congratsloserr

[congratsloserr]

actually so glad he came back omg

Sienna

masterlist

pairing: Drew Starkey x Fem!Teacher!Exgirlfriend!Reader

cw: angsty angst. mention of kids (gross) . "what could've been" trope.

a/n: trying to make things up to you guys by posting more frequently lol.

Based off of Sienna - The Marias

It’s nearly six by the time you get home. You’re drained- mentally, emotionally, physically. Burnt out doesn’t even begin to cover it. And yet, despite the ache behind your eyes and the weight in your limbs, there’s still a stack of seventh-grade homework waiting to be graded. Still a basic human need to eat. Still the expectation that somehow, in the middle of all this, you’ll find time to care for yourself.

You loved being a teacher. You really did. But some days, like today, it felt like too much. The kind of too much that settles in your bones. The kind that makes you wonder if the long hours, the emotional labor, the thankless weight of shaping young minds, is worth the insultingly low paycheck- and the inevitable scramble to pick up a second job every summer just to stay afloat.

You toe off your shoes at the kitchen table and set the stack of folders down with a dull thud. Your tote bag slips from your shoulder and crashes into the chair behind you. It all feels loud. Heavy. Final. You close your eyes for a moment and let out a sigh- long, full-bodied, like maybe it’ll empty some of the tension too.

Dinner is an afterthought. Cup noodles. Simple. Minimal effort. Just enough to keep you from running on fumes. You flip the kettle on and move back to the table, spreading out the folders by class period -1 through 8- each one a neat pile of papers needing red ink and attention. All of it due by Monday. And it’s only Thursday, you remind yourself. Which somehow doesn’t make it feel any better.

You finally sit, letting yourself sink into the chair as you pick up the folder for your first period. The second your fingers touch the edge, your phone buzzes across the table.

You groan -half-exasperated, half-defeated- and reach for it, already expecting spam or a parent email or some kind of reminder you’d forgotten.

But then you see the name.

Your heart skips. Not dramatically, not in a way that you’d call romantic- but in that quiet, traitorous way it always does when his name lights up your screen.

Drew.

You don’t let the smile win. Even though it’s there, tugging at the corners of your mouth, threatening to spread across your face just at the sight of his name on your screen. Instead, you school your expression, slide the little green icon to the right, and bring the phone to your ear, tucking it between your shoulder and cheek as you reach for your glasses.

You nudge your first period’s stack of papers closer, uncap your red ballpoint pen with your teeth, and spit the plastic cap onto the table like it’s muscle memory. Student one: Anita. You circle the empty line where the date is supposed to be written.

“Hello?” you say casually, your tone the kind that pretends you weren’t just lit up inside by the sound of your phone.

“I hope you still like Chinese takeout,” his voice says- smooth and easy, silk over gravel, that familiar edge of charm that makes it hard to focus on anything else.

Your pen stills on the page. Your eyes lift- not looking at anything in particular, just staring into space as you let the sound of him settle in your chest.

“You say that every time you see me for the first time in months,” you reply, finally allowing yourself to smile. The first genuine one you’ve had all day.

“I’m five and a half minutes away.”

You’re already moving- standing up, switching the kettle off, tossing the sad cup noodles back in the cabinet like they offended you.

“Sure! Just come on over. It’s not like I’m in the middle of grading fifty-seven seventh-grade essays,” you say, dry sarcasm coating every word. It’s a shared language between the two of you- sarcasm and softness tangled up together.

“Thanks for the invite,” he chuckles, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” you laugh.

“Alright. See you in a bit,” he says, and then the line goes quiet.

You spring into motion. Dishes go into the dishwasher, wrappers and coffee-stained napkins from last night’s grading binge are swept off the couch, and throw pillows are fluffed with precision you didn’t know you were capable of. It’s not spotless, but it’s what you call lived-in clean. Which is good enough.

That’s when you notice- you’re still in your work clothes. An Oxford shirt wrinkled at the elbows, jeans that lost their shape sometime around fourth period, and your hair? It’s tied in a makeshift bun held together by your emergency liquid eyeliner. You’d forgotten a hair tie this morning, and this was the best you could do during lunch.

You barely sit back down when the door creaks open.

Your eyes flick toward it instinctively, scanning the room one last time to make sure it doesn’t look like a total disaster. The knot in your stomach tightens- not because you’re nervous, exactly, but because it’s him. And no matter how many years pass, that little part of you that turns to static when he’s around never seems to go away.

A little backstory on you and Drew.

You met in college, both of you enrolled in the same performing arts program. Same courses, same rehearsals, same half-delirious nights running lines until your voices cracked. He was funny, easy in his skin in a way that pulled people toward him. You weren’t immune.

Friendship came first- coffee runs between classes, sharing notes when one of you skipped lecture, laughing so hard during improv exercises you both got scolded. But friendship wasn’t all it became.

Your first kiss happened sophomore year, after a student play wrapped. Cast party long over, your dorm was quiet, your roommate out. Drew had walked you back, lingering like he didn’t want to say goodnight. One second you were teasing him about blowing a line during Act Two, the next his hand was on your cheek and his mouth was on yours- soft, sure, like he’d been thinking about it as long as you had.

From there, it was simple. Natural. The kind of relationship that grew out of comfort, where love felt like staying up too late memorizing lines together or sneaking into the theater after hours just to rehearse alone. You were each other’s first real thing.

One night, it went further. A winter evening in your dorm, music split between one pair of headphones, Fleetwood Mac bleeding softly in your ears. You were both stretched out on your narrow bed, shoulders pressed together. He asked if you ever thought about the future, and you told him you did. He smiled in that quiet, crooked way and said he could picture it: a little house, you teaching during the day, him running lines at night. A daughter someday, with your eyes and your stubborn streak.

“What would we call her?” you asked, half-laughing, half-afraid of how much you wanted the answer.

He paused, then whispered, “Sienna.”

The name stuck in your chest, warm and impossible to forget.

Later that same night -hesitant touches turning bolder- you both stumbled into losing your virginity together. Clumsy, nervous, fumbling with buttons and laughter that broke the tension when he dropped a condom on the floor. It wasn’t cinematic or smooth, but it was yours. The way his hands shook when he pushed your hair back, the way he whispered, “Are you okay?” more than once, the way you clutched each other after like the world had shifted. What you remember most wasn’t the awkwardness- it was how safe it felt, how much it mattered.

It lasted through college. Three years of cast lists, cramped apartments, bad wine, whispered promises about the future. You knew how he took his coffee. He knew how you liked to be held when you were nervous before a performance.

But by senior year, it became clear: you wanted different things. He craved the spotlight, the risk, the uncertain chase of acting. You craved steadiness, a life you could build piece by piece. You didn’t fight about it. There was no betrayal, no messy ending. Just two people who loved each other enough to be honest.

So you broke up. Cleanly. Carefully. With tears, sure- but also with gratitude for what you’d had.

And against all odds, you stayed friends.

After graduation, Drew chased Hollywood. You chased a classroom. Second graders replaced scripts, bulletin boards replaced rehearsal schedules. But every time he came home to Asheville, he made a point to find you. A coffee shop run, takeout on your couch, hours of catching up until it felt like no time had passed at all.

You don’t talk every day. Sometimes not for weeks. But when his name lights up your phone, you answer. Because the bond never really went away.

You’re grateful for that. For him.

Even if some nights, when it’s quiet, you still wonder what it might’ve been like if timing hadn’t split you in two.

In walks Drew.

He’s dressed like someone who doesn’t overthink what he wears but somehow still looks good without trying. Beige cargo pants hang loose around his frame, paired with those beat-up black and white Samba Adidas you’ve seen him in a dozen times. He’s layered up in an old black Carhartt jacket- thrifted, of course. Vintage, soft-looking, worn at the elbows. His hair has grown out since the last time you saw him, now shaped into what can only be described as a baby mullet- messy, intentional, somehow still charming on him.

In his hand, he carries a large brown takeout bag, grease staining the corners and a scrawl of Sharpie across the front that reads:

Drew S.

“Hey,” he says with a smirk, shutting the door behind him and flipping the lock with a casual flick of his wrist.

You stand up from the table automatically, like your body just knows to move when he enters a room. He steps forward and without hesitation, slides his free arm under yours and wraps it around your waist, drawing you in. His chin rests lightly on your shoulder, and for a second, the world goes still.

You wrap your arms around his neck, familiar and easy. Warm. You can smell a faint trace of whatever cologne he wears- or maybe just clean laundry and outside air.

“Hey,” you reply softly. “What’s it been this time? Six and a half months?”

He pulls back, but only enough to drop his phone, keys, and the food bag onto your cluttered table- right next to your untouched pile of papers. His eyes briefly scan the scene before flicking to the stove clock.

6:13 p.m.

“I think,” he says. “But you know I come see you every time I’m in town. Don’t guilt-trip me- I already feel bad.”

You laugh, easing back into your chair. “I was messing with you.”

He doesn’t sit right away. Instead, he stares at you for a beat longer than necessary, then leans down and gently pushes your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

You scrunch it instinctively, batting his hand away, but your smile gives you away.

“Ten years and you’re still wearing those fucking glasses,” he teases, grinning as he unpacks the bag.

You watch him pull out four red-and-white takeout boxes, the kind with the folded paper tops and that iconic pagoda logo on the side.

“Shut the hell up,” you mutter, standing to grab plates from the kitchen.

He follows after you, still unpacking like he knows exactly where things go. “Okay… I got your fried rice, orange chicken, chow mein, and shrimp,” he lists like he’s a game show host announcing prizes. He accepts the plates from you and sets them neatly on the table. “Please tell me you have something to drink.”

He shrugs off his jacket, revealing that basic white t-shirt you always associate with him. Slightly too snug in the shoulders, a little loose around the waist. Worn soft. Comfort clothing.

“I have water,” you call over your shoulder as you head toward the sink. You pump a generous squirt of soap into your palms and begin scrubbing your hands, the warm water hitting your skin like a small relief after the long day.

Drew appears beside you, mimicking your every move like an oversized shadow.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised.

He shrugs. “You started it.”

You try to fight the grin forming on your lips, but it’s no use.

“Since you invited yourself over,” you say, drying your hands with a paper towel, “I now assign you the incredibly important task of helping me grade papers.”

He raises a brow, grabbing his own towel. “That’s what I get for being a good friend?”

“Exactly.” You flash him a smirk. “You get it.”

He laughs, tossing his paper towel into the trash and giving you a half-hearted glare. “If I’d known there was going to be forced labor involved, I would’ve stayed in the car.”

“You say that, but we both know you would’ve come in anyway.”

While you both plate your food, the conversation flows easily- catching up on life in that way old friends-turned lovers-turned back to friends do. You ask about his family, if his mom still makes that killer banana bread, how his dad’s team is doing. He asks about your parents, your siblings, and if teaching seventh graders is really as soul-draining as it sounds.

You both laugh and sigh in equal measure, comfortably moving around each other like people who’ve done this a hundred times before.

Once you settle at the table, shoulder to shoulder, Drew props his phone up against a small vase of wilting flowers and presses play on what appears to be a girls’ basketball game.

“Let me guess,” you say, raising a brow. “Your dad’s team?”

“Yup. Semi-finals,” he says, a little pride sneaking into his voice. “Figured I could multitask—supportive son and indentured grading servant.”

You roll your eyes and hand him a small stack of papers, followed by a spare red pen. “You’re living the dream.”

He flips through the first couple of assignments, squinting. “Okay, wait. These are math problems. I thought you taught theater?”

“I do. And math. I contain multitudes.”

“Jesus.” He stares blankly at one of the pages. “I haven’t looked at equations like this since high school.”

You reach into your folder and slide out a printed rubric and answer key, pushing it toward him. “Here. A cheat sheet. For the mathematically challenged.”

He takes it with mock reverence. “You really made a whole key?”

“I’m not just assigning grades based on vibes,” you tease. “Believe it or not, I like my job.”

He taps his pen against the paper. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Says the man wearing thrifted Carhartt and watching his dad’s basketball team while grading math homework.”

He holds up his hands. “Touché.”

You lean over to help him with a problem he’s clearly stuck on, pointing to where the student miscalculated. “See, they didn’t carry the one.”

He groans. “This is humiliating. You’re out here solving math like it’s second nature and I’m having flashbacks to being thirteen and cheating off the kid next to me.”

“Maybe I should tutor you,” you say casually, nudging his elbow. “Could do a whole after-school special.”

He grins, not looking at you as he says, “You know, I’ve always fantasized about staying after class with a hot teacher for detention.”

Your breath catches for a fraction of a second. You nudge him harder this time, laughing. “You’re so annoying.”

“Just saying,” he shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching.

There’s a charged pause -quick but noticeable- before you both shift your focus back to the papers in front of you. He scribbles a red checkmark. You pretend not to feel the heat creeping up the side of your neck.

“This is boring,” Drew announces after a while, tossing the red pen onto the table with a soft clatter. He leans back in his chair, stretching both arms overhead until his shirt pulls taut across his chest, then scrubs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to wake himself up.

You glance toward the stove, squinting slightly. 7:32 p.m.

Drew notices and lets out a laugh. “You still check the clock on the stove? Your phone’s right there.”

You smirk, unconcerned. “Old habits.”

He shakes his head fondly. “I swear, you’re the only person I know who isn’t glued to their phone 24/7.”

“Imagine doing this all day,” you say, gesturing toward the half-finished stack of papers.

He lets out a dramatic sigh, tilting his head before leaning over and -without warning- snatching your glasses off your face.

“Hey!” you protest, but you’re already laughing as he slips them on.

“You look like SpongeBob when he goes jelly fishing,” you giggle, watching him cross his eyes in exaggerated concentration.

He blinks hard, adjusting them. “You’re not as blind as you act.”

“Still rude,” you mutter, taking them back and setting them down on the table beside your papers.

There’s a quiet pause as your laughter fades and the silence settles comfortably between you. You glance around the space- your cluttered table, the takeout boxes, the soft hum of the game still playing on his phone. It all feels weirdly familiar.

“This is giving me déjà vu,” Drew says suddenly, his voice lower, softer. He folds his arms across his chest, and the sleeves of his white t-shirt strain against the muscle of his arms. “Like when we’d hang out in your dorm after rehearsal. You, grading lines. Me, pretending I wasn’t distracted.”

You nod, lips tugging into a small smile. “Yeah…except now I’m grading algebra and not Hamlet monologues.”

He chuckles and leans forward slightly. “Wanna watch a movie?”

You give him a look- part disapproving, part amused. “Drew…”

“Just one movie,” he says, already pouting, hands pressed together like he’s praying. “Please. I’m being so good.”

“I still have four more class periods to get through,” you remind him, sighing as you glance at the unforgiving stack.

“But you could grade tomorrow,” he says with a shrug, casual as anything. “First period, lunch, free block… maybe after drama club?”

You don’t respond right away. You’re already rationalizing it in your head. He’s not wrong. You could finish tomorrow. You’ve done worse with less time.

When you reach up and tug the eyeliner from your bun, letting your hair fall as you scratch at your scalp, Drew grins like he knows he’s won.

“You’re a horrible influence,” you grumble, already pushing your chair back from the table.

“The worst,” he agrees proudly, hopping up to follow you toward the couch.

You don’t look back, but you feel the warmth of him behind you- close, familiar, like he’s been here a thousand times before.

And in a way, he has.

You scroll through the endless options, your thumb hovering over every genre imaginable- comedies, thrillers, dramas you’ve already seen twice.

“What are we watching?” you ask, turning your head toward him.

Drew looks entirely too comfortable. He’s reclined deep into the couch, head resting lazily against the back cushion, legs spread at a wide, cocky angle like he owns the space. His body is draped at a slouched 120-degree angle, arms stretched out, fingers resting on his stomach.

Your eyes flick down -briefly- taking in the way he’s unapologetically manspreading.

It’s kind of hot.

You quickly snap your gaze back up to his face just as he shifts to look at you.

“Mmm… something lighthearted,” he says, voice slow and relaxed, eyes half-lidded from comfort.

You raise an eyebrow. “You begged me to watch a movie and you don’t even know what you want to watch?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Something scary. Ever seen ‘Gothika’?”

Your head tilts. “Scary and lighthearted don’t usually go in the same sentence.”

He grins. “Yeah, well. I’m complicated.”

You roll your eyes and keep scrolling until you find the Prime Video app. “No, I haven’t seen it.”

“Turn it on. It’s good. Halle Berry’s in it.”

You glance at him sideways, catching the sly smile on his lips. “That’s why you want to watch it, huh?”

He chuckles, not even bothering to deny it. “I mean, yeah- a little. But mostly because I remember how much you hate scary movies. Thought I’d relive the joy of watching you flinch.”

You gasp. “I do not flinch.”

“You so do,” he teases, sitting up a little straighter now. “You used to hide behind throw pillows anytime there was a jump scare.”

“That was one time!” you argue, already pulling up the movie. “And the music was loud.”

“That’s the point,” he laughs, nudging you with his knee. “You’re a scaredy-cat and it’s adorable.”

“Am not,” you mumble under your breath as the movie begins to load.

“Are too,” he murmurs back, his voice low and smug.

You shoot him a side-eye, but the corner of your mouth twitches upward anyway.

-

You’re tucked into the corner of the couch, hiding behind a throw pillow with your knees pulled up to your chest. Your eyes peek just above the top, narrowed in suspicion toward the TV. Drew is beside you, one arm draped along the back of the couch, watching both the screen and your reactions with obvious amusement.

Another jumpscare flashes- and you let out a muffled yelp, immediately lunging into his side, face burying into the space between his arm and your pillow.

He bursts out laughing. “You good?”

“No,” you groan into the cotton of his hoodie and the throw pillow. Your voice is barely audible, half suffocated and fully embarrassed.

You peek up at him, shifting slightly- your elbow digging into his upper thigh. Your faces are close. Probably too close. But given everything that’s already happened between you, it’s not unfamiliar. Not enough to make you pull away.

“You did this on purpose,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes.

A slow smile tugs at his lips. “Maybe.”

You roll your eyes but don’t move from your spot, and neither does he. The flicker from the screen casts a soft glow across his face as his gaze drifts down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes. Once. Twice.

“What?” you ask, trying to ignore how warm your skin is suddenly getting under his stare.

He bites down on his bottom lip, then looks away, shaking his head slightly as his knees bounce with a quiet rhythm.

“No, seriously. Tell me.” You nudge his shoulder with yours, still teasing- but your voice is quieter now.

He exhales through his nose and leans his head against the back cushion, turning to face you. His tongue runs along the inside of his cheek before he speaks, voice low.

