#(u) i always come back: queue.

[runelocked]

“ I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING, ” he tells her, and his words are falling over each other in his angry determination to make her understand, “ I sacrificed everything for you. You and Michael, HAH ! ” At the mention of his eldest son’s name, William’s features twist, coiled and tight. Even that reaction, visceral and vicious as it is, is more emotion than he’s given Ollie in quite some time. Except tonight. Tonight, he’s not quite himself. “ The two of you, you never cared. I have the two of you the world and you threw it back in my face. And— And I’ll tell you another thing, too!”

He feels like shit. Physically and mentally. Hardly fully upright while he jabs an aggressive finger at her, chest heaving in an attempt to calm his breaths. Letting her work him up had never been the plan, but neither had any of this. And he’s mortified, too, by the shame inside him that’s rapidly rising: not only the shame of behaving like this in front of her, that egotistical shame, but the shame that comes with remembering past mistakes. In this case, most of his daughter’s childhood and teenage years. He’s not entirely oblivious, after all. The past, however, is not something he wants to think about. Not when it comes to his faults. A sneer painted on his lips, he says, as candid as he can, movement unsteady and swaying:

“ No wonder I couldn’t fuckin’ stand to be at home. Being reminded constantly of what a disappointment you turned out to be— God, I feel sick.”

CONTINUED. / @feardrummed

[rinhaler]

Good morning ppl 🩷

[skidrowflorist]

@polarean / continued.

“You... Oh.” Audrey suddenly and very strongly resembles a deer in headlights. They’re not friends. They’re dating.

Andrei isn’t the first ... person like that that she’s known (she stumbles over the word gay in her mind). Audrey is aware of gay people. Definitely aware! She’s pretty sure she’s had friends who’ve turned out gay. But when she thinks about it, when she tries to respond to it right in front of her like she has to now, she freezes. A feeling of estrangement and uncertainty seeps into her.

“Oh,” she says again, because the silence as he looks at her expectantly is so horrible. Her fingers start to worry at the back of her other hand. “I’m sorry. Ah! Not I’m sorry because you are, but I- I’m sorry I said that rude thing about not getting along. It’s, um, it’s great that you are. That’s neat!”

‘That’s neat’? She has to be able to do better than this.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs breathlessly, and gee, she feels like she’s repeating herself a lot. “I don’t really know what to say...”

[transvampireboyfriend]

think i need a lil break

[princessbrunette]

“you still mad at me?” while balls deep with rafe 😵‍💫😵‍💫.

GODDDD U ATE W THIS PROMPT 😩 like my jaw dropped

rafe was always doing this.

he’d make empty promises, plans even — talk to you all sweet with a warm hand on your back whispering suggestion of “that was the last time i’m getting involved with all that crazy shit, baby. i swear. s’just me you n’me now, you hear me?” and you being the fool, believed him.

until of course you’re catching him pulling back up to the drive on his motorcycle, yanking his helmet off with that ill-tempered expression of his that just tells you enough that somethings gone on, you know, the one where his teeth are grit, lips pressed together like they’d been sewn shut. that’s not even where it ends, because often times barry is close behind, pulling up alone side so they can debrief loudly in the living room, stinking up the place with pot. even if you were mad, you know the rules. no coming down the stairs when barry’s over.

you almost had started to enjoy the feeling of sulking when rafe would eventually skulk up the stairs after barry had left, shoulders heavy and ready to grovel. naturally, you put up quite the fight — and what might surprise you is that rafe let’s you mouth off, even if he knows you don’t understand the importance of his situation and likely never will.

“again and again rafe! how many times am i gonna have to put up with you just running off to god knows where when you promise me you’re not doing all that anymore! you were supposed to be with me today!” you nearly stomp your foot, that last sentence coming out childishly like an abandoned middle child. he nods, jaw ticking as he stares at the ground scratching his forehead, waiting for his lashing to end. once the tears start to roll, that’s his queue. like clockwork.

“come on, hey. y’know i love you, sweetheart. i’m sorry, okay?” he rushes to your side, sliding right up next to you on the bed and thumbing at the first batch of tears on your cheek, his hand so large it cups your skull at the same time. you want to preen into his touch, so elated with any affection after a day of missing him, worrying about him — but you don’t, because you’re still mad. be strong, you tell yourself.

you’re weak. you hate yourself.

not even 10 minutes of your sobbing and complaining later and he’s got your legs over his broad shoulders, balls slapping lewdly against you whilst he all but pumps you. his hands that are on your waist, using you as leverage reposition themselves so that he’s holding himself up over you more. a large hand wraps gently around your ankle as he does so, making sure your leg doesn’t slide off the strong slopes of his shoulder.

squeals and more tears are being punched out of you with each thrust, but he can see you physically relaxing, he can see you reaching out to him with a wobbling bottom lip so that you can hold onto his arms like you always do when he fucks you. it’s neutralising you.

“fuck, that’s m’girl.” he pants, mouth gaping at the way your pussy flutters around him. you’re so reactive to his voice he can’t believe it, never having met anyone who is so enamoured with everything he does. shit, maybe he should treat you better after all. he keeps talking, because he thinks you deserve to cum a whole bunch tonight, after putting up with all his shit. having a girlfriends made him gone all soft.

“you still mad at me?” he tilts his head, and you’re not sure if it’s intended to be mean or mocking, because it certainly doesn’t come out that way — his voice kind and eyes kinder, rolling the well kept muscles in his core to grind his cock against that spongey spot deep within. you don’t answer his question, clinging onto that last crumb of dignity and restraint. you pout through your whimpers, turning your head a little. he takes that opportunity to burrow down into your neck, his open mouth panting against your tepid skin as he speaks lowly again. “dont be mad at me baby. i’m only tryna look after my girl, you want that right?”

“mhm…” you reply before you permit yourself.

he slides his arms under you now, letting your legs down from his shoulders to hook around his waist instead. he’s holding your body close to his as he grinds, his pelvis smushed against your clit, making your thighs tremble and suddenly you’re so god damn close it hurts and you’ll do anything to cum.

“so good to me, baby.” he sighs and you cry out, arching your body harder to his. “i know. let it out. i’m so bad to you sweetheart s’the least i can do.” he mutters self pityingly before letting out a groan, cock pulsing inside you. you remember thinking about how right he was about that when you fell over the edge into a white hot orgasm.

[bruisedboys]

can I request the first time shy!reader spends the night at eddie’s? maybe she falls asleep during movie night and he just doesn’t have the heart to wake her up? lots of snuggles ensue?!

ohmygosh thank you so much for this adorable req I love u so much. hope this is what u wanted angel!

shy!fem!reader 1.3k words

Eddie comes back from the bathroom and into the living room, only to stop dead in the doorway.

You’ve fallen asleep. On his couch. Well, technically his and Wayne’s, but that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that you’re fast asleep and you look so lovely and peaceful and Eddie actually had to grab the doorframe to stop himself from falling over.

To be trusted so much that you’ve allowed yourself to fall asleep at his place feels like a big step to Eddie. You’re a shy girl, always cautious, overly polite. Eddie remembers the first time you’d been over to his trailer, you were so quiet, so scared of doing or saying something wrong.

And now look at you.

Eddie feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He practically skips the rest of the way to the couch, desperate to be close to you again, a newfound fondness for you burning in his chest that can only be cured by sitting as close as humanly possible to you. He sits down in the space he’d left, his thigh pressed to yours. Your body has tipped away from him, your head resting on a stack of cushions balanced on the arm of the couch.

The credits of the movie you’d been watching with him play on, but Eddie’s too busy looking at you, drinking up every inch of you. Your face, squished into the cushion, the TV light painting you green and red and blue. Your t-shirt sleeve riding up your shoulder. Eddie imagines your skin is as warm and soft as it looks. He longs to touch you and has an excuse when the movie ends. He knows you’ll want to be woken up.

His hand finds your shoulder and his fingers slip beneath your sleeve.

“Y/N, sweetheart.” Eddie squeezes you gently, his thumb pressed to your shoulder. “Wake up.”

It doesn’t take much for you to wake. Soon you’re blinking awake slowly, tearing your tired eyes apart, and it’s maybe the cutest thing you’ve done ever. Eddie feels so much fondness for you it actually hurts.

“Hey,” he says gently. He shuffles closer so he can get his torso in front of yours, hoping to block the TV lights that he’ll know will be blinding for you. “Hey, baby. You fell asleep.”

You blink at him. “I did?” You ask, all raspy and sleepy.

Eddie chuckles and resists the urge to kiss you all over your cute face. “Yeah, you did. Was I boring you?”

Your expression goes from sleepy to mortified so quickly it’s alarming.

“No!” You say quickly, shaking your head. “No, I—“

Eddie’s laugh drowns out the rest of your words, and you stop fretting when you realise he’s teasing.

“I’m messing with you, sweet girl.” He slides his hand up to your collar and presses his thumb to the corner of your mouth. “You must’ve been tired, huh?”

A yawn takes over your features right on queue. Your eyes scrunch up and your mouth opens wide and Eddie can’t stop smiling. You’re so cute.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Eddie asks, his hand still pressed to your face. He’s secretly hoping you’ll say no. He’d like you to stay here forever, thank you very much. “Or … you could stay the night here? Only if you want, of course.”

You blink up at Eddie owlishly. He’s never asked you to stay the night. Never suggested it, because he’s afraid of scaring you off. He’s afraid now, waiting for your answer, that you’ll run away and never come back. But you smile. You smile, and his heart does a backflip.

“Um. Okay,” you say, quiet and unsure but that sweet smile stays put. “I think I’ll stay, if that’s okay with you.”

Eddie melts like a popsicle. He brings his other hand to your jaw and cups your pretty, sleepy face.

“Of course it’s okay, angel,” he says, soft and earnest all at once. His chest feels tight. “You can stay whenever you like, you know.”

Your smile grows. Eddie’s heart aches tenfold. “I know.”

Eddie nods. He’s feeling so much for you in this moment that it’s hard to do anything, let alone speak. Instead he pulls away from you, stands up and holds his hand out. You take it unabashedly.

“Come on then,” he says, finally finding his words as he pulls you up to stand. “I’ll find you some pyjamas, hm?”

Ten minutes later Eddie comes back from the shower and finds you in his bed, dressed in a pair of his red and black checkered pyjama pants and one of his shirts. Your eyes are half closed.

You look so lovely that Eddie feels, for the second time tonight, like he’s been punched in the stomach. His breath hitches and his heart goes haywire.

“Hi,” he says softly, dropping the towel he’d been scrubbing his hair with over the back of his desk chair. “You okay?”

You nod. “M’okay,” you mumble quietly. “Just tired.”

Eddie rounds his bed til he’s on the side you’re on, kneeling next to the bed so he can take your bicep in his hand, his palm kneading at the soft muscle. You look seconds away from falling asleep.

“Poor girl,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. Then, to you, “Do you want me to sleep on the couch? ‘Cos I will, if you’re not comfortable with us both sleeping in the bed.”

You wrench your eyes open and quit looking tired to instead look confused and mildly put out.

“What?” You ask, exhaustion tugging at your words and making them sluggish and slurred. “No, don’t sleep on the couch.”

Eddie grins like mad. He squeezes your bicep, his fingers pushing beneath your t-shirt sleeve. “You want me to sleep in the bed? With you?”

You shut you eyes again and nod into your pillow. Eddie can’t stop smiling.

“Okay, then.”

He gives your arm one last squeeze and then leaps up to switch the light off. The room gets swallowed by darkness. Eddie can just make out your figure where you’re lying in his bed, the bump of your hip, the curve of your legs.

He slides into bed next to you and it feels like it’s never felt before. Even though it’s his same, regular old bed that he sleeps in every night, nothing about this is regular. Nothing about this doesn’t make his heart race and his skin tingle and his stomach ache with fondness sweet as sugar.

He shuffles closer to you and his arm touches your arm.

“Are you okay?” He asks you. You’re awfully quiet. Well, quieter than usual. He knows it’s because you’re tired, and maybe because this whole thing is probably making you about as nervous as it’s making him, if not more.

You don’t answer but you do press your arm further into Eddie’s. He curls his pinky around yours in the dark.

“Are you nervous?” He whispers, staring at the dark roof, feeling quite a bit nervous himself.

He feels rather than hears you rolling over, and when he tears his eyes away from the roof to look at you, he sees you’ve rolled onto your side to look at him.

“A bit,” you whisper back. Your pinky hooks tighter around his.

“Me too,” Eddie admits. “I’ve never had a girl sleep over before.”

You make a sound that Eddie thinks is a tired, quiet laugh. He can hear your smile when you say, “Really?”

Eddie nods though you probably can’t see him. He slides closer and takes your hand, his fingers lacing through yours. You’re so close you could lay your head on his chest if you wanted. He hopes you will eventually.

“Yeah, really,” he says. He dips his head to kiss your forehead. “Get some sleep now, okay?”

You hum something incoherent. You’re asleep within the next minute, your head lolling onto Eddie’s shoulder within the next two.

Eddie lies awake for far longer, wondering how in the world he got this damn lucky.

-

-

[kvtie444]

Bruh u should make a fic where the triplets r on tour n matt thinks youre hella fine n he gives u his number secretly n gives u the addy to his hotel n yall fuck n he’s a dom 🙏🙏🙏🙏

*✧･ﾟTOUR

A/N: nothing rlly lol, shout out to all my non US girlies who didn’t get a tour <3, this is my first req!!!

summary: the request lolziez

warnings: NSFW, smut !!, swearing, dom mat

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The surge of excitement coursing through my veins is indescribable. The Sturniolo triplets are currently on tour and they're making a stop in my city. Naturally, I couldn't pass up the chance, so I secured a meet and greet ticket !!

Dressed in my favorite cargos and a blue corset top, proudly declaring my allegiance as a Matt girl, I eagerly attended the show. Although I found myself towards the back, away from any wild antics, the energy was infectious, especially with Matt emerging as the winner. The thrill lingered as I joined the queue for the meet and greet, my heart pounding against my ribs.

"Next!" I'm abruptly pulled from my thoughts by a security guard, signaling that my turn had come. Taking a quick glance at my phone camera to ensure I looked presentable, I stepped through the door, taking a deep breath.

Nick was the first to greet me, pulling me into a warm hug. "Hi! Thank you so much for coming!!" he exclaimed with a bright smile. "Aww, you guys were amazing," I replied, reciprocating the smile as I moved over to Chris. He hugged me and casually commented, "Yo, you smell good." I chuckled and replied, "Thanks," appreciating the unexpected compliment.

Then came the moment I was most nervous about – meeting Matt. As I approached him, he licked his lips, his eyes flicking up and down over my body. Opening his arms, he pulled me into a tight hug, taking in his cologne. Dior sauvage 😫 As he pulled away, his gaze briefly landed on my chest before returning to my eyes. "How does it feel repping a winning team?" he smirked referring to my blue top, biting his lip. "Good," I replied, meeting his gaze through my lashes.

His hand moved down to my waist, subtly guiding us for the group photo.Afterwards, I felt a slight squeeze as he turned me around to face him. Was he flirting with me, or was I just overthinking? Wanting to test the waters, I asked, “I actually wanted you to sign something for me if that's alright." Matt smirked, pulling out a sharpie from his back pocket. "Ran out of cards to sign. Anything else you want me to sign?" he teased. I shrugged, biting my lip before meeting his blue eyes again, "Me?" His laughter filled the air as he leaned in. His tatted hand moves up to hold my boob as his other hand signs the skin.

The ink felt cold against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. His firm grip slightly squeezed, and in a hushed tone, he murmured, "Knew the Matt girls were always the baddest." As he pulled away, I glanced at the signature, feeling my face heat up. When Matt offered to take a selfie, I eagerly agreed. He took my phone out of my hand, our skin brushing against one another, sending sparks through my body. Burst photos were taken as he held me close, releasing my phone with a smug smile.

I then proceeded to take selfies with Chris and Nick. As our time neared its end, Nick turnt to me, “Want a signed card?” holding up a card, I gladly accepted. Matt, seemingly ‘out of cards’, stuck his tongue in his cheek with a smirk. Nick signed the card and bid me goodbye with a sweet hug. The card then passed to Chris, who added a smiley face and hugged me affectionately. Finally, it reached Matt, who signed it, leaned in, and whispered, "Don't read it until you're out of here." Blushing, I pulled away as he tucked the card into my bra. With a sly smile, he looked up at me as I walked away, waving goodbye. No fucking way. Matt Sturniolo had just flirted with me?

I step out the venue, the cool night air embraces me as I step outside, still buzzing with excitement from the meet and greet. Clutching the signed card against my chest, I lean against the brick wall, savoring the surreal experience. A few concerned glances from passersby hint at the unconventional placement of the card, hanging out of my bra, but I couldn't care less.

Curiosity gets the best of me, and I decide to read the contents of the signed card. To my surprise, it's not just a signature but a phone number. My heart skips a beat, and I find myself biting my lip with anticipation. Unable to resist, I eagerly pull out my phone and create a new contact.

From y/n:

Where's my signature? All I got was a number.

I bite my lip, excitement coursing through me. His response is quick.

From Matt S:

On your tits, no?

A private chuckle escapes me; He resumes typing.

From Matt S:

What's your name, angel?

Blushing at the pet name, I smile to myself.

From y/n:

Y/N

From Matt S:

What are you doing tonight, Y/N?

I reply playfully.

From Y/n:

Hmmm, I don't know.

From Matt S:

Come see me.

My heart momentarily halts; my jaw slackens as he sends an address. A quick search reveals it's a hotel not far from the venue. Another text follows.

From Matt S:

Room 407, 11 pm?

Fuck it. I’m never getting this chance again

From Y/n

see you then x

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The night unfolds with a sense of anticipation and nerves, my heart pounding as the clock inches closer to 11 pm. The hotel's lobby is dimly lit, and the receptionist glances at me curiously as I make my way towards the elevator. Room 407 becomes my destination, and with each floor that passes, a mix of excitement and apprehension builds within me.

As the elevator doors open, I find myself standing in front of Room 407. The soft glow of the corridor lights casts a warm ambiance, and I take a deep breath before knocking on the door. A moment of suspense hangs in the air until the door swings open, revealing Matt on the other side, wearing a black tank and grey sweats.

His eyes meet mine, a mischievous glint in them, and a smirk plays on his lips. "Hey, angel," he greets, his voice sending shivers down my spine. Without waiting for my response, he pulls me into the room by my waist gently, the door closing behind us.

The hotel room exudes a subtle glow, the air thick with tension. Matt's intense gaze scrutinizes me, his eyes tracing every contour with a lingering appreciation. "You look good in blue, Y/N," he remarks, a seductive timbre underscoring his words. I blush at the compliment, a cocktail of nerves and excitement coursing through me. "Thanks," I manage to respond, my voice a blend of anticipation.

The room resonates with the distant hum of the city outside, its rhythmic pulse of anticipation resonating within. Matt strides toward the room's bar area, pouring Disaronno into a glass before glancing back at me. "You drink?" he queries, and I nod in affirmation. He turns around, filling a glass for me. Coming over, he hands me the drink, initiating a nonchalant "cheers" before downing his own. Licking his lips, his eyes roam over my figure. "Why did you choose to come see me?"

I shrug in response, meeting his gaze. "Thought you'd make it worth my time," I declare, sipping my drink. He smirks slightly, stepping closer and placing his glass aside, a move I mimic. His hand finds its place on my waist, bodies so close that our chests are touching. "Yeah?" he inquires, a charming smile playing on his lips. My cheeks warm, and his hand moves up to my face, gently rubbing up and down.

"Yeah," I murmur, my breath catching as Matt's touch ignites a trail of anticipation across my skin.

His fingers continue their tender exploration, tracing the contours of my face with a deliberate slowness that sends shivers down my spine. The room seems to close in, the air charged with an undeniable tension. Matt's eyes lock onto mine, the smoldering intensity making it clear that he's in control.

A subtle smirk plays on his lips as he leans in, his warm breath grazing my ear. "Good," he whispers, his voice sending a jolt of arousal through me. Matt's hand moves from my face to the back of my neck, fingers intertwining with my hair. With a gentle yet firm grasp, he tilts my head back, exposing the surface of my neck.

My heartbeat quickens as he leans down, planting a soft, lingering kiss on the sensitive skin just below my earlobe. His lips leave a scorching trail down my neck, each touch deliberate and electrifying. I gasp as he nibbles lightly, his teeth grazing my skin in a teasing dance as he marks me up.

The room is engulfed in a charged silence, broken only by the subtle sounds of our breaths mingling and my soft moans. Matt's hands trail down my body, fingers deftly working to pull my top off. His touch is confident, stripping me of my top, as he exposes more of my skin to his hungry gaze.

He glances down at my breasts, almost astonished that I've allowed him to sign them. Smirking, he leans down and unhooks my bra, sucking on one of my nipples while his other hand roams my body. I catch my breath, feeling the cool air on my exposed chest. Matt's eyes lock onto mine, a silent command in his gaze. His fingers continue their journey, moving down to rub me through my cargo pants. He unbuttons them slightly, pausing for me to step out of my pants.

The undeniable chemistry between us ignites the air as Matt's lips find mine, a hungry, possessive kiss that leaves no room for doubt. The taste of Disaronno lingers on his lips as our bodies entwine, the world outside the hotel room fading away into a hazy blur of pleasure and desire. His hands then reach under my thighs, picking me up as if I weighed nothing, and walk over to the bed, practically throwing me onto it. He crawls on top of me, peppering kisses from my lips, down my sternum, down to my hips. He teasingly kisses both my thighs, edging closer and closer to where I need him most. My hands move down to his hair, and I whine, "Matt, please." His hands run up and down my sides, pressing soft ghostly kisses over my panties onto my clit, making me moan. "What baby?" he asks, smirking, "I need you, Matt, please." He bites his lip before pulling my panties down, throwing them aside, and groans, "So wet for me, princess." He grasps my thighs and hoists them over his shoulders, hovering over my heat, and spits right in my clit, making me moan. He leans in, his hot breath on me sending shivers through my body before he presses his tongue over my clit, flicking it as I grasp his hair. He shakes his head left and right, a loud moan of his name coming from my lips.

My back arches, and I push his head further, causing his right hand to slap my thigh and rub it soothingly, while his tatted arm holds my stomach down. He moves his hands down and suddenly inserts his index finger in me, his cold rings causing a sharp gasp from me. "Fuck, Matt." "You make the prettiest noises, angel. Look so pretty all fucked out." He mumbles against me before adding another finger and speeding up his movements. The only sounds heard are my moaning and the lewd sounds coming from my body. "Shit, Matt, I'm gonna cum." I practically scream, pulling his hair and the knot in my stomach becoming tighter. He suddenly pulls away from me, making me whine. "Not yet, baby." He mumbles, sucking his fingers clean.

He grabs my hips and flips me over, arching my back. He squeezes my ass before slapping it, a moan leaving my lips. I hear him pulling down his bottoms until I feel his tip slapping against my already soaked pussy. "Matt, please." I whine as he rubs the tip teasingly up and down, I move my hips against him in hopes of him slipping it in, but he grabs my hips harshly, slapping me again. I'm a whining mess at this point, he slowly slips the tip in, the most heavenly groan leaving his lips.

"So tight, baby." He mumbles before pushing all of him inside. He starts moving at a fast pace, catching me by surprise, his hand moves to my hair, tugging it back harshly, causing my neck to snap back. He speeds up, now pounding into me, the sound of skin slapping and our moans filling the room. He slaps my ass again before shoving my head back down on the pillow. My mind is now muffled as he grips my waist bruising hard, I grind my hips back against him, "Shit, y/n." He groans.

