#he looks like an Earl now

[fullscoreshenanigans]

Blank under cut:

[mmmairon]

All patched up

[mango-sideburns]

My fav thing about TAZ is that any aspect out of context sounds fucking bonkers.

Like, in the balance finale there's a scene in which Garfield (who is very specifically never described visually bc most people imagine him as like. The Lasagna Cat. Who in this universe is the most powerful warlock in the realm and also has a hobby of cloning people, which is great for the one character that got forced into haunting a mannequin) is summoned by an alien spaceship that runs on the power of friendship so he could beat up some flashing balls. In D&D.

And that was just. Such a normal scene in the narrative. No one blinked an eye. I would like to bow down to Griffins clear unmatched talent for making me feel such big emotions over ridiculous shit like a goddamned umbrella or a regular ass pair of jeans or the idea of a taco recipe.

[earl-grey-crow]

SCREAMING SOBBING WHAT DID I JUST WATCH

[grover-underwoods-biggest-fan]

finally posting unwind art again

[orangeearlgrey]

Me when I think my dad is cool and admirable

[inkskinned]

people have to make their own choices and make their own mistakes and you know that but you're on your third gin cocktail.

she's almost-angry while she talks. "he took the train with me. all the way home. it's an hour in the wrong direction." she's got a bright yellow raincoat and round glasses. she looks cute and thoughtful and like she reads books a lot. she's his type and you know that.

the bartender rolls her eyes and points to you. "he drove this one to her grandma's house. six hours both ways."

you were younger then, hadn't ever kissed a girl yet. were still saying "bicurious" because of your irish catholic family. it was so long ago skinny jeans were still socially acceptable.

and you'd met him, and he'd been perfect. his narrow face and dark hair and his wry self-deprecation. and - okay, yes, the fact he was a singer/songwriter was also hot. you liked the feeling of sundays with him, the two of you noodling through his new songs together while you slowly learned to play bass guitar. you liked writing his name on your converse. you liked his ironic "mom" tattoo and his fancy coffee obsession and his scrappy handwriting.

you didn't know, then, what kind of man he was. maybe he didn't either; he was young too. you say it into your earl-grey-gin-something. "he has... a playbook, i guess. the things he does... he does it with everyone."

she looks at you with wide, beautiful eyes. jesus christ, she's young. "we stood outside in the rain, just talking," she says. "i know that can't be fake. i have a ton of, like. examples here. he's a good guy. you should have seen him. i'm not, like, a complete idiot."

did you play defense attorney with him like this? did you bristle when others warned you about how quickly he leaves women?

you gnaw the thin black straw and stare at the other side of the building, where his band is setting up to play. you have no true rage against him, but it's not fun to watch him ruin other women. "did he get you a little stuffed animal yet?" yours had been a panda.

she stares at you and then nods, just once, stiffly.

you hold out your hand and start listing things, weighing them on your fingers. "did he tell you that he'd never seen someone like you, that you move like a dancer or something?" at her nod, you continue. "buys you ice cream and then drives up to the river to watch the stars? shows up at your place just because he missed your voice? takes you to the pet store to look at the fish?"

the bartender points at you. "don't forget he does that little dog game he does."

you close your eyes. you remember him in his stupid leather jacket, bouncing on his toes. he'd gotten the petstore clerk to allow him to handle a ferret. you had vibrated with joy, wrestling the noodle bodies from hand to hand. and then he'd said we're going to live together. we're going to get a big dog and a big lawn and -

"you get into a fake fight about what you'll name the dog," you monotone.

"chili," she says. she sets her jaw a little higher, and you catch a flash of muscle clenching. "we settled on chili. it's gonna be an irish setter."

the bartender snorts while she maneuvers deftly through making a batch of espresso martinis. "sounds about right. now i've got two rotties, but when that shit happened to me? we chose Portland. and we were gonna get a samoyed." she snorts again. "as if he could afford that grooming bill."

you had actually started that conversation in the pet store. you wanted a big, slobbery dog. a mutt, but a big mutt. something mastiff-like. something that you could walk alone at night with. your family has a tradition of "letting the dog name itself," where you'd write all the potential names on a piece of paper and then throw them. whatever the dog went to, it'd be the dog's name.

but he had said name it something girly since it's so big. he suggested Lavender or Pansy. at the time you'd thought it was funny and cut and sort of sweet. he wanted to pick up a dog from the ASPCA that weekend, he said. i'm gonna go get us Lavender. you hadn't learned yet that he would promise you a river but never even deliver a raindrop.

"it's like this every time, babe," the bartender says, not unkindly. "i'm sorry. i've seen too many like this, and you seem like a sweet kid."

the other woman bristles. "i'm not a kid. thanks for your advice. but." she stands up, slaps a ten down, stalks away.

the bartender looks at you and holds her hands up and shrugs. you shake your head and look down into the drink, stirring it idly.

"do you think he's written her the four lines yet?" the bartender asks, pushing a drink to someone.

you almost flinch, but don't. you'd been in the back shed, practicing together. he said he had a present for you - the beginnings of a new song. really just a couplet more than anything, barely more than 30 seconds. it should have made you feel glorious, feral, glowing.

but you had stood there, realizing you had books of songs about him, none of which he ever agreed to play. the song he'd written you had floated through the room and you felt strange and disconnected and insane all at once - it was such a vapid, stupid stanza he'd made. and then he said that terrible phrase - i love you babe.

and you had been suddenly both very out of your body and also very present, thinking: oh my god this guy is a buffoon and i'm wasting my time. the spiralbound notebook with pages of poems and lyrics and stories you'd written for him is now stashed in some rubbermaid. you'd wanted to burn it at first, but the effort had exhausted you.

the four lines of song are usually pretty banal - something about her eyes, something about her smile, something about how she's special. but they work. they always work, because people want to believe in the magical commodity of love - that it cannot be manufactured.

later in the night you watch that man get on stage and sing punk rock to a thinning crowd. he takes the time out of the setlist to try out a "new song" that goes out to his girl in the crowd, all of 30 seconds of music. he says he likes her eyes and her smile and she's special.

you think about stopping her physically. you think about showing her the group chat of exes in your phone. you think of how young she is - maybe 22? - and how you, at 22, would have told your current self fuck right off. you had believed it too, after all. people need to make their own choices. besides. maybe you're wrong. maybe this time it actually is that precious, starry, once-in-a-lifetime love.

you see her kiss him afterwards, her cheeks pink. it looks like a puppy being swallowed by a wolf. you have to check the floor to make sure no blood was spilled.

[beloveds-embrace]

Bakery/coffee shop au where you had a very specific policy: you never served people what they asked for.

It wasn’t out of spite, nor was it an act of rebellion against customer service norms. It was simply your way of making sure people got exactly what they needed rather than what they thought they wanted.

Most of your regulars had adapted to this- especially the elderly man who came in every morning demanding a single plain scone and left delighted with a caramel-drizzled apple turnover. But then you got a new group of people.

The first time they walked into your bakery, you knew exactly what kind of men they were.

Soldiers. Hardened, disciplined, probably running on fumes and caffeine, and if the way they carried themselves wasn’t an indication, it was their clothes. Though you weren’t surprised; there was a base nearby, and you’d wondered when soldiers would start dropping by.

They carried the weight of long nights and heavier burdens, eyes scanning every corner of your cozy little shop like it was some kind of trap. Which, to be fair, it might have been.

Because nobody left your bakery with what they ordered.

The first stepped up to the counter. Blue eyes settled on you, sharp and assessing, like he expected you to obey just like that..

“Black coffee, love. No sugar, no cream.”

You glanced him over. Stiff shoulders, exhaustion hanging off him like a heavy coat. He needed warmth. Comfort. Something to loosen the knots in his back before they set in permanently.

“Got it.” You said.

Next up was the one in the balaclava. Tall, imposing, eyes dark as pitch. “Tea. No sugar, no milk.”

You raised an eyebrow. Tea wasn’t a bad choice, but judging by the way his fingers twitched against the counter, he wasn’t looking for something soothing- he was looking for something mindless, something habitual. He needed a bit of a shake-up.

“Sure thing.” You lied.

The third one leaned against the counter. The cap on his head was placed strategically to make him look more attractive than he already was when he tilted his head. “Americano.”

“Of course.” You said, already planning something completely different.

And then there was the last one. Built like a tank, with a mohawk and a Scottish accent.

“Black coffee.” He said.

You nearly laughed. Absolutely not.

With their orders taken- and their fates decided- you got to work.

A few minutes later, you carried their drinks to their table, sliding them in front of each man with a satisfied smile.

Mutton Chops was the first to frown. He stared at the London Fog in front of him, the soft scent of lavender and vanilla wafting up from the cup.

“…This isn’t black coffee.” He said.

“Nope.” You hummed. “It’s Earl Grey, steamed milk, touch of honey. You looked like you needed something smooth. Something to relax.”

He studied you for a moment, then grumbled something under his breath and took a sip. His beard twitched slightly- almost a smile.

Balaclava, meanwhile, was frozen in place, staring at his Mexican hot chocolate like it might explode. “This isn’t tea.”

“You do actually like tea, but I think you shouldn’t be ordering it.” You mused. “You just drink it because it’s simple and familiar. This? Better than tea for now.”

He didn’t respond, so you continued.

“The chocolate’s warm, familiar, but the spice gives it a bit of a kick. Keeps you from getting too comfortable.”

Cap Guy was next, looking between his caramel macchiato and you with a raised eyebrow.

“Not an Americano.” he (uselessly) pointed out.

“Americano is boring,” you said with a grin. “You seem like the kind of guy who enjoys something sweet. Indulgent.”

He gave you a slow, considering look, then took a sip. His lips parted slightly, eyes widening as the caramel hit his tongue. “…Alright. Fair play.”

Then there was Mohawk.

He had been quiet the whole time, but now, he gawked at the Black Forest frappuccino in front of him like you had just served him a live grenade.

“Are you serious?” he demanded. “I asked for black coffee.”

“And I ignored you.” You gestured to the drink, entirely unapologetic. “You’re buzzing with energy, but you’re also dead on your feet. Black coffee would just make you more jittery. This, though? Sugar, chocolate, cherries- it’ll wake you up and make you happy. Ta-da!”

He eyed the extravagant swirl of whipped cream and chocolate shavings like it personally offended him. Then, cautiously, he took a sip.

Silence.

Then, in a hushed voice, “…Steamin’ Jesus.”

“Well, I only steam milk here… but I’ll take this as a compliment. Enjoy, gentlemen!”

Yeah, you knew exactly what kind of men they were. It might be just a touch too confident of you… but you know they would no doubt return.

[blackkatdraws2]

[Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint] 5 years of waiting for Han Myungoh to reappear in the manhwa only for him to be changed into a completely new person. Disappointment.

[NOTE: I don't have anything against people who like Han Myungoh's Demon Earl design.] This will be me ranting/venting about Han Myungoh's new design. Don't get me wrong, I still like Han Myungoh. I love him a lot, I'm just letting out my frustration.

-------

"There were many small wrinkles on Han Myungoh’s face. Moreover, his whole skin was blackened. Putting aside the wrinkles, the skin discoloration was a sign of a species variation. The longer I looked, the more I could see the old face. Still, many human traces were missing and it was hard to know without looking closely." - chapter 204, Unidentified Wall

-------

Getting this out of the way before I start: I know that the manhwa design is accurate to the novel description, I know that there are many technical reasons why his design in the manhwa differs from merch/official art/etc., and I'M NOT HATING ON HAN MYUNGOH'S NEW DESIGN.

Okay.

I'm sad at the manhwa version of Han Myungoh's demon form.

Particularly, I'm upset since I doubt they'd make such a drastic change with any of the other KDJ Co. members. [There's Kim Dokja's demon form, but even then I could still tell that it's Kim Dokja, unlike with Han Myungoh.]

I knew he was gonna look different but something this drastic makes me feel distressed. Han Myungoh was the first, and currently still the only comfort character I have in my life, which is surprising since I never expected to even have a comfort character. Loved him in the novel, loved him even more when he was finally drawn by artists, then the manhwa adaptation trailer dropped and I was PUMPED.

