#SOMEONE FEELING HER WEDDING RING AND THROWING IT AWAY
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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half of me, half of you | l.n
summary: welcome to the world, baby norris <3 and welcome back to part 3 of this little universe we have going on here! 🩷 requested by anonymous: ‘Omg part three for forevermore??? Like the wedding and then maybe kids🫣’
warnings: pregnancy, surprises, hormones, lando finding out he’s going to be a girl dad 🥹, a whole lot of fluff n stuff
masterlist | ask box
₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
“how much longer?” you asked, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet in the bathroom. the brunette girl swiped down on her phone, displaying the timer she had set almost 2 minutes ago.
“30 seconds..” she trailed off, eyes meeting your nervous figure as you bounced your leg up and down. you sent her a soft smile back, beating yourself up for not taking a test sooner.
the past week you had felt terrible. felt like someone had hit you with a bus, thrown it in reverse and then backed up over you. your emotions were all over the place, you couldn’t keep anything down, and suddenly you were craving things you didn’t even like.
your suspicions had brought you to lily, your best friend. alex’s girlfriend, the girl you could rely on for anything.
the alarm of the timer echoed throughout the hotel bathroom. you jumped, eyes quickly moving to the box where the lily had shoved in the little white stick.
you felt like you were going to throw up again because of how the nerves were shaking through your body, “can you…?”
“you don’t wanna read it?”
you shook your head fast, “no, i’m scared,”
she frowned softly, kneeling in front of you, “whatever happens, whatever you decide, i love you and i’m here for you.”
you nodded, letting her hand you the box, “what if he doesn’t feel the same? what if he’s not on the same page? i mean we haven’t even really talked about kids yet, i-“
lily was quick to calm your rambling, coaching you to just breathe for a second. you nodded at her, following her direction as you sucked in a shaky breath.
“for as long as i’ve known lando, he’s always talked about wanting kids,” she said, “and it’s no secret that he wants them with you. he wouldn’t have put that ring on your finger otherwise.”
you smiled softly down at the ring on your left hand, letting out a shaky, “you’re right,”
“usually am,” she smiled back at you as you both let out a laugh, “you ready?”
you nodded again, opening the box and fishing out the little white stick that was about to change your whole life. you flipped it over, turned it the right way around and read it over and over again.
it was positive. you were pregnant.
your silence was an answer in itself for lily as she smiled, cheering and hugging you as you let some of the tears fall down your cheeks and splash onto the marbled tile beneath you.
she had tears in her eyes as well, “you’re gonna be a mom!”
you smiled, letting out a soft laugh in disbelief, “i’m gonna be a mom,”
“the best one out there,” she smiled, pulling you up for a proper hug, “oh i’m so happy for you.”
you laughed again, thankful to have her in your life before you pulled away. you wiped the tears off your cheeks, “guess i should call my ob,” you said and she nodded quickly, “and figure out how i’m going to tell lando.”
lily hummed, “i’m sure you’ll think of something special.”
and you did. you were fiddling with the ring on your left finger, dressed in a black slip dress you had brought with you to the uk. silverstone was the best place on earth, his home race, where his friends were, his family.
and where you were about to tell him he was going to be a dad.
you had given lily the ‘ok’ to tell alex so that you had two people to make sure he would get to the surprise. they both didn’t waste any time, making it their top priority to get lando and bring him back to where you needed him as soon as possible.
you were seated on the blanket in the grass, looking up when you heard footsteps making their way to you. you looked up, the boy dressed in black with his signature white mclaren backwards cap catching your eye.
“hey,” he smiled, letting out a puff of air and looking around at the blanket you had set up, “alex and lily said you had something planned?”
you nodded, “come sit,”
he joined you on the blanket, careful not to knock over the gift box sitting in the middle. you smiled over at him, sensing his nerves.
“what’s up, love?”
you tilted your head towards the white box with a pretty bow on the top, “open it,”
he raised an eyebrow at you, “is something going to pop out at me?”
you laughed, “no! just open it,”
he sighed, complying as he kept it at a safe distance while he took the lid off. once the coast was clear, he reached his hand inside. he felt the plastic stick in his hand and what felt like a photo. he fished them out, eyes landing on the pregnancy test and the picture of the ultrasound you had to confirm that you were pregnant.
he gasped softly, immediately looking over at you before his eyes traveled down to your belly. he looked closely, now noticing the small bump that had formed. the one you had done a pretty damn good job of hiding from him for the past week and a half.
“baby,” he started, licking his lips as he sniffled softly, “are you being serious right now?”
you smiled, “deadly.”
he dropped the things back in the box, moving to carefully pull you in the tightest hug he could get you in, “i’m gonna be a dad.”
you nodded, pulling back and wiping under your eyes with the back of your hands, “yeah,”
“and you’re gonna be a mom,” he was really stating the obvious but it brought more tears to your eyes when he spoke, “you’re gonna be the best mom, baby.”
you kissed his cheek softly, “and you’re going to be the best dad.”
he smiled, pulling you closer as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “i love you.”
“i love you.”
₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
the months moved on and baby girl norris had finally entered the world, and lord did she have lando wrapped around her little finger already.
from the moment the two met, the nurses handing the little pink blanket over to him, it was game over. her big eyes, which resembled yours, looking straight up at him and her happy gurgles had his heart exploding as he looked down at his baby girl.
“hi, angel,” he cooed, fingers softly brushing against her skin over the tiny little moles and freckles that littered her skin, “oh, you’re perfect.”
you smiled over at your now husband, watching the two interact, “she is,”
he looked up at you, “and so are you, baby,”
you smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as he sat next to you with the little girl in his arms. she was starting to struggle to stay awake, barely keeping her eyes open.
the two of you watched in contentment, his eyes a little watery before he looked back over at you, “we made that,”
you let out a soft chuckle, “we did a good job, yeah?”
he laughed with you, pressing a kiss to your temple, “we did,” he said, “i think you did all the heavy lifting, though. i was just here for the ride,”
you laughed, meeting his eyes, “mm, true,”
he smiled back with that same boyish grin to you, releasing a soft breath, “guess we should probably name her, huh?”
you hummed, “still like the one we had picked?”
he looked down now at the little girl in his arms who now had her eyes closed, sometime during your conversation she had fallen asleep. she was so peaceful and perfect and everything he loved about you wrapped up into one tiny little human. a tiny little human he got to create with you, the other half of his beating heart.
“i do, yeah,” he nodded, “welcome to the world wren norris.”
₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
you made your way up the stairs, a smile spreading on your face as you heard the little girls’ giggle coming from her bedroom. you leaned up against the door way, trying hard not to snicker at your husband who had found himself joining your daughter and her stuffed animals for a tea party.
you watched the two talk about tea and serve them to the dolls and stuffed animals sitting in their respective chairs for a couple minutes before you walked into the room.
“hey, baby,” lando said when you knelt down next to him, giving you the biggest smile, “joining us for some tea?”
“for a bit sure,” you smiled, “everyone will be here soon.”
“oh, mommy, look!” wren said excitedly, “daddy and i drew a picture for you.”
“oh, yeah?” you asked, watching the girl grab the piece of paper, “what is it?”
“we drew daddy’s race car!” she smiled brightly back at you.
you took the piece of paper, noticing the three other stick-figure men in the picture, another one in orange, one in blue and one in red.
“and you drew uncle carlos, oscar and danny?”
she nodded, “it was daddy’s idea.”
you laughed softly at your grinning husband, rolling your eyes playfully, “of course it was.”
you spent some time with you little family, letting them tell you all about their afternoon tea session with mr bear, kitty and mrs froggie, all the stuffed animals sitting in their respective seats.
you grabbed lando’s arm softly, pulling it towards you to read the time on his watch, “we gotta get you ready, wren. everyone’s gonna be here soon!”
she smiled, “can i still wear my princess dress?”
“of course, love,” you smiled. she happily jumped from her seat and ran off to her closet. you looked over at your husband, a smile still on both of your faces.
while you helped change wren into her princess dress, lando had started greeting those who had come to help celebrate your daughter’s third birthday.
it wasn’t long until the little girl left your side, immediately running over to her favorite uncle, “uncle max!”
you smiled when he bent down, picking her up and she squealed happily, “there’s the birthday girl!”
he tickled her sides playfully, her laughter booming as you joined your husband, his arm wrapping around your waist.
“did you get a pony this year?” he asked and you both snickered as wren shook her head.
“mommy said no,” she said, “but she said i could get a puppy!”
“a puppy?!”
you looked over at lando, “i said maybe,”
lando shrugged, “i know you’ll crack.”
“oh she has you wrapped around her finger, mate,” max laughed, looking back at the little girl he was holding, “don’t ya little one?”
“easy, fewtrell,” you laughed, “don’t give her ideas.”
he laughed softly, the little girl going back to her dad to say hi to her uncle alex and aunt lily, leaving you and max standing in the kitchen. he pulled you into his side, giving you a squeeze, “how’re you? i mean, other than enjoying being a mom.”
you laughed, “i’m good,” you let out of a soft breath, “where’s p?”
“she wasn’t feeling well, but she told me to say hi to everyone.”
you frowned, “damn, tell her i said hi and that i hope she feels better.”
he nodded, “i will,”
you both trailed off as you watched lando and alex playfully chase wren, trying to see who could pick her up first, “so, a puppy, huh?”
you rolled your eyes, “it was all him! not me,”
he laughed, “sounds about right, he’d do anything for that little girl.”
you smiled, watching your husband and daughter laugh as alex and lily talked with the birthday girl, asking her questions that made her giggle in response, “he would, and i wouldn’t want it any other way.”
#lando norris x reader#lando norris#lando norris imagine#lando norris x reader imagine#lando norris fluff#fluff#ln4#ln4 x reader#ln4 imagine#ln4 fluff#dad!lando#dad!lando norris#formula 1#formula one#mclaren#mclaren formula 1#mclaren f1
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azriel: mr loverboy
angst + fluff
“boy you keep on blowing my mind, caught up in my emotions.”
song: mr loverboy by little mix
Azriel always treated you kindly when you were just friends. But once that mating bond snapped, oh boy that’s where everything changed.
You didn’t think it was possible that Azriel could get sweeter than he already was but he quickly proved you wrong.
If he knew you had a bad day, he’d show up with your favorite flowers, candy or a new book. He always held doors open for you, made you walk on the side of a street that was least hazardous. Always listened to you, held you.
You made sure to return that in tenfold.
Because of past relationships, you kind of expected to see your partner have wandering eyes but as long as they came home with you, you always felt like you didn’t have a right to be upset. At least, that’s what they told you. But Azriel’s eyes never strayed from yours. He hugged his family but he held you differently. As if he wanted every part of your body constantly being pressed against his.
However, if someone randomly came up touching him, he would either flatly look at them disgusted or politely decline depending on the social situation. He didn’t like hurting other people's feelings but he knew your scent was on him as well as his whole ass wedding ring.
You and the Inner Circle were at a party in the Summer Court. Tarquin and his newly wedded mate had thrown a lovely gathering. Tarquin even temporarily lifted the ban on Cassian. As long as he didn’t go anywhere alone.
You were too used to seeing multiple people throw themselves on your husband. But he didn’t even look at them. He kept telling them no and they just wouldn’t listen.
But this night, a night of love and celebration, you watched one girl just push it a bit too far. You could see your mate trying to politely turn her down and not cause a scene that would distract from the newly wedded couple.
So you did what anyone else would do.
Walked your sexy ass over and plopped down on his lap. Put his face in your hands and gave him a big ole kiss. You ignored the snickers from his brothers and the gasps from the girl and just focused on him. He kissed you back eagerly. His hands coming up behind your back and holding you.
You two pulled away, he smiled, a glimmer of affection and pure warmth was sent down the bond. “What was that for?”
You smiled, “I just wanted to.” You didn’t wanna admit it was jealousy. However, your husband wasn’t stupid. He smiled knowingly and you rolled your eyes. You turned towards the girl and she had already left.
Satisfied, you turned towards where Azriel was facing. You saw the Inner Circle giving you shit-eating looks. You did something no one would dare do to their High Lady however you got special privilege. “Shut the fuck up.” You murmured.
She threw her beautiful head back and laughed. She knew all too well how you felt about Azriel’s admirers. She felt the same about Rhysand’s. Nesta tipped her glass to you, she also knew what it was like fighting off the admirers.
You leaned back against the warmth of your mate. A welcome contrast to the cool summer breeze on the patio.
After a bit more dancing, Nesta and Cassian retired to bed, Rhysand and Feyre quickly following. After a quick goodbye to the happy couple, you and Azriel began a walk by the beach.
“So do you prefer the sandy beaches or the rocky beaches of the Night Court?” Azriel asked you.
“Honestly, I’ve always hated sand. Blegh, the herpes of nature.” You shuddered.
He let out a loud, unguarded laugh and you found it the most beautiful sound. Usually, after a comment like that, your past partners would scold you.
But Azriel embraces you. He held your hand even tighter.
“But we wouldn’t be able to be barefoot in the Night Court.” He argued.
“Yes, but we also don’t know what germs are touching our naked feet. I’d rather have protection. What if you step on glass in sand?” You said back.
He gave you a pensive thought. “It seems we agree to disagree.”
“You like the sand?” you asked softly. You’d put up with it for him. You’d put up a lot for this man.
“I don’t know what it is. It just feels nice.”
“Then we should look into a vacation rental here.” You squeezed his hand.
“No, no you hate-”
“Hey, I hate sand but I can put up with it if it means I get to wake up to your sexy naked body in the sun.” You gave an overdramatic shiver. “Lord, they’re gonna have to put me in church for the thoughts I just had about you.”
He let out another laugh, you wanted to preserve it in a jar and just open it to hear it. “Besides, a vacation rental would be nice. Just imagine,” You held your hand out in front of you as if to paint a scene. “A nice cabana, windows and doors wide open, curtains blowing in with the breeze. Fresh fruit and seafood waiting for us. The smell of sex and ocean water. A goddamn wet dream.”
But when you turned your head, you just saw him gazing at you full of love. “I’m looking at the only dream I’ll ever need right now.”
Your blush could’ve rivaled the earlier sunset. “Sap.”
“You love it.”
“More than anything.” You said, all traces of joking gone.
You somehow were able to hold him tighter as you two continued walking
“Thank you for earlier by the way.” You whispered.
He looked confused, “what?”
“You didn’t entertain that random girl. I appreciated it.”
“You…you don't need to thank me for not looking at other people?” He was even more confused. “You’re my mate. My wife. You come first, always and forever, baby.” He brought your interlocked hands up to his lips to kiss your hand.
You got a bit embarrassed. “I’ve never been anyone's first choice, so it’s kind of crazy to me that I’m yours.” You admitted.
His heart slowly broke that you had never had someone treat you like this. He pulled you both to a stop. “You’ll always be my number one. Even above the Night Court. Above it all.”
“I’d never ask you to put me above your job, Az.”
“I know, hence why you’re put above it.” He pulled you in to kiss your forehead. “You deserve the best, better than me, I don't know how the Mother paired-“
“Shut up,” You snapped with no real bite. “You’re wonderful Az, I’ll always tell you that.”
He conceded, “we’re perfect together.”
“Fuck yeah we are.” You said bringing him in for a kiss.
