#rarry drabble

[onlygenxhere]

Why is the rum gone?

“Why is the rum gone?” Carrie frowned and held the empty bottle upside down as she swayed on her feet. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“It’s from Pirates of the Caribbean.” Reggie steadied his girlfriend. “Captain Jack Sparrow.”

“Johnny Depp.” She nodded. “He’s hot.”

“He is.” Reggie grinned.

She wrapped her arms around his neck before kissing him on the nose. “Not as cute as you though.”

“Thank you.” He chuckled, squeezing her around the waist. “You are very drunk.”

“I am.” She swayed in his arms to the music playing just outside the door. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

A Drabble a Day in May

[foreignjello]

Not the Daughter She Wanted

Ron was not the daughter their mother wanted. Nor was he 'the brother they never knew they had' or however Fred and George had put it.

Ron was just Ron, and he liked it that way. Even if his mother bemoaned about him wanting to cut his hair.

"Are you sure, dear. It would look lovely, like Ginny." His mother would always try to convince him or flat out refuse to cut his hair. But after he had tried to cut it himself with scissors and butchering it, his mother would begrudgingly cut his hair.

Or when he played in the mud and roughhoused with his older brothers.

"It's not lady like to play like.. like a boy, Andronica. Why not play with Ginny? She misses playing with her older sister. " His mother would scold him, yet he could only watch longingly as Fred and George chased Percy around the house.

Ron never liked being called Andronica, his birth name, and everyone in the family knew that. His mother knew that, yet she insisted on using Andronica.

--

The compartments were packed, and Ron had nowhere to go. Luckily, he found one, yet a person was already inside it. Someone he didn't know, yet he had nowhere else to go, so Ron's only choice was to open the door.

Inside sat a lone child, a boy, someone around Ron's age. With short wild dark hair, baggy clothing, and clearly broken glasses. Yet his green eyes caught Ron off guard.

"Um.. is anyone sitting here? Everywhere else is full," he asked in trepidation. Because what if he said the seat was taken? Ron had nowhere else, but the boy shook his head, so he sat on the opposite side.

Awkward silence fell between the two, neither knowing what to say or do.

"So what's your name?" The boy asked him, yet his voice sounded a bit high, like Ron's and Ginny's.

"I'm Andronica Weasley... but you can call me Ron. I prefer Ron," he quickly added, feeling his ears turn a bit pink.

"Oh, okay, Ron. My name is Harper Potter..." and Ron's eyes widened.

As in THE Harper Potter? The Girl Who Lived?

"But you can call me Harry," Harry added, a shy smile on her. And Ron blushed for a whole different reason.

[lostsyren]

i bet on losing dogs

{a/n: have this rarry drabble! how i think it went down between them}

{warnings: nsfw kinda? drugs, mentions of sex}　　

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The trailer was muggy and unventilated, smoke hanging thick in the air, stretching into pretty patterns across the lamplight.

All of Barry’s customers had gone. All except one.

Rafe Cameron was slouched back in the sunken couch, his languid body almost fused to the tattered leather, making no effort to leave.

Barry tensed his jaw, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Ain’t your pops gonna wonder where you are?”

Rafe scoffed with a curt shrug. “Fuck him. He doesn’t care,” he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

“Yeah well, I got shit to do Rafe. I can’t be babysittin’ you no more.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes, his lips screwing up. He reached his hand down into the pockets of his jeans pulling out his wallet.

“Here,” he threw a handful of bills onto the cluttered coffee table, “give me another bag, babysitter.”

Barry ran his tongue across the bottom of his teeth, looking down at the boy with sweaty skin and golden strands of hair sticking to a shiny forehead. His irises were more black than blue in the wan light, gaze impossibly conceited: as if he wasn’t some coked out piece of shit spending daddy’s money like it was his own; as if he was better than everyone else who passed the trailer door.

As if he was the one calling the shots.

Barry walked over and bent down to grab the interspersed bills, before throwing the baggie square at his chest. He heard him mumble a feeble thanks which surprised him.

Rafe usually was in and out of here like a needle through skin– short and sharp and quick.

Except when it got dark and the only place left for him to go was home. That’s when he lingered– like the way the smoke from the countless blunts they all smoked did, his body stretching and curling on the couch as he drifted off to sleep.

Barry would grab him by the cuff of his polo when that happened, yanking him towards the door…at least most of the time.

Occasionally when Barry was too tired to lug Rafe’s 6ft, muscle bound ass out of here, he let him sleep. After locking away all his product in the safe, of course.

So maybe that’s why Rafe was being all polite.

He could shove that thanks up his ass.

“You’re not stayin’ tonight, dawg.”

Rafe’s eyes flickered up to meet his as he made a rough line on the coffee table, rolled up twenty already in between jittery fingers.

He looked back at the coke, his lips tugged downwards like he was disappointed.

Barry watched him sniff up a line, swiping the flecks away with pinched fingers, before getting up off the couch.

He walked past him, heading toward the door. Rafe’s head was hung low, the nape of his neck visible. Barry slapped a consoling hand onto his shoulder with a dull thwack, before he could leave. He knew how shitty Ward could be. Rafe would go on many a coke rant about him, and Barry knew what it was like having a hard ass for a father.

“He does care. He just doesn’t know how to show it,” he murmured quietly. Their bodies were misaligned, Rafe facing the door and Barry facing the living room. Barry’s softened gaze was fixated on that sliver of tanned scruff, like eye contact was too much. Too personal.

Rafe wasn’t wearing a polo shirt today. Just a simple, thin tee that clung to his sweat slicked back. He looked like he could be from the Cut in this light. He often did after spending hours and hours at the trailer. The gel in his hair would evaporate, thick, greasy strands falling messily around his face. His skin would redden and peel from the sun when they’d sit outside. And he’d get this look in his eyes. He was no longer manic and giddy and scared, like a dog before a fight. He seemed comfortable.

Rafe turned his neck slowly, in a way that looked awkward. He would’ve been starring straight down at Barry but his gaze drifted lower, hooked on the matted carpet, “you think so?” His voice was small and low. Almost hopeful.

Barry laughed softly at the disparity. When he wasn’t acting like a haughty rich bitch, Rafe was just a messed up kid feinding for approval.

“Yeah man, all that touchy feely shit is for girls. He’s treating you like a man. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”

Barry manoeuvred Rafe’s body with the rough hand still clamped on his shoulder, making him face him. “You have a home to go to. Most the people who be up in this joint don’t. That’s not nothin’ yeah?”

Rafe nodded, lifting his head, “yeah.”

They finally looked at each other, Barry giving him a smile. It wasn’t unorthodox– Barry often flashed people his gold tooth. He found it made them more willing to do things for him when they thought he was their friend.

So when Rafe leaned in and put his mouth onto that smile, Barry was taken aback.

He didn’t react when Rafe’s lips crushed against his in a rough kiss. His eyes just scrunched shut as if he was punched straight in the face. His hand was still on Rafe’s shoulder, his grip tightening until he felt the bone dig into his palm. He didn’t even register the hand on his nape until Rafe’s fingers curled around his hair.

The kiss must’ve only lasted a second, Rafe breaking away to construe Barry’s reaction.

Blue eyes flickered between brown ones. Barry’s mouth opened slightly, lips wet with Rafe’s saliva. Rafe swallowed thickly, adam’s apple oscillating in his throat. Barry didn’t relent, his hand still on his shoulder. He licked his lips slowly, lapping up Rafe’s spit.

And that’s all Rafe needed.

He lowered his head again, and this time Barry bridged the gap, their lips emeshing against the others in a messy, painful struggle which ached in a way that felt good.

Barry’s hand wrapped around Rafe’s nape, feeling the sweat plaster against his skin, as Rafe’s free hand dug into his ribs.

Rafe was clumsy and awkward, like he didn’t know if he wanted to fight or fuck. His nose pressed roughly against Barry’s cheek as he pushed his face further into him. They stumbled backwards legs tripping each other up as they fell onto the couch with a dull thud, their mouths separating.

Barry let out a smothered groan, as Rafe’s knee settled in between his legs and Rafe panted breathlessly, that same manic look returning in his eyes. Like a dog before a fight.

“You into this shit?” Barry huffed, body straining upwards so we wasn’t pressed into the couch by Rafe’s weight.

“Fuck no. Are you?” Rafe rallied, jaw tensed.

Barry let out a little scoff, “clearly that ain’t true baby boy.” He lowered his eyes to Rafe’s crotch, and back up at Rafe, who seemed embarrassed, as if he wasn’t just kissing him like he was starved a moment earlier.

Barry’s hands travelled to his belt, yanking the strap out of the buckle, but Rafe suddenly retreated, his body staggering until it hit the other end of the couch.

“Just wait a minute– fuck.” He muttered, his breaths coming out in heaving lurches, like he was about to be sick.

Barry swallowed his grumble, sitting up. They had a good distance in between them now. Rafe’s belt remained unbuckled, slung loosely around his hips as he ran a hand through his hair, avoiding eye contact with Barry.

They were silent for a long while, before Barry scoffed quietly, smoothening out his shirt, “I think it’s time for you to head home country club.”

Rafe just shook his head, wincing as if he was in pain.

“You wanna stay?” Barry asked, to which Rafe looked up at, something akin to hope flashing across his features.

“Well this ain’t a fuckin’ hostel. Go home Rafe.”

His face darkened, mouth twisting in a scowl, before standing up and buckling his belt. Barry noted how his hands shook slightly, the metal catch rattling loudly in the noiseless trailer that was beginning to feel more and more suffocating. Even more than it was when they had their mouths all mangled up against each other, trying to cling to their grit and masculinity.

They weren’t kissing. They were gnawing.

They weren’t making out. They were roughhousing.

But how could you say you were just play fighting with your pants off and dick out?

You couldn’t. And the stifling reality of the situation seemed to just dawn on Rafe right now, so much so that it looked like it pained him to breathe.

Rafe ran a weary hand down his face, his cheeks red like cherries and lips pink like cotton candy. “Can you not say anything about this? To anyone?”

Barry rolled his eyes, “whatever man. I don’t kiss and tell.”

Rafe seemed to blanch at that. He cleared his throat, readjusting his jeans as his hard on slowly faded, before nodding meekly, head dipping as if to say thanks.

And then he left, leaving Barry alone in his trailer with the lingering taste of vodka and mint gum on lips and the smell of sickly sweet cologne on his muscle tee.

[delayeddrabbles]

imagine being loved by me - mob au (available by request)

a/n: it's missing my mob au hours so I'm reposting the chapters here for safe keeping and making it available for drabble requests rather than a series. mob au rafia and rarry feat. bi!rafe, arranged marriage, shotgun wedding, gang violence, drugs, cheating, emotional immaturity. cop!kie, cop!pope, gang!jj, gang!cleo, and obx sarah & john b just chilling living their life. cw long post. gradient: text color fader - sunset and divider: @bernardsbendystraws

chapter one: the butterfly effect

Not all mistakes are created equal. Some come charging in on a stormy night, bringing death and destruction, while others slip in silently on an otherwise unremarkable Thursday afternoon with unknown ramifications...

For Rafe Cameron that life altering moment came at the tender age of 19. That lynch pin of his life, that axel on which everything else turned, was the day he met Barry “Barracuda” Rosini (he still wasn’t fully convinced that that last name wasn’t a lie) in the shadows of a pretentious Wall Street party. Between his sophomore and junior year of college, he’d signed up for a summer internship with a property mogul, desperate to get out of Chapel Hill and eager to cut his teeth on something real, prove his metal.

He'd only been to New York once before when his mum had wanted to visit an old college friend. She’d gotten too sick to sight see and they’d had to cut the trip short and come home. So arriving at Penn had filled the floppy haired teen with an odd sinking dread.

Barry had been a breath of fresh air in comparison. He wasn’t shrinking or antsy or uncertain. He was bold and brash and loud. He’d let him drink, smoke weed and try drugs he’d never had before (in responsible limited doses of course. Apparently, overdoses were bad for business). Nothing had been barred. Everything had been permitted, and he’d coached him through all of it. He was a steady hand. A blank cheque. A door to another world and Chapel Hill had paled in comparison upon his return. An empty crevice had been left by Barry’s absence. He'd longed for New York ever since.