He grabs my waist and flips me over, still inside of me. "Wanna see your pretty face when you cum?" He says, moving my legs over his shoulders. He goes straight into pounding me, my eyes screwed shut and my mouth slack. "Open your eyes. Look at me." He demands. I open my eyes and we make eye contact, his tatted arm comes up and grips my throat, applying pressure. The new angle combined with his hands are pushing me over the edge - "Matt, I'm gonna cum." I whine. He stays silent, still pounding me until he speaks up. "Cum." As soon as the words leave his lips, I release around him, my legs physically trembling in his shoulders. He slows down his pace, groaning as he cums inside of me shortly after.

He rides out his high before pulling out, and dropping his head next to my shoulder. He catches his breath for a moment before pressing a kiss to my shoulder and getting up and walking to the bathroom. He soon returns with a towel, coming over to help clean me up. We make eye contact, and he smiles softly, leaving in and pressing a sweet kiss to my lips. "I'm flying you out as the tour is over." He chuckles.

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

tag list !!

@iloveneilperry @bernardenjoyer

@daddyslilchickenfingers

@mbbsgf @sturnvilmed @sturnphilia @s1urnioloslvr

@mattsbratt @mangoposts @christinarowie332

@recklesssturniolo @bluesturniolo333

@flowerxbunnie @kenzieiskoolaid @pepsiskiess

@poopydroopt @byechristopher @solarsturniolo

@m6ttsturniolo @lustfulslxt @stardustmf444

@thankyounextt t @glossyfx @bellasturniolo @ghostgurlswrld

[freyito]

Can I request platonic Tomas and Bi-Han headcannons with a gn child/teen reader who has difficulty feeling emotions because they were never taught how to process or deal with emotions and the only thing they were told about emotions were to hide them?

This is kinda self indulgent, so I'm sorry if it's kinda specific or weird to you

its alright anon this also lowkey heals the inner child in me BECAUSE THATS ME THATS ME THATS ME TOO. paired with flat affect (and rbf) i had a really hard time understanding emotions in general as a kid!!!! nothing could process properly so i was (and still am) the definition of :l (KACPER LORE!!!)so im slappin flat affect on here as well, if u dont mind anon

cw: gn reader, platonic, proud bi-han, happy tomas, reader is teen (age isnt mentioned however), proofread

ᴛᴏᴍᴀꜱ & ʙɪ-ʜᴀɴ + ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇꜱ ᴡ/ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ

-Tomas Vrbada

Tomas comes from a place of sympathy. Perhaps he doesn't quite understand why it's so hard for you to show your emotions, given he's very expressive himself. The most he's experienced is difficult emotions, so he tries his very best not to step over a line.

He's curious and worried, though. He wants to understand you better, and he wants to know just why it is so hard to smile around him.

So, Tomas tries hard to make you smile, any sort of emotion. He'll give you gifts, things he thinks you'll find interesting from his missions, or just try and surprise you in any sort of way. Which always falls short.

He notices that in tense times, or even in times of tragedy you almost seem unsure about how to feel. And afterwards, you almost seem unaffected, in a bad way.

He swallows his pride and just asks you why it's hard to make you emote, why your voice almost lacks emotion. And when you don't have a proper answer, somehow he forms his own answer.

He's kind to you, as much as he will always seek out a reaction, he doesn't think of you any differently. In fact, he's actually determined to teach you how to properly understand your emotions.

He assures you it's okay to cry, happy cry, sad cry, confused cry, whatever kind of cry. Although, not much had come up to render this reaction out of you. He's almost too expressive around you, almost as if he's showing you what to do.

At the end of the day, however, Tomas is sure to help you. Regardless. It doesn't matter if you can only pout now, it's progress. And he's happy. He's actually made it a point to be there during every big step. He finds it so hard to contain himself when he sees you genuinely smile for the first time.

-Bi-Han

Now, Bi-Han understands hiding your emotions. He himself was taught to keep them hidden. But slowly, that had just turned into resentment. So he sees a lot of himself in you.

He'll brush it off at first, he tells himself he doesn't want to get into it. But he slowly convinces himself to come around. He's empathetic, he almost understands every movement you make.

He puts in as much effort as he can, at least, what he thinks is enough effort. As strong as he knows he is, he knows that it's a bad idea to let this evasion of emotion turn into the anger he feels.

Bi-Han sits you down, and talks to you directly. He doesn't tell you his entire story, but he tells you that it's okay to allow yourself to feel and allow yourself to express that. But, he tells you not to force yourself to feel. There's a fine line between those two differences.

He enjoys watching your progress, and just like Tomas, he wants to be there every step of the way. But he's also a bit too prideful for that. So, he's content from watching the sidelines.

Little do you know, he's celebrating those little moments. Behind your back, obviously. He's proud of you. But still too prideful to show that in public. However, he voices this to you. He tells you how proud of you he is when he knows he can have a private word with you.

© freyito, 2023 | masterlist | queue | kofi DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[brianwashere]

hello!! saw your writing today in my tags and got interested, read some more and you seem really cool :D i got one fic stuck in my head though, the one you posted earlier today with the 7 foot spider reader! it was really cool but i kind of thought about a follow up (and I made sure to check your rules before this)

i was thinking, m/n is really big, intimidating and generally a badass- however. in bed (nsfw) he’s inexperienced, shy af, and ends up just being really submissive (you actually didn’t specify if you prefer dom or sub reader, i assumed you mind neither, but if u don’t feel comfortable with this then just ignore)

thank you, and keep up your great works so far :D

Anon, you’re officially my favorite fucking person ever. Oh my god. This req. warmed my heart. Idek what. It just did. Thank you for reading my other fics too. Wow. I’m reeling rn.

Also you didn’t specify who with so I just did HCs for Noir and Miguel

Pls req again soon! You’re so sweet

**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from marvel or sony **

Summary: look at req

Tw: explicit activities ehehehehe, language

-Miguel-

The first time you two try anything he’s expecting you to be all dominant and get his ass blasted

Y’all two are making out and he’s ready to take it to the next level

And you’re nervous cause you know he’s expecting you to be this super experienced “knows how to make you scream immediately” kinda guy

The truth is you haven’t had much experience because while people may be into the whole “huge man” thing they’re too scared to actually come up to you and even have a conversation

And you’re also scared of hurting your partner

Just a mix of things that led you to little experience

It doesn’t take long for Miguel to figure it out

As soon as you glanced at his face nervously he knew something was up

At first Miguel is surprised bcc he would’ve expected men and women to practically be hanging from you

Once he recovers from the initial shock he’s down with topping and showing you the ropes

It’s a bit of a boost to his ego, not to mention a massive turn on for him

He never lets you shy away from him/cover your face. He loves seeing you. He knows he’s not stronger than you but he’ll still pull your hands away/pull you closer

But sometimes he does wanna be on bottom

Queue very erotic teaching sessions

When you do something he likes he’ll definitely over exaggerate so you’ll know

He also loves marking you up in more…intense ways because he knows it won’t really hurt you

Clawing your back. He’ll claw the SHIT out of your back.

Biting you too. Sometimes he just can’t help it

He finds out you have god tier stamina and impecable recovery time and will definitely use that to his advantage

*cough cough* Overstimulation and denial *cough cough*

He’s down to do whatever you’re comfortable with but sometimes he really needs some stress relief i.e. getting a blowjob or just fucking you senseless

He won’t admit it but he likes when he’s the little spoon after you two are done

~Noir~

You got nervous and told him the first make out session that you had practically no experience

He was a little taken aback, again, you’re so big and so hot how could people not be lining up for a piece of you

It makes him feel even more lucky to be with you though

“Oh…that’s ok, dear. We’ll take it slow, then.”

Then he finds out your submissive too and he’s pretty sure he has a heart attack

Now he was pretty vanilla at first but then he found the internet and stumbled upon some kinks and did some…research

Behind. He loves seeing your back muscles move and twist under him

He likes tying your wrists together with some of his webbing

It’s strong enough that it could actually hold you if you tried resisting, maybe not for very long, but it wouldn’t snap like thread at the slightest pressure

He loves praising you. Praise. All the time. Always praise. You could breathe and he’d be on his knees for you

Every time he does something new he asks if you’re ok with it

He’ll be gentle if that’s what you want but he figures out that’s usually not the case

Usually you want everything he’s got, as much as he’ll provide you

He does love soft romantic nights with you though

Where he gets to enjoy your large beautiful frame and your contrasting shyness

When he gets to slow down and drink in ALL of you

The noises you make, the small movements, your incoherent mumbling

He loves ALL of it

He’s so down bad for you not even a joke

A little guilty pleasure for him is kissing you senseless

He loves being the big spoon for you, even if it just feels like a backpack is attached to you

[runelocked]

IT TAKES HIM ETERNITY TO TAKE THE TAPE FROM ITS COVER. MOVEMENTS SLOW BUT AT LEAST PERSISTENT, he focuses on moving his fingers, clunky and cold: he wants to get back to Michael. Is painfully aware of the boy behind him, seeking his presence. I’m here, he wants to say, but doesn’t. Words get stuck in his throat somewhere behind an apology. It’s alright, son. I’m here.

Finally ——— the tape clicks open, abrasive, and William’s eyes refocus. Tug at the tape, follow the simple steps to insert it into the player. The monotony is at least familiar, and easier to follow than trying to figure out the rest of the day, or month, or year. Come back. Come back. I’m here. He rises again, finally finished: and immediately returns to his boy, his son, settling by his side. Pauses, and then puts his hand back on Michael’s arm, this time separated by a layer of blanket. It’s grounding for him, too. “ I’ve got you, ” is what leaves his mouth, and he does, for once, for now, “ you’re alright with me. ”

It’s the most he can honestly say. He’s had his share of hallucinations, and knows how real they’d been. While Michael is sitting beside him, physically unharmed, William has no idea what’s really going on in his mind. But he’s alright, because his father is holding him; he’s alright, because they’ll get through this day together. Rocky begins, and William’s head falls back listless against the couch, soaking in the familiar tune. Hums along absently, low and half - hearted though it is, and shuffles closer to his son, both for the presence of another body, another mind other than his own, and for the warmth of the blanket. “ This is okay ? ” It’s supposed to be a statement, but emerges as a quiet question instead. He can’t be bothered repeating it to correct himself.

CONTINUED. / @revvnant

[teyamsgrl]

Okey u said request angst so here I am! I’ve been non-stop thinking abt the idea that Neteyam left his love behind when the Sullys left for Awa’atlu. So what I’m thinking is he promises her that he’ll return and she waits and hopes, and hopes and waits and one day he appears to her when she visits the spirit tree and it’s kinda fluffy for a minute but then it sinks in that he’s never coming back to her </3

THIS SHATTERED MY HEART WTF 😭 I LEGIT CRIED WHILE WRITING THIS OH MY GAWWWWD

this is also gonna be more of a blurb style in the way of length

when will i see you again? ✧ neteyam

°˖➴ warnings: fem omatikaya reader, neteyam death mentions, to sum it up: sad 🫠 - yawne: beloved

it had been almost 7 months since your mate had left for awa'atlu with his family. it had been hard without him, you wanted to go with them desperately but it was something that was much easier said than done. neteyam's last words to you ring through your head each day that passes, "i promise, yawne, i will be back before you know it to come visit. i promise i will be with you again soon". you couldn't help but wonder what was happening in awa'atlu, you figured it would maybe be 2-3 months before neteyam returned for a visit, but 7 was pushing what you had assumed.

having been down in the dumps all day, you decided a visit to the tree of souls would be a good way to unwind and bring you some comfort. upon settling under the tree you grabbed your queue, examining the tendrils as they began to attach themselves to a section of the tree. your eyes flutter shut at the connection, a sigh falling from your lips.

once connected, you spot neteyam who is sitting on a rock beside a stream within the forest. you smile as you remember that this is where you first met, and he was sitting on that exact rock. your heart swells when a grin creeps onto his face, teeth showing and eyes bright. "neteyam!" you say excitedly... before it hits you. there is only one way that neteyam would be visiting you through the tree of souls; if he was dead. you begin to hyperventilate, tears pouring from your eyes which neteyam always said were sparkling.

"this- this can't be real, no no no!" you cry, hands reaching for the neteyam in your vision. "i'm sorry, yawne. this is the only way i can visit now. i'm sorry i didn't get to give you a proper goodbye before i went with eywa..." he steps closer, grabbing your hands tightly in his own. it is as though you can truly feel him, rough and large hands holding your soft and small ones. you sob more at this action, body shaking from your cries. "no neteyam, no you aren't dead no! no this isn't- no you aren't dead!" you blubber out the words while gazing at his face through your teary eyes. "i'm so sorry, i didn't want you to find out this way. i wish i was really there with you.." he whispers, hands now holding your waist gingerly. your hands grip his shoulders, digging into them as though you do not want to let this vision of him go.

"neteyam-" even uttering his name caused a sob to escape. "when will i see you again?" you whimper as you fully comprehend that you will not be able to physically be with neteyam ever again. you will never get to have his kisses or his warm cuddles through the night or his hand holds as you walk through the village together or hear his jokes or listen to his laugh. all you will have is this vision of him. "ma y/n, you can come to the tree whenever you need me, i will always be here. and when it is your time, you will be able to join me here with eywa. you will always have me, i will always be in your heart. you will never be without me, yawne"

[outerbankies]

new light: head over heels — rafe cameron

new light masterlist

summary: You and Rafe make your first return to the Outer Banks after moving away for good, and it doesn't take either of you long to remember all of the reasons you left.

warnings: alcohol and swearing might be it?

a/n: HI HI HI!!! it's happening!!! posting this behemoth (22k-ish last i checked) and dipping immediately, because i'm still not done with season 3 and don't want to get spoiled on here. thank you SO MUCH for holding on for this one - and congratulations to everyone who voted on season 3 arriving before the thanksgiving fic lol. see u soon!!! (this takes place in new light present day)

“Are we really doing this?”

You roll your eyes, albeit fondly, as this is at least the fifth time Rafe has asked you the same question in the last two weeks. The first time was immediately after the flights were booked, the second before he formally requested the vacation time at work. He asked you for the third time when you requested his help in dragging your suitcases out of the closet, which he did begrudgingly. The next time, the fourth, was as you both waited tired and bleary-eyed at your plane’s gate, bright and early this morning at the airport. 

Now he asks you again, as the ferry between Chapel Hill and the Outer Banks starts pulling up to the dock. Passengers have already begun their descent down to the lower levels, to get their cars and queue up to disembark. But you and your boyfriend remain on the upper deck, observing your hometown as the ferry flushes itself to the dock.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” you ask, arms crossing over your chest.

“As many times as it takes for me to believe this was the right choice,” Rafe sighs, turning to look out at the coastline, back the way you came.

“We’re here now,” you point out unhelpfully. “We’re doing this. It’s only four days, baby. We’ve got this.”

“Four nights,” he corrects you, with a furrow in his brows. “Five days, if you count today.”

“Rafe, I’m not your enemy.”

He looks down at you, and you hate that you can already see all the signs of his stress. The missed signals, the tightness in his face and in his shoulders. It was an instant physical reaction to being back in town for Thanksgiving, a few measly months after you’d both left it behind. 

“I know,” Rafe says softly. He places a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you into his hold, the beer he’d bought at concessions placed on a hightop table behind you. “Hey, c’mere. I know.”

As much as you know it’s your turn to be the strong one, you let him comfort you selfishly, just for a moment. You weren’t near the state Rafe was in, but you’d be lying if you weren’t feeling the nerves as soon as you boarded the ferry, too. It didn’t help that you’d just discovered the airline had left your bag in California, which Rafe swore was a bad omen. You don’t care what he thought it was, as long as he understood you’d be living in a combination of his clothes and whatever you left behind in your childhood bedroom until the airline could fix it.

At least you both have Captain for emotional support, sitting patiently between your legs, where he usually seems to fit himself. You’d become those people you’d always made fun of in your head, the ones that couldn’t leave their house without their dog. Sending him to the cargo hold in his crate was about as much distance as either of you could handle.

“Holy shit,” Rafe suddenly says, the hand he’d been rubbing your back with slowing to a stop. 

“What?” 

“Don’t look now, but our friends are fucking insane,” he chuckles.

Of course you look immediately—and sure enough, Kelce and Topper (plus Blythe), and Gretchen and Margot are all grouped together on the dock. You feel yourself smile involuntarily at them, tucking your face into Rafe’s chest bashfully. “They’re so embarrassing.”

He’s still laughing in disbelief, the sound resonating in your chest. “Why did they all come?” 

“‘Cause they love us,” you say simply. You have no idea how you’ll all fit in however many cars, or who’s even supposed to be driving you home, but you can’t find it in you to care as you finally disembark from the ferry with your dog, Rafe on your heels with his bag. 

“Finally,” Kelce says dramatically, once you approach the group. “I was starting to think you two were finally rain-checking my party.” 

“We’d never,” you say, just as dramatically, before you’re letting yourself get crushed in a group hug from your girlfriends.

“Can confirm,” Margot whispers conspiratorially to the group. “No baby bump.”

“You guys,” you laugh, pushing her wandering hand away from your middle. “Come on.”

“It’s a valid fear!” Gretchen cries incredulously, pressing kisses to both of your cheeks.

Then you trade spots with Rafe, to squish Topper and Blythe in your arms as well, and they squish you back just as hard. “We missed you guys so much. Please come visit.”

“You come visit,” Topper counters. 

“Tried a New England winter once, and I’m good for life, man,” Rafe says, before bringing Margot and Gretchen into his arms. “You guys have to come out.”

“Kelso,” you sigh, surprised to feel a lump in your throat when your best friend hugs you for the first time in you don’t know how long. Kelce’s career took him to Texas after college, and you’d definitely seen him the least out of all of them in the past year or so. “I missed you.”

“Missed you even more. How are you guys?” he asks, words coming out garbled through the squished cheeks you’re currently giving him. “How’s Rafe? Or do we talk later?”

“He’s good,” you tell him honestly. “On edge, you know. But good.”

“And how are you?” he says quieter, and you have to roll your eyes at his earnestness, if even just to prevent yourself from actually crying.

“I’m good, too,” you say, linking a pinky with his quickly. 

Kelce breaks out into a grin, squeezing your pinky back before bringing you into another hug. “You look a hell of a lot better than the last time I picked you up here.”

You detangle your hand from his in order to smack him on the back of his head while he just howls with laughter. It’s easy to look back on it—two years ago now—and laugh. But Kelce had been there for you and your broken heart, and sometimes you think his tough love was half the reason you and Rafe even made it back to each other. 

“Very clever,” you concede, before remembering something with a spark of excitement. “But tell me about you! When does she get here?”

Kelce’s cool demeanor fades when he becomes embarrassed immediately, reaching down to find solace in petting Captain, who seems to be just as excited about the reunion. “Wednesday morning. I’m driving out to the airport to get her.”

Therese was the first girl Kelce had actually told you about since high school, let alone brought home to meet everyone. You were so excited when he called to tell you that Rafe made you  promise to manage your expectations, but you couldn’t help it. 

“So she’ll make the party,” you realize excitedly. “Gosh, I can’t wait to meet her.”

“I’m nervous. Nervous, but excited,” he admits. “I don’t wanna overwhelm her. She’s meeting my parents, and then all of you idiots. All in one day.”

“Hey,” Rafe protests, suddenly slotting back into your side once he’s done fake boxing with Topper. “We are not.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Kelce says, rolling his eyes. “Come on, you guys are riding with me. We have a table at the Island Club an hour from now, think you can manage that?”

You cut your eyes to Rafe, and he already looks a little loosened up after seeing everyone, and he just nods, shrugging his shoulders as if to say why not. “We can say hi to your parents and freshen up. Wheeze has school and Sarah won’t be in until tonight anyway.” 

It seems Rafe has no such plans to see his father any sooner than he has to, possibly not before Thanksgiving at all, you realize. You didn’t even bother to ask Rafe if he’d prefer to stay in his old room at Tannyhill or with you, knowing the answer already. But you’d naively hoped he’d feel comfortable enough to not avoid his father like the plague after some time away. 

“Yeah, we can do that,” you answer, looking back at Kelce with a smile to confirm. You let Captain into the backseat while Kelce takes Rafe’s bag, squealing in surprise when your boyfriend’s hands grip your waist firmly before you get in the car. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, just for you. The sea breeze has already mussed up his hair, and there’s something so comforting about coming back here with him, knowing you’ve always got someone in your corner. Rafe must agree, because he presses his forehead to yours quickly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you say, giving him a peck modest enough that it won’t tick off Kelce or the rest of your friends piling into Topper’s Jeep beside you. “You can do this.”

“We can do this,” he corrects. “You know. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” 

— 

“I still can’t believe they put me up in the guest house,” Rafe whines, three Bloody Mary’s in, as you both exit the Island Club a few hours later. 

Kelce had given you the ride there, but you both opted for the walk back home, rather than wrangling any younger siblings for a ride. Dylan landed yesterday, but he wanted to have a talk with your parents alone and you needed to stop in at the store anyway. 

Rafe reminded you on the flight that Rose had asked you to make a pie again this year, and Captain was antsy from all of the travel; giving him a second to trot around in the fresh air seemed like a good idea.

You maybe should’ve mentioned it to Rafe sooner, that your mom had been planning to have the guest house—not even one of the guest rooms, but the actual house, which was an entire backyard away from the main property—made up when you asked to have him stay with you for the holiday. But he was already hanging on by a thread about this trip, and you knew he’d beg even harder to cancel if he found out he wouldn’t be crashing with you.

But the shocked look on his face that he quickly tried to hide as he watched your mom tell Dylan to take his bags to the house had absolutely been a little bit worth it.

The displeased grumbling all throughout lunch, maybe not so much.

“She knows we’ve lived together for almost two years now, right? And that before that, we were visiting each other in college all the time?” he prattles on, words growing soft around the edges, not yet to the point of syrupy slow. “And that before that, I was in your bedroom every other night?” 

“Everything but that last one,” you wince.

“So it’s about the house,” he realizes, the two of you now standing outside of the grocery store.  “Her house,” you correct. “Not until we’re married. Maybe she’ll let it go when we’re engaged.” 

Rafe’s face turns mischievous, and you wish that second round of mimosas hadn’t let you let that slip. 

“Noted.”

You roll your eyes, feeling heat flush your cheeks. “Stop. Are you coming in, too? I only need a few things.”

“You go,” he says, not not grinning at your flustered state. He raises your intertwined hands between you, pressing a kiss to the back of yours. Your eyes catch on his notably bare left hand. “Captain’s gonna get snatched up if we leave him tied up out here.” 

“I’m still so sad you lost that ring,” you tell him, pouting. 

Rafe didn’t seem to mind much at all when the gold cigar band went missing after a morning surf, but you were really gonna miss seeing the trademark piece glinting on his hand in the sunlight, or pressing cold into your skin. You’d been looking for replacements ever since, but he was in no rush. 

“It really wasn’t that big of a deal,” he promises, eyes leaving yours.

“It was to me. You’ve worn it forever. I loved that one,” you say, tugging on his bare finger, tracing where the indent was slowly releasing from his skin; the tan-line was pretty horrendous too.

“I know you did,” Rafe teases. “You ripped it off my hand to try on all the time. Maybe you took it.”

“Did not!” you gasp, offended.

Rafe just rolls his eyes, finally kissing the pout off of your lips. “Go, c’mon. Pie won’t bake itself.” 

You hand over Captain’s leash and walk in, still feeling flustered, like you do every time Rafe starts to talk about rings. The way you just barely dodge his ass slap—outside of the local health food store, for god’s sake—doesn’t do anything to help.