“You remember our first kiss?”

Your breath catches. The question hangs in the air between you, heavier than the flickering light of the movie, heavier than the pile of graded essays on the table behind you.

“Of course I remember,” you say finally, quieter than you meant to. “You kissed me outside my dorm. After the afterparty to celebrate the successful performance of the Twelfth Night.”

He nods once, slow, like he’s replaying it. “You were teasing me about that one line I messed up.”

“And you looked like you were about to combust,” you add, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

He chuckles, low in his chest. “Yeah. I almost didn’t. But you kept looking at me like… I dunno. Like you were waiting.”

You don’t answer, because he’s not wrong.

There’s a silence- thick, but not uncomfortable. Just charged. His eyes flicker over your face like he’s searching for something, then fall away again. His hand flexes against the back of the couch, like it’s fighting the urge to close the space between you.

“You remember the night we… you know.. lost our virginities,” he says, careful but pointed.

Your pulse skips. Of course you remember. The narrow bed, the one pair of headphones, Fleetwood Mac humming in the background. His shaky hands, your nervous laughter. Sienna.

“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes dropping to the pillow in your lap. “I remember.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding it for years. “I think about that sometimes. About us. About… what we thought our lives would look like.”

Your heart squeezes. “The little house. The porch. The kid running around the yard.”

His eyes meet yours, something soft and almost broken in them. “Sienna.”

The name falls between you like it always has- warm, fragile, too precious to touch. You swallow hard, looking away before he sees too much.

“Crazy, huh?” you murmur, forcing a small smile. “How young we were. How sure we thought we were.”

He doesn’t smile back. He just watches you, quiet, like maybe he’s still sure. Like maybe he’s never stopped being sure.

The movie drones on in the background, forgotten. Neither of you moves, and yet everything inside you feels like it’s leaning toward him- toward the memory of what you had, and the possibility of what you might still be.

The silence stretches, full of unsaid things. Your fingers twist at the edge of the blanket, knuckles white. Drew leans back against the couch, eyes on the ceiling like he’s afraid if he looks at you too long, he’ll say something he can’t take back.

Finally, you let out a breath. “Do you ever… wonder?”

His head tilts toward you, brows knitting. “Wonder what?”

You shrug, pretending it’s casual, though your throat is tight. “What it would’ve been like. If we hadn’t- if we’d just… kept going.”

He doesn’t answer right away. The pause is heavy, and your stomach twists, regretting the words the second they’re out. But then, softly, he says, “Yeah. I wonder all the time.”

Your heart stumbles. You laugh a little, nervous. “Don’t say that just to make me feel better.”

“I’m not.” His voice is firm, almost raw. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. I chased exactly what I wanted. But sometimes… sometimes I wonder if I chose wrong.”

The words hit you square in the chest. You want to tell him you think about it too- lying awake, picturing the porch you dreamed about, the kid you swore would have your smile and his stubborn streak. But the fear claws at you. What if he doesn’t mean it like you do? What if it’s nostalgia talking?

So instead you murmur, “Grass is always greener, right?”

He lets out a soft huff, no humor in it. “Yeah. Maybe.”

For a long moment, you just sit there, the movie flickering unnoticed. Your hands almost brush on the cushion, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. Neither of you moves closer. Neither of you pulls away.

Finally, he whispers, “What if we were still us?”

Your breath catches. You can’t look at him, not with the tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “Then maybe we wouldn’t be sitting here, pretending we don’t still think about it.”

The confession slips out before you can stop it, quiet and trembling. And when you finally glance at him, his expression says it all- he misses it too. He misses you.

But neither of you says anything else.

The movie drones on. The world spins outside. And you sit there, inches apart, tangled in a what-if that both of you are too afraid to touch.

The room is quiet except for the low hum of the movie neither of you are watching. It feels dangerous, the way it always does when you let yourselves drift too close to before.

You break the silence first, voice low, almost a whisper. “She would’ve had your temper.”

Drew glances at you, startled, and then something flickers in his eyes. He doesn’t ask who she is. He already knows.

“Your temper,” you repeat, eyes fixed on the blanket bunched in your lap. “Always running wild, never sitting still. Sensitive, too. Like you.”

He lets out a slow breath, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. There’s a smile tugging at his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “She would’ve had your eyes,” he murmurs. “Big, soft. The kind that make people feel seen.”

You shake your head, but your throat is tight. “Your hair, though. Messy and stubborn. Probably darker than mine.”

“Your skin,” he says without hesitation. His voice has gone rough, almost reverent. “She would’ve had that glow. The kind that… that people can’t stop looking at.”

You finally glance at him, and the look on his face nearly undoes you. It’s too tender, too close to the boy you once knew- the one who used to talk about forever like it was a promise he could actually keep.

A silence settles again, heavier now, as if both of you are afraid to push further. Afraid that saying her name, saying Sienna, will make the dream too real, too painful to hold.

So instead, you swallow hard and manage a broken laugh. “We really shouldn’t do this.”

He leans back slowly, eyes on you like he wants to memorize your face. “Yeah,” he agrees, though he doesn’t sound convinced. “We shouldn’t.”

But neither of you moves away.

The silence stretches, fragile and heavy, like a thread pulled too tight. Neither of you knows what to say next without unraveling everything.

Finally, you glance at the clock. The numbers blur, but you force yourself to say it anyway. “It’s late. You should probably go.”

Drew doesn’t move right away. He sits there, shoulders tense, fingers drumming against his knee. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to argue, like he’ll admit what’s sitting between you- the memories, the ache, the what ifs. His mouth even parts, and your chest clenches, waiting.

But all he does is nod. “Yeah. You’re right.” His voice is soft. Careful.

He stands, slow, like gravity’s fighting him. You follow him to the door out of habit, heart in your throat. And after he puts his jack and shoes back on, he lingers there, hand on the knob, turning back just enough that you see the conflict written all over his face. The words are right there- you can feel them on the tip of his tongue.

I miss us.

But they don’t come. He swallows them down, offering you a faint, crooked smile instead. “Goodnight.”

And then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut, and the quiet that follows is suffocating. You just stand there, staring at the space he left behind, every memory crashing back all at once- the laughter, the promises, the girl named Sienna who never was.

You think about calling out, about stopping him, but the thought sticks in your throat. It feels too late. Maybe it isn’t- but you can’t bring yourself to find out.

So you sit back down on the couch, pull the blanket around your shoulders, and let the silence press close.

Until two sharp knocks break it apart.

Your head jerks up.

The door.

For a heartbeat, you don’t move. You don’t breathe.

Then, slowly, you rise.

Hand on the knob, pulse racing, you pull it open-

And there he is.

Drew.

Eyes stormy, jaw set like he’s finally made a decision.

“You remember,” he says quietly, almost like he’s testing the words, “how we used to talk about forever?”

Your brows pull together, confused, but your voice still comes. “…Yeah.”

A pause. His throat bobs. Then, softer- like it’s the most reckless, hopeful thing he’s ever said:

“What if we tried again?”

[congratsloserr]

he’s so pretty I can not

Shawn Hatosy in Animal Kingdom 3x10

Begging for information about his niece

[congratsloserr]

😭😭 6 7 🤷🏽‍♀️

i'm really hoping singer!reader is chronically online and makes 6'7 jokes about rafe

“totally falling for tall guy propaganda,” you murmur, buried in rafe’s arms and under the covers, speaking into his skin.

“what does that even mean?” rafe’s brows furrow, tilting his down to look at you while you rest your chin on his chest to look up at him.

“short kings really aren’t for me,” you elaborate, not helping the situation at all.

“you don’t like short kings? which king is that?”

top lip tugging up in confusion, you give him a look to say you don’t even know what he’s on about, whereas he has no clue what you’re saying.

“you said you didn’t like short kings. so which king was so short you hated him?”

realisation dawning, you burst into laughter against him, while rafe just holds you, even more lost.

“so rafe..that short for anything?” your friend asks him, causing you to look up for once from where you’re examining the new rings across rafe’s fingers.

“oh rafe’s never been short in his life.”

“no baby– what?” rafe flushes red, while your friend starts chuckling and grinning with you.

or perhaps rafe would say something relatable and you’d go “six sehhvennn” and he’d just raise an eyebrow at you, having no idea what meme you’re referring to.

[congratsloserr]

guys guys I can’t do this PLEASEE

what if- conrad fisher

conrad fisher x girlfriend!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, mention of sex and sexual innuendos

summary: one question made him wondered what if?

a/n: another fic with a similar plot is coming your way soon because i missunderstood the request i wrote this fic based on

conrad had been honest with her from the very start when they started talking about their families and their relationships with them. 

he had been honest how for about a year and a half he hadn’t had a close relationship with his brother as he started dating his first love isabel best known as belly.

it had been two years since said conversation and she had met belly and jeremiah maybe two or three times and it hadn’t been a problem the girl was extremely nice to her, she believed him when he told her he was over whatever had happened after his mother passed away. 

but even if she trusted him with her entire heart it was a bit awkward when one morning with breakfast in bed he said.

“belly arrived last night when we were sleeping, she’ll be staying here for the summer while planning the wedding.” she almost chocked on her tea.

“the whole three months?” he nodded. “you alright with that?”

“yeah we don’t really have to worry about her being around. we’ll be alone most of the times with her wedding plans and everything.” he smiles and leans in to kiss her to which she lets him leaving the cup of tea on the bedside table and only focusing on her boyfriend ignoring the outside world for as long as she could. 

“hey.” she greeted belly when they entered the kitchen hand in hand. “how’s it going?”

“hi all good.” the younger girl smiled at her. “you?”

“all good.” she smiled back. “so we’re going to town to buy some things from the market. do you want something?” 

“uhm could you buy fresh berries and peaches?” belly asks.

“sure just keep the peaches separated in another bowl, conrad is allergic to them.” she looked at her for a second long enough to see her furrow her brows before turning to conrad. “ready to go?”

“yeah baby let’s go.” without saying goodbye to belly he took her hand in his and led her out of the house. 

she stayed for a week before going back to the city to stay with jeremiah at adam’s place. 

“i don’t have anything against her but it’s so nice to just be us alone again.” she sat on the kitchen counter as he stood beside the stove. “and being able to enjoy my hot shirtless boyfriend on my own.” she giggled and made conrad laughed while he cooked lunch. 

“that’s kind of mean not wanting to share me.” he stands in the space between her legs. “there’s a lot of conrad for everyone.”

“i hope there’s not a lot of the conrad i get for everyone.” she pouts and he laughs, placing small kisses on her neck. “like this kind of connie i really hope it is reserved for me.” 

“for sure baby.” his kisses now placed on her lips. “only for you.” 

days were simple and kind to them, conrad would leave early in the morning sometimes while she was still asleep for a morning surf and then he would come back to her already making breakfast. she works from her computer while he does things around the house and after they have lunch both of them go down to the beach, him dancing around the waves while she lays in the sun. 

and before the sun starts to set, the surfboard is left beside her things with the book she was reading forgotten in her bag as she joins him in the water. 

“i didn’t think i’d be happy again after mom died not in cousins at least.” he said as a secret as he hugged her and the sea hugged them both. “you’ve changed everything for me y’know that right?” 

“i love you conrad with everything i have in me.” she kissed his nose and then his lips. “let’s make the best out of this summer.” 

and they absolutely did. 

“con.” she hummed against his mouth caging him between her legs wrapping both around his waist as she sat on the kitchen counter one rather chilly night. 

shirts already discarded on the floor and forgotten with whatever thing they had been doing before that lead to this moment. too immersed in themselves to hear the front door open and close. 

if it wasn’t for the two layers on their lower parts that still created a barrier between the two of them belly would’ve found them having sex not that it was much different in her eyes by the way the hips of the couple met and the noises she heard when she entered the kitchen. 

“shit.” she murmured as she took in the situation in front of her.

conrad looked back first while his girlfriend hid her face on the crook of his neck. 

“get out!” he raised his voice a bit not enough to scare her but enough to make her go up the stairs quickly. 

“she has great timing. did you know she was coming back?” she questioned. 

“we wouldn’t have been interrupted if i knew baby.” her hands went up and down his back. “guess we’ll have to continue this later.” 

she nods and accepts his help to get dressed.

all the trust she had in him and words she’d believed in were put under a lens after that night. he changed, in a subtle way but changed. 

if belly was around he didn’t grab her waist like he did before even if the other girl was around, kisses weren’t placed on the top of her head and she had been paying attention to the way his eyes lingered a bit more on his ex girlfriend than they used to. 

she tried to think it was because the scene had been uncomfortable and he didn’t want to add more to that feeling.

“are we good?” she asked while they got themselves ready for bed. 

“yeah why are you asking?” his eyebrows furrowed. 

“you’ve been weird these past two days.” she settled her head on the arm he opened for her to lay in. “distant.”

“i’ve got a lot on my mind right now. there’s nothing bad with you or us baby.” he kissed her forehead. “don’t worry about it.” 

they say there’s always a first time for everything, she just didn’t want to believe that for the first time in all their time together conrad’s words didn’t bring her calm or peace. they brought her uncertainty. 

the next morning while her boyfriend went to surf she took the chance to go into town, a bit of fresh air and solitude was what she needed right now to clear her head. 

she came back with hands full of bags, the berries belly liked and more food but she didn’t get to put things in the right places, drops of blood making a path up the stairs distracted from doing so. 

her stomach twisted when she reached the bathroom. conrad and belly were way too close, close to the point that if any of them moved forward their lips would touch. 

“belly can you help me get up?” it seemed to be what took the younger girl out of the moment. 

“yeah yeah.” they still hadn’t noticed her. 

once conrad stood up he noticed his girlfriend. 

“baby.” he couldn’t even smile because of the pain of his injury but in her mind it was because of what she had just witnessed. “can you help me get in bed?” 

“yeah what happened?” she didn’t look at belly again, instead wrapped her arms around him to help him walk. 

“got hurted with a rock while surfing, it’s a pretty deep cut.” he lays down in bed and hisses when she moves his leg, softly, to set a pillow under it. 

“sorry.” she murmurs. “do you want painkillers?” 

he nods no. 

“i’ll take a nap, it’ll help.” she kisses his forehead before taking a step back. 

“i’ll go put the groceries in the fridge.” he hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything else. 

belly’s car is gone when she comes down the stairs and she takes that moment to let the tears gathered in her eyes to fall down her cheeks, the bathroom scene in loop inside her mind. 

she thought going in the pool was going to help her, the water relax her but she was mistaken. 

the ‘what ifs’ clouded her. 

what if she hadn’t come home sooner? what if conrad hadn’t seen her there? what if?

“am i going to live with this ghost for eternity?” she questioned herself. 

maybe it had been uncomfortable at times but she never felt this ghost she thought about now. you can ignore some things for a period of time but at the end of the day they’ll come out somehow.  

she helped conrad do a few things when he woke up and the following days because from just looking at his leg you could sense how much it hurted but aside from that she just kept to herself. 

and him being the person he is of course sensed the shift. 

“is something going on with you?” the roles had inverted in less than a week since she’d asked practically the same question. 

“i think i’m about to get my period so i’ve been feeling a little weird, that’s all.” he saw right through her lie but he didn’t push. 

when jeremiah arrived with steven and taylor the following day she seemed to relax but he didn’t understand why. 

“drop the act baby what’s going on?” he sat her down on his, their, bed and caressed her thigh. 

she closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. 

“the other day when you hurted yourself.” he nods. “if you hadn’t seen me there, what would’ve happened?”

“what do you mean?”

“if any of you two moved just a bit forward you would’ve kissed conrad” she looked at him. their eyes met and he understood what she thought. 

“nothing would’ve happened y/n/n.” he sighs. 

“do you love her con?” she was afraid of hurting him with the question and she was scared of the answer he could give her.

“of course i do.” she looked down to her lap where his hand met her skin. “she’s family and she was my first love, i’ll always carry love for her.” 

“no con, is there a part of you that might still be in love with her?” he didn’t hesitate to answer even if he was hurt by her wondering his true feelings.

“no. i was no longer in love with her when i met you.” he placed his free hand on the back of her neck to try and make her look at him. “i know what it looked like in the bathroom now that you bring it up baby but i love you, she’s marrying my brother in a few days and we’ll always be around each other."

“i’m sorry for being insecure, I hadn't realised the amount of history you do have until we spent all this time together.” her waterline was filled with tears. “we’ve been together for a long time but you’ve known her for longer and the things you shared can’t be erased.”

“no, they can not but the things we’ll share you and me, those can’t be compared either.” her tears fell and he cleaned them from her cheek. “we are real baby, you’re my future and the woman i chose to spend the rest of my days just like my brother chose her and belly chose my brother.” he paused. “maybe at another time it would’ve hurt me to say that out loud but i didn’t know i’d found my absolute dream out there when that happened.”

“i’m sorry connie.” he denies with his head. 

“you don’t have to apologise, i should’ve known better than to act as if this whole mess wasn’t going to make you uncomfortable at some point.” she leans in resting her forehead in his shoulder as his arms engulfed her in a tight hug. “i love you.” 

