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rafesapologist · 19 days

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the setback ─ rafe cameron; part nine

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: swearing, angst, topper being topper

author's note: i listened to 'one more hour' by tame impala before writing this so do what you will with that (this is a warning in itself)

As the morning sun filtered through your shut eyelids, you groaned, trying to fend off the burning light that threatened to pull you from the depths of sleep. But despite your efforts, the persistent glow seeped through, coaxing you back to consciousness.

With a reluctant sigh, you finally succumbed to wakefulness, blinking away the haze of sleep as you reached out to check the time on your phone. But just as your fingers brushed against the familiar shape of your device, the door to your room burst open with a bang, startling you from your drowsy reverie.

"Y/n, wake up!" JJ's voice echoed through the room, filled with urgency and impatience. "You've got twenty minutes before your shift at the golf course starts!"

You blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden intrusion. "What?" you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you tried to process JJ's words.

"Your shift, remember?" JJ reminded you, his tone tinged with exasperation. "Our job at the golf course starts today, first shift remember?"

Realization dawned on you as the fog of sleep lifted from your mind, memories of your earlier conversation with JJ flooding back to you. "Right, my shift," you muttered, scrambling to sit up in bed as you shook off the remnants of sleep.

JJ stood in the doorway, arms crossed impatiently as he waited for you to get moving. "Come on, y/n, chop chop! We don't have all day," he urged, his tone bordering on frantic.

With a resigned sigh, you threw back the covers and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, forcing yourself to push through the grogginess that still clung to your limbs. "Alright, alright, I'm up," you grumbled, shooting JJ a half-hearted glare as you dragged yourself out of bed.

As you splashed cold water on your face, the sensation jolting you into wakefulness, you couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. It had been a while since you last set foot in the golf course, since you left the familiar shores of the Outer Banks behind. And now, as you prepared to return to your old stomping grounds, a wave of uncertainty washed over you like a tidal surge.

The golf course was a haven for the kooks – the privileged elite who roamed the island with an air of entitlement that bordered on arrogance. It was a world apart from the humble simplicity of life in the Outer Banks, a world where money and status reigned supreme.

You sighed, trying to shake off the lingering doubts and fears that threatened to consume you whole. You couldn't let the expectations of others dictate your life – couldn't let the judgmental glares and whispered gossip of the kooks dictate your worth.

With a determined shake of your head, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. You slicked back your hair, tying it into a low ponytail to keep it out of your face as you braced yourself for the day ahead. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, steeling yourself for whatever challenges lay in store.

"It's not a big deal," you whispered to yourself, the words a silent mantra of encouragement. "It's just the golf course."

With a quick brush of your teeth, you left the bathroom feeling slightly more refreshed. Hastily throwing on your tennis skirt and tank-top uniform, you wasted no time in rushing out into the kitchen, eager to ensure that JJ was ready to go.

"Hurry up, JJ!" you called out, your voice echoing through the empty hallway as you searched for your boyfriend.

Just as you were starting to worry, JJ emerged from his room with a sheepish grin, his hair still slightly tousled from sleep. "I'm ready, I'm ready!" he exclaimed, his words punctuated by a hint of breathlessness.

You couldn't help but giggle at his disheveled appearance, shaking your head in amusement at his lack of time management when it came to getting ready. "You really need to work on your timing, JJ," you teased, unable to resist poking fun at him.

JJ rolled his eyes playfully, though there was a hint of sheepishness in his expression. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he admitted with a chuckle, his tone filled with good-natured resignation. "But hey, at least we're not late, right?"

You nodded in agreement, unable to suppress a smile at JJ's infectious enthusiasm. "Yeah, I guess you're right," you replied, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the blond as you prepared to face the day together.

As you followed JJ out of the front door and towards his motorcycle parked in the front yard, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building within you. Riding on the back of JJ's motorcycle always brought a rush of adrenaline, a feeling of freedom and exhilaration that you couldn't find anywhere else.

But just as you were about to hop on behind him, JJ stopped you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. Before you could protest, he swiftly placed a helmet over your head, securing it in place with practiced ease.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his gesture, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips. JJ had always been one to prioritize safety, even if it meant being a bit overprotective at times. But deep down, you couldn't deny the warmth that flooded your heart at his show of affection and care for you.

"Thanks, Jay," you said, your voice soft with gratitude as you adjusted the helmet, ensuring that it fit snugly over your head.

JJ flashed you a grin in response, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he climbed onto the motorcycle, revving the engine to life. "Safety first, y/n," he teased, his tone lighthearted yet sincere.

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you as you settled onto the back of the motorcycle, wrapping your arms around JJ's waist as he guided the bike onto the road.

As the motorcycle roared to life and JJ guided it onto the road, you couldn't help but feel a surge of nervous energy coursing through your veins. The ride to the golf course seemed to pass in a blur, each moment tinged with a sense of urgency and anticipation that made time fly by in an instant.

You attributed the quickness of the journey to your own anxiety, the nerves coiling tightly in the pit of your stomach as you braced yourself for the day ahead. But despite the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you, there was a small sense of relief in the feeling of the wind against your skin and the warmth of JJ's body pressed close to yours.

As you clung to him, the steady rhythm of the motorcycle beneath you provided a comforting anchor, grounding you in the present moment and soothing the turmoil that churned inside you. With each passing mile, you felt the tension in your muscles begin to ease, replaced by a sense of calm and clarity that you hadn't realized you'd been craving.

And as the golf course loomed into view, the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling establishment filling the air, you couldn't help but feel a sense of disquietude wash over you.

"If you had went any faster you probably would have killed us," you quipped as you removed the bulky helmet off of your head, "I think I have whiplash."

"Yeah, whatever boosts your ego," you replied with a playful shrug, grabbing your tote bag from the bike's satchel. "I just can't believe you managed to get us our jobs back here." Shaking your head, you turned your gaze to the ground beneath you as you and JJ approached the golf course's main entrance gate.

Your heart raced a million beats per minute as you stepped foot onto the lush Bermuda grass that covered the course. Though JJ was likely still talking to you, your attention was elsewhere, your mind consumed by the memories and emotions that flooded back at the familiar sight of the golf course.

With a heavy sigh, you hauled yourself and the looming anxiety into the locker room, determined to put away your bag and clock in for your shift. The familiar routine helped to ground you, providing a sense of structure amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts.

As you stowed your belongings and straightened up your appearance, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling of apprehension that settled like a weight in the pit of your stomach. The prospect of facing whoever would show up during your shift, especially Rafe Cameron, sent a shiver down your spine.

Summoning every ounce of courage you could muster, you pulled up your socks just above your ankles, a small gesture of determination to face whatever challenges lay ahead. With a deep breath to steady your nerves, you squared your shoulders and stepped out onto the course, ready to begin your shift.

Despite the lingering unease that gnawed at the edges of your mind, you pushed aside your fears and focused on the task at hand. You had a job to do, and you were determined to do it to the best of your ability, no matter what – even if it meant coming face to face with Rafe Cameron.

As you ventured out onto the course, the warm rays of the sun danced across your glistening skin, casting a comforting glow over the lush green landscape. The figure-eight pattern of sunlight filtered through the swaying branches of the trees, creating a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow that enveloped you as you went about your duties.

The first half of your shift passed by without much incident, the familiar routine of serving drinks and catering to the whims of the patrons keeping you busy. You dealt with your fair share of middle-aged men who were more interested in flirting with a girl half their age than actually playing golf, but you handled them with ease, deftly navigating their advances with a polite yet firm demeanor.

Despite the occasional flirtatious comment or suggestive wink, you found yourself settling into a rhythm, the tasks at hand becoming second nature as you moved from one group of patrons to the next. It was smooth sailing for the most part, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude as the hours ticked by without any mishaps or run-ins with your past to corrupt your day.

As you were in the midst of refilling the cooler of drinks, lost in your own thoughts, your boss's sudden appearance jolted you back to reality. He approached with purpose, pulling you out of your reverie as he delivered the news of a large group of young men arriving to golf for the next few hours.

The request was simple – ensure their needs were met and provide exceptional service throughout their time at the course. While you obliged with a nod of understanding, internally, you couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension at the prospect of dealing with a rowdy group of young men.

Though you maintained a professional demeanor, the thought of catering to their demands and managing their potentially unruly behavior wasn't exactly thrilling. Nevertheless, you knew it was all part of the job, and you were determined to fulfill your duties to the best of your ability, regardless of any personal reservations.

With a resigned sigh, you set aside your misgivings and prepared yourself to meet the challenge head-on. After all, you were no stranger to handling difficult patrons, and you were confident in your ability to navigate the situation with grace and professionalism. With a reassuring nod to your boss, you returned to your tasks, steeling yourself for whatever the next few hours might bring.

As you braced yourself for the impending arrival of the group, you couldn't help but feel the need to vent to JJ before diving into what promised to be a challenging few hours. You wandered around the course, scanning the area until you spotted JJ outside, meticulously polishing golf clubs hung up on the racks.

With a sense of determination, you made your way over to him, catching him by surprise with your abrupt greeting. JJ looked up, noting the irritation in your tone, and immediately sensed that something was amiss. He set down the club he was working on and turned his full attention to you, ready to listen.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his brows furrowing with concern as he regarded you.

You sighed, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you prepared to unload your frustrations. "There's a group of kooks coming in soon, and I have a feeling they're going to be a handful," you explained, your voice tinged with exasperation.

JJ's expression hardened at the mention of the kooks, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He knew all too well the challenges that came with dealing with entitled tourists, especially those who frequented the golf course.

"Well, you know you can handle them," JJ reassured you, his tone firm yet supportive. "And if they give you any trouble, just let me know. I'll take care of it."

As you exchanged a nod and a small smile with JJ, appreciative of his offer of support, the sound of your boss's voice shattered the moment, calling out for you to head over to the other end of the course to greet the arriving group.

"Looks like duty calls," you remarked with a wry grin, casting a glance over your shoulder at JJ.

"Yeah, go handle those kooks. You got this," JJ replied, his tone laced with confidence.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you shot back, "Easy for you to say. You're not the one dealing with them."

With a chuckle, JJ waved you off. "Just remember, if they give you any trouble, you know where to find me." Nodding in agreement, you turned and began to make your way towards the other end of the course, your steps quickening with each stride.

Hurriedly making your way over to the other side of the golf course, you felt a sense of urgency creeping in as you fumbled to find your notepad. The weight of the impending interaction with the large group of customers loomed over you, fueling your determination to be prepared for whatever they might throw your way.

As you approached the group, you plastered on your best fake customer service voice, offering a warm greeting despite the mounting tension in your chest. "Good afternoon, gentlemen! Welcome to the golf course. How can I assist you today?" Your words flowed smoothly, practiced and polished, even as your gaze remained fixated on your skirt pocket, still searching for your notepad. With each passing moment, the pressure mounted, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration at your inability to locate the notepad.

The sound of a male voice broke through the tension, pulling you out of your internal turmoil. "No shot," the voice exclaimed, its familiarity causing your heart to skip a beat. "Y/N, is that you?"

Your head snapped up at the mention of your name, your eyes widening in disbelief as you locked gazes with the source of the voice. And there, standing before you, was none other than Topper. Time seemed to stand still as you took in his appearance, his blond hair tousled by the breeze, his features sharp and familiar.

