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hischierjustscored · 23 days ago

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accidentally yours・゜・quinn hughes

summary: you barely remembered putting quinn as your emergency contact until he showed up like the universe's idea of a bad joke

a/n: this is my contribution for the winter fic exchange 2k25 by @wyattjohnston for @hanaaishi 🧡 i still owe you forever for being patient and bearing with me on this!! seriously i mean it!! thank you both for making me a part of another amazing exchange which was my first one ever but i'm so happy that i was!! it was such an experience for me diving into all this and hope i was able to do some justice on my part 🧡 i got too carried away smoothing the final edges, hence the delay again, i also changed the idea we talked about a little but i hope it's all good in the end

update: very emotional about all the likes and sharings here, i can't say thank you enough it really means the world to me 🧡🧡🧡 love you all!!!!

warnings: mentions of injuries (light concussion, ankle sprain), hospital, parents pressure, overthinking, scratching on the surface???, and i trusted myself to do a reader insert so bear with me once more

word count: 5.1k

You remember when you were 8 and took your brother’s bike to try out his self-made wood ramps in the garden, only to fall 6ft from the side and drop straight onto your left hip. That day you found out that grass wasn’t nearly as cushy as it looked but it was your mother’s “told you so” you never forget, lingering in your ears from where you sat in the backseat on the way to the hospital.

You also remember your best friend Lia leaving you in charge of booking an Airbnb for your first trip to Austria together, and you were proud of that cozy little place you found nestled in a mountain valley. But the "cozy" and "European" charms you both imagined left you searching desperately for a hotel in the middle of the holiday season instead, and Lia didn't have to say the words. You could hear the "I told you so" for really trusting someone with the username wanderlustgirl98.

And you remember moving to Vancouver a year ago after your studies, taking up your former professor's advice to follow one of its renowned urban development programs and put your "big-picture" skills to work. He didn’t have to try hard to convince you. You’d already been thinking about it for a long time until it felt like your chance to finally prove yourself. Perhaps even more to your parents. A naive part in you hoped you'd fit into their expectations for once. But if you really did, you'd reach out more than just on birthdays and festivities, maybe even give in to that other more vulnerable part in you and tell them how over your head you've been lately or that, deep down, they were probably right about all of this being a huge leap you still weren't ready for.

And you can only imagine…

Told you so.

It long replaced the loud ringing and the whole new level of woozines you felt an hour ago on the bus, as you watched the nurse adjust the brace on your right ankle, all black and chunky.

You sighed heavily for the 5th time in under 2 minutes, because what did you do to deserve all this?

Oh right, maybe being a chronic people pleaser, staying late at work to set other people's shit right. Fixing last-minute deadlines, cleaning up mistakes that weren’t yours, saying yes when you wanted to say no.

You couldn't help it.

"It shouldn't take more than 3-6 weeks to heal completly, you're lucky it's just a moderate strain. Nothing that can't be fixed."

She looked up at you over the rim of her glasses, still perched hideously low, before she slowly swiveled back to her desk.

"Can I still work in that thing?", you tried testing out the waters, bending your feet just a little, then more until you sucked in a sharp breath when the pain hit.

"Honey, what do you think this is?", she drawled followed by a low chuckle as if she couldn't quiet believe this being your first question.

“It’s meant for the healing, you have to keep it still completely and not put any weight on it. And that includes not working."

The last straw keeping you grounded right now, is that this could have been much worse.

From the moment the bus driver hit the brakes like in that one Harry Potter scene, your new plateau sneakers giving out on you and your head bracing the inevitable fall on some window. Your initial hope bubble of no one noticing quickly busted as people came to your side, but you brushed them off mumbling that you were fine through the worst cringe of unwanted attention. Until you tried to balance yourself, only to realize you couldn't, and straightening up nearly made you sick.

You shifted, bracing your palms against the mattress to find a more comfortable position, minus flaring your ankle up again. You’d been in this bed for too long, it was driving you crazy.

"But how am I supposed to do that? Other than floating maybe..."

The mocking arch of her brows made the wrinkles on her forehood stand out more, but you couldn't care less, it was the pure frustration blurting out of you at this point you weren't even kidding about the last part. The last thing you needed on your mind was your boss' face to your sick call tomorrow morning. Not with the mayor visiting your office in 2 days, waiting to hear your thoughts on improving Vancouver's climate neutrality through sustainable architecture. What you’ve worked tirelessly on, perfecting every detail from start to finish.

And you thought if all of this is some sort of reverse karma. Only for being hardworking.

Is that a thing?

You were so lost in thought that you didn't notice the shuffling in the room until she came back with something that, if any shred of humor was left inside you, you would've laughed at. But instead, you just slumped back against the headrest, the wave of déjà vu taking you back to when you were 8 looking between the crutches in her hand.

Hardworking karma, reverse karma, just trying as hard as you can karma...

"I think you will be good with these", she offered, leaning them against your bed within reach, "maybe if you try hard enough you will actually float."

Her chumy tone you still couldn't quite feel yet, had your eyes roll back in an instant before closing them, grumbling to yourself, "Just great, really, really, great", but it was a mistake once you did as you fought off the urge to drift off.

A piece of mind for the first time in hours.

Maybe for the first time in forever even.

The last months have been...immense to say the least, throwing yourself into anything that kept you running on autopilot, saying yes when you wanted to say no, but you needed it.

After the biggest "told you so" that was bound to happen eventually. 2 months from now or more, or perhaps between his work, your work, balancing on a life that went past deadlines and demands, between 2 people who have their own reasons to prove themselves to everything around them, you slipped out of each other’s reach.

But it’s not like there was ever an official you two.

It was just the version of the story you always liked best.

“Here you go, I was able to find one in the random stash we keep in our break room, but it should work though," a voice light and sweet snapped your attention back faster or not fast enough, you didn't know, blinking against the lights now.

For a second, you felt like you were back on the bus with the dizziness and nausea creeping in again.

But no. Just him. It was just the thought of Quinn.

Your weighted gaze shifted to the bubbly blonde next to you, then down to your forearm where she lightly nudged a charger against it, and you suddenly remembered how determined she was to get it for you when you realized your phone powered down.

You couldn’t even text Lia back in time, knowing you were already too late for the rare occassions of missing your daily Facetime calls, with her still being back home in Seattle. Not in a trillion years you expected to feel this way about her, but right now you're glad she is.

Because if she she'd see you like this, she'd already know the answers without you giving it to her, that you take on more than your chronic people pleasing heart could handle sometimes.

And he'd always know too. When to snap you out of it, when to just exist beside you with no words. He'd never have to ask.

"Oh yeah, thank you", you forced out in the most put-together tone you could pull off right now, hoping our smile was convincing enough to distract her from the way your clammy palms were rubbing against the mattress, or the rapid thumping of your heart that you’d see too on your chest if you dared to look down again.

"Just enough to call a Uber and you can take it back."

She gave you a simple half-shrug, taking your phone from your outstretched hand, "It's stuff patients leave behind soo..", and plugged it in for you. But before you could brush her answer off again, the low calling of your last name made you snap to a tall man in the doorway, and his two long strides toward you could either mean more bad or good news.

You held your breath as you listened to him in silence going over your completly normal labs and scans which only told you everyone was making a bigger deal out of this anyway. You were fine crossing your arms and biting the inside of your cheeks reluctantly when he added they'd be filling out a sick report too.

"-though we would like to monitor you here for a night just in case you develop more symptoms that can’t be ruled out from the hit, and given that you already experienced dizziness and nausea-"

No person or force on this earth could make you stay here for one minute longer.

You released your cheeks with a click of your tongue, cutting him off quickly, "Uhhh that's not necessary, I mean I feel way better now and you just said it too, didn't you?", which finally made him look up from whatever, clearly taken aback, his suprise mirrowing your own for a different reason.

Plus, you knew your rights. They couldn't keep you hostage here, you were ready to remind him of their own policy.

"We just want to make sure that-"

But you barely registered his next words, not that they would change your mind anyway, lost beneath the familiar sound of your phone finally wrapping up in your hands, and you were as happy as a little kid seconds away from unwrapping the biggest gift under the Christmas as tree, just, it didn't ask you to press your thumb down to unlock it as it normally would but...

"Damn it."

The one time your phone decides to ask for your SIM card code, and you’re completely blank.

Hardworking karma, reverse karma, just trying as hard as you can karma...

Yes, you really believed now, you did everything wrong tonight and this was the real karma of it all.

Your thumbs brushed the screen, trying to remember 4 digits like your life depended on it with the only 3 attempts you had.

The day you bought it you scribbled it down, along with the backup code (of course), and put it on your fridge because your memory rivaled that of a goldfish sometimes.

Was it 5678 or 5679?, and you heart dropped as deep as the Marianna Trench when it said only 1 attempt left.

"...and with how things are right now, we wouldn't encourage you to leave on your own. Do you have someone you can call right now to pick you up? Someone safe?"

Was he still talking to you?

"Huh? What?", the phone nearly slid from your grip, your palms starting to clam up again, and he lowered his clipboard studying you with an expression you weren't sure you had the energy to fully read, but it felt too damn close to pity.

"Or anyone we could call...?"

Quinn knew now that he could only trust Jack when it comes to discussing goodreads.com reader's favorites, ideas for lake house interior, and shooting pucks.

Not with anything close to dating. Or helping him out with that.

He was doing just fine. Thank you very much, but he knew Jack. Too much for his own good sometimes.

"Why do you act like you don't want it when you actually do. You need this. Get out of your head."

Sitting in this Italian restaurant that was a little too crowded for it being a secret "gem" as Jack said suggesting it to him, and he didn't even live here, listening to his date "soul-searching" trip to Bali was far from want and need.

He checked her Instagram highlights before, clicking on her profile Jack DM'd him. A friend of a friend. If overpriced veggie bowls and infinity pool thirst traps were anything soul-searching she's deluding both of them, and so was his thinking that maybe he should give this a shot. "Getting out out his head", with the season already hitting him with flashbacks he wanted to forget for the sake of his sanity, and keeping away from anything that kept him running on autopilot.

"It just put everything into perspective", she chattered, her voice pulling him back just enough to realize he had no idea what she was talking about.

And he knew the moment he looked up from stirring the ice in his water with his straw for the past 5 minutes, there wouldn't be damn thing he'd remember about her either. She was beautiful, that much was obvious. The kind she knew and had probably been told her whole life, she didn't have to try too hard.

He preffered not trying at all. It was his favorite.

Probably ever since you took his drink at the coffee shop one day, the place too crowded for names to be called, just cups sliding across the counter and you didn't even look down at his name scribbled on the side in Sharpie when you slipped past him on the way out, not bothered to notice him either. The moment he should've said something, tap your shoulder, say anything when he just kept watching you move outside, tilting your head at street signs like they weren’t second nature yet, checking your phone every few seconds like you had somewhere important to be. Grabbing the wrong coffee without a second glance wasn’t his only hunch that you weren’t from here. Then, the sip. Too strong. Wholebean. Definitely not yours.

You turned back, ready to go back inside, but he already had yours in his hands on his way out to you when they started calling out names again, and no one responded to, except for him.

A moment, a pause, your cold fingers brushing against his warm ones, or when you laughed at your mistake all crinkly around your eyes, perharps for the first time in a while that day, that should have been it, but wasn't, because between all of it you just became a part of his routine.

“…And then, on the third day, we did this sunrise meditation hike just me and a few people from the retreat, barefoot, totally disconnected, away from everything."

She kept going, oblivious to the way his focus had disconnected, his mind already elsewhere, lost in the memory of the last time he wanted to get away from everything, and the cushion underneath him slid akwardly when he shifted in his seat.

It wasn't about overpriced veggie bowls or infinity pools. But his favorite place in Michigan. Always.

And he wanted to take you there.

It had been a vague idea, one that had come up in the quiet moments in betweeen road trips and late-night talks at his place that were too deep and glances that lingered too long to mean anything less than what he had already convinced himself was true about you. The same feeling hit him when you gave him that slight curve of your lips, already figuring him out which no one did better than you, telling you about the days being slow and the nights nothing but still stars at the lake house.

"Hmm, that's not true stars are moving constantly, we just don't see it."

He laughed, quiet but warm,"Can you at least pretend to fall for it?, just for it to get stuck in his throat when you answered.

"It never is with you."

"What?"

"Pretending."

It never was with you either.

But it never became anything more than vague. Because there was always something else. Texts left on read for too long, you and your own world to keep up with, just as much as he did with travel schedules that blurred weeks into months, not leaving room for things he didn't know how to hold onto. Or someone who didn't know either.

A low buzz from behind, easy to miss if it hadn’t lingered just long enough to jolt him back, recognizing it immediately, and even though this was only ever one-sided, a genuine "Really sorry, I will turn it off" left his lips as he gawkly reached for his jacket over the backrest.

He hadn’t meant to look, a habit more than anything. But then his thumb hesitated mid-air, double-taking the number.

Unknown. Vancouver area code. Probably nothing. Probably something.

But always a red flag, especially for someone in his industry.

"Thought you were turning it off?", she mused, tipping her wine glasss to her lips, watching him over the rim and he forced a quick exhale, "Yeah, I-", but he didn't have a real answer with the buzzing still alive in his hand.

And he should've turned it off, ignore it, and sit through the night rest of the night pretending like he hadn't already made up his mind about this whole thing.

You need this.

He wasn't even sure what "this" was even supposed to be. Whatever, it never felt right since the start.

His phone buzzed again with the same caller, but now he thought about it being a perfect timing.

"I gotta take this...", he mumbled, barely shooting her a glance, and he swiped right before his mind could really caught up with it.

"Hello?"

A breath, a pause, nothing good he should know already, but he used it to press his index finger to his ear to drown out the noise, turning away in his seat.

"Uhm, yeah, hello it's Vancouver General Hospital am I speaking to Quinn H?"

Well this was new.

"Depends, who is this?", he still vacillated about it all and ignored the "H" making it sound like witness protection program name. Not that he planned on correcting them. Or rather, a nurse as she introduced herself, surprisingly professional, enough to raise his interest and, slowly, his concerns too.

"Sir, we have your sister here, she was brought in with a mild concussion and a sprained ankle some hours ago. But don't worry, she is totally fine, she just needs someone to pick her up which is why we're calling."

His brows snapped together, head jerking back to the slightest bit like his brain needed an extra second to process.

"My what? Excuse me?"

Last time he checked it was just Jack and Luke. Right?

Their parents would never screw them over like that, no way the would forget an entire human being for twenty-something years. Not even back when they first sat him down to tell him he’d be a big brother, and his two-year-old self, without hesitation, decided he wanted a sister. But by the time Luke came, he was bound to live with brothers and he wouldn't change that for the world now.

So when the nurse repeated the words that his sister listed him as her emergency contact Quinn could only stare blankly ahead, "Yeah, I still think you've got the wrong number..."

She is wasting her time on a call when this girl was really waiting to be picked up, and he was just about to put it in terms she’d finally grasp, until-

You.

The noise around him, muffled laughter and the hum of conversation, the restless tapping of manicured nails against the table cloth across him, faded into nothing. And with his thoughts already going from 0 to 100, this is his breaking point.

Your name.

He cleared his throat, but his voice came out strained, throat too dry, "Come again?"

Of all the names, hitting his ears after all these months but thought more of than he'd ever admit. The name he'd seen on his screen too many times, resisting the urge to check, to ask, to do something.

Everything dropped, turned over, a slow ache pressing against his ribs, too overwhelming and far too familiar.

But his body moved before his mind could catch up, momentum taking over. Someone said his name. Maybe, he couldn't care less. Something about a drink next, about sitting back down, but he ignored it again.

Because you were still ringing in his head, louder than it had in months.

And he wasn’t about to ignore it now.

"He said he's already on his way, shouldn't take longer than 10 minutes."

It made your brows furrow in confusion, "He's in the area?", but you said it more to yourself than to her, not that she heard it either in the crowded waiting room you were sitting in now, your ankle on a cushioned chair they'd given you.

Turns out you had listed an emergency contact the last time you were here, one you didn’t even remember leaving behind.

Apparently, hospital policy included holding onto records long enough to make you wait nearly an hour, because the name they had on file was your brother. And, of course, he was on a business trip in Abbotsford, 1 hour away. The only reasonable choice to put down when they’d asked back then. Then again, you barely remembered.

Except for the fact that it was your first public unveiling of a project you led. You had invited your parents, that small, hopeful part of you giving in, calling them, telling them you’d be happy if they came. You were almost surprised by their promising tone, as if, finally, they’d understand this wasn’t just about concepts and sketches, but about your dream.

But they didn’t come, texting out of everything, with an excuse that felt too made up. And hours ago, when your stomach had already sunk from scanning the crowd for them every time a new group arrived, it sank further. This time with the mix of one bad shrimp and something stronger you’d used to numb the disappointment.

