mackupdates

[mackupdates]

letters to you: graduation day - rafe cameron

summary: you think you know him too well. he surprises you yet again.

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, intoxication

wc: 3.4k

a/n: hi hello happy sunday <3 i've had this in the drafts for so long and have yet to post it so i hope you guys like it. eeeeek. i've missed them. please leave me some love! reblogs are very appreciated!

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     The shot Emma holds out in front of you seems to be the only thing promising to dull the ache in your chest. It’s graduation day; specifically, morning, and you’re already dressed, makeup on, hair done. Ethan lounges against the countertop with his own shot glass, and Christian stands directly beside him with one as well. You accept the shot and cheer with the group, plastering a smile on your face for their sakes as you down it. 

UNC, in all their great wisdom, scheduled your graduation on a Thursday. Rafe, ever so apologetic and regretful, couldn’t take two full days from work, given that May is their busiest time of the year. He’d promised to watch the livestream, to call you every hour before you go and every hour after, and apologized profusely over multiple days. You’d told him it was okay; that it wasn’t even that big of a deal and you were going to be busy anyway. 

That, you realize, was a lie. You want him here more than anything in the world; to see you in your white dress that you’d agonized over and watch you walk across that stage to receive the thing you’ve worked toward for the last four years. 

Emma nudges you with her elbow, drawing you out of your silent pity party. You give her a forced smile, then hold your shot glass out for her to refill. 

“Nope,” she mutters, “You’re a lightweight. Can’t have you falling over on that stage.”

“Em,” you press, “He’s not here. Give me another.”

You say it quietly, keeping it from Ethan and Christian. When they had come in, surprised not to see Rafe, they gave you the look. The one that silently questions if the two of you were through, and that’s why he’s not here. Quickly, you’d defended Rafe’s absence and they’d accepted the reasoning, but their expressions still hold up in your head. 

“Y/N, maybe–”

“Emma,” you groan, “I swear–”

“Fine,” she shrugs, “Fine. I’ll just laugh when you fall.”

You smile and shake your head at her, downing the shot quickly. You watch as Emma checks her phone, firing off two texts and locking it before you can strain your neck to see who she’s texting. Ethan’s here, so is Chris, and so are you. 

“Who–”

“Caroline,” she says quickly, shoving her phone away, “She wants to meet up for drinks later.”

You swallow, “Oh. That will be fun.”

Fun for Emma. Not for you. Caroline hadn’t so much as looked your way ever since she hit on Rafe and he couldn’t have acted less interested, and suddenly, the invitation she used to extend out to you seemed to disappear. Not that you minded, but the thought of Emma going out tonight and leaving you here alone makes your chest grow even heavier. 

“Y/N…” she trails off, obviously not sure what to say. 

“Em, it’s fine. It’s graduation day. You deserve to celebrate,” you give her a smile that almost feels genuine, “We all do.”

She just nods slowly, her eyes wide with an emotion you can’t seem to place. Ethan steps over to her before you two can discuss it any further, and when Christian calls out for your attention, you give it to him.

Just as you grow comfortable in your conversation with him, being drunk enough to ramble without thinking much about what you’re saying, there’s a knock at your front door. You look over at Emma and furrow your eyebrows, but she just shrugs and points to it. 

“You get it,” she says, pulling Ethan closer to her. 

“Why should I get it?” you argue, blinking rapidly when you notice how unsteady you are. 

“Shit, Y/N, I told you not to drink–”

The knock sounds again, and more so out of irritation for the consistent knocking than curiosity about who it is, you rush to the door. You grab the wall for support, yanking on the door handle. Ready to tell off whoever is on the other side, you feel your knees buckle when you see him.

The sight of Rafe Cameron in a dress shirt and tie, holding a bouquet of peonies and sporting a wide grin is enough to bring tears to your eyes.

He chuckles as he takes you in, but barely has time to step forward before you dive onto him. Your legs hook around his waist and he grabs ahold of you instinctually, gripping your waist like his life depends on it. 

“Honey–” he starts, but you stop him when you start to cry into his neck.

“You said—” you practically whine, “You said you couldn’t make it.”

He laughs, shifting his head so he can press a kiss to your now wet cheek. 

“You didn’t really think I’d miss your graduation, did you?” 

Your response is only to let out a cry against his neck, squirming deeper into him. Wanting to feel every inch to ensure he’s real, he’s here, and he’s yours. 

You hear Emma giggle from the doorway, but you ignore her. After a minute, Rafe gently sets you down and lets you get your bearings before pulling you into him by your waist, letting your hands link around his neck. 

“You okay?” he asks, smirk threatening his lips. 

You nod, “I just– I–”

Rafe’s eyebrows furrow, and when he steals a suspecting glance at Emma, she speaks. 

“She’s a little drunk,” Emma murmurs. 

Rafe laughs, “Is that true, honey?”

“No,” you defend, your body heating up, “I just missed my boyfriend.”

Rafe laughs again, and you swear the sound makes your heart beat faster. He leans down and kisses the top of your head twice, making you smile. 

“He missed you, too,” he says quietly, “Let’s go inside.”

Emma takes the flowers from Rafe’s hand and hurries off to the kitchen to put them in a vase while you cling to Rafe’s side, unwilling and unable to peel away. He just laughs and rubs your back, letting you do whatever it is you need to. 

He greets Ethan and Christian in the kitchen, making small talk with them while glancing down at you every few seconds. When you rest your chin on his sternum and smile up at him, he chuckles and leans down to give you a kiss. 

“Too short,” you complain when he pulls back. 

He smiles, “I’m gonna make you some coffee, okay?”

You just nod, letting him guide you to the coffee maker on the opposite counter. While he pours the coffee grounds in, you pull yourself up on the counter and watch him as he works. Once the machine starts to whir, he steps over to you, settling between your legs. 

“Can’t believe you’re here,” you whisper, your nails scratching the back of his neck.

“Can’t believe you’re drunk,” he counters, “I’m sorry you thought I wasn’t coming. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You certainly surprised me,” you mumble, pulling him closer by his collar, “Kiss me?”

“Mhm,” he hums. 

His lips meet yours and you feel calmer, you feel like you’re home. His hands rest on the tops of your thighs and he laughs into your mouth when you pull him in further and further, until you’re visibly ready to undress him in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Y/N, damn!” Emma teases. 

You giggle and drop your grip on him, but you don’t look away. You’re too lost in the sea of blue and in the alcohol coursing through your veins. Rafe grins and pecks your lips one more time, then steps away to get your coffee. 

Emma, Ethan, and Christian leave the two of you alone — much to Emma’s demand, you’re sure — and head into the living room.Rafe glances between you and the coffee every few seconds, and when he watches you happily swinging your feet and getting lost in your own head as you think about him being here. 

“I brought you a present,” Rafe says quietly, carrying over a mug full of coffee with the perfect amount of cream mixed in for you. 

Your eyes widen, “A present?”

He laughs as you take the mug from him and sip. 

“Yes, honey, a present,” he smiles, “Do you want it now, or—”

“Yes!”

He chuckles, “Wait here.”

You grin and clutch your mug tightly while he steps over to his bag, which was happily abandoned in the doorway of your apartment when you pulled him inside. He pulls out a present wrapped in brown paper, with a black bow tied around it in string. You smile; the wrapping itself reminds you so much of Rafe already. 

When he returns to his spot in front of you, he takes his time examining your face. Your drunken – but sobering — eyes, your tipsy smile, and the ever so little scrunch in your nose. 

“I hope you like it,” he says, holding up the wrapped present. “There’s a letter, too, but I’m gonna wait ‘til you’ve sobered up to give you that.”

“Rafe,” you pout, wanting the letter more than anything. 

In response, he pushes the present closer, “Open.”

You do as he instructs and tug on the loosely tied bow, watching it fall apart in your hands. Rafe scoffs at your slow speed, which makes you look up at him and giggle. 

“I love your wrapping,” you giggle. 

“Thank you, slowpoke,” he rolls his eyes playfully. 

You tear the paper bit by bit, pulling it back until you recognize exactly what is in the package. 

“Your copy of Pride and Prejudice?”

It’s worn; the right corner of the cover is creased, and you remember how you drew a tiny R on the left side with a heart. You pull it from the wrapping completely as he hums, feeling your heart ache in your chest at the sight of the book that brought the two of you together. 

“Yeah, I, uh, I reread it. And I wrote little notes underneath my old ones for you. I wanted to show you how having you in my life has changed my perspective. On everything.”

Your eyes well up with tears the moment you process his words, and it’s as if the shots melt away. A perfect pout forms on your lips as you open it and flip through, finding his old notes that you recognize, along with new ones in a different colored pen. 

“Oh, my God,” you whisper, “Rafe, this is such a great present. I can’t wait to read it all. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He grins when you pull him in by his tie and begin to press kisses onto his cheeks and jawline. You set the book down on the counter so you can feel him with both hands, silently letting him know that he’s going to have to be the one to stop you — and only if he wants. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, guiding you back with a gentle hand on your cheek so he can look you in the eye, “I hope you understand that I mean that. I was a completely different person before you. When you came into my life, with your adjectives and your books and your perfect little pout, I knew I was completely and totally screwed. I love you, and I’m so proud of you.”

“Rafe,” you whine, and when a tear slips, he brushes it away immediately, “Thank you. I love you so much.”

“I hope so,” he replies smugly, then presses a kiss to your forehead, “Drink your coffee.”

You do as instructed and pick the mug back up, smiling when the book catches your eye. It’s the perfect present to represent your relationship with Rafe; how the two of you started, where you are now, and everything in between. 

“If I finish the mug, can I have my letter?” you ask, adding your pout before saying, “Pretty please?”

You watch as he visibly caves. His shoulders fall and his eyes narrow slightly, but he nods. 

“Yes,” he sighs. 

“Thank you,” you grin and take a long sip, proving to him that you’re dedicated. 

He stands with you as you drink your coffee, and the buzz that took only a few minutes to gain, takes only a few sips of coffee to lose. 

The second you show him your empty mug and raise your brow suggestively, his chest deflates with an exhale, and he steps back over to his bag. 

You steal a few kisses from him as the letter exchanges hands, and when you finally hold it in your grasp, he swallows. 

“I’m gonna step out,” he nods toward the back door, pulling the cigarettes from his pocket, “Take your time.”

You attempt to speak, to ask him about it, but he kisses you again and steps away before you can get your thoughts in order. Only when you hear Emma erupt in cheers as Rafe steps through the living room do you flip the envelope over and pull the pages from it. 

Y/N,

My girl. My honey. 

I am so beyond proud of you. Today and every day. I can’t even believe that we’ve been together long enough to have reached this point. I mean, I can, but in a larger sense, I can’t. Do you know what this means, though? Selfishly, I keep reminding myself that this means you’re one step closer to moving in with me. I know that’s not what’s on your mind right now, but it’s the only thing on mine. We’ve done our version of long distance for long enough. I want you all to myself, every day, forever. 

That being said, I’ve been thinking about what’s going to happen beyond the summer. How am I supposed to have you, and then let you go again? 

I’ve decided that I’m not willing to do that. That as much as I love you, and as much as I want to be with you in any capacity that I can, I want to see your smile every day. I want to hear your laugh, and feel your kisses, and end every single day with you in my bed. Our bed. 

So, here’s my proposal. You can say no. But, I pray that you don’t, because I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it. I want to go to grad school with you. Wherever you go, I want to move with you. I’ll find another job, I’ll do whatever I have to do. I want to be there for you when you study for big tests or have a shitty day or hate your professor. I want all of it. Will you let me come with you? I’ll grovel as much as you want. 

Anyway, this letter is supposed to be about you. Everything you’ve accomplished. You’re going to do amazing things in this world. You’ve already done amazing things to my world. I could not be prouder of you than I am. All of that work and stress is finally paying off, honey, and that’s all anyone can ask for. I can’t wait to see you walk across that stage and get your diploma. Thank you for letting me be a part of it. 

I love you so much. I could not be more grateful to have you in my life. You’re so beautiful. Come find me. I’m sure I need a kiss from you. 

Yours forever, 

Rafe 

Tears are pouring from your eyes before you even register their presence. For a while, you’ve known how much Rafe loves you. For a while, you’ve known that he is excited to have you moving in with him. However, this letter seems to solidify all of it to you. 

Without even giving it a second thought, you hop off of the counter and head out of the kitchen, only to be met with the three tipsy souls in the living room. 

Emma’s eyes immediately grow with concern when she sees your state, but then, her eyes fall to the letter. Immediately, she softens and smiles, then nods her head toward the balcony. 

“Rafe Cameron seemed anxious,” she murmurs, “Go get him.”

You smile and nod your head. Ethan catches your eye as he blatantly looks between the two of you, dumbfounded. 

“I never know what the fuck is going on around here,” he grunts. 

“That’s okay, sweetie,” Emma replies in a condescending voice, “At least you’re pretty.”

You laugh and then step away from them, toward the sliding door. You take a moment to observe him before you open it. His tense back, his hair — that you notice is freshly cut for the occasion — and the cigarette that rests between his fingers, looking only about halfway through, which is slow for him. 

You try to push the door open quietly, but he turns around, anyway. When he sees you, with the water under your eyes and your fingers still clutching the letter, he gives you a soft smile. He opens his mouth, and somehow, you know it’s to backtrack. To offer you a way out before you commit. You shake your head, which silences him. 

“Yes,” you blurt, “Yes, yes, yes. Come with me. I want you there.”

He lets out a relieved breath, and the grin that spreads across his face makes your heart skip a beat or two. He drops his cigarette without a care and then rushes over to you, taking you into his embrace and holding you right into his chest. 

“Oh, thank you,” he murmurs into your ear, “Honey, thank you. I want to be there for you.”

You smile and look up at him, silently begging for a kiss. He gives you one, then two, then three, and only stops when you giggle. 

“Rafe, our place is gonna be so cute,” you gush, “We’ll have to get a really big bookshelf, though, to fit both of our collections. And we could have a super organized kitchen. I’ve always wanted an organized kitchen, but Emma’s always scattering everything around, and—”

“Y/N,” Rafe laughs, stopping you, “You can put it all however you want. I’m there for you, not the bookshelf or the kitchen. Okay?”

“Okay,” you chuckle, “I’m so excited.”

“Me, too, honey.”

He holds you tight on the balcony where the two of you had your first real conversation, and he does it until Emma comes to the door and tells you that it’s time to go. You pout and allow your grip to tighten around him, unwilling to separate. 

“You need to go,” he tells you quietly, “Can’t be late to your own graduation.”

“Promise you’ll find me after?” 

His shoulders fall and he shakes his head, “Yes, honey. I promise.”

Reluctantly, you release him and step toward the back door. Just before you shove it further open and slip back through, you turn back and take him in. 

“What if I go to grad school all the way in California?”

He knows it’s a test; a ridiculous question. You’ve never expressed any interest in going out there for school, and he knows you’re not going to start now. 

“I’ll come with you,” he grins.

“What about Alaska?”

You bite down on your bottom lip to hide a smile as he starts over, towering above you and eyeing your mouth. 

“Anywhere.”

You open your mouth to reply, to dare him to kiss you, when Emma’s voice rings through the air once more. 

“Y/N! We have to go!”

“Find me after,” you say quickly to Rafe, then stand up on your tiptoes to peck his lips, “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” he replies, nodding inside. 

When you look back one last time, you watch Rafe begin to shake his head at your antics. Your lips tip up and you let the two words escape your lips, needing confirmation from him before you go. 

“You’re mine?”

He smiles, “I’m yours. Go.”

You nod happily and hurry to Emma, who holds her hand out to you and drags you out the front door, leaving only Rafe, Ethan, and Christian in your apartment. Immediately, Emma starts to gush about Ethan. When she sees the look on your face, however, the blissful, happy expression, she stops and smiles. The only person who cares about your happiness as much as Rafe is Emma, and she can tell that whatever was in that letter has changed your life. As much as today signifies separation between the two of you, it signals something greater for you, and that’s all Emma could ever ask for.

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[mackupdates]

protection (11) — ari levinson

summary: Ari and your father have been business partners for ages, and it seems that he doesn't care for you. This doesn't stop you from trying; scheming to make the older man fall for you the same way the rest of your father's men have, too.

pairing: dbf!ari x reader

warnings: swearing, mention of guns/gunfire, sexual innuendoes, kissing, allusions to sex, daddy kink

wc: 4.4k

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     The next morning, you wake with a different kind of ache between your legs. 

Ari’s arms are both wrapped tightly around you, keeping you pressed to his chest as he snores above you. You smile to yourself and cuddle in, residing to stay close until he wakes up. It could be minutes or hours, but no part of you cares. Not when you’re with him. 

Ari more than made up for yesterday when he got between your legs last night, and even though you’re past it, you still plan to give his credit card a workout today just because you can and should. 

You turn around in his arms, desperate to see his face, and he stirs. His snoring stops and his nose scrunches. You’re desperate to take a picture of that expression, because he just looks too cute, when his grip tightens around you. 

“Go back to sleep,” he grunts in a deep, raspy voice. 

“Can’t,” you reply. 

With his eyes still closed, Ari hikes up a brow, “What?”

“Just want to look at you, daddy,” you whisper, “So handsome.”

A teasing smirk suddenly appears on his lips, and even though he does his best to push it down, you see it, and you love it. You bring your hand up and trace the creases in his cheeks from his smile, which only deepens it. 

“What time is it?” 

You peek up just enough around him to see the alarm clock on his nightstand. 

“Nine thirty.”

Ari takes a deep breath, then quickly and loudly exhales. He presses you close and then nudges your forehead with his nose, all without opening his eyes. 

“Fuck, I have to get up. Nick’s gonna be here in—” Ari’s phone starts to ring right then, and he sighs, “Now.”

You frown, but opt not to argue, “Okay.”

Ari finally pulls his eyes open, and you’re met with that sea of blue you love so much. He smiles as he combs over your features, suddenly in no rush to get up. 

“You could come down to my meeting with me,” he grins mischievously and allows his hands to travel down your back and to your ass, “Keep my cock warm while Nick and I discuss—”

“All the ways you want to harm my father?” you snort, “No, thanks.”

Ari’s face contorts, and for a moment, you watch as he fumbles over his words. He has no idea what to say back to that, you’re sure, because he can’t lie to you, but he’s unwilling to tell the truth. 

“Alright,” he says hesitantly, “So, what are you going to do today?” You shrug, “Nice day for a pool day.”

He groans again, but this time, it’s for a different reason entirely. 

“Fuck,” he swears, “I’ll have to come out and see which bikini you choose.”

You grin, “I’ll even let you take it off of me, if you’re nice.”

He shakes his head, then all at once, grabs your hips and hoists you up. You wind up straddling him, squealing as he pinches your sides and lets out laughs.

“Tease,” he grumbles playfully, pinching your hip again. 

“Levinson?”

You freeze and instinctually sink back into Ari’s chest at the sound of Nick at the door. He knocks twice after he speaks, eliciting a low growl from Ari’s throat. 

“Fuck off, Fowler, I’m in the middle of something,” Ari shouts, stroking through your hair to comfort you. 

“Someone,” Nick corrects through the door, then continues, “Mornin’, darling. Brought you an iced coffee and a muffin.”

You perk up at the sound of that. Ari chuckles at your reaction, and when you look over at him with a grin, he waves a hand up in the air. 

“Go,” he mumbles. 

“Come with me,” you pout, leaning up to kiss his jawline sloppily, “I’ll give you half my muffin.”

He scoffs, “Thanks.”

You pull him from the bed after a few more minutes and a thousand more kisses. He gets dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt while you toss on leggings and an old Pink Floyd shirt of Ari’s. 

He takes your hand and guides you downstairs, where Nick is sitting at the bar on his phone, and Mateo is standing across from him. Nick has an iced coffee and a bagel in front of him, as does Mateo. 

When the two notice you, Mateo gives you a small, acknowledging nod, while Nick grins widely and offers you a wave. 

“Glad you two finally made it out of bed,” he teases with a smirk, “Can’t even say I blame you, Ari.”

“Shut the fuck—”

“Where’s Javi?” you interrupt, looking over at Mateo. 

You watch Mateo’s eyes shoot up to Ari, and when he widens them and shrugs halfway, you sigh and pull your hand out of Ari’s. Nick snorts at the motion, but you ignore him and exit the kitchen without a word. You disappear down the hallway before any of the men can say a word, then stop at the only door you’ve seen Javier come out of. 

“Y/N,” Ari calls from the kitchen. 

You ignore him and knock against the bedroom door, listening afterward for motion inside. 

“Javi?” you call, “Can you come out for breakfast?”

The door pulls open as soon as you finish speaking, and you’re relieved that they unlocked his door, too. He leans against the doorframe in sweatpants and a tee shirt, sporting messy hair and an unsure expression. 

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks. 

“For which thing?” you raise a brow, “The lying about Ari sleeping with other women? Or the inappropriate comments you made about me not blaming Ari for Vick’s death?”

Javier’s lips twitch, “Either one.”

You give him a small, playful smile, then reach for his hand. 

“Kind of,” you admit, “Come on.”

He nods and takes your hand, then follows you out of his bedroom and into the kitchen without an argument. Ari’s eyes narrow immediately when he sees your hand in Javier’s, and even though you don’t want to give in, you pull away. 

“Morning, Javier,” Mateo greets him quietly. 

“Morning, everyone,” Javier replies, “Coffee, bonita?”

“Bonita has been taken care of,” Nick reports smugly, “Coffee’s in the fridge for you, love, and muffin is on the counter. Levinson, bagel and coffee for you, too.”

Ari removes your coffee from the fridge for you, then walks it over to you with a death glare on Javier’s head. You retrieve your muffin, then give Ari a short kiss to his jaw when he places your coffee on the counter in front of you. 

All of the men watch as you grab a knife and split the muffin four ways. You don’t say a single word as you grab plates down and place each piece on a separate one, then silently begin passing them out. Mateo first, who gives you a confused but kind smile. Javier second, who stares in admiration and then gives you a thankful nod. Ari last, who clenches his jaw. 

“None for me?” Nick asks mischievously. 

“No,” you reply, saving the last plate for yourself, and picking up your coffee in your other hand, “You’re the asshole who brought nothing for Javier.”

Javier snickers and pours himself a cup of coffee from the coffee pot. Ari, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to find it as funny. 

“Dude, I thought we all collectively didn’t like him,” Nick grumbles to Ari. 

Ari opens his mouth to speak, to agree, when you whip your head over at him and raise a daring brow. You watch as his mouth closes halfway, and ultimately, he decides to close it completely before shrugging and popping some of the muffin into his mouth. 

“Well, I’ll be fucking damned,” Nick grins, “Never thought I’d see the day a woman got Ari Levinson to shut the fuck up.”

Ari reaches over and slaps the back of Nick’s head, “If you got to fuck her, you would, too.”

You smile victoriously, ignoring the way his comment makes Mateo’s ears go pink. All of them watch as you cross the room and step over to the back door. Without so much as a request, Ari comes over and unlocks it for you, then opens it so you don’t have to set your muffin or coffee down to do it yourself. 

“Thanks, daddy,” you whisper, just loud enough for him, “Have a good meeting.”

Ari leans down and kisses you softly, then pulls back and whispers against your lips. 

“Hold his hand again, baby. I dare you.”

A shiver runs down your spine as Ari stands up straight, looking over at Nick as if he’s said nothing at all.

“Ready?” Nick asks. 

“Yes. Mateo, you stay outside with Y/N. Javier, do whatever the fuck. I don’t care,” Ari orders, then turns back to you, “Baby, stay—”

“Within Mateo’s eyeline, I know,” you roll your eyes. 

“Prove it, then,” Ari mutters, smacking your ass in front of all of them for your attitude. 

You just shake your head and escape out the back door, knowing that Mateo will follow. 

     After you finish your coffee and muffin, you ask Mateo for a laptop so you can do some online shopping — wanting a bigger screen than your phone. Javier, who also joined the two of you outside, promises to stay with you. 

Reluctantly, Mateo passes his gun to Javier, then heads inside to do as you asked of him. The two of you are sitting in the lounge chairs, soaking up the sun. You remember what Ari said to Javier downstairs yesterday — how he told him that the second you’re through with Javier, Ari plans to kill him. 

“Javi,” you murmur, getting him to look over at you, “I heard what he said to you yesterday. I’m sorry.”

Javier swallows, “You have nothing to apologize for. You’re the reason I’m here.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Bonita,” he sighs, holding up his hand, “Let me just say something. Your father would’ve killed me the day you left if you hadn’t brought me with you. After what I did — what I’ve done — I am astounded by your grace. By you keeping me here. I don’t deserve you and I never have. I’ve been a real asshole to you, and you’ve met me with nothing but kindness. So, you don’t need to apologize for him. As much as I hate it, I understand that you’re in love with him, and I’m not going to do anything further that gets in the way of that. I’m just biding some time, and when things cool off with your dad, and I know you’re safe here, I’m going to leave. I promise.”