For a moment, you couldn't believe your eyes. It felt as though you were either dreaming or on the brink of insanity. Topper, of all people, here at the golf course – it was a surreal sight to behold. Your heart raced in your chest as you stood there in stunned silence, unable to form words as you processed the unexpected encounter.

You stumbled over your words, the unexpected encounter catching you off guard. "Hey, Top…" you stammered, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find your footing in the conversation. Your gaze flickered to the ground, a feeble attempt to avoid further interaction with him, but deep down, you knew Topper thrived on drama.

His snarky remark pierced through the awkward silence, poking at your nerves with surgical precision. "I haven't seen your face in a while. How was your little trip to Barbados?" His words hung in the air, laced with an unmistakable edge as he watched you carefully, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing.

Your eyes shot up to meet his, a mix of surprise and suspicion flickering in your gaze. How did he know about your trip to Barbados? It was something you hadn't even shared with Rafe, let alone anyone else. The realization sent a shiver down your spine, a nagging sense of unease settling in the pit of your stomach as you grappled with the implications of Topper's words.

Caught off guard by the sudden interruption, you welcomed the distraction with a relieved cough, hoping to diffuse the tension that had been building between you and Topper. But before you could respond, another member of the group chimed in, his words cutting through the air like a knife.

"Wait… Holy shit, are you Rafe's ex?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication, as the group turned their attention to you, awaiting your response. You felt a surge of panic rise within you, unsure of how to navigate this unexpected turn of events. The truth threatened to spill from your lips, but you quickly clamped down on the impulse, your mind racing as you searched for a suitable response.

The weight of everyone's attention bore down on you, intensifying the clamminess in your palms and the heat rising to your cheeks. "Um…" you began, your voice wavering slightly as you struggled to find the right words. Your brows furrowed in concentration as you shook your head, attempting to deflect the question with a vague response. "We used to be close is all," you muttered, your tone terse as you kept your reply short and to the point.

You hoped your answer would suffice, deflecting any further inquiries about your relationship with Rafe. But deep down, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air, knowing that the truth was far more complicated than you were willing to admit.

Topper's laughter cut through the air like a knife, his amusement at your response evident in the way his laughter echoed around you. But it was his next words that struck deep, like a blow to the chest.

"That's a funny way of saying you two dated until he found out you were a backstabbing bitch."

Your eyes widened in shock at the venom in his words, feeling the sting of his insult like a physical blow. The tightness in your throat threatened to suffocate you as you struggled to process the weight of his accusation. Flinching at the sincerity in his voice, you realized with a sinking feeling that Rafe must have confided in Topper about the real reason for your breakup all those years ago.

The truth of his words hit you like a ton of bricks, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume you. Anger, hurt, and betrayal mingled together, leaving you feeling raw and exposed in front of Topper and the rest of the group. You swallowed hard, fighting to keep your composure as you grappled with the devastating revelation that your past had come back to haunt you in the most unexpected of ways.

"What's going on? What are you guys laughing at-" The sound of a familiar voice cut through the laughter like a knife, bringing a sudden halt to the jovial atmosphere. Your heart sank as you recognized the voice, dread pooling in the pit of your stomach. And then, as if on cue, his face came into view, confirming your worst fears.

Rafe.

Your breath caught in your throat as you locked gazes with him, feeling a wave of emotions crash over you like a tidal wave. Guilt, fear, and a deep-seated sense of apprehension washed over you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable in his presence.

As Rafe's eyes scanned the scene before him, confusion flickering across his features, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation that was sure to follow. The weight of his gaze bore down on you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread gnawing at your insides as you waited for him to speak.

You watched with bated breath as Rafe's shoulders slumped, a flicker of recognition crossing his features as he realized the source of his friends' laughter. The sight of you, on the verge of tears, must have been a stark contrast to the jovial atmosphere he had walked into.

"Rafe! Look who we ran into. Funny, right? Who would've thought she'd show her face here after what she did." Topper's snarl pierced through the tense silence, his gesture pointing towards you as if you were some spectacle to be mocked.

Rafe's expression hardened at Topper's words, a glimmer of warning in his voice as he responded, "Top, knock it off. It's all in the past."

His words were like a lifeline in the midst of the chaos, a reminder that despite the hurt and betrayal of the past, there was still a chance for redemption and forgiveness. You felt a faint flicker of hope stir within you, tempered by the uncertainty of what lay ahead. But for now, in this moment, you clung to Rafe's words as a beacon of hope in the heat of the moment.

Topper's chuckle grated on your nerves, his persistence in dredging up the past only adding fuel to the fire of your emotions. His next words cut through the air like a knife, each syllable laced with venomous intent.

"Oh, c'mon, you hated her guts right after she left. You think I forgot all those times you said she was nothing but a heartless bitch?" Topper's jab landed with precision, causing Rafe's expression to falter, his facade of composure cracking under the weight of his friend's accusations.

Rafe's gaze immediately found yours, searching for any sign of the impact Topper's words had on you. As you met his eyes, he saw the hurt reflected in your expression, a painful reminder of the wounds that had yet to heal. Guilt washed over him like a tidal wave, hitting him with the force of a truck as he realized the depth of the pain he had caused you.

In that moment, the tension between you and Rafe was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil that lay beneath the surface. And as you held each other's gaze, the weight of the past hung heavy in the air, threatening to suffocate you both with its unresolved emotions.

Fighting back tears, you clenched your jaw, determined to maintain your composure and professionalism in front of the large group of men. With a quick nod, you shielded your emotions from the prying eyes of the boys surrounding you.

"Right. Well, if you guys need anything, I'll be over here. Enjoy your day," you replied stoically, your voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within you. Turning on your heel, you swiftly walked away, each step a silent retreat from the painful confrontation unfolding before you. Reaching a nearby golf cart, you wasted no time in packing up your belongings and drinks, your movements brisk and efficient as you prepared to escape to somewhere far away from the suffocating presence of Rafe and his friends.

"Y/N please, wait."

As you hurriedly packed up your things, a voice called out your name from behind, growing closer with each step. You recognized the voice all too well, and a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. It was Rafe.

Despite knowing it was him, you refused to turn around and acknowledge him. You couldn't bear to face him after everything that had transpired. You knew he was probably coming over to do damage control for his friend's spitefulness, but after what Topper had said, you had heard enough.

"Go away, Rafe," you muttered, your voice tinged with hurt and frustration as you continued to focus on packing up your belongings. It came out more harshly than you intended, but you couldn't bring yourself to face him, not after the pain his friend's words had caused you.

Despite your request, you knew Rafe well enough to anticipate that he wouldn't simply leave until you faced him. His stubbornness had always been both a blessing and a curse to you.

"Y/N, look, I'm sorry about what happened back there. You know Topper, he just says things," Rafe's voice broke through the tension, his tone laced with regret and sincerity.

"So you weren't calling me a heartless bitch while I was gone?" you spat, the bitterness evident in your words as you crossed your arms defensively, turning to face Rafe abruptly. The hurt and anger simmered beneath the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Rafe fell silent, his blue eyes flickering back and forth between yours as he struggled to find the right words. Eventually, he sighed, a gesture of resignation as he brought a hand to his temple in frustration.

"I'm not going to lie to you and say that I didn't," he began, his voice heavy with remorse, "and I know it was wrong. But I did it because I was hurt and angry at you for leaving, okay? I shouldn't have said it, but I did, and I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean it."

His admission hung in the air, the weight of his words sinking in as you processed his apology. Despite the pain and anger that still lingered within you, you couldn't deny the sincerity in Rafe's voice. He was vulnerable in that moment, his walls crumbling as he laid bare his regrets and shortcomings.

You felt a twinge of sympathy, recognizing the turmoil that must have plagued him in the aftermath of your departure. And as you looked into his eyes, you saw the flicker of remorse mirrored in his gaze, a silent plea for forgiveness that tugged at your heartstrings.

For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of how to respond to his apology. But deep down, you knew that holding onto resentment would only prolong the pain for both of you. With a sigh, you let your arms fall to your sides, the tension easing from your stance as you met Rafe's gaze with a nod of acknowledgment.

You looked up at him, a softness in your gaze as you nodded, taking in his apology and the acceptance of his words. "We can't keep hurting each other like this, Rafe," you admitted, your voice filled with a mixture of weariness and determination.

The weight of the past hung heavy between you, a reminder of the pain and heartache that had plagued your relationship. But in that moment, you felt a glimmer of hope, a longing for a future where the wounds of the past could be healed, and where you and Rafe could find a way to move forward together.

Rafe met your gaze with a solemn nod, his expression reflecting a similar sentiment. "I know, Y/N," he replied softly, his voice tinged with regret, "I don't want to keep making the same mistakes. I want to do better, for both of us." His words resonated with you, stirring a sense of hopefulness within your heart.

As you closed your eyes, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you, threatening to drown you in their intensity. The weight of your choices hung heavy on your shoulders, each one fraught with its own set of consequences. You couldn't help but feel torn between loyalty to JJ, your best friend, and the lingering feelings you still held for Rafe, your first love.

The thought of hurting either of them filled you with a profound sense of guilt and despair. You wished you could simply escape from it all, to tune out the world and retreat into solitude where the weight of your decisions couldn't reach you. But you knew that running away wasn't an option, not when the consequences of your actions were looming over you like a storm cloud on the horizon.

With a heavy heart, you knew that you had to face the reality of your situation head-on. No matter how much you wished for an easy way out, the truth was that there was no escaping the difficult choices that lay before you. And as you took another deep breath, steeling yourself for the challenges that lay ahead, you knew that you couldn't afford to remain passive any longer. It was time to confront the complexities of your heart and the tangled web of emotions that bound you to both JJ and Rafe, knowing that the path forward would be anything but easy.

"I still have things to figure out for now, Rafe," you confessed, your voice laced with uncertainty, "and I hope that you can be okay with that until I'm able to do so. I just... I don't want to hurt anyone else more than I've already done."

Rafe's gaze softened, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding of your dilemma. "I understand, Y/N," he replied gently, his voice a soothing presence amidst the turmoil of your emotions, "I'll respect your need for time and space. Just... know that I'll be here, whenever you're ready."

You offered him a small, grateful smile, the weight of your indecision still heavy on your heart. "Thank you, Rafe," you murmured, hoping that he could sense the depth of your gratitude and the complexity of your emotions.

As you drove across the expansive golf course, the hum of the cart's engine providing a steady backdrop to your turbulent thoughts, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settle over you. The weight of the choices you faced seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, threatening to crush you beneath their burden.

You hated the complexity of the situation, the tangled web of emotions that bound you to both JJ and Rafe. It felt like no matter which path you chose, someone would end up hurt, and the thought weighed heavily on your conscience.

Memories of your past with Rafe flashed through your mind, each one a painful reminder of the bond you once shared and the feelings that still lingered beneath the surface. Despite your efforts to move on, it seemed that the past had a way of catching up to you, refusing to let you forget the love you once knew.

And yet, as you navigated the winding paths of the golf course, you knew that you couldn't afford to dwell on the past. The present demanded your attention, and the future loomed uncertain and fraught with challenges.