Thanksgiving wasn’t for a few days, but Rose had raved and raved about the pumpkin pie you’d brought last year, and you were feeling the pressure—you knew you needed to get a jump on the shopping, so you’d have time to fuck it up at least three or four times before deeming one acceptable.

There’s only so many options for pumpkin puree, but you discriminate over them tirelessly, half because you’re never not set on impressing Rose, and half because your mind is still distracted by Rafe and his “noted.” Things were serious between you about as soon as you started dating, but he’d really been pushing the marriage thing lately.

“Y/n?”

You drop whatever can of pumpkin you’d most recently scrutinized into your basket in near shock, thankful it lands there and not on the floor, all over the shoes of you and Rafe’s ex-girlfriend.

“Chloe,” you say, forcing a smile amid the shock. “Wow, hi.”

“Hey,” she says, pushing her cart toward you. “What a trip.”

It’s the holidays and your town is small, you were bound to see some familiar faces this week whether you wanted to or not, but you’re still in disbelief. “Yeah, um, wow. How are you?”

“Great,” she says, her voice resonating so clearly that you believe her. “I live in New York now, I don’t know if you heard.”

You don’t make a habit of keeping tabs on Rafe’s exes these days, and you and Chloe were hardly ever friends to begin with, so you can answer this truthfully. “No, I hadn’t, actually. But that’s great. Do you like it?”

“Love it,” she corrects, stepping forward to gather a few cans of the puree you’d just been eyeing. She picks them out without a second thought, mixing brands and haphazardly throwing them into her cart, lacking a care in the world, oozing self-assuredness. “I just needed that quick pace, you know? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I always felt like life was too slow around here for me. I wasn’t made for the Stepford life.”

You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly, finally deciding on a couple of cans that look like they’d pass the test to sit in Rose’s pantry that’s always oscillating between the newest diet. “Uh, yeah. No, I get it. It’s always nice to be back for the holidays though. We just got in today.”

That seems to pique her interest, and your head falls forward slightly when you realize your mistake. “You and Rafe? Last I heard you still lived in town.” 

“We did,” you nod. “For a year after grad. But we moved to California at the end of the summer, so.” 

“Wow,” she says, and a small part of you is satisfied that she looks off-balance. Chloe Merrick was never like that. Maybe your teenage mind had exaggerated it at the time in some twisted game of self-comparison, but it looks like it still rang true as she stands before you. Her heels make her stand taller than you, allowing her to look directly down her nose. Her full face of makeup and shiny hair makes you regret letting Kelce rush you out of the house with minimal primping. It’s like she reads your mind, her eyes flicking over your outfit. “Ah, now the outfit makes sense.”

You blink, looking down at your leggings and back to her in silence.

“Well, the traveling and all,” she says awkwardly, like she expected you to agree. “But California, that’s fun. I never thought I’d see Rafe leave the OBX. And it’s nice that Ward lets him work remotely.” 

You can’t hide your discontent at that, because Chloe doesn’t know Rafe well enough at all anymore—and probably never really did, for that matter—to make assumptions about where he’d end up in life, or insinuate that he’d be under Ward forever. “He doesn’t work for his dad, actually.”

When she fish-mouths, you have to look away to not let it get to your head, focusing on the rest of your grocery list on your phone. 

But she clears her throat, and that perfect smile slots back into its rightful place. “Well, we can see how long that lasts.”

The last thing you want is for Chloe to think she’d made it under your skin, or that she’s in anyway correct about you or Rafe, or that you’d care at all what she’d think about either of you. So you cock your head to the side innocently, steeling your expression as best you can. “How do you mean?”

“Oh, be serious, Y/n,” she says, pretenses officially dropped. “Rafe got the perfect, cookie-cutter Figure 8 life he always wanted. And he got it with you. I doubt he even knows how to want anything else.”

Chloe and Rafe dated for six months. Six months of avoiding him, avoiding both of them, toiling over your feelings alone, and associating way too many soundtracks to your teenage angst with the entire situation that there’s still a few songs you won’t touch to this day. 

You’ve loved him for years, and she really thinks she knows him better.

“It’s a good thing you weren’t made for that life, then, isn’t it?” you say, slowly backing away. 

She falters, again, and you know thats your cue. “Nice seeing you, Chloe.” 

—

Spring Break, 6 years ago

“Can I sit here?”

Topper’s eyebrows lift in surprise, but he gestures to the seat across from him readily, tucking his outstretched legs in. “Of course you can.”

You cast one last look at the rest of the small, private plane—Gretchen and Margot, occupying the credenza, looking at you in utter confusion when you give them a half-assed shrug, Kelce looking similarly confused in the club seat opposite the aisle from Topper when you decline a seat near him too, and Rafe and Chloe toward the back, right across from the girls. 

You meant to get to the tarmac the earliest of all of your friends to pick your seat first. But you couldn’t get to bed early enough the night before and slept through almost all of your alarms, and somehow arrived last. 

“What, didn’t wanna watch them play footsie all flight?” Topper quips, following your gaze, and you’re reminded exactly why you chose to sit next to him. 

For the last three months that Rafe had been dating Chloe, everyone in your friend group had been treating you with kid gloves. Everyone except Topper Thornton. To be completely fair, Kelce knows you best of them all, and Gretchen and Margot may or may not have witnessed a drunken breakdown at a girls’ night two weeks ago (that they swore they’d never speak of). 

But there were still the sad eyes, the wayward glances whenever Chloe walked into the room, the less than discrete subject changes and conversation redirectors. You knew it came from a good place but you were sick of them assuming they knew your feelings. And you knew Topper would never dare assume your feelings, let alone act on it. 

He was a constant, the one you’d known longest out of all of them. But that didn’t mean you were the closest, and maybe that’s what made it perfect. Maybe Topper couldn’t read through your bullshit, or maybe he just didn’t feel the need to. Either way was fine with you, if you were going to survive this week. Kelce’s parents had offered up their rental property in the Hamptons to your friends, and after just narrowly convincing Gretchen’s dad to let her go this year, the friendship group had remained in tact, even welcoming one new member.

“Not my cup of tea,” you finally answer, settling into your seat, which was perfectly facing away from the rest of your friends. You pull your hoodie up over your head anyway, tucking your legs under you and opening the window shade.

“I’m probably going to be a boring seat buddy. I got zero sleep last night,” Topper tells you around a yawn. 

You can feel your eyes begging to flutter closed after the lack of sleep you got last night, when you were already toiling over the week that lie ahead. So you settle into your seat more, resting your head against the back of your seat. “Perfect.”

—

It made sense to cling to Topper a little bit after that.

At first, you merely opted to ride in the Uber he requested from the airport, ignoring Kelce’s second betrayed look of the morning when you didn’t pile in with him. But then you also sat next to him when you stopped at the seafood shack on the way home. 

You loved Topper for his obliviousness, but later that night, he still picked up on enough to move the decorative pillow hogging the spot next to him on the loveseat when everyone was gathering around for a movie night.

Topper was quiet, calm and safe—a breath of air among the suffocation you were feeling lately, and that’s all it was. 

And when he’d gone to the gym with Kelce in the morning, you figured you could find solace in a book out on the back porch instead. Rafe and Chloe were unaccounted for, their PDA and softened tones not to be missed by you any time soon, and Margot and Gretchen were still asleep when you left your shared room that morning. 

You obviously hadn’t gone as far as bunking with Topper for the week, but you pulled a pretty good “gosh, I’m so tired” act when you finally slipped into your bottom bunk below Gretchen, turning away from Margot across the room to face the wall. Prying eyes easily ignored.

You don’t possess an ordered list of who you’d most like to be opening the screen door only two chapters into your book that morning, but Chloe Merrick was decidedly not very high on it.

Before Rafe started bringing her around, you never knew enough about Chloe to make anything of her. She wasn’t in any of your classes, but Kildare Academy was small enough that you’d heard of her here and there. She ran in other circles from what you could tell, and she was always nice. You hadn’t heard it from Rafe’s mouth first, but Kelce’s. 

He’d lobbed it out into the open during a study session, and you’d brushed it off to move to the next question, not opting to face it until you had to at the next Boneyard party, when Rafe officially brought her into the group. You aren’t proud of the decisions that you made that night, between getting over-served on beer you didn’t even like and almost macking on a pogue who was cute enough before going home and making yourself very familiar with Chloe’s Vsco account. Pictures of Rafe in the sunset, holding ice cream cones, sitting in the cab of his truck—it’s a miracle your drunken thumb didn’t slip and blow your cover. 

“Hey Y/n. Mind if I join you?” she asks. You’d never say no, but the thumb holding your book open twitches when you hear the door shut again immediately. Followed by her footsteps—she didn’t wait for an answer. 

“Of course. Are you having fun so far?” you ask her, when she settles into the chair beside you.

“So much,” Chloe says. “Kelce’s place is sick. I feel silly that I was nervous when Rafe asked me here.”

“Nervous?” you ask. “Why?”

“I guess I just always thought you and Margot and Gretchen were so… cliquey?” she says without preamble. “I mean, me—I’ll make friends with anyone.”

“We’re not really a clique,” you say, laughing lightly to mask your discomfort. “We’re close, but there are no initiation ceremonies here.”

If she could tell you were joking, she doesn’t show that she picked up on it, shrugging instead. “I don’t know, you’ve always seemed so… reserved, the group of you. Especially you. I swear, I hardly ever see you without one of the crew inside.”

“They’re my best friends,” you say, matching her shrug. “I’ve known most of them since we were kids. It’s just always been like this.”

“I’ll take your word for it that there wasn’t a group vote on bringing me here,” she says, letting you off even if she doesn’t believe you. And you don’t think she does.

An incredibly awkward silence ensues after that, and you blurt the first thing that comes to mind to eliminate it. “How are things with Rafe?”

“Good,” she says, her eyes suddenly lighting up, your stomach twisting into the knot that had made its home there recently. “Really good. I like him a lot.”

“I can tell he likes you a lot, too. You guys are great together,” you tell her. “I’ve never seen him… well, he’s never really been very serious with anyone, I don’t think.” 

“Yeah, that’s what he said,” she says. “And I was surprised, honestly, I thought… well, can I be straight up with you?” 

“Yes?” you say, maybe against your better judgment. 

Chloe’s eyes shift away from you, and she shakes her head at the thought. “I kind of always thought you guys had a thing for each other. If not dating, at least hooking up. Like, I honestly thought Rafe was lying to me when he denied it.” 

You blink slowly, waiting for a punchline to hit, waiting for her to laugh in your face. To revel in the fact that she tricked you into ever thinking anyone would think you had a chance with Rafe. That he cared about you in that way at all, to the point where other people would pick up on it. But that never comes, and Chloe finally looks at you again, prompting you to speak. 

“U-us?“ you ask, picking at the spine of your book. “Rafe and me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, no,” you counter, catching up to the purpose of this conversation, getting past the confusing mixture of guilt, surprise, and maybe even giddiness that someone could make that mistake. Someone who likes Rafe enough to pursue him could mistake your friendship for anything beyond that. “No, we’re just friends.”

“Well, yeah, but…” she trails off. “I don’t know. I sensed a vibe, like most people at school I think.”

“Most people?” you ask, feeling your eyes bug out of your head. 

“Yeah, when I told my friend Riley—you know her?”

“I… think so?” you say, hoping not to feed into the cliquey thing, but ultimately failing. Chloe seems unsurprised, but you can’t focus on that right now.

“I dunno, I had a crush on Rafe for a while but could never really get a read on it. She told me I was crazy, that you two have basically been dating since you could walk,” she explains. The tips of your ears start burning.

“We haven’t,” you clarify. “We really, really haven’t.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she says, a touch dramatically, almost leading you to believe that this isn’t something she’d put to rest after talking with Rafe about it.

That thought—that realization that she’d talked with Rafe about it, about you—sends you into a  quick spiral. You imagine how he must have reacted—did he laugh? Would Rafe laugh about something like that? 

You realize you’ve let the silence drag again, and as you trip over your next question, you wish you would’ve never come to read out here this morning. 

“So did he—did Rafe… Rafe must have made the first move then, right?”

Chloe scoffs, smiling like you’re naive as she places her hands behind her head. “Why? Because he’s the guy?”

“No, no,” you say in a rush. “Of course not. You can totally make the first move. I just meant, if you thought we were together…”

“Oh. Yeah,” she says, now carrying your embarrassment. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now, since things changed and we’re official and whatever. At first, I kind of just wanted to hook up with him.”

“Ah,” you say quietly, your book twitching in your grasp, your thumbnail digging into the hard cover. 

“We were at a party. And I think you were gone, which is probably why I even got his attention in the first place. At least in my mind, at the time,” she explains, but you don’t believe it, not entirely. How Chloe could ever feel threatened by you is beyond you, so you assume it’s something else. “And I don’t know, I just decided ‘what the heck, he’s so cute. He can tell me to fuck off if he wants to.’”

You can’t imagine Rafe talking to her like that, or you like that. Or any girl like that. But you nod along, wondering how much more of this you even want to hear. 

“But he didn’t. And he didn’t even want to hook up,” she says, shifting herself to gain a sliver more of sun. “I mean, yeah, we kissed at that party. But considering everything… I don’t know, I was confused. Like why stop there?”

“Right,” you say, finally deciding to shoot it straight. “I’m not trying to judge, Chloe. But just to clarify, when did you find out we weren’t actually dating?”

“After macking, you know I kinda asked him… like, what’s going on here? Everyone who was there saw us. And your entire group was there besides you,” she reminds you. And then she laughs. “And he was so confused.”

You fake a chuckle, your worst fear all but confirmed, feeling white-hot shame creeping up your throat. “I bet.”

“He’s like ‘I’m not with her. I wouldn’t be kissing you if I was with her,’” she imitates, making Rafe seem stoic and serious, which wasn’t very familiar to you. “‘She’s just a buddy.’”

It stings but it isn’t as horrible as you’d thought it’d be—not that Chloe would be keen to offer up anything else of interest. But you’re itching to cut your losses, pretend this conversation never happened, because Rafe is just your friend.

“Well, he’s right,” you say, opening your book again, finding that your place on the page was lost.

“That’s when I knew I wanted more with him. I could tell from the way he talked about you that he was a good guy, and that he’d be really good to me,” Chloe says.

“Yeah, Rafe’s a great guy,” you agree, the loose wicker material on the couch beneath you suddenly of interest. 

“He is,” she agrees again. “It’s weird the way things worked out, but I’m happy. And sorry I thought you two were a thing all this time.”

“It happens,” you shrug, going back to pretending to read. “I think it’s just common when girls and guys are friends. People mistake Kelce and I, too. Even my mom asked me if I had a thing with Topper.” 

You were joking, attempting to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory, but when her eyes light up you know you’re anything but home free.

“That’d be sweet,” she says, and you’re surprised by the earnestness in her voice. “You and Thornton. I’ve seen y’all attached at the hip lately.”

“Oh, no… I don’t think so,” you say, embarrassed. “Top’s just a friend, too. Our parents go way back.”

You return to your book again, still feeling thrown off by the entire conversation, especially Chloe’s admission, your mind in overdrive trying to fill in the missing pieces of that conversation she must have had with Rafe—conversations, plural? How many times had they even talked about you? The thought alone makes you want to book a flight home tonight, and hide from Rafe until you could leave for the airport.

“If not Topper, then who?” 

Your thoughts momentarily clear again, and you look back at Chloe. “What do you mean?”

“Rafe’s mine,” she reminds you, like it’s something you’d ever forget. “Kelce has that waitress at the Island Club.”

“Sidney,” you say.

“Sidney, right,” she nods. “But is there anyone for you?”

“There you are.” 

Rafe appears on the deck just then, suited up in what looks like hiking gear. You never let your eyes linger long, but you especially don’t in the presence of his girlfriend, even if you’re rather interested in the way his sky blue shirt probably accentuates his eyes. 

“You ready, Chlo?”

“Hey, almost,” she answers, standing up.

“Oh, hey, Y/n/n,” Rafe says, like he’s noticing you for the first time. “You wanna come hike with us?”

“No,” you say easily. “I’ve got my book.”

“We’re talking about who we’re gonna set Y/n up with,” Chloe says, and her arms snake around Rafe’s waist. He places a hand on her back, but he looks over at you with mirth in his eyes. 

“Oh yeah? Who?”

Chloe smiles at you. “Well, I suggested Topper.”

You cringe when Rafe laughs. “Yeah, okay.”

“Why not?” Chloe says, pouting at him. You turn away, but you can still hear the smack of their lips.

“She’s too smart for him. She’s too smart for all the guys at our school,” he says.

“And I’m not?” Chloe says, and her tone gives you goosebumps.

You stand abruptly, gathering your book and the towel you’d come out here with. 

“Have fun on your hike,” you say. “I’m gonna go read down on the sand.”

“See you when we get back,” Rafe says. “You’re playing poker tomorrow night, right?”

“Maybe,” you shrug. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Rafe goads. 

“She probably just wants to read her book,” Chloe says. 

You say nothing to that, waving them off as you turn and make your way down the path to the beach to do exactly that. 

—

The truth is, you do end up spending much of that weekend with your nose buried in books, thankful you’d had the foresight to pack extra on top of the one you’d been in the middle of when you left. And the time you don’t spend reading, avoiding rooms that both Chloe and Rafe are in, or sometimes even just one of them at a time, you spend with Topper.

“What are you gonna get?”

“You know, I’m not really that into coffee, Y/n/n,” he tells you regretfully, wincing when you give him a shocked expression.

“What? Why did you let me drag you here?” you ask, your hands fluttering around you, motioning to the coffee shop you’d found yourselves in. The coffee shop, newly opened not even a mile down the road from Kelce’s parent’s house, had been under construction last spring break. You’d driven by it every time you all went in and out of town, bummed you’d just barely miss the grand opening over that summer, but all the more excited to come back and try it next year. Rafe had been excited too, when he promised the two of you could hit it up first thing this year. But things had changed since then, and it was hard not to notice the plastic cup dangling from Chloe’s hand when she and Rafe got back from their hike.

“You didn’t drag me here,” Topper rolls his eyes, motioning for you to move forward in line. “It’s nice out. We’ll probably be stuck inside the rest of the trip when that storm rolls in, and I already feel all cooped up in the house.” 

“Tell me about it,” you sigh, your eyes scouring the menu for anything without coffee or espresso for him. “You could get a matcha?”

Topper grimaces. “Get your coffee. Don’t feel bad. We can hit that ice cream shop down the street after this if you’re not in a rush to get back to the house.”

“Fine with me. Do you know what we’re doing today?”

“Kelce is probably gonna FaceTime Sidney. Margot and Gretch are probably…” he trails off, checking his watch “…at Soul Cycle right now, and are gonna come home and nap until it’s dark. Who knows with Rafe and Chloe. I think we’re on our own until poker.”

“Mm,” you hum noncommittally. “You gonna play?”

“I’m stealing everyone’s fuckin’ money,” Topper claims. “You?”

“I don’t really know how,” you shrug.

“There’s not much to it. Once you learn the rules, you just can’t let anyone know your hand,” he explains. “You’ll have fun. And I’m sure Rafe’ll give you a crash course.”

Your smile dims, and you’re lucky that it’s your turn to order your drink. Topper waits with you, holding the door to the shop open while you take your first sip. 

“Is it everything you ever dreamed?”

“S’okay,” you shrug, swilling the milky drink around, falling into step beside him on the crowded sidewalk. 

You don’t mean to spend the entire day out of the house—honestly. But it’s easy to after you get Topper his ice cream, you take it down to the beach together, talking about your families, college, and Topper’s last surf competition and betting on when Kelce is going to give this Sidney thing an actual try. You tease Topper about Emily but he just pushes you over on the beach towel you’re sharing, and you return the favor when he commends you for your away game at the Boneyard. 

And it gets even easier when Topper convinces you to finally test your newly minted fake ID at some beach club that’s just down the shore, promising to buy the first round (of whatever “frilly rosé” you want) if you’ll just stand up straight and try your luck with the bouncer. 

“Be fucking cool, Y/n/n—act like you’ve done this before,” he laughs, ushering you toward the outdoor bar to deliver on his promise. 

You make sure to return the favor by batting your eyelashes at a group of college boys that feel inclined to buy you a drink. They must not be able to tell you aren’t old enough to have a true drink order yet, or maybe they just don’t care when they start talking about inviting you out to to their boat. That’s when you decide to give Topper the signal, where he’d already been watching you from across the beach anyway. He quickly peels you away, finding two straws for whatever god awful concoction thee boys had ended up ordered you at the bar.

And after Topper picks up the tab for a couple more rounds of frilly rosé—which might have turned into full bottles at some point—because, go figure, he starts to get nervous about one of the bottle girls eyeing you both suspiciously, a sunset swim in the ocean before the storm settles in somehow seems like the best idea you’ve had in your drunken lives. 

The French fries and onion rings you share on your walk home are an even better one though, all the way up until the sky cracks open in the down pour you’d been outrunning all day when you’re hardly a block away from the house.

After the lack of worrying you’ve done all day, you don’t think twice about drunkenly stumbling into the house with your friend. It can’t be any bigger of a deal than whatever flack you’ll get from Margot and Gretchen over it later, but you realize your tipsy giggles and wet feet slipping against the floor is so incredibly loud because the house is silent, the rest of your friends looking at you from the dining table with a variety of looks on their faces.

“Oh. Hey guys. Poker time?” Topper asks, still mowing through the rest of the food you’d picked up, the way the paper bag had gone soggy doing nothing to deter him. 

“Try an hour ago,” Kelce says, eyes flicking between the two of you. “You’re dripping all over my mom’s floor."

“Is it that late?” you wonder, leaning back to peer at Topper’s phone when he takes it out of his pocket, thankful for his hand on your back when you stumble. 

“We tried texting you, Y/n/n,” Margot says, her eyes cutting to Gretchen, who nods, a nervous smile on her face. 

“Sorry,” you say sincerely, but a hiccup gets you toward the end, and you hear Topper chuckle behind you.

“Are you guys… drunk?” Rafe asks, his tone of voice not exactly accusatory, but definitely confused. And the way he’s asking isn’t funny, because if you had a clear head you might think he’s genuinely concerned. The way Chloe’s sitting in a separate chair and still somehow practically in his lap, looking like a dog with a bone not because of that, but because of the way you and Topper are touching, is also nowhere near humorous. 

But Topper’s suddenly got the giggles, and maybe it’s how uncomfortable this entire situation is that makes them so contagious, but you can’t control your own when he finally answers, “why would you think that?” 

“Jesus Christ,” Margot mutters at the two of you, placing her cards on the table to rub at her temples. 

“Are we dealing you in or not?” Kelce says, and you can’t believe your ears when you detect disappointment. 

“Next round?” you try, already heading for the stairs, unsure of who’s eyes you even want to avoid anymore, but deciding it’s probably safest to choose all of them. “I really need to shower.”

“Same,” Topper says, already following you up. 

“Kelce,” Chloe stage whispers. “Don’t interrupt them.” 

Rafe doesn’t stage whisper, because you catch what he says even when you and Topper go your separate ways at the top of the staircase. “He’s not interrupting anything, Chlo.”

—

You don’t know if Topper rallied to join the poker game last night, because the rosé and the sun and the swimming and the running had really caught up to you in the shower, and it was all you could do to brush your teeth before climbing into bed before even drying your hair. 

Getting to bed earlier than everyone, you thought you’d enjoy the downstairs of the house to yourself the next morning, the sound of the rain against the large window panes actually soothing to your impending headache—but you have no such luck.