I think what really pisses me off even more is that there's barely anything about him in the first place. I live off of scraps. I really only read the manhwa for him if I'm being honest, I prefer the novel ORV. I've waited for so long for him to finally appear in future chapters again, and when he does come back, he's completely unrecognizable!

It's not even the fact that HMO got redesigned, it's the fact that he looks like a completely different character! What happened?! That's not him, who is that?!

Like, just put yourself in my shoes for a second. Imagine Yoo Joonhyuk disappearing for the entirety of the manhwa adaptation and then when his long awaited comeback is here, he suddenly has long white hair, blue eyes, a chiseled jawline and a completely different outfit, like- you see where I'm coming from, right?!

I'm genuinely so distraught over this lmao, like /gen /extremely neg.

With that out of the way, I've processed this loss for a long time now and I've accepted the fact that I'll never see "Han Myungoh" in the manhwa ever again. I will love both designs even if I favor one more than the other, because it's Han Myungoh and I love Han Myungoh. I'll love him even if he was a worm.

[mrsparrasblog]

Regency Simon pt2

pt 1

Regency Simon, who tried to despise you so that keeping away from you would be easier.

Regency Simon, who soon realized he wasn't only mesmerized by your beauty but also found you witty, funny, and full of love.

Regency Simon, who was secretly happy to see you walking down the aisle.

Regency Simon, who realized you hated him because if he hadn't run after you, you might have married someone who was in love with you.

Regency Simon, who never went to the brothel and let Earl Garrick explain everything about his husbandly duties.

Regency Simon, who busted his load the second after he removed your clothes.

Regency Simon, who is a virgin (one of the only males in the ton) and acted clumsily on your wedding night, his thick, clueless fingers trying to find the spot Kyle mentioned.

Regency Simon, who still didn't have penetrative sex with you, not wanting to entertain the idea of having children.

Regency Simon, who mastered the female anatomy after a few weeks, and both of you were content with your love life.

Regency Simon, who noticed how you talked with the children of the ton and looked at them.

Regency Simon, who hated himself for not giving you what you desired.

Regency Simon, who heard you crying after the ton called you infertile after two years of childless marriage.

Regency Simon, who couldn't stand that you were an outcast too.

Regency Simon, who listened to you when you told him he wouldn't turn out like his father.

Regency Simon, who finally sleeps with you after three years of marriage.

Regency Simon, who is now addicted to the feeling of your gummy walls pulsing around him.

Regency Simon, who is six years later the father of five children.

Regency Simon, who is, in fact, not like his father.

[nocturne-of-neptune]

Sleep schedule always messed up somehow and I started this drabble at 4 AM after only two hours of sleep soooo earlybird!price x nightowl!reader

5.30 AM. Price woke up. Even on leave, he woke up pretty early. His darling was sleeping still. He felt an urge to go to the bathroom, yet stayed still for a moment to admire the sleeping beauty in his arms. He couldn't help but trace every feature of your face with his fingers. The hint of gloom under your lashes made him sigh. To be honest, he dislikes your habit of staying up late. It's unhealthy. He tried to help you fix it. You end up relapsing back to your old habit when he was on deployment. Said you couldn't sleep when he wasn't there with you. Ah, he always can't get angry when you stare at him with your drowsy gaze. Gentle kisses on the dark circles under your eyes to make up for his guilt, were they enough?

Eventually, he untangled himself from you to go to the bathroom. Years in the military made him feel restless when he stayed in bed for too long. He sauntered to the kitchen. Followed by quiet movement to make breakfast for both of you so as to not arouse you from your sleep.

One hour later the breakfast was ready. He cleaned the kitchen first, hesitated to wake you up this early. Besides, the breakfast would still taste good even if it went cold; he made sure to toast the bread crunchy and buttery just like how you love it. So he took a moment to relax. Read a newspaper on the couch with a cup of Earl Grey tea.

"Mornin'..."

Your sleepy voice and arms around his neck surprised him. He looked up at you. "Love, why are you up this early?"

"Just because," you murmured.

"You clearly still sleepy, love." He tilted his face up, planted a kiss on your jawline. "Go back to sleep."

"Nooo... You are not in the bed." You whined. Head tilted to ask for more of his kisses. Arms tightened around his neck. "And I smelled butter toast from the kitchen. Makes me hungry."

He let out a fond sigh. Reached to caress your face. "Yes, I've made the breakfast already. Want to eat now?"

You nodded your head. Hand in hand walked to the kitchen, Price made a mental note to tuck you back to bed after breakfast. As much as he wanted you to be an early bird like him, your drowsy face melted his heart. He would join you in bed later.

[losersiren]

𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭

"𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒽, 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒.” CW: Fem reader (she/her), possessiveness, suggestive Note: This is my first time writing something like this and posting it...go easy on me o(>< )o

The chandlers decorated the ceiling above the spacious ballroom, giving a gentle glow to the people filling said ballroom. The social season has just started to blossom, giving men and women room to court each other if one is blessed with the opportunity for such an experience. Catching the eye of a reliable suitor is quite troublesome– most of the men here do not fit any of your requirements, and if they did, they would suddenly be caught in a scandal of sorts, causing them to be an outcast. Not a good look on you or your family name.

You idly toy with the fan in your hand, your gaze sweeping over the sea of faces in the room. The task at hand feels insurmountable, and finding a suitable suitor in this town is daunting. Perhaps, you muse, debuting late was a misstep, a decision that now seems to mock you. You could always become a spinster…and ruin your reputation and lineage because you choose such an idiotic choice… regrettably it may be the easier option. 

“Pray tell why you’re glued to this corner as if you’re some wallflower,” A witty baritone voice whispers in your ear, the hairs of your neck standing upright while a cold shiver runs down your spine.

The sense of familiarity washes over you, and the resentment still lingers from years ago makes its way forward. The Earl’s son, your childhood close friend, who left you without a word after he said he’d be there for you.

What a bastard

“Have you ever heard of personal space? Or have you forgotten the amount of lectures your mother ingrained into your head on etiquette when you were just a brat?” You bite back with venom coating every word you spit out. You place your fan on your left ear.

”Ah, I see.” He steps back and gives you space. “You’ve become cold-hearted towards me since my departure overseas. I was only gone for a mere moment.” He switches his position from behind you to in front of you. He takes up your whole vision, his maturity, more evident now since the last time you saw him as a juvenile boy. It's been a few years, hasn't it? Yet he still has his teasing nature; no boarding school or amount of lectures can take that away from him. He bows a little lower than he should, his right hand to the opposite shoulder and his left arm behind his back. He looks up at you with those oh-so-regretful grey eyes. “I wholeheartedly apologize for departing overseas in such an impulsive matter without even notifying you in any way. I should’ve sent you letters and a hoard of messenger doves to accompany you”. “But I did not, and for that, my Lady, I've made a significant sin in your eyes– I do not deserve your forgiveness, but oh, if you could grant me such a pleasure.”

His voice is as quiet and soft as a starving mouse stealing food from a kitchen, careful for only your ears to pick up his pleas for forgiveness. Just as though you were a goddess punishing him, which he should be reprimanded tenfold in his eyes, who was he to abandon you without a trace? Though the situation before was entirely out of his hands, he didn’t want to go to that goddamned private school that was away from you; he fought tooth and nail not to go. Every house servant had to push and hold him down because he kept fighting; even his family members were victims of his wrath. His father, The Earl, still has fading scars from that night years ago.

He should’ve fought harder for you.

People around you start noticing; who wouldn’t? One of the most prestigious Earls of this country’s only son is bowing dishonourably low, borderline grovelling like a peasant caught stealing a measly loaf of bread. You feel eyes turning onto you, women whispering between their fans to one another, wondering in what predicament the next-in-line Earl would be for him to be embarrassingly bowing to a one-of-a-mill daughter of a viscount—a rank lower than him and a woman at that; your fan placement is not making it look better. Immediately change the position of your fan from your left ear to twirling it in your left hand, hoping he understands the situation he has put not only him but you in.

 He only smiles in return. “Stand straight; You look like a fool.” You hiss, “Do I have your forgiveness, Darling?” a scoff escapes your mouth. “That is either here or there! Be proper. Others are watching.” That doesnt deter him, nor does he care about them. “So my apology wasn't sufficient? Since you are thinking about everyone else but me.” More eyes make their way onto the pair of you, and whispers grow with the exchange of gossip. “You’re acting like a child-” He cuts you off. “Shall I go on my knees for you? I mean, I wouldn’t mind, but preferably, I would love to be in a more…secluded environment.” A smirk graces his lips at the thought. “Or shall I kiss your feet-” 

“You are a soon-to-be- Earl! Has that school taught you nothing? God, you’ve become more insufferable, I swear.” Your face feels warmer now, and embarrassment takes over you from his childish yet sincere teasing.

The young lord’s eyes fixated on you, on your lips, how your dress accentuates your already perfect self, your hands, oh, how he wishes to feel them against his. The years it's been since he saw you, he could listen to you scold him for hours on end; it doesn’t matter what you are saying. Just hearing your voice is enough. God knows it's been too long since he’s been deprived of you. He thanks his past self for sabotaging whatever male decided to even think of courting you. Though he was far away, his social standing never changed.

The lord decided by the second month he was away from you to pay his old servants to send him as much information as possible on the vermins that would try to nestle their way into your life. He would…No, he has ruined anyone who wanted to get in between you two. And he’ll keep it that way. You’ve stolen his heart since meeting him as a lad.

“So you wish for me to kneel? As you wish.” He starts to kneel; gasps can be heard. But you stop him, holding his shoulders upright; his eyes widen as you touch him.

You’re so close

“I forgive you…I forgive you…”

“I forgive you, Ambrose…”

Oh…

His name on your tongue….

His mind blanks. Has he gone to heaven? Oh, you sweet angel, you have him wrapped around your finger. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

His smile is blinding as he stands and looks down at you.

“Then now that's settled…May I have the honour of a dance with yours truly?”

.." Or shall I beg more?"

End Notes: Fun fact (not really): I based most of this post on The Regency era, and that includes fan language! That is why I described the readers' actions with it. Placing the fan on your left ear means "I wish to get rid of you." Twirling the fan with your left hand means "We are watched." Thought that would be something fun to add (^.^)

[earl-grey-crow]

season three of the way home and I'm back on my nonsense

[rafesteddy]

𝓕𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂

🄸 🄻🄾🅅🄴 🅈🄾🅄 🄸'🄼 🅂🄾🅁🅁🅈

𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚆𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍

𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐭!𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔, 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑.

cw | smut, swearing, pet names, jealousy, possessiveness, unprotected p in v, squirting, fighting, name-calling, fingering, reader tries to make rafe jealous, cyberbullying, make up sex, intox

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐𝓖𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓗𝔂𝓪𝓽𝓽 𝓚𝓪𝓾𝓪𝓲 𝓡𝓮𝓼𝓸𝓻𝓽, 𝓗𝓪𝔀𝓪𝓲𝓲

The waves crash against the shore, a steady pulse that should be soothing, but your mind is elsewhere. You swirl your fruity cocktail, watered-down from nursing it for the last few hours, as your mind becomes consumed with thoughts of Rafe and why he hadn’t called. It hadn’t just been a day… three, to be exact. 

Rafe being busy wasn’t unusual… Greek life occupied him between meetings, events, school, and whatever else took up his time when you weren’t around. But the silence felt different this time. Deliberate even.

You open Instagram, tap his profile, and see nothing.

Topper…

You open Topper’s story, seeing your boyfriend smiling at a frat house dinner, a beer in his hand, and his phone resting on the table next to his plate of spaghetti. Your stomach twists as you think about him catching the messages you sent, seeing your face on his screen as your call comes through, choosing to let it go to voicemail. 

Your heart breaks a little more as Topper’s next story plays; Rafe packed in the back of an Uber with some friends, headed out to the bars. The following story plays from a different perspective. One row closer to the front, Rafe’s blurry face, caught in the background of her selfie. 