How could you forget when you really really wanted to.

"Is you brother like...famous or something? Because your records were pretty mysterious."

You looked up to the same bubbly blonde nurse, still standing in front of you with her lips pressed together, thinking hard with her eyes narrowing the slightest looking at you.

"I think we're close enough he'd care to tell me or I would've found out sooner or later, but no, sorry to dissapoint you or anything", you corrected, hoping that was enough while you were already done processing the absurdity of it all. You slumped against the rigid backrest, sighing as the exhaustion crept in again, but rest was the last thing anyone was willing to grant you right now.

“Still”, she rambled on, not getting the memo, "kinda sounded familiar..."

One eye popped open, then another when you saw her crossing her arms now. This conversation slowly glided out of your hands, you weren't even a part of it. You leaned forward, jerking your head to the side, silently urging her to make sense of whatever this was.

"Your record just said Quinn H. and nothing more. I had to call him Mr. H. the whole time, but I figured he prefers this kind of privacy and that's what you want for him too. He didn't tell me his last name though."

There’s no need for that.

Your fingers now hoved near the cushioned stool, reaching for your calf to lift it off with more force than you should've and the sting was instant. But it was nothing compared to the irritation climbing its way up your throat where your heart already pounded in it.

Because not your brother was about to walk through that door. The person who should've been here.

No.

It will be Quinn Hughes.

And suddenly you were mid-fall again, right there on the bus, every last bit of control slipping past your grip. Nothing you could do.

Because drunk you put him down as your emergency contact that time. The one you barely remember.

"Wait, no", a breath left you, unsteady, "Call him again and tell him it's a big fucking mistake", your hands twitched in flight mode as you darted between her and the sliding doors open-mouthed, cause you remembered her saying he was only 10 minutes away. 5 even, if you're unlucky.

The same Quinn you stopped talking too, who if you looked into his eyes again, the same on that always made you wonder, if they could get any darker, any greener, would he notice?

That you mever meant for things to be this way? That it wasn't him, not really but your own mind, the way this new life kept pulling at you, and how you wanted to reach out when things calmed down. When you had space. When you could be the version of yourself that he deserved.

Maybe he was waiting for you. Maybe he thought you didn't care. It was only fair, but it didn't loosen the knot in your chest, nor how you blinked away the sting in your eyes that you told yourself was from the stuffy air with too many people breathing in here.

Because you did. You always did.

"Hey sis."

And in that instant, it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room, how else could you explain the way your lungs refused to function, as if they’d forgotten how, when you snapped your head to where he stood now inches away.

How long?

His navy blue shirt was barely visible under his coat, his hair grown out just enough for the ends to curl, for it to peek out from the beanie he held in his hand, looking too good even with his hair tousled still like he'd always did asking you if he looks okay, what you could see him doing in whatever thing you interruped him in before he got here.

It pressed in too heavy, you had to cut through it, and through the faint hid of a smirk tugging at his mouth corner.

"Why are you here?"

"What happ-"

You barely felt the ache in your ankle over the blood rushing in your ears when you shifted your weight standing now, his gaze dropping to the crutches you stood up without, your brace, the subtle wince you thought you hid. And it was fucking with your heart that he wasn't just looking at you, but like he was piecing something back together.

He parted his lips, but his eyes flicked past yours first, toward the nurse behind you, when his fingers flexed around his beanie, "You were brought in here", he paused, "Needed someone to pick you up."

That was the objective, something everyone would've done perhaps if they received such call, being helpful and humanity personified, or because of the simple fact that he was your emergency contact. And that's what they are for.

Yet, you needed the subjective.

You huffed, shaking your head, "This is not what I meant. You could have said no, it's not like it would’ve changed anything."

"I didn't."

"You should have."

The words sounded sharper on your tongue than you wanted them to be, and you didn't know what hurt more, the way his expression barely shifted like he'd expected to be shut down again, because you were getting so good at it, or how your insides churned 360 degrees of how much you already regretted them. You felt his next sigh in your bones.

"What do you want me to say?", and you swallowed hard over the slight clip in his tone, "You're the one who put my name down I had no idea of, and they told me you were on your way to bolt out of here with a concussion. What did you expect me to do?"

Bolted. Floated. Whatever to get out of here finally.

He hinted at more, waiting for you to give it to him when you answered with an abruptness yourself, "Makes two of us."

"But you could've guessed from the call alone that it was a mix-up."

"Who jokes about that?"

Probably the universe and whatever intention it had planned out for you tonight, but you still tried to resist, just like you resisted the urge to meet his gaze, your eyes fixating somewhere beyond his right arm.

"Let's just drop it to the part where you go back to whatever you had going on before coming here I guess and me saying sorry for it."

The bittersweet taste in your mouth.

Only when the dull ache flared up in your good ankle did you realize you’d been standing without your crutches all this time, and before you even thought to reach for your crutches, he was already moving. Anticipating. The moment your balance gave out on you, he was already there, steady hands at your elbow and bicep, grounding you before gravity could do worse, and your pulse skipped how easy it was to sink into it.

His breath hitched, and so did yours, the warmth of his touch pooling through your fabric like you swallowed an ember, and his eyes, god his eyes, the darkest green, you don't even have to look up to be convinced about it again, all on you, as he murmured, barely a whisper.

"Don't be sorry, because it didn't mean anything."

Sitting in his car with the seat warmer already on like he remembered how easily cold you can get, watching as he pulled up your adress from his "saved" typing it into the console, it fucked with your heart all over again.

You should have protested, insisting you were fine enough to make it out on your own, scoffing when the nurse told Quinn, not you, that you needed monitoring, just in case.

But exhaustion had already settled too deep in your bones, that you were almost thankful for the silence settling between you since he helped walking you out and insisted to drive you home at least.

Almost.

You would’ve been the biggest fool alive if you let this slip again, like you always did, like you always regretted.

"I am sorry though."

"And I told you not to be."

The darkness in his eyes gave way to the streetlights flickering through them as you turned to face him, "You don’t get to tell me what I should and shouldn’t be sorry for, Hughes", you jested and Quinn huffed out something close to a laugh, shaking his head lightly. The soft glow from outside looked too good on him when you stopped at a right light, you swallowed hard, "What kind of brother would I be too?"

You groaned, rolling your eyes. "Oh my god, stop. I didn’t even mean to put you down as my contact."

"Keep it, I don't mind."

"You say that like you wouldn’t have blocked my number by now if you had the chance."

Quinn smirked, tilting his head against the headrest, his eyes flickering toward you. "Would’ve done it already if I wanted to."

Then, before either of you could think too much about it, his hand reached out, his pinky brushing against yours on the center console, like testing the waters, like answering more questions without words. It was enough.

He squeezed your hand once.

You squeezed back. An answer.

#quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #nhl fic #quinn hughes #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine

638 notes · View notes

rosyblooom · 10 months ago

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not so perfect strangers | ln4 smau

PAIRING: lando norris x private fem!reader SUMMARY: after getting completely splashed by a passing car, y/n throws all 'stranger danger' warnings out the window and hitches a ride home.

Instagram

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: OMFG THIS CAR JUST SPLASHED ME NOW I'M SOAKED😭😭😭 couldn't even see the driver ughh ]

[ caption: it's been almost 1 hr and i still look like a wet rat🙃 soo guess who's hitching a ride? (if i don't update within 2 hrs CALL THE POLICE PLS) ]

[ tagged: yourbestfriend, yourfriend + more ]

Instagram

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: no need to worry anymore, your girl made it back home🙂‍↕️ ]

[ tagged: yourbestfriend, yourfriend + more ]

Instagram

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, landonorris, yourfriend and 68 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername "stranger danger" but not this one !! 🙂‍↕️

view all 22 comments

yourfriend girl what- is this who I think it is???

yourusername 🤭🤭

yourbestfriend UHM DINNER TOOO????

yourusername messaging u rn girly🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

landonorris Again soon?👀

yourusername again tmrw? landonorris Again tomorrow. yourbestfriend what. the. fuck.

yourfriend pretty girl <33

(liked by author)

landonorris posted to his story!

[ caption: Day 2 ]

[ tagged: yourusername ]

Twitter

Instagram

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: mixing friend groups >>> ] [ caption 2: another day, another slay 🙂‍↕️ ]

[ tagged: landonorris, yourbestfriend, yourfriend + more ]

Tiktok

A couple days later...

yourusername posted to her close friends!

[ caption 1: lol ] [ caption 2: bye ]

Instagram

yourusername posted to her close friends!

[ caption 1: this is awkward ahaha... how about we all just forget about my silly goofy little story FOREVER AGO pretty please😁 ]

[ tagged: landonorris ]

story replies:

yourbestfriend "he's dead to me"🤡🤡

yourusername pfft tomato tomato right ahaha 😁

yourfriend folding after only 5 days is clown shit lmfao

yourfriend LMAOOO where did all that energy go??

yourusername new phone who dis😀

yourfriend Y/N STAND TF UP OMFG???

yourusername b-but pretty flowers🥺 yourfriend a lost cause I see...

yourfriend I spy with my little eye a whole damn circus!

yourfriend so real tbh

yourusername i knew you'd get me babe 🙂‍↕️

[ ... ]

yourusername posted to her close friends!

[ caption: STOP EATING ME UP IN THE REPLIES OMFG?? PLS FRIENDS I'M JUST A GIRLLL ]

A few months later...

Instagram

f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username, and 13,007 others

f1gossipofficial According to this picture sent to us by a fan in China, it seems Lando Norris has brought Y/N along with him for the upcoming Grand Prix.

The duo has been the subject of rumours and sightings together for a while now. Could this weekend finally mark the debut of a new wag?

They certainly appear close in the photo! 👀

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username just fell to my knees in walmart🧎‍♂️

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yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: entering my lucky charm era hmm?👀 ] [ caption 2: AHHH P2 OMFG!!!! SO PROUD OF U LAN ❤️ ❤️ (you're welcome also 😌) ]

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novascharms · 19 days ago

Text

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 14.9 chapter index — next. chap.

c.w — smut, p in v masterlist

a.n — you did read that right. this has turned into a 15000 word monster... i'm not sure how it happened. ANYWAY. this is very late and i'm so very sorry. gramps went into emergency surgery, i started school and had the worst period cramps of my life but we all good, everything is much better now. i will be updating the other four parts very soon. (hopefully tee hee)

epilogue - part one

sunday, march 2nd

rafe was a heavy sleeper. you never knew that—not until now. he slept like a log, completely undisturbed despite the world moving around him. even with the sun pouring through the windows, turning his hair and eyelashes a shade of gold so soft it looked spun from honey, even with the familiar morning symphony of your family filling the house—your sister's giggles echoing from the yard as she played with your mom, your little brother waddling through the living room, bottle clutched in his tiny hands as he repeatedly bumped his head against rafe’s thigh—he didn’t so much as stir.

he should consider himself lucky. you, on the other hand, could wake up from the mere sound of a door creaking open down the hall.

you tried to imagine him in your bed instead of sprawled across your couch, head buried in your pillows, wrapped up in your blanket. would he sleep on the left or the right? hopefully the left, since you slept on the right—closest to the window, where the first light of morning always found you.

did he dream? or did he have nightmares? did he mumble in his sleep? would you wake up to hear him speaking in slurred, sleepy gibberish, too out of it to make sense?

did he sleep in sweats? pajamas? a button-up? shirtless? that felt very much like rafe, but you didn’t know. not yet, at least.

did he linger in bed for thirty minutes before dragging himself up, or was he like you? someone who counted down from five to one and forced temselves up at one.

endless possibilities.

and something inside you whispered that you would find out. maybe not today. maybe not tomorrow. but the day would come, and when it did, you'd cherish it.

you'd watch him just like you were watching him now, cataloging every detail—the way his lashes rested against his cheek, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. you’d memorize how his hair fell, how his lips looked impossibly soft, how the little crease between his brows never quite smoothed out, even in sleep. and you'd be allowed.

you wouldn’t have to stop yourself from reaching out.

you wouldn’t have to fight the urge to kiss him.

because he would be yours. completely, irrevocably yours.

“take a picture, it'll last longer.”

your sister’s voice snapped you from your thoughts. you barely spared her a glance, still leaning against the archway separating the living room from the dining room, cradling a mug of now-cold tea in your hands.

“go away,” you murmured, voice quiet but firm.

she was right, but she could be right somewhere else.

you'd been staring at him for well over fifteen minutes, still in your pajamas, unable to make yourself move, unable to be anywhere else. you had already called off work because the thought of leaving right now—leaving him—felt unbearable.

were you one of those girlfriend? the kind who couldn’t stay away, who hovered and obsessed?

girlfriend felt too soon.

but then again, rafe had told you he loved you. twelve hours, thirteen minutes, and fifty-four seconds ago, to be exact.

your dad passed by, replacing your cold mug with a fresh one, steam curling in the air. you thanked him absentmindedly, fingers wrapping around the warmth.

what kind of boyfriend would rafe be?

you already knew he was touchy, that he liked kissing, that he had a habit of nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours, of holding eye contact just a little too long when you weren’t paying attention. he liked to watch you, studying you as you tutored him, as you cleaned, as if every little thing you did was worth committing to memory.

but what about the rest?

would he bring you flowers? take you to the movies, or more late-night drives along the coast? would he want to sit on the beach with you until the sky turned soft with morning, or would he prefer extravagant dates, something grand and exciting?

what kind of gifts would he like?

would he appreciate personalized things—carefully written ‘open when’ letters, little boxes filled with things meant just for him—or was he more materialistic? would he want his favorite cologne, designer watches, the kinds of things that held status?

or would he prefer something he could do? something he could experience—a trip, an activity, something he could share with you or his friends?

you’d probably just get him all of it. just to be sure.

you’d only had one boyfriend before—not that you and rafe were official yet, but still.

being a girlfriend the first time had been… odd.

like having a boy who was a friend, and sometimes he kissed you, and it was just… fine.

but with rafe?

it felt nothing like that.

and god, you wanted to do it right.

maybe there was a research paper somewhere on how to be a good girlfriend.

not that it mattered. rafe made it easy.

he made your heart stutter, your stomach twist, your cheeks burn. he made you want to be good to him. to be perfect for him.

and maybe that was impossible.

but you would try.

rafe stirred, his arm lifting sluggishly to rub at his eyes, fingers dragging through the remnants of sleep. the motion caught your little brother’s attention immediately, his tiny head snapping up, curiosity flickering across his face at the sudden movement in the room. once he realized rafe was awake, he held out his arms in a way that said 'pick me up before i hurl this bottle at someone.'

"hey, buddy…" rafe rasped, voice thick with sleep as he reached for him, lifting him effortlessly and settling him onto his chest.

you stayed still, watching in silence, your body at ease yet your heart hammering against your ribs. it was as if you could physically feel it swell, stretching wide with a warmth so intense it made your breath hitch.

and then, as if he could sense it, his eyes found yours. sleepy, unfocused, but piercing all the same. that disarming gaze of his tugged at something deep within you, pulling you toward him like gravity itself. god, you wanted to go to him. to press yourself against him, burrow into his warmth, tuck your face into the crook of his neck and let the rest of the world fall away.

"morning."

his voice was quiet, rough around the edges, heavy with sleep. it was almost ridiculous how the sound of it sent tingles through every nerve in your body, warm and electric, curling low in your stomach.

"morning."

your own voice was steadier than you felt, but your feet wouldn’t move. he looked so cozy—messy hair, sleepy eyes, the laziest, softest smile pulling at his lips. he was huggable, he was yours, and the ache to touch him, to climb into his space, to sink into his warmth, made your fingers twitch at your sides.

his head rested against the couch arm, eyes impossibly tender as they traced over you.

"gonna stay over there?"

he was almost smiling, teasing, but something expectant threaded through the words—something hopeful.

your little brother wiggled off his chest and padded away, but rafe didn’t look away, didn’t so much as blink. he was watching you now, watching the hesitation in your stance, the way your weight shifted like you were trying to resist something inevitable.

"i'm enjoying the view."

you grinned, and the corner of his lips twitched, a smirk creeping in slow and lazy.

"taking in the sights?"

you nodded.

"like what you see?" his brows lifted slightly, smirk deepening. "hope i’m up to standard."

another nod, another hum of approval.

and then, softer—almost pleading—

"c’mere."

your body moved before your mind could catch up. one second, you were standing. the next, you were there, sinking into him, his hands finding your waist as your knees pressed into the cushions.

the need to touch him was unbearable, searing through your veins, clawing at your ribs.

and then, finally, it hit you—you can.

as much as you want. as long as you want.

because he was yours.

not some far-off dream.

not a delusion.

real.

your hands found his chest first, smoothing over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin through the cotton. slowly, they traveled upward, fingers brushing over his throat, his jaw, until your palms cradled his face, your thumb tracing the high point of his cheekbone.

rafe turned into your touch, his lips brushing against the heel of your palm.

