#been wanting to reread most of these for a while now

[if-seal]

dear seal, starting with: i hope you have a nice day/ night and everything in between! you don't have to help us nor give advice and for that i am grateful you choose to.

do you have any suggestions as to how to name IFs? (so sorry if you've already answered this) i have a title in mind but when i asked my friend for her opinion, she didn't think it fit. when i searched online, they talked about finding one to encompass the general theme of the story or name it after an important thing in the story but i've been trying that for years with other projects and it never turns out well.

Dear Naming Friend,

Thank you so very much for your kind comments and well wishes! Naming can be a tricky and weighty business, and I am very happy to give you some thoughts on it!

I think if you love your current title and feel like it fits your game, do feel free to use it with my blessing! Or share it with other friends and see what they think - it might be that it just wasn't the first friend's thing.

And you can change your title if you want to, even after you've initially revealed your project to the world. Better to do that rather than stick with one you don't love.

Whether you are thinking of changing the title or of reassessing your current one, I absolutely recommend searching for your chosen title or similar ones to check that you're not duplicating something that already exists by accident. Read it out plenty of times to see how it feels to say. Sometimes a title will look lovely on the page but feels stumbling when you say it out loud.

I believe themes or in-universe elements can be nice starting points for figuring out a title, or perhaps the shape of your title, but if those aren't grabbing you or you've had tricky experiences figuring that out, here are some suggestions that may be useful to you beyond themes or in-universe elements:

-You may find it useful to consider what "shape" you'd like the title to have: a single word, a phrase, an in-game element, and so on. I would generally suggest caution when it comes to very long titles with a lot of elements in them, such as the imaginary SELKIE'S HEART: LIGHTHOUSE FURY BENEATH THE STARS or such... but on the other hand plenty of people adore those kinds of titles so if it works for you, embrace it!

-Try making a document of lots of name ideas, adding to the list whenever a word or phrase sounds interesting or could be related, even tangentially, to your game or plot. This could be as simple as a notes app on your phone

-It is useful to write down many ideas without really thinking about them, good and bad, with no pressure on whether you're going to use them - just dipping into your brain to see what comes out

-Come up with a lot of deliberately bad titles that sound too generic, boring, or misleading but that someone might conceivably use for your game. This can help clear out the cobwebs of your brain.

-Relatedly, assign your game a placeholder while you wait for inspiration to strike. Do not use a placeholder that could be at all usable! It should be truly horrid. When my roommate @hpowellsmith was searching for a title for what became THE EARTH HAS TEETH, a friend suggested - apologies for the coarse language - Stormfucker 2099: Choice Choicington Investigates for a dreadful placeholder to avoid getting attached to a temporary title. Now personal taste is subjective, but I think most of us will agree that no one would want to use that one!

-Another friend provided a link to wordhippo.com which is a remarkably handy thesaurus site that I've found more useful than some of the other sites. Besides which it is also a helpful aquatic mammal, just like me! Less mammalian helpful sites include relatedwords.org and powerthesaurus.org.

-You might also try having an aim of listing 20 titles and rereading them, focusing not on the first ones you think of, nor of the ones where you're scraping for ideas, but the middle ones which may feel more interesting than the initial burst of ideas

As you see, this approach tends towards a scattershot one. Sometimes a title will come as a first flash of inspiration and nothing else will feel right, but that's rather rare. Best of luck, author friend!

[romanscool]

Hey I love ur stories so I was wondering if u could give me recommendations for the best AO3 MAXIEL stories you've read if u don't mind, thnx 💜💜

hi anon! thank you so much for this ask!! I always love recommending maxiel stories,,,

i have way too much, but I've tried to skim through them and pull out the ones I could read over and over again without ever being bored of it. so anyways, here you go, my fav 13 maxiel fics in no particular order:

I know your name (but not who you are) by @prongsofficial (rated G)

“Hi, Daniel,” the man at his door says, tentative with a sideways smile. There’s sweat on his hairline and two cage-like boxes in his hands. He hears a meowing come out of them when he shifts to set them down. “Max,” Daniel breathes out, floored and caught in the way Max rubs at his own arm awkwardly. Max just smiles. -- Based on the Stick Season (Forever) album by Noah Kahan

a hauntingly beautiful nine-chapter non-linear fic about what could've happened if Daniel had to retire after his hand injury in Zandvoort 2023. Gorgeous. Just the right amount of angst, fluff and crushing dialogues.

dead heat by @powerful-owl (rated E)

"Oh my god. Okay, you’re an alpha. Yeah, Max? You’re an alpha?” Max looks up, tongue lapping at the webbing between Daniel’s fingers. He waits for his thoughts to print into words: paper roll unfurling, sticky nozzles stamping please, need, yours. He just nods. “You’re an alpha.” Daniel laughs, reedy and weird. “Max, what the fuck. Why are you on your knees?”

I'm not usually into a/b/o fics but this one. this hit and still hits me everyday. I have read it almost three times now (keep in mind this is a 35-chapters/200k words fic) and I can't believe how well written it is. the smut is beautiful, angsty and punch-to-the-gut. worth every seconds spent reading it. I also really liked the fact that this is not your traditional a/b/o dynamics, with the little weak omega getting roughly fucked by perma-rut alpha. nope. it's so much more.

breaking every rule for you by @magicalrocketships (rated E)

Daniel's always been competitive. He's never backed down from a challenge, even if it's one he doesn't understand the rules of and doesn't remember signing up for. But he knows this: if Max sends him a dick pic, then Daniel sends one back. Or, it’s Daniel's first year at Renault, and Max hasn't spoken to him in months.

soul-cushing, kink-finding, whatever the fuck even fic. no words to describe this one I think. it's messed my brain up. anyway. 200k words of max and Daniel being idiots, max with a girlfriend he doesn't love and Daniel not accepting he's in love with max. all that while sending dick pics everyday. hot. beautiful. made me cry and bite into my own arm because of how I wish I could just grip both their heads and smash them like barbies so they can kiss.

that's where I am by @flawlessassholes (rated E)

“Her name is Emily,” Daniel says softly. Max’s eyes snap down to the baby, still sleeping on Daniel’s chest. It’s—she’s snoring a little. In that snuffly way that babies snore. “Short for Emilian.” His eyes snap back to Daniel’s face, so serious, and Max knows it’s a joke, of course, but he still opens his mouth to say— Then Daniel’s face breaks into that wide grin, the real one, the one Max hasn’t seen since. Well. In a while. It feels at once so familiar, and also like seeing something rise from the dead.

There’s a month between Melbourne and Baku. A month to convince Daniel to return to racing. A month to learn and relearn how to love. A month for everything to feel right amidst a season that has felt nothing but wrong. A month to create a family, and a month to maybe lose it all.

daniel has a baby and max learns how to deal with that. all that while Emily (dan's kid) is the cutest baby ever. made my heart ache in the best way, had me having a baby-fever for 8 chapters. the smut is gorgeous, the story had me weeping and I could not believe how someone could even come up with such a well-rounded idea. gorgeous.

haven't you heard what becomes of curious minds? by vivienne_xoxo (rated E)

Daniel is on the verge of quite possibly nothing in his last year of high school. Max is on the verge of everything in his sophomore year. The one thing that connects them is soccer, squash, and track and field. Being at different schools, they only see each other once per season for games. However, they find themselves meeting in the spaces between, unknowing of what it all really meant. As Daniel nears graduation with a GPA of a whopping 2.0, a sexuality crisis, and a blonde twisted in his bedsheets and his brain, the one thing he really knows is that he's so, so fucked. OR: A sports rivals with benefits, strangers to lovers Maxiel fic that no one really wanted. Literally just the school I go to right now but with changed names.

everything a teen!maxiel fic could ever want to be. teens in love, max and Daniel going through everything that comes with that. sexuality crises all over the place, hormones, too. love it. this is the fic that made me want to start my own teen!maxiel. it's funny, angsty, has way too many crack-worthy dialogue. I love it.

a sure thing by @thewindowatkirkland (rated E)

Afterwards, once they’ve headed back inside on unsteady legs and showered in Max’s insane ensuite, Daniel pulls on his clothes and watches Max do the same. He’s always quieter after sex, once the adrenaline and dopamine have receded some. Daniel gets it, the whole hooker thing is more awkward for most people once the fucking is actually over. “How much do you charge for a full night?” Max asks, after he transfers the fee for today, the little notification pinging on Daniel’s phone. M. E. Verstappen has sent you a payment. Daniel doesn't bother to check the amount, Max will have rounded it up to the nearest thousand anyway, just like he always does. OR: daniel is an escort, max is a five time world champion, and also one of his regular clients. (aka, the hooker!dan au)

gorgeous. no words. 30k of hooker!Daniel that had me going a little crazy. so many good smut scenes, so many insane dialogues, so many insane angsty moments that aren't angst but feel like it... love love love it. I've read it a couple times already and it always has me on the floor. beautiful and breathtakingly so.

growing sideways by @thewindowatkirkland (rated E)

“We’re in Monaco,” Max says, “and you haven’t lived in either of those places for a very long time, Daniel. Since 2013.” It must be fucking amnesia, Daniel reasons, because when he went to bed last night it was July 2012. And here a grown up Max Verstappen is, telling him 2013 was a very long time ago. OR: daniel wakes up in a bed he doesn’t recognise, next to a man he doesn’t know.

what if Daniel woke up as his 2012 self with braces and awkward limbs but he's in his 2024 self bed, next to his 2024 self boyfriend (max) and he can't understand how any of this is happening? that's it. that's the plot. loved the little references, the race watching, the max trying to make Daniel learn everything they've had since 2012. the virgin smut. hot. but. everything about this fic is so, so sweet. it's gentle. like a hug after a long day, it takes you in and you never want to let go, especially because it has Daniel's fucked up teeth/braces in it. (joking but you know how I am with teeth, right?)

(just let me) adore you by @sillystappen (rated G)

One night, Max confronts the monster under his daughter's bed. Turns out, that monster is a very kind mothman called Daniel.

adorable. mothman!daniel (beautiful, beautiful, woah) takes car of max's daughter because other monsters might want to hurt her. so, so sweet. max is gentle but obsessed, and who can blame him even, Daniel is gentle, gentle, gentle, and caring, and so. argh. sorry. I'm obsessed with the fluff, the daughter, the developing bond between max and moth!Daniel. short and so cute.

auditory stimulator by togenkyo (rated E)

There are no rules for falling in love. It can happen to anyone, anytime, anywhere. Max may not be well experienced in love, but he's pretty sure that "Falling in love with a guy you met when you accidentally picked up the phone at a sex hotline." should be a rule.

so funny. had me giggling in a public space over silly roommates trying to get max laid/in a couple. so fun and quirky, really had pulled in from seeing 'Phone Sex Operators' in the tags. I'm glad I read this. great dialogue, story and characters.

hey, remember that time by @powerful-owl (rated E)

There’s a snowstorm outside and a snowstorm in Max’s head. “Yes, okay. What.” “I think I’m gay? Pretty sure. Or like. Hella bi. Cause I think I’d still – if you were a – sorry. My body likes you, Max.” — (Max owns an inn and Daniel has amnesia.)

so funny... love, love, love. I always love those kind of stories, the AU with amnesia and all, but this one is genuinely the best I've ever read. I love all of @powerful-owl 's fics, but this one. it has me in a chokehold. read it again during the holidays for the snowy/angsty/smutty vibes and the scenes always have me giggling or crying. sometimes both at the same time. can't believe she has the power to write such good scenes like the bathroom one. description is just gorgeous, smut is always really good and goofy and. yeah. love it. can't say I've ever been let down by one of her works.

new wave (new emotions) by nothoughtsjustvibes (Kitkatieb) (rated G)

In which Max realizes he’s in love with Daniel and flies to Colorado to make it Lewis’s problem. Lewis just wants him to leave – preferably on a plane to Australia.

so so fun. lewis' POV, which is always really fun to read, especially since it's maxiel. just. lewis objective on the whole 'yes max, Daniel is in love with you, too' situation without actually saying it out loud. cause max has to figure it out for himself. really, really cool and original. loved reading.

two's company, three's a crowd by Whippasnappa (rated E)

“I need to be good at these things so it does not matter when. When they see.” Max says. He's- Daniel's chest feels like its caved in. Max looks so fucking ashamed, and his eyes are wet, lashes fluttering like he’s trying to blink away tears. “See what? Max?” He can’t- there’s nothing about Max that Daniel could imagine would be so off-putting that someone wouldn’t want him. Clearly there’s more to it, then, the reason why Max hasn’t hooked up before. “It is small.” Max says.

whippasnappa is a genius on this one. small dick!max is alway shy fav max but this one,,, gorgeous. breathtaking. couldn't stop staring at y screen even if I died. could've died actually. had me having three heart attacks. have never come back from this one. arghhhh

we predict blue skies and tight pants by dontburnme

The sight just made him dizzy. The hottest man he’s ever fucking seen flipping off a cliff into the murky Oslo waters twenty seven meters high up. Or, Daniel’s a Red Bull high diver and Max experiences an out of body experience watching him.

in which, Daniel is a diver and max watches him dive. and dies, a little. it's crazy, crazy good. had me a little crazy, pulling my hair out by the end of it. I, too, had an out of body experience. crazy, crazy, crazy, and such a fun concept. alway love me some short and sweet AU-fics.

bonus!!: high and dry by @jermeows

real cowboys ride cock, y'know right?

technically not a fic but. it's such wonderful fanart I HAD to include it. maxiel cowboys; what more is there to say...

[sammygender]

i dont think dean or sam had it worse precanon. i do however think that dean, at the start of spn, is fundamentally damaged in a way sam just isn't (yet). wrt to their childhoods its like. sam comes out fighting, and stuff hurts you a lot less that way. he is so so strong and fierce and brave and recognises their upbringing as fucked up. but dean has sublimated himself to the situation and accepted it and internalised that this is how it has to be because of something lacking within him, in fact he's told himself there was nothing wrong with it at all and therefore is completely unable to process his own trauma or stop himself from reenacting his abusive fathers behaviors because that would require really coming to terms with the idea that those behaviors were Bad. augh.

[im-still-watching-anime]

i’ve been meaning to change my header to bsd for forever because i LOVE bsd but yall are really gonna tell me all about the new minato thing right as im about to finally go for it and stop me AGAIN?? yall cannot do this to me im literally never going to get over minato and kushina

[titsthedamnseason]

“you will see all your favorite people again”

[arolesbianism]

Just wanted to drop in and say thank you for finding and posting the ONI logs that you do! As someone who loves the story of the game but absolutely would not have the energy to find all of the logs that aren’t on the wiki legitimately its nice to be able to see some of them. The one w/ nails in it is especially interesting! Nails was already one of my favorite dupes but that log made me like them even more tbh. Everyone say thank you to Human Nails™️ for making dupes like actually cognizant.