Kaylor Jane... Bleach blonde hair, statuesque, the type of woman who never seemed to doubt her place in the world. She’d been around before—at frat parties, lingering at different social events the boys had on campus. 

You blow out your air nice and slow, hating yourself for doing it, but you open up her profile nonetheless. 

She’s an influencer—an Alex Earle doppelgänger—with a decent following for her makeup and lifestyle posts; a mini-celebrity on campus, to say the least. 

Your stomach falls as you see the thumbnail of her evening’s Get Ready With Me—sporting an oversized Phi Delta Theta shirt. You breathe a sigh of relief, your mind instantly screaming that it’s Rafe’s, eased as you catch the year scrolled across the bottom, the shirt obviously thrifted. 

Posted 51 minutes ago | 10,657 Likes |  180 comments

@/rafecameron001: 🔥🔥🔥

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your jealousy in check, but then again, why is he commenting that? Why the hell is he on her page? Why the fuck is he commenting on her shit and not messaging you back? 

@/yourname2: ? 

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself as you see your comment below Rafe’s, angry with yourself for sending it in the first place, but now it’s too late. The last thing you were going to do was delete it. 

You log out of the app, slamming your eyes shut as you try not to let your emotions get the best of you. It was nothing scandalous—just a fire emoji, simple and vague. But your gut twists regardless. 

Rafe wasn’t the type to comment on random posts—he wasn’t even the type to browse social media. He went looking for this. Your self-control lasts a minute, tops, and when you open the app again, you see that her PFP has shifted back to pink again, making your heart and mind race knowing she uploaded another story. 

Another selfie, a dimly lit bar you recognized, packed wall-to-wall. And again, just like in the cab, you see Rafe’s blurry face posted up behind her. You bite your cheek, debating whether or not you want to make this worse for yourself as you read the caption at the bottom of the picture with a link to the Live stream on her TikTok page. 

And just like before, your curiosity gets the best of you. 

You click the link, quickly joining the live stream. Muffled music pours from your phone speakers as she and her friend lean into the camera, welcoming familiar names as they enter the room. 

Your stomach falls as you see your username roll across the feed. Her eyes brighten, glossy lips curling into a smile. 

“Ohhh, look who just joined,” Kaylor coos, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. 

Her friend sees the name as well. She chuckles cruelly, giving her friend a side eye before looking back at the screen. 

“Long time no see,” she chirps, not even mentioning your name, but you know she’s talking about you, recalling the one civics class you took together in junior year. You swallow hard, grip tightening around your phone. 

Kaylor flicks her hair over her shoulder, adjusting her Princess Polly top, her tanned tits squished between the low, swooping neckline, making the boys in the comments go insane. 

Her eyes glitter in amusement as she sees it all, reading a few comments with her friend as she laughs. 

“Wait,” she gasps, lifting her hand up to her lips. “How rude of me. You probably wanna say ‘hi’ to him, huh?” She adds, circling back to you, dragging out the last utterance like it’s a joke. 

She reaches out her manicured hand, pulling Rafe into the frame. “Rafey, babe, come here for a sec,” she purrs. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles. Rafe smiles down at her first before looking at the camera. Your chest tightens as you watch the moment unfold in front of you in real-time. 

“Say ‘hi,’” she giggles, and he finally tears his eyes away. He drops his hands to his knees, far taller than Kaylor, squinting slightly in the low lighting as he reads the comments from her thirsty viewers as they gush about him. 

@/miamibabe11: Omg he’s so hot

@/danigirl11: Ally is he your man???

@/tarahhh34231: Wait are they dating??

@/southernbellee7: He’s BLUSHING

@/stacyrae96: BIG BOY KAYLOR omg does it hurt? 

@/fallenonthefield: Does he go to FSU

@/stacyrae96: Frat boy huh? 

@/danigirl11: What’s his @

Rafe laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks a little pink in the glow of the camera. “Damn, y’all are wild,” he chuckles, clearly eating up the attention you’ve been wanting to give him. And then, Kaylor twists the knife. 

Her hand wraps around his big bicep as she leans into the frame, resting her head on his shoulder to get a better look at the comments coming in. 

“You’re fuckin’ taking my gig, Rafey,” he flirts. “They like you more than me. Why do you like him more than me?” She teases through a laugh. “Rafey… I brought you over here to say ‘hi’ to y/n, but I guess he got distracted by all these beautiful babes,” she praises her guests, making the feed flood with likes and comments again as Rafe’s expression changes slightly.

“Oh. Hey, baby,” he hums, and if you didn’t know him better, you’d think he wasn’t losing his shit completely. 

That bright smile he had plastered all over his lips falters. His strong jaw tenses, broad shoulders straightening as his eyes dart away.

“Oh, thanks, Rafe.” Kaylor’s voice is so sugary and sweet that it’s borderline smug. She reaches out, taking a cocktail from his hand before passing another to her friend. “You got these for us, right?” She asks as Rafe steps out of the frame. “Aww, thank you, love. Your boyfriend’s the sweetest.” 

Kaylor lifts the mixed drink to her lips, taking a slow sip as she bounces to the song's beat, letting the moment stretch out before striking again. “Oh shit, babe. Speaking of, I saw your little comment on my post earlier,” she says as she batts her long lash extension at the camera. “All you commented was a question mark,” she huffs confusedly, tilting her head slightly. “Did you have a question for me, or?” The chat explodes with comments—people wondering what she was talking about, wanting context and the platform so they could check it out themselves. 

@/xoxomelody: No way It was on the GRWM she replied that under her boyfriends post 💀💀💀💀

@/urfavcassie: He liked what he saw

@/nattyspams: Omg y/n leave that man

@/notannie: Omg no way this is so messy

@/officialabby: Is his gf watching?? LMAO

@/theyluvsara: She caught him red-handed

@/iloveerin08: Ally you’re EVIL for this I love it

@/cinnamongirl567: Rafe bro say something

Without responding, Kaylor blows the camera a few quick kisses, ending the Live. 

Your heart thumps in your ears as your phone trembles in your hands. You stare out at the ocean as tears shimmer in your eyes. You look down at your phone, half-expecting to see a notification from Rafe, but still, nothing comes in; not a text, not a call, nothing. 

You walk toward the bar, avoiding your little group of girls as you step around, hiding out for the moment, knowing that if anyone asked you what was wrong, you’d fall apart. 

You belly up to the bar, ordering a drink. Your body jolts as your phone buzzes against the bar top, rattling as Rafe’s face and name lights up your screen. And even though you’ve been waiting for days, you ignore it initially, wanting him to sweat it out—too stunned and too nauseous to process what had just happened. 

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Rafe: Baby, please pick up.

Rafe: My phone died at the bar. I swear I would’ve called you sooner if I could.

Rafe: I know how bad that looked. I know. Just let me explain.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh even if there is an “explanation” you know what you saw. The comment on her picture, the lingered gazes, that smile that has, to your better knowledge, been reserved for you and you alone. 

You stare at the messages, feeling your chest tighten. And just when you’re about to cave, another one comes in. 

Rafe: Please baby

Your jaw clenches, thumbs drumming over the keyboard, only to delete. There were a million things you wanted to say…

You: So now you text me Rafe?

You watch as he starts to type a message, then deletes it like you did. 

Rafe: You’re on a trip with your girls Princess. I was trying to give you some space so you didn’t have to worry about me.

You: Jesus Christ Rafe are you fucking kidding me? 

Rafe: What?

You: I am texting you I obviously want you to reply

Rafe: I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy.

You: Not that busy

Rafe: What are you talking about? 

You: You have not been busy enough not to reply to a text. Just stop.

Rafe: I swear baby

You: Did you know that in the time you took to send her 🔥🔥🔥 you could have said goodnight to me?

You: You let her make a fool of me on Live Rafe

He reads it immediately. Three dots pop up, then disappear. Then pop up again.

Rafe: I didn’t know she was gonna do that. I swear, I wasn’t thinking. I was just trying to be nice and then it got out of hand.

You scoff and shake your head. Trying to be nice?

You: Buying drinks for her and her friend? Laughing when everyone in the chat thought you were with her? Blushing when she flirted with you? That was you just being nice?

Rafe: It wasn’t like that

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The worst part was that it was like that. You saw it with your own eyes. You tip your head back, trying to keep your tears in your eyes. 

Rafe: Baby? 

You: Why are you commenting on her pictures Rafe?

Rafe: Baby…

You: Answer me

You: If I go through your activity right now will I find more??? More comments like that? 

The dots appear again. Then disappear. You laugh bitterly, shaking my head. That’s what I thought.

You: You didn’t expect me to see it did you?

You close your eyes, picturing him pacing his room, stressed, running his fingers through his hair, jaw locked, fingers hovering over his screen as he tries to think of something to say that’ll dig himself out of this hole.

Rafe: We’re in the same accounting class. We’re working on a project together. She’s really nice but I don’t like her. She was wearin an old frat shirt from my house princess. It was only abt that. I was just messing around and I didn’t mean shit by it. Look at my phone you’ll see I have nothing to hide from you. Nothing. I wasn’t thinking.

You: That’s the problem Rafe. You weren’t thinking about me at all.

You stare at your screen, scrubbing away a tear as it puddles on the glass, as you wait for his reply.  

New Notification: Friend Request Kaylor Jane

Your blood boils as you see her name on your feed. Your fingers move on autopilot, rechecking her feed. It’s a short clip—just a few seconds long of Kaylor and her friend from her Live stumbling down Main Street in their heels as they head toward a cab. 

She lifts her hand, sticking up her middle finger; her tongue bit between her perfect teeth. Her hair whips in the wind, tits bouncing with each leggy step she takes as an Ariana Grande song plays. 

Song | break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored - Ariana Grande

🎶 “Break up with your girlfriend. Yeah. Yeah. ‘Cause I bored.” 🎶

@/xokaylorjane: Caption | Night’s not over yet 😉

The caption doesn’t even have to say where they’re going for you to know exactly where they’re headed. Her beautiful friend flashes the Phi Delt hand side before linking her arm with Kaylor. 

The post has only been up for seconds, but the comments have already begun. Most people following from her TikTok Live to her IG account, curious about why she left so. 

@/urfavoriteblonde: Wait where are y’all going now??

@/wtflola: Omg frat house afterparty??

@/miamidance21: She’s doing Rafe raw. next question.

@/umiamiluvr: Rafe’s house?? 👀

@/umiamiluvr: Girl you better know how to fight???? 

@/theyluvsara: Girlfriend’s gonna be PISSED LMAOtf

@/nattyspams: If I was y/n I’d be losing my shit 

Your fingers feel numb as you watch the clip again, then again, all while notifications continue to roll in from Rafe. You switch to his account, scrolling through pictures you’ve seen a hundred times before, but this time, you aren’t looking at him; you are looking for her.

@/xokaylorjane: Looking good rafey

@/xokaylorjane: Damn okayyy 👏

@/xokaylorjane: Drop the ab routine

@/xokaylorjane: 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

@/xokaylorjane: I see you Rafey

Rafe never replied—not once—but he liked every one. Every. One. You recalled him talking about his group project in Accounting; the timestamps of her comments at least cooperated with his story.

How had you missed this? 

And this wasn’t some random girl shooting her shot, either… This was someone Rafe knew. This was someone he talked to in class. Someone he spent time with at the library, someone comfortable enough to get a free drink from him. To drag him into her Live just to humiliate you. 

To everyone else, it was her flirting, and him, letting it happen. Which was embarrassing in and of itself. 

Rafe is jealous. There’s no way he would even allow a single comment to slip by without him noticing. And there’s no way he’d be okay with the shit that happened tonight.

Fucking hypocrite. 

You can barely breathe as you hit the call button, pressing it to your ear as you step away from the bar and walk toward the beach. 

“Hey, baby,” Rafe babbles—breathless as he picks it up on the second ring. 

The noise in the background is insane: loud music, shouting, laughter, the typical sounds of a frat party. 

“Are you partying right now, Rafe? Are you serious?” You scoff; the noise on the other end fading away as you utter the last word. 

