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comphersjost · 4 years ago

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Into the Storm ➸ Rafe Cameron

idk, i kept trying to post this, kept getting deleted, im high, idk if this is good, sorry for mistakes and stuff lmao also i promised scout i would post something tonight so this is for u bb @ptersparkers

Rafe’s been helping you get over John B, and when you're worried it’s going too far, you try to disappear into a storm, not knowing that Rafe would follow you anywhere.

words: 1.7k

warnings: smut, angst, storms, leetle beet john b x reader, rafe saying the L word

as usual: masterlist

[oh and this is a song fic so go ahead and listen to into the storm by banners while you read!]

Anywhere you go If your strength is falling down I'll be right beside you now And I'll keep you warm Yeah, I'll keep you warm

You felt like you were melting under the heat of Rafe’s gaze. You avoided looking at him at all costs, trying to stall the inevitable while looking for an escape plan. Rain poured down outside, the storm slowly getting worse. You and John B had surfed the surge just that morning.

John B.

You didn't even want to think about him right now, with the way Rafe was eyeing you like a predator. You needed to get out of here. You had to make it home before Rafe got to you because you both knew you couldn't resist him. He was addicting.

You see your opening, weaving through the crow of people to slip out of the back door, heading for the guest house. You figured if you could hide in there long enough for the storm to pass and Rafe to stop looking for you, then you were good to go.

“Come on, princess,” Rafe groans, annoyed as the door opens. “The guest house? It's like you're begging me to come find you, but felt like torturing me on the way.” You roll your eyes and wordlessly open one of the cabinets by the oven.

“Here,” you say softly, tossing Rafe a towel. “Was just about to watch a movie, you can join me if you want. I'm gonna change.”

You don't give Rafe a chance to speak before you've disappeared into the guest bedroom. When you come out, wearing a hoodie of Rafe’s and a pair of his boxers, he stares for longer than he means to, mouth open.

“You're drooling,” you tease. Rafe brings his hand to his face, eyes narrowing and you when he realizes he wasn't actually drooling. Your voice drops to a murmur. “Stop staring.”

You grab a soft fluffy blanket from the closet, avoiding Rafe’s eyes.

“Baby, I could look at you forever,” he finally states, his tone serious.

“Stop staring, Rafe,” you repeat again, softer this time. Weaker, giving in, tired of fighting.

“I can't,” he whispers. “I'd follow you anywhere, like I followed you into the storm.”

I'll follow you into the storm Follow you into the storm I will, I will Be with you when you call Carry you to the dawn I will, I will Follow you into the storm

“Rafe…”

“Tell me you don't feel the same!” he shouts, his breathing uneven, voice quieting once more. “Tell me, that you don't miss me the second we’re apart, tell me that you can think clearly when I’m around because shit, Y/N, when you're around I can't remember my own name. Fuck, Y/N, tell me you don't love me, and I'll turn around right now and leave you alone.”

“I - I can't,” you whisper.

“Can't what?”

“I can't tell you that I don't love you,” you confessed, letting him step closer to you, his nose brushing yours. “It’s just not true, Rafe.”

“Say it then,” he challenges you.

“I can't say it either.”

“Say it.”

“I can't.”

“Say it.”

“I CAN’T!”

You feel like you want to cry when Rafe makes you look at him. “I love you,” he mumbles softly against your lips, giving you a feather light peck along with it. He can see it in your eyes that you want to say it back, but you just can't. So he scans your body, he hasn't seen you since the weekend before. He spots a set of three jagged parallel lines on your neck.

“Woah, hey, what happened?” he coos, stroking the angry red lines softly, kissing your temple.

“This rock came out of nowhere this morning when I surfed the surge,” you explained, Rafe’s concerned eyes trained on you. “I don't even know where it came from, but it knocked me off my board, John B had to help me get back to shore before I bled too much.”

You feel Rafe tense against you, and you wonder what it is that you could've said wrong until-

“John B,” Rafe says slowly, as if having been reminded of your friendship with him, and up until you met Rafe 6 months ago, the massive crush you had on him. “Right.”

No pogue-on-pogue macking was the rule, so when Rafe caught you making heart eyes at John B across the Boneyard one day, he offered to help you out. He'd help you forget your feelings for your best friend and he “well, I get to bang one of, if not, the most eligible bachelorette on this island” Rafe had said. You'd laughed at him then, throwing a shell you'd found in the sand at him.

“Okay, Mr. Kook Prince.”

“That's Mr. Kook King to you.”

But that wasn't all, when you were with them, Rafe most left you and the Pogues alone, shooting you longing looks when no one was looking. And now you were here, with him in front of you, having just confessed his love.

“You don't have anything to worry about Rafe,” you say to him, looking up into his eyes and placing your hands on his chest. “You know how I feel about you, even if-” you falter. But you know Rafe knows “-even if things aren't...totally, gone yet, with John B. You know me, Rafe and I-” Your eyes squeeze shut. You can't.

“I know.” Rafe kisses your nose, then your lips. Pulling back too looks at you as you open your eyes. “I love you too.”

“I'm sorry,” you whisper.

“Baby,” Rafe’s hand tangles in your hair, bringing you in for a kiss. “You-”

BANG!

You flinch at the noise, instinctively retreating into Rafe’s arms while you scan your surroundings for the origin of the noise. When you come up empty, you look up at Rafe’s face and watch as it's plunged into darkness.

“Fuck,” you say quietly, still shaking in Rafe’s arms, “Looks like the party’s over. What happens now? Don't you guys have generators? Who's gonna take care of it?”

Rafe laughs. “Well normally, I would take care of it, but I’d rather stay here with you.” His lips are on yours before you can object, distracting you so deliciously that you could wait til morning for the generators.

So violently Held captive by your gravity Hold your breath and wait for me Where the wind may blow Through night and dark Through fantasies that fall apart Know you're always in my heart Anywhere you go

You're like a drug Rafe can't quit. You're worse than the cocaine. At least coke is predictable.

But you, he keeps coming back to you like you're the center of gravity and he can't stray too far away from you. You love John B. You’ve loved John B, for so long. And Rafe knows it.

But when he's kissing you, when he's fucking you, when his hands are wrapped around your throat, Rafe got to pretend you loved him. And now, when he pulls you into his lap on the couch, he can't help but feel the hope bubble to the surface.

The way you looked at him had only happened in fantasies, late at night, or when he was daydreaming about you.

If your strength is falling down I'll be right beside you now And I'll keep you warm Yeah, I'll keep you warm Oh, be with you when you call Carry you till the dawn Follow you into the storm Anywhere that you go Anywhere that you go I'll follow you into the storm Follow you into the storm Oh, be with you when you call Carry you to the dawn Follow you into the storm

It's when Rafe is fucking you up against the wall that you say it. It’s then you know that you would go to any length for him. He was it for you.

“I love you, Rafe!”

The words are enough to make him gasp, fucking into you impossibly harder and deeper until you cum helplessly. Rafe groans as he fuck you into the wall, surely leaving bruises on your back and your hips.

“Say it again,” he growls.

“I love you,” you whimper softly, grasping onto his shoulders as the tip of his cock nudges your g-spot.

“Again.”

“I love you!” this time you cry out as Rafe adds a sharp thrust to his word.

“Say it again, Y/N, please, say it like you mean it.” Rafe is begging now, hand falling to your clit to make you cum on his cock again.

“I do mean it, Rafe,” you plead, turning Rafe’s jaw so he was looking you in the eye. “I mean it. I love you, Rafe Cameron.”

Rafe stares at you for a few moments, mouth open dumbly, before his face contorts as he groans and hunches over you. You whimper and writhe against the wall and the feeling of Rafe fucking his cum into you, arching your back when he throws you into orgasm as well. His lips close around your nipple as both of you start to come down.

Later, when your breathing and heartbeat had slowed to a normal pace, on the soft mattress of the guest house bed, Rafe speaks again.

“I would follow you into any storm,” he whispers into the dark room, eyes trained on the ceiling as his arms tighten around you and bring you closer to his chest. “I would follow you out to sea in the middle of a god damn hurricane, Y/N.”

You're silent for a few minutes, Rafe almost thinks you've fallen asleep.

“I would follow you into any storm too, Rafe,” you murmur in his ear, kissing his cheek softly. “I just didn't know it until today. Thank you for following me today Rafe.”

Rafe turns his head to look at you.

“Now that it’s all out in the open and stuff does this mean you're my Kook Queen?”

#i hope this isnt awful when i read it in the morning #love u guys lmk if this is good or not im not exactly at my best #rafe cameron #smut #imagine #angst #obx #outer banks #one shot #fic #my writings #john b #john booker routledge #scout <3

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hughiecampbelle · 5 years ago

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Novelty Pt. Two (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Tommy, Shelby family mention

Word Count: 1,606

Requested: @captivatedbycillianmurphy @parochialism

Inspired By: @parochialism

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt

A/N: First, if you're going to give anyone credit for the plot, we should all thank @parochialism :) Thank you my love!!! Your idea was so lovely and I felt so stuck about what to write, your reply was so incredibly helpful and I couldn't have written part two without you!!! Second, I really like writing parts to fics! I'm not sure I'd be able to write more than just two parts, but I thought the same when it came to this! Third, this is the longest thing I've ever written and idk, I'm really proud!!! I'm proud of how it turned out! I haven't been able to say that in a while, but I think I needed a lil break from mini-fics to get back into the swing of writing. Feedback is always appreciated my loves! 💜💖💜

~ FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. ~

PART ONE.

A curse, the greatest loss of them all, to see young love die.

He could have burned them, used them as an ash tray, put his cigarettes out on them one by one until it held the whole pack. He could have thrown them away, tearing them apart, shredded to pieces. But he didn't. Instead the divorce papers sat there, lifeless, collecting dust in the corner of his desk. Other papers, books, things of more importance stacked on top. Neglected, just like your marriage. Didn't matter, not really, it sent the same message all the same, no use in trying. No one could divorce a Shelby. Tommy never would have agreed despite the lack of love he felt for you, and no lawyer dare let you set foot through their doors with a last name that dangerous. If you'd known all those years ago this is where you'd be, sitting, waiting for him to react through the thin walls of the office, bracing for the worst, you never would have said yes on those fucking tracks.

He knew how you felt regardless of those papers. It was clear the space between you was growing, opening a pit you wished, you hoped, you'd fall into one day. Two lives lived separate, coming together only when neccesary. Grew up, apart, wanting different things. A man of power, he cared more about the toy soldiers he sent out, doing his dirty work for him, than the spouse he left at home each night, rotting alone in the bed they used to share. Greedy, angry, hungry. This was his life, his business, you were nothing more than a tiny, mangled piece of the puzzle. Meant to speak when spoken to, appear on his arm with a smile and only good things to say, put on a good act when there were eyes watching. When there weren't, he didn't give your actions much thought. You weren't even sure you existed out of his line of sight.

