#queue i am your father | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

boneblushed · 1 year ago

Text

Labyrinth

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

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

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

wc ~11k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t afford it anymore.

“I know,” you reply quietly.

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

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

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

“Believe what?”

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

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

“You shouldn’t have to, though!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were dead wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

It doesn’t make any sense.

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

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

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

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

“Because you don’t love me anymore.”

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

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

Thankfully, you aren’t able to spot him in the crowd; if you had, walking down the aisle would have been infinitely more difficult. Out of courtesy to you—and Brooke forcing his hand, of course—he hadn’t asked Rafe to be a groomsman either, so you were well safe from an untimely encounter at pre-wedding festivities. And from standing opposite him in front of the altar. You aren’t sure such close proximity in holy matrimony would be healthy for either of you.

It’s unfair on him though, you know it is. He has as much a right being best man as you do maid of honour — the four of you were thick as thieves once upon a time; in fact, it was you that’d introduced Kelce to Brooklyn.

It feels like so long ago when you think back on it now, being nineteen-years-old with a naïve heart and nothing to lose.

You and Rafe had seemed invincible then, high-school sweethearts that were somehow surviving college-borne distance. Forever, that’s the word that ended every drunk call or late night text; forever, and the promise of a proposal and beach-side villa.

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

Kelce enters the room tentatively, his hand firmly pressed over his eyes. “Hard to miss. You two decent or what?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You let out a peal of laughter as Rafe glowers at his roommate, his calloused palms dropping from your hips to your thighs. You push the fabric of your dress over his hands, but he kneads the flesh anyway, the skin on skin like spare oxygen.

Kelce peeks at you from between his fingers before pulling them away, an unimpressed look on his face. “C’mon, surely you’re done with her Cameron. I’ve given you guys the entire fucking day together.”

“Half an hour,” Rafe replies, his blue eyes narrowing.

“As if you need more than five minutes,” Kelce snorts, plopping down on the bed opposite Rafe’s.

“Oh fuck—” Rafe’s large hands circle your thighs and tighten, standing up and advancing toward Kelce with you in his arms, “—right off—”

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

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

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

Kelce makes a face, keeling over and mock-gagging. “Yeah, yeah, you guys have been bethrothed since fucking pre-K, I get it. Now will you stop being so possessive and let me have a conversation with her?”

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

“What’s up, Kelcey?” You ask, surveying him with interest.

“Ghosted,” he says gloomily, falling back against his duvet, “again.”

Rafe glances down at you at the same time you look up at him, a sage, sympathetic emotion passing between you. In the weeks after your break-up, you’ll come to yearn for this emotion more than anything else — that feeling of being immune to inadequacy, of having found the love of your life so effortlessly.

“You’ve gotta stop coming on so hard, bro,” Rafe says, resting his chin on your forehead. “These sorority chicks are probably all looking for something casual.”

“He can’t help the fact that he’s a lover boy, Rafe,” you defend, frowning. “You’ve just gotta find a girl that wants what you want, Kelce.”

Kelce raises his head hopefully. “Know anyone like that, Y/N/N?”

“Well,” you pause, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully, “I am thinking of inviting my roommate Brooklyn to the Bahamas over summer break —”

“To Rafe’s?” This piques Kelce’s interest. He props himself up onto his elbows, a hopeful grin transforming his features. “Sold.”

How times change.

Today, Kelce stands at the other end of the aisle, waiting for the same Brooklyn that was once your roommate, now his almost wife. He’s wearing an elegant black tuxedo with a lily tucked into the breast pocket, its buttery white petals shining in the sun. He looks so, unimaginably, happy. It should’ve been you and Rafe. Your heartstrings twinge.

“You’re not ready,” you murmur as you pass him on the altar, finding your place opposite his best man, Topper.

Kelce smiles at you, a little nervous, a little unshed. “Will I ever be?”

You shake your head, smiling in tandem.

The wedding procession is a brilliant display of love, and you find a way to make it about your lack thereof. Seconds blur, minutes melt into each other, and your poor mind strays to when things were far simpler. The Island Club was your date night spot, once upon a time. It’s where you’d envisioned you’d get proposed to; where you would get married one day, too. Just like this.

You’re happy for them, you swear it. It’s just a difficult emotion to maintain when the opposite comes so naturally.

Rafe doesn’t arrive until the reception itself.

He wants to believe that this is entirely accidental — he’s had a long day at the office, filled with several meetings with prospective clients. He can’t though, his wretched conscience won’t let him. He chose to go to work today, chose to schedule important meetings at the same time as Kelce’s nuptials.

He thinks he knows why this is, and isn’t sure whether he can handle the why in a satin slip and strappy heels. He wants to believe that he meant everything he said to you six months prior, but the dreadful ache in his chest crescendos in mocking every time he tries this.

He’s made a mistake. He won’t admit this if it killed him. But he knows, deep down, that something isn’t right about all of this.

If he really didn’t love you anymore, if that fucking spark was missing, there shouldn’t have been anything to move on from—the ship should have already departed. But he’s struggling, hard, and his thoughts juxtapose his actions. Despite telling you that he needs to be alone for the time being, you remain unmoored in his mind, rocking back and forth but never sinking.

He’s done his fair share of fucking up over the past few months. Got into something else too quickly, tried that no contact thing and failed miserably. There’s no going back after everything that’s happened. And yet…

“Hello?” He greets you like it’s a question; like greeting you isn’t second nature anymore. Your stomach turns.

When you respond, your voice comes out jagged, pained. “Look. I get that you’re doing this ‘no contact’ thing, or whatever, but Sarah told me something pretty fucked up and I think you owe me an explanation.” Your voice is far weaker.

Rafe winces, a familiar ache pulling through his chest. “If this is about Elle —”

“It’s been a month, Rafe. You may as well have cheated.”

…that fucking hug.

After you’d confronted him about shamelessly flirting with Sarah’s friend, Elle—in front of Sarah, no less, who told you the second it happened—he’d asked to meet up in person and explain himself.

You weren’t quite sure what to make of it all, which is probably why you’d foolishly agreed to hear him out. Ward had hired Elle as an intern before his death; she’d been around a while, long enough for an affair.

It shifted bile into your throat.

And when you’d met him, the exact opposite of what you’d hoped had happened. He’d had the gall to tell you that he thinks something’s there, that he feels that bullshit spark that he swore was missing in your relationship.

What were you meant to say?

But then he’d apologised, recognised it was too soon, begged to stay friends. Friends—like a platonic relationship is in any way gift receipt redeemable. And ironically, hearing him out wasn’t even your biggest mistake, it was that wretched hug goodbye that you’d permitted you get.

It was as though that hug held everything unsaid. Your figure had moulded against his quite perfectly, and why wouldn’t it? He’s the only romantic embrace you’d known since you were a teenager.

And when you’d finally pulled away, separated the pieces of your heart that were finally greeting his again, you hadn’t realised that he’d think about that hug for weeks gone by, just like you.

All the way up until Christmas, which occurred two months after your sudden break-up.

It was the last time you saw him under the pretence of amicability, when you came by Tannyhill to drop off presents and see his family. Mostly him. It felt pathetic, even then; for all you knew, Elle was on his mind and you were somewhere insignificant.

Rafe’s pretty sure he’s fucking doomed.

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

You’ve become so many Taylor Swift songs and none of them end happy.

He follows your sweet timbre to the hallway before he can help himself. Once upon a time—God, it feels so long ago now—he’d have been the first person you’d have texted before dropping by the house. Instead, as he stands paralysed at the foot of the stairs, it’s Sarah who’s hugging you, who gets to hold you in her arms.

Luckily for him, your eyes are closed in the embrace, and he’s afforded a second to recalibrate after taking you in. He’s known that you’re beautiful like his first memory on Earth, but that doesn’t mean your proximity leaves him any less winded. You’re fresh-faced with limbs that have an untouchable quality to them; you aren’t his to mark anymore, no longer his to ruin.

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

“You didn’t have to get us anything!” Sarah exclaims, pulling away faux-disprovingly.

“Hey, don’t do that, of course I did.” Your arms fall back to your side, and you open your eyes in tandem. When they flit past Sarah’s face and find Rafe’s instead, it feels as though someone has tipped ice-cold water down your singlet. A pause. “You’re family.”

Sarah notes the change in your tone with a frown, turning to look over her shoulder. “Oh,” she says, her expression hardening. “Sorry, Y/N/N. I didn’t know he was home.”

You swallow. “It’s no big,” you reply, forcing yourself to look back at her. “We’re alright, really. But I should go, I have a few more presents to drop off.”

Sarah frowns harder. “You sure you don’t want to stay a bit? I know Rose’d love to see you, we’ve all really missed having you around —”

“I’m sure,” you interrupt, handing her the bag of presents you’ve wrapped. “I’ll send her a text, okay? And listen,” you pause, your expression softening a little, “I know this holiday season’s going to be hard without your dad, and I want you to know that I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”

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

Your features sadden in tandem, and you give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And I always will be. You know that.”

“You should come to Christmas, then,” she says hopefully.

“I —” you falter as your voice cracks, grimacing slightly, “— I’m sorry. I don’t think I can.”

When you turn around, something in Rafe’s chest cracks too. He’s still hanging on to that expression-softening catalyst from a moment prior, yearning hard for the feeling of being on the receiving end of your love.

“Why the fuck,” Sarah fumes, rounding on him once you’re out of earshot, “do you have to ruin everything you touch?”

Rafe doesn’t even have it in him to wince. “I don’t know,” he responds quietly, with an honesty that aches. “If I did, maybe I’d have found a way to fix it.”

Sarah takes pause. Slight disbelief transforms her features. “You have to still love her. How can’t you?”

“I don’t know, alright?” Rafe runs his hand through his hair slovenly. “I just — I’m not happy anymore. It’s not fucking there… I don’t know if it’ll ever come back.”

“What isn’t?”

“The… the spark.”

“Bullshit,” Sarah spits out, accusatory. “The ‘spark’ is fucking bullshit, Rafe. You’re telling me you’ve felt it the entire time you’ve known her? You’re telling me this doesn’t have anything to do with dad’s death?”

Rafe swallows thickly, discomfort coating his throat. “I don’t, alright? All I know is I can’t give her what she needs right now; I don’t know if I ever will.”

To this day, he doesn’t know about your detour that evening — how instead of driving home, you took a left to the look-out where you shared your first kiss. He doesn’t know that the waves crashing ashore bore witness to your heartbreak; that sunset orange painted your tear-streaked cheeks a gentler amber. Caressed them, subdued them, where he no longer could. He doesn’t know you agonised over how much his hair had grown in your absence, the subtle stubble on his jaw, the stark outline of his biceps.

The him that’s foreign to you, now; the him that’s Elle’s and not yours.

At twenty-four years old, Rafe Cameron doesn’t know fucking anything.

Of course, once he does eventually recognise that his ‘something there’ with Elle is a rebound, it’s too late to entertain returning to you with his tail between his legs.

He can’t. Not after everything he’s put you through in the past. So he allows regret to caulk his limbs and bitterness to coat his insides, and Rafe Cameron does what he does best — pushes it down and ignores it.

Which brings him here, a non-attendee to his best friend’s wedding and an hour late to his reception.

He sidles into the venue through a pair of double doors, and the first thing he notices is the dimmed sconces and muted fairy lights. It’s the first thing, because perplexingly, the crowd is hard to discern but you glow anyway. A spotlight illuminates the centre of the room where Brooklyn and Kelce share their first dance, but they don’t draw his gaze, your beautiful features do.

Of course you do, in your strappy cowl neck slip. There’s less periwinkle fabric than he’d anticipated, more exposed limbs, and Rafe feels like he’s run a fucking marathon as he takes you in. And your pretty eyes and glossy lips cascade into a bare neck; soft skin that’s forgotten his rough touch, his bruising kisses.

It’s momentary lust that his regret promptly squashes. He can’t think those thoughts about you anymore, even if they’re almost second nature. Even if he’s spent more tangible years of his life as your boyfriend than he has a fucking stranger.

That’s what you guys are meant to be right now: strangers. His stomach coils. His tired eyes search for the open bar on instinct.

Once he’s acquired a whiskey neat and a glass of champagne, he pulls through the crowd and makes toward your figure.

You aren’t as lucky as he is to mentally prepare for a reunion. When he holds out the shimmering flute and prompts your gaze toward him, there’s a split-second of slack-jawed diffidence before you find your common sense.

God, you wish he wasn’t so easy to stare at.

He’s wearing an expression that isn’t yours anymore, with his thick brows furrowed and lips slightly parted. Yearning, but he can’t be. His blue eyes make your heart leap. Your gaze lifts before it falls, taking in his damp hair, his larger than ever frame. Both feel unfamiliar; he’s shed the skin and aureate curls your fingers once traced. Same notes of patchouli on his neck, though you note the absence of the silver chain you once bought him for Christmas.

Does he still have it, somewhere, hidden in a shoebox under his bed? (His hand is so close to your chest, it feels like you’re dying.) Is it as painful for him to see you like this after months and months of no contact?

Can’t be. Shouldn’t be. The ache may linger, agonisingly, but you’re stronger now than you were when he first ended things.

“Oh,” is all you can muster, accepting the flute of champagne. When your fingers brush, you reprimand the jolt of static. Lust may be hard to shake, but you resolve to let logic prevail. “Thanks.”

Rafe feels it too, harder, more unbearable. “Don’t mention it.”

You break eye contact to look out into the crowd, though it’s a struggle finding anything to focus on. “When’d you arrive?”

“Five minutes ago,” he admits, staring at your side profile for a second longer than he probably should. He analyses the glittery stuff on your cheekbones—highlighter?—for traces of a familiar feeling. “Work shit.”

“Ah,” you reply, raising your eyebrows at him. “Some things never change, huh?”

Rafe winces. “Look, Y/N, I —”

“I’m kidding, Rafe, relax,” you interrupt, sending him a small smile. It makes his stomach turn. “It’s all going well, I hope?”

“It is, yeah,” he responds, smiling in tandem. “Ish. Still doing a fuck tonne of late nights and weekends.”

“Bummer.” It feels strange, making small talk in this way. Strange, though not particularly as awful as you’d predicted. “How’re Rose and your sisters?”

“Yeah, they’re good,” they miss you, “Sarah’s going to UCLA in the fall.”

You nod. “She told me.”

Something in Rafe’s chest drops. He turns to you, his piercing gaze making your skin burn. “I didn’t realise you guys kept in touch.”

“We’ve always been really close. You know that.”

Because of me. “Right.” His eyes fall to your throat as you take another pull of champagne, smooth and unblemished and painfully foreign. “I’m glad.”

You turn to him then, an unreadable expression on your face. “Me too.”

A beat. The pair of you stare at each as the surroundings buzz into static.

“Listen, Rafe, I —”

“Y/N, I’ve been —”

You falter first, scrunching up your face abashedly. “Sorry. You go.”

“I…” Rafe pauses, running his calloused palm through his hair, “I guess I just want to apologise. For everything.”

Your eyes widen, and you turn away from him abruptly. “Rafe, I don’t know if now is the best time to have this conversation.”

“Shit, I know. I know I’m about five months too late and don’t deserve to be heard out.”

“Well,” you pause, chewing on your bottom lip apprehensively. Your voice quietens. “Maybe not at a wedding.”

Or ever. You tip back the rest of your champagne just as the slow dance fades out, breaking away from him. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Rafe fucking hopes so. He needs a clean slate if it’ll kill him. He nods reluctantly, watching you disappear into the crowd in front of him. The ache in his chest crescendos as the physical distance swallows you completely.

—

“We love you,” Brooklyn mouthes, blowing you a kiss through the open window. The limousine she’s in stretches forward with jet-black grandiosity, its ignition blaring alive as you catch it in mid-air.

When you blow one back, Kelce peeks over her shoulder and sends you a wink. The pair of them wave to the wedding-goers surrounding you before the vehicle pulls forward, leaving you in its dust. You watch them exit the Island Club gates, and a sense of bittersweet melancholia finds home in your chest.

That should’ve been you. You turn around as the crowd begins to disperse and find yourself face to face with Rafe once again.

“Oh,” you say, looking up at him in surprise. When your expression relaxes—in recognition—his chest pulls in tandem. “They’re sweet, huh?”

Us; that should’ve been us. Rafe nods, smiling wistfully. “Can you believe you’re the one that set them up?”

“At your holiday house,” you return, smiling in tandem. “This was a two-person wing man job.”

“Nah. You were the one that saw their potential.” A pause. “You’ve always been really good at that.”

Your brow furrows. “At setting people up?”

“At seeing their potential,” Rafe corrects. An unreadable emotion crosses his blue irises. “Even when they don’t deserve it.”