The second his dad had mentioned expanding Cameron Development into actually holding and running the properties they’d created instead of flipping him he’d volunteered to expand them into the hotel business. And where better to do that than amongst the skyscrapers of New York where they already owned a huge portfolio of apartment blocks and where Barry just happened to be.

What had started out as buying drugs, quickly turned into pushing them. What began as friendly poker games in Rafe’s loft quickly turned into meeting half of Barry’s crew and an open-door policy for whoever Barry wanted. By the time he met Sofia, Rafe was deep within the web. He stuck to Barry’s side like glue any spare moment he could, learning all he could.

He quickly figured out that he could fight matches and win money and that he could purposely throw matches and make even more money. Barry was always pleased when a hustle went off without a hitch and, when given the right motivation, Rafe loved the spotlight.

Rafe liked to think he was above clichés. Hitting on cocktail waitresses in rooms full of smoke and dirty money felt like the biggest cliché of all. Thankfully, Sofia wasn’t a waitress she was a bartender and her place of work was a cosy Irish pub not one of the backwater clubs he usually hung out in. Topper and Kelce had purposely come to town to get trashed on St Patricks Day and so he’d departed from his usual places and his usual routine and set foot in Maybank territory. Sofia had been…she’d been something else.

Next thing he knew weeks had flown by and he still, surprisingly, wasn’t sick of her.

For Sofia Marquez, that life-altering moment came much later in life and with far less fanfare. It had come after a few short weeks of them being tangled up together unable to stay away. Any spare moment they could find they knocked on each other’s doors. That crucial moment had originally felt so ordinary.

It had been the split-second indulgent decision, 4am on a Sunday morning, to let Rafe Cameron crawl into her bed in her tiny studio apartment on a quiet street in Brooklyn. Long after the CVS and the bodega had closed and the closest 7-Eleven was three blocks away. Looking back, it was obvious the risk she had run by even letting him set foot in her home but at the time she’d been too cosy and half-asleep and he’d been too drunk and eager for either of them to care.

That was until a few weeks later when her life changed virtually overnight at a measly 23 years old. She went from having a steady bartending job, on her way to making management, being single and renting a shitty studio to standing in a penthouse apartment right on the park with a positive pregnancy test and  a 22 year old fiancé she'd known for all of two seconds.

Well obviously more than two seconds.

She'd expected disappointment when she told him but the look on his face verged on disdain. As if this was her fault. As if she’d planned this to entrap him. As if it disrupted his plans and not hers!

He thankfully caught himself just in time before she bubbled over in anger and quickly raised his hands in defence with wide blue eyes and corrected himself. "I'm not...this isn't...” he struggled to find the right words, scratching his short hair as he thought, before mumbling a feeble excuse in defeat, “the best time."

Everything about his apartment felt cold and sparse and lonely. Like the opening shots of a bachelor pad in one of her mother’s cheesy rom coms. All concrete pillars and muted steel and dark wood. The softest thing in his bedroom was this plush grey rug beneath his bed that she’d retreated to in this desperate hour, needing something warm and comforting while everything else fell apart.

They both sat slumped on the floor side by side with their backs pressed to the cool metal frame and dark smooth comforter of the bed as an unhelpful reminder. The room was painted in the dusty blue light of the city glare, scattered with fragments of moonlight, their forlorn faces illuminated by a single bedside lamp and the distant glow of the light from the hallway. None of this had gone to plan.

"Yeah, well I'm not the one who whined about how condoms feel!" she'd scoffed, his look already offending her despite him quickly retracting it. “That’s on you” Her body coursed with venom and adrenaline and her eyes scanned his face for each little twitch and shift furiously collecting and cataloguing each red flag, each scrap of information. Analysing whether this child would be safe with him. This was a huge decision. It had taken her three weeks and four tests to pluck up the courage to even raise it with him.

Sofia turned away sulking as the harshness of her words caught up with her, she wrapped her arms tight around her tucked up knees, clinging to them for the support she knew she wouldn't get from him. "I'm sorry" she'd sighed, wiping away involuntary hot tears that trickled down her cheeks and smeared and shone beneath her eyes. "That isn't fair...” she whispered, We're both adults..." Barely. She pushed down the terror raging inside of her and instead of focused on shepherding him through this conversation.

"Do you wanna go somewhere? Talk about options?"

"I don't need options.”  She stated firmly. She wanted to do this. Even if it was too soon. Even if it was foolish. “I'm not considering anything else." As progressive as a Catholic as she was, an abortion just wasn’t within her remit of possibility. Others, sure, but not her. Not today. If this was where life was leading her then she was choosing to follow it.

"Fuck...." he dragged out the curse in a groan as if the reality of the situation had finally hit him. She had to remind herself to be calm and kind and patient. She'd been thinking about this for days. He'd only a had a few hours. He growled in frustration and let his face fall inside his folded arms that rested on his knees. He hid there for a moment and her stomach tangled into nervous knots as she watched and waited.

While she could do this alone, with her Mom and Abuela, that wasn't the ideal outcome. It would be much easier if they could do this together. But a few weeks was hardly a foundation to build a life or a partnership on. After a long silence, he sat up rubbing his eyes with his finger and thumb that then squeezed the bridge of his nose. He seemed reluctant. Disgruntled even. Like he was trying to wrap his tired brain around it. Trying to plot his escape.

Then he’d suddenly changed.

"Right!" She'd nearly jumped out of her skin when he'd sprung to his feet and muttered something to himself about being proactive and thinking like his father. "I'm gonna do this now before I punk out"

"Do what?" she craned and twisted her neck to watch him march around to the other side of the bed and into the walk-in closet. It was that determined stride that had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

Sofia smiled at her own private joke for a moment as he lifted up onto his tip toes and rummaged through the boxes on the top shelf. Her mind cleared of all urgency and distrust for a moment as she took him in. His dark blond buzz cut already growing out, his stubble too seemed darker in the dim blue light, little hints of tattoos peeked out from under his white dress-shirt collar and his rolled and crumpled white sleeves. His suit jacket was somewhere in the living room after they’d cut their dinner date short to come back to his to talk. Maybe he’d thought she’d wanted to define things, she thought, and he hadn’t wanted to do that in public. If this hadn’t cropped up now she would have happily left things undefined and casual for way longer. It was unfair really. To have dropped it on him like this.

She admired him as he moved - those long tanned veiny forearms littered with track marks and scars, the way his fingers moved deftly, the way the thick muscles in his back stretched, how his tongue ran over his bottom lip in concentration. Maybe keeping him her in life, beyond whatever this brief affair had been, wouldn’t be so bad.

He found what he was looking for and her wandering thoughts were rudely interrupted.

“Sit” he instructed quickly, and she complied. There was an intense focus still in his eyes as he walked back around the bed and sat beside her on the edge of it. The mattress sank under his weight sliding her towards him, so their thighs pressed tightly together. She was grateful for that contact. She needed that thread of connection to him in the midst of this calamity.

In his lap was a small non-descript brown shoe box. He took off the lid and started loading loose items into her open hands, searching for something: photos, postcards, ticket stubs, little baby feet set in plaster.

Her stomach clenched, and she gasped sharply through her nose, as she realised what was happening. “Rafe…”

“Ah!” he tutted with a raised finger in her face to chide her and demand silence. His eyes were more amused than malicious which only confirmed her suspicions.

“You don’t have t-” he cut her off before she could protest.

“Shh and let me think…” He continued to dig through the box shoving its contents from side to side, rustling and clinking as it moved. Sofia’s eyes fell on his face in the photo in her lap. A tiny little thing with a mess of ashy hair and bright blue eyes half closed as a genuine teeth half missing grin dominated his face. A blonde woman squishing his face tightly against her cheek without him squirming.

He stopped moving, catching a quick tentative glance at the photo in her lap in silence. He stayed there. Watching her out of the corner of his eye uncomfortably as she studied him. He was so different now. Weathered and cautious. Explosive and sensitive. No longer care-free.

He turned back to his hunt with an embarrassed duck of his head and finally found what he was looking for – a pale green velvet ring box buried beneath the endless paper. Even though she’d known it was coming, her heart still leapt to her throat.

She tugged on the hem of her black sweater dress and fidgeted with the cuffs of her sleeves. She fixed her bun and her bangs and toyed with her gold hoop earrings as he shifted to kneel in front of her with both shins flat on the floor and his legs tucked under him.

Shit, this was actually happening.

Sofia clenched the fabric of her sleeves in tight fists and bit deep into her bottom lip. Urgent eyes searched his for some kind of hesitation. Some kind of trick. Her heart pounding in her chest and her throat clamping shut. His head was still slightly bowed. His eyes searching the middle distance for the right words. He seemed to find them as he wet his lips to speak.

“Look...” he took a deep shaky breath “I like you...you don't care about any of the meaningless shit the rest of the people in my life care about... You're… cool."  She’d laughed at the simplicity and innocence of that adjective, quickly covering her smile with her sleeve. He made it sound like a high school crush. God, he barely knew her at all! She watched him with warm eyes as he ducked his head and rolled his tongue into his cheek and avoided her very direct gaze. "You're grounded and I...I need that. Life's about to get real crazy for me and I want you…with me. And if this is how that timeline’s gonna go to make that happen then fine.  Let's do it"

This whole situation was absolutely absurd. She laughed and wiped away stray involuntary tears before admitting through another bright smile "I don't even know what you do?!"

"Hotels"

"Ok...” she’d murmured with a quick nod, making a mental note of that “And Barry?"

"Yeah…” he’d winced at the question, reluctantly admitting “Barry's into some dodgy shit."

"You too?" she’d asked perhaps a little too quickly and casually for his liking. He paused. He studied her with deep probing eyes and a furrowed brow, probably calculating his odds of getting out of this conversation. His odds were very slim. If she was going to hitch her wagon to his she needed to know where it was headed.  

He finally conceded and nodded sheepishly. Avoiding her eye with a gruff mumbled "Is that going to be a problem?"

Sofia lifted her eyes to take in what she suspected would soon be her room too. The soft small grey chaise in the corner with forest green pillows overlooking the glittering skyline, the glimpse of white marble floors through the ajar ensuite door, the Slim Aarons beach photography collection dotted throughout the house, probably reminding him of home. "Do you do things here?" she murmured still deep in thought.

She caught his nod out of the corner of her eye and turned back to him. She worked her bottom lip between her teeth as her mind twisted and turned. This place needed to be a sanctuary. If she was going to feel comfortable enough to be pregnant and sore and awkward and to breast feed and pace in the middle of the night then it had to peaceful. It had to be safe. He’d already told her he’d been mugged at least twice and the thought of strangers waltzing in and out of their home was the last thing she needed. There would be no walls. She would have no control. There would be no protection for her or the baby. She couldn’t have that.

“Can you stop doing it here?”

He opened his mouth to protest but stopped. His jaw shifted from side to side and his mind worked over the problem. “I can ask. I can’t promise he’ll say yes”

Her white knuckles unwound reluctantly, and she reached out her finger and thumb to lift his chin and make him look at her. He swallowed thickly as her voice dipped to a low private whisper, a flicker of fear buried deep beneath the warm intimacy that shone in her brown eyes. "Am I safe with you?"

Her stomach tensed, bracing for his response but he answered without hesitation. "Always"

“You weren’t mugged, were you?”

He shook his head.

"Who actually jumped you?"

He huffed a frustrated scoff that made her flinch for a moment but his eyes wandered the room as if dipping into a memory. Conjuring up anger at someone absent. His jaw tensed and that fury seethed just beneath the surface of his skin. “Some assholes under Maybank in Brooklyn. That’s where he likes to hang out.” He avoided her eye, using his free hand to toy with hem of her dress as he relayed the information through gritted teeth. " They thought I was up to no good when I was literally just there to see you!"

"Right..." she noted, the wheels working overtime in her brain "What did you do to piss him off?"

He laughed, amazed and little exasperated. "You ask a lot of questions!”

"I like to know what I'm in for"

"Babe, this floor is really hard!" he whined and the pet-name and the sudden warm hand on her knee caught her off guard. Her stomach somersaulted and her cheeks flushed, and a smile threatened to cross her lips disrupting this serious moment.

So this was to be their life now. Tenderness and discovery and bickering. Sweet nothings and vacations and partnership. She’d pouted with mock sympathy at the poor baby earning a delicious laugh from him as she brushed her fingers through the short strains of his hair until both her arms came to rest around his neck

"You're sober right now?"