Also, saw your ONI stuff on artfight! I am absolutely not plotting and scheming anything at all i swear :]

Oghhhh tysm :')!!!! I've been feeling a bit self conscious abt my oni obsession lately so this means a lot! I still need to get around to making my oni story catalogue actually readable, I started a while back but ran out of steam after the like 50th incident with said one with Nails in it lol. And I actually recognized you from artfight! Saw your oni guys a few days ago and I'm honestly obsessed with them, it would be a shame if I had my hand forced and had to draw them :3c

[choco-bites]

Thinking of aYandere!Popular boy with a Creep!Fem!Reader

Part two: here

notes: english is not my first language, if this contains errors, please let me know. warnings: mentions of dead animals, reader is also a yandere?, mentions wanting to cut someone, stalking, non-con photographs. idk if I miss anything, let me know too.

Yandere!popular boy known for being the richest in the school, yet despite that, he offers a kind smile to everyone. Wherever he goes, he is greeted and invited to all the parties. If you want to boost your popularity level, just a minimal interaction with him is enough. His great size and strength make him ideal for the school’s football team.

Creep!reader surrounded by rumors. who has been seen collecting dead animals for an anatomy research in biology and a serious face what seems strange to everyone; remains unfazed—except when, with an old digital camera and a strange smile, takes pictures of her deceased pets. Others move away when she sits at their table during lunch, excluded from group projects, and make she the target of ridicule. Yet, maintains an unshakable façade of seriousness.

Creep!reader who notices him first. Accidentally walked past the playing field during practice and stared at each student on the team. When saw the brute strength with which Yandere!Popular played, swore her heart stopped for a moment. Now, had a new reason for her lips to curve into a smile.

Started to spent her free time researching him, taking photographs, drawing him, writing about him, and imagining what it would be like to break someone so radiant down into nothing but a puddle of tears and misery.

Yandere!Popular who one day caught you stalking him, taking pictures while he walked home, decided to let you be. Soon, he would find out why you was watching him so closely.

The next day, Yandere!Popular sneaked into your classroom to snoop through your belongings, eventually finding your diary. He flipped through the pages, finding nothing truly interesting—until he came across a drawing of himself alongside several written passages.

"I wish I could get closer to him. I wish I could grab his strong arms and open them up. I wish I could see his beautiful lips twist in pain. I just wish I could have him."

Yandere!Popular heart ignited in a way he could not bear. He had never felt so flattered before. He shut the notebook and tucked it away desperately before rushing to the bathroom.

Locked in a stall, he read and reread the diary, a foolish smile adorning his now deeply flushed face, feeling as if he might cry from sheer emotion. No one had ever taken such an interest in him before. Sure, he was popular and all, but no one ever looked beyond that. But you—

You didn’t just stalk him to get to know him better. You wanted him so much that you wrote about him, drew him so majestically, and, most of all, desired him only for yourself.

Yandere!Popular decided to give you exactly what you wanted. After finding out your address, he skipped school that day to sneak into your room, only to discover that you had his photos plastered all over your wall. His heaving chest could hardly take it.

You were made to worship him.

You entered your room after a few hours, only to find the boy you had recently obsessed over sitting on your bed, sniffing your pillows. You weren’t entirely surprised—you had already noticed your beloved diary was missing and suspected he had caught you in the act of taking pictures of him.

A choked gasp escaped him at the sight of you, and you stepped closer, grabbing his cheeks with one hand, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

The only thing he could manage to say was a sweet:

"Make me yours, please."

[phoenixyfriend]

Star Wars Time Travel Rec List

About time I put together a General Rec List for Star Wars Time Travel, yeah?

Organized by the time-traveling character(s). I'm adding a star for my favorites that imo you have to read. I'm not going to claim that those are necessarily the best, because I feel like that's not objective and also kinda mean to the ones that are good since they might just not be to my personal taste, but they are my favorites.

Obi-Wan

Anakin Skywalker

Ahsoka

Clones

Other Prequels-Era Characters

Two or more people

Luke or Leia

Other

Tagged authors where I could. If they aren't tagged, I either couldn't find their tumblr, they have their settings such that no one can tag them, or they blocked me for one reason or another.

Obi-Wan

It Was Another Time and I Another Man by Pell_Binterhol - under "Groups"

Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust by @livsy ~35k+, complete Obi-Wan is a time traveler, mental from the OT. What makes it unique is that the fic is from Anakin's POV. It's a very heartwarming piece.

⭐Take it from the top and try again by @mauverawrites ~170k, series - two fics complete, more on the way Possibly the best way to describe this series is as the platonic ideal of an Obi-Wan time travel fic. Weird Force stuff? Check. Obi-Wan having spent years on Tatooine? Check. Qui-Gon surviving? Check. Obi-Wan doing some shady illegal stuff to get money and infiltrate crime rings so he can save the galaxy? Check. Anakin being adorable as an initiate, and Shmi being saved from Tatooine? Check. Surprise Feemor? Check. It's all the bits you (or at least I) hope for when opening a new Obi-Wan Time Travel fic, and it never feels stale or repetitive or cliche. It's just a Very Good Fic.

The Exchange by @misslearn - under "Groups"

An Abundance of Obi-Wans by The_Last_Kenobi (orphan_account) ~45k, abandoned Unfortunately we'll never know how this ends, but it's a lot of fun while it lasts. Baby Obi is being haunted by three ghosts of his future self.

A Padawan at War (Again) by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars- under "Groups"

These Paths by HiddenEye - under "Groups"

⭐the massive machinery of hope by @killbothtwins 150k, complete Do you want comedy? Yes, you do. This one is great. Go read it. It's one of my favorites for a reason, and the reason is that Obi-Wan is a sarcastic little shit with a billion quips.

Living Memory by elsa3beth 353k, on hiatus, possibly abandoned? Obi-Wan Time Travel, leans a bit more heavily into the distrust and despair surrounding Anakin (due to Vader things from the future) than most.

⭐The Desert Storm/Rise and Fall by @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning ~1.6m (1592k), ongoing This is one of the longest, most consistent, best-regarded time-travel fics in the fandom for a reason.

⭐Reprise by Elfpen ~560k, ongoing Another Obi-Wan time-travel fic, this one using that favored cover story of "Ben is Obi-Wan's biological uncle," and I love it so much for how it explores both characters and political events.

Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel - under "Groups"

Current of Fate by @feybarn ~195k, on hiatus? It's been so long since I read this one that I can't quite remember what it was that I liked about it so much, and it's too long to do a reread right now... but I do remember loving it, especially when it switches to an outsider POV for the second fic.

Anakin Skywalker

The Exchange by @misslearn - under "Groups"

A Padawan at War (Again) by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

War Drums by @intermundia ~91k, ongoing Vader travels back to TPM. Runs off with Obi-Wan into the stars to Achieve Some Goals to take down Sidious. Gets quick-aged to 19 by some Dathomiri magic. Projected to be Obikin.

These Paths by HiddenEye - under "Groups"

Old Promises by @threebea ~65k, ongoing Time Traveler Anakin panic-kidnaps Initiate Kenobi. Absolute disaster of a man.

An (Un)fortunate Haunting by @kooriicolada, @scarletjedi 3.5k, oneshot Anakin thinks the Vader ghost haunting him is a hallucination. This one is technically more than just Anakin, but it's... mostly Anakin.

⭐Force of Many Sights by DAsObiQuiet ~480k, on hiatus? Vader to TPM, possessing his younger self. This fic has a heavy, and much-appreciated focus on therapy as it functions for someone of Vader's... particular situation. This is also technically a "Groups" series, since it's also got Siri Tachi as a time-traveler, but her POV is much smaller, and it takes... I want to say about 100k words for her to really start playing a more active role in the plot.

Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel - under "Groups"

Ahsoka

I don't know why all the good Ahsoka time travel fics are her as part of a team, but they do in fact fuck, so. I LIED I forgot to bookmark one of the Ahsoka fics I like.

Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

These Paths by HiddenEye - under "Groups"

Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel - under "Groups"

Living in Borrowed Time by @scribbling-albatross - under "groups"

⭐Although He Smiles by @autumnillustration - ~157.6k, ongoing This one is amazing, it's an Ahsoka main, and she is very funny with Padawan Obi-Wan and adorable with 9yo Anakin. Lovely.

Clones

love is with your brother by Petrichor (Mythmaker) ~8k, complete TCW Rex bodyswaps with his baby self. POV is Ahsoka during the clone wars.

Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

These Paths by HiddenEye - Rex and Cody - under "Groups"

Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel - Rex and Cody - under "Groups"

Living in Borrowed Time by @scribbling-albatross - Rex - Under "Groups"

⭐Dominoes by meridianpony ~380k, ongoing All five Dominoes go back to the beginning, from the points of their deaths! (Disclaimer: Echo's treated as having died at the Citadel. I think the fic started before his survival was revealed.) Technically this is a group, but all five are clones, so...

Other Prequels-Era Characters

there is no death by @ashkav ~140k, ongoing There is something really cool about Cal Kestis time travel fics, especially when he's got a decent amount of knowledge of The General Situations (e.g. Anakin will become Vader) but is missing so many details, like Why and How.

⭐An Echo in the Force (a whisper in a cave by @stardust2flame ~8k, complete Feemor is trapped in a time loop. This was actually written as a gift to me, so it has a special place in my heart.

⭐Mace Windu Fixes the Timeline... And Breaks it in Whole New Ways by AbsentmindedAuthor98 ~52k, ongoing Absolutely choice series based on an AU by @suzukiblu. Mace Windu does some time-traveling. He takes on Anakin as his padawan on an impulse, but he ends up doing his damnedest to be a Good Master for the kid. Depa helps.

Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge by @yellowocaballero - Fox - under "Groups"

Make a Brand New End by @batshieroglyphics ~120k, I think on hiatus Another Feemor fic! This one's not time-loop, just time travel. Lots of juicy Qui-Gon drama.

⭐Not a Good Man by @feybarn ~28k, ongoing Imperial era Boba Fett goes back to AotC. He decides to fix things, partly by trying to get his dad to fall in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

a distant fire is burning by e_va ~47.5k, ongoing This is another Cal fic! It's got video game logic in it. Also, Anakin and Cal are both being so weird about sort of being adoptive brothers, it's great.

⭐They Don't Care About Us by @ironhoshi Time traveler Boba! And Cal! They're doing great, sweetie. Their best. Obi-Wan and Jango are mostly just confused. (Has anyone checked on Anakin? Someone needs to go check on Anakin. Again.)

Groups

It Was Another Time and I Another Man by Pell_Binterhol ~200k, incomplete This is a very fun fic that involves multiple time-travelers from multiple points in time. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon from the Legends novels are pulled forward into TCW, and Old Ben and Luke are pulled back from the OT, and some spoilers as well.

⭐The Exchange by @misslearn ~120k, complete A swapping-style time travel. RotS Anakin&Obi-Wan end up in TPM, and TPM Anakin&Obi-Wan end up in RotS. Shenanigans ensue. (Also trauma.)

⭐Can We Start Over? by @triscribe ~22k, ongoing Most of the Jedi have time-traveled from the points of their deaths to about a year pre-AotC. Some handle it better than others. The POV is Aayla, which I find very cool.

A Padawan at War (Again) by @itstimeforstarwars ~183k, ongoing It's technically more of a de-aging than a time-travel, but hey! Still a good read! TPM Anakin and Obi-Wan take the place of their TCW selves, who no longer exist.

⭐Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars ~complicated as the second fic has been hidden, ongoing This is one of my favorite series, but as you can see by the above, it's in a bit of a timeout right now. Bookmark it for later? Also, there's an entire side series called Inspired By One Hundred Hours To Rearrange The Stars.

These Paths by HiddenEye ~90k, complete Our five TCW mains (Obi-Wan, Cody, Anakin, Ahsoka, Rex) are booted forward to the Original Trilogy. The latter three are deaged to their TPM ages (9, 4, baby respectively). Also it's CodyWan.

Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge by @yellowocaballero ~33k, complete Leia and Fox time travel! This one is very dark. That said, it has a comedic counterpart that I love, which is only available on tumblr: ⭐Fox & Leia's Holiday Special

⭐Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel ~68k, abandoned Obi-Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka, Rex, and Cody, from TCW to TPM. Despite the unfinished state, I cannot deny the oddly intense level of influence this fic has had on my own approach to star wars time travel fics.

⭐Living in Borrowed Time by @scribbling-albatross 118k, ongoing Rex and Ahsoka are time-travelers! They are so, so very fucked up. Sure do wish they had access to therapists that could actually be cleared for knowing their Extensive Lists Of Traumas. This one definitely had a huge impact on how I characterize Rex and Ahsoka since I entered the fandom.

Luke and Leia

Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge by @yellowocaballero - Leia - under "Groups"

There is another Skywalker by WabiSabi ~85k, on hiatus? Time-Traveler Leia! Mentally in the sequels, physically in her thirties, and chronologically in the clone wars. Also Luke's sharing space in her noggin.

Shifting Sands by @chancecraz ~180k, ongoing "Ongoing? But it hasn't updated since 2021!" The last time it updated, the chapter was 65k, after over two years of radio silence. Trust me when I say that the lack of recent updates means nothing for this author. Anyway, Sequels Leia to about a year pre-TPM, hangs out with baby Anakin and Shmi and then neatly inserts herself in the plot.

⭐Of Queens, Knights, and Pawns by @chancecraz ~860k, ongoing Same author as above, same disclaimer for the gap since last update. Sequels Leia does a mental time-travel into her ANH self, specifically the 'being tortured on the Death Star' moment. It's so fucking good.

Old Man Luke by @scarletjedi ~110k, ongoing Sequels Luke to TCW! He is very cryptic, channeling the Jedi who taught him! Fun!

⭐Sith Lord Swell by AMournfulHowlInTheNight ~53k, ongoing Luke and his students (including Ben Solo) travel back in time to a bit before AotC. They decide the best way to proceed is to pretend they are Sith Lords. This is primarily a comedy fic. Luke really enjoys fucking with people.

⭐Don't Look Back by @this-acuteneurosis ~700k, ongoing Post-OT Leia (after the deaths of most of her friends) physically time travels to a year or two before AotC. She is taken in by the Lars family, and then she and Shmi start to head for Coruscant, run into Padme, and join the Nabooan government in Padme's employ. Do you want a fic that feels like 70% politics and logistics and trade routes? Because that's what this is and it's great.

Other

The Way of Conquest by pagination ~76k, ongoing There is something very funny about the time-traveler not even realizing they are about thirty years into the wrong time. Din has no idea when he is. Grogu does, but he's not telling.

[bakugoswifee]

Bakugo k. hc's losing his girlfriend .

Warning- none

angst, that's mainly it. + Bring tissues .

1. He Becomes Quiet & Withdrawn – The loud, brash, explosive Bakugo everyone knew is gone. He doesn’t yell anymore, doesn’t argue, doesn’t snap at people the way he used to. He just… exists.

2. Stops Hanging Out with Friends – Kirishima, Mina, Denki, and Sero try their best to get him out, but he refuses. When he does show up, he barely talks. Just sits there, eyes unfocused, lost in his own world.

3. Blames Himself – Even if it wasn’t his fault, he convinces himself that he could’ve done something. That if he had just been stronger, faster, better—he could have saved you. It eats him up inside.

4. Still Talks to You – Late at night, when he’s alone, he’ll talk out loud like you’re still there. Telling you about his day, the stupid things his friends did, how much he misses you. He hates how quiet the house is without you.