Your expression falters. You aren’t sure what to say to this, so you don’t say anything at all.

“Listen,” Rafe tries again, scratching the back of his neck, “d’you need a ride?”

“Well…”

You hesitate, looking over his shoulder for your parents. When you spot them, they’re in avid conversation with some family friends; they look extremely comfortable, like they’re going to be dawdling until God knows when.

You’re searching for justification even though he doesn’t deserve it. After all the pain he’s caused you, your wretched heart still yearns for more.

Fucking sadist.

“Actually, yeah,” you finish after a beat, bringing your gaze back to him. “That’d be great, thank you.”

His shoulders relax. “Yeah, of course. You have all your things?”

“Uh huh.”

“This way.”

You allow him to guide you to his pick-up trunk, pretend that you didn’t discern it right away. Besides, you were meant to have forgotten the location of his unofficial ‘official’ parking spot. So you follow him toward it, deny the familiarity of its number plate, and act like every dent and wretched scratch isn’t a piece of your heart.

“Shit—ow!” You curse, hurtling forward as you stall, again. “This is fucking impossible, Rafe. I quit.”

Rafe grins perplexedly, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Baby,” he placates, “if Top can learn to drive manual, anyone can.”

You make a frustrated noise, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not me, clearly.”

Rafe lets out a laugh, unbuckling your seatbelt so he can pull you into his lap. “C’mere.”

When he does so—with entirely too much ease—he pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb so he can guide your lips against his. It’s an unhurried kiss, a sure press of emotion, as though he’s rousing the embers that live within your ribcage.

He has this funny way of leaving you out of breath no matter how chaste the embrace. You break away reluctantly, raising your eyebrows at him. “So is this the reward system you used when you were teaching him to drive, hot-shot?”

Rafe makes a face, dipping his head to sponge a kiss to your neck. “Why? You jealous?”

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

“I wouldn’t forgive myself if I did.” Another teeth-scraping kiss. “I’d be crazy to let you go. I’ve been in love with you since we were freshman.”

He doesn’t open the passenger’s side door for you after unlocking his pick-up truck. That isn’t his place anymore.

He wants to, anyway. You want him to, badly. This revelation passes unsaid between the two of you as you climb into the seat yourself, unscathed by chivalry.

Once you’re buckled in, your gaze lifts to the new air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. “Huh,” you say, flicking it absently, “you replaced it.”

He wants to say, you left me no choice. He wants to say, old spice smells like you. “Oh yeah,” he replies instead, clearing his throat. “Rose got me it.”

“It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

He shifts into reverse and backs out of the park, and there’s a split second where he almost places his hand on your headrest. He can’t do that anymore. Too close; not close enough. You notice it too. An ache passes from his heart to yours.

“Are you going to take any time off over summer break?” You ask, keeping your gaze on the road ahead.

Rafe pulls out onto the main road before turning to you and responding, “I wasn’t planning on it, but I think I might need some.”

“I think you might need some too,” you agree, sending him a fleeting smile. “Bahamas?”

You don’t expect the tears in his eyes that follow. You straighten abruptly, your eyebrows pulling together. “Sorry, I didn’t mean —”

“No—shit, I just—” he falters as his voice cracks, clearing his throat again, “I don’t think I could go back there any time soon. Too many memories.”

Your expression softens. “Your dad, of course. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes in a jagged breath. “Shit, I’m the one that should be apologising. For everything.”

“Rafe —”

“No, listen…”

He pauses as he turns left onto your street, pulling onto the side of the road as soon as he can. He’s still a good mile away from your house, but it feels an injustice to keep you waiting for an explanation. When he turns and angles his body toward you, there’s a brokenness on his face that makes your miserable heart falter.

“I’m… I’m so sorry for everything I put you through after I broke up with you. Even if that was what I needed at the time, even if it was the right decision, I shouldn’t have been so fucking heartless and I regret not reaching out to you more often.”

You swallow thickly. He takes your silence as encouragement to keep going.

“You deserved better than the way I treated you… you’ve always deserved better than me. I didn’t know how to deal with all of my grief and I pushed you away in the process. It was… fuck, it was so selfish of me, and I’m sorry. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hate myself for it.”

He’s taken all of the oxygen in the car, and you find yourself struggling for air. You turn to him, every drunken rationalisation manifest. “Thank you,” you whisper, “for saying that.”

“And listen, the Elle thing —”

Too much. “Rafe,” you interrupt, swallowing again. “Stop. It’s fine. I accept your apology.”

Rafe frowns, the furrow in his brow painfully evident. “Yeah? Because… because I’d understand if you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” you affirm, turning away from him. “Besides, it’s ancient history. I forgave you a long time ago in my head.”

“You did?” Rafe’s asks, searching your features in earnest. “Why?”

The champagne you’ve consumed swirls uncomfortably in your stomach. “I had to,” you say quietly. “It was the only way I was going to be able to move on from the situation.”

Rafe’s stomach drops. “Which you have.”

“Which I have.”

The smokescreen between you smothers any semblance of hope you might’ve shared. He nods, turning on the ignition once again. “I hope that means you’re happy, Y/N.”

“It does,” you reply, “I am.”

“Good.” It doesn’t feel good at all. “Maybe this means we can be friends.”

You turn to him again, raising your eyebrows. “Friends?”

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

Your heart sighs. “Me too.”

“Friends then.”

“Yeah,” you reply, sending him a small smile. “Friends.”

—

You haven’t been to Shake Shack since you broke up with Rafe. You didn’t even realise you’d evaded it so long; perhaps it was a subconscious thing, too many painful memories to bear.

You remember when it first opened up in the Banks, this egalitarian refuge nestled between the Cut and Figure Eight.

Rafe Cameron remembers too, remembers bringing you here on your very first date. Roguish at fourteen with endless charm and a handsome face, he had far less creases etched onto his forehead then; far less familial expectations to deal with.

If only you knew he’s evaded it too. When he pulls into the carpark, the aforementioned date comes forth in fragments.

When memories lie dormant so long in one’s head, they tend to lose the stitches that hold them together. Nervousness, excitement, cherry coke and a lilac singlet. The strange feeling of forever before either of you could place it. He doesn’t remember any of your conversation, nor how long the date lasted, but he remembers the cloudless sky, the flutter of new love in his stomach.

The pair of you share a look before exiting his pick-up truck. A look that says: uh oh, and insinuates far more than that.

“So how’s work going, anyway?” Rafe asks, shoving his hands into his front pockets. He’s a beat behind you head toward the entrance, and you can feel your neck burn where his eyes remained trained on you.

“Yeah, alright, same old,” you say, sending him a fleeting smile over your shoulder. His blue irises are dappled golden in sunlight, and their brilliance unsteadies you, the eye-contact like a firestarter. You clear your throat. “Sam quit.”

Rafe’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding,” you shake your head, “he ended things with Peyton and booked a Contiki in South East Asia.”

“Shiiiiiit,” Rafe wolf whistles, shaking his head in tandem. “Is he going through some kind of quarter life crisis?”

You shrug. “Who would let someone like Peyton go, huh?”

Rafe resists the urge to wince. He can think of one person in particular who threw away something far more special. He clears his throat significantly, regret like molasses coating the sides of his windpipe. “Yeah. How’s she doing with it all?”

“Oh you know Peyton, she’s the queen of acting unbothered,” you reply, sounding reproachful. “Even when she’s heartbroken, she refuses to tell me about it.”

Rafe frowns. “Fuck that.”

“Yeah?” You send him a wayward glance, raising your eyebrows knowingly. “Cause to me, it sounds like someone else I used to know.”

There’s a pause as he meets your gaze, a frightening wistfulness passing between you. It lingers.

“Right.” You’re at the entrance to Shake Shack now, and Rafe grapples for purchase on the one thing he can control—friends. He pulls open the door and beckons you forward, “So. Is today the day you branch out and order something new, Y/N?”

When you pass by him, a tendril-like brush of shoulder on chest, the buttery scent of your vanilla perfume lingers. A lot about you does, a lot more than he’d care to admit.

Rafe’s wretched heart cycles between the old and new you like it’s trying to make them both fit within its chambers.

“Don’t think I have a choice,” you reply, sending him a smile over your shoulder. “They’ve completely revamped their menu since the last time we were here.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows at you. “They have?” You checked?

“Uh huh,” you reply, nodding. “I was going to make a reservation here for our anniversary way back when.” You clear your throat. “When I went on their website to do so, I realised that their menu was totally different.”

You leave out the part where you’d stopped by soon after, asked—no, begged—the manager to serve you the originals when you came. You know, when old time’s sake was a sacred concept. When that sweet, lovesick version of you still existed.

“Oh shit,” Rafe says. Though it’s subtle, he catches the smidge of diffidence in your voice, like the ghost of relationship’s past rearing its ugly head. You checked, for him, and you’re so nonchalant about it. Like it may have mattered then, but right now it matters far less.

He feels an awful twinge in his chest. He adds, “That sucks.” He isn’t sure whether he’s referring to the change in menu or the change in your heart’s purpose.

“I know.”

“I was looking forward to ordering the usual.”

“Me too.” You shrug. “We’re just going to have to find a new usual, I guess.”

What you mean is, make new memories that’ll replace the old ones. What you mean is, erase the nostalgia being here brings.

Also, though you’d never willingly admit it, start anew.

Rafe nods, stepping forward and glancing up at the menu. Though it’s different to the one he remembers from his youth, the interior of the diner is comfortingly familiar — same ugly yellow track lights, same checkered linoleum underfoot. Same fingerprint-smudged counter and broken drinks machine, same uniform on the workers, same greasy smell permeating.

And the same booth you were partial to nestled in one corner, it’s retro cushion covers faded as ever.

The menu, and the girl beside him. The only two things that feel different.

“Hm.” You frown, deliberating over the menu. “I’m thinking the ‘classic’. You want to split some curly fries?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, his blue eyes full of mirth. “So the one that’s exactly your old order, minus the pickles. Got it.”

“Yes,” you decide. “Except I’ll ask them to add pickles.”

“Of course you will.” Rafe grins. “I’ll get the same.”

You gasp, faux-scandalised. “Rafe Cameron eating pickles? Now I’ve seen everything.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “How d’you know I’m not just ordering it to pawn ‘em off to you?”

You balk. “I don’t, I guess.”

“And yes, to the curly fries,” he adds, quick to change the subject. The bashfulness on your features dissipates, but the tension in the room weighs ever-present.

You nod, sliding your wallet out of your back-pocket. “Should we just split the bill, then?”

“No way,” Rafe says, clasping your wrist to hold it in place. Your pulse feels funny. “I got it.”

“Rafe.” You frown, shaking your head. “Look, it really isn’t a big deal —”

It is to me. “Exactly,” he interrupts. “Which is why I got it.”

Maybe you should argue some more, insist on paying until he gives in. But you don’t. Between the pulse-jolting closeness and mocking sense of nostalgia, you aren’t sure you have it in you to retaliate.

Though in an act of rebellion, you avoid your usual booth. Once you’re seated at a new table and separated by your burgers, you re-enter this stupid friendship thing you’ve adopted. The one that boasts no-strings like the red one isn’t obvious.

“So,” you say, popping a curly fry in your mouth. “You remember Maya, right?”

Rafe makes a face. “That psycho roommate you had in senior year? Yeah, pretty hard to forget.”

“Well, she hit me up a month ago to let me know she’d be in the Banks to see her boyfriend.” At his audible gasp, you nod significantly. “I know. Asked if I wanted to catch up while she was here.”

Rafe wolf whistles in amusement. “No fucking way. After the Hell she put you through?”

“I fucking know,” you reply, grimacing in disdain.

Rafe raises his eyebrows, swallowing down a handful of curly fries. “Tell me you said no.”

You raise yours in tandem. “What do you think, casanova?”

“Y/N!” He groans, shaking his head. “Why do you put yourself through this shit?”

You frown, reaching for your soda and sipping stubbornly. Condensation rolls down your palm, the soft skin shining. “C’mon! It was useful, I swear. I got the intel on Maya and her mystery OBX man.”

Rafe leans forward in interest, taking a pull of his soda too. “Go on then.”

“God, I’ve been sitting on this information for ages,” you say, your pretty eyes full of excitement. Rafe’s heart leaps. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but we weren’t talking and you were avoiding me and I didn’t know whether I should break no contact.”

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

You smile small. “Yeah. This is nice.”

“Nice.”

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, this sticky, molasses-like something rising from your chest, “it’s Dylan. Like Dylan fucking Young that had a crush on me in freshman year.”

“Fuck off, seriously?” Rafe replies, mirth evident on his features. “Not kidding, think it’d be grounds for a restraining order if she ever found that out.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, raising your eyebrows significantly. “You promise to take this to your grave, Cameron?”

Rafe nods, faux-somber, extending his pinky toward you. “He won’t hear it from me, Y/L/N.”

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

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

“Good,” you say, retrieving your hand. “Oh, and,” you take a generous bite of your burger, “did you hear that Taylor’s moving to Texas?”

“I did, actually,” Rafe replies. “From Top, funnily enough.”

You frown. “He’s still pining, huh?”

“Unfortunately.” He pulls apart his burger to pick out the green pickles, placing them onto your plate before re-assembling. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. In the offensive, fluorescent lighting, they shine up at you in mocking. “Anyway, I should probably learn to get used to it. I’m moving into Kelce’s room now that he’s happily wed.”

Your jaw slackens in surprise. “You’re moving in with Topper?”

Rafe grins. “I know. Who would’ve thought, huh?”

“But,” you pause, popping another curly fry into your mouth, “why?”

“Needed to get out of Tannyhill, I guess.” He falters, swallowing down the bile-like rise of emotion from his chest. “Too many memories.”

Your expression softens. “That makes sense.”

“Besides, Sarah’s starting college soon, and Wheeze’s off at boarding school for the majority of the year anyway.” He shrugs. “And Rose… well, she’s at the Bahamas house more than she is in the OBX.”

“Too many memories,” you repeat, frowning sadly.

“Yeah. I guess.”

There’s silence then, the comfortable kind. An emotion passes between you that feels both familiar and new at the same time.

It matters less when you finally finish, what you speak about, whether you’ll meet again. All you know is, something feels different now, as though there’s embers that this reunion has reignited in your ribcage. Dormant though they had once been, you’d always hoped that the renewed hope would set them aflame.

The next day, you wake up to a text from Rafe.

thank you for yesterday. It was really nice.

You don’t have it in you to reply; Rafe doesn’t mind. He knows you feel the same way.

—

It’s a few weeks before you see him again, at a farewell party for Brooklyn and Kelce.

Prior to embarking on their honeymoon, they were shifting their lives to Chicago; laying down the foundations of stability so they could return to a clean slate.

It upsets you to no end. You’d always assumed that her marriage to Kelce would guarantee that she settles down in the Banks.

Rafe Cameron must remember this, the way he does everything else. He hands you a beer and clinks his own against it, beads of condensation sliding over his calloused hand.

“Huh,” he murmurs, shaking his head in faux-disappoint, “so much for staying here and ruling the Eight with an iron fist.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, taking a generous pull of beer. Rafe’s gaze falls to the bare column of your throat, and he temporarily loses his bearings. “Does loyalty mean absolutely nothing around here?”

Rafe grins appreciatively. “They’re bound to come back, you know.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” Rafe pauses, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “we were all cursed by the hometown witch when we were babies.”

You let out a peal of laughter. “Is that why I came back here after college?”

It isn’t lost on you that Rafe is standing far closer to you than he should. His spicy, cedar-wood cologne presses over your figure in waves. He bows his head to eye level, still grinning his mirth, “It’s why we all did. It’s also why they aren’t going to last more than a year in Chicago, I’m calling it now.”

“Who isn’t going to last more than a year in Chicago?” Comes Brooklyn’s voice from behind him, pulling the pair of you from your reverie.

He breaks away and turns to find her standing behind him, her eyebrows raised accusatorially at your closeness.

You smile guiltily at her, raising your arms in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t deny it either!” Brooklyn reproaches, faux-scandalised. She sends Rafe a playful glare, reaching for your arm and pulling you away. “I’m rescuing her from your bad influence, Cameron.”

Rafe nods sagely, taking a sip of his beer. “I think that’s wise, Astor—” he balks, shaking his head, “—sorry, Smith. Shit, Brooklyn Smith, huh? Guess I can’t do that last name thing ‘round here anymore, can I?”

“Not with us,” she replies, turning the pair of you around. She sends you the ghost of a wink before adding, “Y/N’s fair game, though. You know she’d rather die than take a guy’s last name.”

Something in Rafe’s chest deflates. “Yeah?”