"sleep okay?" he murmured, though there was a knowing edge to it, a quiet concern that made your stomach twist.

because you both knew why he was asking.

last night, by the time you’d finally come inside, you were wrecked. tear-streaked, hiccuping, clinging to rafe like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth. you hadn’t wanted him to sleep on the couch. you had fought him on it, insisted, pleaded, but somehow—you weren’t even sure how—he had won that fight. maybe it was the exhaustion. maybe it was the way your body had already been shutting down from the sheer weight of the night.

"me? i'm not the one who slept on the couch."

you narrowed your eyes, fingers still cupping his face, and his lips quirked at your pointed tone.

"i slept good," he assured you. "hard surfaces are better for your back, you know?"

you snorted, unconvinced. "got facts now, huh? copying me, cameron?"

he chuckled, tilting his head against your palm, lashes fluttering briefly as he stretched out with a groan.

"didn’t you know? i’m coming for your spot."

your smile widened. "you sure you want that? i go to the library for fun, you know?"

rafe made a face, and you laughed.

"still want me?" you teased, only half joking.

he tilted his head slightly, considering. for half a second.

then, he kissed you.

soft. chaste. a barely-there press of lips that still managed to steal the breath from your lungs. and god, you didn’t care that he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet—you’d kiss him like this forever if he let you.

when he pulled back, his nose nudged yours.

"the real question is…" his voice was low, careful, like he was treading unsteady ground. "will you still have me?"

you exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment, just soaking him in.

the past twenty-four hours had been an emotional wreckage. you had him, then you lost him, then you had him again in the span of a few, heart-crushing, life-altering hours.

it was enough to make your head spin.

enough to make you terrified that you could lose him just as easily.

"that's a silly question."

your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close, and he melted into you, hands slipping around your waist, tugging you even closer until you could feel his heartbeat against your own.

"is it?" he murmured, his fingers dragging along the length of your spine, leaving shivers in their wake.

"it is," you whispered. "m’never letting you go."

his hold tightened.

"you promise?"

the words were barely audible, spoken against your skin, fragile in the way only he could be.

you squeezed him, felt his heartbeat against your own.

"cross my heart."

after a surprisingly normal breakfast, rafe had stepped outside to take a phone call. judging by the rare, genuine smile pulling at his lips, you were pretty sure it was sarah. his sister was one of the few people who could make him look like that—unguarded, softened.

you were elbow-deep in soapy water, stacking dishes into the drying rack, when your mom poked her head into the kitchen. her eyes twinkled with thinly veiled curiosity.

“so,” she started, dragging out the word as she leaned against the counter.

you turned, brows lifting. “so?”

her gaze flicked meaningfully toward the glass doors, where rafe was pacing the length of your backyard, phone in hand. “do you have a boy who is a little more than a friend?” she asked, feigning nonchalance.

a smirk tugged at your lips. “mm, are you asking if rafe is my boyfriend?”

“am i asking if the boy who has been sleeping on my couch and practically living in my house for the past two months is your boyfriend now? yes, i just might be.” she deadpanned, eyes shifting between you and the boy outside.

you smiled to yourself, wiping down a plate. “nope.”

“no?” your dad’s voice came out of nowhere, making you nearly jump. you turned to see him standing in the doorway, confusion written all over his face.

your mom echoed his disbelief. “no?”

you nodded, amused. “not yet.”

your dad huffed, crossing his arms. “not yet? well, what the hell is his plan? because i’m not about to have some kid walking in and out of this house—”

before he could finish his sentence, the sliding door creaked open. rafe stepped inside, still distracted by his phone, but when the room fell into a tense silence, his eyes flickered up.

his brows furrowed. “uh… hey, guys…” his gaze found yours, searching. “am i interrupting or…?”

you shook your head a little too quickly. “no, no. they were just wondering what time we got home last night.” you turned to your parents, forcing a casual tone. “around ten, i think. you had only just gone to bed.”

your mom pursed her lips before smiling at rafe. “uh huh. well, hope the couch wasn’t too terrible. it’s not exactly made for sleeping.”

rafe waved a hand dismissively. “it was fine. i should’ve asked before crashing, it was kind of a last-minute thing.”

your dad, who moments ago was seconds away from throwing him out, suddenly beamed. “that’s alright, you’re always welcome here, son.”

you gawked at him, utterly incredulous, but he ignored you.

your mom grabbed your dad’s arm, tugging him toward the hallway. “well, we should go because…” she shot him a pointed look, silently urging him to come up with an excuse.

“because…” he faltered, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “we have children! yes, we should check on our other children. the little one’s been, uh… constipated lately—”

their voices trailed off as they disappeared down the hall, leaving you blinking after them.

“your parents are funny,” rafe murmured, stepping up behind you. you barely had time to react before he dropped his head atop yours, the warmth of his body settling against your back.

“they’re weird,” you corrected.

he chuckled, a quiet, deep sound. “they’re a little weird.”

his breath was warm against your temple, the closeness of him making your chest feel tight in a way you weren’t sure how to name.

“want me to help you dry those?” he asked softly.

you nodded, unable to stop the smile curling at your lips. “here.”

you handed him a mug, and he slid away just enough to grab a dish towel, falling into step beside you.

"were you on the phone with sarah?” you ask quietly, unable to hide your curiosity.

rafe nods, still absentmindedly drying the dish in his hands. “yeah, she was asking if i was eating dinner with them tonight. we’re in that phase where my parents act super happy that she’s home—before they start picking fights with her.”

your brows pull together. “they didn’t know she was coming back?”

“no, they did. it was only really a surprise for me.”

your stomach twists a little at that. “sorry it didn’t go exactly as planned,” you murmur, voice laced with quiet regret.

rafe doesn’t answer right away. instead, he gently takes the cup from your hands, setting it down on the counter before his fingers slip around yours, warm and firm. “i’m the one who should apologize,” he says, voice thick with sincerity. “it happened at my house, with my friends. i invited you. i should’ve—i should’ve been better. if i knew—”

“you already apologized,” you cut in softly. “a couple of times, actually. and it’s okay. you didn’t know.” you hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat. “i also have fault in this, you know?” you look away for a second before meeting his eyes again. “i was scared. scared to communicate, to let you all the way in, to trust you sometimes. i can say without a doubt that if i’d handled a few things differently, we wouldn’t be where we are.”

rafe tilts his head side to side, clearly disagreeing. “you don’t have any fault in this.” he tugs you closer, guiding your arms around his neck. “how were you supposed to trust me when you already knew what i was like? maybe not in detail, but the vague image was always there—even before cora said anything. you were protecting yourself. it’s one of the most human responses.”

your lips part, ready to argue, but he beats you to it. “but,” he exhales, a tiny smirk playing at his lips, “i doubt i’ll win this fight, so let’s just agree to disagree.”

he kisses you once, then again, softer this time, like the words themselves weren’t enough to settle it. your lips twitch with a smile you can’t control.

“agree to disagree,” you whisper against his mouth before pressing a few more kisses to his lips, unable to stop yourself.

he lets out a small chuckle, brushing the tip of his nose against yours, slow and affectionate. you think you could live in this quiet forever.

“what time are you leaving?” your voice is quiet, already heavy with the weight of missing him before he’s even gone.

“soon,” he murmurs, his breath warm as it brushes against your temple, “but i’m coming back.”

your brows knit together, searching his face, his eyes, the way his lips barely quirk like he knows something you don’t. “you’re coming back?”

he nods, fingers grazing the curve of your jaw like he’s memorizing it. “there’s this girl…”

your smile is instant, soft and knowing. “mm?”

“she’s been running through my mind for so long,” he says, voice dipping lower, threading through your hair, “and i’m crazy about her.”

your grin spreads, helpless against the pull of him. “sounds serious.”

“yeah.” he smirks like he’s got a secret, and god, you love when he looks at you like that. “and i haven’t taken her on a date yet.”

you gasp, pressing a hand to your chest in mock scandal. “you haven’t taken her on a date yet?”

he shakes his head, feigning shame. “shameful, right?”

“absolutely. they should lock you up and throw away the key.”

his laughter rumbles between you, deep and warm, and you wish you could steal it, keep it somewhere safe. “damn,” he grins, pulling you closer. “throw away the key and everything?”

you nod solemnly. “except… if you can redeem yourself.”

he hums, amused. “redeem myself?”

you tip your chin up. “mmhm. like telling her where exactly you want to take her.”

his lips hover over yours, his voice a murmur against your mouth. “no can do. state secrets.” he presses a kiss to you, then another, softer between each word. “and we leave at four.”

your head spins. you barely register what he’s saying because all you can think about is the way he tastes, the way his hands tighten on your waist like he’d rather not let you go at all.

then he pulls back just enough to tilt his head, studying you like he’s about to say something important. “you should tell your parents you’re sleeping at hazel’s house,” he says casually, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, “and bring an overnight bag.”

your eyes widen. “an overnight bag?”

his smirk deepens at your reaction. “mmhm.”

“are we staying at your house?” you ask, suspicion creeping in.

he chuckles, shaking his head. “give me a little more credit than that.”

you narrow your eyes but let it slide. “okay… how should i dress if you won’t tell me where we’re going?”

he exhales, like he’s carefully picking his words. “it’s… outside. we’re walking around. not hiking or anything, but walking. like, imagine a museum—but it’s not a museum.”

you blink. “imagine a museum, but it’s not a museum?”

he nods, his grin tilting. “and bring warm clothes to sleep in.”

your stomach flips at that. he must notice because he laughs softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “no, we are not sleeping outside.”

relief floods you. “thank god,” you mumble. “i’d do a lot of things for you, but camping? not one of them.”

rafe grins, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. “camping is actually fun, you know,” he teases, his words muffled in your hair.

you let out a tiny, skeptical laugh. “yeah, the bugs, the grass, the dirt… my dream.”

his chest shakes with laughter, pressing his lips to your forehead. “you’re such a pessimist. they’re not bugs, they’re just little critters. it’s not grass and dirt,” he grins, “it’s nature and fresh air, and it’s good for your soul.”

“no, i’m a realist. and ‘critters’ do not sound better than bugs.”

his laughter softens, something deeper settling in his eyes as he looks at you. his arms tighten, holding you like he’s grounding himself in you, in this moment, in everything you are.

“you’re good for my soul,” you whisper, barely a breath between you. “that’s enough ‘good for the soul’ for me.”

his body relaxes against yours, the air shifting, something warm and certain pressing between your ribs. he leans down, lips brushing the top of your head, his breath stirring your hair.

“think it’s enough for me too, baby.”

you’d read somewhere that the brain falls in love in 0.2 seconds. a fraction of a moment—less than the blink of an eye—and suddenly, chemicals flood your system. dopamine, oxytocin, adrenaline. the same kind of high that leaves people breathless, euphoric, addicted.

you never really believed it. 0.2 seconds? seriously? your brain had to have more fight in it than that. love seemed more complex, something slow-building, something earned. but now, pressed against rafe’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his arms wrapped securely around you—you realize it wasn’t just true. it lasted a lot longer than that.

and god, were you in trouble.

eventually, rafe pulled himself away, murmuring something about needing to shower and change. he promised he’d be back at four, but you were too restless to wait. by two, you were already ready to go.

you cleaned your room, checked over your schoolwork, called off volunteering, helped your mom downstairs—anything to burn through the extra energy buzzing beneath your skin. and still, there was too much time left.

with nothing left to do, you were ready to just lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until you got a text from your friends.

“hey!” you greeted, too bright, too excited.

three pairs of eyes blinked at you through the screen, varying degrees of shock and mild concern staring back.

“hey… y/n,” hazel started cautiously, brows furrowed. “are you okay?”

only then did you remember—they had no idea what had happened after ivy left.

by the time you finished telling them everything, their reactions were wildly different.

hazel, unsurprisingly, remained skeptical. her lips pressed into a thin line as she folded her arms, eyes narrowing in that way that told you she was biting back several very strong opinions. “you need to be careful,” she warned. “i wouldn’t have taken him back on principle.”

you rolled your eyes, already bracing for a future where hazel inevitably fell in love and her poor, unfortunate partner suffered under her stubborn, unshakable sense of justice.

devon, on the other hand, was thrilled. she’d always liked rafe the most, but devon liked everyone that could make her laugh. and since she found almost everything funny, her enthusiasm wasn’t exactly a surprise. “this was all adriana and cora’s fault,” she declared confidently. “it only seems complicated because of misunderstandings.”

honestly, she wasn’t completely wrong.

ivy was the last to react, but only because she needed everything explained twice. she kept getting lost in the names and timelines, but once she caught up, she leaned back, thoughtful. “i get where hazel’s coming from,” she admitted. “but… i’ve never seen someone look at another person the way rafe looks at you.” she shook her head, like even she couldn’t believe it. “he’s in love with you. and i think you guys deserve a real chance.”

your chest tightened, an ache so sweet it almost hurt.

hazel made valid points. you couldn’t deny that things could have been handled better, that rafe had a past, that there were risks.

but love had to count for something.

the way he touched you like you were something delicate and precious, the way he kissed you like he’d been starving for you, the way he looked at you—like you were the most important thing in the world.

you had to see this through. you deserved to try.

by the time the conversation was winding down, your phone buzzed with a message from rafe—here—and before you could even process it, the doorbell rang. the timing made you smile, a giddy, unshakable thing that only grew as you imagined him just downstairs, waiting for you. waiting to kiss you the moment you reached him, to pull you close in the car, to sit beside you, hands brushing, the warmth of him something you could sink into.

there weren’t enough words to describe what it felt like to be in love with rafe. he was lightning in your veins, a thrill in your pulse, the kind of presence that made your skin hum and your heart stumble over itself. every bit of him exhilarated you—the way he looked at you, the way he laughed, the way just existing near him felt like standing at the edge of something breathtaking.

“alrighttt,” ivy teased from the tiny rectangle on your laptop screen, dragging out the word with a knowing smirk. “go get your man before you implode.” she waved a hand, shooing you off.

“i’ll text every hour, okay?” you added, mostly directing it toward hazel, who nodded, lips quirking.

“have fun!” devon grinned, throwing up a thumbs-up.

“fun with protection,” hazel added flatly, and your jaw dropped, eyes going wide.

“hazel!” you gasped, half-laughing, half-scandalized.

she only shrugged, entirely unbothered, and waved you off as you ended the call.

you shut your laptop, the nerves settling in properly now, fluttery and insistent. you rushed down the two flights of stairs, your heart thumping louder with each step, and before you even reached the bottom, you could already hear his voice, deep and familiar, threading through the hallway.

“no, the season’s over,” rafe was saying, his tone easy, patient.

your mom hummed, and then—ohhh, drawn out like a realization had just dawned on her. “so, it’s like the seasons of the year? like winter, fall—”

you nearly winced before you heard rafe chuckle, cutting in quickly, “no, no, no.” he sounded amused, not condescending, his usual charm at play. “it’s one season. the season runs from mid-august to mid-november. that’s when we play in the big arenas. the rest of the year is off-season training, then pre-season prep, and sometimes, we have non-official games against other teams.”

“mm,” your mom nodded, absorbing the information. as you stepped up behind her, she turned, startled for a second before her face softened. “oh! i was just talking to rafe about his soccer schedule—it’s quite intensive, actually.” her expression shifted to that motherly concern she always wore when she thought you were stretching yourself too thin.

you bit back a grin, already knowing what was coming.

“it’s like what i tell y/n, you know?” she said, turning back to rafe, who raised his brows, clearly entertained. “always with her head buried in those books. i keep telling her, anything with ‘too much’ or ‘too little’ in front of it is bad. too much studying, and her little head might break.” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “i worry—”

“okay, mhm, i know, mom. i know,” you interjected, nodding quickly as you looped an arm through hers, gently steering her toward the living room before she could launch into another full speech.

rafe, for his part, was valiantly holding back a laugh, his lips twitching as he watched you usher your mom away. you shot him a look, but the fondness in his eyes made your stomach flip.

“your mom complaining because you study too much? that’s unheard of.” rafe teases the moment you step back into the foyer, an embarrassed smile tugging at your lips.

“my mom is unheard of,” you correct, but the words barely register as you take him in. he looked good. he always did, but tonight—tonight he looked unfairly good. black cargos, a deep green sweater snug against his frame, the edge of a white shirt peeking out beneath it. his hair, effortlessly tousled in that way that made him look like he had just rolled out of bed—but you knew better. he did that on purpose.

before you can say anything else, he hooks a finger into the hem of your shirt, tugging you forward. you don’t resist, smiling as the space between you vanishes.

“hi,” you murmur, tilting your chin up as his hand cups your face, thumb brushing featherlight over your cheek.