You came to family meetings. Not to nod and smile, the family knew just how you felt about one another, but because you had every right to be there, same as the rest. Your feelings for Thomas didn't bleed out towards the rest. Greeting Pol, Arthur, John, Michael, even Finn with a kiss on the cheek, a kind word, a lighthearted quip towards their brother or cousin. Sweet as ever, complimenting you quietly. You were their small reminder of the world before the war. A lifelong friend before an in-law. Someone to cherish, to protect. Regardless of what your husband felt for you, they still loved you. You sat with them instead, an us vs. them. None of you afraid to call him out, to stare in those deep blues and question him, his authority. He needed that, to be knocked down, challenged, learn that the world would not bow or smile per his beck and call.

You didn't work for him, or any of them. This wasn't your place. He wanted to be the provider, for you to wait long hours for him and him only, but you wanted your own freedom, your own worth. Found a shop. Used your maiden name. They all knew, but no one dare say a thing. Hired you on the spot, your boys visiting often per his request. Checking up, making sure you behaved. It wasn't much, but it was yours, and that was enough. Quiet, without him. A place of escape, to fill your own time with. No guns, no bodies, it was safe here. He knew his place, not to set foot. You had your own territory. This was yours. Untouchable, sacred. Tommy still knew his place sometimes.

You thought about leaving, disappearing, packing your bags, showing him you meant what you said. And you had, a few times, caught yourself on a train ride to nowhere, but you always came back, wasting the day, frustrated with yourself. You weren't only leaving him. They were your family, too. Your nieces and nephews, brothers and sisters, your friends, people you cared for and who cared for you. It was your home, too. The same place you grew up, a place you never really wanted to stay too far from. It was yours, not just his. He'd find you unpacking, shoving the suitcase in the closet, knowing what you did today, why his men couldn't find you working. There were a lot of things you gave up becoming a Shelby, a lot, but your home would not be one of them.

No one defied him the way you could. There was an art to it all, a dance. Though he wanted to be the one in power, you always lead. Slamming a bowl in the sink, a drawer shut, a door or simply stomping your foot. A reminder that you made noise, that you were to be heard. Rage pickled under your skin, burning your eyes, sharpening your words. Nothing touched him. He was just as ruthless, uncaring, slicing you to shreds with the things he said. You knew one another better than you knew yourselves. All his soft spots, weaknesses, fears, they sat on the tip of your tongue, ready to pull the trigger. Broken bits strewn across the floor, neither of you picking it up. It was no shock to the rest of the world that the Shelby's were unhappy. The way the help spoke, you weren't surprised. Left to pick up the pieces, the two of you unable to look at one another, word spread quick.

There were others. Other bodies he spent the night with, other smiles he charmed, buying drinks for, other hands he kissed. It was easy for him to find a companion. Strangers threw themselves at him, falling for the same eyes you did. Those lipstick stains were not your shade, nor were the scratches on his back by your nails. He gave up hiding it, and you gave up caring. You stopped looking for one another for that kind of comfort. He wasn't the only guilty one. Trips to London, where no one had to know who you are, where no one needed to. Dressed up just for them, needy for attention, a touch, to be wanted. No feelings, no names, no strings, just mindless, naked fun. You never let yourself get too close, too attached. They'd face a fate worse than death. The animosity meant you and them were safe. He never asked where you were, what you were up to, as long as you were home by Sunday.

Sometimes, though, those stars would shine through when he looked at you, the barriers crumbling, the walls falling. He'd carry to the car, bring you home when you drank too much at the bar. Tuck you in under the covers and apologize softly, sorry for the man he's become, sorry for the life you live, sorry you're stuck with him, this new him. After particularly bad fights he'd sigh, convinced you were asleep, apologizing for the things he said, wishing he'd been able to take them back. He apologized a lot when he thought no one was listening, when he could drop this angry facade, revealing just how tired he truly was. Laying beside you, over the blankets, his tie loose, jacket long gone, he'd apologize for all the things wrong in the world, wrong in the marriage. Apologize for taking your youth, stealing so many years from you, for never giving you the family you always wanted, the husband you always wanted, the one he promised to be in a past life. Sorry for this, and that, and everything else. . . .

It didn't fix anything, it didn't make you love him the way you used to, it didn't make him the man he used to be. There were still fights, nights you spent floors away from one another, in beds that weren't your own, in booths trying to drink your problems into oblivion when you hated the very sight of him. It didn't prevent you from staying with Esme and John, taking the couch at Pols, even disappearing back home with your side when that house felt too haunted. It didn't fix a goddamn thing, and it never could, but it humanized him, a corpse he'd been carrying around since he stepped off that train.

It wasn't hate. You never hated him as a person. You hated the words he said, and the things he did, but there would always be peaks and hints of the boy you first fell for. You were mourning in your own ways, bitter, crying for a loss no one else could see or feel. For the people you always pictured yourselves being, the houses you'd have, the life you'd live, the children you always wanted to have. Never would you raise on this environment, not now. Mourning your lost youth, your own broken heart. It was a marriage of grief, a graveyard of wedding vows, made up of dead promises. This was never like anything the two of you expected, and that was something to grieve for. It wasn't easy watching happy engagements turn into a lifetime of unconditional love. It wasn't fair. Faces younger than your own had been still happy to this day, their hair white,terth gone. Til death would they part, you guessed. . . .

When your request was denied by the very man who promised to do whatever it was to make you happy was the day you realized, no matter what you did in this lifetime, your own grave would still have the name Shelby carved into it.

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deuce-duce · 4 years ago

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“I got some Passion and more Patience then I thought”

Back to the Nitty Gritty (not the bar). In the next couple of posts I’m going to try, to sum everything up and pull it all together. Bare with me... haha because although I make sense of it all in my mind... explaining it can prove to be difficult. Especially since I probably sound like a lunatic at this point... haha jkjk ❤️ since some of what I have mentioned is unorthodox and out of the norm as a whole but makes sense as individual thought or theory. I’m hoping me pulling it all together will help you understand the Big Picture!

Back to how I stay happy and within my ELEMENT (Kendrick Lamar) When I listen to music or scroll the gram I’m looking for things that peak my interest and illicit an emotional response. Sometimes this happens on accident and to me that’s the best. This isbecause it’s something I didn’t expect but might be exactly what I needed to see or hear! Now if the emotional trigger is positive (happy, euphoric elated, encouraged, validated, inspired or funny) I save or follow where that post came from so I will feel that way again later on. Creating a stable and rewarding learning environment for myself.

If what I come across illicits a negative emotional response then I think about what it is that’s causing me to feel the way I do. Then I think about what I can do differently. A good example of this just occurred the other day. I was watching a video that I think I clicked on off of the search page. It was about the cruelty associated with animal agriculture. As I was watching I really wanted to turn it off and keep scrolling because it saddened me. I’m a meat eater, I enjoy 🐄 🐓 🐖 🐟 🐑. But watching this video made me want to do more research concerning the issue. Wasn’t long before I realized that what I had saw was the truth! After that I thanked the creator of the video and said I’m becoming a vegan tomorrow!! The next day I went to a Greek restaurant I had been wanting to try and halfway through my meal realized I was eating lamb... I finished my food and came to a realization with myself that I might not be able to up and quit meat cold turkey like I did with cigarettes and my other vices. It does mean something to me though, so I’m going to make a conscious effort to minimize the amount of animal products I consume. No one said gradual steps weren’t ok, besides being aware is more then half the battle. By no means am I suggesting that you need to follow in these footsteps, this is what resonates with me and since it bothered me!! I should do something about it, for me!! Ignoring this sort of thing would end up bothering me more, so I’ll just make small changes until I’m where I want to be.

Why do I do the things I do on a daily basis? Which at this point I’m sure a lot of people see. It’s because of the feelings and impact it makes in my life and overall sense of well-being. I use to try and hide what I did because I do it for me, not anyone else. I don’t talk about it I don’t tell anyone else they should be doing it too! I do it because I like to do it. To me it’s the right thing to do and I don’t need or want recognition for doing something I think I should already be doing to begin with. It’s like making your bed... do you make your bed because you hope someone is going to praise you for making your bed??? No! You do it because you like doing it!! Now don’t get me wrong it is nice when someone says nice job or something to that effect but it’s not like your mining for compliments ya know!! I do it because for one I was an Environmental Science major and always think about lyrics from a song that goes something like “What if the 🌎 is a temple and not above us. Like something every human that lives among us, loves as a mother or a daughter or a son”. For it’s not a matter of fighting or putting on a show... ITS WHO I AM!! and I’m not changing for anything or anyone!! If what I’m doing makes you feel a certain way, maybe you should figure out why!

The one thing I have to remind myself of everyday is that it’s not about strict adherence to what you want to do to proliferate change in yourself but to progress. I can’t stress this enough, always please always do your best. I’ll explain why this is so important at the end.

Why do I work where I work?? Good question!! Throughout my life I have always gotten into trouble and so I usually ended up working dead end jobs... oil change places, restaurants, cold calling (telemarketing), grassroots campaigns, canvassing shoveling rock, digging holes or working in some sort of a plastic factory. Most of the time I had to resort to applying for jobs that were always hiring, because most people didn’t want to do that kind of work, or it didn’t pay enough. When you need money to eat... it really doesn’t matter, ya know. It’s very humbling to say the least but when you get good at these positions it makes you feel good, while making you feel like 💩 at the same time... (Like is this all I’m ever going to be... ugh...). Up until recently I didn’t really put all of the pieces together... until I was like how do I know how to do my job so well?!?! And then it dawned on me... it because my job literally consists of all the skills I have become great at on an individual basis. I always wondered what I was going to do with skills like washing dishes, but when your upbringing is a chef for a father and your dead-end job skills come together, to provide you the ability, know how and patience to do what it is I do. Is it all an act?? Ehhh... Maybe sometimes, what isn’t an act, is how much I care!! Why you might ask?? I really couldn’t tell ya at this point I’m convinced it’s something beyond my control and I’m ok with that. That mixed with my skills and never ending journey to acquire knowledge and grow past my next ceiling, are just some of the facets that make me WHO I AM!! How I ended up working for the company I do could be fate but we’ll save that discussion for a later date.

Here... we... GO!!

While working the jobs I did in my past I always did my best! Because for 1 I needed that job in order to secure food, housing and general living necessities. I look back now and have actually realized a second reason as to why it’s important to always do your best!! It’s so that at the end of the day you can look back and think well this worked, that didn’t, I’ll try this different next time and really evaluate your effort and how you did. This will help you get better and better at what your doing. For if you never do your best and do the bare minimum, yea you’ll get by but will you be growing and benefitting yourself in the long run?? IDK... I don’t think so but hey what do I know!! Also at the end of the day you can rest easy knowing you did everything you could. No worry, no concern, instead your creating a sense of accomplishment and a steady foundation to know 1 what your capable of and 2 how to push yourself the next day.

