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hungermakesmonsters · 9 months ago

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Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Nineteen

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R

Chapter Rating : R - some smut

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] There's some smutty behaviour and vague descriptions of a panic attack. And lots of angst. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : ~3.9k

A/N : Five weeks after the heartbreak of the last part (sorry again for that). As always thanks so much everyone who's reading every week and all the new people, you're all awesome!

Chapter Nineteen

The next week passed as something of a blur.

After leaving Anvil, Karen had taken you back to her apartment and, after listening to you sob for an immeasurable amount of time, she led you to her guest room. And that was pretty much where you stayed for days. Your phone rang and buzzed; he tried to call hundreds of times, sent countless messages before Karen took your phone and blocked his number because, despite how much he’d hurt you, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

A couple of days later he turned up at Karen’s door - she didn’t let him in and you didn’t speak to him, you just heard them arguing while you fought back tears.

You hated him for how broken he’d managed to make you feel, how pathetic and weak you felt because you’d been stupid enough to believe that he could ever feel anything for you. But, as much as you hated him, there was a part of you that still loved him; a part of you that would always love him, a part of you that was worried about him, about how he was handling all of this.

After the first week, you managed to pull yourself together enough to go back to work, knowing that you needed to start earning back the money that you’d given to the PI. You stayed with Karen a little while longer before she told you that you could go home, that Billy understood that you didn’t want to see him and he wouldn’t bother you anymore. That didn’t stop you from changing your phone number though.

The welcome home you received from Tammy was awkward at best but, to her credit, she tried to make you feel better. And, soon enough, you fell back into your old rhythm of working all day and spending your evenings alone in front of the TV. After three weeks, it almost felt like the last few months had never happened and that Billy Russo had been nothing more than a fever dream.

Eventually, things got easier; you didn’t cry yourself to sleep every night and didn’t wake yourself reaching for his body beside you. It still hurt to think about him - you were certain that it would always hurt - but it became easier to not think about him at all.

Until it came to pick the photos that you wanted to print for your show.

You’d wanted to just cancel the whole thing, but you knew you needed whatever money you could make from it. And there he was, one of the best candid shots you had, catching him as his lips were pulling into a smile - he’d been laughing at something Karen had said during his interview all those months ago. You didn’t want to use the picture but you couldn’t not, not when it was technically one of the best photographs you’d taken recently. Karen had given you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and, somehow, you managed to not break down.

Your brother had asked you to go to Connecticut to stay with him for a while and, without Billy as a reason to say no, you found yourself agreeing. A fresh start was just what you needed, but first you needed money, and that meant using that photo, even though it broke your heart every time you looked at it.

By the time the show rolled around, it had been almost five weeks since you’d last seen Billy so, really, you weren’t expecting what came next.

Things had been going well, the first hour of the show had been good, everyone seemed to like your work and, for the first time in weeks, you felt almost good about yourself, like things were finally starting to get better.

And that’s when you saw him.

Your heart stuttered in your chest at the sight of him, standing in front of a photo of himself, his back to you. His shoulder ticked upwards and, from nowhere, you felt that pang of sorrow in your gut, remembering how his shoulder had been hurt. But there was something else about him, something that felt off. He seemed almost slouched, he looked defeated already before anything had even been said.

Karen appeared at your side, her eyes quickly finding him.

“I’m sorry, I already told him to leave,” she tried to explain, keeping her voice low, obviously trying to avoid causing a scene, “I can get Frank to come get him so you don’t have to deal with him -”

“No,” you caught yourself saying, shaking your head, “it’s - it’s fine, Karen.”

“You don’t have to talk to him,” she offered softly.

“I think I do. I need this to be over.”

She looked at you for a moment and, obviously, she still had plenty she wanted to say to you but, for whatever reason, she decided not to. She just gave a nod. “I’m here if you need me.”

You hoped that you wouldn’t need her, you hoped that the small amount of peace you’d managed to cultivate over the last five weeks would be enough to face him and finally draw a line under everything that had happened so you could both move on. Moving slowly, you approached him and stopped beside him.

He gave you a cursory glance before letting his gaze drift back to the photograph.

“You’re the only person who’s ever made me smile like that,” he told you, already sounding defeated, like he wasn’t there to fight you, or fight for you.

“Maybe you’d be able to smile more if you weren’t always expecting the worst from people,” you answered softly, finding yourself looking at the picture, at the lit-up and carefree expression on his face. It made your heart ache to know he was hurting now, even if he did mostly bring it on himself.

“Yeah, that’s what people keep telling me,” Billy sighed.

A silence fell and you both let it linger, neither seeming to know what to say to the other. It felt like there was an insurmountable chasm between the two of you, instead of just three feet. You had thought that you would have more to say to him, you thought you’d vent your anger and frustration, and tell him all the things you couldn’t quite say the last time you’d spoken but, now, you just felt empty. It felt pointless. Billy had left a hole in your life and you weren’t sure you’d ever recover from it.

“I’m sorry,” he finally muttered. “I know it doesn’t mean anything now and it doesn’t fix what I broke, but I - I shouldn’t’ve jumped to conclusions, I should’ve talked to you first.”

“Is that all you wanted to say?”

“No,” he hesitated awkwardly, finally forcing himself to look at you, “I thought you should know that I read the file...”

It should have surprised you half as much as it did - you’d left him with a file containing decades worth of information on you, of course he looked through it. But, still, the thought made you feel light headed. Even now, when he no longer meant anything to you, you didn’t want Billy to know about your past.

“I need some air,” you muttered, turning and heading towards the fire escape. Billy waited for a moment before deciding to follow.

You pushed the heavy door open and stepped out onto the metal balcony, shivering the moment the cold air hit your skin. Billy followed after, letting the door close behind him and, suddenly, everything felt so quiet. You looked down at the street below and, then, looked up at the ominous clouds - anything to avoid looking at Billy.

“I would have helped pay off the PI if you’d told me,” he finally broke the silence.

“I told you, there are things about my past that I didn’t want you to know,” you pulled your arms across your chest as you turned back to finally face him, trying to ward off the cold.

“You didn’t have to tell me about any of it. I still would have helped.” He told you with that oh-so familiar stubborn tone. “There’s nothing in that file that changes how I feel about you.”

(Feel. Present tense.)

You shook your head.

“It’s not that simple, Billy. That file doesn’t tell the whole story and even if it did, I didn’t want you to know.” As much as you might have wanted to, you couldn’t keep the frustration from slipping into your tone. But, still, you were taken aback - you’d always assumed he’d want nothing to do with you if he found out anything from your past.

“I’ll never ask. You never have to tell me, I -”

“Billy -” you tried to interrupt him, tried to stop that train of thought before he got too carried away, but it was already too late.

“Just tell me how to fix this. I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t think you can fix this.” You told him and your stomach knotted when you saw a flicker of pain on his face.

“So you won’t even let me try?”

“I think it’ll hurt too much if you do.”

Another silence fell and you watched as Billy struggled, obviously fighting with himself, trying not to say the wrong thing and ruin this. You hated seeing him like that; you’d never seen him look so uncertain and unsettled.

“You’re not the only one in pain,” he finally muttered, “what you said, about me being able to turn my emotions off, that - I can’t do that, not with you. Not with us. Not having you in my life hurts too much; I can’t sleep, can’t eat. I keep playing that moment over and over, wishing I’d done things differently...”

“I don’t want to make you feel like that but -”

“I know I fucked up, I know I promised you that I wouldn’t but -” for a second he looked like he was really struggling to get his thoughts in order and force the words from his lips, “- but you don’t know about my past and the shit I’ve been through either. It’s hard for me to trust people.”

You realised that he was right; you didn’t know much about his past, not really, and you’d never really asked. Beyond the snippets that he’d told you about his childhood and his mother, and what little you knew about his relationship with Krista, you never really tried to find out anything about him. Honestly, you’d always just assumed that he was like you, that he wanted to keep his past in the past.

But, looking at him now, maybe that wasn’t the case.

“Maybe that’s why this would never work,” you sighed.

“Don’t say that,” his eyes found yours and he looked at you like it was the only thing he was certain of, “just because this isn’t easy doesn’t mean we should just give up.”

“You did give up, you thought I -”

“I was wrong, and I’m so fucking sorry, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop fighting for you.” He dared to take a step closer to you.

The way he was looking at you caused a shiver to run up your spine. You could see the desperation in his eyes and, a part of you, still wanted nothing more than to reach for him, to just give into the moment. But you had too much self-respect for that. (Or maybe it was fear, maybe you were just scared of taking him back and him hurting you again?)

“You said you loved me,” his voice turned softer and the space between you seemed to shrink even more.

“I shouldn’t have told you like that.”

“You didn’t mean it?” His voice threatened to break.

It would be easy to lie, to say you hadn’t meant a word, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt him like that. You stayed silent for a few seconds, letting the question and your indecision hang in the air between you.

“Of course I meant it, I just - I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that,” you sighed heavily, “I was hurting and I said it because I wanted to hurt you back.”

“It did hurt,” he confessed quietly, “but it hurts more knowing that you feel like that and don’t even want to see me.”

“Billy -” you tried, but there were no words. There was nothing that you could tell him to change any of it or make either of you feel better, it felt too late for any of that.

“I can’t let this be over,” he told you, and the silence that followed felt deafening. The air between you seemed to crack with the sort of tension that you wanted nothing more than to ignore and push aside. Despite everything you’d told him, something inside you wanted him to fight for you, wanted him to prove you wrong and show you that he could love you despite what he now thought he knew about your past.

When you didn’t immediately tell him no, when you didn’t tell him that things were over, you allowed him hope that prompted him to move.

Before you knew what he was doing, Billy had cleared the small distance between you, kissing you so suddenly that all you could think to do was respond. You got caught up in the moment, fingers tugging at his hair, pulling him against you. It felt so good, so right to be in his arms again, that you barely noticed him lifting you, sitting you on the cold railing. Your legs parted instinctively, letting him press closer still as the kiss turned hungry and desperate, and you could feel how the moment was already affecting him.

You didn’t even realise that he’d undone his zipper until you felt his cold fingers slide beneath your dress and up your thighs, pulling your panties to the side. Every shred of common sense you possessed told you to stop, to tell Billy to stop, but when you felt his cock start to nudge its way inside you, all you could do was moan against his lips and grip his shoulders as he filled you inch by inch.

Of course, you knew it was wrong to give him any hope that he could repair your relationship - just one more inch, you told yourself, then you’d tell him to stop - but it wasn’t long until every throbbing inch of him was buried inside you. And it felt good. It felt better than it should. Even the ache of your walls stretching to accommodate him after so long without him felt amazing. You’d missed the feeling almost as much as you’d missed him.

“Billy -” you uttered breathlessly against his lips, not getting the chance to say much more before his tongue slipped between your lips again. You let him kiss you, let him slowly draw back his hips before pitching forwards again and drawing another moan from you, your walls slickening around him, coating his cock and letting him move with ease. “Billy,” you tried again, tugging his hair, trying to make him look at you while your pussy continued to tremble as he moved, “Billy, we can’t -”

“Yes we can,” he kept moving, the wet heat of your body betraying you. Your mind wanted to say no, but your body and the way it moved against him said yes. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

He kissed you again and, this time, it was almost enough to break your resolve, the steady thrust of his hips filling you with his cock so deeply that you almost lost your mind. Moaning against his lips, your back arched, legs wrapping around his hips as you took him deeper. Yes, you wanted to moan, fuck me harder.

“Billy, stop -” you managed to gasp, finally coming to your senses.

Billy stopped immediately and you felt his body tense beneath your hands. He didn’t pull out or put you down but, similarly, you didn’t release your hold on him. You could still feel him throbbing, just as unfulfilled as you were.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he repeated, his forehead pressed against yours, lips lingering so close that every word he spoke caused them to brush against yours. “Tell me you haven’t missed me.”

Of course he wanted to try and talk while he was still inside you and all you could think about was how you were practically dripping all over his cock. It wasn’t fair - it almost made you want him to finish before having the difficult conversation with you, but you knew that if he came inside you, or if he made you come, you’d never be able to turn him away.

“Of course I missed you, Billy,” you sighed, “but you hurt me, and fucking you isn’t going to fix that.”

“Then tell me what is,” he asked in an anguished tone that you’d never heard from him before.

“Put me down.”

Finally, he relented, pulling out and lowering you back to the ground, leaving your body aching and empty, unfulfilled and wanting. He turned from you to fix his clothes and you did the same, waiting for him to turn back, but the moment never came.

“You said you loved me,” his awkward and broken tone said it all, betraying his agony, and your heart sank, knowing that you’d just let things become a hundred times worse.

“I do, but what you did was -”

“You think I don’t know how fucked up it was?” His breath caught uncomfortably and you saw him shudder as his fingers ran through his hair. There was shame in his voice as he continued; “when Frank told me he caught you paying the PI, I felt like I was dying, it hurt so much. I thought you were -”

Another ragged breath escaped him and his hands moved to grip the railing.

“I told you that I couldn’t do this if you didn’t trust me,” you told him, trying to fill the awkward silence.

“I know and I’m so sorry,” his voice turned strained, like he was struggling to speak, and not just because of how upset he was.

You’d seen this before, that night in his bedroom. Panic, anxiety; he was struggling. But, as much as you wanted to reach for him, to hold him until it passed, you knew he wouldn’t want that and that it wouldn’t get you anywhere.

All you knew for certain was that you couldn’t keep doing this.

“Tomorrow at noon, meet me at the coffee shop you took me to the day we met,” you offered as calmly as you could manage. “We can talk then. I can’t promise that things will go back to how they were, but we can at least talk, okay?”

“Really?” He still kept his back to you.

“Really,” you told him, knowing you needed to leave before you dared to reach for him. “I need to go back inside, are you gonna be alright?”

“I’m fine,” he forced the words in one shuddered breath.

“You’re not fine, Billy. And, I think maybe that’s something we need to talk about tomorrow too.” He didn’t answer but you heard him force another breath. “Just... go home and take care of yourself, okay?”

Billy grumbled something that you didn’t quite catch, but you knew you couldn’t stay any longer; for his good and your own. But, still, against your better judgement, you reached for him, softly placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. For a split-second, you were sure that you felt him relax, but the moment you let go, that awkward tension filled his body again.

Between that moment and pulling open the door, you changed your mind about leaving him at least a hundred times, hating leaving him like that, not knowing how long the episode would take to pass or if it would pass at all. But Billy wasn’t the only one who was hurting, and all the pain and emptiness that you’d spent weeks trying to overcome came flooding back, leaving you feeling more broken and miserable than ever.

The door closed behind you, separating you and Billy, and leaving you feeling just as alone as you’d felt after leaving Anvil that day. You froze, torn between going back to Billy and walking away, filled with an aching and a longing that only he could cause, and stuck with a terrible realisation; you still loved him, you were still in love with him, and no amount of pain or heartbreak would ever change that.

“Are you alright?” You didn’t notice Karen at your side until she spoke and you struggled to think of a way to answer her. Her eyes drifted to the door. “Is he out there? What did he say to you? Did he upset you? Do you want me to -”

“No,” you finally managed to force the word, “it’s fine he just - he needs a minute and then he’s gonna leave.”

As shaken as you were by everything that had happened, you didn’t want Karen marching onto the fire escape and making Billy feel worse.

“What did he say to you?” She asked, placing a hand on your elbow and slowly leading you away from the door and towards the bathroom so you could pull yourself together in private.

“He said he wants to fix things and that he’s sorry.”

“Did you tell him about Connecticut?” She asked as the bathroom door swung closed behind you both.

You let out a sigh, leaning against the sink and looking at yourself in the mirror for a moment. It hadn’t even crossed your mind to tell him that you were planning to leave New York and, once Karen had mentioned it, you felt sick. You’d agreed to meet him for coffee tomorrow, you’d given him a reason to hope, and that had been needlessly cruel of you.

“No, I didn’t...” you reluctantly admitted.

“You need to tell him,” Karen told you with an enviable certainty, “I know he hurt you, but it’s not fair to let him think he has a chance to fix things when you’re leaving.”

“I know, I just...” you shook your head, “what if I’m wrong about him? What if leaving is the wrong thing to do?”

“Only you can decide that. Billy is - he’s complicated and I don’t think that’s ever going to change. I can’t tell you what to do, but I know you shouldn’t stay unless you’re certain.”

“You’re right,” though your tone gave away how much you hated it, “I can’t keep expecting him to change for me.” You took a few deep breaths and returned your attention to the mirror, taking a moment to fix your hair. “I guess I should get back out there and try to sell some pictures.”

“Atta girl,” Karen smiled, “you get back to selling and I’ll go see what’s left behind the bar for us.”

When you stepped out of the bathroom, your eyes moved the fire exit for a second, wondering if he was still out there, but you quickly pushed the thought away; you’d see him tomorrow and, this time, you’d tell him that you were leaving and that it was over between you. The thought made your chest ache, but that ache was bearable, unlike the pain he’d caused you.

Forcing a smile to your lips, you started doing the rounds, talking to anyone and everyone who wanted to know about your work, distracting yourself from thoughts of Billy and tomorrow.

Chapter Twenty

END NOTES : I can't say anything because I don't want to spoil anything that's going to happen. But, if anyone is interested, this fic is now about 80k long and there's only (maybe) five chapters left (which is to say I have five planned but whether or not some of those will need breaking up into smaller chapters idk).

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this part and that it caused less emotional whiplash than the last one (sorry again for that). Thanks for reading, and thanks as always for the likes, comments and reblogs. And, if you're new to this story, hello and thanks for giving it a look! <3

If you want adding/removing from the tag list let me know (I know it’s not working for everyone - if it’s not working and you don’t want to miss a chapter, I post every Friday around 7:30pm gmt)

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@lincerad @sweetserendipity65 @rafaelakelley @slayerofthevampire @rensolodriver @lovelydoveval @doloreschanal @damagelove @danzer8705 @unlikelystarlightcowboy @schlotzshewrote @bisexualbith @uncontainedsmiles @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lilliesofmay @billyrussoslut @readingabouthim @arwensloanebarnes @scarlettrikstr @daughterofautumn

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo fanfic #the punisher #cmiyc ff #billy russo imagine

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 9 months ago

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Home. - Fluffy Ending (not canon) || cbf!Simon "Ghost" Riley

Rating: M Words: 2.8K Pairing: cbf!Simonxafab!reader / teen!Simonxteen!Reader Summary: Teen Simon and his best friend often spend their nights away from their respective houses because they found a home in each other… CW: none. Tags: you/your pronouns, reconnecting with family, wedding guests, second chance romance, time skip. a/n: not proofread. I didn't like the way I wrote this ending but I figured I should share it either way. It's too fluffy/forced for my taste. The actual alt ending will be better. ALSO: Was listening to Chemical by Post Malone on repeat while writing this. Idk if you wanna do that too while reading...

[MASTERLIST]

You're twenty-eight, he's twenty-nine.

You swore to yourself you wouldn’t step a foot back in Manc, not even if cows flew!

You swore to yourself you wouldn’t keep in contact with anyone, not even if someone died!

(Which your father did. Thank fuck.)

You broke those promises so many times.

You were unable to keep away, though you tried…

It’s your own fault, really.

You stalk your old friends and family on Facebook sometimes.

Other times you check the local news.

Others you check the obituary and marriage sections on the news.

You beat yourself over it every time. Even though seeing the lack of changes through your cyberstalking and the news made you feel immense relief, you still ended up closing the pages on your browser with more aggression than you should and sulking in your bed.

And yet, you still go and do it again a few weeks later.

And then another few weeks later.

It’s pathetic, really, but maybe it provides you some comfort. Maybe helps you sleep at night.

You should’ve figured out that someone would have made you eventually.

I mean, naming your blank Facebook profile after the one mean neighbor you had, who called the police on you and your mates once for being too loud while hanging out in the street, and died years ago? Yeah, they’d make you eventually.

Luckily for you, it was Olly who did.

All things considered, it could’ve gone much worse.

Maybe… Maybe you should follow his advice.

It’s been a decade.

Your mum deserves at least a letter to let her know you’re still alive, that you’re healthy, happy, and safe. She’s owed that much…

It was very strange to be inside your childhood home after almost eleven years.

Four days ago, your mum had openly sobbed as she threw her arms around you, and you had found yourself sobbed with her, both of you falling to your knees at the front door.

She held your face so gingerly and kissed your forehead so many times, her face severely more aged than the last time you had seen her.

The letter you had sent her 8 months before was 23 pages long, a bulk so large you sent them unfolded and stapled together inside a manila envelope rather than folded neatly into a standard one, and had detailed everything you figured she should learn about your life.

Where you went.

What you did.

Who you did it with.

How you felt.

What you learned.

How you changed.

You apologized for running away, for worrying her.

You assured her you loved her and missed her.

You asked, tentatively, if she could find a way to let you be a bit more present.

You reiterated you wanted to remain living where you were in Scotland… but that you could allow yourself to be her daughter again if she so wanted it.

You know she cried reading it. Hell, you cried writing it…

You didn’t expect anything, you didn’t want to cause her any more grief by coming barrelling back into her life. She’s your mother, you didn’t want to manipulate her. You weren’t surprised when she didn’t answer for a few weeks…

But then her letter came. A simple half-a-page response that said, in no uncertain terms, that she missed you, that you were always welcome in her home and her heart, and she wanted to have her little girl back.

It all culminated in today.

Adjusting your red gown with one hand, you walk up the aisle, the other holding your 10-month-old daughter who’s clad in a pale yellow tulle dress. She’s kept flush to your chest, her chubby legs wrapped around your hip.

You and your mum find a spot near the middle and sit down, though you scoot yourself as far on the pew as you can, making sure that you can step off to the side just in case Evelyn starts fussing. Though you doubt she will.

The ceremony is being held in the middle of the afternoon and she has been calm and sleepy this whole time, softly dozing off in your arms, her little face nuzzling to your neck, since it’s close to her nap time.

You sit Evie down on your lap and place a hand on the back of her head while you and your mum speak softly, still waiting for the wedding ceremony to start.

You still can’t believe that you’re here…

Wythenshawe still looks as crappy as ever, you still know the streets like the back of your hand, though a lot of it has changed, shops went out and into business, and people moved away.

You met up with your old mates at your local just a couple of nights ago, and after a lot of tears and some drinking, you gossiped all night about your lives and everyone else’s.

In a way, it feels like you never left…

You were so afraid that they would hold a grudge at you for leaving, for not staying in touch… But they never did. You were welcomed with open arms…

It’s… nice.

The ceremony doesn’t take long to start.

You nearly cry at the sight of Emily in her wedding dress, having deemed her a close friend for the better time of your formative years. And Olly, as emotionally detached as he tries to pretend himself to be, cries at the sight of his bride.

The ceremony is long and a bit tedious, as most weddings tend to be, but you’re still happy to be there… Happy to be back.

It’s nearly 45 minutes into the ceremony when Evie starts fussing a bit. You’re quick to take the nappy bag onto your shoulder and rush out of the church while shooting some apologetic looks to the guests around.

Once outside, you find shade under a tree and begin to bounce Evie a bit, knowing she isn’t fussing because of her diaper or hunger, but rather from the fact she’s teething.

One hand balances the infant, the other sets down the nappy bag on a low wall and you begin rummaging for the teething ring toy amidst the pockets. When you find it, you give it to her, which she gladly takes, though it doesn’t do much for her pain, only quieting her down a bit by allowing her to bite all over it.

“Shhh… it’s alright, pet…” You whisper to her as you kiss her smooth forehead and nuzzle your nose against the crown of her head.

You keep softly swaying and bouncing with her in your hip, moving about, side to side, while she drools all over the toy, her hands, and your dress as she softly headbutts your chest while chewing.

You’re lucky your dress is a dark enough shade of red and made from a fabric as forgiving as chiffon, so that the wetness will dry quickly and discreetly.

It’s in the midst of your pacing and bouncing the infant on your hip that you spot him.

His pale jawline peppered with a well-trimmed stubble, his blonde hair cut short and hidden under the beige beret, his strong build wrapped in full military dress…

You almost didn’t recognize him…

You leave your bag right where it is and beeline for him before you can stop yourself.

And he makes no motion to move from his resting spot, leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette, and looking right at you like you’re sure he has been doing for the past 15 minutes or so (you wouldn’t put it past him).

“Fuckin’ hell…” You hear yourself saying as you come to stand in front of Simon.

He tosses his cigarette down on the floor and puts it out with his brown boot, blowing the smoke away from your daughter on your hip.