#azriel x reader#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#azriel x reader fluff#acotar#acofas#acomaf#acowar#azriel x you#azriel x y/n
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I absolutely love your rafe and drew fics 😍 💕
Can you do one where reader catch the bouquet at a wedding and rafe or drew having a reaction to it (inspo https://pin.it/2wFpwBB)
Byeee love ya
Meant To Be A Cameron
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader
Warnings: N/A
Pronouns: She/Her
Word Count: 0.6K
Masterlist
Weddings are the worst for Rafe. People use it as an excuse to get drunk and it is so weird that a kiss is demanded of the couple every time a glass is clinked. To make it worse, he has to be surrounded by people he doesn’t care for. The only thing that makes his cousin’s wedding bearable right now is Y/N. The joy she radiates as she dances with his sisters is contagious and his eyes are locked on her the entire time. The fast-paced song slows to a smooth romantic one. He doesn’t dance, but he will for her. So he takes it upon himself to cut in between his sisters and girlfriend. His hand rests on her waist while hers is wrapped around his neck. They are so close together that not even an atom can fit between them. She can hear the steady beat of his heart with her head pressed against his chest. Baboom. Baboom. Baboom. It calms her.
Weddings are the best for Y/N. They create the perfect excuse to dress to the nines and all the traditions for the celebration are so cute. To make it better, she loves the promise of a forever with a special someone. Being at Rafe’s cousin’s wedding with him only sweetens the deal. This side of him makes her so happy. The part that goes against his nature to do something that will bring her joy. The sacrifice of his discomfort fills her with love and she knows she would do the same for him. His opinion on marriage is one she is not familiar with, yet she hopes he’ll want to meet her at the altar one day.
The song fades away and the MC picks up the microphone, filling the air with her voice instead of music. “The bride would now like to invite all the unmarried ladies to come onto the dance floor for the bouquet toss.” Squeals erupt into the room. Sarah and Wheezie drag Y/N to the crowd of women around the bride and Rafe holds in his chuckle.
The room is filled with a buzz as the woman robed in white holds the flowers with two hands, throwing her hands back repeatedly until she finally lets go. The bundle of colours goes flying into the air and the female guests on the floor reach up in an attempt to be the lucky maiden that gets it. Playing along with the spirit of the tradition, Y/N stands on her tiptoes with her hands in the air. Her mouth falls into an O when she feels the stems in her grasp. She wraps her fingers around the green stocks to hold on to her victory. Disappointed groans are let out by the women around her and the dance floor empties. Wheezie and Sarah beam at her, loving the idea of officially making her a Cameron sister. With the floor now clear, she can fully see her boyfriend. She can tell he is hiding a grin. He hates showing his emotions around other people that aren’t her. She doesn’t mind, so she runs to him, not letting her stilettos stop her. She jumps when she gets close enough and he catches her. His lips press to her cheek.
He sets her on the ground with one last kiss, on the lips this time. Their foreheads come together. “Looks like I’m meant to become a Cameron,” she jokes, holding up the bouquet. He takes it for her, examining every angle of it, “You certainly are. Camerons are winners.” Her cheeks heat up at the undertone of his words. “So you are thinking about making me a Cameron?” she clarifies, looking up at him through her eyelashes. He pulls her into his side and dips his head so his mouth is next to her ear. “I have known I am going to put a ring on your left ring finger since I met you. It’s only a matter of when.” He punctuates his sentence with a kiss. The caterpillars in her stomach form into a cocoon, preparing themselves to be released for the when he is talking about.
Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#outer banks#rafe cameron imagine#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks imagine#outer banks x reader
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AITA for refusing to buy my friend gold?
I (f/33) have a very good friend (f/39) who is Hindu and an Indian immigrant, and this year she invited me and my wife (33) to celebrate Diwali with her. My wife and I are white canadians and not religious. We’ve been friends with her for almost a decade, but in the last few years have become very close and now she is basically family. We happily accepted.
We brought over food and the stuff to make paper lanterns, and we had a lovely time. The problem came when near the end of the night, when my friend told me that it’s been so long since she had people to celebrate Diwali with, and she was getting excited for presents. I didn’t know Diwali included presents so I hadn’t brought her anything, besides the craft supplies and food, she said that was fine and we could get her something next year.
I asked her what sort of gift she would like, and she said gold was the traditional gift and, I quote “but make sure it’s above 10 karat or it’s basically tin, I’d just throw it away.”
I thought this was a joke at first so I laughed, which made her confused. I explained that I would never give anyone gold as a gift, I’ve never even gotten my wife gold, we couldn’t even afford wedding rings. When she still looked confused I tried to clarify, and asked how much is a gift of gold, traditionally (since I’ve never bought gold, I had no idea how much it would cost.)
She told me a minimum of 500 dollars.
At this point is the behaviour I think might make me an asshole, because I was laughing in complete disbelief very openly. I told her that was completely insane, and I would happily spend every Diwali with her and get her a gift, but there was no way I was buying her 500 dollars worth of gold, ever, especially not if it was a yearly thing.
I know that in India, my friend was of a pretty high caste socially and her family is well off, and here in Canada she is an accountant who owns her own condo, and is looking to buy more property and become a landlord. My wife and I live frugally, we’re blue collar and both from working class families. An average amount I spend on a Christmas or birthday gifts for someone I’m close to would be about 20-50 bucks.
After I’d explained all this to her, I could tell she was disappointed and it had made her sad and confused. Part of me feels bad for laughing at her tradition, especially since she made the effort to include us and has no family here to celebrate with. But it honestly boggles me, and makes me a bit mad, honestly, which I know is unfair since it’s just differences in how we grew up, but I can’t help feeling annoyed and like she’s not seeing her privilege.
This has been compounded by the fact that for Christmas, which we also celebrated with her, she actually gave us gold, worth quite a lot, in the form of a special coin. We’re not the type to display fancy stuff, so it just sits in storage now. But I’m worried she may expect tit-for-tat, even though the only way we could possibly afford to give her gold back in exchange is if we sold what she gave us which we are definitely not supposed to do.
We still hang out constantly and we will continue to do so, she is a for-life friend for a lot of reasons, and I’d love to make her holidays and celebrations special, but this is just a sticking point for me, and I find myself feeling/acting like a prick every time it’s brought up.
So, AITA? Does anyone have suggestions for this situation?
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| 𝐃𝐑. 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 |
𝗺𝗼𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻 𝗮𝘂, 𝗼𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗼𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗯𝗯𝘆, 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗶𝘁𝘇𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿, 𝘀𝗳𝘄
“when i kill myself imma make sure to add this job to my suicide note” you rolled your eyes as you and your co-worker cleaned the spilled caramel frappuccino off the table and floor.
“we don’t get paid enough for this shit honestly” your co-worker, jesse, exhaled from his nose in annoyance throwing the rag in the sink. hearing the bell jingle indicating a customer just walked in to order the most outrageous drink known to man.
“im going on my fifteen, don’t call for me” jesse took his apron off, walking onto the back. turning to the register you looked at the customer only to be greeted with the most gorgeous woman you have ever laid your dull eyes on.
“hi, what can i get you started on?” ripping your gawking eyes off the tall woman to look at the register. “just a large black coffee please” she smiled taking out her wallet “guessing that’s going to be hard to take off the floor” she chuckled referring to the spilled frappuccino.
“oh my god i know! i don’t get paid enough for this” you put in her order “you probably get paid so damn good” you clicked your tongue looking at the scrubs and white coat she was wearing. getting a laugh out of her she nodded “yeah, well i am a doctor.” “well doctor can i get your name for your, don’t take offense nasty coffee decision.”
“abby, and none taken it’s the only thing that keeps me awake for twenty-four hours” she pays for her drinking before going to sit down to wait for her order. jesse arrives back with the most irritated expression plastered across his face, you start brewing hot coffee as you looked around making sure no one would hear what you were going to say to him.
“that lady over there” you nudged his arm while pouring the coffee in a plastic cup “i already planned our wedding and how many kids we’ll have” he scoffed, shaking his head, grabbing a mop to clean off the coffee on the floor “why do you always have a thing for the milfs” giving him a menacing smile as you called her name for her to get her coffee.
“have a great shift doctor abby” you handed the coffee over, feeling your face get hot just by looking at the goddess “you too sweetheart” she shot you a wink before walking out the door.
groaning loudly as you threw ur head onto jesse’s arm “if i don’t see her again i will actually throw myself off a bridge” he pushed the mop handle into your hands “im going to send you to a mental facility y/n” he laughed watching how you were so mesmerized by someone who is possibly straight and married with three kids.
—
you had the opening shift today so it was just you all by yourself, you contemplated throwing yourself out your moving car but decided not to. opening the glass door you had at least an hour before the cafe was open, going on with your usual opening routine you went by the door to flip the close sign to open.
leaning over the counter scrolling on your phone since it was a small coffee shop and not many people come in at 7am on a sunday. hearing that god annoying bell ring you put your phone away only to see the love of your life walk in. “doctor abby, i remember you” you gave her a giggly smile.
“i remember you too ms…“ she squinted at your name tag “ms. y/n, i’ll just get a-“ “black coffee?” you finished her sentence “great memory” she let out a soft laugh “not really, i have the worst memory known to man actually, it’s just no one really orders black coffee” you started brewing up her a new batch.
“so doctor, can i ask how old you are?” you wanted to make conversation with her, “i’m thirty-two actually, what about you?” “twenty-one” yes you had a thing for older women but who wouldn’t? “how long does it take to like become a doctor? also what kinda doctor are you?” you handed her the coffee leaning over the counter, your hands holding up your head.
“i wish my interns asked as many questions as you do” she copied your leaning on the counter but on her side “i’m a cardiologist and almost 14 years, i had to graduate high school early” she took a sip of her coffee before looking at her watch wrapped around her wrist.
“oh a heart doctor, you must be so damn smart, must be nice” you both laughed “have you ever done a heart transplant?” you had a lot of questions for her, not like you weren’t interested, you just think asking questions is flirting.
“yes, i’ve done a lot of heart transplants. i’m gonna be late for work but i’ll talk to you next time sweetheart” she waved you a goodbye before leaving out the door again.
should i ask for her number next time?
AUTHORS NOTE: hey :) im back, dont worry, im already making a part 2, my first series ever!! also my inspo goes to @eightstarr i love their doctor!abby txts!!
#lesbian#lgbtq#wlw#the last of us ii#abby anderson#tlou2#the last of us#tlou#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson imagine#abby the last of us#abby x fem!reader#doctor!abby
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Forever Hold Your Peace
Summary: Dean and Y/N dated for years, but his hunting lifestyle means he’s unwilling to move past dating. A few years later, Y/N invites Dean to her wedding to another man. A man who isn’t right for her, one she doesn’t love, one she hopes Dean stops her from marrying.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (past)
Rating: 18+ Only
Bingo Square: The quote: “You’re never going to have a happy ending—just remember that.” for @j3bingo. This quote will be in bold.
Warnings: implied smut, double date, insecurities, wedding jitters, religious wedding ceremony (not overly descriptive), heart-to-heart, cheating, smut, fingering, oral sex (m rec), unprotected p in v, creampie, break up.
Word Count: 3.6k
A/N: I’d like to start by saying that this is fiction, and I do not condone cheating in any capacity. I personally think it’s vile and unforgivable. With that being said, a little brainstorming session for this fic resulted in a cheating plot bunny that my muse would not leave alone and this is what happened. Please consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a little comment. It really does fuel our muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖
My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi
“Dean!” you giggle as your boyfriend nuzzles at your neck, pulling the hem of your dress up. “We’re going to be late!”
“Don’t care,” Dean skims his fingers over your panties, groaning when he feels the damp spot already there. “Haven’t seen you in weeks, baby, and I need you. Now.”
You don’t argue with him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him towards your lips.
Walking into the restaurant twenty minutes late, your hand rests on Dean’s forearm as he guides you slowly and carefully to your table, being mindful of your high-heeled feet.
You grin, remembering what your boyfriend had done to you not half an hour ago and how he’s still taking his sweet time and is sure to be pissing Sam off with every second you’re late.
“Finally!” Sam groans as you reach the table. Dean, always the gentleman, pulls your chair out and tucks it back in, checking that you’re comfortable before he takes his seat.
“I know that look,” Eileen grins, and you feel your cheeks heat up.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” you say bashfully.
“Don’t be. I know you haven’t seen each other in six weeks,” Eileen smirks.
“Eight,” you blurt out. “Not that I’m counting.” Chuckles ripple through around the table, and Dean places his hand on your thigh and squeezes.
“So, what did you guys want to tell us?” Dean asks the couple sitting across from you.
“We’re engaged!” Eileen says, throwing her hand out to flash her ring.
“Oh my God, congratulations, guys!” you gush, standing to hug the couple. You’re genuinely happy for them. Sam and Eileen are made for each other, but it’s tinged with some sadness because you wish you were the one sporting a gorgeous, sparkling diamond ring and planning your wedding and future with Dean.
“Now Dean just needs to get his shit together and finally propose. It’s been five years, dude. Put a ring on it already!” Sam teases him, and you laugh good-naturedly but can’t help but notice your boyfriend isn’t even trying to pretend to be humoured as he scowls at his best friend.
Dean is quiet and withdrawn for the rest of the evening. The thick tension that fills the car ride home makes the insecurities you have about your relationship resurface.
While he’s never given you reason to doubt that he loves you or finds you attractive, his reluctance to take your relationship further and get engaged is starting to wear on you.
“Are you okay, De?” you ask cautiously. It’s not the first time someone has asked him about proposing - Sam and his friends never stop asking, but every time, Dean would push you away and pull into himself.
“Fine,” he nods, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. You know he’s not fine, but you don’t want to push. He clams up whenever someone mentions getting engaged, making you think you’re not worthy of him or good enough to be his wife.
You know it’s not healthy to ignore the issue, and you know if you want to know what’s going on here, you need to be the one to bring it up, but you’re scared. You love him deeply. Dean is your everything. And if you have this conversation with him, it could end your relationship. But you can’t keep going like this. You want to get married, and if it’s not what he wants, then you don’t think you can stay with him.
Caught up in your thoughts, you don’t notice you’re in Dean’s apartment until he throws his keys on the sideboard.
“We’re okay, right?” It comes out of your mouth before you’ve thought about it, and you know there’s no backing down now. You and Dean are having this conversation tonight. “Because every time someone gets engaged or mentions us getting engaged, you clam up and shut me out. What is it? Do you not want to get married? Or do you just not want to marry me?”
“Can we not do this right now? Please, Y/N?” Dean asks, defeat clear in his tone.
“I think we need to, Dean.”
TWO YEARS LATER
“Y/N, honey, you look beautiful!” Your mother gushes when she sees you in your champagne wedding gown.
“Thanks, Mom,” you smile, straightening the front of the dress.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, taking your hands to stop you from fidgeting.
“Nervous,” you chuckle, and your mom smiles.
“I’d be worried if you weren’t!” she giggles. “Let’s get a few photos before you walk down the aisle.”
The past two years have been a blur, and you don’t really know how you got here. After you and Dean broke up, you weren’t looking for anyone to take his place yet. But when you saw him and another woman leaving a bar not even a month after you ended your five-year relationship, your best friend declared you needed to get back out there and get laid.
That’s when you met Matt. Sensible, quiet, safe, non-hunting Matt. He was everything Dean wasn’t, but at the time, that’s precisely what you needed. Within a year, you were living together, and three months after that, you were engaged. Next thing you know, your wedding day is here, and you’re questioning if you’ve even been present in your own life for the past two years.