“i love you too.” 

he had done his best to reassure her of his love for her because he knew he was always going to have love for belly in his heart, it was something that couldn’t be erased but the love he felt for her was different. it felt permanent and not something that was going to slip away as soon as august ended like a bottle of wine. 

because she was his and he was hers even if ghosts of the past liked to wander around, even if her question started to make him wonder if he was still in love with his brother’s wife from time to time. 

even if now her words made him go back to that morning in the bathroom making him look at it in a different light, he hadn’t thought about it until she brought it up as something more than a friend helping him out. 

he loved her but she had made him wonder ‘what if’ ‘what if it had been belly’ and at christmas she wondered if conrad’s eyes would ever shine only when he looked at her or if his eyes would also light up when belly came into scene. 

both of them kept their ‘what if’ as a secret letting it rust by the door while they prayed for the ‘what if’ to pass.

masterlist

tagging y'all because idk who does like conrad and who does not: @droppedyourhnd @congratsloserr @rafesbabygirlx @gillybear17 @theoraekenslover @silkylovey @frankoceanluver11 @ethanthequeefqueen @chiaraanatra @chenslucy @ijustwanttoreadlols @memoirofasparklemuff1n

[congratsloserr]

omggggg:((((

⊹the look of love⊹

— when female!reader saw the tiktok trend for that arctic monkeys song with couples from the movies looking at each other, captioned "the look of love," she never thought it could happen to her.

you had never noticed anyone taking much interest in you. you had always been ordinary. ordinary student, who had nothing to praise, but also no reason to call the principal. ordinary daughter, not the most outstanding, but not the most disappointing either. ordinary friend, who, it seemed, could be invited to birthday, but not enough to tell you all secrets. just an ordinary. nothing special.

but when you started communicating to rafe, and then became his good friend, something changed.

he was always there. always, even when the situation didnt require it. always interested, always attentive, always made you feel that you were important.

sometimes rafe, of course, like everyone else in your life, didnt pay attention to you. he didnt listen, didnt notice the meaning of the words you said. he just looked. straight at you, not taking his eyes off you at all, closely following you every move, drilling two deep holes with his pupils somewhere in the area of you eyelids. and he only moved away after a while, interrupted by your questions, but he asked something like "mm?" or "did you say something, sweatheart?", which gave himself away.

sometimes that happened at your joint parties. it was at such moments that sarah and the girls began to sing that arctic monkeys song. "the look of love"…

once they even sent you a video taken during one of your enthusiastic stories about your favorite cringy movie. then you gesticulated, laughed, recalling completely stupid details, couldnt sit still, and were generally quite active. and rafe… he barely even blinked when looking at you, and occasionally nodded, smiling at something particularly emotional.

of course, at first you denied it all. what other kind of love could there be?

but after a while, you, half unconsciously, began to catch yourself looking for those looks of his. in the bar, where you casually told him about your day, on his boat, where he invited you to sunbathe on a particularly warm day, at dinner at their house, because wizzy liked you too much…

well, maybe your friends were right, and it wasnt just wizzy.

because rafe was still looking. long, intently, attentively. lovingly?

you were afraid of that word. and secretly wanted to feel it.

because it seemed to you that rafe was the only one in your life for whom it could be enough.

enough to love, enough to admire, enough to care for, enough for the girl who finally seemed to feel something.

__________________________________________________________

⛤inspired by my friend who showed me this tt trend like yesterday. also love love sm arctic monkeys songs!!

[congratsloserr]

stop they are so cute

you want me to pretend? | fourteen

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, college au, smau/irl, possible spoilers for Funny Story by Emily Henry, basketball lingo, cursing, spanish speaking (translation at the end)

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 3.9k

authors note: ok so for my sake we will pretend that I added the locations down their contact pictures ever since they started sharing it with each other, thanks 🙂‍↕️😭 ALSO I'm sorry for the lack of updates I just haven't had the energy to do graphics (which it shows since this chapter is mainly written)

13 | 14 | 15

Today

You were ready to go home, but your car had other plans. You had tried starting it about five times until you gave up and called your dad, who told you exactly what you didn't want to hear: call insurance. You called the insurance company, and they told you they would arrive in the next thirty minutes. In the meantime, you had to figure out whom to call to take you home; your dad was not an option since he was in Boston for a work conference, and your mom was working until six. Kelce had a thing with his brother, so he wasn't an option either, and the girls didn't live on your way home, so that was also not an option. You would call for an Uber, but that was your last option, so right now you had one option left. One you didn’t wanna reach because you knew he might be busy.

"You left something in your car? Really?" you said when you saw Rafe approaching you. You were sitting in your car with the door open since you couldn't start it to get the windows down.

"Hello to you too. Okay, let's get your things out."

"How many things do you think I have in here?" You lifted a brow at him as you walked out of your car.

"A lot? I don't know how you use your car, princess. Come on." You rolled your eyes at the nickname.

"Shouldn't you be running laps or something?" you asked, grabbing things from inside your car.

"I ran here, and I will run back; that counts as a warm-up." He picked up more stuff you had in there, which wasn't much - just a pair of shoes and a sweater. "Thought you had a whole closet in here," he joked.

"I'm not Sarah," you chuckled.

"Glad you know what I meant."

"I would like to have it more decorated, but then I think about having to clean it up, and I think it's better like this."

"You still have this on," he flicked at a mirrorball air freshener hanging from your rearview mirror. "And this," he saw the scrunchie on the gear shift and grabbed it.

"I don't use the scrunchie; it just looks cute, and the mirrorball is just in honor of-" he cut you off before you finished your sentence.

"Taylor Swift, I figured. The lyrics are a bit on the nose," you chuckled.

"At least I know you are learning from my good taste in music."

"Learning is reaching; you have forced it onto me." He walked to his car, which, to your surprise, was close by. He opened one of the backseat doors to put your stuff in. "Put it in there," he pointed to your arms that held your bag and a smaller bag he could only think had food containers. He saw the way your hair fell from behind your ear and wanted to reach out, but decided against it. He cleared his throat and took a step back. "So, at what time will they come and pick up your car?"

"30 minutes," you said, grabbing your bag that had your laptop, a notebook, and a book. "I'm gonna read while I wait for them." You took out the book and showed it to him: Funny Story by Emily Henry.

"Here, have my keys," he said, handing you his car keys. "In case you want a functioning car while you wait."

"Thanks, but it's okay."

"Just have them; it's up to you if you want to use them or not." You grabbed them reluctantly. "I need to head back, but call me if you need anything and stop by the gym after; you can keep reading in the stands."

"Thanks."

"Anytime, princess." You were about to complain about him calling you princess again, but he was already running back where he had come from.

You locked his car and walked back to yours. You were engrossed in the book for about 20 minutes when you heard a beeping sound. The insurance had come faster than they originally said it would. So you stepped out of your car with your bag and insurance papers for them to check before they loaded your car onto the tow truck. After everything was settled, you watched as they took your car away and then walked to Rafe's car to change your shoes. It was almost 4 PM, and on any other day, you'd be getting home about now and walking barefoot in your house, but today was not that day, so you needed to change to feel more comfortable. You sat on the edge of the seat, took off your white Converse, grabbed the pair of Ugg Tasman slippers, and put them on. 

You wanted to get started on your assignments, but you needed a book that was sitting on your desk back home. So you had no other choice but to read. You debated whether to stay in Rafe's car but decided against it. You left your bag in his car and just grabbed his keys, your phone, and the book before walking to the gym.

When you walked in, you saw the team doing what you once had done in PE class in high school, but this was ten times faster and harder. You smiled at the coach, who had seen you the moment you walked onto the basketball court. Rafe had also seen you, but he couldn't do much in the middle of drills. The drills that day were kicking his ass. Being a D1 athlete was not easy, but he liked it.

You watched them before settling down and opening your book to read. You didn't mind the noise; usually, when you got invested in a book, whatever was around you didn't matter, and this time was no exception. You had started the book a day ago, so the excitement of a new book was still there. As you read, you annotated and put some tabs on the pages to remember moments you liked. Rafe noticed how engrossed you were and how cute you looked. Your face was so expressive, and he swore he could watch you read for hours. He realized he had been staring at you when Graham, one of his teammates, almost hit him with a ball.

"Yo, Cameron! What's up with you? First, you leave when we are about to start practice, and now you are distracted."

"It's nothing, sorry," he said, not without glancing your way one more time. Graham followed his gaze. 

“She is cute,” Graham said. 

“Aren’t you dating Hannah?” Graham laughed. 

“I just said she is cute, not more than Hannah; that's it.” Rafe only rolled his eyes before putting his attention back on the practice.

—

"What are you doing here?" You lifted your gaze from your book to find JJ drinking water and wiping sweat off with a small towel.

"I'm waiting on Rafe," you said, and he raised both eyebrows.

"Why?"

"Because I need to get home."

"Uber exists, you know? Unless you like to spend time with a certain someone," he teased.

"Go away," you said, and JJ chuckled.

"Can't spare a bit of time for your friend? You hurt me," he said, placing a hand over his chest. 

"What's so special about Mr. Captain over there, huh? Why ask him to drive you?" JJ's question caught you off guard, and you just looked at him.

"Because he lives near me," he hummed at your answer.

"Uh-huh, or is it because you want to have some one-on-one with him?" JJ smirked, and you huffed.

"Don't you have better things to do?"

"Not right now, no," you rolled your eyes, and before he could say anything else, Rafe showed up behind him.

"Hey, is everything okay with your car?"

"Yeah, they took it already," he nodded before taking a big sip from his water bottle. JJ just studied the two of you.

"I'll shower quickly after so we can get out of here before 5:30."

"Okay," you nodded, "I'm enjoying my book, so don't worry."

"Yeah, you looked very into it."

"Look at you being nice," JJ teased Rafe. "Who knew you had it in you to be soft?"

"Shut up, Maybank."

"JJ, how is it possible that you can get on everyone's nerves? Is it a gift?" you asked.

"It's so easy to annoy Rafe, I swear Mr. Captain over here has no patience whatsoever, so I barely have to do anything about it." He patted Rafe's back. "But I'm so shocked he is being so gentle with you."

"Maybank..." Rafe said warningly.

"I'm just saying," he shrugged, "maybe you are the one who has a gift, Y/N," you rolled your eyes.

Thankfully, before JJ could continue, the coach called them back for the last 30 minutes of practice. You finished the chapter you were reading, and then you brought your attention to the court. They were playing against each other, and you assumed it was to prepare for their next game. Your dad loved the sport, while you had only been interested in it when you watched High School Musical as a kid. Now it was different. Over the years in college, you had watched many games with your friends, but never paid enough attention until maybe the first semester of junior year, when you desperately needed a distraction from everything that had happened in your life. This year, you had gotten more into it; granted, you still didn't get all the rules, but you could get into the game and feel the stress and adrenaline of it.

That's why you ended up screaming at Rafe mid-practice to shoot. When you realized what you had done, you blushed and sat down quickly, muttering a barrage of sorrys. The coach just chuckled and let you know it was good. Rafe, along with some of his teammates, had also chuckled at your passionate outburst.

"She might be coming for your job, coach," Graham said jokingly.

"She might be a good fit; Rafe did make the point, after all," he said, smiling at you and then putting his attention back on the guys.

—

"So, that's your girlfriend?" Dean, another one of his teammates, asked.

"No, just a friend," Rafe answered as he started taking off his clothes in the locker room.

"He wishes she were, though," Topper added, and Rafe gave him a look.

"We're just friends," Rafe said as he made his way to the showers.

"Just like Hannah and I were?" Graham said in a teasing tone.

Rafe ignored all the comments from his teammates and went to shower as quickly as possible to avoid making you wait even longer than you already had. When he finally walked out, you were sitting right where you had been sitting for the past hour. You were reading again.

"Ready to go?" he said, making you look up from the book.

"Yes," you stood up and grabbed his car keys, handing them back to him.

"I'm sorry for making you wait so long."

"It's okay; I got to read a lot, and I think it's going to be one of my favorite books already."

"Yeah? What's it about?" he asked as the two of you walked to his car.

"Miles and Daphne become roommates after her fiancé breaks off their wedding to go for his girl best friend, who happened to be Miles's girlfriend, well, now ex-girlfriend."

"Oh wow... that's..."

"A lot, yes, but they also fake date to make their exes believe they've moved on from them and to bring a date to their wedding, because yes, their exes are getting married, and it's barely been a month since they broke up," you continued as you two settled in his car.

"I'm invested in this book of yours now; you better keep me updated about what happens with them." That comment, as simple as it had been, made you feel all warm inside.

"Be careful with what you are asking for; I might be spamming your phone at ungodly hours with messages about what happens," he chuckled.

"No worries; I will read every single one of them."

—

On the way back to your place, you both talked a little bit about everything, more about your book and your little outburst mid-practice. He joked about it, and you felt embarrassed. He assured you that there was nothing wrong with it, that it was nice, and that it made his coach like you, which made you feel better. You asked a bit about practice, and he explained everything the best way he could. He had given you his phone to put on music since the Bluetooth was already connected to his car.

As expected, you blasted a Taylor Swift album. According to him, you listened to "Lover" too much, so you switched it up and played "1989" for a change. You played it on shuffle.

You made it back to your house before 6, and you felt tired and needed to change clothes. He grabbed his backpack, where his computer and some notebooks were, and helped you get your stuff out of his car and into your house. You both walked in.

"Let's go to my room. I need to change, and there's a book I need to use for some assignments." You didn't let him have a say, so he followed behind. When he stepped foot inside your room, he felt as if he were stepping into a forbidden place. He saw you moving around, grabbing some clothes, and then stepping inside what he inferred was your bathroom. He put your stuff down on your bed.

You made it back to your house before 6, and you felt tired and needed to change clothes. He grabbed his backpack, where his computer and some notebooks were, and helped you get your stuff out of his car and into your house. You both walked in. 

"Let's go to my room. I need to change, and there's a book I need to use for some assignments." You didn't let him have a say, so he followed behind. When he stepped foot inside your room, he felt as if he were stepping into a forbidden place. He saw you moving around, grabbing some clothes, and then stepping inside what he inferred was your bathroom. He put your stuff down on your bed.

"You can sit wherever; I'll be out in a sec!" you yelled from inside the bathroom, and he looked around. Sitting on your bed felt too much, so he sat on the chair you had near your desk. It was too silent, so he pressed play on his playlist to put on something else that was not the Taylor Swift album you had played on the way home. A few seconds into the song, you came out, and he felt his heart skip a beat. That was not a good sign. A heart never skips a beat over someone who is just a friend.

You were wearing some biker shorts, a grey hoodie, crew socks, and your hair was in a bun as if you had just washed your face, which you had done. No makeup, and yet you looked beautiful. A friend can admire beauty; it is normal. At least that's what he thought. He looked at the hoodie again. Was it his? He didn't say anything. It could be yours; you had told him you had one that looked the same.

He followed his gaze as you went to put some things away inside your closet. When he did that, he started looking around your room with more detail. His eyes landed on your bed when you took away a blanket that was covering your pillows.

"You still have those?" he asked in disbelief when he saw the two Jellycats sitting right next to each other. Both of them, his gift. He stood up and walked to your bed, grabbing the birthday cake one.

"Why wouldn't I? They were gifts." You smiled as you made your way to clean up your desk a bit, and he sat on the edge of your bed.

"Yeah, I know; I bought them," he said, putting down the birthday cake and grabbing the bunny. He looked at it..

"I thought the cake one was also from Sarah," you smiled.

"Uh, I mean... sure it was just-"

"You lied?" you teased.

"No, no, no, I..." he would never lie to you, well, not intentionally.

"I'm joking," you laughed.

"Funny," he chuckled. "We barely knew each other back then, so I didn't want to look intense, so... yeah."

"I kind of had a feeling it was just from you. Sarah had already gotten me two books and a tote bag, so another thing would've been too much."

As the two of you were doing your assignments, he kept glancing at you. He looked at the hoodie for what felt like the millionth time. Was that his or yours? He didn’t mind if it was his, actually; he hoped it was. 

“Is that my hoodie?” he asked before he could stop himself. You looked up to him, then back at the hoodie. 

“I think this is mine,” you said, not sure, there was no way you put on his hoodie again, right?

“Are you sure?” he asked at your hesitancy. 

“Now I’m not,” you stood up and walked to your closet. “Oh…” You started to take it off when you noticed it wasn’t yours, but the t-shirt underneath lifted too, making the illusion of you not wearing anything underneath the hoodie. He swallowed hard at the skin of your waist showing. God, he felt like a teenager again. 

“Never mind, you can keep it,” he said, shaking his head and looking back at his laptop screen. 

“Not this again…” you sighed, defeated. “Look, I didn’t wash it, so by your logic it’s still yours, and I promise I didn’t put it on again on purpose. I put it in a hanger after Friday to keep it decent, and I just pulled the first thing out because I needed to get out of my clothes. I can just take it off–” you started again, and the action repeated itself. He cursed internally. 

“It’s fine!” he said, making you drop the hoodie back on your torso. “I saw how you bolted into your room, grabbing stuff and running to the bathroom. You don’t have to explain it, I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” he assured you. 

“I can wear mine.” 

“Hey, hey, I just asked to mess with you, but it’s fine if it’s mine. Wear it for now, you look comfy.” 

“I am comfy,” you confirmed.

“Okay, so wear it. Give it back whenever, I don’t use it often, and I have more.” 

“I promise I will give it back.” 

“And I believe you.”  

You did eventually change out of it when he went to use the bathroom, you changed into your grey hoodie, it wasn’t as long as his and it fitted better, but his was more comfortable. Yet you would never admit it to his face. When he walked out of the bathroom, he felt a bit disappointed to see his hoodie folded next to his things. 

“I told you, you could wear it.” 

“I know, but I don’t want you to forget it, so I just changed.” 

“As long as I can take it before you can do my laundry,” he joked

“It’s not doing your laundry.”

“I’m not having this discussion again,” he said with finality and a small smirk.

“Fine, fine,” you said with a smile.

“I’m gonna go help my mom with the groceries,” I stood up from my bed, where we had been working for the past 20 minutes. 

“Let me help, too.” He walked behind you until you were outside with your mom. 

“Hey Rafe, so nice to see you.” Your mom smiled at him as the three of you grabbed the bags from the trunk of the car. 

“Hey, Laura,” he smiled at her. 

As you finished getting the things into the kitchen, your mom and you started to put some things away. 

“Are you staying for dinner?” your mom asked Rafe. He looked at you as if asking for permission, even if he didn’t need it. You shrugged at him with a smile. 

“I don’t think I can pass on your food,” he chuckled and walked towards you to help you put away some groceries on the top shelves. 

“Smooth talker,” your mom joked, “Well, it’s not going to be a big thing tonight, but I hope you like it.” 

“I’m sure I will,” he said kindly. There was no way he wasn’t going to like your mom’s food. All the times he had stayed over to eat, he was never disappointed. 

After finishing putting away the groceries, you grabbed Rafe’s hand. This was one of the few times when you had started the contact instead of him doing it, and a part of him jumped at it. 

“We will be in my room,” you said, gently pulling Rafe out of the kitchen. 

“Keep the door open!” your mom teased. 

“Mom…” you huffed, and Rafe laughed silently. 

“Just saying” 

“I wouldn’t dare to do anything,” he said in a teasing tone. 

“Oh, Rafe, I know. You never even kiss in front of me. I already told her it’s okay. I know how it is to be young and in love.” In love. Those two words pierced through his and your heart. You weren’t in love; you were faking it. You felt awful about having to lie to your parents like this, and even if Rafe had told you a lot of times he was okay with helping you, you still felt bad for dragging him into this. 

“Mom…”

“Fine, fine, your relationship, your decision.” You let out a noncommittal hum and pulled Rafe with you out of the kitchen. As soon as you started walking up the stairs, you let go of his hand. The lack of contact didn’t go unnoticed by both of you, but you didn’t address it.