You spotted JJ outside the lobby building, his expression grave as he motioned for you to come over. Your heart sank as you approached, already bracing yourself for bad news.

"What's going on, Jay?" you asked, your voice tinged with worry as you crossed your arms, waiting for his response.

"Okay, so get this. Pope just called and told me they found out that Ward is trying to track John B before he can expose all of Ward's fucked up lies. Apparently, he has a hit out on him," JJ explained urgently, his words hitting you like a punch to the gut.

Your eyes widened in horror, your arms falling to your sides as you processed the gravity of the situation. The thought of John B being in danger sent a surge of fear coursing through your veins.

"Shit," you breathed, your mind racing as you tried to comprehend the direness of the situation. "We have to do something, Jay. We can't just sit back and let Ward get away with this."

JJ fell silent for a moment, his expression telling you he was hesitant to say whatever it was that he wanted to tell you. You cocked your eyebrow, waiting for him to speak but to no avail.

"Well, what is it JJ?"

"Look, I know it's a lot to ask," JJ began, his tone hesitant as he gauged your reaction. "But we really need you to spy on Rafe again. It's the only way we can find out what Ward's next move is."

You felt a surge of confliction, the memories of your previous attempts to spy on Rafe flooding back with a pang of guilt. "Spy on Rafe?" you repeated, your voice wavering with uncertainty as you processed JJ's request.

"Yeah," JJ confirmed with a solemn nod, his expression grave. "I know it's asking a lot, but we need to know what Ward's planning. Rafe might have some insight that could help us."

Your heart sank at the thought of betraying Rafe's trust once again, but you couldn't deny the urgency of the situation. "But JJ, you know what happened last time I tried to spy on him," you reminded him, your voice tinged with apprehension.

JJ's gaze softened with understanding, his tone gentle as he replied, "I know, Y/N. I'm not asking you to do this lightly. But right now, we need all the information we can get if we're going to take down Ward and keep John B safe."

You shook your head, your gaze falling to the floor, overwhelmed by JJ's request. "JJ, this is a lot to ask... I don't know if I can do this again. I feel like I'm just hurting him all over again."

"Why does it matter if he's hurt? He's Rafe Cameron, he doesn't deserve your pity," JJ countered, his voice tinged with frustration.

You looked up at JJ, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. "I know he's made mistakes, but he's still a person, JJ. I can't just use him like some pawn in a game," you insisted, your voice tinged with anguish.

"But this isn't about him, Y/N. It's about taking down Ward and keeping John B safe," JJ argued, his tone firm.

You sighed heavily, torn between loyalty to your friends and your own moral compass. "I need some time to think about it, JJ. This isn't a decision I can make lightly," you replied, your voice wavering with uncertainty.

JJ folded his arms, frustration evident on his face. "Well, let me know when you make your decision, although I thought it should be pretty easy considering John B is your friend, too," he stated firmly, his tone laced with disappointment.

You flinched at JJ's words, feeling the weight of his expectations bearing down on you. "I know, JJ. I'll... I'll figure it out," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, unable to meet his gaze.

With that, JJ nodded stoically and turned back around to go into the building, leaving you standing there with the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders. You took a deep breath, trying to steel yourself against the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. The gravity of the situation pressed down on you, leaving you feeling torn between loyalty to your friend and the potential consequences of betraying someone you cared about.

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, the world seemed to blur around you, the only sound echoing in your ears being the tumultuous beating of your own heart. With each passing moment, the weight of the choice you had to make grew heavier, threatening to crush you under its burden.

But despite the overwhelming uncertainty that loomed over you, one thing remained clear – whatever decision you made would have far-reaching consequences, forever altering the course of your relationships and the trajectory of your life. And as you grappled with the weight of your choices, you couldn't help but wonder if there was any path forward that wouldn't leave you broken and alone in the end.

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#rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe cameron x reader #obx #outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe angst #rafe cameron imagine #rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

Text

Put A Ring On It

Masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x female!reader

TW:alcohol, possessive Rafe, spitting in mouth, fluff

Summary: During a night out on the town, Rafe seizes the opportunity to remind you exactly who you belong to.

Word Count:1.8k

Rafe's eyes have barely left you since you step foot in the club. The majority of the night has been spent with you tucked into his side where he likes you, but after several shots and mixed drinks, you decided to conquer the dance floor with Sarah.

He watches with a smile as you move your body freely, dancing without a care in the world. He knows every man is drooling over you, and normally it would piss him off. However this a frequent stomping ground for him, and after he knocked someone unconscious last time, everybody is well aware that you're his girl.

You feel like you're on cloud nine as the alcohol and thumping bass travel through you and Sarah looks just as happy. You're both dancing on each other, laughing loudly as the songs seem to carry your problems away.

Your eyes shoot open as Single Ladies comes on and Sarah shares a knowing look with you. Your face breaks out into a sloppy grin as the familiar beat starts and the two of you lose yourselves as you scream along.

Rafe is only half listening to some story he couldn't care less about that Topper is telling. His focus is on you, and making sure you're safe. The irony of the situation is that originally you didn't even want to come out tonight.

Standing here now with a hard look on his features, Rafe wishes he would have listened.

He follows your every move as the chorus begins and your hands fly into the air. He isn't sure why you seem to be feeling this song so much, or why the hell you're putting your hands up seeing as you are very much taken.

You're unaware of Rafe's glare, too consumed with everything else going on to notice. You don't think about it as you do what the song says, barely aware of the implication as you stumble slightly.

It's not until you feel large hands pressing your arms down that you scowl and whip around to see who the hell has the nerve to touch you. The second you realize it's Rafe, your face lights up and you lean in for a kiss.

Your smile quickly drops when he dodges you and he almost laughs at how cute you look when you're grumpy and confused. Almost.

"What's wrong?"

You have to shout for him to hear you and he sighs heavily. He can smell the liquor on your breath and he ponders whether this is even worth it before the irritation consumes him again.

You've turned back to Sarah now, seemingly bored with waiting for an answer. Your hands are flailing in the air again and he presses himself into your back. His hands dwarf yours as he grabs them and hastily puts them back at your sides.

"What the hell is your problem?" You snap and his nostrils flare as he tries his best to control his temper.

"My problem is that you're out here making everyone think you're single. This song is like throwing blood in a pool of sharks, and every man in here is eyeing you like they're starving." He growls and you roll your eyes.

"So?" You bite and he counts to ten in an attempt to calm down.

"So, you're not fucking single. You're mine."

Your eyebrow quirks at his harsh tone and it only frustrates him more. Most of the time he loves that you give him a run for his money, but right now it's not his favorite thing. If you were even a little more sober you would've taken the hint and gone back to the table without protest.

But since your decision-making skills are beyond impaired, you decide to push your luck. You hold your left hand up a couple inches away from his face and his eyebrows pinch as he tries to figure out what the hell you're doing.

"Do you see a diamond? You heard the lady, if you like it then you should've put a ring on it."

Your voice is dripping with sarcasm and sass as you taunt him, and his eyes darken. You carry on dancing and he stands there watching for a moment as his chest heaves.

He clocks a man that's clearly new here walking toward you like a predator stalking his prey and snaps. His hand wraps around your wrist and you're about to protest when he jerks you toward the bar.

"Let's get another drink."

He was just bitching about you dancing, and now he wants to give you more alcohol? You're seconds from asking him what caused his change in heart when the words die on your tongue.

You watch as Rafe takes a sip of your favorite drink and holds it in his mouth. He makes eye contact with the man over your shoulder and you let out a small gasp when his hand grabs your chin.

His grip is firm but not hard enough to hurt you as he tilts your head back. You stare up at him with wide eyes, and his thumb moves to pull your mouth open. You don't resist the gesture, allowing your lips to part with ease.

He bends down and nearly covers your body with his as he leans over your face. You suddenly realize what he's about to do, and excitement shoots through you. Rafe is only like this when he's jealous, and you love the possessive side of him.

He always insists he's not jealous, but rather territorial. It makes no difference to you; the outcome is the same either way.

Your eyes lock with his as his lips nearly touch yours, and he spits the amber liquid into your mouth. His hand snaps your jaw shut and you look at him defiantly.

"Swallow."

For once, you do what you're told and he smiles victoriously as you open your mouth again to show him you listened.

"Good girl."

When he glances back up, the man is gone and he releases his hold on you. He knows the power he holds over you, and while he doesn't typically exercise it, moments like this are perfect for reminding you who you belong to.

You're staring up at him with doe eyes, and he knows he's got you.

"Go have fun dancing."

He nudges you with a little smirk, and you take a step forward.

"No, I'm good right here with you."

He tsks and cocks his head to the side.

"You were having so much fun though, pretty girl. I'd hate to ruin your night."

You shake your head from side to side, now pressed against him.

"I'm having fun."

His face breaks out in a shit-eating grin as he looms over you. You know he's teasing you, ever the petty little fuck, but you don't care in the slightest.

"Are you now?"

You nod just barely, and he smiles. You look so small and innocent the way you have to tilt your head back to look up at him and it drives him mad. He leads you back to the table where Topper and Kelce have knowing expressions on their face.

A blush creeps up your neck, and Rafe doesn't even have the decency to look remotely embarrassed about his stunt. Not that it's anything new; his friends have gotten used to the PDA and aggressive displays of dominance.

He reclaims his seat and pulls you down so you're sitting comfortably on his lap. There's plenty of room for you at the table, but that's neither here nor there. Rafe has made it very clear that your throne is either on his lap or on his face, and who are you to argue?

It's not even thirty minutes before the two of you call it a night. Normally evenings like this would end with you tangled up in sheets. However, you're far past drunk and Rafe is sober for once.

You bid your goodbyes, promising to call Sarah in the morning, and let Rafe lead you outside. He tips the valet driver and opens your door, offering you a steady hand as you stumble into the seat.

Your heels have long since been discarded, finding their place in Rafe's hand along with your purse. He tosses them into the backseat and climbs in, taking off in the direction of Tannyhill.

Thankfully it's almost two am, so no one is awake to see your less-than-graceful state of being as you climb the stairs like a newborn fawn. You only get to the third step before Rafe picks you up bridal style and carries you the rest of the way.

Your head rests on his broad chest while you flop around, seconds from losing consciousness. You barely register the feeling of his plush bed and satin sheets when he sets you down, and fling yourself back.

Rafe chuckles to himself when he sees you sprawled out, not a care in the world. Usually, he's too fucked up to appreciate these moments; but in the rare occurrences he's not, he tries to savor it.

His hands are gentle as he pulls off your dress and slips your favorite hoodie of his onto your limp frame. He was worried about disturbing you, but now it's clear that not even the apocalypse could interrupt your slumber.

He isn't entirely sure if you've fallen asleep or blacked out, but the sound of your mumbled protests when he starts wiping your face off eases his worries. Your words are incoherent, nothing more than delirious rambling as he continues with the task at hand.

You would have his head on a platter if you woke up still wearing foundation and glitter in the morning.

"I know, angel. Just a couple more minutes and I'll leave you alone."

He finishes up with your skincare routine and strips down to boxers before climbing in bed. You've managed to crawl under the covers, and he shakes his head when he sees that you're starfished taking up the entire space.