Now why do the right thing... there’s no fun in that... or is that what they want you to believe. I have a lot of fun doing me so I’ll explain why I do the right thing. For a long time I just wanted to fit in. I wanted to chase women go to clubs get messed up do drugs get messed up more... and then wonder why my life just wasn’t going well... I then realized because of my past and the baggage I carry I’m never going to be good portraying that lifestyle... self medicating was cool for a while til it started causing me more problems then solutions... so I just decided that I’m going to do the things I know are right and that have always provided me with pure unadulterated joy!! Hard work knowledge music and wisdom that in of itself has provided me with so much clarity and purpose it’s almost profound!! By me freeing myself from the second guessing of is this ok, what is someone else going to think... or I hope she likes me or I just want to fit in... It has literally freed my mind and spirit allowing me to continue growing and blossoming into ME!!

❤️ ☮️

P.S Congrats to Tom the GOAT Brady & The Buccaneers 🏴‍☠️ 🤙

🎶

More ~ SOJA

Discombobulated ~ Eminem

Just What I Am ~ Kid Cudi feat. Chip Tha Ripper

ELEMENT ~ Kendrick Lamar

02-11-2021 🕰 23:00 (Eastern) I waited a few minutes...🤪😝😎😇

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scramblingminds · 7 years ago

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Anon, why you do this to me???! I tried to bring the angst but idk so I hope this is what you were hoping for. Enjoy.

Make Peace

It had taken months for things to stabilize after the war. Over the course of only a few days so much got destroyed. Alexandria was nearly reduced to ash and the Hilltop took a fair share of damage but stayed standing. For weeks people from the different communities drifted around, working to rebuild walls and homes. Then it took even longer to get back to trading, since so much of the crops and livestock had been lost.

Somehow, they all managed to survive and life seemed to go on. Ezekiel found the strength to lead again after being taken captive by the Saviors, Carol being at his side seemed to be a large part of it. Maggie was perfect for leadership at Hilltop, she got her hands dirty in every way possible so that it could go back to its former glory. Rick stepped back after Negan was locked away, Carl easily falling into his place and making sure Alexandria was revived.

Daryl had a hard time after, finding a place for his anger. Even after the Saviors surrendered and Dwight took over Daryl just wanted them dead. He knew it couldn't be like that though, a certain ninja made that very clear to him. Slowly, his rage slipped away. It helped to have things to do; rebuild the wall and houses, go on runs to help restock all the pantries across the communities and when one Hilltop resident moved to Alexandria permanently.

It started before the war, in the days after the satellite station. Paul Rovia managed to slide so easily into his life and make him remember feelings he thought he forgot a while back. Paul made him feel good, like he wasn't just a bundle of raw nerves waiting for the next thing to screw up. He made him feel like he was actually able to do the right thing, like letting the Saviors live even after all they did.

Daryl had a feeling that he loved the man even before the real Negan showed up. Those emotions got put on the back burner for a while though. Daryl was focused on not falling to pieces after what happened that morning in that clearing and then when he was in the Sanctuary. Paul was still there through it all, he didn't back away when Daryl snapped or flinched away from touch at times.

Daryl figured that meant maybe Paul loved him too. You had to love someone if you stay by them when you deserved them the least. Daryl often thought Paul deserved more than his twitchy personality and short fuse but Paul didn't leave. That's why it was so easy, that morning after huddling in the tunnels then sneaking to Hilltop, for Daryl to march right up to the scout and kiss him.

They all could die at any moment, there was no sense in denying how they felt. Paul had leaned into it without hesitation, hands coming up to hold the back of Daryl's neck as if to dare him to break the kiss too soon. Paul didn't fight when Daryl told him he had to go after that, Rick needed him and they had to go back into the trenches.

Paul had just kissed him again, long and deep. He didn't tell him to be careful or stay safe or to even come back to him. He didn't need to, Daryl could feel it in how tight he gripped his wrist before letting him go. Daryl wasn't safe or careful but he did come back, Paul took what he could get and that was a bloody Daryl Dixon. Which didn't seem to bother him in the least.

After Alexandria had some life back Paul showed up one day. He had a duffle bag on his back and a smile on his face when he moved himself into Daryl's room. Daryl didn't even question him on it, he just cleared a drawer and let him know the side of the bed near the door was his. They never really had a conversation about it but after that it was clear they were together.

Over time all Daryl's hurt and anger was replaced by the warmth the scout brought in. Daryl never took himself to be the touchy feely or romantic type but somehow with Paul it just came naturally. Paul was a physical person, he reached out for hands or patted shoulders often. Daryl wasn't like that with anyone save for his closest family and then Paul.

So, when Paul came up to see him on his watch Daryl didn't think anything of slipping his arm around his shoulders. Paul was leaving soon for a run with Tara, Rosita and Aaron while Daryl had watch until midafternoon. Paul leaned into his side, leeching some of the larger man's warmth. Winter was fast approaching and the days were getting shorter and chillier.

"I hope we can find some good coats today," Paul twisted around to tuck into Daryl leather jacket, "Some thermal underwear would be good too."

Daryl snorted as he looked over Paul's head as the scout nuzzled into his neck, "Thought ya were some kinda badass but yer bellyaching about a little cold air."

"I am a badass," Paul leaned back just enough to mock glare at the redneck, "I just prefer to be a warm one."

Daryl shook his head, chuckling when Paul leaned forward to nip at the hinge of his jaw. Daryl reached up tugging his beanie down on his forehead getting a grunt of protest. Daryl squeezed him when Paul tried to wiggle away. Daryl grinned as Paul played at pouting up at him before leaning in to kiss his nose. It was a bit cold so Daryl repeated the gesture, not missing how Paul smiled and melted into him.

Daryl trailed his lips over Paul's cheek, nuzzling into his beaded jaw and Paul just pressed closer with a content sigh. They both jumped at the loud wolf whistle that came from below them. Their faces went hot as they pulled apart enough to look down and see Rosita smirking with Tara and Aaron trying to conceal they were giggling like school girls.

"Time to go, loverboy." Rosita jerked her thumb at the cars they hadn't notice pulling up to the gate.

Paul stepped back, fixing his beanie as Daryl dipped forward to give him one more kiss to the corner of his mouth, "See ya later, Paul."

Paul smiled softly as he moved to climb down the ladder, "We'll be back before dark, I'll meet you at home."

Daryl nodded watching him reach the ground and go to the car with Tara behind the wheel while the other two got in the second car. Paul paused just long enough to wave up at him as the gate was opened for them. Daryl waved back as he climbed in and soon they were heading down the road. Daryl leaned against the wall, watching them fade away and admitting to only himself that he really wouldn't mind some thermals.

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

Daryl was a bit on edge when it got to be dinner time. The sun was creeping closer and closer to the horizon but they still weren't back. Rick and Michonne could see the tension in him as they ate. Daryl didn't voice anything, he ate and moved to the couch with Judith. He read to her when she shoved a book at him and curled into his lap. Carl was helping Michonne with the dishes when they heard it, the sound of a horn getting closer.

Daryl sat up whispering to Judith, "Go ta yer room like we practiced, ya remember?"

Judith nodded and whispered back, "Yes, Uncle Daryl."

"Good girl," Daryl kissed her temple and nudged her, "Don't move 'til we come get ya."

She nodded again and ran up the stair. He and Rick had been teaching her to go in her room, into her closet and hide to keep her safe. Daryl snatched up his bow running to meet where more than half the Safe Zone was piling around the gate. The horn was getting louder, head light beams pouring up the road.

"It's one of ours!" Scott yelled down and they rushed to get the gate open.

The horn stopped as soon as the car came to a screech halt inside. Aaron was behind the wheel and franticly opened the door. He was covered in blood, his hands shaking as he hurried to get the back door open.

"Someone, help!" Aaron yelled.

Daryl, Rick and Tobin rushed forward. Rosita was sitting in the backseat, more blood drenching her chest and streaking her face, which was set in a hard expression. When they got closer they could see in the dim light the source of the blood.

"PAUL?!" Daryl felt sick. His knees going a little weak and Rick grabbed him to keep him up.

Clutched tight to Rosita was Paul's head, beanie gone and hair one clump of red. He wasn't moving, it barely looked light he was breathing as Aaron and Tobin carefully lifted him from the car. He was limp, face white and soaked with blood.

"Tara went to get Carson," Rosita rushed out of the car, "Get him to the infirmary."

"What happened?" Rick asked as they followed the men carrying the scout.

Daryl didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to fix this. Paul already looked dead as they got him on an exam table. He wanted to grab him but was terrified to touch him. Rosita was grabbing bandages and alcohol off the self before moving to start sifting through Paul's wet hair.

"We had just gotten to a store, it didn't look too bad, only a few walkers but there were people inside, seven of them," Aaron supplied as Rosita revealed a deep gash from his left temple running down behind his ear, "They attacked as soon as we set foot inside."

"They didn't have guns but the ambush was enough to catch us off guard," Rosita cleaned the wound, it was still trickling steadily, "Jesus took out three of them before we even got one each. None of us saw the last guy."

Rosita sniffled, swiping at her cheek uncaring of the blood she left behind as she compressed the wound. Aaron's voice cracked, "Jesus was turning to make sure we were alright then there was a crack and he went down. Guy hit him with something, looked like a cane or piece of wood. He didn't even see the coward."

Daryl could feel his blood boiling. Paul had been protecting the group, which was such his nature and that asshole had snuck up on him. Daryl didn't know he was shaking until Michonne grabbed his hand and squeezed. It wasn't to calm him, that wasn't a possibility but it did help.

"Tara shot the guy and we grabbed Jesus and booked it, Tara should be on the way with Carson by now," Aaron looked over at Daryl, "I'm so sorry, Daryl."

"Did ya hit him?" Daryl looked over to see Aaron shake his head, "Then don't start with that shit, wasn't y'all's fault."

Daryl stayed planted at the end of the bed as everyone started filtering out, giving Rosita space as she tried to slow the bleeding. It was an hour and a trashcan full of gauze later that Carson got there. He took over for the Latina, he whispered to her and she nodded after a moment.

Rosita walked over and linked her arm through Daryl's, looking up at him with big watery eyes as she started pulling him toward the door. He tried to protest, dig his heels in but she shushed him and keep tugging. She closed the door once they were on the other side and Daryl leaned his head against the wood.

"Have faith in Carson, Daryl." Maggie's voice came from behind him, he hadn't even known she had come but it wasn't a surprise.

Daryl didn't have faith in much. He had never been the praying kind or the type who had faith in what he couldn't see. He didn't much believe in people either, not after everything he had been through. Daryl sighed shaking his head as her arms wrapped around his waist.

Daryl could feel her hold him close, her slowly growing bump pressing warmly into his back. Her head resting on his shoulder, not trying to get him to move from the spot. He covered her hand with his as she whispered, "Then believe in Jesus, Daryl."

Daryl swallowed thickly, the pain in his voice plain even to him, "I do."

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

Carson was frank, he didn't know the extent of the damage. The wound was easy enough to stitch and clean, getting the scout on antibiotics to prevent infection. The trauma wasn't something he could measure. There was swelling but it wasn't as bad as it could have been and Paul was still breathing on his own. Only time would tell and if Paul didn't wake up to eat he would starve, they didn't have the means for a feeding tube and the fluids he was on would only keep him going so long.