You frown at him over your shoulder, mildly bewildered. “You knew that, Cameron.”

Maybe I thought I was different. “True.” He raises his beer bottle in acknowledgement. “Besides, Y/L/N suits you too much.”

Not as much as Cameron would have, once upon a time. You nod approvingly, the twinge in your heart conveying the exact opposite. “Doesn’t it just?”

Brooklyn steers you to the kitchen under the pretence of grabbing a drink, her true intentions becoming obvious when Kelce pivots into earshot on his barstool.

“So?” She prods, rounding on you once you’ve halted. “What’s the deal?”

“Deal?” You echo, feigning confusion. “What deal?”

“Don’t do that,” she replies, narrowing her eyes accusatorially. “Are you guys seeing each other again?”

You swallow. Your gaze darts to a helpless-looking Kelce. “Why? Has he said something?”

“That’s the thing,” Kelce mutters, shaking his head thoughtfully. “He hasn’t. But he’s… different.”

You frown. “Different how?”

“I don’t know… chiller. Happier. Like he was before Ward passed away.”

“Of course he is,” Brooklyn snorts, not buying it for a second. “He’s finally being absolved of all his guilt!”

“Brooklyn…” you sigh.

“What? It’s true!” She asserts, crossing her arms across her chest. “He’s… listen, Y/N, whatever you think this is, you need to snap out of it. He’s proved time and time again that he doesn’t have the emotional capability to deal with his shit, and you’ve been made collateral too many times to forgive him this quick.”

“Quick?” Your chest feels on fire. Isn’t seven months of torture enough exoneration?

“C’mon baby, you’ve gotta cut him some slack,” Kelce assuages, gentle but firm. “He fucked up, sure, but he also lost his dad, remember?”

“Grieving or not, he shouldn’t have pushed her away.”

“Granted, but we’ll never know exactly how he was feeling —”

“We shouldn’t have to, you just don’t do that to someone you love —”

“I’m still here, you know,” you interrupt quietly, frowning. “That someone that Rafe doesn’t love.”

A pause. Its silence that’s distilled in the overhead lighting, the scene beneath it awash in dim regret.

Brooklyn’s features are softer when she breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just… I worry about you.”

You know she does; it isn’t her fault. She’s the one that slept over for four weeks straight post break-up, forced food down your throat and wiped away all your tears.

“Don’t apologise, Brooke, I get it,” you say, sending her a small smile. “But I’m fine, I promise. This isn’t even… this feels different.”

“Different how?”

“Like… you know that saying: ‘You’ll never find the same person twice, not even in the same person’? That’s how this feels. We haven’t fallen back into old habits.”

Brooklyn regards this for a moment, surveying your features carefully. “But you’ve been hanging out?”

“Only once,” you reply honestly. “Sent a few texts back and forth, that’s all. If… if anything were to happen, it’d be like a new relationship, not like restarting the old one. You know?”

“I do.”

Kelce smiles. “That’s… shit, that makes sense.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice. “That’s why I couldn’t figure out what it reminds me of, this different him that’s chilled and happy.”

You furrow your brow. “Hm?”

“It’s freshman year him all over again,” he explains. “You know… when the two of you got close the first time ‘round.”

“Oh.” Your heart soars. “Square one, huh?”

Kelce shrugs, sharing a meaningful look with Brooklyn. “Square one I guess.”

You’re about to respond when Rafe’s figure pulls your gaze, his crossed arms and broad shoulders blocking the kitchen entrance. He’s wearing a handsome expression and his hair is perfectly unkempt, the heady scent of his cologne juxtaposing his lack of proximity.

Sometimes, life is unfair. Your ex-boyfriend, now new friend, eliciting such un-platonic thoughts is one of those instances.

And it isn’t as though you’ve given Rafe much of a break, his blue eyes caught on your figure like a moth to a flame. You aren’t wearing a dress he recognises, which is both a delightful and agonising revelation.

Delightful, because it reveals bare expanses of skin that make his wretched hands itch in longing. Agonising, because it’s a reminder of the seven long months that he’s had to spend grappling with your absence.

Having a smile as pretty as yours is extremely unfair, all things considered. And eyes. Soft skin. He needs to stop staring before he does something stupid.

“Perfect,” he announces brusquely, “are we hosting our intervention now?”

He looks at you expectantly. You raise your eyebrows. “You know,” he adds, “the one where we beg them to stay in the Banks?”

“Hey!” Brooklyn exclaims, her green eyes full of mirth. “What d’you mean stay in the Banks? Newsflash, I’m not even from here.”

“You’re not from Chicago either, Ast-Smithy,” he returns significantly, sending her a meaningful glance. “Besides, you married into a Figure Eight family. You are very officially one of us now.”

“Not for long!” Brooklyn sings, sending you a wink.

“C’mon, Smith,” Rafe tries, turning to Kelce and feigning disappointment. “What happened to our sacred pact?”

“We were eight, Cameron.”

“And already privy to the tragedy of small-town life,” Rafe sighs faux-dramatically, nodding in agreement. “I’m bitter, alright? I thought I’d be the first one to get out of here.”

He glances over at you fleetingly as he says this. We’d be the first ones, his heart corrects in vain.

“As if,” you scoff, raising your eyebrows. “Mr Cameron fucking Development leave this place before me? No chance.”

Rafe grins roguishly, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “You’re all talk, Y/L/N. We both know it.” He sends Kelce and Brooklyn a meaningful glance. “We all are.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going to be here all fucking night if we keep arguing about this,” Brooklyn decides, patting Kelce’s thigh to prompt him to stand. “C’mon, baby, we should probably get back to mingling.”

“You know,” she adds, narrowing her eyes playfully. “‘Cause it’s the last time we’ll see some of these people.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head bemusedly. Any retaliation on Rafe’s tongue fails at the timbre of it.

Once they’re out of sight, you turn to him, adopting a faux-somber look. “If we are truly doomed to a life in the Eight, will you promise me something?”

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

“Should you find me yelling at Island Club employees about flower arrangements or charcuterie boards, shoot me.”

Rafe laughs, and it reverberates through your bones warmly. “And suffer alone? No way. I’ll meet you in the middle. Lobotomy?”

“No thoughts in my brain? So generous,” you tease. “Alright. It’s a deal.”

Rafe clinks his beer bottle against yours in confirmation, taking a generous pull of the bubbly liquid. “Can we trade promises?” He asks.

You take a sip in tandem, maintaining eye contact as you do so. There’s tension in the air, that familiar-new feeling manifest, and it’s no longer frightening, but rather a comforting embrace.

You marvel in it. Breaking free feels fruitless. “Yes.”

“If you make a plan to settle elsewhere, will you tell me?”

“Of course I will.” A pause. “Although, I think you’re right. I don’t think any of us are truly capable of leaving permanently.”

“If anyone is though, it’s you,” he says, so matter-of-factly, like he actually believes it. “I mean… you’re the only one who had the balls to go to a college out of state. The rest of us just accepted a cushy offer at UNC.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you dismiss. “I was back here so often I barely left.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Only because you had a reason to come back.” You still do, if you’ll take me.

I still do, if you’ll take me. “True.” You frown, thinking on this for a moment. “Even so… I don’t know. Maybe it’s that hometown curse talking, but I wouldn’t want to raise my kids anywhere else in the States.”

Rafe’s gaze steadies, pulsing through you in waves. “I get that. We had a pretty sweet childhood, all things considered.”

You make a face. “Like, I don’t think I can deal with this iPad kid epidemic. Least we were sheltered from all that crap, you know?”

“Yeah,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows significantly. “Even if there were plenty of other things to jade us with.”

“Shit, I know,” you respond, laughing bemusedly. “See, only people from the Eight know how political beach clean ups can get.”

Rafe chuckles in tandem, taking another sip of his beer. “God, our lives are fucking ridiculous.”

You raise your bottle in agreement. A comfortable silence falls between you.

After pause, Rafe speaks up again. “You know,” he says quietly, an unnameable emotion flickering across his blue irises. “I don’t even think it’s everyone in the Eight.”

You balk. “Hm?”

“The whole, knowing each other thing,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’ve always understood me better than anyone else.”

Your traitorous heart leaps, and you force yourself to ignore it. Actions have always spoken louder than words, and you decide now’s as good a time as any to confront him about this.

It’s time to be brave, you decide. You say, “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“Elle.”

Rafe’s miserable heart falters, penitence like a lump in his throat. He’s been preparing for this accusation since your very first reunion, but it still doesn’t feel like enough; he’s a coward trembling at the frontlines, anyway.

“I’ve… we’ve… my therapist and I have talked about that situation at length.”

You eyes widen in surprise. “Your therapist?”

“I’ve been going to therapy, yeah,” Rafe replies, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “For a month or so now, every week without fail.”

It isn’t lost on you that Brooklyn and Kelce’s wedding was a month ago. The rift in your ribcage widens.

“Has it been helping?” You ask.

“A bit,” Rafe admits. “Mostly just to validate what I knew all along, I guess.” At your silence, he continues, “That… shit, that I’ve got this problem where I push people away when I need them the most. The Elle thing, there’s no fucking excuse for it, none, but it became pretty obvious after you confronted me that she was just a rebound.”

“A rebound,” you echo.

“A distraction, an escape… I don’t know.” He rakes his fingers through his hair slovenly. “All I know is, I didn’t care about her, so I didn’t have to push her away. She didn’t make me talk about my dad, my grief, anything, so she was easy enough company to have around when I felt like it.”

“Oh.” You swallow. “But I did.”

“But you did,” Rafe affirms, grimacing sheepishly. “Shit, all you fucking did was care about me and all I did was push you away.”

You try to be pragmatic. “Grief makes people do shitty things.”

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve it.”

“True.” A pause. Your gaze falls over Rafe’s face in paces, his haggard expression making you soften. “Listen. I’m glad you’re going to therapy, seriously. I know that’s a pretty big step for you to take.”

For you. “Thank you,” he replies quietly. “It… I just wish I’d listened to you the first time, you know? When you’d told me to go to therapy before I’d ended things.”

Your throat feels funny. “No use living in the past.”

“You’re right,” Rafe replies. A pause. The ghost of a smile flickers over his features. “What did I ever do to deserve your forgiveness?”

You smile in tandem, a little rueful. “Maybe you were a martyr in your past life, Cameron.”

“And you’re one in this one,” Rafe responds. “You know, after I lobotomise you over flower arrangements and charcuterie boards. Does that count as a full circle moment?”

You grin. “Not when you live on the Eight. Infinity sign, baby.”

It slips out before you can stop yourself, the ghost of pet-names past pushing Rafe’s pulse to fibrillation. Your eyes widen abashedly. “Should we rejoin the party?”

Rafe nods, “Probably,” and then, when you’re just out of earshot, “I’d do something stupid if we didn’t.”

—

Over the next few weeks, you begin to see more and more of one another.

A few texts back and forth become more than a few virtual trysts, and every spare moment you have is dedicated to being in each other’s presence.

And it isn’t as though you’re mending old love, this feels like something else altogether. Though old memories may flit through your brain on occasion, they are boundless and free — they don’t define this connection.

You’re starting anew. Rafe realises it too.

He still remembers how it felt to tell you he loved you the first time around, fourteen years old with a bashful smile and enough hope in his heart to ache. He still remembers what you were wearing the first time he drove you around; the first time you came to UNC to visit; the shade of lipgloss you worshipped from Sephora. And you remember it all too, the feeling of being in his pick-up, of being with this roguish, freshman boy that had so much charm your insides soared.

Going through it all again feels like receiving a new lease on life. How lucky are you to love a different person in the same man?

Currently, the pair of you are sprawled out on beach towels, velvet dusk revealing the bespangled sky stretching above you. Beside you, take-out boxes and sodas lie in the sand, discarded. Every now and then, his wrist brushes yours with a jolt of static.

You’re lying closer to each other than you should, his body heat pressing over you in paces. He’s pretty sure his clothes are going to smell like your soft-toned, vanilla perfume later, and he quietly delights in this.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You smile. “Shocker.”

He nudges your shoulder with his in faux-admonishment, turning his head toward you. It lingers; he’s closer. Your pulse feels boundless. “I’ve been thinking,” he repeats. “And I’ve realised something.”

You turn your head in tandem, his proximity making you balk. “What’s that, Cameron?”

“If we hadn’t broken up in the first place, I’d probably never have gone to therapy.”

A hush falls. “True.”

“And I’d never have worked through my emotional unavailability and all the problematic shit that comes with it.” He pauses, a heavy emotion making his blue eyes somber. “We’d have stayed together, but I’d never have become the man that you deserve.”

You swallow. “Is that what you are now?” You murmur, your voice unsure. “The man I deserve?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers quietly. “Don’t think I ever will be. But… but I’m working on it, properly this time. And getting to know you again, for real, has made me realise just how worth it this is.”

It’s too much. You make to turn away but Rafe’s hand stops you, gentle but firm on your face. His thumb swipes over your warm cheek in comforting circles, and you find yourself leaning into his touch inadvertently.

Uh oh, you’re falling in love. You sigh. “It feels inevitable, huh?”

“D’you believe in soulmates, Y/N?”

Your lashes flutter shut in response. Rafe inches closer still, his hand slipping down to your jaw, and when he kisses you, old embers create a new flame within your heart. It’s chaste, unsure, a second first kiss. And yet, though it’s soft, the press of his lips is a ravaging embrace.

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

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

“I think I am,” you murmur.

Rafe smiles. Oh no, he’s falling in love again. “I think you are too.”

—

I thought the plane was going down / How’d you turn it right around?

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron oneshot

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imtryingbuck · 2 months ago

Text

Jealousy? Never.

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Ivar Ragnarsson x fem!Reader

Summary: Ivar the boneless jealous? Absolutely not.

Word count: 862

Warnings: possessive and jealous Ivar. fluff. slight angst. insecurity (ivar). naked reader - not sexual. mentions of murder (not detailed). shorter than i honestly wanted it to be, sorry.

A/N: thank you anon for sending this request🤍

Masterlist

Ivar’s jaw was clenched painfully tight that Ubbe thought he was going to crack a tooth or two. Jealousy burning his veins as he watched the scene before him. Hvitserk was playing with fire and he knew it, Ivar knew it, everyone in the Great Hall knew it, not that he cared as he continued to dance with Ivar’s queen.

You didn’t see a problem with having fun and have a dance with your brother in law, however your husband clearly thought differently, his blunt nails digging into the wooden arms of his throne, it wasn’t until he banged his crutches down loud enough to catch the attention from everyone in the room - without saying a word he walked out.

That was your queue to follow.

Bidding goodbye to Hvitserk and thanking him for a wonderful night, you made your way towards your shared chambers, twisting the lace of your dress nervously as you pushed the door open. “Husband.”

“Husband? I’m surprised you remembered.” He muttered as he unlanced his braces. “You were all over him tonight.”

“I-I was-”

“All over him! My brother.”

Flinching at his tone, you lowered her head. “It was a dance, nothing more. I promise.”

“He was all over you.”

“It was a dance Ivar I swear.” Carefully shuffling closer to him, to nervous of his reaction, when he didn’t react to your action you knelt down in front of him. “I was just having fun, I’m sorry.”

Raising his hand, he smoothed your hair out of your face - loving the way the soft strands felt against his rough fingers. “He wants to fuck you.”

“Don’t be silly.” The glare he gave you took the smile straight off of your lips. “I do not want him, I swear.”

“You are mine.”

“Yours, and yours only.” It was true, you didn’t want any other man, it was always Ivar from the moment you saw him one day in the market. He was sat on the steps leading up to the Great Hall, a scowl on his face as he watched people walk around, standing by your fathers stall as he spoke to a customer you couldn’t take your eyes off of the man. From that day on, you kept a look out for him, when you saw him crawling around you didn’t even find it weird or funny - not like your father. It took you nearly three months to gather the courage to speak to him, finding him sat on the beach on his own, you were a stuttering mess - only getting worse when he told you he was one of the princes of Kattegat, but from there a friendship was formed between the two of you. He told you several months later that when he became king he wanted you by his side as his wife and queen, at first you thought he was joking but his face said otherwise. When the brothers and the Great Heathen Army went to England to avenge king Ragnar’s death, Ivar made sure he took you with him, against the wishes from his brothers, whilst over there you two got married and from that moment he called you queen. “I love you and only you, Ivar.”

His only reaction was to pout. The ruthless, fearless Ivar the Boneless sat there on the bed he shared with his wife pouting. “You could if you want.”

“Could what, my love?”

“Have him, or-or anyone.” He whispered, twisting your wedding ring around. “It can not be easy with being married to a cripple.”