5. Wears Your Stuff – Keeps one of your hoodies in his closet, still smelling like you. He won’t admit it, but he sleeps in it sometimes. If you had a necklace, bracelet, or ring, he either wears it or keeps it in his pocket.

6. Keeps Your Room/Side of the Bed the Same – He doesn’t change anything. Your clothes stay where you left them, your favorite mug is still in its spot, and he refuses to move your pillow. It’s like he’s waiting for you to come back.

7. Gets Lost in Memories – Sometimes, he catches himself smiling at an old picture of you two before reality crashes down. Other times, he zones out completely, trapped in memories of your laugh, your voice, the way you used to roll your eyes at him.

8. Still Cooks Your Favorite Meal – Every once in a while, he makes your favorite dish, but he never eats it. Just stares at it for a while before pushing it aside. He just wants to feel like you’re still around.

9. Sleeps on the Couch Instead of the Bed – He can’t sleep in your shared bed without you. It’s too big, too empty. So he crashes on the couch most nights, pretending it doesn’t bother him.

10. Loses His Temper in Fights – On the battlefield, he’s reckless. Fighting harder, pushing himself past his limits, because what does it matter anymore? He’s angry—at the world, at himself, at whatever took you away.

11. Can’t Stand Hearing Your Name – If someone brings you up, he tenses. He either shuts down completely or storms off. He wants to talk about you, but it hurts too much.

12. Refuses to Cry in Front of People – He keeps it together around others, acting like he’s fine. But late at night, alone in the dark, the tears come. And he hates himself for it.

13. Talks to Your Grave – Whenever he gets overwhelmed, he visits your grave, sitting there for hours. Sometimes he talks. Sometimes he just sits in silence, staring at your name, gripping the headstone like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

14. Doesn’t Celebrate His Birthday Anymore – He used to love it when you planned surprises for him, made him a cake, gave him your dumb little handmade gifts. Now? He doesn’t even acknowledge it.

15. Keeps His Phone on Do Not Disturb, But Still Scrolls Through Your Messages – He won’t respond to anyone, but he rereads old texts from you, listening to your voice memos over and over again, just to hear you one more time.

16. Doesn’t Know How to Move On – Everyone tells him you’d want him to be happy, to live his life. But he doesn’t know how. Because to him, life without you doesn’t feel like living at all.

Extra :

People just didn’t get it.

No matter how much time passed, no matter how many times his friends told him he should "try to move on," Bakugo couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He already had the love of his life, and the world ripped you away from him.

So when Kirishima—the dumbass—thought it would be a good idea to introduce him to someone new, Bakugo already knew how this was gonna go. "Hey, man, I just want you to meet her," Kirishima said, rubbing the back of his neck. "No pressure, just—" "I ain’t interested.". "You don’t even know her yet!".

"And I don’t need to."

But before he could walk off, the girl was already there, all smiles and nervous energy. "Hi, Bakugo! I’ve heard so much about you." He barely glanced at her. "Tch. Good for you?". Kirishima nudged him hard in the ribs. "Dude, be nice." Bakugo clenched his jaw, his patience already wearing thin. "So," the girl tried again, "your friends tell me you’re a pro-hero. That must be exciting!". He didn’t answer. Just exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. "Uh… I was actually hoping maybe we could—". "Fuck off." The table went dead silent. Kirishima sighed like he knew this was a bad idea. The girl’s face fell, but Bakugo didn’t care. He wasn’t about to sit here and pretend to entertain the idea of someone else.

He turned on his heel and walked off without another word, hands stuffed in his pockets. The ring he still wore on a chain around his neck felt heavy, like it was reminding him who he really belonged to.

It was you. It would always be you.

Dividers! - credits @junabuggy 🤍

Sorry this took so long, I really needed a break and was stressed out. But I hope you enjoyed it!

[wakatshi]

❝ HUSBAND WAKATOSHI who always kisses your hand. he knows how much you love it. when he picks you up from work, from dinner with your friends, he doesn’t hesitate to take your hand in his and press his lips on it, he’s so sweet. “i’ve missed you.” he rubs your palm with his thumb, the sensation of your skin against his; he loves it too much, no matter how small, how insignificant his gesture feels— it’s never insignificant to him.

you adore wakatoshi’s attentiveness, the flowers he brings you and his gentle caress, his bear hugs, the warmth of his big body pressed against yours tightly. he never forgets to pick a bouquet of flowers on his way, of course, from the flower shops you love the most, he knows them all.

HUSBAND WAKATOSHI who kneels in front of you to kiss your hand before eating your pussy— you’ve once told him it’s very attractive and he’s been doing it for a while now; he doesn’t plan to stop.

he kisses each of your fingers, with the same amount of love and patience, holding your wrists with his big hands, although he’s eager to take your clothes off and finally, your panties. he’s meticulous about his act, he obsesses over your enjoyment and his one an only desire is to please you.

your thumb slides between his wet lips, and he sucks on it, his tongue wraps timidly around your finger, but he stops in barely a few seconds. suprisingly, your husband has learned how to be a tease, he doesn’t break eye contact.

you run your fingers through his combed hair, on his forehead and nose and your lips curve into a silly smile when you look at him, at how meticulously he’s working on your skirt and panties, eyebrows furrowed in genuine concentration. “my angel, that’s very distracting.”

“but as distracting as is it, do not stop.” he smiles, it almost felt like your husband left out a faint, soft laugh. he thinks you’re cute, beautiful. godly. there’s nothing more perfect than his cute little wife. nothing sexier.

he kisses your knees, your inner thighs— the heat between your legs is enough to make the man cum is his pants, he wants to taste your sweet pussy, lick the juices dripping down you skin.

you both love this— it’s a painfully attractive prelude.

“please. don’t stop. you’re so beautiful.”

—

a/n: i posted this little ramble two years ago on my old blog @wakatshi-archive, but i realllly wanna have a comeback so i’m reposting all my works over here, of course, with some changes here and there. rereading them two years later made me realize there’s definitely more to be written! 🤍 i wanna start with the shorter works and i’ll keep the longer pieces for later hihi 😇

[verstappenverse]

Lost in the Spin - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max refuses to let rumors rewrite your love story.

3.1k words / Part 1 / Masterlist

Max was on his jet within the hour. He hadn’t even hesitated, instructing his pilot to prepare for takeoff while he threw whatever he needed into his bag and put on the first hoodie he could find. The flight felt endless, his knee bouncing the entire time, fingers tapping against his leg as he tried not to let the worst thoughts consume him. Every second was another second you could change your mind, another moment for doubt to creep in, another moment he might be losing you, another chance slipping away to make things right.

Would you actually believe him? Would this be enough?

He didn’t know, but he had to try.

He barely touched his phone, fearing he’d see more headlines, more assumptions, more comments dissecting your relationship as if it was entertainment for the world to judge. He couldn’t let this be the end. Not over something that wasn’t real. His fingers tapped anxiously against his thigh, finally he unlocked his phone just to see your last message again.

Okay.

It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t reassurance. But it was something.

As soon as the plane landed he was moving, his cap pulled low, hood up to avoid attention. The car ride to your apartment was silent save for the sound of his heart pounding in his chest. As he climbed the stairs to your floor, the reality of the situation hit him all over again. He had almost lost you. He still might.

Max hated not knowing. He hated not having control over this.

But most of all, he hated that he had hurt you.

Standing outside your door, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before knocking. His pulse thrummed in his ears as he waited, shifting his weight anxiously from foot to foot. A long pause. Then footsteps.

Then you.

There you were, standing in front of him, you looked tired, eyes slightly puffy like you’d spent hours crying, arms wrapped around yourself as though you were holding yourself together. Seeing you like this, seeing the hurt he had caused felt like a punch to the gut. It twisted something deep inside of him. He had never wanted to be the reason for your tears.

You heard the knock, your heart jumping into your throat. You had been staring at your phone for hours rereading Max’s messages, scrolling through the photos again and again, trying to find some kind of clarity. But now he was here.

You swallowed, wiping your damp cheeks before slowly making your way to the door. Your fingers trembled as you unlocked it and pulled it open.

Max stood there looking exhausted and disheveled. He was in a hoodie and sweatpants, dark circles under his eyes. The moment his gaze met yours, the raw emotion in them almost made your knees buckle.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice hoarse, eyes searching yours for any sign of hope.

You hesitated before stepping aside. “Come in.”

Max walked inside, the space feeling different than usual. Colder. Like a part of it had already started to pull away from him. The door clicked shut behind you, the silence stretching heavy between you both. He turned to face you, his hands flexing at his sides like he was trying to stop himself from reaching out to you.

You sat down on the couch and he followed, careful not to sit too close. He knew you needed space, but all he wanted to do was reach for you, hold you.

You were the first to break the silence. "Max…I…I don’t even know where to start.”

“Baby…” His voice cracked, and that was all it took for your resolve to splinter. He turned to you, his face filled with quiet desperation. “I know I already said it a million times, but I swear nothing happened. I wouldn’t do that to you. Not ever.”

“I need you to tell me the truth Max,” you said. “No sugarcoating. Just… the truth.”

His throat tightened. "I swear to you, I didn’t cheat. I didn’t even know that girl. I was drinking, celebrating with the team and people were taking photos everywhere. I swear I wasn’t thinking about anything except how much I missed you. And then suddenly everyone was pulling me into pictures, and she—whoever she was I didn’t realise how close she was. I don’t even remember half of the night, but I know I would never do something like that to you. You have to believe me."

Your fingers twisted in your lap. “But… how can you be so sure?” you asked, voice small. “If you don’t even remember half the night, how do you know you didn’t do something?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Because I know myself,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “Because even drunk out of my mind, there’s no part of me that would ever want anyone else. Because you are the first and only thing on my mind always.” He swallowed hard. “Being drunk doesn’t erase that. It doesn’t change who I am. And who I am is a man who loves you too much to ever risk losing you.”

Your fingers twisted in your lap. "Max it wasn’t just one picture. It was several."

"I know." His voice cracked slightly. "And I hate that it looks so bad, that it hurt you. It was just strangers at a bar, a bunch of misleading angles. If I could go back I’d do it all differently, I’d go straight to my room I’d facetime you instead of letting myself get caught up in the night." He exhaled shakily. "But I can’t change that. All I can do is promise you that nothing happened and that I love you more than anything."

Your throat tightened. He looked so raw, so heartbroken, and it made your chest ache. “Max…”

He inhaled sharply and then he pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocking it without hesitation and handing it to you.

“This is everything from that night,” he said, voice steady despite the turmoil in his eyes. “My texts, my photos, everything. I want you to see it all. I have nothing to hide.”

You stared at the device in your hands, your chest tightening. The openness, the willingness to be completely vulnerable, to let you see it all, this wasn’t the move of a man with something to cover up.

Slowly you scrolled. The messages were nothing but casual conversations with his team and a few with you. The photos he had taken himself were just of the guys, drinks, blurry selfies. And then there were the images online, the ones that had torn a hole in your chest, the original ones that had been sent to him not cropped and edited but the full group shots.

Your hands shook as you looked at them again, this time in the context of what you knew now. The girl was just there, a fan, maybe an acquaintance. The angles, the closeness, it all looked damning. But there was no direct proof of anything intimate.

He moved closer tentatively reaching for your hands. His touch was hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to, but when you didn’t pull away he held them tightly in his own. “I love you. More than anything. Please don’t let this be what breaks us.” His thumbs brushed over the back of your hands.

You let out a shaky breath. “I just…Max, I was so scared.” Your voice cracked, and you hated it, hated how exposed you felt, but you couldn’t stop now. “I saw those pictures, and all I could think was, what if I was wrong about you? What if I was just another idiot who trusted someone too much…again?” You let out a broken laugh, shaking your head. “I swore I’d never let myself go through that again. I swore I’d never be that girl who ignored the warning signs.”

Max's hands tightened around yours, his touch warm and certain. His eyes were shining, his expression open, desperate for you to believe him. “You were never wrong about me,” he said, his voice fierce, unwavering. “Never.”

He leaned in, his grip firm as if he could hold you together by touch alone. “I love you,” he said, the words so sure, so steady, it made your heart ache. “I love you more than I can even explain. You’re it for me.”

“I just… I don’t know how to stop thinking about it,” you admitted.

Max exhaled slowly, his thumbs tracing soft, reassuring circles against your skin. “Then don’t,” he said. “Don’t force yourself to push it away. Talk to me. Ask me anything, yell at me if you have to. Just don’t pull away from me, please.” His voice broke slightly. “I will never hurt you like that. I swear to you.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling slightly around his. “I don’t want us to be one of those couples Max. The ones who have to go through each other’s phones or can’t go on a night out without the other. I just want to trust you, to know that we’re solid without needing proof all the time.”

Max nodded. “And you can. I don’t want that kind of relationship either. I want us to be secure, to trust each other without second-guessing. If you ever need reassurance I’ll give it to you, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to doubt me.” He lifted your hands, pressing them against his chest, right over his heart. “You have me. Always.”

You searched his face looking for any sign of dishonesty, any flicker of guilt or hesitation that would suggest he wasn’t telling the full truth. But there was nothing. Just Max. The man who had always been yours, who had never given you a reason to doubt him before this.

"I don’t care what they say. I only care about what you believe. Do you really think I would do that to you?" He asked quietly.

You hesitated. And in that hesitation, Max felt like he might break.

Then, softly, you whispered, "No."

His breath left him in a rush.

"I don’t think you cheated," you admitted, looking down at your joined hands. "I know you Max. I know your heart. And deep down I don’t believe you’d do something like that. But… I’m still hurt. Seeing those pictures, seeing the way people talked about us like they knew everything, like they knew you better than I do…it just made me feel so small. Like it didn’t matter how things would look, because it wouldn’t matter if I got hurt in the process."

Max shook his head immediately. "You are everything to me. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you. I didn’t think, it was so stupid and I should’ve been more aware. But I promise you, I would never risk what we have."

A deep, exhausted sigh left your lips. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Max’s face crumpled with relief, his arms wrapping around you before he could stop himself. “You won’t. Never.”

You looked up at him then, and for the first time in days, you really looked at him. He looked like he had been through hell, and you hated that it was because of this.

Tears welled in your eyes, and Max didn’t know if it was a good sign or a bad one, but this time they weren’t from pain they were from relief, from the deep, aching love you had for him that refused to be erased by a few blurry images and cruel words from strangers.

You let him pull you into his arms, burying your face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him. His embrace was warm, steady, everything you had missed these past few days. His lips pressed against the top of your head, lingering there as if he could physically will away any remaining pain.

Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt as a twinge of guilt twisted inside you. “I’m sorry too,” you mumbled against him, voice barely above a whisper. “For overreacting. For being dramatic. I just—I got so in my own head, and I let it spiral, and—”

“Hey.” Max cut you off gently, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, his touch steady. “You don’t have to apologise for feeling hurt. You’re allowed to be upset. I never want you to bottle things up just because you’re scared of how I’ll react.”

You nodded, the weight of his reassurance settling over you like a blanket. “I just don’t want to be that kind of person. I don’t want to jump to conclusions or let my insecurities ruin us.”