"So, what's the odds?" Daryl asked from where he was sitting next to the bed. The room was packed with everyone it seemed as Carson checked Paul's eyes with a light again.

The scout didn't look any better. His skin was just as pale even with the blood cleaned away. Eyelids looking bruised and lips ashen. Carson had to shave the hair around the wound so get to it easier, only about a half inch of bare skin around the bandage.

"Do you want the honest answer or the sugarcoated one?" Carson sighed, rubbing his eyes either from emotion or tiredness or both.

"No bullshit, doc." Daryl felt someone squeeze his shoulder but he didn't even look to see who. His eyes locked on Paul, on the movement of his chest with each slow breath.

Carson nodded clearing his throat, "It would probably be best to not get your hopes up too high. Make peace."

Daryl felt like he had been hit in the chest, his ribcage was crushing in on him but he didn't move to do more than nod. He felt lost, all he wanted was to ask Paul what he was supposed to do but he couldn't. Paul was laying on that little bed with his head bandaged up and who knows what kind of brain damage.

Over the next few days Daryl barely moved from Paul's side, only to use the bathroom. People came and went, some sitting for hours while others briefly expressed their condolences, like Paul was already dead. Daryl didn't say much, even to Maggie or Rick when they came by. Daryl sat through every range of farewell and each one just made him number.

It didn't feel real, every time Daryl passed out in the uncomfortable chair he wondered if he would wake up in bed with Paul sound asleep next to him. He could kiss his whiskered chin and those kaleidoscope eyes would open. Daryl woke up each day with increasingly bad neckache and still shut eyelids.

By the end of the fourth day Daryl was afraid. He didn't want to bury anyone else, he couldn’t lose someone again. Daryl didn't know how to function without Paul now. Paul who could calm him with a touch or rile him up with just a grin. Paul who helped him find the Daryl he almost forgot how to be. Paul who was so strong and selfless and kind and didn't deserve to be taken out by a coward with a stick.

Tara and Aaron had told him in detail how when they got attacked Paul hadn't hesitated to act. Moving ahead of the others, drawing the three men away from the others and swiftly taking care of them. How he turned to see if they needed them, caring about them being safe more than himself. The new world needed people like Paul and Daryl just couldn't accept this.

Daryl scooted his chair up to the side of the bed, his aching body leaning on the edge as he picked up Paul's hand. His fingertips tracing over knuckles and small scars that came from years of training, he kissed the palm, "Don't leave me, please Paul."

Daryl sniffed leaning to rest his head on Paul's thigh, watching his chest rise and fall, "I can't say goodbye anymore, baby. I'm not strong without ya."

Daryl felt the tears dripping onto the white sheet under his head, not caring if anyone came in and saw him. He closed his eyes, squeezing Paul's limp hands, "I don't want to miss ya, too."

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

Daryl must have fallen asleep because next thing he knew his back was screaming for him to move. He didn't want to though. The fingers combing through his hair was so soothing, trailing down to rub his neck then repeat the motion. All the last days had been was pain and worry and it felt so nice.

After just a few more moments he gave in and blinked slowly, eyes stinging from the overhead light. They took a minute to focus, the hand pausing to cup his cheek and Daryl leaned into it before realizing what he was doing.

It slowly coming to him that no one should be that comfortable petting him, "You look like shit."

Daryl head popped up at the dry, raspy voice that was followed by a hard cough. Daryl locked eyes with seafoam ones, ones he hadn't seen in almost a week. Paul grinned down at him, awake and in need of water and Carson. Daryl moved to grab the bottle by the bed, the scout taking a small grateful sip.

With a trembling hand Daryl cupped Paul's cheek, the smaller man smiling at the touch and this was real "Yer a sight for sore eyes."

#desus #darus #daryl x jesus #daryl dixon #paul rovia #twd #prompt fill #angst #i tried

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witharthurkirkland · 7 years ago

Note

Ace Victor prompts: 1. Victor and Yuuri find creative outlets once they both retire 2. Victuuri honeymoon spent eating super fattening foods and just having fun instead of smexxing 3. Someone(idk what situation this would happen)Is pushing Victor to talk about his sex life because anyone married to The Sec Bomb Yuuri™ must have crazy kinky shit happening in the bedroom 4. COZY VICTUURI BY A FIRE ON A RAINY DAY FALL ASLEEP AND ARE LATE TO PRACTICE AND OTHERS ASSUMES IT WAS CAUSE THEY HAD SEX

Oh my gosh! This is so cute!! Thank you!

This includes both ace Victor and ace Yuuri, because who doesn’t want a cute ace marriage?

Here is my offering. It’s about 3.5k words. Read it below or read it on ao3.

The Grand PrixFinal was a mere three days away when they were out for another walk. In threedays he would be anxious and worried about going out on the ice and not lettingVictor down (if he was honest with himself, he was anxious about it even now),but for now, at least, he could think about something else. Worry aboutsomething else.

They stoppedhalfway down the bridge and stared out over the water.

Yuuri watchedVictor out of the corner of his eye. For all of the comments about Eros andwhat Eros means, there was still one subject that they’d both carefullyavoided. Victor was very famous, yes, and as Victor’s fan Yuuri was all tooaware of the theories that went around online. Some believed he had a secretgirlfriend, others – a boyfriend. Some claimed they’d seen him go out withdifferent people. There were theories about him and Chris. Yuuri had read all thesetheories, because sometimes it’s harder to not read something than to actuallyread it and wondered a little about it himself.

And now Victorwas his coach and right there every day and Yuuri could say several things forcertain.

Victor didn’thave a secret girlfriend or boyfriend. And it was very obvious to Yuuri thatChris was a best friend and there had never been anything between them. Infact, based on how Victor talked about the subject and avoided certain topics,Yuuri was convinced that Victor had never gone out with anyone.

When Yuuri wentout on the ice as Eros the audience whistled and screamed all kinds of things.Victor merely smiled and nodded.

“Did you likeit?” Yuuri would ask afterwards.

“Very Eros,”Victor would say and nod with a smile.

Do you actually mean it? Yuuri wouldwonder and agonize over this.

Now here theywere, a few days before the Grand Prix Final and Yuuri knew there was onesubject he couldn’t avoid any longer.

“I like you,Victor,” he finally admitted. “I-I’ve liked you for a while.” He turned away tohide his face, embarrassed that he’d stuttered over the most importantconfession of his whole life. “For a long while…” he whispered.

“I like youtoo, Yuuri. I wouldn’t have become your coach, if I didn’t,” Victor added in thatusual easygoing way of his.

Yuuri turnedback and looked into his face. “I don’t mean like, as in “you’re a great personand I like you”, I-I mean,” he stuttered again, “you are a great person and I like you for that too, but…” Why was thissuddenly so hard? “This is more than friendship,” he went on, determined to sayit. “I love you, Victor.”

Victor smiled.“I love you too, Yuuri.”

He continued tostand there, just smiling and Yuuri felt like he needed to explain himselfmore. “I-I don’t mean love like I love my family, Victor.”

“I understand,”he said. “I don’t mean that kind of love either.”

“Oh.” He stoodthere as the enormity of what Victor had said sank in. Oh!

Victor pulledhim into a hug. They stood there, arms around each other, hanging on and unwillingto let go for anything.

After a whileVictor whispered, “I’m really flattered that you feel this way about me.”

Shouldn’t I say that? Yuuri thought,returning the hug. Suddenly all of that anxiety he’d had evaporated into theair, leaving behind only the anxiety about the Final. Well, some thingscouldn’t be helped, it seemed.

They walked backhome together, exchanging smiles, their arms around each other.

If I could marry you, Yuuri thought, then I would in a heartbeat. And then hehad another thought. Who said I can’t marry you?

He thoughtabout this again in Barcelona the day before the Final. They walked through thecity as he searched around for what he needed.

“It’s yourbirthday soon,” he said. “What do you want for a present?” Say I don’t know and I can find something for you, I promise.

“In Russia wedon’t celebrate birthdays early,” Victor told him. “It’s considered back luck.”

“Oh. What aboutChristmas?”

“We don’tcelebrate it,” Victor smiled, “until January, anyway.”

Of course! He remembered reading aboutthat. He walked on, lost in thought, his eyes still searching for the rightthing.

Ah! Over there! Up ahead!

He ran to thestore and called Victor over.

He waited forVictor to comment in some way while they tried the rings on and then waited forhim to say something as he bought them both.

But Victorremained silent.

Yuuri alreadyknew where to go next. He stopped in just the right spot where the light fromthe Barcelona Cathedral would fall on them and they could exchange rings.

He tookVictor’s hand and trembled. He’d prepared words for this moment. The nightbefore he’d lain awake and thought them through. Now they were all gone.

“I-it’s a thankyou,” he stammered out, slipping the ring over Victor’s finger, “for everythingup ‘til now. I-I couldn’t think of anything else. But, I’ll try my best fromtomorrow on.” He felt his cheeks burn as he looked up into Victor’s face,waiting for him to say something, anything.

Victor noddedwith a smile. “I want you to show me the skating that you can honestly say isthe best.” He slipped the ring on.

He stared downat his hand in disbelief.

“I’m hungry,”Victor said, putting an arm around Yuuri, “let’s go grab a bite to eat.”

Yuuri felt hishead spin. Did he really just get engaged to his idol, or was he dreaming? Anddid Victor understand what he’d meant?

Victor lay inbed that night, staring at the ring on his finger. Yuuri had already fallenasleep, his head resting against his shoulder. They’d pushed the beds close beforefalling asleep by each other’s side. After exchanging rings, sleeping next toeach other felt right.

He thought ofYuuri’s confession. How could he explain to Yuuri just how he grateful he wasfor what he’d given him?

For years Chriskept trying to set him up with someone, not realizing what it was that Victorreally needed. To be fair, Victor himself hadn’t been sure and went along,thinking that it couldn’t hurt. And then the conversation with the person wouldturn to sex and his eyes would search around desperately for the exit.

“Well, notwanting to have sex after the first date is normal,” Chris would say.

And Victorwould watch him chase someone else to boast about how good they were in bedafterwards.

Okay, but I’m not interested in any of that.I don’t understand why you would go through all that just for sex. And,besides, you just admitted that they have a terrible personality. I just don’tget it.

Along cameYuuri who didn’t ask any of these questions and didn’t demand anything. Victorthought of the banquet when he saw the boy dance and marvelled at his strengthas he lifted Chris. And then Yuuri grabbed his arms and pulled him into a danceand he was having more fun than he’d ever had in his whole life.

I want to get to know you better, hethought.

“Be my coach, Victor!” Yuuri shouted.

And Victor did.Not right there and then, granted, but he did.

He rememberedhis conversation with Chris after he arrived at Hasetsu.

“So… Have you slept with him yet?” He couldalmost hear Chris prepare to say something like “congratulations”.

“No. I barely even know him, Chris!”

“Yeah, yeah, okay! Sure! You just ran acrosshalf the world to become his coach! After he stripped and pole danced! Sure!”Chris was probably rolling his eyes now.