Rafe let out a frustrated sigh. “Baby, I was literally just brushin’ my teeth. You’re eight thousand miles away right now… I couldn’t get to you if I tried, alright? I already looked. I’m gettin’ ready for bed.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not, princess. Why would I wanna party now? You’re obviously pissed… With good reason,” he recovers quickly. “I just wanna talk to you and go to bed. I want this night to be over with, okay? What’s going on, baby?”

“It sounds like you have a lot to hide, Rafe.” 

“I don’t…” He answers gently. “I swear. She’s been tryin’ to talk to me for two weeks; I’m not gonna lie about that. I didn’t ask her to come out tonight. That drink… I owed her a drink for doin’ my part of the PowerPoint ‘cause I procrastinated like usual. I shouldn’t have done it, regardless. I would have killed someone if they were doin’ that shit for you.” 

“That was so embarrassing, Rafe.” 

“I know… I know, baby. I’m sorry,” whispers his voice, desperate and tired. “I left the bar. I came home. I’m not out partying. What else do you need? I’ll do it—”

“FaceTime me,” you cut him short. 

“‘Course, baby,” he assures, the FaceTime notification coming in the next second, and there he was. Rafe stands in the dim glow of his bedroom, the camera angled at the mirror, catching him shirtless in his pajama pants, his hair brushed back slightly. 

“I miss you,” he mumbles sheepishly as he looks at his phone. “You look beautiful, princess. Where are you?”

You take a deep breath, finding it more challenging to say strong as you see the anxiety in his eyes. “The beach—”

“By yourself?” He asks worriedly, with not an ounce of accusation in his voice; it's just Rafe being protective. Being the guy you never thought would put you through what he’s put you through tonight or for the last few days. 

“Yeah…” You whisper as you turn around in the cool sand, heading back toward the resort. 

The light shines on your face; Rafe, able to take in your beautiful features, your cheeks glossy with tears, your eyes reddened, and your lashes wet. 

Your bottom lip quivers, and he knows he fucked up. His heart breaks as he looks at you, and even though pure stupidity got to this point and he didn’t want anything to do with her, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. 

“Baby…” He whispers, wanting you to look at him, but you know you’ll break down completely the second you do. “I wasn’t thinking… I didn’t think it mattered because she doesn't matter to me. I wasn’t thinking about you like you deserve to be thought about. And I’m gonna make it up to you. I’m so, so sorry. See—” 

He holds out the phone, scanning it around his room. His bed is pristinely made, just like he leaves it every morning. His TV is already on, playing ESPN with the sleep timer on. 

It was normal… It was Rafe.

“I swear, princess—” Light floods the room, stealing the words off his lips. He looks toward the door, panic flashing across his face as he turns. 

“Hey, Rafey.” You hear Kaylor’s sticky, sweet voice coming from the open door, the party surging before she pulls it shut, closing the two of them inside. 

“Hey. Wha-What are you doin’ here?” He asks. 

“Just thought I’d say ‘hi’’.” You can hear the smirk in her voice as she gets closer and closer. Your body starts to rush with adrenaline and anger. 

Rafe hesitates… 

He’s just silent. 

So, if he’s not gonna say anything, I am.

“Bye, Rafe—” Your voice cuts through the quiet of Rafe’s room. 

“No. No-No,” he panics as you end the FaceTime. 

His calls come in seconds later, back to back to back, you denying each one. 

You: Hate to interrupt whatever the two of you have going on. Just know we’re done.

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐ 𝓒𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓵 𝓖𝓪𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓼, 𝓕𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓪

The music thumps through the old house's walls, a steady beat that seems to pulse in your chest. You swirl your drink absentmindedly, leaning against the counter as you look around the packed baseball house. 

You came to distract yourself—to drown out his thoughts, but as it had been for weeks, it wasn’t working. 

Your phone buzzes in your hands, the tiny vibrations feeling almost like a taunt. 

You weren’t together… You didn’t need to torture yourself with the idea of him, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

You weren’t over him… Not in the slightest.

You move your thumb, unlocking the screen. And there he was—Rafe Cameron, his beautiful face lighting up your screen as you bring your drink to your lips, taking a sip.

Rafe, Topper, and Kelce posing for a picture at some event. He had floated the invite to you, just in case you were interested… Just as he had been for weeks as well. 

His smile is beautiful—the man is so physically attractive it fucking hurt. But it wasn’t the picture that made your heart sink; it was the comments. 

@/umiamiluvr: Looking amazing as always 😍

@/miamidance21: Are you going out tonight? I think we’re going to Bar-X

@/fallenonthefield: Check your DMs

@/southernbellee7: Daddy daddy daddy

Your stomach twists as you read through the long line of thirsty comments. After that TikTok Live with Kaylor, Rafe’s account had taken off a bit, some of those same girls still hanging around, making it more and more difficult not to feel like some insecure teenager every time he posted, but you couldn’t help it. 

And, unlike before, when he liked Kaylor’s comments, he completely ignored theirs, but you couldn’t help but think about one of them catching his eye. You couldn’t help but think about him being over trying to win you back just to move on with someone else. 

That can’t happen. You knew you needed him to see you—to think about you like you couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

You lift your camera, take a picture, making sure to give just enough away so Rafe knows exactly where you are, catching the Miami University baseball flag in the back. 

@/yourname2: Caption | Out tonight. Feeling good. 😉

And before you overthink it, you push post, adding it to your TikTok story. Maybe he’d respond, maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, you needed to feel like you weren’t the only one caught in an endless loop of missing and yearning. 

The ache grew heavier in your chest. You grabbed a bottle of tequila off the counter, pouring yourself a shot, downing one, quickly pouring another. 

Your best friend steps beside you, hauling you out of your spiral. “You okay?” She asks, her voice loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Yeah,” You lie and force a smile against the rim of your SOLO cup before you take another drink. “Having the time of my life.”

She gives you a knowing look, but she doesn’t push it. “Let’s dance… Forget about, Rafe,” she smiles as she lifts her drink for a cheers. You do the same, pounding the rest of your mixed drink before grabbing another and heading toward the dance floor. 

You sway to the music; your head, light; body lost from a few too many drinks. But for the first time in a long time, you weren’t overthinking, scrolling, or waiting for the text that would make it all better. You were just dancing… 

And, drunk… Drunk as fuck. 

A laugh bubbles up in your lips as you twirl. When you steady yourself, a strong arm laces around your waist, his fingers glinting with a few rings. 

The smell of his cologne fills your nose–spicy and woodsy–the scent of the fat blunt he just smoked clinging to his shirt as well. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs. You turn around fast, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug.

“Hey, JJ,” you smile. 

He twirls you under his finger, taking you in as he gives you a low whistle. “Goddamn, you are beautiful,” he praises. 

“Thank you,” you smile as your head tilts slightly. 

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

The baseball boy smirks down at you, his hands resting lightly on your waist. He’d been all over you for the last twenty minutes, whispering in your ear, his touch a little too confident.

“I’m gonna grab a beer,” he points back to his friend, his eyes never leaving yours. “Did you want anything?”

You shake your head ‘no’ and smile. “Thank you, though.” 

“Of course. Don’t move, aight?” He asks, giving you a wink before disappearing into the thick crowd. 

You move in the other direction, weaving through bodies to find a quieter spot. Grabbing your phone you open up your TikTok page, notifications stacked with a few reactions from your friends, but not Rafe. You scroll through your list of viewers, his name on the bottom, the first one to see it. 

Buzz. 

Your phone vibrates in your hand, making your chest tighten. You hesitate momentarily before pulling up his page and catching the new post. It’s simple. He was at the gym. Not here. Not at a party. Not chasing after you.

It’s a mirror selfie: defined muscles, and sweat, his shirt tucked into the waistband of his shorts. His face is serious, jaw clenched, but something was intentional about it—like he knew you would see this. And the caption? It's a direct play on yours.

@/rafecameron001: Caption | Late night at the gym. Feeling real good.

The realization hit you like a slap to the face—Rafe was playing the same game you were. And you hated how much it was working. And like clockwork, the comments and likes started flooding in. 

Kaylor… Her comment sat there, smug and bold, right under his picture.

@/xokaylorjane: Nice seeing you at the gym 😉 This is me trying to convince you to go out. What’s it gonna take? I’ll do it.

You feel the heat rise in your neck, pooling in your cheeks, vision tunneling as you reread it again. 

She had been there, talking and flirting, and she was still doing it. And Rafe? He hadn’t liked the comment… Not yet. But he also didn’t turn her down either. 

You open her account next, and there she is, leaning into the mirror and applying a fresh coat of gloss to her already too-perfect lips. Her dress is practically painted on—some viral POSTER GIRL dress, hugging every inch of her perfect body, her blonde hair piled on top of her head in a Pam Anderson-style messy bun with bedroom eyes to match. 

@/xokaylorjane: Trying to catch this frat boy’s attention 🤭 what do we think ladies?

She didn’t have to say his name. She didn’t have to tag him. You knew exactly who she was talking about, and so did her followers. Whatever… 

Your heart pounds with the bass as you walk back into the mess. You look across the way, catching JJ’s eye. He smiles, and so do you, slow and deliberate. He nods a silent invitation, telling you to ‘come here.’

By the time you reach him, he’s already holding a drink for you. “Figured you needed this,” he smiles. 

Your face twists slightly, fingers brushing over his for just a second too long. “And, what gave you that impression?” 

JJ shrugs as he tilts his head slightly, stepping closer to you. “Just had a feelin’... And, guys, talk. I know you got some shit goin’ on with Rafe.”

“You could say that,” you sigh as you look up at him. 

“I hate that guy.” 

“What?” You chuckle as you scrunch your nose. “Why?” 

“Why not,” he scoffs, taking a pull of beer. “And he’s obviously a fuckin’ idiot because he fumbled you.” JJ’s handsome face twists in disgust. 

“Got no problem helpin’ you make him jealous, sunshine. I’m sure he’s gonna lose his shit. Fuck, he might even ruin this for himself, and I’ll be right there, showin’ you how much better I’d be. Truly, it’s a win-win for me... Worst-case scenario, I only watch Rafe crash out. Best case scenario, I watch Rafe crash the fuck out and get a shot with you.” 

You take a sip, letting the alcohol burn away the last bit of hesitation you had, and before you can think it through, you step even closer. JJ’s hand brushes against yours as a smirk spreads on your lips. 

“Okay,” you whisper, and just like that, you’re dancing again. 

JJ’s hands find your waist, guiding you to the beat. He turns you around, pulling you a little closer, your back pressed against his muscular chest, his breath warm near your ear as you start to dance. 

The music pulses around you; bodies pressed close, the heat of the party thick in the air. You can feel the baseball boy’s hands on your body as he moves with you, his face tilted close. 

Light floods around you for a moment, whirling away as your friend turns her phone camera from you toward herself, catching her smiling face as she looks up at her phone. 

She glances at you, flashing a devilish smirk, her eyes glinting with amusement. And, without hesitance, your friend hits upload.

Now, all that was left to do was wait.

Buzz.

You felt the vibration through your purse, barely registering it at first as the bass thrummed through your body. 

“Oh, shit…” JJ snickers. “That was fast.” The warmth of his taunting words fans against your neck, sending chills across your body as you both look down at the notification on your lock screen from Rafe. 

Rafe: I miss you

Rafe: Can we talk? Please

Rafe: What are you up to, princess?

The timing… It's almost comically fast. You stare at the message for half a second, thumb hovering over the keyboard before rolling your eyes, locking it instead, leaving him unread. 

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” JJ laughs as he grabs your hips, turning you toward him. “You’re gonna kill him… Please do,” he teases. You roll your eyes and rise on your tippy toes, leaning in his ear. 

“I’m gonna get a drink.”

You step away, making your way through the crowd again, and just as you do, you get another notification. 

Instagram Notification: Rafe Just Uploaded a New Post.