A while later, your mom called the two of you down to have dinner. During dinner, your mom asked about your car and thanked Rafe for driving you home and keeping you company. She teases both of you a bit here and there about the fact that the two of you spent a lot of time alone in the house. You try to brush off the comments, but in her eyes, he was your boyfriend, so it made sense for her to think you and Rafe were doing more than just hanging out or studying when you were at the house. After dinner, Rafe offered to wash the dishes, your mom let him, and you kept him company during it. 

“I really like your mom’s cooking,” he said as he washed the glasses. 

“I know, you have told me many times,” you smiled, you liked the fact that Rafe liked your mom’s cooking. It was a big compliment. 

“And I’m gonna keep saying it, it’s amazing.” 

“What can I say? It’s the Latin flavor,” you shrugged with a small smile. 

“Right,” he smiled back at you, “Wait… so you know Spanish?” 

“I never told you?” 

“I doubt it, I feel I wouldn’t forget that.” You nodded. 

“Yeah… well, I do.” 

“Say something.” 

“Hola Rafe” 

“That’s so easy, I know that’s hello. I took Spanish in high school,” you chuckled. 

“Well, that’s all I’m saying. I’m fluent; my mom taught me since I was a kid, and I doubt some high school classes will help you understand.” 

“Try me” 

“Rafe…”

“Come on, tell me about earlier today.” 

“You asked for it, ok?” he nodded, and you took a deep breath.

“Bueno hoy en la tarde mi carro se arruino entonces te escribí para ver si me podías traer a mi casa. Me dijiste que si, me ayudaste a mover las cosas de mi carro a tu carro, luego espere a que llegaran por mi carro, después fui a la cancha de basketball me sente a leer mientras estabas entrenando.” Rafe was enthralled by the way you were speaking. You rolled your R’s perfectly, and he caught some words, but you had been right, high school classes were not going to help. 

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you laughed. 

“Told you,” you smiled.

*Well, this afternoon my car broke down, so I texted you to see if you could bring me home. You said yes. You helped me move my things from my car to yours. Then I waited for them to come get my car. Then I went to the basketball court and sat down to read while you were training.

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[congratsloserr]

damn I need him

vampire!rafe doesn’t want to hurt neighbor!reader but he’s just so hungry and she just smells so good...

c/w: blood, vampire!rafe feeding on her w out permission, slightly suggestive, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.9k

happy halloween & kinktober to all who celebrate xx

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

To put it plainly, there has always been something off about her neighbor; a peculiarity in the air surrounding him and an eccentricity in his outlandish aura. She thinks she could count all of their conversations (consisting of a few sparse sentences) with one hand, even though he’s lived in the apartment next to her for almost a year now.   

She remembers their first encounter as clear as day. She’d chirped a friendly ‘Hi! Do you need any help?’ when she’d noticed an unfamiliar presence carrying heavy boxes, even if he made it seem like they were filled with fluffy feathers with how easily he was lifting them with those beefy arms of his.

However, in response, he’d merely halted his movements and stared down at her as if she was some sort of a folkloric monster before muttering out a cold ‘Uh, no thanks’ followed by him slamming his door closed with the back of his foot.   

After that, their interactions haven’t been anything more than awkward nods of acknowledgment in the elevator or her accidentally bumping into him in the hallways, which was more often than not her fault, with how often she got lost in her daydreams and forgot about the world around her. Each time, he’d mutter out a displeased ‘Watch where you’re going, yeah?’ while taking a notable step back for good measure.   

Despite his apparent distaste for her though, she couldn’t help but find his brooding eyes and grumpy demeanor sort of alluring. And it didn’t help that he was quite easy on the eyes as well. However, since he seemed to hate her guts (the reason unclear to her) she tried to stay out of his way the best she could, not wanting to bother him anymore than she apparently already did by simply existing.   

Therefore, she hesitates a few times before knocking on Rafe’s door to inquire if he’d happen to have any gauze or even bandages. At this point, she’ll take anything because the cut on the skin between her thumb and index finger seems to be deeper than she originally thought; warm maroon dripping down her wrist since the paper towels she’s pressing against the wound aren’t being very helpful.   

She’s not entirely sure how it happened. One second, she was contently humming to the music playing from her earphones and cutting up some sweet potatoes to turn into fries in the oven, and the next, she’s bleeding onto her cutting board. And if that wasn’t bad enough, turns out she doesn’t even own a first-aid kit.   

Normally, she’d ask the kind, elderly woman living behind her other wall for help since she’s always so lovely to her; bringing her hand-baked pies and gracing her with the warmest greetings whenever they cross paths. However, it’s rather late and she doesn’t want to wake her incase she’s already in bed.   

Therefore, her only option is her other neighbor since she doesn’t even know the names of the other people living in the same apartment complex.   

She stands on top of his doormat for a few moments, fleetingly wondering if he’s even home, before the door cracks open and all of a sudden, she’s blinking up at Rafe’s tall frame.  

“Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you. I know it’s late and all but um, was wondering if you had anything to…patch this up with?” she lifts up her wounded hand in emphasis as she stumbles over her words.   

The glimmering sapphires of his eyes slightly widen at the sight of the tissue soaked through in vermilion as he simply stares. His gaze is awfully similar to their first encounter — like she’s just killed his cat — before seemingly snapping out of the haze he’d lost himself; clearing his throat as if there’s some sort of an itch there.   

“Yeah, uh, come in,” he ushers her in with a tense smile; like he’d rather be doing anything other than inviting her into his home.  

“Gonna see if I can, uh, find something for that…you can wait in the kitchen, yeah?” he says before disappearing into the bathroom.   

And he’s always made her rather nervous, however, right now she feels like a little kitten who’s just stepped into a lion’s den as she wanders over to what she assumes is the kitchen. Fleetingly, she wonders if he prefers to order in or eat out since the countertops and cupboards appear far too clean and empty to be used regularly. As she takes a closer look, even the stove and the oven look brand new; like they’ve never been used before.   

“Wasn’t aware my kitchen was that interesting.”   

She flinches when he’s suddenly behind her. And what he said sounded like a joke, however, when she spins on her heel to face him; his expression is as serious as a statue.   

“Sorry, I just…um, nothing, sorry,” she shakes her head to rid herself of the eerie feeling trickling down her spine; her vivid imagination getting the best of her, as always. He’s probably just a clean freak.   

“Sit,” he gestures towards the chair he’s pulled out for her before she hesitantly obeys; a strange ambience following him when he crouches down in front of her in order to take her hand in between his larger ones.   

“How did this even happen?” he flits his eyes over to hers and she could swear there’s something obscure swimming in the watery ponds, almost like a deep craving for something.   

“Oh, I was just making dinner and…got distracted while holding the knife, I guess,” she explains, embarrassed now that she has to recall the moments before disaster.   

“Clumsy girl,” he scolds her. “Should be more careful, you know?”  

“I know, sorry,” she peeps out.   

“Don’t need to apologize. Mistakes happen, yeah?” he reassures her with an uncharacteristically tender tone that confuses her to no end but before she has the chance to question it, he’s slowly breathing in through his nose; eyes fluttering shut along with his exhale as if trying to calm himself down.   

She blinks, disconcerted. “You, um, you okay?”  

“Yeah, yeah. Jus’ had a...long day,” he mutters out before swallowing.   

“Right…” she drifts off when he peels away the saturated tissue to properly inspect the injury.   

In the process, some of the maroon trickles down to stain his fingers and at that, she notices his entire form tense as he halts his movements; tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip.  

“You sure you’re fine? Do you get like squeamish around blood or? Can do it myself if it makes you uncomfortable,” she suggests cluelessly, not comprehending why his behavior is suddenly even more unsettling than before.   

A dry chuckle tumbles from his throat in response because he’s practically doing everything in his power not to drain her of every last blood cell and she’s concerned for his comfort. What an adorable little thing.   

However, his laughter doesn’t last very long since he can hear the blood flowing in her veins; smell the sweetness of it on her palm and at the end of the day, he only has so much self-control.  

“Nah, I just…” his gaze sticks like glue to the scarlet droplets on his thumb, seemingly contemplating something. Then, to her utmost surprise, he’s bringing it up to his mouth and tucking it past his lips; a low groan rumbling from his throat when her taste melts on his tongue.  

“What are you—” her eyes widen in shock and before she can comprehend what’s happening, he’s bringing her hand closer to his mouth and sinking sharp teeth into the skin of her palm; a guttural moan following his actions.   

And it all happens so quickly, her brain only registering the throbbing pain that follows.   

“Ow, what the hell?” her voice is alarmed as she tries to yank her arm back, unfortunately to no avail since he’s much stronger and doesn’t even notice she’s trying to move; entirely too consumed by the sweet nectar she’s involuntarily providing him with.   

His bite stings; makes her gasp for breath to tolerate the dreadful ache before it turns into something else entirely, something akin to pleasure. Her brows furrow as she tries to grasp onto the nearly obscene sight before her; his eyes flickering shut as he contently hums and grunts around the flesh between his teeth.  

“Shit, why do you taste so good? What the fuck do you eat, huh?” his question is muffled around the wound he’s feasting on; his noises of gratification sending a foreign spark to stir in her guts as they echo around the otherwise quiet apartment.   

“I don’t— I don’t know?” her fuzzy brain is having a hard time understanding what she’s supposed to do in this entirely too strange of a situation. At this point, it feels more like a fever dream than reality.  

“Can’t fucking stop. Shit, I’m sorry, haven’t had a proper meal in ages,” he rasps out as he resumes greedily satiating his sweet tooth with heady moans escaping his tongue.  

“I feel— feel kinda dizzy can you—” she mumbles; vision growing misty as the room begins to spin.   

However, he doesn’t seem to hear her; too lost in satiating his most primal urges as he nuzzles his face even more into her palm.   

“I don’t know if I....” she doesn’t have the strength to finish her sentence before her heavy lids drop closed and she feels her limbs turn lax; thoughts evaporating into thin air when she loses consciousness.   

The last thing her soupy brain picks up is him cursing under his breath before catching her limp body in a steady hold.   

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

All-consuming fatigue causes her eyelids to feel as heavy as the washing machine she had to carry to her apartment when she moved in as she blinks her eyes open; desperately trying to piece together where she is and what the hell happened.   

“Good, good, you’re awake,” an all too familiar drawl forces the memories to overwhelm her mind as she tries to sit up on the couch with softened bones and weakened limbs.   

She can still feel the pain of his sharp teeth piercing through the skin of her palm as she looks down at the piece of gauze wrapped securely around her throbbing left hand.  

“Shit, let me help,” she registers Rafe’s voice before his strong arms are maneuvering her into a seated position; steadying her.   

“There you go,” he rasps out before shoving a frigid glass filled with water into her frail hands. However, when she’s unable to properly hold onto it, he lets out a sigh and brings it closer to the seam of her lips himself.   

“Drink,” he orders with a hint of exasperation; tipping the cup and forcing her to gulp down large amounts of the fresh liquid. And she drinks greedily, not even aware she was this thirsty. All too soon though, he decides she’s had enough and draws the magical elixir away.   

And she’s about to ask for more when the reason why she fainted in the first place finally registers in her puzzled brain.  

“What the hell? Why would you— I thought…are you— you’re a vampire?” she stumbles over her words; the realization feeling surreal as she rapidly blinks up at him.  

“I thought— I thought that was a myth? Vampires exist?” her face scrunches up in mayhem as she examines him from head to toe. However, no clear signs of him being a supernatural creature catch her eye; even the maroon she remembers staining the sides of his mouth has been wiped away.   

“Uh, yeah, it’s a…long story,” he scratches at the back of his head. “But I need you to—”   

“Wait. You didn’t turn me into a vampire, did you?” she frantically asks, tongue subtly trying to inspect whether she has grown fangs over the course of her nap or not.   

“Calm down, it doesn’t work like that, I’d have to—”  

“Oh, can you compel me to forget about this like in the Vampire Diaries?” she cuts him off with rounded eyes.  

“In the what?” his gemstone-eyes are perplexed when he opens a packet of what appears to be oatmeal raisin cookies.  

“It’s such a good show, you haven’t seen it?” she gets momentarily sidetracked.   

“Stop asking stupid questions and eat,” he orders and offers the treat to her as if she’s some kind of a dog; a crease forming between his brows when she refuses to open her mouth.   

“Why aren’t you eating it?” he nearly glares at her, as if she’s a major inconvenience that he wishes would just disappear so he could continue on with whatever it is that vampires do.  

“I hate raisins,” she complains with her face crumpling up in aversion.   

“Don’t really care. Just eat it, shit, do you not wanna feel better?” he grumbles out when she pulls her face away from the delicacy.   

“Well, I wouldn’t need to feel better in the first place if you hadn’t drank like half of the blood in my body,” her tone is displeased, making him roll his eyes.   

“It wasn’t even that much. You’re fine, alright? Just eat this and you’ll feel better, yeah?” he breaks off some of the baked good; hovering it in front of her lips while looking at her expectantly.  

And for a moment, he thinks she’s not going to comply, but then she lets out a weary sigh; reluctantly opening her mouth. Immediately, he pushes the piece in while examining her carefully as if to make sure she’s actually swallowing before feeding her more.   

When she’s finished chewing two more cookies, he finally seems at least somewhat content with her cooperation and rewards her with more water that she eagerly sips on. He fills the cup to the brim once more and she’s actually able to hold it this time around; feeling some of her strength returning. She hates to admit that he was right.   

“How do you feel?” he then murmurs, a faint hue of concern painting over the question as he takes a sip from his own mug. And from the potent, metallic odor she can tell it’s not water.   

“Um…like my neighbor just drained me out of my blood without so much as a warning,” she places the now empty glass on the coffee table and flickers her accusatory eyes over to him.  

He scoffs before walking over to her. “And I apologize for that, alright? But what do you expect me to do when you’re practically shoving your bleeding hand in my face?”  

“So, it’s my fault now? Damn, sorry for not knowing you were a fucking vampire,” she huffs out; not caring that she’s poking the sleeping bear, even if he could quite literally eat her for lunch.   

At that, he lets out a deep sigh; running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “That’s not what I meant, okay? Just can’t fucking…think straight when you smell like that.”   

“Like what?” she sounds almost offended for a second.   

“I dunno, like…like real fucking appetizing.”  

Oh.  

“Right…well— since I feel great now, think I’m just gonna go,” her attempt at standing on her feet fails miserably when she stumbles on wobbly feet. She’s about to topple over to the floor before Rafe’s big arms are steadying her with his hands on her waist.  

“Careful now. Told you, you need more rest, okay?”   

“Think I can rest just fine in my own apartment...” she trails off when she notices he’s not even paying attention to her words anymore, instead his gaze is now fixed on her neck due to their close proximity; eyes starving and teeth digging into his bottom lip to seemingly contain himself.  

“You’re still hungry?” she squeaks out with wide eyes when his fingers dent the skin of her waist as he tightens his grip on her.   

“M’always hungry,” he rasps out, before clearing his throat.   

And she silently curses her caring nature for the fact that she almost feels bad for him. Doesn’t want him to suffer but doesn’t want him to drink her dry either.   

“What do you, um, usually eat?” she asks.  

“Uh, mostly blood bags I steal from hospitals. And, well, humans, but been tryna cut down on that cause it’s not…nice. But blood from a plastic bag s’just not the same as fresh from the vein, you know? Doesn’t really, uh, satisfy the cravings...makes me want more,” he explains with a heady tone.    

“Oh, um…you still wanna drink a little from me?” she has no idea why she’s offering more of her blood to him when she already feels so weak; blames it on those eyes that are near hypnotic when they seem so hopeless for some semblance of relief.   

“Don’t say that shit, already took way too much from you,” he mutters lowly. However, with his eyes still glued to the skin of her neck, he leans closer; letting out a vulgar groan when he inhales. “Don’t know how you’re affecting me so much, usually can control myself better around humans.”  

She shivers when she can feel the tip of his nose grazing against her jugular vein.  

“If I just have a little bit…” and then his soft lips are tickling her skin and making her let out a tiny whimper— something innately erotic about his desperation for her.   

All too soon though, he’s shoving her away from him and forcing her to take ahold of the arm of the couch in order to not lose her balance.   

“No, no, I can’t,” his hands turn into fists. “Need you to leave, now,” he’s nearly panting along with his face wrinkled up in frustration as he practically drags her out the front door; slamming it shut behind her.   

And she can’t do anything expect stand there and blink.   

What on earth just happened? 

[congratsloserr]

LMAOOO vintage😭😭

Rafe gets humbled on a Saturday Morning…

𝓓𝓘𝓛𝓕!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝔁 𝓜𝓘𝓛𝓕!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: language

500 words

It’s Saturday morning and you’re snuggled into Rafe’s chest in your big bed; sheets warm and heavy around you. Your phone’s in your hand, thumb scrolling when he leans over your shoulder, close enough that his stubble brushes your cheek. A second later his finger drags the screen back up.

“Baby, you’re reading too fast,” he grumbles, already hooked.

You chuckle, tilting your head against him. “I thought you said this was trash?”

“Well, I’m into it now,” he says, his big hand sliding from your waist to your hip, thumb pressing lazily against your skin. “C’mon, go back.”

You’re about to tease him when a live notification pops up—Max’s TikTok. Rafe taps without thinking, and suddenly your son fills the screen. He’s in the home gym, music blaring so loud you can hear the thump of it downstairs.

Max grins at the camera, skin practically glowing, hair bouncing as he brushes it back and tugs on his Miami hat. You roll your eyes. So that’s where Winnie’s Sol de Janeiro oil went, blamed on the twins the second it disappeared. His hair practically sponsored by Olaplex Number 4 and 5—snatched from your bathroom no less.

The comments fly in rapid-fire, little hearts exploding up the screen.

📳 he’s glowingggg

📳 MUSTACHE CHECK 😭

📳 god he’s fineee

📳 sir im easy but im in class you need to chill

📳 oh ladies he knows

📳 raw

Max just laughs, running a hand over his face like he’s been caught off guard, though you know he’s loving it. He lights up even brighter when his girlfriend joins the chat. “My girl’s here—hi, baby,” he says proudly, and the comment section goes wild.

📳 relationship goals

📳 ugh she’s so lucky

📳 lord I’ve seen what you’ve done for others

Beside you, Rafe groans, but Max keeps going—flexing into the camera, showing off the ridiculous little mustache he refuses to shave. Then someone asks about his neon Under Armour shirt. Max pinches the hem, looks down, and shrugs.

“Nah. It’s vintage.”

Rafe chokes. Actually gasps. Because it’s his shirt. From high school.