“That how you greet people now?” He retorts while looking down at you through his fluttering eyelashes.

His voice is so much deeper, rough and strong than it used to be… You don’t know how to respond at first, your mouth has gone dry and your brain has blue-screened.

You’ve had dreams about this before… Nightmares too.

You’ve imagined that one day you’d cross paths with him on the street and you’d stumble all over yourself. That he’d ask you how you’ve been or what you’ve done with your life and you’d have nothing to show for it…

You thought you’ve healed from your past, but here comes Simon Riley to indirectly tell you “HA! Think again, dumbass!”.

“You surprised me is all.” You end up saying, your voice carrying a maturity and a strength you didn’t know it could. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Didn’t think I would either. Got lucky this coincided with my leave.” He remarks. “Could say the same to you, though.” He adds.

You can’t tell if he meant to offend with that comment. Olly had told you through Facebook that he told Simon about you vanishing off the face of the Earth and that Simon didn’t take it well. You knew he, rightfully so, expected you to stay gone.

“Got back in touch with Olly and the rest of my family.” You remark simply and shrug.

He keeps looking at you with those brown eyes of his, with a certain coldness behind you that forcefully reminds you that this is not the same person you used to know. The boy he was and the man he is are forcefully different people.

“Cute kid.” He adds after a beat of silence as his eyes flit to your daughter who’s still very much in her own world with her teething toy.

“Thanks.” You reply.

This feels awkward. You’re finally standing face to face (more like face-to-chest, goddamn is the man tall) after a whole ten years. Are you even friends? No. But are you acquaintances? Also no. And you have too much of a history to be strangers.

So what are you?

“What’s her name?” He asks as he looks back at you.

“Evie.” You answer. “Evelyn.” You correct yourself before adding. “Evie for short.”

“Hm.” He remarks unemotionally. His eyes flit over you up and down, taking in… everything about you.

You are a confident person, you’d say. You feel good in your own skin. You like your reflection when you see yourself in the mirror. And you feel like a million bucks in this dress, which wraps around your body beautifully, the fabric making you look delicate and soft.

But under his scrutinizing gaze, you feel anything but confident.

So, you take a breath and return the same scrutinizing gaze, up and down, taking in every inch of him, your eyes just as strong and confident as his own. He notices, because of course he does, and he puffs out his chest and raises his chin, to allow you to keep looking at him, showing himself off a bit proudly.

He’s wearing a khaki formal uniform, or full dress as you remember it being called, and although it's been ten years, you still remember some things about all the stuff you investigated about the British Army, so you could keep up with him, impress him with your knowledge.

A brown waist belt with a sash across the right soldier means he’s an Officer… The buttons are gold and shaped like winged parachutes, and he wears a beret instead of a cap. A beige beret to be exact, which means he’s no longer in the Parachute Regiments, who wear maroon ones. There’s a cap badge on the beret and the Excalibur on it tells you one thing: he’s special forces. You don’t remember which one… but you know he’s something big, bad, and important.

“Special Forces.” You muse out loud, showing off what you noticed.

His eyebrows raise, impressed by you, and then he nods. “Somethin’ like that.” He adds.

“Done well for yourself, then.” You add and he nods again and blinks while smirking, as if trying to humbly pat himself on the back for it.

“She have a dad?” Simon asks while shooting Evelyn a look. The words escape his mouth quicker than he wanted and sound a lot more judgemental than he meant for them to.

The way your eyebrows raised at him, the same way they used to when he’d say something bloody stupid as a teen, told him you weren’t pleased and that he had put his foot in his mouth.

“Sorry.” He says though it’s clear he doesn’t mean it. “Came out wrong.” He tells you.

You might have gone ten years apart but you knew Simon like the back of your hand at one point… And you knew sometimes he’d say things aloud when he meant to keep them as thoughts. It’s clearly that’s a habit he still has.

“I know what you meant.” You reply bluntly as you fix your grip on the infant, swiveling her a bit to sit on your other side.

“What’s the answer then? She got a dad?” He probes as he dips his head a bit to the side, his arms hanging by his side as he looks you up and down.

“Aye.” You end up replying, the Scottish word slipping past your lips then you meant for it to. You still speak English with a Manc accent, just like him, but there are little quirks like this one that you’ve adopted after living in Dundee for ten years.

Simon’s eyebrows cock up as well at the sound of Scottish word, and you can tell he finds it odd, but he doesn’t comment. “Where’s he, then?” He retorts. “No ring on your finger.” He adds.

Your eyes drift down to your left hand which is wrapped around your daughter now, the splayed fingers showing a distinct lack of a wedding ring. He sounds just as judgemental. But you don’t let it ruffle your feathers.

“Separated.” You reply maturely. “No ring on yours.” You say and nod toward his own left hand which also lacks a ring.

“Married to the job.” He replies and you can’t help but let out a snort of a chuckle, which makes him chuckle dryly too.

“‘f course you are.” You add in reply.

“Could’ve been married to you.” He retorts with the same casualty of someone saying ‘Nice weather today’.

You scoff and shake your head. “Really?” You add.

“Ye.” He adds. “Had a ring and everythin’.” He quips. “Then Olly told me you ran off into the night.”

You scoff again, mostly out of disbelief, and look away from him, your eyes flittering over the courtyard in front of the church.

The ceremony should be finishing soon enough.

“Dodged a bullet then.” You remark dryly, smiling a bit in amusement.

“You or me?” He retorts and you find your eyes drifting upwards to him again.

For a moment you just both stare at each other in silence…

Your eyes are locked in the same way they used to whenever the two of you were about to throw themselves at one another as teens…

Then, he breaks into a grin, and so do you, the both of you looking away for a moment. His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. You’re both amused at the cheekiness of your comment.

“How long are you stayin'?” He asks you once you both glance at each other again.

“Goin’ home on the 26th.” You tell him. “How long’ve you got leave for?”

“‘Till the 27th.” He replies and dips his head to the side a bit.

This is definitely crazy.

You secretly wonder if you’ve gone mad.

A decade has gone by… But there’s no mistaking the electricity in the air.

That light buzzing of goosebumps that prickle at your skin, making the hair in the back of your neck stand… Like lightning is about to strike…

“Take me out to dinner.” You demand abruptly and narrow your eyes at him.

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek again in amusement. “Are you askin’ me on a date?” He retorts.

“No. I’m tellin’ you.” You add, watching how his brown eyes swiftly light ablaze with a certain fire you never expected to see after so many years apart.

“Tomorrow?” He suggests.

“Tomorrow.” You add.

“I’ll pick you up at 9.” He adds.

You know damn well that 9 P.M. is too damn late for dinner… But you also know that in reality, your ‘dinner’ will be grabbing Nando’s and cheap beer, and eating in the backseat of his car in that one side road you always used to go to… talking into the night… and probably definitely fucking each other’s brains out.

“Like the good ol’ days.” You remark.

“Mhm.” He adds.

Then, the church doors open and the guests come pouring out, forcing the two of you to separate.

But you can still see the smirk on his lips from afar as you walk off to grab your nappy bag, find your mum, and get ready for the rice toss.

[MASTERLIST]

taglist: @iite-cool , @spicyspicyliving

#home cbf!simon fic #cod fanfic #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #childhood best friends to lovers #cbf #cbf!simon #teenage love #masterlist #time skip #second chance romance

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gvfgal · 3 months ago

Text

How to Fall in Love in Ten Days

*18+ series. Minors DNI

A/n: Day 8 of 10 🥲 Im so attached to this story so it’s gonna be a hard one to let go of once I’m finished but I’m so glad to be able to share it with you guys! It’s not too late to be added to the taglist, and as always leave your questions, comments, and concerns wherever you see fit! Enjoy 🤍

Content Warnings: plenty of fluff for ya, explicit sexual content, oral (f!rec), unprotected sex, breeding.

Word Count: 6.2k

Day Eight: The Garden

You awoke the next morning in an unfamiliar setting, not the usual scenery that greeted your mornings. However, the moment you felt the Duke’s limbs entwined with yours, the events of the previous night came rushing back. As you turned over, you found Daniel already watching you with a tired smile, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along your leg as he waited for you to awaken.

“Good morning,” you murmured, smiling back at him as you took in his morning features, highlighted by the early morning sun streaming through the curtains.

“Good morning,” he responded as he nuzzled in closer to press lazy kisses into your neck, speaking in between them, “I was waiting for you to wake up. I missed you while you were dreaming.”

His affections started off sweet, but began to shift as his kisses turned into nipping, signaling he was ready to light the flame from last night once more. You moaned quietly as he sucked a warm wet mark to life on the skin just below your ear. “What are you doing your Grace?” you asked with a smirk playing at your parted lips, “was last night not enough to satiate you?” You knew very well that it in fact was not enough, it wasn’t enough for you either.

Daniel lifted his head to look at you, “I have spent far too long denying myself of your touch,” he squeezed your thigh to emphasize his point, “and now that I have it, I am going to fully enjoy it.”

He dipped below the covers with a mischievous glint in his eyes, causing you to giggle. But the laugh was stolen from your lungs and replaced with another moan as Daniel’s mouth swept across your skin again, this time on the sensitive spot of your inner thigh.

You rolled over to your back and spread your legs apart as his mouth ascended upwards, closer and closer to your heat that was eager to be tended to again.

“Look at that,” the Duke’s muffled voice called out to you from below the covers, “opening yourself up to me, are you angel?” He placed a feather light kiss on your folds that caused you to jolt, pleasure and anticipation still playing on your face, “I couldn’t get you to do this for me last night. Does that mean my pretty flower beginning to bloom?”

“Perhaps,” you blushed under his harmless teasing, pulling your lip between your teeth at the way his breath fanned over your center, “why don’t you see for yourself?”

Accepting the invitation, Daniel’s hands curled into your waist as his tongue began to seek you out. A long drag of it, from river valley to peak had you grabbing onto his hair for dear life, a pathetic sigh escaping your parted lips. You were still sensitive, your body adjusting to all the new sensations it had experienced in the last several hours, but it only served to make the feeling of his mouth on you all the better.

He repeated the action, receiving the same response from you, and just as he was about to go back for more, a knock sounded at his chamber doors.

You could discern Daniel’s displeasure at the interruption even before he extricated himself from beneath the covers, his hair now in even greater disarray than before. He didn’t bother dressing himself, and you bit back a grin while staring at his backside as he sauntered his way over to the door.

As he cracked the door open and peered out to greet the visitor, you instinctively pulled the comforter closer to your chin, suddenly feeling a flush of embarrassment. The thought that whoever Daniel was speaking to might discern what had transpired just moments before made you acutely self-conscious.

After a few moments of muted discourse, Daniel nodded and murmured his final instruction, “send for a robe from Roslyn.”

He closed the door softly behind him and returned to the bed, a wistful smile gracing his lips as his hand sought the smooth curve of your calf.

“We have much to attend to today,” he said, his voice calm and soothing. “As much as I would relish remaining here with you throughout the day, with the ball of the season to host tomorrow,” he added with a playful wink, “we must rouse ourselves.”

You returned his smile, though reluctantly, feeling the pang of separation after such a cherished night. Yet, the new, palpable shift in the air between you made the prospect of parting easier, for it promised a sweet reunion.

Unable to resist, the Duke leaned in to kiss you deeply before drawing back to tenderly brush his fingers through your hair. “I have instructed the servants to return in ten minutes,” he continued, “and I have asked Sebastian to have Roslyn fetch you a robe so you may prepare for the day.”

You leaned into his touch, savoring the moment, and said, “I shall miss you.”

Daniel’s grin widened. “I will be counting the moments until I see you again.”

Sebastian hurried through the house with an animated air, nearly colliding with a servant bearing decorations for the ball. After a swift apology, he pressed on with renewed urgency, seeking out Roslyn. Upon locating her in the servants’ quarters, he approached with an air of excitement.

“My heavens, Bash!” Roslyn exclaimed, startled. “You nearly gave me a fright.”

“Pay that no mind,” he waved off, “I believe Her Grace spent the night with the Duke.”

Roslyn’s interest was immediately piqued. She set aside her needle and thread, giving Sebastian her full attention.

“When we went to rouse the Duke for the day,” Sebastian continued, “he bade us leave for ten minutes and asked me to fetch you for a robe. I can only surmise he had not intended it for himself.”

Roslyn’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Last night, I observed a light still burning in the library. Upon investigating, I discovered quite an intriguing scene. Let us just say, there will be extra laundry on my list today.”

Their eyes met in mutual understanding, and soon they were both laughing like schoolgirls. As a few other servants looked on, they quickly composed themselves.

“Enough idle chatter, Bash,” Roslyn chided, though her own grin betrayed her. “We must maintain our decorum. But this is splendid news.”

“Indeed, splendid,” Sebastian agreed, “and it seems we may have cause to celebrate come tomorrow.”

As Roslyn moved to the laundry room, Sebastian followed, watching her retrieve a freshly steamed silk robe and drape it over her arm. “That is,” she added with a snicker, “if we can manage to disentangle them long enough to complete our duties. I shall fetch the Duchess before it’s too late.”

You stood at the center of the bustling ballroom, where servants and decorators hurried past in a flurry of activity, each one striving to ensure every detail was flawless for the upcoming ball. Roslyn was at your side, engaged in deep discussion with the florist—a conversation in which you, too, should have been participating. Yet your thoughts were adrift, lost in the intoxicating memories of your husband, utterly detached from the preparations unfolding around you.

Your mind wandered to the feel of his touch, the enthralling sensation of being enveloped by his presence, and the myriad emotions he had stirred within you. Without realizing it, your fingers traced the fading red mark he had left just below your ear, absently caressing the tender spot as you daydreamed.

"Your Grace?" Roslyn’s voice pulled you back to the present, causing you to start slightly as you turned to face her and the young florist, who now looked at you expectantly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Are you agreeable to making those replacements?" Roslyn repeated, her tone gentle yet pointed. The question, however, did little to clarify what had been discussed. Striving to conceal your disorientation, you glanced between the two women, offering a vague nod.

"Yes... Yes, that should be satisfactory... I suppose."

Roslyn and the florist exchanged a knowing glance, the faintest hint of amusement shared at your expense. The florist then offered a polite curtsy before excusing herself, moving to another corner of the ballroom to direct her team. As she departed, Roslyn waited until the woman was out of earshot before turning to you, her voice lowered in concern.

"Madam, are you quite well?"

You glanced around the room, feigning composure before offering a faint nod. "Yes, I am quite well. My apologies, I fear my thoughts have strayed elsewhere," you replied, a nervous chuckle escaping your lips.

Roslyn chose her words with care. "It is only natural, I suppose, after... well..." She trailed off, giving you a look that revealed she was fully aware of the recent events within Sterling House, particularly those of the previous night. Realizing Roslyn was privy to your thoughts, you let out an exasperated sigh and collapsed into the nearest chair, burying your face in your folded arms.

"Your Grace," Roslyn joined you at the table, her voice tinged with concern. "What troubles you? I had thought your spirits would be lifted now that you and the Duke have finally breached the barrier that kept you both at a distance. Yet, you seem just as troubled as before. Have I missed something?"

You peered up at her, debating whether to reveal the turmoil in your heart. The genuine concern in her eyes compelled you to confide.

"Do not mistake my melancholy for discontent, Roslyn. I am indeed happy—more than happy—with the progress the Duke and I have made," you admitted, a wistful smile gracing your lips at the mere mention of his name. "This is what I have long desired."

"But?" Roslyn interjected, sensing there was more left unsaid.

You hesitated briefly before turning fully to face her, lowering your voice in earnest. "But I did not anticipate feeling so deeply for him so soon. I imagined I would first grow fond of him, and in time, love would follow. Yet it seems I have bypassed that entirely and plunged headlong into being utterly captivated. Roslyn, I believe I already love him."

"Surely that is a blessing, is it not?" Her voice rose in surprise, unable to comprehend your distress.

"It is," you replied, your frustration mounting. You quickly composed yourself, not wanting to direct your agitation at the one person who had always been in your corner. "But what if I am allowing myself to hope for too much?"

Roslyn shook her head, puzzled. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I do not follow."

"What if all of this—his attentions, his confessions—was merely a means to an end? What if, once I fully surrender to him, he reverts to his former self and casts me aside once more? It would be far more devastating now that my feelings for him have deepened. I do not think I could bear such heartache, and I fear I am unknowingly setting myself up for it." You felt a wave of foolishness wash over you, ashamed for doubting him after all he had revealed to you. Yet, your mind remained guarded, unwilling to let go of its cautious hold.

"Oh, my dear," Roslyn reached out and clasped your hand in her own, her touch warm and reassuring. "You must trust that such cruelty is not in the Duke’s nature. Yes, he can be stubborn, but I cannot believe him capable of such callousness."

You looked at her, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you realized she was right, though she showed no judgment for your concerns.

"I shall say what I have said to you many times before," she continued with a knowing smile. "I have known the Duke for many years, and when he speaks, he speaks with truth. Whatever he has confessed to you, it came from the depths of his heart."

You nodded, recalling the sincerity with which he had laid himself bare before you. "You are right. I do know that."

Roslyn smiled warmly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "Do not allow your own mind to sabotage the beauty that is blossoming between you. As trite as it may sound, follow your heart, Your Grace. I assure you, it is worth the risk."

Your eyes wandered around the room, taking in the grandeur of the preparations for the ball, a celebration of you and your husband. It was lavish, yet fitting for the depth of feeling that had grown between you and the Duke. It was indeed something to be celebrated, despite the obstacles you both had faced. In such a short time, you had found a place of comfort with one another, and there was still a lifetime ahead.

You smiled at Roslyn, a smile that conveyed both assurance and gratitude. "You are right. Thank you. Now, could you enlighten me as to which 'replacements' we are making for this ball?"

Roslyn chuckled at the sheepish look on your face before rising from her chair. "Allow me to fetch the florist, and we shall review the details once more.”

Daniel stood rigid upon the tailor’s platform, the meticulous adjustments to his attire for the ball seeming to drag on interminably. His gaze, fixed upon his reflection in the mirror, took in the elegance of his clothing, yet his thoughts were far from the fine fabric draping his form. His mind, instead, was wholly occupied by you.

He stole a glance at the clock. Four hours—it had been four long hours since he last felt your touch, basked in your presence, and the absence gnawed at him. Sebastian, ever dutiful, made attempts at conversation, but Daniel’s responses dwindled from polite interest to monosyllables, until he fell into a brooding silence.

The room grew hushed, the only sound the rustling of fabric and the measured, steady breath of the tailor. Daniel’s impatience mounted with each passing minute, every stitch a delay in his return to you.

“Pardon me, Your Grace,” the tailor ventured cautiously, adjusting his spectacles with a delicate hand, “but might I inquire as to your preference for the cravat—shall it be the paler shade of blue, or perhaps the more opulent hue?”

Daniel’s response came with such immediacy that it was apparent his mind was elsewhere. “Yes.”

The tailor hesitated, his brows knitting in perplexity as he cast a questioning glance towards Sebastian, who stood nearby. Sebastian, noting the Duke’s distraction, offered a discreet gesture, silently advising the tailor to let the matter rest. Understanding the unspoken command, the tailor nodded, returning to his work. “Very well, Your Grace. I shall prepare both options, and you may decide upon the morrow.”

But the Duke, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts, offered no acknowledgment, his gaze fixed intently upon the mirror, where memories of the previous night played out in vivid detail.

As the tailor completed his task, Sebastian stepped forward to assist the Duke into his day attire. He noted the urgency in Daniel’s movements, the subtle signs of agitation that belied the man’s outward composure.

“Your Grace,” Sebastian began cautiously, fastening the final button on the Duke’s shirt, “is everything quite alright?”

Daniel slipped his arms into his coat with a swiftness that suggested impatience. “I am well, Sebastian. In fact, I am better than I have been in quite some time.” The words were true, yet they held a note of unease that did not escape Sebastian’s notice.

“I would think so,” Sebastian remarked, a hint of teasing in his voice, “after the state in which I found you this morning.” The two exchanged a knowing look, and though Daniel attempted to suppress it, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Without further ado, he turned and strode from the room, Sebastian hurrying to keep pace.

“But if that is indeed the case,” Sebastian continued as they walked down the corridor towards the Duke’s office, “why do you appear so unsettled?”

Daniel swept into his office, crossing the room in a few brisk strides to reach his desk. He began pulling out documents with purpose, dipping his quill into the inkwell with a practiced hand. Yet as he attempted to focus on his work, Sebastian lingered before the desk, waiting expectantly.

With a resigned sigh, Daniel set the quill down, recognizing that his steward would not be dismissed so easily. “Must we discuss this now, Sebastian?”

Sebastian shrugged, his expression one of patient insistence. The Duke relented, running a hand through his hair in frustration before finally giving in.

“Very well,” Daniel conceded, a reluctant smile softening his features, “things between the Duchess and I have surpassed even my most guarded hopes. I find myself caring for her in ways I never thought possible, and to my astonishment, it seems she reciprocates these feelings. It is everything I desired, though I never dared to believe it could truly come to pass.”

Sebastian nodded in understanding, yet his discerning gaze remained steadfast, sensing there was more to be said. “But?”

Daniel sighed, the weight of his thoughts evident in his expression. “But if I proceed with this... if I commit to her fully, if I truly embrace her as my wife, it will alter the very fabric of my existence. My priorities will inevitably shift, and she will undoubtedly become my highest concern. Together, we shall govern the duchy as one, a responsibility that, I must admit, brings with it a certain... trepidation.”

“I understand,” Sebastian prompted gently, allowing space for further reflection.

Daniel hesitated before continuing, a soft laugh escaping him as he confessed, “Sebastian, I believe I have fallen in love with her.” The words, though spoken aloud only to you before, now felt more tangible, more irrevocable as he shared them with another.

“I am certain she would make an exemplary wife. In truth, she already is. And I wish to be the husband she deserves, to rise to the occasion and be the man she can depend upon.”

“But?” Sebastian urged him on, sensing the Duke’s lingering doubts.

“But,” Daniel echoed, his voice tinged with vulnerability, “what if I fail her? What if I cannot meet her expectations? I have faltered before, and the thought of disappointing her, of letting her down once again, is something I cannot bear.”

The room fell silent as Daniel wrestled with the fears that had long been buried, now brought to the surface by his deepening affection. Sebastian, ever the loyal confidant, watched with a steady gaze, his presence a reminder that the Duke need not face these doubts alone.

Sebastian considered his words carefully before speaking, his tone soft yet steady. “Perhaps, Your Grace, I can offer you a story that may help ease your concerns.”

Daniel’s curiosity piqued as Sebastian began. “When I was but a boy, my father planted a small eastern redbud tree on our property. It was a frail little thing, but my father tended to it with great care. He watered it, pruned it, and shielded it from the elements. For years, he nurtured that tree, and I watched as it slowly grew and eventually blossomed into the most beautiful sight. My father was overjoyed, finally seeing the fruits of his labor.”

Daniel listened intently, sensing the deeper meaning behind the tale.

“But after that,” Sebastian continued, “he began to care for it less and less. The tree had become all he had hoped it would be, and in his contentment, he stopped tending to it as he once had. Gradually, the tree withered and, eventually, it died.”

Sebastian paused, allowing the weight of the story to settle. “The lesson, Your Grace, is that love, like that tree, requires constant nurturing. It is not enough to tend to it only until it flourishes. If you wish for it to continue growing strong, you must care for it each day, even after it has blossomed.”

Daniel’s gaze softened, his eyes reflecting the weight of Sebastian’s words. The wisdom shared by his trusted companion resonated deeply, stirring within him a quiet resolve.

“If you do that,” Sebastian continued with a reassuring smile, “everything else will fall into place. Now is not the time to shy away from the challenge, but rather to work even harder to ensure that your marriage flourishes. What you share with the Duchess is something rare and beautiful. Do not let it slip through your fingers.”

Daniel nodded, absorbing the truth in Sebastian’s counsel. It was a truth he had known in his heart but had been too fearful to fully embrace.

“And I’ve no doubt,” Sebastian added, his voice carrying a note of encouragement, “that if you nurture this bond, both you and the Duchess will find a happiness far greater than you ever dared to imagine.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right, Sebastian,” Daniel finally replied, his tone laced with newfound determination. A moment of contemplation passed before an idea flickered in his mind, reigniting the light in his eyes. “I need your assistance with something,” he declared, his voice steady and sure, a hint of excitement underlying his words.

“At your service, Your Grace,” Sebastian replied with unwavering loyalty, his voice steeped in earnest devotion. “Whatever you require, I stand ready to assist—for your sake, and for hers.”