He’d nodded looking up her with amused warm blue eyes and a tiny knowing smile as she dragged this on and on. He’d opened the ring box as proof he was serious just to nudge her that little bit further and it had revealed a glittering diamond far beyond anything she’d ever imagined for herself.

"And you’re sure?"

“Yes”

A ‘yes’ crept up onto her tongue flattening it with the weight of that word. It held too much gravitas. Too much meaning. It would alter lives and move mountains if she so much as muttered it and she felt too unholy to say it. It got stuck on her tongue and she had to cut through the tension and terror with casual semantics. To make this feel like less than it was. Like a conversation that happened every day.  

"Then Ok"

chapter two: black sheep

Sofia was exhausted. Planning a wedding was hard enough without meeting a whole family, struggling with morning sickness, and still processing the onslaught of new information her fiancé was throwing at her.

It felt safer to not move in until after the wedding. Not for any purity’s sake but because she still needed that out. She still hadn’t quite wrapped her mind around him.

To curb his irritation and preserve his energy they’d come up with a system. She’d scribble down all her questions in a notebook in her handbag or on the bedside table and then each morning after he’d make breakfast, and she’d rattle off 5 of the most pressing ones while he could multi-task and process them more easily. She’d even caught herself seducing him now and then when a lingering what-if got particularly nagging. She wasn’t proud of it, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Were the hotels a front? No, they were legit.

Did his dad know? He knew Rafe was in with the wrong crowd, but he just chalked it up to his drug addiction.

How long had he known Barry? Almost four years.

How long had he worked for Barry? About two. On and off.

Why off? He’d chickened out at first.

As her morning sickness worsened and the hormones increased, they drifted a little. She’d rather be in her own room in her own bed and not have to fight the urge to smother him in his sleep for breathing too loudly. Because of that she hadn’t seen Barry since the engagement.

She wondered how he’d react to all this. Was she pulling Rafe’s focus? Would he be pissed?

The dark cave she seemed to find herself in only got deeper and darker with each knew thing she learned. Endless caverns. Winding tunnels. Piles upon piles of secrets. Was she being a complete idiot by staying tied to this man? She could see every red flag, every warning sign and yet as the weeks went by, she was showing no signs of stopping.

All those half-finished psych papers she’d taken at community college had been right. Oxytocin was a bitch. Each time she had doubts he kissed them better. Each time she got mad he was a little bit into it.

So, they pushed and pulled and jostled for power. Testing each other. Distrusting each other. It was a long exhausting process, and she knew it wasn’t even half done. They couldn’t go back and forth like this forever. Sofia knew she had to find a way to keep herself from freaking. Journalling and fucking and long hot baths could only do so much. She’d stumbled right into a different world and had her life upended. Of course she was going to struggle to adjust!

Shrinks were sworn to secrecy, right?

Rafe had shot down that idea immediately sending fury racing through her tired baby brain. Since when was he, her keeper?!

“I don’t care how legit he seems. Someone somewhere will still pressure him to report what you say!”

“You don’t know that?!”

Their first proper fight broke out in the middle of his living room and dragged on until the blue light of dusk began to tarnish their vision and no lights had been turned on. She clenched the white shag rug between her toes in an attempt to restrain her anger and hold her ground.

“It’s a crime, Sof! They’ll convince him it’s the right thing to do!”

“They have to keep everything confidential!”

“No” That firm sudden no stopped her dead in her tracks. Her stomach clenched tightly. He quickly shifted from someone irritating in her eyes to someone appalling. She gaped at him, brows raised, and arms folded, practically begging him to try that one more time. 

“No...?”

“No” he held his ground, his voice low and quiet like distant rumbles of thunder. “It’s my secret. Not yours”

Sofia stared at him amazed, her stomach sinking with cold dread. For a moment the only sound was the huffing hot breaths coming out of his flaring nose. Her fiery brown eyes swept over his pressed lips, tight jaw, and stormy blue eyes locked in on hers. Sofia refused to be the one to break first, stepping forward as she found her voice again.

“You made it my problem when you started sleeping with me. What? Am I just supposed to stay locked up here in a tower!”

“No! but you’re supposed to listen to me!”

“I am listening to you but I’m going to disagree with you! God!” she reached her wits end bubbling over in exasperation and frustration “Have you never done this before?!”

All air left the room as his eyes widened and she saw his brain halt mid-thought. His tight lips melted into a soft full wide pout that startled her.

Oh shit

Her anger sizzled and died.

He hadn’t

“I…”  she tentatively stepped towards him, struggling to find the right words. But he had talked such a big game? And done some many things so perfectly? How could he…Commitment. Maybe it was the intimacy and the commitment. Relationships meant divulging secrets and joining lives and opening yourself up for rejection. Perhaps he’d always stayed half invested. Half awake. Hidden. She let her voice drop to soft and private beg and she reached a gentle hand out to rest on his folded arms “I need something, baby…or else I’m gonna go crazy. This is all normal for you now. It’s not for me…”

He ducked his head and shifted his weight between his feet as her words ran through his mind again. Sofia watched him wearily. Eventually he nodded in agreement, but he still mumbled his words, his eyes never leaving his feet. “Sarah knows some things you can talk to her, and I’ll reach out to Phoebe, Bar’s old roommate. If you use the right apps, you should be able to be fully honest without anyone finding out.”

She nodded with a grateful doting smile as she hooked his hand out from within his crossed arms, pressed against his side, and clasped between both of her own and kissed his knuckles.

“Thank you”

 In less than six weeks, Sarah Cameron had planned the majority of the most last-minute extravagant wedding The Cathedral of St John the Baptist had ever seen. It was too short notice to rent anywhere in New York and shifting to Charleston kept costs and numbers low. No questions. No unwelcome guests from across the river. No unwanted gossip.

Rafe had never seen his sister so organised or her idiot boyfriend so subservient, at her beck and call like a dog. He followed her orders so dutifully it was almost revolting.

Sarah and Sofia had immediately hit it off over Facetime and she’d implemented Sofia’s every whim and wish right down to the napkins. If it wasn’t fashion or food related Rafe didn’t really give a shit. The reception would have an open bar, a decision that would burn a satisfying hole in his dad’s wallet, and that was the beginning and end of his requests.

He'd tried to warn Sofia that Sarah could be a bitch, and that Ward could be standoffish but then they’d welcome her with open arms?! Even Rose loved her, and Rose hated everyone. They’d given her a full hero’s welcome he’d never received, complete with a ticker tape parade in the form of a guided tour in the Twinkie.

The second they’d touched down in OBX Sarah and John B had whisked them away. He’d, admittedly, brought down the mood by sulking silently in the backseat trying to avoid touching anything in the dusty sticky weed-soaked death-trap. Weed wasn’t the problem it was the lack of respect. Sofia hadn’t noticed, too absorbed in revelling in every last word of Sarah’s and memorising every last detail that whizzed by the window from the frothing sea foam to a sun-dappled tree. As she would say.

She stared at Kildare with such enviable awe and wonder, enjoying every childhood story, every teenage mistake, every boring meaningless piece of town history. That love turned her into something majestic and radiant that he couldn’t quite comprehend.

He stopped listening to Sarah. He let go of his death grip on his seat belt and watched her, entranced. How did she have such a bottomless source of joy and enthusiasm? Didn’t she ever hit a wall? Wasn’t that exhausting? Her shiny brown curls tussled in the breeze, wide brown eyes warm and open glimmering in the sun, her beam bright and when her lips weren’t smiling, they were parted in a gasp that he wanted to catch on his tongue. The earth shifted deep within him. She was so far beyond his reach.

That first day in Kildare seemed to go off without a hitch. Even Sarah was being surprisingly amiable. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t hate being home. He smiled and slipped an arm around Sofia’s shoulders and slowly wandered across the drive and into Tannyhill without a care in the world. He’d almost settled into that unfamiliar relaxation when Ward appeared, ready and waiting to ruin a perfect day.

His dad took Sofia’s bags from her and started walking them along the ground floor and not up the staircase.

“Dad- “he quickly protested and stepped to follow but Sofia pressed a forbidding hand to his chest.

“You know the rules” Ward called over his shoulder not even stopping to look back.

“We’re well into our twenties!” Why his dad had chosen now to be attentive father he had no idea, but Rafe’s mood immediately dropped into bristling feral anger. “John B gets to- “

“John B and Sarah have their own house. Their own rules”

Rafe seethed, clenching his jaw as he slipped out of Sofia’s grip. Right, so he would never be a real adult until he stopped living in a Cameron Development property. Sure, it wasn’t like New York wasn’t a thousand times more expensive than OBX! 

His dad was straight back to treating him like a child no matter how far he climbed or how well he did. He’d gone to Chapel Hill like he’d wanted. Studied Commerce and Business like he’d wanted. He’d even moved straight into the family business without any kind of break or internship or anything. God, he should’ve fucking known.

“Come on” he grabbed Sofia’s hand and dragged her upstairs to his room slamming to door behind them. She flinched and he absent-mindedly apologised marching into the room, muttering and raving. “I told him…I fucking told him…”

“What do you mean?”

He sank onto the bed with a sigh. Ward had been the first-person Rafe had called in a panic when Sofia had given him the news. He’d been completely vulnerable. Completely honest and his dad had actually come through for once. He’d soothed him and encouraged him. He’d taken the reins. He’d almost sounded like his mom…

Those words were etched into his psyche. I’m proud of you. You did the right thing. Just come home, we can handle the rest.

Wasn’t that why they were here? So, his family could help not boss them around? Weren’t he and Sofia already way passed the point of needing separate rooms? What use would a few nights apart actually serve?

He was just being a stubborn asshole as always. This was so typical of him!

Rafe suddenly realised he hadn’t talked in a while.

“I thought he cared. I thought he understood what we were going through…”

“He does.” It was now her turn to kneel in front of him and soothe his racing mind “He’s just being old fashioned. My Papá would’ve done the same…”

“It just so stupid! Like what if you get sick?” her warm thumb brushed back and forth over his cheek. She smiled softly and shook her head gently with a knowing spark in her eyes.  “What if you need me?”

“You’re not mad because of me” She leaned up to press a soft soothing kiss to his lips. His shoulders slumped with a long, exhausted sigh. “Everything’s going to be fine”

After a brief silence, his mood righted itself. It was strange really how quickly he could go from zero to hundred and then come crashing back down. A smile slowly crept back on to his face as he noticed a stray curl hooked around the bow on the strap of her pale-yellow dress. He untangled it and nudged her hair off her shoulder. His eyes lingered there as he toyed with the strap between his finger and thumb. His knuckles grazing her smooth skin. He started quietly “You know what would really piss him off...”

“No!” she immediately caught on and let out a brilliant bright laugh “No...” she beamed and pressed a firm finger to his lips “Don’t even think about it” His eyes flicked to hers watching closely as, despite her words, she got distracted by tracing her thumb over his bottom lip “I need them to like me”

“They already like you”

Ward got his way. They slept in separate rooms and the wedding planning craziness kept them apart for the good part of two weeks. They barely had a moment alone again until they were in Charleston, the night before the rehearsal. The second to last night before everything changed.

It turned out those few nights apart could do a lot more damage than he thought. That sharp drop from being with her almost every other day to no at all was jarring. Like a child he’d spent the last two weeks pouting over what he couldn’t have.

He’d had to watch her swim in the pool in her red bikini or in the sea in a tight black wet suit that hugged every curve. He’d had to shop with her for rehearsal dinner dresses and pretend he didn’t want to rip them off her. He’d had to listen to her giggle with Sarah on the patio and whimper at a scary movie with John B while he worked at the dining table and those noises took on new meaning in his mind.

She’d sit briefly in his lap. Or put an arm around him at dinner. Or peck his cheek goodnight and it was never quite enough.

He’d had to watch strippers at his bachelor party and pretend he wasn’t close to cracking. He’d had to try to smile and joke and not wonder whether she was doing fake belly shots off some rando’s abs or getting hit on by Pogues while skinny dipping at the beach. Sarah had been winding him up all week with all her “ideas”. He prayed she was joking, and Sofia would shoot down anything too crazy. Then again Sofia was far from sweet and innocent, anyways. Who knows what she'd get up to? 

For two straight weeks, he’d had to gnaw his nails and clench crescents into his palms and blow right through his stash of coke because she was being oh so good. Fuck her!