The live disappears instantly as he flicks out of it, tossing your phone onto the blankets. His pride in shambles. He groans into the pillows, dramatic as ever.

You catch his cheeks in your hands, giggling so hard you can barely kiss him. “I love you,” you murmur against his lips, still laughing.

“M’gonna kill him,” he says so tiredly you can’t help but bury your face in the pillow. “Stop laughin’, baby.” His southern accent bleeds through a little, warm and sticky sweet. You seal his sulking with another kiss, softer this time, your smile brushing his mouth. “I said stop,” he chuckles.

“I’m sorry,” your lips quiver against his, still trying to keep your giggles from spilling over but he bear hugs you, squeezing you so tight you fuss a little.

“Be nice to me,” he mutters as he grabs your hips, turning you in bed, hugging you against his chest, chin resting on your shoulder as you pull back up the story.

“I’m so nice to you,” you whisper and he bites down on your shoulder playfully.

“Now where were we?”

@rafesthroatbaby @babygoddam @cherrywriterrr @chriscroissant @littlelamy @imakeepers-world-blog @rafesbabygirlx @bisexualcvnt @love-4-rafey-lando @slut-4-rafey @prettybabyyyy @maybankslover @rafecameronswhoore @leather-n-velvet @user25786433455 @wtfdudesblog @i-love-dilfs @tatoda @krissy455 @mymelii @angelicameron @chem1cali @missmookie @rafespeach @heyitsmewee @taliescapes @lolasangelz @cokewithcameron @k4yr14 @starkeyjoseph @daddyrafeslittleslut @leviathan0000 @luvrcndy @mrswidowjohansson @vanessa-rafesgirl @sapphiresighs @atpeacee @alexxavicry @sithapprentice @spideysimpossiblegirl @dilflover72567 @esmerai-artemis @littleshinythoughts @apricityxoxo @rafecamlovr @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @boopiesmif @st8rkey @randomdupe @mqndi1

[congratsloserr]

Request pls!

Housewife reader struggling physical with postpartum, the constant cries from the newborn the breastfeeding lack of sleep and the discomfort from birth. :(

you ask, you shall receive :) (this is the earlier days when milo was just a newborn)

I don’t feel like myself anymore.

houswife!reader x bluecollar!rafe

WARNINGS: postpartum, exhaustion, crying, breastfeeding struggles, body discomfort, sleep deprivation, emotional vulnerability, soft comfort

You hadn’t slept in almost two days.

The house was quiet except for Milo’s soft, hiccupy cries. The kind that weren’t loud enough to panic over but never really stopped. You were in the rocking chair, again. Shirt half unbuttoned, nursing bra down, blanket over one shoulder, eyes glassy from staring at nothing.

Your body still hurt. Not in the sharp, sudden way like the first few days. But in that slow, deep, dull ache that never quite left. Like your bones hadn’t caught up with everything yet.

Your chest was sore. Your back was tight. Your nipples felt raw. Milo kept unlatching and crying. Then latching wrong. Then crying again.

You were so tired.

You didn’t hear the front door open.

You didn’t hear Rafe come in, or kick off his boots, or whisper a “hey baby” like he usually did.

But you felt him stop in the doorway.

And when you didn’t say anything — didn’t even turn your head — he knew.

“Milo asleep?” he asked softly.

You shook your head. “No.”

You didn’t mean for your voice to sound so flat. But you didn’t have the energy to fix it.

He crossed the room, crouched beside the chair. You saw the frown on his face before you saw the sweat on his shirt.

You whispered, “He’s not latching right again.”

Rafe glanced at the baby in your arms, then back at you.

“You want me to try?”

You shook your head quickly — too quickly. “He wants me. It’s always me. I’m all he wants.” You say, almost frustratedly.

There was silence.

Then your voice cracked: “I haven’t showered in three days. I haven’t brushed my hair. I bled through the sheets last night and I didn’t even notice.”

Rafe’s eyes softened. “Baby—”

You looked at him then. Really looked. And it all tumbled out.

“I don’t feel like myself anymore. I don’t feel pretty. I don’t even feel like a person. Just a machine that feeds and rocks and cries.”

He reached for your hand, but you pulled back.

“I love him,” you whispered, tears slipping out. “God, I love him. But I don’t know if I’m doing this right.”

Rafe stayed quiet, then stood slowly. You thought he was going to walk away — maybe to go shower or fix dinner — but instead, he leaned down and carefully lifted Milo from your arms. Held him against his chest like he’d done it a hundred times.

“C’mere,” he said softly, nudging your knees apart with his hips, settling in the chair with you in his lap. One arm around the baby. One around you.

You cried into his shirt, finally.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing,” he murmured into your hair. “There’s nothing wrong with you, baby.”

He rocked gently, the three of you pressed together.

“I’ll take the next one,” he whispered. “You just rest, alright? Let me hold both of you a while.”

And for the first time in hours — in days — you let go.

You woke up to the sound of gentle humming. A low, off-tune version of something familiar. The house was still dim — early morning — but the sun was just beginning to warm the curtains.

You blinked.

You were… in bed.

You didn’t remember getting there.

Your chest was tender, but the aching throb had dulled. The soreness was background noise now. And for the first time in what felt like a century, your head wasn’t pounding. You realized, slowly: I slept. Not a nap. Not a half-hour twitchy doze. Real sleep.

You sat up fast — panicked. “Milo—”

“He’s fine,” a voice said gently from down the hall.

You followed it.

And what you saw in the kitchen made your throat close up.

Rafe — shirtless, hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes — holding Milo to his chest with one arm, bottle in the other hand, barefoot, swaying gently while humming some nonsense melody.

You stopped in the doorway.

He looked up and grinned. “Well, hey there, Sleeping Beauty.”

You blinked, still caught in that thick fog of just-woke-up emotion.

“I… you fed him?”

“Yep. You slept through the whole bottle.”

You stepped closer, slowly. “Was he okay?”

“Didn’t cry once,” he said. “Kinda scary, honestly. Thought maybe I was magic.”

You snorted. “You’re not.”

“Let me have this.”

You slid into his arms, resting your forehead against Milo’s soft head.

“You’re really good at this,” you whispered.

Rafe looked down at you — sweat and all, tired as hell — and kissed the top of your head.

“So are you, mama.”

[congratsloserr]

i have a req for corporate and blue collar rafe! maybe one where corporate has a super hard day at work and rafe calls her and he can tell shes not happy but she denies it and goes home because shes used to dealing with things on her own but he shows up anyway and lets her vent and makes her feel better. ty!!

lean on me

꩜ corporate!reader x bluecollar!rafe

꩜ i'm obsessed with this req, love you anon

You weren’t going to tell him.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Rafe, because you did, in ways that scared you sometimes, it was that you’d spent years learning how to be bulletproof.

No matter the meeting that went wrong, the client that screamed at you, or the hours you stayed late just to fix someone else’s mistake, you knew how to plaster on a calm voice and a neat smile.

So when his name lit up your phone on the drive home, you answered like everything was fine.

“Hey.”

“Hi, baby. You headed home?” His voice was warm, lazy, the faint clinking of beer bottles and low guitar music in the background.

“Mhm. Just left the office.”

“You sound…” he paused, and you could practically see his brow knit through the phone. “…different.”

You laughed under your breath. “Different how?”

“Like you’re smiling without meaning it.”

God. He was annoyingly good at reading you.

“I’m fine, Rafe,” you lied, too quickly. “Just tired.”

He didn’t push, which was almost worse. He just told you he’d see you soon, like he meant later this week or next time we hang out.

So when there was a knock on your door twenty minutes later, you stood there in your crisp work clothes and bare feet, staring at him in disbelief.

“Rafe—”

“You didn’t sound fine,” he said simply, like that explained everything. And in his mind, it did.

You let him in because saying 'no' felt impossible.

He dropped his baseball cap on your kitchen counter, scanned you once, then once more. “Bad day?”

You shook your head. “It’s not—”

“Don’t do that,” he said, stepping closer until your back met the counter. His voice softened. “You don’t have to be steel with me.”

That cracked something.

You didn’t mean to tell him about the meeting that went off the rails, or the passive-aggressive email, or the way you’d swallowed every retort because that’s what professionals do. But the words just started tumbling out, your voice getting smaller with each one.

Rafe didn’t interrupt. He just stood between your knees after gently lifting you onto the counter, one palm on your hip, the other skimming your thigh like he was grounding you in the present. When your voice faltered, his thumb brushed over your knuckles. When you tried to apologize for unloading, he shook his head.

“Don’t say sorry,” he murmured. “You take care of everyone else all day. Let me take care of you for a change.”

And then you were tucked against his chest on your silk bed, breathing in the smell of sawdust and laundry detergent, his chin resting on your hair. His hands moved slow, one rubbing circles into your lower back, the other combing through the ends of your hair.

You stayed like that until your shoulders stopped aching and your breathing evened out.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours. “Better?” You nodded, a little embarrassed. “Yeah. I… don’t usually let people see me like that.”

“Guess I’m not just people,” he said, smirking just enough to make your heart lurch.

And maybe you’d deny it later, but you swore you felt something click right then, the quiet, certain truth that no matter how much you insisted on standing on your own… he’d still show up.

...

Rafe has had plenty of rough days at the garage, but some were worse than others. Like today.

You hear it before you open your door, the slow, dragging footsteps in your hallway, the faint metallic rattle of his keys as he stopped and knocked.

“Rafe?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just appears in the doorway, still in his oil-stained shirt, hair mussed, eyes a shade darker than usual. There’s grease smudged on his forearm, a streak across his jaw like he forgot to wipe it off.

“Hey, corporate,” he says, voice rough, but it’s missing the usual spark and cocky flair.

You set down your glass of wine. “You okay?”

He exhales through his nose, crossing the threshold without hesitation.

“Long day.”

“How long?”

“Started before sunrise, ended… now.” He gives a humorless huff. “Bent over the hood of a ‘97 Silverado for four hours. My shoulders feel like concrete.”

You close the door, and before you can even ask if he wants water, he’s already got his arms around your waist, his forehead pressed to your shoulder. Not his usual teasing hug, not that cocky Rafe swagger, just a full-body lean, like he’s putting his weight on you.

“I missed you,” he mumbles into your neck.

Your fingers find the back of his hair, combing through it gently. “You saw me two days ago.”

“Too long,” he says, voice low. He breathes you in, long and slow. “I swear, I walk in here and my head finally shuts up.”

You guide him to the couch, easing him down. He doesn’t let go, just pulls you with him so you’re straddling his lap, his hands tucked under your shirt for the heat of your skin.

“You’re warm,” he says quietly, like it’s a revelation. “Perfect.”

That last part is quieter, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it. But you do, and your chest goes even warmer in that way only Rafe seems to manage.

He groans when your fingers work into the knots along his shoulders.

“God, that’s good,” he mutters, eyes falling shut. “Think you’re the only thing keepin’ me in one piece right now.”

You smile faintly, rubbing slow circles into the tense muscle. “Don’t tell me the great Rafe Cameron is dependent on someone.”

He opens one eye to glare, but there’s no heat in it. “Not someone. You.”

And maybe it’s the way he says it without hesitation or embarrassment at your teasing remark that makes your throat go tight.

His breathing evens out after a while, the tension melting under your hands. His thumb is still tracing lazy patterns against your side, even half-asleep.

“You can crash here,” you whisper.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on leavin’,” he mumbles.

You let him stay exactly like that, heavy and warm under you, smelling faintly of motor oil and cologne, because if there’s one thing you’ve learned about Rafe, it’s that when he needs you, he really needs you.

And you wouldn't want it any other way.

TAGLIST (OG taglist + anyone who asked to be tagged): @lunaleah, @luzstarkey, @rafeycameronsgf, @pluviophilis @aerie717, @voqueflms, @drewstarkeyspecs, @nightchanges777, @starkeyjoseph, @bonjourjiminie, @discomago, @kissylec, @kelbrave, @therosequartzwitch666, @laurel-inheaven, @parkjiminiemouse, @a-lovers-card, @lxvrgirl

[congratsloserr]

aww

hi girly!! can i be added to tag list?? also i have request if you take them?? dad!rafe x momma!reader where reader gets really upset and teddy finds her crying. he tries to comfort her but nothing works so he calls rafe. you can choose what’s happened to her to why she’s upset! xx

hii! yes of course you can be added! and yessss my requests are always open🩷

As you sit in you and Rafe's shared walk in closet, going through the boxes of baby keepsakes and baby books for each kid. Tears well, slightly. Reminiscing on the thought of the girls and Teddy as babies.

You hear Teddy's little feet pad into your room, calling out for you.

"Momma?" He calls, his little voice making your tears fall harder. "Mommy?"

"I'm in here, sweetheart!" You call, wiping your undereyes. Teddy giggles, and turns the corner, looking into the closet. "Hi, momma!" He says, watching you.

"Hi, honey." You say, pushing the boxes to the side, opening your arms for him. He giggles and plops down in your lap, wrapping his little arms around your neck, gently.

Teddy pulls away, holding your face in his small, chubby hands. "Momma okay?" He asks, quietly.

You nod, "Momma's okay."

He pouts, feeling the wetness on your cheeks from the leftover tears.

Teddy gives you a quick hug, and then quickly hurries out of the room, his quick footsteps disappearing down the hallway.

"Daddy! Hurry!" Teddy slips around the corner of the slightly ajar door of Rafe's office. "Daddy!"

Rafe looks up from his computer, "What's wrong, buddy?"

"Momma's sad!" Teddy says, overly concerned for his momma.

Rafe stands up, letting Teddy grab his hand, pulling him down the hallway, and up the stairs. Finding you, putting the boxes up in the closet.

"Honey?" Rafe asks, already knowing the reason for your sadness, he helped you organize and decorate those boxes. Considering the fact that he also cried while setting them up.

As you turn around, you give Rafe a look. Rafe laughs, softly, and pulls you into a hug. Also hoisting Teddy into his arms for a group hug.

taglist: @rafesslutt

[congratsloserr]

omggg this was so beautiful, my heart was burning g the whole time

i’m absolutely obsessed with ‘the bet’

i think there’s not enough really angsty fanfics and this was EVERYTHING!!!

will there be a part two?

beyond the bet

part two of the bet

rafe cameron x reader

prompt: 'the moment you saw me as a bet was the moment you fucked up.'

warnings: more angst, but we love a good redemption arc <3, pining rafe, happy ending :)

wc: 6.8k (i got carried away and cried multiple times we're not talking about it)

a/n: thank you anon! this is the highly requested part two of the bet, which is part of my 100 followers celebration! this was healing to write, so i hope it's just as healing to read xx

rafe cameron masterlist

Sarah’s hand is steady. 

Yours is the complete opposite. 

‘You don’t have to do this,’ she murmurs. ‘Not for him. Not for anyone.’ 

The smile that creeps up your lips is soft. It’s sad, brave and content. 

‘I want to.’ 

The night you’d found the text message from Kelce, you hadn’t said anything. The shock hadn’t worn off. It hadn’t settled yet, instead just hovering thick and invisible. 

You went to work like nothing was wrong. But Rafe’s betrayal crept up on you in waves. Not all at once, but enough to make your stomach churn with every memory that came flooding back.

You’d found yourself hollow. Hollow enough to close the door. Hollow enough to shut out the one thing that ever made you feel like you were more than just ‘some girl from The Cut.’

But clearly, you weren’t. 

Like everything good in your life, it crumbled. Not suddenly, but like the punchline of a long-running joke the universe never let you in on.

When your head settled into the pillow that night, no tears came. Just the scent of him, clung to the fabric like something alive, and the other side of the bed resting unnaturally, insultingly cold. 

You’d tried to cry. Willed for the tears to come. Begged for it. But the void was louder. It sucked you into endless spirals of what-ifs that left you wide-eyed and wide awake.

How could he keep that from you?

If he actually loved you, how had he allowed himself to keep such a monumental secret?

Would he have ever told you if you didn’t see that text? 

Would he have said, ‘I do,’ with Kelce watching like the keeper of some terrible secret? 

Would he even have said, ‘I do.’?

You count your steps. 

Not in fear. Never again in fear. 

In defiance. 

Against every odd you were never meant to outrun.

One. 

The night the door shut. The night you stopped pretending Rafe’s betrayal wasn’t going to break you.

Two. 

The day JJ let you fall apart  in his arms without saying, ‘I told you so.’

The Pogues didn’t shut you out. The deeper you’d embedded yourself into Rafe’s affection, they’d still checked in every now and again, but they’d stopped waiting for you to come back.

They never said it out loud, but the further you fell into Rafe’s world, the fewer texts came through. Fewer invites. Fewer places set at dinner. 

They’d stopped asking if you were going to come over. 

Even though it scared the living shit out of them, they let you have it. 

Because for a while, you’d looked happy. 

Kie showed up in the Twinkie like a soldier on a rescue mission. She didn’t ask any questions, just came with open arms. You didn’t want to be at home. Not when the walls still smelled like him. 

Not when every sound made your heart jump with hope and dread.

You weren’t sure what would’ve hurt more. Him not showing up, or him looking at you like he still loved you.

His face always made you feel like he loved you. Like you were the air in his lungs.

But that look on his face when you shut the door, the wounded, pitiful one, made you feel like you were the one who burnt your own happiness to the ground.

Inside the walls that once felt like safety, you cracked open like a smashed glass. JJ caught you mid-fall. He held you whilst you cried, letting you spew out the questions and regrets that clawed at your heart. 

Kie settled by your side, her body heat doing nothing to relax the tremors wreaking havoc through your body. She just let you breathe. 

‘Why did I let myself fall for him?’

Your voice cracked, your hands trembled. 

‘I should’ve known better. He was never going to love a Pogue.’ 

You couldn’t even look at them when you whispered the last part. 

‘Why was I so stupid? How didn’t I see that I was just a piece in his game?’ 

They didn’t try to give you the answers. They held you. Gave you their presence. They fed you. Made you shower. Dragged you outside long enough to feel the sun again. 

And somehow, that was enough. Enough to keep breathing on your own.

They deleted the voice message that you kept playing like a lullaby. The one where he said ‘I love you,’ like it still meant something. They pulled you back before you could spiral into the guilt of not telling him you hated him. 

Because deep down, you didn’t. 

You’d quit the Country Club without a word, ignoring the dozen missed calls from your boss. You couldn’t go back. Not when his presence haunted the walls. That place didn’t just remind you of him. 

It belonged to him.

Even worse, it was the place where you let him claim pieces of your heart, one soft lie at a time.

You’d stopped showing up. To shifts at work. To people. To yourself.