By the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over Sterling House, you and the Duke were finally reunited. He appeared at the threshold of your chamber, his presence drawing you into a brief but fervent embrace. In the quiet of the hallway, you couldn’t resist stealing a heated kiss, your lips meeting with a passion that defied the hour’s propriety. Yet before desire could carry you both too far, Daniel, ever the master of surprises, gently drew you away, a playful glint in his eye.

“I have something in store for you,” he whispered, his tone laced with intrigue.

You, ever the eager recipient of his surprises, followed him with a smile that matched his own. When he moved to cover your eyes with his hands, guiding you the rest of the way, you obliged without hesitation, your heart fluttering with excitement.

The cool evening air caressed your skin, and the gentle symphony of crickets serenaded your journey.

“Where are you taking me, Your Grace?” you asked, laughter bubbling in your voice. “We shall be tardy for dinner.”

He chuckled, his voice rich with amusement. “We cannot be late, my wife,” he said as he came to a stop, removing his hands from your face, “if we are exactly on time.”

As your eyes fluttered open, you found yourself standing in the heart of the garden, transformed by twilight’s embrace. Before you lay a secluded picnic, set beneath the boughs of an ancient oak, its leaves whispering secrets to the evening breeze. The ground was adorned with a rich tapestry, its intricate patterns woven in shades of deep burgundy and gold, atop which rested an array of delicacies.

There were platters of fine cheeses, their rich aromas mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread. Fruits of the season—plump grapes, ripe figs, and sweet strawberries—were arranged in a painterly fashion. A roast pheasant, its skin crisp and golden, lay beside a dish of roasted vegetables, their colors vivid even in the fading light.

Lanterns hung from the branches above, casting a soft glow over the scene, while the distant murmur of the fountain added to the garden’s enchantment. The entire tableau was a testament to Daniel’s thoughtfulness, a world crafted for just the two of you.

"I thought perhaps we might enjoy our dinner together, away from the bustle and noise," Daniel suggested, his voice warm with anticipation. "Just the two of us, beneath the stars."

You squeezed his hand in gratitude. "That sounds utterly divine."

With a gentle touch, Daniel guided you to the waiting picnic, assisting you to your seat before taking his place across from you. He began to prepare a plate for you, his every movement deliberate and attentive.

As you surveyed the surroundings, a deep sense of tranquility settled over you. Where once there had been turmoil, now there was only peace and contentment. The serenity of the moment felt almost dreamlike, as if you had ascended to a place beyond the earthly realm, and Daniel was there beside you, sharing in the rapture.

He poured wine into delicate crystal glasses, lifting his in a silent toast. "Here’s to what we have become thus far," he began, leaving a space for you to complete the sentiment.

"And to everything we will become in the days ahead," you added softly, your voice carrying the weight of your shared journey.

A knowing smile curved Daniel's lips. "To my wife."

"And to my husband," you echoed, your heart full.

The meal unfolded in a gentle rhythm, the conversation flowing easily between you. Your hands, drawn by a magnetic pull, found excuses to touch, to linger in each other's grasp.

Daniel’s eyes shone with a light that rivaled the stars above as he spoke, more freely than you had ever heard him before. He was animated, sharing his visions for the future, the changes he hoped to bring to Sterling House, the plans he had for your life together. You listened intently, offering your thoughts and ideas, which he welcomed with genuine interest. It was clear that he valued your input, and this mutual exchange only deepened the bond between you. The knowledge that you were both equally committed to this union filled you with a quiet joy.

As the night wore on, the conversation naturally turned to more intimate topics—family traditions, childhood memories, and dreams of what your life might be beyond the roles of Duke and Duchess.

"You will adore our summer house on the Isle of Wight," Daniel said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "It overlooks the North Sea, with pastures that stretch as far as the eye can see. I spent countless summers there as a child, running wild through the fields."

A smile touched your lips at the thought. "So, that is where our child will run about in the summers to come?" you mused, indulging in the pleasant image.

Daniel took a sip of his wine, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Children," he corrected with a wink. "And yes, indeed."

“Children,” you echoed, your voice laced with a hidden delight as you masked your amusement behind the rim of your glass. “As in more than one?”

“Oh, most assuredly,” he teased, beginning to clear the now-empty plates. “As many as the heavens see fit to bless us with.”

“Well then, Your Grace,” you began, your tone slow and suggestive as you crawled toward him with feline grace, “we mustn’t squander a single moment.” The words slipped from your lips in a seductive whisper, and as soon as you were within reach, Daniel’s arms encircled you, pulling you close.

He wasted no time, his lips claiming yours with a fervor that spoke of long-held anticipation, as if he had been waiting all through dinner for this very moment.

“I suppose you’re right,” he murmured against your lips as he finally broke the kiss, his breath mingling with yours. “To waste time would indeed be folly,” he paused, pressing a tender kiss to the nape of your neck, “and so we must make haste.”

Just as the moment began to intensify, with Daniel’s hands starting to tug at the delicate sleeves of your gown, a sudden rustling in the nearby bushes brought you both to a startled halt. You froze, breath held, as the rustling continued, your hearts pounding in unison as you waited to see what might emerge.

At last, a small brown rabbit hopped from the underbrush, its soft form bathed in the dim glow of the evening. It paused a few feet away, its whiskers twitching as it regarded you both with innocent curiosity.

“Nature’s own voyeur,” Daniel whispered with amusement, his hold on you firm and warm. You stifled a laugh, your hand quickly covering your mouth to muffle the sound.

The bunny, undeterred, resumed its mysterious journey, disappearing into the shadows of the night with a few graceful hops.

“It seems we’ve been found out,” you murmured, still smiling. “Perhaps it is a sign that we were up to no good here in the garden.”

Daniel chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he gently released you. “Ah, but it is our garden, is it not? We may do as we please within its bounds.”

“I shall remember that,” you said, smoothing the fabric of your dress as you began to collect yourself. “But we have a long day ahead, and if we are to be well-rested, it might be wise to retire.”

Daniel looked at you with a longing that was difficult to set aside, yet he knew you were right. “I agree.”

With that, he helped you to your feet, escorting you back inside as the evening’s magic began to gently fade. The servants quietly emerged to tidy up the remains of your picnic as you bid one another goodnight, the promise of tomorrow hanging sweetly in the air between you.

That night, though you and the Duke retired to your separate chambers, the distance between you felt unnaturally vast. The solitude that once brought you peace now felt alien, a stark contrast to the warmth of his embrace that you had come to cherish after just one night spent in his arms. Rest eluded you, and the notion of lying there in longing became intolerable.

Quietly, you slipped from your bed, the soft rustle of your nightgown the only sound in the stillness of the night. You made your way through the labyrinthine halls, the candlelight casting long, flickering shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. At last, you reached the door to his room, and without hesitation, you turned the handle, the door opening without a sound, revealing the darkness within.

As your eyes adjusted to the dim light, you discerned the silhouette of the Duke lying in his grand bed, one knee casually propped up, his hands resting beneath his head as he gazed at the ceiling in silent contemplation. The moment he sensed your presence, he turned his head, his voice breaking the stillness as he softly called your name.

“It is I,” you whispered in reply, your voice gentle as you closed the door behind you, sealing the two of you in the quiet intimacy of the night.

He rose from his bed, his gaze fixed upon you as you glided toward him, the delicate fabric of your nightgown trailing gracefully in your wake. "I wondered if you might come to me tonight," he murmured, his voice a low whisper, as though speaking any louder might disturb the tranquil night. As you paused beside him, he reached out, his hands encircling your waist, his fingers idly toying with the soft fabric of your gown. "I was beginning to think I might have to fetch you myself."

You looked down at him, your eyes speaking volumes, conveying all the unspoken thoughts and desires that swirled within you. With a gentle press of your finger against his chest, you urged the Duke to recline once more, his eyes never leaving yours as he complied, surrendering to the moment.

“You know I couldn’t be away from you too long,” you voiced as you climbed atop of him, throwing your leg over his frame to straddle him. Daniel’s strong hands found your waist once more, inhaling your scent deeply as you leaned down to kiss him.

When you rested on him, you felt his member already rock solid beneath you, as if it had been for some time, and a coy smile interrupted the kiss just as his tongue dipped into your mouth.

“Was my husband thinking of me?” You teased him as you began gathering your gown up out of the way. Daniel assisted you in removing your undergarments that were preventing him for feeling the place he was desperate to feel.

"Do not be absurd," he replied, a hint of playful reproach in his voice. "You are ever present in my thoughts." Now free, you lifted to your knees as the Duke held his erection in place, waiting for you to let him in. With one hand on his chest and the other holding your gown, you slowly slid down onto him, welcoming the stretch that once brought pain with it, but now only seemed to bring nothing but ecstasy.

The Duke hissed as you lowered yourself onto him fully, his fingers gripping you tighter as he watched your face shift with the pleasure the feeling introduced. When he reached the hilt, both of your mouths fell agape, yet no sound escaped, and neither of you dared to stir.

When you finally did move, following the movements he coached you through the night before, your head fell back as a breathy moan escaped your still parted lips.

“No darling,” Daniel gently corrected. One hand reluctantly left your waist, tenderly lifting your chin to meet his gaze. “Eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice laced with a fervent intensity that sparkled in his eyes.

Your movements begin to pick up as you beheld him just as he wanted you to, and Daniel relaxed back onto his pillow once more, admiring the way you rolled yourself on to him. It was as though you were blossoming into a true virtuoso before his very eyes, and he felt a wicked sense of pride in witnessing how completely you were surrendering to him. His heavy breathing and your moaning were the only sounds heard in the room, encapsulating you in the perfect intimate moment. This night held an even deeper sanctity than the one prior, solidifying your bond in a way that left no doubt—after this, there would be no turning back, no retreating from the affection that had taken root between you, even if either of you had the desire to do so.

It wasn’t long before Daniel felt his end creeping in, his grip on your body tightened once more, and his hips began moving in time with yours, assisting you in reaching a climax of your own.

“I’m going to…” his words tumbled out of his mouth as if he were a drunkard, and you could see him fighting his release in the way he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “Darling, I’m about to-“

“About to what, your Grace?” you purred as you continued grinding against him, “about to make good on the promise of all those children you mentioned earlier?”

Daniel’s eyes went dark for a moment, and you admonished yourself for enjoying it so much. But before you could think twice, the Duke began thrusting upward into you, causing a choked cry to ring out into the room. It didn’t take much before both of you crescendoed, a spew of various sounds of appreciation sounding like an angels chorus floating above you. Daniel used your waist for traction, pulling you down onto him one more final time as the last of his release filled you up.

You went to collapse onto his slightly sweaty chest, but the Duke had other things in mind. Rolling both of you over to your sides without pulling out, he began stroking into you from behind, wrapping you up in his hold and pulling you flush against his body.

“Daniel,” you whined, and he quieted you with a kiss to your temple. Your hand searched out for any part of his body it could get its hand on, settling on the round of his bicep.

“Do you want to stop?” He questioned, though his tone lent you to believe that he knew that stopping was the last thing on your mind.

“No,” you shook your head adamantly, Daniel chuckling at your eagerness, “I do not want to stop. I never want to stop.” A choked cry escaped you as you met his thrusts, “I want to do this with you forever.”

Forever was indeed a vast expanse of time, yet with Daniel, it began to feel scarcely sufficient. The love blossoming between you was intoxicatingly sweet, almost addictive in its allure, and you found yourself yearning never to be without it again.

Daniel placed a ghost of a kiss on your shoulder blade before his strokes became more intentional, “then forever it is, my wife.”

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especiallythewomenandthechildren · 10 months ago

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As If Destiny (part nine) 🌹

Part Eight 🌹

A/N: This is shorter than my last few chapters sorry!! I have gotten used to a post schedule and I hope this is good enough yall please don't send snakes after me. I love you guys and hope you like this it's 5 am help. ALSO! PLAYLIST HAS BEEN CREATED! Link here and on masterlist. Ofc you don't have to listen, just for funsies :)

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Your senses were awake before your mind was. You could hear the beeping of some sort of machine. Your nerves were on fire and alive. The taste of copper blood was very present on your tongue. Your entire upper body felt sore and stiff. Stiffness that also seemed to wax your eyes shut. They were shut as if with staples, which made your heart drop to your stomach in fear. The possibility made you attempt to open them with even more force, though the attempt was futile.

But the sound of aggressive words, bordering on rage-filled yells, made your eyes shoot open. A part of it was the intensity of the sound, but more so were the voices. You couldn't make out the words, but the tone was more than enough.

As you looked around, you realized you were in a dim hospital room. The lighting was warm, as was the bed you occupied. There were no other patients, but multiple seats surrounded your bed. The TV in front of your bed was turned off, and no nurses were around, but you could see a few in the hallway through a long horizontal window. The same window that gave the loud voices faces. Two faces you knew very well: Sejanus and your father.

Your brain still felt like mush, but even if it was at its normal functional levels, you doubted you could have made sense of the situation. First of all, you haven't seen your father in weeks. Well, technically, you did yesterday, the day of the Reaping, even if only for a few moments. Was it only yesterday? How long have you been knocked out? You tried squirming around to find some sort of clock or a window to see the time of day.

Your efforts were of no avail, although your movements knocked off a tray that you didn't notice laid at the end of the hospital bed. A tray that had glass on it because, of course it did. The sudden commotion alerted not only the still shouting men but a number of nurses who rushed through the door. The shattering sound pierced your ears and kept on ringing as an onslaught of voices attacked your eardrums. You couldn't keep track of the flurry of movement. Nurses were cleaning up the mess, others checking your vitals and doing tests. One forced some water down your scratchy and dry throat, much to your relief.

Sejanus stood by the door, watching and waiting to finally approach you. He was soon joined by your father, who was forced away as he kept on interrupting the nurse's tasks. A few minutes and a bunch of vital checks later, the group left, and your father practically ran to your bedside. Question after question was asked with no break for you to actually answer.

"What do you need? More water? Food? Please, what do you need?"

His voice was on the verge of breaking. You examined your father for a moment. How much of his worry was genuine for your well-being? Was he just seeing his late wife in your place?

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Your throat was too dry, but you kept on trying and trying. One glass of water later and only a fraction of your vocal power came back. Something came out, though it was so mumbled and scratchy; your father urged you to repeat it. But Sejanus knew what you were asking for.

Who you were asking for.

"Ccc..Cor-Coryo?"

Your father physically flinched at your first thought. You just suffered a physical attack, and all you care is about pathetic Snow? You shut your eyes after you spoke, the pain in your throat being too much to bear. Though, they snapped open at the sound of a chair scraping the floor and falling back at the force used.

You watched as your father paced back and forth, clearly trying to hold back some anger. Sejanus made eye contact with you, and the compassion on his face gave you some comfort. He mouthed the word "later" to calm any of your questions.

"No."

Any sort of calm given by your friend was scrapped by your father's declaration. The tilt of your head was enough of a translation of your confusion for an elaboration.

"No more 'Coryo'. "

He practically gagged at the nickname, which made you cringe in return. Your father was never a violent or aggressive man and this side of him was not one you wanted to get used to.

"Nothing good ever comes from dealing with Snows. You think he is so pure? If he is anything like his father, his pure white image will be covered in blood."

You wanted to scream but didn't have the physical capability. Thankfully, Sejanus didn't leave the widower's statement unchallenged.

"He isn't like his father. What is so wrong with all you adults? You force children into the footsteps of their parents! Maybe instead of blaming the sins of his father, realize what Coriolanus did for your daughter!"

You wondered how much Sejanus had to deal with when you were unconscious. His appearance was messy and tired. Did he ever leave the hospital since he came? Your question on how long you've been here has still been unanswered.

After Sejanus's argument, your father looked to you. Rage and offense were clear in his orbs. His stare was enough to make a man of good standing cower. But you no longer cared for his opinion, insensible fears, and blind hatred.

"Why are you even here?"

You managed to rasp out and gather enough energy to sit up, never breaking eye contact. The intensity of his emotions didn't waver, but annoyance was added to the list.

"You are my daughter and got hurt by those savages. Where else would I be? What kind of father would I be if I was anywhere else?"

His answer made the two teenagers in the room scoff and roll their eyes. Sejanus for his description of the districts and you for his hypocrisy.

"You wouldn't be a father. Or at least not worthy of the title. Which you aren't, dear dad."

The step the older man took might as well have shaken the floor with the amount of fury radiating off of him. It was enough to make Sejanus panic and rush to your bedside but was halted by the motion of your hand. Whatever was to be done or said, you were willing to take it. It would only give your argument even more credibility.

"What did you say to me, girl?"

What happened to you, Dad? Where did your love-filled gazes go? Your thoughts only heightened your emotions, and you couldn't hold back, even with your breaking voice.

"I said you aren't worthy of being called my father. A father is there for their child even when the mother isn't there! You lost the love of your life, you think I don't know that? Instead of grieving and rebuilding together, YOU LEFT! Did I only mean something when mom was there?! Did you only tolerate me because I was a copy of your wife? Is the image too painful for you now? Would you have treated Otto like this? You loved him, why don't you love me the same?"

Your eyes flooded with tears as your face reddened. You weren't thinking as you shouted, but if you did, you would have thought that the tears would give your father pause. But it seemed any sympathy or piece of the parent you loved so much was gone. Dead. The man in front of you was as cold as the metal rings on your neck. Rings harshly pulled to force your eyes to look at him.

The pain was burning you, and it felt as if you were being stabbed by a thousand miniature knives all over.

"Listen to me now, dear. You think these rings give you any strength? Want to know why I loved your brother so much? He stepped up. He faced whatever came to him, no matter how bad. But you? You are a coward. You left far before I did. Your own mother was dying, and you never gave her the time of day! Were you so ashamed of her? The love of my life only asked for you, and you couldn't even look in her eyes! She gave you her eyes! She gave you life and love, none of which you seem grateful for. Only looking for it in people who are incapable of it. You ever speak either of their names in vain, I promise you, girl, I will—"

"You finish that threat, and I will finish one of my own."

In your struggle to get your father's hands off of the necklace, you didn't hear anyone enter. But you didn't need to look up to recognize the voice. Even though it was laced with more malice than you could have ever thought possible for an eighteen-year-old, the voice of Coriolanus Snow was always recognizable to you.

His fair-skinned hand covered the wrist of your father, whose grip began slipping on your necklace. You couldn't see much from your angle, but it looked like Coryo's thumb was firmly pressed into a specific spot between the other man's wrist. It only took a few more seconds of sharp pain for the harsh grip pulling you forward to be released.

Due to the force the grip held, when it was released, your head flew backward. But Sejanus, who moved to the other side of you without your notice, was quick to catch your head before any impact. You thanked him with a grateful smile, which he returned. You both turned back to the scene before you.

Coryo was standing above your father, the only other man who might despise him as much as Dean Highbottom. He looked disheveled and exhausted, but the air of authority surrounding him made his appearance look respectable. His lip was curled in disgust, and his hand kept on tightening and releasing. As the seconds passed, it felt as if time slowed just to agonize you. The possibility of the young heir of Snow beating up Tyre Vaun was becoming more likely. But he wouldn't do that. No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't, right?

“I don’t think your presence is welcomed here anymore.”

Coryo’s voice was tight and sharp; he really couldn’t stand another moment with a man who threatened his only daughter. In response, the unwelcomed man laughed mockingly. He got up from his spot by your bed and looked around at the three teens in front of his eyes. A dark-haired boy, whose stretched-out curls represented his patience at this point; a girl with a bandaged neck and sullen eyes that reflected her heart at what has become of her family. And of course, the ever-tall and proud blonde who, unlike his companions, is not in the mood for calm action in the slightest. Coriolanus made a vow, and no matter how far he may have to stretch his morals, he will not break that vow.

"Well, look at this. You think you are all so grown up? You are just pampered children. When you watch the games, watch carefully. That's the real world. And well, y/n, you are old enough for the real world now, aren’t you? You want to be a Snow so bad. Knock yourself out. But when you come crying back, don't expect sympathy."

"If you come back. The Snows are known to be quite possessive and strangling.”

And with that chilling statement, he walked straight out the door, shaking his head like a madman. Your eyes were glued to the door frame even as the vision blurred with your tears. You didn't know what to think. It felt as if you were being torn from the inside out, and all you could do is accept the drops streaming down your cheek. All track of time was lost, even more so than before, as your world crumbled.

However, the hospital bed eventually dipped as you were pulled into a pair of arms. Considering the direction in which the arms came, you knew it was Coryo. Well, that and, of course, the smell.

Roses overtook your senses as you calmed down and snuggled into the embrace. Your eyes closed, and your breathing softened while Coryo’s fingers brushed through your locks. As his fingers drifted through your hair, you began drifting off into some much-needed sleep.

Sejanus left soon after Coryo began comforting you, promising to return with some food for the group. The sight upon returning gave him pause in the door frame.

You were curled up in the blonde’s arms while his head laid upon yours, nose stuffed within your hair. It seemed the smell of vanilla calmed him as much, if not more, than the smell of roses did you. The mutual friend worried he was interrupting a sweet moment, no matter how lost he was on it.

Eventually, the weight of the trays within his hands reminded him of his original task. He cleared his throat quietly as he reentered the hospital room. That notified Coriolanus of the other boy’s presence, but he made no move to change his own. No matter how naive Sejanus might be and outspoken, Coriolanus could trust him. If there was one thing about Sejanus Plinth, it was that he was loyal. To Coriolanus Snow and most certainly you.

Sejanus offered a tray of a delicious-smelling soup and rice with a side of bread and dessert to Coryo. He kept one for himself and put the remaining tray on the table next to your bed. Coriolanus rearranged the position you and him were in so he could eat the dinner he desperately needed. He removed the arm that was around your waist which smotherd you impossibly closer to him.

Instead, the boy moved your head to rest on his shoulder. Once ensuring you were comfortably in slumber still, he began digging in. The first few minutes were filled with a comfortable silence between the two boys. Sejanus wasn't sure how much of the situation Coriolanus knows or saw and wasn't even sure where to start. There may even have been parts Sejanus himself didn't see.

When he arrived at the hospital, he wasn’t even allowed to see you as you were in surgery. The woman with hazel eyes and pretty freckles at the front desk informed the distraught boy that it would be a couple of hours before he could even see you. So he decided to go home for the time being and seek comfort in his ma.

But as he began walking out, a very furious Coriolanus Snow shoved past him. Sejanus wished to call out to his friend but it was quite clear, to Sejanus and all those who moved out of the blonde’s way, that he was not to be trifled with at the moment. Considering all the nasty statements your father spit out about Coriolanus and his family, Sejanus very quickly connected the pieces.

Mr. Vaun must have clearly kicked Snow out, not even giving him a chance to see you.

“What a piece of work. No wonder why him and my father get along so well.”

The sudden break in silence made Coryo laugh as he broke apart the bread. Sejanus, along with you, have spoken in detail of Starbo Plinth’s harsh and emotionless character. He liked you well enough, but you assumed it was because you were “Capital enough”.

“He wasn’t always like that. You know, I used to even wish for him to be my dad. He used to always make sure I was comfortable and laughing. Losing your wife is never easy, but he purposely cut off his daughter.”

“And he calls her a coward.”

The scoff was evident in the young star mentor. You confessed to him all your regrets on one of the many nights you spent at the Snow’s. He knew how much it plagued your mind and to hear it used against you broke any further restraint he had.

“Just kept on blabbering how the districts are filled with barbaric animals. Even though y/n wouldn’t even be here if Arachane had a shred of humanity.”

The statement was uttered through clenched teeth. The girl from ten would still have had a chance to live, no matter how brutal and inhumane that chance was, if she wasn't provoked by her own mentor. The thought of all the chaos Archane caused Sejanus’s blood boil.

“Did anyone else come to visit?”

Coriolanus’s voice broke the musing teen out of his thoughts. Coryo had already finished his food, and Sejanus offered his plate, no longer having an appetite. He didn’t know about his friend's financial situation although he saw the signs in his constant hunger and creatively sewn clothes. He never questioned or brought it up, just helping whenever he could. Coriolanus gratefully took the ever-needed food with a nod.

“Festus, Clemmensia, Lyssie, Felix, and Archane. Seems she has a heart somewhere. At least for her own ‘kind.’ Y/n was still knocked out, and they said they would come back. Probably will soon enough.”

Coryo nodded along and looked at the clock on the far wall outside the room, visible due to his angle through the window. 6:56 p.m.

It was still early enough for them to come, and the thought upset him slightly. He wishes to have more time with you. Alone (Sejanus doesn’t count).