“I do not wish, want or need anyone else Ivar. I am happy, I am loved- you do love me d-”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence! You know I love you.”

“And you know I love you.” Turning you hand around, linking your fingers with his. “Please never ever doubt me.”

“I didn’t like the way he was holding you.”

“We were just dancing Ivar.”

“Still don’t like it.” He huffed. “Only I get to touch you.”

“Yes, only you get to touch me.” Lifting up and walking over to the vanity you removed the heavy crown that was given to you by Ivar, you began to attempt to undo your dress.

“Want a hand, my love?”

“Please.”

“Come here then my beautiful queen.” Standing between his legs, your skin began to tingle as he fingers danced along your bare skin. Turning around as the dress pooled around your ankles, his hands went straight to your naked waist. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Climbing into bed after helping Ivar undress, he instantly pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arms around you. “Ivar?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I like it when your jealous.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m never jealous.”

“No, of course not.” Giggling at the memories of all the times Ivar threatened and even killed men who looked at you longer than he deemed necessary, doing it all out of jealousy. “The great Ivar the boneless doesn’t get jealous.”

Rolling his eyes once again with a soft smile tugging at his lips as your giggles filled the room. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

Tags: @cheesesandwichsanto

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kabr0ztrousers · 2 months ago

Note

Naive curvy fem reader who recently gave birth but her man left her to fend for herself. Mother in-law + father in-law (who are both vampires) disown their son and allow the reader and their grandchild to stay at their estate. They convinced her they will help relieve any tension. Like massaging her sore breasts, suckling or squeezing any excess milk, and licking and rubbing her pussy. Starts off as dubious consent but transitions to full consent when they tell her that she's more than a daughter in-law to them.

Kabr0z Episode 54: The In-Laws

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: blood; vampires; incest (no blood relation); age gap; power imbalance; dubcon to enthusiastic consent; receiving cunnilingus; giving cunnilingus and fellatio; very mild foot mention; technically intox; ghoulification;

A/N: Nobody's claimed the prize from my previous competition regarding vampires, but I had fun posing the question, so if you can give the clan the in-laws belong to with your request, you get to skip the queue! Two prizes up for grabs as the clan changed its name with Vampire V5 😁

Again, here's the daily reminder that I won't know what you want if you don't request it, so by all means request! My DMs and asks are open for a reason!

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

You pulled up outside the wrought iron gates. You knew Nick grew up with money but this is old-school aristocrat level, a real Great Gatsby mansion. You reached out of your window to hit the buzzer

"Name?" A bored voice called over the intercom.

You told them who you were, you were getting to why you were there when the gate swung silently open. You drove on, gate swinging shut behind you. You didn't see the men with automatic rifles from the road, but you bet they saw you. Sophie fussed in the baby seat. You stopped to shush her back to sleep, the last thing you wanted was to make a poor first impression.

Too late. A pair of figures stood in the doorway to the house. The lights flattered them in the late evening, artfully curated shadows highlighting the razor-sharp creases of his suit, the elegant drape of her long red dress. They were looking at you.

Here was as good a place to leave the car as any, you supposed, and got out. Cradling your baby you approached the figures in the doorway. They smiled at you, the light making them look washed out and pale.

"So, we finally meet! So sorry we couldn't make the wedding" The woman spoke first "I am Lucrezia, this is Alfonso" the man bowed neatly at the waist, allowing his wife to continue "When we caught wind of what our dog of a son did! We're both so very glad you came to us"

You smiled, it's not like you had much of a choice. Both of your parents had passed while you were expecting Sophie, and you didn't really have any other family. "Thanks for having us, we'll try not to be a burden"

Alfonso laughed "It's not a burden at all! It will be so good to have a child about the house again, it gets awfully quiet with just me, your mother, the security, the cleaners, and the servants"

That sounded positively bustling to you, but their perspectives were probably different you guessed, a house like this needs upkeep

A man cleared his throat behind you "Your keys, ma'am?"

You turned, he was wearing a flak vest and an earpiece, his rifle secured to him with a strap "so we can park your car and unpack you"

The woman waved him away "There's time for that later, Giacomo. Now, let's get out of the cold"

It was a warm night. You followed the pair inside. They looked exactly like the old paintings on the walls of the house, though the varnish had darkened with age. Some of them looked to contain a young Peter too... Maybe these were of Alfonso's side of the family? There was quite a strong family resemblance with the boy, but then how was Lucrezia there?

They led you to a lounge, where they took seats on either end of a long sofa. You sat in an armchair, sinking into the plush velvet. "So," Lucrezia began "We'll hear no more of this not wanting to intrude business. You're family, and family takes care of family. Besides, it's not like we're hurting for bedrooms" They both laughed. You felt like a deer in headlamps. A rabbit cornered by circling wolves. The light in here was warmer than outside, but it didn't diminish the corpselike pallor on their faces, bluish lips on pale faces, dry eyes that didn't catch the light, and aside from when they spoke... No, that's silly.

Obviously they must breathe, right?

Sophie was picking up on something, too. She hadn't stopped fussing since you came in. Lucrezia stepped over to you, or at least you assumed she did, you looked up and she was simply there, dark eyes staring into yours

"There, there, the little one is tired! Come to Nana, little one"

You let her take the restless baby from your arms, playing with her with a fingertip. Sophie calmed at once, gurgling happily before settling into a deep sleep. Lucrezia gave her back to you. Was that... Blood on her mouth?

You blinked, it was gone. Probably just your overactive imagination. Driving for four hours after packing up your entire life would do that.

You looked at Lucrezia again, into those deep black eyes, dark in a sea of white "Let's get my granddaughter to bed, then we can talk about your future here"

You nodded. It's the best thing for it. She led you upstairs, to a nursery with a beautiful cot, pulling a tablet computer off the wall and handing it to you "Only the best for you, 4k camera and the best audio money can buy. If she so much as peeps, you'll hear"

You put Sophie down in the cot. Finally the two of you were safe again. "Can I have a bed in here with her?"

Lucrezia smiled at you, those eyes meeting yours again "Of course, I'll have the staff bring one in. She stepped out of the door, clapped her hands twice and shouted in the fastest Italian you'd ever heard someone speak before coming back "The bed will be brought in soon, now let's go back downstairs"

You followed her again. Alphonso looked up from a book when you entered, before getting up and ushering you down to the sofa between them.

Lucrezia's hands were on your shoulders, thumbs digging into the muscles of your back "You're so tense, why don't you relax?"

You had to admit, you ached. The massage hurt a little as Lucrezia eased the knots in your back from driving so long. Alfonso slipped off your shoes and began massaging your feet, pulling you so you lay across the two of them as they rubbed and squeezed you, their too-strong hands loosening you up. Your eyes closed gently as exhaustion took over.

Your dream was dark, and troubled. You were running down the hallway of the house, chased by armed men. Every door you opened had either Lucrezia behind it, Alphonso, or both.

You snapped awake. In the bed in the nursery, morning light visible against the curtains. A maid was there, she curtseyed and left a tray on the end of your bed. Some toast, butter, jam, and a small cup of strong-smelling coffee. You checked on Sophie. Sleeping like an angel.

Breakfast was simple, but every bit as good as it looked. That was possibly the best coffee you'd ever had.

You picked up Sophie and started to explore your new home. Three floors, the maid told you the top floor was only for Lucrezia and Alphonso, their studies, the private chambers and whatnot, she told you you'd probably be allowed up eventually being family, just not yet.

And so your days passed, at first. Daytime was spent with Sophie in any combination of a dozen rooms between her nursery, the library, the TV room, or walking through the gardens. You looked forward to when she'd be old enough to teach to swim so you could use the swimming pool.

At night, your hosts finally finished whatever work they did all day and came downstairs to spend time with you and their granddaughter. They never seemed to eat with you, every day around nightfall a maid carrying a platter would walk up the staircase to their suites, but never seem to come back down until the following morning. Always a different one, too, which seemed odd.

It was amazing, the way Lucrezia had with Sophie, she could put her to sleep in moments. You'd stay up with them talking about your day, how your daughter was doing, never about them or their business... You let your mind wander as Lucrezia massaged your back again, you didn't know why she liked doing that, but you weren't going to stop her...

Shit. They were mobsters, weren't they? It checked out, armed guards, inexplicably wealthy, a preoccupation with privacy, family, and trust above all.

A roving hand snapped you out of your reverie. Alfonso had just pulled aside your underwear, his hand up your skirt. You yelped, Lucrezia held your shoulders.

You looked up at her, she smiled back "Now, now, we said we'd take care of all of your needs, and we meant it"

Alfonso's hand was rubbing the lips of your pussy. You were already wet, the massage had loosened you up more than you thought. His fingers slipped around your clit, making you whine as Lucrezia's attentions moved to your collarbones and your milk-filled tits, squeezing squirts of milk from you as you whimpered and gasped under their attention

Alfonso's tongue joined his hand, fingering your hole while he licked rings around your clit. You could feel the pressure building in your cunt as it twitched and your back arched. Lucrezia kissed your lips, and you came. You ground your cunt into Alfonso's face, no longer caring that these two are your parents in law, just wanting to prolong the orgasm running through you.

Your spasms subsided, you looked up at Lucrezia as you panted.

"Oh, child, I can't imagine what you think of us... You must think we're criminals?"

You nodded weakly. Alphonso laughed, looking at you from between your legs "Shall we give her the truth?"

Lucrezia manhandled you to the floor, forcing you to your knees, holding your head up as Alphonso stood over you, pulling out his cock as it hardened in his hands. "I'll need a drink after we're done. Hopefully it's as good as it looks"

Your mouth was forced open. Alphonso stuffed his semi-hard cock inside. You could feel it hardening as he thrust it in, invading you again and again as his wife crooned in your ear.

You bit down hard. He didn't stop. His groans got louder as he railed you harder, his cock pushing your throat as he came. It wasn't cum. His cock twitched a d throbbed, pulsing like he should be spraying cum down your throat, but it wasn't. It was blood.

The blood fell out of your mouth, but some trickled down your throat.

The world got sharper. Your head spun as you became hyper-aware of everything around you. Around, and in you. God you're horny. Your hand shot to your cunt, furiously rubbing yourself as you sucked his cock. He pulled out, rubbing the mix of blood and spit on your face. You tried to catch as much as you could before Lucrezia turned your head and licked your face, cleaning you of the mess her husband had made.

She stood before you and lifted the front of her skirt.

You couldn't stop yourself even if you wanted to. Your face was in her cunt, slurping and licking like an animal as she held you to her. You could feel her, already getting closer and closer as you licked and nibbled, her cunt oozing more wetness onto your face as you buried yourself in her folds. All you could taste was blood, all you wanted was more.

Lucrezia came hard, twitching and squirting into your mouth, covering your face.

You opened your eyes. You could see blood pooling below you, staining your top and your skirt. Alphonso was looking at you, so was Lucrezia, predatory eyes taking you in.

Alphonso bit you first. The searing pain of his fangs sinking in to your wrist making you grit your teeth. You screamed when Lucrezia bit the other.

The world became cold, your head spun a little as the vampires released you, licking the wounds to close them. Lucrezia barked a command in Italian, a man ran over and stabbed a needle into your arm. Giacomo. You saw a blood bag held over your head as you closed your eyes, letting sleep take you.

Giacomo was there in the morning when you awoke "Afternoon, ma'am. The bosses have asked I explain everything. Welcome to the beginning of the rest of your life."

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

So, fun fact: it's canon that literally every liquid a Kindred produces is vitae, except for in very specific circumstances. So, if you let a Kindred cum down your throat, you become a ghoul.

Honestly, goals.

To reiterate from the start, if you correctly identify which clan Alphonso and Lucrezia belong to you'll get to jump the queue! 2 prizes to claim this time as the clan name changed when Vampire V5 was published, so get to guessing! Promotion ends when the first winning guess is published 😉

On that note, even if you don't want to guess, I want to hear your requests, ideas, fantasies, whatever! This challenge is set to run right through to the end of the year and I intend to go the distance!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

Text

Just One Reason: When We Met

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn't end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

As you approach the sandwich shop, another pedestrian comes up from the other side. You open the door and hold it for them, waiting patiently for them to go first. The place isn’t very busy, you can wait an extra turn to get your food.

The man barely acknowledges you as he enters. You’re used to that. In the city, manners run down the gutters with the rain and litter.

You follow him inside. As he stomps to the counter, poking his ear in agitation, you stand back in a single-person queue. You check the chalkboard menu for the soups of the day. Oh, cabbage. They make the best cabbage soup you’ve ever had.

You bounce on your heels as your gaze wanders over the monochrome wall art over the handcrafted wood tables. You open and close the flap of your crossbody purse. Your father always said you flutter like a hummingbird. Never quiet still and a little skittish.

Behind the glaze of your distraction, the man’s deep snarl breaks through. You blink and lean to see around him. The cashier bats her lashes and puffs out her cheeks, “sorry sir, we discontinued the Mexican wrap, but the chipotle is similar--”

“I don’t want the fucking chipotle,” he cups his ear and growls as he pushes his head into his hand.

“They don’t send us the cilantro lime sauce anymore, sir,” the employee explains. “But I could add some peppers--”

“Can’t you understand me?” He snips.

“Erm, if you... if you put a bit of cilantro on, it would be close, wouldn’t it?” You ask, cringing as your thoughts spill out without intention.

The man glares over his shoulder as his cheek pits derisively. He squints and shakes his head. He throws his arms out and faces the cashier again. “Whatever. Give me the damn chipotle with cilantro. I’m starving.” He reaches back for his wallet, “some fucking week...” he mutters.

He slides the leather wallet above his pocket but it catches and falls from his grasp. He growls and bends to retrieve it. “Another fucking thing...”

You watch him pick up his wallet and finger his ear again. It seems to cause him pain. The cashier watches helplessly. You feel bad for both of them. It just seems like a miscommunication.

“Um, excuse me,” you wave two fingers at the cashier. “Can you add a cabbage soup and I’ll for both?”

The employee blinks and the man snaps up with a scowl. They both stand in silent surprise. He finally shakes his head. “Why would you do that?” His tone makes it sound like an accusation.

“I don’t know. Seems like you’re having a bad day and I can?” You shrug and cautiously step forward, “can I also get an iced raspberry tea?”

“Uhhhh, sure,” the employee keys in the items.

“Sir, did you want a drink?” You twist back to the man as he stands aside with a leery squint. He just shakes his head.

“Alright, that’s everything. No cookie today,” you dig in your purse. “Debit, please.”

She hits total and you pay. The receipt juts out of the machine and you step to the side to wait with one last thanks to the cashier. You tuck your card away and slip your phone out as your hands long to fidget. You know the man is staring, you can feel it, but you don’t want to piss him off even more than he already is.

The lull that follow is torturous. The man’s wrap is up first and you wait for him to take it. He hesitates and you hand it to him.

“I hope it’s still good,” you say with a smile at his throat. You’re too scared to look him in the eye.

“You know I have money,” he grits.

“Oh, no, that’s not... it isn’t... just a nice thing. Like, maybe one day you can pay it forward. I don’t know,” you rock sheepishly and look behind the counter.

He nods and backs up. The cashier puts your soup up and your iced tea. You thank her and take your food.

“Have a good one, sir.”

You shuffle away to the table in the corner. You sit, self-conscious as the man lingers. Is he mad? You don’t think you were rude.

The man sighs and goes up to the counter, “hey, look, I’m... sorry,” his words are stiff as if he could choke on them. “Thanks for the wrap.”

“Oh, uh, okay, sir,” the cashier sounds shocked. “Um, enjoy.”

You stir the soup and blow away the steam. As you scoop up a spoonful, the man approaches. You look at the velvet toes of his loafers then follow them up. He sits without invitation.

You stare at him and lower your spoon.

“Thanks for the wrap,” he says. “I was being a—jerk.” The last word is stunted as if he meant to say something else. “Mind if I eat with you?”

You look around. The place is empty. You shrug.

“Sure,” you grab the iced tea and swirl the ice. “Be nice to have company, I guess.”

He hums and shifts in the chair. He peels away the wrapper and you sip from the straw. You put the cup down and stare into your soup. Your eyes flick up again and you find him staring.

“Lloyd,” he offers his hand across the table, “but you can just call me that jackass who yells at people.”

You give your name in return, his change in tone soothing your nerves.

“You been here before?” He asks.

“Once in a while,” you say. “When I can afford it. It’s a special treat. They have good soup.”

He nods and looks down at the wrap, “yeah, food is pretty decent.” He lifts the wrap but doesn’t bite into it. He hovers it before him. “You know, you didn’t have to be nice to me.”

“You never know what other people are going through. Sometimes, they just need some kindness,” you say. “And if they’re just a butthole, well, you’re not going to change that by matching their energy.”