“I think he deserves a good coach, so, yes,I did rush across half the world to become his coach,” Victor said defensively.“And I want to get to know him better.”

“Okay. Get to know him better. Sure.” Hecould hear the disbelief in Chris’s voice and wondered if it was worth theeffort of trying to explain himself better.

After everysingle Eros performance Chris would call with the same question. And he alreadyknew he would get the same question from Chris the next day.

Maybe it wastime to tell Chris to stop asking the question.

And sureenough, the next day, Chris drew him aside and asked it again. “You can’t tellme you still haven’t slept withYuuri! Look at all that Eros! Are you really going to tell me it doesn’t turnyou on at all?”

“He’sbeautiful, Chris,” Victor said in a calm tone of voice, “and he’s the bestperson I’ve ever met.”

Chris laughed.“Listen, Victor, you don’t have to pretend with me.” He leaned closer. “And youdon’t have to be embarrassed of it,” he added in a whisper. “I’m just curious,you know? What do you two get up to when you’re all alone?” He leaned evencloser, really invading his personal space now, and Victor resisted the urge tostep back, afraid to offend his friend. “Do you use ropes or…”

“What!” Victorinterjected. He’d listened to Chris talk about this once. He swore to himselfto never listen to it again. Two years went by and he was still slightlytraumatized by what he’d heard. “No! No! I told you: we’re not having sex!”

He’d protesteda little too loudly and people were turning around to give him curious looks.

Victor put hishands over his mouth and then took them away to whisper, “I didn’t have sexwith Yuuri! I slept with him, yes, but we slept beside each other.”

“I don’t getit,” Chris said, tilting his head to the side, “you sleep beside each other and you don’t– no, I just can’t believeit!” he shook his head. “You’re not old-fashioned enough to wait until you getmarried, are you?”

Victor sighed. Hewas just wasting time with Chris. “Just forget it. I need to go help Yuuriprepare for the competition.”

“Prepare, yeah,sure,” Chris said with a suggestive smile that Victor merely ignored.

And when Yuurifinally got his Grand Prix gold, an entire year later, they got married notlong after. And, sure enough, Chris called two days later with the samequestion.

“Listen, Chris,I can appreciate a joke like anyone else can, but I really think this isgetting out of hand,” Victor said, trying to sound calm and almost failing.

“I just don’tunderstand it,” Chris insisted, yet again.

“And I don’tunderstand you,” Victor admitted in avoice that was just a little too loud.

There was anembarrassed pause.

“Listen, I’msorry,” Chris said. “Can you forgive me?”

“It’s okay.” Hedid his best to make it sound like it was okay, but his voice betrayed theanger he held in check. Just don’t bringit up ever again.

“I guess Ijust– Oh! I feel like such an idiot!”Chris exclaimed. “All these years we’ve been friends and it never occurred tome!”

“What are youtalking about?” Victor asked, puzzled.

“Everythingmakes so much sense now!” Chris said. “You’re ace, Victor.”

Victor walkedinto his living room where Yuuri was sprawled out on the couch, “I suppose Iam,” he said, stopping to smile fondly at Yuuri’s sleeping form.

He wondered howmany people would believe that the kiss at their wedding had been their firstkiss. Oh, Victor had kissed Yuuri’s hand and even Yuuri’s skate, but neverYuuri’s lips, not until then. They’d only agreed to it, because it wastraditional.

They danced through their whole weddingparty until all the guests got tired and went home. They practically dancedtheir way to their hotel room and then dropped down next to each other on thebed.

“I’m not sleepy at all,” Yuuri admitted.

“Me neither,” Victor said. “Do you want towatch a movie? We can try to order some food, but it’s probably too late forroom service.”

Oddly enough, it wasn’t too late for room service, so they orderedwhatever looked good on the menu and stayed up half the night watching anythingthey could find.

Victor smiledat the memory of waking up next to Yuuri and realizing they hadn’t even changedout of their expensive tuxedoes.

He returned tothe kitchen to make coffee.

“So…” Chrissaid in a tone that was still apologetic, “I hope you have fun on yourhoneymoon. Truly.”

“Thank you. Iknow we will.”

They’d spentweeks planning the perfect honeymoon: starting with a cheese and wine tour inFrance and ending with a chocolate tour in Switzerland. They went early in thefall when the weather would still be good.

After one houron the train there they were: in a little town, straight out of a picture book.Even the way the Alps framed it suggested that someone took the time to sitdown and plan where each peak should be.

The sunilluminated a cobblestone street as they walked from shop to shop.

“Look at that!”Yuuri exclaimed, his eyes glowing with excitement. “There’s a little villagehere made all out of chocolate!”

They stoodoutside, looking in at the display window.

“Let’s go in,”Victor said, opening the door.

Neither of themhad ever seen such a selection of chocolate, from different types, to differentfillings (like added nuts and berries), that’s not to mention all of thedifferent shapes it was sold in.

“Wow!” theyexclaimed at the same time.

“Can I throwout my things and fill my suitcase with chocolate?” Victor mused aloud.

“It will justmelt into one giant chocolate suitcase!”

Two hours ofgoing from shop to shop and buying gifts for pretty much everyone they knewthey stopped at a little café where each of them got a little masterpiece madeout of chocolate and berries.

“Seems a shameto eat it,” Yuuri said, staring down at what he’d ordered.

“I can eatyours, if you don’t want it,” Victor offered.

“I never saidthat!”

Yuuri sleptwith his head on Victor’s shoulder during the train ride back to their hotel.The world was soft, full of bright colours and happy things. The view outsidewas breathtaking as the train circled the Alps and forests gave way to smalltowns before spreading out again over hills and down into valleys. A lake here,a river there, broke the view. Sunlight sparkled on the surface of the water,drawing the eye in. But the best view was the one leaning against Victor’sshoulder.

Victor raisedon hand and gently touched Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri slept on.

Tomorrow I want to find the best restaurantin Geneva and see just how good it is, he thought.

Two days laterthey discovered a small vintage shop on the outskirts of Zurich, which led to acompetition of “Guess who this is” on Instagram that Yuuri won. People werejust better at recognizing Victor under the old clothes, even when he pulled ona dress with a poufy petticoat underneath, a giant hat, a pair of opera glovesand held a fan made of feathers in his hand.

“I like thisone,” Victor said as they stood outside and went through the photos.

Yuuri stareddown at a photo of him in a black lace dress with red roses embroidered downfrom one corner of his chest to the bottom of the skirt. “Maybe we should’vebought it.”

“You know,”Victor began and tilted his head to the side thoughtfully, “I think I have anidea for a program for next year.”

Yuuri laughedand pretended that he was about to go back. “I’ll go buy it, then, shall I?”

“And this oneis good too…” Victor said thoughtfully.

This time Yuuriwas in an old war uniform that looked like it came from sometime in theprevious century. There was so much gold braid sewn over it that he suspectedthat it was really from a theatre than from an actual soldier.

“No, no, Ithink this one is much better.” He flicked over the photos on Victor’s phoneand found the one of Victor dressed as a heroine from a Jane Austen novel. “Ithink you should skate in this next year.”

Victor laughed.“Only if I can end or start with a love confession.”

Yuuri felt theblush rise to his cheeks. “Y-you’re not going to…?” he asked, unable to finishthe question.

“No, I think,I’ll stand in front of you as you wear that uniform and confess. And then themusic will start to play and I will skate. What do you think of that?” Victor’sface was full of excitement as he said this and Yuuri knew, just knew that he wouldn’t be able to talkhim out of it.

“Sh-shouldn’t Idance that? I was the one who confessed, after all.” Yuuri lowered his eyes andwondered if he should’ve said that.

Victor wrappedhim in an embrace. “No, you’ll need to come up with your own idea,” he teased.“What about chocolate? You can do the chocolate dance! Like the one in the Nutcracker!”

Yuuri laughed,burying his face in Victor’s chest.

“That will beyour short program and your free skate can be the wine dance,” Victor went on.

“Are youseriously suggesting that my theme this year should be our honeymoon?” Yuuriraised his head and looked into Victor’s face.

“Our theme,” Victor corrected him.

He didn’t knowwhat to answer to that.

It was anotherrainy autumn morning in St. Petersburg. He woke up late, his arms aroundVictor.

They’d fallenasleep in front of the TV under a thick quilt yet again.

He reached outfor the remote and turned it off as an elderly lady told him that the next weekwould have nothing but rain.

Yuuri thoughtof that warm afternoon when they walked down a street in Zurich, making plansfor the future season, holding hands tightly. He remembered the jokes they’dmade about their programs. Victor promised he would have a palace in thebackground when he skated. Yuuri promised to throw chocolates out to theaudience.

Then his eyefell on the clock on the wall. Crap!

“Victor,” hewhispered, shaking him gently. “Victor, we’re late for practice.”

“Hmm…” Victor,who was usually a morning person, dropped his head onto Yuuri’s shoulder,murmuring, “five more minutes.”

Yuuri knew whatwould happen the moment they got to practice. He could already picture thestares they would all give them. He could hear Yuri Plisetsky mutter“disgusting” under his breath as everyone else made jokes about staying uplate.

Yes, we did stay up late, he thought. There was a good movie on.

And he knewthey wouldn’t believe him, if he told them the truth.

But it was sogood to stay here, were it was dry and warm while the rain pattered against thewindows. Outside people ran through puddles shielding themselves withumbrellas, but here there was just Victor, clinging on in his sleep.

Yuuri watchedwater trail down the glass. A bright yellow leaf was stuck in the bottom rightcorner of the window. Out there their balcony chairs were getting wet.

A bird landedon the back of one of the chairs and tried to shake the rain off.

Time to go, he thought.

“Victor,” hewhispered again, “come on, you’ve had your five minutes.” He rubbed Victor’sback with a smile.

“Next on theice, representing Japan – Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov!”

He skated outonto the ice in a costume of black lace with red roses sewn at the waist anddown to his half skirt.

The musicstarted to play and he launched into his short program: Spanish Chocolate fromthe Nutcracker.

There wereballet elements in his program and he jumped on his skates, almost as if he wasin pointe shoes. So the dance and music were well-known, but he was stilldetermined to surprise the audience. Especially since Victor had surprisedeveryone with his routine.

He stood in front of Yuuri in the closestapproximation to a long white dress he could skate in and listened as thespeakers played a recording of a love confession and then the music started toplay and he backed away into his routine.

Afterwards everyone argued which novel hadinspired Victor. When asked he smiled and answered “my husband”.

Yuuri hadchoreographed both of his programs this time. As he went into a spin he had asudden vision of himself and Victor sometime in the future. He imagined Victorcoaching someone else and himself going on as a choreographer by his side.Victor had really grown as a coach in the last few years.

Maybe theycould go out there into the world and look for young talent.

He wonderedwhat Victor would say to that as the music ended.

But for now, he thought, bowing to theaudience, we’ll keep going for as long aswe can. Right, Victor?

He turned tosmile at his coach and husband and got a nod in return.

