amble up beside him, curling a hand around his free bicep and leaning up.

“You want me to stand behind you and tell you what to do?”

“You’re going down,” he scoffs, shrugging you off to tee himself up at the starting line.

“No, baby,” you call out, pointing your putter over to him as he looks back at you, his own pretty lips parted in defiance as you wink and tell him, “You are.”

You think it’s sort of embedded into the very fibres of your relationship that you and Luke will always resort back to movies - and for as much as you’ve been trying other options for dates, like the arcade where he thrashed you at air hockey, or the trips to the mall, where Luke thought buying one thing from each joint in the food court would be a good idea and you had to drive home with your jeans unbuttoned from the bloating - so it’s no surprise when the weather’s acting up, and you still don’t really like venturing out anywhere during a storm, Luke has the genius idea to finally sit you through the entire Star Wars movie franchise, beginning to end.

It’s something you’ve been putting off for a while, and it’s not that you’re against it, per se, but the thought of having to dedicate the brain power to remembering a bunch of random stuff almost gives you a headache.

The two of you are just settling in together on the couch, practically knotted up like pretzels with the way you’re snuggling up to him, when Jack and Quinn return from the store with Cole Caufield in tow.

“Sick, it’s like a home theatre in here,” Cole exclaims as he leads Quinn and Jack into the room, the eldest sibling biting back a knowing smile when he meets Luke’s horrified gaze, “What are we watching?”

“We’re not watching anything,” Luke gestures between the lot of them with his good hand around your shoulder, before he angles his head down toward you, “We’re watching Star Wars.”

“Prequels first?” Jack gasps as he reaches for the case by the TV, flashing the cover back over to you, “That’s not okay.”

“Good thing you’re not the one watching, Jack,” Luke argues back, and he visibly loses the will to argue when all three of them sink down onto the remaining couches and seemingly get comfortable. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s raining out, Luke, what else are we supposed to do?”

“Literally anything, anywhere else?”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, cozying up a little extra, because it sort of works in your favour to have them insert themselves into this situation. “They’re right, we can’t hog the TV.”

“Yeah, Lukey, you can’t hog the TV.”

You roll your eyes and ignore Jack, settling back into Luke’s side and absentmindedly stroking at his belly as the movie tees up - and what starts off as unintentional, innocent petting, slowly drifts as time ticks on.

“What are you doing?” Luke whispers covertly, eyes stuck on the screen as your fingers trace along the bare skin that is revealed between his hoodie and his sweats, scratching softly until you can move the elastic a little to unveil more of his hipbone.

You know you shouldn’t tease him - but your whole plan to get out of sitting through Star Wars in the first place was to try and distract him - and the only thing you can think of that’s worse than sitting through all three prequels is sitting through them with his brothers around.

“Just touching,” you whisper back innocently, nails tickling at what you know is very sensitive skin.

“You’re teasing,” he corrects you, a quick flash of a knowing gaze sent down at you, but his hips still shuffle beneath your touch - like he’s giving you further access - and your lips twist at the movement.

There are telltale signs of arousal - sharp intakes of breath when your touch travels a little too low to be innocent, the constant rolling of his neck and shoulders like he’s trying to keep his head in the game, and, obviously, a shift in the front of his sweatpants, a subtle, gradual tent forming beneath the fabric that becomes harder and harder to ignore, no pun intended.

“You don’t seem to mind.”

Luke sighs as he shuffles again, his eyes darting to where his brothers and Cole sit on the other couches, making sure none of them are looking before he looks back down at you.

Your eyes lock on his as you bite back a smile - a wordless agreement between you both taking place, and you wriggle up a little, yourself, from where you’re situated against his side - high enough that you can sort of cover the movement of your hand with the rest of your body, and press a firm kiss the the sharp line of his jaw.

He can’t help the satisfied hum that comes out when your fingers slip beneath the waistband of his pants, edging down slowly, and it only takes a second to realise he isn’t even wearing underwear.

You try not to giggle into his flesh, nipping playfully as you move in your ministrations.

He probably had no intention of sitting the whole way through Star Wars, himself - not tonight, at least.

“Who’s teasing now?” You barely even make a sound, so close to his ear that you don’t need to and he can make out what you’re saying, “Commando, Luke, really?”

He smirks, and you see the smile settle as he stays looking forward.

“You get handsy when you’re bored.”

“Oh, now I’m predictable?”

He glances down before he meets your eye again, quirking his brow in a wordless response, as if to say, am I wrong?

And the only way to bite back a scoff is to kiss him - a kiss that starts out soft and subtle, but escalates before you even realise. His palm caresses your cheek, long, slender fingers tucking your hair behind your ear, your hand is down his pants, and your tongue is in Luke’s mouth, his soft lips closing around the muscle until the sloppy sound of him sucking on it is too loud to mask.

And then you’re knocked out of your reverie with a harsh smack of a pillow against your back - the two of you darting apart and your hands slipping out from under his waistband.

“What the fuck?” Luke whines, and you both glare in the direction of the other three guys in the room - the three guys you, honestly, shamefully forgot were even there for a second.

“Knock it off, you’re being gross.” Jack frowns, leaning differently in the absence of a cushion behind him.

“Yeah, keep it PG, you two,” Quinn adds, “I’m under strict instruction to keep an eye on you both.”

“Ew,” you frown, “It’s giving Peeping Tom.”

“No, it’s not,” he scoffs, despite the way Luke snorts out laughter from beside you, “It’s giving responsible older brother.”

“It’s giving dude who isn’t getting laid,” Cole chimes in, and you and Luke simultaneously hum in agreement just to annoy Quinn even further.

If they’re all going to intrude on your date night, the two of you may as well have your fun with it.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Quinn turns his attention to the blonde currently lounging back into the opposite couch, “Do you want to sit here all night and witness those two swapping spit and getting handsy?”

“I can think of worse ways to spend my Friday,” Cole shrugs, and the rest of you all let out some form of grossed out exclamation - Luke shuffling out from beneath you to throw the pillow back in his general direction - watching as it smacks straight against Cole’s face and cuts off whatever the hell he’s about to add onto that about you.

“We’re going upstairs,” Luke huffs, pushing himself up off the couch and grabbing your hand - and you don’t put up any sort of protest, obviously,letting him drag you behind him as he throws out a, “You’re on a 24 hour timeout from even looking at my girlfriend,” he jabs a pointed finger towards Cole, and you bite back a smile at how hot you find his possessiveness - a trait he so rarely lets take over, but you can’t help but get excited when he does.

And as gross as the thought of Caufield watching you was - and as much as you sort of know he’s joking - you’re honestly thankful, because Luke isn’t the kind of guy to let that slide when you’re both safe behind the closed door of your shared bedroom, and he’s pushing you back onto the bed before you even have a chance to think about it.

“Are you done yet?”

“Almost.”

You watch Luke’s tongue poke out of his mouth in concentration as he dramatically swipes the paintbrush against the canvas you set up for him earlier - the bare back of which has been taunting you for at least fifteen minutes since you finished your own portrait.

Tiktok said this would be cute.

Painting each other as you share a pizza and sip at what is quite honestly a borderline undrinkable glass of wine - you won’t be trusting Luke on a liquor store run ever again.

But you probably overestimated your creative abilities.

Your portrait of Luke looks like a haunted blob of sickly pale skin and messy brown curls, and the longer he takes to paint you, the longer it stares back at you and you hate it.

He’s gonna hate it - and what was supposed to be a sweet, stay-at-home date idea, turned into something stupid.

You feel stupid, and maybe it’s the extra fifteen minutes he’s spent perfecting his creation that’s making you feel worse.

“It isn’t being hung in the Louvre, Luke,” you roll your eyes, leaning forward onto the table with your chin tucked in the clammy palm of your hand.

“That’s what you think,” he snorts, finally laying the brush flat on the surface beside his easel and tilting his head to peak at you from the side. “I’m finished.”

“Okay, who’s going first?”

“Uhh,” he narrows his eyes at his own work before they flick back up to meet yours, “You first,”

And you can’t help but pout a little as you grasp at either side of the canvas, fingers clenching a little as you build up the nerve.

“I’m not an artist, okay,” you glance over at him, a begging look in your like a silent plea to take it easy on you, “It isn’t the best.”

“Baby,” he pouts back, “You could have smeared your boogers on there and I’d love it.”

“That’s disgusting,” you cringe, but the sentiment sort of helps you build up the courage to flip your easel around, wincing as you watch and wait for his reaction.

He stares at it for what feels like a whole minute, gaze going side to side and up and down like he’s taking in every single brushstroke, and you find yourself holding your breath in anticipation of his feedback.

“Do I have a lazy eye?”

“What? No,” you frown, quickly swivelling it back to take another look. His eyes are a little crooked - you’re drinking wine, you're bound to have a shaky hand - but you wouldn’t call them lazy. “Is it that bad?”

“It's no worse than mine," he snickers, pushing his chair back and nodding his head to the side of him - a gesture for you to come over, and when you do, and you're stood before him, he parts his legs for you to perch yourself on one of his thick, muscular thighs.

You circle your arms around his neck, trying to balance yourself and ignore the heat in his gaze when he watches you do such a mundane and routine thing, his hands gripping at your waist to help you.

“See,” he nods toward the painting, “I’d personally hang it on our wall but I think it’s obvious why.”

Despite the fact you don’t think you’ll ever get over him referring to anything in this house as part-yours, you manage to gloss over that small fact when you take in the monstrosity in front of you.

It’s so bad your jaw drops a little, and you try not to outwardly laugh to avoid offending him.

“Luke-,”

“Before you start-,”

“You started with my boobs didn’t you!” You accuse, swatting playfully at his chest as you let a smile overcome you.

“What?” He scoffs, “No, why would you think that?”

“They’re huge,” you snort, shuffling a little on his lap as he steadies you with a hand on your hip, “It’s like you painted them too big and ran out of room for everything else.”

You watch as a soft flush spreads across his cheeks, sheepish and self-conscious as he casts a glance back over his painting whilst trying to ignore your own eyes on him. His face scrunches a little, crinkles forming around his eyes and nose as he really takes in the lack of proportion, and you can’t help but smile at how cute he is.

“Alright, maybe I did,” he pouts, “Is that so bad?”

“I look like a balloon animal!”

“It is a little disproportionate,” he admits, his bottom lip jutting out in a way that makes you want to kiss it, and you roll your eyes to fight the urge. “We should have done naked paintings, then I’d be winning.”

“You wanna draw me like one of your French girls?” Your tone is still sultry as you mock him, and watching the slow, suggestive curve of his lips does little to fan out the flames of attraction in the pit of your belly. He’s so pretty, it’s stupid - especially up close, and that’s after you’ve spent the past 30 minutes glancing up at him to try and do justice to all the intricate, beautiful parts of his face with a cheap paint set and a brush that was falling apart.

No wonder you were so insecure about your attempt.

You don’t think there’s even a colour you could mix that would capture the unique hue of his irises - a soft combination of maybe blue, maybe green that you can’t even begin to think where you’d start when it came to creating it, yourself. And the smattering of little freckles and beauty marks that litter his skin - you’d never quite map that constellation correctly. The soft curl of his hair, the smooth curve of his lips, the unwavering dedication he has to whatever the hell is growing below his nose - you wouldn’t get it right in a million years.

Maybe him painting you as 70% boobs and 30% everything else is the better picture overall.

“Nah,” he smiles soft, his gaze drifting around your own face like he’s thinking the same thoughts - lingering on your mouth a little too long before he says, “Do wanna take you upstairs, though.”

You smile, too - easy and unwavering - and you feel a familiar heat creep up your neck before you press your lips to his in a slow, amorous kiss.

His knee bounces in a quick jolt as he responds, his hand rising to cup your face and hold you against him, mouth moving until his tongue swipes against the seam of your lips, deepening the moment into something neither of you would want to retreat from.

You honestly can’t remember life before he kissed you like this - how you ever even lasted a day of denying your feelings for him, because you don’t think you could ever love anyone like you love Luke.

It’s something that seems to consume you, regardless of where you are - whether it’s painting stupid portraits together or it’s watching movies or it’s sitting out on the deck chairs on the back porch and talking to his brothers - just his presence, just knowing he’s close by and the way he feels about you is exactly the same settles you beyond what you can put into words.

“Jesus Christ-,”

You both groan in frustration as you part, turning to glare at Jack as he interrupts you, the kitchen door swinging closed behind him.

“Quinn, they’re at it, again!” He calls out, lips curled in disgust as he makes his way over - empty beer bottles stuffed between his fingers that he throws into the recycling with a clink.

You don’t want to move from Luke’s lap, so as Jack nears the table, you don’t even think to get up - despite the fact that he’s heading straight for the painting you really don’t want to hear his criticisms of.

“How cute!” He coos, but you can see straight through him - his lips curling into a borderline sinister smile as he picks up the little canvas. “She even got your lazy eye, Lukey!”

“I knew it!” Luke gasps, his fingers squeezing at your sides, teasingly.

“Hey!” You shoot up, reaching over the table and snatching it from his grip before turning to your boyfriend. “I did not give you a lazy eye!”

“Did he paint that zit that’s coming in right there,” he points to his temple as his eyes narrow your way - and event though you know you don’t have a zit coming in, you bring your hand up to cover the side of your face, anyway.

“She doesn’t have a zit,” Luke defends you before you can do it, yourself, and your features soften just a touch when you glance his way.

“Let me see-,”

Jack reaches out for Luke’s painting, and the two of you leap forward to yank it away before he can get his hands on it, yelling out, “No!” In unison.

“It can’t be that bad, Luke,” he snorts, eyes narrowing on you in particular as your cheeks burn with embarrassment - it’s not like they’re your actual boobs, and it’s not like they’re even anatomically accurate, but you don’t want Jack of all people seeing you portrayed like that. “Mom kept your paintings on the fridge at home until like two years ago, I know you’re a shitty artist.”

“M’not a shitty artist,” Luke grumbles, specifically turning to you as you both still clutch one hand each at the canvas.

“I know, baby,” you coo, your tone overtly-sweet and sickly in a bid to make Jack’s stomach turn - and make him go away, “Don’t listen to Mr. Meany, he doesn’t get you like I do,” and then you lean back in to kiss him, your pout turning into a grin when you hear his brother’s exaggerated gagging from the other side of the table.

“You both make me sick,” he huffs as you hear him leave, and you and Luke resume your previous position, fingers loosening on the painting until it drops to the floor. His hands clutch at your hips, and yours move to settle on the broad expanse of his chest to balance yourself a little better, shuffling until you’re straddling his lap - and still so consumed by your love for him that you couldn’t care less who else might end up disrupting you.

“We could rent some bikes?”

Luke’s suggestion comes out in a muffled yell, his head half in a large storage box in the garage as he roots around for god-knows what, and you perch yourself on the workbench by the side while you wait for him.

The two of you have been trying to figure out how to spend the day together - the other boys having taken the boat out with their friends - so many friends that there wasn’t space for you to tag along and Luke didn’t want to leave you behind on your own.

It’s beautiful out, and you had wanted to go out on the boat, so everything else seems dull in comparison.

A trip to the mall is a waste of the sunshine, even though you sort of want to visit the bookstore, and spend hours just walking around and holding Luke’s hand, and going to the park just seems boring, even if you do rent some bikes while you’re there. It would get tiring pretty quick, and as much as you think you could spend time doing nothing with Luke and still be happy, you sort of had your heart set on something else.

“I don’t know if I trust you not to fall off,” you tell him, swinging your legs as you place your palms flat on the surface, leaning forward to try and get a look at what on earth he’s doing. “What are you even looking for in there?”

“I’ll tell you when I find ‘em,” he mumbles, and you roll your eyes, looking around the rest of the garage and waiting for an idea to spark.

“What about that boat?” You point to the smaller vessel, covered in a faded tarp and perched on a rusted trailer.

It’s a lot smaller than the other boat the boys take out - probably fits two or three people, max, from what you can see of it, and a lot older, too - but if it gets you out on the water with Luke, and you can lay beside him as it sways on the tranquil water, skin to skin while the sun shines down on you - it’ll do.

“That’s Quinn’s,” Luke tells you as he retreats from the box, putting the lid back in place before he moves on to the next one down. “I’ve been explicitly told that if I touch it, I die.”

“Why does Quinn have his own boat?” You ask, jumping up and stepping towards it.

“Don’t know,” Luke calls a little louder, knowing you’re further away without even checking, like he has an instinct for where you are at all times. “Came home one summer and it was just in our parent’s garage, Dad said if he didn’t move it, it was getting sold, so it just sits in here.”

“And he doesn’t use it?”

“Can’t,” Luke shrugs, “I’m pretty sure it’s written off, I think it was just a project to keep him busy when he was injured or something, he hasn’t touched it in a while.”

“Why doesn’t he sell it, then?”

“Don’t know, not his keeper, babe,” Luke’s voice is a little clearer, now, and you crane your neck back to see him standing up straight, a pair of old rollerblades in his hands and a big grin on his face. “I could teach you to skate?”

You gasp as you make your way back over, “Are they my size?”

“They used to be mine, so they might be a little long, but we can pad your feet up with socks.”

“Is it the same as skating on the ice?”

“The mechanics are pretty much the same,” Luke shrugs, handing you the rollerblades so he grab some of the pads that were in the box with them and close it back up, “But if you master this, we’ll get you some actual skates, and I’ll take you down to the rink to teach you.”

Ice skating is never something you’d considered before - even when you would watch Luke play, the thought of it was always daunting - but since the start of summer, you sort of like learning all the stuff Luke knows or loves. You like watching him play golf, like listening to him nerd out about his historical movies, like playing chess for some reason, as dorky as that is, and you even enjoyed Star Wars when the two of you managed to sit down together and watch all of the films - and skating seems like the final boss, in a way.

It’s exciting, like the last piece of a puzzle.

“Might have to get your dad to teach me,” you suggest, “You fall too much for me to learn from you.”

He teasingly swats at your ass with a pad, and you snort out a laugh when you see the amusement shining in his pretty eyes, leaning up when he bends a little to kiss you chastely.