“You won’t,” he promised. “We talk. We work through it. That’s what matters.” His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I never want you to feel like you can’t come to me. No matter what, I’d rather you tell me everything you’re feeling even if it hurts than keep it to yourself.”

You let out a shaky breath, "Okay."

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you murmured, pressing your face deeper into the warmth of him.

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was slow and deliberate, like he was grounding himself in you, reminding himself of what mattered.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, because despite everything, Max was your home.

The paddock was buzzing the moment you and Max arrived. Cameras flashed, microphones were shoved forward, and the murmur of reporters and journalists grew into a full-blown storm as soon as they caught sight of the two of you walking in together. But you held your head high, your hand clasped tightly in Max’s, refusing to let the noise shake you.

You could feel their eyes on you, the weight of their assumptions, their speculations. Just days ago headlines had painted you as the betrayed girlfriend, the one left humiliated in the wake of scandal. But Max hadn’t let the narrative stay that way. He hadn’t let you drown in the noise.

He walked beside you now, strong and unwavering, his grip on your hand firm. He had promised you that he would handle this, that he wouldn’t let you fight alone. And Max Verstappen never broke a promise.

A swarm of reporters gathered the second you both reached the entrance.

“Max! What do you have to say about the scandal?”

“Do you have anything to say about the rumors?”

Instinctively you tightened your grip on Max’s hand. He didn’t hesitate to squeeze back, a silent reassurance as you both pushed forward.

“Keep walking,” he murmured, voice low but firm. “Don’t give them what they want.”

You nodded, ignoring the tightness in your throat. But the reporters weren’t giving up that easily.

“Is your relationship still intact after everything that’s come out?”

His jaw tightened, his gaze sharp and unyielding as he fixed his eyes on the reporter who had spoken first. The cold, unimpressed stare that had shaken rivals on the racetrack was now turned on the media.

“Max do you have any comments about the pictures that surfaced last week?”

“No,” he said bluntly, his voice carrying over the crowd with effortless authority. “Because there’s nothing to comment on.”

The air shifted. Some reporters hesitated, others pressed forward, but Max’s expression didn’t change. He wasn’t here to play into their games. He wasn’t here to give them the reaction they wanted.

Another journalist tried again. “But Max, surely you understand why people are talking. The pictures suggest—”

“Suggest what?” Max cut in sharply, his jaw tightening. “That I can’t even exist in the same space as another woman without ridiculous rumors starting? That a couple of out-of-context images are enough to turn my relationship into a circus? No, I don’t understand.” His voice was firm, authoritative, leaving no room for argument. “What I do understand is that I love my girlfriend and she doesn’t deserve to be dragged through this just because people are desperate for a scandal.”

You squeezed his hand, warmth flooding your chest at his unwavering defense. He wasn’t just standing up for you, he was shutting them down completely.

The reporters didn’t relent. “But the pictures Max—”

“I was out with my team, celebrating,” he said, voice steady but laced with irritation. “Nothing happened. And frankly, I’m done explaining myself to people who don’t even know me.”

The crowd went silent for a moment, stunned by his bluntness. But Max wasn’t done. He turned his gaze directly to the cameras.

“I love her,” he said simply, but with so much weight behind the words that it felt as though your heart had stopped. “And nothing is going to change that.”

The murmurs picked up again, but this time there was a shift in the air. Max had said what needed to be said. There was no room for further questioning.

In the chaos, notifications buzzed endlessly on people’s phones all over again, tweets flying out in real-time as the internet erupted over his words.

@F1Fanatic: Max Verstappen just SHUT DOWN the media with the most protective boyfriend energy I’ve ever seen. “I love her and nothing is going to change that”??? I AM UNWELL.

@RacingInsider: Max Verstappen publicly defending his girlfriend, refusing to play into the media’s nonsense, and making it clear where he stands? Respect.

@SportsBuzz: Verstappen to the press: “I love her and nothing is going to change that.” The man said what he said. Case closed.

@GossipGrid: Max Verstappen and his girlfriend arrived at the paddock hand-in-hand, completely unfazed by the drama. Looks like the couple is stronger than ever.

The headlines followed within minutes, flooding every sports and gossip site imaginable.

Max Verstappen Breaks Silence: “I Love Her and Nothing is Going to Change That”

Verstappen Defends Girlfriend Amidst Media Scrutiny “I’m Done Explaining Myself”

Stronger Than Ever? Verstappen and [Y/N] Arrive Together at the Paddock

Max Verstappen Crushes Cheating Rumours with Fiery Response to Reporters

But none of it mattered. Not the reporters still murmuring, not the cameras still flashing, not the internet analysing every second of the moment.

As you both moved past the crowd, the noise faded into the background. You glanced up at Max, his grip on your hand relaxing slightly as you walked further into the paddock.

“Thank you,” you whispered, just for him.

He looked down at you, eyes softening in contrast to the sharpness he had shown the media just moments ago. “I meant every word.”

And with that, you both moved forward together, leaving the noise behind.

[bowtiepasta]

SFW 𑣿 GOJO, GETO, SHOKO: “SOMEONE NEW”

nothing complicated i just miss sashisu like a mfer and needed a childhood friend to college pipeline with them. this healed something in me (cw: not separate pairings, language, some angst, drinking, modern au, f/afab!reader with she pronouns, flirty)

you first kiss satoru on a soccer field when you are ten, grass littered uniforms and scraped knees disregarded by the scowls on both your faces — one due to his third penalty in this match, yours due to the drink he just dumped out of your hand (and.. the fact that he kissed you in the bleachers in front of the entire school, as the ball flies into the outfield). total accident, he claims.

you first kiss suguru as a thank you for tutoring you through midterms the spring of your second year, in the janitor’s closet while nanami gets dresscoded on the other side of the door. you end up making out till the bell rings, wait for the halls to be empty to leave. caught up in the moment, he says.

you first kiss shoko at her doorstep a day before graduation, both completely shitfaced after utahime fake id-ed two cases of vodka cranberry and had to finish it before her parents got home. she nearly is expelled the next morning, manages to dodge it somehow. shoko ‘doesn’t remember’ one bit.

you haven’t talked to any of them since you drove away from the ceremony, gown and cap sat quietly on the dash of your car, acceptance letter folded in the glove box. you haven’t kissed anyone this year.

it’s not like you haven’t tried dating. blind dates, dates that picked you up at bars, dates that sparked messy roommate situations. and yet.. you didn’t kiss any of them. or anything else, for that matter.

has it really been that long?

when satoru finds out you all live in the same dormitory this year, he adds you to a groupchat and drops the address to a new dive bar down the block. all of them are convinced, except you.

you leave them on read.

it’s not like you don’t want to go. the idea of seeing them again makes your fingers twitch against your phone screen, hovering over the buttons, rereading the stupid little salute emoji satoru sent in. suguru thumbs-upped the text. shoko left it on delivered, though you know she’ll probably show up anyway.

you don’t reply. you’re busy. you’ve outgrown whatever this was, and you’re a different person now. when you drove away from that ceremony without saying goodbye, you did it on purpose.

..right? right.

so you go to bed early, phone facedown, volume off.

the next morning, there’s a photo in the chat: a blurry, overexposed mess of neon lights and moving figures, captioned you were supposed to be here, loser. satoru, obviously. you ignore it.

then comes another. this time from suguru. a selfie. well, almost. more like half of his face and most of shoko’s, her head thrown back laughing. he’s smirking at the camera, holding up a drink, the words we ordered you one anyway typed underneath.

you hate how easy it is for them to pick up where they left off. how the years apart don’t seem to mean anything to them.

you chalk it up to fomo, but really, you miss them.

the groupchat lies dormant for a while. the first time you run into one of them in person, it’s not satoru. it’s not suguru, either.

two days later, at the corner store down the street.

she spots you before you see her. your name slips out of her mouth like a habit, before she can stop it.

“avoiding me?”

you grab a bottle of water from the fridge, letting the cold plastic bite into your palm. “I’m busy,” you say, because it’s easier than the truth.

shoko hums like she doesn’t quite believe you, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the shelf. she looks the same. a little older, a little sharper around the edges, but still so unexplainably her.

the same girl who used to steal sips from your drinks when you weren’t looking, who let you sleep on her floor when you fought with your parents, who kissed you once and never mentioned it again.

“we’re going out again this weekend,” she says, tucking the cigarettes into her left pocket. “if you don’t show, satoru’s gonna start getting.. creative.”

you raise an eyebrow. “creative?”

shoko smirks as her receipt prints. “he has your number. the real one, not the one you muted us on.”

your stomach sinks.

“see you there,” she walks off before you can argue.

you spend the next few days pretending you’re not thinking about it.

which is stupid, of course you are. you think about it while you’re in class, rereading the same paragraph in your textbook without absorbing a single word. you think about it when you’re cooking dinner, zoning out so hard that the pasta overboils and hisses against the stove, licks at the countertop.

then comes saturday night, right as you’re about to convince yourself for real that you aren’t going-

satoru calls you.

not a text. not a meme in the group. a full fledged, obnoxious phone call.

you hesitate before answering. which, in hindsight, is your first mistake. your second is actually picking up.

“hiii, stranger.” his voice is syrupy sweet, every syllable stretched out, “you know, if you were gonna go witness protection on us, you could’ve at least left a goodbye letter.”

you pinching the bridge of your nose. “satoru-”

“don’t ‘satoru’ me. do you have any idea how tragic it was last time? suguru had to drink your cocktail for you. he was fucking devastated.”

you hear a low, amused hum in the background.

“I was fine.”

“no, he wasn’t,” satoru continues. “he stared into space all night. contemplated existence. it was dark.”

there’s a muffled sound, like someone smacking him in the arm. shoko, you’re guessing.

you exhale, dragging a hand down your face. it’s annoying — it is — because it’s unfair. it’s unfair that they can just pick up where they left off while you’re still stuck at a finish line, pretending you can’t.

and maybe that’s why, instead of hanging up, you say, “where is this place?”

satoru gasps like you’ve just confessed your undying love to him. “ohhh, now you’re interested?”

“I didn’t say I was coming,” you argue, but you can already hear the grin in his voice.

“sure, sure,” he says. “texting you the address now. see you soon, sweetheart.”

he hangs up before you can protest. your phone buzzes a second later.

the final straw is a venmo request.

$5 for your absence. we took a vote.

you 9:58 PM: i hate all of you suguru 9:58 PM: so you’ll be there? you 10:00 PM: maybe suguru 10:00 PM: that’s not a nooo

you cave.

you arrive twenty minutes late, hoping the extra time will take the edge off. it doesn’t.

the bar is exactly what you expect — sticky tables, health violations, music that tells you to stay away (nickelback). you spot them immediately, because.. well. some things don’t change.

you hover in the doorway longer than you should, debating leaving, until satoru glances up.

his grin is blinding. “holy shit.”

three pairs of eyes snap to you.

you exhale through your nose. too late now.

satoru waves you over like you’re a lost dog. “get over here, exile. thought we’d need a search party.”

you roll your eyes but make your way to the table, slipping into the seat next to shoko.

“hilarious,” you deadpan, the words coming out lighter than you mean them to.

suguru pushes a drink toward you. “pre-ordered.”

a wrinkle forms between your brows. “what is it?”

“who cares?” shoko scoffs. “just drink.”

you hesitate for half a second. then you grab the glass.

satoru’s grin widens. “that’s my girl.”

you pretend the warmth in your chest is just the alcohol. it burns in your throat, but in the way that reminds you of being sixteen and reckless: bad decisions made on good nights.

“you look good,” suguru says, studying you.

you don’t know how to answer that, so you just shrug. “not so bad yourself.”

“obviously,” satoru interjects, stretching his arms over the back of the booth, effectively trapping you and shoko in. “we age like fine wine.”

shoko exhales smoke directly into his face. he doesn’t flinch.

“you’re a nuisance,” she says.

“you love me,” he counters.

you should feel out of place. you should feel like an outsider looking in, like some unwelcome visitor. it’s been years. yet.. the moment you sat down, every available inch of space is by default, the way it should be. almost like you never left.

“so,” satoru drawls, drumming his fingers against the table. “what’s the deal? you hate us now?”

you blink. “what?”

“you vanished after graduation.” he says it simply, a fact, a puzzle piece he’s been turning over in his hands for years. “I mean, I get it. I’d leave them too if I had the choice.” he gestures towards the other two. “but me?” he gawks. “rude.”

suguru huffs a laugh. “speak for yourself.”

you pick at the rim of your glass, salt flaking between your pointer and thumb. “I didn’t ..vanish.”

“no? then what would you call it?”

you swallow. the words are on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t know how to say them. that after the ceremony, after all the hugs and the drunken promises to stay in touch, you sat in your car for an hour and felt nothing. that leaving wasn’t some big, dramatic decision — it just happened.

a door closing. a chapter ending.

satoru is looking at you, suguru is watching, shoko is waiting, and suddenly, you don’t want to say anything at all.

“I wanted a new start,” you lie instead, but no one calls you out on it.

satoru somehow lets it go. “well. you’re here now.”

and just like that, the moment passes. the conversation shifts, and so does the night.

shoko orders another round. suguru leans in, asks about your job, your apartment, the details of your life that they’ve missed. satoru interrupts every three minutes with commentary, and by the time you’re halfway through your second drink, you’re laughing, really laughing, and you realize, with a strange sort of ache, that you haven’t in a long time.

it’s late when you finally leave. satoru slings an arm over your shoulder like he’s been doing it every day for the past four years, and you don’t push him off.

“don’t be a stranger this time,” suguru calls out before heading off in the opposite direction.

shoko kisses your cheek. “welcome back.”

you don’t respond. but as you make your way home, satoru’s warmth still lingering against your skin, you think maybe this time — you’ll stay.

satoru 3:04 AM: since we’re all back together now satoru 3:04 AM: should we address the elephant in the room? shoko 3:10 AM: tf are you on satoru 3:11 AM: you know. how we’ve all kissed her

© bowtiepasta: do not copy edit or repost anywhere

[rin-may-1103]

Biggest Regret. (Part Two)

Previous | Master Post | Next

Bruce had finally found a peaceful moment to sit down and go through his work emails; there were no sibling homicide fights, prank wars, and thankfully no vigilante-related headaches.

Just a peaceful afternoon; normal polluted Gotham skies, the usual city ruckus of honking horns and shouting, and the constant footsteps back and forth past his closed office door.

taking a sip from his old mug, Bruce opened his laptop. Quickly typing in his password for the hour, he made his way to his email. surprisingly, less than 90 emails were waiting for him. Usually, he had hundreds to go through.

hmmm. Another check for this being a suspiciously good day then, it just made him more anxious for when the other shoe would fall.

peaceful for Gotham, for him, never meant anything good. It always happened right before a tragic event or large-scale Arkham breakout. he could hope for it to just be a peaceful day, but he knew wishful thinking was useless.

taking another sip, Bruce started scrolling through his emails, reading the subject lines to sort through which ones were more important. After a few minutes of reading, Bruce stopped and reread the second to last email's title, his eyebrows furrowing:

A Video From Your Son.