She was being the perfect little daughter in law with her sweet smile and batted eyelashes and perfect halo. Not wanting to disappoint his dad. Not wanting to break the rules. Not wanting to get caught and it was absolutely infuriating and slightly intoxicating.

He actually kissed Topper square on the mouth when he’d told him he’d found a loophole. The absolute legend had convinced Rose that it would be nice for the couple to have an evening to themselves in a hotel. They could soak in the tub and order room service and reconnect. Totally innocent intentions. They’d be too tired for anything else, surely. It had been a crazy couple of weeks. She was doing them a kindness, really.

It would get her in Rafe’s long awaited good graces and Ward didn’t need to know. For all he knew they were tucked away in separate rooms writing their speeches for the reception.

And Rose actually brought that bullshit or at least she pretended to.

The second they were alone again he unravelled.

chapter three: domestic bliss

“Sof?” he called out into the spacious suite as the door swung closed behind him. His shoulders subconsciously softened in relief at the noise and busyness of the day disappeared, replaced by the subtle sound of distant rushing water.

“Through here!”

Rafe dumped his bags unceremoniously on the sofa and followed the sound of her voice through the bedroom and into the ensuite. He heard the click of the lock opening as she anticipated his approach.

Good. You could take the girl out of Brooklyn, but those safety habits still remained, and he thanked his lucky stars that she wasn’t some airhead that danced about in an unlocked unsafe hotel room where anyone could waltz or peep in.

“Hey…” the greeting is already half out of his mouth and a twist of a smirk slipping onto his face as he turns the handle. Rafe clamps down on the silly little flip in his stomach that feels childish and needy as he steps into the room. It’s only been two weeks! That shouldn’t feel so long. He shouldn’t feel so eager to see her again. She’s already his.

And yet he’s hit in the face with the warm glowing bathroom light and the soft billowing steam caressing his cheeks and it stops him in his tracks. Beneath the typical damp smell of humidity, he catches hints of floral smells and spices he can’t name before his eyes have even locked in on her.

She’s, unfortunately, already out of the shower dressed in a fluffy white rob and focused on wiping a clear circle in on the fogged mirror so she can apply her skin care. As she reaches for the first bottle she glimpses in the corner of her eye and turns, and he swears his stomach rises to his chest. Her skin is smooth and glistening from the soft light and their beach excursions. Her golden eyes brighten at the sight of him and a smile breaks out on her face as she breathes a soft “Hey…” Almost as if she feels just as giddy and foolish as he assumes he looks right now. “How was golf?”

The mundanity of her question shakes him from his stupor as she turns back to what he was doing. Rafe finally nears her from behind and that smell of jasmine and cloves grows stronger now intermingled with oils and citrus of the serums and creams being pressed gently in her skin. He wraps his arms around her middle and presses a kiss to the top of her damp hair. “Fine…” he shrugs half heartedly distracted by fixing her parting for her as his fingers itch for more.

Ward had dragged him on an afternoon of drinks and nine holes with the men of the extended family that both he and his father usually had very little to do with. It was apparently a long standing Lenihan family tradition. His mother’s old money stuffy types that had vanished the moment she’d died.

“Did your cousins come?”

“Yeah. Thankfully I wasn’t the youngest there”

“Good. That would’ve made it more fun…”

“It was boring….” He dragged out that last word with a heavy sigh. “I just wanted the day to be over”

“Tired?”

“No...” he tightened his grip on her and stoops to nuzzle against her neck “I wanted to be here”

Pressed tightly against her with his eyes closed he hears the lid on her moisturiser snap close and feels the warmth of her hands covering his own. She shifts her weight to rest back against him.  Her voice drops to a private whisper “What do you want to do first?”

They had all evening to do whatever they wanted but decision fatigue was beginning to zap her energy.

“This…” he pressed a firm certain kiss against the small slither of exposed collar bone peeking out from robe. His fingers unknot from their place against her stomach and travel down to her hips. Her own hands make no moves to stop him.

“What's gotten into you?” a breathy laugh slips out of her, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the amused smile on her face.

“You!” he groans and takes that smile as permission to let his kisses and hands wander “You’ve been a nightmare all weeks!”

“Not on purpose.”

“Liar….”

She giggles openly now, and he hears that smug mocking pout in her voice as his eyes fall closed again. “Has it been hard?”

“Very”

“It was just two weeks?”

“So?”

“Good to know I’m memorable then”

“Oh, you definitely are!”

She feels his hips press against her back and his fingers ghost over her upper thighs that only have the soft robe covering them. The warm tufts of fabric only amplify his touch shifting and teasing her skin rather than providing her any kind of protection from him. “Babe…. I just got clean”

“That's the perfect time.” Every inch of her was smooth and soft and scented and he wanted to soak in that sensation.

‘"You know what sucks?"

It takes him a moment to register her changing of the subject, but he doesn’t stop running his hands and lips over her frame. "What?"

"These first few months are supposed to be the fun bit."

"Of the pregnancy?"  

"Of the relationship. This is meant to be the clunky part. The early days where we get to be messy and play chicken with our feelings and have lots of hot sex."

He chuffs a soft laugh out his nose as his teeth tug on her ear lobe. "Isn't that what we're doing?"

"Yeah… but we're having to make these big life decisions. Day care and wedding dresses and house offers."

"You're thinking about daycare?"

"Well yeah. We need to be in the right suburb for the right schools."

"I'll sort it."

Sofia finally turns around in his arms, eyes open and a genuine sulking pout on her lips. Perhaps he hasn’t quite been successful in seducing her.  "It's so unfair. I just wanna be young!"

He debates her words with a pout and shrugs. ”Can't relate."

He pecks her adorable, scrunched nose and she swipes at him. "I know! You wanna grow up so fucking fast, baby. Slow down!"

"Hey…” he shrugs, feigning innocence, and tightens his holds on her hips against “we can be stupid later. We're just getting all the boring shit out of the way first!"

She gazes at him with warm brown eyes that glow with gratitude at how easy he can make this all feels.

He leans down to kiss her, but she retreats at the last moment. “I can’t”

“Noone’s watching…. for once…�� he grumbles.  

While things had been stilted and awkward between them in a lot of ways, it was a relief to find that the physical side of things had never really wavered. At least they knew how to do that part. That was a start, right?

Once he’d gotten over the weirdness of sharing that space with a baby and she’d found ways to feel comfortable and safe, things had gone back to normal. Better than normal even.

In just over four months, they’d worked a lot of the kinks. Which was a new experience for him. Usually, things got worse as time went on. The sex became stale and boring and half assed and he’d let his flings drag on way longer than they should. She was different. This was different.

“No, I feel like shit” she finally admitted, and it explained her strange back and forth.

“Oh” his brows shot up before dropping into a baffled scrunched face. “How? You’re gorgeous!"

She laughed at how certain he was that any insecurities she might have must be ridiculous. She tugged his chin down to hers and pecked him quickly. “No, I mean everything either hurts or makes me feel sick.”

“Well, that’s an easy fix.” He leapt into action already leading her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. “You lie down?”

“It’ll still be too much movement.”

“What if I’m really gentle?”

“I don’t think you know how!”  

“Ouch. I can be flexible!”

“You have like zero chill.”

“I can find some!”

“I don’t believe you. We’re not rushing anymore or sneaking around anymore, my friend.”

“Don’t call me your friend.”

“What should I’ll call you….? Pumpkin?”

“Hate that!”

“Good”

“You know…. I can do painfully slow when necessary?”

“Painful for who?”

He finally cracked first laughing at that quick retort. Letting her win that round.

“You know that I can go slow.” He stated firmly, his knuckles brushing over her bump “That’s how this little guy happened.”

“Hm no...” she pouted playfully “don’t remember it? I remember patching you up when you got your ass beat

“Different time.”

“Ah! Ok.”

“Are you trying to neg me...?”

“No... just stating facts...”

“I really don’t scare you, do I?”

“Nope”

“It’s cute that you’re trying...You’re gonna regret it though”

“Am I?”

“Mhm”

“Man…” she showed no signs of relenting “You must really like Brooklyn if you kept coming back after losing in a fight so miserably”

“I must “

“It’s a nice place. Pity about the gangs though”

“Yeah, they really bring down the vibe.”

“Someone should you really do something about that.”

“Mm it’s dangerous…”

Her flirting finally broke into a wide smile and girlish giggle, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He picked her up and plopped her down on the bed, but his lips stopped short of hers.

“You can wait”

The wedding rehearsal went smoothly. Sarah had thought of every last detail. Rafe reminded Sofia that this was a rare occurrence, and he was impressed.

There was one dampener on the afternoon, however. Sofia couldn’t shake Barry’s harsh gaze the whole time. He sat in the back row of the church scowling and silent like some kind of jilted lover a blazer hurriedly thrown over his white wife-beater and cream cargo pants.

Once the formalities were finally over Rafe looked to Sofia for permission with soft apologetic big blue eyes and the moment, she nodded he was off, practically flying to Barry’s side.

Sofia could only catch fragments of their whispered bickering before Rafe ushered Barry out the door with a firm arm wrapped around his shoulders. What the fuck…her lil bitch now…. I’ll deal with…. leave it…. listen to me…take this outside.

The moment the hotel door closed behind them he changed. He dropped her hand, tossed his suit jacket nowhere in particular and he’d straight for the bar cart. Sofia’s stomach dropped as she watched his shoulders slump, and his jaw tensed. His demeanour completely transfigured from a man on the happiest day of his life….to a man on the worst.

“Rafe…”

“Don’t”

He shifted from a residual sloppy tipsiness from the wedding reception to a purposeful all-consuming intoxication frighteningly quickly slumped on the floor in the poorly light living room.

It felt safer to leave him to it.

“I’m going to bed”

“Why are you telling me?” he shrugged and continued finishing his bottle of scotch

Sofia scoffed at the audacity of that. As if she was asking too much of him. As if he hadn’t been all over her barely 24 hours earlier.

“I thought you might care” she bit back bitterly, losing her grip on her anger.

“You don’t have to pretend Sof. I know you don’t want this”

“When did I say that?”

“Who would?”

Sofia gaped at him amazed and crestfallen.

“You’re just scared of doing this alone…”

“Of course, I’m fucking scared but I’m choosing to do this with you…You know what? I don’t need these dramatics from you! I could be on Long Island right now!”

“Then why aren’t you!?”

“Go! Be with your mom and Abuelita and save the little shit from me!”

“Don’t call them that!”

“You know…life was a lot easier before I met you. I should’ve left you in that shit hole I found you in…You just wanted attention”

“You know that’s- “

“This whole thing is…bullshit. You tricked me. You trapped me. How do I know he’s even- “

“Fuck you! You can stay out there!” in a fit of rage and tears Sofia tried her best to close the large sliding doors but they were too heavy for her tired arms.

Rafe sighed heavily and staggered across the room to help her but rather than appreciating that gesture she immediately locked the doors.

“Oh, come on! At least let me get my shit!”

“No! I hate you for this! You’re being ridiculous and you can sleep out there until you’ve calmed the fuck down!”

Sofia cried herself to sleep in her brand-new white lingerie.

Rafe crept sheepishly towards the closed doors the next morning.

“Sof…are you awake?”

He heard the curtains rattle and rustle as she pulled them open, and sunlight spilled out from underneath the closed doors. Her shadow blocked some of the light and her weight squeaked the floorboards.

“I…” an apology never quite reaches his lips. “I said some stupid shit…but I’m serious…you should go. Just tell people it’s Adam’s and let this thing be over”

“Is that what you want?” a muffled quiet voice finally breaks the silence.

A beat.

“No…. but this whole thing has gotten so twisted…”

She opens the doors suddenly and with such force and speed that it startles him.

“Do you think I don’t care about you?”

“What?”

Sofia crosses the threshold from the sun-soaked bedroom to the shadowy living room.

“Do you think I’m just coasting through this or bleeding you dry?”

“What else would you be doing?”

“Staying with you...For real”

“Sof…”

“Rafe, I’ve seen your dilated eyes, and I’ve watched you sleep till noon. I’ve sat on the sidelines of your meetings and parties with Barry and I’ve heard every bad thing Sarah’s ever had to say about you.” She crosses the room in careful sure steps “You’re either doubting me or pushing me away. I don’t care. What matters is that I’m here.” She takes both his hands in hers. “I’m not going in blind, baby, I know who you are…You don’t have to hide from me.”