Rafe is already at the coffee pot, back turned, sans any semblance of a shirt, and you stop so suddenly that your foot catches on the floor loudly, accidentally alerting him to your presence. 

He twists around, assessing your pillow messy hair while rocking his own, awarding you just the tiniest smile. “She lives.” 

“Can you brew a pot?” you say in greeting, already foraging for a mug and the creamer, peeling your eyes away from golden skin.

“I got you,” he says, adding more grounds. Your head aches with every jilted step you take, and you're suddenly reminded why you should always abide by ‘wine before liquor, never been sicker.’

You’re at a loss, surveying the kitchen for some sort of medicine stash when Rafe opens a drawer, tossing you a bottle of Advil.

“Thanks,” you mumble, taking it with you when you slump into a seat at the breakfast bar, pressing your head into the cool tile of the kitchen counter. The only sound in the kitchen after that is the drip of the coffee into the pot, and you suddenly realize this is the first time you’ve been alone with Rafe this entire trip. 

“Here.”

Rafe sets a glass of water in front of you, and then to your absolute horror, leans over the counter in front of you, muscles in his arms straining. You toss back a few tablets and a gulp of water so huge your eyes sting, setting it back down before another wave of nausea hits you.

“Thanks,” you repeat. 

“This place is nuts,” Rafe says. “Can’t even imagine it in the summer.”

“Probably looks a lot like Kildare,” you mumble. “But bougier.”

“True enough. You good?” he asks, not looking appeased when you nod. “What’d you and Top get up to anyway?”

“Coffee at that place. Top wanted ice cream. Went to this beach club,” you mutter, hiding your face in your hands, stomach turning at the thought of alcohol. “He peer pressured me into that one.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“He can be very convincing. I can see why he’s thinking of law school,” you sigh, rubbing at your eyes as you recall the rest of the day. “Then, um—oh yeah, went swimming. Got dinner.” 

“Where?” Rafe asks, and you shrug, wondering when you’ll be able to take this coffee up to your room and crawl back into bed with it.

“It gets patchy after that.” 

“Right,” Rafe sighs, and you hear him shifting around, fidgeting against the counter so aggressively that you can feel it. “He should know better.” 

Your hands fall from your face, your elbows holding you up as you scrutinize him. “What?”

Rafe shrugs, head dipping. “You guys were out alone, not picking up your phones while he’s getting you drunk—probably around a bunch of dickhead frat boys at whatever stupid beach club. There was a storm coming in off the coast, we had no idea where you were and you’re drunk and swimming in the ocean. He know should better. You should, too.”

Your eyes narrow. “I told Gretchen and Margot when I left, and they have my location. Also, I know how to swim.” 

He turns to face you. “I’m just saying—”

“No,” you say, surprising yourself when you don’t let him talk. “Top’s one of my best friends, yours, too. We wanted to get out of the house and got caught up, but we were fine. We were at a bar, not jumping off of the lighthouse or at some random house party.”

Rafe smiles like you’re being ridiculous, a look you aren’t used to receiving unless it’s in jest, and it makes you feel so much smaller than you’ve already felt all week. “Just looking out, Y/n/n. People were worried.”

“People?” you ask incredulously, pushing your palms into the counter to stand-up. “Like who?”

You tear your eyes away from where Rafe has fish-mouthed, sensing someone else’s presence in the kitchen. 

“Hey, you,” Chloe singsongs, strolling into the kitchen in a shirt you recognize.

The pressure behind your eyes is building, the voice in your head screaming at you to get out of here now, coffee already forgotten. 

“Have fun with Topper?” she asks.

“Chloe,” Rafe says pointedly.

“Tons,” you answer, not waiting for either of them to respond before booking it out of there.

—

The storm in Montauk that week was nothing a couple of Outer Banks kids weren’t used to, but the same couldn’t be said for the power lines on the street where Kelce’s parents’ house sat. 

You’re reading, holed up in your room when the power flickers off, all of the appliances that had been humming suddenly silent, making the sound of the rain even clearer. 

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, realizing you probably can’t hide out anymore.

You turn your phone flashlight on and make your way downstairs, where you’d left everyone after dinner. Things had loosened up in the group as the day wore one, but you hadn’t said a word to Rafe, and the eyes his girlfriend kept giving you and Topper were only making matters worse. 

There’s already a couple of candles lit when you make your way downstairs, shining your phone flashlight on the path in front of you so you don’t trip. 

“Can I help with anything?” you ask Kelce, who’s sitting at the kitchen table on his phone.

“My dad says there’s more flashlights in the closet by the laundry room, could you grab a few?” he asks.

“On it,” you say, putting aside whatever silent battle the two of you had been fighting since you got on the plane to come here.

Kelce’s face looks grateful, illuminated by the candles Gretchen was setting up all over the lower level. “Thanks, Y/n/n.”

It doesn’t take you long to find the closet, right by the laundry room as Kelce had said. You swing the door open to begin investigating, sighing heavily when you see a row of flashlights on the top shelf. “Mother—”

“Fuck.”

The door nearly smacks you in the face, a force pushing it back toward you suddenly where you stand in front of the closet. “What the fuck?”

“Ow,” Rafe groans. “There was a door there.”

“Oh shit, Rafe,” you whisper. “Are you okay?” 

You try to find your phone where you’d left it on one of the shelves so you can shine the light, but he grabs your arm suddenly, trying to get his bearings.

“Shit, sorry—it’s dark as fuck in here,” he says, still sounding like he’s in pain. “Kelce sent me over here to get flashlights.”

“They’re here,” you say. “In the closet.”

“Right. The closet with the door I just introduced myself to.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” you ask. You couldn’t even tell how close Rafe is to you right now, that’s how dark it is, but his grip on your arm and the way you’re sure you can feel his body heat is enough to have you forgetting all about the conversation you’d had earlier, until he brings it up.

“Are you okay?”

“I didn’t just smack my head on a door,” you laugh lightly, using the arm he’s holding to guide him out of the way, the two of you standing in the laundry room.

“I know—fuck. I’m gonna have a mark,” he says. His touch leaves your arm suddenly, and then you see the flick of a lighter meeting the wick of a small votive candle, which he sets on the washer. 

The two of you are modestly illuminated then, and you see no mark, but you do see the regretful look he’s sporting. 

“I’m sorry. About this morning.” 

“Oh, it was no big deal,” you shrug.

“No, it wasn’t, and I shouldn’t have acted like it was.”

“S’fine,” you say. “I’ve been in a bad mood. Probably shouldn’t have even come out here this week.”

“No, what? Don’t say that—everyone wants you here.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Bad mood or not, Y/n/n—this trip wouldn’t have been the same without you. Top would be lost at sea, most likely.” 

You can’t help but laugh at that, even if Topper is the strongest ocean swimmer out of all of you. Rafe would have him beat in a pool, and he loves to remind everyone of that. 

“I was being… dumb, I don’t know—it’s…” Rafe sighs, his eyes focused on the candle flame flickering between you as he pauses. “Chloe really seems to think you and him have a thing for each other.”

“I told her we don’t,” you groan, ready to try your luck at getting those flashlights on your own, or even returning to Kelce empty handed. 

“I did too,” Rafe assures you. “But last night, I don’t know. I can tell her to cool it, if you want me to.”

You don’t know what possesses you to lean forward, your hand pushing up the hair that had fallen over Rafe’s forehead to investigate the mark forming. You underestimate how close your bodies are in the dim lighting, your midsection brushing against his.

“Am I bleeding?” he asks, his voice hushed.

“No,” you say, retracting your touch, backing into the washer, mindful of not knocking over the candle and sending the house up in flames. “Um, top shelf. Can you reach them?”

“Can I reach them?” Rafe says haughtily, passing them to you as he swipes them off of the top shelf with ease. You hope it’s bright enough in there for him to see you roll your eyes. 

“Come on,” you say, clicking one of the flashlights on.

“Wait, Y/n/n,” he says, his touch soft on your elbow when he tugs you back toward him. 

“What?” you ask, turning to face him again, the way the candle flame lights up his face no less endearing.

“We’re okay, right?” he asks, his tone almost pleading. 

He sounds so earnest, you want to drop the flashlights you’re holding and throw your arms around him, assure him that you’re always okay, always, and that you could never be angry with him for anything. You don’t though, because you almost forgot he has a girlfriend just around a corner somewhere, and you sincerely Rafe Cameron never discovers he can have you just about anyway he wants.

“Yeah,” you say, turning to keep walking back toward the living room. “We’re okay.”

—

Present day

Your parents didn’t open their home to the Outer Banks’ bustling social order often, but your mother really went all out when they did. That might be why you grew up accustomed to peers awkwardly asking you if your mom had mentioned anything about a guest list to you—like she ever would—sent to you to do their parents’ bidding around the holidays. 

Tonight was such an occasion, where you’re expected to have every hair in place, exacerbating the missing suitcase issue. 

Rafe is already splayed across your bed in his shirt and slacks, cuddled into your old throw pillows like he never left, nursing a glass of some sort of dark liquor your dad had dragged him into the study for on his way up here. “There has to be something in here you can wear.” 

“Right now,” you observe, angrily sifting through your closet in just your undergarments. “We’re down to my old school uniform or my prom dress.”

“They’re basically tied in my head,” Rafe calls.

“Neither of them fit.” 

“Even better,” he goads. 

You roll your eyes, wanting to be annoyed but failing to fully get there. You’d been distracted all day, ever since your run-in at the grocery store. Finding something wearable from the remains of your adolescent wardrobe ought to be the best distraction, but it’s nothing compared to the one taking up your bed.

The distraction walks into your closet then, setting his drink on one of the built-in shelves and taking your hips into his hands, tucking himself in firmly behind you. “Come on. There’s gotta be something.”

The door bell goes off again in the distance, and you huff in frustration. “I can’t believe she kept my deb dress.”

“She did?” he asks, reaching around you to hold the tulle in his hands. “She did. Wear this one. I was your date in this one.”

“I was also eight years younger,” you quip, unceremoniously flicking past it. “And I’m not wearing my deb dress to a cocktail party.”

“What gives, Y/l/n?” 

You whirl on Rafe, who sips lackadaisically at his drink, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“You’re being weird. You have a hundred dresses in here,” he says, shrugging. “And you don’t care what anyone downstairs thinks.”

“My mom does,” you remind him, a feeble attempt at an excuse.

“Hey,” he says softly, finger bumping your chin upward. “What is it? Really.” 

“Ugh,” you groan, pushing him aside so you can cross your closet, finding a dress that might be an actual contender. “It’s so fucking stupid, Rafe.”

“What is?” he says, slightly amused as you take it off the hanger. 

“I ran into Chloe at the store,” you say, not checking for his reaction in the full-length mirror as you slip your dress on. It wouldn’t be the most flattering fit, once you zip it up.

“Today?” Rafe asks, and you hear him set his drink down again.

“Yes, today,” you answer, turning to check your figure from the side, then dropping the dress in a huff, stepping out of it and kicking it to the side.

“Okay,” your boyfriend says, seemingly unperturbed. “How did that go?” 

“Nothing, it was nothing. It was fine,” you say, attempting flippancy as you move past him. But he grabs your elbow, pulling you to a stop. He’s a vision in his simple but handsome get-up, and you realize it’s been a while since you’ve seen him all dressed up. Lucky you, you think, scanning him from the ground up. 

“Y/n. It doesn’t sound like nothing, or that it was fine,” he says. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

“It’s not like it’s a big deal,” you say, twisting your fingers around each other. “You guys—well, it was forever ago, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he says. “Quite a forever ago. A couple. I feel like we’ve lived a couple since then.”

Much like this conversation, there’s a dress hanging in the corner that you’d been tip-toeing around all night. You know it’d be perfect—maybe a little snug but just in all of the right places. You had it stashed here in case something like this were to ever happen. You overthought everything, and it was finally coming in handy. 

You smile up at him briefly before you move past him to take it off the hanger. It slips right over your shoulders and falls exactly how you knew it would. 

“I just got in my head about it,” you say, shifting your hair to one side once you’re standing in front of the mirror once again. Rafe takes the hint, working at the zipper dexterously. “She was always kind of a bitch, wasn’t she?”

“Babe,” Rafe laughs, shocked. You turn to look at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’ve just never spoken ill of her before,” he says, pushing your hair behind your shoulders. “It’s kind of refreshing.”

“Why?”

A blush dusts the high points of his cheeks, and he’s swirling his glass again before taking a long pull. “I mean, I nearly laid your ex out at family dinner.”

You bite your bottom lip, recalling that moment in the wine cellar as clearly as if it happened yesterday. You hadn’t seen or heard from Theo since then.

“We don’t have talk about it,” Rafe quickly adds.

You nod gratefully, letting the moment pass without an answer.

“But forgive me if it’s nice to see a little jealousy from you every once in a while,” he says, pressing a kiss to your head.

“Jealousy?” you say, your eyebrows furrowing. “I… that’s not…”

Rafe looks at you expectantly, smile slowly growing as you fail to vocalize what you’d actually been getting at. That seeing her again had stirred up a deep hurt in you, a hurt he was responsible for whether he knew it or not. And that no matter how much you had healed from it—or how deep you’d buried it—all it took was one run-in with her to bring it all back, memories of Kelce’s Hamptons house occupying your mind all afternoon.

“Sweetheart, it’s alright,” Rafe assures you, eyes searching your face. “I know you love it when I’m jealous, but I kinda just want to keep you up here all night.” 

A knock sounds at your bedroom door, muted from where you two stand in the closet still.

“Come on,” comes Dylan’s voice. “Mom told me to drag you out of here, and I’d rather die.”

You huff, turning off your closet light and waiting for Rafe to follow. Your jewelry is already on—you’d kept it simple with your R necklace and a tennis bracelet from your college graduation. Your shoe selection had also been bleak, and you reluctantly slip into some old wedges. It was hardly attire you’d usually wear to one of your mom’s soirées, but it would have to do for both of you.

“You look beautiful.” 

Your shoulders drop slightly, and you don’t fight your smile. “Thanks, baby.”

Rafe waves a hand as if to tell you not to even mention it as he guides you through your bedroom door. Thankfully, Dylan is nowhere to be found.

“And I’m just saying, I’m so not opposed to seeing the Academy skirt later.”

“You perv. It was standard issue.”

“You rolled it up. I know you did.”

“Everyone did,” you tell him, making your way down the stairs with your boyfriend on your heels. 

“I wasn’t looking at everyone.”

“You make me sick,” you jab, elbowing him softly in the ribs even as you feel your cheeks fill with warmth. 

“You make me sick. Lovesick.” 

“Rafe.”

Rafe’s smile drops at the sound of your father’s voice, his hand moving from where it had slipped dangerously low on your back up to the middle, before falling away entirely. “Hi Mr. Y/l/n.”

“Would you help my wife with the trash in the kitchen?” 

You jump in immediately, hand finding Rafe’s arm. “Rafe’s a guest. Can you ask Dylan to do it?”

“I’ve got it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, before leaving your side at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Thanks, son,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he goes. Rafe turns back to you briefly, a prideful look on his face, eyebrows raised in a way that makes your heart speed up faster. 

—

I’m so cold

my mom should’ve put extra blankets out?

She did. Still

suck it up buttercup

Pretty sure Cap misses you too. Whining at the door

noooooo my baby :(

What about me?

Your simple reply is a shrugging emoji, and Rafe smiles as he tosses his phone to the side on the bed. It really is cold in here, but Rafe might have exaggerated it a little. He could definitely throw some sweat pants on, but he’d rather complain until you ask him to come up. That way there’s no guilt on his part if he gets caught. 

But you don’t appear immediately interested in that, so Rafe does opt for pulling a pair of pants on. Which was a big mistake, because his dog immediately stands where he actually had been whining at the door, ever since Captain realized he wouldn’t be going back to the main house with you. 

“I know, bud,” Rafe sighs, leaning down to scratch behind his ear. “I miss her, too.”

Captain whimpers, louder this time, and Rafe realizes he won’t get much sleep tonight if he keeps him out here. It’s late enough, right? Your parents must be asleep after that party, and it’s not like Dylan would rat him out. He takes one last look at his cold bed, then looks back at his dog, who’s still swishing his tail in anticipation. 

“Alright. Let’s go.”

The pair walk through the dewy grass and back to the main house, and the back door that sits just below your room is miraculously unlocked. And it’s easy enough to keep Captain quiet, even though his excitement builds the more he’s able to realize what’s going on, far and away the noisiest thing in an otherwise dark and quiet house. 

“You’re gonna blow our cover dude,” he whispers, closing the back door as softly as possible. He can see through the house to the base of the stairs, they’re almost home free. He can figure out his escape plan in the morning if needed. 

“Rafe, how nice of you to drop in.”

Rafe cringes inwardly, feeling his shoulders drop a couple of inches as he turns toward the study, where your father leans in the doorway. “Hey, Mr. Y/l/n.” 

“A little late though, isn’t it?” Will teases, checking his wrist watch. 

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, I just wanted to let Captain up. He’s been whining,” Rafe says, willing the blush to fade on his cheeks, and hopeful the late night light won’t catch it anyway. 

“Right,” your father says, nodding his head with a slight air of condescension, eyes narrowed. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

“That’s perfect,” Rafe lies, deflating further. “I’ll be back in no time.”

“I know,” your dad says, turning to head back into his office. 

Rafe feels himself going out on a limb before his brain can even process if that’s the best idea. But he’s cold, and he feels a little weird about things with you, and if he were a dog he’d probably be whining ten times as loud as Captain was. “Mr. Y/l/n, with all due respect—”

“This better be good.”

“We live together. We have for over a year now,” Rafe points out.

“I know.”

“And I mean,” Rafe ventures, slightly embarrassed but still willing to go the lengths. “It wouldn’t be my first time spending the night in her room.”

“As far as my wife is concerned, it would,” your dad says, raising his eyebrows significantly. 

“Okay, but—”

“Five minutes,” Will says, with finality. 

“Yes, sir,” Rafe says. 

He leads Captain up the stairs—well, Captain leads him, really, right to your door. He knocks softly, hoping you hadn’t fallen asleep in the last ten minutes. 

“Jail break,” you gasp, once Rafe pushes the door open. You smile when Captain runs to greet you, who collects the attention he desired before finding the bed in the corner of the room, curling around Wilbur. 

“Unbelievable,” Rafe says, walking toward the bed. He leans over you, not letting himself get in because he knows he won’t be able to get out. “Hi."

Your giggle settles something that had been anxious in his stomach all evening, sending you looks across the room when you were out of his reach, talking to your dad or any one of your mom’s friends. Your arms lock around his neck for a quick second, and he tucks his face into your neck. 

“Hi. Thought I heard the back door.”

“The warden downstairs gave me five minutes,” Rafe says, unable to keep himself from smiling when you laugh too. 

“How generous of him,” you say, shuffling to the side the make room. But Rafe doesn’t let you, because that’s dangerous territory. 

“No, I can’t. You’re too warm and you smell too good and I’ll never make it back downstairs in time,” he explains, burrowing his face back into your neck. He feels goosebumps form, and he fails at his only goal of not getting lost in you, pressing his lips into a spot that’s been known to drive you wild.

“Rafe,” you warn, your voice already gone slightly breathy. 

He pauses after a minute, planting one last kiss. “Question for you.”

“Mm.”

“What’s the waiting period here?” he says, propping himself up over you again. You blink slowly, and he loves witnessing the daze he put you in start to evaporate. “Like, if I proposed to you right now, would I be allowed to sleep over tonight?”

You narrow your eyes, and the moment is over, Rafe chuckling as you push him off forcefully. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he says. “Not even a little.”

“I hope you freeze to death in the guest house,” you tell him, already rolling over onto your side to face away from him, the little huffs only endearing him more. “Please unplug my lights on your way out.” 

“Don’t even joke about that,” he says, leaning over you again. “That’s a real possibility.” 

“There should be a space heater in one of the closets. Or maybe you can call Chloe. I’m sure she’d love to warm you right up,” you quip. Rafe falters for a moment, until he leans over just enough and sees your wry grin.

“I have to go before your dad calls Shoupe back over to arrest me, but we’ll unpack that tomorrow morning. Bagels?” 

“Nothing to unpack,” you say. “But yes to bagels. Good night.” 

He heads back down, after unplugging your lights as he was asked to do. You flip him off when he says good night at the doorway, but still answer his ‘love you.’ 

Rafe already detests the cold that awaits him back at the guest house, can almost feel it settling into his bones again. Maybe he should’ve toughed it out with Captain in the end, because he could’ve produced some extra body heat and Rafe wouldn’t have had a chance to remind himself what he was missing in the main house.

He makes no attempt to tip-toe past Will’s office, wanting his loud footsteps to echo just so your father knows he kept his promise.

“Rafe, a word?” Will calls. 

Fuck. Rafe checks his watch, wondering if it had been longer than he thought. He pops his head inside. “Sorry. On my way out now.”

“No, I don’t care about that,” he says, waving a hand. He gestures to one of the chairs in front of him. “Have a seat.”

“Yes, sir,” Rafe agrees, dropping into the seat closest to the door. He sits quietly while Will continues working on his computer, a deep furrow in his brow.

“How was the birthday trip? To uh…” Will asks, doing the snapping thing he always does when he’s thinking out loud. “Aspen? No, that’s not right.” 

“Telluride,” Rafe corrects, nodding at Will’s ‘ah.’ “It was amazing. Y/n flew my sisters out and everything. They can’t ski to save their lives, and I’m hardly better, but we all had a great time. Y/n was very patient with them.”

Your dad smiles, and Rafe lets the silence hang there until it’s clear enough that he’s waiting to find out what this is about. 

“I know it’s late. I find it so hard to corner you when you’re over here. She hardly lets you out of her sight,” Will says after a while, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped over his middle. 

Rafe feels his spine straighten immediately, but he tries to disguise at his readjusting his position in the cushioned chair as he fumbles for a response. “Yeah, Y/n… um. You know.” 

“Mm,” Will hums noncommittally. 

“Why would you need to corner me?” 

Your dad smiles; he loves to freak Rafe out and he always succeeds. Rafe wishes he wouldn’t make it so easy for him, but he never wants to be caught out of step. “How’s the new job?” 

Rafe clears his throat before he chokes on his own spit. “Did… Y/n mention something?”

“Well, obviously that’d be between my daughter and me.”

“Right, of course,” Rafe says, feeling his right leg start to jump up and down softly. That was by far your least favorite habit of his, and he wishes you weren’t upstairs right now so you could tell him to cut it out.

“But she said you were thinking about getting out of development,” your dad clarifies. “Are you?”

“More like thinking about thinking about it,” he says, laughing awkwardly. “Um, no, yeah. Things are fine at the new place; it’s a lot of what I’m used to. Just a different market, completely different. So it’s a change of pace, and it’s good.”

“Is it fine or is it good?” Will asks, tilting his head in consideration. Rafe hasn’t had a proper job interview since his college internships, but this is beginning to remind him of that in an eerie way. 

“It’s good, for now,” he says, daring to be honest. Although he almost feels hurt that your dad even knows any of this. Rafe had merely been spitballing—merely—when he’d mentioned this to you in the past. Development was what he was good at it, it was what he knew. It was all he ever knew, but he didn’t love it. Rafe had been suspicious of that to some extent for a while, and he figured it might go away once he moved companies. But even without his dad breathing down his neck, his heart wasn’t in it. Not like yours was when it came to publishing, not like Topper’s when it came to medicine. Kelce pulled 60 hour weeks often, and Graham was entry-level at some newspaper that underpaid him criminally, to the point he walked dogs on the weekend. And you were all happier than Rafe was. 