Now, Bruce was truly confused; Why would one of his kids email him? let alone through his public work email? They've been told multiple times to email him through the bat-email if it contains anything important or time-sensitive. Heck, they've been told to just text him it if it was important, he always answers a text faster than an email.

His Bruce Wayne email was notoriously ignored for multiple days; mostly for his cover story, but also because he spends most of his time doing Batman stuff. (Reading Wayne Enterprises emails usually wasn't something at the top of his list, the kids know this.)

so, then why would one of them email him?

hmm. maybe? maybe one of the boys set up a long-term prank or something. They know how long it takes for him to read his emails, so maybe they sent it knowing it would take a while, which means they had plenty of time to set something up.

yes, that's it. it makes total sense.

Clicking on the email, he was greeted with a boy (who looked a lot like Damian, but who most certainly wasn't) sitting gravely on a wooden box in some dark warehouse.

sitting up straight, Bruce set his mug down and studied the paused video. the boy looked so much like Damian that Bruce almost wanted to believe he was a clone. but his bright stern blue eyes and and apparent freckles pushed the idea away.

Yes, clones can have imperfections, especially when made in a rush, but never something as drastic as the wrong eye color or a genetic quality the one being cloned didn't have. Unless, the one making the clone had no idea what they were doing, but Bruce doubted Talia would have allowed someone to take Damian's DNA before he was given to Bruce.

and the boy on screen had scars, lots of scars, meaning if he was a clone then he was made before Bruce even knew of Damian.

hmm.

there were no clues provided in the kid's surroundings; the warehouse was surprisingly empty of anything important or telling. the kid had even chosen a spot where Bruce couldn't tell if it was day or night, or if the lights were on. which took away the usual ways of figuring out where the boy was.

No sky meant he couldn't calculate the general area based on season and celestial bodies. And because he couldn't tell if the light was from industrial lighting or daylight, he couldn't cross out warehouses with electricity. The kid was smart. smarter than the average citizen at least.

he was also wearing discreet clothing; which meant Bruce couldn't trace him through that either.

leaning forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees, Bruce pressed play and gave the video his full attention.

The boy on screen sat in silence for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts. his hands rested in his lap, his poster rather relaxed as he sat on his wooden crate.

"This is video eight." the boy spoke, his voice rough with sleepless nights and yelling. Did he yell at people often? or had he gotten into a fight previously? there were seven other videos, but this was the first one Bruce saw. he'd have to go back and see if he had somehow missed them.

"don't worry, you didn't miss anything." the boy chuckled humorously, running one of his hands through his hair. Bruce noted that it shook, the kid was probably nervous, or hungry. the kid looked too skinny to be healthy...

"no, this is just the eighth time I've had to record this." the boy continued, dropping his hand back into his lap as he slumped forward, his black hair falling into his face.

"this video," he continued, not glancing up, "is for Bruce Wayne's eyes only."

there were still no visual tells on where the boy was, not even audio cues for Bruce to study. frowning, Bruce rested his head on his hands, taking in everything the boy said.

"Hi Dad," Bruce sucked in a breath, tensing up as the kid finally glanced back at the camera.

"I'm Danny. you likely don't know I exist, and if you're receiving this; I'm already dead." he chuckled like the thought of his death was laughable. "well, more dead than I already was." he snorted, shaking his head in a way that reminded Bruce of Damian when he was exasperated or disappointed.

"Maybe it's cruel of me to send you a message post-mortem," Danny, the kid's name is Danny, looked away. He rubbed his neck awkwardly as he continued, "But you deserve the truth, and telling you earlier would've put you in danger."

Danny let out a breath as he pulled his legs up onto the crate, "this email is set to automatically send if I haven't opened my laptop for three days. I sometimes set it longer if I'm expecting trouble or going to be away for a while, but I've most likely been away from home for a bit over three days if you're receiving this."

Danny looked so tired as he looked back at the camera, the dark bags under his eyes worse than even Tim's after a week-long investigation.

"I don't know who killed me. Obviously, I'm recording this in advance... I have my suspicions though. it was most likely either the GIW or my adoptive parents, the Fentons." Danny reached beside him and held up a two pictures, "This is Maddie and Jack Fenton, and this," another picture, "is some GIW agents."

Danny snorted as he glanced at the GIW agents, their startled faces slightly blurry as Danny stood in front of them and took a selfie. bruce wasn't sure if he was amused or not that the kid took a selfie with his potential murderers but then again, Bruce could see all of his children doing it too. (Bruce could also see himself doing it.)

"i half-died at 14," Danny suddenly added, tossing the pictures to the side. "became the local ghost superhero..."

he stared off to the side for a moment, "but they never realized I was trying to help and kept talking about tearing ghost me apart molecule by molecule." Danny glanced back at the camera before his eyes widened, "my parents! I mean, my parents and the GIW wanted to tear me apart, not the town! though they probably wouldn't have disagreed with it if asked..."

"anyway," Danny shook his head, "my money's on that being what happened..." Danny looked down at his hands like he was seeing them for the first time, "there will be nothing left of me to bury..."

"Sorry about that!" he suddenly added, a bright smile on his face. Bruce could tell it was strained, forced in hopes of not upsetting him.

"you'd probably have to cremate me if there was, it'd be a waste of wood to get me a coffin... though I'd really prefer if I wasn't set on fire," Danny chuckled, trying to hide a full-body shiver.

He sat in silence for a moment before Danny continued, "The rest of the story is this: I was raised in an assassin cult, eventually escaping at the age of nine. they sent me on a mission and I just had to take the opportunity. I successfully faked my death."

Danny sat up now, fully focusing on the camera, "My biggest regret is that I escaped alone. And that's the reason I'm reaching out to you."

Danny let his feet fall off the edge as he grabbed something from next to him, keeping it out of view for now. "you're a civilian," Danny stated like it was a fact he knew to be true.

Bruce clenched his jaw, trying to keep himself still so he could focus on what Danny was telling him. he wished he could reach through the screen and hold the boy, whether he was his son or not, he obviously was talking about the league which meant Talia hadn't told him.

Talia hadn't told him, and if he was anything like Damian, then he would have no reason to believe otherwise.

"If you know too much about the League of Assassins you'll be in danger, but I need you to save my twin Damian." Danny's words were like a final nail in the coffin, the final straw to keeping his heart from breaking again.

it was true, it had to be. How would Danny have this information otherwise?

"he's likely still there after all these years. he never wanted to escape; he took pride in being the heir to the league. he's probably going to be stabby: he's an assassin after all, but it's not his fault. Ra's, our grandfather, indoctrinated him a lot more successfully than he did me. Damian was more susceptible to it... it's not his fault." Danny repeated, clenching the object he had grabbed.

"Please," Danny pleaded, "save him. I'm begging you. My biggest regret is leaving Damian in the league. You have a chance to save him. Please, please take it."

Danny bit his lip and glanced down at his lap, "I w-," he quickly glanced around before shaking his head, "I long for a time when it would have been safe for me to get to know you. You seem like a cool dad, from what I've seen of you on the news with your oldest kids."

he looked up with a water smile, "I bet you're like that with the youngest you hide from the public too. I still don't know how you managed that, it's been six years." Danny chuckled, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"This is my, um, my old league sigil." Danny held up the object he had been holding, revealing a golden disk with thick rope connected to it. it had the demon head's symbol on it.

"A coat of arms. I'll leave it somewhere for you. hopefully, you can use it to get to Damian." Danny gently placed it back on the box. "I'm keeping it in a box in the walls of my room. You should be able to find it."

"I wish you and your family the best," Danny sniffed, looking back at the camera. "thank you for listening. From your long lost almost certainly dead by now son, Danny Fenton."

Bruce stared at the paused video for a minute, just trying to process everything he just saw. he needed confirmation, he knew it was true, it had to be, there's no way Danny could fake this. but Bruce needed to confirm. make sure he isn't seeing things.

absently, Bruce pulled out his phone and dialed his youngest's, was he still the youngest? or was Danny? number.

the tone didn't even ring longer than five seconds before his son's voice echoed into the silent office, "Father."

"Damian, did you have a twin named Danny?" Bruce asked, not cutting around the bush.

dead silence, he couldn't even hear Damian's breath.

then, "...Who told you?"

Damian's voice wasn't angry or fearful, it was sad and confused and wavered like the last leaf on a tree clinking on for dear life in a blizzard. it cemented the break in Bruce's heart as he stared at the tearful face of his son, his son who claimed to be dead already.

hanging up, Bruce quickly sent the video to Damian and waited. he needed a minute to process what just happened. Clicking play, Bruce rewatched the video, hoping to find another clue.

Damian called back a few minutes later, the sound of Danny's voice echoing in the background telling Bruce his son had watched and rewatched the video just like he had.

"Father. I do not care what state he is in, even if there is only a single molecule left. I'm going to bring him home. We must discover exactly what happened to Danny, the truth."

"I couldn't agree more, Damian," Bruce grunted, standing up. Pushing his chair in, he turned his laptop off and made his way to his office door. "I'll be home soon, gather the others. tell them all hands on deck."

"yes, Father," Robin replied, hanging up not even a second later.

Shoving his phone in his pocket and opening his office door, Batman started making his way home.

Next

[blaqcats-fics]

unfortunately, i usually don't keep track of birthdays specifically in fandoms. so, imagine my shock when i found out that i share a birthday with bruce wayne (feb 19) — based on silverage and modern-age Batman. it is also a shock that i also just found out this man is a pisces. so in honor of both of our birthdays, here’s just a fun little skit!!

It starts with a podcast.

Tim’s the one who’s listening to it, earbuds in, looking for background noise while he codes. He barely registers the conversation until he hears the words:

“You know who gives me serious Pisces energy? Batman.”

Tim blinks. Rewinds. Listens again.

“I mean, think about it. Secretive? Brooding? Carries the weight of the world on his shoulders but refuses to talk about his feelings? Classic water sign behavior. Probably cries in the Batmobile.”

Tim immediately forwards the clip to the family group chat.

Steph is the first to react.

Steph: HOLY SHIT WAIT IS BRUCE A PISCES??

Damian: Don’t be ridiculous.

Steph: NO. THIS MAKES SENSE.

Steph: Moody. Overdramatic. Keeps adopting kids for no reason other than his feelings?? Classic Pisces.

Dick: If Bruce is a Pisces, that would explain SO MUCH.

Damian: This is stupid. He doesn’t even believe in astrology.

Steph: Because he’s a Pisces and doesn’t want to be perceived.

Dick: Wait when is his birthday again??

Tim double-checks. Then he stares at the date.

Tim: …Feburary 19th.

Silence.

Then:

Steph: OH MY GOD.

Dick: OH MY GOD.

Damian: This means nothing.

Jason: No. No. It means EVERYTHING.

—

When Jason jumps on board, things escalate.

Because Jason starts compiling evidence.

“Think about it,” he tells Dick later that night. “He’s moody as hell. He broods. He internalizes everything. He loves tragedy. I bet you anything he listens to sad music while doing patrol.”

Dick, who has personally witnessed Bruce listen to Chopin while looking out over Gotham like he’s in a Victorian novel, has no counterargument.

—

Alfred’s reaction is the worst.

“Master Bruce is, indeed, a Pisces,” he says when asked. “It explains quite a bit, I’ve always thought.”

Bruce is right there.

He looks up from his paperwork, eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t explain anything.”

“Of course, sir.” Alfred’s voice is as dry as the Batcave itself. “It is mere coincidence that you have the emotional repression of a particularly stubborn fish.”

—

Now that they know, they start noticing everything.

“He’s so sentimental,” Steph says, watching Bruce silently look at the Bat-Signal with his arms crossed. “Like. Deeply sentimental. I bet he has an old love letter tucked away somewhere that he rereads when he’s feeling tragic.”

Jason hums. “He does keep Selina’s notes.”

Tim gasps.

“Oh my god,” Dick whispers. “He’s the most Pisces to ever Pisces.”

—

The final straw is when Cass catches Bruce watching a French noir film in the dark with a glass of scotch.

She takes a picture.

It’s sent to the group chat immediately.

Cass: Look at this. Look at him.

Tim: That is the most Pisces shit I’ve ever seen.

Jason: He’s mourning a past life rn.

Steph: He’s thinking about his tragic love affairs. Probably wishing he could save them.

Dick: He’s gonna write poetry about it later.

Damian: All of you need to be stopped.

—

Eventually, Bruce notices.

Because of course he does.

“What,” he says, standing in the middle of the Batcave, staring at them like they’ve personally betrayed him, “is happening?”

Nobody speaks.

Then Damian, who has had enough, scowls and says, “They have been discussing your astrological sign.”

Bruce blinks.

“They are also keeping a list of your most Pisces-like behaviors.”

Jason immediately hurls a smoke bomb to escape.

It doesn’t end there.

—

A week later, Clark drops by.

“I heard you were a Pisces,” he says, grinning.

Bruce throws a batarang at him.

[kooggukk]

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 BEYOND THE JOB // JJK

daddy jungkook (literally)

; babysitting the cutest angel on earth is the perfect job. (except when her father is fucking hot and wants all of you)

+ comment if u wnna be added to the taglist

— 1/??

| next part >>

“seriously though, you have to fuckin’ quit that job already.”

Sasha, who happens to be your best friend ever since you started working at the local elementary school, just lectured you again. she was already teaching there when you arrived, you spent your lunch breaks with her and even be each other’s substitute sometimes.

surprisingly, she quit a few months after that. you stayed close though. at first, she was dying to know the drama happening among the teaching staff, but as shit kept going down which included you and the principal, all you ever hear from her is that you need to quit.

it wasn’t a huge surprise to her when you first told her your boss, aka the school’s principal, asked you out. it was weird, but everyone knew he was.. a little desperate. he had asked most of the female teachers out, some who agreed could only say bad things about the experience.

you declined his offer politely, explaining that you don’t want your personal life to mix with your job. it was awkward after that, but turns out he seems to be the dumbest person on earth. he asked you out two weeks after that, again.

still to this day, he keeps asking you out over and over and you keep rejecting him over and over again. sure, he got a lil’ crush on you, sweet, right? fuck no. he’s a pervert, doesn’t know what personal space is.

“but i need the money. i don’t know where else i could get such good salary.” you told her, for the nth time.

“be a stripper,” Sasha casually said, sipping on her diet coke while your eyes widened.

“don’t say nonsense, dafuq..” you both shared a giggle, but you definitely won’t put that job idea on the bottom of your list. maybe in the middle, or top 5. if you really can’t find a good place, then gotta be top 3.

“you could be one until you save enough money, then look for a less crazy one.”

“there’s never enough money, sasha.” you sighed, fuck inflation. when you grew up and finished studying, you realized the hardest part of being an adult was money. it’s crazy how difficult it is to make a living.

“if you don’t give in your quitting notice tomorrow, i’m gonna do it for you instead.” she narrowed her eyes at you.

“i don’t want to make a decision too quick. not until i know i can find another job.”

“quit.”

“no.”

“quit.”

“no.”

“quit.”

…

“okay.”

she squealed in her chair, gaining some attention on the two of you.

“if you dare to lie to me right now, i’m gonna make you eat your own shit.”

you kicked her under the table, sending her a glare. “behave, bitch.”