Silence overtook the room once more as the two conversing teens settled back into their thoughts. Only the slight noise of your sheets rustling was heard as you moved to find a more comfortable position. Now that he was done with the second tray and the foreign feeling of being full overtaking his stomach, Coriolanus was able to shift.

He turned on his side and pulled you into his chest while wrapping his arms around you. Snuggling to your liking, you ceased to move. However, the quiet was interrupted again by soft laughter. Looking up from staring down at your sleeping form, blue eyes met crinkled brown ones in curiosity,

“So this is how I find out. I started putting the pieces together but was hoping one of you would fess up. Would have be a nice courtesy, you know.”

Sejanus finished off with a smile. When he first started noticing the small smiles that appeared on either of your lips when the other was brought up, he was confused more than anything. Then he felt weird. He would officially become the third wheel, for starters.

But eventually, his heart grew giddy for his two friends. Sejanus wanted you to be happy, and if you asked him, there was no other man in the capital as good as Coriolanus. Sure, he knew he had issues, but compared to the rest of their peers, he was a far better choice.

Said better choice was currently on fire and as red as humanly possible. This was clearly an odd position for him to be in if he saw you as “just a friend”; he knew that. But he didn't know there were signs prior. It made him feel vulnerable that his emotions were so easily deciphered, no matter if it was just Sejanus. It better have just been Sejanus.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Coryo, you are literally snuggling and smelling her hair.”

The prior thought of him being as red as humanly possible? A new record of blushing has occurred. Sejanus, however, was quick to comfort his called-out friend.

“She isn’t much better. She literally parades your ring around. And don't even try to play it off, we both know why she wears it.”

The smug smile on Coryo’s lips would be quite hard to wipe off as he looked back down to your sleeping form. And there it sat, a thousand glistening snowflakes dangling from your neck.

“She is asleep, right? I do not want to suddenly be sucker-punched.”

A deep chuckle came out of the young blue-eyed teen. There were so many nights of you coming over, especially in the early days; you often fell asleep while Coriolanus was finishing up some work. Coryo was eventually able to tell the signs when you were in deep sleep or just faking it to surprise him.

“She is out like a light. Her nose is fluttering. She only does that when she is in deep sleep.”

The words just came out while young Snow was distracted by your soft appearance in the dim lights. You looked so peaceful, as if you weren't in the hospital due to a bloody attack that could have killed you if only the bottle hit you a few meters to the left. When Coriolanus finally realized Sejanus never responded, he looked back up at a face-wide smirk.

“So you know how she sleeps, huh?”

The stuttering response made Sejanus laugh and grin while he walked over to grab the empty trays to throw out. On his way, he made sure to give his friend a pat on the back which only caused further discourse as Coryo tried to deny any of what Sejanus was trying to imply. His trek to the trash can, which was just by the door, wasn't far but gave him enough range to hear the hazel-eyed lady at the front desk.

“She is right down the hall, second door on the left. Just a warning, visiting hours are almost done, so hurry up.”

The hiccuped “thank you” by Clemensia was more than enough to make Sejanus jump to action. In haste, Sejanus informed the still snuggled boy of the upcoming visitors. Coriolanus jumped out of the bed in the blink of an eye and made sure his facade was in place when his peers came through the door.

“Oh, Coryo!”

Clemmie’s cracked voice flowed through the room as she gave him a teary-eyed hug. He gave her an awkward pat on the back. Festus was quick to peel the dark-haired girl off once seeing the uncomfortable look in Coriolanus’s eyes.

Festus led Clemensia to a nearby chair and sat beside her. But Arachane, held back by the door. It seems Felix and Lyssie were unable to visit. A suspicion confirmed by Clemmie as she was in a dazed state looking towards you. Sejanus didn’t wish to be in any room in which the three newcomers were in, but he knew they were your friends.

And they did care about you, one of the very small list of people. He and Coriolanus took turns in responding to the barrage of questions from Festus and Clemensia. Though Arachne never perked up, staying as still as stone. She drowned out the noise as she stared at your injured figure.

If the situation wasn't so morbid, she would have laughed. The ever-mighty girl who has always been little miss perfect got so injured by district scum. But it was little miss perfect who saved my life, Arachne had to defeat.

She wanted to poke fun at the situation. Mock Clemensia's tears. It was how she dealt with situations. Arachne became bitter and poisonous. But it was that same poison she spat at you moments before you nearly lost your life. She said words to hurt you because she wanted you to suffer, and you suffered. But not by her words, but because you jumped in to save her.

The red-haired girl hated it.

Maybe you should have just let her get hit.

With all the sudden voices, you began to stir. Your eyes opened far easier this time, much to your relief. It took a few blinks to take in the situation. Your first instinct was to feel around for Coryo, but you were quickly assured when you met his blue eyes. The small smile was muscle memory to the sight at this point.

You scanned the room and noticed the new visitors. You tried to respond to as many of Clemensia's questions and settle her panic, but it seemed the hysteria was going to stay for the rest of the night.

Although, as you were consoling the raven-haired beauty, you noticed Arachne’s stoic figure. Her eyes were hard and calculating, scanning over you repeatedly. You sighed heavily as you requested the rest of the group to leave you and Arachne for a few moments. They all seemed reluctant, especially Sejanus who heavily despised the girl. She was the reason you were here after all, or at least in Sejanus’s point of view.

The red head stood by the door even as all her peers glanced her way as they filed into the hallway. The position stayed for a few more seconds. Unwavering mask and crossed arms. You didn't waver under her gaze as you gestured to an empty seat by your hospital bed. With a sigh, she took heavy steps to your bedside.

Upon reaching the chair and settling, her prior scrutinizing glances were focused anywhere but you. As the time and silence went on, her tough demeanor began to crack. The silent sole tear streaming down her face stunned you. Of course, Arachne was human and had feelings, but her constant tough character makes one believe she is incapable of tears. As if it's scientifically impossible that the Arachne Crane sat here so timidly and was crying.

“I hate you. I hate you so much.”

Her declaration of hatred wasn't met with any similar response. No, in fact, you responded with giddy laughter. The vulnerable girl in front of you freaked you out slightly, so it was nice to know Arachne was still, well, her.

“How can you just laugh?!”

“What am I supposed to do exactly? Get upset?”

Your eyes were still sore, but that didn't stop your eyes from rolling. You stared back at the girl as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She seemed to heavily disagree as she huffed and threw her arms in the air.

“YES! That's exactly what you should be doing! Get mad at me, tell me you hate me too! That I deserve to be in that hospital bed not you. That I deserved each and every cut because I’m just a monster, right?! I don't have tragedy after tragedy to hide behind like you do!”

Your eyes crinkled in confusion and lips curled in slight anger. Arachne’s tears had heavily accelerated at this point, streams of black painting her pink cheeks. She had stood up and began pacing back and forth, waiting for your response impatiently. Your head was pounding at this point with the amount of emotions you've had to deal with in such a short time. You should have just shut down the conversation before it turned into a full argument, but how could you?

“Hide behind tragedy? Do you think I want to do that? You really think I sit every night and thank my lucky stars that I have ‘excuses’ for my actions?! Grow up Arachne! Tragedy or not, we have to deal with the weight of our actions. Just because your neck isn't bleeding doesn't mean you don't have your scars. Watching me suffer is a greater punishment than if our spots were reversed.”

She stopped in front of your bed, looking more like a lost little girl than the cold calculating young woman you were accustomed to. She wanted you to get mad and have a reaction but she didn't expect this. Because you were right.

If Arachne got hit like you did, she would only have more fuel for hate for the districts. There wouldn't have been any lesson learned, and every fiber of her being would be used to make the districts suffer even more. Yet, you were the one who got hit. Not because you did anything but because Arachne did.

It felt like Arachne stabbed you herself. She didn't like many people and well you were one of the few exceptions, she also disliked you more than the others. When you got sent away in the ambulance, a small part of her hoped you would finally see the barbarity outside the Capital. That you would grow bitter and hateful like she had become.

Arachne Crane has long known of her jealousy of you, though she would never admit it. She hated that after everything you suffered, you still smiled. You were weak, tired, and covered up in gauze in a stale hospital room, but you still looked as if the sun shone only for you.

The universe had favorites, and you seemed to be the apple of its eye while Arachne could only watch while being devoured by the darkness. The stars still shined for you while she suffocated by the black matter.

“I am sorry though. About the Plinth Prize.”

Your voice was soft as you watched your friend shatter in her thoughts. Arachne may have done this to herself, but it still moved you that she lost her shot at something she has been working years for. She just rolled her still crying eyes and scoffed. The girl had long lost hope that she would win the prize when she saw the dazzling show you and Coryo pulled. You both were already the top contenders for the prize, and it angered her again that you both were so chummy. That you weren’t so cut-throat. Cut-throat.

Did you deserve your cut throat for one last task to win the prize?

“We both know it was never going to be me. My tribute would never have won, and she didn't have anything to offer to the audience.”

You were ready to argue with such a blatant statement about a girl who is now a cold body. But she cut you off with a swift change in subject.

“Shame, though. Dr. Gaul won't get to those proposals from her star mentor.”

The emotions and hysteria of the now smirking girl had ceased as she returned to her normal behavior. Behavior, no matter how sour, brought you some comfort. Arachne Crane was good competition if nothing else.

“Well, why not? I’m going to be here until I get released in the morning. Might as well get something done.”

You matched her smirk as you asked for her to bring some parchment and ink. In all honesty, you did forget the proposals. And well, you had a pretty good excuse, an attack and all; you knew that wouldn't matter to Dr. Gaul.

You didn't necessarily like her as she seemed too manic for your taste, but this was a great chance to put your name out there. Especially in the scientific world as you were heavily interested in going down a path in biology, something you had a real knack for. There were few people more important in that field in the Capital than Dr. Gaul. Being able to please, possibly impress her, would be a major accomplishment. And well, you might be able to sway some public opinion enough to give more chances to the “weaker” tributes.

Arachne grumbled as she handed you the desired items, but you ignored her. She took a seat beside you, settling in to watch you work. With a deep breath and dip of your pen, the bold words were written, dark as the punishment it presented.

THE HUNGER GAMES.

⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆

Feedback always appreciated and hope you have a great day love:)

@notyourwildestdream 🌹@darktrashsoulbear🌹@fantasylovestoryme 🌹@nekee-lilac02 🌹@a-avengerparker 🌹 @queenofshinigamis 🌹@darlingisntit🌹 @scarletstarrs 🌹

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mint-yooxgi · 2 years ago

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{9} - Morning Mist - Yandere!Dragon!Ateez X Chubby!Reader

Yandere AU & Dragon AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst

Pairing: Ateez X Reader

Words: 4,005

Warnings: Death mentioned. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: So, this chapter ended on a different note than I was expecting, but I promise Mingi, Yeosang, and Seonghwa are all going to get their times to shine real soon!! I’m planning Mingi and Yeosang next chapter, and then Hwa after that, so stay tuned!! But hey, look at me go! Two chapters in one day? Amazing!! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I do not do tag lists.

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Mini Masterlist

The glare Mingi sends them two weeks later as he watches five males prepare to leave for the evening is near comical. He’s irritated, that’s for sure, but it looks more like a pout than anything else.

“You can come, too, if you want,” Wooyoung offers, a knowing look to his gaze as he pushes open the front door.

“I don’t understand why you all insist on eating with them when we have food here at home.” Mingi grumbles, practically throwing a scoop of stew into a bowl from the pot on the burner.

“The Neos aren’t so bad once you get to know them,” Yunho hums, recalling how Yangyang not so subtly was asking him for baking tips the last time he joined his brothers for a meal with you and your clan.

“You’re fraternizing with the enemy!” Seonghwa replies, clearly exasperated as a frown pulls at his brow.

“Not all dragons are our enemies, Hwa,” Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair, straightening any flyaways he might have gotten throughout the day before he sees you. Of course, the Captain of the Hala Dragons wants to make sure he always looks his absolute best whenever he sees you. After all, it’s no less than you deserve. “The more allies we have when we claim the crown, the better.”

“So, this is purely diplomatic on your part?” Yeosang quirks a brow as he leans against the wall opposite the room.

Of course, he will never admit to how badly he also wants to tag along with the five of his brothers. They always seem to come back late, a certain glow about them when they walk through the door. As if for a brief moment, all their cares have disappeared, and their only concern is how much fun they’ve had that night.

Plus, they all get to spend time with you.

For the past two weeks or so, you’ve been furthering both San and Wooyoung’s medicinal training. Each male has come quite far in such a short amount of time, that Yeosang cannot help but get jealous. There’s only so much physical training you can do before what one lacks in emotional, mental, and medicinal knowledge becomes apparent.

You’re right. They should all know better, but how can Yeosang trust you if you cannot trust him?

He grimaces slightly.

You. An anomaly, if any, amongst all of the dragons they have ever met. Every time Yeosang meets you in person, something new is revealed that peaks his interest more than he cares to ever admit.

You are smart. You are cunning. From what he’s heard from his other brothers who have bothered to spend more time with you, you are undeniably caring. Yet, you were so against them all at first. So, just what made you change your mind?

Perhaps that’s just the type of person you are: unpredictable, with a soft nature.

Maybe, just maybe, Yeosang misjudged you, just as you’ve misjudged them.

“Not necessarily,” Hongjoong replies, smoothing out the front of his shirt.

“You seriously haven’t noticed how Captain has been practically smothering himself in lilacs since last week after learning it was one of her favourite scents?” Seonghwa scoffs, a roll to his eyes. “Pathetic.”

A low growl escapes Wooyoung’s, San’s, and Jongho’s lips. Yunho simply quirks a brow.

“I already have to worry about these two idiots beginning to imprint on her, I don’t want to worry about you, too.” Jongho’s eyes narrow at their captain, watching as Hongjoong quirks his own brow in response.

“If allowing myself to smell like something comforting to her gains us even more favour, then I’ll do it. We’ve yet to see the full extent of her powers, but her knowledge is comparable to that of the ancients. If we can somehow convince her to aid us in our quest for the crown-“

“So, you want to use her?” Jongho sneers, taking a step away from Hongjoong in disgust.

“No, I don’t particularly like using anybody,” Hongjoong replies, somewhat sharply. “It’s obvious she always knows more than she lets on. She’s…” he searches for the right word, eyes flashing once he settles on one, “fascinating.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Captain this captivated by something since he learned about the prophecy.” Yunho hums, a knowing glint gleaming within his gaze.

Mingi nearly slams the bowl full of stew onto the table as he sits down, the contents sloshing within and nearly spilling over onto the wood. “I don’t get what you all see in her to begin with. She’s controlling, manipulative-“

“Watch it, Min.” San’s eyes flash. “Without her, I would’t have been able to treat that sprained wing of yours so quickly. You’d still be grounded without her.”

Mingi scowls, knowing that San is right.

“She’s saved us more times that you realize,” Yunho hums.

“I wish I never had to meet her in the first place.” Seonghwa grumbles, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well, you better get used to the idea of her, because if things go well, she could help us retrieve the crown.” Hongjoong says, walking out of the front door without another word.

“Maybe just try to get your heads out of your asses for like, a day,” Yunho looks between the eldest and Mingi, who both sit at the table now. “You may just like what you find.”

Without another word, Yunho moves to join Hongjoong outside.

“Last chance to come with us for the evening,” Wooyoung grins knowingly at Yeosang, but at the way the male still hesitates, the younger shrugs, “Suit yourself.”

Both he and San exit the house next, San muttering about what you’re potentially cooking for dinner tonight.

“Is she really that great of a cook?” Mingi quirks a brow at the youngest standing across from him.

“You tell me.” Jongho smirks knowingly, eyes darting down to the bowl clutched in Mingi’s hands. “Every time we bring home leftovers, you can’t seem to get enough.”

Mingi scowls down at the bowl before him, and Jongho swears the elder is about to throw the dish across the room. Only, in the next moment, he surprises all of them by grumbling to himself as he scoops a large spoonful of stew into his mouth.

“What?” Mingi meets Seonghwa’s disgusted look, speaking through a mouthful of food. “It’s good.”

Jongho smirks, turning to leave the house. “We’ll be back later.”

The echo of the door slamming shut behind the youngest is all that’s heard throughout the room. Mingi continues to shove spoonfuls of stew into his mouth, an angry furrow to his brow as he chews.

“You know, you don’t have to eat that if it makes you that angry that she was the one who cooked it,” Yeosang sighs, moving over to prepare himself his own bowl of stew.

“I’m more angry that it’s this fucking good, that I can’t stop eating it.” Mingi grumbles, shoving another spoonful into his mouth.

Seonghwa stands from his spot, clicking his tongue in annoyance at his brothers. “You two disgust me.”

For the second time in two minutes, the sound of the front door slamming shut reaches their ears.

Both Yeosang and Mingi share a look. They saying nothing as the faint smell of lavender from that salve they know you make lingers in the air, intertwined with Seonghwa’s own scent. Looks like they’re not the only ones slowly making exceptions when it comes to you.

Perhaps one night they might just take their brothers up on their offer to join you all. For tonight, though, they’ll remain at home, simply enjoying the leftover stew.

You, on the other hand, are busily moving to and from within the kitchen of the Neo’s nest. Ten, Chenle, Kun, and Taeil all help you prep for dinner, the rest of your cubs setting the table. Well, all except one who has only returned home three times in the past two weeks.

“I’m surprised she’s lasted this long,” Mark mumbles to Johnny as they stand off to the side.

Johnny hums, somewhat sadly. “It’s truly a miracle, but it won’t last.”

“It’s coming,” Mark nods, staring intently at the floor in the next moment. “Soon. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Hyemin has lived a long life with the man she loves most,” your soft voice draws their attention to see you gently wiping your hands off with a cloth. “That’s what she told me; the one thing she’s always only ever wanted.”

You can still recall the very day Jisung took you to meet Hyemin all those years ago. You don’t think you’ve ever seen your cub so nervous, considering it’s tradition for dragons to introduce their imprinted ones to their guardians to seek a final approval. You’ve always told your boys that as long as they’re happy, that’s all you’ll ever want for them, and that they do not need your final approval for the imprinting process to be complete. However, Jisung insisted, and who are you to deny your youngest?

“When the time comes, all we can do is offer our support, and be there for him in whatever ways he needs us,” you say, grabbing a basket of bread rolls and walking out of the backdoor. “Those of us that have experienced such a loss know and understand what he needs better than anybody else can.”

“Is he okay to be on his own with her right now, though?” Sungchan voices, having been listening in on the conversation this whole time as he follows you outside.

“I understand you’re worried for your brother right now, Channie,” you place the basket of rolls on the table, turning around to ruffle the male’s hair in the next second as he goes to sit in his usual spot. “The best thing we can offer him right now is as much time with his lover as there is left. Uninterrupted.”

“I know,” Sungchan sighs, resting his head in his hand as he leans an elbow against the top of the table. “I just wish there was something more that we could do.”

“Jisung knows he’s not alone,” Taeyong adds, walking out of the backdoor with a pot full of mashed potatoes. “We’re always one call away.”

Five presences getting closer manage to draw your attention as you nod along to Taeyong’s words. You turn your head just in time to see all five Halas shift back into their human forms, dusting off their clothing as they greet the Neos surrounding them.

“Glad you could make it,” you smile softly, meeting each of their gazes evenly.

“Thank you for always extending the offer,” Hongjoong inclines his head briefly, a small tug of his lips upwards.

“So, what’s for dinner tonight?” Wooyoung happily bounces over to where Hendery, Jaemin, and Jungwoo are all sitting for the moment to join in the conversation.

So easily do the five Halas fit in to the dynamic you’ve always been used to with the Neos. The first few times it happened, it shocked you quite a bit just how easily some of the guys got along with each other. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear they were the missing pieces of your clan that you’ve been searching for without even knowing.

Of course, Jongho makes sure to sit as close to you as he can, while keeping as far away from Kun as possible. You’ve noticed the elder male shooting the youngest Hala glances full of pity every now and then. Looks which have your heart twinging in your chest, for you know he only wishes that Jongho doesn’t end up like he did: stuck, waiting years for you to make up your mind as he sat, waiting in the limbo that is an unconfirmed imprint.

It’s not fair to him, or you, and now, you can sense both San and Wooyoung creeping closer to the same spot Jongho is currently at with you. Yet, no matter how often you brush off their advances, or do your best not to encourage those feelings in them, they still appear.

Some of your cubs help, making sure you’re not left alone for too long with any of the Halas. Though, you’re sure that’s just Doyoung being an overbearing worry wort when it concerns you. Still, you’re not quite sure whether or not you want to pursue such relations so soon after learning of them. Sure, little by little, you’re starting to trust them more day by day, but there’s just so much you don’t know about them, and that they do not know about you.

Is it really going to be worth it, in the end?

Renjun stepping in beside you manages to finally pull you out of your thoughts for the moment.

“You okay?” He spares a concerned glance at you out of the corner of his eyes.

“Yeah, just thinking,” you reply, somewhat quietly.

Renjun quirks a brow lightly. “About?”

“Everything,” you sigh. “Jisungie, my past, the future,” you pause briefly, “imprinting.”

Of course, you notice the way Jongho perks up slightly at this, even if he’s currently discussing which rivers have the best views in the area with Jeno. However, you fail to see the way both Hongjoong and Yunho begin to glance in your direction out of the corner of their eyes.

“You know we’re not here to tell you what to do,” Renjun hums, facing forward and catching San’s gaze, who is quick to turn away. The Neo chuckles as he notices the tips of the Hala’s ears turning red. “I know it’s been a while, and I know it hasn’t always worked out.” He spares a brief glance at Kun who now sits at the end of the table. “But, I don’t think learning to love, or letting yourself be loved in such a way again would necessarily be a bad thing.”

You remain quiet, contemplating his words.

“Perhaps, you just need to find the right partner.” Yuta adds, coming in to stand on your opposite side as he sees Wooyoung not so subtly leaning in towards the three of you. Almost as if the male wants to hear the conversation better.

“In the end, only you know what’s best for you,” Renjun hums. “You taught us that.”

You nod solemnly, a sigh escaping your lips shortly after. You shake your head, nudging Renjun lightly. “Look at you giving me advice for once.”

“I always give you advice,” Renjun nudges back, brow twitching in amusement.

“Yeah, shitty advice,” Yuta snorts, sticking his tongue out at the other male as Renjun sends him a harsh glare in response. “Which is probably why she never takes it.”

“Yet, who was right about the avalanche three years ago?” Renjun hums, knowingly.

“Oh, gods, is he still going on about that avalanche?” Johnny rolls his eyes, slinging his arm around Renjun’s shoulders as he comes to stand beside the shorter male. “You know, if it weren’t for Mark, even you wouldn’t have known about it.”

“You mean to tell me this whole time you’ve been taking credit for my prediction?” Mark turns to look at Renjun, disbelief clear on his features.

“I would never-“

Renjun’s protest gets immediately cut off by Haechan’s laughter. “Of course he did!”

All too soon, half of the Neos begin bickering with each other, both Wooyoung and San chiming in here and there. Really, it’s quite amusing, and you cannot help but let out a few chuckles of your own. Laughs which are music to each of the Hala’s ears.

Twenty minutes later, all of you are sitting around the wooden tables, food being passed between you all as smiles greet you from every angle. Of course, as always, you wait until everyone has filled their plates before taking food for yourself.

One thing you have always stood by is making sure the people you care for are fed before you even consider eating yourself. It’s how you’ve always been. A fact of which all of the Hala’s notice. Though, what you fail to see is how all five of them always wait until they see you take a bite of your own meal before digging into their own.

“Wait, so Ten really did that?” Yunho laughs, looking between both San and Wooyoung in the next moment.

“Do you not remember how they came home in tears, sweat dripping down their faces as they chugged two gallons of water each?” Jongho replies, brows raised as he stares across at his brother incredulously.

“I thought my tongue was going to fall out of my mouth,” Wooyoung pouts, dramatically sticking out said muscle as he attempts to look down at it.

“What did our dear Tennie do?” You quirk a brow, turning your head somewhat slowly to stare at the male down the table from you.

“It was Yang’s idea!” The male is quick to defend himself.

“Hey!” The aforementioned male whines. “They were Jungwoo’s peppers!”

“Oh, no, don’t you fucking dare bring me into your little schemes,” Jungwoo shake his head, shooting a pointed look at each male.

“Essentially, they grated some of Jungwoo’s ghost peppers into San’s and Wooyoung’s curry the second night they both stayed for dinner,” Jaehyun calmly explains, placing a piece of meat in his mouth in the next second.