You sit up in your chair as you digest his words, then scoot closer to him. He gives you a soft smile but makes no attempt to reach out to you or offer you a hand, which you respect. Just as you open your mouth to speak, the back door opens, and the man you recognize as Patrick slips out of the house. 

“Good morning, ma’am,” he greets you as he nears, “I didn’t get to formally introduce myself yesterday.”

“Right,” you smile, standing from your chair, “Patrick. The pasta was incredible. Thank you.”

He grins. It’s an easy smile, a borderline flirtatious smile, and when he holds his hand out to you, you take it. 

“I’m so happy that you enjoyed it. I had to make sure it was perfect for you, being Mr. Levinson’s—um—”

He stutters and stops himself, shaking his head. You let out a small chuckle and drop his hand, then wave it off. 

“Thank you, regardless,” you murmur. 

He nods, then turns to Javier, “Uh, sir, I need the weapon, please. Mr. Levinson’s instructions.”

Javier rolls his eyes and shakes his head to himself, but doesn’t argue. He hands Patrick the gun and then collapses back into his chair, resigning to saying nothing. 

“Is that really necessary?” you huff, “Javier’s been protecting me for years.”

“Just following orders, ma’am,” Patrick replies. 

You sigh and accept the order, knowing your words won’t change a thing. Patrick waits until Mateo comes back outside with a laptop in hand, then excuses himself and goes back into the house. 

“May I ask what you need the laptop for, Miss?” Mateo asks as he settles into the chair beside you. 

“Payback,” you reply simply, “If Ari’s going to be locking me in our bedroom, I’m gonna at least make sure I have what I need.”

Mateo and Javier exchange a glance over your head, but both men are smart enough not to say anything. 

They sit and chat while you’re busy online shopping; filling up carts in different tabs and pulling an entire room together. You find curtains, a full length mirror, an entirely new makeup kit, an area rug, a new comforter, new pillows, a few new purses, a bunch of new clothes, a new dress, new diamond earrings, and two pairs of Louboutin heels — one nude and one black. 

“Do you think these shoes are cute?” you ask Javier, turning the screen around. 

He nods before his eyes catch on the price, and his eyes widen slightly. 

“He really pissed you off, huh?” 

You bite your lip, “He made up for it.”

Javier groans but doesn’t verbally respond, leaving you to type in Ari’s credit card number one more time. Just as you hit the big, green ‘purchase’ button, the back door opens, and Ari makes his way out. He looks down at his phone right as your order goes through, and when he sees the alert, his jaw clenches. 

“That’s real cute, baby,” he says, although his tone tells you that it’s anything but, “Enjoying yourself?”

You shrug playfully, “You said to get whatever I need.”

“You need two pairs of Louboutins?”

“Yes,” you answer simply, “But, I mean, if it’s too much for you to handle, just say the word and I can use Javier’s card. Or Mateo’s. Or Patrick’s—”

Ari takes your jaw in his hand and angles you so you’re practically staring up at the sky, but into his eyes instead. His grip is just a little too tight, but you squeeze your thighs together regardless. Something about Ari just does it for you, even if you can’t place it. 

“You hard-headed woman,” he mutters, “If I catch you using anyone else’s money, I will shoot them dead right where they stand and make you watch. You want that on your conscience, princess?”

“No,” you mumble. 

“Good,” he replies, releasing you before looking over at the other men, “Give us a moment alone.”

Javier and Mateo excuse themselves and head inside without another word. You watch them go, and as soon as the door closes behind them, Ari sits down on the end of your lounge chair. He lifts your legs and places them over his thighs, then traces your ankle bone with his pointer finger. 

How, you wonder, can he go from the guy who shot Vick point blank, to the guy who is lightly and delicately cradling your ankle in his grasp? How can this be the same man?

“You shot Vick for less,” you blurt out as you stare at him, digesting his latest threat. 

Ari’s eyes narrow, “Excuse me?”

“I just mean, you shot Vick because he was following orders. You killed him right in front of me. So, it’s not like—”

“I’m not going to keep having this same conversation,” Ari grits out. 

“We’ve actually never had this conversation,” you remind him, “At least, not the one where I tell you not to kill people just for looking at me the wrong way.”

“That’s a perfectly reasonable explanation to draw my gun,” he argues. 

“Ari, be serious.”

“I am,” he argues. 

You hike up a brow. So does he. You cross your arms. He rolls his eyes. You sigh dramatically, he pinches your ankle. 

Even though you want to be serious, you can’t help but feel, in this moment, that the two of you have been created for one another. In your own messed up, inappropriate way. 

“Anyway, there’s a dinner this Saturday night for Nick’s business. I have money invested so I have to go. Now, it’ll give you a chance to wear your new Louboutins.”

You raise a stubborn brow, “Is that your way of asking me to be your date?” 

“I didn’t know I had to ask.”

You roll your eyes at him, but secretly, you’re planning the color of your dress and jewelry to match. 

“Well, you do. Especially if I’m going to get all dressed up just to come face to face with three women you’ve slept with.”

It’s the first time you’ve brought up that part of the night since being drunk in the elevator with him. You thought that maybe, just maybe, if you ignored it for long enough, you’d forget. Now, the idea of going out in public with Ari makes your stomach flip as you think about all the potential things — or people — you could meet. 

Ari looks shocked for a moment, but he collects himself quickly. Clearing his throat, he stands from the chair and takes a step back, which makes your heart cry out. 

“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you for dinner.”

You don’t say a word as he walks away. When he gets to the door, he opens it and says something, then steps out of the way for Mateo to come back out. Ari disappears, and once he’s gone, Javier slips out, too. 

Mateo settles in the chair beside you and Javier takes his time walking over, observing your body language and facial expression as he comes. 

“You okay, bonita?” he asks softly. 

You look down at the laptop screen, which shows a collection of clothes you’d been planning on weeding through. Now, the thought of spending a dime makes you sick. 

“I’m fine,” you mumble, slamming the laptop shut, “I just need to take a walk. Do either of you have any cigarettes?”

“Ma’am—” Mateo starts, but you silence him. 

“Javi?”

“I do,” he replies, “In my room. I’ll be right back.”

He hurries into the house and comes back out a moment later with a lighter and a box of cigarettes in his hand. He passes them off to you without a word, and when you start to walk around the yard, Javier walks with you. Silently, he requests a cigarette, and you light it for him. Nobody says anything further, but you know they don’t have to. Sometimes, you’re acutely aware that Javier understands you in ways Ari never could. 

     Ari’s in his office until late, and you don’t bother questioning what he’s doing. Nick is still here, you can tell by the low laughter and the fact that one of Ari’s men has come into the kitchen twice to get a new bottle of whiskey. 

Javier stays up with you for a while, but when he can no longer keep his eyes open, he tells you goodnight and slips off to his room. You remain on the couch, blanket pulled up to your chin, watching the movie you put on just to kill time. 

“Where is she?”

Nick’s voice carries through the hallway, and you tense on the couch. Not out of fear, but out of the knowledge that Nick brings Ari, and Ari brings confrontation. Especially if he’s drunk. 

“Living room,” Ari replies, slurring his words just enough, “Saw her on the cameras.”

“Creep,” Nick remarks with a laugh. 

You roll your eyes and sit up on the couch, finding no point in hiding there. The men appear rounding the corner, and your eyes widen. Nick has one arm around Ari, trying to hold him up. Ari’s eyes are hazy and drunk, but when they collide with yours, they soften. A grin forms on his cheeks, and even though the last time you saw him, things were tense, it looks as if none of that matters now. 

“Hi, baby,” Ari greets you as he nears the couch — with Nick’s help. 

“He has something he needs to tell you,” Nick mumbles, dumping Ari onto the cushion beside you. 

You scoot closer and brush hair away from Ari’s eyes, tucking it behind his ear. He smiles at the action and sets a palm on your thigh, doing his best to squeeze. You tense but try to remain calm, hoping that whatever he needs to tell you isn’t serious, or bad, or a crime.

“What is it?” 

His expression grows serious, “I love you.”

Your chest deflates, and you exhale the worry. Your hand meets his chest, and even though you don’t want him to, Nick sits down in the armchair across from both of you. 

“Ari, I love you, too,” you reply. 

Ari’s eyelashes kiss his cheeks as he closes his eyes, nodding his head like he really needed to hear those words from you. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, where he lazily sponges kisses along the column of your throat. 

Nick clears his throat, “There’s something else he told me, but I don’t know if he can get it out, now.”

You furrow your brows, looking over at Nick as you comb your fingers through Ari’s hair. His hand slides further up your body and his kisses continue, but you don’t attempt to hide any of that from Nick. 

“What?”

“He told me that he likes when you fight back. He likes that you don’t just give in to him all the time. And, honestly, I think he needs that, you know? Everyone around here gives him whatever, whatever. But you— well, shit. Look at him.”

You smile as you look down at Ari as best you can. His lips still work against your skin, and he continues to paw at you, trying to get you closer, but you resist. 

“Thanks for telling me,” you whisper to Nick. 

He nods, “I know he can be a fucking prick, but—”

“Fuck you,” Ari grunts into your skin. 

Nick laughs, “But, I’ve never seen him think about someone else the way he thinks about you. Don’t hold the dinner thing against him, okay? He’s trying. He won’t be perfect right away.”

You stare at Nick for a while, unable to believe all of the words escaping his lips and how accurate they really are. 

“Who would’ve thought you of all people would have a domestic side?” you tease. 

He shrugs, “Hey, you don’t give me enough credit. I know him too well, I guess.”

“I guess,” you agree, then lower your voice, “Was he upset or something?”

Nick grimaces, like he knows, but doesn't want to tell you. Ari’s kisses start to diminish in frequency, and when you feel his nose nudge at your jaw, you know he’s making himself comfortable enough to sleep. 

“He’d kill me,” Nick mumbles, “Literally.”

“Nick. Tell me.”

He sighs audibly, and with one last look at the snoozing Ari on your chest, he nods. 

“Your father embarrassed him, Y/N. Those women being there in front of you like that, I think it really got to him. He seems to think that if you find out these things, you won’t want him anymore. I mean, you know Ari’s not a saint. But, I think in his mind, if you find out, you’ll leave him the same way you left your father. In his words, it was ‘quick’ and ‘you didn’t even hesitate’. That’s what he’s worried about.”

You pout immediately, because you’d never even considered Ari being insecure in any way with you. He always seems so confident, so sure of himself, that the idea of him being insecure or anxious doesn’t even seem to fit correctly.

“I’ll take care of it,” you promise Nick, running your hand gently up and down Ari’s back. 

“Thank God, because I can’t listen to him bitch anymore,” Nick grunts as he stands, “Need help getting him upstairs?”

You know you do, but selfishly, you don’t want it. You shake your head and then slip a hand under Ari’s shirt, feeling his warm skin on your palm. 

“Goodnight, Nick,” you mumble. 

“Night, gorgeous,” he smirks, “And, hey, if you ever feel like Ari didn’t, y’know, finish the job, you can always call me.”

You roll your eyes, “He will kill you for that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off, stepping out of the room, “Night.”

You wait until you hear the front door close and lock behind him. The house falls quiet, even though you know that Patrick is patrolling outside, and Javier is in his room only yards away. Ari stirs on your chest and you lean down to kiss the top of his head the same way he always does to you. 

“Ari,” you whisper, “Daddy. I love you.”

You feel him smile against your skin, “I love you more, princess.”

Oh, you think. He’s a cuddly drunk. I love that. 

“You okay?” you ask him, running the tips of your fingers up and down his skin. 

“Sleepy,” he murmurs, “Can I lay on top of you? Won’t crush you.”

You snicker, “Yes, daddy.”

He shifts and allows you to lay down on the couch, missing his warmth for only a split second before he climbs on top of you. All of his weight comes down, but you don’t care. He’s heavy in the best way possible, because you feel secure. Safe. Nothing could possibly happen when he’s protecting you like this. 

“Perfect,” he whispers, kissing your cheek sloppily, “Love you so much. Love buying you everything.”

You chuckle, “Is that right?”

“Mhm,” he hums lazily, then presses small kisses along your jawline before he buries his head into your neck once more. 

You don’t object, you don’t move, you just let him do whatever he wants. His breathing is uneven, which is how you know he’s still awake, even if his eyes are completely closed. 

“Ari,” you whisper, “Do you want to go up to bed?”

“No.”

You nod, “Alright.”

Just as you resign to sleeping the remainder of the night on the couch, snoozing under his weight and his kisses, his voice cuts through the air one last time. It’s hushed, barely there, but you still make out the words right before he falls unconscious. 

“Please, don’t leave me, baby.”

You open your mouth to speak, but your voice is drowned out by the loud gunshot coming from outside the house.

a/n: thank you so much for reading if you've reached the end of this chapter <3 can't wait for more! im definitely taking this slow bc im not ready to stop writing for these two yet, so prepare for more parts lmao. sending love to all of you! xoxo reblogs are appreciated

*i no longer have a tag list. follow @mackupdates for updates! <3

[mackupdates]

parenthood blurb: february plans (pt. 2)

a/n: happy valentine's day, besties! i hope this is decent, im pretty happy with it. please leave me some love if you can!! reblogs are always appreciated. xoxo

warnings: kissing, implied smut, alcohol consumption, intoxication

ambivalence masterlist , parenthood masterlist

     “Rafe, how am I even supposed to pack for a trip if I don’t know where we’re going?”

You groan as you stand in your closet, staring at all of your possible outfit options. The only thing Rafe has told you is that the two of you are going on a trip, and he wants the rest to be a surprise. 

He appears in the doorway of the closet with a smirk on his face. He leans against the doorframe, looking unbelievably sexy in his gray sweatpants, which drives you even more crazy for an entirely different reason. 

“I told you,” he grins, “Only sweats and leggings. Whatever you’re comfortable in, bring it.”

“But—”

He stands up off the wall and steps into the closet, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him. 

“No overthinking,” he says, then kisses the tip of your nose, “Just pack. Warm socks and pajamas. A toothbrush.”

“Ha ha,” you playfully shove him away, “When are you going to pack?”

“Already done,” he says as he exits the closet, already off to go check on the kids, “Love you!”

“Love you, too,” you grumble, tossing a pair of sweatpants toward your open duffle bag reluctantly. 

     The following morning, you say goodbye to the kids and finish getting ready while Rafe drops them off at Rose and Ward’s. They agreed to watch the kids while the two of you were away, and when you asked Rose to tell you where Rafe’s taking you, she just shook her head. 

Given Ward granted Rafe permission to use the Cameron Development plane for the two of you to travel, he truly doesn’t have to tell you, and it’s not like you have any type of ticket to go off of. You huff and cross your arms over your chest as Rafe grabs your bag from the truck and locks it behind him, chuckling at your attitude. He leads you toward the plane, and you have no choice but to follow him toward the tarmac. 

“You look sexy when you do that,” he calls over his shoulder. 

You scoff, “Stop flirting with me. I want to know where we’re going.”

“Baby, can you please just let me surprise you?” 

You sigh, but you give in. You can’t help yourself. With everything he’s done — everything he’s doing — you decide to let him have this one. 

You follow him onto the plane with no further complaints. He sets your bags up, then offers you a seat by the window, which you accept. 

“Want a drink?” he asks, kneeling beside you. 

“Water’s fine,” you reply, letting your eyes close when he reaches up and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“No way. We have champagne.”

You laugh and nod your head, telling him that you’re okay with that. He stands up once more and you stare out the window while he steps away, looking out at the tarmac. You can’t help but think about the very first time you ever stood here. Rafe was leaving to go to the Bahamas, and you really, really didn’t want him to. Now, all of that feels like an entire lifetime ago. 

“Here, sweetheart,” he murmurs, offering you a flute of champagne. 

“Are you trying to get me all liquored up before you take me away and dispose of my body?” you tease, accepting the campagne with a scrunch of your nose. 

“Yes, you caught me,” he rolls his eyes playfully, then kisses your forehead, “I have to go talk to the pilot. Be back.”

“Tell him I’d prefer to be left in the mountains rather than dumped into the ocean,” you call, listening to him snicker. 

“Noted,” he replies over his shoulder. 

You take down more of the champagne as you sit and wait, letting your brain wonder. With Rafe, you know you’ll never be able to predict his next move. You’ll never be able to tell what he’s thinking when it comes to you, so you don’t even bother to try. Instead, you resign to not knowing, and you drain the rest of the alcohol from the glass. 

     When Rafe returns, he fills your glass once more, then pours one for himself. You smile as he sits beside you and sets his hand on your thigh, then whispers that the plane will be taking off in a few minutes. Instead of prodding him with trivial questions about where you’re going, you just lay your head on his shoulder and sip your drink, allowing him his moment of fun. 

“I can’t believe we’re actually getting some time away,” you whisper, “No sick kids, no last minute work things. We’re getting it together, huh?”

Rafe laughs, “Yeah, we are. We deserve some time away.”

“We do,” you agree, grinning with an idea when you look up and see him staring down at you in admiration, “And I get you all to myself.”

His eyes widen slightly as you lean in and press little kisses into the crook of his neck. He starts to squirm, and you have to contain your laughter at how easy it is to get to him. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “As much as I’ve thought about it, the plane isn’t that big, and I’ve known our pilot my entire life.”

You chuckle and pull back, giving him a peck on the lips as you go, “Right. Sorry.”

He shrugs as he tucks his arm around you, “Don’t be. I liked it.”

     You land after another glass and a half of champagne and half an hour of gawking at the thin layer of snow on the ground. Rafe laughs as he leads you off of the plane, holding your hand in one of his, and both of your bags in the other. 

There’s a black car waiting for the both of you, and Rafe is quick to usher you inside and out of the cold. 

“You never told me to bring a winter coat,” you remark once you’re settled against the leather seats, rubbing your arms for warmth. 

“There won’t be much outside time with what I have planned,” he grunts, but unzips his bag regardless, “But, I knew you’d say that.”

He tosses you a sweatshirt from his bag — your favorite one of all time to steal from him. You giggle like a little kid and move to put it on when your eye snags on something else in his bag. 

“Is that my bathing suit?” you ask, already reaching over him. 

“No.”

You gasp, “Rafe Cameron. That’s why you were so nonchalant about what I should pack? Because you packed my stuff for me?”

You watch his cheeks blossom with pink, and the sight makes you smile. He zips up his bag and then waves his hand for you to toss the sweatshirt over your head, which you do. 

“I packed the essential stuff for you,” he says. 

You nod, scooting closer, “You’re too good to me.”

This brings a smile to his face, and he seems to grow more comfortable as the car starts moving. 

     Mountains, snow, and Rafe. Three of your favorite things in the whole world, and you can see them all from your slightly tipsy view in the back of a car. You have no idea where you are, but tucked into Rafe’s chest, you don’t care. He laughs every time you gasp at a new view of the snow, but you can’t help yourself. 

You’re not sure at what point you seem to zone out — thanks to the champagne, you’re sure — but when the car comes to a stop, you tense and sit up, looking expectantly at Rafe. 

“We’re here,” he says softly. 

You furrow your brows and release him, letting him climb out of the car before offering you a hand and helping you out. 

You take in the surrounding view with amazement and a long, deep inhale. The trees are white, the view of the mountains is incredible, and there’s a few cabins lining the street you currently stand on. You breathe in the crisp, cold air and smile to yourself, then turn to find Rafe.

He’s standing a few feet away in front of a cabin, bags in one hand, and a key in the other. You stare at him for a beat too long and watch as he blushes again, then turns and points to the cabin behind him. 

“A cabin in Colorado, right?”

It all clicks for you at this moment. The conversation the two of you had that night a few weeks ago; discussing vacations and dreams and traveling. You realize that he’d planned this, all of this, in such a short amount of time. That he’d been planning that night, while you’d just been sharing randomly without even thinking what it could mean. 

“Oh, my God,” you gasp, “Rafe, you… I can’t believe… Rafe.”

He laughs, and his body seems to lose all tension. Unable to find the words, you rush to him and toss your arms around him, pulling him close. Suddenly, you’re no longer cold. Suddenly, you forget about everything else and just focus on what he’s done for you. What he continues to do for you. 

“Want to go inside?” he asks as he stares down at you. 

“Mhm,” you nod shyly. 

Rafe takes your hand in his free one and pulls you over to the cabin. It has steps leading up onto a porch and rocking chairs out front. The snow lays the perfect covering over the sidewalk and the house — not too much, but just enough that it’s beautiful and fun to see. 

He drops your bags and your hand to unlock the door, then pushes it open and silently requests for you to go in ahead of him. You do, letting the natural light from outside guide your way into the cabin. 

Rafe flips on the light as he follows you inside, and for a moment, it’s silent as you take it all in. The cabin is so open that you can see the dining area, living room, and kitchen from the front door, and you can also see a sliding glass door leading outside to a deck. With a hot tub. 

“The hot tub,” you blurt out, laughing as you turn to him, “You remembered.”

“Right, like I’d pass up a chance to see you in a swimsuit,” he scoffs. 

You whack his chest playfully and head into the kitchen to get a better look, finding a large bouquet of pink roses and a card. On the outside, it reads ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’. You look back at Rafe and then pick it up, anxious to see what it says inside. 

Typed out on the inside, you read:

Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart. I’m so glad I get you all to myself this weekend. 

I love you, 

Rafe 

“Oh,” you pout, looking up from the card to find him standing shyly in the threshold of the kitchen, “I love you, too, handsome.”

“Promise?” he teases, opening his arms for you. 

“I promise,” you say as you snuggle into his grasp, still clutching the card with the words that warm your heart, “Thank you so much. I can’t believe this.”

He kisses your forehead in response, then nods back into the kitchen. 

“Want to have a glass of wine with me out on the deck?” he asks. 

“I would love to.”

     After two hefty pours, you and Rafe sit out on the front porch in the rocking chairs, staring out at the snow and the mountains. Rafe shakes his head every time you change places to get a different angle in your picture, then make him pose for an Instagram story. You laugh because he pretends to hate it, but immediately uploads his own picture of you to Instagram in response with a cheesy Valentine’s Day caption underneath. 

“So,” you start, taking a sip of your wine, “How long have you been planning this?”

You’re pretty sure you know the answer, but you want him to tell you the truth. When you see the tips of his ears go red, you try and fail to hide your smirk. 

“Since you told me exactly what your dream vacation was,” he replies. 

“I didn’t think that meant anything,” you say, giving him a soft smile. 

“Would your answer be different if you did?”

“No, of course not,” you say as you shift your body and take his hand in your open palm, “I love this, Rafe. It’s perfect.”

“Good,” he grins, “It has everything you want. A hot tub, a comfortable couch for us to watch hours of old movies, and I planned out all our meals so we can just cook together. We don’t have to leave the cabin even for a minute if you don’t want to.”

You finish off your wine as he speaks, and you’re not sure if it’s him, the way he’s looking at you, the surprise, or the wine, but slowly, you stand from your chair with your hand still in his, and walk to him. He swallows when he sees the look in your eye, knowing exactly what it is that you crave in this moment. 

Rafe pulls you into his lap and lets you get comfortable before his hands meet your body, tucking you in close and keeping you warm. You nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck and inhale his scent, then give him a small kiss there. 

“You spoil me,” you whisper. 

He smirks, “Well, I brought the lingerie you wore for me last Valentine’s Day. So, really, I’m spoiling myself, too.”

You laugh and sit up enough to get a good look at his face. He’s cold, you can tell by his red nose and the lack of pink in his lips. 

“Let’s go inside,” you say sweetly, cupping his cheeks, “You can warm up and pour us some more wine while I get changed.”

“Oh,” Rafe groans, “Yes. Let’s go, c’mon, baby.”

You laugh when he stands with you still in his lap, forcing you to cling around him. He carries you inside like that with a laugh and places you down, then gives you four quick kisses before he releases you. 

“Be right back,” you smile, “Is it in your bag?”

“Mhm,” he hums lazily, stealing another kiss as he dreams about you in that damn lingerie. 

“Perfect,” you reply and kiss him one last time before you move toward the stairs. 

You leave him down there, watching you go, before he collects the wine glasses and you slip into the bedroom. 

The windows in the bedroom take up almost an entire wall and give up an amazing view of the mountains. It’s decorated like a cozy cabin and has a beautiful fireplace underneath the TV, which you hope you and Rafe will take advantage of at some point. 

You cross the room and grab his bag, which you unzip and begin to dig through in hopes of finding the lingerie set relatively quickly. You pass by your bathing suit, two of your long sleeve shirts, your robe, and way too many of Rafe’s clothes to just be meant for him, when you spot the bra. You continue to search for the panties, but your hand finds something different tucked in one of the side pockets of his bag. 

You pull the tiny box out and everything in you freezes, sending you right back to that night. The night he asked you, all those years ago, to marry him. He’d come out in a dress shirt, with a box in his hand that looks eerily familiar to this one. 

You know you shouldn’t open it. You know you should respect whatever the hell is sitting in this box. But, you have to know. 

Slowly, timidly, and with a pit in your stomach, you pull open the box. The gasp you let out at the sight of the ring inside has you begging for more oxygen, because somehow, it feels like the ring is taking it all right out of the room. 