@/rafecameron001: Caption | Think I’ll stay in tonight

Your lashes flutter, feeling flustered as you see the newest picture, angled just enough to show the TV screen. ESPN’s playing on the screen, but what is the real focus? His abs. Bare skin, toned and relaxed against the sheets, the warm glow from the screen casting just enough shadow to make it clear this wasn’t some casual shot.

@/xokaylorjane: No Rafey. Room for me? 😘

It takes everything in your being not to throw your phone against the wall. Your heart slams in your ribs as Kaylor pounces on him yet again. 

You push the “like” button on her comment as a power move, and within seconds, your phone lights up with his name. 

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily before opening your heavy eyes, vision blurring slightly as the liquor courses through your veins.  

Fuck it. 

“Hey, baby. Where are you?” He asks, his voice already tight with worry.

You smile, slow and syrupy, letting the alcohol drip into your voice. “I’m out,” 

“You sound like you’ve been drinkin’. You okay, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice low, cautious. 

You laugh, tipping your head back against the wall. “I have been,” you admit. “A lot. But it’s fine. I feel amazing.”

“You don’t sound amazing… Where are you?”

You ignore the question, leaning back into the wall, letting his question hang in the air. “I don't know, but I  think I’m gonna leave soon,” you lie.

There’s a pause, the shift in Rafe’s breathing so sudden you could feel it like a ripple through the phone. 

“How do you not know, baby?” He asks worriedly. “I’ll come get you,” he said instantly. “Just—Just tell me where you think you are.”

“I don’t need you to pick me up, Rafe,” you say lightly with a teasing bite, toeing the line, pushing him just far enough to make it hurt. “I’m not alone; I’ll be fine.”

Silence. A dead, suffocating silence. Then—“Yeah? What the fuck does that mean?” He mumbles.

“It means you don't have to worry about me—you’re good at that. You should be fine.”

“Who are you with, baby?” He asks possessively.”

“… Friends? Obviously…”

Rafe sucks in a sharp breath. “Who?”

You lick your lips—heart racing even though you’d never admit it. 

You want to hear it. The anger. The desperation. The jealousy. Just a touch on the surface of the thoughts you've been feeling. 

“Cassie, Mabel, JJ—”

“That was Maybank. Are you fucking serious?” His voice is rough, raw with something dangerous, primal. “You’re joking? You’re drunk, you’re calling me, and you’re telling me you're with him?”

“You called me?” You let out a soft hum, playing with the hem of your dress. “He’s been really, really sweet tonight. I just think the two of you got off on the wrong foot,” you slur. 

“Baby, no,” Rafe pleads, his voice shaking and urgent. “Don’t do this. I’ll come get you; I don’t care where you are. Just—Just tell me. You're at the baseball house on Beach Road, yeah? I miss you. I love you, okay? I love you. And I know I fucked up, but you don’t need to do this. Please.”

You pause, letting his words sink in, letting the weight of them pull at something deep inside you. But then—Kaylor’s comment flashes in your mind. 

“You seem busy anyway,” you sigh. “Kaylor, right? Still, Rafe? Damn, That’s crazy,” you add with faux sweetness. 

“What? No, fuck, Kaylor. You think I care about her? I care about you. You’re drunk, and you’re making stupid decisions, and I’m—” Click.

You hang up. Rafe’s name flashes on the screen instantly as he calls back, but you shove your phone deep in your purse, walking straight back into the chaos of the party.

Your hands were shaking, but you pushed past it, past him, and everything… You press your hands to JJ's chest. “You wanna get out of here?”

JJ’s grin stretches wide. “Hell yeah.” 

Your phone vibrates incessantly as his name lights up your screen over and over between desperate texts. 

Rafe: Answer me

Rafe: Are you home?

Rafe: You’re scaring me baby. Come on.

Rafe: Please just text me back and let me know you’re okay.

Rafe: Stop fucking with me. You know I'm sorry you know I love you

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

The apartment was quiet now, the lingering pulse of the party still buzzing faintly in her veins. 

You crash down on the couch, leaning back, closing your eyes as the TV flickers with some random movie you’re not paying attention to. 

“You okay?” JJ murmurs, his large hand resting on your hip. He shifts behind you; lips grazing your neck. “Is this okay-” BANG. BANG. BANG. 

Rafe’s urgent knocking rattles the door hinges. “Baby! Open the door!” Rafe’s voice booms through the hallway, raw and frantic. “Are you okay?” Your heart drops, breath catching in your throat.

JJ lets out a frustrated groan, tossing his head back with an annoyed sigh. “Did I mention I hate that guy?” He laughs weekly.

“Maybank?” Rafe asks from behind the door as he overhears him. 

“Calm down, bitch. Let me pull out, alright?” JJ taunts and you shoot him a glare. “M’sorry, too far,” he chuckles softly.

“I swear to God, open the fuckin’ door! I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay!” Rafe’s voice cracks a mixture of jealousy, anger, and worry breaking through his every word. “Are you okay? Baby, just—just open the door. Please.”

JJ sits up, his jaw tightening. “Do you want me to handle this?” 

“No,” you say quickly, listening as Rafe spits threats at JJ from the other side of the door. Your legs wobble slightly beneath you, the alcohol still thick in your system. “I’ll handle it.

You walk over to the door, resting your forehead against the wood, closing her eyes. “Go home, Rafe,” you whisper, soft but firm.

“No—No. Co’mon, princess. Please,” he pleads desperately, his voice hoarse and soft. “I’m sorry about, Kaylor. I’ve been tryin’ to get your attention, that’s it–” 

JJ’s wicked laugh swallows up Rafe’s words. “Pussy…”

“Anyone but him, princess…”

You turn, watching Maybank smirk as he runs his fingers lazily through his fluffy blonde hair. “This is sad, man… You’re embarrassing yourself–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Rafe booms, his voice hitting your chest from behind the door as he hears JJ. With a deep breath, you turn the knob and open the door. 

Rafe rushes to you immediately, finding your arms, his touch rough and desperate. “Are you okay?” He asks urgently like you didn’t get yourself in this situation. “Did you drink too much? Do you need water? Did he–” His jaw clenches, eyes finding yours. “Did he try anything–” JJ scoffs and laughs again, the two of you looking back at him as he shakes his head in disgust at Rafe. “Why are you even here?” 

“You kiddin’ me, Rafe?” JJ asks as he rises to his feet, stretching like he had all the time in the world. Then, with a smirk, he runs a hand through his hair, deliberately messing it up more before casually fixing his collar—and tucking back in his shirt that was never tucked in, to begin with; a deliberate move, one final act of defiance, one last attempt to make Rafe think something had happened between the two of you before he got there.

“Alright. Time to go… Get. Out!” Rafe yells.

JJ just rolls his eyes, stepping closer. “She asked me to be here… The hell do you think I’m doin’ here, huh–”

“Bull-fucking’-shit, asshole,” Rafe spits.

“I’m the asshole, Cameron–”

“Yes, Maybanks. You are the asshole. I’m not the one takin’ advantage of drunk girls.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to her?” JJ smirks. “You and I ain’t the same, man. You think I’d take advantage of her? Hurt her?” He lets out a dark chuckle, stepping forward. “Isn’t that your job, Rafe?”

“The fuck did you just say?” Rafe asks, his voice was low and dangerous.

JJ shrugs, his blue eyes gleaming with their usual recklessness. “I mean, let’s be real here,” he says, tilting his head. “She’s only with me tonight because of you. You make it too easy, man. I barely had to try. You do all the damage yourself.

Rafe surges forward, shoving him, JJ quickly returning the hit. “Rafe, stop,” you warn. Rafe barely heard you over his ragged breathing, his big body trembling with rage. 

“Say that again, motherfucker. I fuckin’ dare you.”

“You better leave, Jay,” you say softly. 

JJ just laughs at Rafe again. “Fuck I love watchin’ you lose your mind, Cameron,” he drawls. 

“Leave,” Rafe warns as he steps chest to chest with Maybank. “She told you to leave. Get the fuck out before I kill you.” 

“Kill me? Bro, what the fuck? You don’t wanna kill me? What if you fuck up again, huh? Who’s gonna take care of her–”

“JJ,” you stop him before he can keep going. 

“Sorry, princess,” he smiles at you one last time, making Rafe scoff and suck his teeth, his body language looking like he was seconds away from taking a swing. 

“Get. The fuck. Out.” 

“You already won, Rafe. Again. But for the record?” He tilts his head, grinning, knowing exactly how to get under Rafe’s skin. “You should really learn how to keep her–” Rafe silences the blonde, throwing a big wad of cash at JJ’s chest.

JJ smiles a crooked smile as he meets Rafe’s eyes again. “You can’t just buy her frat boy?”

“No shit,” Rafe mutters, grabbing him by his shirt. “Get a cab and fuckin’ leave.”

JJ grins, having the time of his life as he gets the rise he was hoping for, lifting his hands in mock surrender. 

Rafe opens the door and shoves him back—hard. JJ stumbles into the hallway, knocking his back on the wall, and before he can rile up Rafe again, he slams the door.

The chaos shuts off completely–the apartment dead silent, apart from Rafe’s deep, labored breathing.

When you finally turn, Rafe’s already looking at you. Still angry… Still possessive… Still completely fucking wrecked over the whole thing. He strides toward you, but the second he does, you’re already walking away.

“Baby, stop,” Rafe pleads. You exhale sharply, refusing to meet his eyes, crashing down on the couch. 

Rafe’s heart fucking ached… It was so clear. And you couldn’t take it either. 

Your eyes lift to his, making him take a breath, trying to center himself as he gets your focus back. 

“Just give me a chance, baby?" His voice cracks as he moves closer, his big frame sinking onto his knees between her thighs, making himself small for you. "I love you. This is killing me."

You bite your lips as heat wells in your eyes, you, trying not to let your emotions be so clearly painted all over your face, but it’s no use. 

He looks up at you, pleading, his hands gripping your knees, his touch careful but desperate, making you look away to keep the tears in your eyes. “Princess… C’mon,” he whispers, his voice shattered. "Just listen to me. Look at me." 

Rafe takes your hand, lifting it to his lips, kissing the top as he tries to pull you back in. 

"I fucked up," he whispers against her skin. "I fucked up at the beginning of the month, and I've been trying to fix it ever since. Everything I did—everything was to get your attention."

He hangs his head low, shifting a little closer. 

"I don't want anything to do with Kaylor," he says, shaking his head and running his hands down your thighs. "I don't want anyone else, baby. I just want you back." He takes a deep breath, his broad shoulders tense with frustration and regret.

Rafe Cameron, the man who would never let anyone else see this side of him but you on his knees, begging for your forgiveness, completely and utterly ruined for you. 

“It was never more than talking… I don’t know why I didn’t put her in her place, why I let her embarrass you. I’m an idiot…”

You lift your hands, cupping his face, making him melt. The second you touched him, his shoulders drop, breath hitching, his hands gripping your thighs like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. 

"I swear to you," he whispers, pressing into your touch. "If you give me another chance... I'll take care of you. I'll do it right this time."

Your mouth crashes against his, urgent and deep taking him by surprise. Rafe kisses you back with the same intensity, his big arms wrapping around your body tightly like you might slip away. 

He groans into your kiss, hands moving up your body, gripping your waist, sitting down before pulling you on top, right where you belong. 

Your fingers twist into his shirt, needing him closer, feeling the heat of his body against yours. 

You smile against his lips as your fingers slip under his cotton shirt, fingers working higher and higher. 

“Princess…” He whispers against your lips, breathing rapidly before pulling back enough for you to chase his lips. Your eyes lock on his, your head spinning from the lingering buzz and his taste. 

“Mhmm…” 

“You—Fuck, are you sure you want this, sweetheart? Right now?” He asks as he leans in, kissing along your neck inside. 

Your head falls to the side, giving him more as your hands slip under the elastic of his sweat. 

“Of course, I want this, Rafe…”

“I just—You’re drunk, pretty. I don’t want you to hate me later.” He whispers hot against your skin as his fingers trace up your inner thigh, disappearing under your skirt, pressing against your soaked panties, making you whimper for him. 