“Ah, so they decided to choose death,” your eyes widen in understanding as you turn your attention to the two Neos who both freeze in their spots.

The colour immediately drains from their faces as they hop up from the benches they’re sitting on to run as fast as they can back inside the house. Though, with one flick of your head, both Jeno and Jaemin are leaping from their seats, easily catching the two males who attempt to flee their punishments.

“Of course they did it on a night when you weren’t here,” Taeyong chuckles. “They knew they’d be punished, otherwise.”

You heave a sigh, standing from your spot as both Jeno and Jaemin force Yangyang and Ten to their knees.

“It was just a bit of fun!” Yangyang attempts to defend them both.

“Think of it as initiation,” Ten rambles, eyes darting behind you and pleading for any one of his brothers to help him.

You crouch in front of them, eyes flashing gold beneath the setting sun. “Initiation?”

They both visibly swallow.

Immediately, a powerful aura starts radiating off of you in waves. An aura five males have only ever experienced once before. Except, this time, it’s directed towards two dragons in particular.

Both Ten and Yangyang’s lips part, heads instantly bowing to you in respect as Jeno and Jaemin release them from their holds.

“I should make you eat some pineapple,” you narrow your eyes at Ten before shifting your gaze towards Yangyang, “and you should eat some kale.”

Both males begin grovelling at your feet, begging you not to make them eat the very foods they despise.

“You’re lucky I don’t shove a ghost pepper down each of your throats.” You huff, standing back to your feet as you allow the intimidating aura to dissipate. You shake your head, rolling your eyes in the next instant. “Boys.”

Turning back around to face the dragons at the table, you notice all five Halas staring at you in awe. Though, there’s a certain pride swimming within both San’s and Wooyoung’s eyes which you don’t quite understand.

Pleased growls threaten to escape their lips as they continue to watch you intently. Not only did you stick up for them, but you did it without any hesitation. A fact of which warms their hearts, each Hala not being able to help but to read into your actions more than you probably intend.

“I’m sorry about them,” you sigh, looking between San and Wooyoung for the moment. “Feel free to get them back with whatever equivalent means you deem necessary.”

San’s brow quirks, and you notice the way Wooyoung grins giddily.

“Oh no,” Yunho chuckles. “Don’t give them free reign for a prank war.”

“If my boys want to play dirty, then they should expect to be thrown into the mud,” you shrug, moving back to your spot at the table.

The whole time, Hongjoong’s eyes never leave you. A pleased rumble of his own builds in his throat at the way you handled the situation. The way you didn’t even need to say anything to assert your dominance, your power, over the others has a pleasant shiver running up his spine.

Perhaps you could teach him a thing or two. Or maybe, just maybe, you could simply rule at his - their - side.

At least he know four dragons who would have no problem with that.

Just as you go to sit back down in your seat, a heartbreaking wail sounds in the distance. The cry pierces the air, full of pain and sorrow. One which you and the rest of the Neos recognize immediately.

Your head snaps up, eyes flashing in worry, “Jisung.”

Both Taeyong and Johnny share a look before turning to you.

“It’s Hyemin,” Taeyong keeps his voice low, and understanding flashes across each male’s face. “She’s gone.”

Again, another wail reverberates through the darkening sky. A lament to the loss of a lover so dear.

It takes only a second longer before Johnny is echoing the call, followed immediately by Doyoung, Taeyong, Renjun, Taeil, Kun, Yuta, and Jaemin. Jeno, Ten, Jungwoo, and Sicheng are quick to add their laments to the cascading symphony surrounding you this evening.

The cries begin to ring out from a clan of dragons who know what it’s like to have lost their imprinted human lovers.

You swallow thickly, throat tightening as tears threaten to gather in the corner of your eyes at any moment. The pain of losing Daisy becomes as fresh as it was that day she was taken from you, combined with the agony of knowing that the same thing has just happened to your cub. Though, with different circumstances, the pain still threatens to suffocate your heart at any moment.

Yet, for the moment, you remain strong.

You spare another look at both Taeyong and Johnny.

“We know,” Johnny nods, the two males already running off before shifting and flying off in the direction of Hyemin’s house.

“Jisung won’t stay there,” you say, looking over all of your cubs. “The memories will consume him if he does.”

“He’s already moving,” Shotaro keeps his eyes closed, concentrating on keeping a visual on his brother as his gaze flits everywhere beneath his lids.

“I know where he’ll go,” you reply, already moving towards the woods in the direction of your house. “Sorry to cut this evening short, but My Cub needs me.”

Before you can breach the tree line, a hand on your wrist stops you. Turning quickly, you meet Jongho’s worried gaze with frantic eyes of your own.

“Is there anything we can do?” The concern he extends towards not only you, but to your clan for the moment warms your heart more than you care to admit.

You shake your head, gently removing his hand from your wrist. Softly, you pat the top of his hand with your own, caressing his skin as a sad smile takes over your features. For only a moment longer, you hold his gaze, expression saying it all.

Slowly, you drop his hand.

In the blink of an eye, you’ve disappeared into the bush.

Jongho goes to follow, only to be stopped by Jeno in an instant. Said male pats the other dragon reassuringly on the shoulder before entering the woods, hot on your trail.

A breeze rushes passed, shaking the leaves and ushering in a silent stillness soon after.

That’s when they hear it. The most heart wrenching cry to have ever pierced the air. A wail that shakes the very mountains that surround them, full of heartache, loss, and despair.

A devastating cry that can only belong to you.

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bellaxgiornata · 1 year ago

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Falling For the Devil [Part fifty-three: "The Downward Spiral"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: You try to process the events of the night before when Karen stops by.

You're still absolutely heartbroken, and the box of your things doesn't help.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 3.5k

a/n: This installment is a part of the Big Angst arc. Forewarning, there is no comfort in the next handful of installments, not until you reach "The Aftermath" (Part 58) will there be comfort. This one is angsty and features a Matt POV at the end. You can find the list of installments for this series on tumblr here.

Head shifting along the pillow, you groaned softly as you slowly woke. Your sheets were tangled around your body from having spent the day tossing and turning in your bed. The side of your face ached horribly from where you’d been hit a few times last night by Not Scar Face. You’d noticed the dark, angry bruising this morning on your face. Your split lip looked awful in the mirror, too, but at least you’d stopped tearing it open.

Despite the fact that it was Wednesday, your phone had rung early this morning from on your television stand where Matt had set it last night. You’d woken up curled on the floor wearing just your sweatshirt to Ellison’s call. He had been panicked and worried after learning what had happened yesterday from Katy and he absolutely wouldn’t hear of you coming into work for the rest of the week, so you’d been stuck in your apartment alone with your thoughts the entire day. And you would continue to do that until next Monday.

You had tried to call Matt four different times this morning, but each time his phone only continued to ring before it went to voicemail. You had sent him a single text, begging him to call you to talk, but he had never responded. He was ignoring you, cutting you off. You had desperately hoped that he might have cooled off come morning and rethought his decision to end things with you, but his silence told you he wasn’t rethinking his decision.

And it had hurt more than you would have believed possible. So you had spent the day crying in your bed, unable to muster up the nerve to do anything else. You had initially tried to process the kidnapping and being held at gunpoint a few times today, but you knew Matt had taken care of those men and the threat, for now at least, was gone. Inevitably your mind had shifted back to Matt, reliving all of the memories together. Every happy moment, every intimate touch, every laugh or joke you’d shared flashed over and over through your mind and you felt so crippled by heartbreak that you continually cried pathetically into your pillow, burying your face in the fabric.

Your eyes burned and your head ached something awful as you rolled over in the sheets. Throwing out a hand in your darkened bedroom, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand beside you. It was a little after eight at night now. Even though you weren’t expecting anything different, your heart squeezed when you saw Matt had still not texted or called. With a sigh you dropped your phone back onto the nightstand, the clatter of it loud in your silent and empty apartment. Slowly you sat upright, attempting to untangle yourself from the sheets. Gradually you tossed your legs over the side of the bed, your eyes catching sight of the gold pendant necklace beside your phone on the nightstand. Tears welled in your eyes instantly at the sight of Matt’s messy handwriting lit by the city light outside your bedroom window that you hadn’t bothered to close the curtains on earlier. With a shaky hand and a soft sob, you grabbed the necklace and yanked the top drawer of the nightstand open, dropping the necklace in and shoving the drawer firmly closed.

Roughly wiping the back of your hand over your damp eyes, you rose to your feet, shuffling out of your darkened bedroom and into your living room. And then you paused a few feet from your couch, eyes taking in the empty, unlit space around you. You didn’t exactly know what to do at this point. You weren’t hungry. You didn’t want to shower. You didn’t want to watch television. You didn’t have work for almost an entire week to worry about. You had nothing right now.

With a strangled noise, you shuffled to your couch and collapsed onto it, burying your face in a different pillow as more tears spilled from your eyes. Matt’s handsome, smiling face as he sat beside you in the rental car during your road trip once again flashed behind your closed lids and your tears came faster. Your fingers clutched desperately to the pillow as you cried yet again.

You had never hurt like this before, never experienced a sadness and a pain that emotionally cut so deep that it left you feeling hopeless. Sure, you’d had breakups, but you often spent them drinking a bottle of wine and binging terrible reality shows. Maybe accompanied by a pint of ice cream or a freshly made boxed brownie mix. And then you’d eventually have a few girl’s nights out venting before inevitably moving forward and moving on. But this? This felt like a wound far deeper than you’d ever known before. You loved Matt with every fiber of your being; you loved him unconditionally, not even discouraged by his secret vigilante lifestyle. Despite being blind, he had seen you like no one else ever had. Comforted you when you were upset or struggling over the almost two years you’d known him, always encouraging and supporting you with whatever you had going on. He was patient with you when your nerves got the best of you instead of letting them frustrate him or push you away. He had understood your humor and loved your awkwardness. He had been your other half, and now that half of you had been ripped away.

Sobbing softly into the couch pillow, you tried hard to push those wonderful memories of him away. Tried to forget how he looked first thing in the morning with tousled hair and half-lidded eyes, his voice rough with sleep. Tried to forget that warm laugh of his filling your ears when you cracked a joke, and the way his smile would light up as his eyes fell on you. Tried to forget the feel of his mouth on yours, how soft his lips were, the taste of him. The gentle way he loved you, calloused hands soft on your body. Or the way he could be rougher but restrained, never wanting to actually hurt you.

Three loud knocks against your apartment door broke through your mental spiraling, your head slowly rising from the pillow. Your heart beat hopefully in your chest–was it Matt? Pushing yourself off of the couch, you quickly made your way to the door and hurried to unlock it. You swung it open so fast you startled who was standing at your door–Karen. Her eyes went wide before they immediately softened. Your own eyes dropped down to what she was holding–a box of your things. The things you’d had at Matt’s. Something twisted in your chest as a hand flew up to your mouth, holding back the choked noise.

Karen whispered your name softly. “Can I come in?” she asked.

You nodded, tears once again spilling out of your eyes as you made your way back into your apartment. Behind you, Karen gently closed the door before she made her way over, setting the box of your things off to the side before coming to sit next to you on the couch. Immediately she drew you in for a hug, and somehow that first bit of actual comfort after every thing that had happened to you had you falling apart on Karen’s shoulder. It took you a couple of minutes to control your crying and eventually pull away from her, roughly wiping the tears from your burning eyes for the hundredth time today.

“So I guess he’s really done,” you whispered, eyes darting to the box of your things. “Couldn’t even bring them over himself.”

“I offered,” Karen said gently. “He was planning to drop them off at your door. He didn’t want to upset you further by having you see him, but he wanted to make sure you had your things in case you needed anything. I think,” she continued, “he was trying to be helpful, in his own way, despite the uh, situation.” She cleared her throat gently, hands fidgeting in her lap as her eyes dropped down to the bruising on your face and your split lip. “What exactly is the situation? Because he wouldn’t say much to Foggy or myself. But last I knew the pair of you were doing amazing. Foggy said something happened to you last night, and all Matt would say is that you were safe now?”

“That piece on Wayland I was working on, you remember me telling you about it?” you began, continuing when Karen nodded quickly. “Some of Backman’s men figured out there was a connection between Daredevil and myself. Because of what happened with Figureroa’s men months ago. They kidnapped me from the office and were trying to use me to lure Matt out. Because Backman wants Daredevil dead.”

“Holy shit,” she breathed out, eyes going wide. “Are you okay?”

You shrugged lamely. “Physically I’m mostly fine. I mean, it was terrifying and they’d hit me a few times. Threatened me just as much. But Matt saved me,” you told her. “Though the way he apparently sees it, he–”

“Is the reason you were hurt in the first place?” she offered.

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh. “Which isn’t entirely true. I mean yes, I was the bait, but I should have listened to Matt. This whole thing was dangerous and I was taking it a little too lightly. I made some stupid mistakes thinking it wasn’t a big deal and I fucked up. It was all on me, not him. But of course he won’t see it that way. And then afterwards…” you trailed off, eyes closing as you remembered when Matt came to your apartment as Daredevil.

“Afterwards?” she pressed gently.

“He cleared things up with my co-worker and the police,” you continued. “Then he met me here. And he was–was pissed. So pissed.” You winced, remembering his rage. “Though I suppose now I know that anger was probably directed at himself. But he didn’t exactly comfort me, he yelled at me. A lot. And then we…had sex.”

“What?” Karen asked, brows furrowing.

You expelled a long breath, eyes falling onto your coffee table as your hands tugged at the fabric of your sweatshirt sleeves. “Yeah, and it was…rough. He uh, he didn’t change out of the Daredevil suit. And he was still angry, so the sex was…”

“A little angry?” Karen supplied, brows raising. “Violent?”

You noticed her eyes once again drop down to the bruising on your jaw and your split lip. You shook your head instantly.

“It was angry and rough, yes,” you admitted, “But he didn’t do this,” you said, gesturing to your face. “I know it probably sounds fucked up, you know, considering what had just happened to me, that we’d…do that. But I trust Matt, you know?” You awkwardly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you continued. “I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me, and I figured it was what he needed for comfort after what he’d just been through thinking he was going to lose me. So…we had sex. And it was…” you swallowed hard, eyes closing. You didn’t really want to think about sex with Matt, not with how it tore your heart up further in your chest. “It was great. And consensual, entirely consensual. It’s not like he was punching me in the face or anything actually violent, either. He was just rougher. But afterwards he was just…withdrawn. Saying it was wrong that he’d done that with me, hurt me after what I’d been through. And sure, it’s not exactly the first thing I’d have chosen, but I could tell he needed it to calm down. But then after he claimed he was a danger to me and ended things. Just jumped off my fire escape and left. Wouldn’t hear me out,” you told her, tears somehow yet again welling in your eyes as your voice trembled. “Wouldn’t stay to make sure I was okay. Didn’t offer any other form of comfort. Just broke my heart and left.”

Your eyes landed on your box of things in the corner of the room, Karen’s eyes following your gaze. A few warm tears fell down your cheeks and you wiped them with your sleeve, sniffling loudly a few times.

“And now he won’t talk to me,” you whispered. “He’s ignoring me.” You laughed bitterly, tossing a hand in the direction of the box. “Giving my shit back like he’s done with me. Like it meant nothing at all to him.”

Another wave of sadness hit you as you stared at that box in the corner of the room. Your heart constricted uncomfortably in your chest. You had been so close to moving in with him, and now overnight, the relationship was over. Karen pulled you into another hug when a soft, pathetic whimper fell out of you again.

_________

He wasn’t entirely sure what compelled him to go back yet again and torture himself. He knew you were okay–for the most part, at least. And after his running around this evening as Daredevil, Matt also knew none of Backman’s men were any the wiser about you being connected to what had happened last night. For now, at least. But still, he couldn’t resist checking in on you again.

After he’d ended things last night with you, he’d taken his frustration and his pain out on whoever he could find in Hell’s Kitchen–which had happened to be a mugger in an alley and later two armed men trying to rob a convenience store. He’d admittedly beat them a bit more than he would have on any other evening. And then afterwards, telling himself it was because he wanted to make sure you were still safe in your apartment after what had happened, he’d gone back to check on you. And when he’d returned hours after he’d left your place, he’d found you were still curled up under the window he’d left out of. You’d cried so hard and so much that he could taste the salt of your tears even as he stood on your fire escape. With the sheet of glass the only thing separating the pair of you, his heart had twisted painfully in his chest as he’d crouched down, pressing his gloved hand to the window as his masked forehead lightly rested against it. You’d fallen asleep there, judging by the sound of your breathing and heartbeat. He’d tried to fight the tremble of his lips realizing that you had probably stayed there hoping he’d come back. For a few minutes he’d remained at your window last night, quietly apologizing to you from the other side of the glass while fighting down his own tears. And then he’d forced himself to leave as much as it pained him to do so. Because all he wanted to do was rip that window open, draw you into his lap, and hold you and beg for your forgiveness for what he’d done until his voice was hoarse.

And now here he was again, this time on the fire escape at your neighbor’s apartment next door because no one was home, but he could tell you and Karen were in your apartment now. He of course didn’t want you to see him, but he also couldn’t fight the desire he had to be near. To make sure you were alright. And to selfishly keep a part of you in his life despite how definitively he’d tried to cut himself out of yours. Though he kept reminding himself it was to keep you safe from him.

He leant up against the brick of the building, shifting an ear closer to your apartment, and finally focused in on your conversation with Karen. He didn’t care that he shouldn’t be doing it–he missed you already. He just needed some part of you again.

“...jumped off my fire escape and left. Wouldn’t hear me out,” you were saying, the pain evident in your voice. “Wouldn’t stay to make sure I was okay. Didn’t offer any other form of comfort. Just broke my heart and left.”

Matt winced behind his mask at your words. You were right though. He had been too far gone, too afraid of losing you, that all he could think about last night was making sure you were safe. The scent of your blood in the air had driven him wild with rage when he’d gotten to the warehouse. And then afterwards, he’d raged at you instead of comforting you. He’d fucked you–aggressively like the asshole he was after what you’d just been through–because he had been hurt and scared and didn’t know what else to do in the heat of the moment. And then he’d felt so ashamed of himself for how he’d reacted. Ashamed of hurting you after being the reason you’d been put into danger last night in the first place, so ashamed that he had to abruptly end things and run away. It had all been to keep you safe, but he’d hated himself for everything he’d done to you. Hated himself for not offering you real comfort.

At the sound of you sniffling inside, Matt’s eyes snapped shut. You were crying again. You had been doing it alot today. He could tell even from outside and on your neighbor’s fire escape. His teeth ground together, gloved hands curling tightly into fists. He’d hurt you like that, too.

“And now he won’t talk to me,” he heard you tell Karen. “He’s ignoring me.”

You had tried to reach out to him multiple times today. And every time Matt’s phone had announced your name, all he could do was hold the device in his hand, torn between answering and not answering, until inevitably the call would end. He heard you laugh bitterly before speaking again, the words you said next like a knife in Matt’s own chest.

“Giving my shit back like he’s done with me. Like it meant nothing at all to him.”

He winced again, his head sagging along his shoulders. “No, sweetheart,” he murmured to himself, wishing you could hear him, his own eyes stinging with tears behind his mask. “You mean everything to me.”

A quiet noise hit his ears next–a soft whimper of a cry. He slammed a fist into the wall beside him, furious at himself for having done this to you.

“You know that’s not true,” he heard Karen tell you. “You know he loves you, even if he’s being an absolute idiot right now.”

Of course Karen wouldn’t understand, Matt thought.

“I was an idiot to ever think someone like Matthew Murdock could ever want to actually be with me,” you choked out, bitterness in your tone. “I knew it from the beginning. He’s too perfect. Smart and charming and successful. A fucking superhero . Can have any woman he ever wants. Could fucking have them all–and that’s probably what he’ll do. Because why the fuck would I ever be enough? Ever be good enough for him?”

Matt took a step forward on the fire escape, instinctively ready to jump over to yours, rip your window up and tell you how wrong you were. How you were vastly better than him–too good for him . But he stopped himself after that first initial step. You were wrong, very wrong, but if being pissed at him helped you move on, then he’d let you. He’d let you think of him like that because he deserved it.

“Stop,” Karen said to you. “You know that’s not true, you know Matt isn’t like that. He’s hurting, too.”

He heard you sniffling again, a faint hiccup leaving you. Your heart was beating unsteadily in your chest.

“We always used to tell each other that we never regretted that drink my co-worker convinced him to buy me,” Matt heard you say, his own heart tightening in his chest at what he feared was coming out of your mouth next. “That night we met he had asked me on a scale from one to ten how much I regretted staying. It became a saying we had–that on a scale from one to ten, there wasn’t a number far enough away from one for how much we didn’t regret that drink.” You paused briefly, sniffling again before you continued. “But I regret it right now,” you whispered, voice breaking on the words.

Matt pushed away from the wall, tuning out the rest of the conversation in your apartment immediately. A few tears were trailing down his cheeks as he threw a gloved hand over his mouth, fighting back a sob. There was something unpleasant roiling and churning in his stomach. That had hurt far worse than he’d imagined to hear you say that aloud. To know you regretted everything with him. To know he had hurt you that badly.

Shaking his head, he threw himself over the fire escape with an enraged snarl. He’d go back out into the night as the Devil and he’d lose himself in his fury and his fists for whoever got in his way tonight. Nothing else mattered right now–he didn’t want to feel anything besides that white hot rage for himself.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x fem reader #matt murdock series #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil x female reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock angst #fftd

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mmkin · 7 months ago

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Shark Bait ch 6 (Arlong x Reader)

Shark Bait has been updated. AO3 link here, story also included under the cut.

Content/trigger warnings - abuse (of various kinds), noncon, dead dove! NSFW, blah blah.

o0o0o0o

Nami comes back from another trip, the freedom of her village so close she can taste it, and you’re happy for her. Considering what she’d been through for the last eight years, not just with Arlong, but risking her life against pirates to collect the money to pay off her debt, you find it impossible to feel jealous of her impending freedom.

You stay where you usually do – the sidelines – and watch the drama unfold as the Straw Hats come to the island in pursuit of their friend and their boat. Nami’s under a lot of stress, and so are you because Arlong is pissed off about these Straw Hats, especially after the one with the slingshot attacked Arlong in Cocoyashi Village. Oh, how he roared and thrashed around, and his fishmen had to restrain him. Much as they dislike humans, the fishmen are pragmatic enough to not allow Arlong to destroy another village.

But oh, he finds other ways to express his bad mood. He’s a bully, and mean, and big and strong. He might be loyal to his nakama, but that doesn’t mean they’re immune to his sarcastic comments or foul moods.

It's been so long since he had his rule directly challenged so close to home. Navy ships, ha! A simple conquest for fishmen, but a handful of teenagers are proving to be more of a problem than the arrogant sharkman wants to admit.

You’ve been ground under the heel of Arlong and his friends, your old life almost seeming nothing more than a dream. You let Arlong and his crew use you as they please, and they make sure to remind you constantly what a slut you are, and how honored that a half-human like you should be able to serve them so intimately. Regardless of whatever privileges Arlong grants you, you’re still his fucktoy, and that was the fate you were resigned to until you hear Arlong talking to Nezumi and telling him about Nami’s Berry stash.

After Nezumi leaves, you whip around to Arlong as the fishmen cackle over Arlong exploiting the loophole in his deal with Nami.

“You’re despicable!” you say, displaying more fire than you have in a while. This only makes Arlong and his peers laugh harder. Your first thought is to run to Nami and warn her, but as if he reads your mind, he grabs your arm, pulling you into his lap as he grins down at you.

“Little clownfish. Why be so concerned over a silly little human? I buy her presents and clothes, just as I do for you. She’ll just keep on making her maps for the rest of her life, fulfilling her purpose as a useful human in the Arlong Empire!”

You squirm and try to kick your way out of his lap, but as you’ve already learned – and been reminded of often – you’re nothing against a pack of full-grown and powerful fishmen. Arlong takes you right then and there, reminding you of your position within the crew as his men watch their captain force you into submission despite your screams and struggles before he throws you into a cell to keep you from interfering, telling you that the rest of his crew will take their time to remind you where you belong when this silly little affair with the Straw Hats is over. Part of you is terrified. But the other part of you is aroused at that thought.

You stand just outside of Arlong Park, mouth agape at the sight of the grand structure in ruins. You almost can’t believe it, but it actually fucking happened. Arlong and his men had been defeated by humans. Mere humans, even if the leader of them was a Devil Fruit user.

Humans – at least some of them – are not as weak and pathetic as Arlong thinks. (Thought, perhaps?) You remain in the shadows under the trees, but Nami notices you and runs over to you.