It’s just the last-minute jitters you keep telling yourself, but you know deep down this isn’t what you want. You want to get married and have a family. You want a nice man who works hard and treats you right. Someone who has good values and ethics that match yours. Matt has all of those qualities, and yet something is missing.
“Smile, honey,” your mom says, and you do, completely on autopilot as you have been since Matt proposed.
“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the priest says, and your heart pounds in your chest.
You don’t know what you were expecting, but when the priest’s words are met with silence, your heart sinks, and you resign yourself to your fate.
Dutifully, you repeat the vows the priest tells you to, say I do and let Matt place the ring on your finger. And smile prettily as Matt does the same, and you put a ring on his finger. You kiss your newly pronounced husband, take his arm, and walk down the aisle.
At the back of the church, in the last pew, your gaze lands on familiar green eyes, and you feel pure anger. He came… he came, and he didn’t stop the wedding. Absence didn’t make his heart grow fonder, and he still doesn’t want to marry you. He doesn’t want you.
The rage dulls quickly, and bile rises in your throat as you realise what you were waiting for before you said your vows. You were hoping and praying Dean would stop the wedding, that he’d tell you what a mistake he made and that he still loves you and wants you back.
But he didn’t. And now it’s over for good.
Somehow, you manage to pull yourself together enough to greet each guest as they leave the church. Dean politely kisses your cheek and smiles sadly as he tells you you make a beautiful bride. He congratulates Matt and tells him he’s a lucky man, and then he’s gone.
Someone ushers you both away to take the official photographs with your family and close friends, and you once again force a smile on your lips, trying to mask your broken heart.
“Hey, sweetie,” Matt kisses your cheek and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “You okay?”
“Uh, yeah,” you lie, getting your marriage off to a good start. “I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. I’m going to the room for a bit. Refresh my makeup and take my hair out before these hairpins give me a headache!”
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks, and you shake your head with a giggle.
“No. I’ll be fine. Besides, we can’t have the bride and the groom disappear. People will talk!”
“I guess you’re right,” Matt chuckles. “Hurry back so I don’t miss you.”
“I promise, I won’t be long,” you reassure as you kiss his cheek and sneak away to the bridal suite for some breathing space.
Walking along the hallway, you smile politely and thank the hotel’s non-wedding guests who congratulate you as you pass on the way to your room and hope the tears don’t fall yet.
You sigh in relief as you swipe the card and open the door. Hurrying inside, you turn around to push the door closed, only for a foot to push in and stop it.
“Y/N? Can I come in and talk,” Dean says. In your shock, you let go of the door and step back, unintentionally inviting him into what you’d hoped could serve as a sanctuary for you to get your shit together.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dean.” He’s already closing the door behind him, and you know no matter what you say or do, he’s not leaving until he says what he came here to say.
“Sweetheart,” he says, and your body responds to the term of endearment with goosebumps. “Why are you crying?” he asks as he steps towards you, but you step back.
“Why are you here, Dean?” you ask, throwing your hands up in exasperated defeat.
“You invited me,” he responds, confused by your question. “And I gotta say, Y/N, I’m glad I came because you’re making a huge mistake here. You don’t love him.”
“Of course I do. I just married him, for god’s sake. He’s kind and funny, and he takes care of me. He’s a good man,” you defend.
“That doesn’t mean you should marry him, Y/N!”
“At least he wanted to marry me. You didn’t think I was good enough for that!”
“What?”
“I know you, Dean. When we were friends before we started dating, you always used to talk about settling down and getting married one day. Having a couple of kids and a dog and a white picket fence. We were together for over five years, and whenever I brought it up, you shut me down or changed the subject. You strung me along instead of telling me you didn’t love me and letting me go.”
“I didn’t mean—I did love you. I still do. I didn’t ask you to marry me because I was scared I wasn’t enough for you. I was always gone, always hunting some creature from hell, always putting you in danger. I couldn’t drag you into all that. I love you too much—”
“That’s bullshit, Dean, and you know it! Sam and Eileen got out of the life just fine. If you wanted to make it work, you’d have made it work. Fuck, I thought we were working!”
“We did work because we loved each other, but sweetheart, every time we saw each other, you knew the exact number of days or weeks it’d been since we’d last seen each other, and it killed me. Because you deserve better than that.”
“Shouldn’t I have been the one to make that decision? Been the one to tell you if I couldn’t handle the time apart or you hunting monsters every other week for months on end? No,” you hold your finger up at him. “Don’t answer that because you know what? I don’t care. It was a mistake to invite you today.”
“Then why did you?” Dean asks, and you frown, taken aback by his question.
“Because as stupid as it sounds, I thought you might still love me. That we still had a chance. That just maybe, you’d…” you sigh. The worst thing you can do right now is tell him you wanted him to stop the wedding; wanted him to be the reason you called this shit-show off.
“I do love you. I made a mistake when I let you leave me, and you’re making one right now. You don’t love him like you should. Like you loved me. And if you go through with this, you’ll regret it.”
“Did you miss the part where I said I do in church? In front of God and a whole bunch of witnesses - you included?”
“You can get it annulled. He’s not right for you, sweetheart.”
“And you are?” you scoff, exhausted with the whole situation.
“Yes!”
“You’re unbelievable, Dean! I’m married. Happily.”
“You said you know me. Well, I know you, too, Y/N. You’re not happy. I know what you look like when you’re happy and in love. And this isn’t it. You don’t love him. He loves you, sure. That’s clear from a million fucking miles away, and maybe that’s why you’re marrying him. But you don’t love him. And if you’re set on staying with him, you’re never going to have a happy ending—just remember that.”
“Then why didn’t you stop me?” you finally let it out. The thing you’d secretly been hoping and praying that he’d do.
“Because you look absolutely stunning, Y/N. You’ve always wanted to be a bride and get married, and he’s a decent, safe, and stable guy. And I can’t…” he trails off and looks away from you for the first time.
“You can’t what, Dean? Love me? Because you did. Really, really, well. Take care of me? Because you did that, too. Marry me? If being with you means I can’t be a wife, it doesn’t matter because I don’t need to be your wife to be loved and cared for by you.”
Dean’s lips find yours, and you gasp in surprise. He slides his tongue in your mouth, and you moan. You’ve missed his kiss, his taste… fuck, you’ve missed him.
“Say the word, sweetheart, and I’m gone forever, but I need you to know that I never stopped loving you, and I never will. I’ll get out of the life for good. I’ll get a house and a job, and if you want me, want us… we’ll leave here together right now.”
You kiss him this time, knowing it’s wrong, but it feels so right. You haven’t felt like this since before that fateful dinner where Sam and Eileen told you about their engagement.
“Dean, please,” you gasp against his lips, and he quickly pulls your dress up around your waist and slides his hand into your wet panties.
Dean groans as your slick coats his fingers, and without warning, he pushes two fingers inside you and curls them while thumbing your clit. It’s been so long since you’ve felt pleasure like this, and you quickly fall apart on his fingers.
“Good girl. You must’ve needed that, sweetheart. Even our first time together, you didn’t come that fast,” Dean growls in your ear, and you shiver at his warm breath brushing against your neck and hair. “Mattie boy’s not much in the bedroom, huh?”
The mention of your husband’s name should snap you back to reality, but it only does the opposite, and you drop to your knees and undo his belt. You moan when you uncover his hard, leaking cock and wrap your lips around it.
“Fuck, baby girl, I forgot how good that mouth is,” Dean growls, sliding his hands into your hair and pulling on it. “So pretty with my cock in your mouth, sweetheart.”
He still knows what to say to get you going, and his words make you moan around his cock, smirking when it makes him push in further. “Fuck, Y/N, need your pussy, sweetheart.” He pulls himself from you and helps you stand.
Dean pushes you onto the bed and reaches under the skirt of your dress to pull off your panties. Once he’s thrown them across the room, he grabs your ankles and pulls you towards the end of the bed, wrapping your legs around his waist.
You grab the skirt and pull it over your waist, giving him a good view of your dripping pussy.
“Fuck, so perfect, baby girl,” Dean rasps, teasing you by sliding his stiff cock between your soaking folds, coating himself in your slick.
“Dean, please!” you beg, wanting him to stop teasing you.
“You need something, sweetheart?” he smirks, pushing the tip of his cock into you and pulling out again to tap it against your clit.
“I need your cock inside me, Dean. Please!” you beg.
“Alright, baby girl. You ready for me?” he asks, his gaze trained on yours. The second you nod, he pushes in and stretches you perfectly, ripping a low moan from your throat.
“Fuck!” you gasp, your walls fluttering wildly to comfortably accept him.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” His concern for you is sweet, making you smile and reach your hand out to grasp one of his.
“Yeah. Forgot how big you are,” you grin, and Dean smirks at your response as he pulls out and pushes back in, a moan now ripping from his throat.
“It shouldn’t be this hot to fuck you in a wedding dress, especially when I’m not the groom,” he growls as he sets a slow and hard pace, slamming into you as hard as he can and pulling out agonisingly slowly.
“Dean!” you whimper, and Dean presses your thighs further into the mattress. You push up, resting on your elbows and watch him pound into you with abandon, moaning as he pushes in and out of your core.
“Fuck, sweetheart, not gonna last. Your pussy feels too fucking good,” Dean growls, his hips speeding up, his eyes fixed - like yours - on him disappearing and reappearing from inside you.
His fingers tease your clit, making you fall over the edge in the most powerful orgasm you’ve had in years. It’s no exaggeration - the last time you felt like this was by Dean’s hands before you broke up.
He slams into you one last time, pushing against your cervix and stills. With a roar, he empties himself inside you, and the feeling is euphoric, sending you into a smaller climax that makes him hiss as your walls squeeze his sensitive cock.
Once he’s caught his breath, Dean pulls himself from your core, and you wince at the loss. You feel his come pour out and watch as he looks down at your abused hole and smirks at the mess he’s left there.
“Y/N?” you hear from the door, and both of your heads snap towards the unexpected voice.
“Matt!” you gasp. “Look, I can explain.” It’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth, and it’s a lie because how the hell do you even start trying to explain this?
“Don’t,” Matt scoffs. “We haven’t even been married for two hours. You’re still in your wedding dress!”
“I know. I didn’t intend for this to happen, but Dean—”
“Dean?” Matt asks in disbelief. “The Dean that broke your heart? That Dean?”
You gulp and glance at the man in question before looking back at your husband and nodding.
“Why is he even here, Y/N?”
“I invited him,” you mumble weakly.
“You…? Invited… why?” Matt is fuming, and you can feel the rage coming off him in waves, and honestly, you don’t blame him for a second.
“I wanted… no, needed to see him one last time—” Matt’s scoffs cuts you off.
“We’ll, you’ve certainly seen him, haven’t you? And for god’s sake, cover yourself up! I don’t need to be reminded that my wife was unfaithful on our wedding day!”
You quickly pull your skirt down to cover yourself, and the shame you feel is overwhelming.
“Do you still love him?” Matt asks, his tone softening. You gaze towards Dean, wanting to get a read on what he’s feeling. “Don’t look at him; look at me.” You take a deep breath and look at your husband. “Do you still love him?”
“Yes. I never stopped,” you say, telling Matt the truth. After all, he deserves that.
Matt nods sadly, accepting what you’re telling him. “Did you ever love me?” he asks, and your heart breaks to know what you say next will hurt him.
“Yes. I do love you, Matt. I’m just not in love with you. I’m sorry.” Tears slip from your eyes, but you quickly wipe them away.
“That’s what I’ve always been afraid of,” Matt says, a soft smile on his face. “I suppose I should be glad it happened now and not years from now when we’ve made each other miserable. I’ll get annulment papers drawn up. Let you know when they’re ready to be signed.”
Frowning, you glance at Dean, who looks just as confused by the turn of events as you are. Looking back at Matt, you see that despite the tears in his eyes, he’s still smiling softly at you.
“Y/N, when you told me about Dean, I knew you’d never love me the same way. I just hoped I’d be enough to make you happy. But I see now it was naive of me to think I could do that.”
“Matt, I—”
“Take care of her, Dean,” Matt says as he turns and leaves the room, leaving you and Dean dazed and stunned.
“Well, that went surprisingly well,” Dean announces. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, unable to think straight with your wedding ring weighing heavy on your finger and Dean’s seed still dripping down your thighs.
“You wanna get out of here?” Dean asks, crouching before you and placing his hands on your cheeks. “Go out to the cabin and try to figure this out?”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” you smile when Dean presses his lips to your forehead.
“Alright, let me grab your things, and we’ll get you out of here.”
Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720
#j3bingo#18+#tw: cheating#dean winchester x female!reader#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester smut#dean winchester
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Good morning, Libby! If you aren't to be busy, I was wondering if you could do a request for me?
Lucifer and Adam having been getting close lately, but not close to how they were back in Eden, because Adam do not trust him enough to let his walls down (and the fact the the guy still wears his wedding ring isn’t helping) But here's the thing, Adam and Alastor have been getting close as well, some would say closer than Adam and Lucifer. So when Lilith comes back and Lucifer sticks her like glue and Adam has so many emotions about this(hurt but not surprised, disappointed, etc.), so he goes to Alastor for comfort and they just cuddle for the rest of the day, until it's time for Dinner and everyone is raising eyebrows on what's going on between the two of them and why Alastor is acting gentle with Adam.
Jealous Lucifer, even though he has no right to be, like dude your Wife is right there 🙄
Basically Lucifer missing his chance as he watch Adam getting flustered and smiling so brightly and Lucifer isn't the cause of it.
You can do whatever you want with Lilith, I can care less about her, if I'm being honest
Ooohhhh, I like that. AngelicRadio.
Adam felt like the relationship between Lucifer and him was finally getting better. Not everything was healing, but it was a start. Adam could smile at Lucifer and not feel like he wanted to throw up. Progress, right? Okay, it was more than that. He knew he had at least sexual feelings for Lucifer.
The caressing while no one was looking was probably a good indicator that Lucifer somewhat felt the same too.
Charlie seemed to be happy with their development.
Adam was currently cooking with Alastor weirdly enough. Despite how bad they started, Alastor and Adam had grown closer to the point that they weren't growling at each other's throats.
"Hmmm. I think this needs more cumin. What do you think, dear?" Adam blushed at the nickname and his mouth opened slightly to accept the soup offered. It was good. Definitely needed....something. Okay, so Adam wasn't the best at cooking. That's why Adam was being taught by Alastor.
"Whatever the fuck is good with you." Adam shrugged only to have his ass swatted with the wooden spoon Alastor was stirring with.
"Ah!" Adam yelped and glared at the damn deer demon who looked far too pleased with himself.
"No swearing in my kitchen, lamb." Alastor reprimanded. Adam would have rolled his eyes if he wasn't sure that would have earned him another swat.
"Yeah, fine." He wasn't sure what kind of relationship they had other than it was....friendly he guessed.
Everything changed when, in a drunk stupor, Lucifer kissed Adam. It led to some heavy pawing before the First Man tried to make him stop. "Wait-" kiss. "You're drunk-" kiss. "This is going too-" Kiss. Adam whimpered when his ear was pulled and Lucifer growled. "Let me have you."
Adam was railed that night.
Adam and Lucifer regularly had sex. Adam liked it but he kind of wished Lucifer was a bit more accommodating with how rough he could be. But it had been months. Adam was wanting something...more.
He was prepared for it. He wanted to confess his feelings. Only, the day Adam wanted to confess, Lilith came back. He had forgotten how insufferable she was. Lucifer was all over her the moment she came. Showering his former wife with attention and love that Adam had been pining for about a month.