“It’s part of the Hughes charm,” he mutters just after your lips part, “You’ll fit right in.”

And you try to ignore the way your heart hammers at the thought of fitting right in with the Hughes clan in a way you never really did with your own. Despite your previous problems with Jack, and despite Quinn’s newfound hobby for cockblocking you all summer, you honestly think they’re accepting of you too.

And that’s without taking into account Luke’s parents, who welcomed you back to Michigan with open arms, even if your place in Luke’s life wasn’t this solid the last time they saw you last summer.

For the first time in your life you do fit right in, and you’d be doing yourself a disservice to deny it.

You’d be doing Luke one, too.

So all you can do is smile as he leads you out into the driveway, and he sets up a little course for you to practice your skating - cones and obstacles that you do your best not to trip and stumble over, but when you do, he picks you straight back up, dusts you off, and lets you go again.

He’s patient, and he’s gentle, just like he’s always been with you, and if this is what it’s like to be a Hughes, - and as crazy as it sounds considering how fresh your relationship still technically is - you have a fleeting thought that one day you’d want to be one, for real.

“Do you think Jersey’s nicer than New York?”

You’ve been an anxious mess for the entire week before you and Luke flew out to stay with your mom - irritable and snippy and emotional - but now that you’re here, things seem to have settled.

It’s only a long weekend - three days and you can go back to the safety and security of the lake house, with the rest of the summer ahead of you and every passing day having you fall more and more in love with Luke Hughes - and your mom is actually being good company for once.

She’s present, having taken time off of work to make sure she’s around to properly acquaint herself with the first boyfriend you’ve ever brought home, and she’s sober, and she’s actively trying to get to know him.

The two of them have pretty much ticked off every other topic of conversation by the time she gets to your big move, and you can’t even let yourself stress about it.

You’re sat in between Luke’s legs on a chair out in the backyard, your stomach full of barbecue food, a cold bottle of beer gripped between your fingers, and your back pressed firmly to his chest, and there’s no way you think you even could still feel anxious in such a position.

Luke somehow manages to rinse those feelings straight out of you with just one touch.

For as much grief as your mom gave you when you first came home at the beginning of summer, you think your time away might have calmed her about the whole NYU thing - and maybe seeing you with Luke, seeing how sturdy and serious the two of you are, is quelling her fears, too.

“I mean I haven’t lived in New York, so I might not be a fair judge on that,” he chuckles, “But I like it. Feels a lot more relaxed, I think.”

“And you live with your brothers?”

“Just one of ‘em,” he says, “Jack, he plays on the same team as me,”

“So the two of you won’t be moving in with each other,”

“Mom,” you cringe, rolling your eyes at her even asking such a question when you’ve literally sat her down and talked her through your shared housing options.

“Not yet,” Luke says, easily, and you turn back a little at how casual he sounds about it.

The two of you haven’t really talked about it - not in depth, at least. He has no intentions of moving out of his and Jack’s place, as far as you know, and you’re definitely not moving in - the lake house during summer is bad enough in his brother’s company, no matter how civil the two of you have become.

“Not yet?”

“Well, it isn’t not ever,” he snorts, “I think we’re quite good at living together, I’d like to do it again. Would much rather live with you than live with Jack for the rest of my life.”

As if it’s that simple. The rest of his life.

“She’s a great cook,” your mom chimes in, like he needs her making a pros list. “And she always picks the nicest smelling detergent for laundry, I always get compliments on my uniform at work.”

“Mom,”

“She never forgets anything from the store, either, even when it’s not in her notes,” Luke adds - because clearly he already has a list. “Like I’ll be cursing myself thinking it’s too late to let her know we don’t have salsa, and I forgot to tell her in the first place, but she always remembers anyway."

“Oh my god-,”

“Exactly!”

And Luke’s arms tighten around you, a teasing embrace that you don’t really want to shake, not now, not ever. “If she’ll still have me by then, I think we’d revisit it next summer, but at least we’re closer now than we were before. I’ll still be around for her.”

Your mom smiles softly at his clear adoration for you, and when she meets your eye, you feel a sudden wave of relief wash through you. There’s something in her gaze that reads like approval - and for a woman who, this time last year, told you that there isn’t a single man out there worth your time, or who won’t hurt you - she doesn’t have to say anything for you to know she’s eating her words. For a woman who lost all faith in forever when she divorced your dad, you’re grateful to see her entertaining the idea of it when it comes to you and Luke.

“Don’t worry, I think she’ll keep you around,” she reassures him, a subtle wink sent his way as your cheeks go burning hot - and you divert your gaze to avoid the depth of her perception, eyes lingering on the softened pink hues of the summer sunset you all came out to watch.

You think you’ll keep him, too.

“This is so fancy,” you sigh, something between awe and anxiety swirling through your brain at just how nice this restaurant is - so different to all the other date nights you and Luke have spent together over the course of the summer.

But summer is coming to an end, and Luke said he wanted to try something different.

“My mom told me about it,” he replies, eyes glancing up from his menu to meet yours, “Which I realise loses me cool points, but I promise she has good taste.”

“Your mom is cool, babe,” you laugh, “No points lost.”

“I mean, it’s better than the club, right?”

It’s definitely better than the club - and not only because you’re not reminded of having to work there last summer every time you tag along with Luke for an afternoon on the course, or a trip to the bar.

“Yeah,” you smile softly to reassure him, “It’s nice, it’s just weird, I think.”

“Weird?” He frowns.

“Not like weird,” you’re quick to cover your tracks at the sight of his expression, like a wounded animal, and guilt nips at your stomach. He’s trying to do something nice. He’s giving you a chance to get all dressed up, and he sent you to get your hair blow-dried at one of the nicer salons in town, and it is a treat to be pampered.

You just sort of like all the other stuff the two of you have been getting up to a little more.

But you can put on your big girl pants and enjoy it, for his sake.

“I just mean like, I feel like I need Duolingo to help me out with this thing,” you chuckle, waving the menu a little in your hands.

You need to be more grateful, you think.

He’s making such an effort.

In one of his nicest suits, tailored to perfection - and the two of you had a little bit of a walk from the car, you got to see how good his ass looked when he paid for the meter a couple blocks away, bending to read the machine and giving you the perfect view - he honestly looks so good it’s almost alarming.

And you think you do, too. You feel good, at least - especially with how Luke looked at you when he came out of the bathroom and saw you in this dress back in the house. Black satin, a sweetheart neckline just begging for his gaze to linger, and it fits like a glove, too - you swear he was starting to drool at one point.

“Yeah, it’s a little excessive, actually,” he sighs, his finger hooking into the knot of his tie and loosening it a little.

“Baby, I promise, it’s nice-,” you reach over to wrap your fingers around his hand, and it turns, palm-up, until you can properly interlace yours with his. “I’m just not used to this sort of place, but it’s gorgeous, I really appreciate all the effort you put into tonight.”

“I’m sorry that it’s the first time we’ve done it,” he frowns, “I promise I’ll try and do better-“

“Wait, what?”

Do better?

You don’t think for a second he ever has to try?

This summer has been like a dream, and the dates the two of you have gone on have far surpassed anything you’ve ever experienced in any other relationship.

Nights together watching movies - a routine the two of you kept up every Sunday, and even more throughout the week - even if that was with his brothers, or his friends, or even his parents, a couple times.

Days out on the lake, wake surfing, or just treading water. Swimming, socialising, sailing, sunbathing - a maintained sense of calm providing comfort over the past few months that you wouldn’t trade for the world.

Mini golf, portrait painting, lego building, cooking together, shopping together, even nights as a group, doing whatever activities anybody else wanted to do.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy - and Luke is at the core of it all.

“You don’t have to do anything better.”

“I just feel like all our dates so far haven’t been super involved,” he sighs, “Like I fought so hard to get you, I should be trying harder to keep you.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Jack said-,”

And you can’t help it - in as serious of an environment as this is - you reach over the table and swat at his head with your menu. It’s really more of a light tap, but the surprise of it jolts him a little, widened eyes staring back at you.

“What the hell?”

“I thought we knew better than to listen to Jack, babe.”

“But he said-,”

“Don’t make me hit you again.”

He narrows his eyes your way, a warning, almost, and you roll your own eyes in response, a quick squeeze of your hand to let him know he can carry on.

“He said he makes a point of being the one to take charge of the dates, ‘cause Ellie told him it makes her feel valued. And I know we don’t listen to Ellie, either,” and thank god he does, you think - because for as much as you’ve forgiven the both of them for the gigantic mess they made of yours and Luke’s relationship back in the Spring, Jack and Ellie are still gigantic morons, and their relationship couldn’t be any further from yours if they tried. “But it just made me thing back on all the stuff we have done together this summer, and how I sort of left it to you to take the reins.”

You suppose that’s technically true - a lot of times you came up with the ideas, but it’s not like he never contributed. It’s not like he never made an effort, or you felt like he didn’t care.

“You do realise I like being in control, right?” You ask, your lips twisting a little to soften the blow when he meets your eyes again, and you drop your menu to free up your other hand, leaning forward and reaching for his free hand, too.

“I’m very aware, actually,” he snorts, and you’re sort of relieved to hear it - because you know deep down that you and Luke understand each other on a deeper level than you’ve ever experienced before, and to hear him second guessing it sort of stings. “And I like you being in control,” he adds, thank god. “I just feel like I always leave it to you to organise stuff like this, without even realising I’m doing it, and I guess I feel bad.”

“I like looking after this stuff, Luke,” you admit, a little sheepish, though you don’t really know why. Maybe it’s leaving this sort of unspoken for so long, or maybe it’s past experiences of guys who would feel emasculated by you adding, “I like looking after you.”

“Really?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know,” he pouts, “I guess I just thought you’d want to be with someone who looked after you,”

“You do.” You assure him, and you could probably list a thousand ways in which he’s already proven that. “Looking after me goes beyond dates,” you tell him, “It’s about how you make me feel.”

“And how do I make you feel?”

You’re thankful to see the way a slow, sure smile creeps up on his face - like whatever thoughts Jack had infected him with before - whether intentionally or not - have been eradicated.

“You know how you make me feel,” you smile back.

“Yeah,” he nods, self assured and seriously sexy. “Still want you to say it, though.”

“How about we get out of here and you let me show you, instead?”

And you don’t think you’ve ever seen him move so quick.

He’s practically dragging you out of the restaurant in under a minute, making sure to thank and tip the maître d' on the way, and the two of you barely make it back to his car before he’s pouncing - his kiss firm, his adoration clear, and your love continuing to grow with every waking moment you spend in his company.

“Is that the last box?” You ask as Luke places it gently down beside the others he’s just hauled up to your apartment from the truck he rented to have your stuff shipped over from storage in Michigan.

He’s been pretty insistent on helping you move in - he’s been pretty insistent on helping with everything, and you couldn’t be more grateful for his input, if you’re honest.

He’d come out to Jersey to check out potential apartments with you, had given advice on all the best areas, with all the best travel access to get yourself across the river - because the thought of living in a different state again, despite just how close the two of them are, just didn’t sit right with you when it came to deciding where you’d live while you went to graduate school.

And now he’s brought up every single box without you having to lift a finger - so far from the slinged up version of him you’d started your summer with a few months ago, which is really wonderful to see. He’s worked really hard to rehab his injury, and you’re so proud of all of his progress, beyond using it to your own advantage.

You can’t wait to spend the next year watching him thrive.

He makes you so happy you could probably burst if you give it too much thought.

“Yep,” he smiles, and he flexes his muscles at you with a suggestive wiggle of his brows, “You think me bringing all these up 5 flights of stairs is enough for people to start thinking I have the potential to bulk?”

“I’d say you’re plenty bulky,” you say, beaming up as you practically skip over to him, placing your hands on his muscular chest and leaning to press a kiss to his lips, “Gonna miss my big strong boyfriend while you’re away for the weekend.”

Him and his brothers have a little trip planned for the three of them, and as much as you want to spend your first few nights in your new apartment with him, you know how important it is leading into the season that they get their sibling time in - especially with Quinn.

“I’ll come straight here when I get back on Monday,” he promises, kissing you again and again until you start to feel a little dizzy, his strong, calloused grip on your waist guiding you back towards the couch that the landlord left behind for you - and while you’re quite keen to christen a few of the spaces while you have the chance, you can’t contain your excitement for much longer.

“I got you a present.”

“I’m supposed to get you something, I’m pretty sure,” he scoffs, watching as you spin on your heels, retreat back to the table you were standing at when he came in, and come back over to him - placing something small and cold in his palm.

A key.

A key to your apartment.

“So you don’t have to call ahead.” You tell him, although obviously it means much more than that.

He smiles - that same pretty smile that got you hooked over a year ago, now - and you smile straight back.

He lifts his hands to cup at your beaming cheeks, the cool metal of the key pressing into your skin - not that you mind - as he pulls you in to kiss you, again. His excitement is clear, and you're quickly consumed by the familiar thumping of your heart that will never go away when you're around him.

Finally the two of you have somewhere you don’t have to worry about interruptions, or rushing, or hiding away.

Finally you have somewhere - and someone - that’s just yours.

another a/n: I didn't know how to end this lmao!! but I hope you all enjoy!!

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes x you #*writing #also shoutout my jsw Maggie cinematic universe believers #there's an Easter egg in here lmao #sorry this is like technically 3 hours late to be a Meg bday post #but the intention was there hahaha

433 notes · View notes

moonstruckdraws · 2 years ago

Text

The Changes Through Time

And my project is finish! My gift to the CAS series and @somerandomdudelmao! (This is technically supposed to be for the 1 year anniversary of CAS, but I don't have the time to post it on the 12th and I don't understand the queue system lol)

I deeply love this series as I have made fanart for it before several times and honestly it really improved my art. Cass is also an amazing creator and I look forward to anything they post in the future.

(A bit of a spiel about the illustrations from this point on)

I was honestly going to go for more of a tarot card style with boarders and everything, but as I was composing the 1st illustration, I ditched the idea and just when for simple text. The third image (like how tarot cards read the past, present/current, & future) was going to be the present, but honestly I was confused enough trying to decide which illustration was the past & future with the first two. Plus the "current" state of the story doesn't have much significance yet (and references of them aren't made because it's generally their other outfits) so I went with their spirits!

1st illustration: Representing the start of it all with the current state of all the characters. Of course we didn't know the condition of Raph in the beginning, but since he remained static until Casey found him I believe it's safe to assume that he was in that state the whole time. This illustration is unfortunately my least favorite because it's not rendered the same as the others, due to it being the first fully rendered image I've done in a while. But oh well, I still like it for the most part.

2nd illustration: Representing all of the turtles resurrections with a group hug. Not much else to note about the meaning other than the fact that I almost gave Leo an arm that he does not have. This one was also the greatest to render as I had the most fun with the bright colors. This one is definitely my favorite.

3rd illustration: Representing the turtles spirits when they were dead. Though the last one was the best to render, this one was the best to compose as a whole. Mikey and Donnie were the easiest to do since their broken states were shown in the comic, but with Raph and Leo I had to be a bit creative. With Raph I wanted to show the lack of his senses due to being in a robot for a long time and everything being subconscious. It's not as strongly detailed as the others, but he did have the most stable conditions compared to the rest of his brothers. With Leo I wanted to display his lack of self physically. Since he was fading away, at first, I wanted his spirit to be more faded and weaker compared to the rest.

Nothing else to be said that wasn't said before, but I am very glad that I started reading CAS. I've never felt more invested and moved by a fanmade comic before, so this experience is actually life changing for me. And seeing others fanart for it only inspired me! I am truly amazed by Cass and this series. Happy early 1 year anniversary

#rottmnt #cass fanart tag #cass apocalypse series #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt casey jr #january 2024

3K notes · View notes

kabr0ztrousers · 3 months ago

Note

I fucking love when you do Portals, if you’re not bored already with this topic may i ask another? i’ll be waiting in your queue🥰🫦

Kabr0z Writes episode 92: Communion

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Portals; freeuse; CNC; religious mentions and ceremony; public sex; exhibitionism;

A/N: I was actually struggling for inspiration today... Whatever would I do to make sure I'm not retreading old ground. Thankfully the algorithm came to my rescue while scrolling for inspiration. Is it blasphemy? It's certainly not respectful.

########################################

These were rapidly becoming your favourite underwear. After the coffee shop? Then that "issue" with tuning them between connections? Best sex of your life. The only issue is, after all that, however would you top it?

That's the question that plagued you as you walked into town. You were wearing your portal undies, because of course you were, but what can a girl do to transgress some social boundaries on a Sunday morning?

Wait. It's a Sunday. The beauty of rural Wales is the massive proportion of churches to people. You barely had to walk half a mile and you found one. Open doors, organ softly playing as the occasional person slid through the front room to the main church. A quick selfie, posted to just the right website along with a freshly-generated session code. A tap, a swipe, and the app locked. Four hours on the clock, that's long enough for a church... Session? Worship? You wondered what the actual verb for attending church is as you took a pew and the bloke in the robe took the pulpit.

God he was boring. Something Jesus, something heaven, something repentance. You were just about to get up and leave when it started. The metal disc in your underwear buzzed insistently, then the portal opened.

For a moment, nothing happened. Cool air passed over your pussy, before being replaced with hot breath. A finger traced your entrance as you sat there, trying not to show off that something was interfering with you. The soft touch was easy to pass off. Sure, whoever this was felt good, but after what you're used to with these, this wasn't hard to hide.

What was harder was when the finger pushed in. Maybe the setting was getting you more hot and bothered than you thought, or maybe you just needed this. The gasp was hard to swallow, especially as another two fingers joined in. The three fingers filled you, turning and angling themselves in ways no lover would be able to without a magic portal fleshlight on the other end. You pulled your phone out of your skirt pocket to check the app, who's connected?

Who else. It's WolfDaddy again. You put the phone back before anyone spotted you. At least, you hoped you did. The sounds of him stirring your cunt were soft, almost drowned out by the droning cleric as he went on and on. He was saying something about interpretation, how sins change over time so some things that might have been sins once, aren't now.