“Y/n! Are you all right?” she asks.

“I should ask the same of you,” you whisper hoarsely, noticing her bandaged shoulder. You look past said shoulder to the ruins of the park. “Is he…”

“Barely alive. But the Marines – good ones – will be coming to collect Arlong and his men.”

“So… it's over. It's finally over," you breathe, falling to your knees. She sinks next to you and pulls you into her arms as you cry.

“Yes. I’m free. My village is free. You and your mom are free!” she says. This makes you cry harder but from happiness.

You consider your options.

You can go back to your island like nothing had ever happened. After all, there's no more tribute to be paid, and your mother will be happy to see you. You can put this all behind you.

You could take Nami’s invitation and join her crew. Luffy’s enthusiastic about having a half-fishwoman on his crew, and being Nami’s friend certainly doesn’t hurt anything. Going on an adventure doesn’t sound too bad.

Arlong didn't use you as a combatant, but you did plenty enough support work because even with only half the typical Fishman strength, you're still five times stronger than a human and that strength is doubled in the water just like any other fishman. You've learned about ships – and how to take them apart, like you've been taught by Arlong's crew. You could go after the Marine ship that has Arlong and his men on board, attack it from the outside, and help Arlong and his men break free.

Y/n, what do you do?

o0o0o0o

Well, that was an interesting experiment for me. I normally write more vanilla/consensual stuff, but was feeling a bit dark/kinky and was inspired by the prompt mentioned in the first note for this story. So this was a bit of an experiment for me. I know there’s way dark/worse stuff out there, but this was still quite an experience for me to write this sort of project. I hope you enjoyed it, and I welcome feedback, ideas, or suggestions.

#arlong #one piece #one piece x reader #arlong x reader #dead dove #fanfiction

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watchingovergvff · 2 years ago

Text

Sweet Nothings- Josh Kiszka

Summary: Secrets are revealed after too many drinks are poured.

Genre: Friends to Lovers. Jealousy. Fluff.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption. Brief Jealously.

A/N: I love to hear feedback, so please don’t hesitate to do so. Thank you for all the love and support<3333

——————————————————————————

Josh has never felt more pathetic in his life than he does right now. Sipping on his third drink of the evening, he grumbles into his cup.

Jake, Danny, Sam, and Josh had collectively agreed that a night full of drinks and pool sounded just right, after spending the past few weeks holed up in the studio. Josh had insisted that you join them for the evening, claiming that all you ever do anymore is overwork yourself, with work and school. Knowing Josh wouldn’t take no for an answer, you begrudgingly stalk out the door of your cozy home, wishing you could trot back inside to where its safe and warm.

The both of you had been attached to the hip for the past several years, after you were introduced by mutual friends. The two of you were two peas-in-a-pod, best friends even. You had been there when Josh had his heartbroken for the first time, and he in return was there for you when family ties became strained. You told each other everything, always an open book for the other to read, but perhaps there is one tiny secret the two of you had managed to keep for yourselves.

That secret is the reason Josh has remained miserable all evening since the two of you padded into the bar. Immediately after stepping into the bar, Sam swiped your hand into his and dragged you to an empty booth to chat, leaving poor Josh all alone with his brothers. Josh was slightly disappointed, having wanted to keep you to himself tonight, but relented when that pretty smile graced your features, after Sam had pulled you into a bear hug.

The night carried on with playful spirits and bets against a sorry game of pool. Sam had reluctantly allowed the both of you to return to the other boy’s sides, watching their current game of pool. You always had something smart to say when it was Josh’s turn, trying to sike him out for Danny’s sake.

The eight-ball was the only pawn left to strike, Josh glanced up, waiting to hear your next ridiculous remark towards him, only to find that you had disappeared into the sea of people near the bar.

Finishing the game, he roamed the room in search of you. A dazzling smile set across his face once his eyes landed on you propped up on a barstool, at the counter. The closer he got to you, the more that dazzling smile faded. Quickly, he realized you were not alone, but with some random guy, who looked at least seven inches taller than him. His eyes darted between the both of you, contemplating his next move.

Now, Josh had never been the jealous type, and never wanted to be, but as he stood there, dumbfounded, he felt it start to rumble along his chest. He all but sprinted towards the open seat between you and the man. Josh had startled you with his abrupt appearance, resolving you to clutch at your chest to steady your breathing.

“There you are, I’ve been searching this whole joint trying to find you. Why did you run off? You could have asked me to get you another drink, mama” he hollers out. Josh wraps his arm around the small of your back, bringing you closer into his side. You smile up at him.

“Josh, I’m a big girl, I can get my own drink, but thank you for the offer” you say, pulling away from his chest. “Shit sorry, this is Dean, he was telling me about a show he played last weekend here. He’s plays guitar in a band” you motion over him, pointing at Dean.

“Yeah it’s a pretty big deal and all. We just got scouted for a possible record deal, which is pretty huge. It’s complicated, you wouldn’t understand. The plus side is it gets me gorgeous girls, like this one” Dean says, attempting to reach towards you.

Josh scoffs, reaching forward to block Dean’s hands from touching you. “Your right, I guess we wouldn’t know. Alright mama, time to head out, come on” Josh stands, attempting to pull you out of your seat. You groan, not wanting to leave just yet, dying for one last drink. Of course, Dean offers to stay with you and keep the night going, but Josh shuts that down immediately.

Giving in, you drag yourself off the stool, biding Dean a goodnight and good luck with the rest of his night. The boys had already made it outside, patiently waiting on the two of you to make your grand exit. Josh guides you out, while you draw circles into the palm of his hand.

After hugging all the boys’ bye and making promises to have dinner sometime soon, the two of you climb into Josh’s car. Josh slid into the driver’s side once establishing that you were buckled in. He had sobered up long ago, after realizing you weren’t stopping anytime soon. To be honest, Josh always had a soft spot for your boozy alter ego, claiming you were sweeter when you had indulged a bit too much.

Reaching across the console, you attempt to sneakily tickle Josh’s side. Of course, he had seen it coming from a mile away and shoved your hand away playfully. You pout at having gotten caught, but Josh makes up for it by giving you his hand.

Pulling up your joint playlist, he clicks on your shared song If You Need To, Keep Time On Me by the Fleet Foxes. He begins the short journey back to your quiet home, humming softly to the song.

Meanwhile, you pull his free hand into your lap, tracing random patterns into the palm of his hand. “Josh will you sing to me?” you ask, looking at him with pleading eyes. “As you wish” he promises.

Josh continues to sing softly to you all the way home, stealing glances of your tired features here and there. Pulling into the driveway, he moves to unbuckle you, but quickly realizes you were fast asleep. He grins softly at you, tucking your wild hair behind your ear.

Finally, he gets you out of the car and safely through the front door with very little complaining from your exhausted body.

“Hey pretty girl, think you can make it to your bed? I’m going to set up camp out here. Do you need me to do anything before you head to bed?” Josh asks, whilst pulling off your boots. “Will you stay with me tonight, Joshy?” you mumble out into his shoulder, having rested your head there. “I am mama. I’ll be right here on the couch if you need-

“No, I mean, will you sleep with me? I don’t wanna be alone” you whisper. He tilts your head up to meet your eyes, rubbing softly at your jaw. “Of course, sweet girl. How bout you head up and get changed for bed, while I lock up. I won’t be long” he says, urging you to go ahead. The both of you smile, for a few minutes to long, everything around you forgotten. You reach out to touch him, your hand grazing the back of his neck.

“Josh, you’re my favorite person in the world, you know that?” you say, crimson dusting his face at your words. He opens his mouth to reply, but you continue babbling. “I’m so lucky to have you in my life. I don’t think I would have made it this far without your love and support. I don’t even want to imagine my life without you in it. You’re the first person to have every made me feel special and worthy of love and kindness. I don’t thank you enough for that. You mean the world to me. I think-I think I’m in love with you. No wait, I am in love with you. I understand if you don’t feel the same, but I don’t think I could live with myself any longer if I kept this from you. You deserve to know the truth” you spit out, looking anywhere but at him.

Josh remains silent, fully processing what you had just expressed to him.

Finally, you meet his eyes, finding them to be filled with love and reassurance. He beams at you, pulling you close into his chest.

“I love you too. I’m in love with you. I have been since the day I met you. You deserve the world, and if you let me, I want to be the one to give it to you” he whispers into your ear.

Josh pulls you close, softly kissing you, while rubbing loving hands across your waist. Pulling back, the two of you grin at one another, making silent promises to each other.

“Me and you, forever huh?”

“Forever, mama, just me and you”

Josh would have never complained if he knew his night would end up with the girl he loves most tucked away in his arms, whispering sweet nothings, until the sun rose high in the sky.

……

Hope you enjoyed

#greta van fic #greta van fleet fics #greta van fluff #greta van fleet #gvf fanfiction #danny gvf #sam gvf #josh gvf #jake gvf #gvf fic #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka #josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka #danny wagner x reader #danny wagner

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byanyan · 3 months ago

Note

"One." She counted, tugging gently on their index finger. Lena hummed gently, watching the upset team with caring eyes, before moving to their middle finger. "Two." She continued the process, letting them process as loudly or painfully as they needed, working her way down each finger until she got to their thumb. "Twenty."

ㅤit wasn't often that they let themself cry in front of lena.

it was even less often that they let themself completely break down in front of her.

the week had been a long one, full of awful surprise on top of awful surprise, from hearing word that they'd officially be removed from the group home at the end of the school year regardless of whether they found themself someplace new to live or not, to crossing paths with an old, abusive foster mother who somehow managed to be worse to them than ever despite them being long out of her care. they hadn't been able to catch a break, old traumas and miserable memories forcibly dredged up against their will in moments they least expected it... and it had all come to a head tonight, when they'd shown up to lena's place seeking refuge from the world only to be jumped by a deeply buried memory when faced with a simple bowl of mac 'n cheese.

it had taken them back to being five years old again, unwanted and alone and all too aware of both of those facts, left to wonder what was wrong with them, what it was that they'd done that was so wrong as to not be allowed to go home.

lena's presence in front of them didn't register until about the time she was counting to four with a gentle pull on their little finger. they were too busy curling in on themself, trying to hide their pain (or perhaps it was a weak attempt to hide from it) despite the way their unwilling sobs wracked their entire form.

five, she said, and they felt her fingers on their thumb as they shoved their face deeper into the crook of their elbow like they might just be able to disappear if they tried hard enough.

six. byan shuffled, battling against the urge to lash out like a cornered animal, despising this feeling of vulnerability despite knowing that lena wouldn't take advantage of it. it was too much like being a child again, so full of all those intense emotions that they didn't know where to put or what to do with, bottling it all up until it came out in an uncontrollable fit of rage and misunderstood violence.

seven. a shout tore from their throat, sharp and raw and full of agony. no words to it, just pure emotion being expelled because it had to come out somewhere. this was better than accidentally hurting lena, if also more embarrassing.

eight. another yell, this one sounding vaguely like a question, almost like a pained why? it broke off into another stream of noisy sobs and sniffling, and they could feel their tears now soaking through the thick fabric of their hoodie's sleeve.

by the time lena reached twelve, the teen had quietened down considerably. tears still stung their eyes and soaked their sweater, and their breathing would break off into stilted hiccoughs and sniffles every now and then, but the very worst of it seemed to have passed, at least for now.

ㅤㅤ" 'm sorry, "ㅤthey mumbled somewhere around sixteen, voice quiet and hoarse and uncharacteristically timid. sorry for what, they didn't clarify; for not being able to contain themself, maybe. for being a burden, almost certainly. out of habit for those occasions, which were much rarer in these last few years, where they'd feel guilt for emotional outbursts that they couldn't control getting the better of them in front of another... perhaps.

lena would surely tell them not to worry about it, but it still felt unfair to put it all on her like this, to ruin her night over their own bullshit without even explaining what the problem was. it still felt pathetic to break down over fucking macaroni and cheese.

nineteen came and went without another word, but a deep breath was drawn in sometime after it, held for four seconds before being released. byan's face was still hidden behind their arm and beneath messy bangs which had grown much too long, and a quiet tremble still shook their body, still caused the air to waver as it left their lungs, but they seemed a bit more calm now. unsteady, yes; still teetering on that edge of breaking back down into tears, absolutely; but calmer nonetheless.

ㅤㅤ" 'm sorry. "ㅤthe apology was spoken again, just as muffled as before yet somehow meeker. what else was their to say? another slow breath, in and out, and lena murmured twenty with a soft tug on their thumb.ㅤ" 'm sorry, i shouldn't've... i mean, i shoulda— "ㅤwords were cut short abruptly and a hand clenched tight for a moment, almost as if in hesitation, before reaching out blindly in search of lena's sleeve, or even her arm or hand. just... something to hold on to. something to keep them grounded.

ㅤㅤ" —'m sorry. "

#chronal anomaly #━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ answered: ic ⋮ i am a vulture that feeds on pain.#thank u sm as always for the surprise hurt/comfort spacy #u always know exactly how to make me hurt (affectionate)#this...... idk. it got away from me (as per usual) and it's messier than i'd like it to be but #yeah uvu something something the amount of trust they have in her to let her see them like this and comfort them through it #something something the guilt they feel for expressing their emotions bc they're used to it being a burden on others #they're used to it being too much for others #they're used to being invalidated and belittled over feeling the way they do #unlearning that shit is hard (':

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witchrecs · 10 months ago

Text

Shi-did you not see the sock on the door, Smith?" Rafe groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder in defeat. He's spent the past half hour getting you into a compromising position, his rough hands awry and his wet mouth on your soft skin. The amaranthine imprint of his kisses have made home on your neck. You're straddling him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he really doesn't want to sacrifice any amount of closeness.

AMARANTHINE😍 your beautiful writing >>

"Oh fuck-" Rafe's large hands circle your thighs and tighten, standing up and advancing toward Kelce with you in his arms, "_right off-"

"Rafe!" You gasp, suppressing another surprised laugh. "Put me down, you asshole."

"No way, Y/N/N;" Kelce says then, raising his arms in preemptive surrender. "Your PDA's the only reason he hasn't given me a shiner yet."

Rafe affirms this sentiment by pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, his eyes still narrowed as he glares at Kelce. "You're lucky I love my girlfriend more than I do my fucking reputation."

LOVE college rafe. this is so cute and funny

You look over your shoulder at him, untangling your arms from Rafe's neck so he can let you down gently. When he does so, it's with great reluctance, and he doesn't hesitate to circle your chest so he can pull you back against him. His strong bicep is warm against your neck, solid pressure.

THIS IS SO HOT i love the arm around the chest i'm swooning

Your laugh reverberates through Tannyhill like a siren song, and he's pretty sure he'll never not recognise the sound of it. It's as though every bone in his body vibrates in tune to it-so unabashed, so freeing. Far more painful now than it used to be.

this is literally poetry omg

He can't remember the last time he kissed you. He wants to remember so fucking bad. You're slipping through his calloused fingers and fragments of you are all he has.

GODDDD

Sarah's eyes well with tears. "It's going to be hard without you too, Y/N" she murmurs. "You're my sister."

awww

Rafe lets out a laugh, unbuckling your seatbelt so he can pull you into his lap.

"C'mere."

UGGGHHHHH need him

"Never," you sigh, running your fingers through his hair. "You wouldn't dream of leaving me for someone else, Rafe Cameron. The Figure Eight wouldn't forgive you if you did."

"I wouldn't forgive myself if I did."

Another teeth-scraping kiss. "I'd be crazy to let you go. I've been in love with you since we were freshman."

my fucking heart oh my GOD

"Like we were before." he affirms, putting the car into drive. His fingers brush the bare skin of your thigh near the gearshift. A very unfriend-like jolt of static shoots into your chest. "…... I don't know. Sometimes I think I just miss my best friend."

SOMETIMES I THINK I JUST MISS MY BEST FRIEND sobbing bye

"God, l've been sitting on this information for ages," you say, your pretty eyes full of excitement. Rafe's heart leaps.

sharing gossip is so🤭🤭 this whole part was so cute

It deflates just as quickly, sinking into his stomach like deadweight. "wasn't...! don't know, I thought it'd be best if I kept my distance." He sighs, sitting back and raking his fingers through his hair. "Clearly that was a mistake. I haven't been this relaxed in fucking ages."

ohh

When your fingers entwine, you wonder whether he feels it too. It's a jolt of static that leaves your skin warm and your insides funny, and you wonder whether the effect it has on you is endearing or pathetic.

The latter, you conclude. The red string of fate disagrees.

WOW this is so so beautiful

He's still grappling with the fact that he's a man starved of your beautiful laugh, now reborn. "Go on"

🥹🥹🤭🤭

"Do you, Rafe?" You return, opening your eyes tentatively.

His gaze is still trained on your pretty mouth, less iris than pupil as his yearning transcends everything else. He presses his thumb on your lower lip gently. "Only if it's you."

"I think I am," you murmur.

Rafe smiles. Oh no, he's falling in love again. "I think you are too."

OH OH OH this took my breath away GOD

Labyrinth

Uh oh, I’m falling in love / Oh no, I’m falling in love again

synopsis you’re reunited with your ex-boyfriend, Rafe, at an Outer Banks wedding.

tags Rafe Cameron x fem!reader, exes to lovers, second chance romance, slowburn-ish, A LOT of angst, an equal amount of pining, an awful breakup but a wonderful reconciliation 💓

wc ~11k

“You look,” you murmur, squeezing Brooklyn’s shoulder gently, “perfect.”

She’s sitting in front of a round, gold-rimmed mirror, the windows on either side of her painting her skin a warm aureate. You stand in shadow behind her, the sunbeams unable to reach your pretty features. There’s a wistfulness to them that’s almost imperceptible.

Almost. If she weren’t your best friend, someone you’ve known since forever, she probably wouldn’t have noticed the way you were hiding from them. The smile on her face falters as she looks up at you through the mirror.

“Look,” she begins tentatively, frowning, “if this is too hard —”

“Do not,” you interrupt. You try for an encouraging smile; what you hope is an encouraging smile. “I’m totally fine, okay? I’m over it.”

A pause. Brooklyn’s reflection sends you a long, hard look. “No one would blame you if you weren’t.”

You know what that means, the insinuation behind her words: you were supposed to be the first one. It’s all anyone in the Figure Eight was saying when they first found out about your break-up: you’re meant for each other, though, we can’t imagine you not being a couple!

Well, neither could you, not that it really mattered. Six months on with half a heart and pulseless motive, you’ve come to realise that wretched pining comes at a costly price.

You can’t afford it anymore.

“I know,” you reply quietly.

The spaghetti strap of your cowl neck falls as you straighten, the periwinkle fabric shimmering forebodingly. An image of the Rafe you knew flashes in your mind, slipping it down to press a kiss on your skin. Your stomach drops.

“But I am,” you add, louder. As though you’re trying to convince yourself more than you are her. “I promise.”

Brooklyn stares at you for a long time before her gaze falls, acquiescing with a sigh. “I hate that you still don’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“That he could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve you.”

You bite back another wince, the fresh sting of forgotten feelings pricking at your eyelids. “I do believe it,” you say quietly. “I do. That’s what makes all of this so fucking hard — that I know we’re never getting a second chance. That he chose to throw all of it away and I’m never going to be able to forgive him for it.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though!”

“We were together for half our lives, Brooke!” You turn away from the mirror, taking in a jagged breath. “We — his mom had promised me her ring before she died, for God’s sake. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to walk away from what we had?”

A long pause. Brooke’s voice is gentle, but her words cut like a knife. “It’s not as though you had a choice, Y/N/N. He didn’t give you one.”

You look around at her, unshed tears making your pretty eyes shine. “What does it say about me that I’m no closer to accepting that than I was six months ago?”

“Babe.” A tear falls. Brooke’s features soften, and she pulls you into a tight hug, enough pressure to wring out the melancholy in your chest. “It says that you’re human.”

She rocks you for a moment before you’re forced to pull apart, a knock on the door breaking your reverie. “God,” you self-reproach, sending Brooklyn a watery smile. “I would find a way to make your day about me, wouldn’t I?”

“Maybe I should ditch Kelce,” Brooklyn replies faux-seriously, catching the stray tears wetting your lower lids. “We can elope or something.”

As though on queue, the Universe intervenes before she can go through with this idea. Perhaps it knows, having watched the pair of grow close throughout college, that there’s a part of her that really would call this all off if you asked her to.

“Sweetheart!” Comes Brooklyn’s father’s voice from behind the door, punctuated by the sharp rap of his knuckles. “It’s nearly time!”

The tension ebbs. Suddenly, everything about this wedding—the same one you’ve been helping her plan forever—becomes entirely too real. Your melancholia is a tide in this way, flowing forth and receding as its surroundings permit. Never fading away; ever-present. Though it may not be as unbearable now as it was when you first broke up, it lingers.

You’re afraid that it always will. You push down this fear like you’ve done every other.

Focus. Your eyes widen in anticipation, mirroring Brooklyn’s as they transform into nervous excitement.

“Come in!” Brooklyn calls anxiously, biting back a squeal. You’re grateful for the fact that you haven’t ruined her mood completely. “Oh my god. Oh my god!”

She stands up and turns around just as her father enters the room, his lined face shining with a wistful sense of happiness. As the atmosphere in the room shifts, she glances back at you, and your insides twist in cruel mocking. More repentant than jealous. I was supposed to be the first one.

You don’t let your expression falter. The first few chords of the processional float into the room through the ajar door, and you spring into action, smoothing out your dress and readjusting your bouquet of flowers.

“That’s my queue,” you say, squeezing her arm once more before slipping past her and her father.

In true Kook fashion, Brooklyn’s wedding ceremony is taking place on the Island Club green. Upon exiting the storage room you’ve transformed into a vanity, you find yourself in the entranceway that leads to the venue, the set-up just visible beyond its oak doors.

Benches of beige driftwood sit on either side of the aisle, twined with buttery white lilies and ivy-like viridescence. They face a brilliant floral wedding arch, where the officiant and Kelce stand talking in hushed whispers. And the sky above you is a vibrant, cloudless blue, golden sunlight fanning down upon the crowd, bathing them aureate.

In the beat that passes, you search for someone you shouldn’t.

The last time that you saw him, he was hunched over his father’s office desk. His eyes were bloodshot and his tired gaze dull; half-finished documents stared up at him in mocking, and a nagging ache was making home in his chest.

The week prior, you hadn’t seen much of each other. And it wasn’t as though he’d requested this space—he rarely did, rarely asked you for anything—you’d just taken it upon yourself to give it to him. Stay in control. If you proposed time apart before he did, maybe it would feel more deliberate; hurt less.

You were dead wrong.

“Look,” he sighs, this cruel, heavy sound that splices right through your chest, “I realise I’ve been neglecting our relationship a lot recently.”

“Yes,” you respond tentatively. “But you’ve been under a lot of pressure recently. I get it.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” He glances up at you through red-rimmed irises. “I… I don’t know how long it’ll be like this. With everything that’s happened… my dad dying, and me taking over the firm —”

“I’ve seen you through all of it,” you interrupt quietly, your voice cracking. “I’ve — no questions asked, I’ve done it. I get it, Rafe, you’ve got different priorities at the moment. But we’ve loved each other for so long now that I —”

“But that’s the thing,” he says then, swallowing hard, “I just don’t know if I do anymore. Not as much as I used to.”

The silence that follows feels as though it’s suffocating you. You haven’t said a word, and Rafe’s said plenty, but it’s you with the lungs that heave for loveless oxygen.

“Oh.”

Rafe’s Adam’s apple jumps again, and he breaks eye contact as unshed tears brim to the surface. “I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t make any sense.

“Maybe,” you try, grappling hard for a logical explanation, “maybe your grief’s fucking with your ability to feel anything.”

Rafe’s gaze lifts to your face again, teardrop tracks making your pretty cheeks shine. His heart aches, hard, and he finds it difficult to catch his breath. “But… I’ve dealt with it,” he says quietly. “I’ve had to.”

“How can you have?” You throw back, exasperated. “Rafe you — you haven’t had a moment to yourself since his funeral last month, you’ve holed yourself up in his office and acted like everything’s fucking okay!”

“Because it is!” He replies, his face hardening momentarily. “I’m — I’m fucking fine, alright? I just need to be alone right now.”

“Because you don’t love me anymore.”

Rafe winces. Your lower lip trembles. “Yeah. Because something’s missing… the — the fucking spark, or whatever… and right now, I can’t give you the sort of love you deserve.”