So all that sex...was just sex. Why was he surprised? He was never anyone's first choice.
He walked away from the happy couple, feeling tears gather in the corner of his eyes.
Adam wasn't really watching where he was going so he was surprised when he bumped into someone and they grabbed him to keep him from falling.
"Adam?" Alastor said. The deer demon is looking at him with...concern? Adam could feel himself shake. "Come now, dear. Let's you get you out of the hall." Adam allowed himself to be guided away. Soon, the First Man found himself in a room he had only been in once. Alastor's room.
The deer demon was notoriously private. Barely anyone was allowed into the walls Alastor had made for himself.
He was sat down on a couch and to Adam's complete surprise, brought into thin but strong arms. "Now. Care to tell me what made you cry?"
"It's...stupid." A hand rubbed his back making Adam relax a bit. "If it made you cry, then it's important. Won't you tell me, lamb?" Adam looked up at Alastor to see the deer demon looking so concerned.
Everything spilled out. How he had his first night with Lucifer while the former archangel was drunk. How the man had sex with him and how Adam had wanted something more but when Lucifer's wife came, the devil was all over her. Like what they did ment nothing.
Adam was full-on sobbing. "I hate myself, Alastor. I'm never anyone's first choice. I'm always left behind or at best an afterthought. It happened in Eden and Heaven. And now, with Lucifer again."
The entire time Alastor was silent, rubbing his back and softly rocking the bigger demon. Adam was done. He bared his heart out and he was prepared for the worst.
"Adam. I need you to look at me." Adam looked at Alastor, trembling like a newborn lamb. His eyes were still filled with tears and the lamb demon gasped softly as they were rubbed away.
"For too long, you were cast aside. Adam, you're more than just an afterthought. You have so much depth. So many layers and if people took the time to get to them, they would find a sweet little lamb at the center. A wonderful, intelligent, green-thumbed demon with a love for animals."
Adam was sobbing now. "How can you say all that?"
Alastor smiled gently and cupped Adam's chubby cheeks. "Because it's true." He kissed the lamb on the forehead. Adam blushed a brilliant yellow and hid himself in Alastor's chest causing the smaller demon to chuckle.
"There's that sweet lamb. My lamb."
They stayed in each other's arms the entire night.
The next morning, Adam was prepared for the cold shoulder. Just because they cuddled doesn't mean they were exclusive by any means.
He squeaked in surprise when Alastor pulled out his chair for him before he could even sit down.
"For you, my ange."
Alastor chuckled at Adam's expression.
"Alastor? What's going on?" Alastor tilted his head. "Why I don't know what you mean." Alastor sat beside Adam and served him breakfast making him blush even harder.
Alastor couldn't help but smirk when he felt the smoldering glare being sent his way. The devil didn't know how to conceal his temper. Honestly, what did he even have to be jealous of?
Rhetorical question. The short king had everything to be jealous of. Alastor had a sweet little lamb who wouldn't hesitate to be loyal and loving if given the chance. All Lucifer had was a woman who wanted nothing more than his meager power. Once she had gotten what she wanted, Alastor wouldn't be surprised if she left once more. The women was the definition of a gold digging snake.
Was the pathetic man writhing in anger? He hoped so. Because Alastor was never letting Adam go. He kissed his lamb's head who blushed so prettily.
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↳ Index [Snippet #40 - Annoying]
"When Jungkook acts like the annoying idiot you fell in love with."
Genre: married life!AU, Fluff
Warnings: Kookie being annoying and cute <33, a summer holiday, our queen OC suffers from holiday indigestion rip to her, she describes her poop to him in vivid detail, listen!! they’re married and in love and the intimacy they share makes me weak
Wordcount: 1.2k
a/n: i had this thought that "dookie" would be actually a really cute (and annoying<3) nickname. And i think that out of all my bois, ogc!koo is the best candidate for such a nickname. So here we are, enjoy this cute lil fluff piece 🧡
Your husband is where you left him. He is lounging on the sun bed under the shadow of the straw umbrella, wearing nothing more than black swimming shorts and a pair of dark sunglasses perched atop his nose. The only jewelry he wears is his wedding ring, his piercings and a small fake shark tooth pendant on a leather string, which you both got from the street vendor in front of the hotel. He is currently on his phone, moving his foot in a mindless rhythm.
You and he went on a vacation together. Very far away from home. So far in fact, that you had to take a plane to get there. And it was the best decision ever. The beaches are beautiful, the ocean is clean and has just the right temperature and the hotel is gorgeous. Food is amazing as well, but there was one problem with that. You haven’t been able to take a shit ever since you started this holiday and this was five days ago. You can barely fit any more food inside, your stomach has been hard from everything collecting in there and you have been suffering from a strong tummy ache for two days already, but no matter what you did, you just couldn’t get your body to work. Jungkook had less problems this way. This complete traitor already went to the toilet three times. Unlike you, who still hasn’t been able to go.
That is until today when the sudden urge to poop overcame you as you and Jungkook enjoyed piña coladas by the ocean. You abandoned Jungkook by the beach and ran to get back to your room.
Now, almost an hour later you are back.
Jungkook turns his head to you when he feels your presence. He lowers his phone.
“And? What’s the status?” he asks.
You lie down on the sun bed next to him, letting out a long sigh.
“I did it.”
“Yaaay, let’s go”, Jungkook cheers quietly, throwing his fists in the air in tiny motions, “no more tummy aches for you.”
“Yeah, I guess but I can’t be happy yet.”
“Why? That bad?”
“It was a warzone. You have no idea what I’ve just been through. I have PTSD just thinking about it. I had the sweats and everything, even had to take off my clothes and I kept gripping the edge of the sink and even had to put my feet up higher. I stacked like three toilet rolls for that.”
“Damn.”
“And it smelled so bad. You have no idea, I stank up the entire room so bad that I had to leave the windows open when I left.”
“Oh no, that bad?”
“Yeah, that bad. I was constipated at first until it shot outta me like a torpedo and I thought it was over until I got a tummy cramp and then I started to explosive diarrhea everywhere.”
“Ooh damn okay that sounds traumatic.”
“It was traumatic. My ass hurts and I still feel dirty even though I took a shower. With two rounds of soap. But I had to do it in like my own toxic shit fumes and I think they’re burned into my nostril hairs because I can still smell it.”
Jungkook cracks up.
“Awww baby, you’re my little stinker now”, he teases, nudging your arm playfully, “my little stinkbug.”
“No, stop, don’t call me that”, you whine, “it’s already embarrassing enough.”
“Don’t be embarrassed, my stinkbug. It’s only natural to shit.”
“I told you not to call me that”, you get out under your breath, hitting his thigh gently, “what if someone hears you?”
Jungkook snickers, “and it’s okay for you to describe your traumatising shit to me in vivid detail?”
“Yeah, ‘cause I did it quietly. I know you, you’re just gonna call me stinker for the rest of the day and that’s embarrassing.”
Jungkook snickers, “I think it’s cute. My little stinker”, he says and leans over to smooch your cheek.
“Shut up, you’re so annoying”, you mumble, nudging his chest.
“Mhm and you married me, so you love it.”
You roll your eyes at him, letting out a small chuckle.
“You’re annoying”, you say fondly and rest back on the sun bed.
“I’m happy for you though”, Jungkook says, caressing your tummy gently, “I was suffering with you. Holiday indigestions are the worst.”
“Yeah, I’m happy too. Traumatised but happy.”
He chuckles, squeezing your thigh. You laugh, patting his hand.
“Hey, my stinker?” Jungkook asks then.
“Urgh, shut up. What?”
“Can you lotion up my back? I wanna go for a swim, but I’m scared to burn”, Jungkook asks as he already turns his back to you.
“Yeah, of course”, you say, sitting up so you can comfortably reach his back. You own one of those sunscreens which comes in a spray bottle. You spray it directly onto Jungkook’s back, earning yourself a loud yelp of shock from him.
“This is so cold. No. Don’t do that”, he whines, trying to writhe away which only makes you spray more cream onto his back.
“It’s what you get for calling me stinker”, you say with a shiteating grin on your lips.
“Wah, you’re so mean”, he says, making you chuckle.
You place the bottle aside and connect your hands with his back to spread the sunscreen evenly. His body is very clearly warmed up from the summer heat, his back feels hot under your palms. You are sure that a swim in the cool water will do him good.
“Make sure to get the tattoos”, he says.
“I am”, you promise him, “don’t worry.”
“Thanks, stinky.”
“Do. Not.”
You pinch his sides, making him squeak and writhe away.
“Don’t call me that.”
You tickle him again, forcing him to laugh and fight you off with his hands.
“Stinky, please.”
“Don’t call me that”, you warn as laughter escapes you and your fingers squeeze his ticklish waist even harder.
“Sorry fine sorry, I yield”, he gives up, twisting around so he is facing you, “you win, don’t tickle me”, he laughs, pushing your hands away gently.
You grin in triumph, “good.”
Then you reach for the face sunscreen, opening it.
“Good idea”, Jungkook says, closing his eyes in anticipation.
You spread an even layer of sunscreen on his face and neck, making sure to get his ears as well. The remnants of the sunscreen, you spread on his shoulders.
“Do you need it reapplied on your arms as well?” you ask him.
“No, I managed to get everything else. It was just the back I struggled with.”
“Okay, then you’re good to go.”
“Thanks, sweetheart”, he says and gets up, “do you wanna join me?”
“No thank you”, you let out in a breathy laugh, shaking your head, “I still need to recover.”
“Okay. See you later, my dookie”, he says and grins.
“Jungkook”, you gasp, gawking at him with widened eyes.
Jungkook laughs and turns to jog down to the water with snickers of mischief leaving him.
“You’re annoying!” you call after him with your eyes racing over the other people to see if somebody had heard him. It seems that nobody did. You are simply yet another couple teasing each other lovingly in a sea of strangers.
#jungkook fluff#jungkook fanfic#jungkook fanfiction#jungkook drabble#jungkook oneshot#jungkook scenario#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#bts fluff#bts fanfiction#bts fanfic#bts x reader#bts scenario#bts drabble#bts x you#bangtan fluff#bangtan drabble#bangtan fanfic#bangtan scenario#bangtan x reader#fanfic: ogc
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expect the unexpected - ruben dias.
an: i decided to remake and edit the first part of this fic series i did for ruben! i hope you all enjoy! <3 this is slightly based off the book of the spanish love deception! ❣ link to OG!
quick sum: fairly new to your job at the club Manchester City, you find yourself in some trouble. ruben overhears you talking to john stones about having to travel for a wedding with no date. he’s willing to do the extreme even though you two are closer than expected…
wc: 2.8k
It had been an issue you wanted to avoid, but lately, it’s been hard to push it away. You had less than 3 days to figure out what and how you were going to resolve it. You had it all planned out of course, but that was before finding out your boyfriend of six months cheated on you with your best friend.
Of course, you were devested, losing two people at once wasn’t quite ideal. Your family in Spain looked forward to meeting him, as you spoke so highly of him. How were you supposed to prove that if he wasn’t in your life anymore? You can’t lie because it was clear you were going as a pair, a couple like you had told them. He even helped you pick out the black satin gown for the night. An elegant gown by the way…
During your short fifteen-minute break your thoughts distracted you once again. It was an unnecessary cycle that made your heart race. You slowly took sips of your warm coffee mug, looking over last-minute paperwork. “You don’t look so good Y/n,” A voice too familiar said, you peered up from the white paper sheet to blue eyes. “Jeez thanks, John,” you said, playfully rolling your eyes.
“Hey, I’m just saying,” he defended raising his arms in a surrounder way. “What’s up? You can talk to me you know?” you sighed and slumped back into your chair. Dragging your fingers across your forehead to the bridge of your nose. “So you know how I’m leaving soon?” John nodded taking a seat in front of you.
“I kinda-, well, so basically-” you rambled fidgeting with your rings. “I told my mom Jace would be attending the wedding. But due to what happened I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do now. Everyone, I mean everyone is ready to meet him. My own mother gave us the guest house to stay in while there! It’s driving me crazy-” You let out. John’s eyes slightly widened as you spoke louder, but he knew it was your frustration.
“First of all breathe. Have you tried to talk to her about what things happened?” he questioned. “She doesn’t let me. She puts this pressure on me, saying how everyone is ready to meet this man. That she’ll be disappointed if things go wrong. That she is extremely happy I found someone. That I shouldn't let this man go” you groaned. “I leave in less than three days and I’m going to show up alone…” Silence took over the room no one knowing what to say.
You begin to laugh hysterically, your stomach cleansing as you throw your head back. John cocks his head to the side smiling and chuckling confused. “Of course, this would happen to me.”
Ruben stood outside the small break room listening to the conversation. Due to being injured, he was doing slight therapy and recovery work to get back in shape. He and you were close, to some people, it looked like you were a couple. He had no idea about the wedding making him rethink a couple of things.
He was there during your breakup which was over a month ago. He let you sleep in his arms, have movie nights, eat ice cream, and take walks around Manchester. He was developing these unknown feelings that scared him a lot. He cared for you too much and John saw that. You were slowly becoming one of the most important people in his life.
He was still so confused why he didn’t know. You had known for a while he figured, how come he was never aware? So many late nights where you talked about everything, so many opportunities where you could’ve told him. But what held you back? He had his shoulder propped against the wall, smiling and shaking his head when he heard you laugh.
He knew you too well, you did this when nervous, faking something, or like right now, panicking. Something inside him to just go for it, be that person. Your eyes drifted off to him as he leaned against the doorway. You too felt bubbly inside whenever you saw him, you couldn’t get enough of him. His personality, big brown eyes, the way his forehead would crinkle when talking to you.
Part of you felt something for Ruben, something you never got to experience in past relationships. “I’ll be your date,” he said so effortlessly, not even questioning the outcome of it. John decided at that moment to stand up and leave, saying goodbye of course, “I'll see you two around.” he smirked.
Ruben strode over to the chair John once sat in, making your heart race as you noticed him. He was a bit sweaty, wearing a tight Nike training shirt, with his shorts running dangerously high. “Ruben. As much as I would love that, I can’t let you do that.” You shook your head acknowledging what he finally had said to you. His eyebrows furrowed, “Why y/n? You desperately looking for a solution, there’s nothing bad about it. Think of it as going as friends! Just a couple of nights then boom, back to normal.”
How do you tell your best friend you are unsure of how it would affect you? How you see him more than a friend? “But Ruben you have your job here, you need to get better before the international break,” you tried coming up with more excuses. “I need a break from that right now, the physio said I’m recovering and soon can start training with the team. Just agree, I have a suit ready. Plus I’ve wanted to visit Madrid, this would be the time.”
He stared into your eyes, looking at the uncertainty, the overthinking. Ruben knew because a small vein on your temple popped out. He knew you couldn’t disagree at this point, it was true you were desperate but with this offer on the table… it will change things. “It’s a week we’re staying there. We’d have to act like a couple, a couple who are deeply in love. Are you sure you want to do this? My family expects high expectations for no reason, I don’t want to make you feel pressured or uncomfortable.”
Ruben knew how your family was. He didn’t understand why you of all people would get mistreated. You had provided for them, took care of them, and even did abnormal things no one would even think of, yet you were unappreciated. They were ungrateful he thought, but never said aloud, he thought you deserved better. “I’m a thousand percent sure, I’m sure I can manage.”