“hey,” he breathes back, leaning in—so close you can almost taste the mint on his breath. but just as his lips are about to touch yours, he stills.

his voice drops to a whisper. “your sister is staring at us.”

your eyes snap open in horror. mortified. and annoyed.

sure enough, when you turn your head, there she is, standing in the hallway like a tiny executioner, arms crossed, smirk sharp.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you mock, throwing her own words from this morning back at her.

without a beat of hesitation, she pulls out the little flip phone your dad gave her.

“oh my god! don’t actually take the picture!” you gasp, exasperated. behind you, rafe’s quiet chuckle vibrates through your back.

she doesn’t even acknowledge you, just huffs, arms crossing tighter. “dad!” she calls out, voice ringing through the house. “y/n won’t let me take a picture of her and rafe kissing!” she storms off.

you squeeze your eyes shut, dying inside, but rafe only laughs again. the sound is warm, reassuring—just like the way his arms slip around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

“you look pretty,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your shoulder, lingering. “and you smell good.” his mouth trails higher, ghosting over your neck, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

your fingers tighten in his sweater as you exhale, tilting your head just enough to capture his lips in a soft, fleeting kiss. “thank you.” your voice is quieter now, just for him.

you pull back slightly, hands drifting to his shoulders as you study him again. “hmm…” your grin curves slow, playful. “you look nice, but i still can’t tell where we’re going from this outfit.”

he smirks, leaning down for another kiss, this one deeper, slower. when he pulls back, his voice is lower. “that’s kind of the point with surprises.”

you laugh softly as he grabs the duffel bag from your hands.

“we should get going.”

you nod, stepping away. “yeah, i just need to say bye to my parents. i’ll be right out.” you’re already turning when he murmurs his agreement, stepping out the front door.

inside, you find your parents in the living room. your mom is braiding your sister’s hair, her fingers moving with practiced ease.

“hey, i’m heading out. i’ll see you guys tomorrow after school?”

your mom glances up, eyes sweeping over you like she’s checking for something. “you don’t have a thicker sweater? it’s quite cold.”

“it isn’t that cold, she’ll be alright,” your dad interjects, offering you a thumbs-up. “just text us when you get to hazel’s, alright?”

you nod quickly, then turn back to your mom. “i’ll take my good coat, and worst case, i’ll ask rafe for a sweater.” you offer her a reassuring smile.

she studies you for a beat longer, then softens, giving you a warm nod. “okay. have fun.”

you turn on your heel, snatching your coat from the wall hook in one fluid motion before stepping outside. the crisp air rushes to greet you, cool against your flushed cheeks, curling around your skin like a whisper of excitement. the door clicks shut behind you, sealing away the warmth of inside, but you don’t mind—not when rafe is here, waiting.

he leans against his car, fingers idly playing with his keys, the metal glinting under the dim glow of the streetlights. he’s distracted, his head tilted down, but the second you step out, he pauses. his eyes find yours instantly, scanning your face, his lips parting just slightly. “all good?” his voice is gentle, edged with something soft, something careful.

you nod, unable to contain the giddy energy bubbling inside you. your feet carry you to him quickly, almost skipping, like a child running toward something they’ve been waiting all day for. “all good, good, good.” you beam up at him, stretching onto your toes to press a quick, eager kiss to his lips.

his chuckle is quiet, warm, but his arms instinctively settle around your waist, keeping you close. “you’re happy,” he observes, amusement laced in his voice.

your grin widens as you nod. “i’ve got every reason to be.” the words are as much for him as they are a reminder to yourself.

his nose brushes against yours, the smallest touch, but it sends a shiver down your spine. “i love seeing you smile,” he whispers, like it’s a secret meant only for you.

and because it’s him, because it’s always him, you smile even more. “i love you.”

his forehead rests against yours, his eyes locking onto yours like they hold the whole world inside them. “i love you too, baby.”

the drive to your destination is both too slow and far too fast, stretching time and collapsing it all at once. you want to savor every second, but you also ache to get there, wherever there is.

every car ride with rafe is something special. even the short ones, when he’d drop you off at the retirement home, where you’d linger in his car long after he had already parked, just talking, stretching the moment, neither of you wanting to leave, not ready to say goodbye. but the long ones? those were the best. time felt slower then, like the world outside the car didn’t matter, like all that existed was the steady hum of the engine, the soft music threading through the speakers, and the effortless conversation between you.

talking with rafe was easy. being with him was easy. you were always full of things to say, stories to tell, and he was always ready to listen, to laugh, to add his own thoughts like your words were puzzle pieces he was eager to fit together. the soft melody playing in the background only made it all feel more domestic, more right, like something you could do forever.

“remember when we were at the beach, and you said you should have more fun?” he asks suddenly, breaking the quiet hum of conversation.

you nod, thinking back to that day, the way you had sighed and confessed it like it was a secret. “yeah. this is something fun?”

he grins, nodding. “it is.”

your mind spins with possibilities. “is it…” you pause dramatically, narrowing your eyes at him, “roller skating?”

his laugh is easy, shaking his head. “you already guessed that one.” he tilts his head toward the windshield. “we’re almost there, though.”

your gaze follows his, and in the distance, bright lights glow against the night sky, unmistakable and familiar. your heart stutters.

“the fair!” you nearly scream, your excitement bubbling over into your voice. you turn to him, wide-eyed. “oh my god, i haven’t been back in years. i never—”

“find the time?” he finishes smoothly, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

you nod, eyes shining. “thank you, thank you!” the words spill out as you grab his face, pressing frantic kisses all over his cheeks, his nose, anywhere you can reach. he just laughs, letting you, his hands resting on your waist.

“this is gonna be so fun.” you bounce slightly in your seat, your gaze snapping back to the road, watching as the fair grows closer, the colors sharpening, the lights glittering. anticipation buzzes under your skin. “i hope you’re ready to spend the next fifteen hours here, because i am not leaving until we’ve played every game. oh! we have to go on the ferris wheel.” you turn back to him, eyes pleading. “and we have to do the duck fishing game! a lot of people find it kinda boring, but i always loved it as a kid. you get fun prizes!" you ramble, the memories flooding back, making you smile at the thought of it all.

"anddd!" you continue, as rafe parks the car and unbuckles your seatbelt for you, "we can do the can knockdown and the basketball shootout! though i’m not very good at that..." you tilt your head, biting your lip.

"basketball shootout? that’s my game," rafe says, his tone teasing yet reassuring. "don’t worry, i'll show you how to score." a grin spreads across your face, and you can’t help but lean in, kissing him again, your lips lingering against his, sharing a moment of warmth.

when you step out of the car, rafe briefly checks his parking, but you're too eager to wait. you tug gently at his hand, your excitement bubbling over. "okayyy! let’s go!" you urge, practically bouncing on your toes.

"okay, someone’s excited," rafe murmurs with a smile, pulling you close, his arm sliding around your shoulder as you both start walking toward the fair, the lights ahead like a dream come to life.

the fair was alive with energy, a constant hum of voices blending with the sounds of laughter and music. the air was thick with the scent of cotton candy and popcorn, and you could feel the vibrant pulse of excitement as people swarmed the grounds. scattered among the crowd were a few familiar faces from school, most of them nodding or waving at rafe from a distance, though there were one or two who actually stopped to chat with him for a moment.

you dove into the carnival games, clearly more excited than anything else. your enthusiasm was contagious as you breezed through everything, from the ring toss and pick-a-duck to the basketball shootout, can knockdown, and the bb gun shooting booth. you even tried your hand at the hammer strength test and the wheel of fortune. each game offered a prize, and by the time you were done, you had racked up so many stuffed animals that rafe had to make a quick trip to his car to stash a couple in the backseat. you kept only the one he won for you, clutching it close as if it were a prized possession.

"i’ve got a perfect name for him," you grinned when rafe returned, slipping his hand into yours. you hugged the bear tight to your chest.

"yeah?" he asked, a curious glint in his eyes.

"rafe jr!" you exclaimed, your face lighting up with mischief.

rafe paused, turning to look at you with a playful smile. "he’s your son. isn’t he adorable?" you ask him.

"i think he’s our son," rafe said, his tone teasing but warm.

you hummed thoughtfully, "yeah, from nine a.m. to ten p.m., he can be our son. but at night, he’s all yours. i need my eight hours of sleep," you joked, and rafe gave you a mock disapproving look.

"unbelievable," he muttered, feigning indignation as he took the bear from you. "give me my son. you don’t even deserve him," he laughed, shaking his head as you giggled.

"let’s do the mirror palace," rafe said suddenly, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the next attraction.

"oh, no," you groaned, a playful whine creeping into your voice. "i suck at mazes. do you know how many bruises i've gotten because of this place?" you complained as he led you into the line. he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you close.

"you were probably between six and ten years old the last time you were here," he teased, his lips brushing your shoulder. "but don't worry, we’ll stick together. i’ll make sure we get out without any bruises."

you couldn’t help but smile at his reassurance, finding comfort in his presence. "okay," you agreed, your voice soft. "can we do the ferris wheel too?" you whispered, hopeful.

he gave you a tender smile and nodded. "we’ll do the ferris wheel, baby," he whispered back, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. you smiled faintly, feeling the warmth of his affection, and he kissed you again, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away.

the line for the maze isn’t long, and rafe makes the wait feel like nothing at all. "hey, two tickets, please," he says, voice low but casual as he pulls his wallet out, handing over a stack of bills. the cashier, with a soft smile, takes them, passing back two tickets with practiced ease. "here you go," she says, her tone polite but robotic, "no running and no backtracking. have fun." the words sound like a rehearsed mantra, something she'd said to every other person before.

"no backtracking?" you ask, your voice tinged with nerves as rafe laces his fingers through yours, pulling you toward the entrance. "what if we get lost? what if we—"

"baby, we won't get lost," he laughs, that deep, confident sound that always manages to settle your racing thoughts. he pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. he presses a soft kiss to the side of your head, the warmth of his lips grounding you. "this is a game for little kids. we’ll make it, no problem." you can’t help but smile, knowing he’s probably right. you nod, taking another step forward into the maze, the twisted corridors pulling you further in.

the maze is oddly quiet, aside from the occasional echo of laughter or giggling in the distance. the floors beneath your feet are dotted with glowing lights that form shifting patterns, while above, the ceiling is impossibly high—so high that you can't quite make out its end, thanks to the mirrored surface reflecting everything around you. it all feels like a strange dream, the kind where you’re falling endlessly but never quite hit the ground.

"god, this is so weird," you mutter, as rafe gently tugs you back just in time to avoid you running into yet another mirror. "i swear, we’ve been down this hallway already." you stop in your tracks, scanning your surroundings. rafe continues walking, but his hand, still clutching yours, halts him after a few steps.

"we haven’t been down this hallway yet," he says, looking over his shoulder at you. "i’d know." his tone is teasing, but you can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

"all the hallways look the same," you protest, "how would you know?"

"i’m a pro at this," he grins, tugging you closer. "you just don’t believe me." his hands settle on your waist, his fingers brushing the fabric of your shirt. "or trust me," he murmurs, lips barely grazing your ear as he pulls you even closer.

"i’m too young to die, and i can’t die in a maze, rafe," you whine softly, your voice barely audible. he chuckles, the sound warm against your skin.

"don’t be whiny," he teases, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before you can even respond. your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

"i’m not whiny…" you protest, though the words are muffled as his breath fans across your lips. your eyes flutter closed, and you exhale softly, the warmth of his presence overwhelming in the best way.

"really?" rafe’s voice is low and teasing as his lips brush against yours, barely making contact. "because you sound pretty whiny to me." his hands slide up your back, sending a chill through your spine as his lips trace the curve of your jaw. he pulls you flush against him, his body pressing into yours with a teasing urgency.

"rafe…" you sigh, words getting caught in your throat. you want to beg him to kiss you, to press you up against one of these endless mirrors and kiss you until you're breathless, but somehow, the words won’t come. instead, you lean into him, your lips chasing his in desperate need.

"yeah, pretty girl?" rafe’s voice is rough, husky, and it makes your knees feel weak. your heart races in your chest as you try to form a coherent thought, but all you can focus on is him. his presence. the heat between you. your lips are barely a breath away, and you lean in, chasing him as your fingers tangle in his hair.

he pulls away just enough for you to feel the loss, his lips brushing against your skin. "tell me," he insists, his voice barely a whisper, but it carries an urgency that makes your breath catch. he kisses everywhere but your lips, trailing soft, teasing touches along your jaw and neck. his nose skims your skin, the sensation making your body shiver.

"want you to kiss me…" you manage to murmur, almost begging, your hands tightening in his hair. rafe hums, the sound vibrating through your chest.

"wasn't too hard now, was it?" he whispers, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing mockery of what you’ve been yearning for. and before you can respond, his lips crash against yours. it’s frantic, hungry, as if he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you. you’re pushed up against the mirror, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body.

his hands find their way to your waist, pressing you harder against him as his tongue slips into your mouth, coaxing a soft gasp from you. the kiss deepens, and it’s no longer just a kiss—it’s consuming, overwhelming, a blur of heat and touch. the world fades away, and all you can think about is rafe. his lips. his hands. him.

the kiss drags on, relentless, until you’re both left gasping for air. rafe pulls back slightly, brushing his lips against yours with a soft smile. "don’t think that’s ever gonna get old," he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied. he takes your hand, tugging you along deeper into the maze.

eventually, though, he does get you both out. you’d almost lost hope twice, ready to scream for help, but somehow, you made it out together.

with his hand nestled in yours, fingers laced together like a quiet promise, you wandered through the fair, the golden glow of string lights casting soft halos over the crowd. laughter and the distant chime of game bells filled the air as you played a few more rounds, the scent of caramel and fried dough clinging to the night. finally, you reached the ferris wheel, its towering silhouette outlined against the deep blue sky.

"line's a little long," rafe noted, eyes flicking toward the slow-moving queue stretching toward the ticket booth. he exhaled, rolling his shoulders back. "i'm gonna head to the food stand and grab us something small while we wait. that okay?"

you nodded quickly. "okay."

he leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against your lips before you could say anything else. you caught his sleeve as he pulled away, adding, "can you also get me some water?"

"mm, be right back," he murmured, squeezing your fingers before slipping into the crowd.

left alone, you took the moment to respond to a few messages, the ferris wheel’s bright lights reflecting in your screen. the line inched forward, and just as you pocketed your phone, rafe reappeared, pressing a warm pretzel wrapped in a napkin into your hands.

"here," he said, and you quickly took a bite, the buttery salt melting on your tongue.

"you didn't get anything?" you asked, noticing he only held your bottle of water and a can of coke.

"not hungry enough for anything right now," he shrugged, tucking his arm around your shoulder as the line moved forward again. without a second thought, you held up your pretzel to his lips.

he grinned and took a bite, murmuring a muffled, "thanks," as he chewed. you smiled and leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

at the register, rafe pulled out his wallet, handing over cash for two tickets. standing closer to the wheel now, he tilted his head up, studying it. "jesus," he muttered under his breath. "when you're this close, it’s really high..."

you grinned, nudging him. "got a little fear of heights you forgot to mention?"

he rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. "no fear of heights," he countered, feigning nonchalance. "just didn’t think it’d be this tall."

when the attendant swung open the little cabin door, rafe let you step in first before sliding in beside you. the seat was softer than expected, and as the wheel began its slow ascent, he draped an arm around you, settling comfortably.

"you can see the whole island from the top," you mused, eyes sparkling as you glanced at him.

rafe smirked. "yeah?"

"mm-hmm," you hummed, then added mischievously, "and don’t worry—it goes reallll slow."

he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "i’m not scared of heights," he insisted.

"uh huh." you shrugged, taking another bite of your pretzel.

the cabin continued its gentle climb, and a small window near the side caught your attention. curiosity got the best of you, and before rafe could react, you popped your head out for a better view. the wind brushed against your face, cool and sweet, but before you could even take it all in, rafe's hand was gripping your waist, tugging you back in with a firm urgency.

"okay, that's enough," he muttered, brows drawn together, his jaw tight.

you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up as he shot you a glare that wasn’t nearly as serious as he wanted it to be.

if he wasn’t so tense, you might’ve asked to go again. but seeing the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his grip on you lingered even after the moment had passed, you decided against it. you’d spare him—for now.

ooh! a photobooth!" you yell out, excitement bubbling over as you grab rafe’s hand and pull him toward the big red box in the distance. the glossy surface gleams under the carnival lights, and you practically bounce on your feet as you take in the example pictures displayed on the side. “look at this! i think it’s new…” your fingers trail over the smooth panel, eyes scanning the details. before you can even turn to ask rafe if he wants to take some, he’s already ducking inside, reaching back to tug you onto his lap with effortless ease.

“let’s see…” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin as he scrolls through the options on the screen. you pull the small curtain shut, enclosing the two of you in the intimate space, the air thick with anticipation. “black and white or color?” rafe asks, his chin resting on your shoulder, voice low and unhurried. you tilt your head in thought before deciding, “uhh… black and white.” the choice feels right, timeless. you fish out a couple of coins from your pocket, sliding them into the slot with a soft clink.