Those fingers curled inside you. You felt yourself blush as you suppressed a twitch in your legs. This was still probably a sin.

You clenched your cunt against those fingers, gently pulsing it to try and send him a message: "fuck me already"

His fingers kept hard at work, rubbing and stroking as your body fought you, trying to gasp and moan, whine and wriggle at the invading digits. You couldn't. All you could do was sit there and drip, feeling your juices flow from you in rivers. He brought you to the very edge, then stopped. The fingers pulled out just as you threatened to crest the peak, letting you slide back down for a minute or two before pushing again. If you got closer, he'd leave you for longer. If he took a little while, you'd get the next edge a little sooner.

You ached so badly by the time the priest was done lecturing. The rest of the church got up and into the aisle, but they weren't leaving. You half-remembered something about sacraments? Eating the body and drinking the blood of God to get closer to him or something?

Sounds kinky.

You got up and joined near the back of the line. The fingers felt you move and withdrew, letting your pussy squeeze in vain. A blunt tip replaced them, pressing gently into you. The first inch slid in, fully hard and leaking that lupine precum all over you. Then he pulled out. Over and over you'd get just enough to get excited, but not enough to get you off. Your whole lower body hurt now. The constant teasing of your leaking, drooling hole was taking its toll on you.

You reached the front of the church. Kneeling in a line before the altar. Maybe kneeling made your body move a certain way? Maybe he could just tell you weren't upright any more. Either way, it earned you another inch. You clenched again, trying to keep a steady rhythm to encourage him. You got another inch. Then another, then another.

The priest was moving down the line. First a small biscuity thing, then a sip from a jewelled cup. One by one the other churchgoers were seen to. Whoever WolfDaddy is, he had a good handle on how long this took.

Six people to go. He fucked you harder. Cock pushing up to the very edge of your cervix. Five people, a pair of fingers joined in, rubbing your clit as you began to squirm. Four, the cock was faster now, hammering into you as the lupine on the other end of the portal rewarded you. Three, you bit your lip. The feeling of climax building in you, coming towards you hard and fast as you dug your nails into your palm

Two, the cock hilted into you. You could feel the knot starting to inflate. One, cum spurted forth, the cock throbbing and twitching as jet after jet flooded into you.

Just you left now.

The pastor said something, you opened your mouth, feeling your eyes want to roll back in your head as you begged a present from church.

"Take this, my body" A flavourless wafer landed on your tongue

"And this, my blood" a sip of acid-tasting wine

"T-thank you father" you stuttered out, mouth watering and body burning. You felt it coming. You looked in his eyes. He could tell. You could see he could tell. You suppressed a scream as you fell off the cliff.

You clenched every muscle to try and stop yourself shaking, tried to suppress a scream of triumphant release, instead it emerged as a long squeaking wait as your jaw slammed shut around it. Your eyes rolled, defocusing until there were two vicars in front of you, then back to one, then two again.

There's no way he didn't see as cum started to leak from you. No way he didn't notice as the portal cut off how suddenly there was a damp puddle where a worshipper was so recently sat. You could smell the cum on you, dripping from your oozing cunt.

You took a seat on the pews again. Reassuring wood to lend you stability. The church cleared. You saw the vicar step into a booth at the other end of the church. Dark wood and varnished to within an inch of its life.

You walked into the other side. A wickerwork screen and a small slot were between you and the man you'd just came in front of.

"F-forgive me father, for I have sinned"

Who knows, you might get more fun out of this yet

#########################################

Never fear about requesting a portal fic from me. Easily one of my favourite kinks of all time.

Especially when I get to couple it with monster cocks

306 notes · View notes

kyri45 · 6 months ago

Text

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 14/01✨

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

@cloverthewanderer ha chiesto: Soooo….Imma be honest, I just found you on Instagram this morning with a small part of your Biodads au with the monkey bois. And I might’ve thought it looked so cool I went to Tumblr to binge read it and I just caught up. I love everything about the series and it is so fantastic!! Thank you for having so amazing I am going to obsess over it for awhile. I hope you have a wonderful day!!!! Drink lots of water and take care of yourself! (All of the colors and art is just divine!)

AAAWWWW thank you!!!

@sakuralotus03 ha chiesto: Now that MK and Red Son are officially dating, MK will tell Red Son that his name is Xiaotian and Red Son will call him that from now on (or else more pet names for the couple). 🔥🍜

Aww, I think technically Red Son also has like-a full name if we keep the chinese dub logic.(Hóng Hái-er)

@samfroggie ha chiesto: Okayokayokayokay- I never liked Shadowpeach, hell I still wouldn't call myself a shipper of it (or of any LMK ship aside from Freenoodles tbh) but you, sir, have made me fall in love with your AU and I can't let it go reeeeeee Honestly, it's the familial love aspect of this that makes me love it, as someone who is fully on board with MK having four dads, shipping aside lmao I'll always look at every image of MK cuddling with any of his parents and feel my heart swell, it's so freaking cute and the angst is just the nice sprinkling on top, I need more protective Mac in my life because I never see it! Also, question, how do you feel about ocs inserts? Like, are we allowed to make art about the AU and insert ocs into it? Asking because I have an oc who's more or less meant to be like MK's mother figure, and I mean, gotta give him more parental figures right?

I got no probs with OC inserts, as long as you credit the comic!

@aptainmilf ha chiesto: Need to tell you that a chapter of your comic singlehandedly pushed a friend of mine to finally watch the show and I would sincerely like to thank you for that lmao. It was the one with Wukong and Macaque at the hot springs

Ahaha welcome them to the club!

@dimensional-storm ha chiesto: Where did the inspiration for Wukong's 'War Form' come from? It's so big, beautiful!! I love the design so much :D

From the original novel, and the sun.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Question Was the spicynoodles kiss inspired by the caitvi prison kiss? :3

Eh, technically no? I also have the text I send my friend as proff, but I swear to you I planned that scene BEFORE S2 came out.

@silktealover ha chiesto: Hi kiri! I'm b33p and I want to ask if mac and my both have ears sensitive to fireworks,if so how do they react on holidays like fourth of July or new years? :3

Yes, I guess during Chinese New Year they would be really bothered by fireworks.

Anonimo ha chiesto: So you have a shadowpeach playlist? What are your favorite shadowpeach coded songs.

My favourite one is like- S1 vibe of Shadowpeach. which is Wonderful Nothing by Glass Annimals

@ayrza ha chiesto: A FUNNY QUESTION! I have also had this doubt with the canon but I want to know now with your AU Kyri... The heads of Wukong each think differently or is it the same wukong divided into three? Will each of them have a different personality? 🤔🤔🤔 Questions that don't let me sleep at night

Aww I think they could!! Like one head is more silly, one more chaotic, while the middle one is just generally more emotionally open and vulnerable.

@twilight-bai-he ha chiesto: Between Wukong and Macaque whose the better dancer 💃🏽 and Can mk dance ?

Macaque, and MK got mooves let's say (more disco than anything else)

@pyromaniacldrt ha chiesto: Heyyyy So You mentioned in other post that Macaque's name was "Six eared Macaque", right? Does that mean Mk's name is "Habringer of Chaos"?

Nope.

@super-may ha chiesto: Stop, if Macaque got hurt in his shadow form does it mean that his real form is not injured or anything? Like in battle with Wukong in the first season he didn’t seem to be hurt or angry about Wukong’s punches. But If he isn’t hurt and his shadow form is injured I don’t think that it will stay like this with Mk and it will return to the body. Oh no, DOES THAT MEAN THAT MK WILL BE ON HIMSELF NOW IN HIS SHADOW FORM OR SMTH? Or return with Macaque’s shadow to Macaque’s body and Mk’s plan will be ruined and he will need to make a choice between himself and the safety of his loved ones? OMG IM SO WORRIED PLS MAKE A HAPPY END WITH EVERYONE ALIVE AND HAPPY AND NOT UNDER THE WILL OF HEAVEN🙏🙏🙏

it's like Sword Art Online. If you die in the shadow world u die in real life.

@harb1ng3r0fch4os ha chiesto: Can I make/post edits of the shadowpeach bio parents au ?? :3 I’ll credit you ofc :]

yea sure!

@king-cinamon ha chiesto: Have you watched Nezha (2019)?

nope. I've read his story though.

@mkthemonkiekiddd ha chiesto: Totally random question (i just wanna know someones opinion on the matter since its been in my head for so long.), how would nezha react to social media, like, imagine someone gave him a phone, Would he even know what it is

He would probably be on the edge between "this is very uneducational" and "holy shit this is the best idea for arsony I ever saw"

@astro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: Will we ever see Red Son wag his tail like a dog?? (That would be so cute!! + his parents would be shocked to to see him show such emotion) Oh and I make some art for you, I posted it- Bye <3

oh my- eh... no. I don't think so.

@askthezodiacs ha chiesto: May I use your AU in RPs?

yeah sure! As long as they aren't AI made.

#ask box #shadowpeach bio parents au

243 notes · View notes

lunaandco · 7 months ago

Text

did it have to be him?

pairing: gavi x ofc

summary: emma works as a social media manager for real madrid. her job would be way easier if she didn't fuck barcelona's star boy in her free time

warnings: smut, hate sex, dirty talk, degradation kink, vaginal penetration, use of condoms, madridista ofc (😔)

masterlist // I do not take requests

In a normal match day, after she got home from work, Emma would be rearranging all the pictures and videos she had taken from the game, to post them the day after in the official social media accounts. But today was different. Real Madrid had lost, so she should have less pictures to post, but she wasn't looking through her gallery.

Emma was bent over her desk, her clothes gone and her cheek pressed against the wood, as Gavi fucked her without any semblance of mercy.

Gavi was like a hunting dog. He always smelled the weaknesses in his opponents. Mere hours earlier he was getting under Vinicius' skin with ease, getting him to start blabbering and fighting. Vini was an easy prey, nerves already on fire, Gavi just had to press the right buttons.

Emma sometimes thought that he had done the same with her. He had known, smelled even, her weakness. He saw her as what she was, the most fragile link in Madrid's structure. Her wandering eye, following him when she should have been taking pictures of her own players.

Gavi had known, and he had acted accordingly.

Emma was sure Gavi could find prettier, more convenient girls. Girls that wouldn't enrage his fans, that wouldn't get him in trouble with the club. But she also knew that she had something those girls didn't, the reason he had come back to her.

The power struggle turned him on like nothing else ever could. She could ruin his life, but they both know she would go down with him if she did. Emma was sure that ripping off the free white and gold merch she got from work fueled him with more adrenaline than stripping a random model from an expensive dress ever could.

After the adrenaline high of playing a game like el Clásico, one would thing Gavi would be tame and pliant, but Emma knew better.

They had gotten together after Bellingham's first Clásico. Emma was working overtime in his passenger seat, queueing and programing as many posts as possible, to make sure her absence wasn't noticed. Her club would want to boast the win, and they would not be happy to know their social media manager was not doing her job properly because she was spreading her legs for the enemy.

Emma had been with many men before Gavi, but no one measured up to him, she had decided as she scrambled to recover her clothes, under his careful watch. A part of her wished she could stay a little bit longer with him, but she did not want Ancelotti of all people questioning why she wasn't available during work hours.

For better or for worse, a week after, Gavi got injured and Emma never heard of him again, until today.

Gavi was subbed in for the last minutes of el Clásico, and immediately stole her attention. He was clearly older, even if only a year had passed. His shoulders cut a broader shape, his gaze was hardened. He still got into fights, got his yellow card, but he seemed... more powerful.

And as he passed next to her, to go back to the locker room, Gavi caught her eye, and Emma knew. She knew he would search for her, go back to her studio apartment and continue what they started a year earlier.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think that you're really into being made a bitch by a Barça player," grunted Gavi above her. Emma whined in response. It was humiliating, it was degrading. But it made her wetter.

"Is that all you've got?" she snapped back. "You didn't even play ten minutes, you can't be this tired."

The response was a hard slap on her ass that made her gasp, and the hand pushing her head against the desk tangling on her brown curls and pulling her up, until her back was pressed to his hard chest.

"You don't want to play this game, corazón," he mocked, his voice warm against her ear. But Emma does. She wants Gavi to really let go.

His hand came up to squeeze her breast, as his teeth found the flesh of her neck. It was one of the things Emma loved about Gavi, that he would take her body fully, like it belonged to him. And maybe it did.

Emma moaned loudly, her body twitching and the orgasm approaching. It hit her like a train wreck, and Gavi, the little shit, kept fucking her through it, until she was scratching at his arms.

"Please, stop. Too much—" Ovestimulation was making everything painful, but then Gavi stilled, filling the condom as his muscles hardened under her touch.

"I'm sorry—" he gasped. He seemed genuinely apologetic that he hadn't stopped in time.

"It's fine," she replied, caressing the skin she had scratched. "It's fine."

💙❤️

Afterwards, Gavi led her to her own shower, gently washing the sweat off her body.

"I really wanted to do this last time," he confessed. Emma blushed. "You don't have anywhere else to go this time though."

Emma smiled sleepily.

"Don't you, though? I heard Flick has military rules in place. How did you manage to come here?"

"That is classified, corazón," he joked, kissing her lips softly. "Turn around, I'm gonna wash your hair."

Emma hummed. She really liked this gentle side of Gavi.

💙❤️

"We could do this again sometime," offered Gavi, as he put on his jacket. They had cuddled for as long as they could, but he had to leave at 5 am if he wanted to pretend he had been at the hotel the whole night. "Maybe when neither of us is under the restrictions of our clubs."

Emma thought about it. Vacation time, with Gavi. Soft kisses, warm cuddles and hot sex. She could get used to it. And as far as Madrid never knew, she would be safe.

"I would like that."

#gavi #gavi x reader #pablo gavi #gavi x oc #pablo gavi x reader #luna's one shots #gavi smut #pablo gavi smut

176 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

The Quiet Ones 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: don't ask me why I did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You keep to yourself. That’s the safest, the easiest way to live. You keep your head down, your eyes to yourself, your voice bottled up.

You grip your phone as you approach the coffee shop. You stand on your toes to see through the painted windows and frown at the long queue. You won’t have to worry about that. Like everything else social, you’ve found a work around.

You look at your phone, the app showing your order as ‘preparing’. It should be done shortly as the progress bar fills close to complete. You can bear the claustrophobia for a minute or so until it’s ready.

You go to open the door but an arm reaches past you and does that first. You step back, patiently waiting for the other customer to precede you. They don’t move. You stare at their shoes. Dark blue velvet loafers with gold emblems on chains.

“Go on, baby face, I got it,” the man’s voice makes your skin crawl.

You shrink down and give a nod, throat clenching as you struggle to find your voice. You’re not much for conversation but you’re but impolite.

“Thanks,” you force out without raising your head.

You scurry through quickly, a bit to close to the stranger than you like, and you clasp your phone against your chest as you stand just away from the cluster of people awaiting their orders. You bounce on your feet as the noises join together to form a cacophony; the hissing steam, the clanging metal, the clinking porcelain, the calls of the workers behind the counter, and the buzz of the crowd seated or standing around the cafe. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck as the chaos swirls a storm around you.

You pull your phone away from the front of your pullover and check the screen. Should be ready any moment and you’ll be free of the circus. You adjust your grip on the phone, almost jittery as another customer joins the wait at the pick up window.

You breathe out. It’s not usually this busy at this time. You have a routine. You can handle the expected. You order on your phone so you don’t need to talk to anyone. You wait outside until it’s almost done then come in too quickly claim your prize. But not today, something’s different and it’s throwing everything off.

It’s only on Wednesday’s that you venture down to the cafe. It’s the halfway point of your week so you mark it with a taste of motivation. The same order every week. A London fog latte. Simple and affordable. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated.

Your name cuts through the din, “...medium London fog.”

You drop your arm to your side and set your shoulders. You march forward through the parting bodies ahead of you and reach for the cup. Before you can grasp it, someone else scoops it up. You nearly cry out in horror. Someone’s stealing your order!

You turn to the tea thief but they make no move to flee. They hold the cup nonchalantly, turning it to read the sticker on the side, reciting the same name that just rose from the barista’s lips seconds ago. You face the stranger but again, your eyes are downward.

The blue loafers!

“Cute name,” he comments as he holds the cup out.

You once more try to take the cup but before you can, he has it out of reach again. Your lashes flick and your fingers twiddle helplessly. His large hand is firmly around the cup so even if you did try to wrestle it from him, you doubt you’d have any hope but to spill it all.

You look around but no one else seems to notice. They’re all staring at their phones or talking with the person next to them. The staff behind the counter are too busy appeasing the rush of orders.

“I’ve never tried one of these,” he taunts, “I’m more of a ristretto guy. Like my espresso.”

You shake your head and rescind your hand, balling it against your fist. What does he want? Why is he bothering you? You said thank you. Did he not hear you?

“Don’t get yourself in a tizzy,” he pushes the tea towards you, “there you are, sweat pea.”

You hesitate. You slowly unfurl your fingers and reach for the cup. As you wrap your fingers around it, you can’t help but brush his. Thick and strong and unmoving. He clings to it for just a moment before he lets you have it.

“Thanks,” you squeak again, this time louder so he certainly hears you.

“You got a sweet voice,” he puts his hand on his hip, a glimpse of a shiny gold watch face peeking out from beneath his sleeve, “I’d love to hear more of it.”

Your eyes round as you focus on the zipper of his thin jacket. You shake your head and meekly raise your cup awkwardly and dip your chin slightly. No thanks.

You turn and weave your way back through the crowd. Your heart is thumping in your chest. What an odd encounter.

More so, you’re dismayed that he saw you. That he noticed you. For years, you’ve done your best to be invisible. You prefer it that way. You don’t even think your neighbours know you exist. But that man, he seemed to see nothing but you.

You push outside and nearly drop your cup. You try to steady yourself. You’re all knotted up and tense. You tuck your phone into your back pocket and bring the cup before you nose, inhaling the sweet scent of the foam. Something about it isn’t as soothing as usual.

You turn down the pavement and wince as a sole scuffs close behind you. Suddenly, another set of steps walk next to yours, measured to keep in tandem with your own short legs. Blue velvet.