He was up for the challenge, he wanted to be there for you. Who knows maybe this trip could change things between you? You stood up and went over to his side, he looked up at you standing up as well. You hugged him tightly wrapping your arms around his broad body and setting your head on his chest. You swore his heartbeat began to beat faster. Hesitantly he wrapped his arms around you as well, setting his chin under your head.
“Thank you, Ruben, you don’t know how much this means to me! I will make it up to you I swear,” you promised. “You don’t have to make anything up, take this as a favor for helping me while injured,” he muttered, you felt the vibrations of his voice when he spoke. You pulled away going back to work. He as well as he went to talk to Pep for the week off. His thoughts lingered a bit more, now more than ever determined to find out why you did not say anything about the wedding.
Later that evening, you and Ruben had agreed to go out for dinner, a small unknown Italian place that was hidden, your favorite spot. You ordered a small pizza since you were in the mood for it, along with some white wine to relax the nerves still present. You didn’t dress up fancy, something casual and similar to what Ruben wore.
“Can I ask you something?” you nodded taking a sip of the crystal wine glass, Ruben's brown eyes became soft, his outer corners slightly wrinkling. “Don’t take this the wrong way, or that I'm going to get upset, Well I kind of am but it's okay if you had a reason… how come you never told me about the wedding?” he said confused and slightly conflicted, that accent you adore so much coming out, his voice weaker rather than the deep voice he had.
You drop your eyes down to the empty plate, not knowing what exactly to say to him. Ruben had done so much for you the past month the last thing you wanted was to become a burden for him. You hated feeling like that, people feeling like they’re forced to like you, it's the last thing you wanted Ruben to feel since he had a lot on his plate as well. You also didn’t want to tell him for this reason, him being insistent to accompany you.
“I was going to eventually, right before you got injured but I didn’t say anything because you've been there for me. Way too many times, I guess I didn’t want this to be in that pile… It's not because I didn’t want to I did, but this would just be added to the plate of stress you have going on,” you rambled. But Ruben shook his head letting out a small scoff in disbelief, your gut dropping.
“How many times have I told you, that you can come to me for absolutely anything? I think by this point we've established that we're always there for each other no matter what,” he emphasized. “You’ve helped me through my recovery process physically and mentally, and I couldn't be more than grateful for that. This would've not been stressful to me, I care for you, and I wish you could see that more often,” his voice now gentler than when he was ranting.
“Yes, I know that, and I care for you that's why I didn't say anything. It wasn't that big of a deal until just recently when I began to stress about it more,” you say. The waiter comes by with your plates of food, him being in a cheery mood unaware of the tension that you and Ruben were having. “Am I missing anything?” to which you both shook your head no, “Great, call if you need anything else.”
“Sorry, I was just kinda upset and confused you didn't tell me, since we tell each other everything. We’ve known each other for little time but i’ve grown to trust you so much Y/n, it's a feeling I can’t explain. I feel at home with you…” Ruben soughed, becoming tense at the thought of you not feeling the same way and him oversharing.
“Since we're being honest, when I'm with you I can just be me. Not the girl who I was forced to grow up as or the professional Y/n at the training grounds. The Y/n you know and those around me whom I trust. Ive never also felt like this, the feeling of being at home, it's only been you who released that feeling, not even Jace made me feel that way” you say, bringing him out his worries and fear, the reassurance he was looking for, but you take notice at the way his jaw clenches at Jace’s name.
Ruben hated him. He hated the way he made you feel, the way he treated you after you remained loyal and loving through your relationship. How can someone do that to a pure and innocent perfect? With your best friend too? Anytime you mentioned or cried over him he saw red, he hurt you and the only thing he desired was to beat the shit out of him. But Jace didn’t have you anymore, you were Ruben’s, and only his now.
To cheer the mood up you change the subject, not wanting to talk about the wedding or the feelings the two of you confessed out loud. Hell, you weren’t in Spain yet, but the air between you shifted a lot…
“Madrid is gorgeous you’ll love it. We will be staying outside of Madrid for the first three days and then go explore the city. We can visit the plaza and buy reservoirs, go to the royal palace, go to museums, and do some hiking near this camp. And we will for sure that the late night walks through the city, just like we have been doing…”
Ruben finally smiles, the frown no longer there. You were best at that, bringing the good and not strict professional Ruben was. The man with routine as he claimed to be. You let him be loose and worry-free. “Can we visit the Bernabeu or is that too soon?” he joked. Your mouth opened wide at his comment, referring to winning the semi-final this year, and the UCL. But also to when City lost last year.
“You sure you can handle seeing the great success of Real Madrid and their fourteen Champions League trophies?” you teased, to which Ruben let out a loud laugh. “Will that be Madrid’s fanbase comeback and excuse when we call them out or attempt to humble them?” he says, continuing the banter. You shrug your shoulders and lean back, taking a sip of your wine once again, “I don’t know… Guess you’ll find out once we're in Madrid…”
The once harsh tension that was there before was now long gone. The two of you enjoy a peaceful dinner like planned, continuing joking and tease each other about the teams, but also rejoicing and sharing the favorite memories from your earlier childhood. Ruben laughed as you told him about a time you faked being sick so you wouldn't have to attend a ballet dance recital and the times when you snuck out to get drunk with friends at a nearby park. He drove you home after walking through Manchester and sharing a cup of ice cream, kissing your cheek goodnight, promising to always be there for you.
Three days later you found yourself waiting for Ruben to pick you up to go to the airport. You insisted on Uber but he wouldn’t take your ‘No’ for an answer. You had your suitcase ready, along with your carry-on, filled with your electronics, blanket, and some of your and Ruben’s favorite snacks. Your mother had called the night before making sure once again to remind you about your boyfriend.
Ruben honked outside distracting you from your deep thinking. The night before you couldn’t sleep, you had admitted you were pretty scared of this. You knew what you felt for Ruben wasn’t going to go away. You hoped maybe someday he would feel the same. He as well couldn’t sleep, his thoughts drifting of how you two were going to pull it off.
You greeted a good morning, hearing his deep and slumber voice as he greeted back. “Ready?” he asked then laughed when you shook your head. “Never, but here goes nothing.” The drive was filled with both of you singing to the playlist you created, somewhere between that you intertwined hands, feeling your skin burn at his touch.
After parking in the reserved area, you two made your way inside, checking in bags and getting your boarding passes. “Just to let you know, I brought your favorite snacks so you wouldn’t have to buy them…” you said as you sat down in the lounge. Ruben felt his heart warm up as you thought of him, smiling when pulling out the Scooby-Doo graham cracker cookies and the rainbow goldfish cheesy snacks. He had tried them during his pre-season tour with Benfica in America years ago, and he quickly loved the snacks.
“Thank you… Girlfriend.” You giggled at his words, blushing at the thought as well. He intertwined your hands once again as you made yourself inside the plane. He looked better than ever, wearing a white shirt underneath his black hoodie, a baseball cap, and sweats. “Just to let you know I’m super tired, so I may fall asleep right here,” You raised his brows at his choice of words, quickly understanding after.
He leaned over placing his head on your right shoulder, crossing his arms across his chest. You chuckled enjoying the feeling of being close again. “In that case, I’m falling asleep here,” you leaned over placing your head on top of his, covering your bodies with the blanket. He sighed comfortably soon drifting off to sleep.
Ruben couldn’t stop staring out as you guys landed in Madrid, he fell in love with the city so quickly, even more so as you reached your destination. Before he got out you stopped him, “Wait! Listen my family isn't… so kind at times. If they say something I deeply apologize, they can be a handful.” Testing the water a bit he leaned over pecking your temple letting his lips linger on there for a bit before reassuring you.
“As long as you’re here, that matters most.”
#ruben dias#ruben dias x reader#ruben dias x y/n#ruben dias imagine#ruben dias one shot#ruben dias blurb#ruben dias fanfic#ruben dias imagines#ruben dias x you#man city#mcfc#football x reader#football imagine#football fanfic#football one shot#footballer
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things we don't say: part 5 TEASER (kth)
banner credit: @itaeewon
summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.
pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)
rating: 18+
genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff
word count: 721 (for the teaser; full chapter is expected to be 8-10k)
chapter warnings: weddings!, feelings, seventeen is here now because i fell into a rabbit hole and needed fill-ins, jimin kinda ruins everything, jk is relatively well-behaved, kissing?!
a/n: given that it's been the craziest time of year for work (and i may be focused on a jk oneshot rn), i figured i'd throw out a teaser since it's taking me longer to write! i'm heading into my job's off-season soon though, so i'll have more time to write and will aim to have this next part out by end-of-year :)
PART 4 // SERIES MASTERLIST
You look up to find Taehyung's eyes gazing steadily down at you, a small but confident smile playing on his lips.
"Dance with me?"
And in spite of the unease that had plagued you only moments ago, you don't hesitate to let him wrap up your small hand in his large one and lead you to the dance floor. His palm settles on your lower back to pull you in close, and maybe it’s the proximity or the intoxicating smell of his cologne that weakens your resolve, but you find the words spilling out.
"Did you get her number?"
Taehyung looks at you quizzically, brow furrowing in confusion. "Whose?"
"The woman at the bar."
His face relaxes as he realizes. "Oh, yeah. I did."
"Good." You manage a smile. Why does it feel so hard? "It really is…good you're getting back out there. Are you going to ask her on a date?"
He laughs, mischief in his eyes. "I don't think her fiancé would like that." And now it's your turn to look confused.
"Her fiancé?"
"I met the two of them through Hoseok a couple times so we've chatted. Nice people." He nods his head, and you look over to see the woman now dancing with a man not too far from you. "They just got engaged, and she knows I'm a photographer so she asked if I'd be interested in doing the wedding. I said I'd call her this week to talk about it."
"Oh." You can feel your face flush, but there's no doubting the relief that floods through you. And Taehyung surely notices, grinning down at you in amusement.
"Were you jealous?"
"No!" you say, but perhaps a little too quickly because Taehyung laughs, his fingers applying a gentle pressure to your back to pull you closer.
"I'm here with you," he murmurs matter-of-factly.
You shake your head at him. "It's fine, Tae. If someone catches your eye…like I said, it could be good—"
"I'm here with you," he repeats, more firmly this time. He releases your hand for a moment to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, and you have to look away.
You spot Hoseok and Sunny swaying together in the middle of the dance floor, pressed closely together and smiling at each other like they're the only two people in the world. What it must be like to have someone look at you like that, you think, to hold you like you're something precious to be cherished. You had thought Jace made you feel that way, but now, watching your friends gaze at each other so delicately, so in love, you're no longer sure he even came close.
"What are you looking at?" Taehyung's voice rouses you out of your thoughts, and you suddenly notice his hand has drifted a little higher to where the back of your dress dips down low, exposing your bare skin.
Trying to pass off the shiver that involuntarily runs through you as a nod, you gesture at the newly married couple. "They're so good together."
Taehyung follows your line of sight, watching Hoseok lean down to murmur something in Sunny's ear that makes her giggle and press her face into his chest. "They are."
"Can you imagine loving someone like that?" Your voice is a bare whisper as if the words slipped out of their own accord, like a wish you didn't even realize you were making.
Taehyung's fingers splay at your spine, gently tugging you in until your hips are bumping his. Startled, your eyes snap back to him, breath catching in your chest. He's gazing at you intently, but as opposed to the intense fire that you've seen from him at times, there's only a deep warmth to his brown irises that you're not sure you've ever seen before. He looks at you with softness, with both a sense of familiarity and wonder that can only be attributed to your many years of companionship, and you see it all swimming behind his eyes—every day spent together seeking refuge from your families, every stupid childhood fight, every time you comforted each other through the bad days. And before you can deflect, can explain away the question as a rhetorical slip of the tongue, you hear his answer come out on a breath.
"Yes."
#taehyung x reader#taehyung x you#taehyung fluff#taehyung angst#bts x reader#bts x you#bts imagines#taehyung imagines#taehyung fic#taehyung fanfic#bts fluff#bts angst#taehyung#bts fic#bts fanfic
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SONG ONE: WELCOME TO NEW YORK | T.D
Pairing: Husband!Tim Drake-Wayne X Wife!Reader
Summary: Tim plans a surprise trip to New York City, its better than he could've ever imagined.
Word Count: 1.4K
A/N: Apart of my new series! The Track list of 1989 (Taylor’s Version) used for imagines of Tim Drake! The master list for this series should be posted soon!
Her hands shook. The ground beneath her trembled due to turbulence. A steady weight of polyester was around her waist, keeping her in place. The plastic tray in front of her stumbled slightly. Her computer screen was trembling slightly.
Beside her, the sound of clicking was like white noise. He hadn’t stopped since they boarded the jet an hour ago. Star Labs in Central City had invented a new device that Wayne Enterprises was interested in partnering with. Tim had insisted that they fly to Star Labs the next day to discuss details.
She had rolled her eyes but woke up at eight in the morning anyway.
The computer in front of her held documents for the fundraising event in Park Row. Jason had suggested they do something small for the kids living in the area. Neither of them had protested. Y/n had begun planning different things to bring up to Jason when they landed in Gotham. It was small things like libraries, small housing units, better convenience stores, and possibly, as a more extensive improvement, a school.
Her heart was whole. She closed the laptop and let it click shut. Her hands loosened the seatbelt slightly, and leaned her head on Tim’s shoulder. He recognized the motion by turning to kiss her hair. She hummed and closed her eyes, lulled asleep by the plane's rumbling.
It didn’t feel much longer before Tim shook her awake, “Wake up, we’re here.”
“Mmmm,” She hummed.
He chuckled, “Come on, wake up.”
Y/n stretched off his shoulder and rubbed her eyes. The laptop was gone in front of her, and her bag was zipped up in front of her. The sun was setting outside the jet window. She went to grab her bag before a hand stopped her, “You won’t need that, come on.”
“What do you mean?”
“Trust me?”
His smile could’ve stopped the earth from turning. It was close-lipped, and yet it made her heart flutter every time. Tim’s face was soft and kind. It always had been, even through his worst moments. He held himself together like an artist molding clay. He carefully carved every piece of himself together and showed only what he wanted to let others see.
She could see through it where a tiny mark of imperfection covered every smooth mark. Where someone had molded it too many times, and it became too tender. Where the colors had changed into different ones from trying to cover up past mistakes.
Tim walked out of the seat and held his hand out for her. She placed her hand in his cold, soft one and allowed him to lead her. He led her to the exit and climbed down the stairs. She followed behind. The air was dry, frigid, and cold. Thankfully, she had a hoodie, sweatpants, and beanie from when they got onto the plane. The dress and heels had been uncomfortable.
He was dressed similarly. He was wearing an old Bludhaven University sweatshirt stolen from Dick. His sweatpants were an old pair of his, the faded Gotham Academy logo on the top left of the pant leg. Jason’s hand me down converse on his feet and almost falling apart. He wouldn’t throw them away. His grey beanie from Bruce when he had gotten cold as Robin. Yet on his left hand, on his ring finger, held his most prized possession. His wedding ring with the girl he’d love until he died, and he would make sure it wouldn’t be anytime soon.
“Tim, this is not Gotham.”
He rolled his eyes, “Brilliant observation, Einstein.”
“Where are we?”
“New York!” He exclaimed happily, eyes sparkling, “I thought maybe we could use the night and day tomorrow just to relax.”