His brows arch, and he tilt his head. He sucks in his cheeks thoughtfully, “well, I think I’m just a butthole, as you put it. Thanks for giving me a chance.”

You don’t know what to say. It’s awkward. You usually eat alone. You don’t have anyone to eat with, not since dad passed. Still, not all change is bad, is it? You’ve already faced the worst kind of change.

You lean forward and take a bite of your soup. Sometimes making someone’s day easier makes your own a little brighter. As of late, none of them have been more than gloomy.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #drabble #au #just one reason #the gray man

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bangtanficsforyou · 8 months ago

Text

Hello, Love! (JJK)-02

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, probable smut (we don’t know yet lololol)

Rating: 18+

Summary: You had a plan when you returned home, seven years later. However, falling in love with your sister’s fiance wasn’t it.

Word count: 5.6K (approx)

Warning: mentions of drug addiction, familial neglect.

I'll add all the links in a few days time!

It’s six in the morning when the doorbell rings.

Hurried footsteps make their way through the hallway and to the main door. The door is opened to reveal a long queue of people and one by one, everyone starts filling in. Anyone could have been fooled into thinking that this was afternoon.

The quiet apartment is now filled with excited greetings and a constant low murmur in the background.

Now it finally looks like there’s a wedding in the house, Jungkook’s mother thinks silently, with a small, satisfied smile.

“Can’t believe our Jungkook is getting married!”

“I know right! I’m so glad that it’s a love marriage!”

“Have you looked at Riya’s photos? She’s so pretty.”

Had it been in Busan, I would have booked the costliest bungalow for them. But no, they wanted a destination wedding. Jungkook’s father thinks as he looks at the newly arrived guests chatting among themselves.

Don’t get it wrong, the rented apartment is more than sufficient. But excuse him for his thinking. It’s his youngest son’s wedding after all. The father in him wanted to put the connections he has made over the years as the police commissioner, to good use.

“I am thinking of wearing red on the day of the wedding and saving the yellow for the reception.”

“I am confused as to what I should do with my hair.”

“We can simply book a stylist for a few days.”

I need to be out of here, comes the big conclusion in Jina, Jungkook’s sister in law’s, mind.

Her lack of patience could be credited to the fact that she is five months pregnant.

Jina is undoubtedly happy about the occasion of Jungkook’s marriage. How can she not be? Jungkook is like her own little brother, after all. But please excuse her for not wanting to be a part of the conversation as to who’s wearing what, when she feels like a boiled potato.

Jungkook will take care of this, Ju Hyun thinks, the moment his eyes meet his wife's. After seven years of marriage, one becomes an expert at deciphering their partner's expressions.

Ju Hyun looks at Jungkook, who's currently been crowded by the kids. “Jungkook?”

Jungkook looks up, and silently sighs to have found an excuse to escape.

“Yes, hyung?”

“Please take Jina out for some fresh air.”

Jungkook looks at his sister in law, and the reason behind his elder brother's request becomes very visible to him.

“Why can't you take her out?” Jungkook whispers.

“I have a case file I need to go through.” Comes Ju Hyun’s short and simple reply.

Before Jungkook can reply, his phone rings to notify him of an incoming call.

Riya.

“Can you come to hotel Delta?” Greets the voice as soon as Jungkook answers the call.

“Hotel Delta? Where is it?” Jungkook asks.

“I'll send you the address and please try to be as quick as possible. I need to go back to shooting.”

“Don’t worry, I'll be there in ten minutes,” Jungkook promises, even before checking where and how far the destination is.

As he ends the call, two expectant gazes, meet him. One that of Ju Hyun’s and the other that of Jina’s.

Oh right.

“Sinu-i, don't worry–,” Jungkook does a quick scan of the room and his eyes halt when they land on Jimin, relaxing with a cup of tea in his hand, “–Jimin will accompany you.”

Jimin looks perplexed, having no clue why his name just got mentioned.

Jungkook spots a fast-pacing Riya and curses in his mind, knowing damn well he’s late. In his defence, it isn’t an easy task to get out of a house full of relatives. Not to mention the traffic.

“So, this is your ten minutes?” Riya asks on spotting Jungkook, with a face that clearly reads that she is not impressed at all.

“I’m sorry, there was a whole lot of traffic on the way.”

Riya sighs and motions Jungkook to follow her. “Suzy called me, apparently no venues are available on the date you suggested.”

A frown appears on Jungkook’s face. “Is that so? But that date is very auspicious for marriage. It comes once every seven million years.”

A scoff. “Seven million years ago only dinosaurs got married.”

It takes Jungkook a moment to realise that it wasn’t Riya who spoke the words.

“Jungkook, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Jungkook, he will drop you off.”

“Hello,” Jungkook greets politely, waiting for you, who's sitting comfortably, to look up from the menu card.

“Hi,” you look up and give Jungkook a brief curt nod and return to the pages of the menu card.

YOU. It’s you!!!! Jungkook’s mind exclaims. The t20 girl.

“You drop her off at the address I mentioned, there you will find Stuart. Stuart will take Y/N to the hotel,” Riya gives off the instructions and quickly bids her goodbye.

Jungkook looks around a little, feeling awkward and a little clueless as to what he should do now. Seeing that you are so invested in the menu card, he decides to take a seat and ask you whether you would like to have something.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“An espresso with a shot of cream,”

The quick and brief answer surprises Jungkook. He blinks and waits for something more–what, he does not quite know (well, maybe you looking at him and acknowledging him would have been nice).

Pushing his surprise aside, he orders two coffees.

He looks around some more, because you refuse to leave the menu card even now. Out of curiosity, he subtly leans in and takes a peak to figure out what could be so interesting in those pages.

Huh? There is nothing out of the ordinary.

Are you perhaps memorising the prices of each item?

Well, shouldn’t you be showing a little more interest in someone you met seven years ago?

Jungkook averts his eyes like a thief being caught in action, when you flip the page. He sighs in relief though when he realizes that you have not caught into his little peaking. However, just moments later he feels stupid because what exactly is he doing?

“Do you remember we met seven years ago?” The question slips out from Jungkook’s mouth with a hint of hope and excitement.

You look up.

First blink.

Second blink.

Third blink.

“No.”

And then you are back to your beloved menu card.

“T20 cricket? Remember we talked about the different formats of cricket?” Jungkook pushes, hoping something would click.

You look up, again.

First blink.

Second blink.

Third blink.

“No.”

Jungkook deflates. Your eyes were blank. You truly do not recognize him.

Minutes pass as the order arrives and both of you have sips from your beverages. Surprisingly and much to Jungkook’s annoyance, your attention has now shifted to the view outside as you peer through the window right next to your seat.

“Shall we leave?” Jungkook queries as soon as both of you are done.

You give a nod and before Jungkook can even get up, you have your luggage on your shoulders and are heading out through the door.

Jungkook remains astonished with his mouth parted slightly as he looks at your retreating figure.

Isn’t he supposed to be the one guiding you out?

He shakes that thought away and quickly gets up with the intention of catching up with you before you get lost.

The car is filled with awkward silence. Thankfully, it does not bother Jungkook anymore. He has gotten used to it but for some reason, Jungkook finds it a little disappointing.

Maybe his excitement was simply rooted in the fact that he was meeting someone he never expected to meet again, that too after seven whole years.

Or maybe a small childish part of him thought, you two would hit it off again, like you did the last time. Maybe he had also entertained the idea of you two becoming good friends. With Riya being a common link between the two of you that thought was not much farfetched.

Wait. How do you and Riya know each other?

Jungkook looks at you but right as he’s about to voice his curiosity, your phone rings.

His eyes focus back on the road, with the knowing that he will have to wait to ask the question.

” Fāshēngle shénme?”

Huh?

“Gàosù tāmen wǒ hěn kuài jiù huì gěi tāmen qián.”

Is that…..Mandarin?

“Qǐng bǎozhòng.” You end the call.

It is Mandarin!

“You know how to speak Mandarin?” Forgotten is the question about the connection between you and Riya. Your fluency with the foreign language now has his attention.

You look at Jungkook and nod. Then you are back staring out of the window.

Huh? Do you only speak with nods? And what is with you and staring out of windows? Jungkook thinks, his annoyance sparking again.

“I think this is the place,” Jungkook announces, after ten more minutes of driving. Having stopped the car, he looks around through his window.

The sound of a car door opening echoes and Jungkook is startled to find that you are already out of the passenger seat. As you open the back door to take out your luggage, he quickly speaks, “Wait, let me call Stuart.”

“No need, I can see him,” you answer confidently.

Jungkook frowns in confusion and watches as you cross the road and pause in front of a short young man. Quickly taking out the number Riya had given him, he dials it.

To his relief, it is the man across the street that picks it up.

“Stuart?

“Speaking.”

“Take ma’am to the hotel carefully and make sure she has everything she might require.”

Jungkook thinks that for a brief moment, Stuart looked confused. But he ignores it thinking, he cannot be sure about a man’s expressions from across the street. With a confirmation from Stuart, he ends the call.

He waits in his car until the both of you are out of sight.

With a sigh of relief, he starts the car engine. As the tires get moving, his thoughts drift to you and how odd of an encounter it was.

He would have said you were not your usual self but then what does he even know about you? The only interaction he has had with you prior to this was seven years ago, a conversation that lasted for about ten minutes. People change. Maybe you did. Or maybe you were always like this and that one particular evening you happened to feel chatty.

Who knows.

As he turns off the engine after having parked his car in the garage, his phone pings.

Riya: Thanks :)

A content smile spreads over Jungkook’s face and forgotten is the weird encounter he just had with you.

TWO DAYS LATER

“Your letter is T.”

The groom’s side discusses among themselves as to who would continue the game further with the letter T.

“Aunty, why don’t you sing two lines?” Seema, the bride’s sister suggests.

Jungkook’s mother visibly shies at the suggestion and mutters a bunch of ‘No’s to deny the request. This only urges the bride’s team to request her even more.

After much hesitation, Jungkook’s mother takes a hold of the mic. However, the moment the microphone is in her hands a look of determination spreads over her features and a switch is flipped on.

…….and then takes place the onset of a classical song.

Both the teams are equally caught off guard by the sudden change of……atmosphere.

Jungkook, who was watching from a distance, finds great amusement at the scene unfolding in front of him. People find out about his mom’s expertise in classical music in the funniest of ways.

Knowing pretty well that the classical music will go on for some time, he decides to take a little stroll around the place. Since, Jungkook’s extended family have finally arrived, tonight is supposed to be a grand celebration of the engagement.

Some ten minutes later, he finds himself in a small circle of men involving a few of Riya’s industry friends.

“Shooting has been incredibly hectic these days,” groans Vikram.

“Last day, we shot till four in the morning,” adds Chris.

“With how busy the schedule is, I am just thankful that I can attend Riya’s marriage,” Jay, a rather close friend of Riya’s , comments.

Jungkook hums and nods along, only adding words when required.

“Isn’t that Trisha?” Vikram queries, squinting his eyes to figure out if his guess is right or wrong.

“Yes, it is,” Jay confirms.

“Oh god, she is drunk. Hope she does not cause a scene.” Chris’s words have the opposite effect as at that very moment, Trisha collides with a waiter and causes the tray of mocktail he was carrying to fall on the ground.

“You can never trust Trisha and Y/N to not cause trouble.”

“Y/N?” The mention of your name takes Jungkook by surprise. Why are you getting mentioned out of nowhere? And how do Riya’s friends know you?

“You have not heard of Y/N? She is Riya’s younger sister.”

Okay, whoa, Jungkook did not see this coming.

“Y/N is Riya’s sister?” Jungkook asks, just in case he had heard things wrong.

“Yeah, they are five sisters, Seema, Kriti, Riya, Neena and Y/N.”

He is well familiar with the other four names. He has met them, talked to them and sees them quite often at family occasions. But, you? You are the fifth sister?

The noises around Jungkook fade as his mind processes this newfound information.

He did not think that his curiosity about your and Riya’s connection would be answered this way and that you would turn out to be Riya’s sister.

Jungkook has been trying his best to sleep.

His attempt, so far, has remained unsuccessful.

His mind has been going in circles about you.

It’s not like he didn’t know that Riya has four sisters. But he knew the one sister who he had never had the opportunity to meet with, as Mita. To add to that, he had never seen a single picture that you were a part of.

The name Mita is still explainable. Maybe that’s a nickname given to you by your family. But what makes Jungkook feel doubtful is your reason for absence. Common knowledge was you were abroad studying and doing research work. You were busy and never got the time to pay a visit.

But Jungkook doubts that someone going abroad would leave their home the way you did; climbing over a wall. And for some reason, he is sure that, that was the day you left because you are only back now. Had you visited before, Jungkook is sure that he would have known.

However, now your presence that day made sense to him. You were the bride’s sister.

Bride’s sister climbs over the wall and takes a cab to the airport on the day of the wedding. In no world does that sound normal.

Jungkook turns around, pulls the blanket up to his chest, stares at the wall and sighs.

This whole thinking and trying to figure out why he did not know you were Riya’s sister, any sooner is only an attempt to cover up and ignore the fact that he is worried.

But can he really be blamed? How can he not be worried?

Dropping off your fiancé’s friend to a place is one thing and dropping off your fiancé’s sister to a place totally unknown to him is one thing.

Are you eating alright? Are the services there good? Is the place clean?

Jungkook sighs again.

Fuck this.

He removes the blanket, puts on a shirt and grabs his car keys.

He needs to know for sure that the place you are staying at is good and safe. Maybe then, he will be able to sleep peacefully.

HAPPY GUEST HOUSE.

The signboard reads. Except, the ‘A’ and ‘O’ are missing and the signboard is crooked.

It isn’t just the signboard though. It is also the overall isolated aura this place has, that makes Jungkook wish he had checked the place you were staying at while dropping off.

Still, he checks the address on his phone one last time, hoping that he has got the wrong place and that you are not actually staying here. The address on his screen, however, remains unchanged, confirming that this indeed is the place.

With a sigh, he walks in through the gate. Ain’t no way he is letting you stay here any longer.

“Miss Y/N,” he gives your name to the guy at the reception, who looks barely awake.

The guy looks at Jungkook and takes out a register.

“Room 112,” the receptionist guy informs, after flipping through some pages.

Jungkook keeps standing there. However, when the receptionist just goes to sit on a chair and yawns, Jungkook loses it. “What do you mean by room 112? An unknown man is asking you for a woman’s room number and you just give it? Don’t even ask how I am related to her, don’t even care that I might just go up to her room right now. What on earth is wrong with you?”

The guy is the least bit bothered. “Do you want to meet her or not?”

Oh, fuck it. Arguing with the guy is useless.

Without another word, he climbs the flight of stairs to find room number 112. Thankfully, it hardly takes him only a minute or so to find your room.

He raises his fist and knocks on the door. However, after the very first knock, he realizes that the door is unlocked.

Gently pushing the door open, he turns on his mobile’s flashlight and calls your name. “Y/N?”

No response.

“Y/N, it is Jungkook.”

No response.

“Y/N, if you are here-“

Then he spots you. You’re sleeping on the floor, all curled up from the cold.

“Y/N?” he kneels down and gently shakes you by your arms, to wake you up. “Y/N? Please wake up.”

“Mm?” You make a small noise at the back of your throat, and slowly, very slowly open your eyes.

“Get up and pack your bags.”

You’re still not fully awake and it takes you a moment to process what he is saying. “Why?”

“You’re coming home with me.”

“Idiot, what kind of a place did you take my guest to?” At some point, Jungkook just could not take it anymore and ended up calling Stuart, to give him an earful. “Forget about good services, there is no security!”

“Sir, I am sure they let you in because you look like someone from a good family,” comes Stuart’s reply, from the other side.

Jungkook scoffs, finding so many flaws in that logic. “Do you have any idea the amount of mosquitoes that are there in this place? What if she had caught dengue?”

“Sir, don’t worry, the dengue mosquitoes don’t bite at night.”

“Oh yes, malaria is so much of a better option,” Jungkook replies sarcastically and cuts the call.

“Mosquitoes don’t bite me,” you offer in a soft voice.

“I am sorry, Y/N. Had I known this was the place, I would have never let you stay here,” Jungkook apologizes for the umpteenth time.

You offer him a small smile and shake your head. “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

You both walk to his car and get in. Once inside, Jungkook offers if you’d like to listen to some music, which you politely decline.

“Did you have dinner?” He asks, wondering if he should make a pit stop on his way to a food outlet.

You reply with a small nod of your head, letting him know that there is no need for that.