It’s different from your engagement ring, but not dramatically so. Rafe knows your style and he knows, even back then, exactly what you’d always dreamed of when it came to engagement rings. His ability to be able to afford exactly what you wanted was hindered back then, sure, but you never cared one bit. Apparently, he did. 

“Sweetheart?” 

He’s outside the door. 

You close the box and tuck it back away, then scramble to undress. You pull the lacy, red panties on in a rush, thankful that he is staying out of the room, because you know you don’t look sexy at all with the way you’re hurrying to make yourself look innocent. 

“One second,” you call back, tossing his sweatshirt off and undoing your own bra, “Clasp trouble.”

“Need help?”

“I’m fine!” you promise. 

“Alright,” he says hesitantly, and you realize in this moment, that he must be thinking about the ring, too. Worried that you’ll find it, which is exactly what happened. 

Now, you know the pressure is on. You know you have to sell the fact that you didn’t see it, and you don’t think it’s possible. It would be easy with anyone else, but definitely not with Rafe. 

You grab your robe from his duffle and cover yourself with it, then open the door and make your way back to him. He watches you come down the stairs and then offers you a wine glass before he bites his lip, obviously imagining what you look like underneath the robe. 

“All good?” he asks. 

“Yep, all good,” you nod, then give him a convincing smile. 

His shoulders drop, “You found the ring.”

Fuck. 

Are you really that obvious?

“I wasn’t snooping, Rafe, I swear, I just—”

He shakes his head and sets his wine glass down before taking yours too, placing them both on the coffee table. Once his hands are free, he sets them on your shoulders, pulling you in slightly. 

“I would never accuse you of snooping, sweetheart. I forgot it was in there. You made my head all foggy with your lingerie talk.”

You laugh, but the pout that plays on your lips tells Rafe everything he needs to know about the way you feel. 

“You got me a ring,” you mumble, “Another one.”

He nods, “I know the one I got for you wasn’t your dream ring. So, I’ve been saving here and there, but it’s tough when we have two kids and a mortgage. It’s taken me a while.”

“Are you really making excuses as to why you haven’t bought me a second ring?”

He laughs, “Yeah, I guess. It’s what you deserve, though. I had a whole thing planned out. Hold on, let me go get it.”

“Rafe—”

“Hold on,” he repeats, pecking your forehead, “One minute.”

He squeezes your hand before he releases you and hurries toward the stairs. You listen as he takes them two by two, desperate to grab the ring and get back to you. Dizzy at the thought, you take a large drink of the wine he poured for you, then even it out with wine from his glass so he doesn’t notice. 

When he returns, your head swims with another flashback. He’s combed his hair and he has that same nervous smile on his face; the one that convinced you to say yes. You also notice how he changed out of his sweatshirt and into a nice, crisp white tee, which you’re sure is the best out of the clothes he brought. 

“I was going to give it to you over dinner,” he confesses shyly, “Over wine and pasta, before I get you all liquored up and into the hot tub. But, this will have to do.”

 “It’s perfect,” you whisper. 

“Alright,” he sucks in a deep breath, and when he grins and gets down on one knee right in front of you, in the middle of the living room in a cabin in Colorado, you can’t help but laugh with him, “Y/N, you are the most incredible woman I have ever met in my entire life. Getting to marry you, raise children with you, and be with you is something I will never, ever take for granted. I’m so in love with you, baby. Will you marry me? Again?”

You smile at him through the tears welling in your eyes, then step forward and yank him up by his collar. He stands and kisses you without thinking twice about it, keeping you as close as possible. 

“I’ll marry you again, handsome,” you say against his lips, “I’ll marry you every single time.”

“Thank God,” he teases, then leans down to kiss you again. And again. And again. 

You let your robe fall after that. Soon, your back meets the couch. Then, Rafe is on top of you. Desperately, you tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, and he sits up to rid himself of them. Only then does he realize that he still holds the box containing the ring, and shyly, you hold your hand out to him. 

He grins and slides the ring on your finger, placing your first ring in the box for safekeeping until you get home. You gawk at the new ring and tell him how much you love it — again — then tug him back down on top of you. 

     An hour later, you’re sitting at the kitchen counter in Rafe’s shirt and panties, while he cooks shirtless with only his sweatpants. He’s making you pasta, as he promised, and continues to refill your wine glass every time it threatens to show empty. 

“I could get used to this,” you say smugly. 

He turns around and smirks, “Yeah, me too.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, and you can feel your head spinning from the wine, the sex, and the ring. You stare down at it and you’re sure that you have actual hearts in your eyes, because it’s absolutely perfect. 

“Rafe,” you say quietly, but earning his complete attention nonetheless. 

He turns around and picks up his own wine glass, leaving the pasta to cook, “Yes?”

“You didn’t have to get me a new ring. I love the other one because you’re the one who gave it to me.”

He smiles softly and nods his head, as if this is information he already knows. Slowly, Rafe crosses the kitchen and comes over to you, where he brings your head into his chest and kisses your forehead. 

“I know I didn’t have to, sweetheart,” he replies, “I wanted to. There’s something about buying you the ring you always dreamed of that makes me happy.”

Your eyes well up again, and when you pull him down for another kiss, he takes his time before he reminds you about the pasta. 

     Soon, he sets a plate down in front of you and joins you at the counter, where he sits beside you and kisses your temple the second he’s close enough. He laughs when you rave about the food, wanting to make him feel half as good as he’s made you feel today. 

You help him clean up after dinner, which really turns into sex on the counter, then promise him more if he hurries up and gets changed so the two of you can venture out into the hot tub. He turns the lights on outside and gets everything ready while you change into your swimsuit, and when you return downstairs, he has candles lit all over the back deck, and a fresh bottle of wine in his hands. 

“Oh,” you whimper, “You’re so perfect.”

He laughs, observing your tense muscles as you shiver in your tee shirt covered body, bare feet hesitant to step out onto the snowy deck. 

“C’mere, baby, I bet you’re freezing,” he says, despite his laughter. 

He sets the wine bottle down and steps over to you, where he picks you up and listens to your tipsy giggles as he carries you across the deck and to the hot tub. You grip his neck tightly and let his warmth seep from his skin to yours, upset when he sets you down on the corner of the hot tub. 

“Rafe,” you pout, unwilling to let him go just yet — equal parts intoxication and lust, “I didn’t even get you a present. I mean, I got you a dumb little bag with, like, candy and a card and a thing for your keychain, but nothing like a ring.”

“Hey, I will love that dumb little bag,” he says, as if you’ve personally offended him with the comment, “Tell me more about this thing for my keychain, will you?”

He raises a brow, and if you’d been less full of wine, you’d notice how he’s teasing you; loving the way you’re drunkenly explaining these things to him. 

“It’s a little outline of a girl holding a heart in her hands, and on the bottom, it says ‘drive safe, I need you!’. It’s cute, and I liked it, and the Etsy shop owner was—”

He interrupts you with a kiss, and if you’d been looking up at him, you would’ve seen how much it means to him that you bought that for him. 

“I love it already,” he tells you when he pulls back, “Thank you for getting me a present, baby.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, but he can see the smirk on your lips, “You got me a fucking ring. I got you a nine dollar keychain.”

“And I will love that nine dollar keychain,” he replies. 

You laugh and shake your head before nodding toward the hot tub, which seems secondary only to his warmth, “Should we get in?”

“Mhm,” he hums, kissing you once more before he helps you climb into the water, “Have we fucked in a hot tub before?”

You laugh loudly, “I don’t even know.”

He snickers and climbs in once you’re settled, placing himself as close as possible. All too soon, you’re settled on his lap and kissing your way up his cheeks before you settle in those blue eyes you’ve become all too familiar with. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” he says. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, handsome,” you grin, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

When he kisses you, although you’ve experienced it more times than you can count, it still brings that funny feeling to the bottom of your stomach. It still feels like he unlocks the millions of butterflies that just swim around, waiting for him to make a move so they can fly. He laughs against your lips when you impatiently untie his swimsuit, too lost in his kiss to have steady hands underneath the warm water. 

You forget all about the wine. All about the cabin and the shower you planned to take and the kitchen that’s half cleaned due to your impatience. The only thing you remember, the only thing you’re willing to think about, is Rafe Cameron himself.

*i no longer have a tag list. follow @mackupdates for updates! <3 thank you for reading!

[mackupdates]

protection (11) — ari levinson

summary: Ari and your father have been business partners for ages, and it seems that he doesn't care for you. This doesn't stop you from trying; scheming to make the older man fall for you the same way the rest of your father's men have, too.

pairing: dbf!ari x reader

warnings: swearing, use of guns, violence, verbal argument, smut (rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pussy slapping, degrading language, pussyjob, daddy kink, breeding kink, orgasm denial)

wc: 6k

masterlist | navigation | series masterlist

     You awaken at the same moment Ari does; both of you drawing in quick, shallow breaths at the sound of the alarm blaring. It’s loud — much louder than any alarm system you’ve ever heard in your life. 

You’d been peacefully sleeping in Ari’s arms, tucked against his warm chest, and dreaming of exactly that. Now, you clutch the sheets close to you as Ari scrambles from the bed, pulling sweatpants over his naked body and grabbing his gun from the nightstand at the same time. 

“Stay here,” he demands of you, rushing toward the door. 

“No,” you say from the bed. 

His head snaps back over to you, watching as you move to get up. He clenches his jaw and walks back over, then grabs your arm. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he mutters, “Stay here, and lock the door behind me.”

“No,” you repeat. 

He raises a brow, silently daring you to defy him again. 

“Y/N,” he breathes, his voice so low it sends a shiver down your spine, “Lock the goddamn door behind me.”

You swallow, and he takes your silence for resignation. He releases you and steps to the door again, so you grab his tee shirt and toss it over your head before hurrying after him. 

“Ari, wait,” you hiss, grabbing his forearm, “I don’t want you going out there alone.”

His eyes soften, “Baby, I’ll be fine. Stay here. Do not open this door for anyone but me, okay?”

“Ari—”

“Please, don’t argue. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

He doesn’t give you time to form a rebuttal. He merely kisses you quickly, then slips out the bedroom door. He bangs on it twice from the outside to remind you to lock it, which you do. Then, you hurry over and look out the window, finding nothing but the emergency yard lights flashing.

The alarm stops then, leaving an eerie silence to the house. Unable to handle it, you step over to the door and unlock it, then listen for any type of footsteps. When you hear none, you open it and slide out, then move to the top of the stairs. 

“Nick?” Ari yells across the house. 

“Clear,” Nick replies, “Mateo?”

“Clear,” Mateo says, “Javier?”

“Clear,” Javier yells out, “There’s nobody here.”

“What the fuck set the alarm off, then?” Ari snaps.

It sounds to you like the men have gathered in the kitchen, and you have every intention of listening in on them. 

“How the fuck should I know?” Javier replies, “It’s your fucking alarm system.”

“You know, I’m hearing a lot of bullshit come out of your mouth under my goddamn roof—”

“Enough,” Nick groans, “Obviously something set the alarm off.”

“Agreed. I can review the outside cameras, boss,” Mateo steps in. 

“Do that,” Ari demands, “Nick, get some extra guys here and have them do a sweep of the property. I want all exit points in the house secured and sealed. Javier, you can fuck right off to bed. You’re not needed.”

“You sure you don’t want me to keep her company while you boss everyone around?” Javier mutters. 

Silence falls over the house for a second, and you start to wonder if Ari has caught you somehow. You glance back toward his bedroom and consider hurrying in before you hear a crash downstairs, making you jump. 

“I swear to God, as soon as she decides you’re no longer worth the trouble, I’m gonna put a fucking bullet in your brain. After I tear off every finger of yours that ever touched her. You wanna be smart with me? You can be smart from six feet under.”

You hear Javier gasping for breath, and while part of you screams to go downstairs and stop it, another part of you squirms at Ari’s words. How you can imagine his angry face, his bulging muscles, and his dire need to protect you in every way. 

“Alright, Ari, you’ve made your point,” Nick sighs, and you listen as he removes Ari from Javier, given Javier’s dramatic gasp in, “We get it, you love your girlfriend, or whatever the fuck she is. Anyway, we have shit to do. Mateo, Javier, go.”

You listen as the two men excuse themselves from the kitchen, leaving only Nick and Ari in the room. You scoot closer to the steps, sliding across the hardwood on your knees. 

“Guy’s a fucking prick,” Ari mutters. 

“I know,” Nick says, “So, you think it was Christopher?”

Your stomach drops at the mention of your father, and you’ve never been more desperate to hear Ari’s response. 

“Of course it was fucking Christopher. He wants her back.”

Nick sighs, “Relax, man. Obviously we’re not going to let that happen.”

“No, we’re not. I could just fucking take him out. That would solve ninety percent of my problems.”

“She’d probably be pissed,” Nick argues. 

You swallow, unsure of how you would actually feel. On one hand, he’s your father. Yours first protector, and the man you trusted more than anyone before Ari. Now, with everything he’s done, of course you don’t want him dead, but you’re not so sure you’d mourn him the same way you would have three months ago. 

“Yeah. Fuck. I’ve gotta go back upstairs. Take care of the exit points and I’ll be back down in ten minutes to look at footage with Mateo.”

You scurry back into the bedroom as Nick agrees, then twist the lock. Your adrenaline pumps at the mere idea of him knowing you’d stepped foot outside the bedroom after he told you not to, so you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself. He’ll be able to tell in an instant, you’re sure, but you wonder if you can just pass it off as nerves from whatever set the alarm off. 

Ari’s knock against the door is firm but still gentle somehow, much like him. You exhale in relief knowing he’s right there, just on the other side of the door, ready to comfort you. 

“Baby? It’s me. Open up.”

You hurry over to the door and unlock it, then fling yourself against him before he can even step foot inside his own bedroom. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, knowing full well that he is. 

“Hey, yes, I’m okay, princess,” he coos, stroking his hand through your hair, “Nobody’s here, I promise. We checked every inch of the house and I’ve got guys working downstairs to figure out what tripped the alarm. I’m sure it was just an accident.”

He’s lying to you, but you can’t tell him you know that. You look up at him through your lashes as his hands slip under your shirt and press themselves against your back, pulling you closer to him. 

“An accident?” you clarify. 

He nods without missing a beat, “Yes. Happens sometimes. Look at you, you’re all shaken up.”

Your heart is still racing from the fear of being caught, and the reaction your body has to Ari lying to you only speeds it up once more. You bite down on your tongue, not wanting to start a fight, but making a mental note of this moment. 

“I was worried about you,” you mumble. 

He gives you a soft smile, “C’mere. I’m not going to let anything happen. To either of us. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nod. 

“Okay,” he repeats, “You should get some sleep.”

He pulls you over to his side of the California king and lifts you up, setting you on the edge. Your legs dangle and you feel the soft sheets under you, filling your nose with his scent and weakening your resolve. It’s almost like he knows already — and he’s playing into your biggest weakness. Himself. 

“What about you?”

“I have to go work on the alarm,” he replies, not meeting your eyes, but instead, tucking hair behind your ear, “I’ll come back up to you in a few hours. I promise.”

You just nod as he tucks you under the blankets, then pulls them up to cover you. You feel like a child instead of his — girlfriend? You’d never questioned your title to Ari until Nick pointed it out downstairs, but now, you want to hear him say it. 

“Ari—” you start, but he cuts you off. 

“Shh,” he whispers, then leans down and kisses your forehead, “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

You just nod. He smiles at you, then pats your stomach through the blankets before he walks out of the bedroom, leaving you wide awake and alone. 

     You wake a few hours later to Ari slipping back into your shared bedroom, giving you a tight and apologetic smile as he sees you stir due to his noise. You watch as he closes the door and then crosses the room to get to you.

“Hey,” you murmur. 

“Hi,” he replies, giving you a kiss on the forehead, “Did you sleep?”

“Yes.”

He nods, then stands up straight again. He gives you an easier smile, not as forced.

“I have to go out for a bit. Mateo and Nick are going with me, but I have five guys I trust downstairs that are staying with you. I’ll introduce you before I go so you feel more comfortable.”

You sit up in bed, leaning against the headboard. Slowly, you nod, although you really want to tell him not to leave you. He slips into his walk in closet, and you watch his back as he picks out a watch. 

“Okay,” you whisper, “Did you and Mateo find anything on the cameras?”

His back muscles tense then. He’s frozen, and you sure it’s because he did find something, and that’s exactly why he’s leaving you. 

“What did you say?”

You furrow your brows, “I asked if you guys found anything on the cameras. That set off the alarm, I mean.”

Slowly, Ari turns around. You catch the tightness in his jaw and the stern look in his eye. His shoulders are high and his chest is tense, and when you look down at his hands, they’re both balled tightly into fists. 

“I never told you a word about Mateo. Or the cameras.”

Oh, fuck, you think. He watches as you silently scramble to make something up, and even though he’s going to see right through you, you do exactly that. 

“I’m pretty sure you did,” you mumble, gripping the comforter in your fist. 

“No, I didn’t. I specifically did not tell you that.”

He takes a few steps out of the closet, but he remains a few feet from you. He watches you squirm on the bed, taking shallow breaths and swallowing roughly.

“Ari, I—”

“You left this room,” he states, clenching his jaw, “You left the room after I told you not to, right?”

Slowly, you nod, “Yes. But, I—”

“Goddamn it, Y/N!” he yells, slamming his hand against the wall and watching as you jump at the sound, “I fucking— Anything could’ve happened to you, don’t you get that? Do you think this is a fucking game?” 

“No, Ari,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady as you feel yourself growing defensive and emotional at the same time, “I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

“I’m fucking fine,” he snaps, then shakes his head, “I don’t get it. I’m willing to give you everything. I brought you here, and you have a nice place to live, a bed, food on the fucking table, unlimited protection and unlimited money. And you still disobey me when I ask one thing of you.”

You let your eyes flutter closed, and when he slaps his hand against the wall again, silently demanding you look at him, you jump. When you open them again, he almost looks angrier than before. Slowly, you slide out from under the blanket and stand up, then take careful steps across the room. 

“I should’ve listened to you,” you say quietly, “I was just scared, and I didn’t want you to get hurt. I’m sorry.”

His jaw ticks, “You will be. I can’t keep having this same fucking conversation with you, Y/N. You need to learn to listen when I speak to you.”

You never realized how much you love when he uses pet names with you until he stops. Your name on his lips, although sexy as hell, doesn’t bring out the same feelings in you as it does when he calls you baby. 

Even so, his words bring out a defensiveness in you that you didn’t know you could have with him. Not after everything. Ari’s eyes widen slightly when you cross your arms over your chest and purse your lips, then hike up a brow in a dare for him to continue. 

“I didn’t escape one prison just to be put in another, Ari,” you say daringly, “Don’t treat me like a child.”

His eyes darken, “Is that really how you want to play this?”

You tip your chin up, and only when Ari shifts and you skim his figure, do you notice it. He’s hard. You bite down on your cheek to hide a smirk, but the fact only eggs you on. 

“Yep,” you reply with a shrug, “I mean, I don’t see you doing anything about it, so—”

“Get on the fucking bed,” he demands deeply, crossing the room in two strides and shoving you back to the mattress when you don’t immediately comply, “Watch me do something about it, you fucking daredevil.”

You want to laugh, but you can’t, because Ari’s tearing his own shirt from your body and spreading your legs forcefully, only to slot himself between them. He unbuttons his pants and pulls them down only enough to take himself out. You reach up to touch him, wanting him close, but he pins both of your arms above your head in only one of his hands. 

“Ari,” you moan, shoving your hips up and begging for him. 

“Quiet,” he orders, “You’re gonna listen to me, for once. I don’t want to hear you unless you’re begging for me, do you understand?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. 

He looks down at your spread legs and spits on your pussy, listening to you cry out for more at the feeling.

“Address me the right way.”

“Yes, daddy, I understand,” you say weakly. 

“Good, now shut the fuck up,” he mutters. 

You mewl when he rubs his cock up and down through your folds, soaking his tip in your wetness and his spit. You fight against his grip, wanting to reach down and put him in yourself, but he’s too strong. 

“Daddy, please,” you beg. 

He laughs cruelly, “That smart mouth of yours changes up pretty damn fast every time you see my dick, huh, baby?”

You can’t help it. You know he’s right; you can’t keep up with him when it comes to the attitude and the sex. Anytime his hands touch your body, you melt. You’re incapable of doing anything except exactly what he says — especially when he’s so close to fucking you. 

“Please, please,” you continue to beg, unable to think of anything other than him finally pushing himself inside. 

“Hmm, I don’t know. Feels good like this for me. Might just cum like this and leave you. Sounds like a good punishment to me.”

You shake your head quickly, letting out little moans of protest as you stare up at him. He can see how needy you are, you’re sure, but you don’t care. You’ve never been so turned on, so desperate. He could ask you to do anything at this moment and you’d do it if it meant he slips in. 

“Daddy, I’m sorry, I’m— please.”

He grins and continues his ruthless pursuit of his dick rubbing against your clit, sliding through your folds. You shove your hips up in a lame attempt to get him to catch, but he doesn’t. Ari’s always in control, and if you could comprehend anything right now, you’d remember that. 

“You’re going to be sorry after I’m through with you, princess,” he grunts. 

You groan when he reaches down with his free hand and guides himself into you, listening as you cry out. Your moan is loud and he revels in it, not caring one bit if anyone else in the house can hear — because he’s sure they can. 

He stops once his tip is buried inside of you, and when he feels you clench around him, he tosses his head back. 

“More,” you order, demand, beg, “More, more, more—”

“Oh, you’re such a slut,” he snickers. 

You whine at his words and clench harder, eliciting a loud groan from the back of his throat. He leans down and starts to kiss along your jawline, still keeping your hands pinned above your head. 

“I am, I am,” you agree mindlessly, “Please, daddy, more.”

Ari, prone to teasing, decides to give you exactly what you’re asking for. You scream loudly when he shoves himself all the way inside, not giving you even a second to accommodate him before he’s fucking in and out. 

He wallows in your screams, moans, and your inability to even form one simple word. He gives it to you like you’re nothing to him; not the woman he loves, cherishes and protects. And you fucking love it. 

Ari spills filth into your ear as he fucks you, and little do you exactly what his plan is with you. 

“My sweet, disobedient fucking girl,” he growls, “So fucking sexy. So slutty. Did you disobey your daddy just so he’d fuck you like this? Huh?”

You can’t form words. You’re dizzy, lightheaded, and when Ari sees your eyes roll back, he pushes you even harder. His free hand skims over your hip, closer to where he knows you need it. 

“Da—da—oh, f—”

“Shh,” Ari coaxes you, finally allowing his thumb to strum over your clit and reveling in the way your body convulses, “Shut up, baby. Just take it. Don’t you dare cum.”

He watches as his words snap at something inside of you, and your wide eyes find his. Immediately, you start to shake your head, but he stops you by rubbing his thumb over your clit once more. 

“That’s it,” he grins, “Good fucking girl. Look who’s finally listening to me? Holding it in so well, baby. Daddy knows it hurts, but hold it in for me.”

You babble nonsense as you nod, promising to listen, promising not to cum until he tells you that you can. Ari takes one more look at your blissed out face, your rolled eyes, and your lips that continuously part and press together as you let out little whimpers before trying to speak. He’s so close, he just wants to push you a little bit more. 

He buries his face into your neck and bites your skin, immediately soothing the area with his tongue. You whine and buck your hips up, but he stops you with his free hand. 

“Oh, fuck, Daddy’s gonna cum, baby,” he tells you, “I’m gonna cum so deep in you. You’re going to let me cum first since you’ve been bad, understand?”

You nod. And nod. And nod. He smirks victoriously and sits back up, wanting to see every inch of your face. 

“Cum,” you whimper, begging him, “P–pl—Daddy.”

“Uh-huh,” Ari smiles at you mockingly, then licks his lips. This is it. Time to push.

He looks down at his free hand, still keeping his ravenous thrusts into your pussy, before he licks the tips of his fingers, looking directly at you, and slapping your clit. You scream as your body convulses, and he physically has to hold you in place to keep himself inside. 

“Daddy!” you wail, feeling tears sting your eyes at the amazing levels of pleasure and pain he’s delivering. 

“The next fucking time, princess,” he growls, “The next time I have to put you in your goddamn place, you won’t cum for a month. You listen to me when I tell you something, do you understand me?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, and despite your answer, Ari slaps your clit once more, eliciting an even louder scream, “Oh, fuck!”

“That’s right,” Ari grunts when you clench, and his hips falter as he can’t hold himself back anymore, finishing inside you, “That’s fucking right. Cumming so fucking deep in you, those pills won’t even work. You want me to get you pregnant, baby?”

He snickers when you don’t respond, you can’t, because you’re so sensitive, so desperate to cum. You writhe in the pain and the pleasure, staring at Ari with the most desperate expression as you silently plead for him to let you cum. 