“There’s so much stuff to do during December in New York!” Tim continued, “We could go see the Rockefeller Christmas tree, or we could go see the Dukes Heights Holiday lights, or visit the Bank of America Winter Village at Bryant Park-“
She placed her freezing hands on his cheeks, “It sounds lovely, Tim. Thank you.”
He was putty in her hands, “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
Tim brushed a piece of hair from her face. His hand lingered behind her ear, and he gently pulled her closer. His lips brushed hers before pulling her closer. Y/n hummed and kissed him back. Tim’s lips were soft and so gentle. They always had a faint taste of mint from his chapstick. He pulled away, “What’re we doing wasting our time up here? Come on, we gotta go.”
Y/n chuckled, and that’s when she realized how far up they were. The jet had landed on a helipad far up in the air. She looked at the view and saw the Empire State Building and the smaller buildings beneath them. Under her feet was an illuminating sign that read Wayne Enterprises. Tim’s hand reached for hers before pulling them down the stairs and into the elevator.
He pulled her to his chest. Her ear rested over his heartbeat. His hand rubbed her back and the other on her waist while they descended the building. It took minutes because people stopped to enter and exit through their trip to the bottom. Some made small talk with Tim, surprised to see him in the New York office. He had smiled politely and contributed to the small talk.
They reached the bottom and walked out of the elevator to the outside of the building. There was snow fluttering around them. Some landed on their beanies and the tops of their shoulders. Their hands stayed connected as they walked through the city together. Christmas lights lit up the city at almost every corner, and the ground was covered in little specks of white.
The night could only be described as magical. They roamed through the city. For once, having nothing on the agenda, just spending time with each other. No interruptions, no patrol, no training, and no people waiting to kill them. It was a smooth night. She could feel her eyes sometimes and see the flash of cameras, but it didn’t bother her this time. She felt proud.
Because, yes, she was spending the day with her husband in New York City, and nothing could stop that. Not nasty paparazzi, not fangirled crushing on her husband, not the girls that giggled at her as they passed, and definitely not the older adults that glared as they talked too loud. Her heart was content.
Tim swore he had never had so much fun in his life since chasing Robin and Batman around in the dirtiest parts of Gotham. There was nothing that made his heart feel as complete as the heavy camera in his hands watching Batman kick butt and Robins quips. But right here, right now, his heart felt even more full. His wife a steady weight beside him, her laugh boisterous and beautiful, the flecks of snow in her hair, the tip of her nose turning red. He wanted to marry her all over again.
They spent the night in absolute bliss. The lights illuminated her face, and he wished he had his camera. However, he knew this memory was too precious to keep in a photograph. He loved photography, but he knew its limits. It could capture a moment, but it could never capture the absolute love in this moment.
He saw something in the corner of his eyes. His heart sped up with the meaning of it. Purposefully, he led her that way, and she stumbled when he stopped, “Tim, why’d you stop?”
“Look up.”
Her face turned red, “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not,” Tim wished he could bottle the feeling up and keep it for whenever he wanted, “I love you, and I want to kiss you under the mistletoe.”
“Timothy,” Y/n scolded playfully, “You’re a dork.”
He grinned, “Your dork.”
“Keep tellin’ yourself that.” She quipped before pecking his lips.
Tim watched her pull away, “Nope, not enough.”
He pulled her back tightly. His lips planted on hers, and he let himself have this moment. They weren’t one for public displays of affection, but he wanted this. He wanted it so bad. His tongue swiped her bottom lip, and she allowed it. His body went warm and soft. He could stay in this city forever. He’d leave Gotham forever if it meant feeling this every day. If it meant he wouldn’t have to feel the stress, the pressure, the anxiety. He’d do it in a heartbeat.
They pulled apart. Her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, and her eyes sparkling. His pupils were blown large, lips slightly parted, and his nose pink. At that moment, they felt a flash of light. Tim chuckled, and she rolled her eyes playfully. He turned to the man with the camera, “How much will it cost to get that picture emailed?”
#tim drake x you#tim drake wayne#tim drake x reader#Tim drake#dc#dc imagines#dcu#robin x reader#batman#dc comics#dc imagine#dc universe#batfam#red robin#red robin x reader#x reader#x fem!reader#Taylor swift
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Rebelcaptain Fluffbruary: Day 2
for the prompt "Engagement"
slightly suggestive themes but nothing too over the top
“There you are.”
Cassian found her behind the building next to the dumpsters, smoking a cigarette under the harsh light of the lamppost. Must have made quite the sight, in her heels and thin cocktail dress, full face of makeup, hair styled perfectly.
Normally, she wouldn’t have bothered, but the Organas were rich rich, and Leia may have strongly implied that she needed everything, and everyone, to be perfect tonight. Wedding planning was a bitch, or so Jyn had heard, and she was quite certain she’d never seen Leia so stressed as she was the last few months. From troubles with the venue, Bail’s unexpected heart attack last month (he was fine now, thankfully, but he’d given his family quite the scare), and the caterer canceling just weeks before the wedding, Leia may have been just one more mishap away from calling off the whole thing. And it would have broken Han’s heart, as well as her own; so Jyn sucked it up and played the part of the dutiful bridesmaid as best as she could.
After all, the bride could have whatever she wanted on her big day. And thankfully, the ceremony went off without a hitch, rings and I dos were exchanged, a kiss was shared. Han and Leia officially became husband and wife, and now everyone could relax; let the champagne flow.
“Sorry, just needed some fresh air,” Jyn said as Cassian approached her. She was happy for her friends, but this wasn’t her scene. The ballroom had been stuffy and loud, and full of wealthy guests who made her feel incredibly out of place — for example, Justice Mon Mothma who smiled and talked to her like they knew each other but whose single earring probably cost more than Jyn’s entire outfit altogether.
Jyn was starting to feel like she was going to crawl out of her skin, and when she felt her head begin to throb faintly, she made her escape. Cassian had been chatting with the Damerons when she sneaked out, but she’d been waiting for him to come looking.
He stopped beside her, lips pulling into a frown as his gaze narrowed on the cig between her fingers. She didn’t normally smoke so much these days, but she needed the excuse. “You okay?”
Jyn waved him off. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just don’t like crowds.” Again, happy. It was just a lot.
“Do you wanna go?”
“As the bridesmaid, I don’t think I’m legally allowed.” Her lips curled into a smirk as she dragged her eyes across his body with obvious intention. Damn, he always looked fine in a suit, but the dark blue color was a nice touch. She’d been itching to get her hands on him all day. “But you know, a quickie would help. There’s no one else around.”
He barked a laugh. “Next to the dumpster? I don’t think so.”
“Aw, you’re no fun,” she pouted.
He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he watched her. Jyn stubbed out her cig before joining him, close enough that their arms brushed.
“It’s a lot, isn’t it?”
“It’s exhausting,” she admitted with an exhale. “I’d never do this.”
Cassian tensed up next to her, a frown twitching on his lips. Jyn wasn’t sure what to make of the tight look on his face.
“Never?”
“God no!” she scoffed. “The pressure for everything to be perfect, the money you practically throw out the window, everyone’s eyes on you, everyone trying to talk to you. Hell, the planning alone... The whole thing sounds like a nightmare.”
Realization dawned on his face, and his posture relaxed a bit. “You’re talking about the party.”
“Well, yes,” she said slowly, unsure what he thought she meant. “I’d elope, ideally.”
“I can see that,” he nodded, and she could practically hear him overthinking as he sucked his lower lip into his mouth, gazing at her with a strange expression. Then he quirked his eyebrows at her with a playful spark, though she could still see the nerves he was trying to disguise. “But you know, traditionally, one would need someone to elope with. Have anyone in mind?”
Jyn stared at him for a long second. The shy little smile pulling at his lips, the hopeful hesitation in his eyes, the nervous energy as he waited for an answer.
He didn’t mean what she thought he meant, did he?
“Cassian, don’t fuck with me,” she said slowly, seriously.
All traces of humor evaporated from his face as he curled a hand around her waist and pulled her to his chest. “Elope with me, Jyn Erso.”
Her hands sought purchase on his shoulder, then in his hair, drifting lower to caress his cheek. A strange laugh bubbled out of her.
“Leia and Han will be mad if we upstage them,” she said, but there was no heart in it.
“Nobody has to know,” he murmured and leaned closer like he was going to kiss her, but when she tried to close the gap, he pulled away. Just a little — his mouth still hovered inches away as he pressed his forehead to hers. Jyn’s eyes fluttered closed. “Chirrut, Baze, Bodhi, Kay… That’s all we need. We’ll tell everyone else later.”
She pulled him down for a kiss, unable to stop herself anymore. He didn’t protest, cradling her cheek like she was something precious as she lost herself in him for a few seconds.
“Okay,” she said with a bright smile when she pulled away.
“Okay?” he raised his eyebrows, his tone teasing. “That’s all I get? Just okay?”
“You proposed to me next to the dumpsters,” she pointed out, jerking her head towards said dumpsters. And after refusing to fuck her next to it too… The hypocrisy.
He barked out a laugh and leaned in to press another kiss to her lips, almost like he couldn’t help it. “Fair enough. I’m sorry it wasn’t terribly romantic.”
“Don’t care,” she sighed into his mouth, then peppered his cheek and jaw with little kisses, clutching at his shoulders, unable to stop touching him. “Don’t need romantic as long as it’s you.”
“Now that’s very romantic,” he teased, but his eyes were warm and full of wonder, and she felt like she could get high on it. How she would go back to the wedding without anyone noticing that something was different, she had no idea. She’d never given a shit about weddings or marriage, had never fantasized about it as a little girl, and yet…
Every single atom of her wanted to be with Cassian forever. Wanted to tie her life to his, bind their hearts, merge their souls. Wanted to become one with him and turn to stardust together.
Marriage could never properly convey what she and Cassian shared, but humankind has yet to invent a way to actually bind your soul to someone’s, so it was the next best thing.
“We should go back,” Cassian murmured, but he didn’t much seem like he wanted to. His fingers carded through her hair, caressing her cheek, occasionally stealing a kiss.
“Mhmm. Think about that quickie though,” she breathed into his mouth.
He shook his head at her and gave her another kiss that stole her breath. “Jyn, trust me, a quickie won’t cut it right now. Unless you want the whole wedding party to hear you scream my name.”
Recognizing a defeat when she saw one, Jyn finally stepped out of his embrace, but not without giving him a sly smirk. “Big talk, Andor. Better be certain you can deliver on that.”
“Oh, I’m pretty certain.”
He reached for her to link their hands together as they walked back to the reception, and warmth spread like honey in her chest, slowly but surely. She couldn’t wait to do this for the rest of her life.
#rebelcaptain fluffbruary#rebelcaptain#rogue one#therebelcaptainnetwork#dailyrebelcaptain#my fics#fluuuuuuuuuuuufff!!!#it's rare from me enjoy
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of our own making
(an X-Files fanfic)
Chapter 21/34 - eggs benedict
[Read on AO3]
It’s strange, staying with Sheriff Adderly and his wife Ellen during this case in Vermont. If he had his way, he’d be checked into a motel instead of infringing on their hospitality, but he’d been given no choice. They even refused reimbursement for their troubles, which did nothing to lessen the feeling—however true or untrue it was—of him being a burden to them.
Ellen Adderly had pulled out all the stops for their guest, preparing decadent meals on fine china for every meal, claiming she’d have done it whether he was there or not. He has a hard time believing that. He can’t imagine living in such a way every day of his life. He and Scully barely manage to set out real plates to eat on when they order takeout at home, and he certainly doesn’t expect her to have a three course meal set out when he gets back from work. Besides the fact that she’s always at work with him, it’s just not something he thinks is necessary. Is that something she’d want to do? He doesn’t think so.
The routine they have works for them, that’s all that matters.
But after getting a taste of his own personal brand of domesticity, it’s… odd… to see how others do it. He’d never have thought there were so many different ways to balance home life, much less enough that he’d start to form an opinion on them. His parents had been one way—not a particularly healthy relationship—and he and Scully are… well, they’re not really anything besides roommates, but that still counts, in his book.
Whatever they are, he likes it. Far better than this constant fussing, at least.
Mrs. Adderly must notice his discomfort, because at breakfast as she masterfully puts the finishing touches on his eggs benedict, she says “I get the feeling you're not used to anyone taking care of you,” and for some reason, that assumption grates on his nerves.
He takes a measured draw from his cup of steaming coffee, swallowing back his immediate retort.
“What makes you say that?” he asks instead. She probably hadn’t meant anything by it, but it still comes off as rude. He has someone to take care of him, thanks very much. Just not exactly in the same way as Mrs. Adderly insists on taking care of her husband… and apparently Mulder too.
“I’m sorry,” Ellen says, realizing her statement had come out somewhat offensive. “I just mean… I didn’t see a wedding band.”
She nods at his left hand sitting atop the table, and he follows her gaze to the bare ring finger.
“Do you have a significant other, Agent Mulder?” she asks.
Significant? Yes. Very. Other? That’s a good descriptor. Single, married, other. Yeah, he’d select other, if this were a multiple choice question. Although he’s pretty sure that’s not what she meant.
“I’ve– um…” he starts, wondering how best to describe his situation to this woman. “I’ve got a wife, actually.” He pulls out the ring on its chain to show her. “It can be dangerous in my line of work to have it on display,” he explains lamely before tucking it back into his shirt.
Ellen smiles. “Ah, well that’s good. Don't miss out on home and family, Mr. Mulder. I imagine with all the things you see, you need that refuge more than most.”
Her words hang in the air, a bit of sage advice from a woman he otherwise has very little in common with. But before he really has a chance to think about what she’s said, Sheriff Adderly makes an appearance, and it’s back to business. Ellen excuses herself to go check on their daughter, leaving the two of them alone to discuss the case.
Mulder remains seated at the table, staring down the sheriff with a knowing look. He’d begun to suspect—and now his suspicions are all but confirmed—that the man had been unfaithful to his wife, and it makes him feel sick. Here this man has it all; a loving wife, a sweet baby that they didn’t have to jump through a million hoops to get, and yet he’s willing to throw it all away for some cheap thrills.
He’ll never understand it.
The man is no more forthcoming about his knowledge of the case than he had been before, so Mulder lets it slide for now. The last thing he wants to do is show all his cards too early and spook him. He gives him just enough to leave him rattled. To let him know that he knows .
He lets the unspoken threat hang between them until the sheriff folds, squirming away to take a shower, or so he says.
He’s still seething in bitter disgust when Ellen returns, carrying her sleepy baby in her arms. It’s a well-practiced juggling act, Mulder can tell, as she goes about fixing herself a plate of her now lukewarm breakfast. With only one arm, she clearly struggles to transfer strips of bacon out of the pan, and Mulder gets to his feet.
“Here, let me help,” he says, joining her in the kitchen. What he’d meant was that he could help assemble her plate, but as he goes to reach for the spatula, he instead finds himself being handed a baby, and his eyes widen comically. “Oh, right,” he says, then plasters a forced smile on his face. Sure, this was what he’d meant to do all along.
The little girl is heavier than he’d expected. Like a sack of flour, though with limbs jutting out everywhere. It takes him a moment to adjust, his hands holding her awkwardly beneath the armpits.
“Hi,” he says conversationally, looking down at her like she’s a ticking time bomb that could explode at any moment. The baby just blinks at him, a blank stare on her face. “Okay,” he mutters to himself, lifting her to his hip and returning to the table. He makes every effort to not look like this isn’t the first time he’s held a baby in—well, basically forever, but he’s not sure he succeeds.
Ellen smiles across the table at him and digs into her meal.