You walk faster. Is he following you? Why? What does he want? He’s much taller, you can’t outpace him.

“You know, when I said I’d like to hear more, I thought maybe over a coffee?” He suggests.

You don’t say a word as you keep your eyes forward, squeezing your cup tight as you try not to swish it around too much. You’ve never had to deal with this before. Men don’t see you. There was a time you hated that but since, you were grateful for that.

“I mean, I could do most of the talking, never had much of a trouble with that, jellybean,” he offers.

You shake your head. Your throat tightens. You can’t speak. You want to scream but you can’t make a noise.

As you get to the corner, you stop short. He steps past you but just as quickly catches himself and turns to face you. You gulp and look down at your cup. You can’t keep going. If you do, you’ll lead him right to your home.

“What’s going on, sweetheart? You forget something? How about we head back and I’ll buy you something sugary to go with that?”

You furrow your brow and step back on your heel. You bring your eyes up, a furtive glance at his face, brief and flickering. You just want to know what he looks like so you never see him again.

His blue eyes twinkle, his nose is long but proportioned to his chiseled face, his hair is combed back, the sides shaved, and a thick swatch of hair lines his upper lip. He’s older than you, you know that much, but you’ve never good at gauging age. You’ve never seen him before but you can’t be sure. You don’t look at many faces.

You pivot and cross the street without looking. You narrowly miss a bumper and get a honk in remonstrance. You can’t stop yourself. You’re panicking. You head down the next street as his footsteps follow. It’s all you can hear.

As you pass a bin, you dump the drink. You don’t pause as it plummets heavily into the trash and you fall into a brisk half-jog. You pump your arms, puffing wildly, dizzy as you search for a saviour.

You dash into the library. You don’t know what you’re looking for. Just for anyone to get this man to leave you alone.

You don’t look back as you enter and head straight for the front counter. You’re out of breath as you approach the rounded edge and tap the bell frantically. A woman emerges from behind the window wall and she greets you with a confused chime.

“Hello, can I help you?” She asks.

“Yes, I need...” you gulp and glance at the doors. You push away from the counter and spin, searching. You don’t see the man. He’s probably waiting outside. But you never looked back. You never really saw if he was following. “I...” you turn back to the woman, “never mind.”

You cross your arms and turn away. You cringe as you realise how ridiculous you must have seemed. Worse, you didn’t mean to bother someone just doing their job and over what? You’re own issues. You should go home, back to your reclusion, where you can’t be in anyone’s way.

👄

When you finally muster the courage to leave the library, your journey home is slowed by your paranoia. You have your phone out, held up so you can see over your shoulder with the front camera. You watch the screen more than the sidewalk ahead of you.

You get home without a second shadow. As you let yourself through the grated front door of the building, you can’t help but feel stupid. That man must’ve got the idea when you as good as ran in the other direction. You’re being dramatic.

You close the camera and put your phone away. You waist six dollars in your frantic flight. You mourn the tea latte as the heavy inner door clunks shut behind you. You drag your feet up the stairs as your keys jingle on your finger.

You apartment is at the very end of the hall. You enter and twist the latch. You slide the chain into place and hang the key ring on the little hook beside the door frame. You untangle your purse and leave it with your phone on the table in the corner.

You shuffle the few feet to the front room and look around. You find comfort in the familiarity of your little apartment. Your hideaway.

You go back to your desk and sign back in. You’re back later than usual but you can still make up the time. As long as there’s enough tasks left in the portal. You don’t have to let that man ruin your whole day. You’ll never see him again. In a few days, you won’t even remember him.

👄

Wednesday. Halfway through the week.

You scroll and click around your screen as you watch the clock in the corner tick on. Usually around this time, you’d be excited. You’d clock out for your break and go down to the cafe. As much as you looked forward to the treat, the walk alone was relaxing in its own way.

Not that day. Despite your efforts to shrug off the strange encounter, you haven’t shaken it. So instead, the kettle boils as a bag of earl gray sits in an empty mug. You’re not going. Maybe next week.

You’re a bit depressed but you’re too nervous to make the venture. Oh well, you’ll save a bit of money. You could find a different place next time. That might be easier.

You stay logged in and claim a new task. Hey, you can be done work earlier if you can power through. You might even make a few extra bucks.

The kettle clicks and you get up to pour the water. You leave it to steep, forgetting it for the screen before you. Your fingers tap endlessly across the keyboard, filling the silence as you zone in on the words, transcribing messy ink to Times New Roman.

Your trance is broken by a sudden buzz. You sit up, the kink in your neck pangs. You need to stop hunching. The buzz comes again. Is that... It must be a mistake. It happens now and then, someone buzzes the wrong apartment.

You get up as it sounds a third time and you shuffle down to the speaker box. You hit the button, “wrong number.”

“No--”

You let go of the number before you can hear the response. They buzz again. You sigh. You hit the button.

“I’m sorry but you have the wrong number,” you repeat.

“I don--”

You release the button again and take a step back. Buzz! You’re getting annoyed. You hit the button. “Wrong--”

“Got a delivery. 212.” The man’s voice drowns out your own, reciting your name after your apartment number. Your finger stays on the button as you frown. A delivery?

“I’m not expecting a delivery.”

“Are you...” he says your name again.

“... yes.”

Silence, filled with the low hum of the speaker, “so, can I come up or...?”

“Uh, I guess.”

You pull your finger away and hover it over the other. Maybe it’s from work? There was the one time they sent a cheap mass production travel mug with their logo on it as some incentive. A poor attempt at employee appreciation.

You press down and hold until you’re certain they have enough time to get in. You wait by the door, ringing your hands. You hear the door at the end of the hall open on its old hinges and you peek through the peephole.

You watch the fuzzy figure come into focus with each of his long steps. He doesn’t hold a box nor wear the uniform of a postal worker. No, he wears those blue leather loafers and holds a bright pink paper cup with a white lid. From the cafe.

As he comes close, you get a pigeon’s eye view of the hair on his upper lip and his bold blue eyes. It feels like he can see you too as he stands smirking on the other side of the door. This can’t be real.

He knocks and you wince as the door shifts in the frame.

“Special delivery,” he calls through, “open up, baby face.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #the quiet ones #dark!fic #series #the gray man

748 notes · View notes

sillygoofyqueer · 2 months ago

Text

Today I had the wild thought of "you know, I could just queue my mad scientist AU posts" but one, that would require far more work in one day than I can be arsed for and two, that would mean you guys don't get my personal notes every day. Like, for instance, I've been reading Faraway Wanderers! Exquisite series. The moment Wei Wuxian and Wen Qionglin are discovered missing, there's a meeting immediately called for the Big Shots to attend. Yu Ziyuan, despite all attempts to keep her out of such meetings, of course is there and has opinions - namely, that Wei Wuxian and Wen Qionglin have gone back to spill all of their secrets to the enemy. She, personally, believes that this has been going on for ages, and that Wen Qing is just covering up for her didis so that they can get away with such things. Of course, it's the first time Lan Xichen has had to physically grab his didi to stop him from climbing over the war table to start a brawl. Wen Qing is about to tell her exactly what she thinks about that take on things, but a calm voice comes out of the left corner - JIN ZIXUAN sliding in with the "Wei Wuxian has messenger crows that could do such things for him." As much as Yu Ziyuan wants to beat the shit out of this boy, this is her sworn sister's son and so all she can do is glare at him from the corner.

Nie Mingjue quickly takes control of the meeting from there, fielding different suggestions on how to proceed - should they send someone after the boys? Should they wait for them to return? Should they...I mean there isn't much else they could do about this, so it is just those two options. Lan Wangji, who is obviously worried about the two, is desperate to go after them so he can make sure they're alright, but there's no way that's happening - they've already lost possibly their wild card and best archer in one swift move, they're not losing another one of their best fighters. Wen Qing volunteers to go, but she's literally like the head medic, they need her, so that's a no-go as well. Plus, they have no idea what the Wen would do if they they found their troops crawling around anywhere near Dafan if nothing has happened to the inhabitants there - it's too much of a risk.

They're just coming to this decision, albeit reluctantly, when there's a loud commotion outside. They all rush outside, because of course they do, and they find Wen Qionglin and Wei Wuxian stumbling their way back into camp. They don't look injured, but there's blood smeared on their robes and Wen Qionglin looks like a mess, tear streaks clear on his face and hands clutched around himself as they approach camp. Wei Wuxian looks only a little better, tears instead replaced by an empty expression on his face and a haunted look in his eyes, with a bundle of blankets clutched firmly against his chest. Wen Qionglin's eyes are fixed on the ground, and Wei Wuxian isn't responding to calls of any of his names, just staring ahead silently. Wen Qing sprints over to ask what's wrong, what's happened, is their family okay- all questions are answered with a single shake of the head from Wen Ning, before he bursts into tears once again, uncaring who's watching him as he buries his face into Wen Qing's shoulder.

Wei Wuxian has stopped beside them, watching the scene listlessly as his grasp tightens on the bundle of blankets, a soft sound escaping the bundle with the movement. His unblinking eyes snap down to it, adjusting his grasp so he can gently brush at what is obviously a child's head, lips moving with indecipherable murmurs and body swaying back and forth the slightest bit. He is holding a baby. When everyone realises this, one of the other onlookers makes the mistake of reaching out to try and take the baby away from him - saying something about relieving him of a burden. He fully jolts away, a wild snarl escaping him and a sudden oppressive sensation appearing in the area as resentful energy curls around his body completely of its own accord. "Don't you fucking touch him!" Is the animalistic response the unfortunate onlooker receives.

Everyone has gone still, sensing the volatile, dangerous state Wei Wuxian is in a little bit too late. It's like something has cracked within him; he won't even let Wen Qing close in his distress, baring his teeth at anyone who tries to approach him. The baby in his arms has a single little hand gripped into the fabric of his bloodstained robes, thankfully remaining rather undisturbed despite the tense situation they're involved in. Lan Wangji desperately wants to help, wants to hold Wei Ying close and comfort him in the midst of what can only be a tragedy that has befallen the Dafan Wen, but he doesn't know if Wei Ying would react any differently to him compared to his literal family. He can only stand there, wishing he could reach out and soothe the distress marring the other boy's features but unable to move his mouth to do more than murmur Wei Ying's name.

Another, more hesitant voice rings out from the crowd, a "gege?" coming from Xue Yang as he takes a casual forwards - he has seen Wei-gege in a state similar to this before, when the resentful energy overwhelmed him in an experiment gone wrong back in the Wen stronghold. He knows that he can be useful, that he is the only one knows how to handle his gege, to push him away from the edge of his sanity. Everyone's holding their breath as this child walks closer as though he isn't quite possibly courting death with this move, forgoing touching the child to instead rest an arm on the teenager's shoulder. "Gege, Xue-di needs reminding how to circulate his qi!" In Wei Ying's mind, all he's seeing is another child that he needs to protect from the danger all around them, another child who he could fail with one stupid move. He carefully adjusts his hold on the baby to free up one of his hands, tugging a willing Xue Yang in close to his side as well, avoiding eye contact with everyone. If his didi needed help with such a thing, he was going to put all of his focus into it.

It's like the oppressive air is lifted from around them as he mumbles about circulating his qi, almost naturally doing it in demonstration, leaving the more volatile resentful energy to either clear from his system or retreat in its broiling state to avoid the qi rolling through his body. Everyone can only breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that a literal bomb has just been defused right in front of their eyes. Wen Qing, who has been doing a very good job of not breaking down in tears at the implications of this whole situation, takes a deep breath and starts whispering softly to Wei Ying to draw his attention to her, all while Wen Ning is still clinging to her and sobbing softly into her arms. "A-Ying, we need to check on A-Yuan to make sure he's alright." She murmurs, watching as Wei Ying's grasp tightens a little on the baby, who has been snuggling into his arms with no care for the dangerous position he's been in.

The teenager nods a little, but still seems reluctant to move from this position - he can see everyone right now, he knows where all of the potential threats are and can deal with them in the blink of an eye if necessary. Thinking on her feet, Wen Qing is like "Lan Wangji can watch your back while we move to the medbay" because of course he looks up at the mention of Lan Zhan, even in this state, those haunted grey eyes latching onto the other teenager. Of course he can trust Lan Zhan to watch his back, he can trust Lan Zhan with all of his darkest secrets, he knows that Lan Zhan will look after him if he turns his back on him. It's for this reason that he nods a little, watching the boy immediately move to be at his back when the little group begins shuffling to the medbay. Everyone else who has watched this situation unfold is both thanking their lucky stars and is like "what the fuck just happened" - Yu Ziyuan had the Lan Silencing charm cast on her so she couldn't burst out with horrific shit, and she is so fucking pissed off at Lan Xichen for that movement.

72 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 9 months ago

Text

i love you so — nanami kento.

One evening, as you watched the sunset together from your porch, Kento spoke, his voice filled with a sense of finality and peace. "I didn’t think I’d live long enough to retire from all of this." he admitted, the hint of a smile on his lips. "But being here with you… it feels like we’ve made it." You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. "We did," you whispered. "And now, we can live the life we always dreamed of." Kento’s arm wrapped around you, pulling you close. "I couldn’t have done any of this without you, sweetheart." he said quietly. "Thank you… for staying." You closed your eyes, the sound of the waves crashing softly in the distance. "There’s nowhere else I’d rather be."

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Post-Shibuya Arc, R-18, Smut, Oral (F! Receiving) P to V Sex, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Husband and Wife, Friendship, Husband! Nanami, Reader! Wife, Fluff, Drama, Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fix-It, Humor, Domesticity, Family Life, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Idiots In Love, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Pining, Nanami Being A Great Husband;

WORDS: 6.8k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is was in a queue. i remember having a bad stomach ache writing this and just really giving up on writing because i really was not having a good day. this is not the last we'll see of sorcerer nanami. and god, we deserve a lot of fix-its for the ending. i'll give it to yall once the exam era is over. the upcoming stuff will be from queued up stuff. but thank you for being patient. i love you all!!! enjoy <3

main masterlist

what a wonderful world masterlist

safe and sound | i love you so

next: say so.

YOU WERE GLAD THAT YOUR HUSBAND WAS LIVE. From this moment on, you knew that there was nothing but relief now. Sleepless nights in recovery as he gets better, staying by his side most days as he tries to get himself better every single day. You yourself halted any production on your upcoming book, taking leave despite the amount of workload that you have to deal with. None of that mattered.

You just wanted to be there for your husband. Everything else can wait. Every little bit of the world can stop. You just wanted to be here with your husband. He was your everything. You did not want to miss a single thing. Because the gods know you were only happier, more relieved, knowing your husband is alive. Kento was here, and that was all you were happy about.

As you sat by Kento's bedside, the room was quiet, save for the occasional beep of the medical equipment. His chest rose and fell in steady, rhythmic motions, a reassuring sign that he was slowly, but surely, recovering. You held his hand tightly, feeling the warmth of his skin, and that alone was enough to soothe the ache that had been gnawing at your heart for weeks.

"You're still here." Kento's voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of both surprise and gratitude. “Sweetheart, I was going to be out later today. They would have called you.”

"Of course I am." you replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. " And that hardly matters. I’m not going anywhere."

Kento gave a small, tired smile, his fingers curling weakly around yours. "You should be working on that book of yours… your editor—"

"She can wait. None of that matters. You know that." you interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. "You’re more important."

He sighed, a blend of relief and exasperation. "You’re going to get in trouble."

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips. "Let them be mad. I’m not missing a single moment of this, Kento. I almost lost you." Your voice trembled slightly, betraying the depth of your fear. "I don’t care about anything else right now. Just you."

His eyes softened as he looked at you, a quiet understanding passing between you both. "I’m sorry, sweetie." he murmured, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "For worrying you."

"You don’t have to be, my love." you whispered. "You’re here. That’s all that matters. And I’ll be here every step of the way. Every appointment, every session with Ieiri–san, every movement therapy… I’ll be there."

Kento closed his eyes briefly, the weight of your words sinking in. "Thank you," he said after a long pause, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "We’re in this together." you whispered. "And I’m not going anywhere."

Months passed, and with each day, Kento grew stronger. The slow but steady process of recovery, while challenging, had brought you even closer. You watched with quiet pride as Kento regained his strength, the grueling hours of movement therapy gradually paying off.

His once rigid, exhausted frame was replaced by the poised and determined man you had always known. There was a renewed warmth in his smile, one that hadn’t been there for so long—a smile that reflected the inner peace he was beginning to find.

Shoko's treatments had been a blessing, and the relief of hearing the doctors say that Kento no longer needed constant hospital visits lifted a tremendous weight off your shoulders. The news that he only needed to check in every few months was like music to your ears. He was coming home, truly home.

As you stepped through the door of your house, Kento at your side, it felt like you were walking into a new chapter of your lives. The space felt different now—warmer, more alive.

You could already picture your mornings together, the sound of soft footsteps as Kento would sneak out early for his morning ritual of visiting the neighborhood market. You imagined him returning with a fresh loaf of bread tucked under one arm, and a bottle of fresh cow milk in the other, his face calm and content in the simple act of shopping.

On the first morning he was well enough, Kento insisted on preparing breakfast. You tried to offer help, but he gently waved you off, a small smile on his lips. "Let me take care of this," he said, his tone warm but firm. "You've done more than enough for me."

You watched him move around the kitchen, still a bit slow, but determined. The smell of fresh eggs and toast filled the air, mingling with the quiet hum of morning. The way he set the table, with such careful deliberation, made your heart swell. It was perfect. Simple, but perfect.

Breakfasts became a cherished part of your daily routine, something so small, yet filled with an endless sense of joy. Kento would tell you about the sights he saw at the market, or the latest book he’d started reading at the park nearby.

The two of you would sit by the window, the sunlight spilling in, and laugh about little things, about nothing at all. It was in those moments, you felt time slow down, allowing you to savor every second.

There were no more looming threats, no more hospitals or sleepless nights. Just the quiet, steady rhythm of life together, a life you had both fought so hard to protect. The weight of the past, though never forgotten, had softened into something you could live with.