#fanfiction #AU #yuri on ice #Victor Nikiforov #Yuri Katsuki #Just Perfect #victuuriwriters #don't mind me casually living my dreams through this ficlet #Ace Victor #Ace Yuuri

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juicifeur · 7 years ago

Text

Closure (Sam x reader)

anonymous asked: Could I request a drabble/one shot? Maybe one where... Sam is in love with the reader, and she doesn't reciprocate his feelings, until they have to pose as a couple in public and she sees what's so fantastic about him?

Word Count: 6,075 (longest one I think but idk)

A/N: Set in late 2014. Yes I know how long this took. I started this at the beginning of May. Yes, I am sorry.

Warnings: Little bits of language, brief mentions of smut, some awkward fake-marital fluff

“Just...” Sam breathed out as he leaned on the archway at the end of the bunker.

“Tell Y/N how you feel. That’s it; not a big deal just man up, go over there and tell Y/N-”

“Are you having an inner-monologue again?” Dean came up beside Sam suddenly with a mug of coffee. He sipped and Sam clenched his jaw, letting out a short scoff.

“Course not. I- don’t- what are you talking about?”

“Mhm. I just don’t think it’s really the time, Sam. You need to chill out and let it be for a while.” Dean sipped again. You were sitting across the library at one of the tables, headphones on, deep in a leather-bound book. Sam nodded a little slowly.

“You sure you’re not just looking for something to fill that hole after Jess-”

“Dean shut up it’s been years.” Sam mumbled, more like growled. It was quiet for a few moments as both boys went to sit at the table where you were.

“So, I found a case.” Dean announced, getting your attention as they settled in.

“Outside Chicago, two couples have gone missing in the past two months, all from the same high-class neighborhood, no signs of any B and E’s. This one house on the block is pretty old and the company that built the neighborhood never got a warrant to demolish. It’s been on the market for years but no one’s paid any attention to it ‘til the price went down and now there’re people looking to buy.”

“Price went down two months ago?” Sam looked up and leaned back in his chair,

“Two months ago. Right when the disappearances started.” Dean sipped a last time and set down the empty mug on the dark wood table.

“So, what are you thinking? Vanir? They take a male and female sacrifices at ‘the same time. Remember the orchard?” The gears in Sam’s brain started to turn as he tried to rationalize the situation. Dean was relieved whenever his brother was distracted enough to forget you were in the room. He didn’t want to tell Sam what he knew. He clicked his tongue, skeptical of Sam’s suggestion.

“I don’t know. Those rituals are usually pretty messy. And I don’t remember them breaking into people’s houses.” He remembered being tied to a tree and shivered.

Sam nodded and sighed. He was extremely good at hiding his emotions.

“Well, I can see what I can find; leave in the morning?” He opened his laptop and glanced at you before focusing on the case.

The drive to Illinois was long and boring with nothing but fields and sky to look at. It got old after a while. Wheat, wheat, corn, a river, some trees, repeat.

“Are we there yet?” Your voice was dry and whiny like the wind outside. Dean chuckled from the front seat.

“Not yet.” He turned up the stereo a little too loud and you groaned. As awesome as Robert Plant was, the same album was not awesome three times in a row. Mixed with Dean’s singing it was downright torture.

“Are you sure this plan is going to work?” Dean had told you at about the halfway marker what the plan actually was. You and Sam, as much as you didn’t like the idea, were supposed to play newlyweds looking for a house.

It wasn’t that you didn't like Sam. You did, but not in the way he wanted. And you didn’t have any way to let him down easily like Dean suggested. You both just knew that it was too dangerous; so you went with letting him move on, on his own. So far that plan was doing just about nothing about the problem.

“Positive. But you have to make it believable.” Dean was always looking out for both you and Sam, and all of you how important it was to make sure you were a believable partner for Sam. You sighed.

Being with the Winchesters for so long hadn’t really impacted your friendship. You were colleagues, nothing else. Anything else was too dangerous. They were your brothers ever since your father passed, and they offered a place to stay while you got back on your feet.

“I’ll see what I can do,” You unrolled your window a little.

“I don’t have much to work with.” You chuckled. Sam scoffed lightly from the front seat. He did a good job at hiding whatever he might have felt for you but you still got a hint that he was hurting; that somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that you didn't...wouldn't love him back.

It started, you assumed, about three years after Sam left Stanford. You’d started hunting alone once your father thought you were old enough, and you ran into the boys in Las Vegas, they were on a “vacation” and you were hunting a Siren.

You made frequent stops in Sin City, but this was the first time you had a case there and no time to do nothing but screw around and try exotic drinks.

It was also the first time that you really understood how slow men could be in the logical sense. There were signs of murders sitting right in front of their noses and they had the audacity to drink and have a good time.

Oh, how you envied them, but you knew you had a job to do. If your father found out about any of this wanting to goof-off during a case he would skin you alive.

It was a couple days after you first arrived you formally ran into the Winchesters, coincidentally at the same time you managed to kill the Siren in a very crowded casino, where it had been posing as a showgirl for most of the time. You caught it backstage after the last show of the night.

“The hell are you doing?” The shorter one asked, gun pointed at you. He was still a giant but slightly smaller compared to the other one with him.

“Your job, apparently.” You glared at them and wiped the blood off of your hands.

“We had it under control.” The tall one said, squaring his shoulders. You gave him a quick once over and thought he needed a haircut; those locks had the potential to get caught in all sorts of things.

Hunters ran into each other on cases often, it came with the more obvious signs and symptoms of a murder under supernatural circumstances. So, you had no idea why they were here. Since they were completely oblivious to everything except boobs and booze in the first half of the week.

“Oh, I can see that. You two meatheads drinking and picking up chicks at the bar. You had it perfectly under control. You schooled me. Let me get your card so I can attend a seminar.”

“...Let’s just all calm down, okay? The thing’s dead, let’s take care of the body and go our separate ways, huh? Avoid all this passive aggression?” The shorter one asked, trying to ease the tension a little.

“How bout some drinks to celebrate?” You scoffed and turned to leave the backstage area. The shorter one looked up at his partner.

“The body?” They asked simultaneously. Creepy.

“Yeah after we take care of that.”

Nine shots in and you and Dean were starting to get along swimmingly.

“Truth.”

“How many guys have you slept with in the past year? Spare no details of quick hookups.” Dean was swirling the beer in his glass slowly.

“Pervert.” You scoffed.

“To be completely honest, I don’t kiss and tell.” You leaned back in your seat and smirked softly. Sam wasn’t playing the game, he preferred to watch from the sidelines and at least try to learn about you.

“You don’t like sharing anything with the class, huh?” Dean sipped casually. You cleared your throat.

“I’m not paying for this, Winchester. Why would you let good shots go to waste?” You saw Sam smile out of the corner of your eye.

“Is that a fancy way of saying you’re chickening out of answering future questions?” Dean leaned a little forward, challenging you.

“Well-”

“Drink.” He pushed another shot towards you. You did so and he chuckled, amused.

You were all pretty buzzed, and eventually you started walking back to the motel when the noise around the bar wound down. Even Dean was smart enough not to drive.

Being the hunter that you were, you were no stranger to drinking, but fourteen shots was a lot even for you. Luckily there were two trees walking with you to hold you up in case you tripped.

When the door to your motel room closed, you pressed your hands to Sam’s chest and started kissing, albeit very sloppily, up the side of his jaw. Dean had no clue Sam was even with you since he face planted onto the couch in their room almost as soon as you got back.

“Y/N, what - what the hell are you doing?” Sam stuttered and backed against the wall. A low growl came from the back of his throat as you started to unbutton his shirt.

“I saw you looking at me.” You giggled, your arms feeling like jelly. Sam’s hands ran down your sides and gripped your hips softly. His hands began to roam your lower back.

“So?” You moved up to his lips and bit down.

“So, is there something you wanna say?” He hadn’t had as much to drink so his mind was working a lot better than yours was. You could feel his jaw clenching softly as your fingers traced it.

“We only have one night. Why not make the best of it?” You whispered close to his ear. He began to push you back towards the bed; and the rest was a little blurry.

When you woke up the next morning, you went straight for the shower. The grime from the hunt combined with the smell from the bar and sweat from your night with Sam made it feel like you would stick to the floor if you made a wrong move.

You weren’t going to lie to yourself, though. It was an amazing night.

The siren was dead, your one night stand of the week was still sleeping and you still had enough time to shower, get packed, dressed, and get the hell out. You were no stranger to this particular routine. In a way, it kept you sane.

Later that same day, about half way to Portland, a call came in from an unknown number. You let it go to voicemail.

“Hi, uh- Y/N, it’s Sam. I know you said this number was for emergencies only but I just wanted to say that I thought that last night was really great. And I wanted to know if we could get a coffee or something if we run into each other again? You probably left early for a case. Just wanted to put the offer out there. Let me know.”

You deleted the message.

Now here you all were six years later. Dean had been a demon, everything had gone to shit, and Sam still had a crush on you.

“Y/N, wake up.” Dean’s large hand shoved you awake and you sat up, fixing your hair a little. He laughed softly.

“Did you know you snore?”

“Shut up.”

“Dean, you snore too.” Sam shot at him in your defence.

“I do not. Shut up.” Dean grumbled, took the keys from the ignition of the Impala, and he got out of the car. You giggled softly and followed his lead to grab your bag from the trunk. But Sam seemed to have lightning speed and had already gotten it when you looked up.

“Thanks, Sam.” You gave him a smile and took it from him. He smiled back. You couldn’t deny that Sam Winchester was the sweetest guy you’d ever met.

Usually you would get a separate room from the boys, but for this particular case you and Sam were supposed to be a couple and you couldn't afford to lose your cover because you wanted to sleep in your own bed.

“So, where to first?” You asked once Dean unlocked the two-bed room.

“Police station. I want to get a look at the missing persons files.” He pulled off his canvas jacket and traded it for a suit and tie, he was posing as a regular old FBI agent and you sighed softly, a little jealous.

“You two stay here. Don’t wait up.” Dean chuckled softly and went out the door, starting the engine of the old Impala before you or Sam could protest. Bastard.

You awkwardly looked over at Sam.

“So, we’re married, huh?” You smiled a little, crossing your arms. Sam chuckled a little, scratching his neck.

He was starting to pull back a little on the flirting; trying to make things normal between the two of you. Which you appreciated. Dean probably let something slip.

“Uh, yeah. Which reminds me..” Sam turned towards his duffel bag and he pulled out a small black box. You knew exactly what it was even before he even opened it.

“Sam, what the hell is that?” You pointed at the item in his nervous hands as he turned back towards you and opened it.

“Well, I thought we should look the part.” Inside was a beautiful engagement ring. He smiled softly and took it out of the box gently.

“Marry me, Y/N?” He chuckled softly and held it out to you; you had to hand it to him, if he ever did this to any other girl, you could guarantee they would never say no. You smiled, amused.

“What, did you steal it or something?” You took it carefully and slid it onto your left ring finger, smirking at how it reflected light.

“Um, well no. I bought it to ask my girlfriend, Jessica. Before she...yeah..” He trailed off slowly and sighed, sticking his hand in his back pocket awkwardly.