As the car gets moving, you sigh and relax in the passenger seat. The roads are empty, which is to be expected considering it’s well past midnight. A result of which, is the cool breeze that hits your face, something that you admittedly find really enjoyable.

You see the roads passing by and it suddenly occurs to you that you are out in your hometown after a really long time–seven years to be exact. The roads feel the same except for the fact that they are entirely different.

The place reminds you of the days when you were younger and–

You take a deep inhale, trying to distract your thoughts from going in that direction.

In the last couple of days, you have surely been out of that little dingy place that runs under the name of a hotel but you were never out like this. Maybe that is why thoughts and feelings you have wanted to avoid and bury, are trying to say their ‘hello’s to you.

“Actually,” you begin in a soft mumble, “some music would be nice.”

“Sure,” Jungkook turns on the radio and soon a soft melody fills the air.

Thankfully, the music does serve as a sweet distraction as you refuse to focus on anything but counting the rhythmic drum beats, blocking any other thoughts and feelings in the process.

Unbeknownst to you, at some point your eyes start feeling heavy and you start dozing off. You would never admit it out loud, not even to yourself, but you hadn’t been getting good sleep the past few days. And for some reason, the car seats seem really comfortable to you.

What wakes you up after what could possibly have been ages, is a soft call of your name. You slowly open your eyes and with a blurry vision register that Jungkook is speaking to you.

“We are here,” the words reach your ears and you let out a small hum.

With steps like that of a drunk man–or mayhaps that of a toddler–you blindly follow Jungkook into the building. If someone were to ask you what floor the elevator stopped at, you wouldn’t be able to tell.

When you both enter the apartment, you hardly take your environment into consideration and speak rather loudly; “Can I have–“

A hand abruptly clamps down on your mouth and causes the rest of your words to come out muffled. The next thing you know, you are being dragged into a different room.

The sudden movements are enough to clear your drowsiness and you’re back in your full senses.

“Shhh,” Jungkook for the first time tonight, looks annoyed. “People are sleeping. You will wake them up.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, realising your mistake. “I just need a wet towel.”

Jungkook nods, about to get you what you just asked for but then pauses to look at you. “Wet towel? A dry won’t work? Just soak it in water.”

“That will work too.”

He nods again and opens a cupboard to fetch a towel. “By the way, what will you do with a wet towel?”

“Placing a wet towel on your stomach kills hunger.”

Jungkook is perplexed at your words and the annoyed frown on his face, melts into that of disbelief. “I asked you whether you had dinner or not.”

“This is the only place that is open at this time.” These are the words that Jungkook introduces the small street-side restaurant, with. “One thing I can assure you is, the food doesn’t disappoint.”

You give a small shy nod, feeling guilty for letting it slip that you indeed did not have dinner. In your defense, you really did not think it was necessary to meet the needs of your empty stomach. The other two nights, the wet towel technique worked just fine.

“I’d have survived the night you know,” you offer lightly as a joke but actually meaning it.

“I know you would have,” Jungkook offers and for some reason, the reply shuts you up.

As you both occupy the seats of a two-seater table, you realise that the entire place is empty except for a young couple occupying one of the corner seats.

“Butter chicken and chicken chow mein are the only two food items available at this time,” the waiter informs, looking like he is ready to retire for the day.

“Two half chicken chow mein,” you decide.

“I won’t eat—,” Jungkook is cut off by your feet harshly slamming on his, under the table.

“Two half chow mein,” you confirm. Once the waiter is gone you lean forward and whisper, “Two halves are always more than one full.”

Jungkook’s mouth forms an ‘o’ and he nods in understanding, admittedly impressed by your little tips and tricks.

The time it takes for you to finish the two half plates of chowmein is embarrassingly short. It briefly makes Jungkook wonder whether you had anything to eat yesterday—as a matter of fact, the day before yesterday—but he decides not to dwell on it. He makes peace with the fact that you will go to bed today with a full stomach.

Once you’re done, you release a sigh, almost having forgotten to breathe in the process. Sometimes, you don’t realise how hungry you actually were unless you have filled your stomach to the brim.

“Thank you.” You speak, genuinely grateful for everything that Jungkook has done for you.

“You’re welcome,” he replies. “Next time, just be honest if you’re hungry.”

The words cause you to let out a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Once the bills are paid, and you have had your fair share of collecting the sugar coated fennel seeds in a napkin, the both of you find yourselves back inside the car for a third time tonight.

This time, there is no music and you don’t feel a need for a distraction either.

Your mind is rather occupied with the events of today and what it means for your tomorrow.

You didn’t think things would take a turn like this but admittedly it makes it easier for you to accomplish what you came for. The only thing you perhaps feel guilty for, is causing Jungkook trouble. Heck, you are not even sure whether Riya knows that Jungkook has offered for you to stay in his place.

Actually, you know. There’s no way Riya knows about it. Had she known, you wouldn’t have been sitting here.

The thought makes you briefly look at Jungkook and you suddenly find yourself feeling sorry for all the trouble you’re undoubtedly going to cause between him and Riya. But more than the guilt, you feel grateful for his kindness.

Jungkook seems to have a very genuine, welcoming aura. Despite everything he has done for you, you have not felt as if he is doing a favour on you. He seems like the kind of person who would tell you on your face, if he was annoyed or if you were being too much. That saves you from the guessing game.

Maybe if you were not in so much of a rush to leave, you and Jungkook would have made good friends.

When you leave, you should probably leave a thank you gift for him, as a token of your appreciation.

Your train of thought is broken by the sound of a hiccup.

“I am–,” a hiccup, “–sorry.” Jungkook apologises, feeling a little shy.

“It’s okay.” You make a mental note to offer him a bottle of water at the next signal.

However, after the fifth hiccup, a soft mumble of the word Riya reaches your ears and you soon realise it is repetitive in between each hiccup.

“What are you doing?” You ask, confused.

Jungkook glances at you from the corner of his eyes. “It is said you get hiccups when someone is thinking of you and who else could be thinking of me, but Riya? So, I am taking her name in hopes that the hiccups go away.”

“In that case you should definitely take my name,” you suggest. “From the moment that I have sat in the car, I have been thinking of you.”

Jungkook looks at you once again, momentarily caught off guard by your honesty but then decides to take up on your suggestion.

“Y/N.”

Hiccup.

“Y/N.”

Hiccup.

“Y/N.”

Hiccup.

You tsk and shake your head. “You see, a hiccup is essentially an involuntary spasm of the diaphragm which causes sudden closure of the epiglottis which creates the ‘hic’ sound.”

“And the remedy for that is to just let it be, but if it lasts too long, take medicines like maloperidol, nanoclopramide and florpromazine, which isn’t in the car–” your chew on your nails briefly, recalling other solutions, “–there is another way....it is called the swimmer’s remedy.”

You press the tip of your little fingers against your nostrils, blocking the free passage of air. Simultaneously, you widen your eyes, stick out your tongue and exhale loudly.

“But you can’t do that either, because you’re driving,” you murmur, more so to yourself.

Well, minus the hand placement and the tongue, Jungkook’s eyes are fairly as wide as yours were.

“And the third way is–”, you sneak a glance at Jungkook to ensure that his eyes are focused on the road. Out of nowhere, your hands take a hold of the steering and you swiftly turn it in the other direction causing the car to take a sudden turn.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? ARE YOU INSANE?!”

You release your grip and look at him, mildly apologetic. “The third method is shock.”

Jungkook looks confused, the suddenness of your movements still having its effect on him. However, after a few moments of silence, Jungkook puts a hand on his stomach and realizes that the hiccups are indeed gone!

The realisation causes him to chuckle. “Are you a doctor?”

“Nope,” you reply, shaking your head, glad that you could be of help. A few beats later, you speak again. “By the way, do you remember we met seven years ago? T20 cricket?”

The turn of Jungkook’s head towards you is a slow one and he wonders if you really did say that.

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#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenarios #jungkook au #Jungkook series #Jungkook ff #bts x reader #slow burn #Fic: hl

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doctorbitchcrxft · 10 months ago

Text

Emotions | Sam Winchester x Angel!Fem!Reader

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Angel!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5521

Warnings: mentions of drug addiction, mentions of smut (MDNI this is an 18+ blog), mentions of iffy family dynamics

A/N: For this nonnie! I have a very deep love of music and a special connection with it, and pretty much all of my one-shot fics are gonna be titled after songs. If you'd like to connect with the music as well, here's a few songs I recommend reading while you listen to the chapter!

Emotions by Brenda Lee

In the Still of the Night by the Five Satins

Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene by Hozier

Snow Angel by Renee Rapp

Queue up on Spotify or your preferred streaming service, and happy reading!

General Writings Masterlist

Humans were curious. The more time you spent with them, the more you couldn’t understand why your father loved them so much. However, one human was beginning to pique your interest. His name was Sam Winchester.

Your brother Castiel had been charged with rescuing Sam’s brother, Dean, from Hell. However, Zachariah had not given the word to begin the mission just yet. You, though, were charged with the care of Sam Winchester.

He became interesting for a number of reasons. The Winchester boys had been of special interest to all of Heaven since their mother died in Azazel’s attack. You’d known of his existence and watched from afar as the sweet, intelligent young man became a cold shell of who he once was while his brother suffered in Hell. The demon Ruby— who you would be sure to kill as soon as you could get your hands on her— had been getting Sam addicted to the potent substance that was demon’s blood. If you had to compare it to a human drug, you’d heard many angels say it felt like a heroin addiction.

Despite your disinterest in most of humanity, you were more compassionate toward them than most of your brothers and sisters. While some, like Uriel, were ruthless in their method to get humans on their side, you always took a more “humane” approach. No matter how many times humanity had broken your heart through their horrible mistakes leading to death and destruction, you still tried to show each human compassion.

You watched from afar as Sam began to learn to exorcize demons with his mind. The experience was undoubtedly painful, and your anger with Ruby grew with each passing day. Always keeping your distance, though, because you knew now was not the right time to step in. Zachariah would give you the word when it was.

You followed Sam down a darkened, busy street, keeping just far enough back that he wouldn’t be able to see you. He turned the corner onto what you assumed was another street, and you foolishly followed. Suddenly, you were pinned to the wall with a demon’s knife at your throat and an angry Sam staring down at you.

“Who the hell are you?” the man spat, pressing the tip of the weapon into your throat forcefully. “Why are you following me?”

“Hello, Sam,” you said calmly. “My name is (Y/N). I’m here to help you.”

He scoffed. “What? Another demon coming to peddle your wares? I don’t think so.” The brunet stepped away from you and tried to exorcize you with his powers.

You just remained still, large doe-eyes looking at him with a small smile playing on your lips.

Sam then appeared scared. “What— What are you?”

“I’m an angel,” you replied evenly.

He laughed. “Right. C’mon, what are you really?”

You unfurled your large, beautiful wings and called upon a clap of thunder to ensure the shadow would be cast on the wall behind you. “I told you. I’m an angel.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t believe this.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked. “Why are you angry?”

He spun around to face you. “Why am I angry? My brother’s been dragged to Hell, and you’re asking me why I’m angry?”

You continued to look at him in confusion.

“I prayed. Every day for the last year Dean was alive. Why didn’t one of you answer?” he finished.

“It wasn’t the right time,” you explained. “Father wouldn’t allow us.”

“Well, fuck all of you guys, then,” Sam spat.

You were intrigued and confused by his intense anger. “Your prayers are being answered now. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“Too little, too late,” he replied. “Now, leave me alone.”

You stared after him as he walked away. Didn’t he want your help? Why was he angry at you when you were simply obeying your father? His prayers were being answered, and he was cruel to you.

That should have enraged you. However, it only intrigued you even more.

***

You knew Sam had not told Ruby he’d seen you, which surprised you. Everything about this man was surprising you.

While his addiction to demon blood was horrific and disgusting to you, you were surprised how much… empathy, you believed the feeling was— you were starting to feel for him. He’d undoubtedly been manipulated by the demon into that state of being.

His incredible strength both physically and mentally was impressive. While he wouldn’t last a moment in a fight with you or any of your brothers and sisters, he was skilled in many different athletic pursuits. His interest in different philosophies was curious to you as well; most humans you'd come across were set in their ways with no interest in different points of view.

After your last conversation with him, you decided not to intervene unless he desperately needed you. And now, he desperately needed you.

Ruby had either knowingly or unknowingly sent him into a death trap. While Ruby conveyed she believed only two demons to be hiding in a warehouse, an entire lair of at least thirty laid in wait for the young man. You knew you’d have to get involved this time, no matter if Zachariah approved or not.

You watched from the skylights of the darkened warehouse as Sam crept around with Ruby following closely behind. Your father willing, you’d slit her throat with her own knife.

You could see the other demons beginning to creep in around Ruby and Sam. Sam was the first to notice something was wrong and spun around to face the demons behind Ruby.

You used your powers to appear behind a wire rack covered with boxes to have the element of surprise with the demons.

“Hey there, handsome,” one of the demons was telling Sam.

Another snarled, “And Ruby. I thought Lilith got rid of you.”

“Apparently, she didn’t do a very good job,” replied Ruby.

The demons had Sam and Ruby back to back as they closed in their circle around the two.

Taking out your blade, you stepped out into the dim light, heels clicking across the floor. All of the demons turned around to face you, as did Sam and Ruby.

“Wow, Ruby. Seriously? You’re working with an angel?” a demon snickered.

You didn’t allow any of the demons a chance to get another word in. You appeared behind the demon who had the nerve to speak up and plunged your blade through its vessel’s back.

A few of the demons tried to escape by fleeing their bodies, but you forced them back in. While you were compassionate, merciful would not be a word used to describe you. When you were crossed, you didn’t play nicely.

A few demons tried to charge you, and you immediately reached out to two, grabbed their hands, and killed them while you used your free arm to plunge your blade through the other’s chest. With, in all honesty, very little effort, you managed to make your way through most of the demons. With the mess of dead bodies sprawled across the concrete floor, it made it easier to see what was left for you to deal with. That was when you noticed Ruby was gone, but Sam was still there, fighting demons with his demon knife.

A demon behind Sam was preparing to stab him in the back, but you threw your angel blade through the demon’s throat just in time to save Sam.

Slowly but surely, you made your way through the remaining demons. Sam panted from exhaustion and the few wounds he’d sustained but still stood with his shoulders squared. “I didn’t need saving,” he huffed.

“I don’t mean to offend you, but yes, you did,” you replied evenly. “I will admit, I’m disappointed your demon friend left so soon. I was looking forward to formally introducing myself.”

Sam laughed, somewhere between mocking and a genuine laugh. “You were gonna kill her, weren’t you?”

“Without hesitation,” you nodded. “I know what she’s been doing, Sam. I know what you’ve been doing.”

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business,” he said, his voice cold.

“It is my business.”

“How?”

“Angels are only sent to earth for their missions; unless they’ve fallen,” you explained. “Like I told you before, you’re my mission.”

“And like I told you,” he sneered, “not interested.”

“I don’t understand,” you stated. “Isn’t this what you wanted? I’m answering your prayer. I thought you’d be happy.”

“I told you; too little, too late—!”

“I’m not talking about the prayers for your brother anymore, Sam,” you cut him off. “I’m talking about your prayers for yourself.”

That seemed to quiet him down.

“I heard you. The first night you drank demon’s blood, you prayed. That was when I was assigned to you,” you told him. “Some of the angels believed you were too far gone. I, however, was the one to ask my superior if I could help you.”

Tears welled in Sam’s eyes. “Why would you do that? Why wouldn’t you save Dean?”

“I wanted to,” you admitted, not quite understanding why you were spilling your secrets to a human.

He got angry again. “Why didn't you?!”

You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing. “It is not my place to question my superiors. I serve Heaven first; not you.”

“Well, find some other way to serve Heaven. I’m not interested,” he grumbled, turning away. You noticed how painfully he rolled his shoulder.

“I can fix that for you,” you said, stopping him in his tracks.

“What?” Sam turned back around.

“Your arm.” You nodded in its direction. “And those gashes. They look like they’ll get infected if you don’t let me help you.” You stepped toward him, and he remained still.

His impressive stature was incredibly intimidating to you despite your angelic status. You had never felt such a feeling; only when you were in the presence of the archangels. Whatever this feeling was, you didn’t think you liked it.

“May I?” you asked, hesitantly reaching your fingers out toward his arm.

Sam nodded, face drawn into hard lines.

You closed your eyes as you touched his shoulder to concentrate on sending your healing powers through his body. You didn’t miss the way his muscles tensed momentarily before relaxing under your touch.

“Thank you,” he said.

You nodded.

Sam hesitated for a moment before asking, “ What’d you say your name was?”

“(Y/N),” you responded.