“okay, ready?” rafe asks, his blue eyes flickering with amusement as he watches you. you nod, grinning. but then a thought crosses your mind, and you blurt out, “wait, how many does it take?”

“four, i think,” rafe replies just as the first flash goes off. instinctively, you stick your tongue out, only realizing after that your hair is a mess. laughter spills from your lips as you quickly try to smooth it down, but rafe is faster—his fingers weave through the strands, gently fixing it as the countdown begins again.

“oh, god, the countdown is so fast!” you squeal, both of you scrambling to pose, but it’s useless—you end up just laughing at each other, faces flushed with amusement.

“that one is cute. look at your smile,” rafe grins, tilting his head to study the preview. your cheeks warm at his words, a touch of shyness creeping in. rafe notices, his own smile softening before he leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek just as the third picture snaps.

the final countdown begins, and rafe’s fingers—gentle yet firm—grasp your chin, turning your face toward him. “last one,” he murmurs, a teasing glint in his eyes. you don’t hesitate. instead, you wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him in, lips meeting his in a kiss just as the last flash goes off.

when you pull away, rafe chases your lips for a second, stealing another soft kiss before finally letting you slide off his lap. you push the curtain open, stepping out into the cool night air, the distant hum of carnival rides and laughter filling the space around you.

seconds later, the photo strip slides out from the machine. you grab it eagerly, holding it up. “they came out so cute! look!” you beam, showing rafe as he steps beside you.

his gaze flickers over the strip, a small smile tugging at his lips. “they did. the black and white looks good,” he agrees, his fingers effortlessly intertwining with yours as you both start walking again, your eyes still fixed on the little captured moments.

they were perfect.

"i had so much fun, thank you for bringing me here," you say, glancing at rafe as the two of you walk through the parking lot, the cool night air settling over your skin. the distant hum of traffic, the flickering neon signs, the soft scuff of your shoes against the pavement—it all feels like a dream you don’t want to wake up from.

"i’m happy you liked it," rafe replies, his voice carrying a certain secrecy that immediately piques your curiosity. "but the date’s not over yet."

you blink at him, lips curling into a smile. "it’s not?"

he shakes his head, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. "nope. one more surprise. now get in." he nudges you playfully, holding the passenger door open like the perfect gentleman he pretends not to be.

your heart flutters as you slide inside, excitement buzzing through you despite the dull ache creeping into your feet. the night is stretching on, dark and velvety, but instead of feeling tired, you feel alive, giddy with the thought that the evening isn’t over yet.

"can i try to guess this one?" you ask the moment you buckle in, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

rafe chuckles, shaking his head as he starts the car. "you know, it wouldn’t kill you to let it be a surprise. ever heard of ‘curiosity killed the cat’?"

"and what brought it back?" you counter smoothly, neatly tucking the photobooth pictures into your bag. "the truth."

he scoffs, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "even if i gave you hints, you’d still be terrible at guessing."

your mouth drops open in exaggerated offense. "no! your hints just suck!"

"oh, my hints suck?" he laughs, shooting you a knowing look. "i literally said you might walk away with some prizes, and you thought i was taking you to a casino."

you roll your eyes but can’t fight the smile stretching across your face. "it was a solid guess! a casino is a place where you can win things!"

"try thinking about why i asked you to bring warm pajamas."

you pause, tilting your head as you study him. he’s taking you somewhere cold, that much is obvious—but where? and why?

the rest of the ride is spent grilling rafe, who remains infuriatingly tight-lipped, dodging every one of your guesses with a smug grin. the city lights blur past in streaks of gold and red, and eventually, the car rolls to a stop near the docks.

you step out, scanning your surroundings. the air is thick with the scent of salt and freshly grilled seafood, the restaurants nearby buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses. but none of this explains why he told you to bring warm pajamas.

he takes your hand and leads you past the restaurants, past the shops, past everything—until you’re stepping through a smaller, tucked-away entrance that spills out onto the docks, where at least fifty boats are lined up in neat rows.

"are we getting on a boat?" you ask, glancing at him in surprise.

he still doesn’t answer. just pulls you along, his grip firm but gentle.

"rafe, i—"

the words catch in your throat.

because suddenly, you see it.

a boat, different from all the others, its edges wrapped in warm golden lights that twinkle against the dark water. flower petals are scattered along the deck like something out of a dream. a table is set for two, draped in crisp white linen, with two gleaming cloches covering the plates beneath. and above it all, the sky is painted in breathtaking shades of pink and lavender, the last remnants of the sunset bleeding into the horizon.

you don’t move. you don’t breathe.

rafe steps onto the boat first, setting the bags down before turning back to you, his expression softer now, almost nervous. he holds out a hand. "c’mon."

your fingers tremble as they slip into his.

"rafe," you whisper, voice barely above the lapping of the waves, already feeling the sting of tears gathering behind your eyes.

rafe reaches behind you, fingers brushing against the back of the chair as he grabs something—then, turning back to you, he reveals a bouquet of flowers.

"before you say anything, i just need to do this," he murmurs, voice quieter now, as he hands them to you.

your hands tighten around the bouquet instinctively, but you barely register the softness of the petals, too caught up in the way his eyes flicker, how his throat bobs as he swallows.

"there's a note inside," he continues, rubbing the back of his neck as if he's trying to steady himself. "i wasn’t sure if i’d be able to say what i needed to say, so i wrote it down. but now that you’re standing right in front of me..." he hesitates, glancing down at the bouquet, then back at you. "i think i want to read it to you."

your breath catches.

he reaches into the bouquet, pulling out a small, neatly folded note, his fingers careful as he smooths it open. the sun is dipping lower, casting everything in gold and amber, and for a moment, you just watch him. the glow of the fading light makes his features impossibly soft, the strands of his tousled hair illuminated like something out of a dream.

his eyes scan the paper, then flicker up to you. he exhales sharply.

"god," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head slightly.

your brows pull together. "you don’t have to—"

"no, no," he interrupts quickly, waving a hand. "it’s not that. it’s just... you—" he exhales again, almost frustrated with himself. "you look really good right now. i can’t think straight."

your heart stumbles over itself.

heat spreads across your cheeks, and you bite back a grin, stepping closer to him. "you’re awful."

"i’m awful?" he scoffs, tilting his head at you, a smile curling at the edges of his lips. "you’re the one over there, completely wrecking my concentration."

his voice is soft, teasing, and the way he’s looking at you—like there’s no one else in the world—makes your chest ache. without thinking, you rise onto your toes, pressing your lips to his in a gentle kiss.

he kisses you back, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. but as soon as your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, he pulls away with a pointed look.

"see?" he murmurs, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

you throw your head back in laughter. "okay, okay! i’m sorry! you have my undivided, uninterrupting attention."

his lips twitch into a smirk before he clears his throat, bringing his attention back to the note in his hands.

his voice is steady as he begins to read.

"last semester, our science teacher told us that romantic love activates the same brain regions as drug addiction—especially the dopamine reward system."

he glances up at you briefly, the corner of his mouth lifting like he already knows how silly he sounds. but he keeps going.

"at the time, i didn’t think much of it. honestly, i probably forgot about it five minutes later. but a week after our first tutoring session, that random fact came rushing back. because by then, i wasn’t just falling for you—i was being consumed by you. every little thing you did, every quirk, every expression. the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something so intricate i could barely follow. the way you smiled. the way you blinked, even."

he pauses, his jaw clenching for a second before he continues.

"i couldn’t understand why i couldn’t stop thinking about you—why you had settled so deeply into my mind, in my bones, under my skin. and then, suddenly, i did. that fact from last semester snapped back into place."

his voice is quieter now, more careful, like every word is something he needs you to hear.

"you’re the first thought in my mind when i wake up and the last thing i think of before i fall asleep. you are my favorite part of every day."

you feel your breath hitch, your hands tightening around the bouquet.

"i will always feel sorry for anyone who never gets the chance to know you the way i do—to be wrapped in your kindness, to hear your laughter over and over, to know what your lips feel like, to be loved by you."

his gaze flickers up to yours, a quiet intensity in his eyes.

"you are extraordinary, and i know you’re going to go places neither of us can even dream of."

he hesitates, his fingers gripping the edges of the paper slightly, like the words are heavier now.

"if you’ll let me, i’d be honored to stand by your side for as long as you’ll have me."

a beat of silence.

"will you be my girlfriend?"

you don’t realize you’re crying until you’re frantically wiping at your face, nodding—nodding so hard it almost makes you dizzy.

"yeah?" rafe breathes, a laugh slipping from his lips as he pulls you in.

"yes!" you cry, grinning through the tears. "are you serious?"

his hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears as he shakes his head with a soft smile. "you can’t cry on our first date," he whispers, resting his forehead against yours.

"you can’t make me cry on our first date," you sniffle, voice barely above a whisper.

"touché," he murmurs.

and then his lips find yours.

the kiss is slow, unhurried—like he has all the time in the world. like he wants to take his time. his fingers slide into your hair, holding you close, and when you press against him, you don’t know if you want to smile or cry all over again.

but you do know one thing.

there is nowhere else you’d rather be.

rafe pulls away, his lips barely ghosting over yours as he exhales, his nose brushing against your skin like he’s memorizing the feel of you. “let’s sit, yeah?” his voice is low, gentle, and you nod, but not before pressing the softest kiss against his lips. he smiles against your mouth, then steps back, pulling out your chair with an effortless sort of grace. you settle into the seat, placing your flowers carefully beside you, the delicate petals brushing against your arm.

your arms tighten around yourself as you take in the scene before you—an intimate table set under the open sky, flickering candlelight casting golden hues across the linen, the sound of the waves lapping gently against the boat. it’s beautiful, breathtaking, and it knocks the air right out of your lungs. your throat tightens as tears well up, your voice trembling despite your best effort to steady it. “how did you plan this all in one day?”

rafe’s brows knit together like the question itself is absurd, and he reaches across the table, his hand warm as it closes over yours. “one day?” he echoes, shaking his head, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. “baby, i’ve been planning this for two weeks. three if you count the seven days straight i begged my dad for the boat.” he says it so matter-of-factly, like it was the most natural thing in the world to spend weeks making something perfect just for you.

your breath stutters as you swipe at your damp cheeks with the back of your hand, overwhelmed. “t-this is…” the words get caught in your throat, and rafe watches you, his face soft with affection but laced with the slightest bit of concern.

“baby.” he moves before you can blink, dropping to his knees beside your chair, his hands resting on your thighs as he looks up at you, all blue eyes and steady presence. “if i knew this would make you cry this much, i would’ve just taken you to mcdonald’s.” his lips twitch into a teasing grin, and the laugh that bubbles out of you is watery but real. you lean forward until your forehead touches his, exhaling shakily.

“no, n-no, it’s perfect… i j-just…” you try to gather yourself, grounding yourself in the way his hands hold you like you’re something precious, something he never wants to let go of. you breathe deeply, eyes flickering between his. “i think i’ve been telling myself for so long that i didn’t want this—the romance, the grand gestures, all of it. convinced myself i didn’t need it, because it’s easier to not be disappointed by something when you’ve made yourself believe you never even wanted it in the first place. but now…” you swallow hard, your fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. “this whole date, this entire day… it’s been incredible. and i can’t believe i let myself miss out on you for almost two decades.”

rafe’s gaze flickers with something unreadable, something deep. he cups your face, tilting it ever so slightly. “i’m here now,” he murmurs, the words like a vow. “and i’m not going anywhere for at least another couple of decades.”

he pulls you into his arms before you can respond, guiding you against his chest, his chin resting atop your head. his fingers thread into your hair, grounding, soothing. “i’m sorry i’m such a mess,” you mumble into the warmth of his skin.

“you’re my mess,” he murmurs, lips pressing softly against your temple.

it takes five tissues and a few deep breaths before you’re composed enough to properly sit down and eat. you lift the cloche, and immediately, the rich steam curls into the cool evening air. the scent hits you next—warm, savory, mouthwatering, like something fresh out of a five-star kitchen. your eyes sweep over the dish, taking in the careful presentation, the attention to detail. “this looks delicious…” your voice is tinged with awe as you glance up at him, suspicious. “who made this?” a part of you half-expects a chef to step out from behind the mast.

rafe leans back in his chair, smirking. “i did.”

you arch a brow. “no, you didn’t. you were with me all day.”

his grin deepens as he watches your skepticism unfold. “where do you think i went after i left your house this morning?”

you narrow your eyes, still not convinced. and he just laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you’d doubt him.

"i should probably explain how i planned all of this," he says, voice smooth, almost sheepish, like he's letting you in on some grand secret. you nod, twirling your fork into the soft, buttery pasta on your plate, waiting for him to continue.

"this boat is my family's, but really, it's my dad's. no one touches it without his permission, and he’s very… very particular about it." rafe exhales a small laugh, shaking his head as if recalling some past scolding. "but i wanted to do dinner here. thought it’d be more fun, more private. so i asked him—begged him, really—promised i wouldn't break anything, or at least, i'd try not to." his lips curve into a smirk before he leans in slightly, his voice dropping as if this is the part that matters most. "and finally, when i told him i really wanted to impress you… he said yes." he watches your face, gauging your reaction. "i think he likes you, which is a first."

your heart lightens, the weight of uncertainty easing just a little. his father likes you? you hadn’t been sure.

"really? he seemed a little…" you hesitate, searching for the right word.

"frigid?" rafe supplies, already nodding like he knew that’s what you were going to say. "yeah, he’s cold. has a hard time showing affection, all that shit. but he’s a good dad. we have our ups and downs, but he loves us, wants the best for us—most of the time." there's something almost distant in the way he says it, like he's repeating a fact rather than feeling it, but you don't press.

he exhales, shaking off the moment. "anyway, the plan was always dinner. but then, after i picked you up from the elderly home two weeks ago, we went to the beach, and you said you wanted to start having more fun." he glances at you, eyes twinkling under the warm glow of the string lights. "so i started thinking—what’s fun? i mean, dinner’s great, dinner and a movie is great, especially with you, but i wanted something more. i thought about a roller rink, ice skating, maybe an aquarium or the zoo. but the fair just felt… right. versatile, fun, a little chaotic."

you smile, warmth settling in your chest. all of those options would have been perfect, because they'd be with him.

"initially, everything that happened yesterday wouldn’t have happened," rafe admits, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his features. you nod, a little sad at the reminder.

"the plan was simple. you’d stay over at mine, we’d be lazy, stay in bed till noon. my parents and wheeze were coming back at two, so i figured i’d leave you with her for a couple hours. topper’s dad owns the yacht club right by the dock, so topper set it up so we could use their kitchen. i was gonna cook, come back, pick you up, take you to the fair, and text topper when we were close so he could go back, heat up the food, plate it here, and leave." rafe shakes his head, smiling at how much effort it had taken. "same plan, really, except we were at your house instead of mine. i cooked, picked you up, took you to the fair, texted topper fifteen minutes ago, he came, reheated everything, plated it, and left."

you stare at him, stunned. "jesus… that’s…" you start, grinning as you shake your head in disbelief.

rafe laughs, running a hand through his hair before picking up his fork. "yeah. and i hope you like it, because this is literally the only meal i can make."

you chew, smiling against your bite. "you know, you could’ve saved yourself a lot of time if you just ordered the food."

he shrugs, like the thought had never even crossed his mind. "i wanted to cook for you."

your heart stutters, just a little. "well, it’s really good," you admit, nudging his foot lightly under the table. "even if it’s the only meal you can make."

he grins. "better than nothing."

it took nearly two hours to finish eating, though neither of you minded. conversation flowed so easily, conversation leading to laughter, to teasing, to the occasional soft gaze that lingered just a little too long. the food sat half-forgotten between you, growing cold while you got lost in each other. the whole evening made you forget—truly forget—every dark cloud that had loomed over you in the past months. none of it mattered here. none of it existed. all that was real was this moment, the warmth of rafe's presence, the way he looked at you like nothing else in the world held his attention.

after the last bite, rafe took the wheel, guiding the boat a little further out into the open water. not too far—just enough so the shore looked like something out of a dream, the golden glow of restaurant lights stretching across the waves, bars and shops humming with distant life. you curled up together on the bow, your head rising and falling with his steady breath, his arms wrapped securely around you. the throw blanket, already there like it had been waiting for this moment, draped over both of you. when you tilt your head up, you find his eyes already on you, like he had been watching you all along.

"thank you for this," you whisper, voice barely louder than the gentle slosh of water against the boat. "this has been the most fun night." your eyes glisten in the soft light, emotions swelling in a way that makes your heart ache in the best way.