His head and voice fall. “You shouldn’t be here…This kid is going to be in for a world of chaos and…and danger and I can’t…”

“Then we’ll keep them safe. Separate spheres. Separate lives. When you’re out you’re out and when you’re home, you’re all mine. No business. No weapons.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ll figure it out”

She kissed him softly and finally asked. “Do you want this?”

He nods gently.

“Well come on then…” she takes his hand and leads him back through the double doors.

“Just like that?”

“Well, you owe me an apology first.”

“I’m sorry. I know you’re here for the right reasons…”

“And…?”

“And I know the kid’s mine. Who’s else would be when it’s making your life hell already?”

“Thank you for saying that….”

“Now… do you still feel like shit?”

“No…exhausted maybe…. Why? What did you have in mind?”

“Proving how slow and steady I can go…”

“Hmmm…Sounds perfect…”

“What time is it?”

“Why?”

“We have brunch with everyone at eleven”

“Whose ideas was that?!”

“Sarah”

“Fucking Sarah….”

He beamed at that uncharacterstic slight, "Now we're talking!"

Rafe and Barry were like ships in the night. Worse than that, ghosts even. They slipped in and ouch of each other’s lives, carried out their business and then drifted away again. Barry iced him out for the good part of two months before they uttered any word worth hearing to each other again.

It was the middle of the night in Rafe’s penthouse. Sofia was safely squared away in their New Jersey home and he’d had to work late. Typically, an insomniac, Rafe never slept deeply so it was no surprise that he heard Barry come stumbling in with his spare key.

Rafe tensed, ears pricking as he lay still and waited to see which way this was going to go. Would Barry slip in beneath the covers like all was forgiven. Would he storm into the room with something big and brash to get off his chest. Or would he pass on the sofa as he always used to. Rafe’s heart sank as he realised it was the usual routine.

At least he was here.

At least he still knew Rafe’s door was always open.

The next morning Rafe woke bright and early and lay awake at war with himself. It was stupid really. What grown man was nervous to set foot in his own kitchen!

All those fears and frustrations immediately melted away at the sight of big tough Barry curled up beneath a blanket on his large leather sofa. He lay there, dead to the world, face first in what had clearly started as an exhausted drunk flop onto the cool cushions and evolved into a cozy morning nap in the sun filled living room. As Rafe’s looming frame cast a shadow over Barry’s face the sleeping figure grumbled and groaned turning over onto his side and tugging the blanket up higher around him. Rafe’s fingers twitched as a sliver of sun caught in his partner’s frizzy hair.

For the briefest of moments in his chaotic life, the earth felt silent and still. A gentle peace soothed the anxiety that typically clenched around his heart.

He’d come back.

That warmth in his chest pulled Rafe down onto the sofa and beneath the scratchy orange woollen blanket Barry always rescued from his donations box. Rafe would try to hide it away in the hallway cupboard or bury it deep at the bottom of the ottoman’s storage and yet it always found it’s way back out onto his sofa again. Harsh and gaudy and bright against his cool sleek carefully curated home.

He ignored the sensory nightmare of the hideous checkered fabric and wrapped his arm around him. It wasn’t long before his shuffling and rustling stirred Barry from his much-needed rest. The older man breathed a soft laugh but made no effort to escape Rafe’s tight grasp

 “Well, look who it is!”

“You are in my house”

“Yeah…I'll give you that”

“‘You’ll give me- ‘“Rafe parroted with a scoff “You're not the boss of me...”

“I'm not? Look at you. You’re seconds away from putting on an apron and making me pancakes”

“Fuck off…” he muttered and buried his face deeper into Barry’s neck, the gold chain cold against his cheek. Barry’s crumbled black dress shirt was tarnished by the smell of sweat and cheap alcohol and his skin was soaked in expensive cologne and cigarette smoke. Rafe has never understood Barry’s priorities. He cared more about what he put on his body than what he put in it. Rafe was the opposite. So long as he had his rings and his watch, he’d throw on anything but nothing cheap and nasty would ever cross his lips. His body was a temple. Well, a temple full of protein shakes and cocaine.

“Big night?”

“Yeah…”

“Any damage?”

The thought of Barry out on his own was oddly disconcerting. He should’ve been there. Even a harmless night out could go sideways quickly.

“Just my liver” Barry joked at first but then without Rafe even having to ask he added. “Vaughan and Corey were with me”

“Good”

Be careful

A heavily silence settled in on his shoulders and Barry let it rest there for a moment before he turned over to study his face. Barry roughly tugged him from his hiding place and lifted his chin to meet his gaze.

“What’s this?”

Rafe shrugs trying to fight the large pout forming. He attempted to wrestle himself out of Barry’s firm grip but failed.

“Come on…”

Rafe groaned in frustration, desperately trying to avoid admitting defeat but Barry stayed focused. Rafe’s stomach twisted and his fingers tremored slightly as he finally met Barry’s eye again.  “I miss you”

Barry kissed him as if that was the very thing he’d been waiting to hear all month. Relief watched over them to have that closeness again, even fleetingly.

Things escalated a little too quickly and Rafe had to untangle himself.

“I can't...I can't. I need to think.”

“So, think”

“Not like this. Get off...Get off!”

“Alright! Alright…I'll make the eggs you take your thinking time.”

Rafe sat on the edge of the sofa and ran a hand over his face. “Fuck....I need a cold shower"

Barry just huffed a small chuckle and focused on getting breakfast ready. While he knew he should leave the subject alone, let Rafe come to him, he couldn’t resist the urge to broach the subject first once Rafe was dressed and clean.

He set the plate down in front of him on the kitchen island.

“You could always just tell her”

“What?”

Barry shrugged unapologetically letting his words stand as used the dishes as a helpful distraction to the fraught conversation.  

“This isn't easy, B…”

Rafe was always full of excuses and cowardice. Where was the bold man he saw in the ring or out on the street? In the privacy of his own home his soft belly was exposed and while Barry should feel honoured to witness that vulnerability it was becoming grating

“Because you make it complicated. She could be totally fine with it.”

“She's super religious.”

“So? So's Patricia down the street from me and she loves you.”

Rafe’s eyes fall away for a moment with a soft smile as he concedes that point “She does.”

“Listen…” Barry finishes his dishes and rounds the kitchen counter to pull up his own barstool and give Rafe his full attention “I don't give a shit about no closet no exclusivity nothing. You do what you need to…What I do care about it is your word. So, if you’re gonna tell me now “Don’t worry Bar I’ll sort it” then you'd better. “

“Then I won’t say that”

“Good”

Barry goes to get up and let the conversation be over, but Rafe begins to vent.

“I don't know how these early months are going to go with her. I don't know if I... if we can trust her.”

“She already knows half your shit.”

“I know but- “

“But what? You don’t even wanna try? It’s just one conversation, pretty boy. It’s not impossible”

“Yeah, but it’s hard”

“Life’s hard”

“Bar, that isn't...This isn’t about being out. This isn’t about you or…. or hiding you… She's a good person.”

“And?”

“This’ll hurt her. It’s been months. The other girls...it didn't matter what you and I got up to. It does with her. She's my wife and-.”

“And I'm your boss.”

Barry states firmly and Rafe creeps out of his shell for a moment to push back on that. “Doesn't sound like it's my boss who's talking right now?

Barry’s lip quirks at that boldness and nods in acceptance. Touche.

“I can't cheat on her” Rafe finally states his intentions, and Barry hears him loud and clear springing off the stool. Good. That’s done. That’s sorted then. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been on and off before. This would just be an off season.

“Hate to break it to you, boy.” Barry switched tac now and slipped out of shirt on route to have his own shower in the guest bathroom and get on with this day. No point wasting any more time on this white boy “…but by some people's definitions...” he didn’t even slow down as he dropped his shirt on the sofa, we’d then been only moments before

“You just did”

“Stop! Stop…” Sofia groaned as he dragged her away yet again from the paint roller and made her put her mask back on him and sit back on her picnic set up, he’d made for her in the far corner of the room by the open door. She sulked like a toddler in time out.  

“Rafe! I wanna help!”

“You shouldn’t be breathing this shit in. We have people for this”

“I told you I wanted us to do this together and you agreed”

“Yeah, that was before I researched how much crap is in this. No wonder people get high off it”

“Don’t even think about it” she teased with a flicker in her eye that he matched

“It’s tempting…”

“I hate you. You have all the fun”

“Most girls- “

“Women”

“Women would be happy to have the princess treatment you’re getting. You get to sit there and sip your tea and eat your snacks and I do all the work”

“It is a nice view…” her eyes ran over him even though most of his frame was shrouded in an oversized black tee and grey sweatpants both covered in white undercoat paint “but I want the work. You’ve wrapped me in cotton wool”

“Can you blame me? I’ve literally seen you threaten Maybank with a Chelsea Dagger! No self-preservation at all!”

“That was a good day…”

“You’re insane”

“And you’re paranoid”

“We’re almost there…”

“And then you’ll be watching what I eat like a hawk cause I’m breast feeding”

He had no defence for that. A comfortable silence settled in between them with only the soft guitar playing through the speaker, the rushing of the wet paint on the wall, and the crunching of her oat crackers.

His gaze softened as he took a break and settled in beside her on the pink picnic rug in a sea of white drop sheets. Sofia furrowed her brows studying that look in his eyes warmly at first and then sceptically as he shifted and changed. His eyes wandered over her large baby bump, her cut grey overalls, her royal blue shirt with daisy prints and back to her shiny hir and radiant face again.

“Babe…”

He murmured a questioning response half heartedly still taking her in.

“Don’t do that”

“Do what?”

“Look at me with those big eyes”

“What big eyes?”

“Like I'm too good. Like you're not good enough.”

Rafe scoffs at that his cheeks flushing his jaw tensing as he busied himself with making a snack. “We’ve been over this… I don't need another pep talk.” He grumbled.

“This isn't about you. It's about me…. I’ve had too many boys put me up on these massive pedestals. There's only one way to go from there. I'm not a saint… and I get it. I'm cute and I'm sweet so I must be an angel but I'm a mess too. I have needs and wants and...and flaws. I'm not gonna be your never complaining housewife or your permanently open legs.”

“Jesus, Sof!”

“You’d be surprised what boyfriends start to expect when they get too comfortable.”

“Well, I’m not your boyfriend.

“You’re not immune. Men get like…Things start to get easy and complacent. You stay together too long, and men get comfortable and entitled... they start demanding rather than chasing. I'm not your prize or your…. pretty doll.”

“I know that”

“And I'm not a doormat”

“I’m well aware of that...” his frustration started to seep through “so what's the issue?”

Sofia paused at that question. He was right. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He was her husband. He wasn’t a boy. He was a young man.

How could she expect him to just know all the ins and outs of her history? To understand all her complexities when he'd only just learned her middle name? Of course, he only saw a simple version of her at this stage. That was all they had. It had barely even been a year since they met. Of course, he thought she was too good, and he had to put on airs to romance her. That was normal. Things were still growing. Everyone put on their best faces at the beginning.

“Nothing…you’re right”

“What happened?”

“With what?”

“The others”

“Nothing just...just remember that I'm human.”

“Got it.” He rolled his eyes at the whiplash of this conversation. “You’re ridiculous” he laughed and squished her cheeks before pulling her into a warm kiss.

epilogue: you'll be my family

Rafe charged into their apartment and spun around on her, still wired and looking for a fight. His knuckles white and taut in a clenched fists splattered with purple bruises. Cleo knew. Cleo knew about the baby. About Sofia and it was too fucking late to wrench their privacy back. They were vulnerable, exposed. She had to get out, now.

Tonight's little car jacking display was a firm and blatant warning. You come for what's hers she'll come for what's yours. She could not have made it more obvious and yet Sofia chose now, the most inopportune time, to be emotional and obstinate.

“I’m not having this fight with you again! I’m staying here. With you!”

“At least think about going to Kildare! Just until the baby comes!”

“No!”

“Sof! You need to be safe! You need help. You need family!

“You'll be my family!”

That stops him dead in his tracks. No one has ever…No one wants that from him. Not now. Not ever. Not even his dad. Not even Sarah. She has John B. She has her life. She doesn’t need him and yet Sofia is saying it now with such certainty.

“This isn't even-…” his stammers with glossy wide eyes unable to find the right words to express that he’s unworthy. That it’s dumb founding that she would hold something real and true within a marriage so false and hurried. This isn’t even real. This isn’t even love. How can she…? How can they…? The wheels are spinning in his head unable to connect with the tarmac.