"You know," Kento said one morning, his voice cutting through the soft clink of breakfast dishes, "I never thought I’d be able to do this again. Just… enjoy the small things."

You looked up from your cup of tea, meeting his eyes. "It’s the small things that matter most," you replied gently. "And I’m just happy that we get to enjoy them together."

Kento nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. "I wouldn’t have made it without you," he said, his voice full of quiet gratitude.

You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. "We made it through together. That’s all that matters."

In the silence that followed, the world felt right. No grand gestures, no dramatic moments. Just you, Kento, and the simple joy of being together. Nothing felt more right than this. Your husband let his own cup of tea rise towards his lips. As he took a sip, he put it away to the side.

"Do you remember what I told you about Malaysia?" he asked, his voice low, but filled with a calm certainty.

You nodded, already knowing where this was going. "How could I forget? You always spoke about wanting to settle there, once everything was over."

Kento glanced at you, his gaze thoughtful and tender. "Well, now that I’m officially done with Jujutsu… I think it’s time." He looked away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. "I’ve always dreamed of living somewhere quieter, where we can have a little peace. No more exorcisms, no more danger." He paused, his eyes meeting yours again. "What do you think?"

The mere thought of a life far from the chaos of Tokyo made your heart ache with hope. "I think it's perfect. A fresh start, just the two of us." you replied softly, your hand finding his. “And I can work from there. My job isn’t going to be a problem, my love.”

Kento squeezed your hand gently, his expression one of contentment. "You’ve been by my side through everything. Now, I want us to live for ourselves. To finally have that peace we both deserve."

A few weeks later, after countless preparations and farewells, the two of you found yourselves on a flight to Kuantan, Malaysia. As the plane descended, the sight of lush greenery, the vast ocean, and the golden sun made you both smile. It felt like the promise of a new beginning.

Once settled in a small, cozy house near the beach, Kento seemed more at ease than you had seen him in years. His once-tense shoulders were relaxed, and his usual seriousness was softened by the tranquility of your new surroundings. You spent your days walking along the shoreline, enjoying the warm breeze, and talking about everything and nothing.

One evening, as you watched the sunset together from your porch, Kento spoke, his voice filled with a sense of finality and peace.

"I didn’t think I’d live long enough to retire from all of this." he admitted, the hint of a smile on his lips. "But being here with you… it feels like we’ve made it."

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. "We did." you whispered. "And now, we can live the life we always dreamed of."

Kento’s arm wrapped around you, pulling you close. "I couldn’t have done any of this without you, sweetheart." he said quietly. "Thank you… for staying."

You closed your eyes, the sound of the waves crashing softly in the distance. "There’s nowhere else I’d rather be."

EVERYTHING WAS PERFECT LIKE THIS. The days in Kuantan unfold with a rhythm that feels almost surreal after all that you have been throughMornings begin with the soft call of birds and the gentle hum of the ocean, a sound that soothes the remnants of tension in both of you.

You often wake up before the sun rises, taking comfort in the sight of Kento beside you—his expression unguarded, his brow no longer furrowed in worry. The air is warm, yet fresh, carrying the scent of the sea into your room.

The two of you have created a ritual of watching the sunrise together. Wrapped in a light blanket, you step out onto the balcony, where the sky slowly transforms from deep indigo to a golden hue.

The sight of it never fails to bring a sense of calm, especially as Kento stands beside you, his arm slipping easily around your waist. There’s something about the quiet mornings that feel intimate, as though you’re the only two people in the world, basking in a new life that finally feels your own.

Breakfasts are leisurely affairs, often consisting of fresh tropical fruits and steaming cups of coffee. Nanami has taken to savoring the local flavors with surprising enthusiasm, showing a side of him you hadn’t seen before—one of curiosity and delight in the simple pleasures of life. He’s no longer the man burdened by duty, but someone who has learned to slow down, to breathe.

After breakfast, the two of you wander into town, where the locals have already come to recognize Nanami’s stoic figure and your frequent visits to the markets. Kuantan's streets are bustling, but in a way that’s gentle and inviting, not overwhelming.

The sea breeze follows you wherever you go, and the chatter of vendors becomes a comforting background noise. You notice how Nanami’s posture is relaxed, his eyes softer as he greets familiar faces or stops to buy ingredients for lunch.

He’s taken up cooking more often, and you enjoy watching him experiment in the kitchen with local recipes, his focus now on perfecting the blend of spices rather than wielding his cursed energy.

One afternoon, while you’re walking through a hidden path surrounded by lush greenery, Nanami suddenly stops. You look up at him, sensing he has something on his mind. His hand slides into yours, firm but gentle, a touch that speaks volumes of the man he is now—steady, grounded, and deeply content.

“I didn’t think I could ever feel this way, sweetheart.” he says, voice low but clear in the quiet of the jungle trail. “There was a time I thought peace was a luxury I’d never have.”

You squeeze his hand, knowing exactly what he means. The life you’ve built here is worlds apart from the chaos and danger you once faced together, but it's the very contrast that makes it so meaningful.

In the afternoons, you often visit the beaches. Teluk Cempedak has become your favorite spot—a place where the white sand meets crystal-clear water, and the two of you can walk for hours without encountering a soul.

Sometimes you swim in the sea, the cool water refreshing against your skin as Kento watches you with a fondness that never fades. His laughter, rare but heartfelt, comes more easily now, especially when you tease him about letting go of his suit in favor of the casual attire of your new coastal life.

It’s in these quiet, intimate moments that you notice the little changes in him. His guard is down, his movements less calculated and more relaxed. He no longer feels the weight of being a sorcerer, of having to constantly protect or fight. Instead, he’s allowed himself to simply be—Nanami Kento, a man enjoying the peace of a life he’s long deserved.

Evenings are your favorite part of the day. You sit on your veranda, facing the open expanse of the sea as the sun sets, casting brilliant hues of orange and pink across the sky. Nanami often sits beside you, a book in hand, though he rarely gets far in his reading. He’s more focused on the sound of your voice as you talk about your day, or simply enjoying the stillness that surrounds you both. Sometimes, when the mood strikes, you’ll put on soft music, and the two of you will dance slowly in the fading light, your bodies swaying in perfect harmony to a rhythm only you can hear.

One night, as you lie together in the gentle darkness, the sound of waves crashing in the distance, Nanami turns to you with a question of his own. “Did you ever think we’d make it here?”

You’re silent for a moment, reflecting on the years that led to this—of all the pain, the battles, the near misses, and the impossible choices. But now, with his arm draped across your waist and his steady breathing beside you, the answer feels simple.

“I always hoped we would, my love.” you whisper, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “It was always a dream, to just go away and be happy together. Being together was always enough. Life exists to be lived when I have you, you know?”

Kento’s lips curl into the faintest of smiles as he pulls you closer. “I know. I feel the same way.”

And as you drift off to sleep, lulled by the sound of the sea and the warmth of Nanami beside you, you know that this peace—this life—was worth every struggle. Here, in Kuantan, you’ve finally found your sanctuary, a place where you and Nanami can truly be free.

The following weeks in Kuantan seem to melt together in a peaceful haze, each day blending into the next in a rhythm you’ve both come to cherish. The routines you’ve settled into feel like second nature now, but they never lose their charm.

Every shared meal, every walk along the beach, every quiet evening under the stars feels like a gift—a stark contrast to the fast-paced, dangerous life Nanami Kento had once lived.

You decide to explore your new home a little deeper as time passes by. Kuantan has more to offer than its beaches, and as much as you love the ocean, there’s something exciting about venturing further into the local culture.

You both find yourselves at the Sungai Lembing Mines, a historical site nestled amidst lush greenery. The air is cooler here, the dense forest canopy providing shade as you explore the remains of the old mining town. Kento, ever the thoughtful observer, takes in the details of the place with quiet interest.

As you walk through the narrow tunnels, dimly lit by soft lights, Kento surprises you by taking your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. You glance at him, his face calm but focused as he guides you through the mine. The place seems to bring out a reflective mood in him.

“I used to think life was about surviving, you know? To come home to you.” he says, his voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space. “I never imagined I’d find a place where I could live—really live. Free from everything, from the pain.”

You smile at his words, understanding the weight behind them. For so long, both of you had lived on the edge, where peace seemed like a distant dream. But now, in this quiet corner of the world, you’ve found a way to truly live, just as he said.

“I’m glad we found it together, my love.” you reply, squeezing his hand gently.

Kento looks at you, his eyes softening with affection. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Later that afternoon, you visit the bustling Pasar Besar, the central market in Kuantan. The vibrant array of fruits, vegetables, spices, and street food is overwhelming in the best way.

You laugh as Kento samples unfamiliar snacks, his face betraying a rare look of surprise when something unexpected hits his palate. It’s moments like this—his subtle humor, the small ways he lets his guard down—that make you fall in love with him all over again.

You spot a stall selling batik cloth and decide to browse through the colorful fabrics. The intricate designs catch your eye, and soon enough, you’re holding up pieces, wondering which would look best as a gift. Nanami, standing beside you with his arms crossed, watches with quiet amusement as you deliberate over the choices.

“You’ll make the right decision, sweetie.” he says, his tone teasing but warm. “You always do.”

“I know I do.” You mumble back to him. “But what if I can’t decide?”

“Then buy as many as you want, sweetie. I’ll pay for it.” He grinned at you, kissing your forehead as you pouted at him. “Go on. Get as much as you like.”

Back at your home by the sea, the evenings continue to be your sanctuary. Tonight, the sky is clear, and the stars are brighter than ever. Kento is in the kitchen, cooking up one of the local dishes he’s learned to perfect—a spicy sambal to go with freshly grilled fish.

You sit at the table, watching him move around the small space with the same precision and care he once applied to missions and battles. There’s something comforting about seeing him this way, so at ease in the simple task of preparing a meal.

When he’s done, the two of you sit on the veranda, plates in hand, enjoying the quiet symphony of the night. The ocean breeze drifts through the air, and the sound of the waves creates a steady, calming backdrop to your meal.

Kento sits across from you, and though his expression remains composed, there’s a softness in his gaze as he looks at you—one that speaks of contentment, of having finally found his place.

As the night deepens, you both remain outside, not wanting to leave the serenity of the moment. The conversation flows easily, dipping into memories of the past but always returning to the present. You talk about everything and nothing—the little details of your day, plans for tomorrow, and the quiet joy of simply being together.

At one point, you catch Kento standing on the porch, gazing out at the sea. The moonlight shimmered across the water’s surface, casting a silver glow that matched the contemplative look in his eyes. You quietly approached, leaning against the railing beside him, sensing he was lost in thought. His profile was softened by the pale light, yet his expression held a depth of reflection you hadn’t seen in a long time.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The sound of the waves rolling in gently filled the space between you, creating a calm, soothing rhythm. Finally, Kento broke the silence.

“You know, sweetie...” he began softly, his voice low and distant, as though he was speaking more to the sea than to you. “There was a time I didn’t think I’d ever end up living this life with you."

You turned to him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. He continued, still looking out at the endless horizon. "I mean, we had a lovely life in Tokyo. But I wasn’t sure I’d survive long enough to have this—to have you and well... this peace."

There was a long pause as he struggled to find the right words, his hand tightening slightly on the railing. "I thought I didn’t deserve it, you know?" he admitted, his voice barely a whisper now. "Especially with all the things I’ve done… the lives I’ve seen lost." He exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumping under the weight of memories you knew he still carried.

You stepped closer, gently slipping your hand into his. His grip was warm, yet tentative, like he was grounding himself in this moment. You feel a lump form in your throat at his honesty. Your beloved Kento has always been pragmatic, a man who understood the brutal realities of the world, and hearing him speak of those doubts only makes the peace you’ve found more precious.

"And I... I still feel guilty," he continued, his voice thick with emotion. "Letting the kids do what I should be doing as an adult, as the one who’s been through it all. It feels like I abandoned them, like I took the easy way out by choosing this life with you."

The rawness in his confession made your heart ache. You squeezed his hand, feeling the depth of his inner turmoil. "Kento, my love….." you began softly, kissing his hand. "You didn’t abandon anyone. You’ve given so much of yourself to that world... to those kids. No one deserves peace more than you."

He turned to face you then, his eyes reflecting not only the moonlight but also the deep well of emotions he kept hidden. "But how do I live with this peace,sweetie?" he asked quietly. "How do I do it when I know others are still out there, fighting?"

You looked at him for a long moment, choosing your words carefully. "Because you’ve earned it, Kento. You’ve given your life, your time, your energy to protect others. Now, it’s time for you to live. And the kids... they look up to you, not because you’re out there fighting, but because of the wisdom you’ve shared. They’ll carry that with them. They will go on and be stronger because of what you taught them. Okay?”

He fell silent again, but this time, there was less tension in his posture. The guilt and doubt, though still present, seemed to soften in the wake of your words. He sighed deeply, a breath that felt like the release of a burden he'd been carrying for far too long.

"You’re right." he murmured, almost to himself. "I just need to let go." His gaze returned to the horizon, but this time, there was a quiet acceptance in his eyes.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, the two of you standing there in the quiet night, the sound of the sea a constant, gentle reminder that you were here, together. In that moment, you both found peace—not in the absence of guilt or regret, but in the choice to live for the present, for each other.

"I’m just glad you’re here, my love." you whispered, your voice barely audible against the sound of the waves.

Kento turned his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "I’m glad I’m here too." he replied, his voice full of quiet gratitude.

“You’ve done all you could, my love.” you say softly, reaching across the table to take his hand. “Take your rest. Enjoy the fruits of your labor. Live, okay?”

Kento looks at you, his gaze filled with a tenderness that takes your breath away. “Together.”

Your lips echo the happiest smile you could ever give him. “Together.”

The night stretches on, and as you both sit in the comforting silence, hand in hand, you realize that these quiet, intimate moments are the culmination of everything you’ve been through. You made it. You were here at the finish line.

And here, in Kuantan, you’ve found a home not just in the place, but in each other. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the future seems bright, filled with the promise of many more peaceful nights like this one, together.

THE SUNSETS WERE ONE TO LOOK FORWARD TO. Everything about it was ever so breathtaking. You both couldn't understand what beauty was until you both saw the sunset for the first time. Somehow, the world had only come to make sense when you saw Kuantan's wonderous sunset for the first time.

The beach is bathed in the soft hues of the setting sun, the sky awash with shades of pink, orange, and purple. The gentle sound of the waves crashing against the shore forms a soothing backdrop, but it’s the heat building between you and Kento that holds your attention. The sand beneath your skin feels cool, a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from his body as he hovers over you, his presence grounding yet electrifying.

His lips find your inner thigh first, a featherlight kiss that sends a ripple of anticipation through you. His breath is warm against your skin, and with every slow, deliberate movement, Kento teases you, heightening the tension that has been simmering all evening. His large hands caress your hips, his touch gentle yet firm, as if reminding you that you’re completely his in this moment.

He hums lowly, the vibrations of his voice traveling through you, sending shivers down your spine. His lips finally move to your womanhood, his touch both reverent and commanding.

You gasp softly, your fingers curling into the sand as his tongue brushes against your most sensitive spot, teasingly slow, savoring every reaction you give him. Each flick of his tongue, every press of his lips, is intentional, calculated to drive you wild.

The soft crashing of the waves matches the rhythm of his movements—slow, steady, and completely overwhelming. You feel your body respond to him in a way only he could elicit, the pleasure building slowly, winding tighter with each stroke of his tongue. He groans against you, the sound deep and satisfied, as if relishing the way your body reacts to him.

Your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping your lips as he pulls you deeper into this intimate dance. His pace remains patient, never rushing, drawing out every second of pleasure as if time itself has slowed down for just the two of you. He knows exactly how to work your body, how to make you feel cherished and consumed all at once.

“Kento…” you whisper, your voice trembling, but all you can hear is his deep hum of approval, his lips never leaving you, his focus entirely on your pleasure.

The intensity of the moment swells with the colors of the sunset around you, the world narrowing down to just him and the sensation of his mouth on you, guiding you toward the brink of bliss.

Nanami’s mouth moves with a calculated intensity, each flick of his tongue deliberate and unhurried, savoring every reaction. His grip on your hips tightens slightly, holding you in place as your body instinctively tries to shift from the overwhelming pleasure building inside you. The sun sinks lower, casting golden light across your skin, but you barely notice anything beyond the sensations Kento is pulling from you.

Your fingers twist into the sand, grasping for something solid as waves of pleasure roll through you. His tongue circles your sensitive nub, the rhythm maddeningly slow, before he pulls back, teasing you with a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. His breath is hot, mingling with the cool ocean breeze, sending a shiver down your spine.

He hums again, the low sound reverberating through your core as he returns his attention to your aching center. His tongue presses against you, swirling, as his fingers trace soft patterns over your thighs. The contrast of his teasing pace with the tight coil of need inside you is almost too much to bear.

"Patience, sweetie, hm?" he murmurs between movements, his voice low and teasing, the same words he used earlier still dripping with that calm authority that only Kento carries. Your body responds to him instinctively, hips bucking ever so slightly toward his mouth, seeking more of him, needing more.

“Kento… please, my love.” you moan, your voice barely audible, but full of raw desire. He smirks against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you’ve surrendered to him completely.

Instead of responding with words, he increases his pace just enough to push you closer to the edge. His tongue moves with a newfound fervor, flicking over your clit with just the right amount of pressure, drawing another soft moan from your lips. The sensation builds, the pleasure tightening low in your belly, curling and winding like a spring ready to snap.

Kento’s grip on your hips grows firmer, holding you steady as your body begins to tremble beneath him. You feel his fingers digging into your skin, grounding you as you teeter on the brink of release. His mouth works you with relentless precision, his movements growing more intense, more focused.

Your breathing becomes shallow, your heart racing as the tension inside you builds, each flick of his tongue sending you closer to the edge. The cool night air mixes with the heat radiating from your body, and with one final, perfect stroke of his tongue, the dam breaks.