He was tired of hurting you through his abjection, he’d said. As if breaking things off wasn’t the most hurtful thing he ever did.

Thankfully, you aren’t able to spot him in the crowd; if you had, walking down the aisle would have been infinitely more difficult. Out of courtesy to you—and Brooke forcing his hand, of course—he hadn’t asked Rafe to be a groomsman either, so you were well safe from an untimely encounter at pre-wedding festivities. And from standing opposite him in front of the altar. You aren’t sure such close proximity in holy matrimony would be healthy for either of you.

It’s unfair on him though, you know it is. He has as much a right being best man as you do maid of honour — the four of you were thick as thieves once upon a time; in fact, it was you that’d introduced Kelce to Brooklyn.

It feels like so long ago when you think back on it now, being nineteen-years-old with a naïve heart and nothing to lose.

You and Rafe had seemed invincible then, high-school sweethearts that were somehow surviving college-borne distance. Forever, that’s the word that ended every drunk call or late night text; forever, and the promise of a proposal and beach-side villa.

“Shi—did you not see the sock on the door, Smith?” Rafe groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder in defeat. He’s spent the past half hour getting you into a compromising position, his rough hands awry and his wet mouth on your soft skin. The amaranthine imprint of his kisses have made home on your neck. You’re straddling him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he really doesn’t want to sacrifice any amount of closeness.

Kelce enters the room tentatively, his hand firmly pressed over his eyes. “Hard to miss. You two decent or what?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You let out a peal of laughter as Rafe glowers at his roommate, his calloused palms dropping from your hips to your thighs. You push the fabric of your dress over his hands, but he kneads the flesh anyway, the skin on skin like spare oxygen.

Kelce peeks at you from between his fingers before pulling them away, an unimpressed look on his face. “C’mon, surely you’re done with her Cameron. I’ve given you guys the entire fucking day together.”

“Half an hour,” Rafe replies, his blue eyes narrowing.

“As if you need more than five minutes,” Kelce snorts, plopping down on the bed opposite Rafe’s.

“Oh fuck—” Rafe’s large hands circle your thighs and tighten, standing up and advancing toward Kelce with you in his arms, “—right off—”

“Rafe!” You gasp, suppressing another surprised laugh. “Put me down, you asshole.”

“No way, Y/N/N,” Kelce says then, raising his arms in preemptive surrender. “Your PDA’s the only reason he hasn’t given me a shiner yet.”

Rafe affirms this sentiment by pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, his eyes still narrowed as he glares at Kelce. “You’re lucky I love my girlfriend more than I do my fucking reputation.”

Kelce makes a face, keeling over and mock-gagging. “Yeah, yeah, you guys have been bethrothed since fucking pre-K, I get it. Now will you stop being so possessive and let me have a conversation with her?”

You look over your shoulder at him, untangling your arms from Rafe’s neck so he can let you down gently. When he does so, it’s with great reluctance, and he doesn’t hesitate to circle your chest so he can pull you back against him. His strong bicep is warm against your neck, solid pressure.

“What’s up, Kelcey?” You ask, surveying him with interest.

“Ghosted,” he says gloomily, falling back against his duvet, “again.”

Rafe glances down at you at the same time you look up at him, a sage, sympathetic emotion passing between you. In the weeks after your break-up, you’ll come to yearn for this emotion more than anything else — that feeling of being immune to inadequacy, of having found the love of your life so effortlessly.

“You’ve gotta stop coming on so hard, bro,” Rafe says, resting his chin on your forehead. “These sorority chicks are probably all looking for something casual.”

“He can’t help the fact that he’s a lover boy, Rafe,” you defend, frowning. “You’ve just gotta find a girl that wants what you want, Kelce.”

Kelce raises his head hopefully. “Know anyone like that, Y/N/N?”

“Well,” you pause, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully, “I am thinking of inviting my roommate Brooklyn to the Bahamas over summer break —”

“To Rafe’s?” This piques Kelce’s interest. He props himself up onto his elbows, a hopeful grin transforming his features. “Sold.”

How times change.

Today, Kelce stands at the other end of the aisle, waiting for the same Brooklyn that was once your roommate, now his almost wife. He’s wearing an elegant black tuxedo with a lily tucked into the breast pocket, its buttery white petals shining in the sun. He looks so, unimaginably, happy. It should’ve been you and Rafe. Your heartstrings twinge.

“You’re not ready,” you murmur as you pass him on the altar, finding your place opposite his best man, Topper.

Kelce smiles at you, a little nervous, a little unshed. “Will I ever be?”

You shake your head, smiling in tandem.

The wedding procession is a brilliant display of love, and you find a way to make it about your lack thereof. Seconds blur, minutes melt into each other, and your poor mind strays to when things were far simpler. The Island Club was your date night spot, once upon a time. It’s where you’d envisioned you’d get proposed to; where you would get married one day, too. Just like this.

You’re happy for them, you swear it. It’s just a difficult emotion to maintain when the opposite comes so naturally.

Rafe doesn’t arrive until the reception itself.

He wants to believe that this is entirely accidental — he’s had a long day at the office, filled with several meetings with prospective clients. He can’t though, his wretched conscience won’t let him. He chose to go to work today, chose to schedule important meetings at the same time as Kelce’s nuptials.

He thinks he knows why this is, and isn’t sure whether he can handle the why in a satin slip and strappy heels. He wants to believe that he meant everything he said to you six months prior, but the dreadful ache in his chest crescendos in mocking every time he tries this.

He’s made a mistake. He won’t admit this if it killed him. But he knows, deep down, that something isn’t right about all of this.

If he really didn’t love you anymore, if that fucking spark was missing, there shouldn’t have been anything to move on from—the ship should have already departed. But he’s struggling, hard, and his thoughts juxtapose his actions. Despite telling you that he needs to be alone for the time being, you remain unmoored in his mind, rocking back and forth but never sinking.

He’s done his fair share of fucking up over the past few months. Got into something else too quickly, tried that no contact thing and failed miserably. There’s no going back after everything that’s happened. And yet…

“Hello?” He greets you like it’s a question; like greeting you isn’t second nature anymore. Your stomach turns.

When you respond, your voice comes out jagged, pained. “Look. I get that you’re doing this ‘no contact’ thing, or whatever, but Sarah told me something pretty fucked up and I think you owe me an explanation.” Your voice is far weaker.

Rafe winces, a familiar ache pulling through his chest. “If this is about Elle —”

“It’s been a month, Rafe. You may as well have cheated.”

…that fucking hug.

After you’d confronted him about shamelessly flirting with Sarah’s friend, Elle—in front of Sarah, no less, who told you the second it happened—he’d asked to meet up in person and explain himself.

You weren’t quite sure what to make of it all, which is probably why you’d foolishly agreed to hear him out. Ward had hired Elle as an intern before his death; she’d been around a while, long enough for an affair.

It shifted bile into your throat.

And when you’d met him, the exact opposite of what you’d hoped had happened. He’d had the gall to tell you that he thinks something’s there, that he feels that bullshit spark that he swore was missing in your relationship.

What were you meant to say?

But then he’d apologised, recognised it was too soon, begged to stay friends. Friends—like a platonic relationship is in any way gift receipt redeemable. And ironically, hearing him out wasn’t even your biggest mistake, it was that wretched hug goodbye that you’d permitted you get.

It was as though that hug held everything unsaid. Your figure had moulded against his quite perfectly, and why wouldn’t it? He’s the only romantic embrace you’d known since you were a teenager.

And when you’d finally pulled away, separated the pieces of your heart that were finally greeting his again, you hadn’t realised that he’d think about that hug for weeks gone by, just like you.

All the way up until Christmas, which occurred two months after your sudden break-up.

It was the last time you saw him under the pretence of amicability, when you came by Tannyhill to drop off presents and see his family. Mostly him. It felt pathetic, even then; for all you knew, Elle was on his mind and you were somewhere insignificant.

Rafe’s pretty sure he’s fucking doomed.

Your laugh reverberates through Tannyhill like a siren song, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never not recognise the sound of it. It’s as though every bone in his body vibrates in tune to it—so unabashed, so freeing. Far more painful now than it used to be.

You’ve become so many Taylor Swift songs and none of them end happy.

He follows your sweet timbre to the hallway before he can help himself. Once upon a time—God, it feels so long ago now—he’d have been the first person you’d have texted before dropping by the house. Instead, as he stands paralysed at the foot of the stairs, it’s Sarah who’s hugging you, who gets to hold you in her arms.

Luckily for him, your eyes are closed in the embrace, and he’s afforded a second to recalibrate after taking you in. He’s known that you’re beautiful like his first memory on Earth, but that doesn’t mean your proximity leaves him any less winded. You’re fresh-faced with limbs that have an untouchable quality to them; you aren’t his to mark anymore, no longer his to ruin.

He can’t remember the last time he kissed you. He wants to remember so fucking bad. You’re slipping through his calloused fingers and fragments of you are all he has.

“You didn’t have to get us anything!” Sarah exclaims, pulling away faux-disprovingly.

“Hey, don’t do that, of course I did.” Your arms fall back to your side, and you open your eyes in tandem. When they flit past Sarah’s face and find Rafe’s instead, it feels as though someone has tipped ice-cold water down your singlet. A pause. “You’re family.”

Sarah notes the change in your tone with a frown, turning to look over her shoulder. “Oh,” she says, her expression hardening. “Sorry, Y/N/N. I didn’t know he was home.”

You swallow. “It’s no big,” you reply, forcing yourself to look back at her. “We’re alright, really. But I should go, I have a few more presents to drop off.”

Sarah frowns harder. “You sure you don’t want to stay a bit? I know Rose’d love to see you, we’ve all really missed having you around —”

“I’m sure,” you interrupt, handing her the bag of presents you’ve wrapped. “I’ll send her a text, okay? And listen,” you pause, your expression softening a little, “I know this holiday season’s going to be hard without your dad, and I want you to know that I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”

Sarah’s eyes well with tears. “It’s going to be hard without you too, Y/N,” she murmurs. “You’re my sister.”

Your features sadden in tandem, and you give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And I always will be. You know that.”

“You should come to Christmas, then,” she says hopefully.

“I —” you falter as your voice cracks, grimacing slightly, “— I’m sorry. I don’t think I can.”

When you turn around, something in Rafe’s chest cracks too. He’s still hanging on to that expression-softening catalyst from a moment prior, yearning hard for the feeling of being on the receiving end of your love.

“Why the fuck,” Sarah fumes, rounding on him once you’re out of earshot, “do you have to ruin everything you touch?”

Rafe doesn’t even have it in him to wince. “I don’t know,” he responds quietly, with an honesty that aches. “If I did, maybe I’d have found a way to fix it.”

Sarah takes pause. Slight disbelief transforms her features. “You have to still love her. How can’t you?”

“I don’t know, alright?” Rafe runs his hand through his hair slovenly. “I just — I’m not happy anymore. It’s not fucking there… I don’t know if it’ll ever come back.”

“What isn’t?”

“The… the spark.”

“Bullshit,” Sarah spits out, accusatory. “The ‘spark’ is fucking bullshit, Rafe. You’re telling me you’ve felt it the entire time you’ve known her? You’re telling me this doesn’t have anything to do with dad’s death?”

Rafe swallows thickly, discomfort coating his throat. “I don’t, alright? All I know is I can’t give her what she needs right now; I don’t know if I ever will.”

To this day, he doesn’t know about your detour that evening — how instead of driving home, you took a left to the look-out where you shared your first kiss. He doesn’t know that the waves crashing ashore bore witness to your heartbreak; that sunset orange painted your tear-streaked cheeks a gentler amber. Caressed them, subdued them, where he no longer could. He doesn’t know you agonised over how much his hair had grown in your absence, the subtle stubble on his jaw, the stark outline of his biceps.

The him that’s foreign to you, now; the him that’s Elle’s and not yours.

At twenty-four years old, Rafe Cameron doesn’t know fucking anything.

Of course, once he does eventually recognise that his ‘something there’ with Elle is a rebound, it’s too late to entertain returning to you with his tail between his legs.

He can’t. Not after everything he’s put you through in the past. So he allows regret to caulk his limbs and bitterness to coat his insides, and Rafe Cameron does what he does best — pushes it down and ignores it.

Which brings him here, a non-attendee to his best friend’s wedding and an hour late to his reception.

He sidles into the venue through a pair of double doors, and the first thing he notices is the dimmed sconces and muted fairy lights. It’s the first thing, because perplexingly, the crowd is hard to discern but you glow anyway. A spotlight illuminates the centre of the room where Brooklyn and Kelce share their first dance, but they don’t draw his gaze, your beautiful features do.

Of course you do, in your strappy cowl neck slip. There’s less periwinkle fabric than he’d anticipated, more exposed limbs, and Rafe feels like he’s run a fucking marathon as he takes you in. And your pretty eyes and glossy lips cascade into a bare neck; soft skin that’s forgotten his rough touch, his bruising kisses.

It’s momentary lust that his regret promptly squashes. He can’t think those thoughts about you anymore, even if they’re almost second nature. Even if he’s spent more tangible years of his life as your boyfriend than he has a fucking stranger.

That’s what you guys are meant to be right now: strangers. His stomach coils. His tired eyes search for the open bar on instinct.

Once he’s acquired a whiskey neat and a glass of champagne, he pulls through the crowd and makes toward your figure.

You aren’t as lucky as he is to mentally prepare for a reunion. When he holds out the shimmering flute and prompts your gaze toward him, there’s a split-second of slack-jawed diffidence before you find your common sense.

God, you wish he wasn’t so easy to stare at.

He’s wearing an expression that isn’t yours anymore, with his thick brows furrowed and lips slightly parted. Yearning, but he can’t be. His blue eyes make your heart leap. Your gaze lifts before it falls, taking in his damp hair, his larger than ever frame. Both feel unfamiliar; he’s shed the skin and aureate curls your fingers once traced. Same notes of patchouli on his neck, though you note the absence of the silver chain you once bought him for Christmas.

Does he still have it, somewhere, hidden in a shoebox under his bed? (His hand is so close to your chest, it feels like you’re dying.) Is it as painful for him to see you like this after months and months of no contact?

Can’t be. Shouldn’t be. The ache may linger, agonisingly, but you’re stronger now than you were when he first ended things.

“Oh,” is all you can muster, accepting the flute of champagne. When your fingers brush, you reprimand the jolt of static. Lust may be hard to shake, but you resolve to let logic prevail. “Thanks.”

Rafe feels it too, harder, more unbearable. “Don’t mention it.”

You break eye contact to look out into the crowd, though it’s a struggle finding anything to focus on. “When’d you arrive?”

“Five minutes ago,” he admits, staring at your side profile for a second longer than he probably should. He analyses the glittery stuff on your cheekbones—highlighter?—for traces of a familiar feeling. “Work shit.”

“Ah,” you reply, raising your eyebrows at him. “Some things never change, huh?”

Rafe winces. “Look, Y/N, I —”

“I’m kidding, Rafe, relax,” you interrupt, sending him a small smile. It makes his stomach turn. “It’s all going well, I hope?”

“It is, yeah,” he responds, smiling in tandem. “Ish. Still doing a fuck tonne of late nights and weekends.”

“Bummer.” It feels strange, making small talk in this way. Strange, though not particularly as awful as you’d predicted. “How’re Rose and your sisters?”

“Yeah, they’re good,” they miss you, “Sarah’s going to UCLA in the fall.”

You nod. “She told me.”

Something in Rafe’s chest drops. He turns to you, his piercing gaze making your skin burn. “I didn’t realise you guys kept in touch.”

“We’ve always been really close. You know that.”

Because of me. “Right.” His eyes fall to your throat as you take another pull of champagne, smooth and unblemished and painfully foreign. “I’m glad.”

You turn to him then, an unreadable expression on your face. “Me too.”

A beat. The pair of you stare at each as the surroundings buzz into static.

“Listen, Rafe, I —”

“Y/N, I’ve been —”

You falter first, scrunching up your face abashedly. “Sorry. You go.”

“I…” Rafe pauses, running his calloused palm through his hair, “I guess I just want to apologise. For everything.”

Your eyes widen, and you turn away from him abruptly. “Rafe, I don’t know if now is the best time to have this conversation.”

“Shit, I know. I know I’m about five months too late and don’t deserve to be heard out.”

“Well,” you pause, chewing on your bottom lip apprehensively. Your voice quietens. “Maybe not at a wedding.”

Or ever. You tip back the rest of your champagne just as the slow dance fades out, breaking away from him. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Rafe fucking hopes so. He needs a clean slate if it’ll kill him. He nods reluctantly, watching you disappear into the crowd in front of him. The ache in his chest crescendos as the physical distance swallows you completely.

—

“We love you,” Brooklyn mouthes, blowing you a kiss through the open window. The limousine she’s in stretches forward with jet-black grandiosity, its ignition blaring alive as you catch it in mid-air.

When you blow one back, Kelce peeks over her shoulder and sends you a wink. The pair of them wave to the wedding-goers surrounding you before the vehicle pulls forward, leaving you in its dust. You watch them exit the Island Club gates, and a sense of bittersweet melancholia finds home in your chest.

That should’ve been you. You turn around as the crowd begins to disperse and find yourself face to face with Rafe once again.

“Oh,” you say, looking up at him in surprise. When your expression relaxes—in recognition—his chest pulls in tandem. “They’re sweet, huh?”

Us; that should’ve been us. Rafe nods, smiling wistfully. “Can you believe you’re the one that set them up?”

“At your holiday house,” you return, smiling in tandem. “This was a two-person wing man job.”

“Nah. You were the one that saw their potential.” A pause. “You’ve always been really good at that.”

Your brow furrows. “At setting people up?”

“At seeing their potential,” Rafe corrects. An unreadable emotion crosses his blue irises. “Even when they don’t deserve it.”

Your expression falters. You aren’t sure what to say to this, so you don’t say anything at all.

“Listen,” Rafe tries again, scratching the back of his neck, “d’you need a ride?”

“Well…”

You hesitate, looking over his shoulder for your parents. When you spot them, they’re in avid conversation with some family friends; they look extremely comfortable, like they’re going to be dawdling until God knows when.

You’re searching for justification even though he doesn’t deserve it. After all the pain he’s caused you, your wretched heart still yearns for more.

Fucking sadist.

“Actually, yeah,” you finish after a beat, bringing your gaze back to him. “That’d be great, thank you.”

His shoulders relax. “Yeah, of course. You have all your things?”

“Uh huh.”

“This way.”

You allow him to guide you to his pick-up trunk, pretend that you didn’t discern it right away. Besides, you were meant to have forgotten the location of his unofficial ‘official’ parking spot. So you follow him toward it, deny the familiarity of its number plate, and act like every dent and wretched scratch isn’t a piece of your heart.

“Shit—ow!” You curse, hurtling forward as you stall, again. “This is fucking impossible, Rafe. I quit.”

Rafe grins perplexedly, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Baby,” he placates, “if Top can learn to drive manual, anyone can.”

You make a frustrated noise, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not me, clearly.”

Rafe lets out a laugh, unbuckling your seatbelt so he can pull you into his lap. “C’mere.”

When he does so—with entirely too much ease—he pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb so he can guide your lips against his. It’s an unhurried kiss, a sure press of emotion, as though he’s rousing the embers that live within your ribcage.

He has this funny way of leaving you out of breath no matter how chaste the embrace. You break away reluctantly, raising your eyebrows at him. “So is this the reward system you used when you were teaching him to drive, hot-shot?”

Rafe makes a face, dipping his head to sponge a kiss to your neck. “Why? You jealous?”

“Never,” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “You wouldn’t dream of leaving me for someone else, Rafe Cameron. The Figure Eight wouldn’t forgive you if you did.”

“I wouldn’t forgive myself if I did.” Another teeth-scraping kiss. “I’d be crazy to let you go. I’ve been in love with you since we were freshman.”

He doesn’t open the passenger’s side door for you after unlocking his pick-up truck. That isn’t his place anymore.

He wants to, anyway. You want him to, badly. This revelation passes unsaid between the two of you as you climb into the seat yourself, unscathed by chivalry.

Once you’re buckled in, your gaze lifts to the new air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. “Huh,” you say, flicking it absently, “you replaced it.”

He wants to say, you left me no choice. He wants to say, old spice smells like you. “Oh yeah,” he replies instead, clearing his throat. “Rose got me it.”

“It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

He shifts into reverse and backs out of the park, and there’s a split second where he almost places his hand on your headrest. He can’t do that anymore. Too close; not close enough. You notice it too. An ache passes from his heart to yours.

“Are you going to take any time off over summer break?” You ask, keeping your gaze on the road ahead.

Rafe pulls out onto the main road before turning to you and responding, “I wasn’t planning on it, but I think I might need some.”

“I think you might need some too,” you agree, sending him a fleeting smile. “Bahamas?”

You don’t expect the tears in his eyes that follow. You straighten abruptly, your eyebrows pulling together. “Sorry, I didn’t mean —”

“No—shit, I just—” he falters as his voice cracks, clearing his throat again, “I don’t think I could go back there any time soon. Too many memories.”

Your expression softens. “Your dad, of course. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes in a jagged breath. “Shit, I’m the one that should be apologising. For everything.”

“Rafe —”

“No, listen…”

He pauses as he turns left onto your street, pulling onto the side of the road as soon as he can. He’s still a good mile away from your house, but it feels an injustice to keep you waiting for an explanation. When he turns and angles his body toward you, there’s a brokenness on his face that makes your miserable heart falter.

“I’m… I’m so sorry for everything I put you through after I broke up with you. Even if that was what I needed at the time, even if it was the right decision, I shouldn’t have been so fucking heartless and I regret not reaching out to you more often.”

You swallow thickly. He takes your silence as encouragement to keep going.

“You deserved better than the way I treated you… you’ve always deserved better than me. I didn’t know how to deal with all of my grief and I pushed you away in the process. It was… fuck, it was so selfish of me, and I’m sorry. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hate myself for it.”

He’s taken all of the oxygen in the car, and you find yourself struggling for air. You turn to him, every drunken rationalisation manifest. “Thank you,” you whisper, “for saying that.”

“And listen, the Elle thing —”

Too much. “Rafe,” you interrupt, swallowing again. “Stop. It’s fine. I accept your apology.”

Rafe frowns, the furrow in his brow painfully evident. “Yeah? Because… because I’d understand if you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” you affirm, turning away from him. “Besides, it’s ancient history. I forgave you a long time ago in my head.”

“You did?” Rafe’s asks, searching your features in earnest. “Why?”

The champagne you’ve consumed swirls uncomfortably in your stomach. “I had to,” you say quietly. “It was the only way I was going to be able to move on from the situation.”

Rafe’s stomach drops. “Which you have.”

“Which I have.”

The smokescreen between you smothers any semblance of hope you might’ve shared. He nods, turning on the ignition once again. “I hope that means you’re happy, Y/N.”

“It does,” you reply, “I am.”

“Good.” It doesn’t feel good at all. “Maybe this means we can be friends.”

You turn to him again, raising your eyebrows. “Friends?”

“Like we were before,” he affirms, putting the car into drive. His fingers brush the bare skin of your thigh near the gearshift. A very unfriend-like jolt of static shoots into your chest. “I… I don’t know. Sometimes I think I just miss my best friend.”

Your heart sighs. “Me too.”

“Friends then.”

“Yeah,” you reply, sending him a small smile. “Friends.”

—

You haven’t been to Shake Shack since you broke up with Rafe. You didn’t even realise you’d evaded it so long; perhaps it was a subconscious thing, too many painful memories to bear.

You remember when it first opened up in the Banks, this egalitarian refuge nestled between the Cut and Figure Eight.

Rafe Cameron remembers too, remembers bringing you here on your very first date. Roguish at fourteen with endless charm and a handsome face, he had far less creases etched onto his forehead then; far less familial expectations to deal with.

If only you knew he’s evaded it too. When he pulls into the carpark, the aforementioned date comes forth in fragments.

When memories lie dormant so long in one’s head, they tend to lose the stitches that hold them together. Nervousness, excitement, cherry coke and a lilac singlet. The strange feeling of forever before either of you could place it. He doesn’t remember any of your conversation, nor how long the date lasted, but he remembers the cloudless sky, the flutter of new love in his stomach.

The pair of you share a look before exiting his pick-up truck. A look that says: uh oh, and insinuates far more than that.

“So how’s work going, anyway?” Rafe asks, shoving his hands into his front pockets. He’s a beat behind you head toward the entrance, and you can feel your neck burn where his eyes remained trained on you.