He knew it was temporary for him, but he hadn’t made any concrete plans of when or how to get out, and where he was going to go from there. And that apparently hadn’t stopped you from divulging all of this to maybe the second person he’d rather you not, after his own father. 

“But not forever,” Will finishes for him. “So what’s next?” 

“I don’t know how much she told you…” Rafe tries. Will doesn’t budge. “But I guess she had some friends over, and she—well, I make furniture, you know? Uh, woodturning was just a hobby I had in college at first.”

“Right, I knew that.”

Rafe nods, because it shouldn’t surprise him but it still kind of does—he doesn’t even know if his own dad knows that, but he can make an educated guess.

“And then I started doing it for Y/n/n. With our porch swing we left at the old house, and then our bed frame, her bookshelf, I made both of us desks, plus a couple of side tables—”

“I get it, Rafe.” 

“Sorry, yeah,” Rafe says, message received. “But anyway, a couple of her friends were over once, and some of them asked about a few pieces.”

“To buy?” Will asks.

“Yeah, to buy,” Rafe says proudly. “And they’re friends of hers, so I’d have done it free after materials. But they all insisted. So I had to work out some pricing scales and all of that pretty quickly.” 

Will nods, and the unease at being thrown into this conversation before he’d even realized he’d have to have it one day—because of course your father is going to wonder about Rafe’s career and finances—is slightly eased by the thought he might be impressing him. 

“Good money?”

“Listen,” Rafe sighs. “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea about anything, because I don’t know the first thing about freelancing or maybe owning a business? It’s not anywhere near that yet.”

“You could figure all of that out, and I could help you,” Will says, clasping his hands together. “But would it be something you want?” 

“I’m realistic, sir. It’s not something I’d consider as anything other than a side gig,” Rafe says carefully.

“Okay,” your dad says, nodding in consideration. He leans over his desk, elbows pressing into the wood. “So that leaves your actual career… where?”  

“Well—you know, uh. I’m fine working where I am,” Rafe says, before being prompted to add more by Will’s expectant stare. “But not forever. I think the goal is to move more into the contracting side one day.”

“Hm,” your father says. “Get out from behind the desk.”

“Exactly,” Rafe breathes, relieved he seems to be understanding him now. “Maybe do things on my own, or with a couple of partners. I used to work with my hands a lot in the summers, travel to sites all the time. I don't know... I miss that.”

“I see.”

Will doesn’t give him much more than that, which leaves Rafe to fill the pause with his nerve-y internal monologue. “Mr. Y/l/n, I hope it doesn’t come as a surprise to you that I intend to be in your daughter’s life forever. And if you’re worried that one day I won’t be able to take care of her—”

“I’m not worried about that,” Will says, waving the thought away. “I won’t pretend to know the financial situation your parents have left you in, nor do I want you to feel like you should tell me. But I know hers, and she’ll never have to depend on a boyfriend for anything. Ever. That was intentional.” 

Rafe nods, because he know Sarah and Wheezie will probably receive the same treatment when that day comes. He never expected it for himself, but especially not now. 

“And to be honest, Rafe, we’re only having this conversation because I believe you when you say that’s your intention. To be in her life,” Will continues. “But you aren’t exactly… on the same playing field as her, are you?” 

“Not to my knowledge,” Rafe says quietly, looking down at his hands, fidgeting with the newly empty spot on his finger. 

“Which is perfectly alright,” your father rushes to say. “Don’t get me wrong. But that’s why I like to know these things. it’s important to me that she isn’t in a situation where she could be taken advantage of.”

Rafe looks up at that. “You have to know I’d never do that to her.” 

“But I want her to be with someone who will hold their own,” Will clarifies. “It’s only fair.”

“All of this would be settled before I made anything official,” Rafe says. Truthfully, he’d never thought this far into it, in his own head or even talking it out with you. But it’s a no-brainer that Rafe would want to feel stable before you officially joined your lives together, and especially before you brought children into it. “She doesn’t need to count on me, but I want her to be able to."

“I’m just being a father, Rafe,” Will reminds him. “If you have a daughter, or any kids one day, I hope you’ll see where I’m coming from.”

“I’m sure I will.”

Will flicks a hand toward the door, which Rafe takes as his cue to leave, the adrenaline draining from his body in a seconds. “Do what you need to do.”

Rafe shakes his hand before he leaves, stopping by to look at the landing that would take him back up the stairs to your room, wondering if he should risk the wrath of your mother so he can ask you what the hell that was about.

—

The grass crunches softly underneath your boots the next morning, and you feel a twinge of sympathy for Rafe, wondering if he hadn’t been exaggerating about the temperature out in the guest house after all. You know it can be drafty out there, but Rafe ran warm. Even still, you dig your hands even further into the pockets of the vest Rafe had loaned you as you make your way to the guest house, dogs left in the main house while the two of you just went into town to grab breakfast for your family. 

Rafe texted you that he’d come to the main house to collect you, but you opted to come out for him early, just because you wanted to and you missed him.

You make it to the door step before the front door sweeps open, Rafe’s shoulders dropping when he sees you. “I thought I was coming to get you.”

“I missed you too much,” you joke. Rafe’s lips twinge interestingly, like he might have smiled any other time but somehow wouldn’t this morning. He already has his sunglasses on so his eyes can’t give you any indication of his mood, but you still feel comforted by the easy way he slips his hand into yours, kissing the side of your head.

“You ready?”

“Let’s go,” you say, trying to muster your own smile. Rafe must not notice, because he looks like he’s a million miles from here with you as he leads you to the car. 

It isn’t like you to bring things up first usually, but with Kelce’s party tonight and Thanksgiving with both of your families tomorrow, you need to be on solid ground with Rafe. And more than that, you want to be. You want to be able to lock eyes with him across any room, nudge his foot under any table or squeeze his hand in any secluded hallway, and know that you’ll make it out alive.

“Did you want to talk about the Chloe thing?” you ask, the silence too much to handle after only five minutes in the car. 

“Chloe?” Rafe murmurs, sounding lost. “What?” 

“You said you wanted to talk about it today, so,” you shrug, grasping for nonchalance and feeling like it’s far from your reach. “We can talk about it.” 

“Oh, right,” he breathes, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “Alright, yeah. What did she say again?” 

“I hadn’t told you what she said yet,” you remind him. “And it wasn’t really even about what she said, honestly. Maybe a little, because she seems to think about you a lot still and definitely had something to say about it—but anyway, like I said, it was more about, like—”

“Babe,” he cuts in. “If it’s important, I need you to spit it out.” 

You recoil. “It’s important, Rafe. I wouldn’t bring it up if it wasn’t.”

“Then what was it?” he asks, no remorse in his tone, only frustration. “If she didn’t say anything, did she look at you wrong or something?”

You never expected Rafe to trivialize you or your feelings, no matter how many times you’d done it to yourself in the past few days, and the world outside of the car suddenly seems colder.

“No,” you snap. “It was more about the fact that she tried to hook up with you even when she thought we were dating, and you knew and still went out with her after the fact.” 

Rafe seems caught off-guard. “What are you—do you mean when we were kids? When we were 17?” 

“I was 16,” you add pettily. “And I didn’t say it was rational. I told you yesterday, it’s stupid.” 

“Then why are we talking about it right now?” he asks, exasperated. 

You can’t help but reciprocate his frustration, even if you don’t find his warranted. “Because yesterday, you said—”

“It was years ago, Y/n/n,” he interrupts.

“I’m not an idiot, I know it was,” you say. You’ve had enough at this point, and you’re more than suspicious of his suddenly rude behavior—a world of difference from the guy who snuck up to your room just last night just to tell you he loved you. “Why are you being like this?”

A muscle in Rafe’s jaw ticks, and that’s when you know he’s really upset about something. He pulls into the parking lot outside of the cafe, turning to look at you as soon as the car is in park. “Because I’m a little concerned that we’re spending so much time on bullshit that happened in high school when last night you were apparently telling your dad I’m about to quit my job so I can freeload off of you.”

You pull back, mind reeling at the abrupt topic change. “What? I didn’t tell him that.”

“Really?” he says, and you get the sense he isn’t waiting for an answer. “Then where did he get the idea that he needed to lecture me about not taking advantage of your trust fund?”

Rafe gets out of the car, leaving you speechless and scrambling to follow him. But he comes around before you can even get that far, waiting for you to get out of the passenger’s side with agitation radiating off of him in waves. 

“Rafe, I never—”

He shuts the door. “When I told you I was thinking about doing something different—literally just thinking about it, Y/n—I didn’t think you’d run and tell Will.” 

“We—no, Rafe,” you say, still scrambling to find your footing on the defensive. “No, we were just talking at their party. He asked about you.”

It’s hard for you to remember on the spot, and because until now it was so incredibly insignificant to you. You had a spare moment with your dad in the midst of your mom’s soiree—he asked about Rafe and his new job, so you told him. 

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, his tongue in his cheek. “So you told him I might need you to bankroll my pipe dream. Got it.”

Rafe turns to enter the restaurant, and the stubborn way he holds the door open for you just angers you even more—like he knows he’s being ridiculous. The two of you join the queue, a few inches separating you. “We’re talking about this at home. We’re not gonna be that couple fighting at the bagel shop.”

“Oh, good. Maybe we can ask your dad to join,” he bites sarcastically. “Fuck it, Dylan can come too. Might as well hear what everyone thinks.” 

“Rafe,” you warn, weary of anyone within earshot. It’s early enough that there aren’t many people around, but you can’t believe his behavior.

“We’ll talk at home,” he concedes.

You stand beside him in silence while the line inches forward, wracking your thoughts for anything you could’ve said that would sic your dad on Rafe like that. You were close to your dad and you shared a lot with him, but you’d never share something that would make Rafe uncomfortable; you knew how important that relationship was to him. You’d honestly just been proud to share something so exciting with him, that Rafe had recently turned a hobby into something more. That people saw what he was capable of and wanted to pay him for it—that he was starting to see himself outside of Ward’s web. 

“Y/n,” he calls, and he’s standing at the register, grasping a single take-out cup. “Dylan wanted almond milk, right?” 

You nod affirmatively, and he turns back to the cashier to hand it over. The rest of the order you’d called in is on the counter before him, he’d been checking it over just to make sure all of your family’s orders were correct. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes, but the employee waves him off, leaving temporarily to fix it. 

Rafe reaches for his wallet, and a thought occurs to you. Before you can think of it you’re reaching into your jacket pocket. “My dad gave me his card.”

Rafe scoffs gently, a disbelieving smile pulling at his lips. “I can pay for it.”

“Rafe, it’s all of my family’s stuff.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to go get it if I wasn’t fine paying for it,” he insists, teeth nearly gritted. “Drop it.” 

“That’s ridiculous—” 

The cashier giving the total interrupts your bickering, and the precarious glance he casts between the two of you as he puts Dylan’s coffee back into the drink carrier makes you want to crawl out of your skin. You do the next best thing, grabbing the drinks and leaving Rafe to get the food as you stomp outside.

You’ve been pouting for a full 30 seconds before Rafe even joins you, putting the food in the back seat, and you can tell he takes one look at you and decides not to press it, not saying anything at all until you’re back in your parents’ driveway. 

“I know we were gonna spend the day together,” he says quietly. “But I think we should split up after breakfast. Cool off.”

“But your sisters…”

“Will understand,” he finishes. A sad, little smile graces his lips. “And be even more excited to see you tomorrow.”

“What about Kelce’s party?” you say, grasping at anything.

“I’ll come get you,” Rafe sighs, tugging his hat off to run a hand through his hair. “Or I can meet you there, if you wanted. I just need to clear my head, baby.”

You pull out your last defense, out of desperation but also genuine worry for him. “And you’re fine to go to your dad’s alone?”

“Mhm,” he quickly answers, twirling your keys in his grip. “Did it for like 20 years, so…” 

“Yeah,” you agree, swallowing your hurt when you realize he’s really serious—that even facing Ward alone isn’t enough to deter him from leaving you right now. “That’s fine. I should get to baking. Without distractions.”

“Good,” he says, finally stepping out of the car. You use the time it takes Rafe to come around to the passenger’s side to suck in a sharp, deep breath, bottling up tears so instinctual you hardly even realize they were coming before he opens your door for you. 

“Good,” you agree, stepping out to follow him without meeting eyes.

—

“What’s with all the pies?” 

Dylan plops unceremoniously onto the kitchen counter, almost as unceremoniously as he had strolled into the kitchen. You’d made four pies in an attempt to recreate the one Rose had loved last year, but at least you were down from your grand total of nine last year.

“Don’t ask,” you groan, rinsing the last of the dishes in the sink. Dylan sits with his side profile to you. “But take as many as you want. Just don’t touch the one in the garage fridge.”

He points at the one next to him. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“Too sweet.”

“I can live with that,” he decides fishing two forks out of the drawer beside him, passing one off to you.

“What’s up?” you ask, the two of you picking at the rejected pie.

“Nothing’s up. Why does something have to be up?”

“You don’t usually go out of your way to occupy the same space as me unless Rafe’s here. Or if I fucked up,” you add.

“Well did you? Fuck up?”

You shake your head silently, shrugging with innocence when your younger brother gives you a look. “Promise.”

He narrows his eyes, but shakes his head, too. “Your luggage came. I didn’t haul it upstairs. Rafe can get it.”

“Mm,” you murmur, distracted. “Sounds good. That it?”

He sighs roughly, a loud rush of air, tossing his fork into the pie tine. “I told Mom and Dad. About Everett.” 

Your ears immediately perk up at the mention of Dylan’s new boyfriend, but you try to contain your emotions as not to spook him. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, smiling so unabashed it makes your heart melt, your own woes temporarily forgotten. 

“And?” you push gently.

“You were right,” Dylan admits, rolling his eyes. “They were all over me about when they can meet him and what he’s like and what his parents do and… yeah, all of it.”

“Dyl,” you say. “I told you.”

“I know,” he sighs, scratching at Wilbur’s ear. “I know.”

“Does this mean he’s gonna come here? And we can double date?”

“You’re joking, right? He’s never coming here,” Dylan laughs at you, like it’s a dumb idea.

“Why not?” you pout. 

“They’re gonna run him off,” he says. “With bloodlines and prenups and just bullshit.” 

You roll your eyes, even though he’s correct. “You’ve been dating for, what, three months?” 

“It’ll be four in a few days,” Dylan admits quietly, only letting you hug him for a record three seconds before he’s pushing you away. 

“Look at you. They can be a lot, though,” you admit. “I probably would’ve waited until my wedding day if Rafe wasn’t from here.”

“Where’s the Rafester anyway?” Dylan says, suddenly peeking around the kitchen, like Rafe’s going to pop out of the pantry suddenly. 

 “Thankfully not around to hear you call him that,” you quip. “He fled.”

“Smart guy,” Dylan laughs, then looks at you in consideration. “You guys okay?”

“We’ll be alright,” you sigh, shrugging. 

“Ev’s gonna have his work cut out for him. They already love Rafe so much,” your younger brother sighs, cringing lightly. 

“Yeah, they do,” you say softly. “But they’ll love Everett, too. As long as he treats you right. And doesn’t have any tattoos.”

Dylan winces and your eyes widen. “They’re not visible. Easily. They’re not… easily visible.”

“Oh my god,” you cry, closing your hands over your ears. “Not my baby brother.”

“Oh, grow up,” Dylan says. 

Your chuckle is cut off when a couple of texts comes through on your phone, two curt messages that make your heart speed up slightly. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” your brother asks. 

“Nothing—um, nothing bad,” you amend, mind racing—any thoughts of Chloe or your dad or Dylan’s boyfriend suddenly forgotten. “I just have to get ready. Will you pretty please go get my bag?”

Dylan groans, heaving himself off of the counter anyway. “Fine.”

—

It was foolish of Rafe to think Tannyhill would offer him any kind of solace. 

It was great to see his sisters, to hear about school and their friends and Sarah’s new internship and Wheezie’s college choices for the half hour alone he had with them before Ward came home, even if it had been permeated by their disappointment and worry at your absence. Which was of no bother to Ward, who seemed more cheery than normal to have Rafe alone, to get under his skin and ask about California without you around to take over, jump in, or just hold his hand under the goddamn table so he know’s he’ll be alright when all is said and done. 

So it’s no wonder he ends up at the Lodge eventually. Topper wasn’t leaving Blythe’s side and Kelce was off to pick up his girl, and Rafe felt a little too raw to invite anyone else along. 

So he’s alone at his hometown bar on the afternoon before Thanksgiving, because in the last 24 hours he’d transformed back into the scared little boy he always felt like he was on this island, running from everything and everyone. Running from you.

And it’s foolish of Rafe to think he ever could.

Because he’s on his third round from his favorite bartender—the one who’s been serving him since he was seventeen, who took look one look at Rafe as he’d pushed open the door at this dive and poured him his calling card—when the door swings open, spilling sunlight and a breath of fresh air into the otherwise dark space.

Your suitcase clearly made it to you at some point today, if the houndstooth mini skirt is anything to go by. It’s hidden by the long coat you’re wearing, but Rafe can tell the black turtleneck you’re wearing looks just as good on you as the sheer black tights and knee-high boots you’re wearing do. The literal definition of a tall drink of water stands before him, and every sorry soul hiding out in this shithole when they ought to be home with their wives can look, but they can’t touch. 

“You found me,” Rafe starts, shifting a toothpick around in his mouth. 

“Sarah said you didn’t last an hour at Tannyhill,” you respond flippantly.

“I guess I’m more surprised you came inside,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Charlie makes his way down the bar at this point, glancing at Rafe before focusing his attention on you.

“Can I get you anything?” 

You shuck your coat and Rafe bristles—he’d been right about the top—throwing a significant arm over the back of your chair as soon as you seat yourself at the bar next to him. 

You lean forward on your elbows, surveying the contents behind the bar before glancing at Rafe’s tumbler unsurely. “Whatever he’s having.”

Charlie raises his eyebrow and Rafe lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. “No. Vodka soda, Smirnoff or better. Anything else, don’t bother. And two limes.” 

Charlie nods before he walks off to grab a bucket, and you slouch in your chair, no fight put up. “Probably shouldn’t have anything, honestly. We need to jet.” 

“Why’s that?”

You roll your eyes. “Did you check your phone once today?” 

He furrows his eyebrows, because he hadn’t. It’d been on do not disturb, but your notifications wouldn’t have been affected by that. “No, why?” 

“It’s Kelce.”

“We’re still going to that?” he asks in wonder, because he really wasn’t sure anymore. It’d be smaller than it was in year’s past, your absence definitely more noticeable. But neither of you were one for putting on appearances, and it wasn’t exactly the easiest crowd to conceal things from anyway. He checks his watch, noting the early hour. “He’s not even having people over for a few hours.”

“He called it off,” you say, finally looking at him. 

“What?” Rafe asks. Charlie comes back with your drink, and you thank him with a a sweet smile, only taking a small sip before you swirl the straw around and try to cover up a nose scrunch once his back is turned. Rafe feels something loosen in his chest, observing you sitting here in a bar you have no problem telling anyone who asks that you detest. All for him.

“Therese isn’t coming.”

Rafe leans toward you, retraining his focus on the task at hand. “To his party?”

“To the Outer Banks at all,” you say, your eyes full of emotions, ever the empath. “She cancelled her flight this morning.”

“Oh fuck,” Rafe breathes, sliding a hand over his face once it clicks. “Fuck.” 

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, taking another sip, probably just to be polite. “He’s screening my calls, but I doubt he’s taking it well. Topper and Blythe are already over there.”

“We need to get out of here,” he decides, already looking for his wallet. He throws way too many bills down between both of your unfinished drinks, checking his phone for missed texts from Kelce. From Topper too, plus a few calls. None from you. “Who’s car?”

“Dylan dropped me off,” you tell him, slipping your arms into your coat when he holds it out for you. “So mine, since you took it this morning.”

Rafe winces. “Your car’s still at my dad’s. I drove my truck here.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Didn’t really plan for this scenario,” he says sheepishly.

“So, what? You were gonna drink all day and then drive yourself back to Tannyhill? And then come back over and let me get in the car with you?” you huff, turning to exit with an eye roll. Rafe races to catch up, barely catching the door when you fling it open. You stand with your arms crossed, stilling on the sidewalk, and Rafe realizes you don’t know where he parked.

Your questioning is logical, and leads Rafe to realize this is probably the only way this day would’ve ended, with you somehow making everything alright. But that’s what he’s supposed to do.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” Rafe begins, not even sure what he’s apologizing for yet. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“God, Rafe, it’s fine—I know you wouldn’t—ugh,” you sigh, aggravated. But then you reach out and take his hand. “I know we have shit going on right now, but I want to put it aside for tonight. For Kelce’s sake.”

Rafe swallows, nodding, suddenly very sober. He strokes a thumb along yours, reveling in your touch when you don’t reject him. Rafe squeezes back. “Yeah, of course.”

—

It’s a scene all too familiar to him—Kelce’s backyard, where he's sharing a short, glass-top table with Topper, the two of them lounging in a pair of matching Adirondack chairs. A few years ago, Rafe might be rolling up a joint in his lap, trying and succeeding at peer pressuring Topper into partaking with him. But things have changed, and all that sits between them is two tumblers of dark liquor, more expensive than they’d have ever spent their own money on back in the day. But both of their dads’ liquor cabinets were always fair game in both of their eyes.

And instead of perusing the backyard—discussing anyone who caught their eyes—Topper has a lapful of longterm girlfriend, while Rafe’s is just inside. 

Kelce had been in a state once you two arrived tonight—weird, quiet, shutdown. Far from his usual, especially tonight, his self-proclaimed favorite day of the year. You’d taken one look and pulled him into his parents’ living room to talk it out. That was your forte, so Rafe had quietly slipped out to the yard to find solace. Besides, he wasn’t feeling too inclined to dole out relationship advice right now.

“He wouldn’t want us to feel bad for him,” Topper says, and Rafe nods along in agreement. “But I can’t help it. This shit sucks.”

“Yeah,” Rafe sighs, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

“She didn’t have to wait until the last second,” Blythe says, and Rafe looks over to see her shrug. “Well, it’s true. If she decided not to come today, she’d probably been hesitant for a while. She didn’t have to let him get his hopes up.”

Rafe can’t argue with that, and he wonders if this could be the end for Kelce and this girl. Because he might have a hard time moving past this one, should he ever get the chance to meet her. He knows you will.

“People get weird around the holidays,” Topper explains. “Families and whatever. It’s hard.” 

“How can I forget your first time meeting my parents?” she teases. Topper’s cheeks blush red, and Rafe would push for more details if he had the emotional energy to feel invested enough. 

“Babe,” Topper groans. 

“Rafe, you should’ve seen him on the plane, he was—”

“Babe,” Topper insists, but with a chuckle, and his arms tightening around her, not an ounce of an edge to his tone. Rafe averts his eyes and grabs his drink, swilling it around half-heartedly before taking another longish pull. 

“And what about you?” 

He looks over when he realizes the question had been meant for him. “Me?”

“Yeah,” Blythe smiles timidly. “How is it being back home?”

Rafe doesn’t cut his eyes to his friend, but he’s sure Topper is panicking. Blythe had always been a little bolder than him, and in a balancing way. “S’fine. I’m staying with Y/n/n’s parents, but I saw my sisters today.” 

“That’s fun,” she says, and her eyes find Topper’s. “How’s Y/n?”

Rafe smiles, sensing where this is going. “She’s just inside, if you’d like to ask her yourself.”

“Well, we just…” she trails off, looking to Topper. He looks to Rafe, his lips tucked into his teeth. 

Rafe sighs, feeling his shoulder drop a few inches. 