“Do you have children, Agent Mulder?” she asks, “You and your wife?”
It still makes his heart flutter to hear someone refer to Scully as such, but he supposes that to Ellen, it really is that simple. Scully is his wife, that’s all she knows.
He’d always thought conversations like this to be so dull. ‘So, Dave, how’s the ol’ ball and chain? Kids staying out of trouble?’ But, now…
Well, it’s different now that he actually has something to contribute to the discussion.
“Yeah, actually, one on the way,” he says, giving a self-conscious little smile.
He’s never told anybody about this other than Skinner, but he supposes there’s no harm in telling this random woman in Vermont. It almost makes him feel… normal. Like he can relate to other people over the simple fact of his impending fatherhood. A shared human experience. A milestone in his life that doesn’t involve aliens, ghosts, ghouls, or any manner of cryptozoological entity.
“We’re adopting,” he further explains. “Only a couple months left till the birth mother’s due date.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Ellen exclaims, smiling up at him over her bowl of fresh fruit. “You must be so excited!”
“Very,” he says, looking down at the drooling baby on his lap. “We never really thought it was possible. That we’d ever—”
He pauses, the shrill tone of his cell phone breaking into their conversation.
“Speaking of my wife,” he says, flipping open the device. “Hey, Scully. How’s the stakeout going?”
Her voice crackles over the other side of the line, drawing a genuine smile out of him. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that, Mulder, so that I can give you the good news I just received.”
His stomach does a flip. “Good news?”
He pictures her nodding, sitting in that grimy, cold room surrounded by surveillance equipment, somehow brightening it with her smile. “Krista called and we had a little chat.”
Mulder looks up at Ellen from across the table, where she’s watching him with a knowing smile. “Oh?” he says.
“Mm-hmm. And you know what she told me?”
Scully is extra cheeky this morning, huh? He misses her horribly. This is the last time he’s letting Skinner split them up for a case. After this, no more. He’s putting his foot down. What are they going to do, fire him?
“What did she tell you?” he asks, turning to instead stare at the floorboards, giving himself the illusion of privacy despite the constant watch of Mrs. Adderly.
“She told me the sex of the baby. Would you like to know?”
His heart thumps in his chest suddenly, its rhythm erratic. This, he hadn’t expected first thing in the morning. He hasn’t even finished his first cup of coffee yet.
“She finally found out?”
“Yeah, Krista said she was a lot more cooperative at this appointment than the last one,” Scully explains.
Mulder freezes.
“She?” he says, his voice raspy with awe. “It’s a girl?”
He hears Scully release a shuddering breath before her voice comes back, with all the telltale signs of happy tears that he’s come to recognize in the last few months.
“It’s a girl,” she confirms.
It’s a girl. He’s gonna have a baby girl.
“That’s– that’s amazing, Scully! That’s… wow!”
“I know,” she says. “I’m– You’re not disappointed, are you?”
“Disappointed?” he asks, furrowing his brow. “Why would I be disappointed?”
Disappointed is the absolute last thing he’d be feeling right now. Elated is a better word. Maybe a little scared, but he’ll get over it.
“I don’t know, I just thought… You know, you talked about coaching little league, and I’m sure you want someone to watch basketball with you…”
He laughs. He can’t help but laugh. “Just because you don’t like basketball doesn’t mean other girls don’t,” he says matter-of-factly. “And have you seen girls softball teams, Scully? They’re brutal. You try getting hit by one of those giant neon yellow ostrich eggs at 50 miles an hour. I volunteered to practice with the girls once in high school. Almost lost an eye.”
“But what if she doesn’t like sports at all?” Scully asks, and he’d bet good money that she’s chewing on her lip right now, the way she does when she’s worried. “What if she’s on the chess team or plays the violin or the piano?”
Oh, Scully.
“Then I’ll learn all the names of her concertos and cheer her on at every chess tournament,��� he answers simply. “Look, Scully, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you and I are both gigantic nerds. I think we’ll be prepared for whatever she’s interested in when she gets older.”
She . They can finally stop talking about her in abstract terms. A girl. A daughter.
“Your mom’s gonna flip,” he says when she doesn’t respond. Margaret Scully has a grandson, but no granddaughter. He can just see the little plaid dresses, frilly socks, Mary Jane shoes, and giant velvet bows in their future. She’ll be spoiled rotten.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” Scully says, sounding wistful.
“Me too,” he agrees. “When I get back, we’re going out shopping again. I think maybe this time I’ll be able to hold it together in the clothes section.”
That earns him a laugh.
“I’m willing to bet it will go the same way as last time,” she teases back, and she’s probably not wrong. Just picturing this baby, a little girl like the one he’s holding now, has him emotionally on edge.
“I– I’ll talk to you later, okay?” he says, glancing up at the clock. “Let the thought of warm baby snuggles keep you from freezing your butt off.”
She sighs, the annoyance of her less than ideal assignment returning. “Thanks for reminding me, ” she intones.
They stay on the line a moment more, waiting to see who will be the one to hang up. Eventually he hears a soft click, and he smiles down at the phone in his hand. Goodbyes have never been necessary between them. Maybe that’s just another way they’re weird, but he likes it.
The baby in his lap gurgles, and he sets his phone on the table to turn his attention back to her. He sees her differently now, with the knowledge that he has a little girl on the way too.
“You’re going to be an amazing father,” Ellen says, eyes shining as she watches him.
Mulder feels his cheeks beginning to burn. “Oh. Thanks.”
“No, really,” she says more insistently. “You seem to care a lot already. And wanting to be involved… Well, that’s everything. Your wife is a very lucky woman.”
“I’m the one who’s lucky,” he says, and he truly believes it.
He’s the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.
~~~
wife guy / girl dad mulder says you get another chapter :)
Chapter 22/34 - pizza boxes
The sound of keyboards clacking fills the dimly-lit room. A greasy bag that once held at least a dozen cheap tacos from the place across town sits atop a stack of empty pizza boxes, not that the inhabitants of this particular abode pay much attention to that kind of thing.
“Hey, here's something weird,” Langly says, looking up from the computer monitor, the unnatural light of it reflecting off his glasses.
“What? Is it Krycek again?” Frohike asks, crossing the short distance to lean over the other man’s shoulder. “What’s that little rat up to now?”
Langly adjusts the bright, warm-toned desk lamp to minimize the glare on the screen.
“No, just something strange in my sweep of government records,” he says.
“Mention of a virus? Shadow government stuff?”
Langly shakes his head. “It flagged a document mentioning Mulder and Scully's names.”
This bit of information piques Byers’ interest from across the room. “What agency? Homeland? DoD?” he asks, joining the other two at Langly’s computer.
“County court in Annapolis, Maryland,” Langly reads off the screen. “Dated December 24, 1999.”
“Open it!” Frohike demands impatiently.
It takes only a few seconds to hack the database, which is a little alarming. What would the public think if they knew how insecure county records are? But that’s a concern for another day.
The document slowly appears on screen, and three pairs of eyes take in the information all at once.
“That's… unexpected,” Byers says.
“Married? Since when?” Frohike exclaims.
Langly looks up at him with a condescending glare and smacks the older man in the stomach. “Since Christmas, idiot, haven't you been paying attention?”
“Not that, stupid,” Frohike says, quick to respond with a slap to the back of the blond man’s shaggy head. “Since when are they an item? Did I miss something?”
“You seen a rock on her finger lately? I haven't,” Langly comments.
“Get Mulder on the phone, that little sneak owes us an explanation!” Frohike snaps, pointing a finger at Byers.
The phone rings a few times before it connects, the voice of their friend coming through on speakerphone.
“Now's not a good time, boys,” he says. There's some kind of noise in the background, someone speaking, but they can’t make out who it is. It doesn’t sound like anyone they know.
“Mulder!” Frohike yells into the phone. “What gives, man?!”
“Yeah, bro, we'd have thrown you a bachelor party if we'd known,” Langly adds.
A sigh crackles through on the other end of the line, and Mulder murmurs something indistinguishable to someone before finding somewhere quieter to talk.
“How'd you find out?” he asks, sounding annoyed.
“Your marriage license record came up in one of our regular sweeps. No other threats, by the way,” Byers answers.
“Except maybe Frohike,” Langly jokes. “He might want to challenge you for her hand.”
Byers snickers.
“Shut up! I'm happy for them,” Frohike says, glaring at his friends.
Langly rolls his eyes. “You never stood a chance.”
“There's an explanation for this, I swear, now's just really not a good time,” Mulder says, insistent.
“What's there to explain?” Frohike asks. “You guys fell in love and got married without telling your best friends. No big deal.”
He’s not genuinely trying to guilt trip Mulder, but it does sting a little that they hadn’t said anything to them. Maybe just a little tiny guilt trip. A guilt excursion, if you will.
“It's not… really that simple,” Mulder says, his words hesitant.
“What do you mean?” Byers asks.
“I know you didn't knock her up, obviously, so what more is there?” Langly says, as delicate as a brick to the face.
“Well,” Mulder says, “I kind of did, in a manner of speaking.”
“Scully's pregnant?” Byers asks. This is shocking news. It should be impossible! “But—”
“No, Scully's not pregnant,” Mulder quickly corrects before the conversation can spiral out of control more than it already has. “But… we are expecting, actually. Hopefully.”
“IVF?” Byers asks.
“Not IVF. We tried that last year though, you're a little late to the party.”
Jeez, what haven’t they missed? Maybe the real conspiracy is whatever the heck is going on with Mulder and Scully.
“Then, what—?”
“We're adopting,” he says, interrupting them. They can almost hear his smile over the phone, all goofy and care-free. “There's a woman that selected us to adopt her baby when she’s born, so… I'm actually at this class for new parents with Scully right now. I should probably be getting back. Don't want the teacher to flunk me.”
“Wait wait wait,” Frohike says. “Adopting? How long have you guys been… you know?”
“Well we only started talking about it back in November. It's honestly moving pretty fast, but we're excited.”
“Not that,” Frohike says, waving his hands in the air. “You and Scully!”
“Oh,” Mulder says awkwardly. “Um, we actually aren't. A couple, I mean. If that's what you're asking.”
Frohike’s jaw drops. “You're kidding.”
“No, I'm not.”
“But you're married!” Langly insists.
“A formality.”
“The IVF!”
“Favor for a friend.”
“Yeah, right!” Frohike says with a laugh, sharing a disbelieving look with the other Gunmen.
“You love her, don't you?” Byers asks, sincerity breaking through his friends’ incredulity.
“If you're just gonna harass me, I'm going to hang up.”
Okay, so he’s done sharing for now. They’ll just have to try to get more out of him later.
“Mulder… what are we going to do with you?” Frohike asks, shaking his head.
“Listen, guys, I've got to go. We're learning how to change a diaper and I'd really like to not make a fool of myself, if at all possible.”
“Wait,” Frohike says. “Tell Scully congrats for us. We're happy for you, Mulder.”
“Yeah, we just think you're a complete idiot too,” Langly adds bluntly.
“Thanks, guys. We're really happy. Sorry I haven't been around, it's been crazy.”
Well, now at least they know why Mulder has been missing their poker nights and D&D lately.
“Don't worry about it, Mulder. Just—maybe tell us what's going on next time?” Byers suggests.
Mulder puffs out a laugh. “Sure, next time I marry my partner with the purpose of adopting a child, I'll let you know.”
Frohike points seriously at the phone, despite the fact that Mulder can’t see it. “Watch it, buddy, you're already on thin ice.”
“I'll talk to you guys soon,” Mulder says. “Oh, and if you're ever looking for me, I'm staying at Scully’s apartment now, by the way. I gave up my apartment.”
“Dude…” Langly says. There's something seriously wrong with those two.
“Alright, I gotta go. I'll tell Scully you say hi.” And with that, he hangs up, leaving the three amigos to take in everything they’d just learned.
“Aren't a couple…” Frohike grumbles, repeating his words. “They're a couple of idiots, I'll tell you that.”
Byers nods his agreement, and Langly shrugs.
“Lucky kid, though.”
~~~
Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]
@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear
#msr#txf#x files#xf fanfic#mulder and scully#my fanfiction#fox mulder#dana scully#of our own making#ooom#msr adoption fic#adoption
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Older!Eddie x Fem!Reader | 18+
Really Drives Me Mad Part 7 coming on Christmas Day
Word Count of Preview: 1.3k
Chapter contains: Wedding shenanigans.
NOW POSTED
Preview:
“I gotta admit, I didn’t expect your wedding to be so soon,” Skyler admits, in the middle of chewing on a salt and vinegar chip, some in her hand in queue to be chomped on next.
You keep your eyes on the movie playing snacking on a peanut M&M, watching Amanda Bynes’ truly unmatched comedic timing. “I am not spending a whole year of wedding planning,” you protest, throwing another chocolate into your mouth, “my mom is far too opinionated for me to be able to handle all of that fuss.”
“Well, you still need to find a dress…” Bethany points out, taking a hit off her vape pen. “And a caterer, someone to marry you, and a wedding photographer, decorate the venue—”
“We have invited close family and friends only.” You remind her, rolling her eyes. “If anything, the reception will turn into one big dance party. Hell, we’re ordering pizza. I don’t need a fairytale wedding. Having him has made my life a fairytale already.”
“Gross.” Skyler comments, sticking her tongue out at you playfully.
“I think it’s cute.” Bethany offers, grinning.
“Also, I might have already decided on a dress.” You hesitantly say, turning your head around and up at them to see their reactions. They collectively stop what they’re doing to scream at you for it. The gist of their uproar was mostly how they weren’t invited to the time you spent looking, but this dress was a happy accident by every definition.
“You found a dress?”
You shrug, pausing the movie so it’s not such a distraction for the conversation. “Yeah…”
The first time Eddie gave you his card and sent you to the mall for him, you were anxious about holding his money and only spent it on things he explicitly said he had wanted. The entire trip took about an hour, getting home and holding a few bags as you entered the front door. Eddie leapt from the couch, grinning wickedly as he met you in the kitchen. He held your hands as he smirked at you. “How was the shopping trip?”
“Good.” You answered, moving to your purse on the counter to hand him his card.
He put it in his wallet hurriedly, wanting to get back to you. “What’d you get?” He asks, starting to look through the bags.
“I found everything you asked for except for the socks, apparently they’re discontinued.” You answered, leaning onto the island counter.
Eddie’s face falters only the littlest bit, shrugging. “Damn, gonna have to find a new favourite pair then.” He looked through every bag one by one, seemingly looking for something he couldn’t find. “What’d you get?”
Your brows furrowed in confusion, not understanding what he meant. “Um, everything but the socks?”
Eddie’s face broke into laughter, hands snaking themselves around your waist. “Yes, baby, but what did you get for yourself?” His voice was so gentle, smiling at you fondly with a gorgeous lobsided smile on his face.
“Oh, um, nothing…” you answered, eyes flickering to the ground. “It’s your money.”
A hand made its way onto your cheek, intertwining his fingers in your hair. His lips landed on yours, taking your breath away with how dreamy and dizzy it made you feel. As he pulled apart, your knees were weak, mouth half open as you stared up at him in pure bewilderment. After you were able to catch your breath, you finally asked, “What was that about?”
He smiled at you tenderly, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You’re just so sweet, my love,” he muses, beautiful brown eyes roaming all over your face. “Sweetheart, you have a ring on your finger. If we’re about to get married, then my money is your money.”