Instead, however, Ari gives you a soft kiss on the lips, then extracts his hands and his cock from you. He watches as your haze begins to clear and you realize what he’s doing. 

“No,” you cry weakly, still spread nicely for him, “No, daddy, I didn’t get to cum, please, wait—”

“Hush,” Ari demands, “You don’t listen, you don’t get to cum. I won’t be back for a while, but if I get a good report from the men downstairs, I’ll finish you off tonight. If I find out that you touched yourself, well, I think you know exactly what will happen to you.”

Your mind is still too foggy, and you need to cum so badly, that when Ari disappears into the closet, you start to cry. He’s left you, and you fear he’s never coming back. You need him more than you need anything, anyone, and he’s gone. 

He emerges a few minutes later in a suit with half the top buttons undone, exposing his sexy, hairy chest that you love so much. 

“Daddy,” you babble, “I’ll be good, I promise.”

He walks over to the bed and adjusts the sleeves of his jacket, then gives you a small smile. Wordlessly, Ari helps you back under the comforter, wrapping it around your naked body. 

“I know you will, baby,” he whispers. 

When he leans down to kiss your forehead, you’re already plotting ways to get him to touch you. To make you cum. 

“Please,” you whisper desperately. 

Ari just laughs, then shoves his hand under the blanket. You feel his skin on yours as he travels down your body, and with a simple touch, he rubs his index finger over your soaking wet pussy. You shudder and try to keep him there, but he pulls away too fast. 

His hand emerges from the bed and he brings his finger up to his mouth, where he sucks your juices off of his skin with a teasing smirk. 

“So fucking sweet,” he mumbles, “Get some rest. Don’t forget, no touching.”

He gives you a sickening wave, then grabs his phone off the nightstand and walks out of the bedroom. Your brain is mush, your legs squeeze together, and you’re already wondering if Ari would notice if you got yourself off — so much so that you don’t even hear the click of the lock on the door at all. 

     You’re not sure if you fall into a daze or into sleep, but when your head finally clears and you stir, you realize that you’re naked on Ari’s side of the bed. Slowly, the entire day comes back to you. You groan at the intense ache between your legs, just begging to be taken care of. 

But Ari told you not to. And you can’t disobey him again. 

With a deep breath and all the self control you can muster, you rise from the bed and walk over to the dresser, where you first open your underwear drawer. The thought of putting panties on sounds like torture, so you opt for a pair of Ari’s boxers. Then, you grab one of his plain black tee shirts and tuck it over your head, residing to making some coffee and getting fresh air outside. 

You toss your hair up as you walk over to the door, and when you twist the knob, nothing happens. The door doesn’t open, and your first instinct tells you that it’s stuck. You swear under your breath, then yank on it again. Nothing. It isn’t until you crouch down and see the lock sitting neatly between the door and the frame, that you yell. 

“What the fuck!” you shout, banging on the door loudly, “Ari! Open the fucking door!” 

You hear nothing but silence on the other end, so you continue to slam your fist into the wood. You’re sure Ari isn’t even here, but you know someone is, and you want out. Now. 

You hurry over to the nightstand and look for your phone, which is gone. You toss your head back as you try to remember where else you may have left it, but you know in your heart that Ari took it with him.

“Ma’am.”

You stop when you hear the voice outside the door, then cross your arms over your chest like a teenager — aware that nobody can see you. Quickly, you walk back over to the door and lean against the frame.

“Who is that?” you ask. 

“My name is Patrick, I work for your— um, Mr. Levinson.”

His unsure nature reminds you of Mateo in a way, and even though you want to be angry, you know it isn’t this man’s fault that you’re in here. 

“Well, Patrick, can you open the fucking door?” you snap. 

“Um, no, ma’am. I apologize, but I’m under strict instruction to leave it locked until I bring you a meal. Mr. Levinson told me to bring it up at two o’clock. Are you hungry now?” 

“Yes,” you blurt, even though you’re not, “Look, if you just open it for one second—”

“I really can’t,” he stops you, sounding regretful, “Mr. Levinson told me that penne alla vodka is your favorite. I’m Italian, and I can whip up a mean pasta dish. Would you like garlic bread, too?”

You can hear it in his voice, the way he desperately wants to please you in hopes of pleasing Ari. So, you take a deep breath and change your tune. You work your magic the way you worked your magic on Vick, Mateo, Javier, and Ari himself. 

“Italian?” you purr, “Wow. I’m sure you’re so handsome. Honestly, I’d love for you to cook for me. It’s been such a long time since a man has cooked me dinner.”

A lie, but you don’t care. If flirting with Ari’s men will get you out of this goddamn room, you’ll do it. 

“It would be an honor.”

Bingo. The way his voice quivers tells you everything you need to know. 

“Listen, Patrick, I won’t tell Ari. I just want to watch you work your magic in the kitchen. I’ll be good, I promise.”

Your mind wanders to Javier at this moment, wondering where he is. If he’s in the house; if he’s also locked in. You’re sure that if Ari locked you in, he definitely locked Javi in, too. 

“Ma’am, I would love to, but there are cameras. Mr. Levinson can see everything from his phone.”

Fuck. 

You know you can’t get Patrick to cave now. You sigh and toss your head back against the wall, then exhale. 

“Fine,” you mutter, “Can I at least have my phone to call Ari?”

“He told me he wasn’t taking calls,” Patrick informs you, sounding regretful, “Even from you. He told me to tell you to, um… remember the lesson he taught you before he left.”

It’s Ari’s way of telling you to listen. You roll your eyes and shake your head, then smack the door before walking away from it. You assume Patrick leaves, because he doesn’t say another word, and neither do you. 

You make yourself comfortable on Ari’s bed and stare at the black screen on the TV, refusing to turn it on. You don’t want to relax. You want to be seething when Ari comes back for what he’s done. How he left you needy and desperate, then locked you in your bedroom like a child. 

     Patrick brings up your pasta and garlic bread about an hour and a half later. You hear the lock twist and you perk up, but when you see the man you don’t recognize, you just sigh. 

“Pardon me, ma’am, I just brought up your meal,” he says quietly, not looking at you for more than a second at a time, “Where would you like it?”

“Downstairs,” you reply, “Where’s Javier?”

Patrick looks to the floor, “He’s in the guest room.”

“Locked in, too?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You laugh sarcastically. Patrick places the tray at the end of the bed and, when he catches you staring at the open door, he nods once, then ducks his head and leaves again. The lock clicks immediately behind him, and you’re trapped once more. 

     The sun sets, and the bedroom grows dark. You turn on Ari’s bedside lamp and pick at the pasta Patrick brought up. Admittedly, it was delicious. The man certainly knows how to cook. And the fact that Ari knew your favorite type of pasta and even went so far as to inform him of such a detail would normally make you swoon. However, given your circumstances, you don’t feel too keen on giving Ari brownie points. 

Soon after you shove the tray back to the end of the bed, the lock clicks again. You don’t get your hopes up this time, which is why a thrill shoots through you at the sight of Ari. His tie is loosely hanging around his neck and his top three buttons are undone, but you push past how that makes you feel.

When he sees you, he remains expressionless. You stare at him, pressed against the headboard with your arms crossed, not willing to speak first. 

Silently, Ari reaches into his pocket and tosses you your phone. It lands on the mattress, but you don’t reach for it. You just stare — openly, intensely. 

He sighs, “I had to.”

“No you didn’t!” you exclaim, “Ari, I actually cannot believe you’d do something like this to me.”

“You don’t listen,” he explains as he removes his tie, “Look, Y/N, I’m not trying to be some fucking tyrant asshole. I have rules for you because they will keep you safe. If you break the rules just to mess with me and something happens to you, I’d never forgive myself. You need to learn that it’s not always fun and games with us. The attitude’s cute, but in my line of work, it could get you killed.”

You scoff, “Well, you don’t have to treat me like a fucking child, Ari. You could’ve told me that.”

“I did!” he shouts, “So many goddamn times.”

You know he’s probably right, but you don’t want to cave. You want him to grovel and slide a hand between your legs and—

You’re frustrated, you realize. You want him so bad, despite the entire day of torture. He watches as you squirm on the mattress and begins to unbutton the rest of his shirt, but doesn’t speak again. 

“Fine. I’ll listen better,” you shrug, “But do not lock me in here again. How did you even come up with that?”

He swallows, “Nick says I’m too soft on you.”

“Oh, nice, Ari. You left me without an orgasm and then locked me in our bedroom alone all day because of something one of your boys said to you?”

He smirks as he toes off his shoes, then removes his dress shirt. The jacket and shirt get tossed lazily onto the dresser, and when he looks back at you, shirtless, muscular, and just the tiniest bit angry, you feel the slick run down your thighs again.

“You a little frustrated, baby?” he teases you, stepping closer, “You want me to make it better?”

“Fuck off,” you mumble, although, inside, you’re preening for him. 

“Oh, now, that’s not very nice,” he grins and steps over to the bed, pulling the comforter back and exposing your bare legs. He swallows when he sees you dressed in his boxers and tee shirt, “You’re certainly a sight.”

“I am,” you say confidently. 

Ari laughs and leans down to kiss you, but you’re not done being petty. You turn your head away from him, listening to the low growl that escapes him. You try, and fail, not to let that impact you in any way. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” he tells you, “While I’m gone, you might wanna find my good girl and let her know that daddy’s ready to play.”

You can’t help but look up at him as he says these words to you. He smirks when he sees how wide your eyes are, how much you secretly want him. He kisses the tip of your nose, then releases you and steps into the bathroom. He doesn’t bother closing the door, and you listen as he turns the water on in the shower. 

He wants you to follow him. He wants you to come to him, on your own, and beg. You know this. You’ve given yourself the pep talk all day. Don’t give in. But, when you see him drop his boxers into the floor of the bathroom, you can’t help yourself. He shifts just enough that you can see his hard cock before he steps into the shower, and that’s all it takes. 

You pull his shirt over your head and drop it on top of his clothes, then remove the boxers of his you’re wearing and add them to the pile. 

Ari doesn’t even seem surprised when you slip into the shower. He doesn’t react when he feels your hands on his back. He has one hand on the tiles of the shower and the other is lazily stroking his cock, which makes your mouth water. 

He turns slowly, his hair wet and his eyes hazy. He examines your body from head to toe, stopping for an extra beat and observing how swollen and desperate your clit appears. 

“I’m sorry, daddy,” you whisper, “I’ll be good. I’ll listen, I promise. I just don’t want you to treat me like he did, you know?”

Ari’s shoulders drop. He stares at you for what feels like forever before he steps closer, then cups your cheek in his free hand. 

“Baby, that’s not at all what I was trying to do.”

“I know,” you nod, “You just want to keep me safe. I get it.”

“You’re my only family,” he practically whispers, allowing a new vulnerability to be seen in his eyes, “The reason I have for coming home at night. If I didn’t have you anymore…”

He trails off, and his hand falls from around himself. You reach down and take over, listening to the way his breath hitches at the sensation. 

“I love you, Ari,” you say, “I will always be here, waiting on you to come home. Even when you act like a fucking asshole.”

He grins, “That’s my girl.”

He leans down and kisses you, not at all surprised when you let him take control immediately. He backs you up against the tiles and deepens the kiss while the steam fills up the shower, only adding to the heat you feel at this moment. 

You claw at his back, desperate for him to do something, anything, to dull the ache between your legs that he’s responsible for. 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs against your lips, as if he can read your mind, “Hold still, princess. Daddy’s gotta eat before he takes you back to bed. I’m gonna make it up to you over and over and over again.”

You whimper as his hand comes down and cups your thigh, pulling your leg around his waist. 

“Oh,” you slip out before you can stop it, melting in his arms. 

“Mhm. You can be as loud as you want. Just let me enjoy my meal, okay?”

You nod helplessly as Ari pins you against the wall, holding you up as he kneels, tossing your legs over his shoulders like it’s nothing. 

“Okay, daddy,” you whimper, knowing you’re absolutely in for it for the rest of the night. 

You can’t walk the next day, but it’s completely and totally worth it.

a/n: thank you for indulging my slutty side. this idea just came to me and i had to write it. we'll be back on plot with the next part (maybe) lol. i hope you liked it! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

*i no longer have a tag list. follow @mackupdates for updates <3 thank you for reading!

[mackupdates]

parenthood blurb: february plans (pt. 1)

a/n: happy sunday! this blurb is very ambivalence-detail heavy, but i hope you enjoy it!! as always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 have a great week, besties!

i also wrote it in rafe's perspective bc you guys always ask for that so lmk if you like it!

warnings: swearing, consumption of alcohol, kissing

ambivalence masterlist , parenthood masterlist

     Rafe’s not sure exactly what it is about tonight that has him desperate for your touch. 

Thursday night dinners with your parents — although more inconsistent because of kids’ activities and life — still happen on occasion, and Rafe still sits beside you. Josie takes over Sarah’s seat and Connor takes over Wheezie’s. Scott’s has been sitting empty for a while, but nobody acknowledges that. 

Tonight, Topper and Ellie accepted their invite to join, and Rafe couldn’t be happier. It means everyone’s focus is less on him, and his focus can be more on you. 

He starts with a simple arm around the back of your chair once everyone gets their plates in order; stroking your shoulder with his fingertips. When you lean into his touch, he doesn’t even try to hide his smirk, and he wonders if you feel as needy as he does. 

After a few minutes, he removes his arm. He watches subtly as you frown but try not to let it show, then take a few more bites of your dinner. Just as you reach for your wine — which you can now drink freely at the table — he reaches over and sets his large, warm palm on your thigh. 

“Rafe,” you hiss quietly, and just the sound of his name on your lips is enough to drive him crazy. 

“Hmm?” he hums innocently, watching as you glance over at the kids and check on them before looking back at him. 

“What are you doing?”

Numerous responses run through his mind. He could tell you the truth — that you drive him insane everyday, but especially when you’re wearing a cute little dress that looks so familiar and he can smell your perfume because you’re so close. He could tell you that he has no idea what you’re talking about — he’s just subconsciously putting his hands on you. Instead, he grins. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispers, “I’ve seen this dress before.”

He notices the way you bite down on the inside of your bottom lip. Your eyes turn softer, and the way you look at him through your lashes has something deep inside him stirring around. Gently, you reach over and wrap your hand around his forearm, making him smile. 

“Yes, you have.”

A smirk teases Rafe’s lips, “Remind me.”

Immediately, you grow shy. Rafe loves when it happens because it’s not often anymore that he can make you like this, but when he does, his chest swells. He watches as you squeeze his forearm slightly, signaling that you don’t want to talk about it here. 

To retaliate, he slides his palm just a little further up your thigh, where he pushes back the fabric of your dress slightly. Your eyes widen and you try halfheartedly to push his hand back down, but he doesn’t budge. 

He smirks at the way you don’t really try to push him off, because you secretly love the way he touches you. He’s prideful, and he doesn’t care about getting caught. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says smugly, leaning in closer, “Because, baby, you look absolutely gorgeous.”

You squirm under the praise, “Thank you.”

“Mhm,” he hums, leaving a kiss on your temple before he pulls back, still staring proudly at you. 

“Rafe, did you hear what I said?”

Rafe’s eyes shift over to Topper, who is eating his meal on breaks between feeding Ellie. His eyes narrow at his best friend, and Rafe’s grip tightens around your thigh when he feels you tense. 

“No, Top, I was talking to my wife,” Rafe says, as if it’s obvious, “Sorry. Tell me again.”

Topper, Rafe, and your father all enter into football talk while your mother gushes over Connor and asks him how he likes his school, leaving you to try and eat your food with Rafe’s hands on you. 

Rafe, on the other hand, knows he’s so much better than you when it comes to having a poker face. You wear every emotion right on your face, whereas he could be sliding his fingers inside your panties right now and nobody would ever know. 

When his hand slides higher, you squeeze your thighs together. Rafe lets out a chuckle at that, earning a furrow of the brows from Topper. He feels you squeeze his forearm again in warning, but he ignores it, so you do your best to cover his hand with your dress. He grins, not caring about Topper’s rant about the NFL being rigged. 

While expertly nodding along, Rafe racks his brain to try and figure out when and where he’s seen this dress before. It’s too casual for Midsummers. Your anniversary was a blue dress. Your birthday was black pants and that very sexy red top—

“Don’t you think, Rafe?”

Rafe’s eyes dart to your father, who is lifting a fork full of food up to his mouth. He knows he has no choice but to bluff, so he does. 

“Absolutely,” Rafe nods, “They’ve got a horrible defense.”

Your father tosses his hands up, chewing before he looks at Topper, “That’s what I keep telling him!”

You can’t help but laugh, and Rafe knows why. He knows that you know he was bluffing. In another bit of retaliation, Rafe slides his hand further, then skims his fingertips across your skin. 

“Stop it,” you whisper, pushing his arm back down. 

“No,” he whispers back, “I’m trying to figure out about this dress. I know I’ve seen it bef—”

He stops in the middle of the word; hand freezing on your thigh and eyes locking on yours. He realizes right then exactly where he’s seen this dress before, and he feels himself grow warmer at the recollection. 

He takes his sweet time looking over you — savoring you in a different way than he had been before. You’re wrapped up like a present for him. The best one he will ever receive, and he knows it, too. His heart aches as he recalls the memory associated with this dress, the dreams he had, and the desire he had that night to innocently slip his hand underneath — the same way he is right now. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “This is the dress you were wearing when we had our first kiss.”

He watches you nod sweetly, biting down hard on your bottom lip so as to not give away too much of your smile. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, “It’s a little more snug than it was back then, but—”

“It’s perfect,” he stops you, wanting to add a thousand more adjectives to the end of that, “You couldn’t look more beautiful in it.”

“Thank you,” you say with a smile. 

He beams and lets your warm skin against his palm draw him back to where exactly he wants to be. His index finger slides up past your hip bone, and he listens as you inhale sharply as he loops it through the band of your thong. 

Smirking widely, Rafe leans closer, “Finish your dinner, baby. Your food’s gonna get cold.”

“Your fault,” you mumble. 

Rafe laughs, then playfully squeezes your leg once more. Quickly, he scans the room to ensure that nobody is watching, because he knows that would embarrass you if anyone knew. Thankfully, everyone is too wrapped up in their own plates to notice a thing. 

“What made you wear that tonight?” he asks.

You shrug, “Found it in my closet.”

“Oh, and you just felt like teasing me, huh?” he grins, “Whatever you want, you can have it.”

He watches the smile break out across your face, and suddenly, everything else melts away from him. It’s just you, it always has been, and the rest of it is simply noise to him. 

“Well, there is one thing,” you tease. 

His heart lurches at the sight of you pursing your lips before you ask for it, and Rafe is desperate to tell you that it’s already yours. 

“Yes,” he says in a deep voice, clearing his throat as you lean closer. 

“Will you have a glass of wine with me out by the pool after dinner?”

He swallows and keeps his lips pressed tight, not wanting to let out the whimper that threatens to leave him at the sight of you wanting, needing, begging for his company. 

The thought of reliving that experience — of sitting outside with his knee grazing yours as he sips wine and tries to think of something equally clever and cool to say, makes him feel dizzy. In the best way possible.

“Sweetheart, I would love that,” he replies, “You grab glasses and a bottle while I clean up.”

“Okay,” you smile. 

He takes a deep breath, then runs his index finger over the loop he’d created with your panties. Casually, he tucks the one finger inside, through your folds, feeling how much his teasing has truly gotten to you. 

He laughs to himself, looking smug and prideful as ever. You nudge him with your shoulder, then playfully swat at his hand. Reluctantly, Rafe extracts his hand and drags it back down to the middle of your thigh, then kisses your temple once more. 

“Daddy, look!” Josie exclaims, earning both of your attention, “I’ve been tryin’ to show you how I ate all my vegetables.”

“Yeah, Rafe,” Topper smirks, “She’s been trying to show you.”

Rafe narrows his eyes at Topper, ignoring the way you exhale out a laugh. 

“Sorry, princess. I’m so proud of you for eating your vegetables. Want more?”

“No,” she says immediately, “Connor needs to eat his.”

Connor looks over at Rafe and gives him a wide smile before stabbing a green bean with his fork and popping it into his mouth. 

“He will, Jo,” Rafe assures her, “So will Mommy.”

You nudge his shoulder again, “Mind your business, Cameron.”

“You are my business, Cameron.”

     Rafe rushes through cleaning, only half-listening to your father’s rambles about referees and how they can make or break the game. As soon as they finish, he dries his hands and quickly asks your mom to watch the kids for a bit, then hurries out onto the patio. 

He freezes in his tracks when he gets to the screen door. You’re sitting the way you always did; legs dangling in the water with a wine bottle beside you. Wearing the same dress you had on when you kissed him. 

And now, he realizes, you’re waiting on him. Everything hits him all over again — the way it does on occasion when he catches you doing something for him. The first time you left a note in the lunch you packed for him, he got no work done for the rest of the day. When Kelce borrowed his truck and returned it looking less than pristine on the outside, you took it and got it washed and vacuumed before he even saw it, then added a picture of the two of you on his dash. The first time he saw the picture, he came back inside, and was subsequently late to work.

Now, it hits him as he sees you waiting on him in the same spot that he’d managed to put himself on your radar. He remembers just how much he wanted you to look his way, how he wanted you to be happy, and how he vowed to himself when you agreed to marry him that he would make sure that was the case. 

He waited on you for years, and the sight of you waiting on him, now, makes his heart beat a little faster. 

“You gonna stare all night, or come join?”

You don’t even look back. He grins so hard that he swears his muscles start to ache, and without even a moment’s worth of hesitation, he hurries out of the patio and over to you. 

“Can’t help myself,” he admits, “What did you expect, anyway? Putting this dress on and teasing the shit out of me at the table.”

You laugh and hand him a glass, then pick up your own. Rafe makes sure to brush his fingers against your own, then tucks his arm around you. His legs drop into the pool beside yours, and you place your head on his shoulder. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” you say shyly. 

Rafe’s heart plummets in his chest. What does that mean? Why is she saying that? 

He starts to grip the wine glass too tight, and uses his one arm around you to center himself. He swallows, then takes a long sip of wine to ease whatever blow you’re about to administer. 

“And?” he asks roughly. 

You snicker, then turn and place your chin on his shoulder. He relaxes slightly, sure that if you were about to tell him something major, you wouldn’t be behaving this way. 

“Relax,” you whisper, leaning forward and pressing a long kiss to his jaw, “It’s nothing bad. I mean, nothing bad to me, I guess, I just… I’ve been thinking about what Kelce said to me a few weeks ago. How everyone thinks we’re perfect together.”

Rafe’s brows furrow, “You don’t think we are?”

His heart beats faster in his chest, but he tries to calm himself. Not react too quickly. You need time to articulate your thoughts, and he knows it. He watches as you shake your head, looking annoyed at yourself for not expressing yourself the right way. 

“I don’t think we’re perfect,” you say, “But, nobody is. We work at our relationship and, yeah, we’re probably better at that than most, but still.”

Rafe nods, “Yeah, you’re right. Did it bother you? What Kelce said?”

“I mean, yeah,” you shrug it off, “For a little while. Then, I started telling myself that we’ve been through so much together, and the only people our relationship has to make sense to is us.”

Rafe’s lips tip up, and he subtly scoots his leg closer to yours. He’s sure you’ll think it was an accident, but it wasn’t. It never is. 

“Makes perfect sense to me,” he teases.

When you laugh, Rafe feels everything settle in his chest. He no longer feels that sense of anxiety or fear, and instead, he reaches for your hand. Your fingers lace together the same way they have a million times, and it dawns on Rafe that this is the first place he ever held your hand, too. So many of your firsts have been out here, and the memory brings a warm feeling to his stomach. 

“Do you remember our first kiss?” you ask quietly. 

Rafe fights back a groan, “How could I forget it?”

To him, the question seems silly. He could probably tell you every detail of that night if he wanted to, because it was the first night of many that he got exactly what he’d been dreaming of. 

You laugh, “Rafe, Wheezie caught us.”

Your tone elicits a chuckle from his lips before he can stop himself.

“Yeah, she did, huh?” he laughs, “Do you remember our second kiss?”

“Hmm?”

He grins, “You wore the sexiest outfit to Matt McCall’s party, and—”

“Shut up!” you exclaim, bumping your shoulder with his. 

He can’t help but laugh when you grow embarrassed, recalling the memory yourself. He squeezes your hand as he laughs, not allowing his eyes to leave you. 

“No,” he jokes, “I couldn’t keep my hands off of you. Especially because you told me that you wore it just for me, do you remember?”

“I remember,” you reply sheepishly, “I think that went to your head.”

“Oh, it definitely did,” he laughs.

You settle back in, inching closer to Rafe as you do it. He bites down on his cheek to contain his smile, then drains the rest of his wine. 

“Did you know Matt’s married now?” 

“No,” he shrugs, “Poor girl.”

“Ha ha,” you roll your eyes, listening to him chuckle as he squeezes your hand, then releases to pour you more wine, then himself, “Seriously. He got married to some girl he met at UNC. They’re big into traveling. I see it all the time on Instagram.”