He shifts you with ease and laughs when your body flings like a rag doll. He plops down under the covers and smiles softly when your hand flies out to find purchase on his stomach.

Even in your current state, you seek him out. He doesn't know how after two years you still manage to give him butterflies, but the familiar sensation erupts when you wrap around him like a koala.

"Warm." You slur, and his hand runs through your hair in soothing motions.

He waits to make sure that you're not stirring anymore and lets his eyes flutter closed. No matter how much you push him, or who thinks they have a chance with you, he knows you'll always be right here at the end of the night.

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fic

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writtingsomestuff · 6 months

Note

imagine for musiala where you work as a physio for bayern, and jamal has a crush on her and all the guys tease him about it

🩷🩷 love you

OMG you're so sweet!!!! 🩷 love you too! I'm very sorry for being late. I've been busy this past month with my job and college.

More than just a crush - Jamal Musiala

Jamal Musiala x fem!reader Warnings: none ig

Jamal was not very expressive with his emotions, he was rather shy and introverted. He was not very communicative about his feelings or thoughts, but these last few days his teammates, and even his coach, observed how often he visited the physio. The new physio, who was the new intern at Bayern Munich. This was one of the greatest opportunities that were ever offered to her; it is true that it made her feel insecure at the beginning as she was going to directly treat professional football players, and that scared her, but after she met them and saw how close they made her feel, she started to feel more comfortable.

Jamal shyly knocked at her door, “come in” he heard her beautiful voice and he blushed. Jamal cursed himself as he did not want her to notice how red he was.

“Hi” he said quietly, and made his way into the room

“Jamal?” She gave him a small smile as she approached the bed where he was going to sit soon, “What happened this time?” She asked with her eyebrow raised, trying not to laugh as she knew that nothing happened to him

“My left foot” Jamal simply said as he pointed at his right foot

“Right or left?” She asked again

Jamal quickly changed his hand to indicate his left as he heavily blushed, even more, “Left, left”

“Alright, I think a soft message will do – you can sit down” She said as she observed the player sitting down on the massage table “How did you get hurt this time?” The same question was asked every time he entered the room, however, their conversations progressed. No one could deny the attraction between both of them, not even them. The players, the whole staff and even the coach could sense it; it was so obvious.

“Müller stepped on my foot,” He said as he started to undo his shoes. She knew he was lying, little did he know that she watched the training and nothing like that happened. She started to watch them after Jamal caught her attention only three days after starting to work. “I tried to wait a bit but still hurts”

“Oh, really?” She asked with a small smirk that intimidated the footballer, he was ready to lay down but remained sat. She crossed her arms and approached him, Jamal felt his stomach drop and his knees tremble; she was too close. He could see her deep (y/c) eyes, her soft skin he wished he could caress, her cute nose and her unique lips. He closed his eyes and let her famous perfume dominate him. She took all her courage together and for the first time in her life, she shoot her shot. “And, when did that happen?” She whispered as she got closer to the man in front of her, “during the small match, or the running session at the beginning?” Jamal looked at her surprised, she watched the training session.

“No… I mean…” He started to say, but nothing came out. “Is just that-” He tried again but nothing, she raised her eyebrows still waiting for a valid excuse. She held her smirk until the situation in front of her caused her to laugh; all that false confidence soon left her body.

Jamal was confused and embarrassed, he could not understand if she was laughing at him or at the situation.

“I am joking Jamal, I just find funny the excuses you come with to come here” She told him with her normal tone, “You could have just asked, you know?”

“Yeah… I just did not want to bother you.” He said shyly, “I like you a lot. You are so nice and kind with everyone, you are so soft, and also incredibly beautiful. You make me feel nervous when you are around and I feel like I am not worthy of asking you for even a date -” He was interrupted by a pair of soft lips on him, Jamal was in shock but soon continued with the kiss

“A date tonight?” She asked once they separated, and he nodded. “At 9pm it is” She smiled softly. Jamal kissed her cheek softly before he said goodbye and left the room. Without his shoes.

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grimbanes · 1 year

Text

My Soulmate is Capitalism. (Kaz Brekker x GN!Reader)

Summary: "Of course I believe in soulmates - I have met mine. Capitalism is my mistress and I lay with her every night, I hold her close and she sings me promises of riches beyond any man's dreams." OR after a successful heist, everybody celebrates but kaz chooses to sit with the reader and they have a funny conversation.

WC: 2k

Genre: crack fic. pre-relationship, coming to terms with feelings, the rest of the crows being funny. you/your pov. kaz might be a lil ooc. reader and kaz are besties with a lot of tension.

A/N: i wanted to write something light hearted because my notifs are blown up rn, but this is gonna be a first part or prologue leading to confessions within a day or two. so stay tuned, i hope you enjoy this because there's more to come for this one. i wanted to try something more dialogue heavy for once. i forgot how funny kaz could be but i was reading chapter 2 of SOC again and my god hes so funny.

TW: violence, usual six of crow warnings, kaz laughing.

“So you admit that you’re the thief?”

The young man in chains wanted to laugh, he really did. It wasn’t in his nature to laugh at idiocy - if he made a habit of it, he’d be laughing permanently and that seemed rather tiring.

“I’m a vigilante, of sorts,” He replied smoothly, adjusting the shackles on his hands from where he let them rest between his legs, being sure not to touch his bad leg even when both were chained to the rickety, barely held together chair he was perched upon.

“You gonna give it to the poor?”

“I am the poor,” Kaz said. He had to egg him on. His entire plan was resting on the fact that the Stadwatch were full of the most kruge hungry, lazy, arrogant fools to ever be shoved from the womb of Ketterdam’s damp streets.

It earned him a fist to the face, cracking down against his scarred cheekbone and he felt dizzy - recoiling from the rising tides that filled his tight lungs, daring to attempt to drag him under the murky, corpse riddled depths. It was only a moment of touch, but a moment enough that it numbed the pain that should be blossoming through the nerves in his face.

“Filthy street rat,” The guard scoffed at him, shaking his hand to evidently ease the pain from hitting him. Soft bastards.

“Street rat, urchin, pickpocket, they’re all the same. You can think of something better now, can’t you? Let me give you a hand: I prefer the term businessman, opportunist or even idealist, on a good day, ” The young man in chains taunted, leaning back into his seat and making himself comfortable, only the weight of rusting metal clamped around his bare skin giving him any discomfort.

He needed the officer closer. Just that little bit closer.

He didn’t miss the slight hobble in the guard’s right foot, or the consistent shaking in both of his hands. Perhaps he had skipped a meal or was otherwise unwell, either way, it posed an opportunity for him that had the young man scheming. Like any skilled thief, he could take himself out of his chains in mere seconds with the gentle caress of cool metal, a flick of the wrist and a soft praise, the lock would bend to his will and snap open, but not yet. With guard in his space, he could set the rest of the plan into motion and trust in his schemes to carry the others to do their part too.

The Stadwatch officer reached to fist his hair and Kaz braced himself, tongue in cheek and eyes locked on the hand reeling back and preparing to be delivered swiftly into his nose. A single second window was all he had. So he counted. He waited three seconds, inhale, exhale, inhale, and with a loud clink, his wrists were free. Kaz lowered himself down, arms shooting out to wrap around the officer’s hips and he hoisted himself up to his full height, the chains on his feet clattering away and he was dropping the officer onto his back with a heavy thud, dust filling the air in the dark room.

He didn’t hesitate to grab his cane from where it was left propped against the wall and raised it with a confident grip, the weighted head connecting with a sickening crack to the side of the man’s head. Exhale.

“Can’t have this tarnishing my perfect record,” Kaz mumbled, taking an uneven step back and leaning heavily onto his cane, stoney eyes scanning the surrounding room. It was dark out, possibly. Around four hours he’d been sitting with his eyes closed, counting every second and minute that passed, as he’d been stripped of his hat, coat, gloves and cane. He pushed his bare hand through his hair, away from his face. Right about now they should be-

The door threw open, and expecting Jesper, Kaz opened his mouth the mutter a threat about almost being late but instead, he was met with the one person who managed to make him hold his tongue. The one person who had him on his toes, who encouraged his behaviour, the only other person who knew what it was like to be raised by Ketterdam. You. With your mischievous smile, dirt smudged against your cheek and eyes sparkling at him with so much mirth that it had him wanting to return the pure joy you always seemed to radiate. You were always at your best when your pockets were full of trinkets that didn’t belong to you.

“Where’s Jesper?” Kaz inquired instead, stepping past you and out of the door and he didn’t even want to think on why the soft scent of morning dew flowers even managed to stay clung to you in dangerous jobs like this. He hobbled down the narrow corridor, leaning majority of his weight into his cane as his leg began to ache, the cold chill of the room set deep into the broken bone - he’d definitely been sat still for too long, it was nearly unbearable.

“Covering Wylan’s escape,” Your voice chimed from behind him, quiet steps masked in time with his own uneven gait. He eyed you from the corner of his alert eyes and he thought you were possibly the most addicting thing he had ever laid his eyes upon, even in dim light, in the face of danger, the possibility of death still thick in the suffocatingly stagnant air.

Kaz couldn’t find it within himself to be mad that Jesper had gone against his explicit orders to stick to the plan, no detours, no changes. That only meant that you had done your best to adapt to the change, to do your part and still come for him, and you had done it well - he figured he owed you a drink. Or a necklace. Or a bullet between your enemy’s eyes. Whatever he could do, he would do it for you, just to show he valued your set of skills in his arsenal. The entire plan rested on Jesper breaking Kaz out of interrogation before the Stadwatch completed the paperwork and locked him in a cell for Ghezen knew how long.

┕━━━━━━━♔━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

You collapsed into your seat with a sigh, head tipped back and the sound of the bottle of whiskey was already being passed around, glasses clinking and the unshakable adrenaline remained buzzing under everybody’s skin. Another successful heist meant another fifteen thousand kruge in your coffers. You heard the seat beside you be dragged out and the smell of dark coffee flooding your senses, warming your sinuses. Your eyes flickered open in the warm lighting, falling upon the familiar figure that seemed to always be in your shadow as of late.

Kaz slid a cup and saucer your way, bitter dark coffee swirling in the fine china and you felt yourself ease a little more. He had a way about him that always left you feeling a little recharged - maybe it was the fact he always brought you a cup of coffee when he made himself one, always waking you up and giving you the illusion that it was him doing it. Clever, really, the sly bastard. You held onto the little plate with a smile, fingers hooking into the handle as Kaz sat himself beside you, cane rested against the table and his usual coat and hat abandoned somewhere in the club.

“Boss will have our heads for being in the club after hours, you know,” You teased.

“I am the boss,” Kaz muttered in retort, his usual eyebrow quirk present as he stared.

“Oh yes, of course, my apologies, Master Brekker,” You pressed, giving him a little nudge with your elbow and not missing the slight quirk of his own lips, barely present other than the way only one side of his mouth raised.

The young man rolled his blued hyacinth eyes in his usual manner, his entire being just screaming familiarity and you felt comfortable. At ease. Brekker could handle himself in a gunfight, a fist fight and any game of wit. His tongue was sharper than most knives, his words the coldest bullet to explode your brains against your own floorboards and that was a comforting thing in the Barrel.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” You found yourself asking, swirling the dark coffee in its cup between your hands, holding it close to your face and studying the young man beside you.