A frown sat on your face, thinking over what he just told you, eyes fleeting all over his hardwood floor. “But…I don’t, I don’t want, I don’t want—”
He hooked a finger under your chin, lifting your chin to look up at him. “I know you don’t want it.” His other hooked around your back, pulling your body against his. “However, I do want to share it with you, just like I want to share everything else.”
You smiled at him, sighing as his hand caressed the swell of your cheek, leaning into it. “I just don’t want you to think I’m with you for any other reason than how much I love you.”
“And how hot you find me, hmm?” He teased, eyes half lidded.
You rolled your eyes playfully, hands petting the nape of his neck. “Of course.” Eddie gave you a big kiss, lips wrapping yours, making you feel only bliss. “So, if I take your card to Sephora and buy a palette I’d had my eye on, you wouldn’t protest?”
Eddie sighed, sticking his tongue out in his true fashion. “You could buy the whole damn store as long as you’re happy.”
You squinted at him, lips pursed as you assessed his gorgeous face. “…How much do you have in savings?”
He smiled, tilting his head playfully. “Enough.” He said, twisting his face comically. “Maybe not enough to buy the whole store, but enough to shop comfortably.”
With his blessing, you started to feel something like a trophy wife on the occasional mall trip. Holding his black card as you swipe it unflinchingly at a large bill is so satisfactory as you see the glint of jealousy of the cashier’s eyes.
On your most recent outing, grabbing groceries and making stops at your favourite stores as you browsed, a little boutique in the corner of the mall caught your eye. You’ve never seen it before, a deserted area of the mall that has incredibly niche stores that mostly look like a storefront for a ring of some type. In the very corner is a sweet little boutique with hand made clothes, the kind of clothing one doesn’t come across very often anymore, all made with care with high quality fabric…but not at a designer price.
A dress with embroidered flowers around the skirt caught your eye in the window, and there were only cuter clothes in the store. With several hangers of clothing on your hand, the corner the store comes into view, and the prettiest white dress you’ve ever seen.
As soon as your size was in your grasp, you giddily ran off to the change room. Your reflection stared back at you, a pretty girl in a beautiful white dress. Your eyes welled up in bridal glory.
All for 85 dollars. (Well, that’s not the whole bill, just the dress.)
Your eyes flicker back to your friends, shrugging. “It just happened.”
“How far is Hawkins, exactly?” Bethany asks, leaning on her elbow on her legs crossed.
“A few states away.” You answer, pressing play on the movie again.
“You’re only inviting close family, right?” Skyler asks.
“Yeah, and you guys and Steve’s family.”
Bethany tilts upside down on the couch, feet resting on the pillows as she watches the movie upside down. “I’m sorry, who’s Steve again?”
You roll your eyes. “Do you guys ever listen to what I say?” They shrug, looking at you expectantly. “He’s Eddie’s best friend.” Still, their looks are completely blank. “You remember the photo I showed you of Eddie? He was the one on the left.”
Their eyes both noticeably bug out of their sockets. “Oh, you lucky bitch.” Skyler chuckles, definitely remembering the one of the left.
You roll your eyes, again. “He’s happily married, you dicks.”
“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it” Bethany accuses, knowing you too well, if you had anything to say about it.
The hesitation says everything. “Okay, maybe once or twice.” You admit, avoiding their eyes. “But again, he is happily married, and frankly unrealistic. Plus, he might be my sister’s father-in-law,” you joke, mostly hoping there’s no truth behind it.
“Okay, this I gotta hear.” Bethany giggles, leaning in with much intrigue.
-
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Y'all I'm so excited.
#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x reader smut#older!eddie x reader
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Smut with prompt 1 if that’s alright <3
In retrospect, this is not what I had in mind when I said surprise me.
Um, I got REALLY carried away so basically have a short-fic???
feel free to request: prompt list
Happy Anniversary - prompt 1
JJ’s never had an anniversary before. The longest ‘relationship’ he’s been in, before you, lasted a whole two weeks in ninth grade. The farthest they went was holding hands, and that was only because their friends wouldn’t stop heckling for them to. So, when JJ casually asked you what you wanted to do for your one-year anniversary whilst the two of you were walking back from the beach, you shrugged and said possibly the worst answer you could’ve given him. “Surprise me.”
JJ isn’t heartless. He knows what girls like, inside the bedroom and outside. He knows how to woo someone. What to say to have them all mushy and blushing and stuff. Hell, it’d clearly worked with you. But was he romantic? Now that’s a different thing entirely.
It didn’t help that you were rather low maintenance. That you were more than content with date nights that involved surfing and smoking and sometimes a late-night walk. Staying and watching a movie, usually ending up with the film completely neglected and your clothes on the floor. Dinners and presents and all of that weren’t as much your style. You weren’t against them, per say, but as a broke cut-resident yourself, you didn’t care about all the finer things in life.
“Why don’t you buy her a necklace?” John B offers from the deckchair.
“She doesn’t really wear necklaces,” JJ replies from the hammock. “She just has this one chain with her mom’s wedding ring on it. Always wears it.”
“A book?” Pope says.
“Not much of a reader,” JJ returns.
“Why don’t you do something for her instead of buying her something, then?” Kiara tries.
JJ sits up at that, frowning at her. “What’d ya mean?”
“Well, she seems like the kinda girl who likes doing things.”
“Oh, definitely,” JJ replies with a growing smirk.
Kie rolls her eyes at the innuendo. “JJ, gross. I mean, she’s always surfing or crocheting or whatever.”
“I don’t know shit about crocheting,” JJ tells Kie. “She does like to cook though. Makes the best lemon sea bass ever.”
“Why don’t you cook for her then?” Sarah says.
John B and Pope burst into laughter. JJ glares at them, unamused.
“What?” she innocently asks.
“JJ’s level of cooking is a piece of toast,” John B says.
“And even that’s got a fifty-fifty chance of success,” Pope adds.
“Fuck you guys! I can cook! How hard can it be? You just follow a recipe and throw some shit in a pan and then boom,” JJ challenges. They stare up at him, amused and unconvinced. “I can cook!”
“What’s her favourite meal?” Kie asks.
“She likes Italian,” JJ thinks aloud. “Maybe spaghetti and meatballs or something?”
“You’re going to make spaghetti and meatballs? Something that requires three different things being done simultaneously?” Pope asks him, eyebrows raised so high they nearly teeter on greeting his hairline.
“Watch me, golden boy,” JJ grins self-assuredly.
The only form of reply the blonde boy gets is John B digging into his pockets and pulling out a five-dollar bill, which he then holds out to Pope in bet.
~*~*~*~*
The first thought you have as you walk up the porch steps of the chateau is ‘what the hell is that smell?’ It’s something akin to burning, though tinged with an overwhelming stench of garlic and tomato. The second thought you have as you open the door is ‘oh dear God.’
You’re greeted by a cloud of smoke and steam. It stings yours eyes a little. There’s chaos in the kitchen ahead. The clattering of pots and pans and JJ’s mumbled curses. The fact that the fire alarm hasn’t gone off can only mean that it’s broken. Smiling smally to yourself, amused, you dump your bag and cardigan on the pull-out sofa and walk through to the kitchen.
“In retrospect, this is not what I had in mind when I said surprise me,” you say, loud enough for him to hear you over the madness of his cooking.
JJ spins around at the sound of your voice. His hair is sticking in every which way (cap clearly abandoned) which only tells you he’s been stressfully raking his fingers through it. His eyes are wide and frantic like a man who just committed murder. Muscle tee damp with sweat from the overwhelming warmth that is standing in an unventilated kitchen of mayhem.
“I told you to come at eight,” he says.
You quirk a brow. “It is eight.”
“Wha—” His eyes flit to the clock on the wall, to the right of you. He cusses under his breath.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m…Well, I’m…”
You watch as he looks around at the chaos, as if coming to from sleepwalking. Your brow quirks higher still. “Starting a small house fire?”
“Cooking you dinner,” he corrects, shooting you a glare. “For our anniversary.”
Your smile can’t help but grow at that. Heart does a little summersault. He’s never cooked you dinner before (and now you can see why).
“Spaghetti and meatballs,” JJ adds, driven by your expression it seems. But then his confidence dwindles as he gestures lamely to the hob. The smoke and steam coming from it is the source of the garlic-tinged smell monstrosity. “But it’s, uh, not exactly going to plan.”
“In what way?”
“Well, to start, the pasta isn’t going all soft and stuff. It’s just sorta sticking to the pan,” he sighs, annoyed.
“Well, how much water did you add to it?”
He looks to you, blank. “I’m supposed to add water?”
You stare at him, gaping a little. Seriously?
Walking to the hob, looking down into the pan…Yep. That is just pasta, glued and burnt and probably never coming free. Then, you glance into the second pan. Pasta sauce that is weirdly brown-ish in colour, saturated with garlic (you can tell from smell alone) and mixed herbs that haven’t been diced properly, leading them to float at the top like driftwood. The meatballs are burnt past the point of no return. Chargrilled. The cooking top is covered in splatters of sauce and seasonings, making it filthy. The countertops are cluttered with every cooking utensil and appliance under the sun: spoons, knives, spatulas and even whisks (?). A bowl of grated cheese sits sadly to the side; the only thing that survived JJ’s culinary hand.
But, despite the catastrophe that it is, you can’t help but feel your heart thrum happily. Ironically, it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever had done for you and is weirdly the perfect anniversary celebration. All of this took thought and time and effort. So, turning around, facing a very meek, embarrassed JJ who stands with his back against the fridge, hands shoved in his pockets and head hung in defeat, you find yourself smiling lovingly.
Your hands cradle his jaw, drawing his gaze to you, and you lean forward to kiss him. “I love it.”
“You do?”
“I do,” you assure. “And I love you.” Then you’re kissing him again.
JJ’s hands find home on your waist as he kisses you back, smiling. Pulling away after a moment, a little breathless, you glance over your shoulder. “I love it,” you repeat, “but I don’t think we should eat it.”
“Oh, definitely not,” JJ agrees quickly. The two of you laugh.
Another fleeting kiss and then you’re stepping out of his hold, the two of you moving to turn everything off. You toss the pan of pasta into the sink and run the tap, dunking half a bottle of washing up liquid in. Maybe that might give it a fighting chance. JJ half-arsedly piles up all the cooking utensils he’d used so there’s some more space. He then moves to the fridge to put away the grated cheese (no point letting it go to waste) whilst you tip the sauce and meatballs down the drain or into the bin.
“So, the main course might have been a bust,” JJ says with his head still in the fridge.
You chuckle as you lean to crack open every window in the kitchen, hoping to aerate the room. “To put it lightly.”
“But, hey: dessert and wine are still good,” JJ announces.
You shut off the tap and turn around, wiping your hands dry on a towel. He’s holding a tub of chocolate mousse and a bottle of cheap white wine up.
“Dessert’s the best course anyway,” you tell him with a grin that mirrors his own.
With that, the two of you head to the pull out. You swipe two spoons from the drawer on the way whilst JJ grabs a couple of mismatched wine glasses. Sighing as you sit, shuffling back to the pillows, you get to opening the wine. JJ’s wandering around the sitting room, messing with the old CD player, and as you’re filling up two glasses, some soft R&B music kicks on from the early 2000s.
“Oh?” you jokingly say, raising a brow at him.
He rolls his eyes and joins you, taking the outstretched glass you offer him. Smiling, you lean up to kiss him.
“Happy anniversary,” you whisper.
He clinks his glass to yours. “Happy anniversary, baby.”
The two of you drink and then JJ’s placing his glass on the window ledge, moving to open the mousse. You clap your hands happily, rubbing them together with a giggle.
“This might taste like shit,” JJ warns as he grabs one of the spoons. You place your glass on the side too.
“Can’t be much worse than your cooking,” you reply.
He decides not to respond to that, but you watch him roll his eyes mirthfully. Then he’s dipping the spoon in and holding it out for you. Leaning forward, you taste off the spoon.
“Mhm!” you nod, swallowing.
“Good?”
“Good!” you grin.
You take the other spoon and do the same for him, watching as he eats practically from the palm of your hands. His eyes hold your gaze as he does. Shamelessly, you squeeze your legs together. You swear only he could make something this cheesy sexy to you.
“You like it?” you wonder. He licks his lips.
“It’s alright,” JJ says, feigning being in thought (his growing smile giving him away). “Think I know something that tastes better.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm,” he nods, leaning closer until you’re subconsciously sinking onto your back.
Playing along, you innocently ask through your excited smile, “what would that be?”
He takes your spoon from your hold, tossing it to the side after doing the same with his. Hovering over you, JJ leans down so his lips are a breadth’s width from yours.
“I think you know, baby,” he mumbles.
With that, he’s kissing you. Tastes like chocolate and vino. Your hands grab at his face, pulling him nearer, hooking your feet over his legs. JJ sighs against you, chuckles a little as you do too. Breaks away to kiss down your neck, moving slowly down the bed, coming to rest on his knees and dragging you by your feet to pull you nearer, making you laugh all flustered-like. JJ chews on his lower lip, grinning that punch-drunk grin you love, as he pulls off your skirt and panties. Then he’s going down on you. Relentless and unforgiving, as if to make-up for the cooking catastrophe. He’s tongue-fucking your centre and lapping at your wetness.
“Fuck, JJ,” you whimper, eyes slipping shut.
It’s like he’s spurred on by the sounds you make, likes when you whine out his name. You grip at the blankets on the pull-out sofa, staring at the ceiling, moaning through a blissed-out smile. His thumb rubs at your clit as he works at you with newfound fever. Moaning from the taste of you, the sound making you clench your legs tighter against his head. JJ uses a hand to hold one of your legs open for him. It’s all so fucking good. You’re building, closer and closer, until you’re coming with a gasp, quietly chanting his name.
When JJ pulls away, panting, you whine at the loss of his mouth on you. Moving atop of you again, you kiss at his mouth, sighing at the taste of yourself that lingers on his tongue. Your hands hurriedly move to undo his shorts as he kisses you, making him chuckle.
“Need you to fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly.
“Yes, ma’am,” he grins, moving to suck a hickey on your jawline.
Shucking the shorts off – JJ pulling back a moment to help – you slip a hand into his boxers and work at him. He groans against your jaw, falling pliant to your touch, making you smile. But you’re impatient the way he is, and you shove off his boxers.
“I wanna be on top,” you say as he kisses your neck.
“Fuck yes,” he replies. Climbs off you and grabs for your hips, guiding you atop of him as he collapses onto his back. You’re guiding him to your entrance, moaning as he slides against your wetness. As you go to sink down, he’s stopping you, making you meet his gaze. “Wait! We need a condom.”
You shake your head. Move to sink down again.
“Baby, stop, I’m serious,” JJ chuckles, breathless.
Smiling to yourself, you lean down to kiss him. Then, against his lips, you tell him your anniversary gift to him. “I’m on the pill.”
JJ pulls you away from him by the jaw so he can meet your eyes. Through nothing but looks, the two of you have a quick, silent conversation. Really? Yes. Chuckling boyishly, kissing you again, deeper and rushed, you giggle against him.
“Happy anniversary, baby.”
#jj#jj maybank#jj x reader#jj maybank x reader#jj drabble#jj maybank drabble#jj x reader drabble#jj maybank x reader drabble#drabbles#drabble#1#prompts#obx#obx fic#obx preferences#obx drabble#outer banks#outer banks fic#outer banks drabbles#outer banks preferences#outerbanks#outerbanks fics#outerbanks drabbles
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