┈ ⪩⪨   ┈

“oh, __! what brings you here today?” your boss, sehun immediately stood up from his chair, ready to greet you with a hug.

panicking, you reached your hand out with a paper, catching his attention. “this is..?”

“my resignation notice, sir.”

“your what?”

he took the paper from your grip, examining it carefully. his eyebrows fell together, eyes scanning every single word.

he backed up, resting on the edge of his table. he looked at the paper again, rereading the first sentence.

‘Kindly accept this letter as my formal resignation…’

“are you sure, __?” he asked, putting the paper on his table. he crossed his arms, frustration written on his face.

you fixed your hair, giving him a firm nod. “yeah, i’ve been thinking of it for a while now.”

“i’m glad i could be a part of this amazing team, but i just feel like,” you struggled to find the words, obviously you didn’t want to tell in his face.

‘aye bruh, stop bein’ a pervert and you might stop losing your workers’

“look, teaching isn’t my thing. and i feel horrible to find that out so late.”

“well, if your passion for teaching ever comes back, you’re more than welcomed here.”

“thank you,” you smiled, because even though he’s the most annoying person you’ve ever met, your co-workers have always been kind to you.

the children also love you, and you’re extremely thankful for all the support and love you got from everyone.

during the usual lunch break, you co-workers heard the news too. they all wished you the best with a hug, some getting emotional too.

officially, this was your last week working at the school.

when you got home, sasha sent you a link to an advertisement.

‘looking for a nanny’

you laughed, dialing her contact. didn’t take her long to answer, obviously. she’s always on her damn phone, even when working.

“you can’t be serious. a nanny?” you laughed, finding the idea of you with a kid ridiculous.

“have you seen the description? girl, they pay damn well!” she said, followed by her exhaling.

“didn’t you say you’re gonna stop smoking?”

“i stopped. for three hours.”

you shook your head, putting her on speaker as you clicked the advertisement.

“170.000₩?” you blurted out loud, “a day?!” sasha hummed on the other side of the call.

“told ya’..”

“that’s.. nice. woah, yeah, nice.” you mumbled as you continued to read the requirements and some important details about the job.

“give it a try.” sasha said, but your eyes caught a sentence.

“they want someone with experience, as expected.” you let out a long sigh and fell back on your bed.

“you got the experience.”

“me? sasha, i never looked after a kid-“

“you work with kids. first and second graders. and they all fuckin’ love you.”

“that’s different.” you groaned.

“it’s not. a kid is a kid. 3 year olds are just as damn annoying as 7 year olds. prove me wrong..”

you laughed, she was right. they can be a huge pain in the ass, but they have the purest soul.

“true.”

“give it a try, __.” she said again, calling you by your name. oh she’s serious serious.

“yeah, i might call tomorrow then.”

“might? no, you will.” she corrected you and you rolled your eyes.

“sure.”

you called them the next day after considering it for half a day, being the typical embarrassment, you called at the wrong time.

the man was in a hurry, so you both just quickly agree on a time to meet in person. that happened to be the day after.

you looked at the address one more time after you got off the bus, realizing it was more of a wealthy neighborhood. you only had to walk about 5 minutes until you got there, hesitantly but you pressed the bell.

a tall, young man opened the door. his skin is smooth and fair, almost perfect. his hair dark, slightly wavy which was styled in a mullet cut, longer at the back.

his choice in clothes seemed to be rich, a white ribbed polo shirt with short sleeves, causing your eyes to drop to his sleeve tattoo in a second. he paired it with black tailored trousers.

“hey, you must be __?” he asked with uncertainty and you came back to life, smiling to him.

“yeah, i am.”

“great, come in.”

he stepped aside and you walked in, taking off your shoes and jacket.

the house was oddly barely decorated, not a single picture or painting on the walls, very few plants, which you’re sure are fake plants also. the house wasn’t really colorful, most of the furnitures are bright. like beige and cream white.

“would you like a drink? water, tea, soda? maybe coffee?” he suggested as he walked in front of you, leading you to the living room.

“no, thank you.” you politely refused, feeling a little.. off in such a nice home. not something you’re used to.

you sat down on the couch, carefully not to mess the neatly placed pillows behind. god you looked so uncomfortable and awkward.

“i’d like to introduce myself again, in person this time.” he spoke as he sat down on the armchair, next to the couch.

“i’m jeon jungkook, 27. i’m a dentist in the center of seoul. i’m the father of a sweet angel, nabi. she turns 5 in a few weeks, we could say she’s in her, erm,” he struggled to find an appropriate word.

“crazy phase?” you asked with a smile.

“yeah, something like that. she’s been loud lately, that’s all.” he chuckled, resting his arms on his knees.

you nodded and held your small bag tightly, “i’d like to introduce myself better too, then.”

“i’m __, 24 and i currently work at an elementary school. i handed in my resignation letter and this is my last week as a teacher, so i’m searching for a new job currently.”

you paused, hesitant what else to say.

“elementary school? so, you work with kids?”

“yes, first and second grade.”

after a few minutes of getting to know each other more, a little girl, most likely his daughter, walked down the stairs with her sleepy appearance.

“oh!” she stopped the moment she saw you, the tiredness leaving her eyes.

“nabi, c’mere.” jungkook held out his hand, “this is __. what do you say?” he asked her, holding her tiny hands.

“hello.” she greeted you and you smiled, her shyness is adorable.

“hi.”

“__ is here because she would like to look after you.” he said and she looked up to him so fast, you thought her neck would snap.

“daddy, are you leeving me?” she gasped and jungkook chuckled at her words, shaking his head.

“no, but when i’m at work, someone needs to be here and take care of you. how about __, does she seem nice? hm?”

the little girl shrugged, hugging her father’s arm. he sent her back to the bedroom, saying he would be there soon too.

“well, she’s a little shy at first but, i think she’s gonna open up fast.” he smiled and stood up, your eyes widening a bit and you stood up too.

“does that mean, i got the job?”

“see you next monday?” he asked and you almost started jumping, but you held back. instead, you gave him a huge smile and nodded.

“monday then.”

[erwinsvow]

ain't nothing better for me

summary: at half past midnight, you get call from your ex-boyfriend. and though you really, really shouldn't answer, you still do.

now spinning: poison by brent faiyaz

word count: 8.8k

warnings/tags: toxic exbf!rafe, heavy angst, mentions of past breakup/fighting, reader knows she deserves better but can't stay away (classic), car sex feat. fingering, backshots, unprotected sex. thank you so so so much to @zyafics for all her help with reading and editing ♡

your phone goes off when you’re putting on your nightly skincare. in between layers of moisturizer and serums, a hopeful smile graces your face. you think you know who it is, and you’re actually a little excited to check your messages.

you let the anticipation soak in for a little longer, finishing your routine first before taking a look to reply. it’s been months since you’ve even felt a hint of excitement about talking to a boy, and this one—the one you know has just texted you—is making you feel somewhat normal again. 

you’re not just someone hung up on her ex-boyfriend, pretty much unable to escape him and the ghost of your old relationship wherever you go anymore. now you’re just another girl—talking to a new boy and feeling the excitement that a new crush brings.

you rub on the last layer, the one that makes your skin all glowy and soft before bed, before deciding to go check the text. you rush over to your phone, which is resting on your nightstand next your books and your water, picking it up and tapping the screen to read the message you’ve been waiting for.

rc: are you asleep?

you think your beating heart has just fallen through to your stomach. the phone falls out of your hand, thudding against the counter and hitting your glass of water before falling onto the rug. 

“shit. oh, shit,” you repeat to yourself, picking up the now spilled, half-empty cup. you look at the water drip off your nightstand, dark specks of water painting your rug while you try to catch your breath.

it feels impossible to do so, and you wonder how one short text can get you so winded. you scramble to the other side of the room, grabbing a towel but unable to walk back to where your fallen phone is. picking it up and rereading that text feels impossible. every muscle is frozen in place, the towel clenched in your fist while you realize nothing you could ever do is going to make you normal again. all it takes is a few words from rafe cameron to get you completely unglued.

“okay. deep breaths,” you say quietly, as though rafe could hear you through the phone. you tread back carefully, watching your screen fade back to darkness. letting out yet another deep breath, you blot the wet patches with the towel and take a seat on the floor against your bedframe, resting your back and bringing your knees in.

it’s pathetic, you know that already. no one should permit one text to get them curling up half-fetal with a new fear of their phone, but that’s what rafe has done to you.

a tumultuous relationship had brought you here now—for every up, there was a down, and though you had once thought rafe was the most misunderstood guy you had ever met, you know now that there was a reason for it. 

all of your friends had warned you, and you hadn’t listened. and it’s not as though you have something hard, something concrete to blame. maybe it would have been better if rafe had just cheated on you or gotten bored of you, maybe that would make getting over him easier. 

instead you’re left the gutting realization that there was still, to this day—even four months after you two had officially broken up—no lack of love between you two. the way you’re sitting on the floor with tears brimming in your eyes is enough to prove that to you.

and of course, there’s that other feeling nudging through in the back of your mind. the one you’re trying so hard to avoid feeling the full brunt of, to avoid letting that feeling stand on its own two feet in your heart and head. rafe cameron still wants to know if you’re asleep or not. 

he still wants to know what you’re doing, where you are, even how you are. and that feeling is a beast of its own, impossible to even begin to understand. 

you try to let yourself soak in the feeling, when your phone screen lights up again.

rc: i know you’re up

rc: stop ignoring me

fuck. how does he know you’re even awake? setting aside yet another impossible feeling, you finally pick up your phone, rereading his texts for the third time in sixty seconds. gone was the cute profile picture, the emojis next to his name and the butterflies in your stomach when you got a text from him.

instead you stare down at messages from a boy who has always seemed to know you better than you know yourself, wondering why you had even unblocked his contact to begin with. actually, you know why, but you decide to ignore that for now.

you need to grapple with your current reality. you need your best friends to read these texts and tell you how you should feel, because you know you can’t trust your own feelings. you need an hour just to work out how you should respond, and another hour to work up the courage to actually do so.

but you don’t get any of that. your screen glows with a red button and a green button, rafe’s contact appearing and a call coming through.

“oh god,” you get out, wondering why the hell he’s calling you. you didn’t even respond. briefly, you think if you let it go to voicemail, rafe will think you’re asleep and leave you alone. you wrestle with that idea for a moment, thinking it’s the best course, coming to terms with the fact that the boy you had once loved more than anyone in the world is now getting his call screened.

and then, as if your heart has a mind and body of its own, you feel your finger hover over the green answer button. what if rafe’s hurt? what if he really needs you and you’re ignoring him, what if it’s something serious? you shouldn’t just ignore him because of your feelings when it’s closer to one in the morning than midnight, and your boyfriend knows you always sleep early.

shit. ex-boyfriend. you let this new idea of the freudian slip take over your mind, feeling like your head might explode from the amount of emotions you just went through in the last ten minutes. 

heartbreak, anxiety, and a terrible sadness even imagining telling your friends about this. they’d praise you for not answering and deep down wonder how you didn’t immediately text back. everyone in your life knows how you much you love rafe cameron.

shit. that’s the wrong word. not love, but rather loved. you need to get better at this.

“oh.” it comes out in one short breath, more a noise of relief than anything else. the call went away, your screen returning to your home wallpaper, a pretty picture of the sunset on the water. you stare at it, thinking that you really, really need to go to bed now.

rc: your light is on. answer before i-

you don’t even finish reading the text, eyes going wide. you should scramble up and turn your lights off, but you don’t even get to it before the call screen comes back on. fuck, he’s calling again. 

and fuck. because this time, you answer.

bringing the phone to your ear, you wait with bated breath.

“hey, kid,” rafe says, and true to form, like something out of a dramatic teen movie, you slide down against your bedframe because those two words will always, always make you feel weak in the knees.

your eyes are closed now, a stray tear making its way down your cheek. you think you’ve missed the sound of rafe’s voice like nothing else in this world. and now, realizing what an impact it’s having on you, you wonder if cutting him off cold-turkey was the smartest idea.

“how did you know my light’s on?” you ask quietly, and it seems the whole world has stopped spinning. you can picture it now, wherever he is, running a hand through his hair at your question, licking his lips before speaking. 

“i’m outside.”

oh no. no, no, no. rafe cannot be outside your house right now, he can’t be anywhere near you. and he certainly can’t be looking through your bedroom window and texting you about your lights or about anything else.

“rafe, why are you-”

“‘cause we need to talk.”

“i don’t have anything to talk about, rafe.” the words sound foreign coming out of your mouth, feels like it’s wrong to even speak this way to him. 

“then just listen. c’mon, kid, come outside. gimme ten minutes, okay? s’it.” 

you hang up the call without answering his last question. and letting your heart call the shots again, you get up, slipping on your shoes and grabbing your phone. and then, though you know you shouldn’t, you climb down the stairs and open the front door, being greeted by rafe’s blue truck parked alongside your curb. 

you stand there frozen for a moment, thinking about every time before this you had snuck out for rafe. and then you really take it in—how the hell had a two minute phone call convinced you to do this? 

the night air nips at your exposed legs, and you cross your arms to feel less cold. usually you couldn’t help yourself, ignoring the chill and running up to the passenger side door that rafe would open from the inside for you.

at first you’d been too shy to greet rafe with a kiss but it had come to you over the early months of your relationship. there were times you two spent hours in his truck on the same deserted street by the forest, coming back home before dawn and soaking in the feeling that you finally had what you wanted.

now you stare at the truck, wondering why it felt so hard to even walk closer. your body tenses up at the muscle memory coursing through you, but you hold back this time. releasing a breath, you tell yourself one thing.

“ten minutes. that’s it.” 

slow steps lead you to rafe’s truck, and then when you’re just a foot away, reaching for the doorhandle, you can make out rafe leaning over your seat and pulling the handle, opening the door for you like he always does. 

you should turn around and run back inside.

instead, you climb up and take a seat, gently closing the door. you stay seated, eyes focused on your lap, trying your hardest not to look around and take everything back in from the countless times you’d been here before. 

moments later you fail, feeling your entire body soften like butter upon taking in the memories of yourself in this car. your lip gloss sits in the cupholder, a photo of you and rafe that you had clipped into the passenger side mirror pokes out, and the air freshner you’d bought for rafe hangs around the rearview. 

you smile without realizing it, thinking that maybe rafe had erased the memories of you like you had tried to do to him. you turn, finally, to look at rafe. he’s already looking at you.

“you could have thrown this away,” you say, picking up your lip gloss and avoiding his gaze quickly. 

“nah. kept it safe for you.” you bite your lip, tugging on the skin much too hard. words are becoming harder and harder to find, and you want the ache in your chest to go away more than anything in the world.

“y-you said ten minutes,” you get out, your expression dipped in sadness. without knowing why, fresh tears brim at your eyes, and you stay turned ahead to make sure rafe doesn’t see.

“that was just to get y’out here.”