“Rafe…” You sigh as you tug at the fabric of his pants. Rafe rushes to pull them down his thighs, quickly tearing off his white shirt before you can even finish your sentence. “Do you care?” You chuckle teasingly as he looks back at you with hungry eyes. 

Rafe’s eyes fall to your chest, watching with half-lidded eyes as you pop open the buttons of your cropped blouse one by one. He licks his lips, his eyes glazing over when he sees your breasts pressed together in a pretty lace bra. He swallows hard, shaking his head before meeting your eyes again. 

“Rafe Cameron…” 

“Mhmm…” He hums as his hands wrap around your back, unclipping your bra and letting it fall between you. 

“Do. You. Care?” 

His big hands reach up, cupping your tits in his hands. “You’re so fucking perfect–”

“Rafe, you have two options here. Either you fuck me, or you leave… You decide–” Rafe steals your words off your lips before you can say any more, lifting you before tossing you to your back on the couch. 

He buries his face in his chest, nuzzling into your sensitive skin. Rafe takes your nipple between his plump lips, swirling and sucking as your head falls back. 

You feel Rafe smile against your neck before his hand drifts under your skirt, fingers brushing against the soaked lace of your panties. “Fuck, I missed you, baby,” he hums. 

Rafe pulls down your skirt, ripping down your panties as well before tossing them to the side. He kisses you again, letting his tongue slip between your lips. 

Your tongue rolls slowly with his as you wrap your fingers around his thick dick. Rafe groans deeply—the pads of his rough fingers start circling your aching clit. 

“I can’t tell you how much I need this,” he smiles as his fingers trace your soaked slit, too, teasing your entrance. “Wanna fuck your pussy so bad,” he mimics his word with a thrust of his hand, fucking two long fingers in your tight hole, making you gasp. “I’m gonna make you feel so, so good…” he hums between kisses as he curls his fingers inside you, making your back arch off the couch. 

“Rafe, fuck!” You cry as he drags his fingers across your G-spot, making your body tremble. You tug on his long cock, pulling to the tip. Precum drips off his throbbing tip, landing on your soft skin, rolling warmly down your inner thigh, making goosebumps flair across your bare skin.

Rafe pulls back slightly, grabbing his dick in his big fist and pressing his tip against your clit, making you squeal as you find yourself so close to falling over the edge.

He strokes quickly, rubbing your clit with his swollen tip, his precum mixing with your wetness, teasing the both of you. 

“I’m gonna cum—fuck. Fuck!” You cry as you grab your tits in your hands, watching him get you off with his tip alone. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, toes curling as your pussy flutters around nothing. 

“Atta girl… Fuck, that’s my girl,” Rafe praises, biting his lips, focusing hard on not cumming as he sees you like this. 

He smacks his cock against your cunt, making your muscle jump with each tap, the slick sounds of your pussy making him smirk. 

“Goddamn, baby,” he mumbles as he lowers himself to your lips, breathing heavily with you. “I could lie and say I forgot how wet this pussy gets, but I’m dreamin’ about it every night ...” 

Rafe rubs his fat tip along your slit, making you suck in a breath. His eyes fall down your body, watching as you move your hips ever so slightly, craving him inside you. “Please,” you whisper. 

“Shit,” he smiles as he circles his head around your soaked hole, teasing you as he presses himself in just a little before pulling his hips back. “Nothin’ better, I swear,” he hums drunkenly before thrusting inside, knocking the breath out of your chest. 

Rafe fucks into your slow at first, his eyes still trained on your body, watching your curves bounce with each thrust. 

Your pussy pulls him in with each stroke; filthy wet sucking sounds filling your ears and his as your slickness soaks him—essence rolling down his heavy balls onto the couch below.

His movements become more possessive and forceful, rutting into you with urgency. You grab for him, cursing under your breath as your pleasure mounts, feeling yourself about to come undone for him again. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me… I know you’re gonna cum. Think I forgot what this pussy feels like when you’re about to cum too… Just do it. Cum on my dick, baby,” He mumbles, his deep fucked-out voice barely heard over the clapping of your skin against his. 

Rafe buries himself into you, throwing his hips into you again and again as his name leaves your lips in a strangled moan as you fall apart. 

Rafe’s thick fingers push between your lips. You swirl your tongue and suck, looking up at him as he continues to stroke, blinking away overstimulated tears. 

“One more, princess. Okay?” He asks. 

His fingers press against your clit, rubbing fast, making fat tears roll down your cheeks. 

Your bottom lip trembles as his cock rocks in and rocks out, filling you deliciously each time.

“Rafe…” You whine as you look at the slight space between your bodies, watching your sloppy cunt take every inch—Rafe’s dick pulls out each time, slicked with your wetness, his big fingers slopping through the mess “M’gonna cum.” 

“Shittt,” he moans as your pussy tightens around him, your body cumming harder than it ever has before, taking him with it. Rafe moans your name as his hips stutter, muscles flexing as he fucks his cum deep.

He pulls back just enough to look down at you underneath him—his soft lips claiming yours tenderly as your bodies soften against each other. You breathe a deep sigh of relief as he kisses the corner of your lips, then your cheek, working to your neck before tucking himself close. 

The room is quiet now. The chaos of the night had settled, the alcohol faded from your system, leaving only clarity in its place. No more buzzing or reckless decisions—just the two of you wrapped in each other's arms. 

“Thank you, princess,” he whispers as he looks at you like you’re his whole world. “I missed you… So fucking much.” Rafe cups your cheek in his hand, letting his thumb glide along your bottom lip. 

“I missed you too,” you breathe. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, blinking quickly, scrunching his nose to keep his emotions at bay. “I love you, and I’m so sorry. I hope you believe me.”

“I forgive you,” you whisper, watching his eyes soften as he looks back at you. “I love you—” Rafe pulls you in, kissing you slowly. And when you kissed him back, soft and sure, he felt like he could breathe again. 

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

Part 2

dividers | @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[hatussy]

starving | j.a

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], touch starved!jack, loneliness, slight sub!jack, clingy!jack, call girl!reader, male moans/whimpering, dry humping, making out like handsy/horny teenagers, jack's a mess and makes a mess of you, cowgirl, jack begs, dirty talk, desperation, squirting, word count: 5585

summary: in which jack's loneliness causes him to reach out to someone he's surprised is very understanding

author's note: further continuation of this piece. i took so long to write this because i didn't want it to be rushed. i wanted to do his character justice and i hope i achieved that. i hope y'all enjoy

oneshot | masterlist

It started with a phone call, like always. New clients had to be screened, they had to form a working relationship with you. 

You’d had your fair share of sketchy clients. Some who had tried to push you past your limits, others refusing to pay. You’d made a new rule that they always had to pay half upfront, and show they had the rest of the cash on them when you met them. If they wanted to extend the booking, they had that option, but the charge always varied depending on what they wanted to do. 

Some wanted to cuddle, engaging in pillow talk. Some wanted to prove they could make you finish again, if only to gloat. Some simply wanted the time to shower together, helping you to clean up. 

Nothing was ever free. 

There was one client you had who simply liked to talk. The company of watching a movie together, of talking about his day. 

Needless to say, Jack had become one of your favourite clients. You looked forward to his texts, asking for your availability. You always made sure to get a nice hotel. Somewhere with a comfy sofa, a huge bed, and a spectacular view. 

Jack always praised the view. 

At first, you’d assumed it was a compliment for you. He’d said it while staring out the window, watching the sun set over the city. Still, he’d looked at you—looked through you—in order to stand in front of the window. 

You stood alongside him. Muttering something about the city and the night, the peace it brought you, and the smile that had tugged the corners of his mouth had been worth it. 

One of the first things you’d noticed about Jack was that he wore a wedding band. Most of your clients weren’t as obvious with their cheating, opting to take it off, but the tan line was still there. Jack had seen you staring. Hell, he saw everything you did. He was always watching, always paying attention. He hadn’t mentioned it, but you had. 

“She passed away a few years ago,” he had confessed quietly, voice thick and gravelly like he wasn’t used to talking about her. “Can’t bring myself to take it off.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” you had assured him softly. 

Something about him told you everything you needed to know. The faraway look to his eyes, the weight he carried on his shoulders. From the initial phone call, you hadn’t been sure what to make of him. Now that he was in front of you, it looked like he needed a friend more than anything else. So you’d suggested a movie, something easy to watch, and he’d joined you on the bed. 

Jack had sat upright for most of the movie, and you’d made yourself comfortable lying beside him. Head near his lap, his hand aimlessly playing with your hair—like it was muscle memory. His fingertips had scratched your scalp and you’d sighed, enjoying the feeling. The comfort. The familiarity. 

Over the next few months, your meetings had been much the same. Sometimes he made a few comments, thinly veiled jokes to break the tension. Most of the time, he preferred the quiet. Knowing someone was there with him when he was stuck in his head. 

You never pushed for him to talk. Never made him feel guilty for needing a friend to sit with him, even if that friend was being paid to spend time with him. 

You enjoyed it. The break from the norm. The ease you settled into once he picked a movie to watch. 

One time he brought dinner. Something he’d made earlier in the day. He’d been chatty that day, something you noticed he did when he didn’t know how to process what was going on in his head. 

“It’s her birthday,” he’d told you. The weight of his words, the anxious fiddling with his wedding band, the meal. It all made sense. 

He’d watched you pick up the phone to call room service. You’d ordered a bottle of bubbles with three glasses, as well as three slices of cake. You did it so effortlessly that he got a little choked up. No hesitation, no awkwardness, just a patient understanding. Acknowledging the woman he was still in love with, with grace and poise. 

He’d seen you in a new light that day. Over the toast you’d made to his wife, and the care you’d shown him. The understanding that grief was a process. Healing was a process. That you saw him as a friend, not just a client. 

Jack started to talk a little more with each meeting. About his day—you’d learned he was a doctor. About his wife—his smile was always a little brighter each time. About your day—you tried not to reveal too much, but talking to him was easy. He didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. Didn’t push for details like some men did. He let you tell him what you were comfortable revealing. 

Hell, you’d even told him how you got into your line of work. He’d never passed judgement, or made you feel like you deserved better. He never suggested a change in career, but you’d told him you were taking classes and hoped one day to become a licensed child psychologist. 

“You’d be good at that,” he’d said with a smile. “There’s something about you that puts me at ease. That’s not an easy thing. Those kids would thrive with your guidance.”

“You really think so?” You’d asked. 

“I do.”

There was no doubt in his voice. It was firm, assertive, reassuring. Something you’d needed to hear but didn’t know how to go about getting it. And the fact that it came from Jack meant a lot more than you were willing to admit. 

Your body ached as you lowered yourself into the bath, iPad sitting on the tray hooked over the sides, along with a large glass of wine and some snacks. You pressed play on the screen, the intro to your comfort show starting within seconds. 

You didn’t have much time for simple pleasures these days, so you basked in the opportunity. Bubble mixture and rose oil added to the tub, the hot water soaking your aching muscles. The wine going down a treat, and the snacks curbing your hunger. 

The second episode had just started when you got a message from Jack. 

I know this is late notice, but can I see you tomorrow morning when I finish my shift? I need something to look forward to. 

I don’t have anywhere booked. Is a café okay?

You’re comfortable with that?

Absolutely, are you?

I finish at 7am. Will you find us someplace nice? 

I’ll have coffee and breakfast waiting for you. 

You sent him the name of the café you liked to frequent. You knew he worked at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital, and it was only two blocks away. It was also nearby your campus, and you had two classes tomorrow with the first one starting at 10. You didn’t think meeting Jack would be that long, but you’d at least be able to get some study done for a paper you had due. 

The bath worked wonders. You felt relaxed, a little tipsy, and had something to look forward to in the morning. Setting an alarm for six, to give yourself enough time to get ready and pack your study bag. 

By the time the morning came around, your alarm pulled you from your sleep, and you made an effort while getting ready. A little touch of makeup to feel put together, hair styled just the way you liked, and a comfy coat that tied your outfit together. You packed your bag, and then you were off. Making your way to the cafe with a few minutes to spare, knowing Jack sill hadn’t finished work yet, but that he would be there shortly.