Rafe snickers, “You follow Matt McCall on Instagram?” 

He looks up from his pour to find you with pursed lips, staring into the pool like you don’t want to confess the truth to him. He smiles widely, then hands your wine glass back. 

“I’m guilty of the occasional social media stalking,” you mumble, “But everyone does it! I’m sure you do, too.”

Rafe’s brain works fast, too fast, and he knows his response will be equal parts amusing and embarrassing. 

“Oh, yeah. I just went through Brady’s Instagram for the fourth time this week. You know, your childhood crush. Your first love—”

“Stop it,” you groan, letting a laugh escape. 

Rafe just chuckles to himself, then takes your hand again once his glass is full. It’s almost as if he feels your emotions change from happy and playful to something different — something deeper. He feels it in the way you grip his hand, in the way you lay your head on his shoulder. He knows you want to be as close to him as he wants to be with you, and he’s perfectly okay with that. 

“Do you ever wish we got the chance to travel? Like Matt?” Rafe asks softly. 

“I don’t know,” you reply. 

He knows what this means. He knows that when you say you don’t know, it’s code for the fact that you know exactly what your answer is, but you’re too afraid to try and articulate your thoughts out of fear that it will be done incorrectly. So, knowing this, Rafe changes up his strategy. 

“Where would you want us to go? If we could go anywhere in the world.”

He feels you grin on his shoulder, and the grip on his hand grows just a little bit tighter. Bingo. 

“Well,” you say, sounding shy, “I know I should say something cool like Paris or Amsterdam, or whatever. But, I kind of have this vision of us in the mountains when it’s snowing. We’d rent a cabin and cook and drink a lot of wine. And, maybe we have a hot tub, and we could watch movies, and wear sweatpants the whole time, and just, you know, be together.”

Rafe nods, not wanting to give away how much that vision makes him happy. He can see it clear as day, and he can’t think of anything else that would even come close to heaven. He swallows down his own visions, his own plans, and keeps laying his groundwork. 

“That sounds nice,” he says evenly, “Where would you want this cabin to be?”

“They have nice ones in Colorado, I think. I’ve always heard about people going there.”

Rafe nods, remaining quiet as he works out a plan in his head. The occasion. The finances. The plane tickets. The requirements for the house — a hot tub, and he has to get you a balcony, because he knows you’ll want to look out at the snow while you drink coffee in the mornings. It would have to have a full kitchen so he could cook for you every night, and he needs time to plan out the meals and the grocery list. 

“That would be fun,” he chooses to say, then shifts and kisses the top of your head. 

“Yeah. It’s nice to think about,” you say, shrugging it off, “But, whatever. I love our life. Even if we don’t live like Matt McCall.”

“I love our life, too,” Rafe says quietly.

You shift from your position and lean up to plant a small kiss on his neck, which leaves Rafe preening for more. He’s not sure he could ever get enough. 

All at once, he notes how your mood seems to change. You smile playfully, like a thought has just popped into your head, and you scoot closer while you try — and fail — to keep your smirk at bay.

“You know who else I Instagram stalk?” you grin as Rafe’s head races with possibilities. 

“Who?”

“Sydney McCall.”

Rafe rolls his eyes and shakes his head, then pulls your entwined hands into his lap. You giggle and scoot closer, then take a large sip from your wine glass. 

“You’re hilarious,” he mutters sarcastically. 

“What?” you gasp, mocking him with your innocence, “You don’t check in on her from time to time?”

“Absolutely not,” Rafe snorts. 

“Mhm, okay,” you hum, finishing off your glass, before you look up at him with hazy eyes, “I’m sure you’re pining after her.”

He knows you’re just teasing, but his chest contracts at the thought. At the mere idea of ever pining after anyone else besides you. It just doesn’t seem possible to him. When he sees the way you bite down on your lip, clearly just wanting a reaction from him, he relaxes and pulls you closer to him. 

“Next time you say something like that, I’m gonna bite that lip for you,” he mutters. 

You laugh, which brings a smile to his face, too. Silently, he raises a brow to see if you want more wine, which you answer in a nod. He pours it into your glass and you settle right back into him without hesitation — a far cry from all those years ago when every touch was meticulously planned and Rafe went home desperate to get his hands on you again. 

“Rafe?”

He’ll never get used to hearing his name come from you, he swears. 

“Yeah?”

You hum contently, “I love hanging out with you.”

His chest swells with pride and he replays the words a few times to himself before he smiles and turns, kissing your forehead gently. 

“I love hanging out with you, too, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

He notes the level of your wine glass and the fact that you’ve already had one out here and one at the table. You’re tipsy, and he bites his tongue when he almost says something about it. 

“Can we make more time?” you ask, your eyes only half open and your words slightly slurred, “For us, I mean. Like, I know we hang out together after the kids go to bed, but we’re both so tired, and — this is what I want. Me and you, just talking and kissing. Do you want to kiss me?”

Rafe snorts. What kind of question is that? 

“Of course I want to kiss you, baby,” he practically groans.

He turns, expecting you to lean up and give him a quick peck before you start rambling again. Which is why, when you release his hand and pull your feet from the water, his eyes grow wide and he scoots back. 

He remembers this with you. He remembers how you would shyly hint that you wanted to make out with him, and he’d always give in because it was you, and he wasn’t willing to push his luck. He remembers the first time he ever let himself fully believe that he got you was in this exact position, with your lips on his neck, and your soft little gasps in his ear every time he touched your skin. 

You get settled on his lap, knees on either side of him, and wrap your arms around his neck. He grins the same way he did at eighteen, and he lets his hands rest on your thighs as he takes you in. 

“Hi,” you whisper, your drunken shyness doing something to his heart. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says back, “Come here.”

One of his hands travels up to your back, where he guides you into him. His other hand slips up your thigh, bunching your dress at your hip. He already predicts your moves, and he’s correct, when your right hand travels up into his hair, and your left starts to rub his back. 

The way you always run your fingers through his hair drives him crazy, but initially, the back rubbing had been discovered by you when Rafe was the intoxicated one. You had been picking him up from boys' night, and he kept stealing kisses from you as you stood in Kelce’s driveway, trying to get him into the car while talking to Maddie. Rafe kept trying to get back out to talk to Kelce, and to coax him into relaxing, you started rubbing his back. He relaxed instantly, and when you continued to do it as he kissed you, he wasn’t shy about letting you know that he enjoyed it. 

Knowing you want him to, Rafe takes control of the kiss and lets his tongue skim across your bottom lip. You grant him entry and giggle into his mouth when you feel his tongue against yours. His hand escapes under your dress and loops through your panties again, and you tug lightly on his hair in response. He groans at the feeling, wanting you to do it again, when you start moving your hips against his. 

“Baby,” he pants, breaking the kiss and steadying you in his lap, “Oh, God, please don’t do that to me right now.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, and the pout on your lips makes it even harder for Rafe to concentrate in this moment, “Just feels good.”

“I know,” he nods. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and smiles up at you, then leans up and pecks you again, “About what you said, though—”

“No,” you immediately stop him, scooting closer and cuddling into his chest, “I was being stupid. I’m busy. You’re busy. We don’t have time to be—”

“Every Wednesday, we should go out. Just me and you. We can talk gossip, and politics, and bore the shit out of each other. Sundays will be family days again. I know I’ve been playing golf a lot, but I’d rather be with you and the kids. And, every two or three months, I want us to plan a little trip. Just for the weekend. Be together in a hotel and find little coffee places you’ll love, and catch up on all the sex that gets interrupted by our crazy life. How does that sound?”

The pout on your lip grows as he speaks, and he knows he’s done something absolutely right. Without warning, you lean forward and start peppering little kisses all over his cheeks, lips, chin, and nose, which makes him laugh. 

When you pull back, you’re grinning widely, and he squeezes your hip playfully just to watch you giggle. 

“I fall more and more in love with you as the years go by, Rafe Cameron,” you say, laughing at your own cheesiness. 

He couldn’t be more honest in this moment, “I fall in love with you every single goddamn day.”

You grin and kiss him again, as if you just can’t help yourself. The wine glasses sit beside the two of you, completely forgotten. Just as Rafe ducks his head for another kiss from you, he hears the familiar sound of a baby cooing and his best friend’s voice. 

“I’m taking Ellie home, so the two of you have five seconds to get dressed if you want to say goodbye!”

*i no longer have a tag list. follow @mackupdates to see when i post new content!

[mackupdates]

gray area (1) — bucky barnes

summary — you meet your new neighbor, Bucky, along with his friends and his son.

wc — 4k

series masterlist | navigation

You stand in the middle of your new driveway, staring up at the townhome that you now hold the keys to. You’d signed your name on the dotted line last week, and although it feels like forever since then, a part of you can’t believe it’s actually happening. 

“Still not sure why you’re so against moving in with me,” Natasha, your best friend, grumbles as she grabs another box out of the truck of your car, “I mean, yeah, there’s a few bad things about my apartment complex, but—”

“Your next door neighbor shot his girlfriend last week,” you argue, then add, “And, half of the people that live there are selling drugs!”

“Okay,” Natasha rolls her eyes, “One, that girl was a bitch. She also survived, so it’s fine. And, honestly, Y/N, everyone is selling drugs these days.”

“I’m not,” you reply, sticking your tongue out at her. 

“Right. You’re too much of a workaholic to be selling — or doing — drugs, anyway. I’m surprised they haven’t paged you—”

“Oh!” you exclaim, “I actually should go check my work phone. Can you get the rest of the boxes out?”

Being a nurse in the critical care unit of one of the best hospitals in your state, you have no choice but to be constantly thinking about your job. Natasha, who runs her own company, understands your need to be available 24/7, although she rarely expresses it. She thinks you hold yourself too accountable, but you disagree. 

Being responsible is the reason you’re able to afford to live on your own at twenty four. Being responsible has landed you a great job, salary, and benefits. Sure, you’ve had to sacrifice to get it, and Natasha thinks you’re lonely, but you’re happy for the most part. 

You check your phone and find nothing, then breathe in a happy breath. That means you’ll get to spend the remainder of the day unpacking and moving in. The boxes are lining the walls and starting to feel overwhelming; the clutter too much for you to handle.

Natasha comes strolling in a few minutes later, holding nothing but a lamp in her hand. You raise a brow, and she smirks. 

“Seriously? That’s all you could carry?” you tease. 

She shrugs, “I found some reinforcements.”

Before you can ask what she means, two men come strolling into your living room, both with boxes in their arms. Your jaw falls as Natasha laughs beside you, shamelessly checking them out as their muscles flex against their tight tee shirts. 

“Where do you want ‘em, Natasha?”

Natasha whips her head over to you, “Babe?”

You swallow when both men look over to you. Up and down their eyes go, taking in your sundress and curled hair before respectfully looking back up at you. They smirk when you stutter under their gazes, then point to the free corner of the living room. 

“Um, over here is fine,” you say, “Thank you so much, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Natasha interrupts, tugging on your elbow, “I already told them how we needed two big, strong guys to help us.”

The blonde sets his boxes down first, then steps forward and extends a hand. You give him a friendly, shy smile and shake it, ignoring the way his large hand engulfs yours. 

“I’m Steve,” he says, “One of the big, strong guys your friend recruited.”

Your smile widens, “Hi, Steve. Thank you very much for being willing to help.”

“No problem, I—”

The other man shoves Steve’s shoulder, then grins at you and extends a hand of his own. 

“Sam Wilson,” he informs you, squeezing your hand, “It’s such a pleasure. We’ve been wondering who was gonna take this place.”

“Now we know,” Steve cuts in, “So, what’s your—”

Your phone buzzes on the counter, and before you even realize what you’re doing, you turn and rush to it. 

“Ouch,” Sam whispers, nudging Steve’s chest before turning to Natasha, “Boyfriend?”

“Worse,” Natasha rolls her eyes, “Job.”

“That’s why I retired years ago,” Sam grins, “Right, Cap?”

Steve’s eyes haven’t left you yet; watching as you slump your shoulders when you realize the alert is just a routine message from the hospital. 

“Let’s go get the rest of the boxes,” Steve grunts, grabbing Sam by the shirt collar. 

Natasha follows the men outside, and after a minute, you do, too. Steve is in the middle of pulling another box from the trunk when you appear outside, dress swaying in the slight breeze. Sam elbows Steve in the chest when he catches him looking, and the men exchange a silent glare before getting back to work. 

“You guys really don’t have to do this,” you gush, placing a gentle hand on Steve’s bicep to stop him, “It’s okay, we can handle it. It’s only a few more, right, Nat?”

Natasha smirks, then shrugs innocently, “I don’t see the harm in letting them help, Y/N. You can always thank them properly later.”

Steve blushes at Natasha’s comment, but doesn’t play into the innuendo in the slightest. Instead, he turns toward you and gives you a gentle smile. 

“We really don’t mind,” he says. 

“Yeah, and he speaks for both of us, now,” Sam grunts. 

You laugh and drop your hand from Steve’s arm as if to give him silent permission to continue. Just as his hands reach around the next box, all of you hear the loud, screeching voice of a toddler. 

“Jamie incoming!”

Sam turns with just enough time to catch the four year-old launching himself into his arms, grinning from ear to ear at the promise of a hug from his uncle. 

“What’s goin’ on, Jay-Man?” Sam asks, gripping the boy tight. 

“Nothin’,” he smiles. 

“I don’t believe you for a second,” Sam laughs, “Where’s your—”

“Jamie, you’ve gotta put shoes on before you run outside. You know better.”

You swallow at the sight of the man stepping off the porch of the house next door and into the grass, where he eyes the toddler resting in Sam’s arms. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a tee shirt, sports messy brown hair, and has stubble that you’d bet is only there because he hasn’t gotten around to shaving. 

“Relax, Buck, he’s a kid,” Sam replies, “Tell him, Jay.”

“I’m a kid,” Jamie repeats, grinning widely. 

The man, the one who left the house following the boy, lets his eyes travel from his friends to you. He gives you a gentle smile and you do the same back to him, feeling your stomach twist and turn the longer his eyes remain on you. 

“Aww!” Natasha squeals, stepping over to Sam and Jamie, “How old is he?”

“He’s four,” Sam states proudly, “You think he’s cute? He’s got my eyes, doesn’t he?”

You continue to stare, knowing you should stop but completely unable to. When his eyes — those devastatingly blue eyes — leave yours to travel down your body, you swallow. You hope he likes what he sees, but you don’t question where that thought comes from. The male gaze has never been one you’ve longed for, but right now, you can’t remember why. 

His jaw ticks as he breaks into a smile, raising a hand and conducting a small, shy wave. You bite down on your bottom lip to conceal your own grin, waving back. 

“So, he’s your son?” Natasha’s voice draws you back into reality.

Sam shrugs, “I mean, I take care of the rugrat, you know what I mean?”

Natasha nods, her eyes moving toward Steve when he scoffs, “Jamie is not Sam’s kid.”

As if to prove it, Jamie starts to squirm in Sam’s grasp, then makes grabby hands as he reaches for Bucky. 

“Daddy,” he frowns, “Is it snack time?”

Bucky nods and steps forward, reaching out to collect Jamie from Sam, who sighs, now that his cover has been blown. 

“C’mere, buddy,” Bucky says as he takes hold of his son, who immediately cuddles himself into his dad, “We can have a snack if you’re hungry.”

Your heart rate seems to speed up at the image of a father caring for his son so outright — something you never experienced so openly. Shyly, his eyes find yours as he adjusts his son in his hold, giving you a more forced, pained smile. You try to smile back in hopes of telling him that you find Jamie to be cute; that you’re happy to have them next door. 

“C’mon, Sarge, you gotta meet the new neighbor, first,” Sam lectures, pointing over to you, “This is Y/N, even though she never actually introduced herself to us. Y/N, this is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, and his son, Jamie.”

“It’s just Bucky,” he immediately corrects, giving you another small smile as he offers his free hand out to you, “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” you reply, holding his gaze for a beat too long before your eyes catch on the little boy in his arms, “And it’s very nice to meet you, Jamie.”

He grows shy in his father’s arms and hides in his chest, earning a laugh from both you and Bucky. 

“Sorry,” Bucky says quietly, “He’ll open up eventually.”

You shake your head, “No need to apologize. He’s very cute.”

As if the compliment was meant for him, Bucky’s cheeks grow pink. To try and conceal it, he looks down at Jamie and tries to get him to talk, but the boy refuses. 

You try to think of something to say; a way to start up a conversation with Bucky, but Steve steps behind you — close enough that you can feel his body heat through your dress — and clears his throat. 

“Want me to take the kid for a snack, Sarge?” Steve questions, noting Bucky’s blushing cheeks. 

“Can we play superheroes, too?” Jamie asks his uncle, perking up. 

“Of course, dude. We can fly on the trampoline and everything.”

Jamie grins and immediately reaches for his uncle, changing grips yet again. Steve laughs and grabs hold of the toddler, then looks down at you. 

“Good to meet you, Y/N,” he says politely, then steps away and pats Bucky on the back, “You got this.”

Bucky’s face burns under the not-so-quiet encouragement from his best friend. Sam and Natasha grab more boxes from the car while simultaneously shamelessly flirting, which leaves you and Bucky outside in the cool air, alone. 

“Sorry about them,” Bucky says quickly, “They make quite the first impression.”

You nod in agreement, “They do. Do all of you live over there?”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he shakes his head quickly, so quickly that you try not to laugh. 

“God, no. The guys just come over to help me take care of Jamie. It’s, uh, just me over there. And Jamie, obviously.”

You laugh at the way he shakes his head, trying to collect his thoughts and stop himself from rambling. When he sees you laughing, he relaxes and even offers a chuckle at himself.

“Anyway,” he changes the subject, “What brings you to the neighborhood?”

“New job,” you answer proudly, “I’m a nurse at West County General.”

He cocks up a brow, “No kidding. Bet that keeps you busy.”

“It sure does,” you agree, “But, it’s really rewarding. I love it.”

He smiles as you smile, and when you see the tips of his ears grow pink, your grin widens. Sam and Natasha emerge from the house then, and they seem to burst whatever bubble you and Bucky have formed for yourself. 

“I should check on Jamie,” he mumbles, already taking a step back, “It was nice to meet you, Y/N. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

You grin, giving him a shy wave, “Thank you, Bucky.”

He returns your smile and wave, letting it linger between the two of you for a second too long before he turns and hurries back inside his house. 

When you turn around, Sam and Natasha are leaning up against your car, standing a little too close and looking a little too friendly. Clearing your throat loudly, you earn your best friend's gaze. 

“We should be getting ready, huh?” you ask her, giving her a subtle eyebrow raise. 

She sighs, “Yes. Thanks for the help, Sam. Hope we see each other again soon.”

He winks at her, then gives you a warm smile and a nod before taking a few steps back, inching toward Bucky’s house. 

“Nice to meet you, ladies,” he calls, offering a wave before he turns his back and heads away. 

“God, he’s so hot,” Natasha groans, “Like, did you see those muscles?” 

You chuckle and grab her, pulling her toward your new home, “Come on. Wanda’s gonna be pissed if we’re late.”

“Oh, who cares,” Natasha mumbles, but follows your lead, anyway. 

     The bar that Wanda planned for the three of you to go to is loud and crowded by the time you and Natasha arrive. To celebrate your new move and career, Wanda demanded a night out with you. Naturally, Natasha caught wind of the plans and invited herself — which was fine with you, because you always feel safer having her around while you’re drinking. Wanda, on the other hand, wasn’t wild about the inclusion of your best friend. They put up with each other, but they aren’t fans. And to you, it’s obvious. 

“Y/N!” Wanda squeals, “What do you think of this place? I thought it was cool, kinda has a retro vibe to it.”

“So retro,” Natasha quips, offering Wanda a smug smile. 

You nudge Natasha in the side and look around, taking the place in. It reminds you of Wanda in a way that you’d expect her to like it,  but you don’t necessarily care one way or another. A new area means new bars, new restaurants, and you know you have to figure out what you like and what you don’t. 

“It’s nice,” you smile, “Thank you so much for setting this up.”

“Of course,” she beams, “Let me get us a round. They have a killer lime mojito.”

“Oh, bummer,” Natasha pouts, “I’m actually on this new no-lime diet. Mind getting me a vodka soda?”

Wanda takes a calculated breath, “Sure. Be right back.”

You snort as soon as Wanda disappears and turn around to Natasha, who is smirking proudly at herself. When she catches your raised eyebrows, she feigns innocence and shrugs her shoulders. 

“What?” she teases, “It’s a real diet.”

“Mhm,” you hum, “Sure it is.”

“It is!” she laughs, then nudges you over to the two available barstools. You set your purse down on the bar and Natasha sits while you remain standing, not wanting Wanda to feel left out, “It’s new. I’m on a no-lime, all-new neighbor Sam diet.”

You let out a loud laugh, “Oh, right. He doesn’t even live over there, you know.”

“He doesn’t?”

“No,” you shake your head, “Bucky told me—”

“Bucky told you?” she gasps, grabbing your arms, “Oh, tell me exactly what Bucky told you.”

You huff, “Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not!” she protests, “I just want to know what your sexy new neighbor told you.”

“Stop.”

“Stop, what?”

You both turn and find Wanda standing there with three drinks in her hands, looking like she could use some help. Immediately, you grab one of them and set it down on the bar, then trade Natasha her drink for yours. 

“Oh, Y/N’s got this really hot neighbor,” Natasha fills her in, sipping her drink, “Total DILF.”

“Nat,” you hiss, then turn to Wanda, “He’s just a nice guy. He’s got a four year old son.”

“Look at you, remembering details,” Wanda teases, and suddenly, she and Natasha are laughing together — like they’re actually friends. 

“Oh, please,” you huff, downing half of your drink and listening to Natasha cheer you on before you speak again, “I’m sure he has someone, anyway.”

“He was blushing hard,” Natasha points out. 

“He was?” Wanda gasps. 

“Stop!” you demand, laughing as you take another sip, “Nat, why don’t we gossip about you and Sam, instead.”

She grins mischievously, “Yeah, I’ve definitely got my eye on him. But, that’s not as fun as watching you squirm.”

Wanda laughs, “Totally.”

You roll your eyes and finish off your drink, knowing Natasha is about to start in again, and you’re much too sober for it. 

“Wanda, you should’ve seen the way Bucky’s friend, Steve, was flirting with her, too,” she continues, “He carried in boxes, and I’ll be damned, she even put her hand on his arm! And that man is all muscles. She loves to play innocent, but I think she knows what she’s doing.”

“She definitely does,” Wanda agrees, “I’m sure you’ve got both of those guys in a chokehold already. This will be interesting.”

You sigh, “Anyway.”

“Aw, don’t get all pouty,” Nat teases. 

“I’m just not looking for that right now,” you explain casually, waving down the bartender for another drink, “I want a quiet life. My own house, my job, and my weekend outings with you guys. I don’t need some guy.”

They both soften as they stare at you, listening closely as you explain your feelings to them. They know how you’ve been handled by men in the past, and they understand that you’re not like them. You can’t let it roll off your back the way you do; you take it personally. You get hurt when you shouldn’t. You attach meaning to things where others don’t. Now, with your job and your improved mental state, you don’t feel like risking any of it over a man. 

“Well, cheers to that, then,” Wanda breaks the silence, holding her cup up in the air, “Let’s get fucking drunk.”

     You wake the next morning with regret, anxiety, and one big, fat headache. You groan and curse out loud at yourself, then climb out of the bed to get some coffee and aspirin in you. Briefly, you consider food, but the thought makes your stomach turn. 

You spy a note on the counter in Natasha’s handwriting, which is the first thing that clues you in that she isn’t here. 

Thanks for last night! Had to run. Chores to do at home. Still coming on Tuesday night with Chinese to help you unpack, so you better not be called in to work. 

XOXO,

Nat 

You smile at it as you fire up the coffee maker, then dig through the open box on your counter until you find the bottle of aspirin you always keep handy. You recap the night in your mind; the teasing about the neighbors, the drinks, the dancing, the drinks, the karaoke, the drinks. You hadn’t planned on drinking so much, but you wanted to let off some steam. Given that you work a fourteen hour shift tomorrow, you feel like you deserved it. Now, you’re not so sure. 

     After a few hours, your headache starts to subside and your stomach growls. Knowing you don’t have any food in the house and refusing to do an entire grocery store run, you resort to picking up takeout. 

As you pull down the newly familiar street with a bag of food sitting on your passenger seat, you notice motion at the house next to yours. Steve is out in Bucky’s front yard, tossing a foam football around with Noah. You smile at the sight, then let your eyes travel a little further left. Bucky is pushing a mower down his lawn, shirtless, sweaty, and showstopping. 

You groan when you realize you’re in shorts and a giant sweatshirt with messy hair; not at all presentable for him. Then, you scold yourself for even thinking that way. 

We’re just neighbors. That’s it. 

Regardless, you still try to fix your hair before you get out of the car. Steve recognizes your vehicle and waves over to Bucky, who stops the mower and walks over to his garage, where he grabs a cloth to wipe up his sweat. 