“rafe-” 

“c’mon, kid. m’sorry. how many times do i have to say it, huh?” unfortunately, tears start streaming down before you can control them. wiping them away, you turn to look at rafe for the first time tonight, and for the first time in a while.

he looks like he always does. some of his hair falls into his forehead, and every time he runs a hand through it, it falls back in exactly the same place. his blue eyes are completely focused on you, and though there was a time where nothing could have made you happier, right now it feels like they’re burning into you. he looks upset, like this is all very serious and like you’re not getting out of this car until you accept his apology. that last thing may be the truest part.

but worst of all, rafe looks just as handsome as always. he doesn’t have to do anything to completely take your breath away, to be that guy you would give up anything for, do anything for. that boy is still here, you just had thought that you weren’t that girl anymore. but now you don’t know.

“if you think this is about.. apologizing, then i don’t know what to say to you.” 

and you mean that. you don’t know what to say to him. you don’t know any sentence you can utter that will get you out of this car with your heart still in one piece.

“kid,” rafe says, and your entire body tightens up. he moves one hand to your exposed knee and you feel your skin turn to fire underneath his touch. “you wanted time. i gave you time. i gave you months. you really so much better off without me that you won’t even let us try?” 

“it’s not like that,” you say through tears, a sob wrangled in your throat. 

“then what’s it like? ‘cause i’ve been waiting. first you didn’t answer my calls, my texts. then you fuckin’ blocked me and you said you needed time. this is enough time.” rafe looks at you like he’s ready for this whole thing to be over, like all the two of you need to mend this relationship in the next few minutes.

“it’s not about the time, rafe. you still think this whole thing is about flowers and-and attention, and it’s just not-”

“i know i fucked up.”

the sentence hits you like a wall of bricks. the entire break-up had started from what was mostly a simple thing—you felt like rafe never got you flowers anymore. the two months leading up to this relationship starting had been everything you had dreamt of. rafe would check in on you everyday, go out of his way to see you, make sure you were okay even when you had already lied that you were fine. spontaenous dates, car rides, boat trips, he had done it all.

but it was really the effort behind the actions that had made you so head over heels. you didn’t care about anything but that simple word—effort. and rafe had put in the effort the entire time before you two agreed to date. 

truth be told, you didn’t care about all the stuff you two did together. everything with rafe was fun for you, but it was really just being with him that you wanted. and for the first six months of your one-year relationship, you had his complete effort and attention. there was never anything pressing when the two of you were together, never anything that was worth leaving you for.

and the flowers. the boy who had taken you on the first date had brought you flowers. and you, being you, had beamed. those peonies had lived on your nightstand for much too long, and then you had taken one and kept it on your windowsill. 

the single dried peony was still on your windowsill—you had never thrown it away, and the realization makes your heart hurt. it had been a stupid argument about flowers that had made you decide you wanted, or rather that you needed to end things with rafe. you had been sitting in this very seat, noticing for the hundredth time in the last few months that rafe was stressed about something, unhappy about something else. instead of talking to you about it, he was neglecting you. 

conversations were one-sided. your efforts to try and help him, and to try and figure out what was even going on were met with silence or a gruff leave it alone, kid. a couple dates were forgotten or cut short, but that wasn’t a big deal. you wanted to be supportive, and you tried as best as you could, but you couldn’t keep burning the candle on both ends. 

you wanted to take care of rafe while he was going through this, but in that process, you had to take care of yourself too. and when it came to it, sitting where you were sitting now, you had decided to put yourself first.

you snap out of your thoughts at once. you’re reflecting as though something is about to change, and for your own sanity, you know it can’t. rafe admitting he did something wrong is nice, so at least you don’t have to blame only yourself anymore, but it can’t change what you’ve decided. 

“you..” you falter, unsure where your sentence is going. “it wasn’t just you. but maybe we both need to stop, rafe. this isn’t healthy.”

“no, no, it was just me.” your shut your eyes tightly, holding back a painful noise that you don’t want to release. 

“rafe, please-”

“you got upset about flowers. i didn’t know what it was really about. and that’s my fault, okay? it’s not about the fuckin’ flowers. it’s about us, i get that now.” 

your eyes open, though tears have made your vision blurry and your eyes hurt. you keep looking at rafe, wondering when he realized all this and when he decided he was going to keep chasing you. you don’t think you really want to know the answer. holding back another sob, you try to reply, but it comes out in a teary whisper. 

“why couldn’t you figure this out four months ago?” 

you start crying again, though you really wish you wouldn’t. it’s been more than ten minutes, but you have a feeling you’re not getting out of this car anytime soon. rafe grips the steering wheel so hard you see his knuckles lose color. 

“‘cause i wasn’t.. i wasn’t paying attention. and m’sorry. what else can i do, huh? y’know i can’t live without you.” 

the words bring up more tears, and you wipe them away with your hands. 

“c’mon kid, don’t cry.”

“i can’t just forget about all of that because you’re saying this now. if this happens again i’m gonna-”

“it won’t,” rafe says it firmly, moving his hand back to your thigh. there’s goosebumps on your skin. “it won’t happen again.” 

you’re staring at rafe while he stares at your thigh, where he’s touching you. you sniffle, a million thoughts running through your head. you want to know what to do, what to say. unfortunately, the one person in the world you ask every question to is the one sitting next to you right now.

you focus on wiping your tears away, crossing your legs. rafe stretches his arm to the backseat, grabbing something and bringing it to the front. he offers it to you—one of his hoodies, the navy one from his alma mater that you used to wear almost every day. 

“i-i’m fine,” you say, though you’re still cold. it’s the idea of wearing it that provokes you to say that. you don’t know how you’ll feel if you put that sweatshirt on again. 

you could remember the first time you wore it like yesterday. at the bonfire, wearing a dress you had thought rafe would like, you were freezing by the water with him and his friends. rafe had left to get you two new drinks and come back with it, and you had spent the rest of time curled up next to him, refusing to take it off even when the group migrated near the fire. when had you given this hoodie back? it seemed to have a new permanent home in your bedroom or your car. 

“stop lyin’ to me. just put it on.” suddenly too sad to fight about this, you comply, pulling it over your head and covering your pajamas—a big shirt and your sleep shorts getting hidden. 

you shouldn’t take in the scent, but you do, inhaling deeply. it smell like rafe’s cologne—which is enough to bring more tears to your eyes, since it’s been months since you’ve smelled that scent—and the laundry detergent he uses and something else you can’t place.

“thank you.” 

you know what you’ve just done. someone staying in the car for another few minutes doesn’t put on their ex-boyfriend’s hoodie. you think you’ve just signed your death warrant through this simple act. 

“i don’t want one of your neighbors to call the cops,” rafe says, looking into the side mirror. 

this is your chance. the logical part of your brain screams at you to tell rafe to leave, to take off this hoodie and run back inside. it reminds you that no one can change instantly, no matter what they tell you and how much better they seem.

it says that the next time rafe gets stressed out, you might suffer through everything you went through all over again. you see it in flashbacks—nights spent crying into your pillow, waiting on your front porch for dates that never happened, asking rafe for flowers and deciding that you need to break up with him after he finally gave them to you. 

“do you want ice cream?” you ask, blinking up at rafe.

“where are we gonna get ice right now?” you shrug at his response.

“you always found somewhere.” 

rafe laughs at a little, and your heart soars.

“yeah, guess i did.” 

rafe looks down at you, perched in his passenger seat like you always are, like you always should be, your face a little flushed from the tears. 

“you sure you want ice cream, kid?” you don’t miss the implication in his words, the tone of his voice, or what he’s really asking you. you nod. “alright. let’s go then.” 

changing gears, he pulls the car away towards the road and takes off down your street while you fasten your seat belt.

you had only suggested getting ice cream because you couldn’t find it in yourself to go back to your room and sleep after everything you just went through. rafe’s words were having an immediate, visceral impact on you, making you reevaluate everything the two of you had gone through these last few months.

he did seem different. you’re probably one of the only people in the world who would notice, but you know he has. there’s small changes—the way he talks to you, the words he’s using to apologize, how much he seems to understand everything you were feeling during the end of your relationship and the following months. 

but you’re not sure yet. you can’t let a few nice words or what could end up being empty promises change your mind completely, as heartbreaking as that idea now seems.

you need to think about it, and you need more time. you push down some of your inner thoughts—they’re telling you what you really need is a good night’s sleep and an hour-long conversation with your best friends. instead you’ve decided for yourself that you need some more time with rafe. hence; the ice cream.

rafe pulls up to the drive-through window of the only place still open on figure eight. the parking lot is mostly deserted, but not empty. you don’t recognize any of the cars, but you keep looking, staring off into space, distracted with your own thoughts. you don’t look up until rafe’s driving towards the second window to pay, not realizing he’d already ordered.

“oh, i didn’t tell you-”

“s’okay. i got you what you always get.” 

“oh.” you’re left a little stunned. it’s been four months since you’ve had a real converastion with rafe and he still remembers your ice cream order—is that normal?

rafe pays and hands you one of the ice creams to hold, keeping the other in his hand while he drives away, parking in an empty corner of the lot. you stare at him stupidly while holding your ice cream, watching as he picks up your lip gloss from the cup holder and puts it in your lap. he takes the ice cream in your hand first, putting it into the holder, and then does the same with the one in his hand. 

you look away finally, now peering at the lip gloss on your lap. 

“sorry, kid.” rafe says, picking it up from your lap. his hands are cold and even with his hoodie on, you shiver at the touch. he drops the bottle into the center console, and then looks up at you, one hand still on your thigh. 

“huh?” you ask quietly, a little overwhelmed. there’s so many thoughts running through your mind, you don’t know which to focus on first. rafe remembers your order. rafe doesn’t want you to hold the ice cream since you’re cold. rafe brought you a hoodie because he knows that you wouldn’t put one on before coming out. the last thought is particularly biting—rafe knew you would come to his car if he called.

“you okay?” he asks, and truly, you don’t know how to answer.

“fine. yes, i’m fine. just tired,” you murmur, reaching for your ice cream with your hand covered by your sleeve.

“yeah. s’late for you.”

before you even take a bite, you look up at rafe. he’s just eaten a bite of vanilla soft-serve, licking the spoon before going back for another scoop. you feel your defenses slipping away while the scene infront of you unfolds. rafe doesn’t even like ice cream that much, not like you do. but he still always gets some because you hate getting it alone, and he knows that. if he remembers your order, he remembers that. rafe looks up and catches you staring, your melting ice cream in your hand.

“you sure you’re okay, baby?”

you turn away, staring down at your ice cream.

“you can’t just do that,” you mutter, all of a sudden upset at yourself more than at rafe. you’re doing it—the very thing you had told yourself to watch out for before even getting in rafe’s car. falling for him all over again, without any thought of your own mental well-being if this all goes south another year from now. 

“do what? check on my girl, huh?” there’s a teasing lilt in his voice that makes you want to chuck your ice cream at him.

“i’m not your girl anymore, remember? and you-you can’t just call me baby and act like everything’s back to normal-” you feel so stupid. why were you even here? why had you even suggested this?

“i thought we just went over this, kid, i’m-”

“i can’t rafe,” the words come out a little too loud, and you put your half-eaten ice cream back in his cupholder. “i can’t just.. go back to you. you’re gonna hurt me again, i-i know you are. i know you’re fine and-and you wanna get back together but it’s gonna tear me apart all over again.”

you stay silent, holding back what you really want to say. the words even rest at the tip of your tongue. no matter how much i love you, i can’t do that to msyelf again. you hope rafe understands, that he’ll try to make this easy on you.

“there’s no.. no amount of ice cream and hoodies and flowers that can make us okay again.” your words linger in the air and you stare at your hands now, trying to avoid looking at rafe because you’ll start crying the moment you do.

“kid, i-i know i fucked up. this stuff is just to show you m’still tryin for you. m’never gonna stop. that’s all.”

your shoulders sink down, all the tightness leaving your spine. 

“can y’just look at me, please?” you glance up, meeting rafe’s eyes again. “i’m gettin’ better, baby. i can’t do it without you.”

“don’t i deserve someone who doesn’t have to get better for me?” you ask, though your heart isn’t really in the question. 

“you do. i know you do. and maybe m’just the idiot hopin’ for another chance, even if i don’t deserve it.”

“then why are y-”

“‘cause i can’t live without you. and i’ll hate myself forever if i don’t try again.” 

rafe can see it happen, the way your eyes soften immediately. you hate when he says stuff like that, mostly because you believe every word coming from his mouth. your lips turn into a small pout, eyes looking down again.

“finish your ice cream before it melts,” he says, and you listen immediately, picking it back up.

the two of you stay like that for what feels like forever, eating ice cream. you glance up every now and then but then look back down when you catch his eye. 

“you-uh, found anyone like that yet?” rafe asks, while you eat another spoonful of your own soft-serve. “that doesn’t have to get better and all that?” 

you let the sugary dessert melt in your mouth, licking your lips while you try to think of the best answer. rafe’s staring at your mouth, but you don’t notice.

“no. not really, i guess.”

“you guess?”

“well, i.. i was waiting for a text from this guy, but it’s nothing, i-i barely know him.” 

you notice what you’ve just done as the sentence finishes—trying to undermine everything you were going through before rafe came back into your life suddenly earlier tonight. and you know why—you don’t want rafe to think this guy means anything to you. and watching rafe finish the last of his ice cream, the one he only got because he knew you’d hate eating yours alone, you know that boy doesn’t mean anything anymore.

“waiting for? so you didn’t get it?” 

“no, i don’t think so. i haven’t looked since you called. actually, when you texted me, i-i thought it was him.” 

“really?” rafe asks. you nod. “were you happy? that it wasn’t?” 

“i don’t know,” you say it immediately. and truthfully, you don’t. “i need to think about it.”

“what’s your gut tellin’ you?” 

“my gut said not to answer your call. but here we are.” you put your empty ice cream in his cup-holder, listening to rafe laugh. 

“sorry, kid. that’s my fault.”

“your fault?” you question, looking at rafe. your confused expression stares back at him while he debates the best way to tell you this.

“i had a conversation, y’know, man to man. it was his choice.”

“rafe,” you start, turning in your seat to face him. “what did you say?”

“nothin’, kid. just, y’know.. if he texted you he’s gonna get a black eye.”

“rafe-”

“if he took you out, he’s gonna get two-”

“what the fuck-” 

“what? you just said it was nothin’-”

“but you decided for me! before i even had a chance. it’s not your choice to make, it’s not your-”

“-but it is. if it’s about you, s’about me.” 

exasperated, you sink into the seat, unsure about how to reply to that. 

“how many times have you done this?” 

“not a lot,” rafe says. you don’t believe him, staring with a look that tells him as much. “once.. or twice.” 

“once or twice? please tell me-oh my god. that guy last month—i thought he stood me up, you dick!” you swat at rafe’s arm, but only manage to get a few taps in before he holds your wrist in place, stopping you from moving at all. “i thought there was something wrong with me.”

“there’s nothin’ wrong with you. just thought you deserved better than those assholes, s’all.” 

“oh, but your type of asshole is fine, is that right?” 

“yeah, it is.”

you lock eyes with rafe for a second, before the two of you start laughing. it feels so stupid to think back to the last few months and realize you couldn’t even remember the last time you and rafe laughed together. you keep looking at him, your laugh dying down until you bite your cheek and watch rafe run a hand through his hair. 