"Of course I believe in soulmates - I have met mine. Capitalism is my mistress and I lay with her every night, I hold her close and she sings me promises of riches beyond any man's dreams,” Kaz spoke with utter sincerity, sipping his own coffee and studying down at the manifest in front of him, pen in his other hand.

“Geels was right, you do only talk in metaphors,” You mumbled with clear disappointment, eyes cast upon your friends across the room as they drank their alcohol and made merry, celebrating the night’s events.

Beside you, Kaz stopped writing. In fact, he set his pen down altogether and a sigh left through his nose. You didn’t want to turn to look at him, didn’t want to show your disappointment - it was very rare you ever got a real answer from him, one that wasn’t a deflection or some mirror of the reputation he spent so long building. Sometimes, you just wanted a conversation but you knew choosing Kaz for that was foolish to begin with.

“As I said to Geels, that wasn’t a metaphor,” Kaz offered the truce, rather than submitting to his usual silence whenever he had upset someone.

“Is this your way of telling me that you quite literally sleep with money in your bed?” You asked, perplexed and turning your head to fully look at the Barrel Boss’ side profile.

“Yes.” Kaz sipped his coffee, leaned back in his seat and tapped a gloved finger against the surface of the table between you, “Thousands of kruge make my pillow and keep me warm in the night.”

And you laughed. You laughed louder than you ever had, hand slamming against the table and full body tipping forward, coffee set aside as you nearly choked on it. Kaz Brekker had told a joke and it was devastatingly funny, the deadpan delivery more than enough for you to be sent into a room filled with giggles. It had the others across the room staring at you with perplexity, glancing between both you and Kaz and you didn’t miss the way his body shook just that little bit, a hint of a laugh in his body language and smile hidden beneath the cup of coffee he was sipping on.

“You are so lucky that I adore you so much else I would be sticking a bullet through your brain right about now,” You giggled, miming firing a gun at him with your fingers and you snorted again, gripping onto the edge of the table.

“Careful voicing your affections so loud, one might think you’re being sincere,” Kaz’s smile seemed to shine in his eyes, leaning a little closer to your space and it set you off again, your hand slamming against your hand in an effort to stop your little outburst.

***

“They flirt with violence?” Nina dared question, whiskey in hand and staring at the exchange with confusion fused with joy, knowing damn well she could use this against the both of them in future. I mean really, who could adore anyone with a haircut that bad? She shook her head, utterly flummoxed.

“I don’t know what’s more unsettling, seeing Kaz smile or seeing Kaz make someone just as bad as him laugh like that,” Wylan shuddered, yet unable to look away.

“I think it's sweet. It really shows that there is somebody out there for everyone,” Inej smiled, eyes softening as she studied the exchange and holding her hand above her heart.

“Demjin made somebody laugh, I think we should take them both to a medik,” Matthias grumbled, earning himself a shove from Nina.

“Well I think-” Jesper dropped into his seat, leaning into where they had huddled inwards and grinned. “It’s creepy. I mean c'mon, imagine if anything happened between them. He’d go absolutely feral. It's so human.. I don’t like it.”

#crack fic #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #grishaverse

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skyward-floored · 3 months

Text

This is the longest one yet, buckle up (comes before the one where Volga confronts Cia)

———

Skyloft is beautiful.

...Or, at least, Link thinks it would be, if there weren’t currently a battle sweeping across its placid fields.

He wipes some dirt off his cheek as he slices past another monster, the warm sunshine and springlike weather in sharp opposition to the blood and screams surrounding him. A flower gets crushed under a moblin’s foot as Link goes to attack it, and he distantly wishes he could have come here before all of this destruction and death swept through.

The Skyloftians aren’t letting their islands being overtaken without a fight though, and they fight just as fiercely as the men Link brought with him.

One cuts down a bokoblin that was trying to sneak up on him, and Link nods his thanks before spinning around and slashing at another. He can’t help feeling the pressure of leading his men here without any higher officers above him and an unfamiliar force as their allies, but they’re making it work, and the battle is close to being won.

But if they’re going to win, they need to defeat the commander of the enemy forces.

A sudden roar rings out from somewhere outside the keep they’re fighting to take, and Link’s heart wrenches into his throat, the sound horribly familiar. He leaves the keep in the other soldiers’ capable hands and runs outside, making his way along charred grass and scorched earth.

Fire shoots into the air nearby, and Link freezes as he reaches a plaza, locking eyes with Volga when he turns his way.

He’s only seen the dragon knight once since Cia spilled the secret of his parentage, but only from a distance. He hasn’t fought him at all since that first day, merely watched Impa fight him from a distance, busy with his own mission and battles, but that was it.

This is the closest he’s gotten to Volga since he learned who he is.

Link hesitates as he looks at the dragon knight, his throat growing strangely tight, but Volga has no similar reservations, charging forward with his spear raised.

The first thrust nearly takes off his head, but Link dodges, and the two of them whirl around each other, Link avoiding flames and jabs from the spear while Volga dodges his sword. Link falls quickly into the familiar rhythm of battle, ignoring the thoughts crashing through his head and the endless echoes of both Cia and Impa’s words.

He has a job to do, and he won’t let the fact that something in his chest feels like it’s going to either shatter or explode stop him from doing it.

He refuses to think about who Volga is to him right now.

Volga swings his spear and Link blocks it with his sword, grunting as their weapons lock. Link is by no means weak, but Volga is incredibly strong, probably due to being a literal dragon, and Link finds himself being pushed backwards, scrambling for purchase.

His foot slips just the smallest bit as he tries to make a move, and Volga sees the opportunity and leaps on it.

He roars as fire explodes around them, and Link cries out as he‘s thrown backwards from the force of the flames, heat and light and pain whirling around him.

Proxi yelps in alarm, and Link’s skin aches, the fire searing through his gloves and no doubt forming burns on his hands. Volga’s flame is so intense that even Link’s practically fireproof skin can’t stand up to it, and he’s almost afraid to look at the impact it left. Link dizzily raises his head, and feels an almost tingly feeling run up his hands where he’d lifted them to try and shield himself.

He hazards a glance down at them, and stares, eyes going wide at the orangey-red scales shimmering over his fingers like the lava in the Eldin caves.

Every other thought in his head is immediately silenced.

“What..?” Link whispers, lifting a shaking hand closer to his face, spreading his aching fingers.

Upon closer inspection, it doesn’t look like his hands have actually grown scales, merely gained a faint impression of them, shimmering and glowing in the sunlight. His skin is doubtlessly burnt underneath, but he can barely tell through the almost jewel-like luster that’s fallen over it.

Link doesn’t have time to examine his hands further though, as something else slams into him, throwing him backwards and sending him crashing into a wall.

More fire accompanies it, and Link coughs as pain sears up his middle, the edges of his tunic singed. He clutches a hand around himself, ignoring the pain from the burns and the strange appearance of his hands, and curses his distracted state as he feels around for his sword.

Weird hands can come later, Link!

Footsteps approach, and Link scrambles to get to his feet, biting back a cry when he ends up sliding back to the ground. He looks up and sees Volga staring at him, his spear raised as if to run him through.

But he doesn’t attack, merely stands in front of Link, smoke trailing from his form.

Link blinks, then realizes Volga is also staring at his hands, the faint shimmer of scales fading, but still visible. His stomach suddenly heaves with nerves, and Link swallows, Cia’s words flashing through his head again.

Apparently there’s a bit more to being half dragon then he thought.

“What are you?”

Link looks back at Volga at the words, the dragon knight still staring at his hands. His brows are drawn with an emotion Link can’t puzzle out as the scales finally fade, nothing but reddish skin left in their wake, and Link drags in a shaking breath.

“Your hands should be nothing but charcoal right now,” Volga continues as Link tries to sit up, gritting his teeth when his middle flares with pain again. “Yet your skin... what are you?”

Link bristles a little at the question, and tries to draw on the legendary courage he supposedly possesses in order to get his thoughts in order and actually speak, instead of continue to merely stare.

“I... I’m part dragon,” he says finally, unsure of how else to put it.

Volga tilts his head, still staring, face expressionless. Link is reminded of his conversation with Impa as he looks at him, where the Sheikah leader had told him of the darkness she’d observed surrounding Volga, unlike when she knew him.

Looking at his shadowed eyes, Link sees what she means.

“How is this possible?” Volga rumbles, voice impossible for Link to read.

Link swallows. He can think of several ways Volga could take what he’s about to say off the top of his head, none of them good. Proxi softly chimes from inside his hat, quietly encouraging him, and Link closes his eyes.

“You... it’s because you’re... my father,” he says thickly, still breathing heavily through the pain, his arm curled tightly around his middle. “I’m— I’m your son.”

The words feel strange as they leave his mouth.

Volga stares at him, his eyes narrowing as the silence stretches between them.

Link sits quietly as he waits for a reaction. If Volga decides to attack in any way, Link won’t be able to dodge in time, Volga too close, the pain in his middle too intense. There’s a potion in his bag, but he doesn’t have time to pull it out and drink it. His sword is out of reach on the ground behind Volga, and none of his men are in the direct area, busy taking keeps further away or blocked off by the wall he’s been slammed against. Link and the dragon are alone for the moment.

He’s entirely at Volga’s mercy.

“Who told you this?” Volga rumbles finally, his voice low and stern. “How do you know?”

“Cia,” Link gets out weakly, fighting the urge to cough. “Weeks ago.”

Volga is silent, smoke trailing from his nostrils, and Link watches him in silence, breath hitching when a tremor runs through him. The dragon knight appears deep in thought, his thumb lightly rubbing his spear, and doesn’t say anything for such a long time that Link isn’t sure what to do.

“...Impa,” Volga murmurs finally, voice distant as his spear lowers a hair.

“Yes,” Link says quietly, trying to see Volga’s eyes through the shadows that lie over them. “She... she’s my mother.”

Something in Volga’s disposition seems to shift at the words, hard lines easing, his tense posture softening, expression turning into one that seems almost wistful, in a way.

Link watches him cautiously, unsure of what’s going through Volga’s head. He’s never seen the knight act like this, still and quiet. And despite the part of his brain reminding him of their first encounter and yelling at him to fight back and get out of here, he remains where he is, watching Volga think in silence.

“A hatchling,” Volga murmurs after what feels like forever, so soft Link almost doesn’t hear him.

Then suddenly Volga whips around and leaps into the air, turning into a dragon with a burst of flames.

He flies away without so much as a backward glance, and Link watches him go, a bit stunned at the abrupt departure. He stares at Volga flying away until all he can make out is a faint impression of fiery wings, then leans back against the wall, breath still shaking in his throat.

Proxi pokes out of his cap as he finally pulls his potion from his bag, and she sits on his knee as he drinks it, watching him in silence.

“Are you okay Link?” she asks softly.

Link exhales as the potion does its work, soothing his aching hands, healing the burns and weaving through the pain in his middle. A cheer goes up from somewhere nearby, which probably means that the battle has been won, the monsters in disarray without their commander.

Link stares up at the sky, looking back at the spot where Volga disappeared.

“Link?” Proxi asks again, her tone much more worried then before.

“I’m alright,” he says quietly. “Sorry Proxi.”