“I'm not talking about being married.” She sets her black shiny heels he’d told her not to wear, now tainted with dried blood down on the coffee table and stepped towards him. She slips out of her coat and gold earrings as she speaks. Her long glittering black dress swaying with a rushing rustle like the wind as it brushes against polished concrete floor of his bachelor pad. Her eyes are big and brave and perfectly warm. “The second this little one existed you and I were done. That's it. We're not separate anymore. We’ll always be linked.  I'll always be tied to you.”  

She pauses but his brain still can’t find any kind of response. He simply watches on in awe as she lays it all out for him so simply. As if it isn’t the life changing monologue that it is. She shrugs and admits, “We might hate being married. We might be terrible at it and drive each other nuts. We don't know... Two years from now we could be divorced and swearing off relationships for good...”

He shoves back the tears that are forming and ducks his head with a shy laugh.

“But we'll still be parents. We'll still be family.”

She lifts a gentle hand to brush a tear from his cheek and lift his eyes back up to hers.“I want to be here with you.”

He cups the back of her hand and kisses her palm, nodding in acceptance and understanding.

“You'll always be my family...and I want you to be.”

The adrenaline of nearly losing both of them in one go tonight finally crashes down and mixes with the sincerity of her words that she doesn’t realize he’s waited a lifetime to hear. It’s an overpowering, deadly combination…and he breaks down in tears.

[cheesyficwriter]

I would love to read a Harry/Ron angsty friendship moment. Post battle would be great with the prompt “Don't you ever do that again!” 😊

Hiya, anon! Happy Monday 💜 thank you so much for the ask. Harry/Ron's friendship is one of my favorite parts about the HP universe. I hope you enjoy this missing moment!

We Live

When Ron Weasley was 11 years old, he met Harry Potter on the train to Hogwarts for the very first time. He didn’t know it then, but befriending one of the most sought after wizards of their time had proven to be no easy task. 

They tackled multiple dark wizards, heartbreak, classes, and life together. Ron remained loyal to Harry throughout it all, and stood beside him no matter what adventure came upon them year after year.  

He wouldn’t change it all for a damn thing.  

Which is why they both found themselves, on the night following the Battle of Hogwarts, on top of the Astronomy tower — or what little remained of it. There was debris piled around everywhere, the sky above them still dark and cloudy, visual evidence of the destruction and loss they experienced that day. 

Ron looked over to Harry, who was staring off into the distance — his eyelids were sagging, a clear sign of the exhaustion that was finally starting to set in. His face was covered in dirt, there was a huge gash in his lip, and his jet black hair was the messiest and longest Ron had seen in it a long time. 

Harry looked like a man who had sacrificed everything in order to keep the world moving, and he did. For that reason, Ron was angry. 

“Don’t you do that again,” Ron mumbled gruffly, and the force of his words caused Harry to turn his head, eyes wide. 

“What do you mean?” 

Ron leaned forward, hoping his steely gaze was enough to convince Harry of the intent behind his words. “Don’t you ever try to sacrifice yourself like some bloody martyr again, you hear me? For a minute, I thought…” 

Ron swallowed roughly. A surge of emotion that he kept inside started bubbling to the surface, and he had to shake his head to dissolve the tears invading his eyes. “I thought I lost two brothers in one day.”

Something in Harry’s eyes shifted, and Ron felt almost guilty for passively bringing up Fred when Harry was in such a state. 

A tense moment of silence fell between them before Harry croaked out, “Ron, I’m really—”

“I know.”

And he did know. They all knew there was a possibility that everyone wouldn’t make it out of the battle alive. But there was a stark difference between anticipating something bad happening, rather than actually living with it. 

Right now, they were living with it, and neither of them were quite sure how to move on from here. 

“Harry?” Ron asked. 

“Yeah?” Harry pivoted his head to regard him curiously. 

“I’m really, really glad you’re alive.”

Ron watched as Harry smiled for the first time that day. “I’m really, really glad you’re alive, too.”

Harry squinted his eyes back out towards the sky, which was starting to clear. “You know, we’ve been best mates since the beginning of this whole thing.”

Ron nodded, finishing Harry’s train of thought, “We’ll be best mates till the end — and today was not the end.”

For a minute, they were just Ron and Harry, innocent and hopeful for the future, just like they were at the young age of 11. 

Harry chuckled. “Alright, no need to get sappy on me.”

Ron gave him a playful shove, one that was quite pitiful due to the lack of energy he had left in him. 

“So, you and Hermione…” Harry began after a beat. 

Ron rolled his eyes, an instant blush creeping up on his cheeks. “Don’t start.”

“Wasn’t gonna....” Harry held up his hands, a teasing grin splitting onto his face. 

Ron snorted. “Yeah, you were.” He allowed himself to think about his curly-haired girlfriend — girlfriend. Can he call her that now? He supposed they had a few things to sort out as well. 

“She is my sister, you know,” Harry continued, a slight warning evident in his tone. 

“And Ginny is my sister.”

Harry kicked a small pebble on the floor, and they both watched as it went flying out of the tower. “If she’ll have me back.”

“I only needed to get one look at her to know that she’s still completely barmy over you — not sure I get why, it’s not like you just defeated the darkest wizard of our time or anything…”

“We defeated,” Harry corrected. 

They met each other’s gaze one more time, a wave of understanding passing between them. Ever since they were 11 years old, they were a we. Two best friends who stood beside each other through everything. 

“So, what do we do now?”

“We live.”

Thanks for reading! Check out my other brotp fics:

A True Partnership - Ron gets himself injured on an Auror mission in an attempt to save Harry, and his best friend has a few choice words for him.

[phlox238]

red

i wrote something like this on Ao3 a while ago and it kinda sucked, so i wanted to rewrite it lol. there's major character death so if you don't like that don't read !

The color red used to bring me so much joy.

It was the token color of the Gryffindors, the color I fell asleep and awoke to every day throughout my years at Hogwarts.

So many memories. So much pain.

Then, years later, it was you.

Your hair, your freckles, your stupid flushed cheeks. I never thought I'd grow tired of the color. It was my favorite.

The way I'd run my fingers through your hair; when we'd get so close I could almost count each and every freckle on your body.

That's what it meant to me.

But now I can't stand it.

It's too much. Too many memories, too much pain. The color is everywhere. It's overwhelming.

When you left me, I rid myself of everything red that I owned. Clothing, kitchen tools, even my favorite sweater.

I often wonder if you're still watching over me, one way or another. I suppose I'll never know.

Because you're gone, and I'm still here. That will never be okay.

[oxydiane]

Harry is eight and spending the time he isn’t locked up in his cupboard, or doing house chores, or running away from Dudley and his gang, at the nearby park. He sits on the swing and idly watches the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen.

His name is Malcom, his hair is light brown and his eyes are the prettiest blue Harry’s ever seen.

But— but boys aren’t supposed to be pretty. Boys aren’t supposed to think other boys are pretty, so he makes himself smaller in his worn out jumper and never approaches him again.

Harry is eleven when his life turns upside down and a gangly freckled kid sits next to him on the Hogwarts Express. He looks into his blue eyes and marvels at the bright red of his hair. He wants to reach out and clean the bit of dirt off his nose, but that would be getting too close to another boy, and he couldn’t afford that, could he?

Not when he could imagine tracing all the freckles scattered across his cheeks.

Harry is fourteen when Cedric Diggory falls from the sky and offers him help getting up after using his first Portkey. His hand is big and as calloused as he’d expect a Quidditch player’s to be. He doesn’t like dwelling on the thought of how nice he’d found it.

He asks Cho Chang to the Yule Ball and she rejects him because Cedric Diggory had been quicker. He ends up spending the night on a chair intently looking at the way Cedric’s hand curls around Cho’s waist. He was jealous of him, right?

He tells Sirius about the Yule Ball and he raises an eyebrow at the way Harry describes Cedric’s robes and styled hair but can barely remember the colour of Cho’s dress.

Harry is fifteen when Cho Chang finally agrees to go on a date with him. It happens after they kiss and Harry is eager, he should be, right? The kiss had felt wet and not particularly pleasant and his chest felt a lot warmer as he watched the way Ron laughed when he described it than it had felt when his lips had collided with Cho’s.

The date doesn’t go well, maybe Harry just doesn’t get women.

Sirius says it’s ridiculous, but he doesn’t miss the odd look he and Remus give each other.

Harry is sixteen when he dreams of red hair and freckled skin and in order to escape it he decides to stay up at night and stare at Draco Malfoy’s dot on the Marauder’s Map.

It doesn’t do him good.

He decides the bright red infesting his dreams must be Ginny’s, because he doesn’t know any other red-haired girl. Even though she wears it long and when he dreams it’s short and spiky. And the freckles on her cheeks are not as numerous as the ones he marvels at after falling asleep.

He decides it has to be Ginny, and the thought of it can occupy his mind long enough to make him forget the weird pang and slight sick in his stomach each time he catches Ron snogging Lavender.

When Ginny runs up to him after winning the Quidditch up, he kisses her, because that’s what he’d been dreaming about, right? Hands tangled in red hair and freckled cheeks centimetres from his face, but it feels all wrong.

Ron nods at him and it all feels wrong.

Sirius is not here anymore for Harry to consult, so instead he takes Ginny outside their common room and, on the Hogwarts grounds, opens his heart to her.

She understands.

Harry is seventeen when he has to die and he still hasn’t made sense of the feelings in his chest or why, no matter how much he tried, girls felt so wrong.

It’s not at the forefront of his mind, it’s not even close because the only thing he can think about is the warm bodies laying lifeless in the Great Hall.

But, as he approaches his death, he does spare a thought for the uneasiness he had felt when Hermione kissed Ron, and the discomfort every kiss he’d given before had provided him. He hadn’t lived in full, not even close.

A flash of green light approaches and he finds it silly, how his last thought is of red hair and freckles.

Harry is eighteen when he attends his first Weasley family dinner after the war. The grief is heavy and Fred’s chair is empty but Percy is back home and it does bring at least a shard of comfort to Mrs Weasley. He isn’t alone, Oliver Wood hangs from his arm.

He is eighteen and Percy Weasley introduces Oliver Wood as his boyfriend.

Harry blinks at them and something in his head just clicks.

Harry is twenty when he finally musters the courage to walk into a Gay Bar. He had to Confund the door keeper because he didn’t own an ID, the Dursleys had never bothered giving it to him, given he even had one.

It’s a Muggle place and he feels like the odd one out, terribly dressed down and completely clueless.

He ends up ordering a beer and sitting by the bar.

It’s not until his third visit that a stranger approaches him. He has red hair but his pupils are a soft hazel and his skin isn’t freckled at all. Harry thinks that if he shuts his eyes close, maybe, he could pretend.

His name is Lucas, his lips taste vaguely like strawberries and the kiss doesn’t make Harry want to turn his insides inside out. He smiles and the rush of adrenaline in his veins as Lucas nibs on his bottom lip feels both terrifying and terribly right.

Harry is twenty-three when the cat gets out of the bag.

It’s not because he wanted it, really, but sharing a flat with his best mates could be inconvenient, at times.

He flushed and urges his date to get dressed as he tries to avoid Ron and Hermione’s shocked looks. Their hands are clasped together and Harry has learnt to live with the uncomfortable twist of his stomach by now.

They come off it quickly, though. Ron laughs and pats Harry on the back, says everything is much more clear now.

Harry is twenty-five when he makes his best-man speech at Ron and Hermione’s wedding.

He chokes on his words both because he was never that good at public speaking and because each time he looked at the way Ron’s arm curled around Hermione’s shoulder his throat went a bit drier.

He drinks his glass of champagne in one go and relishes in the burn before fetching Gabriel, his date for the night.

Gabriel stood out like a sour note next to his exes: his hair were a dusty blonde. Harry had thought there would be way too many redheads at the wedding anyways.

Harry is thirty-one when Ron jokes he will never settle down if he keeps on changing men at the same rate he changes his pants, but Harry doesn’t care.

Ron looks thoroughly annoyed and Hermione coughs, worried and almost resigned eyes looking up at her husband.

Harry is thirty-three when Ron shows up at his place with a suitcase and bashfully tells him Hermione wants to file for a divorce.

He just nods and lets Ron in.