Your stomach turned a little, and you couldn’t believe what you’d just said. You knew what happened to Sam’s college girlfriend. You started to stutter and your fingers trembled to help you find the right words.

“Oh, Sam, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” Sam smiled sadly at you and closed the small box with a tiny clap, tossing it back in his bag.

“At least now we actually look married. We should see if we can find any more info on the case.” He was quick to change the subject and it made you feel awful. But you nodded anyway, not willing to make things worse.

“So, it’s a cycle?”

“Yeah, looks like. Two years apart starting in ‘98. Probably a spirit.” You and Sam had been researching, tapped into the local library’s archives, for two hours.

“How come we haven’t heard about it until now?”

“I don’t think there’s ever been this many disappearances. Just one per two years.” Sam answered and glanced up briefly. You purse your lips and thought, leaning back in the chair at the large table.

“When Dean gets back we have to check out the house.” You sighed. Sam nodded.

“Agreed.”

Suddenly Dean sat down beside you and breathed out, loosening his tie.

“Well, hello to you too. What did you find?” You chuckled.

“Two hours of combing records and all I got is the year the old house was built and one totally sorta-natural death.” He ran a hand over his face and his head fell back in exhaustion.

“Sorta-natural?” You cocked an eyebrow at the older brother who’s eyes were closed.

“Yeah. Female, Caucasian, 31 years old, death by suicide back in ‘96.” He breathed out like he was disinterested in this whole thing.

“Dude.” You stared at him. He looked up.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding- that’s our ghost. It’s a two year cycle of disappearances that started in 1998, Dean.” You growled softly and looked over at Sam, who shared the same bitchface. Sometimes you were surprised Dean hadn’t lost his head yet.

“Oh.” Dean mumbled.

“Yeah. Oh.” You sighed loudly.

“Let’s just go see that house now.” Sam closed his laptop and you helped him put away a few books.

“Now, it’s been a while since there’s been actual owners, so we apologize for the dust, but we can offer you a trial run. Business is slow I hope you understand-”

“We’ll take it.” You smiled with your arm draped through Sam’s. The real estate agent’s heels clicked to a stop on the floor and her red lips turned up into a grin.

“Fantastic! I’ll just get some paper work and then I’ll leave you to it.” She smiled and went outside to her car.

“Well, it’s definitely creepy in here.” You took your arm out of Sam’s and looked around again. Sam nodded.

“Definitely. What’s the plan?” He looked at you. You sighed.

“Um, well we close the deal and when Dean comes back from the police station, we’ll start digging deeper?” You looked up at Sam and a gentle smile graced his lips.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just sorta fun being married.” He chuckled and looked down a little. You smiled softly and nodded.

The woman came back, flicking through multiple sheets of contracts.

“Alright, Mr. and Mrs. Kent, if you’ll just sign here.” She smiled and handed Sam a pen and a clipboard with the papers attached. You looked over his arm and read them a little. Among the contracts of sale were liability waivers. It was obvious why they were being cautious. You both signed the forms and the woman smiled at you, her blonde curls starting to lose their shape.

“The transfer will be complete by the end of the week? Okay, great. You two crazy kids call me if there are any problems, alright? Alright.” She smiled and walked out with her hips swaying slightly, taking her for-sale sign with her. You and Sam followed and stood on the front step of the house.

You looked up at him.

“Well, now we have a deadline, or else Mr. and Mrs. Kent aren’t gonna be too happy to find out that their accounts are empty.” Sam chuckled and suddenly lifted you into his arms, bridal style. Your face went beet red.

“Um.” You looked at Sam. He shrugged.

“It’s a tradition.”

“But, we’re not really married, Sam.” You giggled softly, clinging to him.

“Just roll with it.” He chuckled and carried you back inside.

Dean was still at the police station as the sun started to go down.

Due to the recent kidnappings, the houses on the block that were for sale were all fully furnished to try and get buyers in the area. It wasn’t working very well, but at least you and Sam got a complimentary gift basket.

“What next? M&M’s or gourmet popcorn?”

“Got any dried fruit?” Sam looked back from the couch and chuckled. You groaned and looked through the basket. You threw a small box of raisins at him.

“You’re boring.” You walked over with the whole basket and sat back down beside him to continue with your Netflix marathons. He laughed softly.

“I’m trying to be at least somewhat healthy. Fast food all the time doesn’t work for me.” He started eating the raisins. You pulled a bottle of wine from the basket, along with two glasses, and read the label.

“Well, wine is made of grapes,” It looked expensive.

“So that makes it healthy.” You twisted the cork out and poured some for yourself, giggling softly .

“Want one?” You looked at Sam and he nodded, giving in to a little of the temptation.

“You know, this is kinda nice.” He said, looking around.

“Yeah, it is. Makes me wonder what life could actually be like.” You handed Sam his wine glass and sipped your own, leaning back on the soft couch cushions. Sam nodded and sighed softly.

“Ever think about getting out?” You looked over at him after a few moments of silence.

“All the time,” He sighed softly.

“You have no idea.” He sipped from his glass again. You nodded slowly and looked around the room again. Places like this didn’t come cheap, even though it was an old house, everything in it was new.

“Believe me, I do.” You smiled softly.

You were almost to the bottom of the dark green bottle when you felt a chill go through the room. The dimmed lights started to flicker above you and you sighed, setting down your glass.

“Looks like we got company.” Sam stood up, your bags were still on the kitchen table along with a lot of your gear for the case. He picked up his sawed-off from his duffel and cocked it to make sure it was loaded.

A man flickered into view as both you and Sam turned, scanning the room; he was pale and looked like he was all skin and bone.

“H-help me.” His hands extended in front of him and he came towards you at a fast pace.

A loud gunshot echoed through the house and rock salt scattered against the wall behind where the man stood. Your chest heaved as you stood behind Sam.

“What the hell.” He lowered his shotgun.

“I thought we were looking for a girl ghost.” He looked at you.

“We are.”

“Then why the hell did I just shoot a guy ghost?!” He glared and you shrugged.

“I have no idea, stop yelling!”

Another gunshot.

“Sam?!” Dean called from the front door. You heard it close and footsteps walk in.

“We’re good.” You both came from around the corner and saw him, still in his FBI suit. He walked in a little further and admired the inside of the house. His head turned and he saw the half consumed basket of gifts.

“Really? I’m busting my ass and you two are having date night?” He practically glared at the two of you and Sam tried to justify with a bitch face.

“No- Dean-"

"Never mind; I found something that’s gonna help us out.”

“So, Meredith Cowen and her husband Richard owned this place in ‘96. Meredith was the one who was found dead.”

“Alright, that’s a start-

“Hold on there’s more.” Dean held up a finger and continued to read.

“In 1994, Richard Cowen went missing. Wanna guess how long it was before they found him?” He looked up at you and Sam.

“Let me take a wild guess. Two years?” You asked. Dean nodded, then Sam took over the information.

“He was under a new name, arrested for public intoxication. Police found a new marriage certificate when they dug deeper into his records.” Sam sighed as he read what Dean had found.

“So, the guy goes off on a business trip, drops off the face of the earth for a couple of years, gets remarried two states over; then the ex-wife offs herself while waiting for him to come back? Sounds like a vengeful spirit to me.” Dean confirmed your theories.

“Yeah, explains why couples only disappeared. She hates seeing any happy couples.”

“That also explains the two-year cycle.” You paced the kitchen holding a container of salt that you found in your bag. You watched the ring on your left hand sparkle in the overhead lights.

“Wait, then who was the ghost we just shot down?” Sam asked, sliding Dean a beer.

“Had to be one of the victims. I mean there’s been at least 20 of them, and god knows where they ended up.” You sighed. The windows and doors were already blocked from anything coming in and there was a large circle that went around practically the whole living room. If any other dead people showed up they couldn't get to you.

“I think I have a plan.” You shrugged.

“It’s not much but it’s something.”

The next morning you drove about twenty minutes into town to get to the real estate office, where Nancy, or whatever her name was, would be waiting for you.

You pulled into the parking lot and got out with Sam, waking around the front of the car and taking his hand, there were security cameras all over the place. Sam, like a gentleman, opened the door and waited for you to walk through with a small smile on his face.

“Hi, how can I help you?” The receptionist greeted you with a plastic smile.

“We’re here to see our agent. She’s expecting us.” You smiled back and took Sam’s hand again.

“Yes, her office is down the hall and to the left.” She pointed behind her in the general direction.

“Thanks so much.” Sam nodded and lead you by your lower back.

“You make a pretty convincing husband, Sammy.” You breathed out as you walked down the hall.

“And you make a pretty good wife.” He knocked on the door of the office and looked around as a ‘come in’ could be heard. He followed the instructions and her grin practically reached her ears.

“Well hey, you two lovebirds. I hope you’re not sick of the old place yet,” She joked, half hoped that wasn’t why you were here.

“Please, sit down. What can I help you with?” She motioned to the two armchairs in front of her desk and you and Sam obliged, settling in and continuing to hold hands.

“We were just wondering if you had any foundation drawings of the original house. Y/N/N here wants to start on the backyard, putting in a deck and nice brick pathway to the garden and whatnot; and we want to be sure we don't hit any gas lines or anything when we start digging.” Sam smiled. You glanced over at Sam, impressed with his knowledge of home improvement.

“Aw, you are so sweet, my big ol’ stud muffin.” You smiled and leaned over, pressing your nose to his cheek to try and cute your way through this.

“And you are adorable, my beautiful little angel.” He grinned right back at you. You both seemed so happy together it was kind of sickening.

“Well ain’t that sweet. I’ve got the blueprints in a file somewhere.” She stood up and turned towards a filing cabinet standing beside the window. There was a fern on the sill which looked like it needed water and the sunlight caught hundreds of dust particles floating past the rays. You saw Sam’s cheeks out of the corner of your eye, they were a little pink.

She handed you the large piece of paper and you laid it out in front of Sam and yourself.

“As you can see, the original foundation is almost the same except for that one spot.” Nancy, or whatever her name was, pointed at a walled space that was supposed to be under the house.

“Was that part of the basement at one point?” Sam looked up at her.

“Yes sir-ee, it used to be a wine cellar. Construction crew filled in a wall a while ago and put grass over the outside doors.” She nodded and leaned back in her chair.

“Do you know why they did that?” You asked. She paused and seemed to struggle to find the right words.

“...There was mold growing, and it was spreading. They set a small fire and closed off the damage.” She nodded, confident with her answer. But something seemed off.

“Well, thank you so much for this.” You stood up with the paper.

“May we keep this for reference?” You held it up a little and took Sam’s hand once more.

“Course you can, darling,” She smiled.

“I’ve got another copy anyway.” She gave a small wave to the two of you and Sam opened the office door so you could leave.

“You two kids have a good day now, don’t be strangers.” She grinned, her giddy attitude starting to tick you off. She must have been really desperate to keep all sales final. You forced one last smile.

“You got it.” You pulled Sam out of the room quickly and you both made it back to the car, you let go of his hand and breathed out.