“It’s okay. He sure left in a hurry,” his fairy notes, wings fluttering in the breeze. “Do... do you think he believed you?”

Link sighs, thinking back to what Volga said. His reaction had seemed so incredulous, but he hadn’t attacked him again, despite Link being cornered and unable to easily fight back. And had he merely imagined the softness in his tone when he’d spoken of Impa and a hatchling, or had Volga truly..?

Link shakes his head, brushing the thought aside.

“I don’t know if he did or not. But at least he knows now,” Link says, Proxi fluttering into the air as he raises himself upward. “And he heard it from me. Not Cia.”

He can’t help but smile just a hair at that realization. Impa had told him that she assumed Cia didn’t want Volga knowing anything about a son, but now he is fully aware of the possibility, even if he didn’t believe him.

Your move, sorceress.

Proxi settles on his shoulder, and Link sighs, realizing now just how how weary he is from the battle. He looks at his hands, now healed from any marks from Volga, then turns to retrieve his sword and prepares to head back.

The wind blows his bangs, and Link pauses for a moment, glancing back at the sky where Volga disappeared.

Then he turns away, footsteps lightly crunching across the burnt grass.

#lot of plot coming together in this one ohhh boy #Hyrule warriors #hdw au #legend of zelda fanfiction #fic #loz Volga #link #tw injury #tw burns #tw violence #writing from the floor #I need to write something fluffy set in this au there hasn’t been much of that ksdbdjdbdjdjd

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bumblesimagines · 11 months

Text

Imagine:

Getting help from Daryl

Request: Yes or No

~~~

Your feet hurt. They've been hurting for weeks. Staying on the move had sounded like a good idea at first: less chance at meeting strangers, less chance at losing things, less opportunities to get attached. But now, as you run blindly through a forest with the dead following and every muscle in your body weeping, you're beginning to rethink the idea.

The leaves crunch beneath your boots and you breeze past a large tree, only having a split second to see the man before you slam into him and crumble to the ground. You groan, pain blossoming in your shoulder and it only intensifies with the backpack strap digging into your skin. You hear him curse and huff as he gathers himself and then regains his footing. An arrow catches your eye but you don't dwell on it and instead crane your neck to look up at the man, hoping to see a friendly face.

But he looks terrifying.

He glares down at you as if your existence ruined his day. He sucks his teeth and adjusts his crossbow over his shoulder, his glare remaining persistent as he looks over you, likely searching for any signs of a bite. You can help but notice some minor details: his backpack is small, hardly any use for weeks or months of solo travelling, his body was full and muscular meaning he'd have to have at least a semi decent diet, and he looks clean. Barely a speck of dirt on his face.

"You oughta watch where you're goin' next time." He speaks in a gravelly voice soaked in a southern accent. His glare softens the slightest bit. "You good?"

You don't get the chance to answer that no, you are most definitely not good. before the groans and growls of the dead grow louder. He turns and instinctively grabs his crossbow, aiming at them and shooting near-perfection accuracy. You take the distraction and swipe the arrow from the ground, stumbling up onto your feet and bolting in the opposite direction. You hear him shout after you but you don't stop. Either the dead will make a meal out of him and slow down or they'll keep him occupied until he takes them all out. You feel a prickle a guilt at the relief that fills you.

You make good distance, at least a mile or maybe two, before you slow down. Still in the forest but progress was progress. Your chest burns and you slump against a tree, leaning against it to keep weight off your exhausted legs. Your fingers loosen around the arrow and the guilt returns.

What if you had judge him too quickly?

What if he had been a husband and father?

What if his people came looking and somehow found you?

Your eyes squeeze shut and you brace your hands on your knees, feeling your bottom lip begin to quiver. Good people were hard to come by in the recent years, and he had the chance to put an arrow in your skull but didn't. Anyone else would've done it. You would've done it. You had done it.

The familiar hiss of a walker fills your ears, far too close for comfort. Your eyes snap open and you turn your head to look at it but before you can react it lunges. It's weight forces your knees to buckle and you collapse on the floor again, arm pressed to its collarbone as its jaws snaps inches away from your face. Your free hand searches for the arrow you dropped in shock and your finger brushes against the tip of its metal.

Then, you hear the whizz of an arrow and a squelch.

Blood splatters lightly onto your face and the walker thankfully goes limp. You shove it off you in one quick motion and sit up, whirling your head around to look at your savior.

"The hell were you thinkin' runnin' off like that?!" The man from before snaps at you as he walks forward, ripping the arrow from the walkers skull and tucking it back into its rightful spot.

"I was thinking I didn't want to die."

"Yeah? How'd that work out?" His demeanor seems odd. It almost feels as if you're being scolded by an old friend. He offers his hand and you stare at it. You want to take it. You really want to take it. But doubt creeps into the back of your mind.The outbreak had brought the worst out of everyone. It couldn't have been any different with this stranger. He doesn't let you think too hard on it though before he grabs your arm and flings you up onto your feet.

You take a moment to regain composure and try to avoid his gaze. You spot the arrow on the floor and pick it up, offering it back to him. "Thank you for helping me." You murmur and wipe away the leaves and dirt sticking to your clothes and arms.

"You been out here a long time, huh?" His voice gets softer, gentler. There's a hint of familiarity to it. He watches you, this time without the cold glare, and clears his throat.

"Name's Daryl."

"(Y/N)."

"Tell me, (Y/N). How many walkers you killed?"

Gifs aren't mine.

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #x female reader #x gender neutral reader #the walking dead x you #the walking dead x y/n #the walking dead x male reader #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #twd #twd x reader #twd x you #daryl dixon x male reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x reader

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mizunoyouni · 2 months

Text

₊˚ෆ Painter's Dialect

₊˚ෆ I can’t stop thinking about going to art school with Hwei and crushing on him…

₊˚ෆ Because it seems from your first year alone that Hwei has already made a name for himself around the art department as one of the top students praised by professors and students alike. Everyone knows him, or of his works, and it’s hard for you to even express your admiration for the painter.

₊˚ෆ At every student art show, he’s always surrounded by professors and fellow peers without a single opening for you to snatch up your opportunity to start a conversation with him. And every time you steal glances over to him in class, he looks like he's always so hyper focused on his work that you’re too scared to interrupt him for some small talk. That, and he almost always has noise canceling headphones on.

₊˚ෆ It’s so silly to be crushing on someone who probably doesn't even know your name… right?

₊˚ෆ Because despite his outward appearance, Hwei definitely knows who you are– your name, your major, what you like to do on the weekends, which city is your hometown, and your favorite Sanrio character. He’s a little embarrassed by it, but he paid very close attention to every time you spoke during the icebreaker games at the beginning of the term.

₊˚ෆ He’s too nervous to just walk up to you, so he tries to make excuses to have a reason to interact with you. Oh he dropped a piece of his charcoal next to you during figure drawing class, he’ll ask you if you can hand it to him! … Or not… because what if you think he’s weird for keeping the conversation going on beyond “Hey I dropped that, could you hand it to me?” “Oh of course, here you go.” “Thanks.”

₊˚ෆ He’d rather die than have you think he’s a weirdo… and so his abandoned stick of charcoal lays by your foot in silence as he simply pulls out another one from his bag to continue working.

₊˚ෆ After some time, Hwei has come to terms with just admiring you from afar, stealing glances at you as you laugh with your friends, not knowing that while he has convinced himself he has no chance with you, you’re also daydreaming about him. And before you both know it, the term is almost over, and you’re both left wondering if you’ll have the chance to see each other again.

₊˚ෆ Except... he really didn’t mean to overhear your conversation with your classmates about which elective class you were planning on taking next term, and yet here he is signing up for the same ceramics course as you. He’s never thrown clay onto a wheel before, but now he’s swallowing the lump in his throat as you smile at him, asking if he would like some help, and he’s so happy his heart could burst.

₊˚ෆ Little did he know that you were watching him struggle for a few minutes already, silently asking yourself if you should offer him a hand before working up the courage to convince yourself to walk over to him and shoot your shot.

₊˚ෆ Needless to say, after quickly exchanging contact info with you after class, he very calmly walks back to his dorm room, lays down in his bed and screams into his pillow before sending you a little sticker of a bear peeking out from behind a wall and waving cutely.

₊˚ෆ “... Would you like to grab a snack with me after class is over?” He asks you, fidgeting slightly with his fingers. “Oh I’d love to! Do you have any ideas?” But what you don’t know is that Hwei has already picked out a quaint little coffee shop within walking distance from campus, one he knows will be quiet around this time of day, perfect for a date having a leisurely conversation over freshly brewed coffee and pastries.

₊˚ෆ When it’s time for the next student art show, Hwei may or may not have asked the students working in the gallery storage to display your piece next to his as a surprise for you. He also may or may not have created his latest piece with you in mind, but that’s a conversation he knows he won’t be able to have with you without having his face erupt into flames.

₊˚ෆ During midterms, you both spend late nights in the painting studio together where your hands are covered in oil paint, and you yawn sleepily as he helps you scrub your hands with soap in the old sink stained with pigment, his hands keeping yours warm under the cold running water.

₊˚ෆ It’s dark out and the moon is hanging in the sky when you both finally leave the studio, but he always walks with you back to your dorm. “To make sure you get back safe,” he says, but he also wants a few extra minutes with you and your adorable sleepy face.

₊˚ෆ You’re not sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere along the line, the two of you had developed a bad habit of forgetting your things in each other’s dorm rooms. Or at least, that’s what you both tell yourselves.

₊˚ෆ Once he had left his headphones at your place and you returned them to him decorated with cute little stickers of cats– stickers that he never peeled off. And in return, Hwei has a small collection of your things in his drawer, neatly organized for when you promised to drop by after you were finished with your classes, but it seems you left his room without them, again.

₊˚ෆ “I don’t wanna learn about art history, I just wanna draw!” you whine as you lay your head down on the library table, earning a soft laugh from Hwei. You were both studying for an upcoming test, but your notes consisted of little caricature portraits of historical painters scrawled in the margins and funny names for famous pieces written instead of their official titles, making him smile at your antics.

₊˚ෆ When final projects start creeping up on the two of you, you find yourselves staying up into the dead of night as art consumes your minds. There’s no time for proper meals, so it’s just mountains of granola bars, instant noodles and a concerning amount of energy drinks and coffee that get you both through those last few weeks.

₊˚ෆ You fall asleep in Hwei’s dorm room the night before you need to present your final portfolio, your messy stack of drawings now neatly placed in your bag as you sleep soundly in his bed. But don’t worry, his alarm is set for your morning critique to ensure you don’t oversleep, and he has a bottle of cold brew prepared for you in the fridge to make sure you don’t walk into class too zombie-like.

₊˚ෆ The next day, after Hwei is done with his last group critique session, instead of going back to his dorm room, he stops by yours. “Yours is closer,” he yawns as he drops his heavy portfolio case on the floor and climbs in next to you in your bed, snuggling into your arms before sleep quickly claims him.

₊˚ෆ Maybe after you’ve both rested, you’ll plan on celebrating finishing a year of art school together, but for now, you’ll just enjoy the warmth of laying next to Hwei for a much needed afternoon cat nap.

୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Author's note - This was so self indulgent... and a few parts may or may not have been based on my own art school experiences, hehe (⁠~⁠‾⁠▿⁠‾⁠)⁠~

#modern au #hwei x reader #hwei #gn reader #league of legends x reader #‧₊˚✩彡 miya writes

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justjams2003 · 12 days

Text

The Desire to be Loved

Okay so... I watched the new Dead Boy Detectives and I loved it. But it made me kind of sad cuz we didn't get to see Dream. So then I rewatched The Sandman. So please enjoy my ramblings of what could be a new story maybe?

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x OFC Love/Cupid/Venus (you know how these beings have millions of names) (Also technically it could be an x reader because love is sort of anthropomorphic but in this story a she)

Warnings: Manipulation, threats, gay lovers (but it's the Sandman so that should be a given) crying, cliffhanger, unedited, kind of like enemies to lovers, tell me if I miss any

Word count: 1,6k+

Dividers by: @hyelita

When the first woman stepped foot on the earth, Lust was quick to follow after in their creation. Desire thrived late with his twin Despair after the birth of Destruction once Lillith set on her own path. And once the second woman set foot on earth, Desire created his first creation: Love. Love set her very first arrow into the heart of Adam and Eve.

And as Dream had his second in command, Lucien, Desire had their favourite pet, creation, Love. And while Dream cares for his dreamlings, Love was nothing but a pet to use for Desire. One to follow orders and never throw tantrums. He did make her as sickly sweet as love can be, but with the same swing as desire has.

And for thousands of years, she did as she was told. When Destiny told Desire that true soulmates were about to meet, he’d send love with her red heart arrows. And when it was the beginings of love, he’d sent her with her pink arrows. And finally, when the love was no longer meant to be, he’d send Love, to rip those pink arrows from the lovers. Tearing their hearts apart, leaving it to throb in pain.

After all, it’s not safe for the Endless to roam the human world. Not long enough or often enough, at least, to fulfil the task that Love is sent to do. That was solidified in Desire’s mind when his least favourite brother got captured by the humans.

She sits on the roof of a house she hasn’t visited before. That seems impossible, she’s been to almost every corner of the earth. But this house...she can feel the aura seems entirely loveless. A black cloud that leaves a bad taste in her mouth, and she doesn’t even eat. At least now something has finally started to bloom.

She places the arrow on the hilt of the bow. A cute pink heart at the tip. She pulls the string back, controls her breathing like she’s done a million times. But something stops her when she hears what they’re talking about. “The maids say the guards are late.” The boy who just sat down asks.

The other boy’s black brows furrow. “Really?” He goes to get up, Shoot! She’s going to miss her opportunity. Rushed, she’ll admit, she releases the arrow and it lands right in the two of them. A smile grows on the both of them. She can see the pink aura form around them and makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“I’d better get going. I don’t want my father’s demon to escape.” He chuckles to himself, struggling to let go of his newly appointed lover. ‘father’s demon’? What on earth is that supposed to mean? Curiosity plays in her mind as to what it could mean. Especially with this dark cloud surrounding this supernatural feeling house.

Carefully, her cupid-wings carry her down to the floor. She follows behind the boy, knowing no one but the supernatural can see her. Her white heels (after all, none of Desire’s creature’s could ever be unfashionable) hit the floor with a click-clack. Down the stairs and past the gates. But she stops right in her tracks with an audible gasp when she sees the Burgess’ demon.

Alex watches with furrowed brows when the pale being his father had captured stands up. His piercing blue eyes looking over Alex’s shoulder, staring right at Cupid. Her eyes are as big as saucers and her plump pink lips hang open in shock. Dream’s hand rests against the glass, words are at the tip of his tongue, but just as quickly they fall dead.

Gone. His one hope of escape took one large step back into the realm of Desire. Her mind, although submissive and quiet in nature, knew immediately who it is that is captured in Rodrick Burgess’ house. Who is this being that could’ve saved him and all his dreamers? Why couldn’t Alex see her? Why hasn’t Morpheus seen her before, in the waking or the dreaming?

Why? Well, because it’s Desire’s number one rule. Her white go-go boots stop in front of his throne. “Your Highness?” She asks, her innocent eyes glued to the floor like a child ready for a scolding. “Yes, dear pet?” Desire says with a slinking smirk and the lick of his lips. He knows this stance of her all too well.

“I’ve done bad.” She says, her shoe digging into the floor, her hands wringing behind her back. “Do tell.” They beg for the minor being. “Well, I was on the mission you sent me. With Alex Burgess and his new lover. And well, they were talking about something the Alex boy called ‘father’s demon’ and I-” Desire holds out his hand. She rambles often, he’s used to it.

Cupid plucks a piece of skin from her lip with her teeth, such a nervous girl. “I saw Dream.” She blurts out, knowing better than to continue blabbering. Desire stands from his seat. A huge smirk forms on his face. He’s practically dancing around now, joy coursing through him. Or rather, mischief. “Oh really?”

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d be there. If I knew I wouldn’t have gone. And-” The rambling starts again. But the anger that she expected isn’t there. “No, no, don’t worry my dear pet. You did good, so good.” They muse, now circling her like a shark with it’s prey. “I did?” She ask, her eyebrows lifting in the middle as she fights off the tears she’d been ready to let go of.

Desire hums, his finger curling under her chin. “Verrryyy good.” He draws out the words like a cat would that could speak. Love’s long lashes flutter as the tears try up, now turned to confusion. “My brother, dear Morpheus, has been missing for the last 10 years and you, dear pet, have accidently just found him.”

“I did?” He nods again, driving the point home. “Are we going to save him then? He looked so terribly miserable in the glass cage they put him. When he looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes that he has-” she’s cut off by a sharp nail under her chin, ready to unmake her. “Why would we ever save him? No, no, no! Have I not taught you better? He has not called for our help and for that we’ll let him rot.”

The tears rise in the emotional girls eyes once more. “That seems so cruel.” She mumbles, a knot in her throat. “Cruel? Are you not the same Cupid who rips the love right from people’s hearts? Who lets them suffer for years before letting them love again? Is that not more cruel than letting a man, an Endless, be as he wishes to be?”

Venus gasps when the tear rolls down her cheek, “Yes, but-” she wants to say so much. It is not she who gets to chose. It’s him! They make her break the humans and she cries each time she has too. She just preforms her given task dutifully. It pains her when the humans pray to her, because she has no choice in the matter.