Harry is thirty-five when Ron brings back a bottle of expensive Firewhisky and decides they should celebrate the Cannons’ new victory streak on their own.

He hadn’t heard of the Cannons winning anything, recently, but he shrugs it off because it’s not really his thing anyways, Ron would know.

He is thirty-five and Ron, red-haired, freckled and now face flushed sits way too close for comport and traces his lips with a pinky.

He stands up abruptly and loudly declares it’s time for bed. Ron looks quite annoyed, but it will pass.

It must have been his imagination.

Harry is thirty-seven when his best mate breaks down crying in front of him and confesses his feelings through agonising sobs.

He keeps apologising and a tug at his hand breaks Harry out of his stupor. He was sure it must have been a dream, but Ron was real and crying and trembling.

He leans down wordlessly and, finally— sparks.

He is thirty-seven and this is the first time he’s ever felt so alive.

Harry is forty-two when Hagrid walks him down the aisle.

It’s clumsy and messy because they’re both trying not to cry, Harry being much better at it than the half-giant.

He catches a glimpse of Hermione, beaming at him from the front with a knowing smile.

He is forty-two and he is in front of Ron, in white robes. The voices around them nothing but white noise and then Ron leans down and all he can see is— red. Red hair and freckles.

[bjornthorsson20]

Give Us a Break!

Had this Rarry drabble unfinished for 2 months now, and finally, the inspiration hit to finish it yesterday. Hope y'all enjoy! ^^

Harry entered the kitchen to find Ron already leaning on the counter, munching on some toast. Even now, in his disheveled morning state, Harry thought he looked positively stunning, especially with the sun rays reflecting off his flaming red hair, making it shine even brighter.

Ron looked his way, grinning as soon as their eyes met, and made a gesture for Harry to come closer. Harry had to stop himself from biting his lip at how sexy just that little wag of his finger was. He walked up to Ron, keeping a good distance away from him, but Ron wasn't having it, as he tugged on Harry's sleeve to pull him in until their faces were mere inches apart. Harry involuntarily bunched Ron's shirt with his fist, his breathing already ragged due to their proximity.

As soon as Ron dipped his head, they heard footsteps coming in, alarming them both, and before Harry could jolt away quickly enough, Ron burped on his face, laughing afterward.

"What the fuck, Ron?! Fucking hell!" Harry bellowed, frantically waving his hand in front of his face.

"I told you not to get too close, Potter. Your mistake," Ron chuckled, but with a subtle wink his way, Harry understood why he did it.

"Er, am I interrupting something?" Hermione asked by the doorway, with an amused half-smile and one eyebrow raised.

“Not at all, no. Harry was just talking big for someone who was clearly unprepared to handle the Weasleys’ dirty tricks,” Ron laughed, having way too much fun watching Harry blush profusely from the embarrassment of almost getting caught by their best friend.

“Okay,” Hermione enunciated, barely holding in a chuckle as she grabbed a piece of toast, taking a bite of it. “I’ll be outside reading in the shade if you boys need me or wish to keep me company later.” As they nodded, she left the kitchen, leaving them alone once more.

“That was close,” Harry breathed a sigh of relief, messing his hair up with a shaky hand, the blush still present on his face.

“But not close enough,” Ron said in the deep voice he knew always made Harry’s knees weak, bringing him closer again. Harry’s hand landed flat on Ron’s chest and he could feel his heartbeat speed up, his own breath hitching as he took in the deep-blue desire in the ginger’s eyes. Their lips moved at the same time…

“Good morning! Nice to see you both already up!” bellowed the Weasley patriarch as he came in.

“Ron, you really are a messy eater,” Harry quickly said, swiping away nonexistent crumbs from Ron’s shirt, hoping Mr. Weasley would buy it, despite the nervous squeak in his voice.

“Mate, you’ve known me for how many years now? It’s not news at this point that I’m a pig when it comes to food. Oh hi, dad,” Ron greeted his dad nonchalantly, and Harry wondered how he managed to stay that calm in this kind of situation.

“Sorry, were you two in the middle of something?”

“Oh, no, Harry was just practicing his crumb swiping technique on me. Apparently, it’s a muggle thing boys our age do,” Ron smoothly lied, as Harry was trying very hard not to laugh, sure that Mr. Weasley would never buy such a-

“Oh! Fascinating! Remind me to pull Harry aside later to inquire more on that. I’ll be heading off to work now. Take care, you two!” And with that, he was off.

Harry blew out a huge breath, crying from laughter as he gasped out syllable for syllable, “I can’t believe he bought that!” Ron soon joined him on it, both of them clutching their stomachs from the hilarity of it all.

Finally, they both sighed, spent from their bout of mirth, wearing identical silly smiles and stepping closer to one another. Ron caressed Harry’s cheek lovingly, his trademarked lopsided grin showing up. “I guess we should just wait for tonight. You can hold on until then, right?” He chuckled as Harry nodded.

“What can wait for tonight, our dear Ickle Ronniekins?” The twins chorused in unison, popping out from seemingly nowhere, startling them both.

“Well, uh, Harry likes me to read this muggle fairytale to him before bed, helps him sleep better, but lately he has been asking me to read it to him during the day, and I just wanted us to come back to it being a bedtime story. Makes it more special.” By the end of this convoluted lie, the twins were already reduced to tears on the kitchen floor, laughing even harder than Harry and Ron before. By the time they managed to get up again, each one leaning on Ron’s shoulders for support, they were laughing right at a very red Harry’s face, trying to form coherent sentences, but being overpowered by the laughter. They eventually calmed down enough to taunt Harry with questions like “Do you need your special blanket to sleep well too?” or “What thumb do you sleep sucking on?”, before thanking Ron for the gold mine of jokes and promptly disapparating.

The silence hung between them, Ron doing his best to not laugh at the terrible attempt at an angry stare Harry was giving him. Eventually, with a twitch of his lips giving him away, he muttered, “You’re the fucking worst.”

Ron did laugh then, dipping his head with their noses almost touching, “I am. But you love me for it,” he said, before finally giving Harry a proper quick kiss.

As Ron broke the kiss, Harry was left with a smile, and, with his eyes still closed, let out a content sigh.

“I do.”

[4ortherecord]

"Dont look at me like that man. It's not happening. I'm not getting involved rafe. "

"No, you are getting involved barry. You know why? Because you'll do anything for dick, especially mine."

"Now where did you here that from, huh?"

"You're a sleep talker, fucked you better than anyone ever has before, Isn't that right barry-boo?"

"Fuck off."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Now let's get a move on, got places to be."

[itsoperatunistic]

Harry drops his hand. Voldemort falls over with an eerily human “thud.” The protection around them breaks and suddenly there’s a swarm of people. Celebrating. Yelling. Despite the fact that so many people had died. They won.

But Harry didn’t care. He searched through the crowd for a mop of red hair. When he spotted it, he ran. Neville and Luna moved aside. Those that weren’t so close to him tried grabbing onto him but he pulled away.

He arrived in front of Ron, who looked as shocked as he was. He grabbed his face and pulled him into a deep kiss. After a second, Ron wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and receprocated.

Yes, they’d won the war. No, nothing was going to be the same. And maybe that was okay.

Based on this

[all-drarry-to-me]

Ron x Harry kiss

I don’t ship Harry and Ron, but I’m actually really happy with how this came out? I went with the cliché “eighth yeardrinking games” trope. I hope you like it, anon!

It hadalways been Harry.

Ever sincethe Hogwarts Express, ever since they were eleven.

Ron didn’tknow what to do about it; he didn’t know how to tell his best friend that hewas in love with him – that he had been in love with him for years.

Theneighth year came around, and Ron was given his chance.

It was aFriday night party with the other eighth years in their shared common room.Seamus brought the Firewhisky, Pansy brought the Veritaserum.

“Ron,truth or dare?”

Ronshrugged. “Dare, I suppose.” He could feel the whisky weighing down his tongue,through the Veritaserum made him speak.

Hermionegave him a shrewd look, and he began to panic slightly.

Shewouldn’t.

“I dareyou to kiss Harry.”

Apparently,she would.

Ron felthis eyes widen and his head whipped around on its own accord to find Harry. Helook surprised, but not revolted, which Ron supposed was a step in the rightdirection.

He inchedhimself forward, the Veritaserum making him move even though he wasn’t sure hewanted to. With each movement, Harry’s breathing increased slightly.

It was asmall circle, and it wasn’t long before Ron was right in front of Harry.

In a fitof Gryffindor courage, Ron leaned forward and pressed his lips to Harry’s. Tohis surprise, it was only a second before Harry groaned and opened his mouth,inviting Ron to deepen the kiss.

After amoment of shock, Ron did, sliding his tongue into Harry’s mouth. His hand slidup into Harry’s black curls; they were as soft as Ron had always hoped.

The momentwas broken when Hermione started laughing.

“You twoare such idiots – you’ve been pining after each other for years!”

Ron smiledat Harry and his kiss-swollen lips. It sounded like they had some time to makeup for.

[cheesyficwriter]

I loved your last Rarry brotp fic! Can you please write one about Ron getting himself hurt during an Auror mission because he wanted to safe Harry? And Harry getting mad at him for saving him and getting himself in danger instead? I hope you understand what I mean 🤪 Thank you!

Hi there! Thanks so much for the request. I absolutely loved writing that drabble, and was overwhelmed by the pleasant response to it! Hope you enjoy this follow-up 😊💜

We Live - Rarry brotp drabble #1

CW: Talk of violence, injury, mild language

A True Partnership

In some ways, Harry believed that he and Ron had trained to become Aurors since they were 11 years old. Together, they were held accountable for any decisions made under extreme duress year after year at Hogwarts and beyond — quite frankly, they both, along with Hermione, should have been killed several times over by now.

For many years, Harry had an instinctual fight-or-flight response to the dire circumstances that presented themselves. He knew that every move he made affected his future, and the future of those around him in the wizarding world that he tried desperately to protect. 

Fast forward to the fall of 1998 when Harry and Ron underwent basic training together. During that time, they learned advanced tactics they would utilize in order to suppress any enemies, and were taught magical jurisprudence, ensuring that they apprehended criminals on legally valid grounds. For two men who consistently broke school rule after school rule at Hogwarts, this particular aspect of training was harped upon more than others.  

The Auror Academy was very stringent, and not for the faint of heart — Aurors needed a certain level of mental alertness and physical strength to engage in conflict. They had to have a willingness to act in high-stake situations. Split-second decisions would be made, with no certifiable way in those moments to determine whether or not those decisions would be the right ones. Training is meant to prepare Aurors for crises that may arise, but real missions out in the field often present the unexpected — what many don’t see coming. 

That’s what partners were for. A true partnership was built upon the following principles: trust, commitment, and shared meaning. 

Trust: Ensure that your partner unequivocally has your back in any situation, from a Dementor attack to preventing further mutiny, and will be there to cover up your blind spots. 

There was no one in the world that Harry trusted more than Ron Weasley, so his best mate was the obvious choice to be his partner out in the field. It took Harry a long time after the defeat of Voldemort for him to grasp that he no longer needed to be so guarded. In the event that Harry ever let down his defenses, he had full confidence that Ron would be there ready to assist. 

So, it shouldn’t have surprised Harry that there would come a time when he wouldn’t be quick enough, or stealthy enough, and Ron would be there to respond. 

It all happened so fast. One minute they were joking about pranking each other with puking pastilles, and the next moment they were surrounded by Death Eaters.  

“Harry, watch out!” 

A split-second decision. 

That single decision made by Ron to warn Harry of the danger distracted the ginger-haired man from his own, and a flash of red light shot straight through his abdomen. Harry watched in horror as Ron’s injured body crumpled to the ground. 

“No!” Harry shouted, and the fight to stay alive was a blur from there. All he knew was that he had to survive the battle — he had to survive and get his best friend, his partner, to safety. 

Commitment: The act of sharing a mutual appreciation. Both partners should be on board to protect each other for the long haul. 

Several agonizing hours later, Harry found himself pacing the floors of the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s. 

A Healer finally came out to give an update on Ron. Although pretty bruised up, and drowsy from the pain potion, he was okay and conscious. 

Beside him, Harry heard Hermione let out a strangled cry of relief. 

They allowed two visitors in at a time, so Harry and Hermione rushed down the busy corridor and practically threw themselves through the door to get to Ron. 