You climb out of the car shyly, wondering if you should clear out your garage today just so this could be avoided in the future. Before you even lock the doors, Steve’s voice carries across the yard. 

“Go ahead, buddy. She’s right there.”

You furrow your brows, gripping your food a little tighter. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Y/N.”

You can’t help but grin as soon as you hear his little voice, and you forget all about your hangover and the bag of grease in your hand as you spin around. 

“Good afternoon, Jamie,” you reply, watching the little boy’s cheeks grow pink, “Are you kicking your uncle’s butt in football?”

You gesture to the foam ball in Jamie’s palms, and shyly, he nods his head. 

“Yes,” Jamie grins, “He’s not very good.”

“Excuse me,” Steve cuts in, “I’ve taught him everything he knows.”

“Everything?”

Your eyes move from Jamie and Steve to Bucky, who is approaching with a teasing grin. You stare as he brings his cloth around the back of his neck and wipes his sweat away, then drags his eyes from his friend over to you. 

His muscles in his chest flex then, and you visibly swallow and look away. You swear you hear Steve’s low chuckle, but you don’t dare look over out of fear that the men will see right through you. 

“Hi, Y/N,” Bucky greets you, watching as you hesitantly look back up at him again. 

“Hi, Bucky,” you reply, trying to figure out what to follow up with, only to blurt, “Yard looks good.”

Steve snorts and you clamp your lips together, wishing silently that you could snatch the words right out of the air and back into your mouth. 

Even so, Bucky’s lips tip up into a genuine smile, and you swear you see the high points of his cheeks go pink — just like Jamie’s. 

“Thanks,” he says sheepishly, “I’m happy to help you out with yours anytime you need it.”

He watches as you recoil at his kindness, letting your shoulders drop and a pout form on your lips. Steve sighs audibly, but neither of you even glance his way. 

“Thank you very much, I appreciate that,” you smile. 

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you grow stuck in a trance of sorts as you explore him with your eyes; his tan skin, his chest, his softening belly that makes your knees feel physically weak, and his messy hair. His soft brown eyes that work all over your body, too. 

“Wouldn’t want that food to get cold, Y/N,” Steve says knowingly, drawing you and Bucky away from each other. 

“Right. I’ll let you guys get back to it,” you give Bucky a nod and he returns it, then you move your eyes down to Jamie, “Nice to see you, Jamie. Keep beating him, okay?”

Jamie grins, “Okay.”

Steve and Bucky both laugh and so do you, and with a wave to Steve, you disappear inside your house. You try not to replay the entire thing in your head as you set your food out to eat. You turn on a show on the TV that is only half hooked up, and just as you start to eat, you hear the lawnmower fire up again. 

With minimal hesitation and refusal to think twice, you hurry over to your window — the one that faces Bucky’s — and watch as he pushes the mower down the side of his house. He’s focused, sweaty, and tan, and it stirs something inside of you. Careful not to get caught, you let your food get cold on the coffee table, Steve be damned. Bucky is a sight to see, and you find nothing wrong with indulging. It means nothing, you tell yourself. It means nothing. He’s just nice to look at, that’s all.

a/n: pleeeease let me know if i should continue writing this or not! so curious what your thoughts will be! reblogs are appreciated and thank you for reading &lt;3

*i no longer have a tag list. follow @mackupdates to see every time i post something new!

[mackupdates]

gray area — bucky barnes

summary — as the father of a four year-old, Bucky has given up on ever being able to fall in love again. You, a nurse with a tough job, don't want to fall in love again. Both equally smitten, you try to navigate your feelings, as well as your job, and Bucky's son.

pairing — nurse!reader x single dad!bucky

part one — coming 2/2!

*i no longer have a tag list. follow @mackupdates to see when i post something new!

[mackupdates]

parenthood part twenty three: forever & always, and then some

a/n: oh boy! 12k words to (hopefully) feed your parenthood craving. i am already dying to know what you all think of this, so please don't hesitate to hop into the comments or my ask box to talk! hope you enjoy! reblogs are appreciated :)

warnings: angst warning. swearing, verbal arguments, anxiety, panic attack, crying, kissing

ambivalence masterlist , parenthood masterlist

     The Island Club hasn’t changed one bit since you were employed here and running drinks around to Rafe and his friends before you knew he even had a crush on you. As you watch the waitresses make their rounds to the same customers, serving the same food to the same tables, you chuckle to yourself at the thought of ever having to deal with that again. 

Scott sits across from you, fidgeting in his seat slightly as he holds himself back from pulling a cigarette from his pocket. You skim over him, taking in his appearance. 

His hair is freshly cut and the rosiness is back in his cheeks after having disappeared for so long. He’s eating three meals a day again, and to you, it seems his only unhealthy habit is smoking. In time, you’re sure he will move past that. 

“How’re the kids?” he asks, looking up at you. 

“They’re good,” you reply, “They’re busy bees lately. Connor is starting on a soccer team, so Rafe’s been helping him practice.”

“That’s awesome,” Scott grins, and the sight makes you smile, “Kid always has had one hell of a kick. What about Josie girl?”

You chuckle, “She’s all about dance, recently. She wants me to sign her up for a class, and I’ve been trying to get this teacher to call me back about getting her in.”

“Wow. Good for her. She’s so driven, Y/N. They both are.”

“Yeah, they’re something,” you laugh. 

He gives you a smile, but it fades fast before he asks, “And, Rafe?” 

“He’s doing really well. He’s less stressed at work, and he’s spending a lot of time with the kids.”

Scott nods, “Is he still… y’know? Pissed at me?”

You sigh and look down at your lap, unwilling to respond right away. Rafe’s feelings toward Scott have been complicated ever since he showed up to the house and scared the shit out of you and the kids, even though you’ve worked through it and have encouraged Rafe to do the same. Your loyalty to your brother runs deeper than Rafe’s does — because, as he puts it, he will always choose the safety and security of his family. Especially his children. 

“He’s not pissed, Scott,” you say carefully. 

“Right, he’s just done with me,” he laughs dryly, “Look, it’s fine, Y/N. I get it.”

You nod, and when your waiter drops your plates in front of you, you’re relieved when Scott eats his meal and has several glasses of water. 

He tells you about the new job he just started and how he’s finally, officially, cut ties with Mae after she’s yanked him around for over a year. How he’s attending regular AA meetings and actually participating in them. He’s even made a few friends in the group, and they go out to eat together after their meetings to keep themselves busy. 

By the time he pays for your lunch and walks you out to your car, you can’t help but pull him into a tight embrace. He hugs you back and gives you a wide smile, silently telling you that he really is doing better. 

“So, listen, I was kinda hoping I could see them soon,” he says, clarifying, “The kids.”

You know you should run it by Rafe first, but the look in Scott’s eye and the pride swelling in your heart at his improvement has you answering faster than you should. 

“That would be great,” you nod. 

He smiles, “Perfect. How about Wednesday afternoon? I don’t have to be at work ‘til six. Do they have sports or anything?”

You hold up a finger and check the calendar on your phone, finding nothing for yourself or either of the kids on Wednesday after they get home from school. 

“Wednesday works,” you reply, “I’ll bring them to your apartment.”

“Awesome,” he beams, then pulls you in for another hug, “Thank you so much, Y/N. I can’t wait.”

“The kids will be very excited,” you tell him, squeezing him tight. 

He laughs lightly, sounding like himself and making you relax even more. He’s finally in a better place, and you couldn’t be happier about it. 

Scott opens your car door for you and then closes it once you’re inside. He stands there and watches as you back out, then offers you a wave before you drive away. You smile the whole way home, thankful beyond belief that your brother is doing right by himself and improving his life where he needs it. 

     When you get home, Rafe is in the kitchen. You smile at the sight of him at the stove, stirring peppers around a skillet and listening to music. You can hear the kids playing in the playroom, and when Rafe notices you come in, he steps away from the food and to you. 

“Hey, baby, how was lunch?” he asks, helping you remove your jacket. 

“It was good,” you say with a smile, “Club hasn’t changed a bit.”

“Nah, I figured as much.”

He hangs up your jacket and your purse for you, then steps back over and guides his arm around your waist. You smile and set your hands on his chest, feeling his warmth. 

“How are the kids?” you ask him. 

“Josie hid Connor’s firetruck underneath the couch, and Bo got it,” he fills you in, watching your eyes pop in horror, “He was very distraught.”

“Oh, no, poor baby,” you pout, “I’ll see if I can find another one for him tomorrow.”

Rafe grins, “You’re so good to them, they don’t even know it.”

You laugh and grab ahold of his chin lightly, pulling him down to give him a kiss. He accepts it, then offers you a small apology as he momentarily breaks away to pull the skillet off the heat and to the back burner. 

When he moves back to you, assuming the same position, you swallow your nervousness of breaching the topic, and instead, slip your hands under his shirt. 

“So, listen,” you start, “Scott got a job. He’s working nights right now, and he goes after his AA meetings. He seems really, really good.”

He nods patiently, but you can tell by his eyes that he’s not receptive whatsoever to where you’re going to take this conversation. 

“That’s good,” he replies, his voice even. 

“Yeah, it is,” you say hopefully, rising up on your tiptoes, “So, anyway, he was asking if he could see the kids on Wednesday before he has to work.”

Rafe raises a brow, “And what did you tell him?”

You swallow again and press your palms into his skin, hoping your touch will lighten him up.

“Well, I… I think it’s a good idea. It would be good for him, and the kids miss him.”

Rafe’s chest deflates against your hands, and only because you know him so well can you predict what he’s going to say next. 

“Look, sweetheart, I’m thrilled that Scott is doing better. I am. I just don’t think this is the best time for that. Josie’s still adjusting to school, and Connor’s getting settled in a new classroom and he’s on a sports team. I feel like they have enough change going on right now, you know?”

You nod slowly, but look to the floor. He covers your hands with his own and takes them, bringing both of your knuckles up to his lips to kiss. You meet his eyes then, and you both take a second to analyze the other person’s expression. 

“It’s not really a change, though,” you push, keeping your voice light, “It’s just Scott.”

“Y/N, Scott scared the shit out of both of them when he showed up drunk.”

“I know, but he apologized for that,” you reply. 

Rafe drops your hands, “That doesn’t make it okay. To be honest, I’m just not comfortable with it. I need more time to work through things with him. I’m sorry, but can we please table this for now?”

You move to speak up, but bite your tongue at the very last second when one specific thought hits you. If you told Rafe you weren’t comfortable with something, he’d never fight with you on it. He would never pressure you into anything, and the thought of doing that to him makes your stomach turn. 

“Yes, of course,” you answer, “Thank you for being straight with me. We can talk about it when you’re ready.”

Rafe shifts and sets one large palm on your hip bone, where he pulls your body closer to his. 

“I’m not saying no, sweetheart. I’m just saying that I’d like to give it a little more time and make sure Scott really sticks to this change before we bring the kids back into it. That’s all.”

You nod and offer him a smile, “I understand, Rafe. I think that’s perfectly reasonable.”

“Thank you,” he says sweetly, “Now, Connor and I are making a grocery store run. Need anything?”

You step closer, “Coffee. And laundry pods for the washer. But not the blue and white ones—”

“The green and yellow ones, I know,” he teases, “I also put a stick of deodorant on the list for you, considering you went to throw it in the garbage this morning and fuckin’ banked the shot.”

“Excuse me,” you scoff, even though your heart swells at the fact that he not only noticed that, but also remembered it and put it on the list, “We need more bananas, too. You know what Josie’s like when we run out of those for her lunch.”

He laughs, “Yeah. Okay. Bananas, coffee, and laundry pods. I’ve got the rest of the list, but text me if you remember anything okay?”

“Okay,” you smile, “Thanks, handsome.”

He nods and signals for a kiss, grinning when you stand up on your tiptoes to give to him. When you pull back, he yells for Connor, knowing Josie will come running, too. 

“Oh, hey, did that lady ever call you back about Josie’s dance class?” he asks. 

“No,” you groan, “I’m hoping she will in the next few days. Otherwise, I’ll look somewhere else. I just heard that place is so good, I really wanted her to try it out.”

He shrugs, “She’ll be great anywhere. Come on, Connor! Shoes and jacket, hurry!”

He kisses you again quickly before he pulls away to get his own shoes and jacket, finishing in record time so he could steal just a few more kisses before the Sunday chores officially start. 

     Monday comes before you know it, and it brings a wave of destruction. Your meetings all get delayed, your work project is put on suspension, and Rose is driving you crazy about an upcoming event that you’re not even technically assigned to. 

Even more than that, Josie had a day. She refused to let go of you when you dropped her off at preschool, and after you managed to escape, they called you twice and Rafe once to report that she would not stop crying and demanding one of you to come get her. Being the parent at home on Mondays, Rafe picked her up, and she sat with him in his home office for the remainder of the day. 

     Tuesday morning finds you easier. You’re seated at your desk and fire up your work email after dropping both kids off at school — Josie did better today — when you realize that you never told Scott that the plans for tomorrow are off. 

You draft up a text message slowly over the next few hours, trying to sound equal parts assertive and sympathetic. At one o’clock, right before you send the text, your drafting is interrupted by a phone call. The nurse at Connor’s school tells you that he’s been running a fever and complaining of a stuffy nose and sore throat since before lunch. You sigh and agree to be right there to get him, then hit send on the text to Scott without thinking twice about it. 

     You return home with both Connor and Josie behind you. Well, Josie walks behind you while Connor lays in your arms, mumbling softly about how he feels cold despite his fever being high. Josie helps you the best she can to get Connor settled in his room, where you lay him in bed and put a light blanket over him, then get him a cup of water and take his temperature once more. It’s still high, so you give him a kiss and tell him to sleep for a bit before you come back up to check on him. 

“Is Connor okay, Mommy? Can we make him some soup?” Josie asks as the two of you slip out of his bedroom. 

You smile and pick her up, giving her a hug since you didn’t get to when you picked her up from school. 

“We should make him some soup,” you agree, “And, I’m sure you’re ready for your after-school snack, too.”

She grins mischievously, “Maybe.”

You laugh and carry her downstairs to the kitchen, where your phone sits on the counter. The screen fills with unanswered texts, so you set Josie down and grab it, scrolling through the messages. 

The first one you open is Rafe’s chain. Two from him — both exactly what you expected them to be. 

Just got a notification you checked Connor out of school? Is everything okay? 

I’ve got a meeting in half an hour but I can come home after if you need me. 

You look over at Josie, watching as she uses the handle on the bottom oven as a balance beam for ballet. Your heart squeezes, and you make a mental note to reach out to other dance studios in the area tomorrow. 

Quickly, you text Rafe back while stepping over to the pantry to get Josie a snack. 

He’s sick, but okay. Slight fever and head cold. Nothing to worry about. Good luck on your meeting, handsome. I love you. 

He returns the sentiment quickly, while also reminding you to call him if things change. Then, as you pour animal crackers into a bowl, you switch over to Scott’s text chain. 

First, you reread the text you sent to him. 

Hey, so I discussed things with Rafe, and we have decided to hold off on allowing the kids to come over. For now. We think it’s best to give you some more adjustment time, and then we can revisit the idea. I’m sorry, Scott. But, I will try to do better by sending you more pics of them. Just hang in there. Love you. 

You know it’s not perfect, but it has to do. It gets your point across, it doesn’t blame Rafe, and it’s sugar coated just enough for him. 

His reply follows your message, and the length looks drastically different. 

Y/N, I’m adjusted. I just want to see them. Didn’t you tell Rafe I’m doing better? Why is he keeping them from me?

“Mommy!” Josie calls, standing at the kitchen window, “There’s a red bird on the fence!” 

You frown at Scott’s text but lock your phone, then carry Josie’s snack over to her. You look out the window to where she’s pointing and find the cardinal that’s holding her attention so well. 

“Wow, beautiful, huh?” you ask, and she nods before you say, “Okay, come on. Let’s sit at the table and have a snack.”

She obeys and sits in her usual seat at the table, smiling widely when you follow her. You sit with her while she eats and talk to her about her day at school, listening intently even as she tells you the same story for ten entire minutes. 

You perk up when you hear the front door close. You know Rafe wouldn’t be coming into the house with his meeting coming up, and a fresh wave of worry passes through your body. 

“Y/N?”

You relax when you hear Scott’s voice, but only for a second. He knows he’s not allowed to come to the house; you had talked Rafe out of taking Scott’s key from him after his latest episode. 

Josie, like you, recognises the voice, and practically tips her chair right over as she attempts to get up. 

“Uncle Scott!” 

Her scream is loud, and she takes off from the kitchen before you can stop her. You groan internally, scrambling to already try and figure out what you’re going to say to Rafe. Despite it all, you follow Josie out of the kitchen and to the foyer, where she is currently diving into Scott’s open arms. 

“Hey, lovebug,” he grins widely, “Wasn’t sure you’d be home from school yet. I’m so happy to see you!”

She locks herself around his neck and presses kiss after kiss to his cheek, laughing when he laughs. 

“I’ve missed you,” she tells him, “Where have you been?”

He smiles sadly, then returns her kisses with his own, “I’ve been getting myself together. For you and Connor. Are you proud of me?”

“Yes,” she giggles, “Want to have an after school snack with me?”

His smile at her question tells you just how much the question means to him, and when he looks over at you for approval, you just can’t say no. Not to Scott; not to your baby brother who has struggled so much for so long, and just needs a little bit of love to keep him going. You can’t fault him for that, and no part of you is able to even consider kicking him out. Even if it’s not what you and Rafe have discussed and agreed on, you hope that when you explain, he will understand. 

You nod your head, and he turns and kisses her cheek again, like he just can’t help himself. 

“I would love to,” he agrees. 

Scott carries her into the kitchen and you follow. He sets her down and lets her run over to her chair, but he hangs back just long enough to talk to you. 

“I’m sorry, I just came over to talk about your text. I didn’t think she’d be here—”

“It’s fine,” you reply, waving him off, “Connor’s home sick from school, so I picked her up because I can’t leave him to go get her later.”

He nods, “Do you need me to bring you anything for him? Soup? Gatorade?”

“No, I have it covered,” you reply, “Go. She’s waiting so patiently for you.”

He chuckles when he sees her sitting on her knees in the chair, waving him over with an animal cracker half shoved into her mouth. Without hesitation, he rushes over and takes a seat beside her, stealing one of her animal crackers and laughing when she protests. 

You puff out your cheeks and check the time, wondering if you can squeeze in a quick call to Rafe before his meeting. When you decide you can’t, you set your phone back down. You’re here, you’re supervising, and he won’t be mad, you tell yourself. Scott can’t do anything wrong with you here, too. 

Your phone’s sharp ring draws you out of your head. When you look to see who’s calling, you gasp and practically pounce on the phone — the dance school that you’ve been trying to get Josie into. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Cameron?”

“Yes,” you reply. 

“Hi there. My name is Chelsea, I’m calling to see if you are still interested in signing your daughter, Josephine, up for dance class?”

“Yes,” you say enthusiastically, waving to Scott and then holding up your finger as you step into the living room, “Yes, I am. She’s really excited to start.”

“Oh, wonderful. We actually have an opening today in our three o’clock class. It’s only one spot, but if you could bring her by today, I can almost guarantee it would be hers.”

You freeze, “Today?”

“Yes ma’am. Spots here tend to go fast, but I saw your last name, and we wanted to offer you and your daughter the spot, first.”

“Oh,” you say, brain running a mile a minute as you try to figure out how to make this all work out, “Um, yes, thank you, we’d love the spot. I just have a few things to work out, but I will do my best to get her there by three o’clock. Does she need to bring anything?”

“We’ll just do a trial run for today, so we have everything she will need here. If you all are interested in continuing after today, we can give you a list of everything she will need for future classes.”

You barely even hear her words, too busy trying to figure out how you’re supposed to be in two places at once. You want Josie to be in this dance school desperately, but with Connor being so sick, you don’t know how to make it happen. 

“Thank you, I’ll try to work it out and have her there at three,” you say, trying to sound more chipper than you are, “Thank you so much for calling.”

“Yes ma’am. See you soon!”

You disconnect the call and let out a long sigh, having wanted that phone call to come at a better time than just now. You wander back into the kitchen and find Scott and Josie still giggling at the kitchen table, and when they both look over at you, you offer a smile. 

“Who was that?” Scott asks. 

You give Josie a smile, “It was the dance studio I’ve been trying to get Josie into. They have an opening for this afternoon.”

“No way!” she exclaims, “Mommy, we have to go!”

Scott can see it on your face before you can even say a word. He watches as you subconsciously glance back over your shoulder, desperate to check on Connor and not sure what to do. Under normal circumstances, you’d call Rafe — at least to just talk it out. But with him in a meeting and unavailable, you don’t have that option. 

“I can take her,” Scott volunteers, “I know you won’t leave Connor, so let me take her to dance. Just there and back, I promise.”

“Yes!” Josie screams, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, Mommy, yes!”

You shake your head, “Scott—”

“Y/N, let me help you out,” he says, “Come on. I can do it.”

“Mommy,” Josie repeats, “I want Uncle Scott to take me to dance.”

“Scott,” you whisper, “You’re not even supposed to be here.”

“And you’re drowning,” he points out, “I swear. I can totally handle it. I’ll even video the whole thing for you. Please, come on, let me prove myself to you. To Rafe.”

At the mention of your husband, your eyes find your phone. You want to call him more than anything, but you can’t. Then, you think about the agreement amongst parents when they’re raising children together. There are so many split second decisions that a parent has to make, so they trust that their partner will make the right one. Rafe trusts that you will make the right decision for your shared children, and right now, you can only see one. 

“Okay,” you sigh. Josie’s squeals interrupt you and Scott grins, grabbing her from her chair as you add, “Just there and back. No ice cream, no playground. Just to the studio and back, alright?”

“Alright,” Scott repeats back, still smiling, “We’re gonna have so much fun, right, lovebug?”

“Right!” she squeals.

“Josie, go get your shoes, okay?” you say, watching her nod feverishly, like she just can’t wait for Scott to put her down so they can go to dance. 

“Okay!” she says quickly, rushing off. 

Scott laughs as he watches her go, and when he turns back to you, his expression falls. 

“I need you to take extensive notes,” you say sternly, watching his smile grow once more. 

“You got it,” he replies. 

You allow yourself to smile, too, and he pulls you into a hug. He squeezes his thankfulness into you, and only pulls away when Josie returns with her shoes. 

     You hurry upstairs to check on Connor after putting Josie in her car seat and into Scott’s truck. As you feel Connor’s forehead, he stirs and groans, but he still feels very warm. 

“Mama?” he whispers into the air. 

“Hey, baby,” you reply, “How do you feel?”

“Not good,” he whines, “I’m cold. And I need a tissue.”

You grab the box from his nightstand and offer him one, then help him sit up. He blows his nose and hands the tissue back to you, then lays back down. 

“Go back to sleep. I’ll bring you some more medicine in a little bit, okay?” 

He nods. His lower lip juts out in the pout he always gives you when he’s sick, so you lean down and kiss his forehead before you stand. You retuck his blanket around him, then use careful steps to escape the dark room. 

Downstairs, you hurry into the kitchen and start heating up from soup for Connor, then pour out the next dose of his medicine. You make him a nice tray of everything so he can eat in bed; complete with crackers, a water bottle, and his iPad so he can watch a show while he eats. Just as you’re putting the finishing touches on it, ready to take it upstairs and check on him again, your phone buzzes on the counter. And buzzes. And buzzes. 

Scott’s contact picture lights up your screen, and you furrow your brows as you check the time. They should just be getting to the dance studio, and you wonder if someone had questions for him that he couldn’t answer. 

“Hello?” you say innocently. 

“Y/N,” he sighs, almost in relief, but his voice also holds another emotion, too, “Listen, don’t freak out.”

You freeze, “What? Why?”

The worst possible scenarios go through your brain instantly, and you begin to listen for signs of Josie in the background. Her laugh, her whine at Scott to hurry up. 

“Just let me get it all out, first,” he demands, then groans in pain, “Fuck, okay, we got into an accident. Josie is fine. Not hurt at all. I think I broke my arm, so I’m in an ambulance. They’re taking both of us to the hospital, but she’s right here, she’s good, she’s with me.”

You suddenly can’t suck in a deep breath. All you can picture is Josie in the back of an ambulance, hurt. Josie in a car accident. Josie being scared because she doesn’t understand what’s happening. 

Tears blur your vision just at the thought of her being alone, and the inhale that you try to suck in is sharp and quick. 

“Let me speak to her,” you choke out. 

Scott sighs but complies with your request, and you listen to their muffled voices before you get clarity. 

“Mommy, Uncle Scott is hurt,” she tells you, and just the sound of her voice brings relief to your body, mind, and heart. 

“Josie, baby, are you okay?” you ask her, letting the tears run without a care in the world. 

“Yes, Mommy. They let me put the siren on.”