Coffee and food was ordered, and you took up a seat at a comfortable little table near the back. Grabbing your phone to see if there were any new messages from Jack, and being delighted to see a text he’d sent half an hour ago.

Might be a little late. Had a rough night. Looking forward to seeing you.

Take your time, I’ll see you when I see you.

You sipped your coffee when it arrived, having put a hold on the food for the time being. Waiting until Jack said he was officially on his way to the cafe before you asked the staff to start on breakfast.

Jack walked through the doors a couple of minutes later, backpack hanging off one shoulder, still dressed in his dark scrubs from the hospital. He wore a soft smile when he saw you, one you easily reciprocated.

“Hey,” he greeted easily, looking like the night had tested him one too many times. Still, he dropped his bag to the floor and took a seat opposite you. 

“Hey,” you replied. “You’ve looked better.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled. “Thanks for meeting me, I know you don’t do this.”

“I had time,” you said simply. “You need a friend or a therapist today?”

Jack exhaled heavily, shifting in his seat and reaching for his coffee. “Neither. Both. I don’t know.”

You nodded sympathetically. “Do you want to talk?”

“Not about me,” he admitted. 

“You can be my sounding board for my research presentation later this week,” you decided, pulling your iPad out to flick through your notes. 

Jack looked more settled opposite you, and thanked the waitress for your meals. You gave her a polite smile, picking at a tomato before wasting no time starting your speech. 

You showed different graphs on slides to reiterate your point. Every now and then, Jack gestured to your plate, prompting you to pause and eat, but otherwise listened completely. He nodded along with facts and statistics, asked the odd question to continue along with your line of reasoning. 

When you were finished with your speech, he clapped politely, a smile gracing his face. 

“Any pointers?”

“Look more at whoever you’re giving the speech to,” he said. “Otherwise it was very good.”

You grinned as you packed your iPad away, reaching for your coffee and finishing it. Jack gestured to the empty mug. 

“Another?”

“Please.”

The remainder of your omelette had grown cold, but it was still good. When Jack rejoined you, you were finishing up your last bite. 

“So,” you started. “Bad night, huh?”

Jack sighed, scraping at the dusting off stubble along his jaw. “Yeah, something like that,” he agreed with a half-smile.

“Are you okay?” You asked softly.

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you replied, giving him a pointed look.

He sighed. “No. We lost a vet. Young guy, did two tours overseas no problem, then gets hit by a drunk driver when he comes home. Just…hit a little too close to home.”

You nodded. He hadn’t told you much of his time with the army, but you knew that he had a history serving.

“Shit,” you cursed.  “I’m sorry. That must’ve been pretty early in your shift?”

Jack nodded. “Spent a few hours trying to contact the family. Eventually got in touch with his sister. It’s just…the worst news to receive over the phone, you know? It’s supposed to be done in person, but she won’t arrive until later today.”

“Will you be going back to speak to her?”

Jack shook his head. “I wrote a letter instead. Gave it to the dayshift to read on my behalf. That’s why I was running late; contemplating life and existence from the roof of the hospital.”

“Just don’t jump, yeah?”

He cracked a smile at that. “Would be rude, wouldn’t it?”

“That, and I don’t really have time in my schedule for a funeral,” you said, earning a genuine laugh.

“Robby said something similar.” He wore a smile. “Dayshift attending.”

“A friend?”

“A brother.”

“I’m glad you have someone who gets it,” you told him. “Thank you,” you said to the waitress who brought your coffees over. “How’s everything else going? I haven’t seen you in a minute.”

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “It’s been a bit existential.”

You didn’t say anything, giving him the time to decide if he wanted to. Instead, you sipped your coffee and watched him spin his in the saucer.

“Had a breakthrough with my therapist,” he said. “I guess I’ve been a little caught up in it.”

“You’re allowed to be,” you replied. “You look tired, Jack. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Just a crazy shift, is all,” he told you. “I’ll go home and sleep soon.”

“Good.” You smiled. 

“Are you free tonight?”

“For you, I can be.”

There was a slight tinge of colour that blossomed on Jack’s cheeks. “If you already have plans, I get it.”

“Jack, I don’t have any plans,” you assured him. “Go home, get some sleep. I’ll book the usual room, but I’m not watching Mission Impossible again.”

“Understood,” he said, chuckling softly. 

Your day had been busy. Between your two classes, you’d attempted to record your presentation to see how long it actually was. You’d done some shopping for this evening, a little care package you’d decided to put together for Jack. 

It was what friends did, right? Something nice for each other when someone was feeling down? 

You hoped he’d appreciate it. Some nice skincare products, nothing too extraneous. Something soothing, for the days his leg hurt. Something hydrating, for the excessive hand-sanitising he does working at the hospital. Some nice chocolates from the bougie shop in town, since you knew he had a sweet tooth. A knife, because you could never have too many. Lastly, a set of cotton pyjamas. Something soft that wouldn’t irritate him, or get too hot in the warmer months. 

The basket sat on the bed of the hotel, all ready to give to him when he arrived, as you watched the news, waiting to hear back from Jack. He’d gone back to the hospital, despite it being his day off, to help with the shooting that the news was reporting. Several casualties had already been reported, with a lot of critical patients being routed to PTMC. 

From the coverage you knew it was bad. You knew he was doing the right thing by going in to help. His friends, his colleagues, would need the extra set of hands. 

So you waited anxiously, already a glass of wine deep amidst the devastation being reported, and hoped everyone who made it to the hospital survived. 

Sorry to make you wait. Have you eaten? I’ll grab something. On my way. 

Food is a good idea, grab anything you feel like. In our usual room. Did you think of a movie to watch?

No, but I need something lighthearted or funny. Your choice. I’ll see you soon. 

The School of Rock was waiting for you to press play by the time Jack arrived. For the second time today, he looked exhausted, and was still dressed in his dark scrubs. 

Surprisingly, he brought you in for a hug, holding you tightly, as if he needed to know you were real. You rested your head against his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. Not thinking twice about the unexpected hug, or that he took a few shaky breaths. 

“Hey,” you greeted softly, only pulling back when he did. You didn’t notice he’d been balancing a pizza box in one hand, too wrapped up in the hug to register it. “Come in.”

Jack excused himself to the bathroom. He left the door open, splashing some water on his face, while you sat back on the bed and flipped the pizza box open. You were halfway through a slice when he joined you, dropping his backpack by the door and taking his shoes off. 

“Got you something,” you told him, gesturing to the basket you’d moved to the desk under the tv. Jack turned his attention to it, pulling it towards him. “Felt like you needed a pick me up, and that was before you went back into work.”

He chuckled softly. “Are those pyjamas?”

“Yeah. It was that or a teddy bear with some corny phrase embroidered onto the stomach,” you replied, earning another laugh. “You can shower if you want…change into them?”

“Later,” he promised, the smile still on his face. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

He doesn’t judge the movie you picked. In fact, he’s grateful for the choice. Settling in beside you on the bed, the pizza box between you. Slices slowly disappeared while it was still hot, and silence washed over you as the movie played. 

Jack shuffled around to move the near-empty box, and you watched him remove his prosthetic and massage the stump as if it pained him. Brows drawn together, eyes closed, as if he did this all the time. 

Of course, it was the first time he’d done it in front of you. 

You reached for his free hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, it—”

“Leave it off,” you told him. “If it’s bothering you, leave it off.”

He stared like he wasn’t sure what to make of you. Like he was in over his head. Out of his depth. And maybe he was, just a little bit. It was you, after all. Always understanding. Always supportive, never judgemental. 

Maybe he did see you differently. Maybe the months of friendship had caused something to build—something real. He certainly felt like it, but the nagging voice in his head told him this was your job. That he was only a client to you. 

He hadn’t seen you for two months because the last meeting you’d had, you’d refused to take his money. 

“We’re friends, Jack. Friends don’t charge each other for their time,” you’d told him. 

There’d been no mention of money this morning. No talk of what tonight would cost him. You were throwing him off his rhythm. He felt uneasy, but not in a bad way. In a way that had his heart rate spike whenever he thought of you. 

The same way he felt when he first met his late wife. 

Jack swallowed thickly, trying to overcome the lump in his throat. “Okay.”

You smiled that sweet smile and patted the spot on the bed next to him. The spot that he shuffled towards, leaving no space between you. And still, you moved his arm to drape it around your shoulders, hand settling on his thigh, just above his knee. 

His pulse thundered in his ears, and he was looking at you. Still. Like you might disappear in front of him at any second. Like this was easy for you, comfortable, and yet you weren’t anywhere near as nervous as he was. 

Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe it had been too long since he’d held another person, that he was seeing signs that weren’t there. 

The thoughtful gift—he was a client after all. Maybe you did that for everyone when they were having a tough time of it. 

The ease you displayed physical affection—again, maybe he was still only a client to you. Maybe this was all just part of the services you offered. 

Jack was tense. He felt like he couldn’t relax, couldn’t enjoy this for what it was. His brain was telling him to be reasonable, to not make this a bigger thing than it was, but his gut told him to take the leap. Even if it didn’t pay off, he would then have a definitive answer. 

The tapping on his leg was distracting, but it was working. You knew what he needed and did something to distract him. To pull him back to the present after getting lost in his head. 

“Is that Morse code telling me to breathe?”

Jack’s bewilderment was genuine and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. 

“Yeah. Figured talking might spook you,” you replied. “You went all tense and stopped breathing for a second.”

“Really? Sorry,” he replied, making a point to exhale loudly. “Army brat?” 

You hummed. “High school wasn’t challenging enough, so I taught myself to read braille and communicate in Morse code.”

“Nerd,” he commented, earning a small laugh. 

“Shut up and watch the movie,” you muttered, playfully pinching his leg. 

You saw his smile soften in the corner of your eye, but he didn’t immediately turn back to the tv. You tapped out w-e-i-r-d-o on his leg, only for him to tap back on your shoulder I-k-n-o-w. 

He only turned his attention back to the tv when you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder, his fingers trailing aimlessly up and down your arm. It was comfortable. It felt good—natural. It made him feel warm inside. And that wasn’t something that happened often, so he allowed himself to enjoy it, if only for a moment. 

Jack’s hand found its way to your head, fingertips lightly scratching at your scalp. 

“Keep doing that and I’ll start panting,” you mumbled. “It feels good.”

He hummed, making no sign of stopping. You sighed softly, contently, and snuggled a little closer to him. Hand flexing against his leg as you shifted. 

He smiled at you cuddled into his side, and was pressing a kiss to the top of your head like he did it all the time. 

“You always smell so good,” he spoke softly, resisting the urge to take a huge, obvious whiff. 

“You smell like hospital.”

“What’s that smell like?”

“Sanitizer. And sandalwood, but I think that’s just your cologne.”

He tucked his chin, sniffing his chest. “That’s sandalwood?”

“That’s delicious,” you replied with a laugh. 

“Delicious, huh?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you tsk’d, fighting back a smile. 

Jack hummed. “Too late.”

He was tapping out a message on your arm before he lost the nerve. 

I-w-a-n-t-2-k-i-s-s-u

You were turning to look at him before he finished his message, hand cupping his cheek and turning his head towards yours. Your gaze dropped to his lips, gasping as he cupped the back of your head and met your lips with his own. 

There was an urgency to his kiss, a desperation that leached into you. Your hand on his thigh gripped it a little tighter, your eyes closing at the rush that washed over you. The relief. 

You twisted a little more, trying to get a little more comfortable. Swinging your leg over his waist, his hand settled on your hip, aiding your movement as you straddled him. 

He groaned appreciatively, sinking deeper into the kiss. Into you, like you were a lifeline. You gasped as he tugged your hair, a sultry moan rumbling in your chest. His lips turned up, smiling against yours, only for him to gasp as you rolled your hips. 

Wicked, he thought. Struggling to gain composure as you did it again, nipping at his bottom lip. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, parting his lips so his tongue could meet your own. 

You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had kissed you like this. Like the tension had built so much—grown so hot—that you felt frantic. Kissing Jack was as thrilling as you thought it would be. The way he cupped your head, tugged your hair. The way he gripped your hip, fingertips digging into your flesh as he guided your movements.