A wave of pleasure crashes over you, your back arching as your release floods through you. You cry out his name, your fingers grasping at the sand as your body shakes with the force of your orgasm. Kento stays with you, his tongue moving slowly, gently, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re left breathless and trembling beneath him.

He finally pulls away, his lips brushing your thigh one last time before he crawls up beside you, wrapping you in his strong arms. His breath is steady, calm, a stark contrast to the wild thrum of your heartbeat as you come down from your high.

The two of you lie there in the soft glow of the fading sunset, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your release. Nanami presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your arm.

"You’re incredible, sweetie." he whispers, his voice full of admiration as he holds you close, the sound of the waves lulling you into a state of perfect contentment.

Kento’s strong arms around you feel like the safest place in the world as you lie there, his warmth radiating against your skin, contrasting with the cool breeze of the beach. The remnants of your release still pulse through your body, leaving you relaxed and utterly content, the sound of the waves adding to the peaceful rhythm of the moment.

He pulls you closer, resting his chin on top of your head, his fingers still tracing soft patterns along your arm. There's a quiet satisfaction in the way he holds you, as if he’s savoring the moment just as much as you are. The sun has dipped fully below the horizon now, and the sky is painted with deep purples and blues, the stars beginning to peek through the night’s curtain.

You shift slightly in his arms, tilting your head to look up at him. His eyes are soft, reflecting the dim light of the fading day, and there's a small, content smile tugging at the corners of his lips. In the stillness of the night, you can see the depth of his emotions in the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing that matters to him at this moment.

“Kento…” you whisper, your voice soft, still breathless from the intensity of what just happened. There’s something unspoken in the air between you, something deeper than just desire.

He tilts his head down, brushing his lips gently against yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender, filled with the love and care he always shows you. It’s a stark contrast to the raw intensity of just moments ago, but it feels just as intimate, just as consuming.

“I love you, sweetheart.” he murmurs against your lips, his voice deep and full of warmth. “More than I could ever put into words.”

You feel your heart swell at his words, the sincerity in his tone making your chest tighten with emotion. It’s moments like this that remind you just how deeply you’ve fallen for him—his strength, his patience, the way he always knows exactly how to make you feel cherished.

“I love you too, Kento. More than you know.” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. You nuzzle closer to him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek as you rest your head on his chest. His hand comes up to gently stroke your hair, his touch soothing as you lie together in the quiet.

“Fuck me, my love. Please.” you whisper breathlessly, your voice laced with need. “Need you, Kento.”

The playful edge in your tone catches him off guard, and a smirk dances on his lips. He raises an eyebrow, looking down at you with a mix of amusement and desire, his eyes glinting in the soft moonlight.

“Is that so?” he replies, a teasing lilt in his voice. “After everything we just did?”

You nod, biting your lip, feeling that familiar heat pooling in your belly again. The way he gazes at you ignites that fire within, the hunger mirrored in his own expression. There’s a magnetic pull between you, a need that feels insatiable.

With a low chuckle, Kento shifts, moving to hover over you once more, the cool sand beneath you feeling inviting as the warmth of his body envelops you. The playful teasing in his eyes remains, but there’s also a seriousness in the way he leans closer, his breath mingling with yours.

“How wanton. My precious sweetheart is wanton.” he murmurs, echoing his earlier words but with a different tone. He’s still in control, yet you can sense the excitement building in him as well. He brushes his lips against yours, a soft yet electrifying connection, before trailing kisses down your neck, each one igniting your skin.

Your body responds instinctively, arching into him, craving more of that sweet friction. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, your pulse quickening as he teases you, his hands exploring every inch of you, igniting every nerve ending.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” he whispers, his voice low and gravelly, a hint of challenge lacing his words. The intensity in his gaze makes your heart race, the way he watches you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

You meet his eyes, determination swirling on your own. “I want you, Kento. Now.”

With that, he smiles, a wicked gleam in his eye, and his hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer. The anticipation hangs in the air, thick and intoxicating, as you both lose yourselves in this moment, ready to explore the depths of your desires once again under the fading light of the sunset.

Kento’s own gaze darkens with desire, but a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Patience, my dear sweetheart. I told you before." he murmurs, his tone low and teasing. His fingers move with deliberate slowness as he lowers his shorts, pulling down just enough for his thick, veiny cock to spring free. The sight of him makes your heart race.

He doesn't rush. Instead, he takes his time, rubbing his cock between your wet, needy folds, coating himself with your arousal. The sensation is maddening, and every time he slips his cock in just a little before pulling back out, you whine with frustration. You’re desperate for more, for him to fill you.

"You drive me crazy, sweetie." he growls, his large hands gripping your hips firmly. In one smooth motion, he pushes himself inside you, stretching you out in a way that feels so deliciously overwhelming. You gasp, your back arching off the sand as his cock fills you to the brim. He’s big, so big that even just the tip feels like it’s splitting you open.

"So big, Kento,oh—" you moan, your fingers digging into the sand as your body adjusts to the feeling of him buried so deep inside you. His groan rumbles through the air, the sensation of your walls gripping him tightly nearly sending him over the edge.

His hips press forward, and you feel the bulge in your tummy as he nestles himself even deeper into you. His thrusts are slow, controlled, and purposeful, driving you wild with the sweet agony of wanting more.

"You're squeezing me so tight, sweetheart." he grits out, his voice strained as he struggles to maintain his composure. “Too tight.”

Your husband’s slow pace remains deliberate, each slow thrust making you feel every inch of him as he stretches you so fully, so deeply. His hands grip your hips tighter, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you against him, forcing you to take him completely. The sensation is overwhelming—his thick cock filling you, stretching your walls in a way that makes it hard to think of anything but him.

Your moans mix with the sound of the crashing waves, and the setting sun casts a warm glow over both of you, illuminating the scene in a soft, golden light. The contrast between the cool breeze on your heated skin and the fiery pleasure building inside you sends shivers down your spine.

“My love, please. Please….Oh, oh….” you beg, your voice barely a whisper, strained with the need for more. You can feel him twitching inside you, his control faltering slightly as your tightness drives him closer to the edge.

“Let me work you up, a little, hm? Patience, sweetie.” he rasps again, though the way his breathing grows more ragged tells you he’s not far from losing it himself. His cock glides in and out of you with a torturous rhythm, teasing you, keeping you right on the precipice without giving you the release you crave.

Desperate, you rock your hips against him, trying to take more, trying to force him deeper. The movement earns a low groan from him, and suddenly, his grip tightens, his control slipping as he slams into you harder, burying himself completely.

Your body arches beneath him, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as the intense pressure of him filling you sends waves of pleasure radiating through your entire body. His pace quickens, the lazy tease of his earlier movements replaced with the primal need to claim you, to make you feel nothing but him.

“Fuck, sweetie.” he growls, his voice deep and rough with lust. “You’re taking me so well—so tight, so fucking perfect. My little wife. Mine, mine. Only mine.” He thrusts into you harder, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, hitting spots that make your vision blur.

Your hands grasp at the sand for stability, but it does nothing to ground you as pleasure builds inside you, coiling tight in your core. “Kento, I can’t—” You can barely get the words out, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “You can, sweetheart. You’re mine. Let go.”

His words, his voice, the feeling of his cock driving deeper and deeper—everything hits you all at once. With a cry, you fall apart beneath him, your body trembling as waves of ecstasy crash over you. Your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper as your orgasm takes over, leaving you breathless and shaking.

Kento groans, the tightness of your release pushing him to the brink. His thrusts grow erratic, his grip on your hips bruising as he chases his own release. With one final, deep thrust, he spills inside you, filling you completely as his body tenses and shudders against yours.

For a moment, the world stands still—the only sounds are the soft crash of waves and your labored breathing. Kento slowly pulls out of you, his cock still throbbing as he collapses beside you on the sand, pulling you into his arms.

The sun dips below the horizon, casting the last of its golden light over the two of you. Wrapped in his embrace, with the warmth of his body still lingering between your legs, you close your eyes, content in the quiet aftermath.

“I love you, Kento. So much. More than you know. ” you whisper, your voice barely audible above the ocean breeze.

He presses a kiss to your temple, his voice soft and tender. “I love you too, sweetheart. But I love you more.”

You laugh softly. “I won’t win against you, aren’t I?”

Kento smiled back, leaning forward to kiss you. “Hm, no. I love you too much, sweetheart. I think I’m willing to fight for the title.”

“Hm….then I will too.” You kiss his jaw, grinning at him.

He laughs. “We’ll see, sweetheart.”

317 notes · View notes

vampyreelf · 2 years ago

Text

I'm Gonna Kill You

A/N: My first time posting a fic in this brand new side blog, if you enjoy it, please consider reblogging it and if you want more you can follow me.

Summary: Randy is your best friend in the entire world, Billy doesn't enjoy the power he has over you and decides to do something about it.

Billy Loomis x Reader

Warnings: toxicity all around, a splash of daddy kink, filming without consent, a little bit of degradation, death (I mean it's Scream) but nothing gory, let me know if I missed anything else.

Want me to make a Tag List? Here!

GIF by @coppoladelrey.

You and Randy were born on the same day, your mothers went to High School together so the two of you were bound to become best friends. Your friendship with Randy is great, the two of you spend most of the time together and you barely ever fought. There is one massive problem in your life and you weren’t even aware of, Randy loves you, he loved you since you stood up for him in kindergarten but you were obvious to his love, Randy was happy to be just your friend but that doesn’t mean he would allow you to have a love life.

You trust Randy with your life, if he says that someone is not good for you, you listen no questions asked. Randy takes full advantage of the power he has on your life, a sick power

play that you weren’t even aware of. If pressed on the issue, Randy would swear up and down that it is for your own good, but he knows the truth, he’s too scared to admit his true feelings but more than happy to cock block you without you being aware.

Being a virgin was one of your main concerns in your otherwise uneventful life, you had Randy as your best friend and a few acquiescences mainly Sidney, Tatum, Stu and Billy. You loved hanging out with them even if you weren’t as close, Stu made you laugh to the point of almost peeing your pants, Sidney and Tatum were extremely and the three of you went shopping at least once a fortnight. The only person you didn't spend time with was Billy, not because you didn't like him, quite the contrary he simply intimidated you too much to allow you to exchange pleasantries with him, his piercing chocolate brown eyes made you all warm and tingly inside.

You never said anything to Sid and Tatum because Sid and Billy used to be a couple in Elementary School and Tatum was her best friend, Stu was too much of a jokester to take anything seriously and he would run to Billy and the two of them would probably laugh, not because they were cruel but simply because Stu would never take this seriously. Then there was Randy, the only person that knew everything about your life except this major crush on Billy Loomis but life goes on.

Casey Becker and her boyfriend were murdered and the whole town was on edge, and Randy was going on and on about horror films and you thought it was in poor taste, this isn’t a film! People are dead! So you gave him the bullshit excuse of getting your period and you basically qucicked him out of your house.

You decided to go to a coffee shop and just be alone for a change, you said hi to the barista gave her your order and after getting your drink you were sitting down by the window. You weren’t thinking about anything in particular but Billy Loomis came to the forefront of your mind, as he usually does. His eyes, his lips, his hair. As if it was on queue, Stu Macher spots you from across the road and ran towards the coffee shop.

“Stu, how are you?” You smiled seeing him, maybe that meant Billy was nearby? Stu didn't miss your eyes wondering, looking for Billy.

“I’m good, you know? Hey, would you like to hang out? Tatum is busy right now and you’re super cool, so…” Before you could he was getting your bag and helping you get up, you simply laughed and followed him, you truly enjoyed his company.

You’ve to Stu’s house a couple of times but only with Randy, maybe this was a good opportunity to actually be friends with Stu. He opened the door for you and allowed you to get in, he was helping you remove your jumper when you heard Billy’s voice.

“Where the fuck were you? Did you bring the…” Billy stopped in his tracks when he finally saw you, and Stu couldn’t stop grinning. Billy wanted to get alone with you for ages but Randy was always there, Stu really did him a solid.

“Oh man, I totally forgot I ran into her and totally slipped my mind. I’ll be right back, you don’t mind being here with Billy, right?” You looked at Billy who was already looking at you and you looked down and shook your head. “Okay, bye.” And just like that Stu was out of the house.

You still kept your gaze down, playing with your shirt. It was so hard to keep eye contact with Billy Loomis.

“Hey, we can watch something on the TV.” You simply followed Billy but still keeping your gaze down, Billy thought you were the hottest girl at school and now he has you all to himself, he really needed to thank Stu later. The two of you sat down and Billy decided to break the silence. “You don’t like me very much, do you doll?” You finally looked at him with a frown on your face and Billy was smirking. “There she is.” He whispered with a hint of a smile on his face, his thumb went to your chin and goosebumps rose all over your body, Billy wasn’t blind to the effect he had on you.

Billy wanted you since the two of you were freshmen, but Randy was always hanging around you like a leach, in Billy’s eyes. He wanted to kill Randy as his and Stu’s first victim but Billy wanted Randy to suffer after hearing the two of you talking. Randy let it slip rather loudly that you and him were still virgins and Billy thought Christmas came early. He wanted you for the longest time and finding out he was going to be the first man in your life, to touch you, to make you cum? His cock got incredibly hard just thinking about you moaning underneath him, riding him and eating you out like you were his last meal.

“I like you, Billy…it’s just that…” You took a deep breath, how could you explain your predicament?

“You don’t want to hurt Randy’s feelings?” Billy almost believed his own tone, it felt so sincere and honest, he almost wanted to laugh at the relief on your face.

“Yes, we’re not dating or anything.” You wanted especify, and Billy smiled. “But he’s my best friend, literally since day one. And I have no idea why he doesn’t like you very much.” You started playing with your nails and Billy raised your chin to look in your eyes, his piercing gaze was giving you burtterfiles in your stomach.

“We can take this slow, yeah? I want to do this right and take you out for dates and you be my girl, yeah?” Billy looked at you expectantly, and you nodded biting your lip. After that, he kissed you. He couldn’t believe that he finally got the girl of his dreams.

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

It has been months since you and Billy started dating, and you couldn’t be happier even with the killings getting progressively worse. You had Billy to protect you, so things weren’t as scary. The only problem was Randy, he comes to your house unannounced and Billy has to hide and it’s always when the two of are about to fuck, it seemed that Randy had this radar to find out when you were about to lose your virginity and it was driving you and Billy insane. You were more than ready for this and Billy had major blue balls for months.

The two of you were now at school, talking in the hallway. Billy wanted nothing more than to take you to the nearest bathroom and fuck you in the stall but he knew that you deserved much better than a quick and cheap fuck, you were his dream girl.

“I asked my parents for the lake house this weekend and they allowed. I can pick you up right after school, is that okay?” You nodded and smiled, you couldn’t believe how romantic and thoughtful your boyfriend was. The two of you were very good in not having PDA at school but you were so excited that you kissed him and Billy was more than happy to oblige.

His hands went to your waist and yours went straight to his hair, Billy’s hnads were about to land on your ass when the two of you heard his voice.

“Unbelievable.” Randy yelled and you stopped kissing Billy, you had a guilty look on your face but Billy was angry. “You’re with him? Mr. I am clearly a serial killer.” Billy was about to beat Randy up when you stopped him.

“Look, Randy. I am so sorry for not telling you before but saying this shit about Billy is not cool. If you can’t accept him, don’t talk to me again.” You grabbed Billy’s hand and walked away while Billy had the biggest grin on his face. Once the two of you were outside, he hugged you.

“Are you alright? I know how important Randy is to you, I don’t want to get in the middle of your friendship.” Billy was selling this so well, and you just smiled and shook your head.

“You’re the best boyfriend ever! And no, don’t ever say that, Randy will come around eventually. I don’t want this to stop our little getaway.” You were going to handle Randy later after you spent time with your boyfriend.

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

Billy’s car stopped right in front of the house, it was so pretty and quiet you loved it. Billy took both of your suitcases and guided you to the front of the house. The door was opened and everything inside was very rustic, it was perfect and apparently Billy’s parents had people come and clean in preparation of your stay there, they were always so thoughtful. Billy put your suitcases on the floor and looked at you.

“So, do you want a tour of the house?” He smiled at you.

“Start with the bedroom.” You jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist and Billy did exactly that.

He opened the door and dropped you on the bed, even though you were a virgin Billy could tell that you liked it rough. Every bite that was a little too rough, you had to stop yourself from moaning and rubbing your thighs together, every whispered ‘good girl’ on your ear made you sigh and bite your lip and one small ‘my little slut’ made you moan.

“I’m gonna fuck you right now, baby. Is that what you want? I wanna hear you beg.” Billy started kissing your neck and biting it and nodded your head fervently. You wondered if people could die of horniness for a second. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want from me?” Billy was taking off his shirt and still kissing you.

“I want you to fuck me, daddy.” You put your hand over your mouth, he wasn’t supposed to know but Billy had the biggest grin on his face.

“Yeah? You want daddy to destroy your little pussy even though is your first time? Is that what you want?” Billy finally started removing your clothes, leaving you in just your bra and panties.

“Please, daddy. Fuck me, I need it please.” You didn't care about sounding needy, Billy was your boyfriend and you loved him and he loved you.

Billy’s cock was so hard and you could see how big it was even through his underwear, your mouth was watering at the sight.

“Does my needy little slut wants me to fuck her throat?” Billy removed his underwear and you could see his cock leaking with pre cum, it has been so long since he fucked anyone.

“Yes, please daddy.” You got on your knees and looked at him with the biggest innocent eyes he has ever seen, fuck Billy could cum right now just by looking at you.

“Open your mouth, baby.” You did exactly that, you licked the head of his cock tasting his pre cum and you slowly started to take him in your mouth. Billy was very patient and you took his cock so well, Billy out his head back and groaned loudly. He also made sure that the camera was at the right angle.

Billy’s hands went to your hair, you were hollowing your cheeks and also playing with his balls. He held your head in place and started to fuck your throat, the noises you were making were pornographic and Billy loved every second of it.