***

You watched through the window of the cabin he was hiding in as Sam fought with Ruby over you. You expected Ruby to be angry, but you didn’t expect Sam to defend you.

“She’s an angel, Ruby, she’s not here to hurt me,” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t know angels, Sam. I do. They’re not the peaceful hippies the Bible makes them out to be,” Ruby snapped. “If she knew I was helping you, she’d probably smite me.”

“She does know,” Sam replied, almost too quietly for even your enhanced hearing.

“What?! You told her?!”

“No, I didn’t, I—” Sam cut himself off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “She just knew, somehow.”

Ruby clearly didn’t believe him. “Somehow,” she scoffed. “And somehow, I don’t believe you.”

“Whatever,” Sam huffed. He suddenly caught your eye in the window but covered it up by quickly looking back to Ruby. “I think you should go.”

She crossed her arms. “Seriously?” The demon rolled her eyes and began to walk toward the door. “Goodbye, Sam.”

You invited yourself into the room. “Is she gone?” you asked Sam, appearing in front of him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, she’s gone.”

“Your motivations confuse me, Sam Winchester,” you stated bluntly.

He seemed to chuckle genuinely. “Why?”

“Do you not believe Ruby to be helping you? It seemed you couldn’t stand the sight of me less than twenty-four hours ago. Why would you kick her out after all that and cover for me?” you asked, head tilting in confusion.

You knew you weren’t supposed to question. You knew Sam was simply an assignment; there should be no desire for further questions exchanged. However, a nagging force in the back of your mind refused to let those questions remain internal.

“I don’t know,” he responded, seemingly earnest.

Suddenly, a song began to play in the background. Your head turned to the source of the sound; a peculiar little box with a spinning disc on top of it. You swayed to the soft music emanating from it. “What is this?” you asked.

“Music,” Sam replied from behind you.

You turned to face him. “I know what music is, Sam. What is the little box?”

“A record player,” he replied, much closer to you than he had been when you first turned to the sound of the music.

“And what is this song?” you asked, dewey eyes shining in the dim light.

“Uh, one of the records they had in this old cabin. I think the band’s The Five Satins. ‘In the Still of the Night’,” he explained.

“I think I like this song,” you said, your voice taking on a peculiar lilt you’d never heard yourself speak with before. You suddenly realized how close Sam was to you and backed away. “Well, if you need anything,” you began, “I am never far from you.” And with that, you were gone.

***

“(Y/N)?” you heard Sam praying. “(Y/N), uh, I don’t know if you’re listening—”

With a quick flap of your wings, you appeared in front of Sam in his cabin. “I am,” you replied.

“Oh, hey,” he snorted. He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his hands together and staring at the floor.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“I don’t know what the right thing to do anymore is,” he admitted. Sam was suddenly embarrassed by what he’d said. “Uh, I don’t know why I said that…”

“Do not be embarrassed. I do not pass judgment on humans for their feelings,” you replied.

That pulled a small smile from him. “Do you guys… not have feelings?”

“No,” you replied. “At least, I don’t think we do. Or, perhaps, what we experience as angels is too complex to be simplified into human emotion.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I believe I may experience compassion, but I am not merciful. Those two traits I have seen go together in human manifestations. My loyalty to my father is incomparable to any human form of loyalty. Most humans I have come across sacrifice their loyalties quite easily,” you explained thoughtfully.

“And by your father, you mean, God?” he asked.

You nodded.

Sam hesitated before asking his next question. “What’s he like?”

His question caught you off-guard; it wasn’t something you’d thought about before. “Well, humans describe him as—”

Sam shook his head. “I know what people make him out to be. What do you say?”

That question startled you even more, and all you could answer with was the truth. “I haven’t met him.”

Now, it was Sam’s turn to be caught off-guard. “Really?”

You nodded. “I’ve been around just about as long as the planet, and I’ve never met him once.”

Sam considered for a moment. “And you’re still loyal to him?”

“Well, I don’t necessarily have a choice in that matter,” you replied. “I am an angel. I was created for the purpose of my loyalty to my father and carrying out his missions.” His questions were beginning to get under your skin, and you’d never thought so long about those things before.

“Well, how do you know your orders come from him if you’ve never met the guy?” Sam continued to press. “How do you know somebody’s not lying to—”

“My brothers and sisters would never lie to me,” you cut him off. Perhaps this is what “offense” felt like? “I don’t believe lying to be something we are capable of.”

Sam took a deep breath and flexed his eyebrows. “Whoa, didn’t mean to strike a nerve, there.”

He did. “You didn’t,” you responded.

A spell of silence was cast over you.

“What’s it like?” Sam asked.

You tilted your head in confusion.

“That blind faith,” he embellished. “How do you do it?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. I just always have. I am a Seraph; I believe ‘blind faith’ is my purpose.”

“Oh, seraphim’s a real thing? Are you guys the, uh, high-rankers?”

You nodded. “I don’t think of myself in terms of my rank, but I am superior to those in my garrison. My superior is Zachariah; the only one of us in direct communication with the archangels.” You felt yourself snap out of it. “I… don’t know why I told you that.”

“Well, I guess we’re even then,” Sam smiled.

***

You began to see less and less of Ruby as days went by, and for that, you were grateful. It seemed she was only around for Sam to feed from her.

“What does she say the demon blood will do for you?” you asked Sam, sitting beside him on the edge of the cabin’s roof.

Sam gave you a curious look but answered your question anyway. “It’ll make me strong enough to kill Lilith.”

“And… why do you want to do that?” you asked trepidatiously.

He answered your question quite blankly, staring ahead. “Revenge. For my brother.”

You nodded. “And what do you believe getting revenge will do for you?”

That seemed to challenge him. “I don’t know.”

“I have been with you since you were young, Sam. I watched you go off to college, I watched Azazel kill Jessica, and I watched every fight between you and your father.”

Sam turned his head toward you as you talked, a pensive look on his face.

“And I think I decided that all of those fights between you two happened because of how similar the two of you are.” You turned your head toward him, the sunset casting a heavenly glow across Sam’s face. “This is one of those things you two have in common; vengeance. I cannot decide if that’s a good or a bad quality, if I’m honest.”

Sam huffed out a small laugh. “That’s fair.” His hair fell in front of his eyes as he looked down at his hands folded in his lap. His eyebrows drew together, and you just watched him carefully. “You’ve never wanted payback? Not even once?”

You shook your head. “That’s not part of my job. I am a warrior, but I don’t feel emotional attachment to my fights. And, rationally, I know revenge is pointless. It doesn’t change the past. It can only make for a worse future.”

Sam was silent for a moment. “Wow. For a… shiny, hard, plastic, emotionless angel, that’s pretty profound.”

You tilted your head in confusion. “I am not plastic or shiny.”

He laughed. “No, you’re not. Just an analogy.”

“You humans and your words,” you sighed. “The English language is by far the most confusing.”

“Why do you say that?” Sam chuckled.

“I speak every language ever created, Sam,” you explained. “Even Enochian is simpler than English.”

The young man laughed. “For an angel, you’ve got a good sense of humor.”

You tilted your head. “I didn’t know I did, but thank you.”

***

It had been about three months since Dean’s sentencing. The angels began to talk about how he’d said “yes” to Alistair and was beginning to torture other souls in the pit. However, you knew it was best not to bring that fact up to Sam.

The brother in your care was still not doing very well. His addiction was getting worse, and his anger at himself for not being strong enough to take care of his most recent demon hunt. You watched through the window as Sam and Ruby shouted at each other, and their anger eventually devolved into Ruby kissing Sam.

You were stunned, and something you’d never felt before flooded your chest. Whatever this feeling was, you hated it. You backed away from the window you’d become accustomed to staring through and walked off. You felt your vessel stumbling rather than walking, and you were unsure why your chest hurt. You stumbled through the night forward against a tree and held yourself there.

Whatever was happening to you, one thing was for sure that you could no longer deny: you were beginning to feel.

***

A few days went by, and you hadn’t seen Sam. In fact, you refused to answer his many prayers. He begged you to come to him and told you he didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Eventually, your resolve broke.

“Hey,” he said, standing from his chair and seeming startled by your appearance. “Wh— Where’d you go? Why didn’t you answer?”

“Why did you have sex with Ruby? Didn’t you know I was watching?” you asked, large eyes holding a pleading innocence.

Sam seemed caught off-guard. “(Y/N), I haven’t had sex with her in weeks. Wh— Why do you care about that, anyway?”

“I saw you two. She kissed you. I know what comes after that, Sam, I’ve been around for thousands of years,” you continued.

Sam shook his head. “She kissed me. And then, I pushed her off. I haven’t seen her since.”

You tilted your head. “Why did you do that?”

“ ‘Cause. I couldn’t do it,” he shrugged.

“Why?”

“ I’m not into voyeurism,” he smirked. “I knew you were watching. I haven’t had sex with her since you showed up.”

You thought for a moment, realizing he was telling the truth. “Oh.” Was this feeling… relief?

Sam gave you a curious look, and you averted his gaze. “Why’d you wanna know?”

You shook your head. “Not important. How have you been these last few days?”

“Honestly?” He scratched the back of his neck. “Not good. The addiction… it’s, uh—”

“Bad?” you asked.

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“I’m sorry,” you told him.

“ ‘S not your fault,” Sam shrugged.

“That is much different from what you told me when we first met,” you said.

Sam snorted. “Yeah, I was angry then. Now, I know you.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you were surprised at the feeling.

***

You hummed the tune of “In the Still of the Night” by the Five Satins, a song that Sam had introduced to you.

The man in question sat at the cabin’s kitchen table hunched over his laptop. Sam had suggested you come inside with him since you’d be keeping an eye on him anyway. You told him if Ruby came, you’d kill her, but he just shook his head. “If she knows you’re here, she’s not coming,” he’d told you.

“You’ve got a pretty voice,” Sam commented.

You stopped humming. “Thank you. When the cherubs in my garrison were young, they liked when I’d sing to them.” You resumed your song.

A few minutes went by before Sam spoke up. “Can I ask you something?”

You stopped humming again and nodded.

“Why haven’t you gone after Ruby yet?”

Before you could think, you answered, “Because I knew it would upset you.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Sam’s lips. “I appreciate that.”

You smiled in response.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile,” Sam told you.

You continued to stare at him with your dewey doe eyes.

“Can I ask you something else?”

You nodded again.

“Whose body are you in?” he asked.

You hummed as you thought. “I’ve been with her for centuries. She was being abused by her husband and begging for a way out. You see, angels have to get consent from their vessels. She wanted me to use her body to carry out my father’s mission.”

Sam nodded.

“I quite enjoyed her company,” you continued. “I’ve never told any of my brothers or sister about this, but the day her soul moved on was the first time I ever felt something like… sadness.”

“So, angels, is it like demons where the vessel’s soul takes a back seat?” Sam questioned, his interest seeming very genuine.

You shook your head. “Not with her, it wasn’t. She could force me out whenever she wanted, but she told me she preferred my company to that of her husband’s.”

Sam nodded but seemed pensive.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. “It’s just… It’s a lot to take in.”

“I can understand that.” You paused for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever spent this long in the company of a human; aside from my vessel.”

“Really?” Sam asked.

You nodded. “I was taught not to spend time with the humans I was charged with. We were always told that the more time you spend with them, the more you become like them. And if you’re a human, you are flawed. You can’t truly live in service of my father while human.”

“That sounds kinda fucked up though, (Y/N),” Sam told you. “I mean, don’t you think it’s… restrictive? Limiting?”

You considered. “I guess so. But… I’m sure my father had good reason. He wouldn’t try to hurt us.”

“I don’t think he would, either,” Sam told you. “But I do think he did that for self-serving reasons.”

You stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“He creates these… beings— you and the other angels— to bend to his every whim. Think about it. He makes you emotionless, so you don’t question his ‘will’ or… rebel,” Sam explained. “He needs you to be perfectly loyal.”

Sam’s words swirled around in your head. “You’re confusing me,” you said, breath quickening.

Sam shook his head. “I’m not trying to. But you’re smart. I’m just trying to make you think.”

“No human has ever challenged me the way you have,” you responded. “I appreciate it.”

“You do?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

You nodded. “I’ve been around a very long time. Things can get monotonous. It is… refreshing to meet someone like you.”

The corners of Sam’s lips turned upward.

The two of you went back to silence, and suddenly, Sam was up and running to the bathroom.

“Sam?” you asked, running after him.

When you got to him, he was hunched over the toilet bowl vomiting.

Hesitantly, you reached toward him and began to rub small circles over his back. You remembered your vessel telling you that’s what she’d do to her children when they were sick.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “I’m here.”

When Sam was done, he slumped to the floor, curling up into a ball. Sweat covered every inch of his body, and he began to shake feverishly.

You knew it was the withdrawals from the blood after not seeing Ruby for days. You wanted nothing more than to help him through it, but your healing powers couldn’t assist with demonic workings of any kind. What you could do, though, is put him to sleep. You ran your hand over his hair and got up from the floor.

After grabbing a blanket off his bed, you brought it back to the bathroom and sat back down beside him. When you’d tossed the blanket over him, you helped Sam rest his head on your lap. Then, you went back to running your hand over the brunet’s hair and used your powers to put him to sleep. His shaking subsided, and his breathing relaxed. You stayed with him through the rest of the night.

***

When Sam woke up laying against you, he immediately seemed embarrassed. He jerked back from you. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s what I’m here for.”

Sam leaned forward hesitantly. He kept pausing as his face got closer to yours, seemingly to ensure you weren’t uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable wasn’t quite the word you’d use; there were a million thoughts running through your mind. And yet, you couldn’t string one coherent sentence together.

You tilted your chin up, and it was all the confirmation Sam needed. His kiss was gentle when he first connected your lips. You responded, almost completely frozen, but still moving your lips in time with his.

Sam’s kiss got more desperate, and he pulled you across his lap, wrapping his large hands around your hips and back.

And then, he was gone. You were confused only momentarily as you became aware of Zachariah’s presence in front of you.

“I know what you’ve been doing, (Y/N),” Zachariah chastised.

You hung your head in shame. “I’m sorry, Zachariah. I let myself get too close to Sam Winchester, and—”

Zachariah cut you off. “Yes. You did. I’m disappointed in you.” He stalked around you, his multiple sets of wings encircling and taunting you. “You were one of my best, (Y/N). And now, I’m going to have to let you go.”

Your eyes widened, and you looked up at your superior. “Wait, please! I’m sorry!”

He patted your cheek. “I know you are. But you turned your back on us, (Y/N). You turned your back on our father.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

“Ah! That. That, right there.” He caught the tear on his first finger as it slipped down your cheek. “Feeling. Feelings are human. You’ve changed, my dear sister.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried softly.

“I told you that Sam Winchester is a lost cause. I knew something like this would happen, but you? You didn’t listen. Goodbye, sister.”

And with that, you were sent barreling down to earth. The fall was incredibly painful; your wings feeling like they were being burnt off your body, each feather leaving ripples of searing heat in its wake.

Nothing could stop you barreling toward the earth. The speed of your fall began to take a toll on you, and your vision faded to black.

***

You woke up flat on your back in the middle of nowhere. Your limbs ached, and your vessel’s body was undoubtedly broken. Using your weakened powers, you healed your body enough to be able to stand. When you’d gotten your wits about you, you would heal yourself completely.

You walked through the woods you’d landed in the middle of. The morning sun was still rising, the birds chirped, and light streamed through the trees. All at once, the reality of your situation hit you, and you cried.

You cried for your brothers and sisters you’d never see again; very few ever came to earth. You weren’t sure how you’d get to Sam without your wings, but you needed to see him. This feeling of need was still foreign to you, and you couldn’t decide if you liked how it felt.

All that time you’d spent in service of Heaven and of your father, and you were cast out as if you didn’t matter at all. You knew getting so close was wrong, but you hadn’t expected such harsh treatment. In all your years of being alive, you had never made a mistake. And after just one, you were kicked out?

On the other hand, though, crying was freeing. Maybe Sam was right. Why would your father restrict you from feeling?

For a moment, the world was quiet. All you could hear was your soft sniffles, the birds chirping, and the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. You took a deep breath, and for the first time, life felt beautiful.

***

Sam was praying to you, and you had no way of responding to him. Slowly but surely, you were making your way back to him. You could feel his soul calling to you, and it only spurred you on to continue walking. As an angel, you had no need for sleep or eating. And so, you walked continuously for five days; each step making Sam’s essence grow stronger. You could feel yourself getting closer to him.

“Hey, (Y/N)?” you heard Sam calling to you. “I don’t know if you’re even still listening to me, but I’m sorry for scaring you off. I— I shouldn’t have done what I did. Just… come back. Please.”