And he was just as into it as you were, his erection pressing against your core, straining against his scrubs.

You wanted him to be the one to initiate things further. He hadn’t mentioned any specifics, but from how raw his grief was about losing his wife, you assumed this was the first time he was even kissing another woman. You didn’t want to do anything to spook him—he deserved to be comfortable—to not be pushed, even if your body was begging your brain not to listen to itself.

“I want this to last,” Jack mumbled. “Fuck, it won’t if you keep this up.”

You giggled, cupping his face as you kissed him slowly. “We have all night, Jack.”

You slowly, deliberately, rolled your hips, watching his eyes screw shut as he groaned. Both hands settled on your hips, anchoring you in place, stopping your oh-so-sweet torture.

“God, you’re the devil,” he said breathily.

You hummed, sliding your hands down his chest until you were tugging at the hem of your own shirt. You were more than comfortable being the only one naked—or semi-naked. Jack watched with hooked eyes and bated breath as you pulled the material over your head, throwing it somewhere across the room.

You’d find it later, or you wouldn’t. Maybe Jack would take it home as an excuse to see you again. That thought made you almost giddy.

Jack moaned your name, hands skimming up your sides. Thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.

“Jack.” You sounded desperate even to yourself, but he looked at you so hungrily, so ready to devour, that you lost your train of thought. 

“Say my name again,” he pleaded.

You slowly rocked your hips, placing your hands on his and moving them to cup your breasts. “Jack,” you repeated, feeling your nipples harden under his palms. He looked like he was going to pass out, fingers squeezing your breasts, head dipping to capture a nipple in his mouth. “Oh, fuck. Jack.”

He growled lowly, the vibration sending shivers to your core. You stilled, legs squeezing either side of his waist, hands flying to his hair to tug it as his teeth grazed your nipple.

You hissed as he lightly bit down, back arching your chest further towards him. He closed his eyes and hummed, lightly raking his nails down your back. You shivered, skin prickling at the sensation.

Jack smiled as you tugged his shirt, hitching up the black scrub tee, as well as his pale undershirt. Your fingers trailed over his abdomen, his lips seeking yours once more as you worked his shirts higher. Jack groaned, briefly breaking the kiss to tear the shirts over his head.

His chest was spotted with freckles, a mixture of dark and light. You trailed your fingers over his collarbones, fingertips tickled by the hair covering his pecs. He leant back against the pillows, watching you curiously explore every protrusion, every defect. Evidence of his time in the military was more than just the prosthetic leg, but also the shrapnel scars and muscles.

God, he was magnificent—so fucking beautiful.

Your breath hitched as you felt his hips flex, cock straining desperately against his scrubs.

“Tell me what you want, Jack.”

It was a simple request,  yet one you weren’t sure was going to be answered. You thought for sure this was all that would happen, that his mind would win out and put a stop to this. You desperately didn’t want that to happen, but the ball was in his court—it had to be.

Jack’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, trying to process your words. Your hands settled around his head, fingers twirling his hair, scratching his scalp.

“You,” he eventually breathed out, like he was afraid of his own answer. “I want you.”

He sought your lips, slower this time—more calculated, like he wasn’t afraid to want. The desire still burned beneath your skin, one that was more intense, yet every bit as frantic—as dangerous.

The temperature in the room felt like it had been dialled right up. Perspiration dotted at your temples, Jack’s body just as hot beneath your touch. You rocked your hips slowly, gasping as he pinched one of your nipples, his hips rocking up to meet yours. 

“Jack.” 

Sinful, that was the only way Jack could describe it. The way you touched him, the way you kissed him. God, he was in over his head and about to cum in his pants like a starving teenaged boy. 

“Don’t leave,” he pleaded, watching you put distance between the two of you. 

“I’m not,” you assured him, taking a second to tenderly cup his cheek. “I’m getting a condom.”

Jack felt stupid, laughing deliriously as you grabbed a condom from your bag. His chest rose and fell heavily, watching your tits sway with each step. How they hung when you bent over, and how good your ass looked in your pants. 

The foil packet was taunting him as you walked back to the bed. His cock strained agonisingly against his pants, desperate for relief. He lazily palmed himself, watching your eyes drop to his lap. 

You bit your lip and he groaned as he watched you tuck your thumbs into the side of your pants, slowly wiggling them down your body. 

“You’re killing me,” he panted. 

Jack watched you crawl towards him on the bed, hand roughly squeezing his cock as he took in your soft, supple body. Each dip, each mark, all signs of a life lived. 

You reached for his pants, untying the drawstring that kept them cinched tight at his waist. Jack exhaled heavily through his nose, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. Any sign that this wasn’t something you wanted. 

He didn’t see it. 

He felt your soft touch ghosting over his pelvic bone. He lifted his hips, helping you remove his pants, before he was pulling you into his lap again. You grinned as you straddled his waist, nothing between you now as you rolled your hips. 

Jack was a goner. The heat of your cunt wrapped around him, the way you kissed along his jaw. His fingers flexed against your waist, digging into your flesh, as your arousal coated his hard length. 

“Fucking hell,” he cursed lowly, desperately trying to gain some self-control. He felt way too close to the edge, too far gone, but you were everywhere. You were everything. “Please.”

“Please what, Jack?” You asked softly, nipping at his ear. You hummed as he gripped your hips a little tighter, an arm snaking around your lower back and holding you still. Body flush against his own. 

“I need you.” 

His voice sounded foreign to him. So husky, so distraught, so wildly aroused, but you looked exactly how he felt. Horny, needy, desperate. God, and here you were, sitting in his lap, bare pussy sliding against his cock, and he couldn't think—couldn’t breathe. 

Your lips found his, frantic. Teeth clashing, mouths bruising, tongues tasting like there was no time left. Like this was the pinnacle—the crux—his be all or end all. 

You fumbled with the foil wrapper, Jack’s arm snaking around your waist to keep you still–pinned against him.

“God, listen to you,” he said. “So fucking wet.”

Sinful. Jack couldn’t even think straight. 

“Jack,” you whined. 

He took the condom from you. You shuffled back, drawing him in for a kiss as he rolled the rubber onto his length. 

His fingers sought the spot between your legs that was drenched. The sloppy wetness was like music to his ear, reiterating that this wasn’t just one-sided. That you were as far gone as he was. 

He raised you, hands firmly gripping your ass as he held your gaze. Your hands locked behind his head, bottom lip taken between your teeth as his tip nestled at your entrance. 

When you lowered yourself onto him, neither of you dared breathe. The air felt electric, your bodies anchored together. 

Jack’s groan rumbled in his chest, rippling up his throat. “Fuck, baby.”

Your head was swimming. You inhaled raggedly, pressing your lips to Jack’s in an effort to ground you. But he was moaning, a delicious sound that had you clenching down around him. 

“Fuck, move. God, please,” he begged, voice strained as he desperately tried to hold his orgasm at bay. “Baby.”

You rocked your hips, pushing him back further into the pillows so you could raise your hips and sink yourself down onto him again. Hand splayed against his throat, lips pressed to the corner of his mouth. He cupped the back of your head, the other arm still wrapped tightly around your lower back. His own hips bucked, desperately seeking your thrusts. 

You gasped, cradling his head to your chest as you rose to your knees and he fucked up into you, the sound of his balls slapping your slick cunt flooding the room. 

“Ja-aa-aack,” you moaned, a desperate giggling falling past your lips. “I’m so close.”

“Shit,” he cursed, hips stilling as the hand that cupped your head slid between your bodies. Thick fingers circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Come for me, baby.”

You were there. You were seeing stars, and Jack was relentless. His fingers, his cock, his words. Your head swam as you moaned, as your body reached its breaking point and he pushed you over the edge. 

Your body was a cacophony of euphoria. The tightness in your abdomen that snapped. The moans rippling from your chest from the man you cradled in your arms. The way he held you, even with your tidal wave of arousal surged from you. Unprepared. Unrelenting. Unwavering. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he held you tight, bodies joined together. And still, you throbbed around him. Body overcome with aftershocks—convulsions. The way you squeezed him just right as he spilled inside the condom, clinging to you desperately like he could lose himself if he dared let you go. 

It took a minute, maybe a couple, before your breaths calmed. Synchronised. His hand tenderly stroking your hair, bodies completely spent. 

B-a-t-h you tapped on his shoulder. 

Y-e-s he tapped back, pressing a kiss to your forehead, but neither of you making the effort to move just yet. 

[torncwpid]

Tea is a Love Language (apparently)

Summary: Reader being absolutely oblivious to Ghost's feelings (and Soap facepalming)

Cw: gn!sergeant!reader, just a little drabble that I might expand on someday

Word count: 774

You were a sergeant at TF141, and you were very close with the other soldiers - getting along just fine and always playing around with them.

Except for Ghost.

And that was fine, you told yourself. He was closed off with pretty much everyone, and you were new there anyway. It was only expected. He would come around eventually. It’s not like your situation was hostile, after all. There was mutual respect and a somewhat amenable relationship between you. Just because he wasn’t friendly didn’t mean he hated you.

But oh, you were so very wrong.

There you were, making tea for yourself in the common kitchen while trying to keep up with the conversation Soap and Gaz were having nearby. They were mostly bickering about their football teams, but the conversation was entertaining nonetheless. You saw someone approaching in your peripheral vision, and judging by the silence and size of the figure, you easily knew who it was.

"Lt.”

A nod and a grunt is all you get in response.

“D’you want me to make you tea? I mean, it’s almost 16 already. You usually have an Earl Grey. I can prepare it for you since I’m already here.”

Another grunt that sounds like a “yeah.” Seems like you’re getting somewhere.

Turning around to grab a cup and start boiling the water, you’re met with a knowing, smug look plastered on Soap’s face.

“What?”

“He’s lettin’ ye make his tea now?” The confused look on your face must’ve been evident, because he keeps talking. “Means he trusts you, that — Ghost doesn’t let anyone near his bloody kettle.”

You shrug. “It’s jus’ tea. Maybe he doesn’t let you near it ’cause of your kitchen skills.”

Soap lets out a dramatic gasp, one hand flying to his chest like you’d offended his entire family. “Tha’s rich, comin’ from the one who nearly set toast on fire last week.”

“That toaster’s ancient. If anything, I’m the victim here.” You roll your eyes and go back to prepping the tea, unbothered.

Gaz snorts behind you, and you hear the unmistakable clink of him putting his mug down. “You’ve got no idea, do you?”

You look at him now. “About what?”

Soap looks like he’s just been handed the juiciest bit of gossip and adds, without missing a beat, “About Ghost.” He’s got the mischievous smile of a kid who’s about to tell his parents’ biggest secret.

Your eyes roll before settling back down as you dunk the teabag with the slow precision of someone pointedly ignoring whatever drama is brewing.

“He doesn’t let anyone make his tea,” Gaz chimes in, voice pitched like he’s trying to help, but there’s mischief in his words. “He’s a control freak about it. Swear. Exact temp, steep time, no sugar, splash of milk. The one time I tried? He took the mug, dumped it, and made his own.”

“…Maybe he was jus’ feelin’ extra mean that day,” you say finally, turning back to stir the tea.

Soap groans, full-body, like your denial is physically painful to him. “Christ, ye really don’ see it?”

You shrug and walk off with the cup of Earl Grey in your hands, prepared just the way he likes it, which wasn’t difficult to figure out after months of watching him make it the exact same way every day. Walking into the common area, you spot the lieutenant and shove the mug into his hands with a quiet, “Careful. It’s hot.” And he takes it without a word, fingers brushing yours for the briefest second.

Warm, deliberate.

And still, it flies right over your head.

You linger for a moment. Not enough to be weird, just… long enough to see if he approves of the way you prepared his tea. Taking his low hum, quickly followed by a second sip, as a good enough sign, you head back to the kitchen.

You blink. “See? Nothin’ weird.”

Soap throws his hands up with a groan while Gaz shakes his head.

“Unbelievable.”