“Oh, fuck I’m gonna cum.” Billy removed his hands from your head but you kept sucking his cock. “Fuck, baby.” Billy came, thick ropes of cum down your throat and you swallowed it all. You were still on your knees and you opened your mouth you to show Billy that you swallowed it all. “Fuck, how did I get so lucky?” He helped you get up and kissed you passionately, he finally removed your bra and took one nipple in his mouth, now it was your turn to get your hands on his hair, Billy carefully laid you on the bed and removed your panties.

Billy opened your legs started sucking on your clit, he was relentless and again your handd went to his hair. You were moaning and panting, the feeling of his hot, wet tongue on your pussy is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Billy was enjoying very much seeing you fall apart with only his tongue.

Your moans started getting louder, and the grip on his hair got stronger. Billy’s tongue was working faster to bring your orgasm quicker, he also inserted a finger to slowly start stretching you out. He was was observing all of your reactions, how your legs were shaking and how your moans were louder by him finger fucking you.

“Billy, I think I’m gonna…” You knew your body very well, but this was different.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me, cum all over my face.” Billy sped up his ministrations on your clit and you pulled his hair and you came hard, your eyes were shut and pleasure that you never felt before ran all over your body. When you finally came to it, you felt under the bed wet, quite wet. When you looked over, you started panicking.

“Oh my God, Billy I’m so sorry. I have no idea why this happened?” Billy shushed you and kissed your forehead.

“No, baby. You just squirted and it was hot as fuck.” He kissed you and he laid on the bed again.

Billy pinched your nipples and you moaned into his mouth, his hands were all over your body and vice versa. Billy was about to burst, he was painfully hard again and he couldn’t wait to fuck you.

“Are you ready, baby?” Billy put his hand on your cheek and his eyes were looking into yours and you’ve never felt more connected with him before.

“More than ever, Billy.”

“Okay, I’ll go slow. Let me know if it hurts, alright?” You nodded and Billy positioned his cock at your entrance, he was looking at it then at you.

You felt his thick and veiny cock on your pussy, Billy had to contain himself and not cum at that second. Your velvety walls milking him, Billy was groaning and moaning in your ear, inch by inch his cock was entering you. Billy was fully inside you now and stopped to compose himself, your pussy felt like heaven to him. You on the other hand was almost passing out from the overwhelming pleasure his cock was giving you and you wanted, no, needed more.

“Please move, Billy.” He obliged and started moving slowly, the last thing he wanted was to hirt you. He found a comfortable pace for him and you. “Harder, please.” You wrapped your legs around his waist and with that all of his self control was gone.

Billy started punding into your pussy with reckless abandon, your nails digging on his back the noises coming from felt like you were in a porno.

“Do you like that, baby? Is that what you wanted my dirty little slut, huh?” His filthy words were driving you insane. You started clenching around him and Billy started laughing condescendly. “You like that, huh? You like being my little slut?” You only nodded, the pleasure wouldn’t allow you to speak, the noises were louder and louder. “Are you cock drunk already, baby? You can’t even speak right, can you? I want you to cum on my cock, baby.” Billy’s thumb went to your clit and started making hard and small circles, he wanted to see you falling apart.

“Billy, I’m gonna…” You didn't finish your sentence, and you came on his cock and Billy helped you ride out your orgasm. Billy started chasing his own orgasm, you were sensitive but the line between pleasure and pain were blurred and that resulted in more pleasure for you.

“You’re gonna take my cum, aren’t you baby? You’re gonna let me cum deep inside your pussy, imagine if I got you pregnant?” You clenched around him and Billy laughed. “You want everyone to know that you’re my little slut? Walking around with a big belly and huge tits full of milk?” Billy stopped and came with a groan, he was breathless. He kissed you and removed his cock out of you. He laid down and pulled you over to him, he started kissing the top of your head and caressing your arm.

“Did you enjoy that?” You asked and Billy could sense the vulnerability in your voice.

“That was the best thing that ever happened to me, you were perfect baby. I love you.” He kissed your forehead and you mumbled ‘I love you too’ and you fell asleep rather quickly. After making sure you weren’t going to wake up, Billy got up and stopped recording, he couldn’t wait to put his plan into action.

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

Randy was pissed, your mom told him that you went on a trip with Billy. I mean what were your parents thinking? Allowing you to be alone with that serial killer? But you were about to come back and Randy was going to do everything in his power to break the two of you up. You never dated anyone before, you couldn’t! You belonged to Randy and he was going to make sure of that, no matter what.

Randy got in his bedroom, he found a tape that was odd he didn't recognise it. He put it in the VHS anyway, and he recognised you immediately, on your knees for Billy Loomis, Randy was about to take the tape and show it to you how Billy is gross and you should break up with him, but he got a call.

“Hello, Randy.” The modulated voice said.

“Billy, you sick fuck. I’m gonna fucking destroy you, she’ll never look at you again.” Randy was screaming, he couldn’t wait to destroy your relationship, that way you would fall for Randy and realise no one but him is good enough for you.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that Randy.” The voice was tauting him and Randy was furious.

“And why is that?” Ghostface opened his closet and was right behind Randy.

“Dead men tell no tales.” Randy turned around but only in time to be stabbed in the neck, after that Ghostface grabbed the tape and left Randy’s house.

Billy was with you when you heard that Randy was killed by Ghostface, he comforted you and said that everything was going to be okay.

“I was angry at him the last time we saw each other, I’ll never forgive myself.” Billy shused you and said that it wasn’t your fault and you couldn’t have known.

Billy held your hand through the funeral and made sure you didn't fall apart, you were so lucky to have in your life. Billy was overjoyed, he had his girlfriend all to himself and he didn't have to hide or worry about the nerd that hanging over her, everything was right in the world.

#billy loomis x reader #billy loomis x you #billy loomis x female reader #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis smut #billy loomis imagine #scream 1996 #billy loomis

1K notes · View notes

hola-didi · 29 days ago

Text

🕸️ Saints and Spiderwebs — a slow-burn Peter Parker x Reader series. Post NWH events.

Y/N has officially landed in New York City—jetlagged, starving, and already regretting everything. Luckily, her cousin shows up with balloons and zero boundaries. As Y/N settles into her new “cozy” apartment, she’s greeted by mismatched mail, questionable environment, and a surprisingly soft-eyed neighbor who’s supposed to be quiet and cryptic—but mostly just looks like he hasn’t slept since the events of the blip.

It’s her first day in motion after everything fell apart. Oh yeah, and Spider-Man has already made a special greeting.

Welcome to Queens, baby.

Prologue: Mail Mixup

Time has erased everything in my heart Every memory left by heartbreak My wings grow from the root Because I blindly believe in you

– RBD

---

You landed at JFK ten minutes early, which meant absolutely nothing.

Because those ten minutes? You spent all of them—and would undoubtedly spend more—pressing through the suffocating line to escape. It took thirty-five minutes just for your gate to open. Another fifteen to shuffle through the jet bridge like cattle, blinking under the fluorescents like you were being rounded up.

Then came the slow, buzzing shuffle through customs. The artificial chill. The TSA agent who looked at you like you’d smuggled three bricks worth of your life in your carry-on. Your suitcase came out last, obviously. The baggage carousel sputtered like it was on life support. A toddler vomited near your shoes in the rideshare queue, and no one bothered to help.

By the time you finally emerged into the terminal, the air smelled like burnt coffee, bleach, and whatever hope had been left behind by the last flight. Someone coughed behind you—deep and wet. Someone else was already shouting into their phone like the world was ending. You adjusted your hoodie, hugged your backpack to your chest, and muttered the smallest of affirmations that you’re almost out—not even full words. Just a rhythm in your throat.

You had forgotten how loud New York could be. Not the honking taxis or the man outside Terminal 4 yelling someone’s name—but the kind of loud that settled inside your chest. The kind that pulsed behind your ribs like the city was trying to rewrite your heartbeat in its own tempo. You didn’t feel ready. But then again, you hadn’t felt ready in over a year.

Estella, your cousin, had texted you something vague—“still stuck in traffic sorry ily”—so you stood there alone, hugging yourself like it might anchor you. She’d said something about an extra shift the night prior. You didn’t blame her. You didn’t blame anyone, really.

Except maybe yourself—for thinking this move would feel different once you got here.

It didn’t.

This was just for school. Maybe two years after. Long enough to collect some adult experience, maybe stop crying every time someone mentioned your life in Los Angeles like it hadn’t been carved out of you piece by piece with everything that happened. You were here because it was all you could do. You were here because going back wasn’t a real option.

You barely made it ten feet outside of arrivals when a girl bumped into your shoulder, muttered a distracted “sorry,” and kept moving. You waved her off with a tired smile, even though you weren’t sure who you were waving at.

And then you saw it.

A flyer. Slapped onto one of the terminal columns like an afterthought—cheap black-and-white ink, curling at the edges, starting to fade. A woman was missing. Not much older than twenty-seven. Pretty, with tired eyes and rose earrings you’d probably compliment if you saw her in real life. You stared longer than you should have.

Your mom used to say, “When people go missing, the world doesn’t stop. It just learns to step around the issue of the person. But it’s always a good virtue to keep an eye out. Even if it means it’s only you.”

You hadn’t understood that when you were little. You thought it was a saying about virtuous saints. Or about lost dogs. Or about watching your cousins in the grocery store.

Now you did.

You stepped back into the current of bodies—tired travelers, screaming toddlers, the scent of cheap perfumes and colognes—and let yourself be carried toward the exits, toward Queens, toward whatever version of yourself was still waiting on the other side.

You slowed near the arrivals corridor, adjusting your backpack, suddenly aware of how long you’d been standing still. Your shoulders ached from the flight. Your ankles throbbed with that dull, airplane-born stiffness. You hadn’t eaten since Denver. Even then, barely. A single bag of trail mix and a coffee that tasted like burnt paper. You didn’t feel hungry, exactly. Just…off. Like your body hadn’t caught up with where you were. Like you left something vital in the proces of coming here. You were two seconds away from shedding tired tears for no reason at all.

And then—

“THERE SHE IS!”

You flinched. A few heads turned. Then came the unmistakable thwap-thwap-thwap of balloons slapping each other into cartoon-like chaos as they bobbed above the crowd like a floating punchline. Curly hair—courtesy of being half Puerto Rican from her mother—pulled into a loose ponytail. One balloon read WELCOME HOME, another one had YOU FUCKING DID IT, which didn’t make sense in any practical way, but of course it did.

Of course she would.

Estella.

“Move! Excuse me! Family emergency! Five-year reunion coming through!” she bellowed like she had diplomatic immunity, hauling a floral tote roughly the size of a ukulele case. You stood there—half amused, half mortified—and didn’t even get a chance to brace yourself before she crashed into you in a full-body hug that knocked every molecule of air from your lungs.

It wasn’t just a hug. It was a homecoming in human form.

“I thought you’d be taller than me,” she said, pulling back and inspecting you with all the gravity of someone inspecting a priceless statue in a poorly lit museum. Then she beamed. “Nope. You’re perfect. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “And I thought you’d listen when I said no surprise gifts.”

She scoffed and handed you the balloons and a suspiciously heavy bag. Of course. Estella had always been a gift-giver, even when you didn’t want gifts—especially then. Even as kids, when she visited for holidays, she was the one handing you a glittery lip gloss or a beaded skirt from Marshalls, even if it didn’t fit. Even if you fought about it later. That was her love language: small rebellions disguised as generosity.

“What’s the point of picking up my cousin after a year of not visiting and five years of being literally blipped from existence,” she said, deadpan, like she hadn’t just punched you in the chest with that sentence.

It struck a nerve. You wished it hadn’t. You blinked it off like a contact lens out of place.

“Girl, we weren’t even aware of it until we came back,” you replied, voice too casual to be real.

Estella clicked her tongue. “Yeah, well. Time is of the essence. I’m not wasting another second. I missed you.”

She kissed your cheek and looped her arm through yours like she’d never stopped doing it, like no years had passed. Like the space between seventeen and eighteen had been a nap. You barely had time to breathe. Her perfume hit you—soft, sweet, and a powdery violet fragrance. Something citrusy underneath. It smelled like memory. You couldn’t name which one.

It should’ve made you cry. But Estella, in her typical chaos, didn’t give you the room.

“Welcome to New York, bitch!” she grinned. “Come on. I parked illegally. We’ve got, like, fifteen minutes max before the car gets towed or ticketed or hit by a bus.”

You let her steer you toward the sliding doors, half-laughing, half-floating. Something inside your chest began to unclench. Not heal. Not fix. Just…shift. Like breathing with one lung after holding your breath for too long.

Outside, New York howled. Car horns. Muffled music. The screech of tires on wet pavement. The scent of hot grease, exhaust, and possibility.

And Estella—Estella was humming “Shower” by Becky G like you weren’t standing under a slate-colored sky with half-zipped luggage and seventy pounds of uncertainty. She hoisted your bags into the trunk of a rust-colored Camry, kicked the back door shut with the heel of her boot, and climbed in like she’d been rehearsing this day in her head for years.

Perhaps, to her, this wasn’t a welcome. It was a declaration.

As the car pulled away, you glanced back through the window. The interior smelled like Amarige perfume and old coffee, warm and oriental and somehow comforting. The seatbelt clicked with that gritty resistance all old cars have—like even the mechanics were tired. The windows fogged slightly at the corners where cold air met weak heat, a halo of condensation softening the outside world.

The city moved like it was always running late. Cabs honked in aggressive harmony, sirens wailed somewhere distant, and the sky hung low and gray like a blanket of grey and blue watercolors. In the cupholders, two half-full water bottles splashed with every bump. A tiny Smiski bobblehead was glued to the dashboard, nodding with unbothered consistency like it understood the rhythm of chaos better than you ever would.

You shifted in the passenger seat, trying to find a position that didn’t make your spine throb. Queens rolled past your window—rusted stairwells, crooked scaffolding, laundry clinging to cold railings, pedestrians in heavy coats darting across intersections like they had somewhere to be at a certain time.

“So,” Estella said, flicking her turn signal even though no one in this lane gave a shit, “how’s your brother?”

You blinked out of the window’s blur. “He’s okay,” you said. “Still trying to get the shop up and running again. Business is slow, but…Diego is Diego: working hard. We both are.” She nodded, glancing at you for a second too long before returning her eyes to the road. “You two got closer after the world went to shit, huh?”

You shrugged. “It’s only the two of us now. So, yeah.”

You didn’t mention the way he’d packed your bag for you, folding each item with the quiet desperation of someone trying not to cry. You didn’t mention how long it took to save up enough to afford this flight—and how you weren’t sure if it meant freedom or abandonment. Or how you’d both pretended the hug at the airport was just a normal goodbye. All you knew was that five years vanished like a sleight-of-hand trick, and now time felt like a dare you weren’t sure you wanted to take.

You rubbed the edge of your thumb, a nervous habit you’d inherited from someone who wasn’t here anymore.

“He told me to go,” you said. “Said I deserved a restart.”

Estella smiled, but it was the soft, almost sad kind. “Considering he’s one of the only ones who didn��t fucking evaporate, I’d say that says a lot coming from him.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

She swerved into the left lane evading a brief collisison and muttered something under her breath about drivers not knowing how to merge. The Smiski bobbled like it nodded in agreement.

“What about you?” you asked, mostly to change the subject. “How’s work?”

Estella rolled her eyes in slow motion, no venom behind it whatsoever. “Same as always. Twelve-hour shifts, aching feet, and zero thank-yous. I’m on nights most of the week. Trying to squeeze in classes between rounds.”

“You’re still in school?”

“Yeah. Picked up where I left off. Almost done now. Another year and I’ll finally be an RN. Until then, I get yelled at by old men and clean things I won’t describe in polite company.”

You laughed—real, full-bodied—and Estella grinned like she’d just won a personal bet with herself. “I don’t know how you do it,” you said. “Well,” she replied with a dramatic toss of her curls, “someone has to. Besides, the patients are sweet. Most of them. And I get free pudding from the cafeteria when no one’s looking.”

The light turned yellow. Estella floored it anyway. You barely noticed. Outside, the city shifted. Queens giving way to Midtown. The buildings got taller. The shadows longer. People moved quicker, like they’d been born walking with purpose. You leaned your forehead against the window. “How’s the city been...you know. Since everything?”

Estella exhaled like she’d been waiting for someone to ask. “Worse,” she said flatly. “For a while, it felt like things were getting better. Like maybe after the Blip, the Snapback, the cleanup—maybe we’d get a second chance. But eight months later, Spider-Man got blamed for blowing up half a block and everyone lost their goddamn minds. Again.”

You turned to her. “What? Wait—what happened?”

“Girl, do you not keep up with the news?” she said, snapping her head toward you.

“There’s always something about New York popping up on media. I can’t keep up with everything,” you shrugged.

She honked aggressively at the car in front of her. “People saw him take down, what, five villains in one night? One of them launched a bus through a window. And still, half the city calls him a menace. The other half thinks it was staged. Like he planned the whole thing for PR or something. I’m exhausted just listening to people argue about it.”

“Do they know who he is yet?”

“No,” she said, eyes narrowing as she switched lanes again. “That’s the weirdest part. There’s this weird collective déjà vu going around—like people sensing they used to know who he was. Like the name and face were out there. And then, poof. Nothing. No articles. No mugshots. Not even a bad Photoshop on Reddit.”

“That’s weird,” you said.

“Right?” she leaned in, like spilling gossip. “And it’s not just my tía’s Facebook conspiracy page. My boss—two master’s degrees—swears it’s a government cover-up or some multiverse shit. One of the patients said Spider-Man’s a clone. Another said he’s secretly a Skru—OH YOU DICKHEAD!”

She leaned on the horn as a Lexus cut her off. You chuckled.

“Anyway,” she huffed, straightening in her seat. “I think he’s a hero—granted, also a part-time walking traffic violator. But what do I know? I’ve only lived here my whole life.”

You looked up just in time to see the city open up before you—Manhattan rising like a hallucination from a Hallmark movie. Glossy glass windows. Sharp angles. That anxious, brilliant skyline that always looked like it had somewhere better to be. You hadn’t been to New York since you were fourteen, back when visiting Estella’s family meant summer break, bodegas at midnight, and trying not to look too touristy. Back before everything cracked.