It broke your heart that you couldn’t get to him sooner, and you mentally begged him to wait for you.

And finally, on the sixth day, you found Sam’s cabin. Joy and relief flooded your chest, and you smiled widely. You ran through the front door, and Sam jerked out of his chair with his gun in hand. When he realized who you were, he dropped his gun to the floor in surprise. “(Y/N)?”

“Hello, Sam,” you smiled, tears rimming your eyes.

“Wh— What happened? Why’d you leave?” he asked.

“I didn’t. Zachariah brought me back to Heaven, and… he took my wings,” you explained, looking down at your shoes.

Sam’s confused and angry stare turned to his familiar puppy-dog-eyed stare. “What, why?”

“I’m a fallen angel now. I betrayed Heaven,” you responded.

“By doing what?” he asked. “I kissed you, you didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, I did,” you assured him, stepping closer to him. “I started to feel. And… feel for you.”

Sam’s soft gaze flooded your chest with warmth. He used his first two fingers to tilt your chin up toward his and closed the space between your lips.

You and Sam weren’t perfect in any sense. But you would take whatever you two were over your shiny, hard, plastic, emotionless past.

Forever taglist is open; series rewrite taglist is closed!

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam x reader #sam x y/n #sam x you #sam winchester #sam winchester oneshot #sam oneshot #sam winchester x angel!reader #sam winchester x angel!y/n #sam winchester x angel!you #sam x angel!reader #sam x angel!y/n #sam x angel!you #angel!reader

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cuubism · 5 months ago

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more equestrian dreamling for you

Hob should have expected that Roderick would insist on getting Ruby out to competitions far sooner than was advisable. Dream had made progress with the horse, gotten it to relax a little bit, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea to throw Ruby into a new, chaotic environment. Roderick wanted what he wanted, though, and as he was the horse’s owner Dream was still somewhat beholden to that. At least, if he wanted to be the one training it.

So here they were at a competition.

It couldn’t possibly have been worse conditions. The yard was busy, the competition arena surrounded by people, the loudspeaker was shrieking intermittently and the wind was whipping every flag, blanket, and banner into a fury. Nevertheless Dream was in the warmup ring, trotting Ruby around.

Everything was… okay so far, Hob thought. Ruby was trotting around with relative calm, Dream weaving him around the other horses warming up. Other horses being there probably helped matters. Back home Dream had already noticed that Ruby seemed calmer when other horses were around, and had taken to having Hob hack Ellie in the ring while he was riding Ruby so the horse wouldn’t be alone in the arena.

Roderick was on the other side of the warmup ring from Hob, yelling at Dream over the wind, but Dream seemed to be ignoring him.

Alex came up beside Hob, watching nervously. “Will it go well?” he asked.

“Dunno,” Hob said. Dream’s skill was considerable, but horses were always inherently unpredictable. And Ruby even more so than normal.

“But, I thought he was—”

“What your father doesn’t get,” Hob told him, “is that horse training isn’t a linear input-output situation. You can’t just make what you want happen. No matter how much money you throw at it. And especially if you rush.”

“My father always gets what he wants,” Alex said quietly. Hob felt kind of bad for the kid. Must have been rough to have a father like Roderick Burgess.

“We’ll see,” Hob said.

When Dream’s ride came up in the queue, he stopped beside Hob at the ring entrance. Hob handed him a bottle of water, and Dream drank.

“Can’t convince you to postpone?” Hob said, already knowing the answer. At least Ruby had behaved during the warmup, that was something.

Dream handed the water back, shaking his head. “I would rather fight other battles than argue over one competition. Besides, if he performs poorly, perhaps Roderick will finally acknowledge the folly of his expectations.”

Hob doubted that. “Just keep on your toes.”

“Don’t worry, I am aware he is going to look sideways at the crowds, and the flags, and the judge’s booth, and so on.” He sighed. “I miss Jessamy.”

“You’ll get Ruby there too, eventually.”

“Perhaps if Roderick gets out of the way.” The ring steward was summoning him, so with that he walked Ruby off to the competition ring. Hob followed at a distance, taking up his spot by the ring to watch.

The first half of Dream’s test went… relatively well, all things considered. Ruby was spooky, trying to move away from anything that moved outside the ring, and Hob could see Dream fighting to keep him on the rail. The horse seemed more tense, too, without any other horses around, but with the exception of a little jigging and sidestepping at certain corners, Dream managed to mostly keep him focused.

Hob started to think maybe his worries had been overblown. They weren’t going to earn the highest score by any means, Ruby was still far too inconsistent and tense for that, but it would be fine as a starting point. Honestly, Hob didn’t much care about the horse’s success in competition. All he really cared about was Dream’s safety.

He finally relaxed a bit once they were past the halfway point of the test and nothing had gone terribly wrong. Meanwhile, by the arena entrance, Roderick stood with arms crossed, eyes like ice. Clearly having the exact opposite experience as Hob, growing more tense with each mistake Dream and Ruby made.

Hob was really growing to hate that man. If there was one thing that terrible fall had instilled in Hob, it was the belief that none of this competition stuff was really that serious. Of course they wanted to do well. Of course he wanted Dream to do well. But he would rather see Dream perform so badly that he quit upper level competition forever than see Dream hurt. After falling with Ellie, Hob hadn’t cared about any title they’d ever won together. He’d only cared that they were both alive.

He never wanted to try to make Dream do anything, though. And Dream was a very good rider. Hob took comfort in that.

He kept watching the test, keeping half an eye on Roderick on the other end of the ring.

Dream cantered in a big circle across the middle of the ring, then up the long side of the arena towards Hob. The wind gusted, blowing papers about, ruffling Ruby’s tail. And just as Dream and Ruby were passing one of the flags, the wind cracked through it. Like the sound of a whip.

Ruby spooked sideways, head thrown up, eyes rolling. Dream kept his seat, but before he could get him settled, another huge gust of wind blew loose papers across the ring, and one caught Ruby right in the face.

The horse reared, head tossed, stumbling backwards, throwing itself off balance in its panic. Dream leaned forward to counterbalance but it was too late, Ruby had stepped too far under himself.

Hob was already running by the time he toppled over sideways.

He lost sight of Dream in the resulting scramble of limbs as Ruby thrashed in panic and clambered back to his feet. At least he didn’t fully flip over backwards on him, Hob thought, panic rising in his throat, at least—

Hob had seen Dream come off a horse only once before, when Jessamy had tripped on a hack out in the woods and unseated him. She’d just stood there afterwards, looking down at him on the ground as if wondering what on earth he was doing, as Dream brushed pine needles and dirt off his clothes.

Ruby, meanwhile, bolted out of the arena and was out of Hob’s sight in seconds.

Hob missed Jessamy, too.

He didn’t chase the horse, though. He kept running for Dream. Dream who he could see now, still on the ground. Who hadn’t popped back up, brushing dirt off his jacket, like he had that time with Jessamy.

Alex tried to follow Hob, stumbling uncertainly, but Hob pointed him in the other direction. “No! Go help catch the horse!”

Alex ran off after Ruby, looking shaken, and Hob skidded to a stop in the sand beside Dream. He knelt down by Dream’s collapsed form.

Dream wasn’t obviously mangled by hoof prints, though his eyes were closed. But when Hob called his name, his face scrunched up in pain. Dazed, then, not unconscious. That was good. Thank God.

“Dream,” he called again. He touched Dream’s cheek with a light hand, but didn’t dare move him. “Dream?”

Finally, Dream’s eyes opened, slowly focusing on Hob’s face. “…Hob.”

“Yeah, darling,” Hob said, with a relieved smile.

Dream started to try to sit up, but Hob pressed him back down. “No, don’t move. Stay there. He fucking trampled you.”

“Barely,” Dream muttered, but settled back down. “What spooked him? I did not see it.”

“Flags. Papers flying around.”

Dream sighed, closing his eyes again. “Typical. I warned Roderick.”

“Roderick’s incapable of listening to anyone but himself.” He took Dream’s hands in his own. “Squeeze my hands?”

Dream obligingly squeezed Hob’s fingers, then let go.

“Good. Move your toes?” In the distance, he could see the actual show medics running towards them. Hob had first aid training too though, at least. Another thing he’d picked up after getting crushed into the ground.

Dream moved his legs, but grimaced.

“Alright, where did he get you?” Hob said. “I know you’re hurt somewhere or you’d have fought me more about getting up.”

“I expect you will find a hoof print here,” Dream said, touching his thigh, and Hob winced. “I. Hit my head on the ground. My… chest hurts.”

Anxiety swooped through Hob’s belly, but he tried to stay calm, for Dream’s sake. He had been wearing a helmet, at least. And he was lucid. That was good.

Finally the show medics were crouched next to them. Hob could tell they would have preferred if he got out of the way, but he didn’t leave, though he tried to make some room for them. And he kept Dream’s attention as one of them eased his helmet off so he could lie flat.

The helmet had a sizable dent in it. Hob winced.

“Did they catch Ruby?” Dream asked.

“No clue.”

Dream chuckled. “You don’t care at all, do you?”

“I’d rather he not get hit by a car or something, but no, I care more about you right now.” They were in the middle of a huge equestrian park, anyway. Probably Ruby would get bored and start grazing somewhere and someone would catch up to him eventually. “He looked fine when he got up, anyway.”

“It’s not his fault, Hob,” Dream said.

“I know.” Hob looked around, but Roderick was nowhere in sight. Typical. “It’s someone’s fault, though.”

“We can handle Roderick later.”

One of the medics asked Dream a few questions, then wrapped a c-collar around his neck. He was surprisingly docile about it, which Hob found worrying. Dream was never docile.

Hob was forced to move back a few feet as the medics got Dream on a stretcher. They hadn’t even considered just getting him on his feet. Fuck. Fuck.

Dream cried out as they moved him, a short, sharp cry of pain, quickly cut off. Hob rushed back over to him, taking his hand.

“I’m fine,” Dream said, finally breathing out again. “Go. Make sure the horse is okay? I am fine.”

“Fuck that,” Hob said. “I’m going with you. I’ll text Alex, make sure they get Ruby sorted.”

Dream smiled faintly, and Hob knew that, no matter what Dream might have said, it was the right call.

He rode with Dream to the hospital. He kept going back and forth on whether he should be worried or not. It could all just be some nasty bruises. That was probably the case with Dream’s thigh, considering he’d apparently been stepped on but wasn’t complaining much about the pain. Hob was worried about his head, but thankfully he didn’t seem too concussed, and hadn’t been knocked out. He hadn’t gotten a good look at Dream’s chest yet, since his shirt and show coat were still on. He hoped it wasn’t too bad. God.

He still held onto Dream’s hand the whole ride, watching him wince whenever the ambulance hit a bump in the road.

“Did you know,” Dream said when they’d almost arrived, “I have never been taken to A&E in an ambulance before?”

“Never?”

“No. It’s been… a long time since I’ve been hurt falling off. I broke my wrist once as a child. But my riding instructor drove me to hospital.”

His riding instructor. Not even one of his parents.

“Well, new experiences all around,” Hob said, trying to be cheery and not think too much about Dream’s childhood, which always made him feel terribly sad.

“I’m not enjoying it,” Dream said, closing his eyes again where he lay on the stretcher, and Hob laughed, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

When they arrived, and were waiting to be seen, Hob occupied himself getting Dream’s riding boots off. They were custom fit, and Dream would be peeved if the hospital staff tried to cut them off. Dream watched him with an amused quirk of the brow. “Will you do my show coat as well?”

“No,” Hob said. He wasn’t mucking around with Dream’s chest.

“Breeches?”

“They will definitely get the wrong idea if I do that.”

Dream laughed. “Perhaps I want them to get the wrong idea.”

“Dream.”

Dream only laughed again. Hob swatted his hand when he came to sit beside him again. “You mustn’t be feeling too badly if you’re trying to make jokes.”

“Maybe I’m just coping.”

“Poor darling.” He leaned over to give Dream a light kiss. “You’ll be alright.”

Dream gave him a weak smile.

Fortunately it turned out that Dream’s neck was fine, and he was able to take the c-collar off. They also let him take off his own clothes—with some help from Hob—before any further testing, so his beloved, tailored show coat wasn’t lost to scissor butchery. Hob also updated him, long-sufferingly, on Ruby, after Alex texted him to let him know that the horse had eventually been found—as Hob had predicted—grazing in a far corner of the property.

“We will have to work with some flags at home,” Dream said, and Hob wanted to bang his head into a wall. But then both of them would be concussed, and someone had to drive the rig home, and if Hob let Alex drive they would all die in a ditch. So he refrained from giving himself a head injury out of exasperation.

“Maybe on the ground, first,” he said instead.

“Well, of course,” said Dream.

His leg wasn’t broken, just bore a hoof print shaped bruise, and his concussion was mild—thank God for helmets and soft arena footing. He’d fractured two ribs—“Mildly!” Dream said, when Hob expressed concern about it, and Hob once again contemplated cracking his own head open on the wall—and they wanted to keep him for a night just in case.

If Hob’s madman of a husband was going to insist on continuing to ride this horse, Hob was going to make him start wearing a body protector. At least Hob had learned something from his own fall.

Eventually, all the tests were done, and they were left alone for some time. They’d originally been supposed to go home tonight, but Hob had managed to arrange another night’s stall for Ruby, and called Matthew to make sure their horses back home were taken care of. Horses made everything so complicated. But there was no way he was leaving Dream.

“You should get a hotel for the night,” Dream said, looking at Hob with tired eyes from where he was now lying in a proper hospital bed.

“And spare myself the entertainment of you on pain meds?”

“The meds are frankly unnecessary,” Dream complained.

Hob thought the way he’d been wincing every time he breathed suggested otherwise, but what did he know.

“Hey, if someone offers you a good time, take it,” he said, and Dream quirked a smile.

Hob took his hand, twined their fingers together, kissed his knuckles. “Hey,” he said. “It’s gonna be okay. Yeah?”

Dream’s smile wavered. “When he flipped on me. I did see my life flash before my eyes.”

Hob saw his life flash before his eyes, too. Which was to say, he saw Dream’s death flash before his eyes.

“It’s scary,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do.”

At least Ellie had, as far as Hob had seen on video, done her best not to trample him when she got up. Ruby, it seemed, had had no such presence of mind.

“I am glad you were there,” Dream said. “Not that I wish for you to have had to watch. But. When I… found myself on the ground. I.” He closed his eyes, shying away from the feeling.

Hob squeezed his hand. “Hey. Dream.”

“I. It hurt. Well, at first it didn’t hurt, because I had the wind knocked out of me, but it hurt after and— it’s silly.” He finally opened his eyes again, looking a bit embarrassed. “But I just wanted my husband.”

“It’s not silly.” Hob clutched Dream’s hand close. “It’s okay. Didn’t you know I just wanted to get to you, too?”

Dream gave him a fragile smile. Hob didn’t want him to move too much, so he leaned in and pressed his forehead to Dream’s, resting beside him on the pillow.

“So,” Dream said. “I am guessing we did not win.”

Hob snorted. “Pretty sure you got a zero. Levade wasn’t in the test, Dream. Overachiever.”

Dream laughed, clutching at his chest in pain, but laughed nevertheless.

“Next time you can try trick riding where they actually want you to throw yourself on the floor. You can do one of those pony races where you have to jump off and grab an egg and get back on.”

“I did those as a child,” Dream said. “It was more fun than this.”

“I bet.”

Dream closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against Hob’s. “I am only riding Jessamy for a while.”

“You’re not riding at all for a while.”

Dream grumbled. “Now you are a rule follower?”

“Yup. But trust me, by tomorrow, you won’t be thinking about horses at all.”

Dream groaned. “You will tend me in my infirmity?”

“Of course.”

Then Dream smiled. The pain meds were definitely starting to make him a little loopy, Hob thought. “Good husband,” he said, and awkwardly pet Hob’s hair.

“Go to sleep, you.”

Eventually he did get Dream to sleep, God bless pain meds. But sleep didn’t find Hob for some time. He sat up, watching Dream. The rise and fall of his chest. The beep of the heart monitor on his finger.

All told, the damage wasn’t too bad. Definitely not as bad as it could have been. As he’d feared it would be. But Hob kept seeing the fall in the back of his mind. The flashing moment when Ruby toppled and Dream disappeared from his sight. Over and over and over.

He leaned on the bed, head in his hands. Thought about it for a long, long time. How much it hurt to be the one watching it happen. Worrying. Always worrying.

Eventually, he fell asleep, hunched in his awkward position on the bed that would definitely make his shoulder ache come morning. But he wasn’t about to move a single muscle.

#drama #equestrian au #dreamling #it's so busy at work i could die. but i always make time to post fic #my writing

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