"you don’t need to thank me," he murmurs, brushing his lips over yours, a fleeting, teasing touch. "i did it with pleasure. you’re my favorite person to be around, baby."

your smile is small, but it holds so much, and you find his lips again, kissing him once, then again, and again, unable to stop yourself. "still gonna thank you," you breathe, nuzzling into him. "i would've been happy with just a mcdonald’s date, but you went the extra… extra mile. you didn’t have to do that."

rafe scoffs, his face twisting in a way that tells you he hates the mere thought. "you’re too good for a mcdonald’s date," he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. his lips trail down your jaw, slow and deliberate. "you’ve gotta know your worth…" the words are a murmur against your skin, his mouth lingering along your jawline, up to your ear. his teeth catch your earlobe gently, the softest bite, and your fingers dig into his bicep instinctively.

"please…" the word leaves you in a breath, but the way it sounds—soft, needy—makes rafe tense for a beat.

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. you’re so close your noses brush, sharing the same air. he’s asking you something without speaking, his gaze searching yours. you nod, slow and certain, and then his lips are on yours, the kiss stealing the breath from your lungs as he eases you down onto the soft cushions beneath you.

the kiss is dizzying, has your mind floating, thoughts scattering like grains of sand in the wind. rafe kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like tasting you is the only thing that makes sense. his hands are impossibly warm, feverish against your skin, and soon he’s caging you beneath him, pressing closer, deeper. his lips leave yours only to travel down your neck, and your breath stutters, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"rafe…" his name is barely a whisper, a plea, as your hands tug at the fabric of his shirt. you need him closer.

he doesn’t make you wait. his shirt is off in a second, discarded somewhere in the dark, and his hands skim the hem of your top, fingers toying with the fabric before he pauses. his gaze finds yours again, softer this time. "you’re sure?" he asks, voice quiet, careful.

you nod, your hands sliding into his hair as you pull him in, kissing him slowly, deeply. "i’m sure," you murmur against his lips.

he pulls your top over your head, tosses it aside like nothing else matters but this. his mouth is on your skin immediately, mapping you out with slow, careful devotion, like he has all the time in the world. he kisses down your neck, lingers there, like he wants to memorize the way you shudder beneath him. his lips trail lower, between your breasts, his tongue and teeth leaving red marks behind—deep, burning reminders that you’ll feel long after the night is over.

"god, you're so fucking beautiful," rafe groans as he unhooks your bra with a precision that should be concerning—but the thought barely forms before his mouth is on you, his lips wrapping around your nipple, and suddenly, you can’t think at all.

your breath catches in your throat, a soft, shuddering gasp spilling from your lips as heat shoots straight through you. your fingers tangle in his hair, instinct taking over as you pull him closer, urging him on. "oh… oh—" the sound escapes you in a breathless whimper, pleasure twisting sharp and sweet through your body. your free hand fists the throw blanket beside you, lips parting as your head tips back into the pillow. the sensation is overwhelming, toeing the line between pleasure and something almost too intense, too much—but you don’t want him to stop.

rafe switches between your nipples, sucking and teasing until they’re left swollen, aching, but before you can even process the sensation, he’s moving lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. the warmth of his breath sends a shiver through you, but your mind stays hazy, pliant, following wherever he leads.

two firm taps against your thigh. "up," he murmurs, and without thinking, you obey, lifting your hips like it’s second nature. he strips you bare in one swift motion, your skirt and underwear slipping down and away before you can so much as blink. the cool air kisses your exposed skin, but the heat of rafe’s mouth follows a moment later, his lips dragging slow, purposeful kisses from your lower stomach downward, inching closer, closer—

your breath catches. he pauses. his gaze flickers up to meet yours, something dark and unreadable swimming in his eyes. "tell me you want it."

at first, the words sound like nothing more than a demand, thick with lust. but when you really look at him—when you see the way he holds himself there, waiting—you realize he’s asking for more than just permission. he’s asking for certainty.

"i want it," you whisper, the plea slipping out without hesitation, breathy and soft. "please…"

something shifts in his expression, something unreadable yet electric, and then he’s gone—no, not gone—he’s there, right there, between your legs, his mouth stealing the very breath from your lungs.

the moment rafe’s tongue drags through your folds, pleasure slams into you so hard your mind blanks. your hands fly to your mouth, muffling the moan that tries to rip free, but it does nothing to quiet the way your body trembles beneath him. his grip tightens on your thigh, firm and unyielding, holding you in place as his tongue plunges deeper, tasting you, savoring you like a starving man.

everything else fades—thoughts, time, reality—until the only thing left is sensation. his mouth. his tongue. the slow, torturous way he builds you up, pushing you higher, higher, until you’re on the verge of tears.

"rafe… rafee…!" his name tumbles from your lips in a soft, breathless cry, your hips rolling helplessly against his mouth, desperate for more, for anything, for everything. your back arches, fingers tangling in his hair, clutching tight like you don’t know whether to pull him closer or push him away.

he doesn’t stop. not as your body trembles, not as pleasure coils tighter, hotter, unbearable. not as tears burn the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it. he keeps going, tongue lapping and lacking along your sweet cunt, dragging you to the very edge of bliss until you’re trembling, right there, ready to break—

and then he pulls away.

"no… no, no—" the whimper leaves you before you can stop it, pure desperation twisting in your chest as your hands fumble down between your thighs, chasing the release he so cruelly denied. but before you can touch yourself, rafe tsks, catching your wrists with ease.

"uh-uh," he murmurs, his voice thick with something dark and dangerous. still gripping your wrists, he rises to his knees, unbuckling his pants with deliberate slowness. the hunger in his eyes makes your breath stutter.

his bulge alone leaves little to the imagination, but when he finally pushes his pants down, your lips part slightly, breath hitching as you take him in.

you'd seen him before—felt him before, had his cock in your mouth, remembered how he'd stuffed your mouth, memorized the way he stretched your throat—but somehow, the reality of it fitting inside you hadn’t fully processed until now.

your pulse quickens. there’s no way. no way in hell—

but rafe is already leaning down, tilting your chin so your gaze locks with his and only his. his eyes are molten in the dim light, steady and unshakable as he brushes his lips over yours, a whisper of warmth. "trust me, yeah?" his voice is low, rough, but so, so gentle. "just gotta trust me… i’ll make you feel good, i promise." it's hard not to believe him.

your stomach flips, nerves twisting with something softer, something deeper. slowly, you nod, and rafe rewards you with a lingering kiss—soft, patient, meant to soothe.

as his lips trail down your jaw, your arms instinctively loop around his neck, pulling him closer. he keeps you distracted, kissing you deeply, pulling you under his spell as his hands guide your thighs apart.

your breath stutters when you feel him there—thick and hot, his tip gliding through your slick folds, teasing, testing. your body tenses. "r-rafe…" you stammer, voice unsteady, eyes flying open to meet his.

he’s already watching you.

"you’re okay," he murmurs, pressing a reassuring kiss against your lips, his thumb stroking your hip. "you’re alright."

then he’s pushing in, forcing your cunt to expand and take all of him and your eyes fill with tears.

your walls stretches around him, foreign and overwhelming, a gasp breaking free as you clutch at his hair, fingers curling tight. the stretch is slow, unrelenting, inch by inch as he sinks deeper, forcing you to take him, molding you to fit him.

"breathe," he urges, his voice firm but soothing, and only then do you realize you’ve been holding your breath. you exhale shakily, thighs trembling around his hips.

"fuck," rafe rasps, his forehead nearly touching yours, breath warm against your lips as he sinks into you, slow but deep, stretching you, filling you completely. the moment he starts to move, sliding in and out of your slick, trembling heat, a shudder wracks through you, pleasure blooming so intensely it steals the breath from your lungs.

your nails dig into his shoulders, your body clinging to his instinctively, overwhelmed by the sheer depth of sensation. "oh god—rafe, god—" his name spills from your lips in a broken sob, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, not from pain, not from anything but the unbearable bliss of having him like this, of being his.

you wrap your leg around his waist, and his body answers before his mind does, his hips rolling forward, pushing deeper, pressing impossibly close. a guttural groan rips from his throat, his hands gripping your hips like he never wants to let go. "fuck, baby," he groans, voice thick and ragged, "you feel so fucking good…"

he thrusts into you again, and again, and again, each movement more intense than the last, like he’s trying to carve himself into you, like he wants to ruin you for anyone else, as if you weren’t already his.

rafe’s fingers dig into your hips, gripping so tight you think you’ll wear his bruises for days, a mark of this moment, of him. his thrusts are relentless, slamming into you, pushing you higher, higher, until the pleasure is so consuming it’s nearly unbearable. the ocean roars around you, but it’s nothing compared to the symphony of moans and breathless cries spilling from your lips, to the desperate slap of skin against skin as he takes you apart piece by piece.

he looks wrecked—utterly, beautifully ruined—his jaw clenched, eyes dark and hazy, drowning in lust, in you. "fucking christ," he grits out, voice wrecked, nearly a growl, his head tipping back as your walls flutter around him, gripping him like you never want to let him go.

you can’t think, can’t form a single coherent thought beyond the white-hot pleasure slamming into your every nerve. he fucks you senseless, over and over, hitting that devastating spot inside you again and again until you’re sobbing, whimpering, utterly wrecked beneath him.

"rafe… m’gonna— i can’t— n-need—" you babble, voice breaking, tears slipping down your cheeks as the pleasure coils tighter, unbearable, uncontrollable.

"hold it," he pants, forehead brushing against yours, his own restraint fraying, his body trembling with the effort. you want to obey, want to listen, but you can’t—god, you can’t. "please… please!" your voice is nearly unrecognizable, high and desperate, trembling as he shifts, lifting your thigh higher, forcing himself even deeper.

"just a little longer, babygirl," he rasps, mouth trailing over your parted lips, kissing you like he’s savoring your surrender. but you can’t kiss him back—you can’t do anything but take it, take him, take every last ounce of pleasure he gives you.

"i c-can’t… can’t—!" your body is wrecked, overstimulated, pushed past the point of reason as he pounds into your already trembling, sore cunt.

"that’s it," he groans, voice tight, desperate. "so fucking good, baby… doing so good for me." his rhythm falters, thrusts growing sloppy, more frantic, his control unraveling as he chases his own high.

"cum, baby."

his words crash over you like a tidal wave, and before you can even process it, you’re breaking—shattering—pleasure detonating through you so violently your vision goes white. your entire body trembles, clenches, your mind floating into oblivion as you come harder than you ever have, tears slipping from your lashes, lips parting in a silent scream.

your heart is racing, hammering so wildly you think it might just burst right out of your chest.

rafe eases out of you carefully, and you wince at the overwhelming sensitivity, your body thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure. his hands are on you instantly, soothing, tracing gentle circles along your waist as he watches you with quiet concern. "you good?" he murmurs, voice low, intimate, like it’s just the two of you in the whole world.

even as exhaustion settles deep in your bones, as every muscle in your body hums with the ache of what you’ve just done, you nod. "that was…" you trail off, searching for the right words.

rafe’s lips twitch, but he stays quiet, waiting, his blue eyes filled with something unreadable. then, playfully, he tilts his head. "good..? bad..? overwhelming..? underwhelming..?" he teases, voice soft, coaxing, and that boyish grin—the one that always gets you—spreads across his face. even like this, damp skin glowing under the moonlight, hair a wild mess, he looks devastatingly beautiful.

you smile, stretching out the anticipation before answering. "really, really, really…" you pause just to see him raise a brow at you. "good. like, seriously, mind-numbingly good."

rafe chuckles, the sound warm and low, and he leans in to press the gentlest kiss to your lips. "yeah," he whispers against your mouth. "you did give me that impression."

you laugh, giving his chest a weak shove, and he just grins, sinking down beside you with a deep, satisfied sigh. his arm curls around your waist, and instinctively, you tuck yourself against him, head resting over his heart, listening to its steady, soothing beat.

a few beats of silence pass before he breaks it, voice amused. "you know there’s a bedroom down there, right?"

your head snaps up, eyes narrowing. "rafe. are you serious?" disbelief laces your voice as you gesture to the makeshift bed and the throw blanket tangled around your legs. "we had sex here when there was a perfectly comfortable bed waiting right below us?"

he’s already laughing, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders as he tugs you even closer. "but now you can say you’ve had sex under the stars," he offers with a smirk, like it’s the best selling point in the world.

you roll your eyes, but your lips betray you, curling into a smile as you settle against him again. "yeah, that’s really something i’m gonna go brag about," you say dryly, and rafe chuckles, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

your heart swells, impossibly full, and when you lift your head, his lips graze yours, the touch so light it’s barely there. then, in the quiet, in the peace of the night, he whispers, "i love you…"

you kiss his nose, his cheek, then his lips, slow and tender. "i love you too."

a.n — they finally did it. YAY. i hope this was up to everyone's standards. more coming soon. leave a comment cause i rlly love to chit chat with y'all!

chapter index — next. chap

taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby @pogueprincesa @fveapplestall @chalametlover444 @slutglimreqpers @uarmyhopeworldwide @junxe3 @bakuhoethotski @wintercrows @magicalflowerstranger @kinderwh0r3 @bigjuli444 @singlethreadofivy @stylestarkey @squirreljoe

let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3

#novawrites #teachme #rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fic #rafe obx #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x reader #teach me #smut #fluff

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zevampirex · 2 months ago

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Hi! Will you post bagginshield art where Bilbo sits between Thorin's legs, that one is so adorable 🥺 (I've got lucky to stumble upon it on Instagram; but I'm just asking, not pushing you to do it). I really like you art style, The Hobbit characters look very charming in particular. Also saw you cute arts with dinos (and trikes!) which is YAY! Awesome!

Hya ! Thank you for your support and lovely words 🥹❤️ and it was planned don’t worry x) I’m a bit bad at keeping the updated on point between insta and Tumblr, but I will try to have a good schedule for 2025 (try is the important words x)) and ghiii, I will have to update the dino vers here too! Anyway, thank you again ✨❤️

#the hobbit #baggenshield #bagginshield #thilbo #thorin #bilbo #zevampirex answer #zevampirex question box #zevampirex is bad at shedule

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v3rstappensgf · 3 months ago

Text

comfort person. ᥫ᭡ oscar piastri

summary: f1 community was surprised when mclaren’s young driver mentioned about everyone’s favorite youtuber in one of his interviews.

warnings: none, i guess!!

and also, i don’t want to be disrespectful to oscar and lily. i love their relationship and i respect it so much. it’s just a fanfiction. it’s for fun. thank you for reading!

ᯓᡣ𐭩

mclaren posted a new video ! “oscar piastri answers google’s most searched questions”

twitter !

instagram direct message !

liked by oscarpiastri and 1.637.829 others

yourusername new youtube video is out now! link in bio 💌💐

username1 OSCAR WHAT ARE U DOING HERE

username8 no but he’s so real for stalking her

emmachamberlain i’m obsessed

yourusername no I’M OBSESSED! with you🫵🏻

oscarpiastri i liked the ribbons

yourusername i can brought some

username22 WHATJSJAJSHSHAJAJSG

username12 Y/N IN PADDOCK?

username33 i love when hot people date

[ yourusername story update ]

twitter !

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 2.637.277 others

oscarpiastri the first time was so nice, i had to do it twice

yourusername so proud!!!!!

oscarpiastri lucky charm 🤍

landonorris congrats mate! 👏🏻

username5 oh they are so dating

username9 I JUST LOVE EM SO MUCH OMG

username3 she really brought luck 😭💌

liked by oscarpiastri and 2.638.838 others

yourusername first grand prix & his second win?? i’m so proud of you, my comfort person 🤍

oscarpiastri you’re really my comfort person. i love you

yourusername i love you😭🏹🤍

username7 YEAH BABY HERE WE GO

username17 PARENTS

username6 not the george pose HAHAHAHAHAH he’s iconic

username8 her friendship bracelet😭😭the hug😭😭 i just love them you don’t understand 😭😭😭😭😭

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 smau #formula 1 x reader #smau #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 2024

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kierahn · 11 months ago

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NO KISSING THE MILKMAN. [ y! milkman x m! reader ]

[ NSFW, minors DNI ]

yandere! francis mosses ? (that's not my neighbor) x doorman! male reader

warnings :

NSFW content (18+)

Dubcon

Asphyxiation

for my fellow milkman enjoyers, i decided to push out an update before my classes start back up. i'm tempted to make a dom reader version, but we'll see if my motivation can push me enough to do it. 🙆‍♂️ (no beta read)

✧˚ | "don't go around kissing the milkman now," your supervisor jokingly warned you when you first started your job as a doorman in your building. you wave her off with an unbothered laugh, confused by what she meant. but your questions were soon answered when you finally had the chance to meet this milkman that you were advised not to smooch.

✧˚ | he wore the usual milkman uniform with a black bowtie around his neck and a white hat sitting on top of his head. he had dark auburn hair, a hooked nose, and a pair of droopy bedroom eyes. normal people wouldn't exactly consider him as an 'attractive' guy, but he had a certain charm to him that drew you in somehow. maybe it was the drowsy look he always seem to wear or how his uniform clung onto his arms tightly, the build up of his muscles from consecutive days of carrying trays of milk. he was quite the eye candy that you easily took an interest in.