Estella let out a low whistle. “Still looks the same, huh?”

You weren’t sure if she meant Manhattan or the city itself. This strange machine of people and traffic and sirens that didn’t stop moving even when half the world did.

“Yep,” you said, tugging your hoodie tighter around your face. “Same as always.”

And then—something thunked across the hood of the car.

Estella screamed. You jolted sideways, banging your knee on the glove box. Outside, through the windshield, a blur of red and blue flipped midair and landed—actually landed—on the crosswalk sign like gravity was a suggestion.

“Are you kidding me?” Estella groaned, slamming the brakes. “He does this every damn time I’m driving!”

“Sorry, ma’am!” came a cheerful voice from somewhere above the Camry, light and annoyingly sincere.

You blinked. “Is that—?”

“Speaking of,” Estella muttered, jabbing a thumb toward the windshield, “Spider-Man. As much as I think he’s a hero, I stand by what I’ve always said—he’s a part-time traffic hazard with a full-time Spider-God complex.”

Across the street, the webline snapped forward like a rubber band. You followed the motion—someone was weaving recklessly through foot traffic on what you assumed was a stolen CitiBike, a glittery pink Hello Kitty backpack bouncing against their shoulders. The thief barely made it half a block. Spider-Man swooped low, kicked off a street vendor’s cart, and yanked the bike sideways mid-air. The rider tumbled—mostly unharmed—into a nest of trash bags with a yelp that sounded like “I’m sorry!”

A few people clapped. Someone cheered. The guy behind you honked, obviously.

Estella sighed like this was a weekly inconvenience. “Anyway. What were we talking about?”

You didn’t answer.

You were watching him. The way Spider-Man knelt beside the kid—probably saying something dumb but honest—and then, without an outro, disappeared straight up the side of a building like it was second nature. Like he didn’t have to think about how to move.

“The city,” you said finally, biting back a laugh. “Not changing.”

– – –

The apartment building was exactly as Estella had described it: dingy, rustic, and the living embodiment of crushed expectations.

It was the kind of place that made you laugh softly under your breath—not because it was funny, but because if you didn’t laugh, you might start asking what the hell you’d done.

It wasn’t so different from what you’d seen in L.A.—those chipped stucco walkups in Venice, the weirdly artistic duplexes in Echo Park, the closet-sized apartments in Los Feliz where “quirky” meant the plumbing screamed in the middle of the night. Still, some part of you had been hoping this one would feel…homey. A little lived-in. A little warm.

But so far, all it felt was tired.

Estella was still in the process of decorating your shared flat, and you appreciated that—but you already knew no amount of throw pillows could cover up the dread of the faintly haunted vibe leaking out of the stairwell. The walls looked like they’d seen things. Probably smelled them too.

You followed her up two narrow flights, wheezing halfway thanks to your overstuffed suitcase and the stamina of someone who hadn’t walked more than a block in two weeks. “So how far’s the nearest station?” you huffed, grunting as you dragged your luggage one step at a time.

Estella, already halfway up the stairs and pulling your other suitcase with slight more ease, turned with a shrug. “Five-minute walk. Tops. I still gotta buy you a taser, though. Crime’s a never-ending musical out here, and girl—there’s Broadway but it’s not Broadway.”

You nearly topled over laughing, handing off the heavier bag.

You were grateful for the help as the second landing finally came into view. The door to the first apartment opened just as you reached the top. A woman stepped out—maybe mid-twenties, blonde wavy hair cut into a stylish bob, the kind of cheekbones people paid good money to contour around. She had piercing blue eyes and the kind of face that instantly gave you the feeling she baked for her neighbors but had no problem keying a car if crossed.

She smiled brightly. “Stella! Hi! This a friend of yours?”

Estella waved. “Hi, Bambi. No, this is my cousin—Y/N. She’s moving in with me.”

Bambi grinned and stepped closer, her keys jingling in her hand like she wanted you to feel instantly included. “Nice to meet you, Y/N! I’m Bambi. I live down here with my two girl friends and my maniac toddler. Jordan’s three but thinks he’s thirty.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you said, reaching for the handshake. “I’m from South El Monte—California.”

Bambi blinked. “Huh?”

You smiled. “Los Angeles.”

“Oh my god—no way!” Her eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to go. Like, ever since I saw La La Land. I mean, I know it’s fake or whatever, but like—dreamy, right?”

You laughed—soft and genuine. “Yeah. Dreamy.”

“So what brings you all the way over here?” she asked.

“I’m starting classes at ESU.”

Bambi gasped. “Holy shit, congrats! That’s big. You’re gonna be slammed for sure. We’ll have to do a girls’ night sometime—me, you, Stella, my roommates. Maybe when Jordan’s at his dad’s and we’re not all crashing from our day jobs.”

“Yeah,” you said, still smiling. “That’d be cool.”

Behind you, Estella let out a not-so-subtle grunt as she hoisted the last of your bags up the final step. Bambi winced in sympathy. “Alright, I’ll let you girls get settled. Welcome to the madhouse!” She waved as she headed toward the stairwell, her keys still jingling.

You watched her go. For the first time since landing, something in your chest lightened. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be a total disaster.

“She’s nice,” you murmured, grabbing one of your bags.

Estella nodded, breathless. “She’s the most tolerable one out of the three. Especially on a Friday night when the hallway turns into a tequila-fueled soundscape of crying and trap music.”

You laughed again.

“Anyway,” Estella said, motioning toward the far end of the hallway with a tilt of her chin, “we’re over there. Third door past the mail slots. Hope you like yellow.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

She grinned. “You’ll see.”

You spotted it before she even said a word—the fall wreath hanging crookedly on your new apartment door. The kind with fake orange and yellow leaves and a little wooden sign that read “Welcome Fall,” in swirly script. You smiled. Not because you liked it, exactly, but because it made everything feel a little less anonymous. A marker. A tether. You were here. You had a new home.

Estella stopped short in front of the wall-mounted mailboxes and groaned like someone had just personally offended her.

“Seriously?”

You rolled your suitcase to a pause and leaned over her shoulder. Two envelopes stuck out of your unit’s mailbox—one yellowing credit card preapproval, one with a mere name, a pizza coupon, and a tri-fold pamphlet about GED opportunities. Estella yanked the stack free like it owed her money.

“They always do this,” she muttered. “You’d think apartment numbers were rocket science.”

“Why, what happened?”

She held the stack out for you to see. “This guy’s mail keeps getting thrown in with ours. Happens at least once a week. I end up walking three flights up just to shove it back in 187’s slot.”

You raised your eyebrows, then nudged your luggage toward her. “Here,” you offered, reaching for the mismatched envelopes. “I’ll bring it to him.”

Estella gave you a long, flat look. “Y/N, you’ve been here for like—an hour and a half. You’re gonna get lost between here and the hallway.”

You rolled your eyes and wiggled your fingers in a give-it-here gesture. “I need to get familiar with my routes somehow. Might as well start now. Besides, it’s just a door number, not a maze.”

She snorted. “Regardless. I wouldn’t go making first impressions on this guy. Might scare you more than him.”

You tilted your head. “Why? Is he a grump?”

“No, not exactly,” she said, hesitating. “He’s more like…how do I put this without sounding mean? Uh—kinda…serial killer quiet.”

You blinked. “Wow. That was not not mean.”

“I’m just saying,” she huffed, tucking the rest of the mail under her arm. “Every time I run into him, he’s the same. Doesn’t talk. Doesn’t wave. Just nods, smiles maybe a bit, and disappears. Like he has nothing else to do. Super quiet.”

You shrugged. “I’m quiet.”

“Yeah, but you’re like college student quiet. He’s possible recluse hiding bodies in his closet quiet.”

You raised a brow, unconvinced. “So are you giving me the mail or not?”

Estella groaned dramatically and handed over the envelopes like they had germs. “Whatever, nena. I’m just trying to spare you the jump scare.”

You grinned at the nickname. Nena—the one she’d called you since you were nine after her mom referred to you as such when you were trying on her heels during summer visits. It was affectionate. It was patronizing. It was deeply Estella. You wouldn’t change anything about it.

“Thanks, but spare me, Stelly. I’m eighteen, not two. I can handle myself.”

“Famous last words,” she muttered under her breath as she juggled the keys and unlocked your new apartment door with a soft click. You turned toward the stairwell with the mail in hand. “Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“A minute, tops!” she called after you. “And if you’re not, I’m grabbing whatever I deem self-defense worthy and dragging your ass back down here.”

You waved a hand without looking back, already making your way down the hallway toward wherever the hell apartment 187 was—equal parts curious, tired, and just stubborn enough to commit.You walked up three flights of stairs—past peeling walls, humming radiators, and the faint smell of wall paint and something faintly burnt. It was the scent of everyone else’s homes mixed with each other. Familiar, in an odd way. Like the background noise of a city you inhabit as you walk in it.

You stopped at the landing, eyeing the identical wall of mail slots. Most were dented, rusted, or stuck with years-old stickers. You scanned them for 187 and, ironically, found it directly in front of you—close enough for it to be chest-to-chest.

You reached for the slot.

Then—

“ S’cuse me, Miss—are you dropping something off?”

You turned, half-startled, expecting Estella’s infamous serial-killer intro to come true.

But it wasn’t a grumpy old man. Or a Dahmer copy. Or anyone half as ominous as she’d made him sound.

Instead, it was a boy.

Your age, maybe a little older. Brown curls, one falling into his eyes. Warm, fast-moving eyes—quietly restless, like they were used to scanning rooftops or exits or people’s tells without meaning to. Wiry build. Runners’ body, not a lifter’s. A gray sweater hung a little loose around his frame, sleeves tugged down to his wrists. Sneakers, jeans. Nothing threatening. Just...something that suited him.

You held up the mail awkwardly. “Sorry—wrong delivery. These were in our box by mistake. Are you apartment 187?”

He glanced at the envelopes, then back at you. For a moment, it felt like he was trying to remember you from somewhere. Like he was looking through the letters, not at them.

Then he blinked and offered a quick, sheepish smile. “Yeah, that’s me. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You laughed once, quietly. “You didn’t. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to actually appear. My cousin said you were, like, a cryptid.”

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Let me guess—Estella?”

“Guilty,” you nodded, handing him the mail. “She said your mail ends up in our box a lot.”

He nodded with exaggerated tiredness. “Constantly. I’ve been trying to figure out if it’s a sorting issue or bad luck.”

You laughed again—less nervous this time. “I figured I’d deliver it before it stacked up to a legal dispute.”

“Well,” he said, eyes brightening just a touch, “I appreciate it.”

You shifted your weight on your feet, suddenly aware of how empty your hands were. “I just flew in about an hour ago. Traffic was hell and we got Spider-Manhandled on the way here.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Spider-Manhandled?”

“Thunked our car. He was chasing some dude with a glittery Hello Kitty backpack. I don’t think it was a high-level threat situation, but he made it dramatic.”

He barked a laugh. “Sounds about right. Honestly, that’s probably the most New York welcome you’re gonna get.”

“I’m not sure if I should feel honored or deeply unsettled,” you said, grinning.

“Both. It’s tradition.” He paused. “Where’d you fly in from?”

“South El Monte. Just outside of L.A.”

“Damn. So how are you not jetlagged right now?”

You blinked. “Who said I’m not? I’m planning to pass out with one shoe still on.”

He laughed, genuinely this time, and extended a hand. “I’m Peter, by the way.”

You shook it without hesitation. “Y/N,” you said. And it came out with a strange kind of relief—like the name was something you’d been holding in too long for the time the two of you spoke.

Then—

Frantic footsteps from the stairwell.

You turned just in time to see Estella appear on the landing, one hand clutching the railing, the other brandishing pepper spray.

“One minute, I said!” she cried, panting. “Do you know what happens when a Native-Californian gets lost in a New York apartment complex full of—”

She stopped mid-rant, eyes locking on Peter. You froze. The horror set in like syrup.

Your face flushed hot. Tomato red. Firetruck red. Embarrassment in its final form.

“Stelly,” you hissed, “I told you I’d be down in a few—oh, forget it.”

Peter, for his part, looked like he was either trying very hard not to laugh or bracing for Estella to mace him. Maybe both.

You didn’t dare meet his eyes.

You untangled your hand from his and backed away. “Nice meeting you, Peter! I gotta go...unpack!”

Your voice cracked upward like it had just hit puberty.

Peter smiled, polite but amused. “Bye, Y/N. Bye, Estella.”

You shoved Estella down the hallway. She was still gawking between the two of you.

“Not even an hour here and you’re already flirting with the neighbors?” she stage-whispered. You slapped a hand over her mouth, throwing you both off guard. “I am not!” To your unknown relief as you were both walking back, no one but the two of you heard Estella’s comment.

By the time the both of you were past the door, Estella had already begun flinging open every curtain and turned on every light like she was warding off potential ghosts who could’ve very well been haunting the place. She was barefoot, balancing a box of assorted mugs in one hand and her phone in the other, yelling at her Bluetooth speaker to “connect already, you little shit.”

You dropped your bag by the door and exhaled slowly, letting the aroma of faint lemon-scented cleaner and Estella’s rose-scented diffuser ease you back into something that almost resembled calm.

“This is the living room-slash-everything room,” she said, gesturing like a proud real estate agent while nearly tripping over her own slippers. “I still haven’t gotten the futon cushions delivered but that’s coming Tuesday. The kitchen works but the oven hates me. And your room’s a shoebox but I put up twinkle lights, so it’s legally cozy now.”

You smiled with a roll of your eyes and pulled your suitcase toward the hallway. “Legally cozy. Wow, thanks.”

Unzipping your luggage, you began unpacking slowly—folding shirts into half-empty drawers, stacking jeans on the bare shelf, pulling out the small bag of toiletries and navigating which door was the bathroom and closet. You heard Estella clattering around in the kitchen, muttering about needing to buy salt and how the olive oil might actually be expired.

“So,” she called out from somewhere near the sink, “important things to remember as a new New Yorker: Don’t look tourists in the eye, bodega cats outrank you, and if someone starts singing on the subway—just ignore it. Do not ask questions.”

You snorted, setting a framed photo of you and Diego on the nightstand. “I grew up in a tourist hotspot too, y’know. What else?”

“Oh, and if the guy—specifically the one at the corner store across our street—calls you ‘mami,’ that’s a compliment. Not harassment. At least from him. You’ll get used to it.”

“I’ll brace myself.”

“I’m also redoing the bathroom shelves this weekend and adding more hooks in the entryway because I know you’re gonna have a hella lot of jackets. Also we’re doing brunch with my mom’s side after church. And tonight, I’m ordering pizza. But tomorrow we’re hitting up this deli to celebrate our big milestone of moving in together or I will scream.”

You smiled, the corners of your mouth twitching with something unfamiliar. Maybe comfort.

As you tucked the last sweatshirt into a drawer, you turned toward the half-covered window that overlooked the shared stairwell balcony. The city was beginning to blur into dusk—gray bleeding into dark blue.

You leaned against the wall. “Peter didn’t seem cryptic like you said,” you brought up casually. Estella poked her head around the corner, eyebrows raised. “Girl. Did we not just have this conversation?”

You shook your head. “No, I mean…yeah, maybe he’s kinda quiet. But it’s not creepy. It’s something else.”

She didn’t laugh or scoff like you half expected. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely. “Yeah,” she said after a beat with a hint of realization. “I can maybe see what you mean. I mean, I think he has no one...Like, literally, I don’t think anyone ever comes by for him. He lives alone. No roommates. No friends. No family. No mail except junk. No packages. Just...him.”

You nodded.

The window glowed faintly now, the sky behind it tinting the stairwell in shades of steel and a lavender highlight from the street lamps. You let your fingers press lightly against the frame of your drawer where you still lingered.

“I wonder he lost someone, too,” you said, quiet and unsure if you meant it out loud.

Estella stood for a moment longer, then turned back toward the kitchen. “Well,” she said, voice lighter again, “On the brightside—that’s the first I saw him smile in the last few months I’ve been here! Maybe you showed up at the right time!”

You smiled softly. “Anyway—are you in the mood for meat lover’s pizza, or meat lover’s pizza? Those are the only acceptable answers.”

You laughed. “Meat lover’s pizza.”

“Good. Tomorrow, we feast on Mr. Delmar’s magic sandwiches and maybe I’ll let you buy your own MetroCard like a grown-up.”

You sat on your bed, cross-legged, as Estella rustled through the drawer for the takeout menus. You watched the light spill softly against the railing of your fireescape balcony and let your thoughts settle, for once, without rushing to fix anything.

Outside your apartment, the stairwell stayed still. Quiet.

Upstairs, out of sight, three floors up. Peter’s door remained closed. He was laid back on his bed, the unopened mail now tossed to the side. One envelope—thicker, familiar—he tore open slowly. Inside were photos. Ones he’d ordered weeks ago. Printed on matte paper. Grainy, imperfect, tangible.

He sifted through them.

One of May, her smile sunburned and mid-laugh with him at the corner in the familiar form one takes when taking a quick selfie. It was the day she picked him up from the airport after Europe.

The last one he ever took of her.

Peter traced the edge of the photo with a finger. Something clenched and burned behind his ribs. He didn’t let himself think past May. Not to Tony. Not to Ned.

Not to MJ.

He clenched his jaw and looked at the clock.

5:00 p.m.

Time to go. Spider-Man could start patrol early tonight.

He always could, when he didn’t want to remember.

---

a/n: Thank you guys for reading !! Stay tuned for chapter 1 !!

EDIT: I was contemplating between two songs to attribute this fic to, as well as the NAME. Originally, when I posted this, it was to Bad Bunny's "DtMF" with Saints & Spider-Webs as the Title—BUT—"Another Day That Goes," by RBD (my literal childhood) was the song I was also on the verge of choosing for both title and name. After showing this to a friend, she told me that the upcoming Spider-Man Movie's rumored to be called A Brand New Day (And the RBD song sounds almost identical to the meaning)—SO, I'm changing the song, but we're still keeping this title OG 😎

That's all folks!! Stay Tuned !!

47 notes · View notes