Instead you clocked into the bait shop and didn’t leave until your body forced you to. You clung to the friends who never made you feel foolish for falling in love with a boy who pretended to be a man. 

A man with a heart made of pretty promises and cold silence.

He’d never felt icy. He’d felt like the kiss of a summer breeze right before a hurricane. He’d felt like the shelter from the storm you didn’t know he’d caused. He made you feel like the universe had finally remembered you existed. 

But above all, he felt like a lie with a beating heart and blue eyes that forced you to believe him anyway.

The kind of lie that made you question every time he looked at you like he was your future. 

The kind of lie that humiliated you in front of yourself. 

No one can see your heart pounding. But you feel it. In your ears, your knees, in the way your ribcage can’t seem to hold it still. It’s thrashing. Desperate to claw its way out of your chest to beat normally again. 

 You’re staring straight ahead at those doors. 

You know once you cross that threshold, there’s no turning around. 

Not from this version of yourself.

The night was still. Still enough to hear your own thoughts for once. 

Until it wasn’t.

You’d been cleaning the counter at the bait shop, when you heard the unmistakable roar of Rafe’s bike closing in on you. JJ instantly shot up, slamming his beer down, jaw already clenched like he’d been expecting this.

Always your loyal soldier. 

JJ Maybank, the boy with a reckless heart, bruised knuckles and a moral compass that always pointed in your direction.

You were frozen, rooted to the floor like fear had turned your blood to concrete. He was here. And he was invading the only place that had started to feel like yours again. He tossed his helmet into the dirt, and JJ was on him before he could step foot under the soft light of the shop. 

‘You need to leave, Rafe.’ 

JJ’s voice was steel. No cracks. No wiggle room. But Rafe’s eyes found you, behind the counter, trembling, and it was like nothing else existed. He looked strung out, pupils wide and wild, like he hadn’t seen daylight in weeks.

He hadn’t seen you in weeks at that point. He’d kept his distance physically, instead flooding your phone with voicemail confessions and apologies he never had the courage to say to your face. He told himself he was giving you space. 

But now, he needed to see you. Even if it ruined him.

‘’M not goin’ anywhere, I need to talk to her.’ Rafe’s voice was cold, his hands working to shove JJ aside, his eyes set on you. Even with the tears in your eyes, all he could think about is how badly he missed you. 

Because, as you’d learnt, Rafe Cameron is indeed a selfish man. 

JJ didn’t flinch, shoving Rafe back so hard his boots dragged across the dirt, ‘You’re not talkin’ to her. Not in this state.’ His voice was a quiet growl, dripping promise opposed to threat. 

‘Sober up and get the fuck off my property before I put you in the dirt.’ JJ was practically spitting at Rafe, shoulders arched in a way that dared Rafe to test him. 

Behind the bar, your hands began to shake. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until your head began to spin. Rafe shoved JJ again, like he was just a small hurdle in the way of his prize. 

‘Fuck off, Maybank. She needs to know ‘m sorry.’ Rafe snarled, fighting against JJ’s grip, holding him back. Holding him away from you. JJ almost felt bad for Rafe in that moment. Almost. 

Rafe had been a dick to JJ, yet the blonde couldn’t help but feel something that resembled pity towards him. The way Rafe’s eyes reddened when he saw you, the way his tears betrayed his prideful ego. 

You’d fucked Rafe up, just as badly as he had you. 

‘Rafe, leave. Now.’ JJ stood firm, adrenaline keeping himself anchored onto Rafe. He could feel your anguish across the store, and he wasn’t about to let Rafe worsen it. Rafe shook his head, charging forward. 

JJ had no choice. His fist collected Rafe’s jaw in a steady swoop, knocking him right on his ass. You didn’t even stop him. You froze. Your stomach curled up like something had just died inside of you. 

Your brain screamed at you to move. To shout. To step between them. But those concrete veins prevailed. Your heart? It was already bleeding again. 

Rafe was already clamoring to his feet, before JJ struck him with another brutal punch. 

And Rafe just laughed. 

He spat the blood in his mouth onto the dirt, attention now on JJ. 

‘Hit me!’ Rafe laughed, broken and bloody.

‘I fuckin’ deserve it ‘nd you know it.’ 

JJ froze. You did too. Because he wasn’t fighting back. He was begging for pain.

JJ couldn’t bring himself to swing again. He grabbed Rafe by the collar and dragged him to his bike, and stood tall until he left. He left, and once again, you were left picking up the pieces of rubble he always left in his wake.

You felt every emotion under the sun, possibly even emotions science hadn’t yet identified. 

Emotions that sat in your throat like glass, slicing their way into your chest. 

Humiliation, hurt, regret, empathy, sadness, worthlessness, longing, betrayal, anger. 

It was too much to deal with. 

So you did what you could. You couldn’t afford therapy, so you focused on distracting yourself. You broke your lease and moved in with the Pogues. You saved up for a camera like it was your salvation. 

Started taking pictures like your life depended on it.

Tourists, Kook weddings, baby bumps, family photoshoots and seaside sunsets. You fell in love with life again, one shutter click at a time. Each smile, each person reminding you that there’s eight billion people on this earth, and maybe one day, you’ll experience happiness like them again. 

You started making more money than you knew what to do with. Bookings came faster than you could breathe, each shoot a step further from the version of yourself that used to beg for scraps of love. 

You found yourself in country clubs and coastal estates. In the same world that once belonged to him. But now you were behind the lens, and for the first time in your life, you were the one holding the power.

Until one day, he was there. 

And the ground didn’t shake. 

Your heart didn’t break. 

But it did… stir. 

The Pogues surround you, beaming like they’ve just watched you conquer the world. JJ’s hand squeezes yours, steady and silent, reminding you that you’re never alone. You try to focus on the moment. 

But your mind drifts back to that day. The day where the red string tugged. No rain. No thunder. 

Just the quiet pull of fate. 

‘You look good,’ his voice cracked the air like a match. You blinked, pulling your eye from the viewfinder like you’d just been caught committing a crime. Of course he was here. The Camerons and the Lowes were business partners.

‘You look… better,’ you muttered, eyeing him up and down. He did look better than the last time you saw him. When he came to the shop, and left his pride at your feet. He also had no hair now, which made you do a double take. 

‘I’m clean. Seven months.’ Your lips parted, but no words came. All you could do was nod. Speaking felt like betrayal. Betrayal to your dignity, to your healing and to the reputation you’d built from the ashes of loving him.

You weren’t just you anymore. You were your brand. Your name. Your work. And your name didn’t flinch when he said things like that. 

‘Congratulations.’ 

There was an uneasy beat of silence. 

‘Thank you. And ‘m not saying that to win you back. I’m sayin’ it because you deserve to know.’ 

You didn’t get the chance to say, ‘I’m proud of you.’ 

Or, ‘I’m scared of what you still mean to me.’ 

Or anything, really. 

Because as quickly as he appeared, he disappeared. 

Fuck, you’re glad the photos paid for therapy. Real therapy. Not ‘healing through distraction.’ Not Kie’s borrowed journals. Actual therapy, where saying his name for the first time felt like hauling a boulder uphill with bloodied hands. 

But you did it, and every session since has been a brick of emotional turmoil excavated from your chest.

‘I think I hate him.’ 

That’s what you told the box of tissues in front of you, because the tissues couldn’t judge you. 

‘But I miss him so much I feel sick.’ 

Your therapist just nodded, because she knew. Love isn’t always clean. Grief is never clean. 

You’d headed to a local bar to try and ease the thinking your brain was forcing upon you, post-therapy session. You’d drunk enough to sedate a horse, but it was never enough to forget about him–or what he did. 

And of course, the universe had to poke fun at you once more. 

‘That Cameron boy? Been volunteering ‘round my place since spring. Quiet kid, but he works hard.’ Said casually, like the crustless cucumber sandwich between sips of mimosas. The old lady’s words hit you sideways.

Rafe?

Working hard? Volunteering?

The same boy who bought and flipped homes like a game of Monopoly?

He wasn’t a hard worker. He was a talker. A manipulator. 

A charm-your-mama-before-he-breaks-your-heart type.

Wasn’t he?

Rafe’s palms sweat like he’s back in the courtroom. This time though, it’s not the judge he’s scared of. 

Every minute of work. 

Every sober morning.

Every aching, gut-wrenching therapy session. 

It’s all been building to this moment. 

He didn’t even know you were there. But his therapist had said, ‘Keep doing the work. The right people will find you again.’ 

He didn’t think that would include you. 

There he was, side by side with Wheezie, laughing at something she’d said, like the world hadn’t broken both of you a dozen times over. 

It was just the monthly ‘beach tidy.’ Locals. Volunteers. Garbage bags. Nothing poetic. 

Until he was in the frame. 

You went every month. It was your thing. Your breath of clean salted air. Your reset button. A way to give back to the world. 

And he was never there, until he was.

He looked different. Lighter. Like he’d laid something heavy down and walked away from it. His shoulders, the ones that used to carry ego and rage like armor, were loose. Relaxed. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t a show. 

It was peace, and that terrified you.

You didn’t mean to do it. Your fingers moved on instinct. Your eye slipped behind the lens, where it was safe, and you captured him. The way he smiled. The way Wheezie laughed beside him, hands equally as dirty as her brother’s.

The way he didn’t look broken anymore. 

Later that night, curled up on the top bunk, you stared at the photo like it might blink back. It made something shift in your chest. Something you’d worked so hard to bury beneath logic and pain. 

You’d told yourself you were done with him.

That you weren’t going to will your heart to be shattered in his hands again.

But there he was. Doing something good when he thought no one was watching. Where there’s no party. No camera. No performance. Just his sister, the sand, and the gentle lap of the waves. 

Your fingers twitched over the delete button. You knew you shouldn’t keep it. 

You knew how it went. One photo becomes curiosity. Curiosity becomes memory. And memory becomes the ache to call him, and beg him to tell you he loves you. Because being broken by Rafe Cameron, had left an empty pit in your stomach that craved his validation to fill. 

You didn’t delete the photo. 

You’d talked about men like him in therapy. Users. Liars. Boys who begged for love and offered rot in return. You knew better now, and yet, his soul called to yours like a familiar song in a burning building. 

You could run, or you could turn around and listen. 

Whether it be weeks or months, he always found a way to be there, and chip away at your resolve and anger, one glimpse at a time. 

Despite the way he broke you, despite the betrayal and the deep ugly scar he’d left on your heart, part of you wanted to believe that maybe he might’ve changed. 

And that scared the living shit out of you. 

You remember when you were sure this day would never come. Not like this. And sure as hell not with him. 

‘You ready?’ JJ murmurs, his arm hooking through yours like a lifeline. Unknowingly, he takes half of your weight. Half of your nerves. Half of your fear. You shake out your free hand, trying to toss the jitters onto the floor like spilled rice.

‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’ It’s barely a whisper, but somehow, JJ hears the steel behind it.

You’d gone alone to the beach, wanting to catch a glimpse of the sunset, possibly a photo too. Headphones on, sundress flowing around your body with the slight breeze, you walked aimlessly. 

You’d found yourself in front of the Country Club, by some freak of nature. You hadn’t expected to see him again, especially not only a few days after the photo. A few days for you to try and compose yourself and remind yourself that he splintered your idea of love. 

But there he was. 

Tucked behind the bar, chatting away to Wheezie by his side. His demeanor was delicate with her. He oozed a protective aura around her, yet his eyes stayed gentle, and he actually seemed to be listening to her ramblings. 

He noticed you first this time. 

He didn’t move. Didn’t smile. He just gave you a polite nod. 

You nodded back, continuing to walk further down the beach, trying to get the encounter out of your mind. You’d thought that was it. It should’ve been. History only rewrites itself. No–that’s not what your therapist said, but whatever. 

Wheezie hadn’t missed the interaction. She chased you down, sand-crusted and pink-cheeked, heart on her sleeve. ‘He didn’t know you were gonna be here,’ she blurted out, like she was trying to catch the apology before it slipped too far between you. 

It felt like she was trying to hand you a bandage you weren’t sure you needed. Like she still felt the gravity of your name stitched into Rafe’s heart. 

‘I didn’t know he’d be here either,’ you murmured, offering the young lady an indifferent smile. You hadn’t intended on being rude, but your eyes kept flicking up to Rafe, who sat at the bar, frozen solid. 

He was terrified. Not of you, but of what Wheezie might spill. She was the only person he’d ever really spoken to about you. The only one who knew he still whispered your name every therapy session.

You two were out of earshot, but Rafe knew his gut instinct was right when he saw Wheezie speak, and your brows furrow. 

‘He talks about you. Not like a weirdo or anything,’ she spoke quickly, like you were going to run before she could get the words out, ‘just… like how he wants to be someone you’d still be proud of.’ 

You didn’t trust your voice to respond. Although young, Wheezie could tell there were no more words to be exchanged anymore. She’d seen what Rafe had gone through. She’d seen him get clean. 

She’d seen him cry in front of her. 

She’d seen the way he would take her to the cinema after a therapy session, never talking about it straight away. He’d stew on it in the dark, with his sister beside him like silence could keep him whole.

She’d seen the way he was trying so desperately to make amends with Sarah, who was surely the next Cameron to require therapy. 

She’d seen the way he began to help the community, participated in fundraisers, volunteered to clean and repair boats for the elderly, and helped people carry their groceries to their car. 

She’d seen the impact of you, embedded into every inch of Rafe’s once bleak, arrogant heart. 

She’d seen the way your ghost had pulled him towards goodness.

The way your absence shaped him into something softer. 

Because that’s who he’d fallen in love with all those months ago. 

That’s who he’d been in love with all those months. 

That’s who he wanted to make people feel, because it was the most perfect feeling in the whole wide world to him. 

Sarah tugs one last time on the strap settled against your shoulder, grounding you with the quiet efficiency only a sisterhood can offer. It still doesn’t feel real, but it feels earned.

The music changes, and you know this is as real as it will ever get. 

Raw, honest, broken and healed. 

As fucking real as it gets, like the scar left behind was always supposed to become part of the map.

Your breath stops. 

After talking to Wheezie, you found yourself wandering down to sit on the end of the dock, watching the world fall asleep one shutter click at a time. You didn’t even notice his boots until they were too close to ignore.

Then he sat beside you, quietly, like he’d been summoned by the tide.

There was enough space to pretend he wasn’t there. Just enough wind between you to feign indifference. But you didn’t. You turned your shoulders towards the sea and let yourself feel the weight of him beside you. 

He gave you enough space. Enough to choose if it would’ve been a moment, or just a memory.

He didn’t want to speak. He just sat there, letting the hush of your camera fill the gaps his words would’ve cracked wide open. As with every time you thought about him, your therapist’s voice played in your head. 

‘I think it’d be good to talk to him about your feelings. Putting your cards on the table can provide you with a sense of closure.’ 

‘Absolutely not. I would rather fuck a chainsaw than tell him how bad it hurt. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.’ 

But fuck it. 

Letting go didn’t mean forgetting. It just meant finally putting the chainsaw down.

‘I still think about that text, you know,’ your voice was sharper than you’d intended. But he nods anyway, because he truly does understand. After all, you couldn’t possibly hate him more than he hated himself. 

You realized in that moment that he wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t trying to make excuses. He wasn’t defending his actions. He just let the weight of accountability sit heavy on his shoulders, alongside the hope that maybe… just maybe, you’d let him keep it.

‘You hate me, and you should because fuck-I hate me. What I did… what I didn’t say–’ 

You cut him off. 

‘You lied to me, Rafe. I saw it all with you. I saw the white picket fence, the perfect wedding, the family. And to have that torn out under me because you couldn’t be honest with me? I trusted you with my life.’ 

‘And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give anyone that part of me ever again.’ 

His face cracked. He didn’t hide it. His pride was something he savored for his impactful decisions, not his once fragile ego. He leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers knotted like he was trying to hold himself together. 

‘I wanted to tell you. I swear I did. But every time I looked at you… I-’ his voice cracked, and tears began to pool along the rim of his pretty blue eyes. You wanted to wipe them, but the distance from him was the only thing keeping you sane. 

‘I didn’t want to lose it. I didn’t want to lose you. You’re the only person who ever made me feel like I mattered. I know it was fucked up. I’m sorry.’ 

He swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours, like he was prepared for you to tell him you hate him. To get that final piece of closure he’d been searching for through months of his good deeds and unravelling of the worst parts of himself. 

‘You already had me, Rafe,’ your voice shook.

‘You didn’t need to lie.’ 

He looked down at his hands, letting the waves fill the beat of silence between you. 

‘I didn’t think I deserved you. So part of me… I think I was waiting for it to all blow up. Like it always does. I kept waiting for the catch. And when it didn’t come… I guess I let myself become it.’ 

You closed your eyes, turning your head away from him. That was like a kick straight to the heart, stumbling the beat. You knew the taste of self-sabotage all too well. Of not feeling good enough for anyone from the mess you’d become. 

You’d felt like that before him. 

And you’d felt like that after him. 

‘You know, in therapy, they told me that forgiveness isn’t a gift. It’s a decision. A commitment,’ your voice cracked slightly. You wanted to continue, but Rafe had another weight he wanted to get off his chest. 

‘I’ve been going to therapy twice a week for eight months now. At first, it was for you. I wanted you to think I was sorting my shit out, but the more I went, the more I realized I needed it.’ His confession lingered heavily in the air. 

It was a bruising weight. The silence. 

Your eyes finally came up to meet his, blurred by your own tears threatening to spill. You blinked against the sting, ‘I don’t think I’m ready for the commitment of forgiveness yet, Rafe. But I see you’re trying.’

He didn’t reach for your hand like he wanted to. He just nodded, eyes fragile on you, like you were the bear ready to come barrelling through his china shop. He went silent. No breath. No movement. 

This was the closure he came over here for, right? 

‘I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready again. But I see you trying, Rafe. And I’d be lying to the both of us if I said that didn’t mean something.’

‘I’d wait a hundred years for you to be ready, angel.’

The pet name didn’t sting as bad as it once did. It didn’t make your stomach churn like it did when you’d shut the door in his face. It landed tastefully on your tongue, with a glimmer of hope sneaking in beside it. 

‘You’ve got a hundred years of waiting, you may as well walk me home.’ 

His lips parted. The glimmer of hope seemed to wash over him too, flashing behind his eyes like a dreamy sunset. He didn’t rush anything. He didn’t rush to reach you. He didn’t ask for more. 

Instead, for the first time, he met you where you were. 

And he continued meeting you where you were. 