He was sitting up in his bed, a large, white bandage wrapped around his stomach, and his leg was propped up by a levitating sling. Ron's face, although initially contorted in pain, visibly brightened once he saw both of them. 

Hermione wasted no time running into Ron's arms, who responded by giving her a weak pat on the back that was no doubt meant to be comforting. "Hi, love."

Hermione sniffled as she kissed his cheek and pulled away, stepping back to allow Harry a moment to greet his best friend. 

When Ron's eyes shifted towards Harry expectantly, he laughed, "I dodged a bludger there, didn't I?" His face fell as he spotted the furious expression on Harry's face. 

"You," Harry glared at Ron, pointing a menacing finger in his direction. "I need to have a chat with you." 

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Harry didn't give him the chance. 

"What in the name of Merlin's saggy left armpit were you thinking out there?"

"You could have gotten yourself killed!" Hermione piggy-backed off Harry's interrogation, a flurry of words streaming out through her mouth. "I mean, really Ron, out of all of the noble things you had to do, you think that—"

"Oi, knock it off, Hermione!" With a frustrated growl, Ron snatched his wand from the side table and whooshed closed the drapes around his bed, hiding Hermione from view. He then muttered a silencing charm for added effect.  

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Do you even realize what you’ve just done?” He didn’t want to be there to witness the aftermath of Ron’s decision to shut out Hermione. 

"I've already got you yelling at me, I don't need my girlfriend screaming in my ear, too, thank you very much,” Ron grumbled, letting his head fall back onto his pillow with a heavy sigh. 

Harry crossed his arms. "Well you wouldn't need us to chatter on as such if you hadn't very nearly kicked the bucket."

"Well, o'course not," Ron snapped. "I just saved your life, and all, but I'm the one who was in the wrong."

"I wouldn't have needed saving if you'd had just followed protocol and attacked those gits right away instead of worrying about me." 

"One of those fuckers had a wand aimed at the back of your head, what was I supposed to do?" Ron fought back. 

It was then that Harry realized Ron saw what he couldn't. His blind spot. A wave of guilt washed over him, and Harry knew he had no right to argue further.  

Ron looked down at his lap, his voice quiet. "When are you going to get it through your head that you can't always do it all by yourself, mate?"

The impact of Ron's words made Harry take a step back. The harsh silence that followed indicated to Ron that he was free to continue,

“We are a team. Partners. I know you’re so bloody proud, Potter, but you can’t expect to make the right decision every time. I am here to back you up. Always.”

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes, overwhelmed by the love he felt for his best friend, his partner in crime, his brother. 

Shared meaning: An understanding or appreciation for your partner, and what values they stand for. 

Harry and Ron had managed their fair share of conflict over the years, finding the ability to compromise, solve problems, and take on the world together. They turned towards each other on a daily basis, whether it's to share a laugh over the strangest topics or provide emotional support. 

Their relationship went beyond a simple partnership. They were family. A unit. 

Harry choked out a laugh, "Okay, then. But it's my turn to be the hero next time, you hear?" 

A wide grin split across Ron's face. "Not if I beat you to it."

The drapes whooshed open again, revealing a very put out Hermione. "You two aren't honestly fighting over who gets to risk their life next, are you?" 

Harry and Ron share sheepish smiles, and a mutual understanding passes through them. 

Friendship is forever, and they will never stop finding ways to prove that. 

[acnelli]

#13 & #14 for rarry and #16 and #17 for romione. Please please 🥺

Hey anon! Thanks for the ask 🥰 Since I'm not the fastest of writers, could you please choose one prompt for now and when that is done, you send me the next one?

Right now, I'm still working on the Drabble for the Romione Discord Popcorn. After I posted that, I will write #13 Rarry for this ask if you don't leave another ask with a different prompt/pairing (please let me know then if you were the one leaving this ask ;))

Thank you 💛

Prompt List

[unusuallyzealousburgette]

Felix Felicis (ron/harry)

Summary: Ron and Harry have been dancing around each other for five whole years. Maybe all they need to get together is a bit of liquid luck.

Words: 1518

(read on AO3)

Ron grits his teeth through a grim smile as Luna wanders over from Ravenclaw table, her bright, glowing eyes as they staring intently towards Gryffindor. They follow Harry’s hand slipping into the pocket of his robes, clenched into a fist.

“Ron you’re looking rather pale. Is that why you put something in his cup, Harry?” she says. “Is it a tonic?”

“Put in his cup?” Hermione ponders aloud, head shooting up from her breakfast plate to Harry beside her. Her eyes widen and she reaches over his body and attempts to snatch the bottle, but Harry’s too quick. He swipes his hand away and scoots down the bench, though not before everyone sees sunlight bouncing off the peculiarly shaped teardrop vial.

Hermione gasps as Harry seats his hand into his pocket, saying nonchalantly, “I don’t know what any of you mean.”

“Harry you didn’t,” Hermione hisses. Luna sits down on the opposite side of the table, next to Ron, the bells on her hat jingling a pleasant tune. It’s a lion, her hat is; a large, felt lion in honor of the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts that Ron has been sweating in anticipation of since they were announced.

Of course Harry would notice. And of course he wouldn’t be able to help himself.

“I’m still not sure what any of you are talking about,” Harry insists, “But you might want to drink up, Ron. Luna’s right, you look rather pale.” Harry winks surreptitiously to Ron, and the redhead’s sallow skin flushes pink. His stomach flutters nervously.

“Ron don’t do it, it’s not right!” Hermione reaches for Ron’s cup, but he slips it back. Ron licks his lips.

“Come ‘Mione. Harry said he didn’t do it, what harm could it be?”

“What harm? It would be cheating!” But as Ginny passes by at that moment, with her Captain’s uniform already on for the tryouts she’d be holding and a hand clasped to Ron’s shoulder, the words bounce off Ron like rubber.

“Good luck today, big bro. Let’s hope you turn out to be as good as you injured friend here.” She snorts and walks down the table; Ron’s nostrils flare as Harry raises a his broken, slung arm to wave her goodbye.

His hand shaking ever so slightly, Ron clutches the tainted goblet and downs it all without reservation, wiping the excess juice with the back of his hand and burping loudly. He puts his hands out in front of him, examining them closely as they blur into milky white blobs then reform into slender fingers and rough palms again. He blinks rapidly.

Hermione huffs and pushes out from the table, fuming at the ears. “I hope you’re happy.”

Harry shrugs his shoulders as he lifts himself up on his right arm and leans over the table.

“I better go cool her down before tryouts, you know how she gets. But I’ll see you out there.” He leans just a bit closer and whispers into the shell of Ron’s ear. “Good luck out there, mate.”

Harry jumps over the bench and walks down the hall, a wink and a wave thrown over his shoulder.

Ron feels a heat rise up in his stomach, bubbly and delightful that clouds out the worries in his head. He laces his fingers together and stretches his arms out in front of him.

“So Luna, got anymore funny hats for me?”

Ron’s figure hovers steadily in front of the West goal while the Chasers compete for the Quaffle center field, the unpredictable school broom docile beneath his fingers. Fresh air fills his lungs along with the scent of his own exhaustion, similar but different to Harry’s when he used to fly around the Burrow or hug Ron tightly after Quidditch matches. Sunlight burns his retinas as he tries to make out Harry’s shape from the Quidditch stands.

McLaggen, the competing Keeper, is on the opposite goal, looping and spinning around lazily on a Starbolt, the bloody show off. At this point they’re neck and neck for score, but Harry is sure that Ron showed much more control and skill than that ponce does. Therefore, he’s sure to win.

He wraps his hands around his mouth, nearly knocking Luna and Hermione over with his elbows as he shouts out, “Come on, Ron!”

A hand touches his bicep gently; it’s Luna as she cheers alongside him. Ron flips the felt mane out of his face and takes a quick peek at them, smirking widely.

One of the Chasers holds the Quaffle under her arm and speeds towards Ron’s goal. She is surprisingly quick as she throws the ball into the air and hits it with the tail and of her broom, but Ron flips upside down and kicks it out of the way.

“Whoo!” Harry screams, a smile pulling his lips tight. He pumps his able arm into the air. Hermione peeks up from her book with a knowing grin; out of everyone cheering, he is the loudest.

“Watch the Quaffle instead of him,” Hermione whispers.

“What?” Harry says.

“Watch the Quaffle!”

A Chaser for the other side catches the ball in one hand above her head and throws it to another boy. He heads towards McLaggen’s goal, but he’s sloppy. Harry can already see that his throw is headed right for McLaggen instead of any area around him, and not at top speed.

Harry doesn’t have to think before the hand on his wand moves on instinct and he covers his mouth, whispering, “Confundus.”

McLaggen’s broom flies out of the area of the hoop entirely, and he nearly falls off of it. The Quaffle goes through the goal and a loud chime marks the end of the game as everyone either screamed with outrage or glee. Harry bites his lip and hopes for the best as Ginny summons the team down to give her final thoughts.

“Harry!” Hermione squeals at, not the first, but the second time she’s caught him cheating for Ron today. She shoves Harry in the arm, but he doesn’t care, his eyes are focused center field on Ron’s lanky figure in that ridiculous Lion hat. Ginny shakes her head as she approaches him to whisper in his ear, but her face is alit with pride. Ron hunches over to hear her, and then jumps back as if in disbelief.

It was never Harry’s practice as team captain to announce the team the day of tryouts, but Ginny is different. She’s sure of herself and, make no mistake, she wouldn’t doubt herself.

Ron turns to his friends’ end of the stands and waves his arms above his head.

“Did he make it?” Luna asks, but Harry can’t tell. All he hear is the vague grumbling around him.

“I don’t know.”

Ron continues leaping and shouting mutely. “Your wand, Ron!” Hermione cries. “Your wand!”

Ron stops jumping for a moment and reaches into his back pocket for his wand. He holds it to his throat as he projects towards the Gryffindor stands: “I did it! I made Keeper!”

Harry’s mouth falls open as a fire roars inside of him. He leaps into the air screaming, “Yes! Yes!”

They and the crowd descend the stands to crowd their new Quidditch team. The Gryffindors try to overwhelm Ron with pats on the back and congratulations, but he pushes himself through the crowd directly to Harry.

(Read the rest on AO3)

[oxydiane]

‘Hello Mr Black, sir!’

Sirius raises an eyebrow, amused.

‘Hello, Ron, why the formalities?’

The child stood in front of him, back straight for the first time in his life and fists clenched at his sides. His cheeks were slightly red and he looked like he was about to burst.

‘I have to ask a very important question, sir,’

Sirius bites him tongue to prevent from asking him to drop that title. It was way too unfamiliar coming from the mouth of a kid he had been having over at his house for years.

‘And what may that important question be?’

‘I love Harry a lot,’ Ron says, that’s not a question.

‘Yeah, you do,’ he nods.

‘And we want to be together forever!’

Sirius nods again. ‘Yeah, may have heard my godson mention that once or twice,’

‘So I’m asking for your permission to marry him, sir!’

Silence.

Sirius blinks once, twice. His lips must tremble with the effort of not bursting into a full-body laugh.

‘Well, young man, you’re making quite the jump here, aren’t ya?’ He asks instead. ‘Skipping all the courting and just asking for his hand? That’s not very gentlemanly of you.’

Ron’s entire face goes crimson and Sirius can’t help but notice how his cheeks still aren’t as bright as his red hair.

‘I—I—‘ Ron stumbles upon his words and Sirius bites the inside of his cheeks now, his tongue starting to hurt. ‘I’m sorry, sir! I hadn’t—‘

‘Hey, calm down,’ Sirius says gently, putting a hand on Ron’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t you come inside? Maybe we can talk about this courtship better over a mug of hot chocolate.’

Ron’s eyes light up at the mention of the beverage.

‘Yes sir! Thank you!’

He rolls his eyes as he watches the child skip through the hallway and into their kitchen. He is definitely not going to let him live this down.

[hazyxthoughts]

When I'm Older

Some time, 2nd year:

McGonagall: You shall write on a piece of parchment what you wish to be when you're older.

Hermione: Does being a muggle doctor count?

McGonagall: Whatever you desire, Ms. Granger. Scribble it down.

Draco: *shoots his hand up the air enthisiastically* Can I be Potter's husband?

McGonagall:

Harry: My wot?

Draco:

Draco: Your husband. Merlin, Potter, no need to hint how much you want to hear me say it again.