You laugh, then cry again, “Oh, that’s awesome. Listen, Mommy’s gonna come pick you up, okay? Can you just stay with Uncle Scott for a little bit?”

Josie immediately whines, “No, he’s hurt. I have to stay with him. I told Daddy I am staying.”

A fresh wave of anxiety runs through your body. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind yet, but apparently, it had to Josie. 

“You told Daddy?” you ask weakly, “When?”

“I called him,” she answers, “I was scared, and wanted Daddy.”

“Oh,” your eyes flutter shut, “Okay, honey. Just stay with Uncle Scott until I see you. I love you so much, Jo.”

“Love you, too, Mommy,” she says, sounding perfectly fine, perfectly normal, and all you want to do is get to her. 

She hands the phone back to Scott, and you hear him grunt again in pain before his voice comes through the speaker. 

“”Y/N, I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “It wasn’t my fault, I swear, I did everything right—”

“I’m on my way,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear any of the details right now, “Just… I love you. I’m glad you’re okay other than the arm.”

He takes a minute to answer, and you can see the exact expression on his face as he debates what’s best to do right now. 

“Thanks,” he eventually says, “I love you, too.”

“See you soon,” you mumble, then disconnect the call before either one of you can say anything else. 

The first thing you do is check your text messages. Rafe has sent nothing, said nothing. When it comes to Rafe, you know silence from him is worse than anything else. You take a deep breath and attempt to type out a text to him, but delete it before you can find the words to explain to him any part of it. 

With a long sigh, you hurry up the stairs and into Connor’s room, forgetting all about his soup and medicine. He sits up when you enter, and when he sees the expression on your face, his eyes widen. 

“What’s wrong, Mama?” he asks, coughing after he finishes his question. 

“We have to go, baby. Can you come with me, please?” 

He nods and stands from his bed, bringing his blanket along with him. You put socks on his feet and slide his shoes on, then carry him down the stairs, wrapped in his blanket. Your mind can’t stop running wild as you picture Josie in Scott’s truck, scared out of her mind. You don’t even notice the tears that fall until Connor reaches up and brushes them away with his finger. Giving him a kiss on the forehead, you strap him into his car seat and pull back to look at his face. 

“I’m so sorry, handsome,” you whisper, “I know you don’t feel well, but we have to go pick up Josie.”

“Okay, Mama,” he replies, even going so far as to offer you a small smile. 

You’re grateful for it, and you show him such. With a kiss on the cheek, you close the car door and climb into the driver’s side, all while trying not to burst into tears again. 

Your knuckles turn white as you squeeze the steering wheel, glancing up at Connor every five seconds in the rear view mirror. He’s still okay, still staring out the window, but you’re paranoid about every single car that even comes close to yours. 

The drive to the hospital finally comes to an end, and you’ve barely parked your car before you’re out of it again. Connor is once again placed on your hip, and you rush in from the parking lot. 

Once you’re inside, you hurry to the closest nurse you can find. She directs you to a desk, who directs you to another nurse, who, finally, tells you what room number to go to. Connor buries his head in your neck and starts to cough again, and the guilt piles on top of your chest. 

You finally spot the room number on the wall and rush to it, just needing to lay eyes on her. To assess her for injuries and make sure that she really is okay. When you enter, you relax instantly. Scott is laying in the bed with his arm in a sling, and Josie is seated in the middle of his chest, giggling as he pokes her stomach. They both look so happy despite their current state and what they’ve been through in the past hour. 

“Josie,” you sigh in relief, setting Connor down in the singular chair before hurrying to her and pulling her into your arms. 

“Mommy,” she cheers, “Look, Uncle Scott got a boo-boo.”

You cradle her head and rock her in your arms, then glance at Scott. He’s giving you a sad smile and a wave using his bad arm, but you shake your head at him. 

“Is it broken?” you ask him. 

“Yeah,” he replies with a shrug, “I’ll get a cool brace for it, though.”

You roll your eyes, “Scott—”

“Y/N,” he stops you, his expression suddenly serious, “The guy ran a red light. I didn’t even see him coming until— Look, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t my fault.”

“I know,” you nod, and you mean it. 

He’s your brother, and you believe him. Especially because he needs you to so desperately, given that he won’t stop trying to explain himself. 

“Good. Now, I have to use the bathroom, then I want to see what’s going on with Little Cam. You don’t look so hot, dude.”

Connor shrugs, “Been better.”

Scott chuckles and stands from the hospital bed, taking two steps over to Connor. 

“You like my sling?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Connor smiles, “Does it hurt?”

“No, I’m tough.”

Connor laughs and so does Josie, and for a brief moment, you feel emotionally stable. You feel at peace, knowing that everyone is okay. 

Then, the door pushes open, and reality slaps you right in the face. You turn too late, and Rafe’s eyes have already assessed the room. He’s frozen for a moment, long enough for you to set Josie down, because you know she’ll want to run to him. 

Instead of waiting on that, however, Rafe crosses the room in a few strides, and you figure out just a beat too late what’s going to happen. 

With a clenched jaw and a balled fist, Rafe states at Scott right as he starts to explain what happened. 

“Yo, Rafe—” he starts, but Rafe’s fist connects with his jaw and knocks him flat on the ground. 

“Oh, my God,” you yell, grabbing Josie and holding her against you while you reach for Connor’s hand. 

Your only focus is getting them both out of the room. You know Scott can fight his own battles, and there’s nothing you can do to talk to Rafe when he’s like this. Looking like he knows this, Scott remains on the ground, leaving Rafe with nothing. He’s dead silent as he turns and faces you and the kids, looking away from you within the same second your eyes meet. 

“Josephine,” Rafe says in relief, crossing over to you and pulling her from you without a word or a look, “Hey, princess. My girl. I was so worried about you. Are you okay?” 

She nods, “Yes, Daddy. I just got scared.”

“I know you did, baby. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to comfort you. Do you have any injuries?”

Josie doesn’t respond right away, and you take it as an opportunity. 

“She’s okay. I checked her when I got here.”

Rafe’s eyes flicker to you for only a moment. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look at you with anything besides pure admiration and love. This time, his glance is cold, calculated, and practically unrecognizable. 

“Let me take you home,” he says to her, “I’m gonna take you home, and nobody will ever take you anywhere again.”

“Except for you?” she asks. 

“Except for me,” he replies with a nod, “Let’s take Bubby home, too, okay?”

Your heart sinks as Rafe looks down at Connor, who is gripping his blanket tightly. When Rafe offers him a hand, Connor slips out of your grasp and takes it. 

You frown, “I can take—”

“Y/N, I’m so damn pissed right now. You need to stay with your brother, since that’s clearly where you want to be.”

He doesn’t even look at you as he says it, which is what makes the tears come. He’s too busy fussing over Josie’s hair and Connor’s runny nose. Rafe grabs him a tissue, then tosses it when Connor’s done. 

You look over at Scott and find him still seated on the floor, blood running down his chin from his nose, and he’s just staring at the kids. You’re sure he thinks this could be his final time seeing them in a long time, and you feel sick over that. 

“Rafe,” you choke out, “Please, just listen—”

“No,” he snaps, “Not to you. I’m taking them home.”

Connor whimpers, but when Rafe takes his hand again, he doesn’t object as his dad starts to lead him out of the room. Nobody says a word, and before you can blink, the three of them are gone. 

“Fuck,” Scott groans from the floor, “Y/N, I’m so—”

“Don’t,” you shake your head, turning back to him and observing his state before stepping over and offering him a hand, “Let’s just get you cleaned up.”

     Scott gets released from the hospital a few hours later, and you drive him back to his apartment. Neither of you speak about anything other than the weather and your parents, because neither of you know what to say. You want to pretend like everything is fine. At least for now. 

You set him up on his couch with dinner, snacks, and a blanket, then let him know that you love him no matter what. In return, he offers you his room if you need a place to crash, and you almost burst into tears right then and there. 

      By the time you make it home, you know the kids will already be in bed. You debate taking the long way, but the fact that Connor is sick draws you back to the house so you can check on him. 

You pull your car into the garage and shut it off, then get out quickly before you can debate sitting inside for a while. You sigh and push open the door to the house, not knowing exactly what you’re walking into with Rafe.

The house is dark and silent. There’s no plate of dinner sitting on the counter for you like he usually leaves behind, and no light on in the living room to guide your path to bed. With a heavy heart, you head upstairs and peek your head into Connor’s bedroom. He’s sound asleep with a box of tissues and an empty medicine cup on his nightstand. 

Of course Rafe took care of everything. 

Quietly, you close his bedroom door and cross the hall over to Josie’s bedroom. When you peek in, you find her bed to be empty, but her stuffed animals are missing. Immediately, you know where she is. 

You hesitate at the door to your shared bedroom with Rafe for a brief moment, then push open the door and walk inside. Rafe’s bedside lamp is on, which allows you to see him lying on his side of the bed on his side, with Josie facing him. She’s tucked in his arms and sleeping soundly, but Rafe is wide awake and watching every single breath she draws. 

He never looks over at you. For a moment, you wonder if he even realizes you came into the room. When your lips part to speak, no sound comes out. You don’t know what to say or where to start.

“She could’ve been killed,” Rafe says evenly, like he’s stating a fact rather than getting emotional. His eyes don’t leave her for even a split second. 

“Rafe—” you start, but he sits up carefully. 

“Don’t wake her. I just got her to sleep.”

You silence yourself and stare at the two of them for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. After a moment, Rafe leans forward and brushes his lips over Josie’s forehead, then stands from the bed. He walks over to you, watching as you stand completely still in hopes that he’ll just take you into his arms and tell you that everything will be okay. Instead, he clenches his jaw and points to the door of the bedroom, silently telling you to walk through it. 

Rafe follows out of the room behind you and closes the door softly. You walk out to the couch and sit down, watching his movements extra carefully. He’s in sweatpants and a black tee shirt that you’ve always loved on him, but never told him so. 

You watch as he takes a deep breath, then places his hands on his hips. He doesn’t sit; he stands in front of you and keeps his eyes on anything but you. 

“Why was she with your brother?” 

His tone is harsh; like nothing you say in this moment could make sense to him. None of it will make any difference at all. 

“Um,” you shift, your voice shaky, “She— no, okay, the dance studio called and— wait—”

“Y/N,” Rafe stops you, exhaling loudly, “I just want you to explain why she was with your brother.”

You nod, “Okay. Sorry. So, I texted Scott and told him that we weren’t comfortable having the kids see him right now. He came over here to talk to me in person, thinking the kids weren’t home, and Josie saw him. So, naturally, she wouldn’t let him go, and he was just gonna have a snack with her and then leave. But, then, that dance studio called and said they had a spot for Josie this afternoon, and the spot was going to be given away if we couldn’t make it. I didn’t want to leave Connor, and Scott offered, and— Rafe, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, hands still proudly glued to his hips. His eyes close under the explanation, and the way his jaw is set tells you that, although it might make sense to him, he still isn’t happy or satisfied with the explanation. 

“You should have called me,” he says quietly, “I would’ve helped you work it out. I would’ve come home.”

“You were in a meeting, I didn’t want to bother you—”

“Bother me, Y/N!” he exclaims, silencing you, “Bother me. Every time. If it means I don’t get the fucking call that one of my kids has been in a car accident with someone I didn’t even want them around in the first place. How could you let her go with Scott? After we discussed it and agreed that he was off limits, you just—”

“I didn’t see any other choice,” you speak up, “I didn’t want them to give the spot away.”

“Let them give the damn spot away, then!” he cries, shaking his head, “I told you, she’d be fine dancing anywhere, but you were so dead set on this one place, and that was fine with me until you shipped her off with your brother and he almost got our daughter killed—”

“Rafe, the accident wasn’t his fault,” you say, finally having the courage to stand, “He loves her. He would never put her at risk.”

He laughs then, and it’s deep, loud, sarcastic. Your eyes hit the floor and you swallow, wanting nothing more than his touch. Despite Rafe being the one causing the ache in your chest, you know he’s the only one who can fix it. He’s the only one who can ever fix it. 

“He did put her at risk, Y/N. Many times. Every time he showed up drunk, every time he stumbled down the stairs. It’s not a fucking coincidence that this happened when she was with him.”

You draw back, shaking your head, “That’s not fair. It could’ve happened to anyone. It could’ve been me—”

“Don’t,” he says immediately, stepping closer to you, “Don’t you dare go there. It wouldn’t have. It can’t.”

“Why not, Rafe?” you question, raising a brow, angry that he wants to blame everything on Scott when you don’t feel it’s his fault, “You’d blame Scott for everything if you could. If I had decided to take Josie to dance, it would’ve been me and the kids at that intersection—-”

“No!” he shouts, silencing you once again, “Stop it. It can’t happen again, Y/N. I almost lost you once, it cannot fucking happen again.”

Your lips glue shut as you realize what this is truly about for him. He runs a hand through his hair and sucks in a deep breath, letting the silence fall between the two of you. 

You know exactly how Rafe has internalized the accident you were in the night of Midsummers with Topper and Kelce. You know, because he’s told you. How he had nightmares for ages afterward, how he still will grip the steering wheel with two hands when he drives with you in the car at night. How he thinks about it every year at Midsummers, regardless of how much time has passed. 

Now, you can’t imagine what this will do to him. His Josie, his baby girl. Getting that call was not easy on him, you’re sure, and for a moment, you understand why he’s so angry with you for putting him in that situation. 

“Rafe,” you whisper, watching the way he looks up at you with vulnerability in his eyes, “I’m so, so sorry.”

He nods, like he really just needed to hear that. You take a step closer, but before you can reach for him, he steps back. 

“I need to sleep on it all. We can regroup in the morning.”

You swallow and nod, unsure of what to do with your hands. You settle for tucking them behind your back, squirming under his gaze. 

“I’ll sleep upstairs. In case Connor needs anything,” you say. 

“Alright,” he nods, looking at you like he’s considering something. 

“Alright,” you repeat. 

He sighs, like he’s annoyed with himself, then steps forward and cups your cheeks. He stares at you for a moment before placing a kiss on your forehead forcefully, then drops you from his grip completely. 

You step forward out of habit, wanting his touch back. Instead of reaching for him, you just stare, knowing that he can tell what you want but refuses to give it to you. 

“I love you, Rafe,” you whisper to him. 

Even as angry as he is, he doesn’t miss a beat, “I love you, too.”

He nods, then turns around and leaves you like that. In the middle of the living room with his kiss still lingering on your forehead, and his words sitting in front of you, etching themselves into your heart so you never forget them. 

     When you wake in the morning, your first thought is of Connor. You don’t allow yourself to think of anything else, because it weighed on you all night, until you just couldn’t take it anymore. You cried in the guest room bed. Buried your face in a pillow and sobbed as you relived the day, your choices, and what became of them. You cry for Josie, for Rafe, for Scott. You cry because all you’d wanted to do was make the right choice for all of them, and you wound up only making the wrong ones. 

So, when you wake up with swollen under eyes and a red nose, the only thing you allow yourself to think about is Connor. 

He’s asleep when you enter his room, and when you feel his forehead, he feels the same as he had last night. You make a mental note to bring up more medicine for him, then take his temperature. 

Slipping back out of his room, you head downstairs. Your stomach twists as you hear Rafe talking to Josie in the kitchen, and the thought of facing him without knowing exactly how he feels today makes you anxious. 

As you walk in, you find Josie sitting on the counter and Rafe at the stove, where he flips a pancake in the pan. Josie giggles at something he said, and Rafe laughs back. His eyes catch on you, and for a brief moment, he smiles. Then, he drops it and looks down. 

“Hi, Mommy!” Josie cheers, “Daddy’s staying home today! He said I could, too.”

“He did, huh?” you smile at her, walking around the island to embrace her. 

“Thought I could, considering we’re not consulting each other on decisions anymore,” Rafe mutters. 

For Josie’s sake, you ignore him, but you stare at him while you do it. In no way can you tell Rafe how to feel or act, but you’re shocked at how openly petty he’s being. 

“Rafe—”

He cuts you off when he spins around with a plate in his hand, then gives Josie a wide smile. 

“Alright, princess, your breakfast is ready. Go sit at the table for me.”

He carries Josie’s plate over as you help her down from the counter, then watch her take off to her seat. Once she’s settled, Rafe comes back into the kitchen, but he doesn’t spare you a single glance. 

“How’d you sleep?” you try, stepping closer. 

“I didn’t,” he replies as he pours more pancake batter into the pan, “She did. All night.”

You swallow, “Good. So, listen, I was hoping—”

“I’m taking her to my parents’ today. We’ll swim and visit with Topper and Ellie. I figure Connor needs quiet, anyway.”

“Oh, okay,” you nod weakly, “Do you think we could talk later, though?”

“I don’t know.”

You frown and look at the floor, then glance over at the coffee pot. What’s usually filled halfway for you is now empty, and you know the pancakes he’s making on the stove are for himself. It makes your heart ache, to think that he’s so angry with you that he no longer wants to take care of you. 

“Rafe, I just… I want to fix it,” you practically beg, “Please.”

He drops the spatula on the counter before he turns to you, keeping his voice low on account of Josie. 

“This isn’t just something you can fix, Y/N. You hurt me. You prioritize your brother over our kids and you always have. Every time he stumbles in drunk, you always tell him it’s okay. It’s not. This time, you let him take our daughter and they got into an accident. She could’ve gotten really hurt. I’m not okay with that, and I never will be. Until you can get your priorities straight, I’m not interested in what you have to say.”

You step back from him and swallow the lump in your throat. Instead of just rolling over, you want to explain your thought process — have an actual conversation instead of bickering over the stove.

“He’s sick, Rafe. He’s an alcoholic. Guilting him every time he comes to us like that isn’t going to help him,” you reply, trying to stay strong despite the tears stinging your eyes, “And, how dare you accuse me of not prioritizing our family.  This is my top priority— my only priority. I made a judgment call, and I was wrong, I admit it. If I could go back and change it, I would.”

He shrugs, looking back down at the pancake, “But, you can’t.”

His left hand rests on the counter where he leans, supporting his body. You want to reach out and grab it, pull him into you and keep him close as you tell him that you’re sorry over and over again. You give in before you can help yourself, and when you cover his hand with your own, he doesn’t pull away immediately.

“Rafe, please,” you beg, but you’re not sure for what exactly. His eyes. His love. His forgiveness. 

“Don’t,” he says, pulling hand from under yours, “You really hurt me this time.”

Before you can say anything else, he plates his pancakes, then turns to face Josie. 

She grins when she sees him holding up his own plate, and he puts on his parent mask as he nears her. 

“Can we eat together, baby?” he asks enthusiastically, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was absolutely, positively, fine. 

     After Josie and Rafe leave, you bring Connor downstairs. You cuddle with him when he asks for it, you make him soup, give him more medicine, and watch Paw Patrol until he falls asleep on your lap. 

You, however, don’t nap. You stare at your phone screen, at a drafted text to Rafe as your thumb hovers over the send button. 

I hope you know that I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Josie. I never would. The three of you are my priority. We can talk more when you’re ready, but I just want you to know that I’m thinking about what you said and I want to work this out with you more than anything. Please come home. 

You debate taking off the plea for him to come home, but you decide to leave it and press send. When you see that it went through, you put your phone down and take a deep breath, then leave your eyes glued to the screen so you can see the second he responds. 

When your phone does light up again, you pounce on it. You frown when you see Maddie’s name at the top of the new text, asking you why Rafe canceled the dinner plans that you two had with Maddie and Kelce tonight — which you’d completely forgotten about. 

You reply quickly and tell her that Connor is sick, and debate asking her if she can talk on the phone so you can get advice. However, you decide against it and fire off your excuse just as Rafe’s response comes in. 

We will pick up dinner and be there soon. How’s Connor? 

You smile, because something about this feels like progress. Silently, you look down to the sleeping boy, running your hand through his hair because you just can’t help yourself. 

He’s good. Sleeping off the fever, I hope. Thank you for getting dinner!

He won’t respond to that and you know it, but you don’t care. At least he gave you one response. 

     Connor wakes just before Josie and Rafe get home, and with a perfect temperature, he says he wants to stay downstairs for dinner. You nod and give him a hug, and when you hear the garage door open, you wave him up and into the kitchen. 

“Mommy!” Josie shouts when she enters the house, “Look, Daddy got me a princess sticker!”

She holds it up to you proudly as you hug her tight, “Oh, I love it, Jo.”

She beams and moves over to show it to Connor as Rafe walks in. He holds a pizza in his left hand and Josie’s bag in his right. You don’t miss the name on the pizza box — your favorite place, meaning he had to drive fifteen extra minutes each way to get it instead of getting the easy, shitty pizza down the street. 

“You got Lighthouse,” you say, biting your lip to hide a smile as you acknowledge his drive to the pizza place.

“Yeah, I—” he stops himself and closes his eyes, then shakes his head before repeating, “Yeah.”

You take a daring step forward, “Thank you.”

He nods once, and when you see him swallow down his impulse to reach for you, to hug you and kiss you and ask about your day, he looks over to the kids. 

“Hey, Connor. How are you feeling, buddy?”

Rafe steps past you to get to him, and the pizza you’d just been swooning over suddenly doesn’t seem as appetizing. Regardless, you get plates out and divide up slices while Rafe works behind you to get everyone drinks. He pours juice out for the kids and tells them to sit at the table, then gets a beer for himself. He doesn’t ask you what you want because he already knows, and he sets the glass of white wine at your place setting.

Dinner is quiet, but you pretend it’s only because Josie is tired from swimming all day and Connor isn’t feeling well. Everything feels off because you and Rafe didn’t work today — you told Rose that Connor was sick — and Josie didn’t go to school. It feels like it should be a weekend, but it’s not. 

You want to ask Rafe if he plans on going back to work tomorrow. If he wants to sleep next to you tonight, because you want to sleep next to him. You want to ask him everything, anything, just to get him to look at you. 

After dinner, Rafe volunteers himself to do bath and bedtime, which leaves you downstairs to clean up the small mess from the meal. As you clean, you spot a tub of ice cream in the freezer and pull it out, smiling to yourself at your little idea. 

     When Rafe comes back downstairs, he doesn’t look for you. Instead, he makes his way into your shared bedroom, already peeling off his shirt in preparation for a shower when he freezes. You’re sitting on his side of the bed with two small bowls of ice cream and that pout on your lips that you know he loves. He visibly softens at the sight, and when you hold up the bowl, his jaw ticks. 

“You’re something else,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, as he crosses the room shirtless. 

You give him a small smile as he plants himself beside you and accepts the bowl. His knee touches yours, and you feel giddy inside when he doesn’t pull himself away. 

“I’m trying, Rafe,” you whisper as he takes a bite, staring down at the bowl instead of you, “I’m trying to figure out what to do. Because I miss you. And I know I made a mistake. But I don’t want to cut my brother off in the process of working this out. He’s doing better, and I’m afraid that would trigger him into a relapse, or something.”

“I get that,” he murmurs. 

“So, let’s talk about it. All three of us. Let’s set clear boundaries and we can even make a timeline—”

“Y/N,” Rafe practically laughs, “I already did that with you. I told you that I wasn’t ready. I set my boundary, and you crossed it.”

You swallow, “I know, but I think it will help if Scott is clued in, too. That way, wires don’t get crossed, and we can all—”

“We can all what?” he scoffs, standing up, “Live happily ever after? Scott can worm his way back into our kids’ lives? I cave on a lot of shit for you, Y/N, but this is not something you can ask me to do.”

“Rafe, I’m not asking you to change how you feel,” you reply, your voice small and pleading, as if silently begging him to sit back down with you, “Please, I’m not. I’m just trying to make everyone happy.”

He shakes his head and lets his eyes close, rolling them behind his lids, “That’s the problem with you. You’re always so focused on how everyone else feels. You’re so afraid to tell Scott ‘no’ because you’re afraid you’ll be responsible for a relapse if you do. You know what, Y/N? You’re allowed to be selfish. You’re allowed to stand up for yourself and our children. Scott is a grown ass man, and his choices are his own. You baby the fuck out of him, and it needs to stop.”

You digest Rafe’s words, letting them hang in the air between the two of you. On one hand, you want to fight back. You want to tell him that Scott is your family, and you’re just trying to help. On the other hand, you see how trying to help turned into Josie being in an accident. Then, you hear Rafe’s words in your head once more. 

I cave on a lot of shit for you. 

He does, and you know it. With a deep breath, you nod your head, willing to sacrifice for him the way he always does for you — without a second thought. 

“Okay,” you whisper, watching his eyes dart to you, “Alright. I’ll take space. I’ll work on it. Whatever is best for you and the kids, I will do that.”

Rafe stares at you like that’s the last thing he expected you to say. His hands meet his hips and he assesses you from head to toe before swallowing. 

“Maybe you should sleep on that decision,” he says carefully. 

You shake your head, ignoring the stinging in your eyes. He watches you carefully as you stand up and step over to him, then place a gentle hand on his chest. You can feel his heart racing, and you want to smile at the thought of still being able to do that to him after all this time. 