He stepped in to help with a wedding shoot when JJ bailed last minute. No fanfare. No fuss. Just steady hands on the reflectors, gear fetched before you even asked, kids laughing at his stupid jokes. 

He didn’t make it about him.

Just showed up. Held space. Respected yours. 

He’d packed up every last lens and tripod without waiting for permission. When the sun began to bleed orange across the sky, he lingered by your car.

‘You’re really good at this, y’know?’ 

It had been so long since his praise didn’t feel like a trapdoor. But this time, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t brace. You just heard him. 

He worked his way back into your orbit, not with apologies, but with presence. Every move was deliberate, cautious, patient and grounded in something that felt real. 

He wasn’t chasing forgiveness. He was building trust.

He wanted to be the kind of man you could rely on. The kind of man his father never taught him how to be.

He wanted to be someone you could put every last drip of your faith into, and be able to handle it with the care it deserved. He never wanted to be the boy who broke everything he touched, ever again. 

‘Wait!’ Kie’s voice cuts through the air, her gaze sweeping over you like she’s searching for cracks. 

‘Where’s your something blue?’ 

Your chest finally lets go of its bated breath. You raise your hand.

‘Right here.’ 

The blue diamond glints on your finger, not loud or flashy. Just enough.

It wasn’t grand. It was like your love. It was raw, steady, and unshakably yours. Just the two of you. The same barstools at the Country Club where you first met him. The same spot where he’d fallen in love with you. 

When neither of you knew what love really meant yet. 

‘If you can forgive me,’ he said, the tear tracking down his cheek doing all the confessing for him. He didn’t wipe it away. He wore it.

‘I want to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve this second chance with you.’ 

You didn’t say a word.

You couldn’t. 

Not when your heart had already answered for you.

‘I want to marry you. I want the family, the dog, the white picket fence–fuck, angel–whatever you want to do, I want to do it with you.’ 

You said yes. Not because he begged. But because he didn’t have to. 

He proved that he had become a better man, not just through his words, but through his actions. 

He’d earnt that spot that consumed your whole heart and soul. 

The spot that still remembered how he used to hurt, and chose him anyway. 

He’d earnt your trust back, week by week, month by month. 

And you could confidently say you trusted him with the shattered pieces of your heart that he was grown enough to repair after breaking them. 

It wasn’t perfect. 

You never expected perfect. 

You expected honesty, and reality.

And he was going to spend the rest of his life giving it to you. 

The blue diamond shimmers under the sunlight. Blue, for loyalty. For devotion. It cost Rafe more than half his property portfolio, but he didn’t even flinch.

He would’ve given anything he had if it meant holding your hand at the altar.

When the doors open, and you see him at the end of the aisle, all of your worries melt away. 

He’s standing tall in his sleek navy suit, shoulders squared. But he looks like a man on his knees. Not because he’s weak. But because you still bring him to them. 

Each step you take is certain. There’s no hesitation. No fear. You’ve both worked so hard to get to where you are today, and everyone around you knows it. 

JJ leads you down the aisle, arm locked through yours like it’s holding you up. He leans in, voice low enough that it curls beneath your veil, ‘Last chance to back out, Princess.’

You laugh, breathy and watery, trying not to smudge your makeup, ‘I’m not running.’ JJ brushes his thumb over your knuckles in a quiet way that says: Good. I’ve got you. 

‘Good,’ he says, watching the aisle like a soldier. ’Because if he hurts you again, I’ll have to break every bone in his body.’ You don’t doubt it. You laugh louder this time. Rafe sees the exchange, the way JJ’s hand is still looped through yours. 

The corners of his mouth twitch, like he’s fighting back a smile, and a sob, and a lifetime of regret all at once. He’s definitely not fighting back those tears, but neither are you. 

You reach Rafe. JJ takes your hand and presses it gently into Rafe’s waiting palm. He doesn’t joke. He doesn’t threaten. He just looks at Rafe, blue eyes hard and full of history. Don’t fuck this up without ever saying it.

‘She’s my best girl,’ JJ says. Calm. Steady. ‘Don’t make me regret letting her go.’ 

Rafe nods. Once. Firm. Like it means everything.

No bravado. 

No ego. 

Just reverence. 

‘Never.’ 

The ceremony was small. No microphones. No stage. Just the people who mattered, close enough to hear your heartbeat and the crack in your voice. You didn’t want a production. You wanted a promise.

Kelce wasn’t there. Neither was Topper, or any of the other Kooks who once scoffed at the idea of Rafe Cameron loving a Pogue. And you didn’t miss them. 

‘When we get married, are you going to get all sappy with your vows?’ You’d asked the question, perched on Rafe’s bare chest. Long before the text message. Long before you knew about the bet. When it was just you and him, planning a future together. 

He rolled his eyes. 

‘Like in sickness and in health?’ his gut twisted as he played it coy. He was going to tell you in that moment. Because fuck yes he wanted to marry you, and he absolutely wanted to get sappy with his vows, but only if you knew the truth. 

‘You’re so unserious, like, all the time.’ 

‘You just bring out the calmest side of me I’ve ever known, angel.’ 

You let out a shaky breath, his thumb caressing your knuckles the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground.

‘I didn’t think we’d get here,’ you begin, voice cracking just a little. A nervous ripple of laughter breaks through the small crowd. Everyone knows. The rise. The fall. The redemption. Hell, in the Outer Banks, your love story was practically public record.

Your eyes blur before the second sentence even comes. 

‘There was a time I thought I’d only ever say these words in my head.’

A pause.

‘And even then, they felt too big.’ 

‘When I met you, I didn’t know what it meant to be loved by a storm,’ you glance at him, and he smiles, but his eyes are brimming with heated emotion.

‘You were wild. Untouchable. Like a tide I couldn’t stop.’ 

‘I didn’t want to stop. I wanted every part of you… Even the ones you hadn’t figured out how to love yet.’ 

There goes your makeup. 

‘When it all broke, I thought we were done. I thought that love had to come easy to be real.’ 

Your hand shakes. His doesn’t.

‘But now I know better. Love is the work. It’s the fight. It’s the showing up, even when it hurts.’ 

Your voice breaks, struggling to get the last of your words out, ‘You showed up. Even when I didn’t want to see you. Even when I shut every door. You grew. You became someone who loves honestly. And wholly. And bravely.’ 

You smile through the tears, barely able to see him through the floodgates that have crashed open down your face. 

‘I don’t want a perfect man. I just want you.’ 

The whole room holds its breath as your voice cracks.

‘And I promise to choose you.’

‘Every version.’ 

‘Every day.’ 

‘Every storm.’ 

He pulls away from your hands to wipe his eyes, laughing in pure elation. You dab your eyes, looking around at your closest friends and family. The Pogues are all in tears. Ward even has a stern tear welling in his eye. 

‘How am I supposed to compete with that angel?’ Rafe whispers, only loud enough for you and Pope, who was officiating the wedding, to hear. You let out a sniffle, reaching for his hands again as he begins his vows. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. 

‘I was scared of you at first.’ 

You blink, startled. But then he smiles. The kind of smile he only ever saved for you.

‘Not because you were scary. Because you saw me. Even the parts I wanted to pretend weren’t there.’ He takes your bouquet of flowers from your hand, passing them to Pope. He grabs both of your hands tightly, fingers toying with your engagement ring settled on your finger. 

‘I’ve lied. I’ve hurt people. I’ve run from every good thing that’s ever come close.’

‘But not you. You were the first thing I ever wanted to stay for,’ his voice breaks, and you move closer, knowing it might help calm him down. 

‘I didn’t know how to love you right. But you made me want to.’

‘When I lost you, I realized I couldn’t live proud. Not unless I earned the right to look you in the eye again.’ 

Your lip wobbles, and he has to look down at your dress to stop himself from melting into you. 

‘I don’t deserve you,’ his eyes meet yours now, steadier now, ‘But I honor you.’

‘And I promise–I’ll spend the rest of my life learning how to be the man you saw in me… even when I didn’t believe he existed.’ 

Suddenly, ‘I do,’ felt like the perfect promise to forever. 

Later in the evening, the party has began to quieten down, after your first dance as husband and wife with Rafe, JJ clambered onto a table, clinking his glass obnoxiously. 

‘Ahem! I would like to make a toast… to Mr and Mrs Cameron,’ he grins, pausing to relish in the cheers. ‘When she told me she was marrying Rafe, I thought she’d lost the plot.’ 

Scattered laughter follows, some uneasy, some relieved, but you and Rafe just beam. JJ softens, that playful facade dissolving into the kind of rawness he rarely ever lets through.

‘But then I saw him. Really saw him. He was… scared, man. Scared she’d never forgive him. Scared he’d never be enough.’ Rafe squeezes your waist tighter. Because JJ’s words aren’t just true. They’re him. 

‘And then it hit me. I’ve never seen Rafe Cameron scared of anything. Not the law. Not his parents. Not even himself.’ 

A tear pricks the corner of Rafe’s eye. JJ raises his glass into the air. 

‘So here’s to love. Real love. The kind you bleed for. The kind you beg for. The kind you build for. Because if these two crazy people can make it… maybe there’s hope for the rest of us too.’ 

You raise your glass through blurry eyes, not expecting JJ of all people to be the one to make you cry again today.

Life always has had a funny way of letting love into your heart when you least expect it. 

6 YEARS LATER

Sunlight spills through the curtains, layering golden warmth across your chest. There’s a weight there, not heavy, not burdened. Just solid. The kind of weight you’d spent your whole life longing for.

Your son. 

Rafe walks in, falling in love with you all over again, like he does every single day. The sight of you cradling your two-year-old, safe and small on your chest, makes his heart swell with something deeper than pride.

Not the cheap kind of pride that had him betting on your virginity. This pride felt earned. Grounded. The kind that said he’d done better with his life. 

He’d done better than his dad. As a father. As a husband. 

He passes you a cup of coffee, sinking into the sofa beside you, careful not to wake your boy. Then as softly as ever, he brushes the loose strand of hair from your face, that same smile decorating his pretty face.

‘How did I get so lucky, hmm?’ 

You smile sleepily, fingertips tracing slow circles over your son's back. Steady, soothing and familiar.

‘You showed up, Rafe.’ 

‘You always showed up.’

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[congratsloserr]

absolutely amazing holy

˖˚⊹ just don't close your eyes

➤summary: Rafe almost loses you and your baby when complications occur during the birth ➤ w/c: 2.2k ➤ warnings: hospital setting, hurt/comfort, childbirth complications, bleeding, near-death experience, emotional vulnerability, crying, soft and domestic Rafe

masterlist

During the whole pregnancy, it seemed like you pulled out a lucky ticket, as even in the ninth month, you barely had any problems or difficulties. 

Sure, you had some swelling, some really weird cravings, or days when you had no power to even do anything. But the best thing? Rafe had always been there, always by your side. He massaged your aching legs, went to the store even in the middle of the night when you were desperate and begging for something specific, helped you get dressed, and didn’t let you even lift a finger around the house… and that was just a small part of how helpful he was. 

For Rafe it was normal, a bare minimum, because you were carrying his baby, you were doing all the work, so the least he could do was satisfy you in any possible way. 

You both were ecstatic. It was your first pregnancy, and the excitement of it had been a permanent thing, and you both tried to be perfect. Rafe found the best possible clinic and bought everything that the doctor told him to. He started reading the books about how to help you during the labor, how to take care of the baby, or how to be the best to help with your mental health in that period of time. 

It was serious. 

So when one night you woke up from an unusual and really weird cramp, you knew that the time had come. 

Rafe got you to the hospital the fastest he could, helping you to walk and carrying a few bags in his free hand. Your own was at the swell of your stomach, wincing in pain, when it got worse and worse with every passing minute. And when the doctor and nurses came, they weren't wasting any time, and in just under ten minutes you were in a separate room, as they still ran some tests.

It all went downhill way too quickly. You were on your back on a hospital bed, legs up, and too many people were flooding the room. You would’ve been ashamed in any other moment, but when your insides felt like they were tearing apart, you didn’t care. Rafe was by your side, one hand interlaced with yours, another one on your head—grounding and calming. People around you were talking, screaming too loud, and saying a bunch of things that you couldn’t comprehend. The one thing you knew, though, was that something was wrong. 

You cried, tears rolling down the side of your face, soaking your hair, which was already drenched in sweat. Rafe was mumbling something to calm you down, but the only thing you could truly hear was push, push, push harder, I need you to push more. And you tried, God, you did. But your whole body was on fire, and at some point it started to feel like you were going to pass out. 

“I can’t—Rafe, I can’t!” You cried harder, pulling at his hand and shaking your head violently. “It hurts so bad.”

Rafe was in a full panic mode, yet he tried to be calm in front of you—soothing you with soft words and touches. Even if his skin was paler than a white sheet of paper, even if his eyes were wild and darted between your face and the people who all gathered around you. 

“Yes, you can, baby. Just a little bit more.” He stroked the side of your face, trying to catch your unfocused eyes. You shook, legs trying to close in pure pain, only to be held by nurses.

External bleeding. When Rafe’s ears caught those two words in the chaos, his head whipped up in panic only to see blood on the doctor’s hands. Your blood. His body went rigid, his heart beating so violently he could feel it in his throat, because he was fully useless and didn't know what to do besides panic. 

“R-rafe, I don’t feel good.” His attention returned back to you, and the difference between how your face had changed in a matter of seconds was drastic. Your skin got paler, almost grayish in color, and the movement of your head was much slower, as if it weighed more, all while your eyes were blinking slowly, fully unfocused. 

“Hey, hey, baby?” He returned back to you, softly tapping your cheek, panicking because nobody did anything to help you. “Look at me, do you hear me? Just look at me. Don’t close your eyes.” He growled, suddenly angry and shaking from adrenaline himself, when the doctor told you to push one more time. 

And you did. With whatever power was left in your body, you pushed the baby, washing with you a sudden feeling of relief. 

The room fell completely silent for a brief second. No cry. The baby, grey and limp, in the doctor's hands, before everything flamed into a panic again. 

“Why—he’s not crying. Why isn’t he crying?” You whimpered, trying to get up, falling back down when your head got dizzy and vision darkened. “Rafe—“

“Sh-h, lay back.” It took everything in him to look away from the content of the room where his son was fighting for his life, where people bunched up and rushed in with tubes and weird devices he couldn't name.

Rafe fell back to his knees in front of you, cradling your face as much as he could in that weird position, not even trying to stop his own tears from falling. “They are taking care of him. Just don’t close your eyes for me, okay?" He patted your cold cheek softly. "Baby? I swear to God, I can’t lose you.” He growled in desperation. 

You tried to fight it, tried to lift your head and look at your baby again, or look at Rafe, who now couldn’t even hide how terrified he was. But whatever was happening was stronger than you. You felt your eyes rolling back, a shiver running down your whole body, and your hands and legs getting limp. Rafe was crying and begging near you, but your mind got hazy, and the last thing you remembered before everything went black was a loud sound ripping the room. 

***

The first thing you felt when your eyes opened was pain. The bright, sterile room was way too much for your poor eyes, your mouth was as dry as if you had eaten a whole glass of sand, and your body ached in the parts you didn’t even know existed. 

You blinked once, completely disoriented, until the panic settled in, making your blood run cold when the memories started flooding back—the pain, all of the doctors, Rafe begging you to look at him, and the baby being completely silent. 

The baby. 

Your head whipped to the side, shooting a pain through your whole body, but he was nowhere in sight. Instead, your eyes landed on your husband. 

Rafe was there, slumped forward in a way that made your throat close up all over again. He’d dragged a hospital stool next to your bed and folded himself onto it like he couldn’t bear to be anywhere else, like even a few feet away was too far. His head was pressed against the side of your thigh, resting on the edge of the mattress, cheek smushed slightly. His hand was over yours—big, warm, and trembling just barely in his restless sleep. His fingers were locked with yours like he was still holding on for dear life.

“Rafe…?” Your voice came out hoarse, raspy, but it was enough for him to jolt upwards in panic. 

His tired eyes instantly locked on yours, the relief visibly washed over him when he realized that it was not a dream and you were, in fact, talking to him and not just lying lifeless on a hospital bed. 

“You’re awake. God, baby, you’re awake.” He mumbled more to himself, moving closer to you, cupping your cheeks, and sitting at the very edge to be near you but not disturb your poor and exhausted body. “You scared the shit out of me. Fuck—I thought I was going to lose it when you stopped responding to me.” Rafe’s breath came out ragged, blue eyes glassy and red-rimmed. He stroked your still dull skin, looking at you as if you were his whole life. 

Your lips trembled—maybe at his words, maybe at the memory of that moment—and you slightly laid your head in the comfort of his hands. 

“The baby—Rafe—he didn’t cry. Please tell me—“ You broke into sobs in the middle of a sentence, tears rolling down your cheeks just to be gently swiped with Rafe’s thumbs. Your body tried to jolt forward again, on instinct when panic settled in again, but the painkillers that were going into your body through the IVs must’ve made you even weaker, so you slammed back with a groan. 

“Sh-h, it’s okay, I promise. Just don’t move right now.” He leaned over you, kissing your temple ever so slightly, brushing your hair away from your face. “He’s okay, totally fine. They just took him to the NICU for observation. He needed a little help at first, but they said he’s stable now.” He let out a shaky breath. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s got some lungs, baby, you should’ve heard that first cry.” You laughed at Rafe’s words despite the tears that stung your eyes. Now, lying there and barely feeling anything beside pain in your whole body, you think that you would’ve done it all again if it meant that your baby was alive. Rafe, as if understanding the look behind your eyes, leaned over you, brushing the side of your face again with a weird, distant look in his tired eyes. “That was the worst thing I had to see in my life. Just looking at you in agony and screaming, knowing that I’m so fucking helpless?”

You lifted one of your heavy-feeling hands, touching the side of Rafe’s face, clearly seeing the exhaustion, the dark circles, and the lips raw from biting. You smiled softly even if it felt that it took all the powers away from you. “You were there. You held my hand. I couldn’t be more thankful for you staying by my side, Rafe.”

“I swear, baby, I would’ve taken all the pain away from you. I would’ve—” Your finger pressed against his lips before he could spiral. 

“I know.”

He pressed his lips against yours ever so slightly, allowing you both to relish the quiet moment and feeling of each other. But the moment Rafe pulled away, the door to your room cracked open and a nurse's head slowly peeked inside.

“Ah, I see mama’s feeling better?” She shot you a warm smile, fully opening the door and clearly holding onto something with the other hand that was still out of sight. “Ready to meet your baby boy?” 