“I can leave,” Blythe offers. Rafe waves her off quickly as he downs the rest of his drink, knowing anything shared with Topper is as good as said right in front of her anyway. 

“Let it out, bud,” Topper implores, and Rafe sinks further into his chair. 

“Oh, fuck off. Her dad riled me up,” Rafe says, condensing his story as best he can. “About work stuff. Money stuff.”

“Yeesh,” Blythe cringes.

“You’d think I’m trying to put a ring on her finger, tomorrow, dude,” Rafe rants. 

“Aren’t you?” Topper laughs, taking a sip of his own drink. 

Rafe feels his eyes roll at that. “Not tomorrow.”

“Oh, sorry, next week,” he amends. 

“Dude,” Rafe laughs, feeling himself start to relax slightly, wondering if his problems might not be as big as he’d made them out to be in his head. After all, Topper’s jabs were based in truth, and maybe Rafe needed to act like he was asking you to marry him tomorrow. There probably would be a ring on your finger right now, if you asked Rafe when you first started going out. But that was before quitting Cameron Development, before California, before you helped Rafe realize he had a lot of work to do on himself if he ever wanted to be half the man you or any of your future kids deserved. You were his real deal, and maybe your dad had finally called him out for not acting like it. He already knew that’s how your mom felt.

“Y/n says her dad loves you,” Blythe says, confused. 

“He does,” Topper says. “So really? That’s what all of that tension in there was?” 

Rafe flushes at the implication that everyone could pick up on the jilted greetings you both gave upon arrival, becoming briefly concerned of any flack he might get from Kelce later, especially given the heart-to-heart taking place inside right now. He cranes his neck, trying to spot you through a kitchen window without any luck. “Most of it. And also, super random, she ran into Chloe, I guess?”

“Chloe Merrick? From high school?”

“Mm,” Rafe murmurs, distracted and already thinking about how he can smooth things over with you later tonight. The skirt will make things difficult if he lets it, so he needs to be on point.

“Well, bud—why didn’t you lead with that?” Topper laughs. 

“With what?” Rafe asks.

“With Chloe.”

“Wait, who’s Chloe?” Blythe says, her words coming out whiny.

“Rafe’s ex,” Topper supplies. “Which literally explains everything.”

Rafe furrows his eyebrows, feeling not drunk but definitely tipsy enough to render him unable to understand Topper’s reasoning. “How’s that?”

“Dude, she hates Chloe.”

“Y/n doesn’t hate anyone,” Rafe says easily, pointing at Blythe when she nods, as if to tell Topper ‘see?’

Topper scoffs. “Sometimes I forget how fucking dumb you are when it comes to Y/n/n.”

“Baby,” Blythe chides, but Rafe feels himself a disbelieving smile pulling at his own lips.

“You think I don’t know my girlfriend?” Rafe asks.

“Not all the time. Not back then,” Topper amends. “Junior year? The Hamptons?”

“Oh, don’t even fucking—”

“The Hamptons?” Blythe muses, scandalized. “What happened in the Hamptons?”

“You really wanna talk about the Hamptons?” Rafe says, taking delight in the way Topper’s cheeks burn red, like he wishes he could put the words back in his mouth.

“No, we don’t have to.”

“You brought it up, bud,” Rafe reminds him, pushing himself into a standing position. He starts winding his arms around, throwing in a stretch for the effect. “And I’ve always meant to beat the shit out of you for taking my girlfriend to dinner.” 

Topper sputters momentarily. “We did not—it was not—”

“Dinner!” Blythe gasps, before smiling wickedly. “You took Y/n/n to dinner? Did you kiss her? Did you date? Did you—”

Rafe slips away silently, taking the cue he perfectly set up for himself, but not before receiving what he hopes is a good-natured glare from his best friend. The mouthed ‘I hate you’ from over the top of Blythe’s head really seals the deal.

But Topper’s implications sit funnily in his stomach, and he doesn’t like the feeling at all. He heads back inside, hoping to a higher power you’re done talking with Kelce so he doesn’t have to rip you away, because he can’t stand another minute with so much unresolved. 

—

“I really thought… Y/n/n, I don’t know what I thought,” Kelce says dejectedly, his fingers interlaced, head bowed between his knees. “But I didn’t think this.”

You watch sadly as he swipes his beer off of the table, not even interested in drinking anymore, just needing something to hold. “I’m so sorry, Kelso.”

“I don’t know why this always happens to me. Like I finally find someone I like and who understands me and loves me—I thought. But she just runs.”

It’s difficult to give someone you don’t know the benefit of the doubt when they’ve put your friend—someone who you’ve already seen go through so much heartache, who’s seen you through your own—through something like this, but you try for his benefit anyway. “Maybe when you get back to Austin she’ll be able to explain, Kelce. Right? Didn’t she say she wanted to talk?”

“Does that sound like a good talk to you?” he deadpans. “‘I’m not coming to meet your family and friends, and I think we should talk when you get home?’”

“Kelce…” you say morosely, leaning into his side. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I just wish—I wish she’d told me, or that she’d come anyway. We could’ve talked, just us. Would’ve cancelled the whole fucking party and locked you all out if it was too much for her, seriously,” he says. “We could’ve worked it out.” 

You hear Rafe’s soft laughter filter in through the open screen door, and something tugs in your stomach. “Even when you really love someone, Kelce, sometimes it’s just easier to run.” 

He looks at you, unamused.

“I’m serious,” you say, lowering your voice. “Look at Rafe and I.”

Kelce scoffs. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” you answer, becoming impassioned. “It took us forever, and sometimes… sometimes we still fuck it up.”

“Yeah, but,” he says, actually sipping at his beer this time. “You always work it out.”

“Not always,” you murmur. 

He seems surprised. “What? You talking about Rafe’s little storm cloud?”

“His what?”

“He gets like this every time he comes home, Y/n/n. Come on,” Kelce says, like you should know what he means.

“I don’t follow,” you say, leaning back into the couch, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You know what? Of course you don’t. Because you’ve never been subjected to it,” Kelce laughs. “He’s like an angsty teenager again as soon as he steps foot on this island, especially before y’all got together.”

You think back to what Rafe had said in the car this morning, how he’d casted you off and walked right into Ward’s house without you. “Think it’s more than that this time around.”

“How so?”

There’s a knock at the entryway into the living room, and then your sheepish boyfriend stepping into the frame, leaning up against it while you both gaze upon him. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Never,” Kelce says, moving to stand. “I was wondering when you’d come get her. Actually starting to worry.”

You roll your eyes but you stand to, looking for your bag and your keys because you could tell Rafe was ready to head out from one look at his face. 

“Kelce, man,” you hear him say. “You good? We’ll stay.” 

“I’ll be alright,” Kelce sighs. “And I’ve got my hands full with Top, Blythe. Girls should be here soon, too. Wouldn’t be the first time you two left my party early.” 

“Kelce,” you chastise.

“I’ll probably invite whoever didn’t make the original guest list,” he continues, returning from the kitchen with a fresh beer. “Full house. Gonna invite Sarah and John B and his friend who has a thing for Y/n. Griffin might even sniff it out. Chloe, too, since I heard she’s int own.”

“Alright,” Rafe cuts in. “We get it, Jesus.” 

“You’re sure?” you say. 

“Oh my god,” Kelce sighs, leaning into press a kiss to the top of your head. “Go. Both of you.” 

You walk away to wait awkwardly in the entryway as they say their own goodbyes, wondering a second too late if you should’ve strained your ears harder to hear once it takes a little longer than a normal parting for the two of them. 

Just as Rafe emerges into the entryway, Gretchen and Margot both pop through the front door, giggling and holding an impressive number of pink bottles in between them. They both startle when they see you, their faces transforming from glee to the opposite once they look at you for a little longer.

“Why are you wearing your coat? Take off your coat,” Gretchen demands, stomping her foot. 

“We’re heading out,” you say sadly. “Kelce is in the living room.”

“Nooo,” they chorus, leaning into fuss over you. 

Margot notices Rafe standing behind you then, narrowing her eyes. “Cameron.”

“Not tonight, Margot. And take it easy on Kelce, yeah?” he warns.

She looks called out, and you can practically hear the argument forming in her head. “Buddy—”

“For the love of god please take her,” you whisper to Gretchen. 

“We better see you guys tomorrow night. After dessert, at mine?” she pleads, smiling when you nod. “Good. Oh—let me get a picture.”

“Gretch—”

“Rafe, get over here,” she demands, interrupting whatever quiet squabble Margot has taken up with Rafe, who looks more than relieved to take your side. 

Gretchen picks up the film camera you hadn’t noticed hanging around her neck, backing up a few steps and pointing it at you both. “Pretend like you like each other, at least.”

Rafe’s arm settles around your shoulders, pulling you back into his frame, and you try your best to put a believable smile on, recalling Kelce’s words.

The flash goes off and Rafe presses a kiss into the back of your head before moving away from you, his hand falling to your back. 

“That’ll work,” Gretchen says, turning to follow Margot where she stomped off, no doubt in a beeline to a grieving Kelce. “Love you guys.”

“Let’s go home?” Rafe finally asks, his voice quiet even though nobody is around to overhear him.

“Home,” you confirm, grabbing onto his hand and leading him out the door. 

—

Rafe’s done a few dumb things in the last day or so, but this might be the dumbest.

The trellis below your window hadn’t changed at all, but Rafe’s ability to navigate it might. He hasn’t gone up this way in years, and it’s not as romantic as he remembers it being. Maybe it’s because now he’s groveling instead of trying to woo you, or maybe it’s because you’re not aware of his sojourn, not sticking your head out the window and looking down at him sweetly, hair flitting around you and ready to tug him over at the last step. Not tonight though, not after Rafe had sent you off to your room with nothing but a kiss to your forehead and loose promise to talk tomorrow before Thanksgiving dinner at Tannyhill.

And maybe Rafe’s just not as young as he used to be. Which is why he’s surprised to find the window open at all, allowing him to tug himself over and in, miscalculating the footing and landing on his ass, the box in his pocket stuffed under his hip awkwardly as he makes contact with the floor. “Ow.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Babe—ow,” Rafe winces, realizing he’s probably gonna bruise as he gets to his feet. “I—you said—thought we were gonna talk in the morning.”

“Yeah,” you say weakly, from where you stand in the doorway of your bathroom, your hands twisting together. “I did.”

“But you left your window open for me?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, wrapping your arms around your midsection.

“Because you—baby, baby, don’t cry, no,” he says in surprise, heart breaking as he crosses the room to you and your wobbling bottom lip and big, sad eyes. “Hey, come here, pretty.”

“Rafe,” you cry, muffled in his shirt when he takes you into his arms. “I’m so tired of this shit. I don’t—I don’t wanna be mad at you anymore.”

“I don’t want you to be mad at me either,” he says, leading you to the chair that sits at your vanity table, helping you sit while he crouches down in front of you. “I don’t like it.”

“You usually don’t know,” you laugh, hiccuping slightly. 

“Can’t argue with that,” Rafe says, using the cuff of his long sleeve to pat under your eyes softly, stroking your thigh with his other hand while you calm down. “Baby girl, you’re breakin’ my heart.”

“It’s so stupid—with Chloe, and just—I’ll talk to my dad, I promise I will,” you ramble. “Because he can’t just—he can’t. Why the fuck did we even come home?”

“Hold on, hold on. Breathe for a sec,” Rafe reminds you, pleased when you follow his lead, taking in a long, shaky breath. “Good. There you go, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you say meekly, still fielding stray tears but on the whole looking better.

“You’re good, you’re good. Do you want water?”

When you shake your head, Rafe feels good to stand, leaning up against your table, still within arms length as he strokes your back through your sleep shirt of his. 

“What’s going on with Chloe?” he finally asks after a beat of silence. 

You huff, but start talking when Rafe bumps your chin with his knuckle in encouragement. “I never liked her.”

“I see that now.”

“I’m glad I did such a good job of hiding it when I was younger,” you laugh dejectedly. “Thought I was so obvious.”

“Apparently I’m the only one who didn’t catch on. Even with Topper dangling you in front of me like a carrot at the Hamptons house,” Rafe says, rolling his eyes.

“He did not,” you defend.

“Oh, he did so, baby girl,” he counters, scoffing. “Are you kidding?”

“Rafe. You had a girlfriend on that trip,” you point out. “And Topper didn’t even know…” 

“He knew.” 

You shake your head. “No, no that can’t be right. Topper? Topper Thornton? He’s like the least likely to meddle out of all of them.”

Rafe gives you a look. “That isn’t saying much when it comes to our friends.” 

You nod in consideration, your eyebrows still furrowed as you prop your head up on one of your hands.

“But, baby…” Rafe says, stroking a hand over the top of your head, his fingers digging into the hair at the nape of your neck. “You can’t still be worried about it. Not after all this time?”

“It isn’t like that anymore, Rafe. I mean, you’re a catch and I’m never gonna take that for granted,” you pause to crack a small smile when Rafe won’t let that one go so easy, tugging at the end of your ponytail, “but I’d like to think you’d never hurt me or leave me.”

“Never ever.”

“She was making comments about our lives and whatever, like she still knows you. Like she knows you better than I do,” you explain, picking at your nails. “And it pissed me off.”

“Okay,” Rafe nods, unsure if he wants to ask what she said specifically, and ultimately deciding against it. “But that wasn’t all?” 

“What do you mean?”

Rafes eyes scan your face. “These aren’t angry tears. And I know you can handle stupid island gossip.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands again. “It’s so dumb.”

“It’s not,” Rafe insists, batting them away. “Not dumber than anything I’ve been mad about today.”

“Rafe.”

“What were you talking about in the car this morning? Seriously, baby. Let me in,” he says.

“Are you making me?”

“Yep.”

You sigh one last time, sitting back in your chair with your arms crossed. “We weren’t dating. But you were still like one of my best friends, right?”

 “Correct.”

“So it just… I don’t know. It sucked that you dated her, because she was perfectly fine going behind my back before she knew we were nothing.”

“We weren’t nothing, baby.”

Frustrated, you push at his knee. “Don’t be cute, you know what I mean.”

“I’m serious. I think a lot of people thought we were something, Y/n/n. In hindsight, I was pretty obvious at least,” Rafe says sheepishly. 

“I know, I know,” you groan. “Which is so embarrassing by the way. That that many people knew.”

“It is, but it worked out. Just a little bit,” Rafe reminds you. You bump your knee into his leg in acknowledgement. “So what gives?”

“I don’t judge you for it anymore. I got it over it so long ago,” you recall. “In probably the worst possible way.”

Rafe hums in disapproval. “So we’re even?”

“There’s no getting even, Rafe. I don’t hold anything against you from when we were like, infants.” 

“Clearly you do.”

“I don’t. I was young and emotional and just really, really confused about you,” you promise. “I don’t hold it against you, but I haven’t seen her in forever and she just got under my skin about it.” 

The image of a younger you, in anyway hurt by Rafe when he was arrogant and young and stupid and above all else still totally in love with you somewhere deep in his heart before he even knew what love was is always too much for him to bare. Even when he keeps a home with you, shares a dog with you, shares a life and all of his future plans and hopes and aspirations—and shares his heart with you. Even after all of that, it hurts. “I was such a stupid kid.”

“You weren’t,” you tell him, your hand taking a place on his knee again, maroon-painted nails digging into the skin under his shorts. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about it, because it’s just stupid teenage insecurities that I still let get the best of me sometimes. She started talking about how I’m your cookie cutter Figure 8 dream, and your dad, and then when you flipped about my dad—”

Rafe finally digs deep into his pocket, at a loss for his own words but one-thousand-percent sure he can’t sit here and listen to you doubt him or yourself anymore, setting the velvet box down on your vanity with authority.

Your words die in your throat, and you take one glance at the box before closing your eyes. “I know you’re not doing this while we’re talking about Chloe Merrick.” 

“I’m not doing that,” he says, hoping you don’t actually ever think he’d propose marriage while standing taller than you, while standing at all. “Jesus, baby.”

“Then what—” you reach your hand out, then retract it, doe eyes staring up at him timidly. “Can I?”

“Open it.”

You gently pry it open, setting it back on the desk once you can see inside, recognition crossing your features. “You found your ring?”

“I found your ring,” he says as he plucks the gold band out of the box, grabbing your hand. “Actually never lost it.” 

“What are you… wait, why does it fit me?” you wonder, once Rafe can stronghold your fidgeting enough to get it down your ring finger. On the right hand, he’s not psychotic. “Rafe, why does it fit me?” 

“You know Wren’s friend Stephen?” 

“Yeah,” you answer, flexing your hand, marveling at the ring’s new size. 

“Well, he’s a blacksmith, right? And your birthday was coming up…” he shrugs, bashful now, after all of his brevity. “We melted it down. I thought I knew your size, but I swiped that little silver twisty one you always wear when you were sleeping—just to be sure.”  

“Rafe.”

“And then it really wasn’t that hard—but it was so cool, baby, he like let me hold it and everything while he worked the metal, and I have pictures, if you want—”

“You melted your gold band.”

“Yes.”

“So I could wear it.” 

“Correct.” 

“The one you’ve been wearing since we were teenagers.”

“The very one.”

You twist the ring around on your finger, sliding it right up to your knuckle and seeing how it doesn’t give easily, how it was made to fit your finger. You work it off anyway, sliding it to the ring finger on your other hand. Your left hand. “Rafe.”

“You like it?”

“You know you can’t take this back, right? Like you can’t just—”

“I know, sweet girl, kinda the point—there’s even a seam if you really look. But it’s yours now.” 

Rafe can forgive himself for the way your eyes well up, because he surmises that this time they’re happy tears—even though he’ll always hate making you cry. “I swear I was gonna save it for your birthday. Or Valentine’s.”

You sniffle. “I love it. I’m glad you didn’t save it. You’ve just been carrying it around?”

He shrugs. “Wanted it close. I felt so bad when you were as upset as you were it was missing.”

“I should’ve known you didn’t lose it in the ocean,” you grumble.

“And now you won’t either,” he quips. “I love you. Don’t worry about the bullshit. Seriously, baby.”

You stand up then, and you two fit perfectly when your arms wrap around his waist, and his fall around your shoulders. “What about my dad?”

Rafe sighs, stroking a hand up and down your back, fingers catching on your tank top. “Let’s head to bed.”

You narrow your eyes, pulling out of his hold. 

“Okay,” you agree, reaching for a tub of lotion on your bedside table, before leaning in for a quick kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“I scaled the wall,” Rafe explains, watching you rub lotion into your arms lackadaisically, barely paying him mind anymore. “And it's one a.m.” 

“Hm, better be careful on your way back down,” you say, moving onto your legs, tantalizing him. “You always said that one rung at the bottom is getting faulty.”

Worse and worse every time he uses it, and he won’t make it any worse tonight. “You don’t want me to stay?”

“This bed is for people who express their feelings,” you say, burrowing yourself under the covers. Rafe sighs, finally kicking off his shoes, moving them to the corner so you won’t claim a tripping hazard. 

“Shove over,” he grunts, slipping in behind you once he unplugs your lights and makes sure your window is shut.

When you remain stubborn, Rafe uses an arm around your waist to move you over himself, grinning when you squeal in delight. “Rafe.”

“I told you to shove over. You’re gonna wake up your brother,” he chastises.

“He’s probably up late. Talking to Ev,” you say, sounding swoony. “I think he’s two hours behind, maybe three? Young love.” 

Rafe presses a kiss into the back of your head, using his free hand to trace the shell of your ear, tucking a few wayward strands behind it. “We used to be like that.”

“You were so cute, pretending you weren’t falling asleep on FaceTime,” you say wistfully. “Miss that.”

“I don’t,” Rafe says. 

“No? The window entrance was a little nostalgic tonight.”

“You really didn’t think I was coming?” 

Your shrug moves your body against his, and Rafe laces his free hand through yours. “I mean, I put the dogs with Dylan so they wouldn’t bark, but I dunno. This is one of those things that just makes you shut down.” 

He hides his head between your shoulder blades. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know,” you say, struggling to turn around in his grip, getting a hand under his chin once you do. “But I hate when you push me away.” 

“I don’t mean to,” he repeats.

“I know.” 

“I think your dad was right.”

The understanding immediately leaves your face, and you pause your petting. “What?” 

He kisses your forehead slowly, buying himself time before looking back down at you. “He was. Kinda. I need to get my shit together.”

“Rafe, no…” you shake your head. “No. You don’t have to listen to him.”

To Rafe, it’s as simple as the fact that he does have to. But you wouldn’t stand to hear any of that. “It’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not. You had your entire life mapped out until a few months ago,” you say. “You don’t need to have everything figured out right now.”

“Sooner the better,” he mumbles, mind reeling as he thinks back to Topper’s sentiments from earlier, about how he pictured a different ring on your finger at this point. It makes him feel better that you’re currently tracing it with your thumb anyway, knowing you normally take your jewelry off before bed but you didn’t tonight. “He’s never gonna let me get serious with you until I do.”

“Did you discuss my dowry with him, too?”

“Y/n/n,” he sighs.

“I’m gonna wear this to dinner tomorrow,” you decide, turning to face away from him again. “Give him a fucking heart attack.”

“Just let me know so I can go to my dad’s first.”

It’s quiet between you two after that, until you clear your throat. “How was that today?”

“You found me at the Lodge.”

He can practically hear you pouting as you pull his arm tighter around you. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Rafe reminds you. “He just… you know how he is. I shouldn’t have gone at all, ‘cause I know he’s probably thinking a million different things about us right now.”

“Who cares what he thinks? Or what my dad thinks?”

Rafe does, and he knows you do, too. Maybe not as much, so he just lets the question hang there, suspended in the air.

“I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have a home here babes,” you say quietly. “You do. My dad just… I think he really cares about you. He’s probably had the same conversation with Dylan.”

Rafe squirms. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” 

“For the love of god, no,” Rafe says, smiling a little when your laugh shakes your whole body against his. Rafe left a company for you, but he doesn’t ever want you to be in a situation like his. Because some fathers didn’t love their kids, but yours loved you. “I will.”

“Good enough for me,” you murmur, angling your chin just so to ask for a kiss. Rafe meets you halfway, but lets his head hit the pillow beneath him when you posture your own body over him, your leg slotting between his. 

“Mm, baby,” Rafe murmurs in surprise, accepting a trail of neck kisses while he guides your leg over his lap completely, your knees bracketing his hips. “Baby.”

“Hm,” you hum, pushing yourself up on your hands, gazing upon him in a way that makes his heart seize. 

“We’re in your parents’ house,” Rafe practically whispers.

You shrug, making to move off. But that’s not what Rafe wanted, not at all, so his hands flex on your hips to keep you firmly in place. “You gonna let me off?”

“Well I didn’t say that.”

—

“I could get my CPA.”

You cut your eyes to Rafe where he’s walking beside you, both of your breath visible in the early morning chill. “Do you want your CPA?”

“Good money.”

“Insane hours,” you point out. 

“Used to that,” he grunts.

“True. Well, if you want to…”

He shrugs, gripping Captain’s leash a bit harder when he almost gets tangled with Wilbur for the umpteenth time that morning. “Or I could get my MBA, too. I originally wanted to go right into it after undergrad.”

“Really?” you ask, coming to a stop when Wilbur wants to wander off and sniff for a while, Captain following behind him. “Since when?”

“Freshman year. Decided against it senior year.”

“Really?” you reaffirm, continuing when he nods. “Why? Not because of us.” 

It isn’t a question, because Rafe knows you’d never let him do something so rash.

“I didn’t wanna be away from you anymore,” Rafe says, to your surprise. “It would’ve factored into where I went, for sure. Just like it would now.”