But she doesn’t say anything. She can’t, Desire would unmake her for disobedience. Instead, she just accepts their badgering. “No, pet, we take advantage of this. While he does not have a say in the matter, you and I will execute as many plans as possible for his demise and when he escapes from his capture, we’ll see the Dreaming fall and crumble at our feet.”

This...this does not sit well with Cupid. Not one bit. “My master, are you sure this is a good idea?” Her voice is barely above a whisper for she fears Desire’s vengeful side. Desire’s head snaps to her. “Don’t you want your master to be more powerful? To rule over so much more than people’s fleeting wants?”

“I-” she stumbles over her words but can see when those golden eyes warn her what the true answer is. “I do.” Cupid swallows her tongue and this does please Desire. She’s always been the perfect pet. Capable of nothing more than what is told to her.

But all she can really think of is the desperation in his eyes. One of the Endless, stripped and vulnerable. And he was pleading. Pleading to her. Just another lonely creature made to serve and one of the Endless were pleading to her to free him. But what could she do? She cannot touch the humans, she cannot even speak to them. The universe and it’s creators know she exists, but those they serve struggle to believe.

One thing that Desire of the Endless did not take into account is that Love isn’t just desire in another form. It isn’t just a want for the pleasure that a human body gives. It’s also the dreams of the humans that give her any form of power. A dream of what more there could be past the fleeting moments of lust. Past the want for sex and through the to the soul.

A dream that all humans have. To be loved. By their parents, by their siblings, by their friends, by their lovers. Love is something all humans dream of, late at night when they enter the sleeping world. And while yes, they do wish to be lusted over and want over others, what Love gives is much, much more.

A cross between Desire and Dream. And if the humans cannot Dream of love, can they even love? If there is no Dream, can there still be Love?

Idk if this is going to be a full story yet but if you think it should be and want to be in the taglist if it becomes one, just ask!

#the sandman #sandmand #morpheus #dream #dream of the endless #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman netflix #sandman x reader #the sandman x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x y/n #sandman x you #sandman x ofc

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bisexualhomelander · 14 days

Text

This is the last one with Billy POV. It's only Homelander from here on out. So enjoy the British-isms while they last.

Domestic May Prompt: Fighting for the remote control. Characters: Billy, Homelander, Ryan

"We are not watching this... this drivel!"

"Well, we ain't watchin' one of your movies!"

"My apartment, my rules."

"Guest rules, give it here!"

"No. He-" The air is knocked out of Homelander as Billy knees him in the abdomen. This used to not do much, but these days, it's almost certain to get him to give up. "Low fucking blow, William."

The supe's grip around the remote control is as tight as ever. There is no prying his fingers open. And of course, he does always have an ace up his sleeve. Without any effort, he lifts off the floor, levitating several feet above the sitting area, out of Billy's reach even if Billy jumped - which he will never do because it would be childish.

Homelander seems to have no such concerns as he smiles down at Billy magnanimously, waving the remote control back and forth as though it was bait.

"Fine," Billy says and shrugs. "But I ain't staying here to watch it with ya. I'll be taking a shower, havin' a lil' wank, and I won't be cleaning up the stains on the glass after. Have fun with your film."

Before Billy can react, before Homelander can even say anything, a blur of colour shoots through the entirety of the apartment and collides with Homelander mid-air, knocking them both to the ground.

Ryan shouts triumphantly, pinning his father to the floor with the technique Billy has taught him against a bigger opponent.

Homelander looks moderately surprised by the attack, but recovers quickly and decides to play along. "Rule number one," he says seriously, "never let me get my feet under me."

With that, he easily escapes Ryan's grasp, levitating again, remote control still grasped tightly, now hiding it behind his back and cape.

Ryan yells in frustration, but he's already pushing off the wall with one foot, easily following his father into the open space between the top and bottom floor.

He circles his father, waiting for an opportunity to strike. A few times, they collide again, and Billy can't really follow their movement. He's reminded of a lioness play-fighting her cub - part training, part affection. He hears their easy laughter.

"Alright," Homelander eventually gives in. "You win. You've fought for your prize, here it is." He hands his child the remote control like it's a medal he's earned on the school track team. "Winner decides what's on."

Ryan simply presses the button that makes the TV turn on. The previous programme is still running. "Oh hey, Great British Bake-Off is on."

Billy is sure he has never seen a look of greater betrayal on the supe's face.

"Mom used to watch this all the time."

Billy sees Homelander's resolve crumble in real time. He is satisfied that the mere mention of Becca's name is still sacrosanct. Ryan's eyes are glued to the screen already. "It's her favourite episode, the one with the-"

"- orange shortcakes," Billy completes the sentence.

Ryan beams at him. "She used to make these for me on my birthday. Every year. Put orange slices on top. She gave them to the... neighbours. Doctors. Whatever. The people in the compound."

"Well, your dad will be happy to have the recipe, so he can keep up the tradition." He gives Homelander an even look. "Right?"

Homelander resigns himself to his fate. "Right," he sighs and sits down next to them.

#billy butcher #homelander #butchlander #ryan butcher #my writing #cozy corner domaystic

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abybweisse · 7 months

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hello! i hope you are well ☺️

after this chapter i am genuinely so confused as to why the undertaker (who i presume revived doll as a bd since he was present when sebastian killed her) would allow her to attempt revenge on ociel and the servants. doesn’t he not want any more phantomhives lost? even if no harm could ever reach ociel because of sebastian, doll does still pose somewhat of a threat to him as he is only human and she is this enhanced creature with potential abilities to harm him. also why is doll referring to the servants as ‘phantomhives’, i mean sure they work for the master of house phantomhive, but they aren’t; why is she calling them that when her master who is rciel (i think) is also a phantomhive? last but not least, who do you think will leave victorious, doll and the maids or finny and the kids.

thanks in advance for your reply and have a wonderful day😊

Conflict of interests

Undertaker does a lot of things that seem to go against his own interests. He's been figuratively shooting himself in the foot. I guess it's because if he told our earl what he really wanted to do, ultimately, then our earl would not agree. Instead, Undertaker has decided to try to force our earl into a situation where he's more willing to accept his terms, whenever he eventually gets around to stating them; that would be whenever our earl is most vulnerable. That would definitely hold true, if, say... Undertaker wants to transplant our earl's soul into real Ciel's body, as some last ditch effort to "save" them both. Our earl (or Sebastian) would likely only agree to that if our earl's body were severely damaged in a fight or something. Until the contract is fulfilled, Sebastian can't let him die.

I can envision scenarios in which our earl is injured to the point that the only way to keep his soul from departing would be to place it into another vessel. Sebastian previously offered to place him entirely, soul and body, within himself to keep him safe, but our earl declined. That would be separate from devouring him, but if his body is too injured to survive, then putting him inside Sebastian might be the same as devouring him. Can't do that until the contract is up. Undertaker would step in saying something like "What to do? What to do?! Oh, I have an idea! Hihi!" Removing our earl's soul and placing it into real Ciel's body could break the contract, because real Ciel doesn't have a contract seal. This became an issue in s1, when the contract temporarily breaks because Ash/Angela cuts off Sebastian's left arm, which has the contract seal on that hand. That's how Claude steals his soul before Sebastian can devour it. Undertaker is a tricky fellow, and I'm sure he's looking at every opportunity he can find, even if it risks lives he wants to protect.

Doll sees anyone associated with our earl as a "Phantomhive", which is seriously ironic, because she's working for a Phantomhive and Undertaker, who wishes to not lose Phantomhives. If Polaris was once a Phantomhive butler, as I theorize, then he's another. Tanaka would count, too, regardless of which brother he serves. Doll herself is a "Phantomhive", in the same way that Finny and Snake are.

In a recent post, I said that I hope Snake and Finny point out to her that she's working for her enemy's twin, the real Ciel Phantomhive. I don't know whether she's actually met him. Would she mistake him for the younger twin who had her and her family killed? Or does she have some sort of doublethink going on, where she refuses to accept the obvious; it's all just a feud within the same family. She's being duped and used by the Phantomhives, either way.

I do expect Finny and most of the kids to survive, but there might be some casualties on Finny's side. We could lose some kids, besides the candidates that have already "fledged", because that's how dark the series has become. Snake could lose a snake. Even Snake could end up dying, but I sure hope not. We have to remember that Yana-san has no qualms with killing off a beloved character that's been in the story for many years. I can't even promise that Finny makes it out; I just think he probably will. Mother3 theory says Finny should survive, but 🤷🏻‍♀️.

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sidekick-hero · 6 months

Text

Suitcase of Memories

Authors: @legitcookie and @sidekick-hero l Artist: @luna-fortunaa l Artist: @maikaartwork | Beta: @acasualcrossfade | Beta and amazing cheerleader: @yournowheregirl

ART 1 | ART 2 | FIC

In a bygone era, two men overcome all societal norms and find an instant, powerful connection that defies all odds. Their secret love blossoms in the shadows, forming an unbreakable bond. However, fate eventually intervenes, cruelly tearing them apart. Fast forward to the present day, Steve awakens from a startling dream that feels surprisingly real, like he was really there. The memory of it haunts his every waking moment, making him question if he somehow recognizes the mysterious, curly-haired stranger playing his guitar at a street-corner, although they have never met before. Steve continues to cross paths with this enigmatic figure, Eddie, until they surrender to fate and their instant attraction. As their relationship deepens, Steve's dreams become increasingly vivid, detailed, and intense, leaving him with an uncanny sense of familiarity. They also strangely reflect the growing romance and struggles of his newfound relationship. Is it all just a coincidence, or is there a deeper connection that defies the boundaries of time and fate?

Read more under the cut for another sneak preview of Chapter 1!

"How was the rush?" he asks Robin absentmindedly as he goes about cleaning the machines and the counter. There's a dreamy smile on his face, the image of a man playing his guitar and humming softly to himself in his mind's eye.

"Eh, not bad, but - why are you smiling?" Robin immediately catches it, and Steve tries to wipe it off his face for plausible deniability.

"I'm not smiling."

"I have eyes, Dingus. What's up? Did Lisa call you?" Steve looks at Robin, at a loss, before the proverbial light bulb turns on and he just stops himself from snapping his fingers. Right, Lisa.

"Nah, I texted her, but she didn't text me back," he says with a shrug, not really caring. She was boring and self-absorbed anyway, there was no chemistry between them. Not like he thought he had with —

Robin's eyebrows shoot up in surprise at his obvious disinterest, and he knows there's no point in playing dumb. He's been dying to tell Robin all weekend, and here's the perfect opportunity. "I just met someone. Sort of."

This isn't really anything new, Steve meets someone almost every week, but Robin still makes a gimme gimme gesture at him. "Details, please. Drown out the tragedy that is my love life."

Steve snorts. "It's not that big of a deal. He was playing guitar on the corner near my bus stop, and I just... met him." Saying it like that makes it seem so insignificant when it felt anything but.

"What's his name?"

"I don't know."

"So you didn't actually meet him."

"Technically. But it was weird, Robin, he seemed so familiar. Like I've met him before. I even asked him about it, but he said no. Just gave me a line, like I'd be hard to forget."

"It wasn't a line," comes a voice from the customer's side of the table. Steve whips his head around to find his mystery man standing there with a grin on his handsome face. Steve gawks at him and the man adds, "Okay, maybe it was a line."

"Oh, fuck - I mean, shit - hi." He wants to punch himself, hard. Smooth. So fucking smooth. The floor never opens and swallows you when you need it most.

The man cackles with glee and Steve turns even redder, quickly approaching scarlet.

"What can we get you?" Robin the Saint cuts in before he can put his foot in his mouth any more than he already did, nudging Steve in the side to put on his best customer service smile.

"Uh," Cute Guitar Guy begins, his eyes darting up to the menu and scanning it quickly. "Whatever's sweet enough to cause instant cavities."

"You're not on the menu, Stevie," Robin whispers in Steve's ear, laughter obvious in her tone, and Steve elbows her gently. He wouldn't mind being on the menu for this particular customer.

"A mocha with an extra pump sound good?" Robin asks, already grabbing a cup, marker in hand.

"Yeah, that sounds good," the guy replies absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving Steve's. As their gazes lock, Steve has to suppress the shiver that wants to run through his body as the current of electricity hits him again. He can feel it crackling under his skin and wonders if the man in front of him can feel it too.

He hopes he can.

Undeterred by both of their obvious distraction, Robin continues with her customer scheme. "Name?"

Cute Guitar Guy’s eyes stay on Steve as he replies with a sudden weight in his voice, "Eddie," before remembering his manners and giving Robin a kind, sincere smile.

Robin moves away from the counter to start working on the drink, sending a sly smile in Steve's direction as he continues to just stand there looking at Eddie. He's sure she's going to make fun of him later.

"I'm Steve," he tells the guy, desperate to say something, anything.

"I see," Eddie says, pointing to Steve's nametag, and Steve feels like smacking himself again. Fortunately, Eddie seems more charmed than appalled by his inability to carry on a conversation like a normal human being. "I suppose it would be stupid to use another line like 'You come here often?'" Eddie asks, smiling widely at him, and Steve's knees weaken at the sight, wanting to trace that smile with his tongue, especially the newly formed dimples.

Steve huffs a laugh. "You still could. Maybe it’d make you stop by more often if I told you I do?”

“Oh, you can count on that, Steve.”

They grin at each other and Steve thinks that he would take a hundred more fucked up days like Friday if they led to something like this. The thought reminds him to ask, "Is that your regular spot? Playing at the corner?"

Leaning closer to Steve, Eddie rests both elbows on the counter. "What if it is?"

"Then I might have to skip the bus more often," Steve says, mimicking his stance.

He hears Robin snort behind him, but chooses to ignore her in favor of looking at Eddie, who has just pulled out his wallet to pay for the drink. Steve puts his hand on the one holding the wallet and feels another crackle under his skin. "On the house."

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, but his eyes dance with mischievous delight. "And do all of your first time customers get this kind of special treatment from you?"

Go big or go home, Steve thinks as he leans even closer to Eddie. "Nah," he says looking up at him from under his lashes, "Only the really cute ones."

The smile on Eddie's face softens, the mischief replaced by something more genuine, more real. He pulls a strand of his hair over his mouth to hide it, but it's too late, because Steve knows he's going to fall asleep tonight with that smile on his mind.

Eddie opens his wallet, pulls out a $5 bill and puts it in the tip jar. Steve wonders if it's the same one he put in Eddie's guitar case the other night. "Thanks, Stevie."

The nickname makes Steve smile, liking the easy way Eddie creates a feeling of familiarity between them. He's not sure if Eddie is thanking him for the free coffee or the compliment, but either way his answer would be the same. "Anytime."

They continue to lean on the counter, staring at each other as if the rest of the world has ceased to exist, before a customer behind Eddie clears his throat loudly, startling them both. "Are you two done? I'd like my coffee today, please."

Rolling his eyes, Eddie steps aside and waves his arm in a sweeping gesture at the disgruntled customer.

"After you," he says in an exaggerated voice and gives Steve a wink before walking over to the pickup counter to wait for his drink. Just then, more and more customers begin to pour in, the lunch rush in full swing, and Steve moves to take their orders, help Robin prepare drinks, and hand out snacks and baked goods. He tries to keep an eye on Eddie to see if he's still there, but after a particularly large order from a group, Steve is distracted long enough that when he looks back, Eddie is gone.

His face must show his disappointment because Robin puts a gentle hand on Steve's back and says, "Eddie asked me to tell you goodbye. He really had to go, but he looked just as bummed out about it as you do.”

That's at least something, but Steve still feels deflated. He didn't even get his number.

#steddiebang23 #steddie #steddie fanfiction #steve x eddie #barista!steve harrington #musician!eddie munson #steddie au #my writing #the biggest and most heartfelt thank you to this crew #Jen and I couldn't have asked for a better team to put this together #it was a whirlwind and sometimes a fight but having all these amazing and wonderful people in our corner made it possible #💜💜💜#and to Jen: thank you for being my platonic writing soulmate and more importantly my friend 💜🥰🫂

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