“Nice improv.” He complimented, getting into the driver’s seat. His cheeks were still a little red as he started the engine and tossed the blueprints on the dashboard. You nodded, avoiding eye contact and speaking quickly.

“You too.”

A loud crack was heard as your shovels went through the rotting wood of the old cellar door. It was right up against the back of the house.

“Jackpot.” Dean muttered as he set his shovel aside and crouched to peel away the old planks. The backyard wasn’t developed yet, so all it was at this point was dirt and gravel. Soil fell into the dark, used-to-be-wine cellar, dim moonlight going with it. You knelt down and swung your legs into the hole, pulling your gun from your waistband along with your flashlight.

The only reason you were doing this at night was to make sure any of the neighbours couldn’t see.

“Be careful.” Dean said.

“Thanks, mom. Don’t worry, I got this. Piece of cake.” You dropped into the cellar, grunting softly as your feet landed on the uneven floor, and you were instantly hit with the smell of death and decay. You covered your mouth and nose with your already dusty sleeve.

“Y/N, you okay?” Sam called into the pit.

“Um, I’ll get back to you on that one.” You coughed and started to breathe through your mouth.

“Hell...hello?” A woman’ s broken voice came from the shadows. Your fingers tightened around the base of your shotgun and you shone your light ahead of you. It landed on the face of a pale girl, looking similar to the ghost from earlier that day. Skin and bones. It was a wonder how they’d all managed to survive this long.

“Are you Stacy Carrigan?” You asked gently, getting closer. Two more heads poked up from the dark, slowly.

“Scott Thompson and Amy Thompson I presume?” You sighed softly and they all nodded, looking like they were on the brink of death. You saw a body laying on the ground a few feet away. It had to be Mr. Carrigan, the man you’d seen earlier. Stacy’s eyes looked like they’d been crying for days.

The floor and walls in that little closed off space were practically charcoal and you could see a pile of, what looked like, bones in the corner.

The running theory was that the construction company had burned the bodies that had been there since 1998, just so they could try and sell that house. The risk of finding bodies in the basement of a newly refurbished house was too much for the real estate agency to handle.

“We’re gonna help you okay? Just hold on a few seconds-” You were thrown back against the cement wall and you felt a few bones crack; or maybe that was just your ego.

“Y/N!” Sam’s voice bellowed as both boys jumped in behind you.

Spots went across your vision as you looked up from the ground. A frail woman flickered into vision.

“My house!” She shrieked, glaring down at you. She was small and weak looking, but vengeful spirits like this could pack a powerful and painful punch.

There was a loud gunshot and then she disappeared. Sam’s hand was on your back, helping you stand.

“Hey, hey, you alright?” He held you up as your legs tried to find their footing. You groaned softly in response.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here.” He got you out of the hole and then helped Dean get the victims out.

“We gotta get ‘em to the hospital.” Dean said as he brought them to the Impala.

“Okay, take us to the cemetery on the way there.” Sam said, helping you into the front seat, the middle one between Dean and himself.

“So, crazy case huh? Back to the good ol’ roots.” You dug the grave of Meredith Cowen up with Sam’s help. He nodded and huffed as he threw dirt behind him with the shovel.

“Yeah, crazy case.” You saw him glance at the ring on your finger and you paused, sticking your shovel in the ground.

“You want this back?” You took it off slowly and slid it off your hand.

“No, no. You can keep it if you want. Or sell it...It’s not doing me any good sitting in my bag.” You felt your heart break all over again and he got back to digging. You put the ring back in your pocket.

He got to the coffin and tossed his shovel aside, pushing dirt away and prying open the wooden box, then he climbed out. You reached up to grab his hand and pull yourself out next.

“I...I think you need some closure, Sam.” You looked up at him as he got out the lighter fluid and salt. He seemed to ignore the statement.

“Wanna get the lighter?” He asked. You wrapped your hand around his wrist and held his hand palm up, you placed the ring gently in his hand and held the lighter.

“I can’t..” Sam’s jaw clenched and he looked down at the silver ring.

“You have to Sam.” You sighed softly and salted the grave, then sprayed the lighter fluid across the bones. His eyes began to water and his lips pursed as he took in a breath. Suddenly he seemed so small and broken.

You flicked your thumb against the lighter and tossed it into the grave, igniting the fluid and getting rid of the ghost for good.

“Let her go and start over, Sam.”

‘With me.’ You thought.

The flames licked the sides of the grave and singed the grass near the top, and you kept looking at Sam, a orange glow on his face. He nodded very slowly.

“I know I need to, but...but I can’t.” His voice broke a little and you watched the fire break down the body.

“Yes, you can.” You looked at him and then down at the ring.

“Just count to three, alright?” You nodded, speaking softly.

“One.” You took Sam’s wrist again and held it above the flames. you watched him take a deep breath, a tear streak staining his face.

“Two.” You turned towards the grave and put your hand on Sam’s shoulder. You knew he needed a friend right now, and you’d be there for him no matter what.

You took in another breath and watched as his fingers began to open.

“Three.”

The engagement ring dropped from Sam’s palm and it was consumed in the heat of the burning body. You could practically see the weight lifted from his shoulders as the ring began to slowly melt into the ground. It was quiet. The sounds of the fires crackle were all you could here.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He said softly, sniffing a little and looking at you. You nodded and leaned on his shoulder.

It was an hour before the flames died down and you refilled the grave.

“They’re all in ICU. Doctors are giving them fluids and food, I think they’re gonna be okay.” Dean said as you loaded everything into the back of the Impala.

It had been a long night.

“Good.” You nodded and tossed your gun with the other weapons that were laying in the back. Sam came out of the room with everything else, and he locked it behind him so you could return the key for check-out. You smiled softly and watched him as he came over to the trunk.

“You okay?” You asked. He nodded and gave you a soft smile back.

“Better than last night. I wanted to thank you for helping me with...you know.” He breathed out a laugh and tucked his bag in with the others, then he rested a hand on your shoulder.

“No problem. Anything for a friend right?..” You were stuck looking into his eyes and then awkwardly looked down at your feet, your cheeks flushing pink. Dean looked in between the two of you and Sam awkwardly pulled his hand away.

“Cut the love-fest will you? Let’s hit the road.” Dean sighed deeply and got in the driver’s seat. You nodded and got into one of the back seats while Sam went to his usual seat in the front.

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comphersjost · 4 years ago

Text

Into the Storm ➸ Rafe Cameron

honestly, i wrote like the last two thirds of this high off my ass, idk if its good or not, im self conscious but im too lazy and too tired to proof read. please forgive any errors, plot holes, typos, etc, ily

Rafe’s been helping you get over John B, when you think it’s going too far, you try to disappear into a storm, not knowing that Rafe would follow.

words: 1.7k

warnings: uh smut, pretty lowkey smut tbh, leetle beet john b x reader, angst, storms, idk what else, this was supposed to be filth but i didnt feel like it lol

oh and it is a song fic so go ahead and listen to into the storm by banners while you read :)

as always: masterlist

If you're far from home Broken on a lonely road Helpless when the sky explodes Then I need you to know When you're 'round the bend Close your eyes and count to ten I'll walk through hell and back again Anywhere you go If your strength is falling down I'll be right beside you now And I'll keep you warm Yeah, I'll keep you warm

John B.

“Here,” you say softly, tossing Rafe a towel. “Was just about to watch a movie, you can join me if you want. I'm gonna change.”

“You're drooling,” you tease. Rafe brings his hand to his face, eyes narrowing and you when he realizes he wasn't actually drooling. Your voice drops to a murmur. “Stop staring.”

You grab a soft fluffy blanket from the closet, avoiding Rafe’s eyes.

“Baby, I could look at you forever,” he finally states, his tone serious.

“Stop staring, Rafe,” you repeat again, softer this time. Weaker, giving in, tired of fighting.

“I can't,” he whispers. “I'd follow you anywhere, like I followed you into the storm.”

I'll follow you into the storm Follow you into the stormI will, I will

Be with you when you call

Carry you to the dawn

I will, I will

Follow you into the storm

“Rafe…”

“I - I can't,” you whisper.

“Can't what?”

“I can't tell you that I don't love you,” you confessed, letting him step closer to you, his nose brushing yours. “It’s just not true, Rafe.”

“Say it then,” he challenges you.

“I can't say it either.”

“Say it.”

“I can't.”

“Say it.”

“I CAN’T!”

“Woah, hey, what happened?” he coos, stroking the angry red lines softly, kissing your temple.

You feel Rafe tense against you, and you wonder what it is that you could've said wrong until-

“John B,” Rafe says slowly, as if having been reminded of your friendship with him, and up until you met Rafe 6 months ago, the massive crush you had on him. “Right.”

“Okay, Mr. Kook Prince.”

“That's Mr. Kook King to you.”

“I know.” Rafe kisses your nose, then your lips. Pulling back too looks at you as you open your eyes. “I love you too.”

“I'm sorry,” you whisper.

“Baby,” Rafe’s hand tangles in your hair, bringing you in for a kiss. “You-”

BANG!

“Fuck,” you say quietly, still shaking in Rafe’s arms, “Looks like the party’s over. What happens now? Don't you guys have generators? Who's gonna take care of it?”

So violently

Held captive by your gravity

Hold your breath and wait for me

Where the wind may blow

Through night and dark

Through fantasies that fall apart

Know you're always in my heart

Anywhere you go

You're like a drug Rafe can't quit. You're worse than the cocaine. At least coke is predictable.

But you, he keeps coming back to you like you're the center of gravity and he can't stray too far away from you. You love John B. You’ve loved John B, for so long. And Rafe knows it.

The way you looked at him had only happened in fantasies, late at night, or when he was daydreaming about you.

If your strength is falling down

I'll be right beside you now

And I'll keep you warm

Yeah, I'll keep you warm

Oh, be with you when you call

Carry you till the dawn

Follow you into the storm

Anywhere that you go

I'll follow you into the storm

Follow you into the storm

Oh, be with you when you call

Carry you to the dawn

Follow you into the storm

It's when Rafe is fucking you up against the wall that you say it. It’s then you know that you would go to any length for him. He was it for you.

“I love you, Rafe!”

“Say it again,” he growls.

“I love you,” you whimper softly, grasping onto his shoulders as the tip of his cock nudges your g-spot.

“Again.”

“I love you!” this time you cry out as Rafe adds a sharp thrust to his word.

“Say it again, Y/N, please, say it like you mean it.” Rafe is begging now, hand falling to your clit to make you cum on his cock again.

“I do mean it, Rafe,” you plead, turning Rafe’s jaw so he was looking you in the eye. “I mean it. I love you, Rafe Cameron.”

Later, when your breathing and heartbeat had slowed to a normal pace, on the soft mattress of the guest house bed, Rafe speaks again.

You're silent for a few minutes, Rafe almost thinks you've fallen asleep.

“I would follow you into any storm too, Rafe,” you murmur in his ear, kissing his cheek softly. “I just didn't know it until today. Thank you for following me today Rafe.”

Rafe turns his head to look at you.

“Now that it’s all out in the open and stuff does this mean you're my Kook Queen?”

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