“Yeah, alright, same old,” you say, sending him a fleeting smile over your shoulder. His blue irises are dappled golden in sunlight, and their brilliance unsteadies you, the eye-contact like a firestarter. You clear your throat. “Sam quit.”

Rafe’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding,” you shake your head, “he ended things with Peyton and booked a Contiki in South East Asia.”

“Shiiiiiit,” Rafe wolf whistles, shaking his head in tandem. “Is he going through some kind of quarter life crisis?”

You shrug. “Who would let someone like Peyton go, huh?”

Rafe resists the urge to wince. He can think of one person in particular who threw away something far more special. He clears his throat significantly, regret like molasses coating the sides of his windpipe. “Yeah. How’s she doing with it all?”

“Oh you know Peyton, she’s the queen of acting unbothered,” you reply, sounding reproachful. “Even when she’s heartbroken, she refuses to tell me about it.”

Rafe frowns. “Fuck that.”

“Yeah?” You send him a wayward glance, raising your eyebrows knowingly. “Cause to me, it sounds like someone else I used to know.”

There’s a pause as he meets your gaze, a frightening wistfulness passing between you. It lingers.

“Right.” You’re at the entrance to Shake Shack now, and Rafe grapples for purchase on the one thing he can control—friends. He pulls open the door and beckons you forward, “So. Is today the day you branch out and order something new, Y/N?”

When you pass by him, a tendril-like brush of shoulder on chest, the buttery scent of your vanilla perfume lingers. A lot about you does, a lot more than he’d care to admit.

Rafe’s wretched heart cycles between the old and new you like it’s trying to make them both fit within its chambers.

“Don’t think I have a choice,” you reply, sending him a smile over your shoulder. “They’ve completely revamped their menu since the last time we were here.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows at you. “They have?” You checked?

“Uh huh,” you reply, nodding. “I was going to make a reservation here for our anniversary way back when.” You clear your throat. “When I went on their website to do so, I realised that their menu was totally different.”

You leave out the part where you’d stopped by soon after, asked—no, begged—the manager to serve you the originals when you came. You know, when old time’s sake was a sacred concept. When that sweet, lovesick version of you still existed.

“Oh shit,” Rafe says. Though it’s subtle, he catches the smidge of diffidence in your voice, like the ghost of relationship’s past rearing its ugly head. You checked, for him, and you’re so nonchalant about it. Like it may have mattered then, but right now it matters far less.

He feels an awful twinge in his chest. He adds, “That sucks.” He isn’t sure whether he’s referring to the change in menu or the change in your heart’s purpose.

“I know.”

“I was looking forward to ordering the usual.”

“Me too.” You shrug. “We’re just going to have to find a new usual, I guess.”

What you mean is, make new memories that’ll replace the old ones. What you mean is, erase the nostalgia being here brings.

Also, though you’d never willingly admit it, start anew.

Rafe nods, stepping forward and glancing up at the menu. Though it’s different to the one he remembers from his youth, the interior of the diner is comfortingly familiar — same ugly yellow track lights, same checkered linoleum underfoot. Same fingerprint-smudged counter and broken drinks machine, same uniform on the workers, same greasy smell permeating.

And the same booth you were partial to nestled in one corner, it’s retro cushion covers faded as ever.

The menu, and the girl beside him. The only two things that feel different.

“Hm.” You frown, deliberating over the menu. “I’m thinking the ‘classic’. You want to split some curly fries?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, his blue eyes full of mirth. “So the one that’s exactly your old order, minus the pickles. Got it.”

“Yes,” you decide. “Except I’ll ask them to add pickles.”

“Of course you will.” Rafe grins. “I’ll get the same.”

You gasp, faux-scandalised. “Rafe Cameron eating pickles? Now I’ve seen everything.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “How d’you know I’m not just ordering it to pawn ‘em off to you?”

You balk. “I don’t, I guess.”

“And yes, to the curly fries,” he adds, quick to change the subject. The bashfulness on your features dissipates, but the tension in the room weighs ever-present.

You nod, sliding your wallet out of your back-pocket. “Should we just split the bill, then?”

“No way,” Rafe says, clasping your wrist to hold it in place. Your pulse feels funny. “I got it.”

“Rafe.” You frown, shaking your head. “Look, it really isn’t a big deal —”

It is to me. “Exactly,” he interrupts. “Which is why I got it.”

Maybe you should argue some more, insist on paying until he gives in. But you don’t. Between the pulse-jolting closeness and mocking sense of nostalgia, you aren’t sure you have it in you to retaliate.

Though in an act of rebellion, you avoid your usual booth. Once you’re seated at a new table and separated by your burgers, you re-enter this stupid friendship thing you’ve adopted. The one that boasts no-strings like the red one isn’t obvious.

“So,” you say, popping a curly fry in your mouth. “You remember Maya, right?”

Rafe makes a face. “That psycho roommate you had in senior year? Yeah, pretty hard to forget.”

“Well, she hit me up a month ago to let me know she’d be in the Banks to see her boyfriend.” At his audible gasp, you nod significantly. “I know. Asked if I wanted to catch up while she was here.”

Rafe wolf whistles in amusement. “No fucking way. After the Hell she put you through?”

“I fucking know,” you reply, grimacing in disdain.

Rafe raises his eyebrows, swallowing down a handful of curly fries. “Tell me you said no.”

You raise yours in tandem. “What do you think, casanova?”

“Y/N!” He groans, shaking his head. “Why do you put yourself through this shit?”

You frown, reaching for your soda and sipping stubbornly. Condensation rolls down your palm, the soft skin shining. “C’mon! It was useful, I swear. I got the intel on Maya and her mystery OBX man.”

Rafe leans forward in interest, taking a pull of his soda too. “Go on then.”

“God, I’ve been sitting on this information for ages,” you say, your pretty eyes full of excitement. Rafe’s heart leaps. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but we weren’t talking and you were avoiding me and I didn’t know whether I should break no contact.”

It deflates just as quickly, sinking into his stomach like deadweight. “I wasn’t… I don’t know, I thought it’d be best if I kept my distance.” He sighs, sitting back and raking his fingers through his hair. “Clearly that was a mistake. I haven’t been this relaxed in fucking ages.”

You smile small. “Yeah. This is nice.”

“Nice.”

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, this sticky, molasses-like something rising from your chest, “it’s Dylan. Like Dylan fucking Young that had a crush on me in freshman year.”

“Fuck off, seriously?” Rafe replies, mirth evident on his features. “Not kidding, think it’d be grounds for a restraining order if she ever found that out.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, raising your eyebrows significantly. “You promise to take this to your grave, Cameron?”

Rafe nods, faux-somber, extending his pinky toward you. “He won’t hear it from me, Y/L/N.”

When your fingers entwine, you wonder whether he feels it too. It’s a jolt of static that leaves your skin warm and your insides funny, and you wonder whether the effect it has on you is endearing or pathetic.

The latter, you conclude. The red string of fate disagrees.

“Good,” you say, retrieving your hand. “Oh, and,” you take a generous bite of your burger, “did you hear that Taylor’s moving to Texas?”

“I did, actually,” Rafe replies. “From Top, funnily enough.”

You frown. “He’s still pining, huh?”

“Unfortunately.” He pulls apart his burger to pick out the green pickles, placing them onto your plate before re-assembling. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. In the offensive, fluorescent lighting, they shine up at you in mocking. “Anyway, I should probably learn to get used to it. I’m moving into Kelce’s room now that he’s happily wed.”

Your jaw slackens in surprise. “You’re moving in with Topper?”

Rafe grins. “I know. Who would’ve thought, huh?”

“But,” you pause, popping another curly fry into your mouth, “why?”

“Needed to get out of Tannyhill, I guess.” He falters, swallowing down the bile-like rise of emotion from his chest. “Too many memories.”

Your expression softens. “That makes sense.”

“Besides, Sarah’s starting college soon, and Wheeze’s off at boarding school for the majority of the year anyway.” He shrugs. “And Rose… well, she’s at the Bahamas house more than she is in the OBX.”

“Too many memories,” you repeat, frowning sadly.

“Yeah. I guess.”

There’s silence then, the comfortable kind. An emotion passes between you that feels both familiar and new at the same time.

It matters less when you finally finish, what you speak about, whether you’ll meet again. All you know is, something feels different now, as though there’s embers that this reunion has reignited in your ribcage. Dormant though they had once been, you’d always hoped that the renewed hope would set them aflame.

The next day, you wake up to a text from Rafe.

thank you for yesterday. It was really nice.

You don’t have it in you to reply; Rafe doesn’t mind. He knows you feel the same way.

—

It’s a few weeks before you see him again, at a farewell party for Brooklyn and Kelce.

Prior to embarking on their honeymoon, they were shifting their lives to Chicago; laying down the foundations of stability so they could return to a clean slate.

It upsets you to no end. You’d always assumed that her marriage to Kelce would guarantee that she settles down in the Banks.

Rafe Cameron must remember this, the way he does everything else. He hands you a beer and clinks his own against it, beads of condensation sliding over his calloused hand.

“Huh,” he murmurs, shaking his head in faux-disappoint, “so much for staying here and ruling the Eight with an iron fist.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, taking a generous pull of beer. Rafe’s gaze falls to the bare column of your throat, and he temporarily loses his bearings. “Does loyalty mean absolutely nothing around here?”

Rafe grins appreciatively. “They’re bound to come back, you know.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” Rafe pauses, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “we were all cursed by the hometown witch when we were babies.”

You let out a peal of laughter. “Is that why I came back here after college?”

It isn’t lost on you that Rafe is standing far closer to you than he should. His spicy, cedar-wood cologne presses over your figure in waves. He bows his head to eye level, still grinning his mirth, “It’s why we all did. It’s also why they aren’t going to last more than a year in Chicago, I’m calling it now.”

“Who isn’t going to last more than a year in Chicago?” Comes Brooklyn’s voice from behind him, pulling the pair of you from your reverie.

He breaks away and turns to find her standing behind him, her eyebrows raised accusatorially at your closeness.

You smile guiltily at her, raising your arms in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t deny it either!” Brooklyn reproaches, faux-scandalised. She sends Rafe a playful glare, reaching for your arm and pulling you away. “I’m rescuing her from your bad influence, Cameron.”

Rafe nods sagely, taking a sip of his beer. “I think that’s wise, Astor—” he balks, shaking his head, “—sorry, Smith. Shit, Brooklyn Smith, huh? Guess I can’t do that last name thing ‘round here anymore, can I?”

“Not with us,” she replies, turning the pair of you around. She sends you the ghost of a wink before adding, “Y/N’s fair game, though. You know she’d rather die than take a guy’s last name.”

Something in Rafe’s chest deflates. “Yeah?”

You frown at him over your shoulder, mildly bewildered. “You knew that, Cameron.”

Maybe I thought I was different. “True.” He raises his beer bottle in acknowledgement. “Besides, Y/L/N suits you too much.”

Not as much as Cameron would have, once upon a time. You nod approvingly, the twinge in your heart conveying the exact opposite. “Doesn’t it just?”

Brooklyn steers you to the kitchen under the pretence of grabbing a drink, her true intentions becoming obvious when Kelce pivots into earshot on his barstool.

“So?” She prods, rounding on you once you’ve halted. “What’s the deal?”

“Deal?” You echo, feigning confusion. “What deal?”

“Don’t do that,” she replies, narrowing her eyes accusatorially. “Are you guys seeing each other again?”

You swallow. Your gaze darts to a helpless-looking Kelce. “Why? Has he said something?”

“That’s the thing,” Kelce mutters, shaking his head thoughtfully. “He hasn’t. But he’s… different.”

You frown. “Different how?”

“I don’t know… chiller. Happier. Like he was before Ward passed away.”

“Of course he is,” Brooklyn snorts, not buying it for a second. “He’s finally being absolved of all his guilt!”

“Brooklyn…” you sigh.

“What? It’s true!” She asserts, crossing her arms across her chest. “He’s… listen, Y/N, whatever you think this is, you need to snap out of it. He’s proved time and time again that he doesn’t have the emotional capability to deal with his shit, and you’ve been made collateral too many times to forgive him this quick.”

“Quick?” Your chest feels on fire. Isn’t seven months of torture enough exoneration?

“C’mon baby, you’ve gotta cut him some slack,” Kelce assuages, gentle but firm. “He fucked up, sure, but he also lost his dad, remember?”

“Grieving or not, he shouldn’t have pushed her away.”

“Granted, but we’ll never know exactly how he was feeling —”

“We shouldn’t have to, you just don’t do that to someone you love —”

“I’m still here, you know,” you interrupt quietly, frowning. “That someone that Rafe doesn’t love.”

A pause. Its silence that’s distilled in the overhead lighting, the scene beneath it awash in dim regret.

Brooklyn’s features are softer when she breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just… I worry about you.”

You know she does; it isn’t her fault. She’s the one that slept over for four weeks straight post break-up, forced food down your throat and wiped away all your tears.

“Don’t apologise, Brooke, I get it,” you say, sending her a small smile. “But I’m fine, I promise. This isn’t even… this feels different.”

“Different how?”

“Like… you know that saying: ‘You’ll never find the same person twice, not even in the same person’? That’s how this feels. We haven’t fallen back into old habits.”

Brooklyn regards this for a moment, surveying your features carefully. “But you’ve been hanging out?”

“Only once,” you reply honestly. “Sent a few texts back and forth, that’s all. If… if anything were to happen, it’d be like a new relationship, not like restarting the old one. You know?”

“I do.”

Kelce smiles. “That’s… shit, that makes sense.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice. “That’s why I couldn’t figure out what it reminds me of, this different him that’s chilled and happy.”

You furrow your brow. “Hm?”

“It’s freshman year him all over again,” he explains. “You know… when the two of you got close the first time ‘round.”

“Oh.” Your heart soars. “Square one, huh?”

Kelce shrugs, sharing a meaningful look with Brooklyn. “Square one I guess.”

You’re about to respond when Rafe’s figure pulls your gaze, his crossed arms and broad shoulders blocking the kitchen entrance. He’s wearing a handsome expression and his hair is perfectly unkempt, the heady scent of his cologne juxtaposing his lack of proximity.

Sometimes, life is unfair. Your ex-boyfriend, now new friend, eliciting such un-platonic thoughts is one of those instances.

And it isn’t as though you’ve given Rafe much of a break, his blue eyes caught on your figure like a moth to a flame. You aren’t wearing a dress he recognises, which is both a delightful and agonising revelation.

Delightful, because it reveals bare expanses of skin that make his wretched hands itch in longing. Agonising, because it’s a reminder of the seven long months that he’s had to spend grappling with your absence.

Having a smile as pretty as yours is extremely unfair, all things considered. And eyes. Soft skin. He needs to stop staring before he does something stupid.

“Perfect,” he announces brusquely, “are we hosting our intervention now?”

He looks at you expectantly. You raise your eyebrows. “You know,” he adds, “the one where we beg them to stay in the Banks?”

“Hey!” Brooklyn exclaims, her green eyes full of mirth. “What d’you mean stay in the Banks? Newsflash, I’m not even from here.”

“You’re not from Chicago either, Ast-Smithy,” he returns significantly, sending her a meaningful glance. “Besides, you married into a Figure Eight family. You are very officially one of us now.”

“Not for long!” Brooklyn sings, sending you a wink.

“C’mon, Smith,” Rafe tries, turning to Kelce and feigning disappointment. “What happened to our sacred pact?”

“We were eight, Cameron.”

“And already privy to the tragedy of small-town life,” Rafe sighs faux-dramatically, nodding in agreement. “I’m bitter, alright? I thought I’d be the first one to get out of here.”

He glances over at you fleetingly as he says this. We’d be the first ones, his heart corrects in vain.

“As if,” you scoff, raising your eyebrows. “Mr Cameron fucking Development leave this place before me? No chance.”

Rafe grins roguishly, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “You’re all talk, Y/L/N. We both know it.” He sends Kelce and Brooklyn a meaningful glance. “We all are.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going to be here all fucking night if we keep arguing about this,” Brooklyn decides, patting Kelce’s thigh to prompt him to stand. “C’mon, baby, we should probably get back to mingling.”

“You know,” she adds, narrowing her eyes playfully. “‘Cause it’s the last time we’ll see some of these people.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head bemusedly. Any retaliation on Rafe’s tongue fails at the timbre of it.

Once they’re out of sight, you turn to him, adopting a faux-somber look. “If we are truly doomed to a life in the Eight, will you promise me something?”

He’s still grappling with the fact that he’s a man starved of your beautiful laugh, now reborn. “Go on.”

“Should you find me yelling at Island Club employees about flower arrangements or charcuterie boards, shoot me.”

Rafe laughs, and it reverberates through your bones warmly. “And suffer alone? No way. I’ll meet you in the middle. Lobotomy?”

“No thoughts in my brain? So generous,” you tease. “Alright. It’s a deal.”

Rafe clinks his beer bottle against yours in confirmation, taking a generous pull of the bubbly liquid. “Can we trade promises?” He asks.

You take a sip in tandem, maintaining eye contact as you do so. There’s tension in the air, that familiar-new feeling manifest, and it’s no longer frightening, but rather a comforting embrace.

You marvel in it. Breaking free feels fruitless. “Yes.”

“If you make a plan to settle elsewhere, will you tell me?”

“Of course I will.” A pause. “Although, I think you’re right. I don’t think any of us are truly capable of leaving permanently.”

“If anyone is though, it’s you,” he says, so matter-of-factly, like he actually believes it. “I mean… you’re the only one who had the balls to go to a college out of state. The rest of us just accepted a cushy offer at UNC.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you dismiss. “I was back here so often I barely left.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Only because you had a reason to come back.” You still do, if you’ll take me.

I still do, if you’ll take me. “True.” You frown, thinking on this for a moment. “Even so… I don’t know. Maybe it’s that hometown curse talking, but I wouldn’t want to raise my kids anywhere else in the States.”

Rafe’s gaze steadies, pulsing through you in waves. “I get that. We had a pretty sweet childhood, all things considered.”

You make a face. “Like, I don’t think I can deal with this iPad kid epidemic. Least we were sheltered from all that crap, you know?”

“Yeah,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows significantly. “Even if there were plenty of other things to jade us with.”

“Shit, I know,” you respond, laughing bemusedly. “See, only people from the Eight know how political beach clean ups can get.”

Rafe chuckles in tandem, taking another sip of his beer. “God, our lives are fucking ridiculous.”

You raise your bottle in agreement. A comfortable silence falls between you.

After pause, Rafe speaks up again. “You know,” he says quietly, an unnameable emotion flickering across his blue irises. “I don’t even think it’s everyone in the Eight.”

You balk. “Hm?”

“The whole, knowing each other thing,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’ve always understood me better than anyone else.”

Your traitorous heart leaps, and you force yourself to ignore it. Actions have always spoken louder than words, and you decide now’s as good a time as any to confront him about this.

It’s time to be brave, you decide. You say, “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“Elle.”

Rafe’s miserable heart falters, penitence like a lump in his throat. He’s been preparing for this accusation since your very first reunion, but it still doesn’t feel like enough; he’s a coward trembling at the frontlines, anyway.

“I’ve… we’ve… my therapist and I have talked about that situation at length.”

You eyes widen in surprise. “Your therapist?”

“I’ve been going to therapy, yeah,” Rafe replies, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “For a month or so now, every week without fail.”

It isn’t lost on you that Brooklyn and Kelce’s wedding was a month ago. The rift in your ribcage widens.

“Has it been helping?” You ask.

“A bit,” Rafe admits. “Mostly just to validate what I knew all along, I guess.” At your silence, he continues, “That… shit, that I’ve got this problem where I push people away when I need them the most. The Elle thing, there’s no fucking excuse for it, none, but it became pretty obvious after you confronted me that she was just a rebound.”

“A rebound,” you echo.

“A distraction, an escape… I don’t know.” He rakes his fingers through his hair slovenly. “All I know is, I didn’t care about her, so I didn’t have to push her away. She didn’t make me talk about my dad, my grief, anything, so she was easy enough company to have around when I felt like it.”

“Oh.” You swallow. “But I did.”

“But you did,” Rafe affirms, grimacing sheepishly. “Shit, all you fucking did was care about me and all I did was push you away.”

You try to be pragmatic. “Grief makes people do shitty things.”

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve it.”

“True.” A pause. Your gaze falls over Rafe’s face in paces, his haggard expression making you soften. “Listen. I’m glad you’re going to therapy, seriously. I know that’s a pretty big step for you to take.”

For you. “Thank you,” he replies quietly. “It… I just wish I’d listened to you the first time, you know? When you’d told me to go to therapy before I’d ended things.”

Your throat feels funny. “No use living in the past.”

“You’re right,” Rafe replies. A pause. The ghost of a smile flickers over his features. “What did I ever do to deserve your forgiveness?”

You smile in tandem, a little rueful. “Maybe you were a martyr in your past life, Cameron.”

“And you’re one in this one,” Rafe responds. “You know, after I lobotomise you over flower arrangements and charcuterie boards. Does that count as a full circle moment?”

You grin. “Not when you live on the Eight. Infinity sign, baby.”

It slips out before you can stop yourself, the ghost of pet-names past pushing Rafe’s pulse to fibrillation. Your eyes widen abashedly. “Should we rejoin the party?”

Rafe nods, “Probably,” and then, when you’re just out of earshot, “I’d do something stupid if we didn’t.”

—

Over the next few weeks, you begin to see more and more of one another.

A few texts back and forth become more than a few virtual trysts, and every spare moment you have is dedicated to being in each other’s presence.

And it isn’t as though you’re mending old love, this feels like something else altogether. Though old memories may flit through your brain on occasion, they are boundless and free — they don’t define this connection.

You’re starting anew. Rafe realises it too.

He still remembers how it felt to tell you he loved you the first time around, fourteen years old with a bashful smile and enough hope in his heart to ache. He still remembers what you were wearing the first time he drove you around; the first time you came to UNC to visit; the shade of lipgloss you worshipped from Sephora. And you remember it all too, the feeling of being in his pick-up, of being with this roguish, freshman boy that had so much charm your insides soared.

Going through it all again feels like receiving a new lease on life. How lucky are you to love a different person in the same man?

Currently, the pair of you are sprawled out on beach towels, velvet dusk revealing the bespangled sky stretching above you. Beside you, take-out boxes and sodas lie in the sand, discarded. Every now and then, his wrist brushes yours with a jolt of static.

You’re lying closer to each other than you should, his body heat pressing over you in paces. He’s pretty sure his clothes are going to smell like your soft-toned, vanilla perfume later, and he quietly delights in this.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You smile. “Shocker.”

He nudges your shoulder with his in faux-admonishment, turning his head toward you. It lingers; he’s closer. Your pulse feels boundless. “I’ve been thinking,” he repeats. “And I’ve realised something.”

You turn your head in tandem, his proximity making you balk. “What’s that, Cameron?”

“If we hadn’t broken up in the first place, I’d probably never have gone to therapy.”

A hush falls. “True.”

“And I’d never have worked through my emotional unavailability and all the problematic shit that comes with it.” He pauses, a heavy emotion making his blue eyes somber. “We’d have stayed together, but I’d never have become the man that you deserve.”

You swallow. “Is that what you are now?” You murmur, your voice unsure. “The man I deserve?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers quietly. “Don’t think I ever will be. But… but I’m working on it, properly this time. And getting to know you again, for real, has made me realise just how worth it this is.”

It’s too much. You make to turn away but Rafe’s hand stops you, gentle but firm on your face. His thumb swipes over your warm cheek in comforting circles, and you find yourself leaning into his touch inadvertently.

Uh oh, you’re falling in love. You sigh. “It feels inevitable, huh?”

“D’you believe in soulmates, Y/N?”

Your lashes flutter shut in response. Rafe inches closer still, his hand slipping down to your jaw, and when he kisses you, old embers create a new flame within your heart. It’s chaste, unsure, a second first kiss. And yet, though it’s soft, the press of his lips is a ravaging embrace.

“Do you, Rafe?” You return, opening your eyes tentatively.

His gaze is still trained on your pretty mouth, less iris than pupil as his yearning transcends everything else. He presses his thumb on your lower lip gently. “Only if it’s you.”

“I think I am,” you murmur.

Rafe smiles. Oh no, he’s falling in love again. “I think you are too.”

—

I thought the plane was going down / How’d you turn it right around?

#THIS WAS SO FUCKING BEAUTIFUL #i can't believe i didn't see this sooner i apologize #this was just perfect and everything #i love you and i love this #genuinely took my breath away #rafe rec #fav

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