“Rafe,” you say, confused. “Why have you never… you could’ve gone anywhere you wanted. You should, still. But why… oh.”

“You’re right though,” Rafe says, ignoring the Ward of it all completely. It’s a dead horse to him, the way Ward controlled his life for so long. Forcing him back home after graduation is child’s play. “I should still. I could.”

“Do you wanna?” you ask, shifting Wilbur’s leash behind your back when he walks further off, and eventually following after him to the bush he’s intent on investigating, still glancing back at Rafe when he speaks.

“Not right now,” he says. “I knew what I wanted to do back then. I knew why I wanted to be in school.” 

“Right, no, yeah,” you assure him. “But if we ever needed to move… way ahead of myself?” 

“Miles. Lightyears,” Rafe smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head, eyes still bleary from a night of not enough sleep for either of you, followed by a prompt exit the minute you heard movement in the house. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“College Rafe was such a vibe,” you sigh wistfully, reminiscing. “Bring him back.”

“Chill,” he laughs. “I could work finance anywhere. Get a job in tech on some 55th floor in the city. 401k match, stock options.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the second time he brings up money. “Do you want a job in tech?”

Another shrug. “Your dad does pretty well.” 

“Rafe…”

“I don’t have the same safety net I used to, baby. I walked away from all of this,” he says softly, almost under his breath, the old build homes you’re surrounded by suddenly feeling bigger and taller, the lawns more manicured and the cars shinier, the eyes in the windows more prying. “And I’m so happy I did. But I wanna give you everything you deserve. I wanna give it to our kids.” 

“Rafe,” you tut, stuffing Wilbur’s leash into his hand so you can wrap him in your arms, your cheek smushed into his jacket. “You’re going to. I’m gonna be here while you figure it out.” 

“I hate not having everything figured out,” he whispers. “I felt like I always did.”

“Even before you had me?” you venture, tilting your head back to look up at him. 

He smirks, looking down at you, ignoring the tug on his arm coming from the leashes. “Maybe not everything.” 

“S’what I thought,” you murmur, calves stretching with the strain to reach up and kiss him. He meets you halfway. 

“A year ago, I was telling you to quit your job,” Rafe says. “Remember that? That’s how sure everything was.”

You fake wretch, and Rafe hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you into him so he can press kisses wherever possible. 

“You’ve come so far,” you tease, batting him away half-heartedly.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket between you and Rafe groans, knowing you have to pull away in case it’s family. You do so reluctantly, reaching to tug it out of your pocket.

“How much time do we have?” Rafe sighs, assuming it’s Dylan or your parents wondering when you’ll be back. But it isn’t.

“No, it’s—Gretchen sent me our picture. From last night,” you say, eyes trailing over your faces. Rafe’s arm sits around your shoulders, where he’d half-heartedly pulled you into his body at her command. His head rests against yours, but the smiles on both of your faces don’t reach your eyes.

Rafe cranes his neck to look at it, humming a short noise before looking away. “We look…”

“A little bit miserable,” you finish, laughing lightly.

“Very,” he agrees.

You groan, your head falling to his chest as you feel the dog leashes start to tangle around you, effectively cementing you to your boyfriend. “M’so glad we moved.” 

“I kind of suck here,” Rafe admits, laughing when look up at him incredulously. “I do!”

“You better figure out how to not suck here, Rafe Leopold.”

“It’s a miracle we ever found the time to fall in love on this island,” he marvels. “We’re doing Friendsgiving in California next year, by the way."

“I know you want our kids to have OBX summers one day,” you accuse.

“They will. And we’ll pick ‘em back up from the airport in September,” he jokes. 

You push at his chest and almost send yourself falling back into the grass as you do so, forgetting your current predicament. He clutches you to him, a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Careful, baby, Jesus,” Rafe laughs, holding your hand for balance while you attempt to untangle you both from the leashes. “You got it?”

“Think so,” you huff, sighing in relief when you’re finally freestanding, one of two separate leashes clutched in your free hand.

“Still wearing it?” Rafe says.

“Hm?” 

He tugs on your ring finger, fingers catching on the gold band you have no plan to take off soon. 

“I told you, no take-backs,” you joke, falling into step with him again while he clutches your left hand. “By the way, you know you only get one more ring, right?” 

His neck flushes pink, from the parts left uncovered by his jacket. “I think I know which one you’re talking about.”

“You do,” you tell him, bumping into him sideways. “And if the next time you pull out a velvet box, it’s not that one—”

“Oh, come on,” he says. “You didn’t actually think—in your childhood bedroom with Dylan next door—I was wearing basketball shorts.” 

You giggle. “No, no. I didn’t for more than a second.”

“Really?”

Now you get to feel embarrassed, ducking away from his mischievous eyes when you feel heat creep up your own neck. “No. I don’t know, Rafe. It’s a little velvet box. We’ve been dating for years.” 

“Sweetheart,” he coos, throwing an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss into the side of your head. 

“Shut up,” you mumble.

“I wasn’t even kneeling.”

[lawsvalentine]

Hii idk i saw u write for usopp so I had to 🏃🏾‍♀️. Can I please request a usopp smut where y/n likes him a lot but is conflict bc of him and Kaya but usopp also wants her. But after a emotional fight between they make love

I Like-Like You •Usopp x Fem!reader • (18+)

Live-Action!Usopp

CW: slight angst, jealous!reader, clueless!Usopp, kissing, implied sexual content

Cee’s Note: AHHHH ty for requesting LA!Usopp! He is so damn fineee 😮‍💨 i hope you like this and sorry this took so long. Also I didn’t go full smut bc I didn’t want to rush it sorry

[minors do NOT interact; explicit content ahead]

“So there I was….”

Usopp pauses for dramatic effect, “Surrounded!” He suddenly springs out of his seat, hands spread out in front of him, slowly backing away.

You and the rest of the crew were gathered on the deck, entertaining Usopp’s made up stories. Despite his stories being so outrageous and ridiculous, you couldn’t help but to find it endearing the way he gets so expressive when he tells them.

As Usopp continued reenacting the battle he never fought, your concentration started to waver as your eyes wandered to the way his physique moved from under his suspenders. He wasn’t wearing a shirt so his broad shoulders and biceps would unintentionally flex as he moves around.

‘Damn, he’s fine as hell’ you thought as you not so subtly checked him out.

But as soon as that thought came, you shook it out of your head. No point in those thoughts when he is clearly in love with Kaya. The thought of her immediately frustrated you. You joined the crew after Sanji so you were not present for the events that happened in Syrup Village, but you heard plenty about the “kiss” Usopp and Kaya shared.

You have had a crush on Usopp since you first met him, so when you first heard about the kiss, your heart shattered at the thought of him kissing someone else.

Suddenly you weren’t in the mood to be sociable with the crew anymore. You stood out of your seat, catching the attention of your crewmates.

“Y/N, wait, I’m just getting to the good part!” Usopp exclaims excitedly.

“Sorry, I’m not feeling so well. Maybe later, Usopp”

You don’t miss the disappointment in Usopp’s face at your words.

“Would you like some tea, Y/N? I’ll be sure to make it nice and hot just like you,” Sanji winks.

Zoro groans, “That’s your worst one yet, waiter”

The two start bickering and that was your queue to head towards the sleeping quarters.

.

You tried sleeping your sorrows away but to no avail. A few moments past and you hear a knock at the door. You call for them come in as you stood from the bed. The door opens slightly and the cute dread-head pokes his head through the crease. He has his usual dopey smile on his face that made you feel butterflies every time.

“Hey Y/N, I know you said you weren’t in the mood for stories but I promise they will cheer you up! It always worked for Kaya,” Usopp said excitedly as he shut the door behind him.

Your face fell at the mention of her name and suddenly you felt yourself feeling aggravated that he brought her up.

“Well, I’m not Kaya,” you snapped.

Your tone caught Usopp off guard and his dopey smile was soon replaced with a frown.

“I never said you were…” Usopp said, confusion written on his face, “I was just trying to help, what’s your problem?”

You scoffed, “My PROBLEM is you always bringing her up. Kaya this! Kaya that! You won’t shut up about her!”

Ok you were definitely trippin, but you didn’t care at this point. You couldn’t take this anymore.

Usopp blinked, “So you’re mad….that I talk about Kaya?”

You groan in frustration, you swear you might have to spell it out for him.

“I don’t wanna hear about little miss perfect whom you grew up with, alright,” you swallow the lump in your throat. This is was getting too much for you.

“Ok but why-“

“BECAUSE I LIKE YOU ALRIGHT!” you confessed.

Next thing you knew, you started to word vomit everything you have been holding in since you met him.

“I like you and not just as a friend, I like-like you! It just hurts every time you mention her because, I’m reminded that you two have known each other since you were kids and you two kissed and I dunno how to compete with that. But whatever, you probably don’t feel the same way, I get it! Just forget I even…mmph”

Your words were cut off by Usopp’s lips smashing against yours. Your hands flew up in shock and you stood frozen as his plump lips moved against yours. With the feeling of his hands gripping your waist slightly and his soft lips against yours, you finally allowed yourself to melt into the kiss. Your arms snaking around his neck as he slightly lifts you, laying your back against the bed, him following on top. You feel his tongue trace your bottom lip for access which you grant him. A soft moan escapes your lips as his tongue grazes yours.

After a few moments, you break the kiss to catch your breath.

“Usopp?” You were still shocked by Usopp’s bold move.

His shyly smiled at your expression, “I like-like you too, Y/N”

“But what about-“

“Yes I did have feelings for Kaya but I can’t deny what I feel for you,” Usopp confessed.

You blinked, still skeptical if this was real or maybe just another one of his lies.

“How will I know if you’re being serious?”

He smirked and slightly rolled his hips against yours, feeling his hard on through his jeans.

“Let me show you”

.

.

Cee’s note: part 2 with smut? 👀

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

heeeeyy i saw that u write for steven…?

if you wanna- could u write a flustered/ blushing steven with a forward/ teasing reader. could be that they work together at the museum and are a couple on the dl cuz if donna found out she would fire one of you. but the reader keeps teasing steven and making it really hard for him to focus on his costumers. could end in him losing his patience and dragging the reader to the bathroom orr a broom closet? or maybe the reader corners him??👀 idk you can obvs decide how far this could go (fluff/ lime/ lemon) whatevs- entirely up to you👹✨

thanks so muuuuuch ur a really great writer💗💗

hiii!! I absolutely love this!? and anything like this tbh🤭 and omg stop it, thank you sm!! <33 🥹 thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

interrupted break

steven grant x fem!reader

wc || 655

warnings || a little suggestive, but no ‘vulgar’ words used, just making out

・₊✧ masterlist + taglist

You and Steven were in the early stages of your relationship, so things were still very new and exciting. As you worked together at the museum, you had to be wary and careful around one another. Donna had a strict 'no dating policy', so if she were to catch you together during a moment, one of you would be reprimanded or even fired.

Recently, you couldn't keep your hands off Steven. You found any possible opportunity to touch or stroke him. You'd always be sly when engaging in contact- a light brush on his arm as you walk by, lingering touches, eye contact from across the room, just anything you can do without being caught. 

Steven knew the game behind your constant teasing and flirting, and he was determined not to give in to your ways. He loves his job, as you do yours, so he had to carry the strength for both of you and resist the temptation, even though it was hard.

You were stocking shelves while Steven was on tills and attending to customers. You peek up at him, gazing at him over the stuffed hippos with a devilish glimmer in your eye. You place down the box of keyrings and pick up the new stock of pens and pencils before making your way to Steven. 

"Oh hey," you subtly smirk, pulling out a fistful of stationery. "Fancy seeing you here,"

"Yup," he nods, avoiding your gaze as he knows that he wouldn't be able to refuse your allure. "Gotta get back to my customers now," he says quietly, gesturing to the non-existent queue. 

"Oh really? It seems like you're avoiding me," you smile, furtively leaning over the counter to allow him a sneak peek down your top, inconspicuously showing him your cleavage. His eye line focuses on your breasts sitting perfectly in your bra, and you see his failed attempts to conceal a reaction.

"Yeah, nice try," Steven sighs, covering his crotch with his hands. "Good one,"

"Hm, seems like you're lying, Steven," you grin, resting your chin in your palm.

"Nope. I know your silly games,"

"Silly?"

"Mhm," he nods, making himself look busy as he flicks through items by the cash register. "I'm not a teenage boy anymore,"

"Okay, I'll drop it," you shrug, playing with a stray strand of hair. "What time do you get off?" you whisper, stroking his forearm, battering your lashes up at him.

"God," he exhales, visibly frustrated. "Come with me,"

You follow him towards the staff bathroom, leaving an unsuspicious gap as you walk after him. Steven checks the surroundings before yanking you into the stall, closing the door behind you, and immediately pushing you up against it. His lips brush over yours, and you instantly feel his pent-up frustrations melt away. 

His lips hungrily work over yours as his hands cup and guide you, holding your jaw to manoeuvre you in the way he wants, like he's desperately trying to regain control after all your teasing. A soft moan slips past your lips as he deepens the kiss, working over your mouth more urgently, pushing you back into the door behind. 

A harsh knock interrupts. "Stevie, what you doing in there?" Donna snaps, pounding on the door. "Taking forever— you have customers waiting,"

Steven pulls away, clearing his throat. "Yeah— yep, I know. Just a minute," he says with a slightly raised voice.

"What's taking so long? Having a poo or something?"

Your eyes instantly snap up to Steven's as you conceal a cackle, muffling your mouth with your palm.

"... yeah," he says reluctantly, an unamused expression on his face.

"Distugting, hurry up— and wash your hands,"

"Alright, yep— okay," he whispers, dropping his forehead into the crook of your neck. "That was so embarrassing,"

"For you, yeah— very," you snicker. 

"We'll finish this at mine," Steven smiles, adjusting himself. "... for payback." he merely brushes your lips before walking out.

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

steven taglist: @thewinterv @bubblezuku @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @queerponcho @selfryed @ugh09876554444

[sushiwriterhere]

two: required texts

flight path

summary: "It takes your remaining sober thoughts to refocus on beer pong instead of how hard it hits you that you want Jake."  rating: mature (eventually explicit, 18+ mdni) pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x f!reader word count: ~6.9k lol warnings: angst, masturbation ment, enemies to lovers!, college au!, eventual smut, hangman being hangman, no use of y/n.  notes: dedicated to @waklman bc u entertain my insane dms <3 pls pls pls let me know what you think everyone!! masterlist here this fic is being posted from my queue while I have little access to the internet. any tag list requests/fic replies will be slow; thanks!

"Jake said you were coming to our party this Friday?" Bradley's smile is so genuine, so unlike everything about Jake, "Never thought you'd agree but it'll be good to see you."

Sometimes you regret making things so sour with Jake, because Bradley’s actually really sweet. He’s been letting you and Jake duke it out about your project at their breakfast bar counter while he cooks in the background. He’s kind of always on FaceTime with someone, usually a girl, and he even makes a mean chocolate chip cookie. Something about the flakey sea salt just does it.

Bradley is the kind of guy you think you might settle down with one day. Bradley doesn’t throw his hands up in the air at you in frustration when you argue about what exactly qualifies as sustainability, and he certainly does not make deals with you to try and get you to come to frat parties.

That being said, he looks so happy to hear that you might be joining them that you really don’t have the heart to knock him down. 

“Oh, yeah, Jake–” You consider your words carefully. 

Jake hadn’t explicitly said that the deal was to be kept hush-hush, but you didn’t really know how much you wanted people knowing that you were willing to trade your introvert lifestyle just to ensure a good grade. Plus, it felt just a smidge pathetic that that was what you’d caved to. 

“Jake told me he talked you into it in exchange for going with your lead on your project, but it doesn’t seem to really be working.” Bradley’s laugh fills the hallways of the lab and you feel yourself tense up. 

God, you really did get the short end of the stick if it was that obvious that Jake wasn’t holding up his end of the bargain at all. 

“Yeah... well...” You trail off, twisting your hands in front of you until someone calls you name at the end of the hallway.

Bradley looks at you, his gaze a little too knowing, before you both wave goodbye and you take off toward the sound of your supervisor’s voice. 

Running into Bradley is one thing, he’s nice and doesn’t make you want to poke your eyeballs out, getting to the end of the hallway to see Jake standing in front of your professor with an easy-going smile on his face is another. Fantastic.

“Mr. Seresin here was just telling me that the two of you have been hard at work,” Jake bounces his shoulders just a little behind your professor’s back, as if rubbing it in how much he’d obviously been talking himself up in the few seconds before, “I have high expectations for the two of you.”

You resist the urge to call him a dumbass in front of the man who’s probably going to single handedly get you into MIT, and school your features into something a little more school-appropriate. You are not going to let him screw this, especially this, up for you. 

“Of course, Professor Simmons, we’re certainly putting our all into it.” Jake mock gags behind the professor’s back for a split second before he turns around, and then he’s the picture of academic excellence.

Simmons wanders off in the way he usually does, leaving just you and Jake standing in the hallway. Distantly, you know that you’re technically on the clock, but you’re well-liked enough that you can get away with a little time theft. No one’s had any complaints on time sheet day so far.

Jake rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, smile ever present. For a moment, he looks a bit unsure of himself, but the expression is gone even quicker than it came.

“What are you doing in the labs, Jake. Don’t you have some other poor girl to harass?” You cross your arms and stare expectantly at him– you’d rather spend your stolen time reading the New Yorker on your phone and not dealing with Jake Seresin.

“Was just dropping by to chat with Simmons, you know how it is. Office hours, etcetera, etcetera.” He’s at ease once again, his gaze trained fully on you.

“Why did you say etc like that?”

“Did you just say ‘e-t-c’?”

For a moment there’s complete and entire silence, the type that happens right before exams are handed out. Then, Jake starts howling with laughter, completely doubled over. You watch in horror, listening to his voice echo around the sterile hallways and probably right into every professor’s office. 

Once he’s done completely humiliating you, he stands up and wipes at his eyes, “Sorry, you just—you were lecturing me the other day about ‘histrionics’ and you’ve never heard etcetera said aloud have you?”

You bristle, teeth gritted, “I’ll have you know, you can say it either way.” He doesn’t need to know, but you haven’t heard it aloud.

“Oh, I was also looking for you.” His abrupt change of subject makes you nervous. 

You and Jake have admittedly been spending a lot of time together. After your first few hours at the library, Jake’s been making a habit of being around you. Like, a lot.

First, he’s always sitting next to you in your shared classes. You’re only taking four, and sharing three of those is just a lot of Jake-time. He mostly leaves you alone, thankfully, but he’s taken to poking you to get your attention for his random thoughts, turning his computer your direction to show you a funny meme someone sent him, and occasionally reaching over to doodle on your notes. He also always uses your shared seat rest.

You don’t know why you let him do it. But, if you were brutally honest, it’s kind of nice having him around. Despite all your petty disagreements, Jake’s a bright personality, and it makes your stomach flip in a funny way when he spots you across the quad and waves wildly to get your attention, or when he buys you lunch before your library sessions. You do keep bickering about nearly everything though.

That’s the second thing. Now, after your two classes together on Mondays and Wednesdays, the two of you will go to the library and study til the wee hours of the morning. On more than one occasion, he’s bought you coffee to sustain your hours of staring at complex equations and trying to apply to grad schools. 

(“What grad school are you applying to now?” 

“Nunya.”

“Okay, unless the top fifteen rankings have been updated since the last time I checked there is no grad school that—“

“Nunya business.”

“Very funny. Real mature. You’re really childish y’know that.”

“I’m childish? Remind me which one of us spent eighty five dollars at a candy store last week after taking forty five minutes to decide.”

“There’s a lot of options!”)

You two don’t make a lot of conversation but it’s getting easier to talk to him like he’s a normal person, like he’s anyone else. You still keep your cards close to your chest, though, unready to let him in fully and still not entirely trusting him. 

Once, you’d shared a bit about how much pressure you felt to get into a top graduate program, to ensure that your parents were taken care of as an only child. Jake had been surprisingly empathetic, and had shared some about his home life, which you suspected wasn’t as idyllic as he made it seem, but it had made you smile. 

“Youngest, with four sisters, I was a little doll,” He’d laughed. He never talked about his parents, really.

It had been an odd moment of peace between the two of you until he had teased you for the way you read out an equation as you were checking your work, and then it was back to trading barbs.

The third thing is that he hadn’t invited you to a party til this week, about four into the semester. Before he had, it hung over your head like an anvil–ominous, always present, and not exactly forthcoming on when it was planning on crushing you like a bug. 

He’d been too nice about it, assuring you that whatever you wore would be fine (“Just think... slutty?” “Don’t be sexist, Jake.” “What! That’s what the sorority girls say.” “Well, are you a sorority girl?” “I can be if you want me to be, sweets.” “You have issues.”). He’d also said he’d keep an eye out on you but that his frat brothers were all great people, and besides, Bradley would be around. You don’t really want to share how it makes you feel that Bradley had asked you if you really were attending.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re coming on Friday.” His smile softens into something more genuine than his usual wild grin. “Was worried I might’ve scared you off.”

You huff, “I’m not scared.”

The way he looks at you in that moment makes you want to shove him so he’ll stop staring at you, a combination of pity and something else you’re afraid to identify, “No, not at all.”

Then, his demeanor changes back into something that’s a bit more familiar to you as he tucks his hands into his pockets and turns to leave, “Besides, if you don’t come, we’re doing our entiiiire project on Naval mechanics. Bye!”

He’s gone before you can yell at him.

-

This isn’t who you are–outfits strewn all over the floor of your room, music blaring from your phone where it’s charging in the corner, a layer of nervous sweat starting to coat your forehead and palms. Nothing fits right or in a way that doesn’t make you want to lose your mind. 

For a moment, you wish that you were a sorority girl, surrounded by women who know all the cultural rules of what you’re about to walk into. It’s not in a “I’m not like other girls” way, but more in a “my parties consist of wine and boardgames”. You are excited, but you also just feel stupid. 

You jump about half a foot in the air when your music cuts off all of a sudden and is replaced by the someone singing “save a horse, ride a cowboy” at far too many decibels. Scrambling, you grab your phone from the far side of your bed and see that it’s Jake trying to FaceTime.

“When did you change your ringtone?” Is the first thing you say when you pick up, endlessly irritated. “Your voice is terrible, by the way.”

Jake just laughs, “Oh, it absolutely is not. And you left your phone unlocked when you went to the bathroom two weeks ago, it was the only logical course of action. How have you not noticed til now?”

“I keep my phone on silent like a normal person.” You try to angle the camera so he can’t see the fact that you’re only in a sports bra and that you are absolutely not dressed despite the fact that you need to leave relatively soon.

“Again with this normal person thing, sweets,” He looks like he’s walking through the frat house as you hear people in the background, and you have half a mind to ask if Bradley’s around but decide against it. Something tells you Jake would be, well, weird about it. “You have got to be the least normal person I know, and that’s saying something.”

The absolutely unimpressed look on your face makes him laugh, and you almost hang up until you remember that he could potentially be helpful with your predicament. He wasn’t helpful last time but maybe this time he will be. He at least knows more about what girls are supposed to wear to this stuff.

“Jake...” You start, unsure of how to even ask. 

‘Oh hey Jake, how am I supposed to dress slutty for the frat party you cajoled me into going to because this is really out of my comfort zone and I’m this close to just telling you we can do your stupid Naval aircraft idea so that I don’t have to deal with this’ is a decidedly bad start.

“Sweets...” He croons back at you over the phone as he sets you down on a bathroom counter. 