✧˚ | but of course, you had to stay professional if you wanted to keep your job.

✧˚ | your interactions with the guy were kept to a minimum and was limited to a greeting or exchange of questions whenever you would ask him for his id and entry request.

✧˚ | from the list of basic information about himself that he had given you so far, you’ve learned that his name was Francis Mosses and that he lived alone in one of the apartments on the third floor.

✧˚ | you knew that living alone can get pretty dull and lonely sometimes, given that you were also living by yourself. so you did what any normal concern neighbor would do— deliver tupperwares containing food to his doorstep whenever you made too much for you to eat by yourself. whether you did it with the intention of hitting on him or simply out of kindness, you two gradually ended up becoming good acquaintances.

✧˚ | your exchange with francis ended up expanding to casual conversations and short banters. if you're lucky, he would slip you little trinkets like pieces of candies along with his entry request. you found it endearing that the quiet male wasn't as intimidating as you first thought he was.

✧˚ | weeks soon passed with you working as a doorman at your apartment complex. you now knew everyone like the back of your hand and were getting used to seeing deformed versions of your neighbors every now and then. you also found it easier to differentiate the doppelgängers from your real neighbors.

✧˚ | knowing that you held the life and safety of your neighbors in your hands, you took your job pretty seriously. you would always check their files and appearances thoroughly to make sure that no dopplegangers slipped past your watchful eyes.

✧˚ | so imagine your surprise when the day where you make a mistake finally came.

✧˚ | you made sure to check everything; his id, his entry request, his appearance— you even called his apartment to make sure. he talked to you so casually that it left no room for suspicion.

✧˚ | "gh– fuck !" you cursed loudly, panicked as you find yourself restrained by a bruising grip around your neck that temporarily stopped your airflow. 'francis' had you pinned down against your desk, documents flying all over the room from the sudden impact of your body hitting its wooden surface.

✧˚ | your first instinct was to immediately reach for the landline that sat next to your waist, but the other male was quick to stop you.

✧˚ | his grip around your neck tightened, leaving you to arch your back slightly as you attempt to gasp for air. the landline slipped from your grasp and fell to the ground with a slight crack, leaving the device to continuously beep as it waits for a number to be placed. gargled sounds were the only sounds you could make as your fingers instinctively wrapped around francis' wrists, attempting to pry his hand off your neck.

✧˚ | "you really think your silly little D.D.D friends can save you ?" the doppleganger's voice was exactly how francis sounded like, coated with a slight distortion.

✧˚ | 'how is he so bloody strong ?' you hissed in frustration inside your head as you engage in a battle against him.

✧˚ | but then again, he wasn’t human, overpowering you proved to be an easy task for someone like him.

✧˚ | his endless days of being driven away by the D.D.D after you coldly send him off each time was over. 'francis' couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction; couldn't help but marvel at the sight below him– the stonefaced and ruthless doorman who reported him every chance he could get was now at his mercy.

✧˚ | "what's this ?" francis' gaze moved lower, landing on the tent that had unconcsiously formed at the base of your trousers. he knew that you held some affection for the real francis, but to get an erection by being strangled by someone who was a spitting image of him ? how naughty.

✧˚ | "do you really like this face that much ?" francis teased as his free hand wandered up your thigh. "took me a few tries to capture it perfectly."

✧˚ | francis loosened his grip around your neck slightly to give you a chance to catch your breath. he didn't want to kill you. not when he worked so hard to be able to get this close to you.

✧˚ | he'll admit, he had long been jealous of the real francis. the look of admiration directed at him whenever you two conversed; it was a look that contrasted the disgusted one you gave the doppelgänger each time he attempted to deceive you.

✧˚ | he found himself longing for whatever affections you had for that human. he was much better than him in every aspect. he could be whoever you wanted him to be.

✧˚ | "say less," his hand fully left your neck to tug on your tie that came with your uniform, bringing your face closer to his. you feel your face flush at the close proximity. using francis’s face proved to be useful in keeping you somewhat compliant. "i'll be nice and let you have a taste of him."

✧˚ | after he was done with you, he'd be the sole owner of this face for you to enjoy. he'd be the only 'francis mosses' in existence.

✧˚ | the metal window blind behind you slid down with the press of a button, francis having pressed it while you were distracted. now you were completely trapped with him.

✧˚ | you'd expect that a creature like him would have no idea on how humans reproduced, let alone with both parties being male, but oh was he so far from being clueless. francis knew exactly where to place his hands and lips to have you writhe so beautifully under him.

✧˚ | he didn't solely focus on imitating the real francis' appearance. he went far as to probe into both his love and sex life.

✧˚ | he once shifted into some random human female to seduce francis and bed him. he went far and beyond to ensure that he would be able to satisfy your needs (isn't he just the cutest).

✧˚ | francis didn't expect you to be so cooperative after he had literally tried to strangle you to death. he could clearly tell that you loved the real francis so much that you'd be willing to settle for his doppelgänger to satisfy your desires. that thought somehow made francis feel slightly annoyed.

✧˚ | he prepared you carefully with his fingers, just like how the real francis did it. he drew circles with his fingers inside your walls as his lips muffled your needy moans, his fingers stretching you out carefully.

✧˚ | for a doppelgänger, he was being surprisingly gentle with you. after all, he wanted you to genuinely like him; to need him.

✧˚ | “francis–“ his name spilled from your lips like a chant, and as much as your lewd moans sounded lovely against his ears, francis couldn't help but tighten his grip around your waist as he thrusted into you. he hated hearing you use his name.

✧˚ | "don't call me by that name," francis hissed, his thrust getting harsher as he ignored your pleads for him to be gentler. he was obviously ticked off. "hoon, call me hoon, y/n."

✧˚ | his other hand left your waist to squeeze your smaller cock in his fingers, matching his strokes with his thrusts which made you into a trembling mess under him. your words were barely coherent at that point, whines and whimpers the only sounds escaping your lips.

✧˚ | hoon leaned down to capture your lips in his. drool spilled from the corned of your lips, but he could care less. he wanted to savor you as much as he could.

✧˚ | you sobbed against his lips when you came onto his fingers. he pulls away from you, allowing you to breathe and removing his hand around your softened cock. he stared down at his hand that you had stained with your own cum and curiously licked his fingers, his tired eyes staring down at your fucked out state.

✧˚ | he never once stopped thrusting into you, trying to chase his own release. his stamina was not one of a human's, making it much harder for you to match his pace and leaving you to feel overstimulated with all the sensations that coursed through your body and all the orgasms that were forced out of you.

✧˚ | it took him about four rounds before hoon finally spilled his seed inside your walls for the first time, painting them a clear white. he could feel you tighten around him, your abused hole begging for a break, but that was a luxury that hoon wasn't able to give you.

✧˚ | he still had many things that he wanted to try out now that he had you wrapped around his fingers. now that he had gotten a taste, he didn't think he could stop there.

✧˚ | flipping you over so that you were now bent over your desk, hoon resumes his thrusts, his nose buried on your nape as he inhales your intoxicating scent. you chanted his name like a prayer, prompting him to hit your deepest parts which left you panting and begging under him.

✧˚ | he had no plans of stopping until he was fully satisfied and had milked you of every single drop. he had to stick to his role of being the 'milkman' afterall.

#yandere x male reader #yandere male x male reader #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere #that's not my neighbor #kiahndere #x male reader #male reader #francis mosses

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fictionalmenxyn · 6 months ago

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𖦹✩𓇽𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭𓇽☆𖦹

(feel free to request, you can either use the ask or message me, have a good day/night all!! 🫶🫶) (won’t be posting on Saturdays until further notice!) (POSTING AS MUCH AS I CAN BESIDES SATURDAYS)

𐫰𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧𐫰

Rafe & RJ mood board

Cowboy!rafe x Cowgirl!reader mood board

frat!rafe x sorority!reader mood board

UPDATE (face claim) frat!rafe x sorority!reader mood board

A shopping day, what could go wrong?

A jealous golfer

She’s a car girl

A quiet day at Y/l/n ranch

A helping hand

A party that leaves you thinking

Got your hat! (Pt.2 of ^)

Rants and raspberries

A long day at college

First rule of Rafe club is, you don’t touch what’s mine

Kisses and cuddles

Captain’s orders

Late night visits

hello officer

didn’t know it was you baby

My Woman

wtf?! Following her?! Rlly?!

babysitting on his own, technically

Honey I’m home

Honey, you’ll never believe this

Reunion

Welcome back, Stranger

Cherry Cherry Lady

Frat Summer

Late Night Needs

Biking with the boys

Lucky Charm

Day in the Life

Failing on me? No chance Pt.2

Frat!Rafe x Sorority!Reader Scenarios

frat!rafe is the type to…

¡10 Things I Hate About You Masterlist!

frat!rafe headcannons

frat!sorority social!au pt.1

frat!sorority social!au pt.2

frat!sorority social!au pt.3

frat!rafe/rafe social!au

RJ social!au pt.1

RJ social!au pt.2

RJ social!au pt.3

RJ social!au pt.4

Rafe social media au

Texts from Rafe pt.1

Texts from frat!Rafe pt.1

Texts from frat!rafe pt.2

Texts from frat!Rafe pt.3

Texts from frat!rafe pt.4

Texts from frat!rafe pt.5

Texts from frat!rafe pt.6

𖥚𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐲𖥚

Interview clash

Yearly interview

Family visits and getting caught

Snap stories from actress!reader with Drew

𖥕𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬𖥕

Sturniolos and streams

Mood Board Chris

Twitch and giggles Chris

Snaps from bf!chris pt.1

Snaps from bf!matt pt.1

snaps from bf!matt pt.2

᪣𝐄𝐯𝐚𝐧 ’𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤’ 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐲᪣

Mood Board

Oh Buck, you’ve got her

◎𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐳◎

Mood Board

A false alarm, or a crime scene?

֍𝐃𝐂𝐔֍

Let us take care of you- both Nightwing and Redhood

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vamptizm · 2 months ago

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iv. MISSION JEALOUSY — p. bueckers

pairing : paige bueckers x clover amar (oc)

synopsis : in which paige bueckers and clover amar, two uconn wbb stars, have an ongoing mission of making each other jealous and outdoing the other.

warnings : hannah hidalgo :/ homophobia. a slur being dropped. that’s all i think?

word count : 4.8k

note : was gonna add smut to this but honestly it’s taking me sooo long and it’d make the chapter too long for my taste so i got y’all next update fr. (on my subby/switch paige shit so.. yeah)

series masterlist

The air inside the Gampel Pavilion buzzed with anticipation. Less than thirty minutes remained before the Huskies tipped off against Notre Dame, and the team was deep into warm-ups. The rhythmic thud of basketballs echoed through the court as sneakers squeaked against polished hardwood. Paige moved through the motions, though her mind was far from the game.

She stole a glance at Clover, who was stretching just a few feet away. Clover wasn't looking at her—of course she wasn't—but Paige found her gaze lingering for a moment too long. She wasn't jealous, not at all. What was there to be jealous about? Clover could do whatever—or whoever—she wanted. Paige certainly didn't care. Her jaw tightened as she shook the thought away, forcing her focus back to her shooting drills.

‘It wasn't jealousy,’ Paige told herself for what felt like the hundredth time since last night. It's annoyance. Irritation. Frustration. The memory of Clover's smug grin from the night before burned in her mind, unshakable. Paige had spent the night tossing and turning, her thoughts spinning with images she refused to acknowledge. Clover and that waitress, the blanket slipping over bare shoulders, the tattoos curling over Clover's arms like whispers of secrets Paige didn't want to think about.

She dribbled the ball harder than necessary. It wasn't like she hadn't had someone in her bed just hours before the game. What bothered her was that Clover hadn't been there to see it. Not that it mattered. It didn't matter if Clover cared—or didn't.

Paige released a long breath, sinking her next shot with a little more effort than usual. The team's warm-ups were nearly over, the energy building as the crowd filled the arena. Just as she began to head toward the tunnel with the rest of the Huskies, a familiar figure caught her attention near the student section.

Clover was standing there, her back to the court, chatting with a group of girls. Their laughter rang out, light and teasing, as they leaned in closer to Clover's confident stance. Paige felt her teeth clench. Clover's charm was effortless, her natural charisma always drawing people in. The way the girls giggled at whatever she was saying only grated on Paige's nerves further, though she couldn't for the life of her understand why.

The team was already halfway to the tunnel when Paige called out, loud enough for the entire court to hear. "C'mon, Amar! You can chit-chat with your fans later!"

The laughter from the student section died down as Clover turned her head, her smile fading into an annoyed scowl. She rolled her eyes, muttering something to the girls before giving them a quick parting smile and jogging back toward the team.

As she passed Paige, Clover didn't even glance her way. Paige's irritation only deepened, her jaw tightening as Clover breezed past, all casual confidence and deliberate indifference.

Once she reached Nika and Jana, Clover grumbled something in Arabic under her breath, her tone dripping with frustration. "I swear to god, she's lucky I don't like to make a scene in front of everyone."

Jana chuckled softly, clearly catching the gist of it, while Nika looked puzzled, though she didn't get the chance to ask for translations before the team was ushered into the tunnel for their entrance.

Jogging out onto the court, Paige fell into the familiar rhythm of the pre-game show. She slapped hands with fans lining the sideline, her game face firmly in place, though her mind still wandered back to Clover. She sat on the bench as the starting lineup was called, her focus sharpening despite the lingering tension from earlier. It was Paige, Nika, Azzi, Aaliyah and lastly Clover as the starting five.

Clover was the last player introduced, wearing her number seven jersey like a badge of honor. She waved confidently to the roaring crowd, her makeup perfectly subtle and the bright lights illuminating the ink on her subtly toned arms. Paige felt her gaze drawn to Clover again, even as she tried to convince herself otherwise. Clover Amar was truly magnetic, and everyone in the pavilion seemed to agree.

Clover made her way back to the bench, high-fiving and dapping up her teammates as she went. When she reached Paige, the usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by a more subdued expression. Paige hesitated for a split second before returning the gesture. In that moment, the rivalry that consumed them off the court melted away, replaced by a shared determination to win.

But as they settled into the game, Paige couldn't shake the flicker of jealousy that lingered, buried deep beneath her competitive exterior.

And Clover? She could feel Paige's gaze, even if the blonde refused to admit it. A small, private smirk tugged at her lips as she refocused on the court. She always came out on top, after all.

The moment the buzzer echoed through the arena, Clover was in motion, laser-focused on the ball soaring through the air. She leapt, snagging it with ease before sprinting down the court. Her movements were fluid, practiced, and confident. A quick step to the left, a light jump, and she laid the ball into the basket, securing the first two points for UConn within the first ten seconds of the game.

Jogging back, she allowed herself a small grin, slapping hands with Azzi as they regrouped on defense. The crowd roared, the game already electric with intensity.

Six minutes in, the energy hadn't let up. UConn was clinging to a one-point lead, and every possession felt critical. Clover was open in the corner, her position perfect. She waved her arms at Paige, who was caught in the middle of Notre Dame's suffocating defense.

"Paige!" Clover shouted, her voice cutting through the noise. She was wide open, but Paige didn't even glance her way.

Instead, the blonde pivoted, determined to take the shot herself despite the two defenders closing in on her. Paige jumped, aiming for a mid-range shot, but Notre Dame's forward was quicker. The ball was swatted out of the air, stolen in an instant. The break was fast, the Notre Dame player sprinting down the court and sinking a clean three-pointer before UConn could react.

Clover froze for a moment, her frustration boiling to the surface. She wanted to throw her arms up, shout at Paige, demand to know what she was thinking. But she knew better than to cause a scene mid-game. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to jog back down the court, her hands clenched into fists.

By the time the buzzer signaled the end of the first quarter, UConn had fallen behind by three points. The team trudged toward the bench, sweat gleaming on their faces. Paige was visibly fuming, her jaw tight and her eyes narrowed. Nothing about her game was clicking tonight. She wasn't moving the way she usually did, wasn't landing her shots with her typical ease.

Clover, on the other hand, was trying to calm her own annoyance. She plopped down on the bench, grabbing her water bottle and downing it in a few gulps. Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths as she fought to shake off the frustration of being ignored on the court. She wouldn't let Paige's stubbornness ruin her focus.

Geno's voice boomed as the team gathered around, his sharp eyes scanning the group. He jabbed his marker against the whiteboard, drawing out a new play with quick, decisive strokes.

"Paige," he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument, "if you don't start passing that goddamn ball to Clover, you're running suicides after this game. Got it?"

The huddle was silent, the players exchanging wary glances. Clover bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, but a small, amused grin still tugged at her lips. She didn't even try to hide it, leaning back slightly as she sipped from her water bottle.