“I don’t need to. You’re right, I let people walk all over me because I don’t want to disappoint anyone. But, our marriage is my priority, and our children are my priority, and I need to do better. I’m sorry, Rafe, I’m so sorry.”

His eyes close when your lips ghost over his cheek. His fists ball at his sides as he fights the urge to pull you in, to forget it all and just let his body take over. You move down and kiss along his jawline, then back up to his mouth. You let your lips hover for a moment, giving him time to object, before you lean closer. 

“Y/N,” he whispers at the very last second, “You can’t just tell me what I want to hear because we’re in a fight. You need to figure this shit out for yourself.”

“Rafe,” you sigh, but he shakes his head. 

“I need some time, too. This really rattled me, and I need to figure out how I want to proceed.”

You furrow your brows, “How you want to proceed? Like, with us?”

You fear the answer more than anything, but you need to hear it. 

“With everything,” he replies, “I just… I need sleep. So do you.”

You nod but don’t say a word, standing there and thinking about the melting ice cream that sits on your bed. 

Rafe takes a deep breath and watches as you avoid his eyes, then sighs and steps forward. You think he might reach out to touch you, grab you, kiss you, anything. Instead, he picks up his pillow from his side of the bed and steps back, offering you half a smile. 

“I’ll be on the couch,” he mumbles, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you reply. 

He picks up the two ice cream bowls and carries them to the door, turning back and staring at the scene in front of him for a moment. You, still standing on his side of the bed, where you know you’ll sleep tonight. 

“Love you,” he whispers. 

“Love you, too.”

He nods and then closes the door behind him. Only then do you fall into his side of the bed and inhale his scent on the sheets, allowing your tears to fall right where you lay. You don’t grab a pillow, you don’t cover yourself with a blanket. You just cry until your body grows so tired that it forces you to sleep, with swollen eyes and a regretful heart. 

     You jolt awake to the sound of the doorknob to your bedroom rattling up and down a few times, which immediately has you sitting up in bed. Your first thought is that it’s Connor trying to get in because he’s sick, and your heart sinks at the thought of him having gotten worse. 

Which is why, when Rafe comes rushing into the room, your eyes grow wide. He’s shirtless and his hair is a mess, but more than that, he looks completely terrified. Your heart races as he starts over to you at a fast pace, lips parted like he’s trying to speak, but can’t. 

“Rafe, what is it?” you ask softly. 

His breaths are shallow and jagged, and when he tries to inhale, it seems like he can’t. You scoot closer to the edge of the bed, and when he rounds the mattress and gets to you, he sinks to his knees in front of you. 

“You’re okay,” he whispers in relief, beginning to check you from top to bottom with his eyes and hands, “Fuck, thank God.”

His palms grip your forearms and he flips them over to check for any sort of marking or injury, then moves down your body to your legs. He runs his hands over every square inch of your skin, and you let him. 

“Of course I’m okay,” you reply, grabbing one of his hands in yours, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

He lets out a long breath, then shakes his head, but his hands never leave you. He grips you tight, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go for even a moment. 

“Nothing, nothing,” he rushes, “Just a bad dream, I guess. Felt real.”

You tense, “Are you having nightmares again?”

He shrugs, but when you cup his cheek with your free hand, he nods. 

“Yeah,” he admits shyly, “I, um, I know we’re in a weird place right now, but—”

“Come to bed,” you demand, tugging him in. 

He nods, as if that’s exactly what he wanted you to say. You scoot over just enough for him to crawl onto the mattress, then bury yourself in him the moment he’s laying flat. His arms wrap around you and your head presses against his heart; this time racing for a different reason. 

Just as you settle and the room falls silent, you debate what to say. If you should ask any questions or just let him be. Rafe speaks, silencing your mind. 

“Y/N,” he whispers into the darkness, “I have to tell you something.”

“Tell me,” you encourage, squeezing him slightly. 

He takes a long moment to start, but when he does, you can tell by the shakiness in his voice that he’s emotional.

“I think part of the reason I got so upset with you was because I was very aware of the fact that it could’ve been the three of you at that intersection. Even though you let Scott take her against my wishes, you still made the right choice, somehow. Because, I swear, if I had gotten a call that all of you were at the hospital, I think I would’ve had a heart attack right then and there in my office.”

“Rafe,” you whine, cuddling closer. 

He shakes his head, “Let me finish, okay, baby?”

“Okay,” you whisper. 

“I’m terrified that something will happen one day. That I won’t be there to protect you, or stop it, or fix it, and this whole thing really brought that fear out of me. I know that I seem overprotective with the kids, especially with Scott, but I just can’t stand the thought of something happening to them. To you. You’re my entire world, Y/N. I just need you to understand that.”

“I do understand that,” you answer, heart hammering in your chest, “But, we also can’t live our lives in fear of what could happen. All we can do is take precautions and make informed decisions together. I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Rafe. I would never, ever do that on purpose. I love you too much to even consider it.”

He swallows roughly, “I know, sweetheart.”

You want to say more, to spill your guts and tell him every thought you’ve had for the past twenty four hours. Instead, you cuddle deeper into him and inhale his scent, then kiss his cheek. 

“You should sleep, handsome,” you whisper against his skin, “I’m right here, and I’m okay. We’ll work it out in the morning.”

He nods, then presses a kiss into your hair, “I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you, too,” you reply, “That means you’re stuck with me.”

He chuckles lightly, “Good.”

You smile against him, then kiss his cheek once more before you resign to laying your head on his chest. Both of you are asleep in seconds, surrounded in the warmth and love of the other. 

     When you wake up in the morning, your hands are both tangled in Rafe’s. You feel his smooth palms in yours and you smile before you even open your eyes to find him. When you do, he’s laying across from you, already wide awake. When his eyes meet yours, his lips tip up in a smile. 

"What are you staring at?” you ask teasingly, shifting closer. 

“My wife,” he replies in that morning voice that always seems to get you, “My beautiful, infuriating wife.”

You laugh, even though it shouldn’t be funny. He smiles a real smile then, and you bask in it. Having not seen it in what feels like forever, you want to keep it there for the rest of your life. 

“Rafe,” you whisper. “I—”

“I know,” he stops you, tugging you closer, “I know you’re sorry. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Really?” you ask hopefully. 

“Mhm,” he hums, “Can you just promise that you’ll call me the next time you don’t know what to do? No matter what?”

You nod, “I promise.”

“Thank you,” he says, then takes a breath before saying, “Now, about your brother.”

“I still want him in my life, Rafe. But, I’ll meet up with him and really discuss boundaries and everything. I’ll take the house key from him. I will do whatever makes you feel the most comfortable, but I won’t cut him out.”

He nods, “I’m not asking you to cut him out, baby. Not at all. You just need to be more firm with him. You know Scott, you give him an inch, he takes a mile.”

“I know,” you reply, dropping your shoulders at the evident quality your brother possesses, “I’ll work on being more assertive with my boundaries when it comes to him.”

“Good. You deserve to be appreciated and respected. You’re not a doormat for your brother and his issues.”

You know Rafe’s right, but you’re not ready to admit that that might just be what Scott has been doing to you. That he knows you’ll go easy on him, so he comes to you first. You haven’t wanted to see it, so you don’t. 

“So, we’re okay?” you ask, biting your lip. 

He stares at you for a moment, and you notice how his look of admiration has returned. You smile as he begins to nod, then squeeze his hand. 

“We’re okay,” he replies, “Sorry if I scared you last night.”

“You did. Do you think our fight brought it on?” 

He shrugs, “The fight. Josie being in the accident. I’m sure it will go away in the next few nights, as I calm down.”

You nod in understanding, then place a few gentle pecks onto his bare chest. 

“If there’s anything I can do, tell me,” you murmur, “You’re never alone.”

“Thank you, baby.”

As much as you want to stay and bask in his body heat, you know you should get up to check on Connor and take him more medicine. Rafe can feel you tense as you prepare to move, and his grip tightens. 

“Rafe—”

“He’s fine,” Rafe bluffs, “Don’t get up.”

“I have to.”

He laughs gruffly, then releases you. Reluctantly, you climb from the bed in your tank top and short shorts, eliciting a groan from Rafe where he lays. Without being able to contain himself, it seems, he reaches over and swats your backside as you escape from the bed, earning a jaw drop from you. 

“Sorry,” he grins mischievously. 

“Sure you are,” you mutter, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I really am, sweetheart. I remind myself every day.”

You know he’s being his silly self, but the words bring butterflies to your stomach. You grin and turn back to look at him as you walk toward your bedroom door, taking a mental picture of him laying in bed with his shirt off and his hair messy. He’s practically begging you to come back to him, and for a moment, you strongly consider it. 

“Don’t move,” you command, “I’ll be back in ten.”

He chuckles, “Yes ma’am.”

You hurry from the room and up the stairs, already missing Rafe’s heat and the comfort of your bed with him in it. You’re already making plans for when you return to your bedroom, because although fighting with Rafe is one of the worst things in your entire world, making up is your absolute favorite.

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[mackupdates]

let me in — joel miller

summary: joel has secrets, and when you try to dig deeper, he shuts you down.

content warnings: swearing, smut (fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, PinV sex, dirty talk) verbal argument, mention of death, guns, shooting

pairing: joel miller x fem! reader

navigation | my writing

     The radio in the living room plays softly, distracting you from the humidity and frustration you feel in your bones. It’s late — way past the time Joel told you to expect him back — and he knows you can’t sleep without him. 

You lie in his bed in only a tank top and panties, tossing the sheet off of your body and onto his side of the bed. You groan for no one to hear, because the apartment is empty. As usual. 

You swore to yourself you’d do some tidying up while Joel was gone, but you hadn’t. Instead, you read one of Joel’s favorite books, which you only know based on the fact that the spine is cracked in four different places. 

You’ve asked him about it, but he doesn’t tell you much about it. He doesn’t tell you much of anything, in fairness. He’s quiet, brooding, and reserved, but from what you’ve been able to gather about him, it’s for a good reason. 

Now, you stand from the bed and walk over to the couch, to the book, and pick it up. Without even pretending to read it, you flip right to the page and pull out the single polaroid picture you discovered months ago. You’d never worked up the nerve to ask him about it — about her — but you can tell it’s from before. From his first life. 

You stare at him; at the stubble on his chin, the style of his hair, and the goofy smile on his face. It’s a far cry from the man you know now — gray hair, gray beard, and not a single smile given since you’ve met him. The girl beside him, the one who you’re sure is the reason for his wide smile, is beautiful. As much as you want to know who she is, you’re too scared of him to ask. 

The turn of the lock at the door draws you out of the polaroid, which you slide back into the book and toss onto the coffee table before Joel shoves his way through the door. 

He closes the door loudly behind him, then turns and locks it immediately. When he faces the apartment, when he faces you, his shoulders fall and his eyes close, as if the sight of you is enough to relax him just enough. 

“Hey,” you murmur. 

“Waiting up for me?” he asks gruffly. 

He tosses his bag down on the floor, then removes his gun from the waistband of his jeans against his back. He sets it down on the coffee table as he makes his way over to you, collapsing on the other end of the couch and covering his face in his hands. 

“Maybe,” you shrug, scooting closer, “You’re late.”

“Got held up,” he replies, content with giving you no more information than that, “Anyone come to the door?”

“Not like I could answer it if they did,” you remark. 

He scoffs, and when you lay your legs over his lap, wanting some form of physical touch from him, he brings one hand down to your skin. Slowly, his calloused fingers stroke up and down your skin, and your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s doing it without even thinking about it. 

“Yeah, well, I’d never forgive myself if you opened it and…” he trails off, clenching his jaw hard.

You don’t question him or beg him to finish his sentence, but when his palm stills on your skin and his hand wraps around your calf, you watch him carefully. 

His eyes dart over to that copy of the book, and he stares at it for a long moment before he looks away. To the floor, to the radio, then over to you. Offering him a gentle smile, you feel him squeeze your calf twice, which is his way of ushering you over to him. 

“Rough day?” you change the subject as you move across the couch, cuddling into his side. 

His arm wraps around you lazily, but his feet remain planted on the floor. He’s warm, overly so, and his shirt houses patches of sweat and dirt. 

“Same as always.”

“Are you hungry?” you ask him. 

“No. This is good.”

You smile victoriously to yourself and nod against him, then cuddle in deeper. Despite his dirt and sweat, you wouldn’t trade his comfort for anything. 

“Joel,” you say quietly after a minute of silence, “Can I ask you a question?”

He nods when you look up at him, “Yes.”

“Well,” you sit up, staring at him for a long moment before turning, leaning toward the coffee table, “I was reading this book earlier, and I found—”

Just as you open it to show him, he stands. It’s abrupt and aggressive, and you freeze immediately. When you look up at him, his chest heaves and his eyes are wide, but before you can question him, he snatches the book from your hands. 

“You’re touching my fucking things?” he shouts, “What gives you the right?”

Your lips part but no sound comes out. You tense and scoot to the very edge of the couch, holding up your hands to show that you meant no harm. 

“Joel, please, I’m sorry—” you stutter out, but he shakes his head. 

“Fuck your sorry. If it’s not yours, don’t fucking touch it.” 

He takes the book and storms off, not noticing the way you start to shake as he yells. His boots scuff against the wood as he rushes into his bedroom, leaving you alone on the couch. Then, you listen as he removes the floorboards and moves things around, of which you’re assuming he is stashing the book and the picture in there. 

Your eyes close and you make yourself small on the couch, tucking a blanket over your body and resigning to sleeping there. 

Except you don’t sleep. 

You lay there and stare at the ceiling, listening to the soft hum of the radio that neither of you bothered to turn off. You can hear Joel as he moves around in bed, most likely trying to get comfortable in the humidity and the anger. 

You feel as if hours have gone by before he stands. You listen to his footsteps as he comes out of the bedroom, and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t have to fill any awkward silences or feel as if you should try and defend yourself. 

Convinced he’ll grab water and head back to bed, you’re more than surprised when you sense him at the edge of the couch, by your feet. More than anything, you want to peek. You want to see his scowl, the crease in his brow, and the frown that lines his lips. Instead, you focus on keeping your breathing steady. 

This does not deter Joel in any way. He walks the length of the couch and kneels in front of you. His warm palm ghosts over your cheek, and when he brushes hair from your face and behind your ear, you finally allow yourself to peel your eyes open. 

He stares at you for a long moment, and you stare back, memorizing every crease, every line, every bit of those big, brown eyes. 

“Hey,” you whisper. 

“Hey, baby,” he replies in a low voice, swallowing before he speaks again, “You never came to bed.”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance, “Didn’t think I was welcome.”

He sighs and looks down at the floor, shifting his jaw around as he debates a response. You don’t dare move a muscle out of fear that he will pull his touch from you, and you need it more than anything at this moment. 

“You’re always welcome.”

His voice is quiet, low, deep. It makes your heartbeat a little faster and your stomach fills with warm honey. When he sees your lips tip up in a smile, he scoots closer to the edge of the couch. 

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you mumble, “I just—-”

“I know,” he stops you carefully, “I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

You reach up and cup his wrist in your palm, stroking his skin carefully and gently. 

“It’s okay,” you reply. 

“Will you come to bed, please?” 

Before you can even give him an answer, he stands and tucks his arms underneath your legs and back. You giggle when he picks you up, then toss the blanket back down onto the couch. He shakes his head when he sees you in your tank top and panties, then gives your forehead a forceful peck. 

“How are you not hot in all these clothes?” you ask him as he walks through the apartment with you in his arms, “You’re never going to sleep.”

“Who said I want to sleep?” he raises a brow, and when he reaches the foot of the bed, he drops you down onto the mattress. 

You squeal and scramble around in the sheets, sitting up and looking at him with wide eyes. He smirks and unbuttons his shirt, then peels it off and tosses it onto the floor. You sit up on your knees and unbutton his pants, then slowly unzip them while you stare up at him with innocent eyes. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he practically groans as he shoves his pants to the floor, “You know those eyes get me every fucking time.”

“Sorry,” you mumble halfheartedly. 

He groans again when you lay back on the mattress and gesture for him to join you. He crawls in and kicks off his boxers, then shoves a grabby hand up your tank top. 

When his lips meet your throat, you shove your hips up into his. He growls and takes your skin between his teeth, eliciting a moan straight from your lips. 

“Want this off,” he demands, waving your tank top away before his hands wander down to the waistband of your panties, “These, too.”

You nod and obey, willing to do anything he asks if it means he doesn’t stop touching you. He takes it upon himself to tug your underwear down your legs while you pull your tank top over your head, exposing your entire body to him. 

Nobody knows you like Joel. That is a fact you’re sure of. Nobody knows how to bring you to orgasm after orgasm. Nobody knows how to care for you, provide for you, and keep you safe like Joel. Which is the primary reason why you pull him closer, threading your fingers through your hair and letting out little whimpers as his hands roam your body. 

“Please,” you whine, “Joel, please. I need you.”

“I know, baby,” he says into your neck, against your jaw, as his nose nudges you to angle upward, “Not going anywhere.”

You nod desperately against him as he shifts and hovers his lips over your own. He pulls back and you chase him, begging silently for a kiss. Without wasting another second, he gives it to you. His tongue explores your mouth instantly and his hand trails down your body, dipping between your legs and groaning when he feels how much you want him. 

“Joel—” you pant when his fingers tease you; not inching inside, but simply feeling you for now. 

“I said, I know,” he repeats, “Relax. You know you can’t take me without my fingers, first.”

You nod, and nod, and nod, and when he finally slides his fingers inside you, a loud moan sounds from your lips. He keeps your hips down with his own, keeping his body on top of you and using his thumb to strum over your clit. 

“Oh, that’s it,” you cry, but when he hits that spot, that spongy spot that makes you scream, Joel groans. 

“No, that’s it,” he corrects, kissing you again, “I always find it. Always.”

“You do, you do,” you pant, silently begging for more as you clench around his fingers, “Oh, Joel, almost there.”

“Let me feel it, baby.”

The circles he rubs into your clit quicken, and when he scissors his fingers inside of you, you fall over the edge. He rides you through it, not daring to stop or slow down as you ride out your high against him. It isn’t until your moaning comes to an end that he pulls his fingers from you and kisses you again — this time, softer and sweeter. 

You cup his cheeks in your hand and pull him back, looking up at him in admiration and kissing the tip of his nose just to watch his lips tip up. He definitely seems more relaxed, but you want him to be relaxed completely. 

Much to his surprise, you sit up and push on his shoulders, guiding him so he sits with his back resting against the wall. His eyes widen when you climb onto his lap, then kiss your way up his chest, neck, jawline, cheeks, and finally, his lips. 

“Baby,” he whispers against your mouth.

You pull back and smirk, “I know, Joel. Just relax.”

He swallows and nods his head, then rests his palms on your hips. You take him in your hand and line him up with your entrance, sucking in a deep breath before you start to take him. He guides you down by your hips, then hisses when he feels you welcome him in. 

“Oh, fuck,” he cries out, “Needed this so bad. Needed you so bad, goddamn.”

You bite your lip in both pain and pleasure as he stretches you out, and you are still on top of him before you even consider moving. 

You grind your hips into his and he whimpers, hands now digging into your skin to try and keep you still. You lazily try to pry him off by rolling your hips again, but his grip only tightens. 

“One second, fuck, just hold still,” he commands roughly, “Unless you want me to cum right now.”

You give him a smug grin, “Well.”

“Hush,” he grunts, “C’mere.”

You obey and lower your head, connecting your lips with his again. You kiss him until you feel his grip on your hips gradually loosen, and when his hands fall from your skin altogether, you proceed. 

You begin to move up and down at a slow, steady pace with only one goal in mind: make Joel feel good. Take that stress, that pent up seriousness away. Smooth over his rough edges and let him know that even if he loses it, even if he holds his cards close to his chest, he will still always have you to come home to at the end of the day. 

“That’s so fucking good,” he swears, bringing his hands back up to help guide you, “Can’t believe you take all of me, baby.”

“Hmm, took a while,” you hum, teasing him before giving him another kiss.

He quickens your pace with his grip, and when that’s not enough for him, he starts thrusting his hips up into you. He listens as you cry out for him and lock your arms around his neck, letting the pleasure wash over every inch of you. 

With Joel, you swear he can feel every spot inside of you and is determined to hit it each and every time he fucks you. He doesn’t try to be gentle or tender; he is determined to draw every ounce of pleasure from you and he knows just how to do it. Rough, hard, and unforgiving. 

“Oh, fuck, Joel,” you whimper, “That’s it, that’s it—-”

“I know, almost there, just keep going for me a little longer, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, tightening around him. 

His hips buck up involuntarily when you tighten, and when you realize how close he truly is, you do it again. His thumb desperately finds your clit and rubs hard, but when that proves to not be enough, he draws his hand back and taps it twice with his fingers. 

You finish almost immediately after; falling into his chest as you moan loudly and ride out your high. Joel’s release comes only seconds after yours, and if not for the way he keeps himself pressed up inside you, you wouldn’t even know. 

You collapse into his chest and cuddle into his neck as you come down from it all. Joel breathes heavily above you, and his hands stroke down your back lightly in a comforting motion. You can feel your heart swelling in your chest, and the desire to tell him rests on the tip of your tongue. You don’t tell Joel often because Joel never initiates it, but you know he loves you. He always says it back, he just never says it first. 

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. 

“So are you.”

He lifts you up and pulls himself out, then gently sets you down on the bed beside him. He stands, tucking his boxers back on over his naked body. Your eyes follow him as he takes a few steps away, then turns back. 

“Water?” 

You nod, “Yes, please.”

You rise from the bed and use the restroom, then return and fish your tank top and panties from up off the floor. Joel watches as you tuck them over your body, then crawl back in bed beside him. You pull the sheet over your bottom half and do the same to him, then take the cup of water he’s offering you. 

“Her name is Sarah.”

Your eyes dart back up to him as he speaks, but you don’t understand his words. You pull the cup away from your lips and wipe your mouth with the back of your palm, then clear your throat.

“What?”

“The girl in the photo,” he clarifies, then leans over and grabs the polaroid out of the back pocket of his pants. He holds it out to you and nods for you to take it, then grabs the cup of water back from you, “Sarah. My kid.”

Your eyes widen slightly, “Your kid?”

He nods exactly once. You look up from the picture and to him, examining the way he clenches his jaw and puffs out his chest. As if he’s reliving some secret memory in his mind and he’s on the defensive, even though he’s really just in bed with you. 

“Love of my life,” he murmurs, his voice somber. 

You scoot closer to him, and when he doesn’t object, you put your head down on his chest. His arm wraps around you the same way it did before, but you love how you can feel more of his skin now. More of his warmth. Suddenly, the humidity and the heat don’t bother you. 

“Did she…” you trail off, not knowing how to ask your question. Thankfully, he knows what you’re trying to say, because he shakes his head. 

“No,” he replies, glancing at the photo over your shoulder again before adding, “She was shot.”

You tense and sit up, looking over into those brown eyes. Immediately, you can tell. He was there. He saw it. He’s been mourning her all this time, which is why he got so defensive over the book and the photograph. It’s why he doesn’t say much, or smile much, or volunteer much about himself. 

His heart was broken beyond repair once, and in this moment, you count yourself lucky to even be able to hold a piece of it. 

“Joel,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the tears forming in your eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

He nods carefully, then removes the photo from your fingers and places it on the small, cluttered table beside the bed. You want to say something, anything, but you know there aren’t words to reconcile his loss. 

“You don’t need to be.”

You run your hand up his arm and shoulder, to his jaw, then cup his cheek. Your thumb strokes over his beard and you pay extra attention to his gray patches, although he knows you love every inch of him. 

“You can tell me about her. If you want,” you offer. 

He swallows roughly, and you’re unsure of the response you’ll get. Slowly, he grabs ahold of your hand, the one on his face, and tangles your fingers up with his own. 

“I, um,” he frowns, looking down, “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Okay, that’s fine. But, when you are, I’m here.”

He nods, “I know.”

He tugs you back into his chest by your entwined hands, letting you slot into his side the way you always do. He readjusts the sheet around the two of you and slides down further on the bed, silently telling you that he wants to sleep, but he isn’t willing to release you to do so. 

“Joel?” you say after a minute or so of silence. 

“Yes?”

“I love you,” you tell him, closing your eyes after the words escape you. 

He’s silent for a beat too long, and you’re convinced he isn’t going to say anything back. 

“I love you, too,” he says. His voice is deep, and you can tell there’s a lot of emotion there. He leans down and kisses your forehead, then lays back on his pillow, “Get some rest.”

“Okay,” you reply, “Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams, baby.”

You smile to yourself in the darkness. Even though a perfect world with Joel would look entirely different to you, as you lay underneath a singular bedsheet in a tank top and underwear, you think that you’d do anything for him, and he’d do anything for you. That’s about as perfect as you can get.

a/n: ahhh my first joel fic in the books! i hope you guys enjoyed. reblogs are very much appreciated, as is feedback. i would love to hear any and all comments! thank you so much for reading!

*i no longer have a tag list!

[mackupdates]

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