It’s then that you realize that he’s been shirtless this entire time, and is still very much shirtless. Look, you may have a deep dislike for Jake Seresin as a person, but you’re not blind. You have eyes. And your eyes are telling you that Jake is absolutely so fucking fine that you have sort of forgotten your question. 

He’s absentmindedly applying shaving cream to his face and bustling around the bathroom while opening drawers and humming to himself. You remain silent. 

You just sort of stare at him for a few seconds before he raises an eyebrow at you. It’s then that you realize you’re holding your phone at an atrocious angle and you’re supposed to be asking him how to dress for this and showing him the insides of your nostrils is definitely not going to be doing you any favors.

“Sweets, did you have something you were going to say or are you just going to spend the next thirty minutes checking me out?” Jake says it so nonchalantly it almost makes you hang up, but you’re caught off guard by how something as simple as watching him shave on FaceTime can feel so endearing and domestic.

“Very funny. I was going to tell you you have something sticking out of your nose but I guess I won’t now.” You huff, hoping it’ll distract him from the last two minutes of silence.

At the very least, it works. Jake frantically tries to figure out what’s danging from his nose while you try and regroup. 

“I need your help picking an outfit.” It’s dramatic, but it feels like a weight off your chest to say it, “I just– Well, it’s just that nothing looks good and I hate this.”

Jake sets his razor down and leans close to his phone so you can see only his face and nothing else, “Lemme see what’cha got, sweets.”

The next twenty minutes are, somehow, not entirely excruciatingly painful. Jake immediately vetoes every single one of your business casual outfits (“You are not wearing slacks to a frat party, sweets, be serious.”) but he’s nice about it. When you dive deep into your closet to pull out a box of items you haven’t thought about since you bought them freshman year, you really start to reconsider how much you don’t want to work on Naval mechanics. 

“Okay, you can’t be mean, I bought these freshman year in a moment of weakness.” You can feel how hot your face is and you barely manage to get through the sentence without stammering or hanging up on him.

You lay out the tops on your bedding–Jake had already approved of a pair of jeans you hardly ever wore. These pieces are much more party-oriented than anything else you regularly wear, and you remember how for a weekend freshman year you’d felt so alienated, so weird, that you’d spent almost three-hundred dollars on going out tops. You’d returned most of them but the ones in front of you you’d kept in secret hope maybe you’d get to wear them. 

“You are a liar.” Jake’s voice comes softly from your phone and you frown.

“I literally just asked you to not be mean. You can’t even not be mean when—” 

“Sweets, any guy here would pass away at the sight of you in any of these,” He says and you make sure the camera isn’t on you so you can contort your face into a silent scream, “Talkin’ about, ‘I have nothing to wear’.”

“Drama queen.” It’s all you can say, but the thought of him passing away at the sight of you? That might be more appealing than you’d like to admit.

-

God, it’s so fucking loud in here. You managed to arrive fashionably late, as Jake advised. Now, you’re just sort of standing by the doorway, unsure of where to go or who to talk to. 

Then, all of a sudden, Jake appears next to you, all bright eyes and white teeth as he bobs along to the music. He grabs your arm and pulls you into an excessively tight hug, one that smooshes your face into his chest and traps your arms at your sides. You try not to breathe in too hard, but you can’t really avoid smelling him (like a fucking weirdo). You’re only slightly disappointed to note that Jake smells really good. 

“Sweets! I thought you’d bailed!” He exclaims, letting you go only slightly so he can take a look at your face. “When did you get here?”

“Um, like ten minutes ago?” You try and push out of his arms but he’s got a strong grip on you–glancing to the side you see that he’s grasped his elbows so you’re completely stuck.

“Only one hour and fifty minutes left to go!”

And with that, you’re being hauled off by one arm through the frat house. You stumble on your feet but manage to catch yourself on Jake when you trip over a beer can someone just threw on the ground. He turns around with a glint in his eye.

“Sweets, if you wanted to cuddle, you should’ve just said so!” His tone is gleeful, but he steadies you gently anyway.

“Just get me a drink, Jake.” 

He doesn’t let you go but this time his grip is gentler and he walks at a human pace instead of trying to make record time. After turning a few corners, you finally arrive in the kitchen.

You have to admit, you’re sort of jealous. Your apartment isn’t tiny by any means, but you’d love to have a kitchen this sprawling, with its huge windows, what looks like a state of the art fridge, and granite countertops the sheer square footage of which could make you drool. You feel a rush of disappointment at how dirty it is in here, but you squash it remembering that this is a frat house. Clean is nowhere near part of these men’s vocabulary. 

Jake makes you a drink that seems to be some odd combination of liquors and juices (he avoids the jungle juice thankfully, almost turning green when you ask him if you should try some–“Not unless you want to spend all of tomorrow throwing up.”). When he hands it to you, he looks at you expectantly, like a child who just gave their parent a crayon drawing.

“Well? What do you think?” You grimace on instinct when the liquid hits your tongue, but you realize it’s actually not that bad. 

You tell him as much. Maybe you’re already starting to get drunk because it’s the only explanation for the way you think the look on his face could persuade you to drink three hundred cups of this if it means having him smile at you like that again. You keep drinking to avoid spilling your guts, figuratively.

Jake makes himself a cup while yammering on about planning the party, how he took shots with his frat brothers before you got here, and how he has a brunch planned Sunday with a few of his frat brothers. It’s all a bit too close, too intimate to be honest. Even with everyone around you, even with the way he almost has to yell so you can hear, it feels like it’s just the two of you. It makes you want to flee, but you force yourself to stay put in an effort to at least try.

And it’s not actually terrible. You keep sipping on the drink Jake made you, and try to engage with him. 

He’s in the middle of telling you a story about him and Bradley from freshman year when one of his frat brothers walks up to the two of you with a wicked grin on his face. 

“Now who is this, Jake?” He’s terribly handsome, but something about the way he’s looking at you sets you on edge. 

“Javy, meet sweets.” Jake gestures at you with his perfectly iconic red solo cup.

You roll your eyes at the introduction, “That’s not my name.”

But Javy doesn’t let you correct the record, instead his entire face lights up. He looks like a kid on Christmas as he wraps an arm around Jake’s shoulders and looks between the two of you, a gleeful expression spreading over his face. 

“You are famous in this frat, I hope you know that.”

You prepare yourself for a snide remark about your attitude in class, about your reputation, but instead Javy leans in close, so close that you can see how perfect his skin is (what the hell?), and he whispers conspiratorially, “Jake here never shuts up about you.”

The whisper clearly isn’t meant to keep much secret and Jake obvious hears him because he shoves Javy off him and starts waving his hands at him to shoo him off. When he turns back around, he’s blushing and you don’t think it’s from the alcohol or the heat. 

“Talking shit?” You cross your arms and raise an eyebrow expectantly, not knowing what you’d do with any other explanations. 

“Something like that. Want more to drink?” 

He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, and he clearly doesn’t want you to remember this conversation either, because his next pour is overly generous. After that, he drags you out of the kitchen to ‘socialize’. He keeps you next to him, occasionally slinging an arm around your shoulders or even just leaning on you. 

Much to your dismay, Jake doesn’t let you wallflower, to disappear as you stand next to him–suddenly you’re being introduced to everyone in the frat. You grouse about being forced to remember a thousand different white men’s names and Jake’s laugh rises even above the din of the music and the chatter. You’re loath to admit it aloud, but it’s sort of nice, being included, being in on jokes and spoken to like you might have something funny or interesting to say.

Part of you wants to bring up what Javy said, because almost every guy that Jake introduces as being part of his frat smiles in the exact same way that Javy had. Like a cat who got the cream. But the alcohol is making your tongue heavy and you worry what might be said if you start down that path.

Then, you hear your name distantly, and you whip around to see Bradley making his way through the crowd waving wildly. Nearly missing elbowing some poor sorority girl in the head, he pushes past people. His face is flushed from drinking and the heat, and he’s got his phone pressed to his ear. Why he’s attempting to take a phone call in this type of environment, you’re really not sure.

When he gets to the both of you, he at least has the sense to hang up before he separates you from Jake when he sweeps you up into a bear hug that lifts your feet off the ground and crushes you to him. He seems so happy to see you, and you smile bashfully as you hug him back. 

Once your feet are back on the ground and Bradley’s released you, you notice how Jake has stiffened slightly beside you. He and Bradley engage in some long, complicated handshake that ends with jazz hands and eventually Bradley sweeps away in just the same way he came over. No words are exchanged, and Jake relaxes when Bradley’s out of sight.

“You’re being weird,” You accuse, leaning into Jake so you can get closer to his ear to be heard over the noise, “Well, you’re always weird, but you were being weird towards Bradley.”

“Was not.” Jake says haughtily, pouting lightly like a child. 

“You’re literally pouting right now.” You’re too tipsy to deal with him acting like you just took away his toy truck, and you poke his arm to emphasize your point. 

Jake immediately schools his expression before taking you by the arm and pulling you outside. His broad form clears the way for you and you do your best not to trip on any more beer cans. You two aren’t alone by any means, but here the sound has space to dissipate. There’s beer pong tables, a bonfire going (which, frankly, seems very unsafe), and people milling about. 

“Do you like Bradley?” The two of you are now standing off to the side of the sprawling deck behind the frat house, illuminated by a series of string lights that only seem slightly out of place for a frat house and Jake’s staring at you intently.

You shrug, “I mean, what’s not to like? It’s Bradley, I think we’re friends.” 

This is so awkward and you hate it with every fiber of your being.

He wrings his hands just a bit, and it strikes you that there’s a chance that he’s actually upset. It’s not the kind of annoyed that he always seems to take on when you two are going at it, it’s more genuine, like whatever he’s imagining might be enough to get him really worked up. He opens his mouth but then shuts it.

“Jake. What is wrong with me liking Bradley.” This is so ridiculous–standing in the backyard and trying to get Jake to talk about whatever issues he has or doesn’t with Bradley is probably almost as close to the opposite of socializing as just staying home would have been.

“You don’t like like him, though, right?” 

You roll your eyes and snap at him, “Jake, what is this, middle school?” He’s not calling you sweets, and when you notice, it bothers you just a tad more than you’d like to admit, “No, I like Bradley because he doesn’t yell at me when I correct his projections and he makes a mean chocolate chip cookie. He’s a friend.”

Everything about his demeanor changes in the oddest way when you say that, he peps up and it’s like the Jake that was pouty (jealous?) was never there, and he takes you by the hand, “Great! That’s solved then, let’s go play beer pong.”

You try to ignore the way you get emotional whiplash as he drags you over to the people standing around a folding table.

But you can’t help it. As Jake tries to teach you how to play beer pong you end up ruminating on whatever the hell that just was. Why would it bother Jake if you did “like like” Bradley? The two of you, you and Jake, could barely be classified as friends. Besides, as frat brothers, there’s no way both Jake and Bradley haven’t gotten around or even been with the same girl. No shame for anyone involved, but what’s his fucking deal? (And, Bradley’s a cutie, so what?) 

Eventually, you give up trying to figure out what Jake’s issue is as the two of you start losing at beer pong, and badly, given just how inebriated you are. Jake keeps trying to shout instructions every time you go to throw the ping pong ball and it keeps messing you up, so eventually you shove at him. He barely moves as he starts laughing at your anger.

“Jake! Stop messing me up!” You can feel how bad your coordination is from the alcohol as you stumble a bit as you lean your weight into him. “You’re making us lose!”

He can barely breathe through how hard he’s laughing at how far off your last shot had been, but he still steadies the both of you and wraps his arms around you, “Sweets you’re just too easy to mess up, oh my god. Are you even looking at the cups?”

You just hit his chest once as you start taking in the way that you’re pressed up against each other. He doesn’t let go of you. Instead, he just sort of lets you step back enough to have full control of your arms and continues standing at your side with his arms around your waist. Then, he starts leaning down to breathe instructions in your ear.

Normally you would find it in yourself complain about how gross having his breath in your ear is, but in that moment, already past tipsy and just enjoying the warmth of his body and skin against yours, all you can do is shiver. You fuck up your next shot worse than the last one. You hope it’s dark enough to cover how flustered you are as the patio lights glimmer weakly in the distance.

It takes your remaining sober thoughts to refocus on beer pong instead of how hard it hits you that you want Jake. 

It’s honestly the most fun you’ve had in a long, long, time and you lose yourself in it. Jake at your side, his arms wrapped around you, laughing loudly as you lose to team after team. He barely removes himself to make his shots. When he laughs it shakes your whole body. Every time he takes a step, he knocks your legs together so you move with him. 

You’ve continued drinking so you’re only getting progressively drunker and it only makes you focus on him more. You lose track of time completely and wholly.

Every time you turn to look at him or talk to him, Jake’s already looking at you. He keeps looking at your lips. In that moment, your rivalry, the project, and really, the entire world falls away. You have nothing to think about but how warm he is, how good he smells, and how you want to keep this moment in a jar so you can come back to it later. 

You think he might kiss you.

The moment breaks when you feel Jake’s phone start buzzing against your leg and he finally lets you go. In an instant, he takes a step back from you and his arms are gone. You didn’t realize just how much his body heat was keeping you warm in the cool evening air til he removes himself from you completely. You miss it immediately.

He steps off to the side, face completely impassive but frozen in a smile as he reads a text, and he starts typing furiously. The smile slides off your face as you think of all the girls in his phone who are probably waiting for his drunk “you up?” texts and you take a step back, putting more space between the two of you. Someone more important than you must want his attention.

“I, uh, I’ve got to go, sorry, sweets.” Jake says, but you don’t feel the apology as much as you do the rejection. It stings in the way a harsh winter wind burns at your cheeks, pricking your skin and raising the blood to your face.

Somewhere in your mind, you remember considering hooking up with someone tonight. That’s what people do, right? Get drunk, sleep with a stranger, then stumble home in last night’s outfit in the morning. And maybe somewhere along the way, maybe between drinks three and four, you’d thought about what it might be like to kiss Jake. At some point when you’d watched his eyes linger on your lips, you thought that was it.

You take a few steps back, trying to feel sober again, but swaying slightly without Jake to hold you, “Right.”

His face falls as he takes a step toward you, but the magic of the night is gone. There isn’t anyone standing on the opposite of the folding table anymore. The backyard is somehow too quiet despite the loudness coming from the house. Jake doesn’t reach for you when he sees the expression on your face. 

“I’ll uh, venmo you for the Uber.” His face betrays nothing but the cool indifference you remember from freshman year–are you really back to where you started after everything tonight?

Him offering to pay for you only makes you remember that you hate him–flirting with you all night then ditching you to go hook up with someone he actually likes. Classic Jake Seresin, everybody. 

-

You don’t care that he slept with someone else after how close the two of you were. You are deciding not to care. It does not bother you because you and Jake aren’t even friends, you are sworn enemies and the only reason you’re even going to these parties is so that you can ensure the project isn’t a flaming mess. 

You’re repeating these mantras to yourself from the moment you wake up, while you go to classes, while you avoid making eye contact with or speaking to Jake for fear he’ll know. You say it to yourself as you sit silently across from him in the library, headphones firmly over your ears so you don’t have to hear him ask if you want coffee. 

He brings you one anyway.

It’s clear that you are utterly failing to convince yourself, because all you can think about is how close he was, how the heat radiated off his body, how he smelled, and how his eyes flitted down to your lips ever so often. You feel like you want to crawl out of your own skin with the realization that you want Jake to want you. You’ve sort of always wanted his attention, it’s just that up until now it’s almost entirely been in the form of your little rivalry.

You find yourself scoffing as a thought comes to the forefront of your mind, It’s like in those romance novels. That shit does not happen to people like you.

The shame and desire washing through you reaches its peak when you find yourself biting into your fist with your hand between your legs a week after the party. All you can think about is how he’d smelled, how close he’d been to you, and the way his hands felt around your waist. You finish with a whine tearing itself from your chest and a deep sort of mortification coursing through your veins.

You can’t avoid him forever though, the work must go on. 

The thought of attraction goes as quickly as it comes when you find yourself sitting across from him at his and Bradley’s kitchen table again, the two of you bickering about a piece of analysis.

“Why do you refuse to listen to me, even the slightest bit, sweets? I’m literally second in our class, I can’t be an absolute idiot.” Jake looks at the ceiling as if some supernatural being will give him the strength to deal with you, and sighs heavily.

You clench your fists, “I’m not refusing to listen to you, Jake, I’m just telling you that you’re wrong.” You don’t remind him you’re first in the class.

Bradley walks in the kitchen, phone held casually in front of his face, a bag of chips grasped in his other hand. He stops to observe the two of you still arguing, now going on about a quiz question you two had disagreed on first semester sophomore year. He could be surprised that you and Jake have found something else to argue about, but then again Jake told him the two of you spent almost three straight hours arguing your first time together at the library. He’s also been witness to countless pointless fights about god knows what since the beginning of the semester.

“Can you two just fuck already, good god.” 

The room goes so quiet the only thing you can hear in your ears is your own heartbeat. Jake looks similarly mortified, cheeks turning red as he tucks his head to the side in clear embarrassment. The tips of his ears are bright red. 

Bradley, unaware of the absolute nuclear bomb that he just dropped, tucks his chips into the pantry, and leaves as the FaceTime call sound starts trilling from his phone. 

Neither you or Jake move. All you can think about is how you felt in that moment last Friday, Jake pressed up against you, his breath heavy in your ear, and his body solid and warm against you. You think about the way want had coursed through your veins when you’d been alone. But he doesn’t want you. His current reaction is evidence enough.

Jake’s the one to break the silence by muttering something under his breath. 

“What?” 

“I said, he’s one to talk.” He clears his throat and avoids eye contact.

You can’t take this, so you try to laugh a bit, but it sounds fake and tinny in your ears, “And I don’t know what he’s talking about. In case everyone’s lost their minds and forgotten, I do not like you, Jake Seresin.”

He laughs lightly in response and says, “People don’t use contractions when they’re lying.”

And you don’t really know what to say to that. Because you don’t really know if there is anything to say. So you decide not to say anything to that, at all.

“You still owe me twenty five dollars for the Uber.”

“Twenty five—“ Jake sputters, “Twenty five American dollars? Where the hell did you have him take you? Downtown and back!? You live twelve minutes from the house!”

“I tipped well.”

Jake mutters something about tipping culture being out of control but you still feel the way your phone buzzes so hard it rattles some pens strewn across the table.

-

When the second invite comes, you decide preemptively that you’re not going to drink. Your deal with Jake was about attending and staying for two hours, it said absolutely nothing about drinking or generally partaking in party activities. You don’t want a repeat of last time–you want the arousal that spikes your bloodstream every time you see his face to disappear as quickly as it came.

You’re avoiding Jake in the frat house by ducking into doorways and keeping an eye out for a blonde head of hair the best you can. At one point, Bradley spots you and sends a confused look your way, clearly scanning for Jake. He doesn’t do anything about it, you guess, because Jake doesn’t come running within the next ten minutes. 

Keeping yourself pressed to the wall where the music isn’t so loud but you also can’t hear the way people are very obviously doing drugs in the bathroom, you count down the minutes til you can leave. 

About five minutes before, you decide to sneak a peek in the kitchen one last time. Maybe you can rob these assholes of some Oreos or something as divine punishment–revenge of the nerds, or whatever.

When you get to the kitchen, you realize you’ve found Jake. His back is to you, and he seems to be holding court. Surrounding him is a group of frat brothers most of whom you don’t remember, with the exception of Javy, who’s leaning his elbows on the countertop and listening about as intently as a drunk person can. 

“She’s fucking stuck up man, I don’t know how you do it. I don’t think being that obnoxious is a requirement to be top of the class.” One of the frat brothers that usually surrounds Jake scoffs. 

You feel all the blood drain from your face and you suddenly feel like being sick. Backing away from the doorway to the kitchen you almost trip over your feet at the speed you’re trying to get away from the conversation, from Jake, from the frat house. 

There it is–there’s your out. Your ick, if you will. Jake, standing in his perfect kitchen, surrounded by a bunch of barely matured fraternity bros, talking shit about you. It’s not that the feelings of hatred weren’t technically mutual, but the extent to which you complain about Jake is usually limited to surface level shit. 

If you had stuck around for just a moment longer, you would’ve heard the way that he defended you over a chorus of agreement from around him, “C’mon man, it’s not like that. Don’t say shit like that about her. She’s under a lot of pressure and you’re kind of a dick in class anyway.”

But you don’t stick around. Instead, you push your way through the mass of bodies, accidentally stumble through a smoke circle, and you still seem so far away from the exit. You pass by Bradley again, and this time he’s with the girl that he insists is just a friend, but they seem too cozy for that in the moment. You don’t stop to say hi. 

When you finally get outside, your chest is heaving and you think you might be sick, alcohol aside. 

This is exactly why you focus on academics. They gave back as good as they got, never betrayed you, never let their friends talk shit about you. Academics never called you “stuck up”, stopping short of biting out the insult “bitch”. God you’re so stupid. 

You should’ve never let him get close, you should’ve stuck to the project and just finished it without ever learning more about Jake beyond the bare minimum. No evenings spent crowded around a countertop covered in textbooks and notes, Bradley humming in the background as he cooked something delicious. No letting Jake buy you coffee or cafeteria food. 

This is exactly what you deserve for letting him in.

----------

tagging: @roosterbruiser @joaquinwhorres @sometimesanalice @seresinsweetie @bobfloyds @theharddeck @jupitercomet @dempy @gigisimsonmars @sunsetsimpsblog @shanimallina87 @djs8891 @kajjaka @clancycucumber230 @desert-fern @bibitches-r-us @cruelmissdior @chaoticassidy @blue-aconite

[brandogenius]

omg could u write an headcanon of julien dating like an it girl? like maybe she’s an actress and super famous (maybe like tswift)??

pls pls pls and thank u

‼️RPF‼️

HC - julien x IT girl reader!

- everytime she sees you somewhere (a billboard or on tv) she’s taking a photo like “THATS MY GIRLFRIEND”

- comes to set when you are filming

- rockstar girlfriend vibes.

- she can be seen hanging out backstage when you’re playing just vibing to the music

- when it’s tour season she’s seen going on coffee runs in your merch

- when i say coffee runs i mean it. is on a mission to get coffee while you do soundcheck- side quests in different states

- you star in her music videos

- both of you rarely go out anymore together unless you both go undercover to not be recognised as fans.

- jb a little sad she can’t take you out to random coffee shops or museum dates anymore

- “we can just throw on a hat and glasses and hop for the best”

- jb is someone who would decline when you offer her free tickets to your shows “i want to experience what both of our fans feel trying to buy tickets”

- fighting ticketmaster for your tour dates “I DESERVE TO BE LET IN IM HER PARTNER”

- you end up saving julien the breakdown from staring at the “in the queue” menus on ticketmaster “baby you’re coming along with me anyway- stop stressing yourself out”

- sharing your bunks !!

- she’s given an ID badge to be around with ever since the first day of the tour security tried to shoo her away thinking she was a fan

- “just keep it with you for the entire tour. write in big bold letters IM THEIR GIRLFRIEND”

- julien sometimes likes to help out on the merch stand. consider you play stadiums, fans will find jb running one of the merch stalls.

- friendship bracelet trading. she prepares the night before. anyone who buys some merch, she takes out her little bag of bracelets and gives them one. putting the rest on her wrists to trade

- really loves to help out with the merch. it’s just a nice way to get to know the fans and help you out too

- having the boys as a special guest one night and the stadium goes crazy

- back to acting. promoting your new movie / tv series, jb is always behind the camera when you do interviews

- totally doesn’t get a bit jealous when you have a kissing scene.

- “just saying that should’ve been me”