“i didn’t like him anyways,” you finally say after enough silence has passed.

“good. i didn’t either.” 

“is there any guy you would like for me?”

“just one, kid.” rafe stops, taking in the way you’re looking at him. he knows where and when he fucked up, even knows how to be better for you and not let it happen again. convincing you is the hard part, and he thinks he’s even making progress with that, with the way your pretty eyes shine up. your expression is as close to hope as he’s ever seen before. hoping that he’s not just saying these things, hoping that it won’t end like last time.

but you care enough to hope, and that’s enough for him to run with.

“m’sorry about the.. threats. but it’s me, so-”

“what did i expect?” you finish, smiling back at him. the way rafe looks at you right now makes you feel things you wish you could bottle up. instead you redirect your gaze, staring at the street lights illuminating the now-empty parking lot.

“exactly. and if i let you go on a date with some guy, i couldn’t give you these.” 

“rafe,” you start, though you’re not sure where your going with it. you shut up though, because rafe leans back, behind your seat. he picks up a bouquet of flowers and puts them on your lap, and the whole time you watch holding in a breath, tears automatically springing to your eyes. 

it’s a nice sentiment, you think, trying to justify it to yourself. the flowers on your lap are pink peonies, dark and light wrapped in brown paper. they look just like the ones rafe had give you on your first date and you smile down at them, still trying to wrap your head around the sentence that had you dizzy all night long—maybe rafe really had changed.

“this is really cheesy,” you finally admit, your eyes flickering back up at rafe with another smile. he keeps his eyes on you for a while, not saying anything, though you’re sure you know what he’s thinking. something along the lines of how you’ve wanted cheesy, you’ve wanted flowers without asking for them.

“i wanna be cheesy for you.” you inhale, not realizing how much such simple words mean to you. “it’s not flowers. it’s you, it’s for you. the things i do. the way i show it. i thought you wanted flowers but you just wanted me, didn’t you?”

“yeah,” you breathe out.

“well i’m here now. and you have me. you have all of me. and i’m not goin’ anywhere this time.”

the feeling coursing through your veins right now is unlike anything else. you feel more than just happy, more than just like a girl about to get back together with her ex-boyfriend. you feel like you’ve just become whole again.

what a shitty metaphor—as though you’d been totally and utterly incomplete without rafe in your life. that thought lingers for much too long, because haven’t you? you’ve always been attached to rafe, teetering on the edge of codependence, but there’s no denying the plain truth so obvious to both of you right now.

you can’t live without rafe and rafe can’t live without you.

“i gotta take you home. can you imagine what your parents will say? one day back with me and already sneakin’ out until-”

“i don’t wanna go home,” you say quietly, watching as rafe reverses out of the parking spot. he swings his arm around the headrest of your seat, watching behind him. back on the road, he drives in the direction of your house.

“don’t worry, kid. i’ll see you in a couple hours, probably-”

“will you take me by the water? where we used to go?” the truck comes to a halt at the stoplight. rafe looks over, the entire car glowing in the dim red light. the two of you meet eyes for a moment.

“yeah. sure.” you smile, watching rafe take a left instead of heading straight to your street. it’s not a long drive to the water from here, but the place the two of you always frequented is tucked away between trees and dead-ends.

it’s a bit of a maze to get there, and you don’t think you could figure it out in the broad daylight. but here in the dark, with rafe driving and music playing faintly in the background, you remember it like the back of your hand.

you entire body tenses up, a tingling running from your fingers to your toes. the mere feeling is electric, to be back in yours and rafe’s spot—almost like nothing has changed. it feels like maybe nothing has changed—you’re just as happy as you once were.

the tell-tale bumpiness of the road signifies you’re close to the spot. there’s a small outlook just beyond patches of gravel, a parting between trees where you can see the ocean. it’s private, almost completley inaccessible unless you were searching for it.

and maybe something’s changed in the last few months, maybe someone is searching for it, but you can’t bring yourself to care right now. rafe puts the truck in park and you take a moment, first to stare down at your peonies, then to look over the water. 

“it’s late,” you say, taking in how dark the sky is. stars sparkle above you, and when rafe turns the car off, you can even hear the waves rushing on the beach.

“nah, kid. it’s early.” 

“yeah, i guess you’re right.” holding another breath, and without knowing exactly why you are, you lean forward, resting your elbows on the dash and staring up at the sky through the windshield. you release the breath suddenly when you feel rafe’s hand on your knee, first just the touch, but followed by a squeeze.

“say the word and i’ll take you home.”

 “no, i don’t wanna go. it’s just so late. i’m never up at this time anymore.” you bring your arms back, sitting in your seat and staring at rafe again, like you’ve been doing this entire time. “thank you, rafe.”

you prepare yourself for his usual answer, waiting to explain why you’re thanking him and how you still feel nervous but you’re ready to jump back into this relationship if he is, the sentences and words forming in your head already. 

instead he doesn’t say anything, leaning in suddenly and taking your face in his hands, bringing you into a kiss. and fuck, you’re a liar if you say you hadn’t missed this. rafe kisses you—always has, and seems like now he always will—like you’re about to slip away if he’s not holding you tight enough.

the hand on your face hold your jaw securely, tilting your face up for him. the kiss has you reeling from your seat, a wave of heat coursing your entire body. your face is hot, your palms clammy, eyes clamped shut while you try to remember if his lips have always been this soft, or felt this good on yours.

your flowers fall to the floor, rolling off your lap and landing with a rustle. you’re sure there’s loose petals and stray leaves littering the car now, but still, it’s hard to care. rafe moves his hands away from your face, pulling away from the kiss for just a second.

while you try to look down and see the damage you’ve just caused your peonies, you feel his hands on your hips, picking you up and bringing you onto his lap. you let out a noise of surprise, looking back at your boyfriend now. he doesn’t hesitate, leaning in again for a kiss.

this time, you don’t hesitate either, both of your hands migrating, traveling from his arms to his shoulders, gripping him as hard as he’s holding you. 

you feel wandering hands on your waist, traveling down to your ass and grabbing hard, making you let out squeals into rafe’s mouth. it feels like nothing has changed, like the last four months have never happened, with the way you fit so comfortably, how it feels so right to be back on his lap. you move your hands again, running through his hair like you always did—how you always loved doing—when you pull away this time to catch your breath. 

you meet rafe’s eyes, letting out a shuddery breath and a laugh all in one. you move your hand to his chest, pressing down against it, trying to make sure this is really happening. rafe follows your movement, taking your hand into his. your fingers intertwine with his, and rafe brings your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss against the back of it.

you think you’ve just melted all over again, lips curling up into a happy smile but finding it so much harder to keep looking into his blue eyes. he doesn’t say anything, just brings you back for another kiss. 

this might have been enough for you tonight, but everything rafe had said in the last few hours rushes back into your mind, and you can feel how hard he is beneath you. before you can even think about what you’re doing, you’ve moved to the backseat. propped up against the door, you wait for rafe to join you, biting your lower lip so hard it’s about to bleed. you watch rafe—he sighs, turning to look at you smiling in the back. 

“jesus, kid,” he says, opening the driver’s door and getting out of the car. you sit up a little straighter, confused until he opens the other door, meeting you in the back. you tilt your head at him, rolling your eyes.

“you couldn’t just hop over?” you question, blinking up at him. 

“no, ‘cause i’m not a runt,” rafe says, shutting the door once he got in beside you. you stay still for a moment, looking at him again. 

but it really is just a moment this time—you’ve become far too impatient to wait any longer. normally you’d savor it—there’s a lot that you and rafe can get done in this tiny space—but today your mind can’t focus on any of it.

your hands go to rafe’s polo first, moving it up his abdomen, fisting the bunched cloth to get it off your boyfriend as fast as you can, until he finally pulls it over his head. you crawl back onto his lap, hands perched on his shoulders while you start kissing again.

your brain goes numb and fuzzy, feeling rafe sneak under your shirt and rub the soft skin of your back and stomach, before making his way up to your tits. he gropes while you keep kissing—and it’s a vicious cycle. you moan at every teasing touch, rutting harder against his erection. 

it’s quick—he lifts your shirt up and off, and you both stay like that for a while, until you feel rafe paw at the waist of your shorts. leaning into his touch, you let him move you around like a rag-doll, now on your back on the seat, with him in between your legs. you lift your hips compliantly, letting him slide the shorts and your panties off together, laying completely exposed before him.

“not fair,” you breathe, watching as his eyes rake you over from top to bottom, like he’s memorizing every detail. “you’re still dressed.”

“don’t worry ‘bout that, kid,” he says, and you feel your walls flutter at the words, it’s nothing but it feels like everything right now, with anticipation driving you insane.

“can you just.. hurry? please?” you whine, even though it’s against your best interest. rafe likes taking his time with you, a fact you are well aware of.

“no,” he says, and you’re meant to understand the word is an entire sentence and your only answer. “y’know how long i’ve been thinkin’ about this?” you glance up at rafe from your position, watching as he hovers, your hand reaching out to touch his chest again. his silver chain glimmers in the light around his neck, and you loop your fingers around it. you want to tug, pulling him on top of you for another kiss, but you refrain for now.

“i don’t know,” you answer. “four months?” rafe laughs and so you laugh too, the sweet sound filling the tense air. he brings a hand to your exposed stomach, trailing up and down and taking in how your breath catches. 

“needy, huh?” rafe starts talking and your body tenses up immediately, knowing what’s coming. “when’s the last time you came? hm?”

“i-um,” you trail off, paying more attention to how he’s unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper. you’re close to getting what you want, the question getting lost in your mind in a swirl of thoughts—all of them revolving around how rafe’s stroking himself, his eyes scanning over you. 

“s’not an answer, kid,” he says, leaning over you again. his chain dangles on your skin and the mere touch of it transports you back to every other time rafe had you like this. you clench hard around nothing, positive that you’re humiliatingly wet for rafe right now. and he’s still waiting for you to answer a question you’ve clean forgotten. “the last time you came. tell me. or y’not cummin’ this time.”

you whine, toes curling. rafe’s teasing your pussy with his fingers, two of them prodding through your folds and hovering over your wet hole. you think an answer might get him to actually fuck you with his fingers, but you still can’t piece it together with how fast your heart is beating.

“i-i think-” his fingers press into you without actually pushing inside your tight walls.

“don’t think. jus’ tell me.”

“last-last week. i was-” he gives you a little more pressure, you can feel them almost inside but it’s not nearly enough-

“you were what?”

“thinking about you-!” it comes out all in one quick gasp, rafe plunging both fingers inside you quickly. you moan, back arching off the seat, but restrained by rafe that you can’t go anywhere, can’t do anything but take it. he keeps going, finger-fucking you faster until you’re positive you’re about to tip over the edge. 

“good. good girl. wasn’t so hard, was it?” he keeps going, leaning over you to bring you in for another kiss, and it seems that’s all you need. that feeling—his chain grazing your face and his fingers deep inside you is enough to have you cumming, the tightness in your stomach unwinding while you make a mess over his hand. rafe swallows your moans, keeps his motions going while you ride it out. 

when he finally pulls his fingers out, you feel empty. you try to catch your breath and level out your heartbeat, looking back at him with your dopey, teary eyes. he’s stroking himself with his glistening hand, getting ready to fuck you, you think dreamily. 

rafe brings one hand to where your head is, pressing his palm flat against the seat. you watch him with big, wet eyes how he lines himself up with your throbbing pussy, how he leans in for another kiss. that’s when he pushes inside—no teasing words or questions, just a kiss you groan loudly, feeling the impossible stretch you’ve missed so much again, eyes rolling all the way back. your noises are muffled by rafe’s kiss, until he pulls away to bury his face in your neck. he bites at the sensitive skin there, leaving marks you’ll have to deal with later today, but it seems like a fair exchange in this moment. 

rafe pulls out and slams back in, and you moan in response with each thrust, forgetting how good he was at this. your legs are quivering, pussy impossibly sore already but you don’t think you’d make him stop even if someone knocked on the window right now. you move your hand, holding onto the seat while rafe keeps battering into you, your eyes wandering down to where the two of you are connected. rafe sucks hard above where your pulse is, and you arch your back up, legs wrapping around him.

“feels good, doesn’t it baby? better than you fingers?” he asks, and you nod, still speechless. “tell me how good-”

“rafe, rafe, i-” you moan his name but he interrupts.

“no, kid, lemme hear you-” he brings his face close to yours, your foreheads almost touching. you close the gap, kissing him again, feeling the tickle of his chain on your neck now. 

“i missed you,” you cry out. you realize later it wasn’t the answer he was asking for, but you don’t really care. the words fly out of your mouth, you’ve been so desperate this entire night to keep them tucked away, but it can’t stay down any longer. “i missed you, i missed you, i missed-” 

he shuts you up with another kiss, his pace picking up, if it’s even possible. your senses abandon you again, toes curling while rafe hits a spot inside you that’s been so neglected these past months. a white-hot sensation rushes over you, exploding from your stomach and spreading out, while your walls clench tightly against rafe. rafe presses back to your neck, murmuring let me hear you, and you do—finishing with a moan so loudly you’re sure someone in the vincinity has just heard you. 

you need to catch your breath, but rafe doesn’t give you the chance. he pulls out of you, letting your sore pussy flutter around nothing, before he turns you around, your body folded up while he slaps your ass so hard it starts stinging.

he pushes back in and your eyes roll back again, gripping the seat and then the door handle just to stabilize yourself for a moment. rafe likes backshots—the only thing he likes more is mean backshots, slamming into you from behind while you cry out. everything feels even more sensitive like this, coming down from two highs and blindly chasing a third.

rafe’s talking but you don’t hear what he’s saying, you can’t make it out over the ringing in your ears. so you turn your head, looking up at him from this position, but you still don’t actually hear him. instead you feel it—his hips stuttering, the weight of his body collapsing on you, hot, wet streams of his cum shooting inside you. 

you two stay like that for what feels like forever, listening to birds chirp and the waves crash over rocks. it’s rafe who untangles the two of you, separating sweaty, sticky limbs. he leans against the seat and brings you in to his chest, holding you tight while you let your eyes shut again. it’s comfortable—even more so when rafe picks up the discarded clothing, using it to cover you like a blanket. 

you move your hand until you find his, bringing your palms together on his chest, close to your face so you can rest your cheek on his hand. 

“shit. i gotta get you home,” rafe says, and you sigh in agreement, listening to the thud of his heartbeat from your position. outside, the sky is lighting up a little bit with soft early blues. 

“can’t we sleep first?” you murmur back, eyes still closed. 

“don’t think we’ve ever stayed here ‘til sunrise. have we?” he asks you, and you try to rack your exhausted brain for the answer.

“first time for everything.” finding some strength, you turn your head, looking up at your boyfriend. “rafe? can i ask you something?”

“yeah, kid?”

“did you mean everything you said?”

“yeah. i did.”

“oh. good.” the words are quiet coming from your mouth, and you lean back against his chest, getting comfortable again. “thanks for the flowers.” 

“yeah, kid,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. your breathing evens out, and he knows you’ve fallen asleep. it’s fine—it’s way too late for you anyways. “thanks for answering.”

♡