The clear bassinet was pushed into the room, and you swore you forgot how to breathe the moment you saw him. Rafe stood up in an instant, getting closer to the baby, eyes shooting back and forth and hands slightly shaking. “He’s breathing all by himself, fully stable now, and so ready to meet his parents.” She chuckled, backing up towards the door. “I’m going to give you some time by yourself, okay? Press the button if you need anything.” 

And then it was just the three of you. 

You watched at Rafe’s back when he walked over to the bassinet, leaning lower and for a few seconds just looking at your baby. Your heart was hammering way faster than it was supposed to be, and you tried to sit higher on the bed even if the pain shot through the lower part of your body. 

“Hi, little guy.” Rafe reached into the bassinet, slowly and carefully picking up your son as if he were made out of glass. Rafe was trembling all over his body—maybe from nerves, maybe from what happened over the past twenty-four hours, or maybe just from the simple way his son looked at him. As if it was an instant recognition, a connection. His mouth opened and closed slightly, silent at first and then with soft grunts when he tried to move his little body, restrained by the blue swaddle. “Holy shit, this is real. He has your nose, like—like a full copy, that’s insane.” He sniffed, turning towards you. 

With his eyes full of tears and lips trembling in a smile, we walked back to you, holding the baby against his chest with one hand against his tiny head like he held the whole world in his arms. 

Rafe sat near you on the bed, so careful not to jostle you too much, and placed the baby in your hands. You couldn’t even hold it together for a minute when you started sobbing again just looking at the little bundle pressed closely to you. Suddenly nothing else mattered—not pain, not the hospital noise, not even the many sleepless nights ahead of you—it just all calmed down the second your skin touched his. 

You stroked the curve of your baby’s silk-like cheek, laughing breathlessly at the new feeling, at the way you already knew that you loved him more than anything else in this world. Rafe wiped away your tears, even though his own were still pretty much visible, and he leaned closer to you, not looking away from your face, the other hand still protectively covering your leg. 

His baby was fine, he was sure that the doctors in the hospital handled everything perfectly, but you—his wife, his first and only love—you scared him to death, and it would probably take a lot of time for him to ever forget the feeling of almost losing you. 

You then looked up, eyes locking with Rafe’s, a giggle escaping you at the realization. “They’re blue. His eyes are just like yours, Ray.” 

Rafe’s laugh was shaky and a little broken, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel joy yet. Like he was still dragging himself up from the wreckage of what almost happened. But your voice, your soft giggle, your words? That soothed something in him.

He leaned in closer, gazing down at the baby, who blinked sleepily up at the two of you with those unmistakable Cameron blues. “You’re right." He whispered, brushing the back of his knuckle along the baby’s cheek, the tiniest grin pulling at his lips. “Shit, he really does have my eyes. Poor kid.” Rafe smirked through the lump in his throat, trying to lighten the air, but even that joke cracked under the weight of everything he felt.

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “They’re the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Of course he got them.” You leaned against his body as much as your weak one could, finding comfort in your little family’s presence. 

“Can’t believe we have a baby now. You did it all, sweetheart, holy shit.” Rafe muttered, one hand lifting to wrap around your shoulders as he kissed the top of your head. 

You looked down at your son and then back at Rafe, your eyes glassy again, but this time filled with something softer. Something infinite. “We’re parents now.” You whispered, like saying it too loud might shatter the delicate moment.

Rafe nodded, eyes locked on yours, expression deadly serious despite the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We’re a family now.”

And it didn’t matter what came next. Sleepless nights, sore cries, and the overwhelming tidal wave of learning how to be parents. You had your son in your arms. You had Rafe beside you, eyes still glassy but heart full of love for the two people who mattered the most. And it was everything you needed. 

[congratsloserr]

cuteeee

— firefighter!rafe... “world’s hottest firefighter” !!

cw: pureee fluff !!

a/n: me when me when me when firefighter!rafe and reader 🥹🥹 my babies… anyway please like and reblog if you enjoyed cus i love this rafe sooo much heh

rafe was back home napping, catching up on sleep before his shift in the morning. with the house quiet, you took the chance to run out for groceries— nothing major, just restocking for the week.

you’d finished your grocery list about fifteen minutes ago but by some mysterious force, ended up lingering in the kitchen section. the aisles were quiet, mostly empty, but something about them kept you there.

you finally rolled into the aisle with mugs and random kitchen stuff. one caught your eye—white with red lettering that read: world’s hottest firefighter. laughing to yourself, you picked it up without thinking twice, gently placing it into your cart. it was dumb, kind of, but fitting.

“the boys down at the station are gonna give him so much shit for it.” you snort to yourself and finally, make way to the checkout line.

back at home…

pulling into the driveway, you spotted your boyfriend on the porch swing, waiting for you. rafe smiles with a little wave and gets up to come greet you. you parked and got out with only your purse in hand.

“hey there’s my girl. i was wondering where you went.” he struts over, his hands cupping your face and kissing you.

“poor guy. must’ve woken up so sad and cold and feeling so gosh darn abandoned.” you fake pouted as you held back a little smirk. “groceries in the trunk. be careful with ‘em please.” your hand stalls on his forearm, pinching him playfully.

“yes ma’am.” patting your behind as you walked up the porch.

you went inside and waited by the kitchen for rafe to bring in the bags of groceries. heavy steps make their way over to you. it appeared that he had only needed one trip to bring them all in. the clunk of his boot hitting the bottom of the front door to close it.

this was… attractive. but sure, anything your man did was attractive. he was a firefighter for crying out loud!

he hauls the variety of colored reusable bags to sit on the counter— as if they had no weight at all. “alright, thank you honey.” you peck him on the lips while tying your hair back.

“mhm yeah of course.” he mumbles as he organizes everything into the fridge. you reach for the bag you knew had the mug, turning your back to rafe as you sneak it under your crew neck.

“gotcha a little surprise.” you giggled like a little kid.

once he’s done with putting food away, he turns to you and raises his eyebrow at you.

what the hell were you hiding under your sweater? he thinks to himself.

“yeah? show me baby.” he chuckles as he hunched, placing his head in his hands on the counter.

“close your eyes.”

he nods, closing them instantly.

“hands out.”

he reluctantly puts his hands out.

“rafe, it’s really delicate. gentle hands…” you tease, trying to mess with him. he groans as he impatiently holds his hands out.

you hand him the mug inside of the protective wrapping. “okay open.” you laugh behind your hands, watching him carefully. he peeks one eye open and starts to unwrap the mug.

“world’s hottest firefighter…” he reads out loud. “baby what the-” he laughs whole heartedly. “no- no. you’re joking.”

“you can bring it back and forth between here and the station. it’s cute.” you laugh, walking over to him and rubbing his back.

“you’re really something.” he runs his hand over his face. rafe pulls you into him and kisses your head, mumbling a thank you against your hair.

you quickly take a photo of him with it. getting multiple faces out of him, like a fake annoyed one and big exaggerated smile.

“there was one that said something like my wife is the hottest thing i’ve ever seen and i’m a firefighter. and i would’ve gotten it but…” you put your left hand out, huffing dramatically.

he chuckles not saying anything, holding you closer.

the next day at the station…

rafe sits at a table in the kitchen. he watched a random show that was already playing on the tv there. a few of the other guys had walked in hooting and hollering after who knows what. he hardly pays them any mind.

he sips hot coffee from his mug. the mug you just got him. the one that says world’s hottest firefighter. he starts to hear snorts and whistles.

“hey, world’s hottest firefighter.” they all tease him, getting a biiggg eye roll out of rafe.

he looked annoyed, but he’s not embarrassed. of course not. his pretty woman got it for him. how could he be anything but proud?

[congratsloserr]

need more immediately

mini russo!

rafe cameron x barry’s lil sister!reader CW mention of drugs, poorly rewritten obx scenes, thats rlly all

rafe came to barry’s looking for one thing. he knew he was in deep shit, considering the past couple events that have occured it seemed more like that was just his life and he had to get used to it. instead of trying to get coke, he came for a different reason, trying to get his only somewhat reliable friend he had to help mingle with criminal evidence to hide the fact that he just so had his daddy frame his little sister’s boyfriend for his own crime? but hey, at least he not sniffing coke anymore! right?

and you? you werent completely unaware of the coke head lunatic kook. you’ve never spoken a word a to him but have definitely heard stories. when your big brother dealed(one of his many side quests to keep the lights on) you weren’t usually around, nor would barry let you. “get back in the god damn trailer!” he would shout, when you would step out for some fresh air—or maybe going to a friends house. and to be honest, its not like you didn’t prefer to stay inside, indulging in a book or eating crappy waffles that barry probably ate majority of the day he bought them. however you always knew he didnt line his clients to see you because he just wanted to protect his baby sister.

that was until rafe cameron.

when rafe pulled up, you had just finished getting ready for the day, black falsies and pink lipgloss coated delicately on like a cake with frosting, dancing in the bathroom to a song on your phone in a pink bra and denim shorts. pausing the music when you heard a loud moter engine halt. you peeked out the trailer door, to be brought with the sight of rafe cameron, looking delicious as ever.

you only wanted to see who it was, but rafe caught you. you hid behind the door, big eyes peeking through. rafe knew barry had lived with someone—hence the cutley decorated bed and side of the trailer he noticed when he was looking for coke, magazines and soda scattered on coffee tables, and even a lipgloss print on few of barry’s beers.

“hey,” rafe said, his helmet held on his lap. “i’m not gonna bite you.” he scoffed, once he noticed you trying to pretend like you werent there. “is barry around?” rafe asked, tilting his head as if he was trying not to intimidate the girl. you hesitated before revealing more of your face behind the door, chipped nail polish on your long nails gripping the door, but being cautious when you remembered you were still in a bra. “barry!!” you yelled to the living room, catching your older brothers attention. barry was layed on the couch with a beer in his hand, eating chips while watching some shitty show on tv. “the fuck is it?” he groaned tiredly, walking over. “girl, what did I say about being around customers?” you mumbled incoherently. “scram!” you looked back once out the door, making eye contact with rafe before following your big brother’s orders. “and get dressed!”

“country club! what is it now?” barry said, little did they know, you were looking through out the window. this became a usual habit when it came to rafe, everytime your brother dealed with him you would always look through that little window just to catch a glimpse of the kook’s face, his sweaty bangs and golden hair glowing in the kildare sun. you didnt know why you had such a strong fascination with him, money? his looks? his raging anger issues?

rafe however, always wondered about the mini russo girl, he knew barry didnt want her around during business so you always seemed more of a ghost to him than an actual person. sometimes he would see a pair of eyes looking at him from the trailer, maybe assuming it was the girl. however he never had enough time to look, when barry was talking his eyes were still trailing to yours. “you wanna make some money, man?” rafe said, shaking his mind from the topic of the young girl. “what kinda stupid question isthat?—why do you think im selling drugs?” again, his mind went back to you. you mustve been around his age or sarah’s, dead parents? big brother being all hero like trying to keep the lights on for you? college? problems he never had to think about. “shi, I dont know man. the lifestyle?” rafe banetered, as barry was checking something out on his motercycle. “dont think it’s matters as long as little miss russo’s safe and sound, right?” barry’s head perked up. “the fuck you say? you running your mouth on my baby sister?”

your took your head out of your magazine when you heard barry shout. were they talking about you? your hands grabbed for the edge of the window, pushing it open so you could hear better. fuck, you remembered. rafe had seen you.

“I didn’t mean to hit a nerve man, just wondering why you keeping a pretty thing like her locked in there all the time.” rafe stated, you ducked your head in anxiety. “watch it j crew, I worry about my shit and you worry ‘bout yours—got it? keepn her ‘locked in’ so she dont gotta deal with guys like you, country club.” rafe smirked in amusement, looking over to the tiny screen window to see a familiar pair of eyes. he scoffed slyly, throwing a wad of cash into your brother’s hand. it looked like fifty’s and hundreds. “I need your help.” rafe stated.

༯ my inbox is open, send me requests hehe (∩˃o˂∩)♡

[congratsloserr]

“I just asked what game are we playing” and “I don’t think it’s doing all of that” 😭😭😭

⋆ ੭ 𝒕witch str𝓮amer!rafe c𝓪n’t str𝓮am when y𝓸u’re g𝓸ne ﹆ ﹏

rafe adjusted his headset for the third time, blowing out a breath and slouching in his chair. pulling his hood down closer to his eyes, he addressed a chat he saw. “nah, i’m cool. not like she left to grab some things when i thought we were going to spend the day together. yeah, we spent all of last week together. what about it?”

user i just asked what game are we playing ꒰ user that sucks user she’ll be back. .

rafe walked his character forward in the game he’s playing, stopping at a desk in the bedroom. he shrugged, “she has a desk. she keeps her journaling stuff on it.” his character looked to the side at a picture on the desk. rafe chuckled dryly, “is that supposed to be his girlfriend? he doesn’t even know what longing is.”

user how are you longing after an hour

rafe glanced over the chat, “mods, you know what to do.” he looked to the top corner of his screen to see his objective for the game. “make dinner? because they know we usually cook dinner together. so they’re mocking me?” rafe claimed.

꒰ user i don’t think it’s doing all of that

rafe sighed, reading out a few donations and squinted his brows at one. “here’s five dollars to make you stop and for her to come back? what are you trying to say?” he pulled a face. “first off, that’s not how money works, your five bucks are going to waste. and what, i’m talking about my girlfriend too much? is that it?” he mock frowned, tilting his head.

user hey so i’m scared

rafe shook his head, looking back to the game. he finished the task, then his character pulled out his phone to text his girlfriend. rafe sighed, “i should text her.”

꒱ user stay strong man

the game allowed rafe to type what he wanted to into the virtual phone, so he typed are you back yet? then deleted it and wrote when are you going to be back? then he stared at the text for a few seconds, deleted it, and wrote sorry if this is annoying. he nodded his head at the text, then shook his head, deleted the text, and wrote out no i’m not can you come back please.

when he couldn’t actually press send, he let out a frustrated sigh.

user hard watch

then there was the sound of the door opening and your quiet footsteps. rafe perked up, straightening himself out so it didn’t look like he was just slumped. he side eyed the camera, “be freaking cool,” he gritted out in a hushed voice.

then you appeared, arms littered with bags, bright smile on your face. “i’m back. sorry if that took long,” you frowned, moving to set the bags down.

rafe shook his head, “nah, it’s fine.”

user please get us he was being mean ꒰ user freedom!!! user it was not fine

you looked over from the bags to see the monitor screen. “what are you playing?” rafe shrugged, pretending to forget the name of the game. “fathom something, i don’t know.”

user hard watch!! ꒱ user he directed his feelings at us for you being gone

you were about to look away when you saw the last chat. “hm? was i seriously gone too long? i hope that didn’t affect the stream. .”

rafe shook his head, “i don’t know what they’re talking about. the stream is fine.” you nodded hesitantly, getting back to the bags.

once you looked away, rafe quickly cut his eyes to the screen. “opps,” he hissed.

[congratsloserr]

Juice Box Party

summary: “Yeah. You’re done sharing that smile with everyone else.” characters: frat! rafe. elementary ed! reader warnings: mentions of alcohol word count: 1.0k

"Did Miss Recess just walk into a frat party?"

Rafe's voice cut through the bass-heavy hum of the backyard speakers, low and teasing as he leaned against the deck railing. He had a Solo cup in one hand, backward cap casting a shadow over his smug, sun-kissed grin as he stared straight at you like you were a UFO landing on the lawn.

You blinked up at him, cheeks already warm-not from the tequila spritzer in your hand, but from how out of place you felt.

“I don’t just live in the education building, you know,” you chirped, holding your drink like a peace offering. “I’m multifaceted.”

Rafe snorted. “Yeah, and your drink’s in a damn juice box.”

You looked down at the bright pink box-strawberry lemonade spiked seltzer-and shrugged, sipping like it was apple juice during snack time. “It’s cute.”

He tilted his head. “You’re cute.”

You giggled, missing how his gaze lingered a second longer than it should’ve. Always did. And you never seemed to notice.

The thing about you was that you weren’t meant to be here.

You wore flower-embroidered denim shorts and a yellow tank top, your hair in a loose braid, earrings shaped like little daisies. Your nails were glittery. Your phone case had a cartoon avocado on it. You greeted everyone like they were old friends-even when you didn’t know their names.

Rafe had never seen someone turn down beer pong to compliment a girl’s shoes and ask if she wanted a Rice Krispies treat you’d brought “just in case people got hungry.”

Who brings snacks to a kegger? You did.

And every time you smiled at someone-eyes wide, voice high and sugary-Rafe felt his jaw tick.

Because people were noticing.

Especially when Topper started making you lemon drop shots.

One.

Two.

Three.

You were giggly now. Touchier. Your arm kept looping through strangers’ elbows. You were telling a group of guys that your favorite animal was a duck because “they look like tiny soldiers with their little waddles,” and Rafe was this close to losing it.

“Kelce,” he growled under his breath, eyes locked on you like you were a butterfly trying to land in a lion’s den. “If one more guy gets near her-”

“She doesn’t even know they’re flirting,” Kelce replied with a laugh. “It’s like watching a kitten try to cross the freeway.”

“Exactly,” Rafe muttered, already moving.

He wasn’t even subtle about it.

The next time some sophomore tried to offer you a drink, Rafe stepped right between you. Just-appeared. Eyes sharp. Shoulders squared.

“She’s good,” he said flatly. “Back off.”

The guy blinked. “I was just-”

“I said she’s good.”

When he turned back to you, you just smiled, completely unaware of the tension.

“Oh! That was nice of him, he was trying to give me a-”

“No, he wasn’t.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Nothing.” He handed you a water instead. “Drink this. You’re starting to get wobbly.”

You took it happily, wrapping both hands around the bottle like it was precious cargo. “You’re such a worrier.”

Rafe stared at you. At your scrunchie around your wrist. At the pink flush in your cheeks. At the sparkle in your eyes.

Worrier?

Maybe.

Or maybe he just didn’t like that people were looking at something that had started to feel like his.

“You know,” you went on, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. “You’re not so scary when you smile.”

Rafe didn’t smile.

Not tonight.

Not with half the frat house watching the way your tank top dipped slightly when you leaned down to fix your shoe. Not with some dude in a jersey still sneaking glances even now.

“I’m not smiling,” he muttered, pulling his hoodie off and draping it over your shoulders without asking. “And we’re leaving in ten.”

You blinked again. “We are?”

He just nodded.

And this time, even your sunshine couldn’t melt the steel in his voice:

“Yeah. You’re done sharing that smile with everyone else.”