Paige noticed immediately. Her blue eyes darted to Clover's face, catching the smirk before the brunette could wipe it away. Clover didn't say a word, but the message in her expression was clear: ‘Serves you right’

Paige rolled her eyes, but the faint pink rising in her cheeks betrayed her irritation. She looked away quickly, focusing on the whiteboard and ignoring the way her chest tightened every time she caught that smug grin from the corner of her eye.

The team clapped their hands in unison, signaling the end of the huddle as they prepared to head back out for the second quarter. Clover didn't say anything to Paige, didn't need to. She just jogged onto the court, her smirk still lingering as she lined up for the second quarter.

Paige had told herself she'd get it together. Play fair. Stick to the plan. She'd even taken a deep breath before stepping back onto the court, but her resolve shattered within moments.

Her gaze wandered, drawn to the roar of the student section. The fans were on their feet, waving signs and shouting chants, but one particular poster stopped her dead in her tracks.

‘Clover is our lucky charm!’ it read in bold letters, the name replaced with a carefully drawn four-leaf clover and a dark blue ‘#7’

Of course, it's her. The girl Clover had been hooking up with.

Paige gritted her teeth, wondering how none of them had noticed her—or that sign—until now. The sight made her stomach twist, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why.

Aubrey was the first to notice, nudging Clover sharply with her elbow. "Look, Clo. It's your girlfriend," she teased, her grin wicked as she nodded toward the shorter blonde in the stands.

Clover turned her attention to the sign, her jaw tightening as a shiver ran down her spine. She wasn't exactly thrilled about the grand gesture. It was sweet, sure, but also unexpected and, frankly, off-putting. Her memory of the girl—whose name she seemed to forget every other hour—didn't include this level of commitment.

"Shut up," Clover muttered under her breath. "I don't do girlfriends." But even as she dismissed the idea, she shot the girl her trademark charming smile, hoping to keep things light.

The waitress beamed back, completely oblivious to Clover's internal cringe.

Paige caught the exchange and, to her surprise, felt a faint flicker of relief at Clover's clarification. But the flirtatious smile Clover had thrown at the blonde? That sent a different kind of twist through her gut, undoing any momentary comfort.

When the game resumed, Paige's frustration bubbled dangerously close to the surface. She wanted to play better, to prove she wasn't shaken by something as stupid as a sign. But her irritation spilled over into her play, and it didn't take long for Clover to notice.

Whenever Paige had the ball, she either forced shots or passed it off to anyone except Clover. And every missed opportunity gnawed at Clover's patience.

Paige attempted another contested jumper, and once again, the ball didn't even come close to sinking. Notre Dame snatched the rebound, and Clover's restraint snapped. As she jogged back, she passed Paige with a glare sharp enough to cut.

"If you're gonna hog the fucking ball," Clover hissed venomously, "at least make sure it goes in."

Paige barely had time to process the sting of Clover's words before the ball was back in play. Notre Dame's Hannah Hidalgo received the inbound pass, but Clover was already one step ahead. She lunged, intercepting the ball with a burst of speed that sent the crowd into a frenzy.

Dribbling down the court, Clover moved like she was on fire, weaving past the slower defenders. She paused just outside the three-point line, her instincts sharp and her movements confident. The ball left her hands in a perfect arc, and the net barely moved as it swished through.

The scoreboard lit up, and the gap between the teams narrowed, but Clover didn't stop to celebrate. She jogged back down the court, her focus entirely on the next play. She wouldn't waste time with tacky antics like Hidalgo, who seemed to cheer herself on after every shot.

Paige, however, lingered a second too long, watching Clover with a mix of frustration and something uncomfortably close to admiration. She clenched her fists, her chest tightening as she forced herself to refocus. This wasn't about Clover—or whatever storm of emotions that sign had kicked up. This was about the game.

‘Get it together, Paige,’ she thought bitterly. But as her eyes drifted back to Clover, the determination she tried to muster kept slipping through her fingers.

The second quarter had been a disaster. Missed shots. Airballs. Awful foul calls. Notre Dame was practically being handed free throws, and the sheer frequency of it felt almost rigged. Every whistle sent another surge of frustration through the team, but none more so than Clover.

When the buzzer sounded for halftime, Clover's glare shot up to the scoreboard: 34-45. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. She didn't care about the sting; the anger bubbling inside her made it impossible to focus on anything else. She wanted to scream, maybe even throw something, but instead, she swallowed the rage, holding it in her chest like a ticking bomb. She hated losing—more than anything.

The locker room was no refuge. As soon as the team entered, Clover dropped onto a bench, gripping her water bottle so tightly it looked like she might crush it. She didn't bother speaking, her body language screaming for everyone to keep their distance. The team, well aware of her temper, complied.

Clover Amar's temper was no secret. She'd heard it countless times: ‘You've got to rein it in,’ they'd say. ‘Control yourself.’ But right now? She didn't want to.

Geno's booming voice tore through the room like a thunderstorm. His words were relentless, ricocheting off the walls and into every player's ears. CD stood beside him, arms crossed and nodding in firm agreement.

"You're playing like a bunch of amateurs," Geno growled, his tone like gravel. "Is this how you want to be remembered? By playing like imbeciles?"

No one dared to respond, their silence only fueling his fury. He stalked across the room, barking instructions, correcting plays, and assigning positions for the next half.

"And you," he snapped suddenly, his eyes locking on Paige.

Paige straightened reflexively, her shoulders stiff as Geno marched closer.

"What do you think you're doing out there?" His tone was sharp enough to cut glass.

"I—" Paige started, but no words followed.

"Exactly. You're not thinking," Geno barked, his face hard with disappointment. "You're sitting out the first half of the third quarter. And if you don't start passing that ball when you're back on, you'll be benched for the rest of the game. Got it?"

Paige's cheeks flushed red, a mix of embarrassment and simmering anger coursing through her. She forced herself to nod, biting her tongue against the retort burning on her lips.

Her gaze flicked to Clover, who hadn't even spared her a glance. Instead, the fiery brunette sat with her head bowed, steam practically rising off her skin. Paige's jaw tightened, heat building behind her eyes as she sat in silent fury, as if Clover's frustration was somehow her fault.

Geno stormed out not long after, leaving the team to recover and regroup. The air was thick with tension, every breath heavy. As they trickled back toward the tunnel with a couple of minutes left before the third quarter, Clover hung back. She had other plans.

She grabbed Paige's arm without warning, her grip firm and unrelenting as she dragged the blonde a few feet away from prying eyes and ears. Paige's body stiffened immediately, her posture defensive, but she didn't pull away.

Clover spun her around, her expression livid. "I don't know what the fuck your issue is, but I swear to god, if you don't leave that shit off the court—"

Paige yanked her arm free, cutting Clover off. "Then what? What are you gonna do?" Her voice was sharp, defiant, but her breathing quickened.

Clover's jaw tightened, her teeth grinding together so hard it hurt. Before she could think, her hands shot up, gripping the collar of Paige's jersey with an intensity that made the blonde freeze.

"Stop fucking playing with me, Bueckers," Clover hissed, her voice low and venomous. Her fingers curled tighter into the fabric. "Before I smack that attitude out of you." She leaned closer, their faces just inches apart, her fiery gaze locking with Paige's. "If you're the reason this team loses to our biggest rivals, do you think you'll be able to look any of them in the eye again?"

Paige stared back, her usual sharpness dulled by the proximity, the heat of Clover's words, the anger radiating off her in waves. She hated it—the way her brain scrambled, the way her chest tightened, the way Clover's touch sent an unexpected rush through her.

"No," Paige muttered, her voice quiet and uncertain. She sounded more like a scolded child than a college athlete.

Clover's gaze swept over her, taking in the flushed cheeks and tense posture. With a slight scoff, she released her grip, letting Paige's jersey fall back into place.

"Good." Clover's voice was firm, unwavering. She tapped Paige's cheek twice, condescending but not without purpose. "Now, when you get back on that goddamn court, I better not see you play like an idiot again."

And with that, Clover turned on her heel, leaving Paige standing there, stunned and silent.

The frustration in Paige's chest was still there, but now it mingled with something else. The tall blonde was undeniably turned on.

The second half of the game began with Paige seated on the bench, a towel draped around her shoulders. She watched the court intently, arms crossed, biceps flexing, though the tension in her posture betrayed her frustration. Geno had decided to actually go through with benching her, at least for the time being, to reassess how the game would unfold without her. Paige wasn't thrilled, but she trusted Geno's instincts, even if they stung her pride.

Her gaze flickered toward Clover, who was already moving fluidly up and down the court. Paige could tell immediately—something had changed. Clover played like a spark had been lit inside her, ignited during halftime. The hesitation from the first half was gone; Paige wasn't there to hold her back anymore, she was unafraid to go for deep three-pointers whenever the opportunity presented itself. Her confidence radiated, and for once, Paige wasn't actively critiquing her every move in her head.

Clover wasn't just good—she was unstoppable. Notre Dame's defense couldn't seem to keep up with her. Even Paige, reluctant to admit when someone else stole the spotlight, felt the flicker of a grudging pride watching her teammate dominate. She always knew that Clover could carry the team in ways Paige hated to applaud, even if it was in her head.

Six minutes into the third quarter, UConn trailed by only two points, the score 49-51. The Huskies had clawed their way back, thanks in large part to Clover's determination. It was almost poetic, Paige thought, how much better Clover performed without her there to get in the way.

Then it happened.

Clover moved with precision, intercepting another pass meant for Hannah Hidalgo and knocking the ball cleanly out of her possession. Paige's focus sharpened as she watched Clover pivot and send the ball sailing toward Aaliyah, who sprinted for an easy layup. The crowd roared, and Paige allowed herself a small, satisfied nod. But the celebration was short-lived.

Hannah caught the rebound as it fell into her hands and charged back down the court. Clover was already on her, sticking close, her defense tight. Paige knew how competitive Hidalgo was, knew she hated being shown up. And Clover, so naturally irritating just by existing, had clearly pushed her over the edge.

The words were quiet, barely audible beneath the buzz of the crowd and the squeak of sneakers on hardwood, but Clover heard them as clearly as the girl spitting them.

"Fucking dyke."

Hannah's voice dripped with venom, her expression smug as she threw a shoulder into Clover's path, causing her to lose balance, stumble and trip backwards. Clover hit the court, her palms slapping against the floor to catch herself.

Paige's stomach dropped, a small flame immediately igniting to life inside her chest. Clover pushed herself up quickly, but her face was a storm of fury. She stalked toward Hannah, her movements tense, her fists clenched at her sides.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" Clover spat, her voice sharp enough to cut through the noise in the arena. Her eyes blazed, her entire body practically vibrating with rage.

Before Clover could get any closer, Aaliyah and Nika were there, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back, their words a quiet blur of attempts to calm her down. Hannah just stood there, unfazed, watching Clover's reaction with a smug smirk.

The whistle blew, and to Paige's disgust, the refs didn't call a foul on Hannah. Instead, a technical foul was issued against Clover for the altercation.

Paige was on her feet before she realized it, her towel falling from her shoulders as Geno called a timeout. The team gathered on the sidelines, and Geno immediately pulled Clover out of the game. She sat on the bench, still seething, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to calm down. Paige stood nearby, watching her with a mix of frustration and concern.

"Can you control your goddamn temper for once, Amar?" Paige snapped, her voice low and cutting as she looked down at the girl, shaking her head. She wasn't sure why she said it—it was instinct, the same dynamic they always had. But the words felt wrong the moment they left her mouth.

Clover's head shot up, her eyes burning with a fury that nearly matched what she'd shown on the court. "This isn't about temper," she hissed through gritted teeth. "That vertically challenged leprechaun just called me a fucking dyke."

Paige froze. Her world seemed to tilt for a moment as the weight of Clover's words hit her.

"Come again?" she said, her voice sharp but quieter now. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she processed what had just been said. The rage she'd felt earlier was nothing compared to what surged inside her now. Any irritation she'd felt toward Clover, any lingering frustrations from the past few weeks, vanished instantly.

No one had the right to speak to Clover like that. No one.

Her jaw tightened, and she turned her head slightly, glaring toward the Notre Dame bench where Hannah now sat. Paige's blood boiled. She wasn't used to feeling protective, not like this—not in a way that consumed her so completely. But the idea of someone hurting Clover, of targeting her so cruelly, was enough to make her see red.

For the first time in days, Paige didn't care about winning, losing, or whatever petty feud she and Clover had going on. The only thing she cared about now was making sure Hannah Hidalgo regretted ever stepping foot on the court.

As Geno barked instructions to the team, preparing to send Paige back in, she locked eyes with Clover. Her voice was steady but low, almost a promise.

"I'll handle her."

Clover raised a brow at her, surprised by the shift in Paige's tone. There was no teasing smirk, no playful jab. Just a quiet, unyielding determination. Paige turned away, stepping onto the court with a newfound purpose.

If she had to play 'dirty' to make her point, then so be it. No one messed with her team—not on Paige's watch.

The whistle blew, signaling the resumption of the game. Paige strode onto the court, her focus sharper than it had been all night. The noise of the crowd faded into the background as her gaze locked onto Hannah Hidalgo. The Notre Dame guard might have been fast and agile, but Paige had years of experience on her.

Every move Paige made was calculated, fueled by the fire burning in her chest. Her defense became suffocating, her presence impossible to ignore. Every time Hannah touched the ball, Paige was there, her hands in the way, forcing turnovers, drawing offensive fouls, and making Hidalgo visibly uncomfortable.

The crowd erupted as Paige stole the ball from Hannah and passed it to Azzi, who sank a clean jumper. Paige didn't celebrate—her eyes were glued to Hannah, whose smugness was beginning to waver.

"Not bad for a dyke, huh?" Paige muttered under her breath as they jogged back down the court.

But Hannah wasn't one to back down. She shoved Paige slightly as they crossed paths, earning her a warning glance from the refs. Paige smirked, her satisfaction growing. She didn't need to escalate things further—not yet.

Clover sat on the bench, her leg bouncing with restless energy. She hated not being on the court, hated feeling sidelined. But as she watched Paige systematically dismantle their game, something inside her shifted.

Paige was relentless. There was no pettiness, no grandstanding—just a raw, focused determination. It was a side of Paige Clover had rarely seen, one that made it impossible to look away. One that made her unconsciously press her thighs together.

For the first time in a while, Clover felt something other than irritation toward the blonde. Maybe it was gratitude, or maybe it was something deeper, something Clover wasn't ready to name. Either way, the sight of Paige defending her honor—however indirectly—sent a warmth through her chest and core, she hadn't expected.

By the time the fourth quarter began, UConn had pulled ahead, leading 65-60. Geno subbed Clover back in, and the energy on the court shifted once again.

Clover and Paige fell into an unspoken rhythm, their usual animosity replaced by a surprising cohesion. Paige started passing the ball to Clover without hesitation, setting her up for open shots and helping her navigate Notre Dame's aggressive defense.

It wasn't perfect—they still bickered during timeouts, their competitive streaks clashing over strategy. But on the court, they were unstoppable. Clover's sharpshooting combined with Paige's vision and defensive tenacity turned the game on its head.

With less than a minute on the clock, UConn led by three points. Notre Dame had possession, and Hannah had the ball. Paige didn't hesitate, closing in on her with suffocating pressure.

Hannah tried to fake left, but Paige anticipated the move, her hand darting out to tip the ball away. Clover was there in an instant, scooping up the loose ball and sprinting down the court. She didn't stop, weaving through defenders before leaping for a layup that sealed the game.

The buzzer sounded, and the arena erupted. UConn had won, 78-73.

Clover and Paige didn't immediately celebrate together—they weren't there yet. But as the team gathered at center court, Paige caught Clover's eye. There was no teasing smirk, no sharp comment—just a small nod of acknowledgment.

Clover returned it, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

In the locker room, the team celebrated their hard-fought victory, their earlier frustrations replaced by relief and camaraderie. Geno offered his usual gruff praise, and the players began to unwind.

Clover was at her locker, peeling off her jersey, when Paige approached.

"You played well," Paige said, her voice quieter than usual.

Clover looked up, surprised. Paige rarely gave compliments, and even when she did, they were usually laced with sarcasm. But this felt genuine.

"So did you," Clover replied, her tone softer than usual. She hesitated, then added, "Uhm... thanks. For earlier."

Paige shrugged, but her cheeks flushed slightly. "Nobody talks to you like that, except me." she said simply.

Clover scoffed with a faint smile. "How sweet. Guess there's hope for you yet, Bueckers."

Paige rolled her eyes, but there was no bite behind it. "Don't get used to it."

As she walked away, Clover couldn't help but watch her go, a small, curious smile playing on her lips.

Something had shifted between them. It wasn't forgiveness, and it certainly wasn't friendship—not yet. But it was something they supposed.

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #mission jealousy #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies

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